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I2X

A I

SWEET NELLIE

MY IIEAIITS DELKiirr.

AA ALTEK r>Er<ANT AND .L\^1I<:S KICK,

.MTHCliS i>V "THH (iOI.DEX iiUTTKUFI-V," "WHEN THK Sllll' COMr.S HOME,'

"'twas in trafai.(;au's iuv, ktc , hti*., ktc.

TORONTO :

iiosEBELFoin) rrr,TjsniNO companv.

]\ri)('('L'LXXx.

Entered aeeordintf t(i the Act of the Parliament of v'anada, in the year one thousand
I'iuht hundred and seventy-nine, by Wamkii liFSANT and Jamks Hick, in the oflk-e
nf the Minister of Ayrienlturc.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

CHAI'TER T.
In Sackclotii A\r» Slavery , r»

CHAPTEK II.

On :'ower Hill 2l>

CHAPTEll III.

CiTRTSTOl'HER MARCfr 44

CHAPTER IV.

Mv Lord Eardeslev • r>l.

CHAPTER Y.

HoxEST Thomas 7:*,

CHAPTER Vr.

A Day ok Fatk 91

CHAPTER VH.
Between Life and Death 104

CHAPTER Vni.
Home A(fAiN 119

'*-■'>

SWEET NELLIE, MY HEART'S DELIGHT.

—¥•-

CHAPTER I.

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVERY.

r^N a trackless countiy, through a forest
stretching away for hundreds, and perhaps
thousands, of miles — for no traveller has ever
yet crossed the great continent of Ameri( a
and measured its breadth — there journeyed,
slowly and with pain, a woman who some-
times carried and sometimes led a little girl
i'our years old. The woman wore no hat nor
hood, nnd her clothes were torn to shreds
and tatters by the thorny briars through
which she had made her way. Her eyes
were wild, and her face, save when she looked at the little
child, was set stern: her lips moved as she went along,
showing th^it she was engaged in some internal struggle.
The forest since she first plunged into it had changed its
aspect. Everywhere now were pines, nothing but ))iiies,
growing in clumps, or in belts, or in great masses, in
place of the oaks, maples, hemlocks, and birches through
which she had passed. -There were no longer any wild
vines ; the air was resinous to the smell ; the ground was
soft and yielding. In some places the fugitive drew back

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVKUY.

her foot in dismay, because the soil sank beneath her
weight.

The sun was making rapid way down to the west; tlio
shadows were long; the child dragged its steps, and pre-
sently began to burst into a little crying ; the woman
soothed her. Presently the little cry became a great sob-
bing. "Nelly is hungry," she sobbed.

Then the woman sat down on a fallen trunk, and look-
ing round her, wrung her hands in despair, for she was
(juite lost; she knew not where to go, and she had no
food.

"I thought to find revenge," she .cried, "and I have
found death and murder. Heaven is just. I shall sit
and watch the little one starve to death — the child will
go first — and then I shall die. Oh! wretched woman,
why wast thou born? Child, child," — she burst into tears
of despair, and clutched the little one t(j her heart —
"curse me with your dying breath. Oh! my little inno-
cent, my lamb, I have murdered thee, for I iiave no food,
no water. Hush! hush! Try to sleep."

She soothed and rocked the little one, who presently,
weary with the long day's march, dropped asleep, hungry
as she was.

Then the sun sank lower; a little more .ind he would
have disappeared altogether, and the woman would have
been left alone for the night with the starving child: but
while the red colour was beginning to spread in the west,
she saw, emerging from a clump of pines before her, an
old man.

He was a white man, but his skin was now dark with
exposure to the sun and air; he was clad in skins; he was
very old; his hair and beard were long and white; he
leaned upon a stick as he went; his steps were feeble;
his eyes wandered up and down the glades of the forest
as if he were afraid of beiijg watched. Presently he saw
the woman and the child, and after a moment's hesitation,
he made his way, in a curious and zigzjag fashion, across

I-

IN SACKCLOTH ANU SLAVERY. 7

tlie green space whieli lay between liiniself and the woman,
and accosted her.

" Who are you?" he asked.

"A runaway." she replied.

"Show nie your liiuid."

She liehl out her h-ft liatid; he hidd out liis; on botli was
the same mark — the brand of a convict.

"I am a thief," she said; "1 was riglitly punished."

"I am an Anabaptist," lie replied. "I was punished
by the law of the laud. Who is the child ?"

"I stole the chiKl. It is my master's. I stole it for
revenge because they were going to tiog me. I have
brought it all thj way. My food is exhaust(;d and so
she will die. And now," she added, with a despairing cry,
"I am a murderess as well as a thief and the companion
of thieves, and there can be no more hope for me in this
world or ^he next."

The old man shook his head, and looked at the child
still asleep.

"Come with me," he said; ''the kittle one shall not die.
I have a hut and there is foo 1. both hut and food are
poor and rough."

He led her with the greatest care across the treacherous
quagmire by steps of which he alone knew the secret.
"Here I am quite safe," he explained, "because no one
except myself can cioss the place. Safe, so long as I am
in hiding. This place is an island of firm land in the
midst of a bog."

There was a hut standing beneath j)ines which grew
on ground a little elevated. It was furnished with a few
skins, and an earthenware pot of the rudest kind. There
was, besides, another earthenware vessel containing wa:er.
In the pot was meal. The old man mixed the water with
the meal.

"When the chdd wakes," he said, "give her some, and
take some yourself at once. Now sleep in hope: to-
morrow I return."

"Oh! do not leave m alone," said the woman,

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVKllY.

"You are quito safe. I f^o to fotch more meal; there
are some friendly blacks who will provide me. Sleep in
I)eace."

Tiien he disappeared, and the woman, laying the child
upon one of the skins and coverin<2^ it with the other, sat
beside h(!r wonderinL^ and presently fell fast asleep. In
the morning wlien she awoke the sun was already up,
and her host was standing in the doorw.iy. Then the
child awoke too, and presently sat uj) and ate her break-
fast with a heaity good will. The old man leaning upon
his stick thereui)t)n began a very serious and solenm dis-
course. He told the woman what a wicked thing she
had done in carrying away a helpless child to the gieat
Dismal Swamp, a place inhabited by none but runaways,
and those s(^attered about, difficult to find, and poorly
pi'ovided. " Here," he said, " the vhites who have ex-
ch'^nged slavery for this most wretched freedom live
separately, ea(;h by himself; they are jealous of one
another, they suspect each his brother ; and the blacks,
Avho live together in connnunities, change their quarters
continually for fear of being caught by the planters, who
come out with guns and dogs to hunt them down. 1
have had to lie hidden here without fire or food for days,
while the hounds followed mv track until the morass
threatened to swallow them up. You, who might have
courted such a life for yourself, did you think what it
meant for a child ? "

The woman shook her head.

" I have been here twenty yea,rs and more. 1 have
lost the count of time ; I know only the seasons as they
fgllow. I think that I am over seventy, and when I can
no longer beg meal of my friends, I must lie down to
starve. I have spoken to no white person except to you
during all this time. When I came I had a Bible. That
was lost one night of storm. Since then 1 have had no-
thing but my meditations and my hopes ; and you—

'
0h^

IN SACKCLOTH AN*D SLAVERY,

what Would you have luul ? The concinunl memory of a
iminhu'ed child."

" What shall I do ? what shall I do ? " she cried'.

"Take hack the child; whatev(!r happen at'terwards,
take hack the child.''

The littli! girl looked up in the woman's face, and
laughed and clapped her hands.

" 1 have sinned," said the woman. " Let mc ^ake her
hack. God forgive me! She shall go home to her
mother."

She I'ose at once as if there was not a moment to bo
lost. The old Analmptist put up some meal in a bag of
skin, and led her again over the treacherous path.

" You have lost your way," he said. " I will be your
<^uide."

He led her by paths known to himself, across forty
miles and more of thick forest. When they came near
any cleared h nd, they rested by day and travelled by
night. After four days of travelling they came to their
destination.

The old man took the child in his arms and solemnly
blessed her in all her doings. Then he |)rayed with the
woman for a while, and then, grasj)ing his stick, he dis-
appeared in the forest.

The woman, left alone, began to tremble. Before her
were the broad fields of tobacco belonging to the planta-
tion. On the fields she saw the gangs of men and women
at work ; the overseers going about among them armed
with their heavy whips. Some of the labourei's were
white, like herself ; some were black. Far away, beyond
the fields, she saw the house. It was afternoon, ^he
retreated to the forest and sat down, thinking. Finall}^
she resolved to delay her return until the day's work was
done and the gangs had left the fields.

It was past seven o'clock and already dark when she
came to the house. She told the little one to be very
quiet. There was no one in the portico ; but there were

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVERY.

li^'lits ill t]w statr^ loom. 'I'lic womun openL'd t,lic door
and siit tlie little one down.

" Jiun to 3 our niotl er, cliild," she wlnsponMl.

A pattering of little feet, and a wild cry as the mother
snatched np lier lost babo, and then tlie woman, leaning
ai^ainst the door, si-^died heavily and sardc to the jj^round.

They found her then; — those who cam<i runnin*^ at tlie
cry of the mother — and brought her within the room.

" ft is the woman Alice Purview," said the mastei-.

" IjCmvc; her to me, husband," said his wife. " If she
slie carried away the child, she hath bi'ought lier back
aijain. Let iiu^ (h^al with her."

Madame dealt very gently with hei*. Her past offence,
whatever that was, recuMved ])ardon ; her wounded and
tornfetit were bandaged and cai'cd for; her broken spirit
was sooth(Ml. When she recovered she was taken from
her former office of nnrso to th(; sick ward, and made
nurse to the little girl ; and, ms the se(juel will show, no
girl ever had a nurse more faithful, loving, Jind true.

The woman was my nurse ; I was the little girl ; that
journey to the Dismal Swamp is th(; fii'st thing 1 can recol-
lect ; and when I read of Elijah, 1 thirds of the poor run-
awjvY Anabaptist, whose fact;, I am sure, was like unto
tlui face of the p)-ophet.

It was my fortune to be born in His Majesty's Planta-
tions of Virginia. 1 am persuaded that there is not any-
where up )n this earth a country moi'e abundantly sup-
plied than this with all that God hath provided for the
satisfaction and delight of man. It is not for me, a sim-
ple woman, to undertake llu? praise of this happy colony,
which lias been already fitly set forth l)y those ingenious
gentlemen whose business or pleasure it is to recommend
th(i place for the enterprise of gentlemen adventurers,
l)lanters, and those whose hearts are valiant though their
fortunes he desperate. Yet, wluai I contemplate Uie hard
and cruel lives led by so many poor people in the gieat

tN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVKRY.

city of London, I am moved to wonder tliat His Majesty
the King, who witli liis council is ever considering the
happiness of liis suhjects, doth not order the way to l)0
made |)lain and easy for all who arc in povei ly to reach
this hiippy land. Who, for instance, in the hope of a few
pence, <nirned with trouble and sometimcis with kicks and
blows, would cry up and down the street dry faggots,
small coal, matches, Spanish blacking, pen and ink, thread,
laces, and the like, when he might with little toil main-
tain himself in comfort on a farm which he could get for
nothing ? There is room for all on the banks of the
Potowmac, the Rappahannock, and the James Rivers,
Yet th<3 crowd of the city grows daily greater, and the
forests of Viiginia remain uncleared. Or when learned
men demonsti'ute that, at the present rate of increase, our
own population long before the end of this eighteenth
century will be so vast that there will not be enough food
for all, and thousands, nay, millions, will yearly perish of
starvation, i am constrained to think of those broad
ti'acts which are ready to receive thousands upon thou
sands of Knglishmen. Sure I am, that if those at home
knew the richness and fertility of the American colonies,
every newly-born English child would be regarded as a
fresh proof of Heaven's benevolence to this country, and
another soldier in the cause of liberty and the Protestant
faith.

I was born in the year one thousand seven hundred on
my father's great Virginian (istate. It stretched for six
miles and more aloui; the l>anks of a little river called
Cypress Crcjek, which runs through the Isle of Wight
County into th(i James Kiver. My father, Robert Carellis,
Escpiire, was a Virginian gentleman of old stock, being
a grandson of one John Carellis who came to the Province
in the sliif) which brought the first company of Gentle-
men Adventurers. There were, alas, too many gentlemen
on board that vessel, there being fifty of that rank to
a poor thro of labouring men. They were too proud to

(«■

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVERY.

<iig,

beinir all annigcii

and esquires, although younger
sons. Some of them in consei^uence proudly perished of
starvation ; some fell fighting the Indians ; a few, how-
ever, of whom John Carellis was one, survived the first
disasters of the colony, and became lords of vast terri-
tories covered with forest, in a corner of which they began
to plant tobacco. It has been said of the Virginian
gentlemen that they w^ould all be kaisers, and obey none.
In sooth, they are all kaisers, inasnmch, as they live each
on his own estate — the lord and seigneur whose will none
questions ; the ow^ner and absolute master of slaves whom
they reckon by hundreds. When I read the narratives of
those unfortunate men wdio have served in captivity to
Turk or Moor, I think of our slaves in the plantations ;
and the life of the Turkish bashaw, in my mind, greatly
resembles that of his honour, Robert Carellis, save that
my father was ever a mcjciful man and inclined to spare
the lash.

Those who worked for us were, of course, all slaves.
They were of many kinds, w^hite, black, and copper-
coloured. They were English, Irish, Scotch, French, Afri-
cans — men of every country. First, as regards the ne-
groes. Thev^ are some, 1 know, who doubt the righteous-
ness of this trade in men. Yet it cannot be denied that
it must be a laudable thing to bring these poor creatures
from a land where they live in constant danger of life,
to one where they are maintained in security ; and from
the most brutisli ignorance of religion to a knowledge of
the Christian faith. I am aware that the Rev. Matthew
Marling, Master of Arts, our late learned rector, held that
it is uncertain, the Church not having pronounced upon
the matter, whethei- black negroes, children of Ham and
under his curse, have souls to be saved or lost. Yet, I
ha ve seen so many proofs of intelligence, fidelity, and
af action among them that I would fain believe them to
be in all respects, save for their colour, which for this life
dooms them to a condition of slavery, like unto ourselves,

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVERY.

Side by side with the negroes worked in our fields the
wliite slaves sent over to the plantations from the London
and Bristol gaols — the forgers, thieves, foot-pads, shop-
lifters, highway robbers, passers of counterfeit coin, vaga-
bonds, and cojnmon rogues, who had by their ill-doing at
home forfeited their lives to the law and lain in prison
under sentence of death. They had been respited by the
King's mercy, some of them even rescued at the very last
moment, when tlie noose that was to kill them was already
hanging from the fatal beam, and the bitterness of death
was already tasted, and the dismal funeral service had
been already commenced by the ordinary. The Royal
clemency gave these fortunate wretches a reprieve, but
they were pardoned only on condition of being sold for a
term of 3^ears to work ou the plantations of Virginia,
whither they were conveyed after being branded in the
hand, and sold on their arrival by public auction to the
highest bidder.

It might be thought that desperate creatures such as
these, the offscourings of the country, would prove trouble-
some, mutinous, or murderous. But the contrary was the
rule. No one, seeing their obedience, their docility (to be
sure the overseer's terrible wliip was always present be-
fore their eyes), wor Id have linagined that these men and
women had once been hardened criminals, common rogues,
and vagabonds. For the most part they worked cheer-
fully, thoujTh they lived hardly. Some of the more pru-
dent of them, when their time was out. took up small
plantations of their own, grew tobacco, and even advanced
so far as to become themselves the owners of slaves, as
well as of lands. Then would they fain forget the past,
and, in company, when they thought themselves unknown,
would even try to pass for Gentlemen Adventurers.

There was a third class of plantation slaves of whom
my father would h^tve none. I mean the men sold into
captivity for religious opinions or for political offences.
It was a most dreadful thing, my father said, that men

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVERY".

whose only crime was a lack of reasoning power should
be driven to work under the lash. Therefore he would
never buy any Papists, Anabaptists, or Quakers, although
on other plantations there were plenty of these gentry.
And while other planters had servants who had been out
with Monmouth, or were concerned in some of the little
conspiracies of that unquiet time, my father w^ould have
nothing to do with them. Once, indeed, in the year one
thousand seven hundred and sixteen, he bought and
brought home with him half-a-dozen gallant gentlemen
(though they were at the time greatly cast down and un-
happy in their appearance) who had been engaged on the
wrong side in the rising of the Pretender. These, I say,
he brouglit home to his house, and then, calling for wine,
ho made them a speech : " Gentlemen," he said, " it grieves
me to see you in this piteous case. Tet believe me it
might have been worse, because, although I have bought
you, and, for so many years, your services are mine, yet I
cannot find it in my heart to subject persons of your con-
sideration to the rigours contemplated by your judges. I
cannot, however, break the law and give you your free-
dom. I propose, therefore, to establish you all together
on a piece of land which you will cultivate for yourselves,
according to such rules as you choose to establish for your
own guidance. There I will help you to what you want
for necessaries. And now, gentlemen " — for all began to
cry aloud for surprise and joy — " here is wine,,and we will
drink to the health of the Kino- —and on this side of the
Atlantic w^e must all, whatever our opinions, add — ' over
the water.'"

It would seem a fine moral school for the young to be
always surrounded by criminals undergoing their sen-
tence, to have always before your eyes the spectacle of
what crime leads to. So, in a sense, it was ; yet there
was c anger lest one might fall, as most of the Virginians
do, into pride. Everything belonged to his honour, to
madame, and to me. Black servants w^re ready at hand,

IN SACKCLOTtt AND SLAVERY.

to flatter and to serve. It seemed to me, as a child, that
I was removed far «>.bove the laws and the dangers which
surrounded these pi r fellow-sinners working in our fields.
I saw how great a lord was my father, for whom not only
the slaves worked, but also the overseers, foremen, and
cleiks, so that he had nothing in the world to do but to
call for his fowling-piece and go a shooting in the woods,
or a fishing with his rod in Cypress Creek, or to take his
pleasure and his ease with his friends, over claret of the
finest and tobacco of the best.

We lived in a large house built entirely of wood, like
all the houses in the country, and embellished with a wood-
en portico after the Grecian style, erected in front ; this
served instead of the verandah which most Virginian
houses possess. The great chimney, which served for all
the rooms, was built of brick outside the house. The
room of state where my mother sat was a low room, forty
feet long, lit with five windows, opening upon th 3 great
portico ; in the summer the glass windows were replaced
by green jalousies ; the ceiling was plastered white; the
walls were painted of a dull lead colour ; the fire-place
and mantelpiece, which were very grand, were made of
walnut -wood richly carved by a London workman, in
flowei's, fruits, and the arms of the Carellis family gilt. In.
the winter there was a screen an(^ a carpet before the fire,
but in the summer these were taken away ; the tables and
chairs were all from London ; there were portraits of our
ancestors on the walls ; there was a genealogical tree
cariying back the fatnily of Carellis to a patriarch who
lived about the same time as Abraham (it was so stated on
the tree), but who is passed over in the sacred narrative
because as I always supposed his estate was far from that
of Abraham and they never met ; and outside, in the
portico, were chairs made of hickory wood with sloping
backs, where, in the summer evenings, my father sat with
his friends and smoked a cool pipe of his best Virginia.

One does not look for books on a Virginian estate ; yet

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVERY.

we had a goodly library, consisting of Captain John
Smith's History of Virginia, Speed's Englisli History, Li vy
done into English by Several Hands, the History of the
Tui-ks, the History of the Spaniards' Conquest of Mexico,
and the True Relation of Bacon's Horrid Conspiracy.
These books served for lesson books for myself, though I
do not remember that anyone else ever read them. As
for our overseers and people, my father was ever of opin-
ion, in the which I agree with him, that the arts of read-
ing and writing should only be taught to those who are in
a position of authority, so that they may with the greater
dignity admonish unto godliness and contentment those
placed under them. The Church Catechism warrants this
doctrine, to my thinking,

Our house was, in fine, a country seat which any Eng-
lish gentleman would be jiroud to call his own, furnished
with guest chambers, dining-rooms, and every sort of
convenience and luxury. Behind it lay a great garden
planted with fruit trees, vegetables for the table, and
herbs for the still-room. Before it was the square, a large
cleared ground on the three sides of which stood the
houses of the overseers and the slaves. All these houses
were alike, built of logs, the windows without glass, the
brick or mud-built chimney standing at one end, each
with a little projecting verandah or lean-to, and some with
a small garden, where the people grew what liked them
best. There were stables, too, and coach-houses, with horses,
mules, cows, turkeys, ducks, geese, fowls, and pigs. A
running stream ran through the square, and, it_cer provid-
ing drinking-water above the clearing, became, below it,
a gutter to carry off refuse. The pigs ran about every-
where, save in the gardens of the house; and here and
there were enclosures where fatting hogs lay grunting and
eating till their time arrived. It was like a great farm-
stead only there were no com ricks; the bains held meal
(but it was not grown on the estate) and home-made pork

IN SACKCLOTH AND SI.4VEUY.

and bacon ; the pigs and cattle, like the slaves, belonged to
his honour; all was for him.

Beyond the house and square lay the tobacco-fields, and
beyond them forest, everywhere forest. Save on that side
where you rode down to the banks of the great James
River running into Chesapeake Bay, you had forest on
all sides, boundless and without end. Unless you knew
the forest very well, unless you knew the Indian compass,
the hemlock tree, which always inclines its head to the
east, and unless you could read the blazings of the trees
which pointed to the homestead, you could lose yourself
in the forest in five minutes, and then wander round and
round in a ring of twenty yards, thinking you were walk-
ing straight ahead for miles, till starvation seized you and
you fell down and presently dJed. There were oaks,
beeches, ash trees, gum trees, maples, hemlocks, in the
woods ; but mostly there were ]jines, standing about four
feet apart, rising up straight and stately, their branches
meeting over head so that the sun and moon and stars and
blue sky w^ere never visible, but only a tangled web of
greenery which shed a soft green light upon the under-
wood. It was very beautiful wandering in that forest,
but there were d ingers beside that of losing yourself, for
there WC' e rattlesnakes and adders in it, and though the
pigs, which ran about almost wild, kept down the ser-
pents, yet they themselves were also a danger.

The Virginian manner of life was simple, yet plentiful.
It becomes not a woman to think over-much about eat-
ing, yet I own that the English break fast- tables seem to
me put poorly provided compared with those of Virginia.
Here, indeed, you have cold meat and small ale in plenty,
with bread and cheese, and, for the ladies, a dish of tea ;
there you had daily set forth fried fowl, fried ham, bacon
and eggs, cold meat, preserved peaches, quiiices,andgrapes,
hot wheaten biscuit, short-cake, corn-cake, griddle-cake
soaked in butter, with claret or small ale for the gentle-
men, and milk or milk-and-water for the women and

1«

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVERY.

children. Our wine, cur malt for brewing, the best sort
of our beer, our spices, our sugar, our clothes, our furniture,
all came from England. For it is a grievous fault in Vir-
ginia, and one which I hope may be some day remedied,
tiiat whereas the country is oble of iierself to produce
everything for necessity or luxury, yet, like that first ship-
load of adventurers, she is ashamed to work, and will do
nothing but grow tobacco ; so tliat the woods which flour-
ish here, fit for the finest furniture, stand neglected and
uncut, the fruits which would grow with the smallest can^
are forgotten, the sheep go with their wool unshorn, and
the rich-scented gums, the sugar-bearing maples, waste
their sweetness in luadino: the balsamic air of the forest un-
heeded. The graj)es, which might be used to make good
wine rot upon the vines ; the apples, which might be
pressed into cider, drop upon the ground and are eaten by
the pigs ; the hides of the cattle are thrown away and
wasted; the very birch-brooms, the very dairy bowls, are
brought from England. Truly it is a wasteful and a
prodigal country.

It has been divided into parishes — not like your little
London parishes, which consist of half an acre of houses,
but great broad districts half the size of an English county.
To each parish is a clergyman of the Established Church.
No dissenters are allowed, nor any meeting-houses save
one of Quakers. Our clergyman was paid ten thousand
pounds of tobacco for all his stipend ; and as he could sell
it for threepence the pound, you will perceive that the
clergy of Virginia are better paid than those of England.
In addition to their stipend, they receive two hundred
])ounds of tobacco for a christening, three hundred pounds
for a wedding, and four hundred pounds for a funeral.
Add to these advantages that the clergyman was not ex-
pected, as is too often the custom here, to rise from thetable
atthethirdcourse,ortodrinklesswine than his host and the
otherguests. As, also,it was imposssibleinso largeaparish
for more than one or two estates to attend the same

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVERY.

church, the rector would make his rounds from place to
place, bringing with him sermons full of sound doctrine
wherewith to admonish his parishioners. As for our
white servants — theconvicts — they hadtheirown minister,
a Caml>ridge Master of Arts, and a regularly ordained
clergyman oi the CUiurch of England, who for a crime of
some kind was condemned to the gallows, and, out of re-
spect to his cloth, reprieved and sent to the plantations.
Here the rough hardship presently brought him to re-
pentance, and being like unto the Prodigal Son when he
sat among the husks, it occurred to him that he might,
being still a convict, exercise his spiritual function among
his fellow sinners, by license of the rector and his master.
This being obtained, he held weekly service every Sunday
in a barn. I was but a little girl at the time, yet I re-
member how I used to read the prayers as having nothing
to do with meat all, but wholly with the convicts. They
were the miserable sinners; they were those who implored
for forgiveness ; it was for them that our convict prisoner
prayed, and to them that he preaclied. Certainly my
f ither would never have conceived that his own servant
should dare to preach to him and his household. He was
very eloquent, I remember, and sometimes the tears would
run down his cheeks. Yet when his time was run out,
and he had gotten possession of a plot of ground on which
to grow tobacco, with a sow pig, a calf and a cow, he pre-
sently lost his humility, and came to live gallantly and
like a fjentleman ; and I never heard that he continued in
his days of pi-osperity the godly custom of exhortatii^n to
his fellow sinners. Mostly, I believe, when he grew old
and respected, he sat in his own verandah and di'ank
mobby punch.

Thus, then, and in so great state, did we live, in the
enjoyment of every luxury that can be procured in Eng-
land, together with those which are peculiar to America —
notably, the soft sweet air of Virginia. We were, on our
estates, our own builders, carpenters, gardeners, graziers,

IN SACKCLOTH AND SLAVERY.

bakers, butchers, brewers (only we used Eno'lish malt),
pastry-cooks, tailors, and boot-makers. We had every
variety of lish, Hesh and game ; we drank Madeira, Canary,
claret, cider, peach brandy, and apple wine ; we formed a
society of gentle folk, separated and set apart from the
settlers who had been our bouglit servants, and who bore
in their hands the brand which no years can ever efface.
We had been cavaliers in Kinij Charles's time, bu6 we stood
np for Church and State, and welcomed the Protestant
hero, great William the Deliverer. We had scant sym-
])athy with those who would trouble the peace for the
sake of a Papist Pretender, who, if all reports were true,
was no son of King James at all, but had been brought
into the Queen's chamber in a warming-pan. Open
house was kept for all comers — all, that is, of our own
station, for no peer in England was prouder of his rank
than we of Virginia are of ours — and sliould there be a
decayed gentleman of good family among us, he might still
live at ease and gallantly by journeying from one j)lan-
tation to another, only taking care never to outstay his
weJ'^ome. And tliis, provided he were a man of cheerful
disposition, or one who could sing, shoot, drink, and tell
stories, would be difhcult, or well nigh impossible, in a
Virginian house.

So we lived, and so I grew up ; bred in such courtly
and polite manners as were familiar with my mother, the
most dignified gentlewoman in Virginia ; taught to read,
write, cypher (but ihdifferently), to work samplers, to
make puddings, pies, and preserves, to distil strong
waters, to brew home-made wines, to say the Catechism
and respect the Church, and, naturally, to believe that
there was nowhere on the surface of the earth, except,
perhaps, the King of Great Britain, a man of nobler birth
and grander position than his honour, Robert Carellis, my
father.

But at the age of nineteen a great misfortune happened
to me. The overseers brought from James Town, where

i :i

tjH SACKCLdtfl Al^D SLAVERV.

they had purchased them, six men who, though we did
not know it, where sufferinj^ from gaol-fever. They all
died ; two of the overseers died ; many of the people died ;
lastly, my father and mother caught the infection and
died too.

Then I was left alone in the world.

Ihadmanycousinstowhom I could go, butby my father's
will — made while in full e::pectation of death and in true
Christian resignation — I was to be sent across the Atlan-
tic to our agent in London, there to remain as his ward
until I was twenty-one, when I was to be at liberty to do
what I pleased with my inheritance.

CHAPTER IT.

ON TOWER HITJ.

had a favourable voyage of five weeks
and two days, with fair weather and no
adverse winds until we arrived off the
Nore, where we were conn)elled to lie-to

liow much more

and anchor in the Koads, together with
over a hundred other vessels, small and
great, waiting for the wind to change,
so that we might beat up the river to
the port of London. If I was surprised
at the sight of so many ships gathered
together in one })lace, you may think
I was astaiiis£(Jd as -we slowly made our
way up the crowded river, and finally dropped anchor in
the Pool over against the Towei* of London, in the midst
of so many masts and such a crowd of ships as, in my ig-
norance, I had never dreamed of There were East In-
diamen, dusky colliers, brightly painted traders with
France and Spain ; })rodigious great ships in the Levantine
trade, armed with long carronades ; round Dutch sloojis,
with every kind of pinnace, tender, smack, hoy, brig,
s3hooner, yacht, barge, and ferry boat. On all these ships
men were running about, loading, unloading, painting, re-
pairing, fetching, carrying, shouting, and swearing. It
has ever seemed to me strange that the profession of the
sea, in which one ought continually to contemplate the
danger of sudden death, must needs bring with it, as if it

ON TOWER HILL.

Woro a thiii;^ unavoi<la))le, ami, as it wore, Injlonging to
tlie trade, this profane ami useless habit of swearing. I
was not then, however, thinkin*,' niueh ahout the language
of the hoatmen, being intent upon the prospect of that
great London of which I had heard so much. There, be-
fore my very eyes, rose the White Tower, of which Speed
speaks so much ; London Bridge was on tlie left; beyond
it the Monument to the Great Fire ; then the dome of
St. Paul's, and then innumerable spires, steeples, and
toweis of this rich and prosperous city. I remembered,
standing on the deck of the .ship and seeing all these
things for the first time, how we colonists had been ac-
customed to speak in our boastful way of America's vast
plains. Why, is the greatness of a country to be measured
by her acres ^ Then should the Dismal Swamp be more
illustrious than Athens, Virginia more considerable than
Middlesex, and the Potowmac a greater river than the
Tiber or the Thames. What have these new countries to
show with the old ? Why the very stones of the old
Tower, the narrow arches of the bridge, the towering
cathedral, even the roofs of the houses, ciy aloud to the
people to remember the past, how they fought for liberty
and religion, and to be jealous for the future.

It was late in the afternoon, al)out five o'clock, when
we finally came to anchor in the Pool, and I began to
wonder what was coming next. My guardian's name was
Alderman Benjamin Medlycott, and he lived on Tower
Hill. He and his had been agents to the Carellis planta-
tion since we first settled there. They were far-off
cousins; John Carellis the Gentleman Adventurer halving
been a first cousin of Carellis Medlycot, the alderman's
great grandfather (he lies buried in the vaults of St.
Olave's, where there is a tablet to his memor}'-, and where
he founded a yearly dole of twelve shillings and sixpence
to be distributed every Christmas among the deserving
pool of the parish); so that I was not going among
strangers, but my own kin.

ON ToWeR hill.

What was he like, this formal merchant whose letters
I had read ? They were full of the prices current ; they
advised the arrival of cargo, and the despatch of wine,
spices, furniture, clothes, wigs, saddles, guns, swords,
sashes, and all the things which were I'equired in the set-
tlement of a Virginian gentleman of rank. But nothing
about hinioelf or about his familv.

I had not long to wait in suspense. Presently, standing
on the quarter-deck With Nurse Alice, I saw the captain
shake hands with a young man soberly attired in a brown
square-cut coat, with long calamanco waistcoat down to
his knees. I had time to look at him, because he con-
versed with the captain for a few minutes before the lat-
ter led him aft and presented him to me. I set him down
at once as a messenger from my guardian, and I made up
my mind that his dress, which was by no means so splen-
did as that which my fatlier habitually wore, was in the
fashion of London merchants. There was no finery ; the
cuffs were wide and large ; steel clocks adorned the shoes ;
the stockings were silk, but of dark colour ; his peruke was
long and curled, but not extravagant ; a black silk cravat,
of the kind they call a steenkirk, was round his neck,
and his laced linen cuffs were of a dazzling whiteness.
This splendour of linen, I learned afterwards, was thought
much of by London citizens. On his hands, which were
white, he wore a single signet ring. He carried no sword,
but a short stick was under his arm. His hat was trimmed
with silver galloon. As for his face, I could only see then
that his features were straight and handsome. Was he,
1 thought, a son of my guardian ?

After the exchange of a few words with the captain,
and receiving a packet of pa})ers, he climbed the com-
panion, and, taking off his hat, bowed low.

" Mistress Elinor Carellis," he said, " I have the iionour
to present myself as the alderman's chief factor, though
unworthy of that position, and your most obedient ser-
vant. My name is Christopher March."

I made him a courtesy.

ON TOWER HILL.

" I hope," I said, " that mj- guardian is in good health."

" He suffers from gout, otherwise he is well. I trust,"

continued the chief clerk, " that you have had a favourable

passage, and as much comfort as is possible on board a

ship."

These compliments exchanged, Christopher March — I
call him so henceforth, because he never received any other
style or title — informed me that he had waiting alongside
a boat to carry me ashore and, that the ship's officers
would see all my boxes brought up to the house as soon
as was convenient. Upon that I took leave of my friend
the captain — an honest, brave sailor, and less addicted than

most seafarinjx men to the vice

of swearing-

-and so into

the boat with Alice, my nurse.

The little voyage lasted but a few minutes, and we
were presently landed at the stairs. Our conductor led
us through a narrow lane, with tall warehouses on either
side, and paved with round stones, which were muddy and
slippery ; then we turned to the right,- and found our-
selves in a broad and open space, which was, he told me,
Tower Hill, the place where so many brave and unfortu-
nate gentlemen's heads have fallen. On the other side I
saw the beefeaters in their scarlet embroidei-ed uniform.
But I was so bewildered with the noise and the novelty
of everything, that I hardly saw anything or heard what
was .said to me. But we had not far to go. We passed a
w^arehouse four storeys high, and from every story a pro-
jecting beam with ropes, which made me think of the
gallows. But the beams were only for the pulleys and
ropes by which bales were lifted up and down.

'* This," said Christopher March, " is Mr. Alderman
Medlycott's warehouse, and this" — he stopped at the door
of a private house next to the warehouse — " this is Mr.
Alderman Medlycott's residence."

He spoke of the alderman in tones of such great respect,
that I began to feel as if part of my education had been
neglected, that part, I m^an, which teaches res:pect to tho

ON TOWER HILL.

aldermen of London. A thought also crossed my mind that
this excessive respect for his master was useful in exalting
his own position.

•/, However, there was no tim< to think, because the door
was presently opened, and we found ourselves in a large
and spacious hall, containing chairs and a fire-place, with
a stand of strange weapons ; horns, heads of buffaloes and
deer, and curious things of all sorts brought to Tower Hill
by the Alderman's captains, hung upon the walls. Then
the maid opened a door to the right, and I found myself
in the parlour of a great London city merchant.

The room was lofty, and had tw^o windows looking up-
on Tower Hill ; the walls were wainscoted and painted
in a fashion strange to me and unknown in Virginia. A
soft Turkey carpet was on the floor, a bright sea-coal fire
was burning in the fire-place, though the air was not cold
to one fresh from the sea breezes ; there was a high mantel-
shelf, on which were displayed more curiosities from be-
yond the seas, and above them wonderful specimens of
ladies' work in samplers, representing peacocks, birds of
paradise, landscapes, and churches, all in satin. Seated
at one window were two ladies and a gentleman, who rose
to receive me. Christopher March, I observed, left me at
the door with a profound bow. We made deep reverences
to each other, and then I blushed because, although Alice
had dressed me in all my best, I felt at once how country-
fied and rustic was my appearance compared with the fine
new fashions of these London ladies.

The elder lady, who was about forty-five years of age,
and had a most kind face, with soft eyen, held out her
hand.

" My dear," she said, " I am Mistress Medl3^cott, the wife
of your guardian, the alderman, who is now ill with the
gout, but will see you shortly ; and this is my daughter
Jenny, who desires your better acquaintance."

J enny here in her turn took me by the hand. She was
^ Uttle thing, and so pretty and agreeable w^is her face, with

ON TOAVEll UlLL.

briglit laughing blue eyes, light brown hair, a dimple in
her chin, and saucy lips, that I thought I had never seen
the like. Good lieaven^ ! I thought. What must they
think of me — ill-dressed, tall, and ungainly ?

" Mistress Elinor," said Jenny, " If I were tall enough
I v/ould kiss you. As I am not, I hope you will stoop
and kiss me. We shall be very good friends, I hope."

" I may present my Lord Eardesley," said madam,
with dignity. " His lordshii) being here upon business
with the alderman, hath requested permission to see" —
here she stopped and smiled very kindly — " to see the
Princess Pocahontas of V^ircjinia.''

At that little joke we all laughed. His lordship was a
young man about the same height as Christopher March,
but very much unlike the chief factor. For while Chris-
topher had a way of di"op[)ing his eyes when he met your
own, and of hanging his head, and in many other ways
of showing that he was not perfectly at his ease with
ladies, the young lord looked you frankly in the face and
laughed, and was not only haj^py himself in being with two
girls, but also made us all happy as well. Only this
knowledge came later.

" I must call you Nelly," said Jenny, pressing my hand.

" Elinor, or Mistress Elinor, is too long. How tall you
are ! And oh ! " — she broke off, and with a sigh and a
laugh — " Nelly the hearts of all the men will be broken.

" Pray Heaven," said my Lord, " that the fragments of
one at least, be put together again."

" This is idle talk," said madam. " Mistress Elinor will
despise us after the grave discourse, to which, no cloubt,
she has been accustomed in Viroinia."

" We had grave discourse," I explained, " when the
Reverend Matthew Marling came to see us twice a year.
At other times we talked about the crops, and my father's
sport, and such topics."

Presently Lord Eardesley took his leave with more com-
. plinients, When he went away it seemed as if sojne of

ON TOWER HILL.

the sunshine of the room had gone with him. To he sure,
a great deal of the colour had gone ; for his coat was of
scarlet silk, and he wore a crimson sash for his SAvord.

" Do not think, Nelly," said Jenny, in her quick way,
" that lords associate every day with City merchants, or
that we know more than one peer. Lord Eardesley has
had money affairs with my father for many years, and the
custom has grown up for him to call upon us whenever
he calls at the counting-house. Oh, Nelly ! they did not
tell us what to expect."

"My dear," I said, "you will make me vain. And, in-
deed, I am not so pretty as you."

" Oh, I ? I am a City girl, little and saucy ; but I
know what a beautiful lady of family should be — she

should be like you. You ought to be Lady "

" Jenny," her mother interrupted, " for shame. As for
Lord Eardesley, Elinor, he is an excellent young man ;
but he is, unfortunately, very poor, his father having
gambled away all the money and most of the estates.
Poor young Lord Eardesley will probably have to take
service with the Austrian."
Jenny shook her head,

" He had better carry the Virginian colours," she said,
with a laugh. *' Come with me Nelly. I will show you
your room,"

They had bestowed me in the best room on the first
floor, which had a little room beside it for Alice. I was
at first much awed by the magnificence of the bed, which
was much finer and more richly hung than any in our
Virginian home. But familiaritv presently reconciles us
to the most majestic things. Here I found my boxes and
trunks, which had been brought ashore, and here was
Alice taking everything out, Jenny looked on, naturally
interested at the display of drets, and though she kindly
^aid nothing, it was plairi to me that she found my frocks
of a fashion quite impossible to wear in London. Pre-
sently, however, we came to my jewel-cnse, wherein

ON TOWER HILL.

lay all the family treasures, which had been my mo-
ther's, and her delight was extraordinary when she had
dressed herself up in all the necklaces, bracelets, rings,
chains and glittering gauds which had been worn by
many successive matrons in the Carellis family. She
then threw her little head back, waved her hands, and
went through a hundred posturings and bowings.

" I am Mrs. Bracegirdle, at the theatre," she said.
" This is how she looks and carries her fan, and makes
eyes at the beaux in the pit."

However, we could not stop playing there, because
madam sent word that the alderman whs ready to see me.

It was now past six, and candles were lit. Madam her-
self led me to the back of the house, where was a covered
way to the counting-house. Here the alderman himself
was sitting with his clerk, Christopher March. One foot
was wrapped in flannel, and lying on a cushion ; a stick
stood by the side of the arm-chair in which he sat, with
a pillow to give him ease ; bundles of papers were on the
table before him.

" Come in, my dear," he said, in a cheery voice — " come
in. Leave her here, wife, to talk to me. Send for her
when you take your dish of tea. Now, Christopher, your
day's work is done. Good night to you, and be ott."

The words were peremptory, but the tone was gentle.
Christopher March bowed low to him, and lower still to
madam, and departed. Meanwhile I looked to see what
manner of man this guardian of mine might be. He was
a man of sixty or so, and he had a monstrously red face,
but his nose was redder still ; his lips were thick and
projecting, his wig was pushed a little off one side, which
made him look, somehow, as if he were going to say some-
thing to make everybody laugh. His eyes were kind and
soft, and his voice, though a little rough, was kind, too.
In fact, as I afterwards found out, the alderman was well
known for being the kindest man who ever sat on the
bench of magistrates, or ruled a great house with man^
clerks and servants,

ON TOWER HILL.

The first thing tliat he di<l, however, was not re-assur-
ing. He chitehed the arm of his cha-r, leaned forward,
and gazing upon nie with intense ey js, lie shouted :

" Death and zounds I "

Naturally, I shrank back, frightened.

" Do not be alarmed, my dear," said his wife calmly
' It is his only relief when a pinch seizes his toe."

I thought he would have a fit, for his eyes stood out
of his head, and his face became quite purple. But he
recovered suddenly, and, witli a sigh of relief, resumed
tlie benevolent expression which the ledness of his face
and his puffed cheeks could not altogether conceal.

" Sit down, my dear," he said. " 1 am better now !
Phew! That was a pinch. If you want to know what
gout is like, take a hairpin from your pretty head and
j)ut it in the fire till it is a white heat. Then put it to
the middle joint of — your thumb Aviil do for illustration
— and hold it there tight ; and if you find that any me-
thod besides swearing will relieve you, I shall be glad to
know what that method is. Sit down, my dear, and let
us talk. '

I took a chair opposite to him, and madam left us alone.
He arranged his papers, and began to talk to me about
my affairs.

First, after some kind comriiments on my beauty (which
I may pass over), he told me of his grief on receiving in-
telligence of my father's death, by which unhappy event
he had lost a much estee 3d correspondent. He had al-
ways hoped, he said, to see my honoured father some day
at his poor home, and otter him such hospitality as a
London merchant, with the aid of his company — that of
the Grocers — could command. He added, with much
consideration, that it would have been his duty to recom-
mend my father to the hospitality of the Lord Mayor, as
a Virginian Gentleman Adventurer of th" highest position ;
and he gave me to understand that in the important mat-
ter pf turtle soup and fat capons, without speaking of

ON TOWER HILL.

venison, turkey, Christmas ducks, small fowl, haunches
of mutton, and barons of beef, and without dwelling on
the hypocras, loving cups, and their vast cellars tilled
with such wine as even kings cannot equal, the Worship-
ful Company of Grocers stood pre-eminent among the
City guilds.

" Our kitchen motto," he added, with a fine feeling of
pride, which somehow, seemed to reflect credit upon him,
as indicating a thrifty habit as well as a large enjoyment
of good things, " is one which should be engraven on the
heart of every one who loveth the good gifts of Heaven,
■ Waste not — spare not ; ' so that while the reputation of
the City be maintained, we may ever remember that there
are others outside our hall not so richly favoured as our-
selves. And you may see, my dear, within a stone's
throw of Grocers' Hall itself, boys and even men who
have, poor wretches to make a dinner off a penny dish of
beef broth, with a cup of small ale added by the charity
of the cook,"

After this digression, he proceeded with the main thread
of his discourse, which was to the effect that, although I
had some two yeais to wait before I attained my majority,
it was his duty to lay before me an account of my affairs
and of his stewardship.

And tlien occurred the greatest surprise of all my life.
Of course I know without being told that the daughter of
Mr. Robert Carellis, — his only child, — was certain to be
what in Virginia would be called wealthy. I could not live
in the rough splendour of the plantation without looking
on myself as belonging to the ranks of those who are called
rich. But I was not prepared for the greatness of the for-
tune which my guardian announced to me.

The successive owners of the Carellis estate had all
transmitted their tobacco every year to Medlycott and
Company. The merchants received the cargo, sold it,
and after remitting to Virginia all those things which
were required, invested the remainder of the mpnev ^

ON TOWER HILL.

advantageously as was possible. Mine was the fourth
generation of this annual consignment; and thoug.i some
years might be poor, some cargoes might be wrecked or
spoiled, yet in the space of a hundrec years the profits of
the tobacco had grown up to a vast amount ot* money.
In a word, I was a very great heiress. My guardian held
in trust for me over one hundred thousand pounds, and
my plantation in Virginia produced, even under the care-
less and easy rule of my father, more than a thousand
pounds a year.

" You are worth," said Mr. Medlycott, looking at the
figures with admiring eyes, " you are worth more than a
Plum." He smacked his lips over the word. " A Plum,
my dear. How few of us, unworthy and unprofitable
servants that we are, achieve a Plum ! And how many
things can be bought when one has a Plum in one's hand
to buy them with."

By a Plum, I learned afterwards, he meant a hundred
thousand pounds.

" But what am I to do with all this money ? " I cried,
aghast.

" You will buy, my dear," he said, laughing, " falbalas
for your frocks, quilted petticoats, gold kickshaws, china,
pet negro boys "

" Oh, no," I said, laughing ; " I have had quite enough
of negro boys already."

" 'i'lien there is one expense saved. And as for the
rest, why, my child, unless we take heed, your husband —
nay, never blush — will show you how to spend it. There
are gamblers enough, I warrant, among the gallants of St.
James's who would cock their hats for our Virginian
heiress, and leave her in the end as ragged as any fish-
wife. But fear not, cou.sin Elinor. Here shall we keep
you under lock and ward, safe from the Mohocks."

Presently he stopped, and T, fearing to trespass longer
0^ his patience, rose to ^o.

ON TOWeH ttlU.

He took my hand, and was about to raise it to his lips,
when another twinge of gout seized him.

" My dear ward Death and zounds ! "

When I returned to the parlour I found Jenny waiting
for me.

" Come," she said, " let us sit down and talk. We shall
be alone for half an hour, and we have so many things
to say that one does not know where to begin."

I noticed then that there was some appearance of pre-
paration.

" It is our evening lor cards," Jenny explained. " Most
ladies in the city have one evening a week; and, indeed,
my mother, who is fond of the game, generally plays four
or five evenings in the week. But, for my part, I love
better to sit out and talk."

Two silver candlesticks were on the mantelshelf, light-
ed, and four more stood, ready to be lighted, on a card-
table, set out with counters and cards.

" Have we," I asked, "so much to say ?"

" Why, surely, Princess Pocahontas. We are to be
friends, and to tell each other everything. Now, show
your friendship by telling me how you like the name —
the name" — here she blushed and laughed — 'of Lysander."

'' Of Lysander ? "

" And Clarissa ? Lysander and Clarissa, Do they go
well together ? I will show you his poems, and on Sun-
day next I will show you — himself."

I began to understand. It was a little love story that
was to be confided to me.

" And does no one know anything about it ? "

" Hush — sh ! " She opened her eyes very wide and
shook her pretty head, "No one. Christopher March
receives his letters and gives them to me privately. I
send mine to Will's Coffee House. It is like the novel of
Clarinda, or the Secrets of a Heart, all in letters. And
on Sunday mornings we sigh at each other across the pews
while the people are singing the Psalms."

ON TOWER ITILL.

The young man, Christopher March, then, was aa.si.stinj:^
to deceive his master by secretly receiving letters for his
master's daughter. This was very remarkable in so good
a young man. But I could say no more then, because the
company began to arrive. They were all ladies, except
Christopher March himself, who had assumed a gayer
coat for the evening ; and, still with the exception of that
young man, they all came to play cards. A little delay,
at which some waxed impatient, hap})ened, while I was
introduced as the Virginian newly arrived, but presently
they were all seated at the table and deep in play. Among
them wero one or two quite young girls, no older than
Jeniiy or myself, and it surprised me to see them staking
and losing little piles of counters, which meant, I knew,
money. The ladies were very finely dressed, with patches
set on artfully — some of them with more paint than I
could approve — and their manners were stately. But,
Lord ! to see what a change the chances of the game pre-
sently wrought in my hostess's face, which had naturally
so much kindness in it For her colour came and went,
her eyes brightened, and her mouth stiffened. She repre-
sented in turns, and in a most lively manner, the varied
emotions of hope, terror, indignation, joy, and despair.
The other ladies were like her, but they concerned me less.

" Look at my mother," whispered Jenny. " That is the
way with her every night. She says there is no other joy
so great as to win at cards. Let us play and sing."

She played the spinet very prettily, and presently sang
with great spirit, "As down in the meadows I chanced
to pass."

Christopher March applauded, and then asked me to
sing. I declined, because I wished to do nothing but look
on that first night. Then he began to talk to us, and
paid compliments, at which Jenny laughed contemptuous-
ly — it was clear that her father's clerk was a person of
small position in her eyes.

At twelve o'clock the chairs came, and the ladies pie-

-Vtto"

'on tower HlLt.

his

Rnntly mso to cto. Aftoi- wluit i)r()mis()(l to bo an cnrlless
Mlioutinf:^ of l»earer,s and link br»y,s, witli laore .swearing,
the cliairs were got away at hist.

Ma<him sank into a seat and pressed her hands to her
hea(h

" Did ever woman have sucli hick?" she cried, lifting
her face.

" You have lost, madam ? " asked Christoplier, with a
grave face.

She groaned.

" I shall want to sec you to-morrow morning, Christo-
pher," she said. " Girls, go to hod. Elinor, my dear, I
thought you would bring me good luck."

To be sure, as the sequel proved, my arrival was the be-
ginning of the worst luck in the world.

All night I lay awake listening to the rolling and rum-
bling of carts and coaches, whicli never seemed to stop.
About three in the morning there was a lull, but the noise
began again at six, and at seven it was at its height
again, with shouting of men and cries of the streets.

"Oh, nurse ! " I cried, "is London always so full of
noise ? "

"Always," she replied. "There is never any lull from
year to year. It is the labour of the vrorld which makes
this noise."

She dressed me, and I went down stairs. No one was
there yet, although it was already half-past seven, and
Bett}'-, the maid, when she came to clear away the card-
tables and set out the breakfast, was astonished to see me
so early. I waited a little, and then took refuge with
Jonny, who was lying awake, reading Lysander's last.

"It i?:: beautiful, Nelly," .she cried with sparkling eyes,

" How^ should you like to have a man writing to you — •
verses, you know, not prose — beautiful verses like this

Sare, Jenny hath some secret charm
. . That she doth guard, but not discovers.

To raise the hopes and soothe th' alarm
Of all her sighing, anxious, level's.

ON toweh ftirx*

It did not seem to me very real, or if tlie poet meant it;
but it would have been unkind to say so. She readme
mm', but f have for^^otten them ; and then she began to
dress, prattlin<^ to me in her pretty way without stop-
ping.

" When my mother loses at cards," she told me^ "she al-
ways sends for (yhristopher March. He gives her money
without my father knowing anything about it. What
she does with the money which she wins, I cannot tell.
They do say that money won at cai'ds always flies away
of its own accord, and brings no good to the winner. I
am sure that jnoney lost brings no good to the loser."

Then we went down stairs and had a dish of chocolate
for breakfast. The chocolate was good, but I missed the
abundant and plentiful provision of things which we had
in Virginia. Not that one wanted to eat more, but in
America, as I have already said, there is always on the
table a prodigality of good things, as if nature was lavish
with her gifts. England, as the alderman often said, has
much to be grateful for in the matter of things to eat.
Yet, I think, England, lacks canvass-back duck, and has
no preserved peaches. I noticed one thing at this break-
fast, that, in spite of the dreadful noise outside, we had
no necessity for raising our voices, and talked as quietly
as if we were on the silent shores of Chesapeake Bay.

After breakfast I stood at the window and looked at
the peopic. There was a company of soldiers in red coats
going through drill ; at the right-hand side, a little in ad-
vance, stood the fugleman, with a pike, and it seemed to
me as if the men were all copying him ; in front of them
was a sergeant, brave with ribbons, giving the orders in
a hoarse voice, and with him a drummer boy, smart and
ready. The open space north of the Tower was crowded
with groups of sailors waiting to be hired by the captains
of trading-ships, who marched gravely about among them
asking questions of one and another, and sometimes en-
gaging one. In one corner was a bear tied to a stake.

ON TOWER HILL

it it;
1 ine
-ti to
itop-

al-

toM

and tliey \Vc»r(5 baitin<^ him vvitli dogs — a cruel sport — but
the people of London are thoughtless of sufi'ering, and
rejoiee to witness a hanging ; or to pelt with v^^^^i and
dead cats a poor creature set up in a pillory ; or to follow
while a wretch is flogged at the eart.'s-tail ; or to make a
riiig round two tish-wives fighting ; or to compass the
slow death of a cock by throwing sticks at it. Then
there wen; grave merchants who met and discours' <],
standing behind the posts ; dapper clerks, dressed in liglit
broadch)th, and quill [)ens .stuck in their peiiikcs ; burly
porters cariying sacks and rolling casks ; great waggons
clatterin<r over the stones with a thunderous roar. In
one place a (piarrel and a fight, quickly begun and soon
ended ; in another a pump, whither I see a crowd haling a
boy with shouts and laughter, and presently pumping
upon liiin till he is half-drowned. Then they let him go,
and he creeps away, wet and faint with ill-usage.

"It is better" quoth Jenny, who has joined me, "than
hanging him. He is a pickpocket."

And everywhere boys, ragged, uncared-for boys, their
hats, when they had any, slouched and uncocked ; dirty,
yet merry-looking, like the sparrows ready to fly at the
approach of a stranger, yet bold enough to venture any-
where ; they danced round the bear and shouted to the
dogs ; they imitated the soldiers at drill ; they rushed to see
the fight ; but they hung back and looked abashed, as well
they might, when the pickpocket WuS held under the
pump.

" They are all thieves together," said Jenny. " They
live by picking pockets, shoplifting and begging ; they
work in gangs and help each other ; they all end on the
gallows, unless they go to the plantations. Make their
acquaintance, Nelly, if you will, while they are boys, be-
cause, of a surety, there are many whom you will meet
later on in Virginia."

" But doth no one look after them ? " I asked.

*'No one. If they ever had any parents, they havQ

ON TOWER HILL.

been clean forgotten ; they sleep in the ashes of the glass
houses of Rosemary Lane and Ratclitfe Highway; when
they are caught they are flogged until the alderman or
the magistrate of the court knocks on the table with a
hammer. Only a week ago Molly, the cook, had her pocket
picked of all she had saved — a bag full of silver pen-
nies, ninepenny pieces, fourpence-halfpenny pieces, and
thirteenpenco-halfpenny pieces. The poor creature is not
yet done crying,"

Then, when I had tired of looking out of the window —
and, indeed, it saddened me to think of these ]ioor boys,
destined by a hard fate to wretchedness in this world and
the next — nothing would please Jenny but that I must
go a-shopping in Cheapside. It was already eleven of the
forenoon, and the streets were tilled with people. I was
so rustic and ignorant that I was for stopping at every
shop and gazing stupidly at every crowd, so that people
had nmch ado not to run against uie. However Jenny
made me take the wall, and by leading me through the
narrow lanes and passages which make this wonderful
city like an ant-hill, she conveyed me safely to Cheapside,
where for two hours we v/ere shown the most wonderful
things; and I lai^i out a great sum of money, by Jenny's
advice and instigation, all to make me fine. There were
wadded calico wrappers, a musk-coloured velvet mantle,
lined with squirrel skins ; faibalas, laced shoes with high
heels, roundabout aprons with pockets, hoods, satin frocks,
whalebone hoops ; a gold repeating watch, with a gold
chain ; a gold etui for needles and scissors, and all 3orts of
vanities, '-he like of which I had never before dreamed
of ; and yet they pleased me, Heaven knows, being a girl,
and therefore by nature prone to love these worthless yet
pretty things. Besides, as Jenny, said, "You are a great
heiress, my dear. It is fitting that you should dress so
that no one will mistake j^ou for a poor penniless country
maid." I wanted to present her with something to hansel
friendship, but she would have nothing except an ostrich

ON TOWER HILL.

glass

egg, set in a rim and feet of silver, which took her fancy,
together with a silver-gilt box for carraway ccmfits, to be
taken during long sermons ; the lid, I remember, was beau-
tifully enamelled with a Cupid fishing for hearts. And
one little thing she bought herself. It was a ninepenny-
piece, bent both ways by no less a person than the great
Lilly, the fortune-teller. Jenny bought it for luck at
langter-a-loo. But I never heard that it brought her any,
and I fear that the man who sold it was dishonest — per-
haps Lilly never saw the coin, and the dealer himself may
have bent that piece. As for lip-salves, rouge, and all the
things which vre were asked to buy, I would have none of
them ; and, indeed, Jenny owned that I needed not the
artifices with which some of the pale City madams are
fain to heitJ^hten and set off their graces.

The next day we went to church at ten in the morning.
The streets were quieter than in the week — that is, there
were no carts and waggons, no bear-baitings, no criers of
things. But there were the church bells, and these all
jangled together and out of tune with each other, inso-
much that one began the service, which should be em-
barked upon with a quiet and undisturbed mind, in a flut-
ter of spirits unworthy of the place or time. The church
of our parish was that of St. Olave, a beautiful structure,
built by that great architect, Sir Christopher Wren. Our
own pew was square, with straw hassocks and red serge
seats, high and narrow. I was astonished to see the ladies
as they came in bowing to their friends in the pev/s. Nor
did it seem to me becoming for gentlemen carrying their
hats under one arm, and having their canes suspended
fi-om the button of their right sleeve, to take out little
telescopes and look up and down the church sp3'ing out
their friends. Several of these tubes were directed at our
pew, and I saw Jenny suddenly drop her eyes upon her
prayer-book, and assume an air of devotion which I had
not thought to belong to her nature.

In Virginia we had service for all alike, the household,

ON TOWER HILL,

the convicts, and the negroes, so that I was sorry to see
in this church none but the well-to-do, with the respect-
able clerks and their wives. Surely, I thought free-born
Britons of all kinds should be brought to the ordinances
of religion as much as negroes and convict-slaves. Tiie
clergyman who read the prayers was a young gentlemen
fresh from the University of Oxford, where, I learn, they
for ever run after some new thing. The language of the
Prayer-book was not, it seems, to liis liking. He would
have " pardons " instead of " pardoneth," and " absolve "
for " absolveth ;" but I think his taste was wrong v^hen
he chose to read, " endu'um, enrich'um, prosper 'um,"
instead of " endue them, «Sz;c.," as I had been accustomed to
read.

While the psalms were singing, Jenny nudged me gently
with her hand, and I saw her turn her head half round
and look straight across the church. Then she shut her
eyes, and gently raised and dropped her head, and I re-
membered what she told me about their sighs in church.
Sure enough, on the opposite side of the church, was a
young gentleman who was affected in exactly the same
manner. He did not appear to me to be possessed of a
very noble appearance, being small, pale, and with a
turned-up nose, a feature which in men should be straight,
or perhaps Roman. When we sat down, ou^' heads being
well below the top of the pew, Jenny w)^. ^-^red to me
that it was Lysander. The lesson for thf ia.^'' was a
chapter of Proverbs, and there were in it cei t an verses
spoken by King Lemuel which seemed a special rebuke
for the frivolity of us girls. '* Favour is deceitful and
beauty is vain ; but a woman that feareth the Lord, she
shall be praised."

The sermon, a very long one under five heads, was
preached by the rector himself, in whose face and voice I
seemed to perceive some resemblance to my guardian the
alderman, for his cheeks and nose were red and puffed,
and his voice was thick. He was, in fact, the chaplain of

ON TOWER HILL.

the Grocers' Company, and, as such, was present at all
their feasts. I daresay the discourse was learned and
profitable, but I was so strange that I could pay no atten-
tion, and looked about me all the while, hoping that no
one would notice. Jenny had her carraway comfits to
eat, and, the better to raise her thoughts unto heavenly
things, she was able to contemplate her picture of Cupid
fishing for hearts. xt last he finished the sermon, and
we all got up and came away. If the ragged boys had not
come to the service, at least they were standing outside
the doors, and while we thronged the porch there was a
cry of pickpocket, and one of them darted from the crowd
and fied through some of the lanet<, folio wed by two or three.
The next day, after serious talk with madam, I began
to undertake the study of those things in which I could
not fail to be ignorant. The most important were that I
should learn to dance, and that I should be improved in
music and singing, and for these I had masters. My dan-
cing-master, who took the first place, and considered him-
self an artist of the greatest distinction, was the Sieur
Isaac Lemire, a French gentleman of Huguenot descent,
born in London. He was a man of little stature some-
what over the middle age, with thin features and bright
eyes. He was very careful about his dress, which was
always in accordance with the most recent French fash-
ion he spoke English as well as French ; and when he
went out to give a lesson he was followed l)ya negro boy
carrying the fiddle with which he accompanied his in-
struction.

'' Mademoiselle," he said with a profound bow, on
being introduced to me, " I am charmed by the prospect
of lending a fresh grace to one already possessed of so fine
a figure and so beautiful a face. Mistress Jenny, I am
your very humble servant. You will, I trust, assist us in
our task."

Jenny always stayed, parti}' because she loved dancing
and partly because the professor talked during the whole

il
i;

1 1

\ i

0^ TOWER HILL.

lesson, and gave us the latest West End news, which we
could not get from the Postman or the Examiner:

" A young lady dancing," said the professor, tuning his
fiddle and occasionally JJ owing one foot a preliminary
flourish as if for a treat ! " A young lady dancing is a
brandished torch of beauty. She is then most dangerous
to the heart of man : she is then most powerful." Twang-
twang. " You will now. mademoiselle, have the goodness
to pay attention to the carriage of Miss Jenny while she
treads with me the minuet de la cour." It is a beautiful
dance, the minuet. My heart warmed for it at once ; the
stateliness of it ; the respect for women which is taught
by it ; the careful bearing of the body, the grace of the
studied gestures, which must be in harmony with the
music ; all these things made me love the minuet. That
was our first lesson ; but the professor was not contented
with the minuet oidy, although that dance was the most
important. We had, besides, the English country dances ;
we danced the Hey, with Joan Sanderson, the Scotch reel,
the round, and the jig. He taught us, besides, the old-
fashioned dances, such as used to be danced at Court, the
saraband, which Jenny did very prettily, with the help
of castanets, and the coranto, and the cotillon. And then
he taught us figures of his own country, such as the Au-
vergne bourrde, the Basque step, and the jigs of Poitou
and Picardy.

Once, w^hen we were in the midst of our lesson. Lord
Eardesley paid us a visit. Then it was delightful to
practise with him as a partner, while Jenny played the
spinet and the professor the violin. And his lordship
and the professor, and Jenny, too, all said kind bliings of
my grace and quickness in learning.

So began my new life, with kindness, hospitality, and
afiection, such as I had not looked for nor expected.
When the alderman gi-ew better, I found him the most
delightful of companions, full of stories about the great-
jiess of London, and the vastriess of her Qommerce. I

ON TOWER H^.L.

was troubled, however, in my mind when I thought what
he would say if he knew that his wife secretly took money
from Christopher March, and that his daughter, by help
of the same agent, was carrying on correspondence with
a secret lover.

As for Nurse, she began by being heavy and dull,
whereat I guessed, rightly, that she was thinking over that
bad part which never left her mind. She spoke little of
it, but once when we were crossing Tower Hill, and I gave
a penny to a ragged brat, she began to cry gently, and
told me that she liad once a son who might have been like
that poor boy, as friendless and neglected. " And their
end, ,my dear, is to carry a musket for sixpence a day
and so get killed in battle, or to go a-thieving and so get
hung."

After a while, however, she cheered up and found her
way to the place which most delighted her, the still-room.
Here she sat among the bottles and compounds, making
lavender water, ratafia water, decoction of primroses for
toothache, cowslip wine, elderflower wine, and elderberry
wine, preserving poppy heads and camomile for fever
pains, horehound for coughs, and trying all the thousand
receipts which a woman of her condition of life should, if
she be a notable woman and take a pride in her own
knowledge, understand perfectly. And madam said that
she had never a still-room maid M'ith half her handiness
and knowledge.

Mil

CHAPTER III.

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

' ^ ATURALLY, I had to unlearn a good many
of the opinions which I had learned in Vir-
ginia. For instance, I thought there that
in England everyone was honest except
those few exceptions, who, being caught,
were either hanged or else branded in the
hand, well-flogged, and sent across the seas
to us. I now learned that for one so caught
there were a hundred thieves at large, and
that every unknown person was considered
dishonest until the contrary was proved.
A., for my ideas of religion, it was always difficult for me
to believe that the fine ladies and gentlemen in the City
churches were so devout as our poor Virginian convicts.
As for our amusements, I could not learn to like cards,
because it seemed to me cruel to take the money of a
player who could not afford to lose it. But I liked the
City shows ; when we could look on from a window and
see the processions, the Lord Mayor's day of state when
he sat in his gilded coach, preceded by the train-bands,
the City companies, and the masons, singing, ** Hey ! the
merry masons ; Ho ! the merry masons," as they went,
whiie the cannon were fired and the bells clashed. On
the Fifth of November they carried Gog and Magog
through the streets with more bands. Sometinies the

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

I'D

butchers made a wedding merry-making with bones and
drums ; at Christmas the \vaits came at midnight-
Sing luKh, sing low. siii.a to and fro,
Go Wll it out with Kpectl ;

and the mummers came without being invited— Turks,
sweeps, kings and queens — and frolicked among us as
long as they listed. And at the New Year we had parties
at which the alderman would have no cards, but only the
merry old games of blind man's buff, hot cockles, and
country bumpkin. On Twelfth Night we looked for the
bean in the Ccike. In the spring, when the flowers came,
whenever there was a City rejoicing we had gardeners'
walks made in the streets and lanes with green arches
and rows of flowers — lupins, bachelor's buttons, peony
roses, ribbon-grass, and the like. There was, indeed, no
lack of amusement for me, a girl who had seen so little.

It took me long to learn the value of money. To teach
it was the alderman's share in my education. He gave
me whatever I wanted, but made me enter it in a book
which he kept for the purpose. I put it down on the
left hand side ; and on the right I set out all that I had
bought. It was a record of vanity, for the most part,
and my cheeks burned while the alderman read it aloud.

" To laced gloves, two shillings ; to satin for a frock,
five guineas ; to hooj)s, for ditto, twelve shillings. Truly,
my dear, no husband will be wanted to teach thee how
money may be spent. Let us consider how it has been
made. These gloves of thine stand for eight pounds of
tobacco ; this satin for four hundred weight — a grievous
load of tobacco for your slender shoulders. How many
naked wretches have risen early and toiled all day in
the sun beneath the whip to sow, plant, weed, keep clean,
pick, and roll this tobacco before it could be sold or ex-
changed for thy satin frock ? They have fared of the
worst, these poor creatures, and toiled the hardest, all that

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

thou mightest go in satin and hoops. Of a truth, my
dear, thy lines have been cast in pleasant places."

The alderman, to be sure, had his own weaknesses. I
might have asked him, for example, why he ate turtle
soup and drank the strong wine of Oporto, when so many
boys were running ragged and uncared for about the
streets. Nevertheless, his words were timely, and made
me understand what a thoughtless girl was I who could,
without reflection, thus waste and lavish the money which
the labour of so many poor wretches had been given to
save up. And yet, whether I spent the money or whether
I saved it, made no difference to the convicts or the ne-
groes. Their labour went on just the same. For my
poor servants the curse of Adam might have been differ-
ently pronounced : " In the sweat of your brow i^hall ye
earn your mistress's goods."

But the thing which most astonished me was the con-
versation of the young ladies who called upon Jenny and
me, and were our friends. For, when we were all alone
together, they talked about nothing but love-making and
how to attract the admiration and attention of men. For
my own part, I suppose that if I had ever thought about
it at all, I had considered it likely that I should some day
marry some one, and so dismissed the matter from my
mind. The ordered course of things would come in due
time. But these girls were continually thinking and
talking about the lover of the present or of the future ;
they had their little secrets, and would show each other
songs and verses addressed to their fair eyes, just as Jenny
did ; they discussed the beaux, their dress, their carriage,
their impudence, or their wit (mostly, I believe their wit
was impudence) ; and they openly pitied, or derided, any
of their friends who had failed to find a lover, and 'was
destined to lead apes in that place which frivolous and
thoughtless persons are too ready to name lightly.

" Were you not so tall, Nelly," said Jenny, when I first
remonstrated with her on this idle talk, " I would pall

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

you little Puritan. But prithee consider. If it were not
for the attention and thought thai men bestow upon us
and we upon them, what would become of the men ? It
is for their own good, my dear, more than for ours, that
we seek to attract their foolish eyes."

Here, indeed, was a pretty turning of the tables.

" No man, my dear," she went on, laughing, " can pos-
sibly make any figure in the world until he begins to
hope for our favours. Then, indeed, he pays attention to
his figure and his manners, learns to talk, dresses himself
in the latest mode, carries himself with a fashionable air,
and becomes a pretty fellow. Then, to attract the eyes
of one of us, he studies to distinguish himself, and when
he cannot succeed he tries to be different from hisfellov/s,
and commits a thousand pretty follies. I have hej,id of
some who, while they said their prayers night and morn-
ing, pretended to be atheists, just to be talked about ;
and of others who, with voices as clear as a bell, pre-
tended to lisp or leave out their h'w or roll their r's ; and of
others who, even while they were i hurting and imploring
their nymph to appoint a day, would rail at large against
the tedious chains of marriage ; and of others who, to be
thought men of fire, would join the scourers and Mohocks,
and run about the streets breaking windows with half-
ponce, overturning constables, blackening sign posts, and
fighting porters, and all to be talked about and seem
clever or distinguished. Such, my dear, are a few of the
benefits we confer upon our lovers."

Jenny stopped and laughed again, but she was half in
earnest.

" What part does Lysander play ? " I asked.

At that she smiled and blushed prettily. " Lysander,"
she said, " has ofiended his Clarissa. I have had enough
verses, and I have M^itten to say that if he wishes to
gain my favour in reality, he must now, in person, inform
me of his rank and name,"

"Good heavens, child ! " I cried. " Do you mean that

rJHRLSTOPHEll MARCH.

you have been in correspondence with a man whose very
name you have not learned ? "

" 'Tis even so," she replied, laughing. " No harm has
been done, my fair Puritan princess ; Clarissa has written
nothing that would hurt lier reputation ; trust Clarissa,
wlio is a Londoner, for taking care of herself. As Ly-
sander prettily says, ' Clarissa doth command an awe,
that would straight confound the great Bashaw.' He
may be a lord or he may be a templar ; I fear he is the
latter. But wdiat a noble air he shows, particularly
when he sighs during the Psalms ! "

I thought of his turned-up nose, and was unable to
agree with Jenny, but did not tell her so.

" Well, but, mad girl," I said " if the favours of fair
ladies convert honest men into fantastic fops and mid-
night brawlers, I cannot see how their attentions benefit
us."

" My dear, we make them study manners and be-
haviour. They, for their part, make us dress. Oh ! what
a vast, what an incomparable blessing tliis is ! They
provide us with continual reasons for new frocks and
ribbons. Po you think it is to please myself that I am
taking a world of trouble with this sarsnet hood and
have spent all my money upon these double ruffles and
this furbelowed scarf ? Why, for my own part, if I did
not consider my duty, I would as lief go in a straw hat
and a .stuff petticoat, like Molly the milkmaid. Princess
Pocahontas wore feathers mostly, I believe. But depend
upon it, Nellie my dear, they were the finest feathers
to be got. Dress is the handmaid of love, and we who
would fain be loved must needs go fine."

This was the burden of her song that she who would
please the men must still go fine. Poor lit*^le Jenny was
full of cleverness as well as of follies. She \, as a foolish
virgin who ought to have been a wise one. The one
thing which displeased me at this time was the constant
intrusion of Christopher March into "all our plans and

CMRlStOPHER MARCH.

conversation. Wo could «^o nowhere Avithoi'fc ineetin<;'
him, and then he would walk with us ; if we were play-
ing or singing he would join us without being askecl ; he
generally took dinnei with us, and on madam's evenings
was always one of the comi)any. That did not matter
much but for his attentions to me, whicli were incessant,
especially before company. It was as if he wished the
world to consider me as his property. Of course I was
not so foolish but that I understood the meaning of his
politeness ; a week of Jenny's talk had V)een ;:utHcient to
remove the ignorance of my Virginian days ; but natur-
ally, being a Carellis, I was not so mad as to think of
encouraging the mere clerk of my guardian, a paid ser-
vant, to aspire to such a thing as man*iage with me. My
only difHculty was to know how, without being cruel and
unkind, I could get rid of the man.

I suppos id, and rightly, too, that it was he who sent
me verses and e}>istles w^ritten in the same extravagant
fashion as that followed by Jenny's Lysander, and signed
" A Lover." I kept them all carefully and said nothing
even to Jenny, ijut I told Nurse Alice, and bade her
watch and lind out by what means they were conveyed
to my bed room.

Alice presently informed me that they were pLiced on
my table by Prudence, the housemaid. 80 I sent for the
young woman and roundly taxed her with the ftict, which
she confessed with tears and promises of amendment.

" But, girl," I said, " who gave you the verses ? "

At first she refused to tell me, but being pressed and
threatened, she owned that it was none other than Chris-
topher March. And here I made another discovery. Not
only had this man won the alderman's complete con-
fidence by reason of his industry and zeal, not only had
he got a hold over madam by secretly giving her money,
and over Jenny by conniving at her correspondence, but
he had made the very servants afraid of him by acquiring
a knowledge of their secrets and letting them feel that

) '':

CllUISTOlMIEU MAUCIl.

their situations and character depended upon his pleasure.
When 1 understood the state ol' the ease 1 consicUired
wliether 1 ()u<dit not to let the alderman know, antl to
ask liirr. "whether it was proper for one of his servants to
gain this footing' and authority in his own house. And
yot I <lared I'ot for the sake of madam, for I knew not
how much money Christo])her liad supplied her with. I
would that I had told him all and so saved — but that I
could not know — the honour and the fortune of that good
okl man !

Well ; I sent away the girl forgiven and a little com-
forted — be sure I did not ask the nature of her secret —
and I determined to seek out Christopher March and
explain myself openly to him.

I waited till one afternoon when madam and Jenny
had both gone out a-shopping and I was private in the
parlour. Then I sent Alice to iuvit*^ my gallant t«) an
interview.

He came straight from the countin^ ..^use, wearing his
office brown coat, and looking exactly what he was, a
merchant's clerk and servant. Yet he tried to assume a
gallant air and stepped with as much courtliness as he
could manaore

" Christopher March," I began, " I have asked you to
come here when I am alone because I have a serious dis-
course to hold with you."

He bowed and made no reply.

" I am an ignorant American girl," I went on, " and un-
used to the ways of London. But I am not so ignorant
as not to know the meaning of those compliments and at-
tentions with which you have honoured me."

" Oh, Mistress Elinor," he cried, sinking on his knees,
" give your most humble adorer a little hope."

" Get up immediately," I said, " or I will leave the room.
Get up sir, and stand or sit, as you will, but do not pre-
sume again to address me in that way." I was now really

CIIUISTOIMIEU MARCH.

un^ny. ""RcMru'inbcr sir, if you can, tluit I am a ^ontlo-
woman, and yoii are a (^lurk. Know your position."

He rose as I hade him.

" Jn London," he said, in a soft, shnv voiee with (h)wn-
dropped eyes. " young men ofoljscure family have a cliance
of rising. Many a Lonl Mayoi- began by being an errand-
boy. It is true that I liave no coat-of-arms. Vol 1 am
already well con!:idered. If the alderman does n( t n.ake
me a partner, some other merchant may. No clerk in the
tobacco trade has a better i-eputation than I liave. I could
bring your ladyship a good name and an lionest heart.
What better things can a man have than honesty and
honour ? "

" Assuredly, nothing. Give them, therefore, to some
young woman of your own station. Meantime, Master
Christopher March, take back these foolish verses and
these letters. Let me have no more nonsense. There can
be no question of tliat kind between us ; none at all."

He received the letters with dark and gloomy brow.

" You will not only cease your letters ; you will entirely
cease your compliments and your attentions. You under-
stand what you have to do ?"

" And if I disobey your lad3''ship's commands ?"

" In that case I must inform the alderman. I should,
at the same time, ask him to consider the nature of that
* honour and honesty ' of which you make such boast,
when it permits you to advance madam sums of money of
which her husband knows nothing, secretly to assist his
daughter in a silly correspondence, and secretly to threaten
his servants."

" You would then," he replied coldly, " do much more
harm to the alderman's happiness than you would do to
mine."

" Perhaps. But I should do all the harm to you that I
wish ; which is nothing but that you ' Lould continue to
be the faithful servant which the alderman believes you
to be, that you should not aspire beyond your station, and

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

that you should confine yourself entirely, so far as I am
concerneil, to your duties. Perhaps you I.ad better return,
then, at once to the counting-house, or tl e alderman may
be examinin<x tlie books for himself and find out wliere
some of his money goes."

He turned suddenly white and glared at me with eyes
which had as much terror as raije in them. Then he left
me without another word. But I knew that I had made
of Christopher March an enemy, though being .young and
foolish, I did n<jt biilieve he could harm me. I ha^'e since
learned that there is no man, however humble, who can-
not at least do mischief. Som men, by their evil lives
and base thouglits, may lose the power of doing good ; but
the power of wickedness never leaves us. I had, however,
the good sense to tell Alice what I had done ; she, though
this I knew not till afterwards, began to watch the move-
ments of the man until, long befbi'e the rest of us knew
anything about him, she had learned all his secrets.

I told Jenny something of what had passed, and, to my
great joy, she laughed and clapped her hands, and kissed
me.

** Oh, Nelly," she said, " I am so glad. I have seen for
a long while what was coming and I did not dare to warn
you. Besides he tiireatened "

"Jenny!" I cried. "Is it possible? Did you allow
your father's servant to threaten you ?"

" What could I do ? " she replied. "He knows all about
— about Lysander, you know."

" Oh ! this is dreadful, Jenny. Go straight and tell
your father, child, and then you can laugh at him." But
this she would not do, fearing the alderman's displeasure.

The next thing I tried to do was to persuade madam
to go to her husband for money to pay her debts of ho-
nour. The good lady was growing more passionately ad-
dicted to cards every day, and whether she played ill or
had continued bad luck she seemed never to win. Then
it was difficult for me, a young woman, to remonstrate

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

freely with her, and though I spoke a little of my mind
once, Jenny being out of the room, I could not persuade
her to tell her husband all. So that failed. Yet, had I
succeeded, all the unhappiness that was to follow would
have been averted. Fate, as the Turk calls it, or Provi-
dence, as we more rightly say, is too strong to be set aside
by the efforts of a weak girl. We were all to be punished
in a way little expected for our sins and weaknesses, and
the wicked man was to work his wicked will for a little
space.

" Alas ! " said Jenny, sitting in my room where we could
talk freely. " He is a dangerous man, and I would he were
not so much in my father's confidence. Before you came,
the attentions which displeased you were offered to me.
He actually wanted me to marry him ! Perhaps that
would have been my fate, but for your arrival. The chance
of getting a hundred thousand pounds for a fortune with
such a wife as you turned his head, and I now fear him
no longer. It would, indeed, be a rise in life for a gutter-
boy like him to marry you, the Virginian heiress.

" Why do you call him a gutter-child ?"

" Because he was, as much as any of those ragged little
wretches pla3ing ont there on Tower Hill. He would
willingly hi<le the stc-y if he could; but he never shall,
so long as I live to tell it i"or him. Such as those boys
are, suf^li was he ; as ragged, as dirty, as thievish, I dare
say : as ready to beg for a penny to get him a dish of
l,r.>th. He was found l^'ing on a doorstep one cold and
wintry day in March, barefooted, barelieaded, stupid with
cold and hunger. My father had him taken to the kit-
chen to be warmed and fed. Then, seized with pity for a
boy so forlorn, he gnve him to one of his porters to be
brought up at iiis expense. Tiien he sent the lad to school,
where he got on, being tjuick and clever. Finally he took
him into his own counting-house, and gave liim a chance to
rise in the world, as so many poor boys have already done in
London. Methinks he has risen already high enough."
D

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

would go to

Let us leave Christopher March for the present, and
talk of more pleasant things.

I have said that Lord Eardesley once or twice called
upon us when we were with Monsieur Leinire, the danc-
ing-master, and took part in our lesson. During the
winter he came but little, to my chagrin ; because, having
then no thought of what was to follow, I found his man-
ner and discourse pleasing. He brought new air to the
house, and talked of things which otherwise we should
not have heard of. It did us all good when his lordship
came in the evening and took a dish of tea witli us. Then
madam forget her cards, Jenny put on her finest airs, and
the alderman, who generally despised tea, joined us and
told stories. The best tea-cups were set out — those, name-
ly, brought from Canton by one of the alderman's sea-
faring friends — the reserve or company candles were lit,
and the tea brewed was stronger and better than that
which we allowed ourselves. After tea we
the spinet and sing, Jenny and I in turn or together.

Those were pleasant evenings, but there were few of
them. My lord was a most cheerful and agreeable man,
witliout any of the fashionable affectations of which Jen-
ny had told me ; full of sense and understanding. Ide
did not waste the time in paying us foolish compliments,
and when he spoke of himself, he laughed at his own la-
mentable condition as an impoverished peer. He told us
once, I remember, that he seldom dined at his friends'
houses, because he could not afford the vails expected
by the servants.

So the winter passed quickly away, and the spring
came upon us with those easterly winds which in Eigland
do so poison and corrupt that sweet season. And with
the spring of the yeir 1720 th it fatal midness. which will
ever ba rernsrnberei, fell upon the nation like a deadly
pestilence. Surely it was wor.se than any plague. I
m^an the miii3ss of sp3Culation, when all the world
dreamed of not'iin^ bub suldan fortune j. The infection

•X..,™.

C'HUISTOPHEU MARCH.

spread through all classes ; and among those who trafficked
in shares, stock, and scrip, were noble lords, knights of
the shire, estpiires, grave lawyers, and even divines, to
their shame be it spoken. To everyone alike came the
same delusive vision. Companies were to be formed
whose shares sliould make everybody rich ; inventions
were to be made by which one crown should become a
thousand pounds ; hencefortli tliere should be no more
labour, toil, and thrift, l)ut only s[)ending and enjoyment.
As if a whole nation were to be made suddenly ricli, and
the curse of Adam were to be removed from one people —
and that people so wicked and undeserving as the English.

But, as the year advanced, the attention of everyone was
settled upon that great bubble, the South Sea Company,
whose stock advanced daily till it reached seven hundred,
eight hundred, and even a thousand pounds. I kntw
little, indeed, and cared nothing, because I understood
nothing, of the general greediness, yet we heard daily
from the alderman, at dinner and supper, how the shares
were fought for, and what prodigious prices they fetched.
And once he took me to the Exchange, where 1 saw a
crowd of finely-dressed ladies and gentlemen mixed with
a throng of merchants and tradesmen, all struggling, fight-
ing, and shouting togethei*. They were buying and sell-
ing South Sea Stock. The street posts or the backs of
l)orters served for writing-desks ; he who had a bunk or
a stall commanded as much rent as if it had been a great
house in Eastcheap ; and, in that crowd, a petty huckster
of Houndsditch, if he had but a single share, was as great
a man as a lord.

" See, Nelly," said the alderman ; " the love of money
is like the hand of death ; for it strikes at all alike, both
rich and poor."

The alderman, who believed that Sir Robert Walpole
was the greatest and wisest of statesmen, took fright
when he heard that the minister had spoken in the House
vehemently against the South Sea Scheme, to which, be-

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

( If

fore this, he had perhaps secretly inclined. " It was a
lu'oject," said this great man, " which would lure many
thousands of greedy and unwary people to their ruin ;
holding out i)romises which it never could keep, and
ottering dividends which no scheme ever devised could
maintain." Where, too, asked my guardian, thus fore-
warned, w^ere the oj)en })ortf' which Si)ain was to give for
the South Sea trade? Whv, if pM this wealth was to be
created, should not the Spaniard, who is not a fool, create
it for himself ? Out of what mines, fields, and cultivation
are these precious things to come which are to make us
all rich ? If it were ]>roposed to grow I'ich by trading
with his Majesty's plantations and colonies, there might
be something in it of a reasonable and modest kind, but
to grow rich upon the Spaniard's leavings, that, if you
please, said the alderman, ought not to commend itself to
the judgment of a sober man. Therefore he refrained
from meddling wnth the project, and, as need not be said,
held aloof with equal scorn from the hundreds of ])rojects
by which men, as spiders catch the silly tty, spun webs to
catch the heedle^-s, the unreasoning, and the greedy.

While eveiybody else was mad with this dream of
wealth, we in our house were full of our own thoughts,
• careless of the tumult which laged in every heart. As
the spring advanced, Lord Eardesley came oftener, and
w^ould go with us when we drove out to take the air.
London is a great city, indeed, but it is richly provided
wdth fields, gardens, parks, and })laces of recreation. We
could drive to the spring gardens of Knightsbridge,to the
bowling-green of Marylebone ; to tlie fields beyond Isling-
ton, where we bought cakes ; or to those of Stepney,
where there is another kind of cake ; or to the walk of
Chelsea, where there are buns. We could go farther
atield and visit Cane Wood and Hampstead, or to the
gardens of Bayswatering, beyond Hyde Park, where they
sold syllabubs. We were a gay and happy party when-
ever we had his lordship with us. And for one thing I

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

am gi'atoful, indeed, to Jenny, that though she suspected
what was corning-, slie was so good as not to spoil the in-
nocence of my happiness by telling me her suspicions.

One evening in A?pril — ah ! happy evening — Lord
Eardesley took us to the theatre.

Suppose you were never to go to a theatre at all until
you were nineteen years of age ; suppose you had read of
a dramatic performance, but never seen one : and suppose
you had no idea whatever what it would be like. Then
think of going — for the tiist time.

It was to Drury Lane. We drove to the doors, where
we were met by my lord, in brave attire. He led us
to the first row of l)oxes, where, for tlie most part, only
ladies of quality are found, the wives of citizens commonly
using the second row. Truly it passes my power to ex-
press the hapj)iness of this evening and the sj)lendour of
the scene. The pit contained only gentlemen, but the
boxes in which we sat were full of ladies dressed in extra-
vagance of splendour of which 1 had never dreamed, nor
Jenny either. But the patches spoiled all ; nor could I
ever, although for the sake of the mode I wore two or
three small ones, reconcile myself to the custom of stick-
ing black spots over a pretty face. The house was bril-
liantly lit with many thousands of candles. I say n^. th-
ing about the pla^\ except that the players did so artfully
represent the characters that you would have thought
the house, with all the audience, a dream, and only the
play itself the reality. Yet I was astonished to find so
many fine ladies whispering, laughing, and flirting with
the fan, while the most moving scene and the most elo-
quent passages failed to rouse their interest.

" You know not your sex, fair Virginian," said Lord
Eardesle>', when I ventured to take this objection to the
behaviour of the spectators. " The ladies do not come
here to see, but to be seen. They are the principal spec-
tacle of the house to the gentlemen in the pit."

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

And then I observed that, althougli I myself could see
with the greatest ease whatever was done upon the stage,
and the faces of the actors and actresses, a large number
of gentlemen, especially those of the younger kind, were
atlected with a sort of blindness which forced them to
carry to the theatre the little magnifying tubes which I
had seen in church. And such was the strange callous-
ness of these unfortunate young men to the piece per-
formed, that many of them ut the side of the })it stood
with their backs to the stage, and, with their tubes held
to one eye, surveyed the glitt .nig rows of beauties on
the first tier of boxes.

" Nelly," whispered Jenny, " you are the prettiest girl
in the house. Half a hundred beaux are gazing upon

you."

In the delight of the play I forgot the annoyance of
this attention, and, perhaps, Jenny was mistaken.

When we came away at the falling of the curtain, we
found the entrance-hall lined with a double row of pretty
fellows, all hat under arm and right leg thrust forward.
One of them stepped audaciously forward to the fro^tand
offered to lead me to the (^oach.

" This young lady, sir," sa^d my lord, " is of m.y party.
We thank you."

The young fellow said something about pretty faces
and hoods, upon which our escort stepped forward and
whispered in his ear.

" I am Lord Eardesley," he said aloud. " You can find
me when you please."

I did not know enough of polite customs to suspect
that the altercation might possibly, although so slight,
lead to a duel.

Alas ! that this custom of duelling should make every
young man hold his life in his hand : so that it is less
dangerous to cross the Atlantic Ocean, or to travel among
the Jndians of Western Virginia, or lo serve a campaign
against the Turk, than it is to live in London for a season

CHRISTOPHER MARCH.

— I mean for a young gentleman of birth and rank. As
for j)lain citizens, I have never heard tliat the custom of
tlie duello has been brought into the manners of the Lon-
don merchant.

I thought little that night of the matter, my head
being full of the wonderful play. But the next day
when I was sittinjj alone and feelinir a little sad, as is the
way with foolish girls after an evening o^ great happiness,
Jenny burst in upon me in a half hysterical state of ex-
citement.

" Nelly ! " she cried. *' Have you heard the news ?
They have fought, and my lord has pricked his man."

" What do you mean ? " I asked.

" You rer.iember the dapper little man at the theatre
last night,who insulted us by calling us pretty gii Is — the
wretch ! As if we did not know so nmch already. 'Twas
an officer in the Guards. Lord Eardesley fought him
this morning in the Park with small swords, and ran him
through the left shoulder. He is as brave as he is gener-
ous."

It was *^aite true. Our evening's'pleasure had ended
in two gallant gentlemen trying to kill each other, and
one being wounded Surely the laws of honour did not
need so tragic a co: iclusion to so simple an adventure.
Nevertheless, !'. was proufl of Lord Eardesley, and rejoiced
that he was so brave a gentleman.

He came that evening. Madam was abroad, playing
cards. Jenny and I were alone ; and presently Jenny
rose and left the room. She told me afterwards that my
lord had asked her to do so.

Then he begged permission to speak seriously to me,
and my heart beat because I knew, somehow, what he
was going to say.

That is, I knew what hir speech would contain, but I
could not guess the mannei in which he would say it,
He began by saying that he was the poorest man of his
rank in Great Britain ; that all his wealth consisted of a

iv #-1

CHKISTOPHER MARCH.

barren mountain, a marshy valley, and a ruined castle in
Wales ; that, in ottering his liand to a rich heiress like
myself, he should be accused of fortune-hunting.

" Nay, Mistress Nelly," he went on, " I must confess
that at first my thoughts ran much upon the money of
which you are possessed. That was the reason why,
having had the happiness of seeing you, I came here once
or twice, and then ceased my visits. But," he added, " I
was constrained to return. And having come, I was
drawn daily by irresistible io})es to the shrine of my
affection." He took my hand and held it. " Nelly, rich
or poor, believe that I love you tenderly."

I made no reply. Oh ! that life could be one long rap-
ture such as that which followed when he took me in his
arms and kis.sed my lips.

I cannot write more of that moment. It would be a
sacrilege of that first baptism or sacrament of love when
we promised oui* hands and hearts to each other.

Presently, however, Jenny came back, discreetly knock-
ing at the door 3 little witch !

" Jenny, my u»,c*. ," cried my lord, " come kiss me." He
laid his hands upon her shoulders and kissed the pretty
little laughing thing as gaily as if a kiss meant nothing.
Heavens ! what had it meant to me ? See this P.-ince.ss
of Virginia, this queen of fair maidens — she has promised,
my pretty Jenny, to be my wife."

" No — not a queen at all," I murmured, while Jenny
tlew into my arms au'l kissed me again and again. " Not
a queen — only my lord's handmaid. It may be that I
have found favour in the sight of my king "

*"' Not a queen ? No," he replied, kissing my hands.
'No — not a queen — only my mistress, sweet and fond —
only Nelly, my Heart's Delight ? "

^■M

CHAPTER IV.

MY LORD EARDESLEY.

HEN my lover left me he immediately
sought the alderman in order to convey
to his worship the substance of what he
had said to me. My guardian heard the
story patiently, and then falling into a
kind of muse, sat with his head upon his
hands, saying never a word.

" Why, sir," said my lord with some
heat, after waiting for a repl};, " surely
^ my proposal hath no dishonour in it. I

can but offer Mistress Elinor what I have to give. It is
little, as you know, besides xny hand and a coronet,"

" Sit down, my lord," said the alderman gravely. " I
have much to say."

He then proceeded in such terms as would give the
young suitor as little pain as possible, to remind him that
his own estate. , save for the mountain and valley in Wales,
were gone altogether, and that by his father's rashness
over tlie garni g- tal)le, so that had it not been for the
small fortune leiu him by his mother his lordship would
have nothing. But, said the alderman, the lack of for-
tune wo^ild have been a small thing, considering the
ample inheritance of his ward, w^ere he assured that none
of the late lamented peer's weaknesses had descended
upon his son. Lord Eardesley must excuse him for speak-

MY LORD EARDESLEV.

ing plainly, but it was rumoured, rightly or wrongly,
that he himself wns addicted to the same pernicious hal)it.

Heie my lord protested strongly that the rumour was
based u})on no foundation whatever in fact, and that ho
never gambled.

" Indeed," the alderman replied gravely. " Then am I
rejoiced, and I hope that these words of yours can bo
made good."

After this he became more serious still, and, speaking
in a whisper, he reminded the young lord that there were
other sins besides the grievous sin of gaming, that many
— nay most of the young gentleman of rank took a [)lea-
sure and pride in deriding and breaking all God's laws ;
that they were profane swearers, proibssed atheists,
secret Jacobites, duellists, deceivers of maidens, and con-
temners of order ; that the voice of rumour had been busy
with his name as concerns these vices as well.

Here Lord Eardesley protested again. He would con-
fess to none of these things. A duel he had certainly
fought only a few days before, but that was in defence of
two ladies — in fact, Mistress Elinor Carellis herself and
Mistress Jenny, the alderman's own daughter; but, he
added, he had spared the life of his adversaiy, and only given
him a lesson. That personally he abhorred the cursed
laws of so-called honour which oblifjed a gentleman to
risk his life or seek to take another life at any fancied
insult. As for the other vices mentioied by the alderman,
he declared that he was not guilty of any of them ; that
his life and conversation were pure, and his religion that
of his forefathers.

" It may be so," said the alderman. " Nevertheless we
do well to be careful. The young lady is an orphan ; she
hath neither brother nor near relation to protect her
should her husband use her ill ; she is a stranger in the
land and ignorant of the wickedness of this great town ;
like all innocent maidens, she is accustomed to look on
every stranger, if he be a gentleman, as a good man ; she

MY LORD EAIIDESLKY.

admires a gallant carriage, a noble name, a long pedigi-ee,
a handsome face — and all these, my lord, slie admires hi
you. Then, she is a great heiress; her husband will have,
with lier, a hundred thousand pounds in bonds, scrip, and
mortgages, and none of your perilous South Sea stock,
besides a great estate in Virginia. Think of all this, my
lord. Consider further that she hath been placed in my
charge as a most sacred trust by my far-off cousin, Robert
Carellis, now deceased, out of the great confidence which
he was good enough to repose in me — and own that I do
well to be careful. Remember that she is all virtue and
innocence ; and, that according to the voice of rumour,
you, my lord — pardon the plain-speaking — are addicted
to the — the same manner of life as most young noblemen.
Why you would be a wicked man, indeed, if you thought
that I should easily consent to her marriage <ind without
due forethought."

" Take all forethought and care possible," said my lord,
" I assure you the voice of rumour was never so wrong
as when it assigned me the possession of those fashion-
able follies which, I may remind you, require the waste
of a great deal of money."

" True," my guardian replied. " That is a weighty ar-
gument in your favour. Meanwhile, my lord, we thank
you for the honour you have offered to confer upon this
house. I am sure that his honour, Robert Carellis, would
have wished for no higher alliance for his daughter, were
he satisKed on those points on which I have ventured to
speak. I go now, my lord, or I shall go shortly, to make
such ( iiquiry into your private life as is possible. I expect
that, meanwhile,you will abstain from visiting this house
or from making any attempt to see my ward. The delay
shall not be any longer than I can help, and, if the issue
be what your words assure me, there shall be no further
opposition on my part, but, on the contrary, rejoicing and
thankfulness."

MY LURI) EAUDESLEV.

Ifl

! I

He bovv(Ml low to liis lordship and condiictod him to tho
door of till! countiiig-hoUHO, which led to the outer otHee.
(/Miristopher March was there; he looked uj), and .see-
inn^ Lord Eaidt'slcy, he chan^^ed colour. TIkj aldeiinan,
walking slowly Ikw k heckoned his (ihief cl«M*k.

" You told ine," ne said, that Lord Eardesley fought
a duel the other day."

*' Yes. On account of some ([uarrel over cards, I heard,"
said Christopher.

" Where did yoii hear it ? "

" It was the talk at Wills' Coffee House. It was tho
talk at all the coffee hous«!s."

" So they make free with his name, then."

"They n»ake free with every name," replied Chris-
topher. " Yes, sir, they call him gamester, like his
father; duellist, like his father ; profligate, like his father.
Of course, I know nothing except what F learn from these
rumours."

" Ay, ay," the alderir.in mused. " No smoke without
fire. It is indeed, a perilous thing to be Ixun to rank
and title ! We humble folk, Christo)>her, should thank
heaven continually that we are not tempted, in the same
■way as our bet^^rs, to overstep the bounds of the moral
law. No dicing, no profligacy, for the sober London mer-
chant."

I understood presently, that I was not to see my lord
until the ahlerman was perfectly satisfied as to his private
character This gave me no uneasiness, as I was so as-
sured of my lover's goodness that I felt no pain on that
score, and was only anxious for the time of probation to
be passed. Morever, he wr6te to me. It was a great
pleasure that he did not address me as Flavia or Clarinda,
or by any of the names in fashion. I was plain Elinor,
or my dear, and he was Geoffrey, Lord Eardesley. The
letters stated over again, with the great candour which
always distinguished my lover, the smallness of his own
resources, compared with my wealth, and he regretted

MY LOlU) KAUDKSLEY.

lieartilv that ho couM otter iik; ik) more than liis n?un«
and liis rank. He fori^^ot, poor fellow, that he was olier-
\n\f nie liimself, wljieli alone was worth naini', an«l rank
and fortune, and evelythin^^ And what was I, I
thoniijht — a poor inexperience<l maiden from th<> (Jolonios
— tliat he should fix liis attections upon me ? " You are,"
said the alderman, " a j^reat heiress. You an^ worth a
Plum." His lips sliapetl tl.iemselves into a round O as if
it luul ])een an e^<^ }»lum. " A plum does not drop into
the m nth any day, my dear, nor does a «j^reat estate in
Vir;^dTiin. Moreover, you are a veiy heautiful young lady,
and, I believe, as j.;ood as beautiful. Therefore wonder
no move at my loid's ch( i^'o, but pray Heaven that he
may prove worthy of tliy love."

Now a thing happened (hiring the time when my lord
wjxs conferring with the alderman concerning liis suit,
wdiich caused in my mind a little surprise, but Avhich I
thought no more of for the moment. It was this:

Outsichi the house mv Lord's servant, hohbng his horse,
was waiting for his master. It was midsummer, and the
evening was (piite light, One does not in general ])ay
much heed to mei -servants, but this fellow caught my
eye as I stood at the window and wondered what my
guardian would say. When the mind is greatly excited a
little tiling distracts the attention for the moment and
gives relief. Therefore I observed that the groom was a
rosy-faced fellow not very young, but fresh of cheek, who
looked as if he had come up fiom the country only the
day before, so brown and rustic was his appearance. In
his mouth there was a straw, and his hair was of a bright
red, of the kind called shock. While I was idly noting
these matteis I saw Christopher March standing by one
of the i)Osts of the street looking, as men will <lo, at the
horse. Presently the groom looked in his direction and a
sudden chaiige came over him. For his rosy cheeks grew
pale and his knees trembled.

MY LORD EARDESLEY.

Then Christopher started and slowly walked nearer the
horse. He spoke to the man, and began stroking the ani-
iiinl's neck, as if he were talking about the horse. I
knew, however, by some mstinct, perhaps because 1 now
suspected Christopher in everything, that he was not talk-
ing of the horse at all. But what could he have to say
to a country bumpkin, the groom of Lord Eardesley ? I
watched more narrowly. Tliey were ha\ ing some soit ot
explanation. Gradually my bumpkin seemed to recover
from his apprehension and began to laugh at something
Christopher said. And when the latter left him he
nodded after him with a familiarity that was odd in-
deed.

Nor was that all. While I was still wondering, partly
how the alderman would take it, and partly who this ser-
vant could be that he should be an old acquaintance of
Christopher March, another thing happened.

Alice, who had been out on some errand or other con-
nected with my wants, w^as returning home. I saw the
dear old woman slowly walking along the rough stones
within the posts and transferred my thoughts easily
enough to her and her fidelity. Why, I should have some-
thing that night to tell her worth the hearing ! Then, all
of a sudden — was I dreaming ? — she, too, stopped short
Oil sight of Thomas Marigold, which was, I learned after-
wards, the fellow's name, and gazed upon him with an
air of wonder and doubt. Then she, too, stepped out into
the road and accosted him. Again that look of te>'/or on
his iace; and again, after a few momejits' talk, the look of
relief.

What they said was this, as nurse told me afterwards.
She touched his arm and said sharply : "What are you
doing here ? "

Then it was that he turned pale.

"What are you doing. Canvass Dick ? "

Upon this he staggered and nearly dropped the reins

*'Who — who — who are you?" he asked.

MY LORD EAllDKSLEY.

"Never mind who 1 am. It is enough that I remember
you and that you are CanvassDiek, and thatwhat 1 know-
about you is enough to liangyou any day."

Then liis knees trembled and liisjaws chattered for fear.

"It is nigli upon twenty years ago," he said, "since I
heard that name. Too long for anybod}' to remember;
and, besides what is it you know? Perhaps, after all, you
are onl}'^ pretending."

"Then will this help you? A man and two boys, one
of them fifteen years of age, that is yourself, a'^'^ one
six or seven years younger ; a house in the Ratcliife High-
way; a great robbery of jewels, planned by a n>an and
carried out by the boldness and dexterity of the twoboys;
and "

"Hush!" whispered the valet, " Don't say another word.
Tell me who you are."

" They call me Alice," said nurse, looking him straight
in the face. "That does not help you much. If you
want to know more I am nur^^e to Mistress Carellis, who
lives in this house."

The man stared hard at her. ",No," he said ; I can't re-
member who you are. Do yoa mean mischief, or do you
mean halves ^ "

'First, what are you doing here?"

"I am groom to Jjord Eardesley." He grinned from ear
to ear. " Who would think to fin<l me as Tummas Mari-
gohl, honest Tummas, fresh from the country and groom-
ing a nobleman's horse ? "

''Gro<>ni to Lord Eardesley, are you? Oh I" and here a
sudden light sprang into her face. "And what," she
asked with a catch in her voice, "what became of the other
boy?"

Honest Tumman hesitated. Then he replied, taking
the straw out of his mouth and stroking the liorse's neck:
"Why — the other \K>y — the little 'un — he was hanged, he
was, a matter of five years ago, on account of a girl's ))urse
which he snatched in the fields beliind Sadler's Wells."

MY LOUD EARDESLEY.

"Oh !" slie groaned with a kind of despair. "It was
the end to be looked for. It is the end of you all."

"Ay," he said ; " give us a long day and plenty of rope.
Then we climb the ladder gaily and kick oft' the shoes,
game to the last."

She shook her head. "Well," she said, "now I know
where to find you, I must use you for my own purposes.
Come here, if you can, to-morrow evening at nine, and I
will ask you certain (questions. Be sure that you answer
me truthfully."

"Then you don't moan mischief."

"IfyouMirve ViC faithfully I will not liarm you. If
you dare to j)la>^ false I will tell his worship. Alderman
Medlycott, whi you are, and give evidence against you at
Newgate."

The man still hesitated. Presently, however, he held
out his hand.

Honoui-, he said, was the only thing upon which poor
rogues an«l gentlemen of the road had to depend. And
as he was satisfied that the mjod lady nieant him no
hanm he would meet her the next day and take her to a
quiet place in the fields where they could talk.

Here nurs.- laughed. "Thou art a villain indeed, Dick,
but put that thought out of your mind. An old woman
like me may l»e knocked o' the head, but suppose she
writes a histoiy of 'i'homas Marigold and lays it in a place
where, after her murder, it might be ft)und !"

Thomas laughed at this and protested that he was a
most honest and harndessf(illow, and that he would cer-
tainly come and answer all her(iuestions.

That night, nurse, Jenny, and I had a long and serious
talk toij^^ther in mv chamber; so lon<c that when I went
to bed the watchman below was bawling, "Past two
o'clock, and a tine night." And all our talk was about my
lord.

Nurse had foreseen what was coming; so had Jenny;
so had everybody except the ])rincij)al person concerned;

MY LORD EARDESLEY.

nurso was sure that he was as good as he was brave and
han<ls()ine, and only owned to some misgivings on the sub
ject of wine, wliicli, she said, when genthimen exceeded
their couple of bottles or so, was apt to fly tothe head and
make them quanvlsome. Then, i)ecause she was a very
wise woman and knew the world, she began to tell mo
how different mj' life would be when I was a ])eeress.

" Oh ! " said Jenny with a long sigh ; " 1 wonder if
Lysander is a peer. There is an air about him ; he may
be anything."

Nurse went on to say that the great fortune which I
l)iought to my lord would need to have careful husband-
ing, l)ecause, doubtless, he would wish to buy back some
of his lands; and tliere were servants' vails to be paid
everywhere; and ])rices always double for my lord, espe-
cially at inns; and the trihe of poets, writers, artists, and
ingeiiions adventui'eis always dancing attendance U|)on a
peer and bagging for ])en^ions — why, if nurse had been a
maid in the best family of Englan«l she would not know
more about it. I told her so, and she sighed in her (piiet
way, and said that she had bei'U a huly's maid in her
young days. It grieved me that I had said anything to
remind her of that time in which, no d(Hibt, she had
irrievouslv sinned, althouiih 1 knew not in what Avav.

"Happy, happy, happy >.'elly ! "' Jenny cried, kissing
me b ^ore she went to be<l. " To many such a nuin, and
to irain a title, anil — oh ! Lvsander! "

She ran \ip>tairs to lier own room — and I began to un-
dress.

" As for my lord's character." said nur.se, " the alderman
may make any en([uiries he plea.ses. But I have a surer
way to find the truth."

In ^^wo or three days she told me that she had lea 'ncvl
all. L-^rd hjardt-h'V was the most quiet and steady
^ iiniirnian in London. He was studious, and read and
wrote a great deal. \r\. the evening he might be seen at
a coflee-house or at the i)lay. He went but little into

MY LORD EARD£SLEY.

society. He neither drank nor <^^aniblod. He atten<led
church. His fiiends were chietly gentlemen older than
himself. No character could have been more satisfactoiy.
I was in tlie highest spirits. I did not ask nurse how she
came by her information, wdiic^h I trusted entirely ; and
I waited impatiently for the alderman to tell me that all
was well, and that my lord was coming to the house as
my betrothed lover.

' It was bright sunny weather in early summer, I remem-
ber. The June and July of 1720, was full of .splendid
days in which every stone in the White Tower stood out
clear and distinct and the river sparkled in the sunshine.
They were all days of hope and yyy.

Yet a w^eek — a foi'tnight — passed, and the alderman
made no sim. That is, he became more silent. He had
an attack of gout upon him, though not a serious one.
Yet it laid him up so that he could not get about.

One dav I sought him in the counting-house and asked
him, s«-ring that he was alone, what was the meaning ot
his continued silence.

" My d-ear," he said, " I hope you will receive with rc-
signii-tion the news I have to <,dve you. I would fain
liavp spared you yet. But you force it from me."

"Go on (juickly," I said. '* Is Lord Eardesley ill ?"

*' Morn than that," he replied solemnly. " He is not wor-
thv of vour band. He must not marry you."

He laid h\> kin<ijy Viand on mine to keep me quiet,
while with sad eves and sad voice he said what he had
to say.

" He is a fortune-hunter, Elinor. He is a gamester; he
is a wine-bibber; he is a profligate. Such as his father
was, St) is l»e; and the late Lord Eardesley was the most
notorious of all tln^ men about -court twenty years ago.
Such as his grandfather was, so is he ; and the grand-
father was the private friend an<l intimate of Charles the
Second, Buckingham, and Kochester."

MY LOUD EAIIDE8LEV.

" How do you know, sir, tliat the son inherits tlie vices
of the father ? You si)eak from some envious and Ivinjj
re])ort."

" Nay, child, nay. I would 1 did. At first I ordy liad
my fears on account of idle reports which reached my ears ;
now, liowevei' those reports are confirmed, and 1 know
from a most certain, althuu«^di a secret, source, the whole
})rivate Hfe of this young nohh'man."
I was silent, l>ewildere(h

'• Consider for a moment, chiM, what a dreadful thing
it is to be the wife of a gand)ler. At the hegimiing of an
evening's play lu> hath a nohle fortune, say, pei-haj)s, a
hun<lred thousand pounds ; at the close of tlu; night all is
ii'one — all •feme. Think <jf that. The money which re-
presents the patience of generations and tin; labours of
hundreds of men all gone in a moment — in the twinkling
of an eye, fooled away upon a chance. Wliy, girl, the
2)rotligate and the druidvard are hotter; they, at least,
have some semblance of pleasui'e for their money; the
gaud tier alone hath none."

" 1 «lo not believe,"' I said <loggedly, " that my lord is
a "viiubler at all." Then 1 remembered my nurses dis-
coveries. " Why my dear alderman, \ can prove you are
wrong. 1 have my secret way of finding out, too, and my
information is trustworthy. What do you say to that i"
" I say, Elinoi'," re[)lied the aldei'man, " that I cannot
pronuse the hand of my late correspondent and honoured
friend, Robert Carellis, to the young Lord Eardesley, and
that I have written to tell him .so. Believe me, chil»\ it
was the hardest letter that I ever had to write. Now it
is written."

" In a year or so I shall be of age," I said bitterly.
*' Then I shall not want your consent."

"Be it so," he replied. " Let me do my duty mean-
while as it becomes an honest man. Go child. You ai'e
sorrowful, and with reason. The day will come when
you will own that 1 have acted rightly."

7*>

MY LORD EAKDEST.EY.

I returnod sadly. Jenny and madam knew \vliat had
l)ccn done, and we sat and cried tooretlier. Presently
Jenny whispered, " Wliat if Lysander should prove a
gandiler I "

"All the sorrow in the world/' said madam solemnly,
" comes from the extieme wickedness of man. AVhat vice
is so terrible as the love of [,^'^nun^ ? "

1 thoiiijlit of her own ])assion lor cards and wondered.
T know now, that people are never so virtuously indig-
i>ant as when they denounce the sins to which they are
themselves most prone.

Before night a letter was brought to me. It was from
my lord.

" Dearest and best of women," he said, and I seemed to
feel ai^ain the touch of his hand and to hear his soft and
steady voice, so that my head swam and my heart sank,
"I have received a letter from the alderman in which 1
learn that I possess such vices as initit m(\ for your hand.
I know not, in very truth, what they are. Have courage,
]ny <iear, and cheer jour (Jeotfrey with an assurance that
you will trust him until he can clear away these clouds.
1 have promised that 1 will not intrude myself upon your
house. My intenti(m is to do nothing for a week or two,
and then to ask if the aldeinian will briiii; before me the
reasons, clearly and certainly, for his bad opinion. 8o
now farewell, and believe that 1 may be unworthy of so
great a blessing as your love, but that 1 am not insen-
sible to it and not ungrateful."

Had any girl so sweet a letter ? Be sure I answered it
with such silly words as 1 could command, telling him
that 1 was altogether his, and that 1 tirndy believed his
innocence. An<l so, with lighter heart and with an as-
sured hope in the future, I lay»down to slee[) on tlie first
night after my lover was sent from me.

CHAPTER V.

HONEST THOMAS.

*^T was liard upon u,'

We we 10 at the mercy
of two most hardened villains, who had no
conscience, no fear, no gratitude, nor any
principles at all of truth or virtue. One of
them, of cour.se, was the man who called
himself Thomas jMarij^old ; the other, as
you will ]>resently see, was Chi'istopher
(yf^)^))^ March. So far, we knew no more against
^-^^^ ^ the alderman's factor than that he consented
to receive .Jenny's secret letters, advanced
money to madam that she might pay her
card debts, and knew all the little doings of the maids,
so that he could threaten theni into obedience. We
were to learn before long that his power in the house, tlie
confi«ienee of his master, and his [)osition, were all used
for our own undoing, and that if seven devils po.sses.sed
thesj)iritof Thomas Marigold, .seventy times seven held
that of Christopher March.

When the valet found that all the old woman wanted
was authentic information onthe })rivatelife of hismaster,
he was greatly relieved, and swore that nothing l)ut truth
should pass his lips. And then he revealed so sweet a
picture of a virtuous life, that the tears came into my

'ness wi'

prj

first I heard it from my nurse. An end, now, to those
fears and anxieties which, in spite of faith in my lord
would sometimes darken my soul.

IIONKST THOMAS.

'^''^

J)Ut one day, slioitly after licr first discovory of the
servant, Alico found out tli(.' chief cause (jf tlie Al(h.'rnian's
])rejudic(' against my suitor, Jt was caused, indeed hy
no othei'tlian Tlionias Marigold hiiuseh', at tlie instigation
or the l)i(hling of C'liristoplier March.

It was in the niorninix, and tiie dooi- of tlie outer othce
was open. Alice, wlio was in the fore-yard, saw the valet
walk in, a letter in his hand ; he lianded this with a rev-
erence to (Christopher, who in his turn carried it into the
innei otHce to his master. Alice waite<h hidilen l)ehind
some hales, looked, and listened.

Then tlie alderman called his clerk.

"Chrstophei-," he said with a groan, "tliis will not last
long. Make up to-<lay his loi(lshij)'s book."

"Does 1h; want more monev, sir ?"

"Ay, lad — niore monev — i.'verv dav more monev. And
for what ? It grieves me sore that so well spoken and
frank a gentleman should be so rearly to protest the thing
wliieh is not. Let me wi-ite to him."

Christopher left hin» and came back to the outer office,
leavirjg the door open.

"Well, lionest Thomas," he said, speaking loud, " liow
doth the noble lord, vour master, this morninii* ? '

"Bad, sii-." said Thomas, shaking his honest shock of
yeUow hair.

"Speak up, you fool, you," whisper(>dClirislopher. Then,
loud again : "I am sorry, Thomas, to hear it."

"J)runk again last night, sir," the inan went on, in a
louder key, "and at the gaming-table till three this morn-
ing. Such a life ! 'twould kill an ox."

" 'Tis pity," Christo])her sa^id, glancing at the door of the
counting-house, where his woisliip was listening to the
talk, pen in hand. "Pity. Tell me, good man, couldest
thou not, respectfully, put in a word of advice ? "

"Nay, sir," said Thomas; "lam but a i)Oor servant, with
m}' character to keep."

HONEST THOMAS.

"But yoii miglit try. Is his temper quick ? Louder,
this time."

"As for his temper," Thomas lifted up his voice and
laughed, "'tis a word, and an oatli, and a hlovv. One poor
fellow, as honest and sober a creature as walks, his lord-
ship disabled by breaking three ribs, so that he now goes
with short ])reath, and is nothing but astable help or does
odd jobs, and lives on cabbage-stalks."

Christopher groaned.

"A spendthrift, a gamester, a brawler, and striker —
what a cliaracter is this for a Christian man ?"

Just then tlie alderman came out with money in a little
bag of brown sackch^th.

"Be careiul, good Thomas," he said. "Tliere is the
money, and here is a note for his loids]n|). Be careful ;
rogues are abroad. But yesterday sc'nnight an honest
clerk carrying two hundred pounds to a goldsmith in
Lombard Street was tripped up, so that he tell and drop-
ped the bag, which when he recovered his feet was gone."

"I will take care, sir," said Thomas. So he made a
leg and came away. But outside the house he found
Nurse Alice.

"So," she said, "I shall, after all, have to make an end of
thee for a black-hearted and lying villain."

"Why mother, what is the mattjr?"

"I have overheard all that you told Christopher March
but now."

Thomas changed colour, but presently laughed and
whistled.

"Phew!" he said. " Why, is that all ? I have told you
no lies, mistress. Be sure of that."

"Then why tell lies to him, for the alderman to hear ?"

"That is a little business between me and the respect-
able Christopher, mother."

"You and Christopher ? What has Christopher got to
do with you?"

7(]

HONEST TIIOMAb.

Now vvu all know — nurse as well as tlie rest (jf us —
that ( 'lnistoi)]ier had been picked vip out of tlie street;
yet it did not j)eeur to her that there could possibly be
any ac(piaintance between the chief factor and this pro-
fessed thief, so «,Mvat is the power nf line clothes.

Thomas Marit^ndd chewed his s^raw for a few nionjcnts
before he answered.

"Suppose he wants tlie alderman to believe that Lord
Eardeshiy is a lad of spii-it and a ^^alhtnt player, and sup-
pose he pays me to say .v; ; think you i should refuse his
money ("

This seemed [)lausible, because the fellow nv\ cr pre-
tended to any k'ld ot honesty. He wodd bear false
witness, just as he would cheat, lie, and rob for money.
" He a gamester I" (continued Thomas, with a laujLjii
of superiority. "A dull and tedious gentleman, who
spends his time a-r« .tding Now, mother, 1 don't tell you
no lies. You go on a trusting of me, and m.'ver mind
what I tell the alderman to please that Christopher. Set
nn u[)!
"But tell no more lies about Lord Eardesley. Mind,
Dick, that is my l.'ist word. Jfl Hnd you out again I
shall act at once."

"Between the pair of you," said Thomas, scratching his
head, "a man's fairly sped. Look you, mistress, for a spell
I nnist do what he wants." He jeiked his thumb over
his left .shoulder to indicate Christ (>[)her. "Curse him !
You don't think I like him. Uunninganother man's neck
into the noose, and keeping his own out.' This he said
in a lower voice. "Only you wait a»da\ or two, and [
do no more service for Christopher March."

" A day or two." She thought very little mi.schief could
be done in so short a tiuK;. " What service doth he require
of you besides that of lying;'"

"None," he replied, quickly. "Oh, don't you go to
think that I would do anvthing di.shonest, mother. Come .
now, a poor man may repent and turn over a new leaf.*

HONKST THOMAS.

"Ay," sai<l AIi<;c, "ho may. But Ih^ seldom docs. And
you, Dick, aro, I douht not, a ro^aic in f,q'ain."

The fellow lauj^hcd and swun^Hiimself awayiti his con-
fident manncf, heini^^ just as hapjiy and assured, thnu^^h
his manne)- of death was neaily certain, ns if lie had heen
the most honest servant in the woi Id. 1 have seen so
much of ro'Hies and vai»'al»onds that I am no Innirer as-
tonishe<l when i find, as I have neu, rally found, botli in
Knf^land and Virginia, the gr«'atest villain to he" also the
most confident, easy, Jind hapjiy of men. Tt is your small
romie, condennied to ]iiin''iiiLC f'"" havinir -tolen a hit of
cloth, wlio fi-ets and hauLjs his heml. Honest 'J'homas,
the valet, held his erect, and, no <louht, had an easy con-
science.

Nurse told mo thes(! thin^^s. and we talke<l them over,
but without any present undr'rstandinn- how ix-st to act.

Meantime, I leceived daily lett(;rs fiom my loid. In
them he assured me of his passionate love, and exhorted
me to patience and constitncy. As n^^arded himself, we
kn(!\v, he said, the worst of hijn ; that h<; was of a verity
exceedinLT l)oor, and possessed of little beside a barren
mountain, a ,>wamp, and a ruined castle in Wales which
lie could not sell ; that he was not ver.sed in those artsby
which men become lich; that he had no party in politics-
and th;it he could court no man's favour for place or pen-
sion. Indeed, he spokeof himself at all times with the
true modesty which (!vei' attends virtut*.

Jenny knew that I was in communicjition with L(;rd
Enrdesley, and drli^jj-lited inth(,' contemplation of an amour
whii-h possessed the first element of intriyue — namely
that it was carried (m in opposiiiun to tlu' will of my
^nianlian. This reminded lu'r <jf hei- own atlair with
Lysander, which .seemed to progress slowly. About once
a fortrught the swain would address her in a copy of verses
(one time, I was sorry to discover, he stole them from the
Tatler), which s[)oke of love's Hames an<l darts, his cai)tive
hearts, fair nympths andswains, with loves in twains, and

llONKST TIIOMA...

wnrldluir Ki'ooks, and umorous looks, as j;lil>ly Jis if 1>^
liad l)oeii Mr Aloxaiidci- l'oi>«^ liiiusi'll'. And oveiy Sun-
day we saw liiin atclnncli, lanLruisIiint^ ai^^iinst a pillar,
and trv'ii"'' liis best to look as if the idea of liis.ronnv had
driven iVoui liini Ids sympathy with the (*hui'ch Service.
Jenny used rei,nlaily every week to call i.iy attention to
Ins nohle carriji^^n:, and the stamp of ^n-ntle hirth which
she remarked in his face. For my own part, this was not
a fact so apparent. Nor indt-ed, did Lysander ever suc-
ceed in commendinj.? himself to my ^^ood o])inion. Me-
thou<,dit his face was mean ami his hearinj^ atlected. But I
woid<l not tell Jenny so. Perhaps, too, the constant con-
templation of that face' which la\' in mvhea.t as in a niir-
ror, made otlirr faces seem small, as the; moondoth extin-
ftuisli the lesser lights. J>nt Jenny was set ui)on her lover
jtrovingto }»e of ;j^en tie hirth.

"Wliy," .slie asked once, " if the man really wants mc,
cannot he see my fathei-and tell him so :* "

"Because," 1 said, "that would be too commonplace a
plan, and your lover would fain,l)ein,i,^ a poet, nourish liii
passion in i-hymes a little longer — perhaj)sas long as your
patience will allow. J'ray, Mistress Jenny," 1 asked, "do
you, too, reply with a madrigal, and send him a sigh in a
sonnet."

Jenny hlushed.

"Girls," she said, pui-sing up her i)retty lips, "must not
be asked the little .secrets of their courtship. My Ly-
sanderis satisfie<l with th(; answers which 1 send him."

I was not, however, and it tlid not please me to be
taking a part, however small, in an atfaii* which was
kept secret from the good old alderman and from madam
his wife, whose only fault was her love of cards. And
the secpiel proved that 1 had reason to be uneasy.

We resolved, after Alice had s[)oken with the valet, to
let matters go on as they were for the time named by the
man. We should have gonetothe alderman immediately
and told him all. But we knew little of the great web of

lloSKST THOMAS.

7! I

l)lo(s with wliicli tliis Cliristoplier Marcli lui'l surroiuult'd
UH .ill. Wo f'ouiKl it <|Uit«.' L'ilsy to uih1( istiuul tllilt tlio
innn should wish the chin-actcr »>i' Loid l^jiidL'slcv to he

ft'

r»'j)ii'srntc(l in the ))la('k«'st lij^ht ; that was coiiinion rt;-
vciinrc iijx.ii iii(.. \V«' also saw ch-arly that th«i aMcinian
tMjuM easily he hroii^'lit to lirlicvc that Chiistopher as
well as himself had Imch deceived liy th(^ servant.

i\o\v, two days al'lei" 'J'honias Mari^^old openecl
himself on the suhjeet of ( 'hi'istopher March, hecaiiievol-
untaiily and fii^hteiied us out of our senses. Fiist lie
said that he wanted the youn;^ lady to hear what he
liad to tell. When 1 was fetched, he told us that lie was
j^oin_t;t(> leave the serviee of his Lordship in a dayor two;
tliatas he could do no more for us than Ik; had done, he
wished to tell us tliat (.'hristo])hei- Maich was a hlack-
hearted villain, who would stick at nothing; thathe hated
Lord Kardesley, and would do him an ill turn if he could ;
that ho Would nevei" lest till liis lordship was mined, and
that, in the end, he wouhl he the ruin of every one wlio
had l)enetit<'(l him.

Then Alice asked him how it was that he knew (,'hris-
topher so well.

The fellow i-epli«'d that ])erhaps lie would tell her when
next tlioy met. AJeantime, lie said, he had warned us, and
his mind was clear, 'While I was with his lordship," he
achled, " no Iku'iii should be doneto him ; but after 1 leave
his sei'vice 1 cannot answer foihini."

Then we ])eL;an to look at each other and to tremble,
and I lined the man's palm with five pieces of ui-old for his
honesty.

"I almost wish," he said, puttiiijj ujt th<' money, "that
I liad come to your ladyship first. Anyhow, thein lies
about liis lordship are soon set right."

So he went aAvay, and we began to consider wliat was
best to be done.

"The man will tell us," said Alice, "no more u'lan he
chooses. If he goes away to-morrow from his lordship's

JiJ,r,«fcB^.

HONEST THOMAS.

soivice, I shall not see liini again. That is very certain.
How can we pi'ove anything against (Jhristophei* ? "

Notliing would be proved, hut it would he well to set
Lord Eardesley on Ids guard and to inform liini of what
had passed. We decided, at length, tliat we would go
ourselves to his lodgings on the morrow, and lay before
him the whole matter.

So far, very little mischief had been done. Tlu^ cha-
racter of a man of honour and virtue had been malignefl,
but only in the ear of the alderman, who would easily be
led back to his former confidence, That is what we said
to each other. Alas ! we little knew all the nnschief that
had been done, and was, even then, on the point of dis-
covery.

While we talked, the alderman sent me an invitation
to converse with him.

He was si^tlerinii* from another attacl: of y'out — an un-
fortunate thing in all i-espects, because it prevented him
from getting about and making those en([uiries into the
private life of my lord, as he had promised. He was now,
being dependent on the reports ofChristopher Maich and
the man, in u'reat mental trouble about Lord Eard(.'slov.

" I do not diso-uise from mvself, my ward," lu; j-aid
" that an alliance with a nobleman of his exalted rank
(albeit his estates are small) would have been gratifying
to your lamented father, as it would, under other cinunn-
stances; to myself. Yet the ])i'ofligacy of the young man
is such that no hope can be entertained of his amendment
before his final ruin overtr.kes him.''

" You know of his pioHigacy," I replied, " only by report
and rumour. Have you asked any of his friends about
him ? "

"His friends, child ? 1 am a plain London citizen, and
have no acquaintance with noblemen. Besides, they
would be, do'ibtless, all of a tale. But I have clear proof.
Not only hath his man confessed to Christopher Marv.'h,
in my hearing, that his master gambles, but to pay his

HONKST THOMAS.

g<>

losses lie sends to mo sometimes dailv, someti'iies tlirice a
wei'k, for money. V<'ry soon, sooner than his lordsliip
tliinks, there will !•' an (Mul. I)oth he hojje, then, to send
your hnndreil thousand >.onnds after hi^ own hundreds?
My deal', should I be an lionest guardian did 1 counsel
thee to n»arrv a jxamestei' ? "

Tlie good old man ! It Avas tlie last time tliat T received
any admonition from iiim at all, almost the last time tliat
1 ever saw him ; because his troubles beij^jin almost on tliat
very day — with my own and Jennv s and mv lords and
even n»y nurse's.

J confess I was sta'^iifered at first. I must needs believe
in my lover's truth and ti(h'lity. Whit has a ^^iil to trust
in, if slu! cannot trust hw lover ^ \vt tlwit lie slutuld send
nearly e\eiy day to the alderiuMU for money when he liad
so little left, and wIk.'U his lodgings were so mean and ill-
}/;-o|)ortioued to his rank -why, what did that mean '(

I went to my riurse aiid consulted with her, She, too,
began to fear that the man might have played us false,
and that the information which he gave to ('hristoj>her
March was true. 1 say she began to feai' it, because, al-
though liei" words were braxc, and she bade mi' go on
trusting in my lover, yet I saw her kind eyes troubled as
she sat down and bade n)e be silent while she thought.

" Yi)U nuist set! him at once, my de.u-," she said. " There
must be no time lost. Vou must st'c him somehow l>y
himself, and speak to him, and ask him what it means.
Let me cousidei'."

1 could not ask him to the house, because he had j>ro-
mised the alderman that he would not come v'ithout his
])i'rmission. It would be best, on all accounts, t(j seek
liim secretly. J might go to the ^lall, in St. James's Park,
and trust to the chance of meeting him. Hut, then, the
chance was small, and the mol) was so gieat, an<l the man
ners of some who frequent that ])lace are so rough and
rude, that, although Jenny always liked to go there, I con-
fess I cor Id not approve the place, or feel easy whib T

HONEST THOMAS.

was aiiioii*^' tliJit crowd of i»aiiitcMl, piitclietl, ami liesatined
nic'ii and \v(jint'n.

'I'licn my nui'si; pro[)o.s(Ml a tiling' wliii-li, I own, I sliould
have b(!C'ii afraid liy myself to undcitaUc

It was oui- cveiiini'' ior caids. Alien advised mc to make

some (!xciis(', wlide madam was eiitertaiiniinand I'ceeivinn-
lie; visitors, to slip out of the room, i was to clioose a
tiiiie wlieii tin; tal)les were laid, and the la<lies wi're in
tli(^ Hi'st heinhtaiid interest of the ;i;amt.'. 'I'lius I .should not
be misse<l. I was to run U[)stairs, wliei-e sIm; would he in
waitin;;- for me, wit!i dtiminos and lioods, in whieli she and
1 would take eoacli and _i;"o oui'selves in seareli of his lord-
ship. Jn case of ne'cessity, I was to take Jenny into eon-
lidenee.

I confess my lieart l)eat wheii I thought of tliis a<lven-
ture. I'or a youniLj jj;irl to l,^o out alone, or jKotectecl only
\>y an old nurse, was a perilous thini^, indee(|. it was oidy
H. vv(!ek sinc(! some footpads had actually stoj)[)ed a coach
at KniL,ditsl)rid!.,fe, and rohl)ed a^'entleman in it of Ids^^^^old
watch and cliain, and twenty ^old pieces. And there were
stories of Mc^hocks, as the younu" LJ-entlemen wlio ran about
the streets at ni^lit to knock down constables and ti_L;ht
})orters, called themselves. ( )nce they jnade two ladies
•4"et down from their coach and dance a minuet with them
on the pav(!ment of a court in Fleet Streiit. After the
ininu(;t, tliey kissecl them, and sent them on tlu^ir way.

Still, we WM'r(! not L'^oiuL'" into tl

le CO

untry

or as lar as

th(! iitdds of Kni^htshrid^'e, and we were; not j;oinL( to he
out ]at(! at nin'ht, And then tluMc was t\\v, necessity of

seeinir mv

,' h)rd

as S(jon as possibh

In f

nie

consen

ted

to ^o. (jrlad am J now and tliankful for a i(;.solution
wliich, if anytidrig could liave been, was an in^]^n•atiou
from ILuiven, and served to save, out of the general
wreck, at least one pair of hai)py lovers.

This, then, was decided. iSurse went away to buy the
masks and hoods. 1 stayed at home and went on with

usu

wor

INIadi

im,

remember, was more

lan

HONEST THOMAS.

usually talkative, and <letailc(l at l('M<^tli tlio groat part
lior father, avIio liad l)eeii Slierill' of London, took in the
g'loiious llevolulion of l()<S.S,and liei- personal recollections
of tlu! Protestant Hero, William of Orange. Jenny was
silent and abstracted. Once 1 saw her stealthily wipe
away a tear. What had happened to her — aciuarrel with
Jjysand(!r, ])erhaps '. liut I was .soseltishly full of my own
anxieties, that 1 took little; haoA of poor Jc^nny.

At thiee wt; dined, as usual, the alderman heing laid up,
as J liav(! said, with gout.

At four we all walked into tlie (^*ity to ('heajjside,
whei'e we houyht souk; ril)l)ons and stuffs, and presently
returned ; we two giils heing hotli silent and depressed,
l)ut neither noticing, till later on, the ti'ouhle of the otiier.
At six o'clock some visitors called, and M'o had a dish of
tea. Tlie time sc.'emed long before our guests ai'rived and
the cards were; laid out. i excused myself from playing,
and afti'r tiny wei"(; all sat (hnvn, and Madam's attention
was entirely occupie(l with the game, 1 sli[>ped out of tlie
room, and fjund my nuise waiting forme with the masks
and the ho< t!s. J did not tell .leiniy anything, and, indeed,
thou<i"ht not]nn<j: about her at all.

Tlu! hood was so loni!' that it hid the whole ()f my di-css
and covered my head, while the mask, made of black silk,
coveied and concealed my face, except tin; eyes. It was
impo.ssible for anyom^ to ]-(!cognize me. Alice was attired
in exactly the same fashion ; and, tlu.s disguised, we slip-
ped down the stairs and were out of the door without any
one having the Ic'ast suspicion of my aljsence.

It wasju.st striking half-[)ast eight by all the clocks to
getlier. We took a coach on Tower Hill, and ordered the
driver to pro(;eed to Bury Street, where Lord Eardesley
had lodgings. W^e pre »posed driving to the very door of
the. house, so as to encounter as little risk as possible
from fellows who thiidv it no shame to address a lady
who may be unprotected.

The streets were full, and the progress of the coach was

JIONKST THOMAS.

.slow. Ill Fleet Street tlie driver p^ot clown to fifjht a dray-
iiuin wlio refused to make way or to ^'o on. The battle
lasted for tt'ii mintites, while we ti'end.le<l witl\in. The
drayman dd'eatcd, Ids liorses wei'e drawn out of the way,
and we ^yvut on. It was a rainy evening and darlv ;
thouiili in the nnddle of summer iluM'e was a hi'di wind,
and 1 r('mend)er liow, to the noise a id fuiy of the eomha-
tants and tlicii- friends, was added tht) dr(,'adful shrieking
and n'roainnLj of the j^a-eat siijns wlneli swnnj^ over our
heads. Surely sli(>j)k('('|>ers nii^^ht find a more convenient
method of adveitisini;' their l;(m>(Is than by lianLdni^ out a
s'lixn whieh is so heavy that it I'eatens to drau* down the
front of the liouse, and so jiois\ tliat it keeps one awake
at niij^ht, and so surrounded l>v .le olher ijfreat si^^ns that
l)assers hv cannot set^ it.

When we e-ot through Temple J)arwe made better way,
and after a little turlln'r delay at Charing ('ross, we
finally ani\ed sifely at J^u ry Sti'eet.

Jjut Ins lonUhi)) was abroad, \\ )v did tlie maid know
with any cei-tainty when he would w u. We sent for
Ins serv.int.

When Thomas saw us, lie became sr»ddenly pale.

"Man!' cried nui'se annriU'. "What ails ITun ? One
would think he had never set eyes on ns before."

He recoverc'l, but showed such hesitation in his man-
ner as made me sure that there was somethinn' wro...-.

"You would see my lord i " he said. "His lordshipds
abroad this eveninijf."

"Where can we find bin), Thomas ?" I asked. "Our
business with him is lu'gent."

He hesitated a^ain.

"1 know where lie is,"' he rej)lied at last., "He went to
the Ko\al ('hocolati' House, in St. James' Street, intend-
ing to go afterwaids to the Theahe in Lincoln'.s Inn
Fields, iiut he met some ^friends, wdio have taken him
instead to Covcnt Gaiden, to the house kept by one Dun-
ton."

HuNEST THOMAS.

"Wliiit is tliii house kept for?" I asked. "Andean
ladies get in "

"It is ke;^ for music, dancing, supper, and gambling.
Ladies cm go in if tliey liave the pass-word."

"But how can we get the pass-word? Can we not
send for my kn'd?"

Tiiomas shook liis liead. Then lie considered, and
presently said that he might be able to get us the pass-
word, because the ])orter was a friend of his. He also as-
sured us that though tlie company was not entiiely what
I might wish, we need be under no apprehensions of ill-
usage or insult; and that indies, especially court ladies,
often put on a hood and mask, and so disguised, went to
this house, or to Cupid's Gardens, or the Folly on the
Thames, for a frolic — where they could see without beinir
{•een, and watch their lo^'ers or their husb-^ ds.

Truly, it seemed a chance. If my loi J was what this
ereatui'e had told his confederate, now was the time to
find him out ; if not, then we had i)roof to the contrary in
our own hands.

So, with Thomas on the box beside the coachman, we
drove to Covent Garden — oh! the crowded, dirty place
with its piles of cabbage-stalks ! — and presently jstopped
at a door where there was no light. We got down and
told the coachman to wait forhalf an hour. Then Thomas
knocked gently, and the door was opened by one of the
1 ^^'ijfest and most ferocious-lookinLT fellows I ever saw.
ixfter a little parley, he let us in, and called up the stairs,
whereupon anothei* tall bul-y a))peared, bearing a light.

"This way, ladies," hesa''l. " Up the stairs. Have no
fear. There is goodly company here to-night."

There was, indeed, a goodly company. Many ladies
were jiresent, all of them like ourselves, with hoods and
masks ; some alone, but mostly in pairs, They walked
about the rooms, which were en suite, and all brilliantly lit
with wax candles, talking incessantly to the men, some
of whom they ach'ressed by name. The men seemed

fautfM-jwiinffmn

HONEST Til >MAS.

to consist almost of tlie very rieli class, so splendid

were their liieed ruHles and tlieii* conts ; and n|)on their

faces then; was mostly tliat assuivd look which one

never finds except amonj^' •^^entleman whose position and

rank camiot be (juestioned. It is not pride, nor is itarro-

gance ; it is simj)ly the satisfaction which naturally i^rows

upon one who can without challenirc standamonn- the first,

who is born tocounuand, and who fi-om childhood upwards

is oV>eyed. I knew the look well, because the <,^entlemen

of Vivi^'inia, born upon their plantations, an<l brou«;ht

up amonu; their convict servants and their black slaves,

carried it in their faces, just as Lord Kardesley carried it,

and for the same reason. Foolish little Jenny used to

tell me that I bore myself like a (pieen. That was her

way of saying thai I inherited the same expression of face

which had been worn bv my father.

In the lirst room there was a band of music, which was
playinj^ a minuet as we entered. Fourcouplesweredanc*
in<X. 1 looked hurriedlv to see if mv lord was anumn'
them, but he was not. It was a foolish girl's j^jaiousy.
Why should he not dance if the fancy took tiim i We
passed on, my nurse and I, wnile many acitrious look was
turned upon us, to the next room. Here there was sup-
per laid out, with bottles of Poit, Malmsey, and Bordeaux
in plenty, ap|)arently free for all comers. l>ut no one as
yet was eating or drinking. Then we canu; to the third
room, where there were tables set with cai'ds a!id count-
ers and parties were sitting at them playing ombre and
quadrille, just as madam at home, at that same time, was
playing with her friends. Lastly, there was the fourth
room. And this was crowded. F(jr here they were gam-
blinor indeed. At a table sat one who held the bank ; he
played against all ; a pile of gold was before him ; a man
stood on either side of him raking in the money and pay-
ing it out; round the table were clustered a gioup of
players, men and women. Several of tlie women had dis-
carded their masks and thrown back their hoods ; one or

IIONllST THOMAS,

<s';

twu Were yonni,' aii<l })i'etty, most of them were old or
middle-aoed ; but all alike, meti and women, liad stamped
UjH)n their faees the same eay-er look — that of the <rand)ler.
It is anxious, it is cxjieetant, it is hopeful, yet it is despair-
in^^ because at lieait tliere is no gamester bit knows that
in the end ruin awaits hiju.

I looked hurrie<lly round the tables. Lord Eardesley
v^^as not play i no; at any. But 1 saw him presently stand-
ing- l)eside one of the doors, in company with a gentleman
not your.g, whose star and riitbon, as well as his splendid
apparel, spoke his high rank.

1 moved nearer to him and listened. He looked hand-
some and noble, my love, and there was no trace in his
clear eyes and loftv brow of the protligacy, driidv and
gambling with whieli my guaniian '•haiged him,

"Come," said his companion, "Shall we, for half an
hour, try fortune i"

But Lord F^ardesley shook his head.
"1 think," he said, " that my House has had onougli of
tlie green table. You know that I never play."

His friend ceased to press him, and joined the throng at
the table.

Lord Kard(vsley watched the play a little, and then, as
if it had little interest for him, he l)egan to walk through
the rooms.

1 would have followed liiin, but Alice touched my arm
and pointed to another ligure at the table.

Heavens I It was Christopher March. He was attired
in a brave show of scarlet and silk, with a sword at his
side, a wig fully e([ual to any other in the room, and laced
rutiles very tine indeed. And he was gaming with a sort
of madness. 1 watched him lose time after time, yet he
never ceased to play ; his eyes were lit with a lire of
anxiety ; his cheeks was Hushed; his hands trembled; he
played on with a sort of rapture. Once he turned round
suddenly and saw Lord Eardesley. Then he started and
half sprang from his seat ; but the voice of the banker

HONKST THOMAS.

cjilled liiin Uack and hit ti'ined lound a^^uin, profenln<,'
play to ri3vcii«re.

'* What do vou make of this Alice '{ " I asked.

" This will lie soinetliin;,^ new to UtW the alderman,' she
said, " J)o not let his lordship ^^o before you can speak
with him."

One moment I waited, because I saw another familiar
face. The'v .'^at Jenny's Lysander.

He was winnin<jf. JTis sharp and mean little features
were full of satisfaction as lie raked in the money. Me
seemed, too, to be winnin*^^ a ^neat deal.

" Jenny," J thou<^dit, " this will bi' s()methin<.j- new for
you. Lysander gand)les."

Then I hastened after Loitl Kardesley. The black look
of hatred which shot out of Christoiiher s even when the\
turned n))on his enemy, as he, perhaps, thowulit lum,
warned me that the man Thomas had spoken tlie truth,
and that Christopher wo\dd do him a hurt, it he could. 1
did m>{ w.'Uit to see my lord mixed up in a vulyar lirawl
at a c\>nnuon uaminy house, j^ot \\]\ b\ a ('iU clerk,

Alice it was who accosted hiu».

" My lord," she naid, in a low voice, " this is not a wdiolc-
Home air i'ov you. l^etter leave it."

He huikt'd Miuprised. He did not recoynize her voice.

" Why not wholesouK', fair incognita i"

" Because, tirst, Mistress C'arellis would not like it."

'* What (h) you know of Mistress ( 'arellis '{ "

" C.'omo with me," she said, " and 1 will show you — what
it will please your lordship to see. '

I had descended the stairs, and was waitim;-. We Avent
out, all three together. I got into the carriage and took
off my mask.

"\Nelly 1" he cried, springing into the coach after me.
"My .Nelly! He.o:"

" It is for your sake," I said. " There is mischief brew-
ing against you."

" What mischief ? "

IIOXKST THOMAS.

M!)

" First tell mc — nay, iny lord, leave my hands aloiu'.
TIds is snious. 'I\dl inc^ why it is that yon send vour
servant to the aldcruian tlniee a week tor money i "

Me started at this.

" Thriee a week ! Nelly, I have not asked the alder-

man for mon(

V tl

H'se

tl
d

U'ce montlis

I en, who

us was a picttv <lis('(»verv or vnli\ni\
had l'orn(Ml the Icttci's and drnlts i

The nwm who l)r«M\yht tlu'm '

Alir»> said he vy\\\\\\ not rea<l. We looked at eaeh other,
and I wl\is|uMe(l, • ( 'hristophrr M.uch."

On tlu' wa\' hark, mv lortl sittin<r beside me, I told him
how we had drtectrd hissei'vant 'dvinix false information
at the sidiorninLC <'f < 'hristophci' Maich : how the man had
wai'nrd ns a^aijist him, and how the alderman was grievcid
at payin^f those tlaily drafts.

" As for the diafts," said my lord, " there has been some
^nievo\is forgery. I will eali cm the ahhirman to-morrow.
As for tlm faetor, ('hristoi'hcr March, why does lie seek

mv miur\

lecausc

-o

h, mv lord ! ir-decd, f fravc him no encour-

a^cnu'nt -beeanse he dariMl to fall in love with -a pei'-
son whom yon have thought worthy of yonr own love."

The drivers cnrsed and swore at each other; the rain
fell ; the si<;n-boaids ^Moaned ; the people crowded and
])»vssed in the narrow ways; the link-boys ran by .shout-

\\\u.

i heeded not the noise or crowd ; for I had taken my
love away from the place where his enemy miju'lit harm
him, and \n\ was sitting heside me, and 1 was ready to
clear his chai'actei'.

We parted at the alderman's door. Theadventnre had
taken altogethei- abont two houis ; an<l, on my return to
the party, 1 discovered that, as I had hoped, my ab-
sence had not been reinaikerl. Only two hours, and
yet how much had hn})pened ! But who could tell
that my eheek was [;lowin<jj with my lovoj's kiss, ami

HONEST THOMAS.

my eyes wcro ltri<^ht with tlie fruition ol' hope dofer-
vrA ? The ladies were phiyin;^' as oaLfcily as tlie company
J liad left at Dunton's house in Covent (larden. Outside
the riiijj^ were sittin«,^ in close conveisation, .lemiy and a
«,drl wlio was always much dislikt<l hy me, because I never
heard her talk of anythin*^, so far as 1 can rememher, but
lovers, love-letters, love-makin;:,^ and so forth. 1 woidd
not b(! hard upon the <.,drl, and in the end i he«ard that she
mairied a su\»stantial merchant, and bioui'ht up a lar^e
faunly in Ik iiest and (Jod-fearin;jj fashion, And truly,
when a ;;irl (as was hvv case) has been flouted and slijj;ht-
ed by elch'r sisters and thou<^ditless brothers, the pleasure
of hjiding herself so consi<lerable a person as to en<.(age
the whole affection of a ij:allant gentleman is so great, that
we may ])artly excuse this continual longing to obtain so
rich a blessinjx.

I was greatly excited and out of myself, as they say,
by what liadha[)})ened. Yet 1 eould but notol)serve that
Jenny had red eyes, as if she had been crying. So I sat

down beside lier, and took her hand in mine,
*' Wliat is it, Jenny, my dear ^" 1 asked.
She looked at me sorrowfully, and her e^'es tilled with

tears again. Tlien slie turned away her head and did not
answer.

" Slie will soon recover," said her contidante, with a

meaning smile. " Lovers' uuariels are but the renewing

of lover

After our /niests departed, Jemiy ran away (quickly, so

that her mother might not notice her eyes. But madam

was too full of the various fortunes of the evening to heed

her, and she kept me waiting lialf an hour wdiilc she

fought the battles over again.

CHAPTER VI.

A DAY 01 IMTE.

HK morrow was tlic day of fate. Could

(^J'^'tHk^i \\ *^^^'' ^"^''^'1 *^'^ fntmv, each day would ho a
vii«o,siU y J , (].^y of fafo j„ii of ;,sucs important and

eventful. Jiut justas wo cannot foresee
.^'^) the future so we f()r<^^ot tho lesser links in
the eliain of the ])ast. Methinks he who
would prophesy must first be able to re
member.

In the morning Alice began to talk about
^ the forg«nl dnifts. She said that, considei-
ing evei'vthing, how Christopher IVlarch was a gambler,
how he hated my lord, and how he knew, or liad some
power over, Thomas Marigold, she could have no doubt
that he, and none but \w, was the forger. Indeed, who
else could it be? But the difKeulty would be to bring it
home to him and prove it.

My lord was to call upon the alderman at twelve. A
little before noon I went to the counting-house and found
my guardian sitting, as usual, before books and papers,
but with his foot still bandaged. His gout had not left
him.

"My dear," he said kindly, " I am always glad to see
you here. Sit down and let us talk. Nay, the papers
can wait. Did you have a merry party la.st night ? "

"Why, truly, sir," I replied, "J do not play at cards
But the ladies seemed to enjoy their game."

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Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, NY. 14580

(716) 872-4503

A DAY OF FATE.

" Ay," lie said, with a cloud over his face. "Those who
won doubtless enjoyed their game. Do not play cards,
girl. Never play cards. You have an example in" — I
i thought he was going to say, "my own wife," but he
did not — "in my Lord Eardesley."

"It is of him that I would speak with you this morn-
ing, sir," I said.

"Nay, Elinor. There lacks but a little while, a twelve-
month or so, of the time when you will pass out of your
minority. Let us leave your spendthrift lord till then. I
have said my say and cannot alter it."

"Nevertheless, sir," I said, laughing, for I could very
well afford to be merry now ; "neveitheless I prophesy
that you will alter your say before another half hour is
over."

" Say you so, lass ? Why, then, let us wait. Where
lies the wind now ? "

"Lord Eardesley is coming to see you, sir, at twelve of
the clock. You will not refuse to see him."

"Not if he brings with him anything beyond his word."

"Alas! sir. Can you not trust the word of ti noble
man?

The alderman shook his head but said nothing And
just then, as all the clocks began to strike twelve together,
and there arose the mighty clamour which betokens the
dinner-liour of all the craftsmen, lightermen, dock labour-
ers, boatmen, porters, and carters who throng about Tower
Hill, Christopher March opened the door and announced
the arrival of his lordship. I snatched a glance at Chris-
topher's face ; nothing that would recall the eager, frantic
gambler of last night ; a calm, sober air such as befits an
honest factor with conscience at ease. Yet I thought his
cheek was pale and his eyes anxious.

"I hope," said my lord, "that all is well with my old
friend."

"No," replied the alderman ; "all is ill. I doubt if we
shall ever make things well again between your lordship

n" i timi i tm MmoittimaitmtmiimmmimMum

A DAY OF FATE.

and myself. Yet 1113' ward will have it that you have an
important communication to make."

"Mr. Alderman," Lord Eardesley said, "I have many
things to say. But first >)eeause Mistress Elinor Carellis
has told me a thing which surprised me greatly, let me
know when last you honoured any draft of mine."

"Surely," said the alderman, "yesterday morning, and
the day before, and twice last week, and I think three
times the week before last "

"Stop. The last draft I sent to you for cash was more
than two months affo."

"What;" cried the alderman. "Say that again."

"I repeat that the last time I drewuponyou for money
was more than two months ago."

"Then there has been villainy. Elinor, go call Chris-
topher March. Christopher," he cried, in quick and pe-
remptory tones, " my lord's book, and quickly ; and all his
latest drafts, all his drafts of the last six m.onths. Quick,
I say."

The clerk obeyed, and brought the books, standing be-
side his master as if ready to answer questions. But his
hands trembled and his eyes were dropped.

The alderman seemed changed suddenly. He, the most
gentle of men, was now rough, quick, and even rude.

" Now, my lord," he said, snatching the drafts from
Christopher's hands. " We shall see. Your man brought
the drafts and received the monc y. Where is he ? "

" Gone. He went away, witlnut notice, last night."

" Thai is suspicious. Could he write ?"

" No. ile was a common counliy lad, out of Glouces-
tershire, he said."

" Well, then, here are the ch ifts, which we duly l.ion-
oured and cashed. Look at th( iii all, my lord."

Lord Eardesley looked them through. The earlier ones
he laid aside. Those dated during the last eight weeks
he put together in a separate pile.

" There " he said, " are the forged drafts."

A DAY OF FATE.

They represented the sum of two thousand and fifty
pounds, so that the moneys belonging- to Lord Eardesley
still in the alderman's hands now amounted to no more
than three hundred pounds and some odd shillings.

" I wonder," said my lord, showing one to the alder-
man, " that so clumsy a cheat was not suspected."

"Why, indeed," the alderman was looking at the paper,
"it is not like your lordship's writing. Christopher, you
received and opened the letters. Had you no suspicion ? "

"I looked at the signature, sir," replied the clerk ; and if
you will look at that carefully, I think you will agree
with me that it is so like his lordship's writing as to de-
ceive anyone."

"Let me look," I cried. "My lord, I have certain letters
of yours by mo which no one, I think, will deny to be
your own." In fact there were then lying in my bosom
a collection of the sweetest letters ever received by love-
sick maid. I pulled them forth, and. taking one opened it
and laid it beside the draft. " There my guardian," Isaid,
" compare the two."

There was no comparison possible, because in the forged
draft the body of the document was not in the least like
Lord Eardesley's handwriting, and the signature alone
had been imitated, but this so clumsily that even the
slightest acquaintance with his hand should have been
enough to detect the forgery."

"Wily," said the alderman, " this is palpable. This is so

gross a forgery that even Christopher March hast,

thou taken leave of thy senses ? "

" With submission, sir," said Christopher, speakingslow-
ly and steadily, "am I to blame ? 1 am imperfectly ac-
quainted with my lord's hand; I received the letters from
his servant : I opened them to save you trouble "

"Ay, ay," said the merchant. "You did your best Chris-
topher, no doubt. The house has been robbed, not you
my lord. The house must bear this loss."

A DAY OF FATE.

"Surely my kind old friend," Lord Eardesley went on,
"you might have asked yourself for what purpose I want-
ed these constant supplies, for what extravagance and
follies tliey were required."

" Alas ! I knew too well. They were wanted, I thought,
to repair >'our losses at the gaming-table."

Then I spoke.

"The alderman has been greatly deceived, Geoffrey, in
this as in other things. I know that your servant,
Thomas Marigold, suborned by a person who was also, I
believe, the forger of these drafts" — here I glanced at
Christopher, and his eyes, full of fearful curiosity, met
mine for a mome.xt before they fell again — " reported in
the alderman's hearing, day after day, tales of drunkenness,
gambling, and othei- wickednesses such as gentlemen
practise who foi_Lr<'t their Christian profession. And these
stories he invented to suit the purpose of this other man
with whom he shared the proceeds of the crime."

"We seem to be surrounded bv villains," said the alder-
man. " Speak, Christopher, what do you know ? "

" Nothing, sir. I suspected nothing. It is true that
the man told me in your hearing the stories of his lord-
ship's alleged profligacy."

" He did. But those other reports. Why, C'hristopher,
'twas you yourself brought them."

Lord Eardesley drev^ himself up, and turned towards
the clerk, who was trying his utmost to preserve an ap-
pearance of composure. *

" You — you spread reports about me ? Pray, Master
Clerk, what business have you with me? "

" None, my lord. Nor am I a carrier of tales. I but
answered a question of the alderman's, and told him what
had been said at the coffee-house."

Then my lord recollected what I had told him, that it
was none other than Christopher March himself who had
suborned his man, and was proposing to do himself somo
harm.

^li

A DAY OF FATE.

" Well," he said, turning it off for the time, " there will be
something to bo said another time between you and me,
Master March."

" Mr. AMerman," I struck in, fearful that the villain
should be too soon accused of the crime. " Let us address
ourselves to the forgery. The servant was but the tool.
We want to find the instigator and principal." Ti.:^ papers
were lying close to the hand of the clerk. 1 snatched
them up. " We must find the man who wrote the drafts ;
it matters little who presented them. I venture to advise
that the alderman initials every one of them, and that my
lord keeps them, and carries them about. It will not be
difficult," I said this with an air of confidence, " to find
out the man who wrote them."

" You are right, my child," said the alderman. '' I will
not keep those papers ; Lord Eardesley shall have them,
with my name to each. My lord, I confess to you that
my opinion was formed by the bad reports brought to me
by Christopher Marcli, and by the tales I heard your ser-
vant tell, and by the rapidity with which your fortune
was wasting away."

" Nay," said Geoffrey ; " surely you should have known
me better, who have known me so long. Do I look like
a drunkard ? Hath my face the open and manifest signs,
legible to all the world, which belong to the man who
drinks much wine ? Believe, me, sir, on the honour of a
peer, that I have never in my life touched cards or played
with dice." *

"I believe you," said the alderman, holding out his
hand.

" If," interrupted Christopher, in a strange strident
voice, " if Mistress Elinor thinks it easy to find the forger,
she would perhaps kindly advise us which way to begin,
for I confess I am at fault,"

" You have to find out, Christopher March, in the first
place a man who thinks he has an object to gain in rob-
bing or inflicting other injury on Lord Eardesley ; he must

A DAY OF FATE.

his

' next ' be one who had some previous friendship witli tlie
servant ; lie must be a man in want of money for his own
secret vices ; lie must be wicked enough to conceive and
bold enough to carry out so vile a plot. Indeed, I could
lay my hand on such a man."

He lifted his face, and tried to meet my gaze, but he
could not.

"All this helps noth'ng," he said.

" Well, Christopher.' said the alderman. " Go now, and
think, or consult a lawyer — leave me with his lordship."

Christopher took hi.^j departure. I longed to tell the
alderman what we knew, where we had seen his clerk,
and what we suspected ; but I refi'ained. I thought the
next day would <lo as well. Besides, my lord turned the
talk awav.

" Let us leave the forgeries awhile," he said. "Mr.
Alderman, I have to speak of other things. Again I have
the honour to ask your consent to marry your ward. You
have seen that the worst accusations are false. Believe
that the others are as unfounded and as slandei'ous."

" I cannot choose,", said the alderman, " but believe.
My lord, as the guardian of Mistress Elinor, I confide her
to your care and protection."

He sat upright in his chair, and cleared his voice. We
knew what was coming. On any occasion of ceremony
and importance a London citizen loves to deliver an ap-
propriate discoui'se. Tt is a goodly custom and laudable,
inasmuch as it enables every man to magnify his own
office and dignity. Now, the best safeguard against vice
is, methinks, respect of oneself.

" My Lord Eardesley," he began, "and Elinor Carellis,
my ward. The condition of matrimony (wherein the bond
of love should be, from each to either, equal and lasting ;
and wherein the one should be w all assured of the other's
virtue and goodness) hath been specially designed by
Heaven for the solace and happiness of the human race.
Wherefore, if "

II
■n
lit-

I'-

A DAY OF FATF.

Hero he was interrnptod by an admonition in the great
toe, which demanded all his attention. He stop}. ed, turned
pur2)le and even black in the cheeks, and presently thun-
dered forth a volley of oatlis, which seemed to linger
about the corners of the room, and echoed from the walls,
so that it was like a very tempest. When he recovered,
the thread of his discourse was lost, and he could only
murmur, lying back on his pillows, exhausted with his
eftbrts : " Take her, my lord, and make her happy." Then
he whispered, with the least little nod of his head in the
direction of the door : " And never let her i)lay cards."

Thus we were betrothed.

Alas! This day, which should hav^e been the tirst of
many happy days, proved the beginning of our calamities.

Had T not been blinded by my own great joy, I should
have told the ahlerman all that we knew of Christo-
pher March ; but I had not the heart ; and, besides, x\lice
was going to find out more about him, so that we should
have overwhelming proof of his hyprocrisy. Yet, had I
spoken, some, at least, of our misfortunes might have been
averted. In those events which are manifestly strokes of
Providence, it is vain to mete out pi'aise or blame to those
who are the instruments of Divine justice. I was young ;
I was loved ; I was affianced. What girl on such a day
could think of aught else ?

We left the alderman, and sought madam, to whom I
presented my lord as my accepted lover The good lady,
who, in all but her passion for cards, was a most kind and
unselfish woman, rejoiced with us, and wished us happi-
ness, and then, by means of a pack of cards, told us our
fortunes. The most important part of it was, that after
surmounting certain obstacles and checks placed in our
way by a dark man, we should undertake a long voyage,
and meet with great prosperity ever after.

It is, indeed, strange how the chance disposition of fool-
ish cards enables some to read the future. The dark iunn
could be none other than Christopher. We had, immedi-

A DAY OF FATK.

ately aftfT our betrothal, such checks and liindranccs as
fall to the lot of few ; we did make a lonu; voyajL,^e ; an<l
we have enjoyod prosperity and increase. Yet it is a<j;ainst
the divine ordinance to encpiire of any oracle, and 1 can-
not but think the punishment of witches in New England,
of which so much has been said, was necessary, albeit
severe.

Then Jenny came downstairs, and we had to tell her.
She was very pale, and had dark rims round her eyes,
with traces of tears. She fell on my neck and kissed me,
and burst out crying.

"Why, Jenny, foolish child," I said; "whv do vou
cry ?"

" Oh, Nelly ! I cry because I am glad for you and sorry
for myself. Nelly, Nelly, I am a wretch."

T could not understand, but it was not the time to pres.'^
her, and nothincj would serve my lord but that we should
all drive to his lodgings, there to dine, and afterwards to
get such amusements as the town at that season afforded.
Jenny excused herself, saying that she had a headache,
and could not go. We left her at home, therefore, and
took a coach — madam, my lord, and I. On the way w^e
stopped at a goldsmith's, where Geoffrey presented me
with a beautiful emerald ring, and so to his lodging in
Bury Street.

Our entertainment was simple ; the dinner being sent
over from a tavern. Madam was in high spirits and talk-
ed and laughed. I was glad of this, because my heart
was too full for talk. After dinner we walked in the
Park, which was crowded w^ith a collection of ladies of
quality, beaux, gallants, and courtiers, with ragamuffins,
pickpockets, girls selling flowers, women with curds-and-
whey, soldiers, grave clergymen, solemn physicians, mem-
bers of parliament, beggars, and common thieves. Every-
body looked at us as we passed along with the stream of
people. I was afraid there was something wrong with my
dress, for, indeed, though I had been in Lon<lon so long, I

100

A DAY OF FATE.

was still MOinuwliatdistiustful v/hen we went abroad. But
GeottVey said they stared at my face and figure, not at
my dress. Many other pleasant things he said that day
winch I pass over. After the promenade in the park,
which I should have liked better had I been alone with
him, we went back to his lodgings ; here a disli of tea was
waiting for us ; and after tea we went to the theatre in
the Haymarket. The play was — but I forget ]>lay, actors,
and everything. I sat in a dream, thinking of what had
happened ; wondering if it were true, and fearing that 1
did not possess attractions enough to fix the affections of
so handsome, gallant, and noble a lover as he wdio sat by
ray side.

At last it ended, and we were on our way hotne. The
streets were crowded w^ith peo])le — link-boys ran up and
down ; the coaches rundiled along the way ; we passed
out of the broad Strand into narrow Fleet Street, and in
a few minutes were set down in Tower Hill, at the door
of the alderman's house. My lord paid the man, who
drove otf, and we stood at our door waiting for it to
be opened. It was about half-past eleven, or a little be-
fore midnight ; the sky was clear, and there was no dark-
ness — only twilight.

At that hour Tower Hill is comparatively deserted ;
there was no one in the street. Yet in the darkness ot
a pent-house higher uj) the Hill I saw the forms of two
men lurking, and a thought of uneasiness crossed my
heart. But only for a moment.

Madam went in as the door was opened ; we stood out-
side, and my lord took my hand and held it.

" Will my Nelly, my princess of Virginia, always trust
her love ? " he whispered.

"Always and always," I replied. " Oh, who am I, I ask
again and again, that yoU should love me so ? "

" You are the dearest girl in all the world," he said kiss-
ing my hands. "You are my own sweet Nelly."

A DAY OF FATE.

101

He drew mo towards him hy both my hands and kissc<l
my lips. Then he tore himself avVay and left mo. The ma id
— I hoped she had not seen the lover-like farewell — held
the door for me. I stepped forward ; then, moved by the
impulse of love, I turned my head to catch a last glimpse
of my betrothed. He was striding with manly steps over
the stones. When he was just at the turning which led
from Tower Hill, I saw the two men whose figures I had
discerned beneath the pent-house rush out upon him, and
I saw the gleam of steel in their hands. I rushed
down the steps and along the road, crying " Geoffrey,
Geoffrey ! Help, help ! They will murder him ! "

It was my voice, thank God for ever, which saved his
life, else he had been stabbed in the back. He turned, saw
his assailants, and in a moment drew his sword and was
on guard. As I still ran and cried,! saw his sword flash-
ing in the moonlight, and one man fell ; but his foot slip-
ped as I reached him. I threw myself before him, and
while my arms were thrown about his neck, the thrust
which would have pierced him to the heart pierced mine
instead.

That moment will live for ever in my memory. As the
cruel cold steel ran through me I saw that the wounded
man, whose mask had fallen off, was Thomas Marigold,
and the other, my nmrderer, whom I knew, although he
was masked, by his figure, his dress, his voice — as he cried
outon seeingme — was none other than Christopher March.
He fled at once, and was lost in the dark and winding lanes
of the city.

They carried me home, Geoffrey and the maid, and sent
for a surgeon. The alderman and madam wept and
cried over me ; Alice had me carried to my own bed, and
cut away my dress — that bravery of silvergauze and crim-
son satin and lace in which I had been so fine all day —
and tried to staunch the blood, while my lord bathed my
face and whispered prayers until the surgeon came and
t turned him out.

ilil

102

A DAY OF FATK

Ho was a pouipouH man in an innnonise wig. Aftci'
lie had proljcd the wound and applied sonic lint, and in-
structed the nurse in other matters, he descended and
found the whohi household, servants, and all, waiting to
hear his j udgnient.

*' Shewill live," he said, speakinglike an oracle, "through
the night, I doubt not. In the morning inflammation will
set in, and she will «lie."

They all burst into tc.'ars and lamentations.

" Where is Jenny ? " cried the madam. " Go, call her,
one of you. Let her come down and weep with us."

" Nay," said the alderman ; "what use ? Let her sleep
on. As for my lord and me, we will wait with this learn-
ed irentleman. Do vou all jro to bed."

rs — — ..' " t>

But no one went to bed that night.

*^^'[in/

Presently there was a knocking at the door, it was a
pair of constables bringing with them a wounded man.

"He will be broughthere, sir," they explained to the
alderman. " We know not if your worship knows him."

"Know him !" cried Lord Eardesley, "Why it is my
own man, Thomas. You, too, among the murderers ? "

"Yes, my lord," said the man, whose face was pale with
death. " I'd rather help you to die than see myself hung.
There was all them forgeries in your pocket."

"Who was the forger ? " asked his master."

The fellow was silent.

" Man ! " said the alderman ; " you are on the brink of
eternity. Let it be reckoned as proof of a death-bed re-
pentance that you give up the name of the forger."

Thomas laughed. At the point of death he laughed.
But it was a laughter without merriment.

" Honour among thieves," he said. " Let me see the
woman, Mistress Carellis's nurse. I want to speak with
her."

She would not leave my bed. But the doctor promised
that if a change took place she should be called. And then
she came slowly downstairs.

A DAY OF FATE.

lOJl

After
id iu-
l ami
in2 to

rouf^H
m will

\\ her,

•

• sleep
learn-

, was a
nan.
to the
s him."
is my

S ?

e with
hung.

link of
)ed re-

lughed.

lee the
with

)mised
then

" Alas ! " ,sh(* cried, " that you should be a inui'derer,and
that you should uuirder tlu^ innocent young lady."

" 1 did not," ho said. " 1 tried to kill my lord, to save
my own nock. An<l he luith killed iwi. So am I sped."

And the oth

he?

(( qv

oilier man i VV tio was
Tell me first," he sai<l, " who you are, and hoW you
know me for Canvas Dick f "

She bent over him and whispered :
" I was once, long ago, a woman of your gang. I was
Kate Col Iyer."

" Ay I " he munnured, his face feebly lighted up. I re-
member yoii now, Kate Collyer ! "

" And who was the other murderer ? " slie repeated.
** He was the forger, of course ; lie was the villain who
pushed me on; he threatened to betray me ; he was the
man who took all the money ; he spent it where he spent
his master's money — in the [mming-house, and lost it
there. He has boasted to me that he has ruined you all—

he is "

" Christopher March ? " asked my nurse.
" You've guessed it, Kate. But you needn't 1)0 too proud
of it, now you do know it, although he is your own son."
" My son! Christopher March, my son !"
" 'Tis true, Kate. Little Jack ^Collyer that was: the
cleverest and safest young thief that ever cracked a crib,
even before you was lagged, and clviverer since. Your son,
Kate. Lift up my head." His voice sank. " I've cheated
Tyburn tree. Yes, I never — could — abide — the — thought
— of that — that cart — and — that — ^dance upon nothing."

His hea(i fell back, and he was dead. Alice took no
heed ; her hands were clenched, and she murmered :

" The hand of God is heavy upon me — My son ! my
son I "

Ill

i M

CHAPTEER VIT.

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.

HIS, indeea, was a most dreadful discovery.
Yet it was no time for poor Alice to sit and
weep or think about her son. She had that
gift, denied to men, and granted only to
women, which enables them to repress and
drive back :or the time one grief, so that
it shall not hinder the discharge of the pre-
sent duty. Therefore ray nurse forced her-
self to leave the matter for the time, and,
after calling to the constables to remove the
dead man, she mounted the stairs and returned to the
chamber where I lay unconscious, and under the surgeon's
hands.

The wound was right through the body from the back
under the left shoulder, and when I {recovered from
the swoon I began to feel such tortures of pain as I did
not believe were possible for the bod}'- to endure, and yet
to live. For the passage made by the sword was like a
rod of red hot iron.

All that night I lay and suffered, while Alice watched
by the bedside, and my lord, the alderman, and madam,
remained below, waiting for news. The news which the
surgeon brought from time to time was the worst possible.
" Inflammation,*' he said, " has set in with violent pain. It
should be followed by fever: that will produce deli-
j-ium : death will follow."

r. ill

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.

103

died
,dani,
the
ible.

In. It
deli-

At break of day, when I was a little quieter, Alice went
to the still-room and came back bearing a basket full of
simples. I was not yet light-headed, and I knew that she was
going to take me out of the doctor's hands and nurse me
herself with the herbs in which all country women put
their trust. She turned the contents of the basket upon
the table.

" Patience, my dear, patience. Oh ! patience for a little
while, my pretty lamb. Here is St John's wort, and here is
kna[)-weed to lay in the open wound, and plantains to
close it up, and blood-wort if the knap-weed fails ; and
here is self-heal, but I doubt if it is strong enough ; and
comfrey, which never fails, and strong kiss-me-quick.
Courage, my pretty. We have here what is better than
all the 'pothecaries' shops."

Then I found that the pain was growing greater than
I could bear, and I called upon my nurse to tear off the
bandage and let me die. And then some good angel came
to my bedside and helped me up and carried me away —
far — far away — to sweet Virginia.

T was back on the old plantation. It was Sunday morn-
ing, and we were all going to church — my father, my mo-
ther, my nurse, and I, the convicts standing in a line to
let his honour pass : the negroes chattering and grinning,
who understood, poor souls ! little enough of the service
they were going to hear, but yet could sing the psalms,
having sweet voices, and ears which caught the tune cor-
rectly ; and in the pine wood pulpit was our convict-
chaplain, proclaiming aloud that we — meaning everybody
outside his honour's pew— were all miserable sinners.

How long I remained there I know not, nor have I
any further recollection of what I saw in my lightheade<l-
ness, but the days vrent on and I was insensible. The
tumult of Tower Hill began a^. daybreak and subsided
soon after midnight, but I hoard nothing. Every day the
doctor said I should probably die before the fall of night;
every da^ the nurse threw awav the niedicine,s which he

106

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.

brought and went on with her simples, the blue succory
infusion which drives away fever, pimpernel to clear the
brain, spearmint for the faintness,and borage to strengthen
the feeble heart. All that time my lover remained in the
house, and was with me day and night, whenever the
nurse would let him come to the sick room and sit awhile
beside the pale creature with demented brain, v/ho chat-
tered, and wandered, and knew not what she said.

It was many days before my reason came back to me,
and then I was weak and helpless indeed ; though my
nurse multiplied her infusions of galyngale for internal
strength, and tea of thyme for headache, and snakeweed
to keep me safe from infection, which is fatal to poor
creatures just recovering from illness. Would I could
describe the joy and thankfulness which I felt when, on
coming to my senses, I found my lover by my bedside,
and saw by his eyes that he had been weeping for me.

No one else was in the room. He thought I was sleep-
ing, When he saw that my eyes were open, he thought I
was still in my lightheadedness, about to prattle all things
that have no sense. First of all I did not understand
things, though I knew him, and wondered where I was,
and how I came to be lying there, and he to be in my
room. Then it all came Lack to me little by little, the
attack upon my lover and my wound.

" Geollrey," I whispered, " are you watching over me?"

He was like one who knows not what to say when he
found that I was indeed in my right mind. But he had sense
to command himself, and bade me, while he tenderly
kissed my lips, keep silence, and be quiet. Then he
thanked God solemnly, for my lord was never one of those
men who think they honour themselves and gain credit
among their fellows by dishonouring their Creator. And
then he left mo, and in a moment my nurse came back,
and seeing tha I was in my senses again, and that the
fever had left ne — hands and brow being cool ^nd moist-
she, too, burst into a crying for than)ifu}npss, and fell t'Q

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.

107

kissing my hands and cheeks. Oh, poor woman ! Bo-
cause, now that my trouble was over, her own was to
begin. I slept well that night, and next morning was
stronger, and able to take broth and other things which
my nurse got for me. Presently I remembered Jenny,
and asked that she might be brought to see me.

Then Alice changed colour and pretended not to hear ;
and when I repeated my question, she said :

" Oh ! Mistress Jenny is not at home. She has gone
abroad on a visit."

With that I was fain to be content, although I saw
that something had happened, and besides being still
weak and faint, was glad to forego further questions and
go to sleep again.

Next day, I asked after madam, and again my nurse
became confused, and put me off.

This set me wondering. It was strange, indeed, that
neither Jenny nor her mother came to see me, and no
message from the alderman. Yet a week passed; and it
was not till I was quite well enough to hear any kind cf
news, however bad, that my lord entreated my permission
for him to tell me things which, he said gravely and
grievously affected both himself and me,

He was, indeed, very grave, anJ told me the story
little by little, fearful lest too many dreadful events at
the same time might bring back my illness. Nor was it
till many days afterwards that I was able to put every
thing together, and to understand it all.

When the alderman, one of the most benevolent and
charitable citizens of London, received the boy whom he
found starving with hunger and cold (as seemed from his
pretending) on his door step, he prepared for himself, even
by this most Christian act, his own absolute and hopeless
ruin. The boy, as I have said, rapidly received instruc-
tion, and proved himself a hid of astonishing quick parts,
with great industry, sober habits, and respectful, obedient
behaviour, The alderman, who made haste to put the boy

J-' , .

108

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH,

\ i

■ H

into his counting-house, thought he had never before been
blessed with a servant more honest, more willing, and more
capable ; therefore he advanced him rapidly ; and when
his own confidential clerk and chief factor died, he put
the young man, then about twenty-five years of age, into
his place.

Christopher March had all the keys, knew of all the
securities, bills, drafts, mortgages, ventures, debts, and
profit of the house ; he opened the letters, received the
customers^ and carried on the correspondence. So blind,
in short did the alderman become; that he ceased, for the
most part, to carry on his business himself, and was gen-
erally content with receiving his clerk's report.

The house held the private fortunes of many gentlemen
of Virginia, besides that of my late father ; it also held in
trust the fortune of the Lord Eardesley, as we have seen,
and of many widows, orphans, and poor pensioners, who
had nothing to depend upon but the integrity of the al-
derman. Of, that, indeed there never was any doubt. The
business of the house, again, was large, and the income of
the alderman substantial. I know not what was the
amount of his savings, but I have been well assured that
there were few merchants even in the great and prosper-
ous city of London who surpassed him in fortune. His
condition would have been more splendid, but for the
thousand charitable actions which he continually practised.
However, there was a capital stock in the alderman's hands,
including that accumulated by his own thrift, the princi-
pal employed in his business, and the moneys entrusted to
him, amounting to near a quarter million of money.

There was one thing that Christopher March could not
do. He might persuade his master to ventures ; he might
deceive him with false reports ; but he could never per-
suade him to have aught to do with South Sea stock, nor
could he make him consent to sign papers without first
learning and approving their contents. Therefore, as
Geoffrey told me, every one of the receipts, agreements

I.-,

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.

109

and papers of advance, with regard to South Sea stock, in
the counting-house were forgeries. Nor could there be any
I'easonable doubt as to the forgei o in the sale and trans-
fer of mortgages and securities. Forgeries ! For two or
three years, or perhaps more, this snake in the grass, this
adder who turned to bite his benefactor's hand, had been
secretly raising money by forging his master's signature
to every kind of document by which money could be
raised. No one knew what had become of the money. I,
however, who had seen him at the gaming-table could
make a shrewder guess than most. The man had gamed it
all away. One fraud leads to another — one forgery to
many ; by the time that I arrived in England his last
chance must have been by some successful night at play,
or by some finand.J stroke, to win enough to pay back
the moneys he had stolen, and to redeem the forged docu-
ments. It was a desperate chance, but gamesters live on
desperate chances. Not to be in danger of daily ruin
would be, to some men, a life without chance and variety.

I suppose this is the reason why men, who might other-
wise have been patient and peaceful citizens, choose to
become pirates, highwaymen, volunteers in great armies,
or rovers among the wild Indian tribes of America.

When the books of the house were placed in the hands
of accountants skilled in examining and detecting frauds,
it was discovered that, not only were these robberies of
many years' standing, with the falsifying of accounts, and
the forgery of authority given under the alderman's own
hand, but that during the excitement of the late few
months, Christopher March, under cover of his forgeries,
had been trading day after day, in South Sea stock, in
bubble companies, and in any kind of reckless speculation.
He had lent money for short terms of a week or fortnight
on South Sea stock ; he had bought the stock on account
of his master ; he held shares in a dozen schemes, each
of which pretended to be able by itself to make the for-
tune of the smallest shareholder ; there was no project so

If
111

110

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.

wild and visionary, but that he must invest in it. Now,
I do not believe that Christopher March was so foolish as
to believe that his shares were going to make his foi-tune.
Not at all ; he was impelled into the struggle for shares
by the desire topreyupcm his fellow-creatures. They were
like silly sheep ; he was the wolf. He would sell his
shares again when the price went up.

There were no methods of deception which were not
tiiod by this wicked man. He received moneys and kept
no account ; he pretended to pay money, and put it in his
pocket ; the liabilities of the house remained unpaid, while
the poor alderman was cheated by the books which told a
lying tale; ships which brought rich cargoes were omitted in
the books ; great sales were not entered ; and because Chris-
topher March was the only man who in the later days ap-
proached the master, no one knew, no one suspected, what
was being done ; and those who thought there was some-
thing wrong in the house, once so respectable and of such
tried integrity, attributed it to the speculation and mad-
ness of the hour, and hop'^'d that Benjamin Medleycott
would come well out of it.

None to speak to the old man ; not one to warn him ;
none to remonstrate on the madness of his supposed in-
vestments — truly it was pitiful. And he, and all <»f us,
living in a fool's paradise having no suspicion, not the
least. We girls occupied with our little love affairs, madam
with her cards, and the whole house rushing headlong to
ruin.

The trouble began with my Avound. Next day, when
the alderman called his household together for morning
prayers, Jenny did not appear with the rest. Her mother
sent to call her, for a lazy lie-a-bed. The maid came
running down stairs, scared and pale — Mistress Jenny had
not slept in her bed all night. A note was found lying
on the pillow. "Dear parents," said poor silly Jenny, " I
hope you will forgive me, for I have gone off with my
Lysaiider, Your affectionate daughter,"

BETWEEN LIFE \ND DEATH.

Ill

iim

There were no prayers, and no breakfast either, that
morning. The alderman said nothing, but went to his
counting-house, without even asking who Lysander was,
and then sat down in great unhappiness. And truly it was
a cruel thing of Jenny thus to abuse the love and confi-
dence of a father who had ever treated her with so much
indulgence and affection.

" My ward," he said presently to Christopher March,
"is lying at the point of death, being murdered by a vil-
lain. My daughter has left me. What is the news with
you, man, that you look so pale ? "

"Am I pale, sir ? " asked Christopher. " It is, perhaps,
the sudden shock of your news. Mistress Jenny gone,
sir ? With whom ? "

" I know not. That is her concern. Ask mtj no ques-
tions, Christopher. Let us to business. We build our
estates and pile up our gold, and we know not who shall
spend it."

Alas ! poor man ! His own gold had been already spent.

" Well " — he tried to speak as if he were no longer con-
cerned about his daughter — " and what about the gi-eat
madness ? "

" The stock is falling, sir," said Christopher. " There
is a run upon it. It was yesterday morning at six hun-
dred, and is now at two hundred and ninety. Yet I can-
not but think it will recover."

'' Recover ! " echoed the alderman. " Can a burst blad-
der recover its shape ? Can a felon recover his honour ?
Go to, Christopher. Let us thank Heaven that we have
been spared this infectious plague, and have continued
sober citizens — to make our money by thrift, and save it
for our- ," children, he was going to say, but he re-
frained, and groaned, " Oh ! Jenny, Jenny ! "
|| Then there came into his counting-house, two friends
of his — grave and quiet merchants, well known on 'Change,
fl,nd of his own company.

112

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.

Christopher March bowed to them with humility, and
immediately retired.

" How goes it, brother alderman ? " asked one.

" Badly," replied my guardian. " It goes very badly."

" Why," said the other, " we guessed it, to our sorrow,
and so we have come to render any help we can."

' It is neighbourly," said the alderman, " but the case
is not one for friends. None can help me in such a plight.
What is gone, is gone."

" Ay ! That is true. Let us hope it is not as much as
people have spread about."

" As much, man ? " Mj'^ guardian stared. " Why, what
mean you ? — as much as people say ? "

" There are various rumours, Alderman Medleycott," the
young man interposed. " Some say that a hundred thous-
and would not clear you. Others think you may stand
the loss of fifty thousand. Your creditors, of whom I am
one, as you know "

" Nay — nay," said the alderman, putting his hand on a
great 1 )Ook. " Not so, friend Patterson. We have your
quittances here. But what does this ni**an ^ Have I not
trouble enough but there must be rumours to touch my
credit ? "

The visitors stared at one another.

" Truly, alderman," said the first, " we do not under-
stand you. Tell us first what is this trouble that you
lament."

*' It is that mj^ daughter hath left me, to fly with I know
not whom ; and that my ward hath been foully wounded
I think to death ; and that I have been cheated out of two
thousand pounds by forgeries. Call ye that trouble ? "

They sat down, like the friends of Job, and were silent
for a space.

" I would not," said the elder, " add to thy grief, my
old friend. But it is right to bid you be up and doing,
because your name is very freely handled this morning,"

" But why— why ? "

BETWEEN LIFE AKD DEATH.

113

" Why — why ? " His visitor spoke angrily. " This is
childishness, alderman. Know you not of the fall in
South Sea stock 1 "

" Ay ; what has that to do with me ? "

Was the man mad ? Did he understand nothing since
his daughter had left him ?

" Alderman." said the younger, " think. Your reason
is tottering under the blows o* Pr jvidence. Try to speak
calmly. That quittance of mine you spoke of — where is
it?"

" Sarely, here," said the alderman, opening the book,
which contained receipts and quittances. " See — here it
is — here — with your signature and date."

The merchant looked surprised ; then he took the book
in his hands, carried it to the window for better light, and
looked at the signature.

" Here is villainy,'' he said ; " that receipt is a forgery,
alderman. I have not received the money from you."

" Forgery ? — more forgeries ? " murmured the aldennan.
" Call Christopher March. He is without."

He was not, however, without. He had gone away,
leaving no message.

" Christopher March told me he had paid it himself,"
said my guardian. " But go on. Tell me more, if there
is more. What is this about my credit ? What is South
Sea stock to me ? "

** My friend," said the elder man, laying his hand on
the alderman, " this is no time for trifling. We may all
be ruined at any moment. Why — why did this madness
seize you ? "

" I think," replied the alderman, " since you came here.
What madness ? "

" Doth not all the world know by this time, although
you kept the secret so well, that of all the adventurers in
this new stock and these new projects, no one has been
more venturous than yourself ? "

The alderman looked from one to the other.

114

BETWEEN tTFE AND DEATH.

" Where is CliriHtophor March ? " he asked helplessly*
"I cannot be going mad."

" Christopher March," replied his friend, " is the man
who negotiated all your transactions for you."

" My transactions ? Man, I have no transactions ! I
have neither bought nor sold South Sea stock. I hiivo
never meddled with the accursed thing."

While they were all thus gazing upon each other there
burst upon them a third man. His wig was disordered, his
rufHes were loose.

" Mr. Alderman," he cried. " I crave your indulgence
for a day or two ; or for a week, perhaps, when, doubtless,
I shall be able to repay the money."

" The money, friend ? I know not you, and I know
not your money. Tell me more."

" The ten thousand pounds you lent me on security — •
of my South Sea Stock." He whispered this eagerly,
looking with suspicion upon the other men.

The alderman gazed at him with a wonder full of
affright.

" I lent you nothing," he said.

" Oh, pardon, sir. Believe me I would defraud no one.
You have my securities ; they were bonds worth nine
thousand a-piece when I borrowed the money. Now, alas !
they are worth but a poor hundred and thirt3\ But I
will defraud no one."

And while he yet spake there came another, a creditor.

" I come," he said, '* Mr. Alderman, from Mr. Ephraim
Fouracre, your wife's draper, about your bill of five thous-
and pounds fourteen shillings and threepence, money lent
on security of South Sea stock."

" Good heavens ! " cried the first visitor. " Did he both
borrow and lend on the stock ? "

That it appeared was the case, for the very securities
on which one man had borrowed ten thousand of Chris-
topher March, had been pledged to this honest woollen-
draper for five thousand.

l^ETWEEN UVP. ANt) l)EATlt.

iir>

" My friends," said the aldennan tryinj^ to aHsnino a
calm which he did not feel, " help iiie in this trouble. Is
there witchcraft in it, think you i "

" Nay," replied the elder merchant. " But such villainy
as tlie world, thank Heaven ! seldom sees. Where is this
mail, this Christopher March, that we may bring him to
the gallows ? "

He never came back. The game was up, he felt, when
the stock, which|wasat one thousand on August 1, steadily
went down and nevei- recovered, day by day, its figure
of the day before. Then despair seized him. Nothing
now could save him. And on the morning after his des-
perate assault upon my lord, he vanished on the first ap-
pearance of visitors to his master.

^ hardly know why he tried to nmrder Lord Eardesley.
My fortune was gone ; my lord's was gone ; the moneys
entrusted to the alderman were all stolen and wasted.
As regards the forgeries, they were but a small tritle in
comparison with the rest — the countless pile of frauds,
forgeries, and deceits, by which he had carried on his
wicked course, and lulled his master into confidence.
Why, then, did he try to murder my lord ? Perhaps, be-
cause this crime was the first discovered, and if followed
up would lead to the discovery of all the rest. But one
never knows the secret springs of action in the career of
any man, even a good man. Let it suffice that Chris-
topher March was a murderer, if ever there was one,
though his victim escaped him.

Now, all that day the alderman sat, steady as a rock,
in the countincj-house. Little bv little the whole truth
was got at. One man after the other called ; one after
the other revealed a fresh tale of treachery. It is true
that most of the frauds had been committed quite recently,
and evidently with a view to meet the most pressing
claims rising out of old ones, so as to put off the evil day
as long as possible. By nightfall the poor old man knew
ftll. He bad lost not only his own fortune, but his good

IK)

UETVVKKff LtKK AND nEATtt*

name. Hardly a merchant of credit but had been cheated
by him, that is, in liis name ; those who liad entrusted
their money to liim — the poor widows and orphans — luid
lost it ; the gentlemen adventurers of Virginia who had
made him their banker had lost all their savings ; men
like Lord Eardesley who had deposited with him their
few thousands found their little fortunes stolen. I, the
great Virginian heiress, who had inherited the thrift and
accumulations of three generations of prosperity, had lost
every farthing. Of all my hundred thousand pounds,
my much envied " plum," not one penny was left.

This, all this, did the poor alderman have to learn and
to endure. It took many days to get at the whole, to
discover the extent of the ruin. Yet his creditors — the
poor women whose daily bread was gone, the tradesmen
who saw no way left except bankruptcy, and perhaps a
lifelong prison — were kind to him. He had been so honest,
he had been so benevolent, so religious, so charitable, that
none upbraided him. There was no reproachful eyes upon
him when, the accountants having laid everything bare,
nothing more remaining to be learned, he called his credi-
tors together, told them all, which indeed they knew
already, and spoke his farewell speech.

" My friends," he said, " I am old, and have been young ;
yet never have I seen the righteous man beg his bread.
1 have been righteous, according to my lights. God
knoweth when we do amiss. As for this trouble that
hath fallen upon you all, I pray you to remember that man
is prone to err ; I have been over-contident, and I have
been deceived and robbed. In this cursed South Sea
stock, remember, I pray you, that I had neither part nor
lot in it. Forgeries, forgeries all around me — -with for-
geries have I been undone."

His lips trembled as he tottered slowly to the door.
Lord Eardesley. who was there, supported him from the
counting-house to his own parlour. There sat his wife,
sad and terrified .

BKTWKKN T.tPK AND DKATII.

117

They brou<;hfc him wine, Imb ho rofusod to drink it,
sittin*,' mute and sorrowful. His wife knelt heforc him,
crying and sobbing, and imploring pardon for all hor
follies. He meekly bade her rise, saying that she had
been a good wife to him, albeit fond of eards, and that
(hiring the years which were left to him and to her, there
would be little fear of eards interfering between them.
Then he turned to Lord Eardesley, anct very piteously
lamented the loss of his fortune and tliat of his betrothed,
myself.

" Nevertheless," he said, just and righteous to the last,
" I lament not so much for you, my lord, and my dear
ward Elinor, as for those poor women — those widows —
whose honourable bread is gone. For who will help them ?
who will feed them, unless it is He who fed the prophet ?
And chiefly let us pray for that wretched boy, Christopher
March, who hath brought this terrible trouble upon us,
that he may be led to repent."

Neither his wife nor Lord Eardesley spoke. I think
that at that moment they would rather have joined in
prayer that he might speedily meet with the rope that
was to hang him.

" Wife," he said, trying to rise, " let mo to bed. I have
m\ich to think of."

They led him to his room, and presently left him.

All niirht 'ons: his wife sat beside him watchinij. His
eyes were closed, but he was not sleepmg, and from time
to time he spoke. Yet at last he dropi)ed asleep.

Eai-ly in the morning he sat up, looked about him, and
asked, in his usual voice, if all was well. Being assured
that all was well, he fell back, and slept like a child.

They awakened him at ten in the forenoon. His face
was rather pale, but smiling and happy. And — oh ! won-
derful interposition of Providential benevolence ! — he
knew nothing of what had happened. My poor old guar-
dian had gone mad.

118

BETWEEN JIFE AND DEATH.

Afterwards, when I was recovered, Lord Eardesley took
nie to a place where they kept him. His friends, the com-
pany over which lie had presided, and the Court of Alder-
men, could not bear to think that the good old man, re-
duced to the utmost penury, should suffer in his lunacy.
They placed him in the house of a physician, where but
a few madmen were received — not the great awful Hos-
pital of St. Bethlehem's — and provided tor him a room to
himself, with such creature comforts as were judged best
for him. Hither came, every day, to sit with him, soothe
him, and please him, his faithful wife. Was it possible
that this good, devoted, and honourable creature could
have been the woman who once found all her happiness
in cards, and all her hope in a good hand ? It but was once
that I saw him. VV^e passed through a hall whose horrois
were enough to drive faith in the goodness of Heaven
away for ever from the breast, where poor creatures weie
chained by short lengths to the wall like wild beasts, and
wandered round and round like them, crying and novvl-
ing with rage and fury and despair. When we reached my
poor old guardian's room, we found him playing a game of
backgannnon with his wife, lie did that all day long ; he
never tired of it; she jUayed with him, without a mui-
m.ir. And when he won, he would laugh and crow.

He did not know us. He onlv invited us to sit down
and watch the trame.

His only sign of any recollection of the past that he
gave was once or twice a week, when he used to laugh
teL4)ly, rub his hands, and say ;

'* Wife, I always said that South-Sea stock was no bet-
ter than any bubble."

CHAPTER VIII.

P^ HOME AGAIN.

"^T was in August that I was stricken ; it was
late in September that the fever left me ; it
was in October tliat I learnedall, the wi'eck
of our fortunes, the ruin and madness of my
poor guardian, the elopement of Jenny,

" My Nelly," said Geoffrey, " we have no-
thing ; neither you nor I. The very daily
expenses of this house are maintained by
money borrowed from a friend, who lends it,
I know, willingly enough Will you come
with me to my poor bai-ron acres in WmIch,
where we may live, somehow, like rustics, on j)ig, cow,
sheep, garden, and orchard. The acres are broad enough,
I know ; but they are overgrown with wo(m1 and cor-
rupted vv^ith marsh. No one will take my farms ; there
is not a tenant in the place. Yet wha , eLse can 1 offer
you (

To me it seemed like a haven of bliss. Anything to
"■et awiiy from London, ficm this dreadful place of cor-
ruption whence, like the Valley of Hinnom, the stench
and flame went up to the high heavens. Anything to
change the current of my thoughts. Wales '. The broad
barren acres ! Why, the place would be like Virginia. I
should see, once more, forests and hills.

I hesitated not; I would marry my lord where and
when he pleased. We were married at the parish church,

120

HOME AGAIN.

at St. Olave's, by the good old clergyman, whose manner
of reading the service reminded me so much of the alder-
man. He was proud to marry a nobleman, and though
there was no wedding feast he made us a little speech in
the vestry room. He reminded us that adversity, like
good fortune, was a jade which came and went, according
to the behests of high Heaven ; that we must not look
forward to a continuation of those buffets by which our
worldly effects had been suddenly and violently bereft
from us, but rather must cast around for means to use
that rank, to which it has pleased God to call my hus-
band, as a stepping-stone to fortune. Above all^ we might
bear in mind that the world is for the young, that success
is for the brave, and that where there is no ambition there
is no struggle, and where no struggle there no glory. He
meant well, the good old man, and when I took him aside
and asked him if he knew aught of my poor Jenny, the tears
ran down his cheeks and into the corners of his great fat
lips. But he knew nothing.

We were married. There was no ringing of bells ; there
was no wedding feast ; there were no rejoicings; my old
nurse was present, crying, my only friend ; the clerk gave
me away ; no one was in the church ; outside, the carts
and waggons drove up and down the narrow street ; the
drivers swore ; the porters set down their loads and
fought ; the signs hanging over the shop windows creaked
and groaned in the autumn breeze ; and no one took any
notice of it.

After the ceremony I bade farewell for a while to my
nurse, who returned for the present to the desolate house
on Tower Hill, and we took coach to my lord's lodgings
in Bury Street.

Here we remained for a fortnight or three weeks. He
had but few friends — where should a poor nobleman find
friends ? — but these came to see me and invited us to
their great 4iouses, and were as civil as if we were rich
instead of being paupers.

Home again.

121

In those days we talked a great deal about our future.
We were young, and laughed at the disaster of losing all
our money ; at least, I did. We were to go, we said, to
Wales ; we would repair a corner o'' the ruined castle, and
farm such of the land as was not too barren ; we would
live away from the world, forgotten, and cultivate the
simple mode of life praised by philosophers. That was
our dream. I thought so much of Wales that I forgot
Virginia. But one day a sudden thought came into my
head.

• " My dear," I said, " the man Christopher March could
not have gambled away my estate in Virginia."

He started. " Surely not," he said, " unless your title-
deeds were in his hands."

" I believe we have no title-deeds," I replied. " I should
wonder, however, if any would dare to dispute the right
of a Carellis. Geoffrey look into it. Oh ! my dear, we
are not poor but rich. There is no estate . like it in Vir-
ginia. It produces more than a thousand pounds by the
year, and might produce two in careful hands. Geotfrey,"
I added, laying my hand on his arm and looking into his
noble face, "shall we go to Virginia, you and I, and grow
rich on our own lands ? "

Well ; he was strangely moved at the proposal, and
went away to consult a lawyer. By this time all the poor
alderman's papers were in the hands of attorneys. It was
discovered that he had never possessed my title-deeds,
which were still in Virginia. Here was good news, indeed ;
and now my whole thought was how to get away from
this London, this city of villany and rogues, and find my-
self back in my own country, where if we lived among
thieves, which was true, they were in bondage and en-
during hardness. > ^ J,

My husband reasoned with me soberly about it. He
was at first averse to leaving England. He thought that
if w^e had a thousand pounds a year we might live on his
estate in Wales, build a house, and, though we could not

'jgsi^f!^^^y y i':*'? v ?^^^'*y^'P'^'*ftvj<?

122

HOME AGAIN.

hope to make a figure, yet we might maintain a house-
hold in some degree worthy of our rank. I replied that I
was as careful as he could be to keep up the dignity of a
peer ; but that we must remember how the plantation
was governed by servants, who, though they might be
now men of integi'ity, might also become through tempta-
tion men like Christopher March himself, and rob us of
all we had. This was so true that, after further deliber-
tion, it turned the scale, and my husband consented to
embark for Virginia, there to become a planter of tobacco.

Now, after my marriage — though this I did not learn
till long after — my nurse, freC; at last to remember her
own private troubles, set to work to find her son. She
rightly guessed that he would, while the hue-and-cry was
hot after him, take refuge in those dens and dark holes
of London known to none but the professional rogue. She
knew these places, and had lived in them in the days of her
degradation. Now she began to seek them out afresh. She
put on an old and ragged di'ess, carried a basket, assumed
the manner of a decrepit woman, and ventured boldy
into the dark dens where an honest person's life was not
worth the chance of a fourpenny-piece.

Here she asked for her son by his old name. Some knew
nothing of him ; some remembered the name ; some told,
with pride, how he had become a great gentleman, and
was robbing on the grand scale. This was no new thing
among them ; for though it was, perhaps, the first time
that a pickpocket and common thief had become a City
merchant, yet it was quite common for one of them, when
he had gotten a gallant suit of clothe? and a sword, to be-
come a ganiester and adventurer of the dice, and so ruitte
it among the best while fortune lasted.

At first, however, she could learn nothing about him.
But after patience for three or four days, she was reward-
ed. It was a woman, quite a young woman, who answered
her whispered enquiries with a tierce question, and the

ItOME AQAIN.

123

Usual profane oath, what she wanted to know about him
for.

"Because,'^ said Alice boldly. "Because I am his
mother."

"You're not," replied ^he girl. •' Mis mother was hanged. '

My nurse shook her head.

" I was not hanged," she said, showing her hand, which
was branded by the executioner. " I was reprieved and
sent to Virginia. My name is Kate Collyer, and I want
to find my son. You know that the hue-and-cry is out
for him, and the reward is proclaimed. They will hang
him if they catch him. The mob will tear him to pieces
if they can."

" How am I to know if you are his mother ? "

"Because I say so. But that, I doubt, is not enough.
See, then, tell him this." She whispered in her ear. "Ask
him who could know that except his mother. Then take
me to him,"

She sat down in the doorway and waited. The girl
with a look of suspicion and distrust, walked swiftly down
the narrow and filthy street they call Houndsditch, and
disappeared.

Alice waited for about an hour. She knew the kind of
people. If she got up and went away, she would be
suspected ; if she remained where she was, suspicion might
be lulled. Presently the girl returned.

"You may come with me," she said ;"but if you have
deceived me or betrayed him, I will kill you — remember
that."

I know not where the girl took Alice. They passed
from one lane full of rogues and thieves to another ; every-
where wickedness, profanity, and drinking. At last the
girl stopped at a house, and, opening the door, led Alice
to a small room at the back, dark and dirty, where Chris-
topher March was sitting alone.

His fine cloth coat and waistcoat were exchanged for
a suit of common workman's clothes; a red cotton hand-

124

HOME AGAIN.

kerchief tied up his neck ; he had discarded his wig and
grown his own hair , he looked in his new disguise w^.at
he was, the thiqf and burglar of twenty years befo'c —
grown up, but not reformed.

When he saw Alice, he sprang to his feet with an oath.

" You ? " he cried. " She said it was my mother. You ?
The nurse ? "

" Yes ; it is I, my son."

Alice sat down upon the bed and sighed heavily.

"I only knew, on the night when you tried to murder
Lord Eardesley, that you were my son."

" Dick told you, did he ? Then he knew, too, and kept
it from me. Yet I thought I saw him killed."

" Such as he take time to die. They are allowed to live
a little ; so that they may tell something of their wicked-
ness before they die. He told me — he — that you were
the boy whom, in an evil hour, I brought into the world."

" Well," said Christopher, " if you come to that, we were
all brought into the world at an evil hour. We live and
thieve, and then we get hanged. Fool that I was, when
I might have lived honesUy and died in my bed."

" He told me that when the gang was broken up "

" It lasted two years after you were lagged at Bristol. We

thought you were hanged."

" They respited me at the last moment.

I hp vc been in

Virginia."

-go on.

consequence

:■*

"I know-

*' That when the gang was broken up
of the cry after the great diamond robbery-

" My doing ! " said Christopher, laughing. All the years
of his education and work in an honest office had not de-
stroyed that pride in a successful villany, which was
taught him in his infancy, and by the poor woman who
stood before him repentant and shamed.

" You were sent, to get out of the way, into the very
heart of the enemy's camp, to the house of Alderman
■JVledlycott, himself ; you were educated by him ; taken into

HOME AGAIN.

125

the house by him ; paid well by him ; and, in return, you
robbed him."

" Why, mother," cried the son in great surprise, " you
are not come here to preach — you ! "

It was part of her pimisliment. Her very son, who had
been for fifteen years and more under godly tutors, could
not even yet understand that a wicked woman could even
turn away from her wickedness.

She shook her head.

"No, no," she said, " I shall not preach. For you I can
only pray. But this is foolish talk. Let us rather con-
sider how you may best escape."

" Why," he replied, " 1 think I am safest here. Bess,
here — but you don't know Bess— will lock after me."

" You are never safe, where there are so many who
know you. Why, there is a hundred guineas reward of-
fered tor your apprehension. Once caught, they will have
no mercy on you, be sure of that."

" I am sure," he said ; " I knew it all along. Why,
what odds a little danger ? I am nt « caught yet, and
perhaps there is many a jolly day between this and the
journey to Tyburn ; isn't there Bess ? "

The ffirl lauejhed uneasilv. She was one of those who
can never contemplate without a shudder the certainty
of her doom, and the uncertainty of its appointed time.

" Confess mother," the hardened villain went on, " I
have done well. A dozen years of good behaviour, with
church on Wednesday and Friday evenings, as well as
Sunday ; ten years of slavery and hard work, and then
the reward came — a rich and unexpected reward : the
confidence of the most confiding merchant in London ; a
double set of books ; the handling of vast sums of money ;
all day long robbing the alderman ; all night long gam-
ing and diinking, and living like a lord. A fine time,
Bess, wasn't it ? "

" Yes, it was," she said ; " pity it is over."

12G

HOME AGAIN.

! -r,

" I would have made it last longer, but m v luck became
so bad ; I believe it was your girl, Eiinor Carellis, who
brought me bad luck. Little she knew that every even-
ing some of her fortune was being melted away in Coa ent
Garden."

" Why did you dare to make love to her ? "

" He make love to her !" cried the girl, springing to her
feet like a mad thing. " He make love to her ? "

" Easy, Bess, easy — sit down." Christopher took her
by the waist, and sat her on his knee. " You don't un-
derstand. Why, girl, I wanted her money to put back
the rest, Lord Eardesley's, and the alderman's, and the
others. Then we should have started fair again ; he
would have made me a partner, and all would have gone
mjrrily."

She was not satisfied, and her colour came and went,
while her breath was quick and her eyes bright.

" I should like to kill her," she murmured between her
teeth.

" You need not be jealous," said Alice ; " she is married
and gone away."

" Ho ! ho I " laughed Christopher, " without a penny
piece. That's revenge worth having, isn't it, mother ? "

Then his mother grew sick at heart and weary, and
rose to go.

" I cannot see you any more. I cannot bear to look upon
you, or to hear you talk But I would aid you to escape
before it is yet too late. Perhaps, if you escape now, your
heart may be softened in after years. But I warn you.
Among all the rogues and thieves who surround you, there
nmst be many — try to think how many — who know where
you are hiding, and who will be tempted by the reward. A
hundred guineas ! It is a great sum of money. Leave
London ; go where no one knows you. Go where you
may find some honest means of livelihood. See, I have
brought you all my savings." She drew out a little bag,
and poured some money into her lap. Christopher and

HOME AGAIN.

127

the girl bent eagerly over it with greedy eyes, " There
are ten guineas and some silver pieces. Take them and
tty for your life out of the City of Destruction."

There was no hesitation about taking the money ; not
the least. Nor about promising whatever the man's mo-
ther wished.

" I will go." he said. " T will go this very evening. We
will try the north. This will keep us for a while, and
then we shall see. Yes, mother" — he thrust his tongue
in his cheek for the amusement of the girl — " honesty
is the only thing. You are right. Henceforth I am a
respectable tradesman, ruined by the wicked directors of
the South Sea Scheme.

She left him without taking his hand, or saying more
words. And she looked to learn that he had broken his
word, was still lurking in London, and had been captured.

All this she told me later, when we were far awav from
land on the blue ocean.

Then we began our preparations for Virginia. We
wanted little, because everything was already on the
plantation. My lord's interest procured us a passage on
board the Gloucester, one of His Majesty's ships, under
orders for Jamestown, and were to set sail at Portsmouth.

A week before we started a letter was brought to me
by a meanly-dressed, poor little creature of a servai^o-
maid. It was addressed to Mistress Elinor Carellis, care
of Lord Eardesley.

Oh, heaven ! it was from my dear, flighty, foolish
Jenny.

" Dearest NeDv," she besfan, " I know not if I dare to
address you as I used. Forgive me and pity me. I am
very unhappy. I know about my father's bankrupt con-
dition and his madness. Pray heaven it be not caused
partly by my undutiful conduct. Come quickly to me,
for I have much to tell you. My mother will not forgive
me, and my husband is such a wretch that you will pity
me when you know. But oh ! that such a man as

128

HOMK AGAIN.

(yhristopher March should have b»3en allowed to live !
Your artectionate Jenny."

The letter was dated from a street near High Holbom,
called Fetter Lane, where J supposed she had found lodg-
ings. My husband, who would not let nie go alone, ac-
companied me, and we carried with us the little half-
starved girl in a coach.

Alas ! the street was narrow and noisy, full of shops,
and crowded with rough people. Jenny's lodging was
in a court leading oft* the street. Who, then, wais her Ly-
sander ? Could he have deceived her for the sake of the
money, which it might be reasonably supposed she would
have ?

The girl led us into a mean house with nairow passa-
ges and dirty stairs. In a room at the back, ill-furnished,
squalid and unwashed, I found the poor girl. She was in
dishabille, her hair hanging about hei* shoulders, her feet
in slippers. Before her stood, cowering, the mnn who had
carried her off. But was this Lysander i Why, all the
bravery had gone out of the man ; the ruffle and smirk ;
the square carriage of his elbows; the toss of his head;
all were gone. His clothes were shabby and common ;
his wig lay on the table, and a handkerchief tied up his
head. I think they had been quarrelling, for w h.en Jenny
heard our footsteps and turned to me, her face was flushed
and her lips were quivering.

" Nelly ! " she said, throwing herself into my arms.
" Oh, Nelly, Nelly ! what a wretch — what a foolish wretch
I have been I "

Then she tore herself from me passionately, and placed
me in a chair, while she pointed the finger of scorn at
her husband.

" Sit there. You shall hear, you and my lord, what I
have suff'ered from this man."

Lysander looked as if he fain would escape, but knew
not how. 1 do not think he was a brave man, because

HOMK AGAIN.

129

^s-

).s.

his knees shook while his wronged wife poured out her
tale.

" You know how he used to write me poems, Nelly ?
The poems were copied. You remember his letters i They
were stolen tVom a book. The wretch hath no knowledge
of writing, save of copying for a shop cashbook. He told
me a tale of himself : he said he was the son of a coun-
try squire — oh ! lying villain ! — that his father wished
him to marry a lady of title ; that his only chance was a
secret marriage, after which his father would certainly
relent ; that he would never be able to persuade the al-
derman to any secret course ; and that if 1 would elope
with him, all would go well afterwards.

" Nelly ! you know what a fool I have cahvays been,
lovinjx to read about men and love-makinj; — all this went
to mv heart. It seemed so noble in a jrtintleman to fall
in love with the daughter of a citizen : it was grand to
be carried away. No secret marriage in London would
do with my line gentleman ; no Fleet marriage, if you
please ; nothing but a coach and four, and Scotland.

" So I went. Oh ! the long, long journey on the road ;
and the shaking over the roads ; but who so grand as
this great gentleman, if you please ? His hand was ready
with a guinea for fthe post-boy, and a crown for boots ;
while at the sound of horses on the road none so brave
as he. with his sword ready loosened in the scabbard, and
his pistols before him in the coach. ' If we are caught/
he sai*^!, ' if we have to fight, I will die rather than sur-
render my Clarissa.' I feit proud of being about to have
a husband who, if he was little in stature, had yet so
high a spirit.

" We got safely to Scotland, after many days, and there
we were married.

"Then we came home again ; but without the grandeur
with which we wei:t. Tiiis time we travelled to York by
posting, and then all tie way to London by the coach.

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HOME AGAIN.

" When I got to town I learned all that had happened ;
your wound ; my father ruin and illness ; the villany ot*
(yhristopher March. I thought my heart would break to
think of all the troubles that had fallen upon us. Yet
there was some comfort ; I should not be a burden upon
my friends, poor and in misery ; I should, perhaps, bo
able to help tliem ; it would be a little consolation for mo
in thinking of my undutiful conduct, that it enabled mo
to give some succour to my poor father."

She stopped, antl the miserable man, now that the cli-
max was approaching, trembled not only in his knees, but
all over, while a cold moisture broke out on his forehead.

" One more misfortune was to fall upon me — one more
trouble. I deserved it. I must not repine ; but it was
harder to bear than all the rest. Oh, Nelly ! See him
now. Does he look at all like the son of a country esquire?
Hath he any air of gentle blood and noble birth ? Does
he look like a man Avho would marry a lady of rank ? I
found out at length, but not until his money was come to
an end. I found out, I say, from his own confession, who
he is and what. Nelly, he made the money for our wed-
ding journey by gambling. He was lucky, and won
enough to pay for all in a single night. And he is not a
gentleman at all. He is but just out of his apprentice-
ship. He is a hosier by trade. His name is Joshua Crump.
T am plain Mistress Crump, wife of the hosier's appren-
tice, who was once Jenny Medlycott, and daughter of an
alderman who has passed th( chair ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! "

She paused. Then, tired to fury with the thought of
lier wrongs, she cried again, with a passion of tears, " Oh,
villain ! " and gave her husband, one with each hand, two
such mighty boxes on the ear that I expected, little as
she was, some dreadful injury would be done to him. I
pulled her from him ; for, indeed, she was now quite mad
with passion, and no longer mistress of herself.

Joshua Crump, all this time, said nothing, only he
gazed with appealing eyes to me, as if for protection.

HOMK AGAIN.

]81

My husband stepped forward wliilo I was Hoothing
Jenny.

" Tell me," he asked the man, " have you any money V

" No, my lord, none, except a single guinea. '

" And when that is tlone, what will you do next ? "

" I know not, my lord, indeed."

" Are you not a pretty villain thus to carry away a
young lady deceived hy these lies ? "

" I am, my lord. Yet I thought her father was rich,
and would forgive us."

" Come outside, and speak with me privately."

They went outside, and I heard my husband speaking
gravely. They talked for a (juarter of an hour. Then
my lord returned alone.

" Come, Nelly," he said ; " the coach waits. Jenny,
child, will you come with us and share our lot ? Your
husband will let you go, and it shall be as if you had
never been married."

I dressed her hair and tied on her hat, and led her cry-
ing and sobbing down the stairs.

She never saw her husband again.

So, on a fine morning in late autumn, wc left London
for good ; and rode, stopping at Guildford for the night,
all together — my husband, myself, Jenny, and nurse Alice,
with my husband's new man. And so we journeyed to
Portsmouth, where we embarked on board His Majesty's
man-of-war Gloucester, seventy-live guns, then lying off
S|)ithead, and presently were standing gallantly across
the open sea, all sail set, making for my dear Virginia.

My story is finished. It only remains for me to say a
few words more.

First, I have been a happy wife in the affection of a
great and noble husband. We lived on our plantation,
without once wishing to leave it, for five-and-twenty
years. At the end of that time, our affairs having pros-
perered beyond our expectation, my husband was seized
with a longing to go home and live the rest of his life

132

HOMK AGAIN.

upon his own estate in Wales, where, he thought, he
niiglit build a house and cultivate the ground, and, per-
haps, help the advancement of our eldest son. The second
son we left in Virginia. He hath taken the surname of
C'arellis, and I hope that there may never fail a Carellis
in the colonv to illustrate hv his own virtues and worth
those of the English race, feo, we returned, and, in the
autumn of our lives, before old age dims my memory or
impairs my faculties, I have written this story of my sor-
rows and my joys, and have called it, fondly, after the
name bv which my dear husband, who hath ever been
my lover, still delights to call his wife.

About a year after we landed my husband had a letter
fr(»m London in which an unknown correspondent in-
formed him that he would be interested in learning the
death of Master Joshua Crump, formerly a hosier's appren-
tice. I showed tfhe letter to Jenny, who tirst looked grave,
as was becoming, and then became joyful.

" After all," she said, " it was the only thing he couid
do to prove his repentance. I think better of him for
dying, and perhaps I may forgive him altogether in time.
But now I can think of nothinof but that 1 am free."

She was ; and .i few weeks later she married a voun<j:
gentleman of great promise and a consitlerable estate upon
the Potowmac river. She has brought up a large tamily
of handsome children, and no one but myself and my
husband ever knew the story of her elopement. Alice
knew, of course, but Alice never talked. And here I may
relate that when (after many years) we returned to Lon-
don, the tirst time I walked again in Cheapside I espied
a monstrous great sign of a go'den glove hanging over my
head, and read the name written below of J. Crump. I
remembered Lysander, and moved with curiosity, 1 en
tered the shop. Why, there behind the counter, stood
Lysander himself. He was little changed, except for a
certain smugness of aspect peculiar to the thriving Lon-

IIOMK A(;.\IN.

i,sr>

my
. I

en
tood
>r a

iOll-

(loii Ijosier. Ifr liowod. and asked me wliat I niinht

and

please to lack.

1 leaned aeross the eonnter and wliispered :

" Hath J^ysander quite foinot his (Marissa ^ "

Ho ticnnbled and tinned pale, and his yard wr
diopped from his hands.

" Madam, " he Avhis|)ered, " I know yonr ladyshij) now.
Your are Lady l<'ar(lesley. For Heaven's sake ! I am
married and the t'athei- of ten "

" Fear not, Lysander," I replied, "■ yoiu'seeret is safe from
me. After the death <>f her tirst hushand I'larissa I'ound
consolation in the arms of a st'eon<l."

So I left him ahashcd and confounded.

We had Itecn in Virginia livi^ years or so when t)ur over-
seer came to me one moinini;'. my hushand heinij; then
sliootinn' in the forest, witjj a tale about a certain convict
servant whom he had houL;ht at .himes 'J'own, and con-
veyed, with others, to the estate, lie was a man about
thirty three or fo)n-, who had bocn found guilty and sen-
tenced to be han^'ed, but. by the cJemiMKy of thejudi;-e,
was branded and sent to the plantations. The offence
was shop-liftini;-. Tlii<<4'loomy story was too common to
move my pity, ihit the oviMseer added, when the nuin
hoard that Lord Kardeslev had Itou^ht him, he fell upon
his knees, and beL;n(Ml tliat he niii^ht never be ^■een by his
lordship.

A dreadful suspicion seized ni". 1 bade the overseer
lead mr to the man. lie wassittiuLi' ]\\ chains, waiting to
be told off for a field u'ano;. T never went near our
wretcluMl people on their first arii\al. or when tluy wi're
at W(»i-k in the fields, f«>r the sound iA' the la.sh, even thou*^h

e knew that it was ]>artof the punishmetit, or felt that

cut it was part of his

if it was a nei;"ro receivii;.^' cliasfiseme ^

'n reliij^ion ajid civilisation, never failed (o brinn"

(Mlucation i

the tears to my ev<'s

e tears to my exes.

The overseer called hiiu and he liftetl his head. At

134

HOME AGAIN,

M :

sight of iiic ho fell grovelling and crying at my feet. For
it was Christopher March.

I said nothing to him, good or had, hut, being assured
that it was the wicked wretch himself, tlius placed by
Providence in our hands, I left him and went home. When
my husband returned I told him all.

It would be too long a story to relate how my lord sent
for this rogue, Avhose sins had found him out, and dis-
coursed'with him upon his miraculous escape and the oc-
casion mercifully laid open to him for lepentance, and
how the man with plentiful tears declared that he was al-
ready deeply penitent. We kci)t from Alice the know-
ledo*e that lier son was on the estate until such time as
the overseers reported favourably of the man's goi)d Ir^
haviour and willingness. We then granted to nurse, lor
her own use, a strip of ground at the far noi'th of our plan-
tation, which had a cottai>e (jn it ; and we assi^'ned her
own son to her as scivant, so that no one on tlie estate
should know of the relationship.

When she <lied, a year or two later, it was in the thank-
ful confidence that her son was as deeply and sincerely
penitent as she was herself.

I never greatly believed in the repentance of one whose
sins showed so hard a heart, but T was o-lad that his hang-
ing did not take ])lace until after the death of his mother.
He was executed at James Town, and hung in chains, for
a highway robl)ery, (juite unnecessary and wanton, because,
at the time, he was in easy circumstances.

As I write these last linens, the setting sun is shining on
the Welsh hills ; in the gardens are playing my gra>nd-
children; sitting about me are my three daughters, happy
matrons all; walking up the broad valley I see my hus-
band, and, with him, two gallant sons. My heart is full.

THE END.

For