B7S BSBs ^'im. l'^€ >' cf C^ V\ t (( CCa *^«t '• t( f/; ^'< . ■^■Ci (ci <. c* '--<>' c^ ^ x K' 4^ -1^ •^li^ -/,^c^ V< ' :; i' ^T ►-'. 1 -.^ Cl( 5s:- e ■. r.'ff If 5^ iier^x/ L I B RAFLY OF THE UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS C888s 0'':^m<^^ w^-^^u' •^ /vo-«'-"MJ^''^ 'vwwwr ^^Jw'.-^^.l^' Rl fnrmifiTff •<«hS>-«"v«W«» m livkitMC? Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. University of Illinois Library ' V^e'^W 3 i/'^" THE STORY OF LILLY DAWSON. BY MRS. CROWE, AUTHOR OF "THE ADVENTURES OF SUSAN HOPLEY," ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1847. F. Shoberl, Jan., Printer to H.R.H. Prince Albert, Rupert Street. LILLY DAWSON, CHAPTER I. WHICH CONTAINS, SOME ACCOUNT OF THE INN CALLED THE BLACK HUNTSMAN, AND ITS OCCUPANTS. Not far from the coast, in a remote and somewhat unfrequented part of one of the south-eastern counties of England, dwelt, at the commencement of the present century, a family of the name of Littenhaus. They were said to be of foreign origin ; and this persua- sion, which took its rise from their un-English patronymic, was confirmed by the circum- stance that their house was much frequented by visitors from the other side of the channel. Of themselves they gave no account. They VOL. I. B 2 . LILLY DAWSON. had arrived there as perfect strangers from some distant part of the country, apparently in consequence of an advertisement which had been inserted in the newspapers, intimating that the inn, commonly known by the style and title of '* The Black Huntsman," was for sale. Shortly after the appearance of this notice, two young men had come to view the place ; and, presently after their departure, the agent of Sir Lawrence Longford, to whom the pro- perty belonged, received a letter, purporting that Jacob Littenhaus was willing to become the purchaser. The bargain was struck and the money paid ; — the sum indeed was not by any means large, for it was a house of little business ; and in that respect was not con- sidered likely to improve. In fact, none of its previous occupants had succeeded in making a living out of it ; and every one wondered that a new tenant should be wil- ling to undertake the hopeless struggle. LILLY DAWSON. 3 " But he does not know whose shoes he is stepping into," said the jolly host of the Red Lion at the neighbouring village of Combe Martin to the agent, Mr. Cobb ; " they couldn't keep none of his predecessors above water. I wonder Sir Lawrence doesn't turn the place into some'ut else ; it's no sitia- tion for an inn." " I don't know what else it's fit for," re- plied the agent ; " there's nothing to be made of the land, you know. It will grow nothing but heath and furze, and the house is a capi- tal house ; large and roomy — just fit for an inn." " Why, it was built for one, I suppose," replied Lacy. " But that was in old times, when it had a trade." "Yes," replied Mr. Cobb, "the turning away of the road, and the new pier and har- bour at F., have settled its business. There'll never be anything done there again, I'm afraid. However, Sir Lawrence has got it B 2 4 LILLY DAWSON. off his hands now ; and they that have taken it must make the best of it." And this, when the Littenhaus family ar- rived, they seemed well inclined to do. They made no complaints of want of trade, though it was certainly but little they had ; and, though the people in the village were al- ways foretelling that they would never be able to keep the house open, yet, somehow or other, they did contrive to do that which their predecessors had failed to effect. One thing was, as our host of the Red Lion was wont to say, they had no rent to pay, as all the previous occupants had. The house was their own, so that all they had to earn was their daily bread. If they could get that, they might make a shift to live ; and it ap- peared that they did get it. The family, on their arrival, consisted of the father, an elderly and very infirm man ; two sons ; two daughters ; and a little girl called Lilly Dawson, said to be the child of LILLY DAWSON. 5 a younger sister of old Littenliaus ; but, her parents being dead, she had become a de- pendant on the bounty of her uncle and cousins for her subsistence. Of the two sons, the elder, whose name was Ambrose, was a middle-sized, strongly- built youth, with dark hair and eyes, and tolerable features ; whilst the younger, called Luke, was short and thick-set, with square shoulders, light eyes and hair, and a broad, pale face. With respect to the daughters, they were rather handsome young women, but their beauty was not of a very pleasing character : neither were their manners nor those of the brothers attractive; and their mode of life at the Black Huntsman was certainly not calculated to improve them, for it was very solitary. They were too far from the village for any constant communion with its inhabitants, even had they desired to maintain it, which appa- rently they did not. The sons, who were the 6 LILLY DAWSON. only members of the family frequently seen^ had a very anti-social air ; and the daughters were rarely visible, except on Sundays, when they invariably appeared at church in con- siderable splendour. Nay, so unfailing were they in their devotions, that, though it rained " cats and dogs," as the worthy Mrs. Lacy of the Red Lion said, you were still sure to see Anna and Charlotte Littenhaus in their pew. On these occasions, they were wont to arrive in a covered vehicle something like the machine used for transporting pianofortes through the streets. They called it the shander-a-dan ; but, as it was painted black, and was drawn by a stout horse of the same hue, it was known in the neighbourhood by the name of the Littenliaus Hearse. The old man, Jacob Littenhaus, the father, had a much more pleasing countenance, and a more open and accessible air than the rest of the family ; but he was seldom seen, his infirmities keeping him a prisoner to the house LILLY DAWSON. 7 or its immediate vicinity; and if any one happened to suggest that he might come to church in the shander-a-dan, they were an- swered that, the vehicle not being on springs, he could not bear the motion of it. Thus, beyond the fact of his existence, no- body knew much of old Jacob Littenhaus, nor were they much better acquainted with young Lilly Dawson. She was said to be an ex- tremely stupid little girl ; and those who chanced to see her declared that her coun- tenance confirmed the report. Still, her features were regular ; and, had they been illuminated by cheerfulness and intelligence, she might have been a pretty child ; as it was, with her stolid look and squalid attire, she was a very unattractive object. Young as she was, she was made to do a great por- tion of the house-work, her cousins Anna and Charlotte being her only assistants, with the exception of the odd jobs done by Short Bill, the lad who drove the shander-a-dan, took 8 LILLY DAWSON. care of the black horse, carried coals, did the errands, and whatever else was required of him. He was called Short Bill from his peculiarly stunted growth, which appeared to have sud- denly stopped when he was about twelve years old, bequeathing him the stature of a child, with, the form and features of a man. He was not exactly like a dwarf either, but looked more like an old boy ; for, though he was in fact young, he had a shrivelled face — such a one as is sometimes seen belonging to a postboy on a well-travelled road — or, at least, used to be seen, when postboys lived and flourished ; the cheeks rosy, but the skin pursing up into wrinkles, like a prematurely withered apple. Whether he had ever had a father and mother seems uncertain ; there ap- peared no reason to suppose he had ; nor was he ever known to lay claim to any patrony- mic, style, or title, than that of Short Bill ; and, had he been able to write, such would undoubtedly have been his signature. LILLY DAWSON. 9 At the time the Littenhaus family arrived, Short Bill had been acting as supernumerary ostler at the Red Lion, where Ambrose chanced to see him, and, for some merit or other, not apparent to the world in general, was so far taken with his appearance, that he immediately secured his services for the Black Huntsman, where the mode of life, which would have been insufferable to most people, seemed to suit him well enough. Being the only domestic on the premises, he had no com- panion : and, as he was not permitted to ab- sent himself, except when sent on an errand, he had no opportunity of seeking any ; but his natural taciturnity very much mitigated the hardship of this enforced solitude and silence. He was on very friendly terms with the black horse ; and, as his duties were regular, and not extremely arduous, he spent a good deal of his time asleep in the stable ; a mode of disposing of it, to which his em- ployers made no objection, provided he was b5 10 LILLY DAWSON, always to be found when they needed his ser- vices — and this he took care to be ; Short Bill being one of those persons who are never out of the way. On the whole, he seemed very contented ; and, since happiness in this life is only comparative, if he opened his eyes and looked about him, he might certainly have found great reason for self-gratulation ; for he was assuredly, by many degrees, the happiest member of the family to which he was attached. Old Jacob, the father, was not only infirm, but he was evidently a broken-down, broken- hearted man ; alone, in the midst of his family ; far away from his friends, if he ever had any; and gradually sinking into the grave. His sons had none of the hilarity of youth. They frequently, one or other of them, went from home, and they attended the neighbouring fairs and markets ; but they sought few amusements, joined in no sports, formed no intimacies, and never invited any LILLY DAWSON. H body to visit them. Then the life led by the daughters was inexpressibly dull; the weekly opportunity of exhibiting their fine clothes to the villagers which the recurring Sundays afforded them, appearing to be their only pleasure; except that they, now and then, made a journey in the shander-a-dan to Hotham, a town about seven miles distant, where dwelt an expert dressmaker of the name of Grosset ; the mantuamaker of the village not being dexterous enough for their pur- pose. As for Lilly Dawson, her situation was, if possible, still less enviable. Though not more than eight years old when she was brought to the Black Huntsman, she was every body's servant, and maid-of-all-work in the most em- phatic sense of the term. Certainly, Anna and Charlotte Littenhaus did condescend to some of the least onerous duties, such as dusting, making beds, and so forth ; but all the dirty work fell to the share of Lilly, who, IS . LILLY DAWSON. great part of her time, was little better than a Cinderella. Not that there was actually mnch to do ; for the arrival of a guest at the Black Huntsman was by no means an event of daily occurrence ; but, being unequal to her task, it was never done ; and poor Lilly was al- ways toiling after it in vain. Then she had the entire charge of waiting on the old man ; but this was the most agreeable part of her duties, for he was kind to her, and she had attached herself to him, the more, perhaps, that she had nothing else to attach herself to. And even this was an instinctive, unreasoning kind of attachment, like that of a dog for its master ; for her mind was subdued to the quality of her condition, and her spirit broken by hardship ; so that she went through her tasks like an automaton, exhibiting only so much intelligence in adapting her means to her ends, as we often see exercised by the lower animals. Still, there was one morning in the week LILLY DAWSON. 13 in which a gleam of satisfaction might be dis- cerned on Lilly's countenance, and that was Sunday, especially if the day were fine ; for then Ambrose and Luke generally went away in their boat, and did not return till night ; whilst, the young ladies being at church, she was left alone with Uncle Littenhaus. This was the only opportunity she had, too, of cul- tivating her single accomplishment — namely, reading. On other days, when her house- work was — we will not say done, for that it never was — but when it was at a standstill — she had her cousin's stockings to darn, or the house-linen to mend, till she lay down out- wearied, and already half asleep, upon her bed. But on Sundays, from ten o'clock, when the shander-a-dan drove from the door, till six in the evening, when the young wo- men returned from church, her time was her own and her uncle's. A good part of this peaceful period she generally passed in sleep, making up for her short hours on the other 14 LILLY DAWSON. six nights of the week ; but Jacob Littenhaus, whose ill health warned him that he was daily drawing nearer to his end, had begun to have some twinges of affright at the prospect before him. He had always been a thoughtless, weak man, and quite ignorant of religion — he had never been taught any, never had any — and he had done many things that were very wrong in his time, more from want of reflec- tion and want of knowledsfe than actual de- pravity ; but some circumstances had hap- pened of late, that had startled his mind awake ; and when he saw himself but little past the prime of life, descending to the grave, he recollected that there was a book called the Bible, that he had heard much talk about ; and he felt some curiosity to know what it was, and whether it would afford him any consolation. So he desired Short Bill, when he went to the village, to buy him one, but by no means to let his sons or daughters see it. Bill executed the commission, but LILLY DAWSON. 15 SO injudiciously, that the book was a dead letter to Jacob from the smallness of the print ; and the only time he could derive any benefit from his acquisition, was when he could g-et Lilly to read to him. Poor Lilly — ^Yho was quite as unenlightened as her uncle, read very badly, and was obliged to spell all the hard words — began at the head of the title-page, passing thence to " the Most High and Mighty Prince James, by the grace of God," and so on, to the first chapter of Genesis, till, little by little, they crept on through the Pentateuch. But the Hebrew names were a terrible stumblinofblock in the way of the neophytes ; and thus, as may be easily conceived, Jacob found less com- fort than he had expected from this far- famed volume ; whilst the only idea Lilly had on the subject was, that if the heroes and he- roines of the tale had had less crabbed appella- tions, she might have felt more interest in their fortunes. As the matter stood, however, the 16 LILLY DAWSON. only benefit derived from these prelections was, that they preserved her from the mis- fortune of forgetting the little reading she knew. As time advanced, Lilly's duties became more arduous, for Jacob required more and more of her assistance ; and, whatever else she had to do, she never neglected him ; al- though she frequently got into trouble on account of the arrears of her other work, con- sequent on his increasing necessities. It was not age that rendered him so feeble ; he was, in fact, not more than fifty-five ; but his in- firmities had been occasioned by personal in- juries received before the Littenhaus family was known in the part of the country they now inhabited. It was this premature decline — for he had previously been a hale, hearty man — that had somewhat improved Jacob's character and awakened his reflections. Had he retained his health till age overtook him, he would LILLY DAWSON. 17 probably never have thought of such matters as now occasionally occupied his mind. It is sickness and sorrow that bring repentance — not old age. As it was, he yearned for that comfort which nobody was at hand to give him, and which he knew not where to seek ; and, as he grew daily more and more sorrowful, he clung daily more and more to Lilly, who was his only friend ; for there was no cordiality betwixt him and his children; and it was too evident that they cared no- thing about him. When they spoke of him at all, it was as a burthen ; and, instead of taking his place as the head of the house, he was treated as an unwelcome dependant. It would be too much to say, that this gave Lilly pain — life was to her a wholly mecha- nical thing ; and her mind and feelings were too obtuse and unawakened to be conscious of compassion. But she was good-natured ; and therefore, instinctively, the more he needed her, the more she was drawn towards him. 18 LILLY DAWSON. In this manner, the family had resided about eighteen months at the Black Hunts- man, doing so little business, that it seemed difficult to believe they made a living out of it ; when, one night, a man arrived, wearing a sailor's dress, who vras received as a wel- come guest and old acquaintance. They called him Hans Peffer ; and, although he spoke English pretty fluently, it was with a foreign accent. He was moreover a rough, coarse-mannered, and sinister-looking person ; and, had there been any spectator of his re- ception capable of observation, he might well have wondered how such an unattractive visitor should have aroused so much animation and excitement in his hosts. However, they seemed to have many old friends and recol- lections in common ; and the inquiries on the part of the Littenhaus family were numerous. Even Jacob appeared to forget his aches and pains, whilst he listened to tidings of his former companions. LILLY DAWSON. 1 9 " But why didn't you come before ?" asked Ambrose. " Because I never got your letter till about three months since." " What, did you never go to the old shop after we left ?" inquired Luke. " No," answered Hans ; " we didn't know exactly what had happened, and thought it best to keep off." ** Why, what did you hear?" asked Char- lotte. " That you'd sheered off, because the place was too hot to hold you ; and it was thought, if you'd stayed a week longer, worse would have come of it — so I thought we'd best give them a wide berth and keep away." " But how came you to find the letter at last then ?" " I didn't find it ; Locksley found it and brought it to me. But how are you getting on ? Have you been doing any business here?" 90 LILLY DAWSON. " Very little," answered Ambrose. " No- body has found us out but Locksley, and he's devilish cautious, you know." " So much the better," said Jacob, shaking his head. " And is there nothing doing in this neigh- bourhood ?" asked Hans. "Nothing," replied the other. "They're the most primitive people you ever saw. If you talked to them about running a cask, they wouldn't know what you meant." " So much the better for them," again murmured Jacob, in an undertone, whilst his daughters cast a reproving glance at him. " So much the better for m,'' echoed Hans. " Why, Jacob, what's come along o' you ?" " Oh ! never mind him !" said Charlotte ; " but tell us what you've got ? Have you any silks ?" No," answered Hans ; " how could I ven- ture till I'd seen the coast ? I couldn't tell IJLLY DAWSON. 21 where to stow them away, and they might have got damaged." " You might have brought them up here," suoforested Anna. " How could I tell that ? Besides, it's a devilish long way from the shore, let me tell you !" " Only three quarters of a mile," answered Charlotte. " But that's a devilish long way ! You may fall foul of a dozen folks in three quarters of a mile." " They wouldn't suspect anything if you did," said Anna. '' There has never been any business done here ; and they know nothing about it." " But they might learn," objected Hans. " It is a difficulty," said Ambrose. " The beach is perfectly flat, and there's no great surf — capital for running in a boat — but there isn't a rock within two miles, nor even a hole biof enouo^h to stow a cask away." 22 LILLY DAWSON. " Who does that mill belong to ?" asked Hans. " Ah !" said Luke, " that's the place, if we could get it — close to the beach ; and the path up to it in a gully, where nobody ever passes." "But who does it belong to?" repeated Hans. "A man called Ryland," returned Am- brose. " Is it his own ?" inquired Hans. "Yes," answered Charlotte; "he spent all his money in building it, because there was no mill near at hand ; and he thought he was sure to do well in it — and so he has." " There's no buying him out then ?" said Hans. " Buy him out ! — no," replied Ambrose ; " Where's the money to come from ? Besides, he has got a boy that he is bringing up to the same trade." " It's a pity !" said Hans. " I never saw a LILLY DAWSON. 23 better place, nor more convenient, in my life." " I wish we had it !" said Anna ; '' for, be- sides that, old Ryland's a regular nuisance, so near." " What, does he molest you ?" asked Hans. " No, but he might," replied Anna ; " and then that sprig of a boy of his is always prowling about the moor of an evening." Shortly after this visit of Hans, who spent a couple of days with his friends, and then walked away as he came, two other men of the same description presented themselves, and from that time the society at the Black Huntsman was not quite in so stagnant a state as it had been. Most frequently, how- ever, these visitors arrived in the middle of the night ; and they were often away again before morning — sometimes the young men, Ambrose and Luke, with them. The effect of this stir and commotion seemed decidedly beneficial as regarded the younger members 24 LILLY DAWSON. of the family ; they had been vegetating be- fore without anything to excite them — now they were alive again. They had plenty to talk of to each other ; and the arrival of the strangers was always an animating event. In short, they were in their element again. With respect to Lilly, this change of cir- cumstances made very little difference ; her routine of work was the same ; and, when she had finished what she had to do, or was unable from fatigue or want of light to do more, she sat down on a little stool that was appro- priated to her, took out her stocking and darned away at it, till one or other of the young women bade her go to bed. Whilst she was present, the conversation went on exactly as if she were absent — secrets of all sorts were discussed before her with perfect unreserve — Lilly was a nonentity — too dull to listen, too stupid to understand. And they were quite right ; — Lilly never thought about what they were saying, or had said — LILLY DAWSON. 25 all she cared for was the moment when she should be allowed to lay her head on her pil- low; and, as soon as she did so, she was fast asleep. When she awoke the next morning, she thought only of what she had got to do, and indulged in no abstract retrospections. Fre- quently, by the state in which she found things, she knew that people must have been there in the night ; but this awakened no curiosity. It might be truly said of Lilly, that sufficient for the day w^as the evil thereof — she never looked forward nor backward ; all she had to do was to rub on. Meanwhile, Jacob grew worse and worse ; and, whilst he was wholly confined to his room, his sons and daughters frequently al- luded to the approaching dissolution of their parent in Lilly's presence; but neither did this make any impression on her, for she had no precise conception of what death was ; nor did she foresee that the departure of the old man would inspire her with any regret. VOL. I. c 26 LILLY DAWSON. CHAPTER 11. THE DEATH OF JACOB, AND THE INTRODUCTION OF THE RYLAND FAMILY TO THE READER. " Lilly !" said Jacob, to the little girl, one evening, "• Lilly, I don't think I shall live through the night. Are Ambrose and Luke at home ?" " No," replied Lilly ; " I haven't seen 'em to-day." " I heard some people here in the night — I suppose they went away with them; did they?" " I don't know," answered Lilly. " I should like to speak to my daughters," said Jacob, after a pause ; "go and tell them so, Lilly ;" and Lilly quitted the room, whilst Jacob, sighing heavily, with considerable effort turned his face towards the door. LILLY DAWSON. 27 After a lapse of some minutes, the two sisters entered the room. " Do you want us ?" inquired Charlotte. " Yes," answered Jacob — " I don't think, Charlotte, I shall live throuo-h the nicrht." " Pooh !" returned his daughter ; " that's all fancy — you're no worse than you generally are." " God knows, I've no need to be worse," answered Jacob ; " but I'm sure I can't live long." " So you've said these three months," re- turned Charlotte. " You make yourself worse by giving way to these fancies," said Anna. *' Fancies !" echoed Jacob — " however, nevermind" — and here he paused again — *' but there's one thing I wish to say, before I go." " Well, what is it ?" asked Charlotte. " I should like to have spoken to Ambrose and Luke," continued Jacob ; *' but Lilly says they're out." c 2 28 LILLY DAWSON. " They're away with Hans," answered Anna. At the name of Hans, the dying man's face contracted — but he said nothing — he knew it was useless. " It's about Lilly that I wanted to speak to you," said Jacob. " What about her?" asked Charlotte. " You treat that child too harshly," con- tinued he, " Harshly !" echoed both the sisters. " We don't treat her harshly. Besides, how else could anybody treat such a stupid lump?" '* Remember, she wasn't born to it," urged Jacob. " Oh, pooh !" returned Charlotte ; " what does that signify now ?" ^' Well," said Jacob, " I'm going as fast as I can go — I only tell you — when you're where I am, you'll see things other than you do now. I was just the same myself once, and see what it has brought me to — and yet, I don't think I was, either." LILLY DAWSON. 29 " You don't ! That's a good un," ex- claimed Charlotte. " I had some feeling even when I was at the worst," continued the old man, speaking feebly ; " and, when my father was shot in the knee by the Lieutenant at St. Mary's, I carried him on my shoulders through the surf, and got him into the boat, and he died aboard his own cutter after all, instead of being swung up to the yard-arm, or rotting in a jail for the rest of his days — that is some comfort, at any rate." " I'm sure talking in this way can't do you any good," said Charlotte ; " we'd better go, and send Lilly up to you." " Ah, Lilly !" said Jacob ; " you should have some feeling for that child — remember, as I said before, she wasn't born to it." " What's the use of bothering about Lilly at this time of day ?" said Anna ; " she must take things as other people do." " Besides, Lilly's very well satisfied," re- 30 LILLY DAWSON. joined Charlotte. " She knows no better. But, come, Anna, there's only Lilly below ; we'd better go down." " You'll be better to-morrow, if you don't think so much about it," said Anna, as she left the room. " 1 shall be dead to-morrow," said Jacob, in a feeble voice, whilst his eyes filled with unaccustomed tears, and the white lip quivered. ** No such thing ! we'll send you up a cup of tea," said Anna, following her sister — and the door closed upon " these daughters." In about half an hour, Lilly entered the room with the tea ; and, with her assistance, Jacob sipped a little of it. " Lilly," he said, '' I'm sure I shan't live through the night ; and it's hard to be left to die alone — do you think you could keep awake, and sit up with me ?" " I'll try," answered Lilly. " Do," said Jacob ; " come when they go LILLY DAWSON. 31 to bed ; and you can sit here in the arm- chair, beside me ; and then, if you fall asleep, I can wake you." In due time, the sisters retired to their chamber. We must do them the justice to say that they did not believe their father's death so near — if they had, they might pos- sibly have paid him another visit; but he had been long ill, and they did not see suf- ficient alteration in him to justify his appre- hensions ; so they went to bed, and Lilly, without mentioning Jacob's request to them, prepared for her vigil — or rather for her nap in the arm-chair — for, though she did her utmost to keep herself awake, she had not taken up her position half an hour, before she was as sound asleep as ever she was in her life. There lay the dying man, and there sat the sleeping child — and all the house was silent, except the dull ticking of the clock on the landing-place, at the top of the stairs, and the occasional moans of the departing spirit. 32 LILLY DAWSON. The minutes, so fleet and so slow, had thus glided on, till the hour-hand of the clock pointed at two ; and then Lilly dreamed that she had overslept herself, and that Charlotte and Anna were dragging her out of bed by the arm, and yet she did not wake. To wake Lilly, the tired child, who never had her full allowance of sleep, was, at all times, a difficult task ; and to wake her thus prema- turely, was still more difficult. " Lilly ! wake ! wake !" cried Jacob, grasp- ing her arm. " What o'clock is it ?" asked he eagerly, when, with great difficulty, the child had opened her eyes ; " what o'clock is it? Isn't it yet the middle of the night ?" *' I don't know," answered Lilly, quite bewildered and not recollecting where she was. " See !" he said ; " see ! for God's sake ! Go, look at the clock !" " It's just two," said Lilly, as soon as she had ascertained the fact ; to do which she had LILLY DAWSON. 33 only to open the door of the room, as the clock was close at hand. ** I thought so !" exclaimed Jacob, in a voice of terror ; " and the Lord have mercy on my soul !" " Will you have some barley-water ?" asked Lilly, who did not comprehend what he meant. " See !" said Jacob, '* they're coming to fetch me with fiery swords, and sulphur and brimstone — don't you see how they blaze?" whilst his eyes stared wildly at the window ; and Lilly, now being thoroughly awake, became conscious that the room was actually lighted by a preternatural light — for it was mid winter, and yet, though they had only a feeble rushlight, every object was illuminated by a lurid glare; and Lilly had ascertained the hour by this unaccustomed light alone. " Oh, Lilly !" he said, '' I've led a wicked life, and now I shall burn for it !" and the rickety bedstead shook with the convulsive c 5 84 LILLY DAWSON. terrors of the expiring sinner. " I'm going !" he gasped out — " I'm going ! I feel I'm ofoino' !" " Shall I call my cousins?" asked Lilly, from her natural or acquired obtuseness less alarmed than might be supposed. '^ Call who?" said Jacob, whose speech grew every moment more difficult. " My cousins," answered Lilly ; " shan't I call them, uncle ?" " I'm not your uncle — they're not your cousins !" gasped Jacob. '* Oh, Lilly, pray for me — it was a great sin, and now I shall burn in Hell for it, I'm afraid — I wish it had never happened — better for you if you had gone to the bottom like the rest. Do you hear what I say, Lilly ?" *' Yes, uncle," replied Lilly, who heard, but obscurely understood. " I'm not your uncle, child, I tell you — you're a stranger to me and mine — but, oh, Lord, look there! They're coming, they're LILLY DAWSON. 35 coming !" And when Lilly cast her eyes to the window, certainly the sight was enough to alarm any one with less reason for fear than Jacob ; the glare of light was so great, that she could distinguish every object in the cabbage-garden adjoining the house as clearly as if the sun were shining at noon-day. " Pray for me, Lilly, pray for me ! you're innocent, and the Lord may hear you !" But Lilly only stood bewildered and frightened — for the extraordinary light and the expiring man's terrors had frightened her by this time — she knew nothing about praying. What she would have done, had she dared, would have been to call Charlotte and Anna ; but she thought they would be angry with her for disturbing them. Just at this crisis, a loud knocking at the door below elicited another cry of terror from the dying man, and startled Lilly out of her perplexity. When any visitor arrived after the door was closed for the evening, it 36 LILLY DAWSON. was her business to open it, provided she were still up ; and, forgetting that her being so now was an irregularity, she proceeded mechani- cally to do her accustomed duty. *' Is Mr. Littenhaus at home ? Are the young men here ?" inquired a youth of about thirteen, with a voice and features of great anxiety. " My uncle is up stairs in bed," answered Lilly ; " and Ambrose and Luke are out." " Is there nobody here can help us?" said the boy ; " the mill's on fire — where's your lad ?" " Short Bill's in bed," said Lilly. " Where?" said the boy; "call him, will you ? He might be of some use." " I don't know whether I may," said Lilly ; " he sleeps in the loft." " I'll call him myself, then," said the boy ; and, suiting the action to the word, he imme- diately proceeded to wake Short Bill — not a very easy matter either — and, having secured LILLY DAWSON. 37 his assistance, and the use of the stable buckets, they set off together in the direction of the mill ; whilst Lilly, having so far watched the progress of the affair, and seen them depart, ascended again to the sick man's room. " It's the mill that's on fire, uncle," said she ; " and that's what makes the light ;" but Jacob did not answer. He lay on his back, with his features distorted, his lips apart, and the dim eye open. Lilly stood for a moment looking at him, and then, in a doubtful voice, again murmured " uncle !" but still there was no answer — and then a strange feeling began to creep over Lilly — she saw that that of which she had heard such frequent predictions had at length happened — Jacob Littenhaus was dead. Still she stood, as if rooted to the spot, with her eyes fixed upon his face — she could neither turn them away, nor move from the bedside. And yet it was not altogether fear that kept her there ; it was rather won- 3» LILLY DAWSON. der and some gleams of strange thoughts awakening in her dull brain — confused and indistinct, and yet absorbing. Gradually, however, the features of the dead man became less visible; a shadow fell over them, till little by little they faded from her view, and she found herself in darkness — the fire at the mill had burnt itself out, and the room was no longer illuminated. Then Lilly crept aw^ay to her own room, where she threw off her clothes and was presently fast asleep. At seven o'clock in themorninof, her dream of the night was realized. As was to be expected, she overslept herself, and she was awakened by the angry voice of Charlotte, calling her " A lazy, good-for-nothing thing." Heavy and stupid with want of rest, she jumped out of bed, got into her clothes the best way she could, and ran down stairs to overtake her morning's work. When she passed the door of Jacob's room, she suddenly remembered the occurrences of the night, but LILLY DAWSON. 39 she did not dare stop to look in upon him, though she wished to do it ; the angry voices of her cousins below, complaining that the fire was not lighted in the kitchen, warned her to make haste. " You little good-for-nothing lazy wretch !" said Anna, " here's nearly eight o'clock" (in reality it was just half-past seven), "and not a spark of fire in the grate ; instead of the kettle being on and the water boiled for breakfast." Lilly made no answer — she never did — she only laid the wood in the grate, and gathered up the ashes and small coals to put over it ; and then, having set it alight, puffed away with the bellows with all her might and main, till having got up a flame and set on the kettle, she could proceed with her other work. In the mean time, the sisters performed such little offices as they reserved for themselves ; and when the table was prepared, and the water boiled, they sat down to breakfast. 40 LILLY DAWSON. '' Lilly !" said Anna presently, " here, tg^ke up your uncle's tea ;" for to do this was Lilly's business every morning. Lilly left off what she was doing, and approached the table, blushing up to the eyes ; she understood very well that a dead man wanted no tea; but, in the first place, she was afraid to say that Jacob was dead ; and, in the next, she did not feel very certain of the fact. She might have been mistaken in the night. So she silently took the tea and bread and butter, and ascended the stairs. When she reached the room, she laid them down on the floor, whilst she opened the door and peeped in. The curtain was closed, and she stepped forward and drew it aside — there he lay, exactly as she last saw him — it was quite clear that he was dead. She felt no fear, but stood still and looked at the wan and wasted features, till there arose a swelling about her heart, and the first tears that Lilly had shed for many a day LILLY DAWSON. 41 began to steal down her cheeks. She be- came conscious of a feeling of forlornness, which, whilst Jacob lived, helpless as he was, she had never experienced. Or, perhaps the concussion that this event had given to her nervous system had so far aroused her from the torpor which had overgrown and stifled her sensations, that she now first became in some degree sensible of her situation. She longed to stay where she was ; she would have liked to sit down on the bed and let her tears flow ; but she heard Anna's voice loud in the lobby ; so, closing the door softly, she took up the breakfast and descended the stairs again. " Well, what have you brought the break- fast back for ?" inquired Anna, who was waiting ready to give her a thump upon the shoulders in order to quicken her move- ments. " Uncle's dead," said Lilly. " Dead !" cried Anna, and calling Charlotte 42 LILLY DAWSON. they both proceeded towards his room, whilst Lilly began to wash up the tea-things. The sisters were still up stairs, when the outer door opened and Short Bill entered, loaded with bags and boxes, as many as he could carry. '' Where's missuses ?" said he. " They're up stairs," answered Lilly; " uncle's dead !" " Dead ! is he ?" said Bill, " whew ! and the mill's burnt ; and there's Muster Ryland and his boy, and all the things they've been able to save, which arn't much, to be sure, a coming here ; and they wanted to borrow the shander-a-dan, to send away their missus to her sister's at Hotham, 'cause she's got herself burnt shocking, trying to save her bits of duds, but I told un young masters had got it away some where ; and so they're bringing her along here, I believe — you'd better go up and tell 'em." Scarcely w^ere the sisters informed of this LILLY DAWSON. 43 impending incursion, ere the cavalcade ar- rived — Dame Ryland on the miller's old horse, led bj her son Philip, the boy who had fetched Short Bill in the night, with Matthew Ryland, the father, and his man, bearing some other articles rescued from the flames. Their reception at the Black Huntsman was not very gracious, but, as the house was empty, there was no excuse for denying them admittance. Betwixt grief and pain, poor Mrs. Ryland was suffering so much, that her husband desired her to go immediately to bed ; whilst he and his son got some breakfast. The miller was sadly depressed, but Philip, a fine, open-countenanced, spirited lad, did his best to comfort him. He was also very affec- tionate to his mother, taking up her tea him- self, and attending carefully to her neces- sities. When the breakfast was over, the father and son ascended to the sick woman's room, where they staid some time, condoling with 44 LILLY DAWSON. each other ; after which^ leaving her in charge of the boy, the poor miller walked to Trentisy — so the mill was called — once more to view the wreck of his little property. So passed the first morning of their mis- fortunes. In the afternoon, he returned and sat down to dinner with the sisters, but, being too heart-sick to eat, quitted the table and went away to his wife. Philip, however, on whom sorrow made less impression, ate heartily enough ; chatting away unreservedly on the events of the night. It appeared that the fire had broken out at about half-past one, in a little shed adjoining the mill ; but the wind being unluckily in such a direction as to carry it to the main building, the whole premises, dwelling and all, were soon in flames. " But how did it happen ?" inquired Anna. " We don't know," replied Philip. " Jem, our man, had been in there with a lantern after dark ; but he declares that he never opened it, and that it's impossible he could LILLY DAWSON. 45 have left any fire behind him. But father saw a man in a sailor's jacket near the mill, just at dusk, with a pipe in his mouth; and he thinks perhaps he set it on fire." In the evening, about eight o'clock, the wheels of the shander-a-dan were heard ap- proaching ; and Charlotte went out to com- municate to her brothers the events of the day, before they entered the house. " Father was dead — the mill was burnt down, and the Rylands had all taken refuge at the Black Huntsman !" This last item of the intelli- gence was the only one that seemed to make much impression on the young men. " Why did you take them in ?" was the first question. " How could we help it?" asked Charlotte, " when there wasn't a creature in the house but ourselves ? We should have had the whole neighbourhood up in arms against us." " But when do they go ?" asked Ambrose ; ** Hans and Lockslev will be here to-morrow 46 LILLY DAWSON. night, and they'll be confoundedly in our way." '' Perhaps they may be gone," answered Anna, who here joined the conference ; *^ for there's Ryland inquiring if that is the shan- der-a-dan come back — he wants to borrow it to-morrow to carry his wife to her sisters." " Let them have it," said Luke. " Any thing to get them away !" " I'll go and tell them so," said Anna. " I say, Luke," said Charlotte, drawing her youngest brother aside, " Ryland's boy says that his father saw a man in a sailor's jacket, smoking his pipe, near the mill last night, at dusk." " He does ?" said Luke. " The boy told us so at dinner !'' answered Charlotte. " Confounded ass !" exclaimed he. "Who? Ryland?" inquired Charlotte. " No. Hans PefFer," returned Luke im- patiently. IJLLY DAWSON. 47 Charlotte's eye glanced at her brother, but she made no remark. She did not desire to know any more — indeed what need ? That single exclamation revealed every thing — in ignorance was security — what she did not know, or only guessed, she could not be made responsible for. After some further conference, the brothers entered the house ; and presently afterwards Ryland came down to have some conversation with them. *' Are you insured?" asked Luke, a ques- tion he could have answered himself. " No," replied Eyland ; " no, fool as I was — I thought to save the money ; and we were so careful, I thought it impossible an accident could happen." " And how did it happen ?" inquired Ambrose. " It's hard to say," answered Ryland. " God forgive me, if I am wrong ! but I can't help suspecting a man I saw lurking about 48 LILLY DAWSON. just at nightfall, with a pipe in his mouth. I didn't like the looks of him somehow, at the time." " But what motive could he have for doing you a mischief? But perhaps jou think it was the pipe ?" " I don't know," returned Ryland. " There was nothing in the shed so very combustible ; and a person must have taken uncommon pains to set it on fire with a pipe — he might have shaken out the ashes of twenty pipes without coming across any thing that would take fire — there was nothing but the walls, in short, for the floor was stone." " It's very improbable any body should have set fire to your mill," said Luke. " It would need pretty good proof to make me believe that ; unless, to be sure, you've been making an enemy of any body." " I've no enemy that I know of," replied Ryland ; "but there's some folks you know as is every body's enemy, because every body's LILLY DAWSON. 49 theirs. I can't tell — but I've a notion there's been something going on in these here parts as shouldn't !" " What do you mean ?" inquired Ambrose. " Two or three times, when I've been re- turning late from market," answered the miller, '* I've seen two fellows acrossing the heath, as I didn't like the looks on ; and this here chap with the pipe was one of them." " Then, you recognised him ?" said Ambrose sharply. " And you'd know him again, I dare say ?" said Luke. " I warrant me !" said Ryland, " if he only comes in my way — and I'll lay hands on him too, as sure as my name's Mat Ryland ; and make him give an account of himself !" " That's a bold resolution of yours," said Ambrose. " Fellows of that sort are apt to be desperate — I'd rather give him a wide berth, if I were you." " No, no ! Mr. Ryland's right," said Luke VOL. I. D 50 LILLY DAWSON. gravely ; " especially if he has any grounds of suspicion against this man." '' I've no further grounds than that I can't account for the fire, except it was done on, purpose," returned Ryland ; "and I can see nobody to suspect, unless it was that chap with the pipe. However, whoever it was, he has ruined me and my family — made beggars of us. I laid out all the money I had saved upon the mill ; thinking it would be a good pro- vision for my life, and for my poor boy and his mother after me. And now it's nothing but a heap of ashes !" In the midst of his misfortunes and lamen- tations, however, the miller did not forget his wife. He wished her to be with her sister, who resided at Hotham, where she would be better attended, and in the neighbourhood of a surgeon ; so he again broached the subject of the shander-a-dan. If they would lend it him, he would take her over the next day. " It was quite at his service." This was in LILLY DAWSON. 61 short exactly what they wished ; and of course no diuiculties were made. So, on the follow- ing day, the Ryland family, father, mother, and son, started for Hotham, in the shander- a-dan, driven by Short Bill. " I shall leave my boy with the old woman for a day or two," said Matthew, ''hut I must come back myself to-morrow night, for I must try and see Sir Lawrence on Friday morning." " By the by," said Luke, " he's your land- lord as well as burs. What will he do in this business, think you ?" " I paid him ground rent, but the mill was my own, you know," said Eyland. " I wish now it hadn't been, for he's an uncommon good landlord." '' He'd have rebuilt it," said Luke. " Per- haps lie will now ?" " I wish he would," answered the miller — " I'd pay him a good rent for it." As soon as the Rylands were gone, the two D 2 LIBRARY 52 LILLY DAWSON. young men started on foot for the village, to order a coffin for their father, and make ar- rangements for his funeral ; which they pro- posed should take place on the day after the ensuing one, which would be Friday. They had a great deal to discuss on the road, and Ambrose's first words were as they walked away, " Suppose Sir Lawrence rebuilds the mill, what will you have got by your scheme then ?" " We must outbid Ryland," said Luke ; " whatever he'll give, we'll give more. It would be worth more to us than to any body." " No doubt of that," said Ambrose ; " if there must be a mill there at all." As they passed the Red Lion, Lacy was standing at the door. " Good morning !" said he. " So your neighbour, Mat Ryland, has met with a misfortune ?" " Yes, the mill's down," said Ambrose. *' How did it happen ?" inquired Lacy. LILLY DAWSON. 53 *' Nobody seems to know," answered the other. " His man was going about with a light after dark, and I suppose he dropped a spark," said Luke. " When there's a fire, people are always surprised and wonder how it could happen," said Lacy, " when they needn't look much further than their own noses for the cause — it's generally the carelessness of ser- vants." " Yes," answered Ambrose ; " I'm always expecting Short Bill will set our stables on fire." " No, no !" said Lacy ; " never fear Short Bill. He's the carefullest ostler ever I had ; and I wish you hadn't taken a fancy to him. But Where's Mat Ryland staying?" " He's gone to Hotham, with his wife and son," said Luke. " He should have seen Sir Lawrence first," said the host. 54 LILLY DAWSON. " He's shockingly down about his mill," observed Luke. " Let him go to his landlord," said Lacy, nodding significantly. " Will he build the mill again for him, think you ?" asked Luke. " Let him try him !" said Lacy, looking as if he knew more than he wished to tell. *' Ryland was always a well-doing man ; and Sir Lawrence won't let him fall through, if he can help it." It was not very difficult, by a little adroit questioning, an art which Luke well under- stood, to extract from the worthy host, who was proud of his familiarity with Mr. Cobb, the agent J that he had seen that gentleman, and had good reason for supposing that the Baronet's intentions were very favourable to the miller. This information was far from agreeable ; and, as the brothers walked home, they discussed the question in all its bearings. In the evening, Short Bill returned with the LILLY DAWSON. 55 shander-a-dan — Ryland intending to return on foot the following day. At the accustomed hour, Lilly retired to bed, as usual ; and when she descended the next morning, she perceived that there had been visitors there in the night ; but this was by no means an uncommon event, and awakened no surprise in her mind. Early in the day, the undertaker arrived from the village with the coffin, in which poor Jacob's body was placed ; and it was arranged that, on the following morning, it should be driven in the shander-a-dan to the churchyard, where the Rev. Mr. Marsh would be ready to perform the funeral ceremony. The coffin was therefore screwed down at once, that there might be no further necessity for the under- taker's attendance. Lilly had been often into the room to look at the old man, and she thought about him and felt about him, more than she had ever thought or felt on any subject before. The 56 LILLY DAWSON. circumstances of his death had struck her, and the missing her daily attendance on him had awakened a chord in her heart. Not naturally a morose man, though a weak and ignorant one, and softened by sickness and sorrow, and the bitter sense of his children's neglect, he had been used to speak kindly to her ; often gratefully ; now, she never heard any thing but harsh and imperious commands ; except indeed from Shorty, as, by way of abbreviating his name, the ostler was fre- quently called — he treated her as his fellow- servant, and as civilly as he would have treated any other. And Lilly felt a pang when the old man's face was hidden from her ; and she descended to her work below, after the undertaker's departure, with a sadder sense of desolation than she had ever known before. Somehow, all at once, a gleam had penetrated the thick darkness that had over- shadowed her intellect and feelings ; and from being a mere piece of mechanism, she LILLY DAWSON. 57 was aroused into the consciousness that she was something more. That night, when Lilly went to bed, she cried herself to sleep. D 5 58 LILLY DAWSON. CHAPTER III. SOMETHING MYSTERIOUS. The room in which Lilly slept was at the top of the house ; on one side of it was that where lay Jacob in his coffin — on the other, was an apartment that was never inhabited. It was full of boxes and packages, empty or full ; and the door of it was always kept locked. There were two other rooms on the same floor, but they were unfurnished and never occupied, either. The young men and women slept on a lower story. Lilly, like children in general, especially over-worked ones, was a heavy sleeper ; from the time she laid her head on the pillow, till custom awakened her at a precise hour in the morning, no sound ever disturbed her rest. LILLY DAWSON. 59 Many a night there were heavy feet upon the stairs ; and voices and rummagings in the ad- joining apartment, but she never heard them ; and her bed, with herself in it, might have been placed in the shander-a-dan and carried across the common, without awakening her. But on this night — the one preceding Jacob's funeral — Lilly found herself in a con- dition altoo^ether new to her — she could not sleep. She was feverish and restless — turning from side to side — dozing a little, and then waking with a start. She was thirsty too, and would have given the world for a draught of cold water, but there was none in her room. Lilly wondered what was the matter with her, as the weary hours dragged on to the middle of the night ; when at length she fell into a sounder sleep. But she had not slept above an hour, when she awoke again, more uncomfortable than ever ; and, with her mouth so parched that she felt she must make a desperate effort to get some water, though 60 LILLY DAWSON. she would have to fetch it from the bottom of the house in the dark. So she crawled out of bed, felt for her shoes, threw her frock which lay by the bedside over her shoulders, and softly opened the door. But suddenly it occurred to her that there was some water in Jacob's room. There had been, at least, before his death ; and, as she had never thought of emptying the pitcher since, it was doubtless there still. To get it there was much easier than going below, so she turned in that direc- tion, found the door, and entered the room. But it was pitch dark, and she had some diffi- culty in steering her way betwixt the bed and the coffin, so as to avoid striking against either. However, she found the water-jug ; and, having taken a draught, was just pre- paring to carry it with her to her own room, when she saw a gleam of light and heard feet upon the stairs. *' Oh, my !" thought Lilly ; " they're going to the store-room :" so the one next hers was LILLY DAWSON. 61 called. " I hope they won't see my door open !" and she stood still, listening to the footsteps, intending to slip into her own chamber as soon as she heard them enter the other. But it was not there these disturbers of the night were going ; and it was fortunate for her that the bed intervened betwixt her and the door ; for she had only just time to conceal herself in the scanty folds of the cur- tain before they were in Jacob's room. As it was, she must infallibly have been disco- vered, but that the spot where she stood re- mained quite in the shade — she could see those who entered perfectly, though they did not see her. First, came Luke Littenhaus, carrying a candle, which he held so as to light those who followed. These were Hans Peffer, and a man called Locksley, who had frequently visited the house after nightfall ; and who, as well as his associate, wore the habit of a 62 LILLY DAWSON. sailor. They ascended tbe stairs but slowly, for they bore between them a heavy burthen ; one supported the head, and the other the feet of a corpse. Behind them came Am- brose, with a slow and heavy step. " That'll do," said Luke, as they mounted the last stair; "now, this way," he con- tinued, pointing to the bed, and '' pitch him down there, whilst we open the coffin." The body was accordingly laid upon the bed, close to where Lilly stood. ** Did you bring up the screwdriver?" in- quired Locksley. " To be sure I did," said Luke, proceeding at once to unscrew the lid of the coffin, whilst Ambrose, pale and grave, stood back, leaning against the wall. "Come, bear a hand, will you ?" said Luke to his brother, when the lid was off. " Hans, do it !" said Ambrose, turning away, whilst Hans advanced ; and Luke, with LILLY DAWSON. 63 his assistance, lifted out the body of his father, and placed it on the bed. *'Now, then," said he, as they took up the other and deposited it in the coffin ; " if that isn't a neat job, I don't know what is !" and, as he spoke, he replaced the lid and screwed it down as it was before. They then wrapped Jacob's body in the rug that covered his own bed, Hans and Locksley lifted it between them, and Luke preceding them with the light, and Ambrose following them, they descended the stairs in the same order they had mounted them ; scarcely a dozen words having been spoken amongst them since they entered the room. Lilly did not faint, as heroines usually do on such occasions ; but, when her ear assured her they had reached the bottom of the stairs, she took up her water-jug and stole back to bed, where she passed the remainder of the night in a restless and uneasy sleep. It was a hard matter for Lilly to rise in 64 LILLY DAWSON. the morning, for her head ached violently ; and she felt, altogether, as she had never felt before in her life; but she dressed herself and went down stairs to her work, as usual ; nobody observed she was ill, and she could not venture to mention it. Neither Ambrose nor Luke were there ; nobody, indeed, besides Charlotte and Anna, except Short Bill. About ten o'clock, the young men returned in the shander-a-dan ; and, by their conver- sation, she understood they had been getting some articles of mourning for the funeral. At eleven, one of the undertaker's men ar- rived, and with his assistance the coffin was brought down and placed in the vehicle, which was to transport it to the churchyard. Short Bill mounted the box, and drove away at a gentle pace, whilst Ambrose and Luke followed on foot with the undertaker's man. In the afternoon they returned, and the re- mainder of the day passed without any oc- currence. LILLY DAWSON. 65 That night Lilly slept very heavily ; so much so, that she had to be awakened in the morning, to the great displeasure of her cousins ; who were in unusual haste for their breakfast, as they were about to start on an expedition to visit Miss Grosset, the dress- maker, at Hotham. Poor Lilly could scarcely lift her eyelids ; they seemed glued together ; whilst her head felt so like a lump of lead, that she thought she could never raise it from the pillow ; however, with that passive sub- mission which she had so long exercised, she dragged herself out of bed, and hastened down stairs. But her generally pale face was now so flushed, that her illness forced itself on the attention of her cousins. They ob- served that she must have a cold, and agreed to bring her some medicine from the town. When they were gone, she was in the house alone. Ambrose she had not seen all day — Luke was at home, but engaged in some out- door work — and thus, having nobody to drive 66 LILLY DAWSON. her, and feeling overcome with illness, she lay down upon the floor before the kitchen fire and went to sleep. By and by she was awakened by somebody pulling her arm. " Lilly !" said a voice, " Lilly, girl ! wake, will you ?" Lilly started up, expecting a scolding — but it was Philip Eyland — the door of the house was open, and he had found his way to the kitchen in search of somebody to speak to. " I say, Lilly," said the boy, *' where's my father?" " I don't know," answered Lilly, slowly, after staring at him for some time in silence. " Is he out ?" inquired Philij). " I don't know," replied Lilly again, with a bewildered countenance. "Didn't he sleep here?" said Philip. " Sleep here !" answered Lilly. '' I don't think he did." " Did he go away to the village, then, and not come back ?" LILLY DAWSON. 67 " I can't tell," said Lilly. '* Well, but he was here yesterday !" *'Was he?" said Lilly. ^^ I didn't see him !" " But when did you see him?" asked Philip. " Well, I think it was Tuesday — no, it was Wednesday, when he went away in the shan- der-a-dan — I saw him !" "What, hasn't he been here since?" ex- claimed Philip. " I don't know," said Lilly, with an air of strange uncertainty. " Oh, then he must have altered his mind and gone on to the village at once, I suppose. But I say, Lilly, what's the matter with you ?" " I can't tell," answered the little girl. " I've got a bad pain in my head !" " You look just as I did when I had the measles," said Philip. " You ought to go to bed — the doctor made me go to bed, and I had to stay there till I was well." 68 LILLY DAWSON. " I mustn't go to bed," said Lilly. " Cousins would be angry." " Pooh !" answered Philip ; " people must go to bed when they're ill, you know. Where are your cousins ?" " Anna and Charlotte are gone to Hotham," answered Lilly ; " but Luke's at home some- where — perhaps he's in the stable." *' I'll go and look for him," said Philip. When he was gone, Lilly made an effort to rise and go about her work again, but it was with extreme difficulty she could keep herself on her feet. Meantime, Philip sought Luke and found him, but could obtain no informa- tion about his father. He had certainly not been at " the Black Huntsman" since he de- parted thence with his wife in the shander-a- dan. It was clear he had gone on at once to the village ; and thither Philip proceeded to seek him. So the day wore on, without any other event than the arrival of a traveller, who, after LILLY DAWSON. 60 baiting his horse and taking some refreshment, proceeded on his way. At night the sisters returned ; and so did Philip shortly afterwards. " I can't hear anything of my father," said he. " He hasn't been to the village ; — Mrs. Lacy hasn't seen him, and he'd have been sure to go there." " Did you see Mr. Cobb?" said Luke. " Perhaps he'd go straight to Sir Law- rence !" "No," said Philip, "for Mr. Cobb had been at the Lion just before I got there, in- quiring for my father, and wondering he hadn't seen him. Sir Lawrence is going to rebuild the mill for us." " Ah, ah !" said Luke. " Lucky for you !" " But I wish I knew where my father's gone to !" said the boy, anxiously. " If I go back without finding him, mother'll be so uneasy !" It was too late, however, to seek him any 70 LILLY DAWSON. more that night, so Philip went to bed ; and on the following morning he started again on foot to return to his mother. Lilly was considerably better for the medi- cine her cousins brought her ; and the apo- thecary who sent it, concluding the patient had a cold, having desired she should remain in bed, she was allowed to do so the whole of Sunday. The Avarmth of the bed brought out the rash — her headache left her ; and it was now clear, to an experienced eye, that Lilly had the measles. Her cousins, however, did not understand this ; or it is to be hoped they would not have allowed her, as they did, to rise on the second morning and go about her work as usual. On Monday morning, a man came over from Hotham, sent by Mrs. Ryland, to make in- quiries about her husband ; but, after ex- tending his search to the village, he returned without any information. He said that Ry- land had left Hotham on Thursday afternoon. LILLY DAWSON. 71 as he was to see Sir Lawrence on Friday morning. And now, in the village, a rumour arose that the miller had made away with himself. On Tuesday, Mrs. Ryland herself arrived, with her son, in a cart, lent her by a baker. She was in great distress, and so was the boy. As slie wished to go as far as the village, and the cart could not be further spared, they let her have the shander-a-dan. Her inquiries, however, were as unsuccessful as those of her sou had been — no tidings could be heard of Matthew^ Ryland ; and she returned to the " Black Huntsman" in extreme anguish ; the persuasion was universal that her husband, in despair at the loss of his property, had committed suicide — probably drow^ned him- self in the sea, on the evening of the day he last parted with her. And now it occurred to her, that there had been something peculiarly impressive in his leave-takino-. He had returned and embraced 72 LILLY DAWSON. her a second time, and affectionately bade her take care of herself and her boy. Was this presentiment of some evil that awaited him ? Or was it the tender yearning of the heart in an adieu, which he knew was to be his last ? As there was still an hour or two's daylight, Philip said he would go to the mill to look again if he could find any traces of his father having been there ; whilst the poor mother, ill and broken-hearted, went to lie down, re- questing that a cup of tea should be sent her. The tea was accordingly made, and Lilly car- ried it up stairs. " What's the matter, little girl ?" said Mrs. Ryland. " What makes your face so red ?" " I don't know," answered Lilly, in a hoarse voice. " Why, you have a bad cold or something worse," said she, throwing back a little shawl Lilly had pinned over her neck. " Why, you should be in bed, child — you've got the LILLY DAWSON. 73 measles ! Bless me !" continued the good woman, rising hastily, and for the moment forofettino^ her own misfortunes in her com- passion for the neglected child, " how very wrong to let you go about in this way ! Come with me down stairs, and I'll speak to your cousins. Bless my heart ! don't they see the rash out upon you?" Not only did Mrs. Ryland's representations procure Lilly leave to go to bed, but the motherly feelings of her benevolent heart being aroused, together with some indignation at the utter indifference and neglect of the cousins, she took upon herself the tending of her ; gave her a warm drink, placed barley- water by her bedside, and, after covering her up carefully, promised to see her in the morning. And she did see her ; and, as her own stay at the inn was prolonged for several days, she nursed the child through the whole of her illness ; and Lilly, probably, owed it to her care that she did not die of the measles. VOL. I. E 74 LILLY DAWSON. This prolonged sojourn was owing to a slight circumstance, which, from its satisfying her that her husband had been in the neigh- bourhood since he quitted Hotham, inspired a faint hope that he was either not far off, or would at least return. Philip had found his father's walking-stick amongst the ruins of the mill ; and Mrs. Ryland was certain that he had it in his hand when he went away. However, this indication of his whereabout was not followed by any other discovery ; and the mother and son returned to Hotham, where she had some relations ; leaving the mystery of Matthew Ry land's fate unsolved. LILLY DAWSON. 75 CHAPTER IV. THE AWAKENING OF LILLY'S HEART, AND SOME ACCOUNT OF TWO RUSTIC LOVERS. Lilly had never felt so unhappy in her life as she did on the morning the Rylands left the dreary inn. She was well now, and able to resume her work ; but with what a heavy heart she went about it ! She had for some days had experience of what kindness and fellowship were, and what a blank it made to lose them ! Mrs. Ryland, naturally benevo- lent and fond of children, could not nurse one through an illness, especially one who excited her compassion, without treating her with a motherly tenderness. The good w^oman had talked to her too, and had easily gathered from the uncomplaining Lilly that she had more reason for discontent than she was her- E 2 76 LILLY DAWSON. self aware of; and, in the telling of her tale, she learnt in some degree to comprehend her own misfortune ; for Lilly, like a horse whose spirit had been broken by ill-treatment at so early an age, that its fire was extinguished and its nature subdued, seemed almost to have descended to a lower grade in the scale of creation. No play, no instruction, no sympathy, had yet fallen to Lilly's lot in the hard world that surrounded her. She could read a little, as we have said, because she knew her letters before she came to live with the Littenhaus family; and could even spell words of one syllable — and, as it was necessary for their convenience that she should be able to make but names over doors and inscriptions over shops, they had, with sharp words and hard blows, so far pursued her education, but no farther. Nobody ever made an observation to her — she never heard conversation in which she could take an interest ; if anybody asked LILLY DAWSON. 77 her a question, her almost invariable answer was, that she didn't know, although it might be something that with the most ordinary attention she might have known. Imperious commands, and abuse for her stupidity — and on this head neither did the few guests that frequented the house spare her — were all the benefits that Lilly derived from God's great gift of speech to man. In short, Lilly Daw- son, at the period we first introduced her, was, in feeling and intellect, but one degree removed from the condition of a horse or a dog — and we here mean an ill-used horse or dog — for everybody, who has enjoyed the pleasure of an intimate and friendly associa- tion with animals, is aware that they may be as much raised in the scale of existence by an education conducted with gentleness, as Lilly was depressed in that scale by an oppo- site treatment. But these few days of sunshine had swelled the bud, if not unfolded the flower, that had 78 LILLY DAWSON. been nipped and withered by the bitter east wind, which had blasted Lilly's young years — she began to feel, and feeling brought thought. Her heart awoke her intellect. She became conscious that she w^as ill-treated ; and, from being dogged, and stolid, and insensible, she came to be unhappy. But she had nobody to whom she could speak of her unhappiness, and her outward demeanour remained un- changed. Had her cousins attended to her, they might have perceived she was less stu- pid; but, as they did not, they were not aware even of this alteration. One thought there was, that now constantly haunted Lilly's mind, and that was the recol- lection of the tender, loving, and confidential intercourse she had witnessed betwixt Mrs. Ryland and her son. Philip had been kind to herself, too ; but the thing that bad im- pressed her most was this filial and maternal love. Lilly had never seen love before, in any of its beautiful shapes ; and now suddenly it LILLY DAWSON. 79 had been presented to her in the most beauti- ful of all. It was like a glimpse of that Sun of Grace, which the ancient Pythago- reans and some modern mystics describe as bein»: ^W./S'ij^Vt?-^^^, ^'>;*v -^^^«*^*^i!i!?wyy!"wfefeu^^^^ -' ^v?yriur.*\ii- fJ&Mil ^mm^^ y!v^'vwww, .jW&^Wi.w ..■^s"*ji^*^feiii« **>^*> UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS URBANA 3 0112 041774818 » >"'^<^ ^1^^.^ ■'-»^ .' ^-