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5 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 THE RECRUITING SARGEANT. 
 
 We are. about to introduce the reader to one 
 of those picturesque little villages which are 
 ciuefly to be found in our agricultural districts, 
 and without which no Engl sh landscape would 
 bt complete. As the tbllowing tale is to a con- 
 siderable extent founded upon facts, we are 
 compelled for reasons that will develop them- 
 eelves in the course of the narrative, to bestow 
 names of our own choice u[)on the leading char- 
 acters, in order to avoid that itleiitification of 
 persons which would arise from maintaining 
 their real names. For a similar reason are we 
 led to substitute an imaginary name for that of 
 the little village to which we have alluded ; and 
 we will therefore denominate it Oakleigh. I'liis 
 uppellation occurs not from any nudiveless ca- 
 orice, but is suggested by the circumstance that 
 in the village and its neighborhood there were 
 some majestic oaks of four centuries’ growth, — 
 some of them still flourisliiug nobly — others hold- 
 ing up aloft a w'hitened crown of leafless branches 
 above the mass of verdure whicii covered all 
 their lower and larger outspreading arras. In 
 great respect and veneration were these trees 
 held by the villagers ; and to any new-comer 
 were they shown as the “ lions” of the place. 
 
 The village, which was situated in a midland 
 county, did not contain above a hundred houses; 
 and these for the most part were tlie humble 
 dwellings of agricultural laborers. The shops 
 were few in number, aiid cliiefly grouped to- 
 gether in the central part of the one straggling 
 street which constituted (he place. There was 
 the apothecary’s shop, with its three bottles of 
 colored waters, its half-dozen poppy-heads, and 
 Its “ poor man’s plaister,” all duly displayed m 
 the window ; and as Dr. Col) ciuth enjoyed an 
 extensive practice amongst all the surrounding 
 hamlets and farms, he w'as enabled to kee[) a 
 horse and gig. On the strength of the equipage, 
 which tliey occasionally spoke of as “(.he car- 
 nage,” Mrs. Colycinth and her three daughters 
 considered themselves very fine people indeed ; 
 aiid they dressed uncommonly smart — especially 
 ldlLs«i Kitty, the second of the three sisters, aud 
 
 who was also the best looking. A coupU icon 
 otf f rom the “ doctor’s” was the shop of Mi . Oba- 
 diah Bates, the village barber ; but the letter* 
 painted in a very straggling form on the facie 
 of his dingey, dirty, poverty-siricken establish- 
 men', magnificently descriiied him as ‘‘h lir-dres- 
 ser, perf liner, and wig mrker.” A few pots ot 
 q iesiionable lo »king ungneui labelled “ Bates 
 supe' tine be.ir’s grease” constituted his nrinciritl 
 stock-in-trade ; and a placard announced that it 
 was “ reid genuine beur’s-grease, made upon the 
 spot from fine hears expressly imported by Mr. 
 Bates for the puipxi.se;” — although never within 
 the memory of tlie oldest inhabitant of the place 
 had such a tiling as a bear been seen there, save 
 and except on one occasion when a travelling 
 menager.e stopped fur a day in the village. 
 However, no one di.sputed Mr. Bates’s assertion 
 relative to tlie genuine and home-made qualities 
 of his bear’s grease ; and so the placard remained 
 in the window. 
 
 Next to the barber’s establishment appeared 
 the baker’s shop, where there were at least three 
 quarterns, halfa-dozen doughy-looking rolls, a 
 couple of bags of flour, and a small pile of gin- 
 gerbread nuts, always to be seen in tlie window. 
 Next door was the butcher’s — a very compact 
 little shop indeed, in which it would have been 
 inconvenient for the portly butcher himself to 
 move about if there w’ere more tlian one sheep 
 hanging there at a time; but, generally speak- 
 ing; one scras: of mutton pendent to a hook, and 
 some bits of beet upon a board, constituted the 
 stock which greeted the eye of the passer-by on 
 five days out of the six. Next to the butcher’s 
 was tlie cliandler’s, or general dealer’s : and there 
 the collection was most miscellaneous — com- 
 prising red herrings and balls of twine, tea and 
 coffee, sugar and cheese, candles aud bacon, 
 sweetstutf and hog’s-lard, fire-wood aud black- 
 ing-bottles, snuff and cigars, fresh and salt but- 
 ter, eggs and soap, hearth-stones and craggy 
 masses of salt, together with various other arti- 
 cles requisite for domestic purposes. T'atre waa 
 a tailor’s sliopand a cobler’s stall; and there w’aa 
 a little place kept by a lone old widow who 
 somehow or other man.iged to get a living by 
 the sale of a few ajiples, gingerbread cakes, aud 
 lollipops, ail displayed iu her wiudow so as to 
 
niE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 « 
 
 be made tlie nnost of, though it would he a dear 
 barf^ain if half a-crowi) were giviai for the whole 
 stock iti trade. 
 
 Near this last-mentioned emporiiim of delica- 
 cies fir tlie juvenile palati*, was a small <ipen 
 space whereon stood the hlacktaied remains of 
 a cottage that had been burnt some few years 
 previously to the date at which onr tale opens, 
 and wltere an ohi woman had peiislu'd in the 
 c<inflagration. But to this occurrence we shall 
 have to alltide more pai ticularly hereafter. 
 Mean w hile we will proceed to observe that in- 
 asmuch as the villiigi' of Oakh itih had its shop.s, 
 so it iikewdse possessed its li I rle public-house ; 
 and this was distinguished by the sign of the 
 Royal Oak. For as there were such venerable 
 oak-trees in the place, iind as the worthy in- 
 dividual who originally fiuiuUal the public- 
 hou.se had some vague idea of a King liaving 
 once concealed himself in an oak, these associa- 
 tions acting upon his loyalty, had led him to be- 
 stow U{)on the house the name above s[)ecified. 
 It stood back fiorn the road, and also apart from 
 tlie other dw'ellings, and had a little bowling- 
 green in the rear. It was k<‘pt by an elderly 
 couple named Bushell ; and they w'ere rejmted 
 to draw the best ale in all tlie district. In the 
 evening there would be no lack of company 
 either in the tap-room, or in the little parlor 
 with its clean sanded floor: but the Bushells 
 were not people to encourage drunkenness, and 
 
 ing the sorrwwhat sloping road that led to th* 
 vilhigi'. Beneath IIk! shade of those immense 
 yews did the firefalhers of the present iK'cupantf 
 of tlie villag(! sleep ; and many a curious inHcrip> 
 tion, rudely or (juainlly recording their virtues, 
 might be trace<l upon the gra ve-.stones. At one 
 exiremily of the churchyard stood a hou^-e of 
 huger size, but not of more jinidern struttufe 
 than any <ither in the village. A grape vine 
 nearly cov«“red the front, encroaching upon the 
 space occupied liy the windows; while com- 
 mingling clen)atis and roses covered tin* little 
 poriico with their verdure and their flowers. 
 We need hardly say that this was the clergy- 
 niau's residence: but we may here otisc-rve 
 that it suits us to denominate him the Rev. Mi 
 Arden. 
 
 One more f-ature of the scene must we notice, 
 ere we regulaily enter upon the thread of out 
 narrative- : fir any stranger visiting Oakleigh fot 
 the first time, would not fail to inquire whose 
 mansion it was that stood upon the brow of the 
 hill about a couple of miles distant, 'riiis man- 
 sion was a fine old country seat, situated in the 
 j midst of a spacious park where there were many 
 Of the time-honored oaks appearing in clurnp.s, 
 and thus dotting wdth their ditferent and darker 
 hoes tlie bright verdure of the well-kept grounda. 
 Numbers of tame deer roved about tlie park, — 
 sometimes emerging with a sudden twinkling of 
 their horns from behind the groups of majestia 
 trees — sometimes drinking at the margin of the 
 which the bordering teeds or 
 reflected as in a mirror, 
 a laigc- and irregularly 
 built stiucture, wdth numerous out-hou.ses, beau- 
 tiful ganlen.s, and every indication of wealth and 
 prosperity on the part of its posse.s.«or. 'I’his 
 was Sir Archibald Redburn, who boasted of 
 beii g descended from the oldest family in the 
 county. He possessed a large estate — and 
 indeed the whole of the village of Oakleigh and 
 all the surrounding farms belonged to him. He 
 was one of tliose men who believe that the pocr 
 jwere created to be the slaves of the rich ; and 
 he always insisted upon having his own way in 
 everything, — which his wealth and influence 
 generally enabled him to enjoy : but if tliwarted, 
 it was whispered that Sir Archy, as the villagers 
 called him, could be overbearing and tyrannical 
 enough He was about fifty years of age — was 
 married — and had one son, a young man marly 
 twenty-one at the time when our tale opens 
 Sir Archibald also had a sister living with him 
 — a lady some ten or eleven years younger 
 than himself, and who had remained unmar- 
 ried. 
 
 Having laid all these particulars before the 
 reader, we may, without farther preface, ei.ter 
 uj)on our narialive. It was, then, on a beautiiul 
 evening in the month of May, 1828, that the 
 carrier’s van, wliich plying between tw’o towns 
 in (Idferent directions, passed through the village 
 of Oakleigh, drew up at the door of the Royal 
 Oak. Some minutes before it stopped was its 
 approached heralded by the ringing of a liitle 
 bell by the carrier himself, to give dne notice of 
 his presence ; so that the hostler of tlie Royal 
 ;Oak might lx* ready with the water and hay 
 foi ihe refreshment of the animal which a.iu« 
 
 therefore their establisliment was considered to 
 be a very respectable one. Besides, the public- sleejiing lake in 
 
 house liad become the property of the Lord of 
 tlie Manor, who was liimself a jnsi ice-of-lhe- 
 peace ; and so the Bushells were compelled to 
 be ell their guard. 
 
 The time to see the picturesque village in the 
 perfeciion of its fimple beauty, was in the gay j 
 Spring season, when frosts liaving taken their: 
 flight, every day developed some new feature 
 of loveliness in the rural scene. Then, wlien the 
 trees W'ere covered with verdure, and myriads 
 of blo.ssom3 were clustering on [ilant at.d liongb 
 — when the note of the tlirush was heard in the 
 hedgerows, and the carol of /the lark thrilled 
 oveihead in the joyous sunshine — when the bab- 
 bling rivulet flashed in those same gladdening 
 beams and was lost in miniature ca.scades 
 aiiiongst ihe depths of the adjacent wood — when 
 the stifling heat of «nmmer was yet too far off 
 to (Irv np speedily the morning dew upon leaves 
 and flowers, or to prevent the breeze from fan- 
 ning tlie cheek with its cool and grateful fresli- 
 ne.-s — when the pure snow-dn’ips in the litde 
 gardens r-eerned like ice-meniorials left by Ihe 
 recently departed Winter — and when tlie modest 
 violets sliiank into half concealment beneath the 
 hedge.s, while the primrose decked with th(‘ir 
 bolder cliarins and more obtrusive presence the 
 mo.ssy banks, — then was tlie season in wliicb 
 the village of Oakleigh jireseiite* its most pictu- 
 resque apfiearance. 
 
 \Ve mu.st not forget to ooserve that close by 
 Btood the little clinrcli, almost embowered in 
 the immense yew-tree.s, which, like the oaks I 
 weie also of patriarchal respectability in the i 
 Tegetuhle kingdom and from the midst of which | 
 the tapering spire was the first object that 
 cauglil tlie view of the traveller when descend- j 
 
 overhanging trees were 
 d'lie mansion itself was 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 along at a sober jog-trot pace. The arrival of 
 the carrier’s van was one (.f the most important 
 incidents alike of the morning and of the 
 evening: for when passing tlirough in the 
 morning, he received the various commissions 
 which were to be executed at Middleton — the 
 town to which he was repaiiing — and the 
 fulfilment of which commissions might be 
 expected on his return in the evening 1'herefore, 
 when his tinkling bell rang, tliose vill geis who 
 were expecting parcels came forth from their 
 houses and repaired to the Royal Oak, wlit re 
 the carrier delivered whatsoever was thus 
 awaited. 
 
 On the present occasion the van brought a 
 passenger — an actual live passenger — and one, 
 too, whose appearance was somewhat calculated 
 to alarm and amaze the peaceful denizens of 
 Oakleigh. F(»r the individual alludeil to wore 
 a military uniform — a scarlet coat turned up 
 with white on the tails and blue on the cuffs 
 and collar. He harl a sword an<l a sash ; and 
 being tall, stout, and of a cei tain stately pompos- 
 ity of a|)pearance, was at once set down as some 
 officer of very high rank. Those villagers who 
 had followed the van to the piiblicdiouse to 
 obtain their parcels, bowed most respectfully to 
 the military gentleman, which courtesy he| 
 returned by carrying his right hand with a sweep 
 of the arm to the front of his cap. •Then, stiff i 
 and rigid as if there were no elasticity in his j 
 body, and looking as if a poker were litheness in 
 comparison, this important personage paid his 1 
 fare from Middleton (amounting to eighteen-; 
 pence); and ordering his “luggage” to be | 
 brouglit into the public house, he facea to the 
 r'ght-ahout and marched witli mc^feuretl steps | 
 anrl straight as a line up to the dour of the 
 establishment, which he entered. 
 
 The wondering, gaping villagers looked after 
 him until he disappeared from their view : and 
 then they cast tludr eyes up the street allno^t 
 expecting to see an entire regiment, of which 
 this might be the colonel winding its slow 
 length into the place. But they saw nothing of 
 the kind ; and grouping themselves together, 
 began expressing their whispered wonder who 
 he was, and what he could want at Oakleigh. 
 But when the “ luggage,” which in so formal a 
 manner the great man had ordered to he brought 
 in to him, was handed to the hostler in the 
 shape of a brown paper parcel of very moderate 
 dimensions, the villagers, finding that this was 
 all, and that no half-dozen trunks and boxes 
 were to follow, began to entertain a somewhat 
 diminished opinion of the new arrival ; and the 
 carrier being appealed to, set all doubts at rest, 
 by informing them that the object of their 
 interest was a sergent, properly belonging to 
 a depot stationed at Coventry, but who had 
 lately been sojourning at Middleton, at which 
 latter place he had this day secured a seat in 
 the van as far as Oakleigh. It is true that the 
 baker insisted that a sergeant was higher than 
 a general, and that the cobbler placed his rank 
 next to a captain : but Mr, Bates, the village- 
 barbe**, who knew everything, and who came 
 up at the time, speedily set them to rights upon 
 the subject aiivl made them tompreheud what 
 a sergeaut leally was. 
 
 “ Yes — and if yru would take my advice,” 
 said the carrier, who having now brought out 
 the parcels, had leisure f'r a few moments’ chat, 
 •‘you would tell all your young men at Oak- 
 leigh to be on their guard agin that feller. It 
 isn’t for me to speak disrespeciful of any one 
 wot Wears his Majesty’s unifoi m; besides which, 
 he paid me his fare and 1 had summut to drink 
 on the road at his expense : but still people will 
 have their own opinions — and I don’t know tf 
 any law that’s to perwent one from uttering 
 
 them. So 1 says that you folks had better tell 
 your young men to be on the look-out : for if 
 that soger-chap hasn’t come to hoist at Oakleigh 
 the same colors he has been a-wearmg foi a 
 week past at Middleton, then my name isn’t 
 painted in yaller letters on that tliere brick-red 
 ground — and he pointed to the side of liia 
 covered van where the blazonry of which h^ 
 spoke duly existed. 
 
 “ What colors does he mean ?” said one of the 
 villagers to the barber, when the carrier himself 
 had passed into the public-house to take his 
 wonted glass of ale ere he pursued liis way. 
 
 “ What colors : ’ ejaculated Mr. Bates, who waa 
 a thill, spare mau, with a wizen-face, a starve- 
 ling look, a very dirty apron, and a bustling ex* 
 citement of manner : “ what Colors ? Why, they 
 are the same to the sergeant who wears ’em aa 
 the three balls are to a pawnbroker, the sign to 
 an inn, or the pole to my shop. For as these 
 indicate places, so do colors indicate the man.” 
 
 “ All, I underatand ! ’ ob.'erved the butcher, 
 win) had hurried from his shop with his knife in 
 one hand and his steel in the other, and who now 
 gave the former a couple of mbs upon the latter 
 as if he meant to sharpen it in ominous forebod- 
 ing of a mischievous intent against the new- 
 comer in tlie scarlet coat. “ 1 understand now 
 
 then, with awful solemnity of look, he added, 
 “ It's a recruiting-sergeant !” 
 
 Tliis announcement produced the effect of 
 consternation upon the assembled villagers: fur 
 the group had Considerably inciea.-ed within tlie 
 last few minutes, the report having already 
 spread from house to house that some veiy im- 
 portant personage in a military uniform had ar-* 
 rived at tlie public-house. Few whose ears that 
 announcement met, had not either relatives or 
 friends in whom they were interested, and .‘‘or 
 wliom their fears were at once excited lest they 
 should be inveigled into the trammels of the 
 recruiting-sergeant ; and this feeling was fol- 
 lowed by a simultaneous lesire on tlie part cf 
 those wlio had not as } et seen him, to CAich a 
 glimpse of the furmidable personage. Those 
 viho had seen him, wished to see him again ; and 
 there was a general move across the little open 
 space in fioiit of the Royal Oak, towards the 
 window of its parlor. A dozen glances were at 
 once plunged into the room : and there the 
 stately .-ergeant was seen, sitting bolt upright in 
 a Wind.'or chair, with a long clay pijie in hia 
 month, and a quart pot of the landlord’s prime 
 ale on the table before h.m. 
 
 W ith “ eyeo right,” the .-ergeant perceived the 
 group at the window : but he pretended not to 
 lake the slightest notice of the circumstance 
 th.tt he was thus the object of so much alien- 
 t’on. Brim, rigid, and sternly sedate, he sat iur 
 
THE SOLDIERS WIFK 
 
 ft 
 
 moTable, smoking riia. jjipe ; and wlion at tlio 
 expiration of two or throts ininntea lie did ridax 
 from Ids automaton ])ositioii, it was nuindy to 
 lift the quart pot to his lips and imbibe a long 
 draught. 
 
 “ VVell,” said the hntchfT, “ if he tucks in 
 ■teeks as well as he takes down beer he will be 
 ft pretty good customer to me as long as he’s in 
 the village. Perhaps he mayn’t be a bad chap 
 arter all if” 
 
 “ And if he eats steaks, he is sur*. to want 
 nils,’' said the baker, likewise having an eye to 
 business : “ so 1 think I shall come up presently, 
 
 usual, and take my four-penn’orth in the par- 
 lor.” 
 
 “ A man who wears the King’s uniform, must 
 have a clean chin,” chimed in the barber; “and 
 those fellows that are good at handling swords, 
 can’t wield razors. After all, it would be better 
 not to show him the cold elioukler just because 
 he is what he is. Peace and good will, d'heni’s 
 
 my maxims. And perhaps he uses bear’s- 
 
 grease,” added Mr. Bates, in an under-tone. — 
 “ Who knows ?” 
 
 Several others, who now saw that the arrival 
 of the recruiting-sergeant might give a certain 
 briskness to trade, — for with the presence of 
 such an individual was associated the idea of 
 plenty of money to fling about, — likewise ex- 
 pressed themselves in favor of conciliatory po- 
 licy ; and they accordingly dispersed with the 
 agreement that they would come up to the 
 Koyal Oak presently to form the acquaintance 
 of the important character who had just arrived 
 in the village. The carrier’s van proceeded on 
 its jogging way ; and the rumbling sounds of 
 its wheels soon died in the distance. Then all 
 was still once more in ihe village of Oakleigh, 
 save and except inside the barber’s shop, where 
 this functionary was holding forth to three or 
 four of his neighbors who drojjped in to hear his 
 Opinion; for Mr. Bales was a perfect oracle at 
 OakleigR 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 THE LOVERS. 
 
 While this scene had been passing in front 
 of the village public-house, another of equal 
 importance to the thread of our story, and of 
 somewhat more romantic interest, was taking 
 place at no great distance. For at the very 
 time that tin* carrier’s bell had begun to tinkle 
 in the ears of the worthy denizens of Oakleigh, 
 a young man in a laborer’s garb was weiuling 
 his way along the bank of the little streamlet 
 towards the wood through which it flowed. He 
 was alrout two and-twenty yeais of age — tall, 
 remaikably upright, and with nothing of the 
 rolling sloncliinggait thatgenerally characierizes 
 the peasant. 'I'here was a certain elasticity 
 vinible in all his motions ; and though his pace 
 was now slow, his manner dejected, and his 
 looks desjionding, yet was that natural litheiiess 
 of limb still apparent, 'riiough his garb was of 
 tiie humblest niaterialH, and though he had just 
 eome from hiu work, yet was his person scrupu- 
 
 lously clean. Tt is true that on leaving th* 
 fields he had hastened to his abode to cleans^j 
 away the traces of his labor ere he set out 
 again on his walk along the streamlet’s bank : 
 but at all times, and iindiT all circumstances, 
 there was an air )f cleanliness and respectability 
 about h’rederick Lonsdale that seemed to invest 
 him with a sort of siqieriority above his fellovx 
 He was decidedly handsome; and there was no- 
 thing Coarse nor vulgar in his fealurer Qor the ex- 
 pression of his countenance. Browned it was with 
 the sun ; but this contributed to the manly honesty 
 of look characterizing the individual who earned 
 his bread by his own toil. He had dark hair 
 and eyes, good whiskers, and a set of teeth 
 which any aristocrat might have envied. When 
 bespoke, it was with no peculiar accent nor 
 rustic drawl; and his language was marked by 
 a singular accuracy for one in his position. Thera 
 was a Certain mystery attending his birth, of 
 which we shall have to speak pre.'^ently ; but 
 there was no mystery as to the w-ay which he 
 had been brought up — for he had lived from his 
 infancy in the village. A widow, named Grant, 
 had reared him. She kept a little shop which 
 could barely have supported herself ; but from 
 some other source, not known to the villagers, 
 she had for a time received a little additional 
 succor. She had therefore put the boy to the 
 day-school of the village-pedagogue, who, taking 
 a liking to him on account of his intelligence 
 and docility, had thought it no trouble to bestow 
 unusual pains upon him. As Frederick Lons- 
 dale grew up, he greedily devoured all the books 
 that he could possibly obtain in the circumscribed 
 world of that village : and thus had he materially 
 adiled to the store of knowledge derived from 
 the schoolmaster's slender stock. In this manner 
 had he reached the age of eighteen, old Mrs. 
 Grant loving him as afl'ectionately as if he were 
 her own son but still no future plans appeared 
 to be chalked out for the young man. The 
 schoolmaster had thought of taking him for an 
 assistant ; death however iiitetfered with this 
 arrangement — and the pedagogue was gathered 
 to his fathers beneath the shade of the yew-trees 
 in the churchyard. Soon afterwards a fire 
 broke out in Mrs. Grant’s cottage one night, 
 when Frederick Lonsdale was absent at Middle- 
 ton on some commission for his aged benefactress, 
 d'he place was burnt to the ground, she herself 
 perishing in the ruins : for she was bed ridden 
 at the time, and the habitation being of wood, 
 with a straw thatch, was consumed before the 
 slightest assistance could be rendered her. Thus 
 whatever secret this woman might have cherish- 
 ed in respect to Frederick’s birth, appeared to 
 have died with her . and on his return to the 
 village he found himself deprived of his only 
 friend — homeless and penniless. As a matter 
 of course he experienced sympathy and tempo- 
 rary assistance on the part of the kind-hearted 
 villagers : but tliey were too poor to help him 
 for any length of time; and his spirit whs too 
 proud to permit him to remain a burthen upon 
 their kindness. He therefore at once resolved 
 to Work for his own living. Another school- 
 niaster had succeeded his own deceased precept- 
 or ; and consequently there was no opening for 
 the exercise of Frederick’s talents in this sphert^ 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 7 
 
 There wore plainly two aRernatives before him : 
 one was to go and seek his fortune elsewhere — 
 the other was to remain in the village and 
 become a farm-laborer. He would have done 
 tlie former, had not there been a certain tie 
 which bound him to Oakleigh : and so he 
 adopted the latter alternative. He had since 
 tlie death of his benefactress occupied a lodging 
 — that is to say, one small room at tlie little 
 house of Mr. Bates the bai ber ; and he had 
 worked for Sir Archibald Redburn, of Redburn 
 Manet. He bore a most excellent character in 
 the village, although he was generally considered 
 to be his own enemy in one respect : namely, 
 that he had a spirit somewhat impatient of control, 
 and never cringed nor played a fawning part 
 towards the baronet or the clergyman, both of 
 whom were such high and mighty people in 
 the eyes of those humble villagers. We may 
 add that the blackened ruins alluded to at the 
 opening of our tale were the remains of the 
 unfortunate Mrs. Grant’s cottage. 
 
 The reader has now learnt as much as it is 
 necessary for us to tell him in respect to Fred- 
 erick Lonsdale, whom we must accordingly ac- 
 compan)'^ in his walk along the bank of the little 
 fiver. He soon reached the wood ; and still 
 following the course of the stream beneath the 
 shade of the over-arching trees, he in a few 
 min”tes reached the rude bridge which spanned 
 the stream. There he was very shortly joined 
 by a young woman of whom we must say .some- 
 thing. Lucy Davis was the daughter of Sir 
 Archibald Redburn’s bailiff. She was twenty 
 years of age, and exceedingly beautiful. Tall 
 and well made, there was a certain air of 
 gentility about Lucy which raisetl her above the 
 ordinary average of the rustic maidens, as Fred- 
 erick himself was superior to the peasant youths 
 of the district. She had dark brown hair of 
 singular richne.ss and liixuriance : her eyes were 
 of the deepest blue, and the brows handsomely 
 arched. The hues of health were upon her 
 cheeks ; and the smiles of innocent happiness 
 were generally upon her lips. Sweeter lips 
 were never seen ; and when parting, they dis- 
 played a faultless set of teeth. She was dressed 
 witli the utmost neatne.s.s, but plainly and simply ; 
 yet did her apparel set off the admirable contours 
 of her shape more attractively than the richest 
 raiment could have dotie. Though what may 
 be termed a well-grown young woman, her 
 symmetry was perfect, — the slope of the shoul- 
 ders, the fulness of the bust, the sbrndernes of 
 the waist, and the sweeping lengtl, Df limb^ all 
 combining to render her fc m.idel for a sculptor’s 
 study. 
 
 Such was Lucy Davis. And now the reader 
 can be no longer at a loss to understand the 
 nature of that secret tie which had bound Fred- 
 erick Lonsdale to the village. He and Lucy 
 had long loved each other. In childhood they 
 were frequently playmates ; and as they grew 
 up, the friendship of earlier years ripened into a 
 sincere and profound attachment. But where- 
 fore have we spoken of the tie binding Frederick 
 to Oakleigh as a secret one ? Because he had 
 never avowed his love for Lucy to her father. 
 Mr. Davre, being comparatively in good circum- 
 lUnces. had loftier views on behalf of his 
 
 daughter: indeed his ambition had soared so 
 high that he hat! flattered himself her exceeding 
 beauty might even captivate Gerald Redburn, 
 the Baronet’s only son and heir. Of course, in 
 making this calculation. Mr. Davis knew perfect- 
 ly well that Sir Archibald would never willingly 
 consent to such a match : but the estates were 
 entailed, and when young Gerald should coma 
 of age, he might do as he liked and snap hia 
 fingers at his father. So thought the bailiff: 
 and from these simple facts the reader may at 
 once gather that he was an unprincipled and 
 an unscrupulous man. Such indeed he was; 
 and being of so designing a character, was not 
 without a consummate dissimulation to conceal 
 it. He was a widower — Lucy was his only 
 child — and he hoped that by seeing her become 
 “ a lady,” he might, with a sort of borrowed 
 reflection of the lustre of rank, come to dub 
 himself “ a gentleman.” 
 
 On the evening in question, Frederick Lons- 
 dale and Lucy Davis met at the bridge a little 
 before the sunset hour — that hour which exer- 
 cises a two-fold influence upon the minds of 
 lovers, either lulling them into a serenity of bliss 
 when their loves are prosperous, or else weighing 
 upon them with a saddening despondency when 
 the course of their affection runs not smooth. 
 Yes — they met at that bridge where they had 
 often and often met before, and at that same 
 hour which had likewise so frequently marked 
 these past meetings. It was with a light elasfio 
 step and with smiles upon her beauteous cout te- 
 nance, that Lucy tripped across the bridgo to 
 join her lover ; and in the first gush of pleasure 
 at the meeting, she did not perceive the sadne-a 
 which sat upon his brow. Perhaps, too, hia 
 countenance suddenly brightened up as he folded 
 her in his arms : but the transient sense of joy at 
 thus straining his well-beloved to his heart, was 
 quickly succeeded by a feeling of bitterness in 
 consequence of what was lying heavy upon hia 
 soul. 
 
 Hand in hand they walked along the bank of 
 the river, proceeding deeper into the wood ; and 
 any one who had beheld them then, would have 
 at once arrived at the conclusion that there waa 
 an atlmirable fitness in the union of this hand- 
 some couple. The coai’se garments of Fi'ederick 
 Would have been lost sight of in the contempla- 
 tion of his fine form, his upright gait, his manly 
 walk, and his intellectual countenance ; and in- 
 deed, if he had found time to put on his Sunday 
 garb ere coming to this appointment, there would 
 have been no circumstance, so far as the out- 
 ward appearance of the two lovers went, to 
 raise a suspicion that there was an inequality of 
 social grades which appeared to present an in- 
 super ible bar to their union. 
 
 They had not proceeded very far, when Lucy, 
 in making some observation, bent her beautiful 
 eyes upon Fr-ederick, and was struck by the sad- 
 ness of his looks. She suddenly stopped short 
 in what she was saying, — stopped short also on 
 the bank of the stream ; and gazing upon him in 
 silent earnestness for nearly a minute, said in 
 tones as liquid as the musical flow of the crystal 
 waters themselves, “ Frederick — dear Fi’ederick, 
 something has occurred ? You are unhappy 1” 
 
 “ I cannot conceal it from you, beloved L cy,^ 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 «npwered tiu; youn^ man. “ T liavo been in- 
 Buited — cruelly insulted — almost trampled upoti 
 by one whom the accident of birth has made 
 what the world calls my superior.” 
 
 * Who has (lone this ?” inquired Lucy, sud- 
 denly becoming painfully excited ; and the tears 
 Btarted out upon the long dark lashes which 
 sliaded her deep blue eyes. 
 
 “ Ge rald Redburn,” returned Frederick. ‘•When 
 I think of what took place I am surprised that 
 I restrained my hand from tearing him off his 
 horse and spurnir.g him at my feet. I should 
 have done so perhaps; but, miserable enfeebled 
 otripiding as he is, it would have been a cow- 
 urd’s blow on my part. And yet I was bitterly 
 provoked I” 
 
 “ Yes, dear Frederick, you must have been — 
 you must have been — to talk thus and to feel so 
 deej)ly too. Oh !” exclaimed the generous-hearted 
 and devoted girl, “ what can I say — what can 1 
 do to console you ? Ah 1 methinks that if I had 
 been ever so much provoked, yet that in your 
 society I should experience a soothing solace — 
 then, as if she had saki too much for maiden 
 modesty, sJie bent down her eyes, blushing 
 deeply. 
 
 “ Oh ! a thousand thanks, dearest Lucy, for 
 this spontaneous assurance of the extent of your 
 love !” — and Frederick Lonsdale pressed her 
 hand to his lips. “ Yes, dearest, I also should 
 feel every possible consolation in your sweet 
 company — your sympathy would pour a balm 
 into the heart to heal the wounds of any depth 
 and poignancy. But it is not the mere sense of 
 terrible insult which now oppresses me ; it is also 
 the fear of a sad, sad change in my circum- 
 stances, poor as they already are !” 
 
 “ What mean yOiU, dear Frederick?” inquired 
 Lucy, with a startled look of fresh apprehension. 
 
 “ 1 mean, beloved girl,” was Lonsdale’s excited 
 reply, “ that the insolent Gerald, not contented 
 with flinging at me the bitterest laun s, has 
 threatened to deprive me of my bread. He has 
 Vowed that 1 shall work for his father no longer, 
 and that he will take sufficient measures to pre- 
 vent me from obtaining employment at the 
 hands of any tenant of Sir Arcliibald’s. Such a 
 cruelty, if carri(Hl out, would amount, dear Lucy, 
 to a sentence of exile from the village : and that 
 it will be carried out, 1 have, alas ! the too pain- 
 ful conviction.” 
 
 The excitement of anxiety dying away from 
 Lucy’s countenance, was succeeded by a look of 
 deep dejection ; and for upwards of a minute 
 there was a j)ause, during which the lovers 
 walked witli the slow pace of sadness along the 
 bank of the stream. At length Lucy again 
 Fto{)ped short, saying somewhat abruptly, *• You 
 have not told me, dear Fr((<lerick, the nature of 
 this quarrel Ixitween yourself and Mr. Redburn.” 
 
 “ You know, dear Lucy — for we have fre- 
 quently Bj>oken on the HubJ((ct before — that 1 
 am no very great f.ivorite with Sir Aichibald or 
 his ton — nor y(‘t with tlu^ R< v. Mr. Arden; and 
 1 think it is biicause I liave been decently edu- 
 cated, and have added as well as 1 could to my 
 Utth; stock of knowleilge,. l’eopl(( in high life 
 don't like liumble |mtsoiis, such as I am, to have 
 mucJi learning: they think it opens our eyes to 
 Jw injustice of the system which keeps the mil- 
 
 lions poor that the few may be rich ;— and be- 
 cau.se I have been heard to say so, I have Wen 
 accused, as you know, by Sir Archibald and Mr. 
 Arden, of di.sseminating seditious ideas amongst 
 the villagers. Y’'et, heav(;ii knows how seldom I 
 have obtruded my opinions upon others; and 
 not frequenting the public-hou.se, I have no oj>. 
 portunity, nor do I seek it, of interfering with 
 the sentiments of my fellow-villagers. How- 
 ever, it is known that 1 have once oi twice 
 spoken in that sense; and it has struck me for 
 at lea.st two years pa.st that the baronet and the 
 parson would be very glad to get me out of the 
 villag(*.” 
 
 * But you are such a general favorite, my dear 
 Frederick,” said Lucy, gazing up fondly and ad- 
 miringly in her lover’s countenance, “that they 
 would not dare outrage general ojiinion by any 
 open and unprovoked act of tyranny.” 
 
 “That is the exact truth of the case, dear 
 Lucy,” exclaimed Frederick. “But now, 1 fear 
 me, tlie opportunity does present itself, and the 
 tyranny will be exercised. I will however come 
 to the point. This afternoon I was working in 
 the field up by the plantation yonder, when Mr. 
 Redburn rode by on horseback. I touched my 
 hat as a matter of course : but he took no no- 
 tice of me. Ever since his return home from 
 Oxford he treated me in this haughty manner : 
 'out I can assure you it gave me not much con- 
 cern — for I was resolved to avoid as far as pos- 
 sible affording the slightest opportunity for the 
 visitation of the tyranny which I neverthele.ss 
 apprehended. Well, Gerald Redburn, wlio was 
 riding unattended, pa.ssed along the lane ; anU 
 presently I heard him crying out in his weak 
 sickly voice, ‘I say, you fellow Lonsdale, come 
 here !’ — My first thought was to disobey a com- 
 mand so imperiously given ; but curbing my 
 annoyance, and true to my resolve not to suffer 
 myself to be easily provoked, I hurried to the 
 spot where he had halted. Pointing with his 
 kid gloved finger upon the ground, Gerald R d- 
 burn said, ‘ Pick up that riding-whij).’ — If 1 had 
 been the vilest of dogs, he could not have ad- 
 dressed me in a more brutal ovei bearing man- 
 ner. I felt the color mounting to my face ; and 
 I recollect that I threw upon him a look of ir- 
 repressible indignation. He saw it at once, and 
 flying into a rage, exclaimed, ‘ Y'ou beggarly 
 clod hopper, make haste and do as I tell you. 
 Pick up that whip, I say, or I shall jump off and 
 lay it about your shoulders.’ — ‘ Mr. Redburn,’ 
 said I, mastering my feelings as well as I pos- 
 sibly could, ‘ 1 wttuld do anything 1 can to serve 
 you if you only speak civilly.’ — ’Fhereupon he 
 levelled a bitter imprecation at me — an impre- 
 cation which sounded shocking iiuleed when 
 coming from the lips of a young gentleman ; 
 and he renewed his command that I should pick 
 up the whip instantaneously. Lucy, 1 could no 
 longer control myself ” 
 
 “No, Frederick,” said the young damsel, her 
 checiks now flushed with the crimson glow of 
 indignafioi at the bare idea of the treatment 
 which her lover had experienced : “ I can well 
 understand thart you lost all patience then ; and 
 it would even have shown a lack of spirit if you 
 had tamely submitted. But proceed. What 
 followed r 
 

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THE SOLDIER'S WIFK 
 
 f 
 
 “Mr. Redburn’g rag« grew ungovernable : his 
 pale sickly countenance became livid, his lips 
 turned ashy white, and he poured forth a volley 
 of abuse, to repeat which would shock your ears. 
 Suffice it to say that he taunted me with my 
 ignorance respecting my parentage — said that 
 he liad no doubt I was some beggar’s brat who 
 hail been abandoned at Widow Grant’s door — 
 and that instead of being inflated with pride 
 because I was able to read and write and had 
 got a smatteiing of learning, I ought to be rCady 
 to fall upon my knws and kiss tlie ground upon 
 which my betters walked. I listened uniil he 
 had finished his tirade ; and then 1 remonstrated 
 with him upon the impropriety of his conduct. 
 But still I allowed his riding-whip to remain on 
 the ground where he had dropped it. My words, 
 and my demeanor too, I suppose, almost mad- 
 dened him ; and finding that 1 would not. stoop j 
 to pick up his whip he gave vent to the threats 
 W'hich 1 have before described. Therefore, dear 
 Lucy, I suppose I must exf)ect to be summarily 
 dismissed from my employment; and it will be 
 your father, my poor giil, who will have to pro- 
 nounce my discharge.” 
 
 “ Alas ! Frederick, these are indeed iU tidings,” 
 said Lucy. “ What is to be dcaie? Snail I 
 throw myself at my father's feet, Ct-nfess that 1 
 love you and beseech him if he wnuld 'H't plunge 
 me into wretchedness, to listen to my prayer T 
 
 *• Not for worlds, dearest Lucy,” responded 
 her lover, “ would I have you draw down upon 
 your head the explosion of your father's wrath. 
 No, no — I will keep all my calamities unto my- 
 self; they shall not redound upon you, sweet 
 Lucy,” he continued in a deeper and more so- 
 lemn tone, but with a look that was far more 
 eloquent than his words. “ 1 have this day 
 awakened from a dream of bliss. Hitherto 1 
 have cherished the hope that fii tune would de- 
 velop some turn in my favor, so that 1 might 
 acquire a position that would enable me to claim 
 your hand. I have been mad — yes, absolutely 
 mad, to harbor such an idea ; and yet it was be- 
 cause 1 loved you so fondly — and love itself is 
 hope ! Ah 1 Lucy 1 you know not the extent 
 of my love for you. You never have known, 
 because my lips could not speak all that my 
 heart feels or that my soul thinks. This stream 
 at the spot where we are now standing, makes 
 ao noise : it does not even ripple here : yet this 
 is its deepest part for all its stillness — and my 
 love Is like it. It is this love which has cheer- 
 ed me in my daily toils, and has been a suffi- 
 cient companion for me in the evening when my 
 work was over. If ever I have been tempted 
 to go to the ale house it has kept me back ; and 
 wdien at times 1 have thought of the hardness 
 of my lot, and that there was some secret con- 
 nected with my birth which if known, would 
 not perhaps leave me poor and obscure as I am, 
 
 .■ — your image has arisen before me and I have 
 felt consoled and even cheered. Such, Lucy, 
 has been my love ; and such too has been the 
 good influence your image has shed over 
 me.” 
 
 The damsel was now weeping bitterly, as she 
 dung to her lover’s arm ; and gazing up fondly 
 through the dimness of her tears into his coun- 
 teuaiKe she endeavored to give utterance to a 
 
 f(>w words — but the strength of her emotiool 
 choked her utterance and she could not. 
 
 “ Do not Aveep, dear Lucy — do not weep,* 
 said Lonsdale : and yet he himself swept hii 
 matdy hand over his eyes. “ I feel that there 
 is a time coming when we shall have need of 
 all our fortitude : indeed the time is come, Lucy 
 — and we must look our position calmly and re- 
 solutely in the face. I atr a man almost with- 
 out hope — poor and self-dependent — perhaps 
 marked out as a victim to be crushed. Think 
 you then, dearest, that I will in any way drag 
 you down into the vortex with me ? No — not 
 for worlds ! By the irnmei iity of my love may 
 you estimate the immensity of the sacrifice that 
 it prompts me to make. For my love is not all 
 selfi.-'hness : it is of a nature which leads me to 
 place your happiness high above my own, atid 
 to consult your welfare first of all.” 
 
 “ What do you mean, Frederick ? Your 
 words terrify me !” — and Lucy gazed upon him 
 with a half frightened half deprecating regard. 
 
 “ I mean, beloved girl, that it is wrong — it ia 
 even wicked for me to keep you entangled by 
 vows and pledges which in your affection you 
 have given, but which must lead to naught. In 
 a word, Lucy, it were better that we should 
 part — that you should study to forget me — that 
 you should learn to think of me no more ” 
 
 “ Enough, Frederick — enough — I cannot bear 
 this !” and the poor girl wrung her hands in a 
 sort of frenzy ; but almost instantaneously re- 
 covering her fortitude, she fixed her earnest gaze 
 upon him ; and with the flush of a proud tri- 
 umph upon her cheeks — the reflection of an in- 
 ward glow of satisfaction at what she was about 
 to say — she added in a voice that Avas calm and 
 clear, “ 1 will not insult you, Frederick, with the 
 suspicion that you are seeking a release from 
 the vows Avliich Ave have mutually pledged. We 
 have knoAvn each other from childhood ; and 1 
 atn too well acquainted with the truthfulness of 
 your heart and the nobility of your nature, to 
 entertain so injurious a thought. Listen then, 
 while 1 call heaven to witness that happen what 
 may — ud matter how far your enemies may 
 succeed in persecuting you — no matter to what 
 distance circumstances may separate you from 
 me — no matter what views my father may hare 
 in stole for me' — and no matter who may seek 
 my hand, — my love for you will remain un- 
 changed — my constancy shall continue firm un- 
 to death 1 Noav, Frederick, I have said it ; and 
 my heart feels as if relieved of a weight which 
 for half-an hour past, had sat heavily upon it.” 
 
 “ Dearest Lucy, what can I say — what words 
 can 1 find to express all the fervor of that grati- 
 tude which I feel for such a proof of undying 
 atfection as this ? No, Lucy — I Avill not reject tho 
 hope which has hitherto inspired me — I Avill not 
 suffer my spirit to sink beneath the weight of 
 despondency. Oh ! there must indeed be some- 
 thing divine in woman’s love if it can shed upon 
 the soul such cheering influences as those which 
 your words have shed upon mine 1 Lucy, I ac- 
 cept this holy troth — and I respond to it in a 
 vow of equal sanctity.” 
 
 The lovers appeared suddenly to have forgot- 
 ten all their cares • and with their arms thrown 
 round each other’s neck, they indulged in a fond 
 
10 
 
 THE ??OLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 embrace. At that instant an ejaculation of 
 minf^led astoiiislunent and fell upon their 
 
 ears: and startiii}^ asunder, they stood in a hind 
 of f>;uiltv Confusion in the presjuice of the indi- 
 ridual who had just einerf^ed from the depths 
 of the wood. Tliis was Mr. Davis, Lucy’s fa- 
 ther 
 
 •‘Vile deceitful girl !” he exclaimed : “is it for 
 tl)is that those frequent evening walks of your's 
 have been taken ? But you, villain,” he added, 
 now turning his wrathful looks upon Lonsdale 
 “ how dare you thus seek to n)b me of my daugh- 
 ter f’ 
 
 “Mr. Davis,” was the immediate answer given 
 by Frederick, who quickly recovered his {)re8- 
 ence of mind, “it is an honest love I bear your 
 daughter — a love which, mutually felt, has ri- 
 pened from our childhood’s years ” 
 
 “ No more !” ejaculated the bailitf, the naturally 
 harsh tones of his voice soutidiiig more stendy 
 harsh than ever : “not another word upon the 
 subject! Come hither, girl:” — and clutching 
 his daughter violently by the arm, he drew her 
 towaials him. “You will come home with me, 
 and I will take care to put an end to your ram- 
 bles. As for you, Lonsdale, I have but a few 
 Words to say. I was proceeding to your lodg- 
 ing for the purpose of telling you that by Sir 
 Archibald Redburu’s comman(l you are to seek 
 employment elsewhere. Here is a fortnight’s 
 wag<‘s for you ; and the sooner you gel out of 
 the village, the better.” 
 
 As he thus spoke, the bailiff tossed some sil- 
 ver in lialbcrowns at the feet of Frederick, who 
 was standing about three yards distant : and 
 then suddenly turning round, he dragged his 
 daughter away with him. She threw a look 
 upon Frederick which more eloquently than 
 Words could have done, seemed to remind him 
 of the vow that had so solemnly passetl her 
 lips ; and ere she turned her head again, she 
 caught in mute respou&e the dimness of his part- 
 ing smile. 
 
 He remained rivetted to the spot, gazing after 
 the retreating forms of the bailiff and his daugh- 
 ter : then, as they speedily disapjieared from 
 bis view, he turned abruptly ronmi and plunged 
 into the lhicke>t of the wood, there to give way 
 to the anguish that filled his heart. But the 
 money wliich Davis had so contemptuously 
 flung down, was left unheeded upon the bank. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ALE HOUSE PARLOE. 
 
 It was nine o’clock — the blind was drawn 
 down in the parlor of the Royal Oak — the can- 
 dles were lighted upon the table — and there 
 was a much larger attimdance of guests than 
 usual. At hniHt a dozim persons were seated 
 vnuii.d tie room, piitbiig their pipes, and enjoy'^-. 
 ing Mr. Bnshell’s gocxl ale. 'I'his individual 
 IninselfHaton one side of the fire-place — his ac- 
 customed corner dniing the twenty years hi; had 
 fW'en landlord of the Royal Oak; and although 
 there was no fire in the grate in that warm 
 ■L>ring neason, “mine host” luivertheless re- 
 
 mained faithful to his wonted .ocatinn. Of>pr> 
 siljj; to him, in the other corner, sat Sergeanl 
 laingley — the oliject of all interest and the 
 cynosure of attraction. Prim and stately aftei 
 Ids own fashion, the sergeant could not possibly 
 unbend in respect bi his body, how«*V( r nmch 
 he might in the gravity of his looks or the 
 pompons severity of his speech. We have al- 
 ready said he was a tall and somewhat stoutly 
 built man: we may add that he had a red 
 face — hair cropped quite sh()rt, and deficient on 
 the npj)er part of the forehead — and small 
 twinkling gray eyes, which, if closely hsiked 
 irito, had a cunning, disagreeable, and even ie|>- 
 tile-like expression. He liad very little whis- 
 kers: and being an infantry soldier, wore no 
 moustache. His age ajipeared to he about five- 
 and-forty : but it miglit very well have been 
 three or four years more, — for he was a man 
 who evidently wore well. 
 
 The sergeant was smoking liis f)ipe, but all 
 the time holding forth with so little intermis- 
 sion, that the volatile and Inistling barber, Mr. 
 Bates, could scarcely manage to get in a word 
 edgeways. There was something supremely 
 ludicrous in the attitude and look of the little 
 shaver, as he sat bending forward on the edge 
 of his chair, with eyes as keenly fixed upon 
 Sergeant Langley as if it were a cat watching 
 a mouse ; but Mr. Bates was watching for the 
 slightest pause in the soldier’s di>course that 
 might afford him an opportunity of giving ut- 
 terance to liis own opinion. Indeed, so excru- 
 ci.itiiig wa.« the anxiety of Barber Bates to get 
 in a word, that his half-smoked pipe had been 
 suffered to go out and remain idle in his hand, 
 while his pint of ale stood also untouched on 
 the table before him. It was evident too, that 
 Sergeant Langley was quite aware of his new 
 friend’s intention of pouncing as it were upon 
 the Conversation, and the moment lie got a fair 
 grijie, monopolizing it all to himself: for the 
 wily soldier studiously avoided giving the bar- 
 ber any such chance. 
 
 'file butcber, the baker, the general-dealer, 
 the tailor, the shoemaker, the parish clerk, th.e 
 sexton, and the other leading men of the village, 
 were all assembled on the occasion ; and tlie 
 greater portion of them were listening with 
 wide-open eyes and pricked-up ears lo the 
 marvellou.s stories that the sergeant was telling 
 them. Of course Mr. Langley had a particular 
 object to serve; and he managed matters with 
 wonderful tact and astuteness. He had to beat 
 down tlie prejudices that existed against a 
 soldier’s life — to make the sense of its dangers 
 merge into a feeding of patriotic enthusiasm — to 
 gloss over its privations, its vicissitudes, and its 
 degrading punishments — and in short, to create 
 a paradise where the previous impression was 
 that a elreary dts<-rt existed. Of course the 
 sergeant conhl not deal in trtiths while thus 
 expatiating; and to say tliat Ids imagination 
 was largedy drawn upon, would only be to tell 
 the reader something already suspected. There 
 is a common phrase about “shooting with the 
 long how ;” but certainly Sergeant l^angley 
 not only shot with one of tlu' longest bows ever 
 put into requisition, but handled it likewise 
 without tlie least clumsiness or want of d^x- 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 11 
 
 terity. It was cot that he expected to obtain 
 any recruits amongst the company now present ; 
 and even if he so expected, none ot them would 
 have suited — for the butcher was too stout, the 
 barber too thin, the baker too short, the sexton 
 too tall, the clerk too old, the general-dealer too 
 bandy-legged, the tailor too humpbacked, the 
 shoemaker too bow-legged, and the rest equally 
 incapaciated in a physical sense from passing 
 
 as clock-work : and who ever heard of a soldier 
 with a bad digestion? Show me such a thing 
 gentlemen — and I will have him labelled and 
 put into a museum as a curiosity. There’s 
 nothing like regularity of meals: all doctors 
 will tell you that. In respect to exercise, what 
 can be more agreeable than the parade-ground, 
 where all your steps are measured and you 
 don’t go either too fast or too slow. That’s the 
 
 tsusier. Therefore the wily sergeant had not jsort of exercise for me, gentlen^en ! Then the 
 
 his eye upon any of the guests now present: 
 but he had their prejudices to disarm, so that 
 their influence might not be used to prevent any 
 of Iheaihletic healthy, strong built young rustics 
 on whom he did have an eye (though there were 
 row none of them present) from accepting the 
 King’s money and pinning the various colored 
 ribands to their caps. 
 
 ' “ Talk ol the hardships of a soldier’s life 1” 
 said Mr. Langlev, as if in contemptuous depre- 
 cation of a besotted prejudice: “ why it’s the 
 most beautiful state of existence that can possibly 
 be conceived. Here you have your great lords 
 »Dd wealthy gentlemen paying large sums of 
 inonev out of their 'own pockets to travel on the 
 Ountinent and see the fine things there; but 
 ihe soldier travels to the most distant parts of 
 the earth at no expense of his own. His Sov- 
 ereign j)ays for him. Think of that, gentlemen 
 — only think of that, 1 say ! What an honor to 
 have your Sovereign take such an interest as to 
 pay your travelling expenses 1 1 tell you, 
 
 gentlemen, 1 am blowed up with pride when 1 
 think that for thirty years of my life — for I 
 entered the service young, gendemen, as a 
 drummer — I have seen all parts of the world 
 at the ex[)ense of my King and my country. 
 It’s a great thing to say, gentlemen — a great 
 thing : and if any body has a word to urge 
 against it, I tell him he doesn’t know what an 
 honor is, gentlemen — and he may put that in 
 his pipe and smoke it!” 
 
 Here the sergeant paused for a moment and 
 looked uncommonly fierce, while the little barber 
 rushed framically in to the temporary void in 
 
 the discourse, with “ But I say, though ” 
 
 “Yes, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Langley, 
 making a majestic motion with his pipe to the 
 unfortunate village shaver to enjoin him trr 
 silence, “ it is all truth that comes from my lips. 
 A man, gentlemen, who wears a coat of thin 
 color, never tells a lie. But about the hard- 
 ships of a soldier’s life — 1 should just like to 
 ask one question. Is not the soldier adored 
 by the fair sex ? don’t women’s smiles and their 
 bright eyes beam upon him ? Why, gentlemen, 
 there s never a female heart that doesn’t go pit 
 a-pat at the sight of a uniform. Take care, 
 gentlemen — you have got wives and daughters, 
 aunts and grandmothers — and they will have 
 an eye upon me. But if any of you do ask me 
 to take pot-luck with you, I shan’t abuse confi- 
 dence : a soldier’s honor, gentlemen, is {laramount 
 Well then, as I was saying, the soldier travels 
 for nothing — and his loves cost him nothing. 
 Then his clothes — the wiiching rainment that 
 commits such havoc among the fair sex — it’s all 
 
 f iaid nr. The soldier, gentlemen, is like the 
 ily of the field : he toils not, neither does he 
 Bpici, As for hrs meals, he has them as regular 
 
 barrack-room — ^what a scene of delight. There 
 is true comfort without the encumbrances of 
 fashion — true enjoyment without being afraid 
 to spoil the furniture Always plenty ot 
 companions — sprightly conversation goi’*gon— 
 and everything gentlemen, to contribute to the 
 tranquil and easy flow of the spins. As for 
 the olficers — a nicer, kinder set of men can’ 
 exist — hail fellow well met with all the privates 
 in private, though reserved and distant in public. 
 Now look at me. gentlemen. You see me well 
 — I have the honor to be an officer in the King’s 
 service ” 
 
 “ A non-commissioned officer !” vociferateu 
 the little barber, determined to edge m a worf 
 this time and show that he understood the 
 tinction of ranks. 
 
 “Yes, sir, — a noncommissioned officer,” echo- 
 ed the .sergeant, with stately pomposity; “and 
 though perhaps not quite so high as the colonel, 
 yet not very far off. Well, gentlemen, such aa 
 you see me, I am not proud — I never give my- 
 self airs to the privates — I encourage them, 
 gentlemen — 1 patronize them, gerilleinen — I 
 cheer them on, gentlemen ; and if they want a 
 friend, gentlemen, they know whom to apply to. 
 What can be more beautiful than this? We are 
 like a community of brothers. Ali, i know very 
 well what thought strikes you now : you know 
 there is such a thing as flogging ? Well, let me 
 tell you, gentlemen, strange though it may seem, 
 that it’s a very delightful process : its an excite- 
 ment, gentlemen — produces an agreeable change 
 — gives a liealthy action to the circulation — 
 causes an issue for all humors that would otlier- 
 wise corrode the whole vital system — and leaves 
 behind it such a glow that one feels just as if 
 one hud come out of a vapor-bath. But that is 
 not all, gentlemen,” added Sergeant Laiigley; 
 and now he sutt'ered his voice to sink into a 
 grave solemtiity : “ it purifies the heart — it 
 chastens the soul — it reminds the soldier that 
 great though he is, he is but a mortal after all ; 
 and I am sure that v/om, gentlemen as good cit- 
 izens — as fathers of families — as husbands— 
 and as moral men, will admit that these are 
 truly beneficial effects. But let me tell you one 
 thing, gentlemen : 1 never knew a man who 
 when he had been flogged once, didn’t come 
 back to the triangle to be flogged a dozen times 
 again : and if that don’t prove, gentlemen, that 
 the men themselves know it to be good for theia, 
 then I am done and won’t say another word.” 
 
 “ But,” ejaculated the barber, bounding on bis 
 chair in his excited eagerness to speak : “ but — ” 
 
 “ One moment, sir — and you shall have your 
 say, which I have nd doubt will be a very clever 
 one when do you get it. I think, gentlemen, 
 you will confess that I have made out a strong 
 case. We must hear no more of the hardships 
 
It 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 of a sc^ldieFs life. Why, it’s like sailing through 
 existence upon a river of rose-water, with only 
 just the trouble of plucking the fruits that grow 
 upon the bank. Aiui consider, gentlemen, the 
 glory of the thing 1 Why, this hand, gentlemen, 
 which now holds this bakker-pipe, has done its 
 work ; and though I say it, which shouldn’t say 
 it, 1 have slain the ruthless foemen, gentlemen, 
 that would have invaded our shores — would 
 have marched into the peaceful village of Oak- 
 leigh — would have ])illag(!d your houses — carri- 
 ed off your wives — devoured your substance — 
 and taken away everything you liave in your 
 shops. I, theref(»re, gentlemen — humble an in- 
 dividual as I am — by slaying with my own hand 
 sixty-seven of your mortal enemies at Waterloo, 
 .Mid di.sabling ninety-five more, contributed to 
 the salvation of all your goods and chattebs.” 
 
 When we come to reflect of what might be 
 the probable value of the scrag of mutton at 
 the butcher’s, the cheese and blacking- bott les at 
 the chandler’s, the jiots of bear’s-grease at the 
 tarber’s, and the rolls and gingerbread-nuts at 
 the baker’s, it must certainly a|)pear that if all 
 tliat blood was shed ju.st for the special protec- 
 tion of the little village of Oakleigh, as thei 
 worthy sergeant sought to make it appear, the 
 cost of human life was considerably above that 
 of the commodities thus saved from the ruthless 
 hands of an enemy bent on projects of invasion 
 and piliage. But the village tradesmen, there 
 and then assembled, did not pause to make any 
 such calculations, but looked deeply grateful, 
 the barber not excepted, for the services render- 
 ed by the mighty arm of the heroic sergeant. 
 
 “Talk of the hardships of a soldier’s life,” he 
 went on to say, — “ let me tell some of its plea- 
 sures What is there like seeing the world? 
 and who sees more of it than the soldier? Why, 
 gentlemen, I have been in ciiuntries the beauties 
 and the wonders of which you, pei haps, intelli- 
 gent though you all are, don’t dream of. Perhaps 
 you have heard of the cow-tree, that has only to 
 be tapped and it yields a delicious milk. Well, 
 gentlemen, in that same island there’s another 
 kind of tree which when tapped yields a beer 
 just for all the world^hke this ale that we are 
 drinking now; and the beauty of it is, it doesn’t 
 make you drunk, so that you may enjo}' your- 
 self as much as you like. And now another 
 thing, gentlemen. Of course you know that the 
 Aldermen of the,^City of London are very fond 
 I turtle soup, and that it’s a great luxury ? 
 "Why, gentlemen, I have been in countries where 
 the turtles are so numerous that the beach and 
 the sea-shore are comjiosed entirely^ of them in- 
 stead of stones, and the whole regiment at last 
 got so sick of turtle soup that they were com- 
 pelled to eat [larrots, and peacocks, and cocka- 
 toos, and humming-birds by way of a change. 
 I'hat’s what 1 call living, gentlemen 1 Do you 
 mean to tell me that any City Alderman can 
 beatlliis ? Well, but there’s another thing. 1 
 dare say you are all very fond of fine fruit ? 
 Now, 1 have been in countries where the hedges 
 are all graiie-vines covered with the most 
 luscious grap(;s ; and all the trees by the road 
 •ales are actually breaking down with fruit. 
 Well. perhaps you meet a lieggar, and he tells 
 }ou he is siuiving. You ask him in wonder 
 
 why he doesn’t blosr himself out with any of 
 these delicious fruits? at which he will turn up 
 his nose, make a horrid griniaci!, and tell ^ >u h« 
 is sf> surfeited with fruit that he would rather 
 die than eat any more. Those are cotintries to 
 live in, gentlemen 1” — and the sergeant looked 
 slowly round upon his amazed and delighted 
 audience. 
 
 “ But, my dear sir, pray permit me,” now in- 
 
 terj(!cted the barher : “just one word ” 
 
 I know what you are going to say, my 
 friend,” at once observed the sergeant: “you are 
 going to ask me about the fruits in other parts of 
 the world? Perhajis you are all fund of cocoa- 
 nuts : but what you get in England are nothing 
 compared to those you find abroad. They v'ould 
 be mere wood-nuts there. I have seen coc<)a- 
 nuts as large as the big drum of the regiment; 
 and the kernel i.s all solid and comes out like an 
 enormous Christmas plum-pudding, so that you 
 cut out large slices and eat it. As for vegeta- 
 bles, you never saw anything in England equal 
 to the vegetables that grow in foreign countries. 
 'I'here’s the cabbage tree, fir instance, all covered 
 with beautiful summer-cabbages; and by a cu- 
 rious dispen.sation of nature, the same country 
 that produces these cabbage-trees, also abounds 
 in the finest fiigs, quite tame, and whicli by con- 
 stantly bathing in the sea get a salt flavor — so 
 that you have nothing to do but to kill a pig, 
 cut off the part you fancy, then cut a caljbage 
 trom the trees, put it all into a pot, and in due 
 time you have a delicious dinner of j)ickled pork 
 and greens with not a farthing to pay. 1 (k)n’t 
 think you can beat this in England, gentlemer. ” 
 
 I'here was a simultaneous shake of the head, 
 as much as to say, “ We should think not:’ — and 
 the barber again endeavored to get a hearing, 
 but could not quite succeed. 
 
 “ These little trifles I have been telling you, 
 gentlemen,” re.-umed Sergeant Langley, “ are 
 just the recollections that come uppermost in 
 my mind at the moment : but if seeing and en- 
 joying such things as these, are hardships, then 
 a soldier’s life is a very hard one indeed. Do 
 you know, friend landlord,” continui^d the ser- 
 geant, turning to old Bushell, ** what first gave the 
 idea of milk-punch in England ? I will tell you. 
 It’s that cow-tree I was speaking of just now. In 
 very hot weather the milk in the upper branches 
 all ferments and turns into alcohol: so that the 
 spirit, mixing with the nfilk that keeps fresh in 
 the trunk of the tree, make the most delicious 
 milk-punch, you ever tasted. That does get up 
 into your head — I believe you, it does I The 
 first (lay my r»'gim(.at landed in that island, we 
 every one of us, from the colonel down to the 
 drummer-boys, tapped the cow-trees; and it 
 being in the height of the hot season, the trees 
 all yielded milk-puch. So the whole regiment 
 got blind drunk, and lay stretched upon the 
 ground for twelve hours, fast asleep, 'ill the ef- 
 fects wore olF. Of course there was no court- 
 martial, because we were all in the same mess * 
 but it’s astonishing how soon we all got well- 
 fir close by there was a fiuntain, and when we 
 came to drink, it proved to be the most deliciou* 
 soda-water we ever tasted in all our lives. The 
 fact was that the fountain gushed up (•‘om the 
 heart of a chalky soil, and the confined air uuvie 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 It 
 
 It besiutifully effervescent. So you see, gentle- 
 men, the wise provision of nature — that if it 
 produces trees which make you drunk, it pro- 
 vides soda-water close at hand to make yor, 
 eober again.” 
 
 Here the sergeant, although his lungs were 
 almost of leathern durability, was compelled to 
 pause for a few minutes, to recover breath and 
 slake his thirst with the remnants of the ale in 
 his quart pot. The village barber therefore at 
 lengtli found the long-wished for and eagerly- 
 ought opportunity of making himself heard. 
 
 “ My ftiends,” he said, with the air of a man 
 who had fully made up his mind for a set speech, 
 “ I do think we ought to be grateful to our new 
 companion for the interesting information he has 
 given us. But when he speaks of the beauties 
 of a soldier’s life, and tells us how the soldier 
 travels, eats, drinks, sleeps, and has clothes for 
 nothing, I should like to ask what is meant by 
 stoppages^ and how much he gets in the shape 
 of hard cash for his own use and benefit ? I 
 would farther ask, gentlemen ” 
 
 “ One question at a time,” interrupted the 
 sergeant, now fully refreslied and prepared for 
 another campaign in the fields of discourse. “ I 
 am asked, gentlemen, about the soldier’s pay : 
 and I hear something about stoppages. I should 
 as soon of thought of hearing about ghosts and 
 hob goblins. There is no such thing as stoppa- 
 ges. It’s a weak device of the enemy to pre- 
 vent the aspiring and patriotic youth of Eng- 
 land from entering in this most glorious service. 
 Stoppages indeed ! it’s a vulgar prejudice. The 
 "British soldier, sir,” added Sergeant Langley, 
 drawing himself up to the very fullest of his 
 poriley height and assuming the stateliest of 
 miens, a» he fixe- his eyes upon the barber, — 
 “tlie British soldier, sir, receives his thirteen 
 pence a-day, which he has all to himself for 
 beer and bakker. Money, gentlemen, is not 
 wanting in the army. We don’t know how to 
 spend our money : we have too much of it. It's 
 my opinion our Sovereign is too liberal ; and I 
 do think, gentlemen, you have a right to com- 
 plain of the taxes when so much goes into the 
 pockets of your soldiers. Look here, for in- 
 stance, gentlemen:” — and Mr. Langley pulled 
 out a handful of silver, with a few sovereigns 
 and a still greater number of half-pence inter- 
 mixed. “ But this is nothing,” he added shovel- 
 ling the coin back into his jiocket with a care- 
 less, contemptuous air. “We have plenty of 
 money, and we spend it freely. Landlord, ano- 
 ther pot of ale, and another screw of bakker !” 
 
 This order was given with a pompo!^ity which 
 was as much as to say, “ Look for instance, how 
 I spend my money !” — then perceiving that he 
 had produced a great effect, the wily sergeant 
 •uddenly decided upon following up the blow 
 with another brilliant stroke of policy ; and 
 glancing quickly around, he cried, “ Stop, land- 
 lord 1 There’s a dozen gentlemen here present, 
 whose acquaintance I am very proud to form ; 
 and I am resolved they shall diink the King’s 
 health at my expense. Instead of a pot of ale 
 for my particular use, bring in two gallons of 
 ale — and look sharp 1” y 
 
 There was ground of applause at this spirited 
 dehuvior uu Le part of the sergeant ; and old , 
 
 Bushell hastened away joyously tc execute aa 
 order of such unwonted magnitude at the Royal 
 Oak. The instant he had quitted the room, Mr 
 Langley, turning round to the barber, said 
 “ Pardon me, sir, for not having given you at 
 opportunity to ask your other questions : but 
 permit me first to put one to you. Have 1 the 
 honor of addressing the village hairdresser and 
 perfumer ?” 
 
 “Them’s my calling,” replied Bates, hugely 
 delighted at thus hearing himself denominated 
 by the magnificent titles which were scrawled 
 over his shoji-front ; — “ and I flatter my.‘;elf that 
 for keen razors, hot water, good lathering soap, 
 clean towels, business-like despatch, prime 
 home-made bear’s-grease, and all other accom- 
 modations, my establishment stands unrivaled. 
 I don’t care where the other is.” 
 
 “ No doubt of it,” responded the sergeant : — 
 “ your appearance bespeaks your fitness for the 
 important position in society which you hold. I 
 shall have the pleasure of putting your talents 
 to the test in respect to my chin every morning 
 as long as I remain in your beautiful little vil- 
 lage. I use bear’s’-grease, too — ami ,#iust try 
 your’s. By the bye, it’s singular though — isn’t 
 it ? that the moment I get a recruit, 1 always 
 take him right off to the barber — beg pardon, 
 
 hairdresser and get him well shaved and his 
 
 hair cut at once : and out of the King’s money, 
 
 I always pay half-a-crown for each job when 
 
 the recruit happens to have been recommended to 
 join by the hair dresser himself. But here’s the ale ” 
 
 We may suppose that Mr. Bates was so over 
 whelmed by this announcement of the magnifi- 
 cent way in which the sergeant treated his re- 
 cruits, that he totally lost sight of the other 
 questions he had proposed to put. Very cer- 
 tain it is that he did not put them at all, and 
 that throughout the rest of the evening, instead 
 of attempting to interrupt Mr. Langley, he waa 
 one of the most respectfully attentive of hia 
 listeners. Mr. Langley therefore had it all hia 
 own way ; and what with the satisfactory as- 
 pect of affairs, the complete empire he had ob- 
 tained over the credulous village tradesmen, 
 and the effects of the ale, he gave such a rein 
 to his imagination that the wonders he had pre- 
 1 viously related were, as Sancho Panza would 
 • say, “ mere cakes and ginger-bread” in compari- 
 son with the marvels which he now proceeded 
 to launch forth. Jt was actually midnight be- 
 fore the party thought of breaking up; and 
 never within the memory of the oldest inhabi- 
 tant of Oakleigh, had a light been seen so late 
 in the parlor-windows of the public-house. Even 
 then the company would not perhaps have made 
 a move, had it not been that Mrs. Mummery, 
 the baker’s wife — entertaining some vague mis- 
 giving that perhaps the formidable warrior who 
 that evening arrived in the village, had been 
 making a massacre of some of the inhabitants, 
 her husband amongst them — suddenly made her 
 appearance at the Royal Oak to asceitain the 
 truth of the matter. The company then broke 
 up, — the sergeant most patronizingly and affa- 
 bly shaking hands with all of them ere they de- 
 parted, and hoping that they should meet again 
 in the same couvivial manner on the following 
 , evening. 
 
u 
 
 THE &ULD1EUS WIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 PirTER Davis, tlie father of the V)eautifiil 
 Lucy, was a man of about fifty-five years of 
 age — of middle stature, not stout, hut very 
 Btront^ly built — and jxissessed of great physical 
 Btrenii'th He liad coarse features, and a pair of 
 exceedingly laig»^ ears, which even if his counte- 
 nance had been the handsomest in the world, 
 Would have been a frightful disfigurement to 
 Ids head. His hair, once dark, was now of an 
 iron gray : it ^as quiti; straight, very thick, and 
 was brusiied upright above his forehead. He 
 had dark whisher.s, very shaggy eye-l)rows, and 
 gmall eyes of a deep greeidsh color. There were 
 many hard lines acioss his forehead and about 
 his mouth, which to the skilful physiognomist 
 denoted strong pas.^ions as well as a severe na- 
 ture, and a resolute firmness of purjiose in re- 
 spect to whatev(‘r he undertook. His voice was 
 harsh and disagreeable : his manner was usually 
 cold, reserved, and conveyivig the impression of 
 a stern, implacable disposition. 
 
 It has already been said that he was a 
 widower- but we may here observe that only 
 four or fi ears had elapsed since his first wife 
 died, arid ihus Lucy had enjoyed the benefit of 
 a mothers care during that period of infancy 
 and girlhood when such tender supervision was 
 80 essentially neces 6 ar 3 \ And tender that su- 
 jxrrvision had been in this instance : fur Mrs. 
 Davis was a most amiable, excellent, and kind- 
 hearted woman, beloved by all who knew her. 
 She had belonged to a family which, after seeing 
 prosperous times, had becomt reduced iu cir- 
 cumstances ; and thus she had received a good 
 education. The poverty to which her relatives 
 were brought down, had compelled her to ac- 
 cept the { d'er of Peter Davis, who was already 
 a well-to-do person ; and though the heart’s af- 
 fection had nothing to do with this marriage, yet 
 the young woman accepted her destiny with re- 
 Bignation, if not with cheerfulness, and made a 
 most exemplary wife. Lucy received all her 
 education from this excellent mother ; and hence 
 the sujieriority of our heroine’s acquirements, 
 manners, and tastes over the generality of the 
 rustic maidens of the district. 
 
 Peter Davis had not made either a bad hus- 
 band, nor as yet a bad father. He was utterly 
 incapable of any feeling so noble as a warm afi 
 fection : but at the same time he was not a man 
 who show*. 1 the natural severity of his disposi- 
 tion or the harshness of his temjier without a 
 cmise. He was not malignant unle.ss provoked, 
 and would not actually travel out of his way 
 to exemplify his tyrannical character. Forbear- 
 mce with such a man is a sort of negative vir 
 tue; and thus his home was not rendered uu- 
 liajipy throng!) himself His wife, having well 
 understood his haracter, had yielded to him in 
 all things; so that there had been little to 
 trouble their doine.stic jieace. Lucy was like- 
 wise of an ainiiilile disposition, and sincerely 
 loving hi r father, did her liest to make his home 
 happy. In all things had she jiroved docile, 
 dutiful, and obedient — save and except in that 
 
 f>vc instance, where the most submissife and 
 fraclalihMif children will at times reliel agaitut 
 the known wishes or expressed mandates ol 
 their parents. 
 
 d'liis instance has ere now liecome nppareni 
 to the reader. For a long time past the lovers 
 had snatched inonienfs of an evening to iruiet 
 in secret; and so prudent aiul caulious had lieea 
 Iheir pmceedings, that though it was occasional- 
 ly whispered in the village that an attachment 
 did sulisist Ixgween them, ami that they were 
 now and then 8(!en tugi tluM-, y(!t the frequency 
 Ilf their intervi<*wa laid reniaim!d unsuspectecl, 
 especially by Peter Davis him.self. Now, how- 
 ever, the whole truth was known to him ; he 
 had not merely encounti-red them in the silent 
 shades of the wood, but had beheld them clasp- 
 ed in each other’s arms; and therefore he wa« 
 instantaneously enabled to account for the fre- 
 quent rambles which Lucy had been accustom- 
 ed to take alone. 
 
 When he conducted her away from the spot 
 where the .scene with Frederick Lonsdale had 
 taken place, he maintained a stern silenci; for at 
 least ten minutes. During this interval the ex- 
 tremity of the wood farthest from the village 
 was reached ; and the father and (laughter pro- 
 ceeded to thread a path which lay through the 
 fields to the neat little dwelling ivhicli midway 
 lietween Oakleigh and the Manor House, oc- 
 cupied a sweetly jiituresque position. It stood 
 in the midst of a little garden, where the flow- 
 ers exhibited the tasteful care bestowed upon 
 them by Lucy herself; while the internal ar- 
 rangements of the cottage denoted an equally 
 sedulous female supervision. 
 
 “ And so, Lucy,” said her father, at length 
 breaking silence, as emerging from the wood 
 they proceeded through the fields, “you have 
 held clandestine meetings with this Frederick 
 Lonsdale, and have given him evidently the 
 utmost encouragement that a young hdy can 
 possibly give under such circumstances ? Doubt- 
 less the usual lovers’ vows have passed between 
 you ?” 
 
 “ Father,” replied Lucy with a firmness of 
 voice that was inspired by the candor of her 
 nature and the artless purity of her thoughts, 
 “ not for a moment longer will I seek to disguise 
 from you the truth, that I do love 'Frederick 
 Lonsdale — love him with all my heart and with 
 all my soul, and can never love another ! It 
 is true also that I have pledged my faith to 
 him.” 
 
 “ Ah, I feared as much !” observed Davis ; 
 and he bit his lip to keep down a sudden out- 
 burst of rage ; but immediately on perceiving 
 that in order to carry out his own designs, he 
 must proceed in.>idiously and craftily, not violent- 
 ly and passionately, he said, “ Lucy, have I 
 deserved this of you? Wherefore such deceitful 
 conduct? wherefore such hypocrisy ? Am I 
 not your father ? and have I not dune a father’* 
 duty towards you ?” 
 
 “ Yes — and heaven knows that I have endea- 
 vored to prove an obedient daughter,’* mur- 
 mured the poor girl, the tears now trickling 
 down her cheeks. “ But it is impossible to 
 control the feelings of the heart. Nu huinai} 
 being, dear father, has this power 1” 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 15 
 
 “But every wise and prudent young wonn an,” 
 rejoined the bailiff, “exercises a proper restraint 
 over her feelings. Lucv, you cannot for a moment 
 defend your coiiduct.” 
 
 “ 1 do not seek to justify it,” she answered, — 
 “ merely to extenuate it. That I was wrt)ng to 
 meet Frederick clandestinely, 1 will not deny : 
 but, Oh ! father, 1 knew — alas ! 1 knew too 
 
 well, that situated as lie is, it were useless to 
 beseech your assent to our love. And yet, otren 
 and often, have 1 thouglit of throwing myself 
 at your feet and imploring you, as you valued 
 my happiness, to yield that assent.” 
 
 “ Lucy, this is little short of sheer madness — 
 and it is sufficient' to provoke my severest anger 
 to perceive that you have entertained the idea 
 of flinging yourself away upon this man.” 
 
 “ Father !” exclaimed the young damsel, “ you 
 are well acquainted with Frederick Lonsdale — 
 you have known him from his cliildliood — and 
 you must confess that his conduct is unimpeach- 
 able, that his nature is most generous, and that 
 he is in every respect an exemplary young 
 man ” 
 
 “ Lucy,” responded Mr. Davis, now with 
 severityffin his tone, “all this is very fine for 
 the pages of a novel and for imaginary heroes : 
 but we are real people, and these are real 
 circumstances. You know as well as I can tell 
 vou, that it would be sheer madness for you to 
 throw yourself away upon a poor penniless 
 laboier, who at this very moment is out of 
 work.” 
 
 “ And why is he out of work ?” exclaimed 
 Lucy warmly. “ Do you know tlie circumstances ? 
 Father, i conjure you, if you have a generous 
 feeling in ynur soul, that you will exert your 
 influence with Sir Archibald Redburn to obtain 
 justice for Frederick.” 
 
 “ You are taxing my patience to a degree that 
 is becoming intolerable,” returned her father. “ 1 
 intended to reason calmly with you upon this un- 
 fortunate affair ; and you are making it much 
 worse. Now, Lucy, once for all I tell you that you 
 must renounce this foolish preference of your’s for 
 that man. 1 am your father, and it is my duty 
 to see that you are well provided foi in life. 1 
 have been proud of you — do not let me have 
 to be ashamed of you.” 
 
 “No, father — never!” exclaimed the girl 
 firmly : and for a moment the glow of indigna- 
 tion flushed her cheeks. 
 
 “lint you do not understand me. Not for a 
 moment do 1 doubt the innocence (jf your soul 
 — .and the proof of it is that this Lonsdale has 
 contrived to steal away your affections.” 
 
 “ Father, say nothing injurious to Fiederick’s 
 character : he is incapable of selfish or treach- 
 erous conduct — and again did the crimson glow 
 upon her cheeks. 
 
 “ A pretcy specimen of his integrity and 
 honor, ’said Davis, now unable to subdue a sneer, 
 “ to entice you into clandestine meeiings and 
 render you a disobedient daughter. But still I 
 do not wish to reproach you, Lucy. Remember, 
 girl, youi- mother belonged to a genteel family, 
 and trained you in a way that might properly 
 lead you to aspire to a good alliance, it is no 
 compliment to tell you that you are the hand- 
 somest young woman iu the neighborhood ; 
 
 and' as your father T am proud of you. Tf you 
 formed a low connexion like this, it would drive 
 me mad : I would cast you off for ever. But i 
 feel sure that your own good sense will [irevr.iL 
 In-toad of looking downward, you should look 
 upward. It is the greatest misfortune that can 
 befall a young woman, to marry beneath her 
 self Lucy, my dear girl — I have formed hnpe^ 
 in your behalf, the realization of which is very 
 possible: and at all events they must not b»» 
 frustrated by you.” 
 
 Lucy scarcely heard what her father said ; 
 .die had fallen into a desponding reverie, and 
 her heart was a prey to the deepest grief. Per- 
 haps if her father had burst fenh into a furious 
 passion against her, her own reflections would 
 have been less self-reproachful: but the general 
 tenor of bis discourse was so calm, and even 
 conciliatory — so mildly remonstrative, all con- 
 sidered — that .'he could not help feeling he had 
 a jierfect right thus to address her — that accord- 
 ing to the conceived notions of the winld there 
 was much truth in his observations- -and that 
 she had done wrong in holding clandestine 
 interviews with Frederick. Not for an instant 
 was her love diminished — not for a moment did 
 the repent of the solemn troth she had {ilighterl ; 
 but she could not help feeling th/ ' her fither 
 was only pursuing the pnidentis^ .’mrse of a 
 parent anxious for hi.s child’s welfare ; tind it 
 filled lier with remorse to think that she could 
 nut yield implicit obeilience to his wi-hi'S Henc« 
 the gloom whicli had settled rqion her soul : 
 hence the mournful alistraciion of her thoughts. 
 
 By this time they had reached their habita- 
 tion; and Martha, the servant-girl whom they 
 kept — tlie daughter of poor peasants in the vil- 
 lage — opened .lie door. Lucy hurried up to 
 lier chamber, threw aside her bonnet and shawl, 
 ;ind sitting down, gave vent to her feelings in a 
 flood of tears, d’his outburst of anguish to a 
 certain extent relieved her: and in a few mo- 
 ments Martha tapped at the door to iifiiimate 
 tha< her father was waiting for her to descend 
 to supper. Lucy hastily biithed her eyes to re- 
 move the traces of weeping ; and composing 
 her feelings as well as she was able, went down 
 to the neat little parlor where the evening repast 
 was spread. It was now d.irk — the curtaiu-waa 
 closed — and lights were upon the board. The 
 father and daughter sat down together: but 
 the former ate not with his wonted appetite — 
 and the latter partook of nothing. 
 
 “ It is necessary,” said Mr. Davis, when Mar- 
 tha had removed the tray, “ that we should re- 
 turn to the subject of our recent distAurse, even 
 though it is an unpleasant one. But while it i.» 
 still fresh in our minds, we had better talk it 
 out to the end. I wa.s saying, Lucy, that there 
 were certain hopes which I entertained on your 
 account — hopes definitely chalked out ” 
 
 “ Indeed, father.!’ said the damsel, now ga 2 
 |ing upon her parent with the cuiosity of su.s 
 ' pense. 
 
 “ Ves, my child,” he responded: “and th« 
 time has come when it is necessary to explain 
 them to you. Listen calmly and attentively, I 
 must repeat what I s.aid just now — tliat to youx 
 deceased mother you are indebted for certaia 
 advantages not pos.sessed by any other yourt^ 
 
1 « 
 
 TIJE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 womnn if tlie pnme rnnk in llie 
 borliood — 1 inij^flit even “!iy in llu; whole county ; 
 juhI nature lins hccn most honntifnl to yon. 
 You liave a riffht. tlicn, to raise your looks high : 
 an<i in a word, you may aspire to a splendid 
 position ” 
 
 “ I do not understand you, father,” said I ucy, 
 trembling and shuddering : for the thought 
 struck her that her parent had perhaps already 
 fixed upon si husband to whom he [lurposed to' 
 sacritice her. 
 
 “ I wish that I could see you as any other 
 young woman would b<‘, if placed in such favor- 
 able circumstances — anxious to make a good 
 match — determined to avail yourself of oppor- 
 tunities — playing your cards well, in sliort 
 
 Now do you comprehend me ?” 
 
 “No, father— most certainly I do not:” — and 
 Lucy s])oke the honest truth ; for she wiis be- 
 wildereii and amazed at this language, so novel 
 from her father’s lijis, and so ominous in respect 
 to her own cherished ideas of happiness, 
 
 “Then I must be ex[)licit,” observed Davis 
 quickly : “ for after what has occurred this even- 
 ing it is useless to conceal my views any longer. 
 Lucy,” he added, bending forward and looking 
 his daughter full in the face, “ which would you 
 rather do — become the wife of a wretched la- 
 borer and dwell in a beggarly lodging, or es- 
 nouse a young gentleman of rank, with a cer- 
 tainty of possessing a fine fortune, and living in 
 a mansion f 
 
 The answer which the girl’s heart prompted, 
 was an afiirmative reply to the first portion of 
 his question ; but she was too much twerwhelm- 
 ed with mingled consternation and amazement 
 to be able to give utterance to any re-ponse at 
 all. A suspicion of her father’s meaning — but 
 still dim and vague — had arisen in her mind: 
 and yet while on the one hand she fancied it 
 must be impossible, yet on the other did a 
 secret voice whisper that it was really as she 
 suspected. 
 
 “ Now, Lucy,” continued Davis, scarcely able 
 to suppress an ejaculation of impatience at not 
 being at once understood, “ you are a girl of good 
 sense and you must understand my meaning. 
 D»i‘'y(»u wisii me to speak it out plain ? Weil, 
 1 will. In a word then, I am convinced that if 
 you choose, you may become a lady — a real 
 
 lady at once by marriage and a lady too 
 
 by title in due course.” 
 
 Still did Lucy gaze upon her father in vacant 
 bewilderment. Her suspicions seemed con- 
 firmed : she fancied that she comprehended 
 him — and yet she dared not say to herself that 
 it was so. If she diil, her father would suddenly 
 ippear to her in a new light — as a bold in- 
 riguer — an unscrupulous mancbuvrer; and her 
 •ure soul recoiled from the idea of ri:garding 
 iim as such. She felt as if she were in a dream, 
 with her thoughts in confu.'-ion, 3 0! a strange 
 linistei light penetrating their cloudines.s. 'I'he 
 ;olor had forsaken her clieeks — slie sal still and 
 motionless, in a sort of friglit that was subdued 
 by dismay. 
 
 Lucy, won’t you understand me 'f* exclaimer’ 
 her father, with anger in his tone. “ 'I'his is too 
 much. If all your llioughts ure lienl upon that 
 good-fur untiling fellow, 1 shall know how to 
 
 ilrive them nut of you. He at least is dispns«vl 
 of: he will get no work from any tenant of flie 
 Harom-f’s — and so he rnirst tramp away from 
 (he village. I don’t think you will he disolii- 
 dient enough to maintain any clandestine cor- 
 respondence with him; and I should he sorry to 
 have to say (hat I will kee[) a watch upon yoa 
 Hnt this I do tell you — that you must follow the 
 course I |)oint out. Hy heaven, girl ! the prtad- 
 est position is within yonr r< ach : I know it — I 
 have calculated all the chances — 1 have planned 
 all that must Ij(' diaie — I have set my heart ujsia 
 it — it has hi'Come the whole and sole aim of my 
 life — and if now that the. time is at liand when 
 the scheme is to be carried out, 1 am to 
 thwarted hy any maudlin nonsense on your part, 
 it will he a hitter day for you that you thus fly 
 in your father's face.” 
 
 An ejjicniation almost amounting to a shriek, 
 burst from Lucy’s lips, as Mr. Davis thus con- 
 cluded his speech. The veil bad indeed drofipod 
 from her father’s character: she suddenly be- 
 held him in his true light — a tliorough worldly- 
 minded, unscrupulous man, bent upon carrying 
 out his ambitions aims by any means and at 
 any sacrifice of his child’s happiness. Oh ! it is 
 a terrible moment when a daughter who has 
 liitherto looked upon her father a.s a thoroughly 
 honest and strictly conscientious individual, finds 
 her belief .so abruptly shattered, and the source 
 of filial veneration dried up in a moment, like a 
 spring that di.sappears in the bosom of the soil 
 whence it has been accustomed to well forth, 
 
 “ Now, Lucy, I have spoken out plainly,” said 
 Mr. Davis, no k>nger affecting any studied ca- 
 jolery of language, hut speaking with the stern 
 bluntness of one who has developed a project 
 anti means to be obey ed by the instrument ne- 
 cessary for carrying it out: “1 have spoken 
 plainly, 1 say — and 1 am glad that 1 have made 
 a clean brea-st of it. You at length know what 
 1 mean ; and it is for you to obey. 1 am sure 
 that when you come to think calmly upon the 
 affair, you will fall into my views. You would 
 be mad if you did not. But it is impossible that 
 you have 110 ambition : every handsome and in- 
 telligent young woman has. You will get over 
 this sentimental love fit of your’s much sooner 
 than you expect — particularly when you see 
 that r>iy scheme begins to woik well and that 
 the fish nibbles at the bait.” 
 
 “ Father, no more — no more !” almost shrieked 
 forth Lucy, as she started from her seat. “ Eveti 
 if my heart were not pledged to another, I 
 would not lend myself to such a scheme as tliisi. 
 No, 1 would not.” 
 
 “ But 1 say that you shall 1 ” ejaculated her 
 father fiercely ; and seizing her hy the wiist 
 with a suiiden wrench, almost brutal in its vio- 
 lence, he compelled her to sit down again 
 
 There has been too much nonsense alriaily, 
 and 1 will put up with it no longer. Insfetid of 
 covering you with re})roaches for your secret 
 meetings with that fellow Lonsdale, 1 s])oke to 
 you kindly : but if kindness will not do, 1 shall 
 sliow you that 1 know how to use harshness. X 
 tell yon that it is in your power to ensnare the 
 heart of that half idiot boy Gerald Redburn, ia 
 HO inextricable a maze .that to jmssess you, he 
 I will couseiU to any thing. Of course I meau 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 It 
 
 triBrri&ge — and nothing else. Leave it to me 
 to bring about opportunities and to throw you 
 tugelher : hut it will then be for you to play 
 your part — and by heaven ! it shall be played, 
 and w«dl too — or I will show you that I am t)f 
 a disposition not to be trilled with. So now _you 
 understand me.’ 
 
 » Yes — too well, father,” replied Lucy, with a 
 deep mournfulness of tone rand a despairing 
 look : then again rising from her seat, she took 
 up a candle and hurried from the room. 
 
 I'hat was the first time since her earliest 
 years, that she had ever sought her chamber 
 without bidding her sire good night and kissing 
 is clieek : but on this occasion, she could not 
 
 It no, she could not 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE REDBURN FAMILY. 
 
 We must now, upon the same evening, intro- 
 duce our readers to the drawing-room of Red- 
 burn Manor, so that we may have an opportu- 
 nity of affording some failher insight into the 
 characters of the baronet and his family. It 
 has already been said that Sir Archibald him- 
 self was a man of about fifty years of age : we 
 may add that he was a tall, fine-looking man, 
 with a florid comjilexion, a poitly form, and an 
 upright gait. He loved to dress in what he 
 called “ the good old style of an English gentle- 
 man:” namely a blue coat with brass buttons, a 
 buff waistcoat, black small-clothes, and hes.-ian 
 boots reaching to the middle of the calf of the 
 leg, and with a little black tassel in the front of 
 each. 
 
 Lady Redburn was about ten years his junior, 
 and was an exceedingly handsome woman — 
 now in the full embonpoint of forty, and though 
 thus somewhat exuberant in figure, with her 
 charms but little impaired by the hand of time. 
 Her dark hair had not the slightest thread of 
 silver to destroy the uniformity of its raven sur- 
 face. Her eyes still retained much of their 
 youthful fire; and her teeth were excellently 
 preserved. It is true that art now supplied the 
 place of the natural roses which had once 
 bloomed upon her cheeks : but the rouge was so 
 skilfully laid on by a clever lady’s-maid, that 
 amongst country people it passed for a natural 
 bloom, and every body at Oakleigh expressed 
 admiration at the beauty of her ladyship’s com- 
 plexion. Her mind was not however equal to 
 her person : it was narrow, shallow, and frivolous 
 to a degre.e — at the same time that her pride 
 was inordinate, and she had the most sovereign 
 contempt for “ everything vulgar.” Lady Red- 
 burn, as well as her husband, considered that 
 the working classes were born for the mere pur- 
 pose of fulfilling the part of serfs and bondsmen 
 to the liigher orders; and therefore anyone 
 who dared entertain a different opinion, was at 
 once set down as a wicked, seditious, and evil- 
 disposed person. We need hardly add that Sir 
 Archibald was an inveterate Tory of the old 
 echool, devotedly attached to the British Consti- 
 tution firmly believing that society would 
 
 crumble to pieces if the Established Church felh 
 and that the industrious millions ought to go 
 down upon their knees and bless heaven that 
 they were ruled by an Hereditary Aristocracy 
 
 Miss Redburn. the Baronet’s sister, was a lady 
 of very nearly the same age as her sister-in-la w, 
 Lady Redburn : or to spiaik with the closest ac- 
 curacy, she was thirty-nine. But vary different 
 was she in personal appearance. Of tall “tature, 
 her figure was thin, even to emaciation : she Ap- 
 peared to be all skin and bone ; and not evea 
 the artifices of the toilet could bestow upon lu-j 
 sha|ie the semblance of contours to conceal its 
 leanness Her face was equally thin, and of a 
 death-likB paleness. Her eyes were of a glassy 
 azure — not the serene pure hue of heaven, but 
 the light bluish shaile which has a dead dull 
 look when seen in the human eye. Her lijis 
 were thin, and usually held compressed — not for 
 the purpose of hiding the teetii, because the-e 
 constituted her only good featme — but through 
 a habit which she had contracted. Her look 
 was altogether disagreeable — almost repulsive ; 
 y( t it was not an old maidish primness that cha- 
 racterized her, but an universal acerbity of tem- 
 per and bitterness of disposition legible in every 
 feature, and shining through her as it were with 
 its sinister light. She W'as habitually reserved 
 and taciturn ; but when she spoke, it was ge- 
 nerally to say sour and tjnpleasant things. She 
 dressed with some degree of care, and evidently 
 studied to diminish the impression of her shrivel- 
 led form as much as possible. Yet she detested 
 society — and very seldom crossed the threshold 
 of the mansion, except on Sunday when she 
 regularly visited Oakleigh Church at the two 
 services, no matter what might be the state of 
 the weather. She had no favorite cats, nor 
 French poodle, nor even a parrot — nothing that 
 elderly spinsters usually adopt as the objects of 
 their affection for want of that which they have 
 failed to obtain — namely, a husband. She 
 seemed to have no liking for any living thing, 
 and to feast as it were inwardly upon ihe poison 
 of her own morbid and ill-conditioned mind. 
 
 And yet those who had known her many 
 years back, represented her to have been a very 
 different being from what those who saw her 
 now might imagine. It was even said that she 
 was once beautiful, and also that she was a gay, 
 laughing, joyous creature with sunny smiles 
 upi'n her lips, when a girl in her teens. The 
 change which had led her on to be what we have 
 described her alike in looks and temper, had been 
 gradual, as if some insidious poison had been in- 
 fiised into her and had imperceptibly but surely 
 done its all but fatal work, corroding the whole- 
 some essence of physical life, and envenoming 
 all her feelings at the heart’s fountain. Whai 
 was the cause thereof? No one knew. As a 
 matter of course the reader will instantaneously 
 suspect that it was disappointed love : but those 
 who had known her from her infancy, would 
 confidently declare that such was not the casa 
 It appeared, therefore, to be one of those in- 
 stances of physical blight which are not to be 
 accounted for, and which involve the warping of 
 some feelings and the deadening of others in the 
 premature decay of the whole being. 
 
 Gerald Redburn was as we have alreadj 
 
18 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 •tatec! cloHe npnn one-atHl-tw('iity yoara of 
 He was a pal(i, siclRy-loolcinf^ ymiUi — 
 
 with an fnfei'hlod fciiiiK^, a weak voict*, atal an 
 ippoarance as if he w(n<! fallittf? ijito a (h'cline. 
 Possessed nf llie stioni^est, passions, and ev(‘r 
 intent n|)on s^i atifyin<)j them, he had in his im- 
 inoderalo pursuit of pleasure sa]iped (lie founda- 
 tions of liis existence. ITp to tlie nsi;e of sixteen 
 he ha.d been a jiromisini^ youth ; but a couple of 
 years’ residence in the metiopolis’ had plutiired 
 him into a course of dissipation uliich he con- 
 tinued to pursue when he repaired tlience to one 
 of the ITniversiti(>s ; and a career of two mor(> 
 years at Oxford had well-nigh sent him into his 
 grave. His jmrents, when almost too late, awolce 
 fiom the dream into which th(‘y had been lulled 
 concerning him They had dattereil themselves 
 that he was merely sowing his wild oats, and 
 would be all the better after an adequate ex))e- 
 lienee of what is called “life,” and a satiation 
 of its pleasures: but it was not till his jihysician 
 at Oxford earnestly represented to Sir Archibald 
 and Lady Redburn that their son was hilling 
 himself with dissipation, that they comjielled 
 him to renounce liis College life and settle 
 quietly down with tliern at the Manor. FJere 
 ttnsy hnp(‘d that the fine bracing air of the 
 country, the absence of the temptations which 
 abound in cities and towns, and a compulsory 
 regularity of ex'Stence would restore his almost 
 wast'd energies. I’o a certain extent this had 
 been the case; and there was some improvement 
 in the young man’s appearance. But still he 
 was of the sickly and enervated loot which we 
 have described ; and it was difficult indeed for a 
 stranger to suppose him to be the son of that 
 tine, portly, florid looking man, and (hat hand- 
 some healthy lady in the glorious embonpoint of 
 life’s prime, -'•s*,. 
 
 The reader is now sufficiently well introduced 
 to the Reilburti family to enable us to pursue 
 the thread of our narrative. It was between 
 nine and ten o’clock in the evening when we 
 tlms look in upon them in the handsome old- 
 fashioned drawing-room where they were seated. 
 The Ihironet was readinrj the Alornivg Post, to 
 which he was a regular subscriber: her ladyship 
 was expatiating in her usually frivolous manner 
 upon the prosperous condition of the tenants 
 and laborers ujxin the e.state — which however 
 was V'-’-y far from being the case: Geiald was 
 yawiting ov(‘r a new novel which he had i-eceived 
 fro?n Londdji a few days previously; — and Miss 
 Redliuiii, or “ Aunt .lane’’ as she was usually 
 called, was sitting very uju'ight in a high-backed 
 cliair, listening with a sort of sneering smile 
 u|>on her lip to the rhodomontade her sister-in- 
 law was delivering. 
 
 “ I see your Col]eg(*-cl)um Frank Dnshwood, 
 lias just been ga/.efted to a cornetcy,” said th(! 
 Btronel, louering the paper upon his knees and 
 looking lound lowards his son. 
 
 “ Wha', then — he’s cut (he Church, eh?” ob- 
 BCi ved (bnald. “Well, I never thought h(( 
 ■woiiri go into it : it wasn't the kind of thing fer 
 him, ReHii'es, a strapping fellow, six feet six 
 without his hoots, would’! look well up in a pul- 
 jiit. ilia lieud would touch the sounding-board ; 
 iirid what a jolly laugh there Avould be amongst 
 the cvjngi'.'gu'u'jn” 
 
 “ Yes — if yoii Were there to set an example," 
 said Aunt .Jane. 
 
 “ Well, afier all, if 1 was a young man over 
 again, 1 think I should prefer the Army to any 
 jin fession,” saiil the B ironet. 
 
 “ Now don’t go and jiut these silly notions 
 into Gerald’s head, Sir Archy,” exclaimed hei 
 ladyship. “ I am sure I don’t want him to go 
 buttoning himself up in a red coat or a blue 
 jacket .-() as to pre t^ent (he natural exiiansion 
 of his form — or to have one of those miNty 
 heavy Ciqis that wear all the hair off the heail. 
 You know there was my biother tla; Colonel — 
 as handsome ti young man when he was two 
 and-twenty as ever you could wish to see " 
 
 “ As tine a fellow as our Gerald jiei hajxs,’’ ol>- 
 served Aunt -lane. 
 
 'riie Baronet started, and threw upon his sis- 
 ter a stern look at this withering sarcasm which 
 was levelled against his son ; but Miss Redburn 
 seemed perfectly indifferent to the pain slie had 
 inflicted, and her thin lijis were compress'fed moi e 
 tightly than ever. 
 
 “ I suppose you meant thoj, in your usual ill- 
 natured way, aunt?” said Gerald: “but you 
 mustn’t think yourself a b -auty. In fact, when 
 the corn in our tields is getting ripe, 1 mean to 
 ask you to stick yourself up as a scarecrow to 
 keep the birds off.’ 
 
 “No, J/0V4 would do better,” retorted Aunt 
 Jane: “because it refpiires a mannikin.” 
 
 “ Oh, you be hanged !” cried Gerald. “And 
 now that you have spoke of it, sir,” he added, 
 turning to his father, “ 1 really think I should 
 like to go into t'ne Army ” 
 
 “Gracious goodness, boy 1’’ exclaimed Lady 
 Redburn frightened out of her wits at this an- 
 nouncement. “ You mustn’t think of such a 
 thing. What, an only son — the heir of the 
 title and estates — to stand a chance of getting 
 shot in battle, if a war took place ” 
 
 “Not he!” said Aunt Jane. “He would al- 
 ways be in the rear.” 
 
 “Oh! pray don’t interrupt,” exclaimed her 
 ladyship petulantly. “ Now, you see, sir Archy, 
 what you have gone and put into Gerald’s 
 head ” 
 
 “ No, the governor didn’t, now 1” cried the 
 youth : “ for 1 jiut it there myself.” 
 
 “It was lucky,” interjected Aunt Jane. “ Your 
 head wanted something in it.” 
 
 “ It’s a thing 1 have been thinking of for a 
 long time past,” continued Gerald “But I don’t 
 want to go into a cavalry-regiment; becau-^e I 
 don’t like the uniform. I prefer the red coat: 
 and so 1 tix upon the infantry. Why, you, sir, 
 with your interest at the Horse Guards could 
 get me a commission almost so soon as you 
 lodged the money at Cox and Greenwood’s; 
 and you might even pick and choose (he reg' 
 meiit. At all events you could get me into a 
 regiment that’s recently come home from foreign 
 service, and ther(‘f >re certain to remain in Eng 
 land fir a f'w years.” 
 
 “ Ah 1 if all this can be done,” observed Lady 
 Redburn, “it somewhat alters the case:” — then 
 like a frivolous, vacillating, find fiolish mamma 
 as she was, she added, “ Well, after all, I think 
 I should like to see Gerald in a red coat. Bui 
 mind, it must have gold lace, and not silvct 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 19 
 
 t c»kn\ Lear silver .ace — Darticularly for a pale 
 ton.pkxioj). How you would astonish all our 
 frifcadss in the country, (doming down in your uni- 
 form, Gerald ! and what a lavoiite you would 
 be with the ladies 1 They are so fond of an of- 
 ficer ! And mind too, it must be a legiment in 
 which they wear those high feathers ” 
 
 “ As tail as himself,” observed Aunt Jane. 
 
 “Well, I do really think,” said the Baronet, 
 “that we have started an idea wliich is not a 
 bad one. It would be as well if Gerald had 
 sotsiething to occupy him for the next three or 
 four years : and 1 don’t know that he could do 
 anything better than take uj> a commission for 
 that time.” 
 
 “ There are so many things he is fit for, it is 
 of course liificult to choose,’ said Aunt Jane. 
 
 “ Well, I am glad, sir, that you think serious- 
 ly of it,” cried tlie youth : “ for it suits me un- 
 commonly well. When will you see about it ? 
 when will you lodge the money ?” 
 
 “J and your mother will talk it over a little 
 first,” rejJied Sir Archibald ; “ and if we still 
 think the same, 1 will write up to London about 
 it in a day or two. By the bye, Gerald, I did 
 as you asked me, and gave Davis orders to turn 
 otf that impudent fellow — what’s his name ?” 
 
 ‘‘ Frederick Lonsdale,” answeied Gerald 
 “ 1'here never was such an impertinent scoutul- 
 rel in this world — the most outrageously saucy 
 clodhop|)e.r I ever knew.” 
 
 “ Has he been boxing your ears ?” inquired 
 Aunt Jane, with more bitterness than before. 
 
 “The idea! Why, if he had only waited 
 a little longer I should have given him such a 
 thrashing with my riding- whip as he never had 
 in his life : but when he saw 1 was going to 
 leap otf to pick it up for tiie purpose, he scam- 
 pered away as if a mad dog was after him. j 
 All those country louts are despicable cow^- 
 ards ” 
 
 “ And so are some gentlemen,” added Aunt 
 Jane. 
 
 “ But I hope, sir,” resumed Gerald, address- 
 ing his father — for he seldom took notice of 
 Miss Redburn’s bitter and sarcastic interjections, 
 — “ that you told Davis to take measures to 
 get that scoundrel altogether off the estate ?” 
 
 “To be sure I did We will have no such 
 impudent fellows on our property. The vil- 
 lage, too, will be well quit of him : for 1 have 
 more than once heard that he dares hold 
 opinions which if spread abroad would demo- 
 ralize the working classes. The idea of the 
 working classes having rights ! It is really too 
 absurd.” 
 
 “ To be sure,” said Aunt Jane: “ they should 
 have nothing but wrongs.” 
 
 “ For a lotig time past,” continued the Bar- 
 onet, “ I hud intended to get rid of the fellow ; 
 but I couldn’t very well manage it without an 
 opportunity. And now it has pre-ented itself. 
 I'here will be no alternative but for him to leave 
 the village.” 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and a live- 
 ried footman announced the Rev. Mr. Arden. 
 'Ibis gentleman was midway between fifty and 
 sixty — short, thin, with a look half demure and 
 half severe, and though his countenance w'as 
 p&Io and his features angular, yet it was not 
 
 difficult to perceive that in his younger days hi 
 must have been good looking, He was mar- 
 ried, and had a host of grown up children — 
 chiefly sons, who had become settled in various 
 ways in life tbrongb tlie interest of bis jiatron 
 Sir Arcliibald Redburn. He eiitered with tlie 
 ease of an old friend and took a .seat uninvited, 
 because he knew that lie was welcome : Avliile 
 on the other liand tlie Baronet and his w ife did 
 not treat him with the slightest ceremony, 
 
 “I called up to tell you a piece of news,” 
 said the rector of Oakleigh. “ What do you 
 think ?” 
 
 “ What ?” exclaimed Lady Redburn. “ The 
 mob risen in London and set fire to tlie West 
 End ?” 
 
 “ Not quite so bad as tliat,” answered the 
 cleigxtnan with a smile; “ altliougb tbey are 
 quite capable of such an atrocity if it were not 
 for the presence of our glorious troops and the 
 wise provisions of our paternal government.” 
 
 “ Then what is it inquired Lady Redburn, 
 who W'as always haunted by visions of insurrec- 
 tionary movements. 
 
 “Why, nothing more nor less than the arri- 
 val of a recruiting-sergeant in our peaceful 
 little village. He came by the van this even- 
 ing, and has taken up bis quarters at Bu.-.lieirs.” 
 
 “ And a very good thing tuo, that such a jier- 
 son has come,” observed the Baronet : “ for he 
 will bear away with him tlie scum of our labor- 
 ing population. There are halfa-dozeii idle 
 fellows about the place that it would be a 
 blessing to get rid of. for it’s impossible they 
 can all find work — and so sometliing must be 
 done w’ith them. Heaven knows tlie poor- 
 rates are already high enough ! All my ten- 
 ants are complaining of the rise in tlie rates; 
 
 I and so it will be better for these unemployed 
 fellows to march off Avitb the recruiting-ser- 
 geant tlian quarter themselves upon the parisli.” 
 
 “ Oh, decidedly !” observed the Rev. Mr. 
 Arden. “ It is one of the wise dispensations of 
 Providence that there should be ricli and poor ; 
 and therefore it is very fortunate Ave have a 
 standing army to draught off some of our sur- 
 plus able-bodied paupers. For my part, I 
 wonder that government does not bring in a 
 bill for the forcible impressment of all able- 
 bodied paupers now in the woikhouses or re- 
 ceiving out door relief.” 
 
 “ Ah, the idea is excellent !” exekaimed the 
 Baronet. “ How it Avould relieve the county- 
 rates ! I wdsh you would Avrite a letter to 
 the papers, Arden, and give the idea. Of 
 course it Avould be anonymous.” 
 
 “ It shall be done, since you desire it. I 
 propose on the SabbaBi to preach a sermon 
 in allusion to the visit of the reerni ting-ser- 
 geant anmngst us. I think it Avill be a good 
 topic. The circumstance has created an im- 
 mense sensation in tlie village. I have no 
 doubt that the Royal Oak will be crowded this 
 evening.” 
 
 “ I like to liear of Busbell doing well,” 
 said the Baronet. “ He has been a tenant of 
 mine for the last twenty years, and deserves 
 support. There was a fellow came over to the 
 ‘ village the other day from one of the neigh- 
 ; boring towns — I forget which — and without 
 
•0 
 
 THE SOLDIElt’S WIFE. 
 
 Baymi^ what he wanted to huild, lie f^ot from 
 Davis an a^jjrecinent for that piece of ground 
 where Widow Grant’s cottage was burnt down, 
 you know.” 
 
 Yes, yes — T know. Goon, Sir Archibald,” 
 ir.terjoeted Mr. Arden. “ Fray proceed.” 
 
 “ \Vell, as soon as the fellow had got rny 
 l:)ni!itFs a ’-reeincnt, and tlionght he had nianaged 
 tile liu^itiess all very clever iinleed, be threw 
 cif the mask and boldly said be meant to 
 build a new public-house on (be spot, as be bad 
 been (i.l 1 tbeie was a trood opening for such a 
 conce rn, as Ibisbell kept up bigb prices. Well. 
 Davis came up in a fright and (old me of it. I 
 bade him not be alarmed, but to send up the 
 fellow to me !it the Manor, d’bis was done — 
 
 laborer ;” and after some more conv,: rsafion upon 
 I be subject, it was tiiianimously agreed (Aunt 
 .lane excepted) that the best thing that Fred- 
 erick Lonsdale could do was to take advantage 
 of the presence of the recruiting sergeant in the 
 village, accept tlie King’s “ bounty-money,” anti 
 go I'or a soldier. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 TUK RECRUITS. 
 
 At iin early hour on the following morning;, 
 Mr. liat(“3 the barber was summoned to the 
 and the man made bis appearance, cjuile with j Royal Oak to operate upvin the heard of SergeaiU- 
 an indepealem air — ‘Now,’ said -I, ‘ my good | Langley. The tonsorial achievement being 
 fellow, you ;:re going to budd a jniblic bouse, j jierfirmed, Mr. Langley threw down a sliilling ; 
 are you?’ — ‘Yes, sir, ’ said be. ‘I have get a ! and when the barber fumbled about in his pocket 
 few bundrtal jiounds, and a wife and large for the change but turned over nothing except a 
 family to sup|)ort, and I have been in the public j bad penny, a bunch of keys, and a clasp-knife, 
 line all mv life; so as I think there’s a fair the sergeant munificently bade liim keep tlie 
 chance of doing at Oakleigh, 1 don’t see that I 'money, as he could not jmssibly think of pitying 
 can do better w'iih my money than hiy it out in less to so skilful a jirotessional as Mr. liate.s. 
 this S[)ecul<iti(in.’ — ‘ Well,’ said I,‘youhiid better /I’he bat her bowed as low to the sergeant as if 
 think tv\ice of it ; for ri'inember, tlie Royid Oidi ; he were the commaiider-iii-chief, and took his 
 is my property, and Mr. Jhishell is my tenant ; departure, vowing that Mr. Langley was an 
 and if you come into the village, P>U8heirs ; excellent fellow as well as a perfect gentlemiui, 
 business will fidl olf, and perluips he won’t be and that he W'ould do all he could to forward his 
 able to [lav mi; the rent. Now 1 must protect views 
 
 liushell, and i must protect myself 8o 1 tell! 'I'he reader has riot faiiea to comprehend ser 
 you what it is ; you may build your public- geant Liingley's policy in respect to Mr. JJates. 
 iiouse if you like; but as long as 1 have the . He knew full well that the barber's shop was 
 Ijonor to be Chairman at (iuarter Sessioirs, I can the place where all local matters were duly talked 
 tell you dial you w'on’t get a license.’ — So the over, and that the ojiinions of the rustics receivea 
 fellow went away, muttteriug sometliiug : but 1 itheir tone and coloring from the impress given 
 
 didn’t caie about that — and there was an end to 
 the busiue.ss” 
 
 Did he go and commit suicide?” inquired 
 Aunt Jane. 
 
 “ Don’tyou think I acted quite right, Arden?” 
 said the Baronet. 
 
 “ Gnite right,” was die clergyman’s response. 
 
 You Could not well have done otherwise. But 
 my dear Sir Archibald, it is your way to manage 
 things thus cleverly and judiciously. By the 
 bye, just as 1 was leaving home, 1 met that 
 young man Fred Loirsdale; and stopping him 1 
 said that 1 hoped he had renounce i those sinful 
 Opinions which he had been known to entertain 
 lie answered me with some degree of bitterness 
 that he cherished tliem more firmly than ever : 
 and he had the impertinence to say that he had 
 this very day received more than one proof how 
 the rich oppress the poor. 1 rebuked him for 
 his w'lcked remark — when he broke away from 
 me ill I he rutle.-t maniKir possible, and actually 
 did not take olf his hat.” 
 
 *• What will the world come to next ?’’ exclaim- 
 ed lardy Jtedburn, bidding up her hands in 
 di-may 
 
 “ '1 liey will all persist in keeping (heir hats 
 <>n,” inteiji cied Aunt .lane. 
 
 Gi'iald hu li ned lo (‘Xplain to Mr. Arden what 
 had taken place between iiimsell and LonsdaU* 
 ir. the eailier part of the day: or rather, he 
 gave his own version of the tran.-actioii. 'I’lie 
 clergyman was of cour.se liighly indignant at such 
 •utrugeouu conduct on tlie part of “a iniserahle 
 
 I to them in that establishment. He was likewise 
 Uiwuire that the barber himself was an oracle 
 amongst his customers, and that lie had the means 
 of iutiueuciiig the discourse which passed around 
 him. it was therefore highly important to make 
 a friend of Mr. Bates : and this Sergeant Langley 
 succeeded in doing to the fullest extent. The 
 splendid treat of ale on the previous night, 
 together with tlie hint thrown out relative to 
 the halfcrown a-head for all recruits taken to 
 he shaved and clipped at Mr. Bates’s shop, — 
 and now the liberal fee of a shilling being a 
 sort of intimation that this would continue to be 
 the payment for each morning’s shave, — com- 
 pletely won the barber’s heart ; and he rushed 
 back to bis shop prepared to cbauiit the praises 
 of Sergeant Laiigh-y, the Army, the beautie.s of 
 a soldier’s life, the exciting pleasure of enlistment, 
 and all matters having the slightest reference to 
 the military service. We need hardly add that 
 a rei rultiiig sergeant is well su])plied with money 
 to fla-h about and make a di'})lay with, and 
 that It is invariably an astute, clever, and 
 un.'Ci upulous man who is selecteil for the duly. 
 
 When Bates got back to bis shop, be found 
 Frederick Lonsdale seated in acorner reading a 
 book and wailing to be shaved. Bates accord- 
 ingly begiiii to operate upon him. lii a lew 
 miiiules (be l ustit'.s and villagers whose morning 
 It was to treat themselves to a shave, came one 
 by one into the little shop; and now the oarber 
 began to touch upon the topic (bat was upjMjr 
 luo.st ill lii.s mind. He ajijiroaobed it gently al 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 21 
 
 ftrst, and in a careless manner, as if it were a 
 subject of mere conversational iiKlifference, and 
 not one in wliich he liad the slightest personal 
 interest. He began by observing that by the 
 bye, they had got a recruiting-sergeant n the 
 village - tliat he had [lassed the previous even- 
 ing in his company — and that he seemed a very 
 nice, agreeable, gond-humored kind of man. 
 Then he spoke of the Army generally ; and 
 having, after a few observations succeeded in 
 rivetting the attention of his hearers, the wily 
 barber glided glibly into the most eulogistic de- 
 tails in respect to the happiness, gl(»ry, comfort, 
 and lucrativeness of a soldier’s life. 
 
 Lon.sdale, when shaven, resumed his seat in 
 the corner of the shop, and took up the book he 
 had been reading ; but it speeilily dropped upon 
 his knees, and his eyes ceased to dwell on its 
 contents. It was nut that his interest became 
 absorbed in the extravagant dissertation of Mr. 
 Bates; for not a single word to which the bar- 
 ber was giving utterance, reached his ear ; all 
 his senses and faculties were wrapped up in 
 mournful contemplation of his own condiiion. 
 He had no work, and very little money — indeed 
 only a few shillings, the remnant of his previous 
 Saturday’s wages : for the reader will remem- 
 ber that he had not touched the silver Davis 
 had tossed to hitn upon the bank of the stream. 
 He had no work, we say — and his spirit would 
 not permit him to go up to the Manor and cringe 
 in grovelling apologies either to Gerald Red- 
 burn or Sir Archibald. He knew that it would 
 be worse than useless — a mere waste of time 
 indeed — to apply for employment to any of tlie 
 tenant farmers on Sir Archibald’s estate; while 
 in the village there was nothing he could turn 
 his hand to, that would give him a livelihood 
 Such was his nosition. What was he to do ? 
 The only chance for him appeared to be to seek 
 for work on some of the farms of other land- 
 lords beyond the limits of the Reilburn estate. 
 But then, as we have hinted in a forn^e’ chap- 
 ter, the labor-market was already overstocked — 
 the times were bad — and there were more 
 hands wanting work than there wuis work f .)• 
 them to do. Nevertheless, Lons<lale re.'^olved 
 to set out and try his fortune; for neither his 
 circumstances nor his inclinations would allow 
 him to remain idle. 
 
 He had only continued sitting in the shop 
 until a little coffee-pot which he had set upon 
 the barber’s fire, luul boiled : and then he was 
 about to ascend to his own chamber to take his 
 frugal breakfast, when one of his comrades asked 
 him if it were true that he had been turned off i 
 He replied that it was, and tarried a few mo- 
 ments to give a brief explanation. 
 
 ‘Isn’t it unfortunate, my friends?” exclaimed 
 Bates. “ 1 was quite concerned when 1 heard 
 of it. But I say, Loiusdale !” he ejaculated, as 
 if struck by a sudden idea, “ What a chance 
 there is now for you, my lad !” 
 
 “ What do you mean ? ’ inquired Frederick. 
 
 “ What do 1 mean ?” exclaimed the barbel', 
 stepping back from behind a burly rustic (iff 
 whose chin he was scraping a three days’ bristly 
 beard: “what do 1 mean ? Why, the opportu- 
 nity of making yourself a gentleman — of be- 
 coming independent of Redburn, and bailiffs, and 
 
 farmers, and what lot — of rising to honor, and 
 fame, and rank, an J fortwiie — of dyLlg perhaps 
 a Colonel, or a General, at a good old age.— 
 That’s what I mean !” — and the excited barber 
 flourished his razor in one hand and his lather- 
 brush in the other. 
 
 Lonsdale made no reply ; but still lingering 
 for a few moments, seemed to reflect profound- 
 ly : then suddenly starting from his reverie, he 
 hurried up the little ladder-like staircase to his 
 OW'D chamber. 
 
 When he was gone, Mr. Bates continued to 
 hold forth with all the powers of his oratory 
 upon the glory and happiness of a soldier’s life; 
 and the gaping rustics drank in with their ears 
 all his rose-colored representations with as plea- 
 surable an avidity as ever their throats swal- 
 lowed liown strong ale at haymaking or at bar 
 vest-home. It was evident that Mr. Bates’s elo- 
 quence had made a deep impression upon some 
 of (hem ; and two or three got whispering to- 
 gether in a coiner, — comparing notes of their 
 opinion upon the subject. Wages were low — 
 work was jirecarious — and even though the 
 haymaking season was approaching, yet they 
 foresaw such an immigration of tramping Irish 
 laborers, that they beheld very cheerless pros- 
 j/ects before them. They however came to no 
 positive conclusion then, but resolved to have a 
 look at tlie sergeant and hear what he had to 
 sav. 
 
 At the very moment that some four or five of 
 the rustic-', on issuing from Mr. Bates’s .shop in 
 order to proceed to their labor, were passing by 
 the Royal Oak, Sergeant Langley himself made 
 his appearance in the full-blown-glory of bis 
 military rank. It was now seven o clock : tlie 
 newly risen sun was shining brightly — and Mr. 
 Langley’s scarlet coat, scrupulously brushed, 
 was dazzling to the eye. His belt was pipe- 
 clayed into snowy whiteness — the brass of liis 
 accoutrements was perfectly resplendent — his 
 buckskin gloves had not a spot upon them — 
 his gray irousers, with the thin red stripes down 
 the legs, were almost new — and his bouts wera 
 a walking testimony to the excellence of tlie 
 blacking used at the Royal Oak. His sword 
 hung by his side : his sash encircled his waist. — ■ 
 The only thing that was deficient in his costume, 
 was the tall red and whRe feather that ought to 
 have decorated his cap: but instead thereof, he 
 wore the various-colored ribbons which served 
 as a sign heltl out to inilicate that he sought re- 
 cruits for his Majesty’s service. He walked 
 with a cane, the brass nob of which was so 
 brilliantly polished that it looked like gold ; and 
 as he thus issued forth from the Royal Oak, h«» 
 held him.self so erect, trod with such an air of 
 self importance, and tapped his stick so firmly 
 upon the ground, that the rustics shrank back 
 in reverend awe of so high and mighty a per- 
 sonage. 
 
 Sergeant Langley looked, in fact as if he had 
 just come out of a band- box, — so scrupulously 
 neat, so clean, so well-shaven, and so carefully 
 accoutred, that his very appearance bespoke 
 prosperity and comfort. Ami then too he had 
 put oil his “ recruiting smile,” — a certain bland, 
 half-patronizing, half-complacent air, which said 
 as eloquently as possible, even to the comprs* 
 
2 ^ 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 bension of ihe not vory koon-wittod rnsticfl, 
 
 “ Lnok at me 1 see wliat 1 am ! is there not con- 
 tentment expressed in every lineament of my 
 countenance? do I setan as if I was hurdened 
 witli a single care? am I not sleek and fat, with 
 a well fed appearance and comf()rtal)le look ? — 
 Poor devils ! I pity you in your hard toils ; lait 
 you may be as well off as I am if you choose 1” 
 
 Now, w(; must admit that all this was a 
 great ‘deal to be expressed merely by the looks 
 without the assistance of words; and yej, every 
 syllalde of that silent eloquence was intelli- 
 gibly spoken from the features of Sergeant 
 Langley, as he put on his recruiting smile and 
 came forth from the i)nblic house. 
 
 “ Good morning, my tine fellows,” he said, ad- 
 vancing up to the rustics, amongst whom his 
 keen eye on the instant selected a couple, one 
 after I lie other, who would answer his purpose 
 admirably. “Going to work — eh? Well, it’s 
 a beautiful morning for the toils of the held : 
 but they are toils, nevertheless — toils which, 
 thank God, I am never likely to know ; for 
 Vjeing, you perceive, in his Majesty’s service, I 
 am well fed — well lotlged — well clothed — well 
 treated — and well paid too. Heaven be thanked, 
 
 ] am what I am !” 
 
 Tlie rustics gazed in silent wondei'ment, 
 mingled w'ith admiraticwi, iipon the tine portly 
 form of the sergeant ; and iileas of the conti- 
 nuous enjoyment of roast beef, jdum pudding, 
 and copious draughts of strong beer, arose in 
 their minds as tliey thought to tliemselves that 
 such sleek anrl comfortable looks couhl not pos- 
 sibly be maintained upon a less generous faie. 
 
 “ Yes, my friends,” continued the sergeant, 
 “the soldier’s life is the only happy one. 'I’alk 
 of freedom — it is truefieedom! d’alk of lux 
 ury — it is real luxury ! Talk of excitement — 
 it is continual excitement ! d'alk of enjoynient 
 — why, it’s nothing but a very little drill and 
 plenty of good food, bakker, and strong beer 
 
 Here the rustics’ mouths watered ; and feel 
 ing athirst, they unwdttingly but naturally 
 plunged their looks into the tempting entrance 
 of the Royal Oak. 
 
 “My friends,” exclaimed Sergeant Langley, 
 on whom not a gesture, not a glance, nor even 
 eo jnuch as the movement of a muscle of the 
 face on the part of those rustics, was lost : “ the 
 soldier too is generous and hospitable, liecause 
 be has the means of beit]g so. I’he soUlier 
 never w'ants for money, because he serves his 
 Sovereign, and his Sovereign is so grateful that 
 be showers gold upon the soldiers’ heads. Come, 
 iny fiiends, and yon shall have an o|)portunity 
 of drinking to the health of this nK)st giacious 
 King of our’s. Come, follow' me — (ion’t be 
 Itfraid — I am nf»t proud, although wealing the 
 Sovereign’s uniform, I have reason to be. Rut 
 J (hanly love country people, and am not 
 usharned to be, si-en in tlie conqiany of honest 
 ^ellowH such as you.” 
 
 'The rustics could not of course refuse an in 
 vitation ho heartily given ; ihi-y therefore fol 
 lowed tlie sercoaint into (he Royal Oak ; and 
 Dot the least (mrioiiH feature! of the scene was 
 the contrast whi< h the slouching, rolling, un-i 
 l^ainly gait of the jxior laborers presented, in 
 iLelr co^rbe smocktf and iheii' great heavy '.ice-l 
 
 up boots, with the stately and majestic mov*- 
 ments of Mr. Langl(!y. 
 
 Conducting (hem into tlu! parlor — a Knvrfim 
 W’hich the riHtics had never <iared ('tiler befort*, 
 their appropriate place ol' resort being llu! tafr 
 room — the sergeant lang the bell in a oom- 
 manding nuniner ; and when the landlord made 
 his appearance!, he said with ji superb air, 
 “Mr. Hushell, a gallon of yonr beef tde. And 
 mind that it in (he very best ! d'he old ale, 
 yon know : for 1 wish to entertain my friendu 
 here.” 
 
 'I’he landlord of course knew very Avell w hat 
 was going on : but it was not Ins ousiness cc 
 say a w'ord, even if he felt inclined — which in- 
 deed he was not, for he himself had been 
 amazed and confounded by all (lu! rnarxellou.s 
 storie.s W'hioh the st.ageant had told on the jire 
 vious evening in order to illustrate (he delights 
 ot a soldier’s life. He accordingly lost no time 
 in bringing in the ale, with gla.sses according to 
 the number of guests to partake of the liquor. 
 The sergeant helped them liberally, but ex# 
 cosed himself from doing more than just sipping 
 at his ow'ii glass. 
 
 “ 'I'lie fact is,” he said, “ I seldom drink be- 
 fore diniu!!', unless it is a glass of Madeira with 
 my lunch: but iifter dinner I always take my 
 bottle of wine — regimental allowan(!e, my 
 
 friends every m;m in my legimcnt has his 
 
 bottle of w ine a-day, tw'o quarts of ale, and a 
 pint of gin ; ;ind so I Avait till the evening to 
 eiijviy myself, 'riien, as 1 lounge upon the sofii 
 in my barrack room, over my dessert, 1 drink 
 my wine, smoke tny cigar, and make nnself 
 comfortable. But come, let me refill your 
 glasses.” 
 
 This was done again and again ; and the ser- 
 geant’s tongue never ceased going. He painted 
 the barracks in all the ViVid colors of a jialatial 
 abode — tidked of the furniture as if it were of 
 regal mngnificence — and as he filled the glasses 
 for the fourth lime, ventured so far as to hint at 
 the beautiful gardens, with flowers and foun- 
 tains, artiors and bowers, in w'hich the soldiers 
 of his regiment whiled away the br st portion of 
 their time. At the sixth gla.ss he did a little 
 more in the style of Mahomet's paradise, and 
 peopled his imaginary gardens Avith charming 
 girls, in whose arms the soldiers reposed after 
 the fatigues of an hour’s parade. 
 
 Of the ru.-tics whom ho had thus assembled, 
 those w ho would not suit him hap[)ened to bo 
 precisely the very ones Avho, though now half- 
 tipsy, rose and declaied that they must be off 
 to their Avork. d'he two Avhom the sergeant did 
 want, were those Avhom lie succeeded in pei- 
 suading to remain. When he Avas alone with 
 these tw'o, he cunningly asked ihrmi a variety 
 of questions, so as to assure himself that their 
 position and circumstances would not alford any 
 claim to exemption if he should' succeed in en- 
 trapping them ; but these (pieries he put with 
 so much tact, and elicited with so n'luch skill 
 the information he required, that (hi'y could not 
 fir a singh! instant suspect his ulterior purpo.se. 
 Resides, they w (-re already more than half- 
 I intoxicated ; xnd tiu'y did not refuse to drink lU 
 he continued to fill (lieir glasse.s. 
 
 I “M) good fellows,” exclaimed Langley at tbi 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 emclusion of a brilliant picture wliicli he liad 
 been dra^'iiig- of life in the barracks, “ I do not 
 know how it is with yon, but I ani getting luin- 
 g'ly. I have not breakfat'ted yet. At lanne in 
 my quarters I generally manage a cnld chicken 
 or a })ound of ham, besides mullitis or hot rolls; 
 but I am afraid we shall not find these things 
 here. However, I know there is some cold beef 
 in the landlord’s larder: and we will have it in 
 with pickh-s and mustard — condiments we call 
 them in the barracks. Stay a minute : 1 will 
 6fee ab(iut it myself.” 
 
 Sergeant Langley accordingly issued from 
 the parlor, and sought the landlord in the bar. 
 
 “ Now, Mr. Ih’shell,” he said, “you will jdease 
 to send in whatever cohl meat you have got in 
 the harder Give me a pint of brandy and a 
 t<.)uple of quart pots.” 
 
 This was (lone; ami the sergeant jiroceeded 
 to divide the brandy between the two pewter 
 pots, the landlord looking on with much intere.^d 
 and curiosity. 
 
 “Now',” said Mr Langley, “fill up thes(- tw'o 
 pots with the strongest oUl ale you have got in 
 
 tap mind, the strongest! Why the deuce 
 
 do you hesitate ?” 
 
 “ Welt, Mr. Langh'v,’ said Bushell, touched 
 with certain compunctious feelings, “ I shouldn’t 
 like it to be said that 1 had any hand in entraji- 
 ping those two poor devils ” 
 
 “ Mr. Lushell,” interrupted the sergeant, 
 drawing himself up wmlIi awTul gravity, and 
 speaking in a stern tone of rebuke : " you woukl 
 almost make me think that you are a traitor to 
 your king. A^nd mind, Mr. Bu.-hell, I don’t want 
 to threaten — but there is such a thing as a law' 
 of treason ; and we officers engaged m the re- 
 cruiting districts, do happen to be vested w'ith 
 very great powers.” 
 
 '‘I am sure, sir,” said Bushell, looking terribly 
 
 blwiik and dismayed, “1 wasii t awaie tha> 
 
 I mean that that that 1 beg par- 
 don ” 
 
 “Well, my friend, 1 accept your apology,” 
 returned the sergeant, with a half majestic, 
 half-patrenizing wave (jf the hand, whicli a 
 tragic actor might havt? copied wiih Consider 
 able benefit to himself. “ And now fill up the 
 pots.” 
 
 This was done; and the sergeant, by way of 
 pj eoaufion, so as to prevent the substitution of a 
 less potent liquor when his back w a.s turned, 
 conveyed w'ith his ow'n hands the two [rots of 
 brandied ale into the ])ailor. Thither he was 
 tpeedily followed by the landloi d, bearing a tray 
 of cold meat, a jolly quartern loaf, butter, 
 pickles, and so forth. 
 
 “Now, my friends- my very dear friends, 
 
 as I am proud and plea.-ed to call y> u,” said the 
 sergeant, “ we will regale (.'urselves. Of course 
 you like the undercut of the sirloin ? d'he sol- 
 iliers in our regiment are such dainty dogs they 
 will never eat any other part. But then, you 
 tiee, the colonel ^poiLs them . he lets them have 
 too many luxuries — he does, ’poii my luinorl 
 Roast beef and plum-pudding are the standing 
 dishes; and then, what with sou[), and fish, and 
 poultry, and game, their appetites are quite 
 pampered. Ah! its a blesung indeed to get 
 into our regimert — it’s the crack one of the ser- 
 
 SS 
 
 [vice. A nicer set of officers you couldn’t hops 
 to meet — quiet, gentlemanly, say-nothing-to-no* 
 
 body kitul of fellow's But don’t wait for me 
 
 — peg away, my friond.s — and there’s a pot of 
 ale in ficiiit of each of you. It’s quite mild, tliid 
 ale is: 1 told Bii.^hell to draw it so. Now, my 
 friotids, drink away — and here’s the King’s 
 health, God ble.'^s him !” 
 
 The two nisi ICS mado tremendous itm'ada 
 upi.n the viands; and as a large amount of taV 
 ing acquires a proportionate quantity of drink- 
 ing, tht>y applied the quart pots so often to theii 
 lips and took such deep draughts, that the 
 brandied ale produced all the effects which Mr. 
 Langley both anticipated and desired. The men 
 1 m came excitedly and not stupidly tipsy ; aiio 
 rtaving thn.'-' modelled them into the j)recise 
 humor which sui'ed his purposes, the recruiting- 
 sergetint pioceeded to strike the final blow'. 
 
 “ Worthy fiionds,’’ he said. j)utting on the 
 blandest (.f till bhmd smiles and the most cajoling 
 of all coaxing airs, “ 1 hliould think you don’t 
 feel much in ti luauor now' to go to work in the 
 tields. Well then, what say you? Come, are 
 you for the happy life of a soldier? Plenty of 
 money — plenty of giuHl fare — plonty of fine 
 clothes — iind best of all, your King’s approval. 
 What a life of hapj'iness and glory ! Now 
 then, my friend.', don’t be wit)i(»ut iiitaiey. Such 
 fine fellovs as you are, oi.'ght always to have 
 .'ilver in jour pockets. Aye, and gold too, for 
 that matter! The bou'iihi 1 have to oiler, my 
 fiiends, is three [Mwinds to eveiy one who enlists 
 W'ith me ! — three pounds, my friends, in good 
 ."O itl, sterling cash !— three pounds! 1 repeat, in 
 the current coin of the blessed retilm ! Now, my 
 friends, I should think that eacli of you would 
 like to have thi ee j jounds — eh ? Three pounds — 
 wliat a .= um ! it's a tegular little fortune 1 
 Come — shall I he your bank’er ?”'~and as the 
 Si-rjeant iluis spoke, he drew forth a handful of 
 nionev which he losseii upon the table with tho 
 air of one accustomed to lavish it profusely. 
 
 The two rustics looked at the money, and 
 then ill each other; and then their inebriated 
 gaze was revertt d to the shining coins again. 
 
 “ Brave fellows that you are !” said the ser- 
 geant ; “ytat accept my proposal? I see you 
 tlo. The service is honored by having you — and 
 you itre honored by entering the service, d’liree 
 pouials bounty -money, my fiinids ! But you 
 liad better not take it aU at once: you’d only 
 he losing it — or spending it t(M) quick. Come — 
 what say you to leaving a portion in my hands ? 
 All, to he sure! I knew you would — your looks 
 cire eloquence itself There ! take ten shillings 
 a-piece — ten good stetling shillings for each — 
 and 1 11 hold the balance of two pound ten for 
 each till \ou want kl Teke uj) yonr cash, my 
 lads : and mark, in the King’s name I give it tc 
 you !” 
 
 The tw’o poor fellows, scarcely knowing what 
 they did — but dazzled, bewildered, and. con- 
 Tused — took UJ) the ten shillings jjresented to 
 each and put it itito their |)ockets 
 I “ Now,” ejaculated Mr. Latigley, “ give rne 
 your hands. You are in the King’s service; 
 atid if a splendid career isn’t open before you 
 jboth, then I’m very much mistaken.” 
 
 1 Having procured writing-materials, the ser 
 
THE SOT;DIEirS WIFE. 
 
 u 
 
 \ 
 
 ^yant took down the namoa of hia two rocniifs, 
 ti'i^ether with euch otlier particuhirs as he re- 
 quired: and then lie told tliein tliat tliey might 
 stay at the Royal Oak and enjoy themselveH as 
 they had been doing. FTe dirc'cted them to 
 retire into the tap-room, where he ordered them 
 to be supplied with jiipea and tobacco; and 
 bidding them eiiterlain no fetir as to what their 
 fiiends or relalions might say, he veiy kindly 
 undertook to go and acquaint them with the fact 
 of tlieir euli'-tment, 
 
 A few minutes afterwards the sergeant wa-' 
 seen wending his way thmugli the village, 
 guided by the hostler of tlu' Royal Oak ; and all 
 the litth' girls and boys shratdv back in mingled 
 awe and adi^iratiou from the jiresence of the 
 stately soldier in his brilliant accoutrements, as 
 .le passed along. The liostler cniiducted him to 
 the cottage where dwelt the father, mother, 
 and brothers (if one of the new recrui’s. I'he 
 brothers had gone out to their work: but to tin* 
 old people Mr. Langley gradually, carefully, 
 and dexterously broke the intelligence. At fir.'t 
 the father and mother were cruelly frightened 
 and distressed tit 'the idea of their son going 
 awav for a soldier: but the seigeant'e eloqtience 
 overruled their scruples.; and so brilliant w:is 
 the picture that he diew of mihtaiy life in ge- 
 neral, as' well as the glorious prospects that 
 awaited their son in ])articular, I ha' the old 
 people became appeased, and even satisfied at 
 the lad’s enlistment. The sergeant intimated to 
 them that he had invited their Sfin to stay with 
 him a couple of days at the Royal Oak, dining 
 which .period they (ihe parents) had better not 
 come to see them, as they w’ould be very much 
 occupied; and having thus comfortably settled 
 the business in this quarter, he repaired to the 
 Cottage where dwelt the relatives of his other 
 recruit. 
 
 'there consisted of a widowed mother, a 
 daughter, and two sons. The lads were at home 
 at the time, \yaiting for the bicther who had 
 ju.st enhsted, to join them and go to work, and 
 wondering why he remained so long away. 
 I’he presence of the leci uiting-sergeant at once 
 ‘exjilained the cause' of his absence; and the 
 bitterest lamentations speedily arose. Tiie wi- 
 dowed mother and the daughter threw thein- 
 feelves on iheir knees at the teel of the sergeant, 
 besei'chiug him to restore the lad; while the 
 biotheis ovei whelnu d him with reproaches, and 
 even Ihreatental him with violence. Mr. Lang- 
 ley w;is loo much accu.stoined to such scenes to 
 la.' at idl moved by the ja-flsem one; the tears 
 ot I lie females and the menaces ol the men, 
 Were regaided by him with equal indiiference. 
 lie uccoidingly liad recourse to menaces in his 
 turn, telling the young men th .1 they had better 
 lea V(-, oil tliat kind of nonsense -tis soon as pos- 
 uible or lie should know liow to treat them ; and 
 lie W(ait on lo declare that if they look any 
 mea-nres to dishinide their brolher from the 
 Conr.se he had ad'»|»led, all the teirorsof the 
 law' would be invoked against them. 'I’hen he 
 bluslcred and vaporeil about constables and 
 priboiis wiili so much ajipareiit coii.sciousness ol 
 p<»wer, that the young men W( re overawed ; 
 and tlie mother and sister, fearing that these 
 youtLx iiiiglit also be snatched away from them, 
 
 besought the terrible Rorgennt not to T/ut tlicm 
 with his wrath. Mr. Langley consented to par- 
 don them on condition that no attemfit wan 
 made by any member of the family to .see thj 
 young man for two whole days; and with this 
 intimation, lie stallo'd away from the cottage. 
 Bleeding hearts did he leave behind him there; 
 and he wue followed by the widow’s curse that 
 he had taken away her favorite son. But the 
 anathema was silently expre.s.sed within her 
 own bo.som as he turned away, though even if ' 
 it had heen proclaimed aloud in liis presence he. 
 Would have recked notj'or it. 
 
 'I’he reader may tierhaps wish for information 
 as to Mr. Langley’s motive in keeping his recruita 
 altogether apart from their relations during tw'o 
 ‘whole days. According to the law, it i.s requi- 
 site that within forty-eight hours after the en- 
 listment, a Avritten notice is to bt* given to the 
 recruit, informing him that he has so enlisted; 
 when, if he leceives the notice and admits in 
 the presence of a witness that the proceeding is 
 fair and conect, he debars hiimseif from the 
 privilege of self emancipation (save on payment 
 of smart-money) when taken before the magis- 
 trat(‘ and questinned as to whether his enlist- 
 ment was voluntary. Sergeant Langley was 
 therefore desinius to prevent the representations, 
 the tears and entreaties of friends and relatives 
 from being brought to play upon his recruits 
 during those forty-eight hours; and therefore he 
 kept them under his eye at the Royal ’Oak. 
 Wlien they were sober on the following day, he 
 served them with the notices in the presence of 
 Bushell the landlord ; and they being little loth 
 to accept them, the enli.stment wa.s thus far 
 conqilere Thereu'jion they were taken up tc 
 Redburn Manor, udiere the legal formalities 
 were duly fultilled in the presence of Sir Archi- 
 bald in his capacity of a.counfey magistrate. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 FKEDERICK LONSDALE 
 
 A AVEEK had elapsed since the arrival of Ser 
 geant Langley in the village of Oakleigh: and 
 during this period he had succeeded in ensnar> 
 ing half-a-dozen of the finest young tnen of the 
 place, including the two whose enlistment we 
 haA'e sjR'Ciallv described. Through the officious 
 intervention of Mr Bates the liarher, Fredericir 
 Lonsdale had been pointed out to the reciuiting- 
 sergeant; and when this individual beheld tlie 
 tine person of the young man, his erect carriage, 
 and his superior air, he felt that his visit to 
 Oakhdgh would scarcely be regarded as com- 
 pletely successful miless he took aAvay Frederick 
 i.onsdale along AVilh the .other recruits. He 
 Coveted that young man for the military service 
 Avith as ardent a lofiging as a sportsman covets 
 a particular horse or dog, or as a sclioolboy 
 Covets a particular cake iu a pastry-cook’s win- 
 dow. 'I’liis being the case Mr. Langley was re- 
 solved to' leave no stone iir.tiarned to the accom- 
 jdishmeiit of his juirpose. 
 
 But during this week, Avhat liad Frederick 
 Lonsdale been doing 'i From morning to n^ht 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 28 
 
 had he wandered about the country in search 
 of employment; and evef^ evening had he re- 
 turned unsuccessf d to his little lodging at Mr. 
 Bates's house. He had not omitted to visit 
 the trysting-place of love on the bank of the 
 etream In the grove in the hope tliat Lucy per- 
 haps might be tliere : but not once did she 
 make her appearance — aisd he therefore feared 
 tliat she was kept a close prisoner at home. 
 
 . Gloomy and dark were his jirospects as day 
 after day Ix lu Id his fruitless search for ernploy- 
 ' merit ; and day after day likewise did the des- 
 pondency of his sold (Teepen. He had hoped 
 until the very last that he should perhajis ol>- 
 tain work so near to Oakleigh that lie might 
 still continue a resident there : but at lengtli he 
 was corn polled to come to the conclusion that 
 this hope existed no longer. . Ctuefully as he 
 had husban<.red liis little resouices, they were 
 now conijiletely exliausted ; and on the seventh 
 evening after he had partaken of a crust on his 
 return fiom his day’s weary' wanderings, he 
 found himself without the means of procuiing 
 the morrow's breakfast. 
 
 It' was about nine o’clock that he was sitting- 
 in his little bed-room, reflecting mouirifidly upon 
 his position, when Mr. Bates slowly o|)ened tlie 
 Moor ; and looking in, saiil, “How mi.-'er-able yon 
 seem, Fred 1 can’t bear to see you in this 
 state. Why, what ails you, man i Never des- 
 pon^l ; i don't.” 
 
 “You know how I am situated, !Mr. Bates,” 
 replied Frederick, alluding to his unMicces>ful 
 endeavors to obtain work. “ 1 only ask to eat' 
 the br’ead of honest industry but even this is 
 denied nie. W' hat am Ito.dod’ 
 
 “ W'hat are you to do ?’gciied Bates. “ Why, 
 if I was in your situation, and a fine, young, 
 strapping fellow as you are, 1 know what 1 
 .would do.” " ■ 
 
 “All!” ejaculated Lonsdale, with a kin.d of 
 * start; for he at once coinjneheiided the little 
 barber’s allusion. 
 
 “To be snivel I see you understand Why, 
 Fred, you was never made fur a laborer; you 
 ought to be an-fTfficer and a gentleman.'’ 
 
 “ An offleer and a gentleman ?’ echoed Lons- 
 dale, gazing upon the barber with a look of 
 surprise. “ Wliat do you mean ?” 
 
 “ J mean, that promotion from the ranks is 
 quite common now,’’ replied Bates. “ That re- 
 cruiting-sergeant who is in the vrHage, told me 
 a lot of cases of that kind which had come to 
 his knowledge. It was quite in a conversational 
 way, mind y'ou — and widi no particular object 
 in view ; and therefore to be fully believed. A 
 young fellow like you, would soon get made a 
 corporal, and then a sergeant ; and if you be- 
 haved well, you would be made' an officer. 
 
 ■ There’s no doubt of that ; and if y ou was to go 
 into the army — wlTy, in a few years’ time, you 
 would Come back to Oakleigh, astonishing us all 
 ■S^ith epaulettes on your shoulders and a sash 
 round your waist,” 
 
 • Frederick Lor.sdale had gradually become 
 thoughtful as the barber thus sjioke ; and he 
 fell into' a deep reverie. Wlui can wonder if 
 bright visions presented themselves to his mind ? 
 It is often in the brightest of those visions that 
 tbe wounded and crushed spirit seeks refuge 
 
 flom the darkest despair. Reverie' fc frequently, 
 to even the strongest minds, what opium is to 
 the Oriental, who luxuriates in the para(li.=ie- 
 creating drug. Thus was it now with Frederick 
 Lonsdale. Was he not young? — and was not 
 Lucy Davis younger still? 'Was he not con- 
 vinced of her fidelity ? — and what would be the 
 interval of a few years at their time of life, if 
 at the expiration thereof he could come back 
 to the village, having achieved for himself an 
 independent position, and t<kerefore in erreum 
 stances to claim her as his bride ? Oh ! if thiy 
 could be accomplished, would not it I'lrove a 
 crowning reward for the delay that should take 
 place in the meantime? Yes — assuredly the 
 .soldier’s career was. the one wlirch now offered 
 bright prospects to the contemplation of Fred- 
 erick Lonsdale. 
 
 “ Mr. Bates,” he said, suddenlyj starting froix 
 his chair, “I am decided. 1 have no niore mo- 
 ney. If I remain another week in your house, 
 
 I shall peiiiaps be unable to pay your rent; 
 and I know you cannot affoid to be Avithout it. • 
 Besides, I have no longer the means of procuring 
 luead-^and I will not subsist upon charity. 
 My mind is therefore made up; and to-morrow 
 morning I will go to the recruiting serg'tTant.” 
 
 “Wliy not to-night?” asked Batts, resolved 
 to strike wliile the iron Was hot. “I am just 
 about to toddle up to the Oak to meet a few 
 friends, and ihe sergeant is safe to be there in 
 the pallor. You will find him a very agreeable 
 man— quite if gentleman, indeed ” 
 
 “No, 1 will not go to llie public house,” re- 
 plied Lonsdale; “but as m^ resolve is taken, 
 
 1 liave not the slightest objection to finish the' 
 matter this evening,” 
 
 • “In that case, come along With me, and 1 will 
 call Langley out to sjieak to you.” 
 
 Frederick Lonsdale accordinl^ly accompanied 
 Mr. Bates to the Royal Oak ; but- he waited 
 outside while the barber entered. The same 
 scene was talfing place in the parlor which we 
 have described in an earlier chapter — that is to 
 say, .some of the tradesmen Avere assembled 
 there to listen to Seigeant Langley’s wonderful 
 stories; and he, in all the glory of his uniform 
 and the stateliness of his rank, Avas smoking liis 
 pipe, quaffing his ale, and holding forth upon 
 the wonders he had seen iji foreign countries. 
 Mr. Bates entered the parlor with a mysterious 
 look ; aiiU, walking straiglit up to the sergeant, 
 he whispered in his ear, “ It’s all right ; Lons- 
 dale Avill enlist.” » ^ 
 
 Thu sergeant laid doAvn his pipe in a graA'e 
 and deliberate manner ; and rising from his 
 chair, obeyed the baiber’s signal to folloAv him 
 from the room. They went fortli together; and 
 in the clear slarlight Avhich poured its silver 
 flood upon the earth, they belield Lonsdale pacing 
 to and fro opposite the public-house. 
 
 “ Fred, permit me to introduce you to Mr. 
 Langley,” said the barber. 
 
 “ Mr. Lonsdale, I am rejoiced to make your 
 acquaintance,’’ observed tlie sergeant, taking the 
 young man's hand and shaking it with what ap- 
 peared to be a cordial Avarmtli. “ 1 understand 
 tliat you have made up your mind to serve your 
 King. It -is a noble resolution, and gallantly 
 taken. Why,” exclaimed Langley, steppiog 
 
26 
 
 TJIE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 baoV a coii}>lo nf paces, and sijfvcyitcj; Tjott-dulo 
 slowly from lieail to foot, “you will make Liio 
 iiuest man in (Ik* regiment. Our oa|itaiii iu 
 Cemmaiid of the depot will he proud of you ; 
 our colonel when he couiies liome will he (h*- 
 hghted !” — tlu'U (ilacing his hand upon Lons- 
 dale’s shoulder, he said iu a lower tone of 
 •m\sterious confidence, “1 a,m very )mieh mis- 
 taken if there won’t be an epaulette h(Me hed’ore 
 long.” 
 
 I’liere was somelhii.g in the sergeat)t's manner 
 which Lonsdale did i M hke. Indeed, heaheady 
 half read the character of the individual ; and 
 for a moment he was smitten with tiistru.- 1 of 
 the bright representations which had been made 
 to liiui by the baiber, and of the brilliant hopes 
 A\ hich he had formed in his own reveiie. Ihit 
 if he averted his gaze from the ro.se Coloured 
 picture, it was only to encounter tire sombre 
 gK'om of his own jiresenl c r('iimstancea ; and 
 therefore, with the de.speration of a man who 
 suddeidj’ adopts the only alternative which 
 ajipears to [iromise the .-lightest retrievement 
 of his shattered faiuiie.-, he saivl in a tirm tone, 
 “ Mr. Langley, if it i.s only for seven years that 
 the enlistment is made,* I desiie to become a 
 soldier.” 
 
 “You have been liglitly informed, my young 
 friend,” responded Langley, "as to the teim 
 for which jou enli.-t : and never had 1 greater 
 pleasure in prohering any one the King’s 
 money,” ailded the sergeant, with a linge of 
 triumph permeating his wonted pomposity. 
 “ I’ht reLire in his Majesty’s name do 1 eidi.-tyou 
 thus — and he put ten shillings into the hand 
 of Frederick Lonsdale. 
 
 “ Now what ceremony am I to go through 'i” 
 inquired the young man. 
 
 "Noihing more at pre.-ent, my friend, unless 
 you choose to come and lake a glass with 
 me.” 
 
 “ I would rather not,” rejoii.ed Frederick, 
 “and trust you will excu.se me. Do not iLink 
 that i shall retract from the step which I have 
 taken, 'i here is uo cliauce of he added 
 
 somewhat bitteily. 
 
 “ You speak hke a man,” replied Langley. 
 “For the next tw'o daj s you can ili vert yonrself 
 in any way you choose. Let me see, tins is 
 d’hursday. On Saiurday evening I shall just 
 serve you with a little notice — a mere matter 
 of form to jauve that you have enlrited; and 
 then next Monday moiuing, at about lialf-past 
 nine o’clock you will be so kind lY to accompany 
 me to some magistrate to limsb the ceremony.” 
 
 “ 1 L'ljid 1 not lail,’’ rejdied Freilenck. “And 
 now 1 wi.sh you good mgbt.” 
 
 'I'lie young mail turned sonuwvhat abruptly 
 iway, and limned lidine to bi.s little lodging, 
 
 7 la-re be sat down and pomlei ed deeply 
 
 yes, and even painfully upon wliat be liad 
 
 done. Rut b« did not lepeiit: lor if lie bad 
 not taken this step, wliat alleiiiative bad be i 
 
 'Die Saturday evening came, and llie imlice 
 of lii.s enla-lnient was (hil_) piesenu-d to liiiii by 
 Bergeaiit Langley ii pel son aim in the prcr-eiice 
 
 * I’rcvl.iiiH In A|iril, 1H29, ( iilii'linciits were Cnr 
 
 »iX!Ci(ic rinilH. It WIIK fil tin: (talc Just iiionlioMcd lliiit 
 W.ir Ollicc iH.siH il a v'xrfiuii nnlciiiiu nil sulficumtiil 
 •uluUiiea'n Ic be Inr life 
 
 of Mr. Rati's. Lonsd.-ilo In ar'swer to the n-iuftl 
 '(piestit.n that the serg<-aiit put, admitted in a 
 |linii voice ibal, it was with bis own free will 
 pmd coiisem be bad offered liiiiiself as a lecruit 
 'm bis .Majesty’s service. Sergeant Langh-y b-R 
 ' bis salisfaclioii to be now complcle, and look 
 liis leave, reminding the recruit that be would 
 havo to attend him i>ii the fillowing Monday 
 uioriiing at hall- past nine o’clock. 
 
 Vv^o mu-t here oh- erve that Frederick l.ons- 
 dale had visited the grove as u-ual Iba.l ( veri- 
 ing — hut iu vain : laicy Davis appeared not at 
 the wonted jilace of irteeliiig. Was she then 
 really a prisoner? had she heard ol the step 
 he had taken ? would she make no effort to see 
 him ere he left Oakleigh i Such were tlie 
 qmvstioiis which Loii-dale. asked himself, lait 
 Imw' could he aiHwer ibem? He could not. 
 And yet, as he thought that the day was now 
 S') near when be would be compelled to turn 
 bis back 111)011 the picturesque little village, his 
 heart sank within him at the hare thought of 
 leaving it without bidding farewell to big 
 adoied Lucy. And yet, how was he to see 
 her? He dared not proceed to her father’s 
 cottage and openly solicit an interview. Jt 
 would he equally u-eless to loiter about the 
 vicinage of that dwelling iu the hope tliat she 
 would come forth to speak with him : for if 
 slie couhl issue tlieiice at all, she would have 
 come at the u.-ual hour to their w’oiited rendez- 
 vom. There was one h()[)e. Would she not 
 be |)ermitte(i to lepair to ehurch on Siindav ? 
 and if so, niiglit she not endeavor to elude lier 
 father’s vigilance, if only for a few minutes, 
 and fly to the spot where she would be sure 
 to meet him ? Rut, Ah ! remeuiliered he not 
 that on tfie preceding Sunday Lucy did not 
 appear as usual at church? and might she not 
 still reiiiaiu away, on the one that was now at 
 hand? Was she ill? Heavens! the thought 
 was distraction ; and Frederick experienced a 
 bitterness of anguish more poignant than any 
 he had yet known. For his Lucy to he ill, 
 and he iu ignorance thereof — or uncertain as to 
 her condition — and at all events unable even 
 to approach her (.Iwelling for the purpose, of 
 
 making an inquiry Oli, it was almost toe 
 
 much to bear ! 
 
 It was a prey to varied and conflicting emo- 
 tions of pain and apprehension that Fiederick 
 Lonsdale proceeded to church at the moiniiig’s 
 service. The day was serenely beautifn' — the 
 sun was shining upon the old vew trees, above 
 whicli the little spire peeped forth , and ifie 
 hells were sprinkling the air with their metallic 
 sounds, d'lie villageis, all in their best appaiel, 
 Wore wending their way to the tenqile of wor- 
 ship ; and -ome of them — chietly the most aged 
 — pausi'd in the churchyard to contemplate 
 lliose gravestones which stood there as me- 
 morials of diq)arted relatives or fi ieiuls, ISir 
 Aiohihald Redhurii’s carriage rolled up to the 
 gate of the ihurch yard ; and thence (iesoeiul- 
 ed ilie Raroiiet, his lady, and Aunt Jane: 
 l)Ul Gerald Redburii seldom atli'uded church-; 
 service — he generally hajipened to hi* very un- 
 well iiuleed oil a tSuiiday. As the Raronet, 
 with Ids wile oii one aiiu and his sister on (he 
 oilier, threaded tlie cluirchyard towards the 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 21 
 
 little porch of the building it.-jelf, — a liveried 
 footman following with tlie Ihbles and prayer- 
 books, — most respectful were the salutati< ns 
 that greeted the patrician party fiom every 
 side. Frederick Lonsdale was the only excep- 
 tion ; and he purposely moved' away from the 
 path, so as not jiointedly to refuse Ids homage 
 to the great man and the ladies. But he could 
 not so far forget the dignity of his manhood 
 as to atford any testimonials of respect oi' 
 courtesy towards tl'.e individual who had 
 thrown him out of work. 
 
 It was, as a matter of course, known through- 
 out the village that Frederick had enlisted ; 
 and amongst the humbler inhabitants he tluis 
 found himself on his way to church an object 
 of marketl s} nijiathy. On entering the build- 
 ing, he took his usual seat up in the galleiy ; 
 and the glance that he flung towards Mr. 
 Davis’s pew' sliowed 1dm that neither father 
 nor daughter was thei'e. The sergeant entered 
 just iiefore the service began, followed by those 
 recruits who had alieady gone through all the 
 final ceremonies, and whose coialition was in- 
 dicated by the different-coloied ribbons which 
 had been fastened to their hats, 'i'liroughout 
 the entile service no one apjieared to jiay 
 greater attention or to be more impressed with 
 it, than Mr. Langley. That service passed 
 over, and Mr. Davis’s pew remained unoccupied. 
 
 But still there was the afternoon service : 
 might they not come to that ? Lonsdale hoped 
 tliat it would prove so : but again was lie dis- 
 appointed — the pew remainetl unoccujiied, as 
 in the morning. At about seven o’clock he was 
 wending his way slowly along the bank of the 
 stream where he had so often met his w’ell- 
 beloved Lucy — where she had so solemnly 
 plighted 1dm her faith ten days back — but where 
 they had been so riuhdy sei'arated by the sud- 
 den apjiearance of her father. I’his was now 
 indeed Frederick’s last hope. But was it doomed 
 to be di.'appointed ? Ah ! what is that rustling 
 amidst the trees on the opposite bank ? whose 
 form is it that flits across the little biidg<‘? Oh, 
 joy, joy ! it is Lucy : and she sinks half-fainting 
 in his arms ! 
 
 “ Dearest girl, what happiness !” he exclaimi'd, 
 as he pressed her to his lieart : and in the bli-s 
 of that moment he almost forgot every trouble 
 thai he had been doomed to know. 
 
 “Tell me, Frederick — tell me,” cried the girl 
 in an exciting manner, “is it true that ” 
 
 “it is true,” he re.^ponded, knowing full w^ell 
 the nature of (he question she was about to put. 
 
 The color forsook her cheeks in a moment, 
 and her head dropped upon his shoulder as if 
 she were about to fai_t : but a gush of tears 
 burst forth, and relieved the surcharged anguish 
 of her heart. 
 
 “ Dearest Lucy, what could 1 do ?” exclaimed 
 Frederick. “ Every other liope was dead ” 
 
 “ Frederick,” she interrupted him, flinging her 
 terrified looks around ; “ we must not remain 
 hare. When my father mi.sses me, this is the 
 first place to wdiicli he will fly in search of 
 me.” 
 
 “ Let us penetrate farther into the grove,” said 
 Lonsdale. “ You remember the huge oak-tree 
 
 IQ the nudat ” 
 
 “Yes, yes,” she re])lied, the tears still stream 
 ing down her cheeks “ it was there that yoc 
 tir-t t(.ld me that you loved me ! Vi e will pro- 
 C(*ed thither — it is a sacred spot for us.” 
 
 d'hrough the gKiVe they went, in too much 
 haste to renew the discourse until they reached 
 the tree beneath who.se shade the avowmls of 
 love had foi' the first time jta.'^sed, and where 
 there was a seat. UjMin this they placed them- 
 selves ; and long and tenderly did they gai.« 
 upon each other ere silence was again broken. 
 'I'heir looks mutually ex})ressed jiain and sor- 
 row ; for while on the one hand Frederick 
 Lonsdale observed that Lucy was jaue and care- 
 worn, she on the other hand recognized but toe 
 })lainly the traces of a corroding grief ctn the 
 countenance of her lover. 
 
 “ 1 have been kept a close pri.soner at home,” 
 said Lucy, at length breaking silence. “My 
 father has scarcely stirred from the house; and 
 W’ould you believe it, Frederick ? — when he hai 
 gone forth, he has locked me uj) in my chambei 
 Oh ! or else all these clays would not have 
 passed without my seeing you !” , 
 
 “ And 1, dear Lucy, have been every evening 
 to the bank of the stream in the hojie of meet- 
 ing you there. At church too But thank 
 
 heaven, you have come at last !” 
 
 “ Yes — through the kindness of poor Martha,’"' 
 replied Lucy, sja-aking of the servant-girl, “ I 
 have this evening for the first time been ena- 
 bled to elude the vigilance of my harsh parent 
 But I mu.st not remain long away, or that poor 
 girl will be made to suffer for tlie sympatliy she 
 has shown me. Let us talk about yourself, 
 Fred. It was through her that 1 heard the ter- 
 rible rumor that But is it indeed true? and 
 
 can it not be remedied ? Have you gone loo 
 far to be enabled to retreat ?” 
 
 “Oh! wherefore should you ask me, dearest 
 Lucy - What liojie had I ? You know not the 
 many, many weary miles I have w'alked in tlie 
 endeavor to ])rocure work : but all m vain ! — ■ 
 What then, I a^k, was 1 to do ?” 
 
 “ Had you no faith in my love, Frederick ?” 
 inquired Lucy w-ith a tender look of depreca- 
 iion. 
 
 “ Oh 1 faith the most sublime,” exclaimed 
 Frederick, with a degree of enthusiasm which 
 convinced her that his confidence in her love 
 was as great as the love v Inch he' himself bore 
 fur her. “ Yes — 1 said to myself that we were 
 both young— that we had faith in each other — 
 and that we might want for better times.” 
 
 “Alas! Fredeiick, I could not cons'ole my- 
 self wnh that hope,” murmured Luev, her head 
 drooping uj)on his shoulder. “ So many things 
 happen in this world, tliat wdien once a sef'ava- 
 tion takes place,” she continued with a pro- 
 found mournfulness in her tone, “ the worst is to 
 be apprehended. If you do become a soldier 
 
 and the idea is dreadful but if you do, 
 
 1 repeat, your regiment may be ordered 
 abroad — perhaps to iudia, or to other colonies, 
 where, as 1 have learnt and as you also know, 
 fighting often takes place, and wliere loo tiiere 
 are virulent di-easek — in short, a thousand perils 
 — ' — Oh, Fredei ick ! the idea of all this is more 
 than 1 can bear;” and again did the leais gush 
 forth plentiiully. 
 
TJJK SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 “ Swt.et, dearest iijirl, T must entreat you loi “Ileavetia! does ilie most devoted love that 
 compose yourself r cried LousdaU;, coveriu;^ tier wotiiau can possitdy teslify, need such excuses 
 cheeks witli kisses. “ Have 1 not already an- 1 as lliis cried Frederick Ia)?tsdale, a^oiiii lavish- 
 guish sutlicient in niy heart to t)e spared the 1 iug his caresses upon the maich-n. 
 idea that I shall leave you thus lerril)lv af- “1 ho|)(! not — and 1 feel that it is not so -with 
 fUcted--thus woefully di.siressed? 'rraiapiil- | you ’ returned Lucy ; then widi the gliinineiin^ 
 lize yourself therefore, beloved one, for niy sake.” i nf a smile upnn lier counleiiance — fm' she hegarr 
 “ I will, 1 will,” respoiiihd Lucy: hut it wasjto think that tlitire was a hope uf seeing h<;i- lit- 
 in the hysterical accemts of despair — and sh«' ‘ tie plan realized, as P’rederick thus suffered her to 
 gazed with an earnest doling fondnes.s upon her proceed without the fatal atinonticement that it 
 lover, all the ferver of her soul giving foice and ' was /oo tafe, — shesaid, “ Well, I was developing 
 power to that tender and endeaiing gaze of [ my project to you. In this neighhoi hood it is hut 
 iiLi’s. “ Rut tell me,” she continued, in a calmer too clear there is no hope foi you ; hut el-ewla re 
 
 Voice, '* is there nothing to he done ? can you 
 not retreat from the step you have taken ?” 
 
 Agairi you ask me that (piestirai, dear-est 
 
 the same tyrannical ban will not he .‘■et upou 
 your name. With my little saving.s, we might 
 commence the world; and perhaps the educa- 
 
 Lucy,” said Lonsdale; “ hut were 1 to recall, tion you have reCcuved may warrant the ho))e 
 wdiat I have done, should 1 not relapse into the [of yriur finding elsewhere some more suital)le 
 same hopeless state as before | employment than that to which you have been 
 
 “ Listen to me, Frederick,” replied Lucy, w-ilh ; accustomed. P’lcderick, dear Pdcflerick — within 
 a firmer as well as more tranquil deuu'anor the last few days 1 have th(aight much and 
 than she had yet shown during tlie j)resent in- 1 u|)on many things; aftiiction and solitude ap- 
 terview. “Think not that the words 1 am pear to have given my mind sco[)e for enlaigirig 
 about to address unto you are iticonsistenl with its experience. I understiuid now wherefore it 
 
 a young maidt-n’s modesty — or that I am too 
 forwartl in speech or conduct ; for it is this cruel 
 emergency'^ — this bitter crisis — which has made 
 me resolve to speak as 1 am about to do. 1 
 love you, Frederick — full well rlo you know how 
 much I love you I have pledged niy faith to 
 vou; and heaven is my witness that I will never 
 be another’s. 1 hold myself as your destined 
 wife — 1 look upon you as my affianced husbaml. 
 If tlierefore it be possible for you to retrieve 
 the rash step you have taken, I will not hesitate 
 to accompany you to the altar!” 
 
 Lucy had spoken with a calm firmness until 
 elie reached the concluding words that she had 
 just uttered; and then her accents became low 
 and tremulous; and with half averted looks, she 
 bent down her blushing countenance. 
 
 “ Oh 1 my beloved Lucy, how deeply and 
 how fervently do I thank you for what you 
 have just said T' exclaimed Frederick, jiressing 
 her to his heart. “But even were it possible. 
 
 is that you have remaineil altogether in this 
 humble and ob-cure village, and why you have 
 not endeavored to carve out for yourself some 
 higher career or superior calling, in a city or 
 town where your talents and your rerpiircments 
 might be rendered available. Yes, Frederick, 
 I know that it was in order to be near me that 
 you have acctqited so lowly a position hitherto; 
 and it is this consideration as well as any other^ 
 which has induced me to make of my own tiC- 
 cord the pro|)o.'al 1 have set before you. For 1 
 feel, F'lederick, 'hat a love so sincere and so dis- 
 interested as yours requires whatsoever the 
 world may coii.-'ider to be a sacrifice on my part 
 — but which will be no sacrifice at all.” 
 
 “ Lucy, you have skeiched out a plan of hap- 
 piness wliich seems to be almost too bright for 
 realization !” 
 
 “ Oh ! do not tell me that I must bid fare- 
 well to ho|)e,” cried the girl, gazing with the 
 tenderest anxiet\’ on his countenance. “ Surely, 
 
 W’ould you not be wedding poverty? would you surely, there are some means for you to retrieve 
 not be rendering yourself an outcast from ai the step you have taken. Oh, do not say that 
 
 comfortable home, to share perhaps the wan 
 derings of a laborer in search of work — a mere 
 vagabond — a tramp 0!i, heavens ! it is im- 
 
 it is irrevocable 
 
 No — heaven be thanked, it is not irrevoca 
 ble !” replied Pd ederick ; and as he thus spoke, 
 
 possible that, adoringly as I love you, I could (a perfect torrent of joy shot forth from the eyes 
 
 be so intensely selfidi as to permit you to mak 
 such a sacrifice on my acconni !” 
 
 “'I'liink not, dearest Ft ederick, that what 1 
 have juft said,” replied Lucy, speaking fiimly 
 and calmly again, “was the un|)iemoditate*d 
 lashne-s of a loving heart excited by the sense 
 of a p ignant atlliction. No: 1 have pondered 
 upon the pro|) 0 .sal J have just made to you ; — 
 and again I must entreat you to listen, dear 
 Fi ederick. My father has never been sjiaring 
 with his money towards me; and lu‘ has taken 
 a piid(; in .seeing tm; dress well — or at least he 
 has urged m(* to dniss even above my position. 
 Ihit I liave been ft ugal and economical with the 
 resouices thus placed at my command. In 
 short, 1 have some ten or twelv(f pounds — mv 
 own little savings. Again must 1 beseech you 
 uot to consider my words unmaidenly or for- 
 WErd ” 
 
 of his beauteous companion, her whole counte- 
 nance becoming radiant with hope. 
 
 “ dVll me then,” she cried, “ what is there to 
 be (lone to enable you to re.scue yourself from 
 the power of ihe recruiting-sergeant?’ 
 
 “To-moirow at half-past nine o’clock, dearest 
 Lucy,” rej)lied Frederick, “ I am to accompany 
 him before Sir Archibald Redburn to complete 
 the formalities. Sir Archibald will ask me 
 whether I still pei severe in my resolve to be- 
 come a soldier. 1 can say No. He will then 
 tell me that if within twenty-four hours from 
 that moment — that is to say, if by ten o’clock 
 oil ’I'liesday moniing I return the houiity I have 
 received, with twenty shillings smart money, 
 and the payment of the sergeant’s exj)ehs(“8— ■ 
 making some two pounds in all — I may be freed 
 from the shacUles of enli-slmeut.” 
 
 “ Oh, heaven be thanked that it is so I” 9m 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 S9 
 
 cUmied Lucy ; and in the enthupiasni cf her joy 
 ^iie her arms roujid Frederick’s neck and 
 
 hissed him of her own accord. “ Then you con- 
 fecnt to my proposal ? Yes, yes — I see tliat 
 jou will I And think not, Frederick,” she 
 added, more slowly and seriously, “ that because 
 in one sense I shall prove a disobedient daugh- 
 ter,— I mean in flying from my father’s house, 
 and against his will bestowing my hand where 
 my lioart is already bound, — think not on this 
 account that I shall prove, a disobetlient wife 
 also I” 
 
 “ Heaven forbid that I should entertain such 
 an idea !” cried Fi’ederick, his looks showing 
 how pained he was that his Lucy should have 
 even thought it necessary to give Irim such an 
 assurance. “No, my dearest girl — I am now 
 receiving too man}' proofs of your devoted love 
 and your all-trusting devotion, not to feel how 
 great is the treasure that I shall possess in 
 you !” 
 
 “And now forgive me, dear Fred,” she re- 
 sumed, pressing his hand in grateful acknow- 
 ledgment of the words he had just uttered, — 
 “pardon me, if I again touch upon a purely 
 business matter. I'his money which is required 
 to procure your release, must be paid, you say, 
 by Tuesday morning. I will manage to convey 
 it to you tomorrow evening. Possibly I may 
 contrive to meet you myself; but if not, we 
 must trust Martha in the affair. She loves me 
 well, and will do anything to serve me There- 
 fore, if I come not myself, you may rely upon 
 seeing her. Let us not ap[i< .int our old trysting- 
 place at the briilge, for fear my father’s suspi- 
 cions should be awakened. But let thh be the 
 spot to-morrow evening — within half an hour 
 of sunset. And now one word more. Should 
 it be impossible for either of us to get out to- 
 morrow evening, there is no doubt that Martha 
 can manage to run down into the village be- 
 tween seven and eight o’clock in the morning. 
 You say that the money need not be paid till 
 ten ; and therefore in any case there will be 
 ample time. Martha will discover that there is 
 no tea or no bread for the breakfast — or some 
 excuse of that kind — and she will speed to fetch 
 what is needful. Can she not deliver a little 
 sealed packet for you at Mr. Bates's ? ’ 
 
 “ Yes,” rejjlied Frederick. “ Bates is well dis- 
 posed towards me ; and he will punctually de- 
 liver anything that may be entrusted to him 
 for me. Ah, my dearest Lucy, how can I evet 
 sufficiently testify my gratitude towards you for 
 all this forethought?” 
 
 “ Gratitude?” murmured Lucy, half reproacli- 
 fully, half archly: “do not I possess someihing 
 tliat is above the comparative coldness of giati- 
 tude ?*’ 
 
 “Yes, yes — my love — my ardent, devoted, 
 unchangeable love !” cried Frederick, embracing 
 her with enthusiasm. 
 
 “In two days, dearest Frederick,” she said, 
 “you will be once more free; and then ” 
 
 “ Oh, yes — and then you must not delay the 
 consummation A my happiness. We will away 
 to some town whither there is no danger of im- 
 mediate pursuit ; and there our hands shall be 
 united.” 
 
 Hie lovers emh'aced each other fondly, an; 
 
 then separated, — Lucy flitting back to the cot- 
 tage, which she succeeded in reaching ere her 
 fatlier’s return, — and Frederick retracing hia 
 way to his humble lodging at Bates’s house, 
 but in a very different condition of mind from 
 what he experienced when he issued forth 
 thence an hour previously 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 THE SMART-MONEY. 
 
 Lonsdale said not a word to the barber of 
 what his intention was — nor to Mr. Langley, 
 when at the appointed time on Monday morrh 
 ing he repaired to the Royal Oak to accompany 
 that individual up to the Manor House. The 
 sergeant was dressed with as much neatness 
 and precision as ever ; and he looked as stately 
 and as pompous as was his w'ont. It was his 
 invariable policy to maintain the most friendly 
 demeanor tow^ards liis recruits until the final 
 scene of the enlisting ceremonies had rivetted 
 the chains of the service inextricably upon theii 
 limbs: but w'hether he subsequently treater 
 them with an equal affability and kindness, w'( 
 shall perhaps hereafter have an ojiportunity of 
 seeing. For the present it is sufficient to ob- 
 serve that he still maintained his recruiting 
 smile, as he proffered his hand to Frederick 
 Lonsdale. 
 
 “ Well, my friend,” he said, “you are indeed 
 punctual. Upon my honor, I think you will 
 become the flow^er of the regiment. It is quite 
 delightful to see such punctuality. Therefore, 
 as Sir Archibad has received an intimation from 
 me that I am about to pay liim a last visit ere 
 leaving this neighborhood, w’e will not keep him 
 waiting. It is at ten punctually we are to be 
 at the Manor.” 
 
 Fredei ick was half inclined to deal frankly at 
 once with the sergeant, and to avow his inten- 
 tions: but as they had a walk of two miles 
 before them, he did not wish to be exposed to 
 whatsoever cajolery or threats Mr. Langley 
 might think fit to adopt in order to induce him 
 to change his mind and adhere to his enlistment. 
 He accordingly said nothing; and they set out 
 upon their wuilk. During the whole way Ser- 
 geant Langley tvepatiated in his usual strain 
 upon the happiness of a soldier’s life ; and Fred- 
 erick continued to listen in silence — or to speak 
 more correctly, we should say that he did not 
 listen at all ; for his every thought was absorbed 
 in the happy and unlooked-for change which 
 since the pievious evening had takeu place in 
 his prospects. On their way towards the Manor 
 House, they had to pass within a hundred yards 
 of Mr. Davis’s cottage ; and Frederick rivetted 
 his eyes upon the windows in the hope of catch- 
 ing a glimpse of that countenance which was the 
 brightest and most beauteous in the whole world 
 for him. Nor was he disappointed. He beheld 
 an upjier window open abruptly, and a white 
 handkerchief was waved for an instant. It was 
 then withdrawn — the window was closed again 
 — but above the muslin blind he did recognia* 
 the countenance of his well-belovea 1 
 
to 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 This little iiici(lei)t took place 00 rai)iilly Hint 
 the sopp-aiit noticed it iH)t : lie was looking 
 straight foi'ward as lie marched along with true 
 military precision, his cane tapping the pathway 
 simultaneously witii tlie tread of his footsteps, 
 and his tongue ail the while giving vent to his 
 Wonted intlatious respecting the soldier’s life and 
 the wonders he ha<l seen in fireigii countries. 
 Rut how clieered was Erc'leiick Lonsd.de hy 
 that little circumstance ! It was a sign to con- 
 vince him that the meeting of the previous even- 
 ing remained uiisu -pectr'd hy Mr. Davis, and 
 that nothing was ch.iug(^_ in the arrangements 
 betv/eeii himself and his well-heloved. Jaghter 
 grew his lieart and liglit(‘r too his fiotsteps, as 
 lie proceeded towards the Manor in company 
 with Sergeant Langley. In another quarter of 
 an hour the front entrance was reached ; and the 
 hall-i)orter, thiining in a scarlet coat ami yellow- 
 ]dush breeches, at once conducted Mr. Langley 
 and Frederick to a parlor where S r Archihald 
 was accustomed to transact whatsoever magis- 
 terial business came uiider his cognizance. The 
 porter bade them wait a few minutes, while he 
 W(Mit to inform Sir Archibald of their arrival. 
 They were not kept in attendance long: f)r Sir 
 Archibald lledburn soon made his a])pearanc«’, 
 with a port as stately even as that of the ser- 
 geant himself. He suffered no sign of what 
 he inwardly felt to appear upon his counte- 
 nance, as he acknowledged the sergeant’s mill- : 
 lary bow, and then took his seat at the head of 
 the table: but in his heart he experienced a se- 
 cret ])leasure at the idea of-so troublesome a ' 
 character as he considered Lonsdale to be, ' 
 having fallen into the fangs of enlistment. 
 Frederick had fir courtesy’s sake bowed re- 
 spectfully : but the Baronet took not the slight- - 
 est notice of hrm. 
 
 “Now, what is this?” he asked, arranging 
 some papets on the desk before him. “I sup- 
 pose it’s another recruiting ca.se.” ' 
 
 “ It is. Sir Arciiibald,” replied Langley, who 
 stood drawn up in the “ first position,” to use 
 a technical phrase borrowed from his own mili- 
 tary sphere. 
 
 “ Well,” resumed the Baronet, addressing 
 Imtmdale, “ here’s the thirty -fourth clause of 
 tlie ^Mutiny Act, and wliich it is my duty to 
 make to you — tlien have read it over. Sir 
 Archibald continued, “ I need not ask your 
 tiame nor condition, because 1 know tliem both. 
 But I must inquire wliether you voluntarily 
 2 nli'ted t” 
 
 “ ] did. Sir Archibald Redburn,” replied 
 Lon- dale. “ But with your permission ” 
 
 “ Don’t interrupt me now,” said the magis- 
 trate slc'inly. “ Wait till you are questioned. 
 
 I am going to read to you the Articles of War 
 in re pect to mutiny and de.scu'tion ; and then 
 you will hav(; to take the oilh of allegiance, 
 whicli 1 shall administer.” 
 
 “ But, Sir Arcliibald Redburn,” again inter- 
 jected liOii--dale, “ 1 think i can save you some 
 troulile-^ — ” 
 
 “ Eh, what?” exclaimed Ihe Baronet: “you 
 surely aie not going to cari v your rebellious 
 principle.s so fir as to k fuse the oath ?” 
 
 “ Why, 1 am a--toni hed at you, I jonsdah*,” 
 eaid tljc Hcrgeant, lapjaiig his cane upon the 
 
 carpet with sufficient violence to drive a lw»l* 
 thi'ough it. 
 
 “ Js there not. Sir Archihald, some otlicr 
 clause in that Act,” inquired k'l-ederick calmly, 
 
 “ wliich you are likewise bound to communi- 
 cate ?” 
 
 “ Welt, here’s the thirty-tiflh clause,” ejacu- 
 lated the Baronet, petulantly ; fir he iiegati to 
 think tliat Jjoiisdale meant to withdraw from 
 his engagement. “ But it's a mere matter of 
 lorni — there’s nothing really in it ” 
 
 “ Nevertheles.s, sir,” observed Lonsdale 
 firmly, “ witli your jiermissioii J should like to 
 hear it read.” 
 
 “ Oh, I will tell you the suhstance,” exclaimed 
 the Baronet :' them with a very ill grace, ho 
 continued to observe, “d’he whole tenor of the 
 tliirty fifth clause is this — that a person declar- 
 ing his dissent from his enlistment, and on re- 
 turnitig the eiilisting-rnoney, with twenty sliill- 
 ing.s ill addition fir the expenses incurred on 
 his account, and the sergeant's fees, shall be 
 firth with discharged.” 
 
 “ Ami is there no specified delay allowed for 
 the payment of this money ?” asked Lonsdale. 
 
 “ Why, blit you are not going to sliirk off?” 
 exclaimed Sergeant Langley, becoming as red 
 as a turkey cock. 
 
 “ It would be a most rascally proceeding if 
 he did,” said the Baronet with a brow-beating 
 air. “ Come, no more of this nonsense, but 
 listen while I read ” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, Sb- Aichibald — I do 
 dissent from this enlistment,” exclaimed Fred- 
 erick ; “^and moreover 1 demand a delay of 
 twenty-four hours to pay the smart-money.” 
 
 “ Well, this is the shabbiest, ilirtiest thing 1 
 ever knew in all my life,” said Mr. Langley ; 
 and again the stout stick was jobbed do-;;'ii 
 upon the floor. 
 
 “ And pray, what is the reason, sirrah, that 
 you have made a fool of this person who is in 
 his Majesty’s service, and have likcwvise stulti- 
 fied me who hold the commission of the peace I 
 Come, sir — atone for your impertinence at once 
 — take the oatli of allegiance and have dona* 
 with it. "U hat other chance have you but to 
 enlist ?” 
 
 “ With all due respect, sir, I have changed 
 my mind,” answered Frederick. “ I am truly 
 sorry that I should have given the recruUing- 
 sergeant any trouble in the matter ” 
 
 “ Well, there’s enough of it,” ejaculated the 
 Baronet, rising from his seat ; “ and there’s the 
 door, sirrah. Good morning to you, sergeant. 
 But mind, Frederick Lonsdale, if that money is 
 not paiil into the sergeant’s hand in the jiresenco 
 of a witness by ten o’clock to morrow morn- 
 ing,” continued the Baronet, looking at his 
 watch, “you will have to be brought up before 
 me again ; and if ymi don't take the oath 
 (<f allegiance, I will commit you to prison, 
 where you will stay till you do.’’ 
 
 Frederiek Lonsdale made no rejdy to thia 
 speech, lint passed out ol (ho room, closely lol- 
 Inwed hy (lie sergeant, v hose couiitenanco 
 were a v<‘ry awful as|iect. '1 hey threaded the 
 hall, and issiu'd fnlh Irom (he mansion. 
 
 “ New, you rascal,” said Langley, “ how daro 
 you giimnioii me in this manner ? You inlerua.* 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 Si 
 
 •coandrel, I have a very great mind to knock 
 your head off! Thunder and lightning! was 
 there ever such a mean, beggarly, paltry affair 
 as this ?” 
 
 Frederick fired up in an instant ; and with 
 flashing eyes, he exclaimed, “ Mr. Langley, 
 these are words that I cannot put up with ” 
 
 “Silence, sir!” ejaculateci the sergeant, in a 
 thundering tone of command. “You are a sol- 
 dier in his Majesty’s service; and I will have 
 you to know that I am your officer. March on, 
 sir — he quick, I say — get you in front, you 
 enivelling scoundrel !” 
 
 Lonsdale’s hand was raised to sti ike the bully 
 down; but, quick as lightning did a thought 
 flash to his mind. If he struck the sergeant, 
 there was a justice of the peace close by — the 
 one whose presence they had just left — who 
 would rejoice in committing him to jail for tiie 
 assault; and then how quickly would his hopes 
 and those of his beloved Lucy be dashed to the 
 gri'und ! It neverthele.^s cost him a tremendous 
 effort to restrain his indignation ; but he did so, 
 and walked in front, 
 
 “ It’s an imcommon lucky thing for you, young 
 fellow, that you didn’t touch me,” resumed the 
 sergeant, who perhaps would have sworn that 
 he had, were it not that the hall-porter was 
 standing on the steps, and beheld everything 
 that passed. “ How^ever, we shall see what 
 what will happen yet. It’s easier to get into 
 my clutches than out of them, I can tell y(>u 
 that ; and if his Majesty’s service is to be treat-I 
 ed in this way — why, the sooner Pailianmnt- 1 
 House passes other laws, the better. It’s a 
 regular case of bilk. I am robbed of a recruit I 
 just as bad as if I was robbed of my purse in a 
 wood. But it isn’t Sergeant Langley, of his 
 Majesty’s — th Regiment of Infantry that is to 
 be gammoned, and humbugged, and a.'-sified in 
 this way.” 
 
 Thus did Mr. Langley continue to blurt forth i 
 his venom against P’redenck Lonsdale, who, for 
 Lucy's sake, W’as resolved to endure all pcjs^ible 
 insults and indignities, rather than be provoked 
 to retaliation. 'I’he sight of the cottage, find 
 another waving of the handkerchief from the 
 window, together with another glimpse of the 
 countenance of his adored one, strengthened him 
 in thi.s resolve; and he continued his way tow- 
 ards the village, without taking any apparent 
 notice of the sergeant's foul abuse. Not for a 
 single moment did Mr. Langly cease to heap 
 upon him every insulting epithet and goading 
 taunt which he could possibly think of; and as 
 the sergeant was by no means deficient in vi lu- 
 bility of language of every kind and description, 
 it w a-^ a pei fcct torrent of Billingsgate that thu.- 
 flow’ed forth from his lips. In this manner they 
 reached the door of Mr. Bates’s house; and as 
 Frederick was about to enter the dwelling, the 
 sergeant called out, “ Stop !” 
 
 Lonsdale — remembering that he was still a 
 recruit until the smart-money should be paid, 
 and therefore subject to the orders of the non- 
 commissioned officer — at once obeyed. But as 
 he turned round and confronted this individual, 
 his pale cheeks, his flashing eyes, and his quiver- 
 ing lips, showed how much it cost him to sub- 
 due ac outburst of terrific resentment 
 
 3 
 
 “ Now, you fellow.” said Mr. Langley, stand 
 ing in the “first position,” as erect as a status 
 with his right liand upon his stick, and his left 
 arm hanging stiaight down by his side, while 
 his heels were together, and his toes pointed 
 out, to form the precise angle requisite — “ now, 
 you felhnv, it’s my order that you consider 
 yourself under arrest for the present You will 
 go and keep your own room. You won’t stir 
 out, or yet even come down to Mr. Bates’s shopi, 
 Take care of yourself — for I shall keep an eye 
 upon you — so mind what you are about And 
 now be off up to your room, you sneaking 
 scoundrel !” 
 
 Lonsdale was thunderstruck. He had not 
 foreseen this : he was not even aware that the 
 sergeant could exercise such an authority over 
 him : but he instantaneously perceived that it 
 must indeed be so, and that he was thus far at 
 the mercy of the red-coated tyrant. But how 
 was he to keep his appointment in the wood, 
 with Lucy or Martha? An expression of an- 
 guish 8wej)t over his countenance; and the ser- 
 geant perceiving it — though, of course, not un- 
 derstanding the particular feeling which conjured 
 it up — gave a malignant grin, very different 
 indeed from his recruiting smile! 
 
 “ I beg you to observe, Mr. Langley,” said 
 Frederick, “that I have not intentionally offered 
 you any offence.” 
 
 “Go up to your room, sirrah — and stay 
 there !” vociferated the sergeant. “ I shall come 
 and inquire after you every hour — perhaps 
 oftener; and if you dare stir out, I shall at once 
 have you apprehended as a deserter. And 
 now be off.” 
 
 With these words the sergeant turned away, 
 and walked with majestic stateliness towards 
 the Royal Oak. 
 
 “ Y( u had better do as he orders, Lonsdale,’ 
 said Mr. Bates, who, with ajather-brush in one 
 hand and a razor in the other, had left a cus- 
 tomer half shaved, that he might contemplate 
 this extraordinary scene, 
 
 Frederick, who had lingered for a few mo- 
 ments uj)on the door step, was recalled by that 
 recommendation, which ho took to be a frienaiy- 
 meant one, from the stupor of dismay into 
 which he had been throwui ; and he at once as- 
 cended to his chamber. There he sat himself 
 down and gave way to his reflections. At first 
 he was well nigh reduced to despair, as he saw 
 the impossibility of keeping the appointment 
 at the oak-tree in the grove : but then he recol- 
 lected that Lucy had spoken of the possibility 
 ()f neither herself nor Martha being enabled to 
 meet him there in the evening, in which case 
 the servant-girl was to find an excuse for coming 
 into the village in the morning. I’liis circum- 
 stance at once relieved his mind of the cruel 
 ajiprehension which had at first seized upon it; 
 and beccaning suddenly calm, he said to him- 
 self, “ It is after all but a transitory venting of 
 this brutal ruffian’s spite upon me. Should 
 Lucy or Martha keep the appointment this 
 evening and find that 1 come not, it will be con- 
 cluded that something has transpired to prevent 
 me; and therefore Martha will cume across io 
 the morning.” 
 
 His reflections were interrupted by 
 
ts 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 trance of Mr. Batea M ho, having jnM plied 
 to a customer’s Inir some of the hear’s-iiroase 
 ■which he manufactured out of hog’s-lard was 
 wij)ing his hands on his already dirty apron. 
 
 “What’s all this mean, h'red ? ’ he inquired, 
 affecting a great air of s\mpalhy. 
 
 “Simply because I changed my mind, Mr 
 Bates, and withdrew from the eiilislmi'tit — or 
 rather gave notice mat I should witlidraw — (hat 
 red-coated ruffian has heaped uj)on me the fil- 
 thiest and most abominable abuse. He has also 
 put me under arrest.” 
 
 “ Have you paid the smart-money, then ?” de- 
 manded Bates eagerly. 
 
 “ No, not yet,’ replied Lonsdale. “ And now, 
 my good friend,” he added in a confidential 
 tone, “you could do me a particular service — ” 
 
 “ Anythi!)g in the world, Fred !” ejaculated 
 tlie barber. “ What is it, my dear fellow ?” 
 
 “ Either to-night, or early to morrow morning,’’ 
 retuined Lonsdale, “ a little parcel or letter wdl 
 be delivered here for me. You must take 
 charge of it, and bring it up to me immediately 
 —as it is of the highest importance.” 
 
 “Ah! I understand,” said the barber; “it’s 
 the smart-money that you have got to pay '{ 
 Well, I am heartily glad you have found a 
 friend to assist you. Depend upon it, directly 
 the packet comes I will bring it up ; and what’s 
 more I will sit at home the whole evening to 
 ■u’ait for it, instead of going up to Bushel’s to 
 take my glass and hear the sergeant’s stories.” 
 
 “ I am truly obliged for y(»ur kindness,’’ ex- 
 claimed Frederick, in the most truthful confi- 
 dence. “Oh, if you had seen how that man 
 suddenly showed himself in his true colors just 
 now ! But you did behold enough to convince 
 you what he is.” 
 
 “ Ah !” said the barber, shaking his head, “ I 
 am afraid I have been deceived in him.” 
 
 “ Oh 1 what an escape I have had,” continued 
 Lonsdale. “ I shudder at the bare idea of hav- 
 ing stood the chance of falling into the power 
 of such a brutal tyrant. Heaven help the poor 
 unfortunate fellows who will have to accompany 
 him away from Oakleigh to morrow 1” 
 
 “Then you are sure of getting *he money, 
 Fred ?” observed the barber. “ Because if not,” 
 he added with every appearance of the most 
 friendly interest, “I will try and borr(»w it for you.” 
 
 “ A thousand thanks for your kindness, but I 
 am certain of being able to obtain it.” 
 
 “So much the better,” rejoined Bates. “ And 
 now keej) quiet up here; don’t put yourself any 
 fartber into the power of Langley ” 
 
 “ Not for worlds !” ejaculated Frederick, with 
 \ shudder, as he thought of what poor Lucy 
 A'ould suffer if anything should luqipen through 
 his inifirudence to frustrate the plans which she 
 in h(M' loving devotedness had formed, and which 
 had b(!en agreed upon bidween them. 
 
 Mr. Batc'S left Lonsdale to hwuself, and des 
 cended into his shop; but instead of remaining 
 there, la; f)ut on his hat and hurried off to the 
 R(»yal Dak, where he found Mr. Langley en- 
 deavoring' to soothe* his indignation by im-ans 
 of a pipe of tobacco and a pint of Bushel’s old ale. 
 ’J'he conference which ra>w took place between 
 tlie barbi r jind (he sergeant, was not long' — but 
 it was inijioiluut. uud when Mr. Bates tixik his 
 
 leave, a couple of half crowms were chinking m 
 his waistcoat pocket (hat were not tliere wlien 
 he entered (he public hou.^e. Moieover Mr. 
 Langdey was now enabled to <*njoy his jiipe and 
 his pint with a far greater zest than he Wi uld 
 had it not been lor the officious barber’s visit. 
 
 Meanwhile Lonsdale had betaken himself to 
 the tew books that he po.ssessed ; and (hough 
 the hours passed slowly and heavily away, yet 
 still they did pass. Pivery now and then Ihatei 
 came creeping up to inform him that the ser- 
 geant had just called to inquire if he went 
 keeping close to his room ; and at eac h suc- 
 cessive visit Mr. Bales expressed himself iu 
 stronger terms at the tyranny thus piaetlfed 
 against Lonsdale. Sunset was now aiiproaclu 
 ing ; and P'rederick thought to himself that 
 possibly — indeed most probably — either Lucy 
 or M.'ntha was at (hat moment waiting for 
 him in the grove and so friendly did Bates 
 appear, that he was almost inclined to reveal 
 the secret of his love to him, and get him to 
 go to the trysting-place. But then he thought 
 that it would be far more prudent to keeji the 
 secret altogether inviolable ; because he feared 
 Bates’s garrulity, although he placed the ut- 
 most reliance on the man’s friendship. Besides, 
 he felt assured that Lucy would send him (ha 
 money by some means or other ; and therefore, 
 having no fear for the issue, he resolved upon 
 leaving matters to take their chatice. 
 
 The sun went down — Frederick lighted hie 
 candle in his little room, and contimied read- 
 ing. Ten o’clock struck by ihe village church ; 
 and Bates came up to tell him that no packet 
 had arrived, but that Langley had been down to 
 assure himself that he kept under arrest. 
 
 “ 'I’he parcel will not therefore be delivered 
 to-night,” said Lonsdale ; “ but it is sure to be 
 here iu the morning. I have no doubt upon 
 the subject.” 
 
 “I am delighted to hear it,” answered the 
 barber. “ By ten therefore tomorrow, you 
 will be a free man. And now good night, 
 Fred — and pleasant dreams to you.” 
 
 “Good night,” responded Lonsdale; and 
 soon after Bates had quitted him. he sought his 
 humble pallet, to dream of Lucy and happiness. 
 
 When he awoke in the morning, the church 
 clock was striking six. He rose and dressed 
 himself with a light heart. This was to be the 
 day of his emancipation from the power of the 
 odious despot Langley. In a few hours indeed, 
 that individual would not dare look, much more 
 speak, a taunt against him 1 And, Oh 1 to l>e 
 free to conduct his Lucy to the altar — free to 
 bear her away to some large town or city 
 where they might set up their little house- 
 keeping and take measures to earn their liveli- 
 hood ! Oh, how sweet would he the tread 
 which he should thus acquire, and which sha 
 would share 1 He had no longer any mistrust 
 for the future; all his prospects were now of 
 roseate hues and gilding gloriously blended. 
 His imagination took wings and soared high up 
 in the heaven of hope. When the marriage 
 was acconijilished, might not Mr. Davis relent? 
 did he not love* his daughter ? and would he not 
 forgive her ? Yes ; this was to be e xpected • aud 
 then their luipjiineBs would be complete. 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 tl 
 
 His frugal brealifast had been quickly dis 
 ^osed of: for bis hear, was too full of happi 
 ness to permit him to linger over it. The ra- 
 diant pageantry of his thoughts had borne time 
 swiftly away in their brilliant train, and it was 
 now striking eiglit o'clock. 
 
 “Surely Martha will not be long? She 
 onglit to have been here by this,” he said to 
 himself : but still confident tliat the sum, so 
 vitally indispensable, could not possibly fail to 
 arrive, he once more fell into a series of golden 
 dreams. From tliese he was awakened — or 
 rather startled — by the clock stiiking again 
 Had anotlier hour elapsed ? — He counted tlie 
 strokes. Yes : it was nine. And Martha had 
 not yet come ! Sonie one was af^encling the 
 stairs — lie knew tlie barber’s lootste|iS — the 
 packet then had arrived ? Bates entered the 
 room ; and Lonsdale extended his hand to re- 
 ceive the expected missive. Tlie barber thought 
 —or at leastappeared to thiiik — that the young 
 man meant to shake hands with him ; and when 
 Frederick fiuind that the liand he thus clutched 
 contained nothing, he exclaimed, “Is it not 
 come yet 
 
 “Fo — not yet,” returned Bates. “I would 
 not come up to you betore, for fear any one 
 should bring it in my absence from the shoj) ; 
 and as I knew' it was particular, I resolved to 
 wait and receive it myself” 
 
 “Go down again, for lieaven’s sake !” said 
 Lonsdale, in a state of nervous excitement ; 
 “ and pray do not leave your shop for a mo- 
 ment. You know’, my good friend, how im- 
 portant it is !” 
 
 “ I will attend to it. Never fear. But you 
 must keep close : that scoundrel Langley has 
 posted a couple of the recruits at the door to 
 see that you don’t go out— or to stop you if 
 you do.” 
 
 “ Oh, I shall be free of him in a few’ mi- 
 nutes !” ejaculated the young man. “ Pray do 
 go down.” 
 
 The volatile barber flitted away ; and when 
 Frederick was once more alone, he no longer 
 abandoned himself to the dreams of a golden 
 reverie, but paced to and fro in the little cham- 
 ber in a very excited state. Oh ! if the window 
 were in the front of the house, he could W'atch 
 for Martha’s coming: but it looked upon a little 
 yard at the back, and the green fields which 
 stretched beyond. Besides, even if it did com- 
 mand a view of the village-street, all the watch 
 ing in the world would not make her come a 
 single whit the sooner. But what delayed 
 her? wherefore came she not? Oh! she was 
 
 sure to come- yes, she was sure 1 — it could 
 
 only be a matter of a few minutes nothing 
 
 more — there was plenty of time ? 
 
 Ah 1 but the minutes were slipping away — 
 »nd they soon swelled into half an-lumr. Yes, 
 half- past nine, and no Martha — no Lucy ! — not 
 B litie — not a W'ord of either message or note ! 
 ■\\^hat could it mean ? A thousand w ihl thoughts 
 now rushed like a flight of vultuies through the 
 young man's brain— horrible ideas fastened 
 themselves upon him. Had Mr. Davis disco- 
 vered everything? had betaken measures to 
 prevent both his daughter and seivant from is- 
 suing forth? Or was some vile treachery at 
 
 work? He knew not what to think: he tor- 
 tured liimself with conjectures; but amidst 
 them all he never once suspected that Bates 
 C(>uld be playing him false. 
 
 “ It’s a quarter to ten,” said the barber, thrust- 
 ing hie head into the roc m. 
 
 Lc'tisdale, in the whiil and confusion of his 
 thoughts, had not heard him ascend the stairs: 
 he was startled by his sudden ajijiearance ; and 
 the gU am of hope which had for a niomentshui 
 athwart his brain, was ciiice mine succeeded by 
 the sombre clouds of suspense — uncertainty — 
 almost despair. 
 
 “Go dewn, go dewn — and keep watch, .‘or 
 heaven’s sake 1” he cried : and rushing forward, 
 he literally pushed the barber down the stairs. 
 
 Then he slocd ujion the threshold of his 
 chamber, listening w ith the doc r open. Oh, the 
 toi tures of that susj ense ! — Oh, the agonies c.f 
 that uncertainty 1 He heard the- conversation that 
 w as going on amongst the cusic niers in the shop 
 below’: they were talkiiig of himself — cxjires- 
 sit g commiseration and sympathy for him. hen 
 the voice of Bates chimed in, spe aking in a simi- 
 lar stiain. A thought struck Fredeiick 1 He 
 would pen a hasty note to Dr. Colycinlh — ano- 
 ther to the butcher — and another to the baker, 
 beseeching them to lend him two pounds for a 
 few hours. He flew to the table; but the three 
 notes took five minutes to write — and it was 
 close upon ten o'clock. Fre ni the threshold of 
 his chamber he cried out for Bates. The barber 
 rushed up-stairs; and Lensdale, ihi listing the 
 notes into his hand, besought him to despatch 
 three distinct messengers to convey the billets. 
 
 “I will, I will,” said Bates. “But Langley is 
 down stairs; he has just come in — and he says 
 you must not have your door open.” 
 
 “Fly, fly !” ejaculated Fiederick, and pusliing 
 the barber froni the roe m, he closed the door 
 violently to let Mr. Langley know that it was 
 shut. Then, with feveri.-h impatience — with an- 
 guish in his brain and awful hoimrin his heart, 
 did he aw’ait the result of his niissives. Oh 1 
 fool, fool that he was ifot to have despatched 
 those notes before ! Thus did he blame himself 
 for something of w hich he had not thought. 
 
 Minute after minut*e passed : but no one 
 came. Almost maddened to desperation, he 
 opened the door and listened. Bates w’as talking 
 in the shop beloAV — others W'ere talking also — 
 and amongst those voices was the well known 
 one of Sergeant Langley. 
 
 “ Oh 1 am 1 to be sacrificed ? am I to be 
 lost?” murmured Frederick to himself. “Can it 
 be possible? is it indeed tiue— or a hideous 
 dream ? Just heaven, w hat will become of poor 
 Lucy’ ? Oh, I shall go mad — 1 shall go mad !'’ 
 and leaning against the door-post, he pressed 
 his hands to his throbbing temples, in a state of 
 mind not even to be envit d by a wretch about 
 to be led forth to the place of execution. 
 
 I'he clock struck: it was ten. 0 God, too 
 late 1 too late 1 
 
 “ Frederick Lonsdale, come dow’ii 1” cried the 
 voice of the sergeant: and it sounded upon the 
 eat§ of the almost distracted young man as if 
 having made a bargain with Satan, the time 
 was up and tjie Evil One was demanding the 
 surrender of his lOuL 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE, 
 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 With men of nal unally strong minds there is 
 often a sinlJen cahn whicli succeeds the wildest 
 grief — that awful calm which is supei’iinluced 
 by despair when the worst is known. It is the 
 calm tliat seizes like a stupor or a consterna- 
 tion u[)on those who iiave been weeping most 
 bitterly at the bed of death ; but whose an- 
 guish is overawed in a moment wlien every 
 thing is over. Such a calm was it that now 
 •seized upon Frederick Lonsdale; and yielding 
 Idmself to his destiny, he slowly deseended the 
 stairs. In the shop below he beheld the ser- 
 geant, on whose eountenance thei-e was an ex- 
 ju'ession which might be likened unto the ma- 
 lignant trium[)h of a iiend: tlieie was iinleed 
 at that moment something truly satanic in the 
 man’s features — a diabolic gloating over the 
 fallen condition of his victim. 
 
 “ Really, my dear fellow, I am truly sorry 
 for this,” whisjiered Bates, clutching Frede- 
 rick’s arm. “ You know 1 offered last night to 
 
 go and borrow the money for you ” 
 
 “ Yes — you have done everything you could 
 for me,” replied Lonsdale, shaking the barber 
 heartily by the hand in liis frank and unsus- 
 pecting confidence. 
 
 “ Come,” said Langley, “ we have no time to 
 lose. Tramp — march — be quick — and let me 
 have none of your nonsense.” 
 
 The young man bit his lip almost till the 
 blood came, and his countenance was pale as 
 death. The look that he swept around, showed 
 several sympathizing faces; and he thanked 
 them with a glance. At the doorway, two of 
 the recruits, with the ribands flying fr( ai their 
 hats, were posted; and as Frederick dep|)ed 
 fortli, they also regarded him with commisera-! 
 tion, and gave him to understand by their 
 looks, as plainly as they dared, that it was 
 against their will they had been placed there 
 to keep guard upon him^ 
 
 PYeling as if completely crushed in spirit, 
 Lonsdale passed out of the village, closely fol- 
 lowed by the sergeant. He knew full well in 
 which direction he had to go without being 
 told; and he accordingly bent his steps towards 
 tlie Manor House. As he neared Davis’s cot- 
 tage, he scarcely’ had the courage to cast a look 
 in that direction. Oh, what must be Lucy’’s 
 feelings if she knew all? Suddenly tbs door 
 of that cottage opened — a female ligurs came 
 bournling fortli : it was Lucy herself 1 
 
 “ Frederick, Freileriek ! ” she cried, in the 
 frenzy of agonising su3})ense, “ what means 
 this? Wherefore still with li.hn ?" — and she 
 flung her frightened glances towai^ls the ser- 
 geant, who was about a dozen yards behind. 
 “Dearest, <learest Lucy,” replied the young 
 
 man, “you <lid not semi ” 
 
 “Heavens!” she cxclainnid with a wild 
 ■hriek: “there has beem tin; foulest treachery! 
 
 i'ou came not U) the oak-tree last eveming ” 
 
 “No — 1 coiibl not — I was a prisoner.” 
 
 “ liut Martha (hrlivcu-ed the jiacket with her 
 ^wn iiainl last night at your lodging.” 
 
 “Ah, Bates!” ejaculate<l Lonsdale, the light- 
 
 ning of suspicion flashing in upon hia «oiil; and 
 he seemed thundersl ruck. 
 
 “ Yes — into his hand she delivered it,” cri<*d 
 the almost frantic girl. “ 1 can believe her — I 
 can rely iqion her — I am certain that she has 
 not deceived me 1 ” 
 
 “Heaven will not permit this great iniquity 
 to go uiqmnished,” said Lonsdale, in a low 
 dee[) voice, as he sustaine<l the half-fainting 
 form of his adoi'cd one in his arms. “Ohl it 
 is terrible — tei'rible! ” 
 
 “Now, young man,” cried the sergeant, who 
 had stood as erect as possible, gazing upon this 
 scene; “ I can’t wait for you any more. It’s a 
 great kindness on my p.-\rt, after all you have 
 (lone, to wait at all but the truth is that Mr. 
 Langley was so struck by the extraordinary 
 beauty of the bailiff’s daughter, that he had 
 not been able for a few moments to give utter 
 ance to a single word. 
 
 Scarcely had he thus spoken when Mr. Davi» 
 himself came rushing forth from the cottage. 
 Furious with rage, he actually tore Lucy from 
 her lover’s arms; and, with a wild cry of des- 
 })air, she became insensible. 
 
 “Villain!” thundered the bailiff, flinging a 
 diabolical glance of hate and rage upon the 
 ha[)less y’oung man ; and he bore his daughter 
 (^uiekly’^ back towards the cottage. 
 
 Lonsdale’s impulse was to follow at all risk, 
 and insist iqion a final intervieAV with his be- 
 loved. Not for a moment was he deterred by 
 the presence of Langley : he would have strick- 
 en the red-coated rufiian to the ground, reck- 
 less of the conse(piences, had he interfered to 
 stop him. It was another consideration which, 
 flashing to his mind, held him back. For he 
 thought that if he obeyed that impulse, it 
 would only excite the father’s fury into mad- 
 ness ; and he might visit his rage all the more 
 [heavily upon his unhappy daughter. There- 
 fore, with one look of unutterable despair flung 
 u})on the inanimate form of her who was being 
 borne awa}’ from his view, he sped onwards to- 
 wards the Manor House. 
 
 The sergeant said not a word. Indeed, from 
 the moment the}’ left the barber’s shop he had 
 not once o})ened his lips, save and except when 
 uttering those few words at the interview of 
 the lovers. But if he had now levelled every 
 possible taunt, invective, and insult at Frede- 
 rick Lonsdale, the unhappy young man would 
 not have heard them ; for all his thoughts were 
 absorbed in contemplation of the black treach- 
 ery which had laid his fondest hopes in the 
 dust. There was confusion in his brain with 
 regard to other things; and it was not until 
 he found himself in tlie presence of Sir Archi- 
 bald Redburn, in the same parlour where he 
 had stood in tluit same presence on the preced- 
 ing day, that his ideas assumed a collected 
 form again. The Baronet threw out some 
 taunt as to “the trouble which the fellow gave 
 with his vagaries and nonsense;” but Lonsdale 
 r(iplied not. What to him was the miserable 
 spit.e of that jiroud over-bearing man, in coin- 
 pai-ison with the sense of awful wrong and 
 iiid(!ous tr(‘achcry that sat like a nightnuire 
 upon his soul? What to him was any petty 
 demonstration of hate that might bo shown, 
 
THE SOLDIERS WIFE. 
 
 35 
 
 when -weighed in tha balance with his own il- 
 Hniitable woe if Aga n his thoughts fell into 
 confusion; and after the clauses of the Mutiny 
 Act and the Articles of War were read, he oi ly 
 recollected having heard some humming, 
 drowning sound, the sense of which he had not 
 caught. He was awakened to consciousness 
 again by being roughly told to take up the 
 Bible and swear to the Oath of Allegiance. He 
 obeyed mechanically; and then a feeling such 
 as might be supposed to take possession of a 
 doomed man when his death-sentence is pro- 
 nounced, seized upon the wretched, wretched 
 Lonsdale. 
 
 “Thank heaven, the village will now be rid 
 of a desperate character,” exclaimed the Baro- 
 net, thrusting his hands into his breeches- 
 pockets and chinking his guineas. 
 
 The young man threw upon him a look of 
 blank despair ; but, speaking not a word, issued 
 forth from the room. As he was traversing 
 the hall, the rustling of a silk dress met his 
 ears; and he mechanically looked round. It 
 was Miss Redburn, the Baronet’s sister, passing 
 towards the staircase; and it instantaneously 
 struck Frederick that she fixed upon him a 
 look so peculiar that nothing short of such a 
 look could have had the effect of arresting his 
 attention for a single moment under such cir- 
 cumstances. It struck him then most forcibly, 
 as we have just said ; and it frequently haunted 
 him afterwards: for it was a look which he 
 could not understand. It certainly was not 
 spite — nor gloating triumph ; and he could not 
 fancy that it was commiseration. She disap- 
 eared from his view the next moment; and 
 € issued forth from the hall: but the circum- 
 ctance -we have just related was speedily ab- 
 80ib.'d in the harrowing thoughts which again 
 rushed bc^ck into his soul. 
 
 “Now, my fitiC fellow,” exclaimed the ser- 
 geant, as he followed our hero down the 
 declivity of the eminence on which the mansion 
 stood, “you can’t escape me — you are in my 
 power. Ai thei-e’s often a slip between the 
 cup and the lip, and you are the sli})periest 
 dog I ever came near, I resolved not to say a 
 word more than was necessary till the nail was 
 clenched ; but now that it clenched, I don’t 
 mind telling you that I will make you smart 
 for all the trouble you have given me. I will 
 pay you off’ for your infernal insolence. Talk 
 of ever rising from tlie ranks! — why, you 
 will never even get to be a corporal ! There 
 isn’t a shadow of a chance if you behaved ever 
 80 well — which you won’t ; for I know you will 
 prove a deuced troublesome customer, and 1 
 shall have the pleasure of seeing you fastened 
 up and well trounced before you have been 
 many montlis at the depot. You will see what 
 a common soldier’s life is ; and if you don’t 
 find it hell upon earth, then my name’s not 
 Langley.” 
 
 In this manner the ruffian went on until the 
 ficinage of Davis’s cottage was again reached 
 on the way back to the village. Lonsdale 
 answered lam not a word : he had no thought 
 for such a wretch as he. His eyes were now 
 riveted upon the cottage. Would any sign 
 be made f would some indication of a last fare- 
 
 well be given foHh ? Oh, for one glimpse of 
 that dearly-loved countenance, ere he entered 
 upon his dismal career — for such he felt the 
 irresistible presentiment that it would prove ! 
 
 All on a sudden the crashing of glass m as 
 heard ; and Lonsdale stopped short. A white 
 hand had been dashed through one ot the 
 window-panes on the ground-ffoor ; and the 
 kerchief which the hand grasped, was waved 
 for a moment. The very way in which it was 
 shaken, indicated the fi antic excitement of her 
 who thus shook it. Frederick waved his own 
 in response, and then rushed onward with 
 frenzy in his brain. Oh ! too well did he com- 
 prehend what all that meant 1 The father ha <2 
 become the savage tyrant — a gaoler watching 
 his captive daughter ; and she in her des}'aii 
 had madly dashed her hand through the win- 
 dow to signal that last farewell to her lovej*. 
 Yes : and that signal not merely conve^’ed an 
 adieu, but likewise a ho]>e and a pledge, — the 
 hope that better days might come, and a pledge 
 that the heart of his Lucy wovdd remain con- 
 stant until the end ! But, alas ! so profound 
 was Frederick’s despair — so poignant his afflic- 
 tion — that his soul was inaccessible to hope. 
 
 He re-entered the village, followed by the 
 sergeant; and he was taking the direction of 
 the barber’ s-shop. At least he would have the 
 satisfaction, poor though it were, of upbraiding 
 that man for his black treachery. But no — 
 even this was denied him : for in a stern voice, 
 the sergeant commanded him -to proceed to 
 the public-house. Lonsdale already felt that 
 he had lost his manhood — that he was reduced 
 to the condition of a mere automaton — that 
 thenceforth he could only move in pursuance 
 of orders ; and he therefore obeyed mechani- 
 cally. On arriving at the Royal Oak, he was 
 commanded to fasten the colored ribbons to 
 his hat — then to betake himself to the tap- 
 room, and there stay until the hour of de]»art- 
 ure should arrive. The other recruits had 
 been permitted to visit their friends and bid 
 them farewell. Lonsdale was therefore alone 
 in the tap-room. Seated upon a bench, with 
 his elbows upon his knees, and his countenance 
 buried in his hands, he gave way to his 
 wretched thoughts. But language has no power 
 to describe the intensity of their bitterness. 
 
 Ri*esently the door opened ; and Langley, 
 tossing in a parcel, said in a gruff brutal voice, 
 “ There are 3-our things from Bates’s : he has 
 packed them up for you, to save you the 
 trouble. And there,” added Langley with a 
 mocking laugh, “ is what was forgotten to be 
 delivered to you.” 
 
 As he uttered these last words, he threw 
 down a little packet ; and closing the door 
 violently, stalked away. Lonsdale rushed for- 
 ward, and seized upon the packet. Ah I it was 
 not for the money which it contained, that he 
 thus caught it up with avidity : that was now 
 dross — vile, useless, contemptible dross ! But it 
 was because there might be a note inside : and, 
 Oh I to possess a few lines in the liand-writing 
 of his well-beloved. He tore open the brown 
 paper wrapper — some money fell upon th« 
 floor — but bis fingers clutched a note addressed 
 to himself. Ih contents were as follow : — 
 
8t 
 
 THE SOLDIEirS WIP E. 
 
 “Six c’cjlock, Monday Evening. 
 
 “I pen these fe'V lines, dearest Frederick, to 
 let you know that onr interview of last even- 
 ing has l■elnained totally unsuspected hy my 
 father: but such is his vigilance over me, that 
 1 cannot hoj)e to meet you presently at the 
 place of ap[)ointment. Martha however will 
 be there. 1 have made a complete confidante 
 of the kind-hearted girl ; and she will do any- 
 thing she can to serve us. If by any accident 
 j'ou do not make your a[)pearance at the oak 
 in the grove — and she will wait half-an-hour 
 for you — she will repair at once to Mr. Bates’s 
 house, and deliver this packet into his hands. 
 Therefore you see, dearest Frcderii;k, that 
 every precaution is taken to ensure the success 
 of our arrangements. You can of course pay 
 the money at once: and then you will be free. 
 Oh ! dearest, dearest Frederick, how happy 
 shall 1 be presently I At about nine o’clock 1 
 shall say to myself, ‘ //c h free by thin time — he 
 is no longer a slave, bound hand and foot : he is 
 happy once more.' These will be my thoughts : 
 and they will prove the source of inelfable 
 bliss. 
 
 “ Xow, dear Frederick, you must every even- 
 ing repair to our place of appointment, until I 
 succeed in joining you there: and then, when 
 I do, it will be to part no more. Are you not 
 happy, my beloved Frederick? I am so happy 
 — Oh ! so happy, 1 cannot describe all I feel. 
 Heaven’s blessings be upon your head, my own 
 well-beloved ! — and I need scarcely add that if 
 the sincerest affection which woman’s heart 
 may experience, can make man happy, then do 
 you possess that devoted love on the part of 
 your 
 
 “ Lucy.” 
 
 The tears rained in torrents down Lonsdale’s 
 cheeks as he read this note. The strong man 
 was convulsed with the bitterest agony ; and 
 he wept like a child. A child — no ! the com- 
 parison is ridiculous. No child, even when 
 most poignantly afflicted, ever wept so bitterly 
 as Frederick Lonsdale wept then. 0 God! 
 liow much happiness had been annihilated in a 
 moment. What fearful ravages had foul 
 treachery made ! The desolation of a ravaging 
 army in a fertile territoiy, was as naught in 
 comparison with the desolation which a mon- 
 Btrous ini(piity had brought into two fond and 
 faithful hearts. Oh, that the ha{)piness which 
 was breathed in the artless, ingenuous language 
 of the sweet girl’s letter, should be thus anni- 
 hilated in a moment! Oh, that a crown of 
 thorns should be place<l on that beauteous head, 
 »nd that a dagger sliould be ruthlessly thrust 
 into that innocent bosom! Heaven, why did 
 thy tbunders sleep ? had’st thou then no light- 
 nings to blast arnl destroy the satanic authors 
 of that foul and hideous wrong ? Oh, it was 
 almost Kuffleient to make the young man mis- 
 trust Providence itself, in the cont.innplation of 
 this ghastly wreck of bliss that ha<l been suf- 
 fei'cd to take place I 
 
 But we cannot — we dare not linger upon the 
 s<rene. Our soul is smitten with a deep, deep 
 Badness, as we fmike this feeble attempt to de- 
 lineate the workings of the utter ag<my whieh 
 took i>ot»HeBsiou of our young hero’s mind. 
 
 Borne one entered ar. ] placed food i pon th* 
 table; he observed not who it was — he wouhl 
 not tomdi the victuals — his bi'ain swam -there 
 was frenzy in it. The meal was left disre- 
 garded. Presently the door was again o|iened ; 
 and this time it was to intimate that in a fcw 
 minutes he must be ready for depiirture. Ah I 
 this announcement startled him from the hor- 
 ril)le vortex of his wretchedness. Oh, to write 
 a line to Lucy and get it conveyed to herl 
 There was some little solace in the thought 
 and he lost not a moment in carrying it into 
 execution. Writing materials were jirocured; 
 and he covered a page with the im[»as3ioned 
 effusions of his blee<ling — almost broken heart. 
 He summoned the hostler; and putting into his 
 hand the gold which had dropped froin the 
 packet, he besought and conjured him to find 
 some opportunity for delivering secretly to 
 Miss Davis the letter which he Likewise gave 
 him. The man knew Lonsdale well, and liked 
 him as much: he was deeply moved too by the 
 spectacle of his boundless grief — and he pro- 
 mised compliance in terms so sincere that the 
 young man felt assured the pledge would not 
 be broken. 
 
 Almost immediately after this incident, a 
 covered van drew up to the door of the Royal 
 Oak ; and Lonsdale, with the other recruits 
 who had by this time mustered at the publ: •- 
 house, entered the vehicle under the supervi- 
 sion of Serjeant Langley. There were many 
 persons assembled to witness the departure; 
 and many a friendly shake of the hand and 
 kind wish were bestowed upon the hero of our 
 tale. Mr. Bates did not, however, show him- 
 self : for after all his horrible perfidy, it was 
 scarcely to be supposed that he would venture 
 to meet the indignant looks of the outraged 
 Lonsdale. Distressing enough was the parting 
 scene betwixt all the other recruits, their rela- 
 tives and friends: mothers and sisters chmg to 
 them frantically ere they ascended the vehicle; 
 and there were few of the young men who did 
 not now bitterly repent the step they had 
 taken, and curse the hour when they suffered 
 themselves to be beguiled by the inflated false- 
 hoods and grandiloquent exaggerations of Mr. 
 Langley, 
 
 The vehicle drove away ; and while it passed 
 through the village, Lonsdale felt, as each fa- 
 miliar object was left behind, as if he were 
 parting with life itself by a rapid succession of 
 the cruellest blows. The villagers were all 
 assembled at their cottage-doors to witness the 
 departure, and to wave their hands in farewell. 
 One after another the little shops disappeared 
 from the view ; Dr. Colycinth’s house was 
 passed — then the neat dwelling of the parish- 
 clerk — then the church — and at length naught 
 save the 8j)ire was visible from the window of 
 the van. . But half-way iq) the eminence on 
 which the Manor House stood, was the bailiff’s 
 cottage; and on this Lonsdale kep this eyes 
 rivete' with a mournful earnestness until that 
 also faded from his sight. At last not eveu 
 the church spire itself was any longer visible; 
 and as he sank back with a deep inward moan 
 — the soul speaking silently iu its ineffable 
 anguish — it appeared us if u tremeudous gull 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 had suddenly opened yawningly between him- 
 self and tluit village which was associated with 
 all the dearest and tenderest memories of Ids life. 
 
 The journey was continued to Coventr}’, 
 which was at a distance of abo\it thirty miles 
 from Oaklcigh — that city being the head-quar- 
 ters of the recruiting district embracing the 
 midland counties. They reached the barracks 
 at a late hour in the evening ; and the recruits 
 were assigned to a room where there were se- 
 veral others who had arrived the same day 
 from dilfcreni })laces. On the following morn- 
 ing they were conducted one by one into the 
 presence of the adjutant, whose duty it was to 
 ascertain whether in respect of stature and 
 bodily strength they were tit for the. military 
 aervice. Lonsdale was passed in a very few 
 moments, — his noble height and tine personal 
 appearance at once speaking tur his capacity 
 in that respect. He was then examined b}' the 
 surgeon, whose report was likewise favourable ; 
 and these ceremonies being fultilled, he re- 
 turned to his quarters in the barracks. A 
 couple of days afterwards the depot of the re- 
 giment in which he had enlisted was ordered 
 to repair to Portsmouth ; and thus our hero 
 was removed many, many long miles from the 
 village in the neighbourhood of which dwelt 
 the object who was dearest iu all the world to 
 him. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE TYRANT FATHER. 
 
 A MONTH had elapsed since the departure of 
 the recruits from the village ; and in the mean- 
 time Lucy Davis recovered a certain degree of 
 mental composure. She was naturally en- 
 dowed with considerable strength of mind ; 
 and for Lonsdale’s sake she saw the necessity 
 bearing up with all her fortitude against tlie 
 terrible blow which had annihilated all their 
 arrangements and shattered their hopes of im- 
 mediate happiness. She knew that he had en- 
 listed for seven years. Seven years ! was not 
 that an age to a heart that fondly loved? 
 Yes: but love is accompanied by hope; and 
 the confidence that it feels in its strength, na- 
 turally inspires a like confidence that its fidel- 
 ity will be rewarded in the end. Now, there- 
 fore, Lucy looked forward to the expiration of 
 those seven years. She was only twenty — she 
 would then be twenty -seven — and that would 
 still be young. Frederick was but two-and- 
 twenty — he would then be under thirty, and 
 likewise still young. Had she not therefore 
 every reason to hope and anticipate that many 
 k/iig years of happiness would await them, 
 when once the period of trial and separation 
 Iiould be passed? Ohl to what straws does 
 me hope of the loving heart cling ! at what 
 phantoms does it clutch I in what visions does 
 it cradle itself 1 But were it not for hope, 
 what would become of poor suff’ering human 
 nature? and very beautiful indeed is the an- 
 cient myth which allegorically left hope re- 
 maining at the bottom of Pandora’s box, when 
 on opening it, myriads of evils flew forth and 
 fastened themselves upon the world and all 
 that it contained. 
 
 W 
 
 The hostler of the Royal Oak had faithfuby 
 fulfilled his promise to Fredeiick Lonsdale, 
 and by entrusting the lettei to Martha the first 
 time he met her, had thus ensured iU convey- 
 ance to the hands of her for wk >m it was des- 
 tined. If an^dhing had been required to con- 
 vince poor Lucy of her Frederick’s unchanging 
 and unchangeable affection, this letter would 
 have had the effect. IShe saw that much of the 
 writing was blotted by the tears which had 
 fallen from Frederick’s eyes as he penned it; 
 and in its impassioned language she discovered 
 but too plainly the anguish of heart wliich he 
 must have experienced at the time, fehe saw 
 therefore, how truly and tenderly she was be- 
 loved ; and although she shed bitter tears over 
 that letter, yet when the first frantic paroxysm 
 of mental agony was passed, she derived con- 
 solation from the epistle, inasmuch as A served 
 as a proof of Frederick’s unalterable love. 
 
 A month, we said, had passed ; and Jiow that 
 Lonsdale was no more in the village, and Davis 
 observed that his daughter’s mind was becom- 
 ing calmer, he gradually relaxed the stern vigi- 
 lance which he had exercised over her. Once 
 again was she ejiabled to ramble out by herself; 
 and she would seek the bank of the purling 
 streamlet where she and her lover had been 
 wont to meet — and she would repair to the old 
 oak in the midst of the wood where the avoAval 
 of his love had been first made ; and there poor 
 Lucy would linger for hours together, thinking 
 of the past — mournfully reflecting upon the 
 present — and yet at the same time strengthen- 
 ing herself with hoi)es for the future. But 
 often, when those scenes thus brought vividly 
 back to her mind the many happy hours she 
 had passed there with her lover, a gush of in- 
 effable feeling would well up from the foun-- 
 tains of her heart, and her tears would flow 
 thick and fast, and her bosom wouM become 
 convulsed with sobs. N evertheless, she exeided 
 all her fortitude to subdue these outbursts of 
 emotion ; and aided by the natural strengtli of 
 her mind, she gradually acquired that degree 
 of calm which enabled her to elaborate her 
 hopes into plans and projects for the future. 
 
 During this interval of a month her father 
 had never once touched upon that topic which, 
 when he first introduced it to her attention, so 
 much shocked her. Let it not, however, no 
 supposed that he had abandoned his views. 
 No — he was, if possible, more completely bent 
 upon them than ever; but with characteristio 
 caution, he waited until he saw that I.ucy’i 
 mind had regained somewhat of tranquillity an4 
 calmness. For the first week or two aftei 
 Lonsdale’s departure, he had been cold, stern, 
 and distant in his manner towai*ds her. Gra 
 dually, however, did he assume a kinder mien 
 and a gentler mode of speech — at length adopt 
 ing even more than his former fondness: for 
 the designing man meant not only to conciliate 
 but also to coax and cajole. Lucy treated him 
 with filial respect; but the pristine warmth 
 of her love towards her parent was chilled in 
 her heart: the mask had been removed from 
 his countenance — and she understood his cha- 
 racter. All the jmuthful freshness of a maiden’i 
 confiding love towards her sire was theiefor« 
 
TIIE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 W 
 
 withered: she was obedient and docile in her 
 dej)ortnient and speech, but no longer alFcc- 
 tionate and endearing in her ways. And as 
 for the sunny sweetness of lier smiles — that had 
 lied, as if for ever! 
 
 One morning, at the expiration of this interval 
 of a month, Davis was walking through the 
 fields, when he met Oerald Uedburn, wlio was 
 also on foot, accompanie(i by a cou[)le of favor- 
 ite dogs This was precisely such an opj)ortu- 
 iiity as the baililF sought; and he resolved to 
 make the best of it. With the accustomed 
 touch of his hat, he passed the ordinary coin- 
 )liments of the day for the purj>ose of engaging 
 lis young master m conversation; and Gerald 
 isto})j)ed accordingly. 
 
 “So I understand, Mr. Redburn,” said the 
 baililF, after the exchange of a few indilFerent 
 remarks, “that you are going into the Army?” 
 
 “Yes,” replied the youth, with a languid 
 aiTectatiou of manner : “ the governor has 
 
 lodged the money with Cox and Greenwood, 
 the army-agents, and in a few weeks’ time 1 
 shall have my commission.” 
 
 “That will be just about the time you come 
 of age — won’t it, sir?” added Davis, who had 
 his own reasons for the im^uiry, as the reader 
 is at no loss to understand. 
 
 “Yes, precisely so. The governor wanted 
 to celebrate the day with iifete for the tenants 
 — a dance, a supper, a roasted ox, and all that 
 sort of thing: but I’ve managed to [)ersuade 
 him out of it. 1 don’t like such nonsense.” 
 
 “ Quite right, Mr. Redburn — quite right,” ob- 
 served Davis. 
 
 “ Well, I think I am, and my mother thinks 
 so too. Between you and me, Davis, it would 
 be precious slow work, my having to open a 
 dance on the lawn with some village-lass, smell- 
 ing of onions, perhaps.” 
 
 “ Oh ! certainly, sir ; it couldn’t be expected. 
 But you don’t happen to know, sir, into what 
 regiment you are going?” 
 
 “ A o ; that can’t be known till I’m gazetted. 
 But this much is sure, that it’s to be an infantry 
 regiment, and one that’s not likely to be ordered 
 abroad.” 
 
 “Scarlet uniform, of course,” observed the 
 bailiff. 
 
 “Oh, yes. I can’t bear the blue!” 
 
 “ Well, Mr. Redburn, you will look uncom- 
 Bionly well in scarlet,” said Davis, pretending 
 to survey the sickly youth with an 'air of ad- 
 miration. “All tie ladies will be dying for 
 you !” 
 
 “Think so, Davis?” observed Gerald, with 
 conceited self-complacency “Well, I rather 
 think 1 should not disgrace the uniform, at all 
 evenl/8. Down, IS’eptune, down! Deuced hot 
 day — isn’t it, Davis? 
 
 “Very, sir. But by the bye, if I remember 
 right, you are fond of cider,” said the bailiff; 
 “and f happen to have some very excellent 
 just at piesent. Will you do me the honour 
 to walk in and take a glass ?” 
 
 Gerald was al>out to decline; but recollect- 
 ing that the baililF had a very pretty daughter, 
 he accej4ed the proposal, ami a(M;ompani(*d Mr. 
 Davis to the picturesque little cottage. The 
 d«or stood open bo they walked in at once to 
 
 the parlour, where Lucy was at the time oecn- 
 pied with her needle; but upon jiercei ving tin 
 visitor, she immediately rose, and with a reB- 
 pcctful salutation was about to <piit the room. 
 
 “Pray do not let me disturb you,” said Ger- 
 ald politely; for he could be the accomplished 
 gentleman enough when he chose. 
 
 “Mo — you needn’t leave u.s, iaicy,” immedi- 
 ately added J)avis. “On the contrary, yc'.l 
 must remain to show our master’s son that he 
 is fully welcome hare.” 
 
 Still Jjucy hesitated; and something like a 
 flush of indignation flitted across her counten- 
 ance, as the idea st ruck her that this visit was 
 not altogether accidenlal, but that it had been 
 brought about purpo.sely by her father, whose 
 ambitious views in respect to herself she had 
 not forgotten. 
 
 “If you i-etire, Miss Davis,” said Gerald, “I 
 shall at once conceive that I am really ilisturb- 
 ing you, and in that case shall take my depar 
 ture.” 
 
 Jjucy had now no alternative but to resume 
 her seat, if she did not wish to a{)[)ear actually 
 I’ude. Gerald sat down near heV; while the 
 father left the room, as he said, to fetch the ci- 
 der. The young genf.Iemau had always thought 
 Lucy Davis to be a very pretty girl : Imt lie had 
 seldom sj)oken to her since his return from Ox- 
 ford ; because she herself, disliking him exces- 
 sively, had carefully avoided encountering him 
 to the utmost of her power. He had therefore 
 seen but little of her since his return ; and he 
 was now struck, on beholding her close, with 
 her extraoi-dinary beauty. He had not before 
 thought that she was so lovely as she at present 
 aj)peared to him; and fora few moments he 
 gazed upon her with an admii-ation which he 
 could not conceal. Mor indeed did he atteinjit 
 to conceal it. iShe observed that his eyes wei’e 
 thus fixed upon her ; and again did that tran- 
 sient flush of indignation pass over her coun- 
 tenance. To escape from the intentness of his 
 regai-ds, she rose from her seat on the pretexi 
 of drawing up the window-blind. 
 
 “I am certain that I have disturbed, you,” 
 said Gerald. “ And yet you could scarcely be 
 unprepared for any visitor . for your little place 
 is so neat, and pretty, and comfortable-looking, 
 that it does you infinite credit. Ah! there’a 
 nothing like a female hand to make things 
 neat. It’s a long time since I was inside your 
 door last. I was a boy then ; and you were a 
 girl. How time has slipped away ! But you 
 seem to go out very little, Miss Davis: for I 
 seldom or ever catch a glimpse of you. How- 
 ever, now that I have once been invited herd, 
 I shall sometimes take the liberty of looking in 
 
 and asking you how you do that is, during 
 
 the short time I shall remain at home.” 
 
 “ Are you going to leave, sir?” im^uired Lucy, 
 experiencing a sense of relief at the announce- 
 ment: but she spoke in a cold, almost glacial 
 tone. 
 
 “ Yea — in a little while. I am going into the 
 Army, you know.” 
 
 Lucy had heard something of the kind — but 
 she had forgotten it; and now she started m 
 she still rcinaincd stamling at the window, and 
 with difliculty repressed u sigh , for Gerald 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 S9 
 
 Redburn’a -words had touched a painful chord and disgust : then, as he fell hade astounded, 
 
 in her heart. 
 
 “Yes — I think of going into the Army,” he 
 resumed. “ It’s such precious slow work living 
 down here in the country — although if I had 
 enjoyed the pleasure of your acquaintance more 
 than I have done, perhaps I should not have 
 been either so dull at times or else in such a 
 hurry to ^eave.” 
 
 This was intended as a compliment ; and the 
 affected youth flung a tender look upon the 
 damsel as he spoke: but his words and his 
 glance only conjured up another indignant 
 blush to her cheeks, and this time Redburn 
 could not but perceive there was anger in her 
 looks. 
 
 “ I hope I said nothing to offend,” he hastened 
 to observe. “ I am sure I didn’t mean it. 
 Why, you and I, Miss Davis, have known each 
 other from infancy ; and wlien we were little 
 child. I used to call you Lucy, and you 
 called me Gerald." 
 
 “ But we are no longer children, sir,” replied 
 the baililf’s daughter, coldly and pointedly. 
 
 “At all events we have known each other 
 too long for you to take offence at any little 
 compliment I may pay you.” 
 
 “ I detest flatteries, sir — and always mistrust 
 flatterers,” rejoined Lucy, proudly glacial. 
 
 For a moment Gerald Redburn felt angry, 
 and was half-inclined to start up and leave the 
 house. But he recollected that many of the 
 conquests he had achieved at the University, 
 and also in London, had been preceded by a 
 shyness and coyness similar to what he now 
 perceived on the part of Lucy ; and he there- 
 fore retained his seat and mastered his rising 
 wrath. 
 
 “ There are two kinds of flatterers. Miss 
 Davis,” he proceeded to observe : “ those who 
 do not mean what they say — and those who 
 do. In the former case the objects flattered 
 may not be worthy of the flattery ; but in the 
 latter case they are — when it ceases to be flat- 
 tery and becomes a delicate and well-deserved 
 compliment.” 
 
 “ But such compliments themselves, even if 
 well meant, maj be particularly distasteful,” 
 replied Lucy, in a manner which showed 
 that she was emphatically alluding to the 
 present case — or at all events in a manner 
 which ought to have convinced Redburn that 
 it was so, were he not too vain and conceited to 
 •ee anything at all humiliating to himself. 
 
 “I wonder that you do not walk out more 
 this beautiful weather,” he said, now going upon 
 another tack. “The evenings are quite de- 
 lightful ; and if you would permit me, I should 
 be so happy to escort you for a ramble through 
 the fields. Of course the old oeople up at the 
 Manor needn’t know anything about it ” 
 
 “Mr. Redburn, I am surprised at you!” ex- 
 claimed Lucy, her cheeks now becoming crim- 
 son with indignation: and she moved towards 
 tlie door. 
 
 “By heaven, how touchy you are!” he cried, 
 springing from his seat and catching her by the 
 arm. “I didn’t mean to offend you ” 
 
 “Unhand me, sir!” cried the damsel proud- 
 ly — and she threw upon him a look of aversion 
 
 she quitted the room, closing ihe door behind 
 her. 
 
 “What’s the matter, Lucy?” inquired her 
 father, whom she encountered in the passage, 
 and who had purposely been a long while in 
 fetching the cider. 
 
 “The next time that you bring Mr. Redburn 
 home,” was Lucy’s firm and indignant response, 
 “ I shall insist upon retiring to my own cham- 
 ber.” 
 
 “ By God ! I will show you,” muttered Da- 
 vis, with horrible rage, and speaking through 
 his set teeth, “ who is the master here ?” — and 
 the look that he fixed upon his daughter waa 
 for an instant diabolically savage in its expres- 
 sion. 
 
 She paiised not to make any reydy, but hur- 
 ried up to her own chamber, where she burst 
 into tears. 
 
 Davis re-entered the parlor ; and as he placed 
 the bottle and glasses upon the table, he ob- 
 served with a smile which was intended to 
 assure Gerald that he was not angry, “Lucy 
 has left you, then ?” 
 
 “Why, to tell you the truth,” replied the 
 young gentleman, “ she flew into a tiff at some- 
 thing I said — but I am sure I did not mean to 
 offend her.” 
 
 “ I am quite certain you did not,” interjected 
 Davis. 
 
 “ I merely paid her some little compliment ' 
 
 “ To be sure — natural enough between young 
 people. She’s a very fine girl, Mr. Redburn — 
 a very handsome girl — and I am naturally 
 proud of her.” 
 
 “And well you may be,” rejoined Gerald, 
 delighted to perceive that the father did not 
 take the daughter’s part. “ 1 am sure that it 
 was in a perfectly courteous manner I offered 
 to accompany her for a little walk of an even- 
 
 “It was very kind of you,” said Davis; “and 
 she ought to have felt herself honortid and 
 flattered. It isp’t as if you were strangers to 
 each other ; but you have been acquainted 
 from childhood.” 
 
 “ That’s just what I told her,” observed 
 Gerald, as much astonished as pleased to see 
 how completely the father’s views on the sub- 
 ject coincided with his own. “We used to 
 call each other by our Christian names 
 
 “To be sure. How do you like this cider, 
 sir ?” 
 
 “ It’s excellent But I really hope that your 
 daughter won’t think I meant to insult her?” 
 
 “ JMot she, the silly puss ! It’s only her coy- 
 ness.” 
 
 “Well, I will be hanged if I didn’t think so, 
 Down, Neptune — quiet, Ponto!” 
 
 “You see, Mr. Redburn,” continued Davia^ 
 drawing his chair nearer, and assuming a grave 
 look, “ Lucy has been well brought up, Hei 
 mother, you know, sir, was a lady — a perfect 
 lady — a lady by birth, and education, and 
 manners; and so Lucy is not one of your ordi- 
 nary village-maidens. Though I say it who 
 shouldn’t she’s as genteel and lady-like as any 
 nobleman’s or gentleman’s daughter in tbio 
 whole county.” 
 
40 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 “So she iS; Davis,” exclaimed Redlmrn. “To 
 ..ell you the truth, I was quite surprised just 
 now at her api)earaiice and manners. You 
 •ee, for the last few years 1 liave been so little 
 at home 1 had not taken any particular notice 
 of her: hut she has sprung u[) from the little 
 laughing girl to be quite a beautiful woman — 
 I may really almost say an elegant one.” 
 
 “You may say so, Mr. Redburn — and without 
 the least exaggeration too. But I will tell you 
 why Lucy might have been rather distant and 
 shy towards you just now. And pray observe, 
 sir, that in giving you these explanations, my 
 ©Illy object is to prevent you from going away 
 •with the imjiressioii of being rudely treated.” 
 
 “Not I — I know the sex too well. I un- 
 derstand what eo3mess is. It’s alwa^'s so at 
 fiist. But what were 3 'ou going to say’, Da- 
 vis ?” 
 
 “Allow me to replenish ymur glass. See 
 how it effervesces! Well, sir, I was about to 
 observe that Lucy has been well brought up ; 
 and a more discreet, prudent, virtuous girl 
 doesn’t exist. Now, as there’s so great a differ- 
 ence between your position and her’s, she 
 naturally thought that if you condescended to 
 take particular notice of her, it could only’ be 
 in the way’ that y’oung gentlemen of rank, and 
 wealth, and fashion do notice y’oung women 
 of an inferior class; and Lucy is the last in the 
 world to give encouragement under such cir- 
 cumstances. But of course a little harmless, 
 innocent joking and familiarity ought not to 
 be so seriously resented.” 
 
 “Well, that’s my view of it,” observed Red- 
 burn. 
 
 “And now that I have given you those ex- 
 planations, sir,” remarked the wily Davis, “ we 
 can change the discourse.” 
 
 “Not directly: it’s a veiy pleasant topic. 
 Ton my soul, I hadn’t an idea that Miss Lucy 
 was half so sweet a ereature. Do you know, 
 Davis, I think this cider is rather strong, and 
 ets a little up into the head. But, by the 
 ye, I suppose it is not true that there was 
 any’thing between I^Iiss Lucy and that scoun- 
 drel hd’ederick Lonsdale?” 
 
 “All utterly false, sir — a scandalous report. 
 Lucy could not bear the fellow.” 
 
 “ Why, I was told that she came rushing out 
 of the house to rescue him, when he was being 
 
 carried off by the recruiting sergeant a 
 
 deuced good riddance, by the bye.” 
 
 “An excellent ri<ldance, sir. But as for 
 Lucy committing herself in such a way, I think 
 you must have just now seen enough of her to 
 convince you that she was incapable of it. I 
 will tell you how the report ai’ose. It was my 
 •ervant-girl Martha who took a fancy to that 
 Lonsdale, and ran out frantic in the way you 
 have heard.” 
 
 “ Well, 1 am glad to hear this version of the 
 tale — for your sake,” added (ierald. “ It woidd 
 indeed be a pity if such a sweet ereature was 
 to throw herself away on such an ugly lout as 
 that l.onsdale. lie’s the uncouthest follow 
 1 ever saw in my life.” 
 
 “'i'hi lowest of the low,” rejilied Davis. 
 ‘With all Ids airs he was but a sorry character, 
 •ud, I am told, c^.ustantly in the tap at the Oak.” 
 
 “Ah, the brute! T thought he was a fellow 
 of that sort,” observed Redburn, making a 
 grim.ace as if seized with nausea. 
 
 “A dreadful drunkard too,” added Davis; 
 “and such a rake amongst the women.” 
 
 “That’s shocking — for a common fellow,” re- 
 marked (ferald: “but of course it’s allowable 
 with gentlemen of the upper class.” 
 
 “To be sure, sir — that is to say, with the 
 ordinary kind of women. But there are cx- 
 ceptioiKs — as in the case of my daughf(;r, for in- 
 stance: because no gentleman would dare think 
 of addressing dishonorable proposals to her. 
 lie would not have the bad taste to do it. A 
 gentleman — I mean a time gentleman, like y’ou, 
 for instance, ]\lr. Redburn — being a superior 
 person himself, knows how to appreciate supe- 
 riority in females. I am sure that one of your 
 refinement and polish must agree with th« 
 truth of what I say.” 
 
 “Certainly,” responded Gerald, delighted 
 with these compliments that were paid him. 
 
 “Since we are talking upon so friendly a 
 footing, Mr. Redburn, I do not mind telling you 
 that 1 have rather high views in respect to my 
 daughter.” 
 
 “I always had a very friendly feeling for 
 y’ou, Davis,” observed tiie young gentleman, 
 drinking his third glass of cider, which was 
 nearly as strong as champagne ; “and so I am 
 glad you treat me in the same spirit.” 
 
 “ I am only too much honored, sir — and flat- 
 tered also by your presence at my humble 
 abode,” responded Davis, with a bow; “and I 
 do ho[)e that now you have once come across 
 my threshold ” 
 
 “That’s just what I told Miss Lucy ere now,” 
 interrupted Gerald, — “ that I should take t!he 
 liberty of dropping in occasionally for a Mttle 
 friendly chat.” 
 
 “As often as you choose, sir — and the oftener 
 the better. But I was about to observe that 
 I have rather high notions in respect to 
 Lucy ” 
 
 “You have a right to look high, Davis. Sbe 
 is a heavenly creature — quite charming. Par- 
 don me for saying so.” 
 
 “ The feelings of a father are flattered, dir. 
 Redburn. I am glad y’ou agree with me that 
 I ought to look up to the prospect of Lucy 
 marry’ing a gentleman. Now, tell me candidly, 
 sir: for I value your advice ” 
 
 “Go on, Dav’is:” — and the ymuth caressed 
 his beardless chin complacently. 
 
 “Do y’ou tliink, then, that I am too ambi 
 tious — too presumptuous — that 1 look to4 
 high ?” 
 
 “Not a bit of it. There was an Emperor of 
 Russia who marriea a j>easant-girl , and she 
 occupied the throne worthily. Why the deuce 
 shouldn’t a gentleman take and marry your 
 beautiful Lucy, who cannot be called a peasant- 
 girl, but almost a lady.” 
 
 “My dear Mr. Redburn — excuse the liberty I 
 take in calling you so ” 
 
 “ No olFence, my dear Davis. Proceed.” 
 
 “ I was on the point of observing that y’our 
 excellent advice and important ajiproval h;ia 
 set the seal of sanction on my resolves. To 1 h 
 sure : Lucy must marry a gentleman. And if 
 
THE SOLDIER’S Wim 
 
 41 
 
 I am not too bold, I should be infinitely ob- 
 liged if you would take the opportuiiit}’ of giv- 
 ing her your advice on this subject. Knowing 
 her as you have from childhood, and being my 
 emplo3'er’s son ” 
 
 “ Well, all this does seem to constitute a right 
 to tender one’s counsel,” observed Oerald, into 
 whose head the cider had assuredly' got ; and 
 ali the while he was speaking, he meditated 
 with increasing raptures upon the image of the 
 Iveautiful maiden. “I shall drop in to-morrow 
 ar next day, and have a chat with Miss Lucy.” 
 
 “Do so,” rejoined Davis; “and I will furnish 
 you an opportunity^ to give her a little of jmur 
 excellent advice. But when I think of it,” he 
 added; suddenly assuming a serious look, “iSir 
 Archibald and her ladyship might not be 
 pleased at ^mur coming to my humble abode.” 
 
 “ Wlio the deuce cares?” ejaculated, Gerald. 
 “But I forgot: you might — and of course I 
 wouldh’t do anything in the world to injure 
 you. Well, in future, I will come in the even- 
 ing just about dusk; and so the old people up 
 yonder needn’t know anything about it. Lucy 
 IS a splendid creature — a splendid creature, 
 indeed ; and we mustn’t see her throw herself 
 away, Davis.” 
 
 “i can assure you, Mr. Redburn, that I re- 
 ceive your assurances with the most unfeigned 
 gratitude. It is the father who thanks you, 
 sir — and the bailiff pretended to be somewhat 
 affected. 
 
 “ Oh, don’t mention it, Davis. Y our daugh- 
 ter is charming — and I’m proud to be taken 
 into 3mur confidence in respect to ^mur views.” 
 
 Gerald now rose from his seat ; and on tak- 
 ing his leave, actually shook hands with the 
 bailiff — a circumstance which if any one had 
 prophesied it in his hearing a couple of hours 
 previousl V" would have been repudiated by him 
 with scorn and contempt. 
 
 When Gerald Redburn was gone, Mr. Davis, 
 on finding himself once more alone, rubbed his 
 hands gleefully together, muttering, “ It is as 
 good as done! He has swallowed the bait! 
 He IS ali-eady deeply’ in love with Lucy’. How 
 well I managed it! Nothing could be more 
 clever Step by step I led him on ; and he 
 could not possibly see my ulterior motive. 
 Upon my’ word, Beter Davis, y’ou are an astute 
 fellow — and as the bailiff thus flatteringly 
 apo'ffrophized himself, he gazed with infinite 
 satisfaction upon his reflection in the mirror. 
 
 He then issued forth again to his duties in 
 the fields. When he returned, an hour or two 
 later, to his dinner, he found Lucy looking pale 
 and thoughtful. Thoughtful she had indeed 
 generally been since Lonsdale’s departure ; but 
 now she was deeply so — almost as much as 
 within the first week or two after their separa- 
 tion. The father knew full well what was 
 passing in her mind: but he was sternly re- 
 solved to break her spirit and compel her to 
 fall into his views. He however said nothing 
 till dinner was over; and then, as Lucy was 
 about to quit the room, he desired her to re- 
 sume her seat. 
 
 “You know what I told you some little time 
 back?” he said, abruptly. ^ 
 
 “I hope, father, that you are not about to 
 
 renew a topic which is alike most disagreeable 
 and improper for my ears. If my poor mothei 
 were alive, y'ou would not dare entertain such 
 ideas:” — and Lucy began to weep. 
 
 “A truce to this nonsense!” cried Davis, 
 sternly. “ If y’our mother were alive, she 
 would assist me in procuring for you the most 
 eligible match : and by heaven ! I will not be 
 thwarted. I can tell you that I was nearly 
 mad with rage at the way you treated Gerala 
 Redburn just now.” 
 
 “Father!” ejaculated Lucy, starting up. ie 
 it possible that you can address me in these 
 terms ?” — and her cheeks were now crimsoned 
 with indignation. “That insolent young man 
 spoke to me in a way which I could not tole- 
 rate, and never will put up with ; and you, 
 father, instead of resenting the insult which 
 y’our daughter experienced, now make her own 
 propriety’ a subject of reproach to her.” 
 
 “ Fool ! do understand me !” exclaimed Da- 
 vis, with concentrated rage in his voice. “If 
 you listened to the dishonorable proposals of 
 any man, were he the proudest noble in the 
 'and, I would kill y’ou : but what you have to 
 expect from Gerald Redburn, is an offer of 
 marriage — and beware how you conduct your- 
 self towards him in a way that shall prevent 
 him from making you such a proposal ! When 
 a father speaks thus to his daughter, he is only 
 studying her welfare ; and again I tell you that 
 if y’our mother was alive she would approve of 
 my conduct.” 
 
 “She would not, father! — and it is a blas- 
 phemy’ against her name to say that she 
 would!” exclaimed Lucy, with passionate vehe- 
 mence. 
 
 “ Well, we will put an end to this conversa- 
 tion,” interjected Davis, abruptly. “But first 
 understand me well,: for my mind is made up. 
 If you do not give such proper encouragement 
 to Gerald Redburn as a young damsel may, 1 
 will rendei- the house unbearable to you ; and 
 if my’ views fail through your cursed stubborn- 
 ness, I will turn you out of doors — I will dis- 
 card you — I will throw y’ou off — by the eternal 
 heaven I will ! — and what is more, I will be- 
 stow my’ curse upon y’ou, and on my’ death-bed 
 that curse shall be repeated more witheringly 
 still !” 
 
 Having thus spoken, the brutal father left 
 the room abruptly, banging the door with vio- 
 lence behind him ; and Lucy sank down in a 
 chair, annihilated as it were by the awful words 
 which had thus been thundered foith against 
 her. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE DEPOT. 
 
 The depot of Frederick Lonsdale’s regiment 
 was commanded by a captain. — the regiment 
 itself being at Malta, but expected home to 
 England in about three or four months. Cap- 
 tain Courtenay was a gentleman about thirty- 
 two years of age, and was considered to b« 
 very handsome. He was tall, finely formed, 
 and certaiidy possessed a trily military ap* 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 4S 
 
 earance. He was proud and liauglity, and 
 eloiig-ing to an “ excellent family,” as the 
 phrase is, looked down with sovereign contcmi)t 
 on everything and every body which the same 
 canting phraseology denominates “ l?w, com- 
 mon, aiul vulgar.” He was a tyrant alike to 
 non-commissioned officers and soldiers ; and the 
 non-commissioned officers, bitterly smarting 
 under his tyranny, avenged themselves upon 
 the unfortunate privates in their turn. The 
 Ca[»tain was unmarried, and was a thorough 
 rake, lie was dissipated — always in debt, and 
 ilways [)oor, because he was frightfully addicted 
 l-o gambling. About every three years he was 
 wont to send a circular letter to his wealthy re- 
 lations to inform them that unless they relieved 
 him from his pecuniary embarrassments he 
 should be compelled to “sell out” — or, in other 
 words, to dispose of his commission ; so that 
 they had on several occasions com[)lied with 
 his re(piest, but each time with an intimation 
 that it must be the last. His temj)er, naturally 
 bad, was soured by the constant difficulties into 
 which he plunged himself; and the dee{)er his 
 embarrassments, the greater became his tyran- 
 ny towards those umler him. Thus by a reac- 
 tionary process were the etfects of this man’s 
 vices endured by a number of innocent persons. 
 
 There were two lieutenants belonging to the 
 depot. One was about sixty 3’ears of age, and 
 having 110 money, possessed not the slightest 
 chance of promotion. He had nothing but his 
 pay to subsist upon; and yet he never owed a 
 shilling, and always had a guinea in his pocket. 
 It was true that even his best red coat was 
 goTnewhat the worse for constant brushing, and 
 was white at the seams ; true also that he 
 went but little into society, kept no horse, drank 
 only the mess allowance of wine, never invited 
 anybody to dinner, never had any friends in 
 his own room, never went on leave of absence, 
 never indulged in any recreation or enjoyment 
 beyond the regular routine. By these means 
 he was enabled to keep his position, pay his 
 way, and avoid debt. Such was Lieutenant 
 Heatheote. He was a short, stout, ruddy-faced 
 man, with a bald head, and looked somewhat 
 ungaiidy in his uniform. So far from allowing 
 the sense of his neglected position to sour his 
 temper, whatever he might have felt he de- 
 voureil in secret; and towards all with whom 
 he came in contact, he was affable, kind, and 
 good-natured. To the utmost of his power he 
 stood as a shield between the soldiers and Cap- 
 tain Courtenay: but as he was only a lieuten- 
 ant, and so very poor, and without any chance 
 of rising, he was looked upon with a sort of 
 
 1 )ityjiig contempt by the Ca[)tain, over whom 
 le therefore had but little influence. 
 
 The other lieutenant was named Scott, and 
 was a man of about thirty years of age. He 
 acred as adjutant to the de]>ot; and it was 
 therefore with him that the active supervising 
 power rested. He was a person of a very com- 
 mon, but very despi<!able ehai-a<'l.er — cringing 
 towards his superiors, and a bitter tyrant to- 
 wards his inferiors. Ihiing almost, as poor as 
 Li<Mit(!nant 1 leatlicotij, and avoi<ling debt las- 
 *,auK(! naturally mean ami stingy, — but., on the 
 oilier hand, foml of jdeusure and <liBsi])atit)n — 
 
 he Ri)unged upon whomsoever would regain 
 him. Having contrived to make himsiilf parti 
 eularly agreeable to Ca|)tain Conrt<*nav, he 
 draidr many a bottle of wine at that gtmt lelnaii’a 
 exi>en8e, and was his almost eon.stant ccun 
 panion in his apartment at the bairaek.s. He 
 was a little, thin, dapper-made, active man, 
 with a weak voice, which soumlcd shrill and 
 penetrating when he gave the word of com- 
 mand on the parade-ground. 
 
 There were two ensigns attached to fhe 
 depot. One was a youth of twenty — the other 
 of about seventeen, and had just got his com- 
 mission from the Ro^'al Military College at 
 Sandhurst. The ensign of twenty was the Horn 
 (xustavus Ferdinand Richard Fit/, morris, the 
 son of a nobleman who had a host of children 
 to provi<le for, and had therefore foisted I hem 
 all in the usual way upon the j)ul)lic service,, 
 sending one into the Navy, another into the 
 Church, a third into the House of Commons 
 (with instructions always to vote with the Min- 
 isters), a fourth as attache to an embassy, a 
 fifth to some Colonial appointment, and the 
 sixth into the Army. Tln« last was the Honor- 
 able Cxustavus of whom we have spoken. He 
 was a most choice specimen of a drliwing-room 
 soldier — a consummate dandy, an impudent 
 coxcomb, an insufferable puppy — deficient in 
 brain.s, but wonderously w'ell stocked with con- 
 ceit, and looking upon the private sr>ldiers as so 
 many dogs whom he had a right to kick about 
 just as he thought fit. He was tolerably good- 
 looking, with one of those haughty aipiilina 
 countenances which especially characterize tha 
 old families of the aristocracy — and he was 
 well made : but these advantages of per.sonal 
 appearance were much marred by his languid 
 drawing-room air, his insufferable conceit, with 
 all the bad points of his character shining 
 through him as it were ; so that none but the 
 frivolous and giddy creatures belonging to the 
 same sphere as his own would have noticed his 
 good-looks; for at the first glance his general 
 appearance would have inspired disgust and 
 contempt with all rational persons. 
 
 The yonth of seventeen who came from Sand- 
 hurst College, was a mere boy in personal ap- 
 pearance as well as worldly experience: but 
 he gave himself all the airs of a man. Ha 
 had fancied that he was a pi*ofieient in mili- 
 tary evolutions, whereas he scarcely knew 
 the commonest details of drill or the most 
 ordinary movements on the parade-ground. 
 He had a horse, but scarcely dared mount it 
 for fear of being tossed off. He affected to 
 kee[) pace with those who at the mess drank 
 an extra allowance of wine, but, being linaecus- 
 tom^l to it, was invariably cai-ried lieljilcssly 
 tijisy to bed ; he thought it fine to smoke cigars, 
 but having a weak stomach, was constantly 
 heaving against them; he believed it both 
 manly and olHcer-like to swear, and so he never 
 s]H)ke three words without one of them being 
 an oath ; he was always vaunting his successes 
 wif h women, and was always {iretending to have 
 some lit.t.le alfair of gallantry on hand, but he 
 was in reality so timid and bashful, that he 
 scarei'ly dure look a woman in the face. Such 
 was Ml'. Taget., who had obtained his couuuia- 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 43 
 
 »ton from the Royal Military College at Sand- 
 hurst 
 
 We have now glanced at the principal 
 officers of the regiment to which Frederick 
 Lonsdale belonged. The non-commissioned 
 officers require a few words of mention. Mr. 
 Langley fulhlled the duties of acting sergeant- 
 major; and the i-eader has already seen enough 
 of his character to be fully aware that he had 
 every qualihcatiou requisite to form the con- 
 iummate tyrant. The other sergeant and the 
 eorporals were in a fair way to constitute ad- 
 mirable copyists of that indivic lal. The mo- 
 ment they obtained their little power, they 
 became tyrants. Utterly forgetful how they 
 themselves, when privates in the ranks, had 
 Binarted under the petty despotism of the non- 
 commissioned officers, tliey became despots in 
 their turn. Now, for this they were in reality 
 much less to be blamed than at the first glance 
 the reader may think. It was not their natural 
 disposition which made them tyrants, but the 
 S3'stem itself to which they belonged. Having 
 been t^’rannized over, their best feelings were 
 blunted, the generosity’ of their hearts was de- 
 stroyed, and they avenged themselves upon 
 their fellow-creatures for what they had been 
 compelled to endure. Tliis, alas! is human 
 nature. For tyn-anny is wonderfully prolific in 
 begetting tyrants, even amongst those who are 
 tyrannized over. It is the same in the civil as 
 in the military sphere. The haughty’ aristocrat 
 tyrannizes over the tradesman, the tra<lesman in 
 his turn avenges liimself by tyrannizing over his 
 foreman, and the foreman, also in his turn, proves 
 a desperate tyrant to the journeymen and work- 
 men generally over whom he is placed. 
 
 Lonsdale had been prepared by what he saw ' 
 of Sergeant Langley, even ere he left Oakleigh, 
 to find that a soldier’s life was not a bed of 
 roses ; but he had not been prepared to find it 
 80 completely a bed of thorns as it was. The 
 barrack-room, in which he was lodged, was 
 so wretched and cheerless that he could scarcely’ 
 wonder when he beheld his fallow-soldiers 
 spending all their leisure hours in the canteen 
 or the public-houses ; and as they had but a 
 beggarly three-halt\>cnce a-day — all the rest of 
 their pay being stopped for messing,, washing, 
 odothss, and articles to clean their uniforms 
 with — it astonished the young man how they’ 
 managed to find funds for beer. It was some 
 time before he learnt that the finest-looking 
 And handsomest soldiers amongst them^ fouml 
 favour in the sight of tradesmen’s wives and 
 daughters who had more money than morality ; 
 and it was hard to blame those poor fellows if 
 they availed themselves of such means and 
 opportunities for adding to their resources. 
 They had been duped and deluded in respect 
 to money-matters from the very first moment 
 of their enlistment. The bounty’ -money’, they’ 
 were solemnly’ assured, was three pounds : but 
 they had each received only ten shillings on 
 account. When they’ asked for the remainder, 
 they we^e coolly told that the two pounds ten 
 shillings had been stopped for their uniform, 
 equipr lent, tfec. This was fraud the first. With 
 regard to their pay, they had one and all been 
 taught to believe, when enlisting, that Ihey 
 
 would receive a shilling a day; and when this 
 dwindled down, after the stoppages, to a beg- 
 garly three-halfpence they naturally felt bitterly 
 indignant at the deception practised upon them. 
 That was fraud the second. To drown theii 
 cares they’ had recourse, in too many’ instances, 
 to drinking ; and it was not likely that they 
 would be over-nice how they obtained the 
 means for gratifying the growing proj^ensify. 
 Then, as for the food provided for the soldiers’ 
 mess-tables, they had been led to b‘ lieve it was 
 alike excellent and plentiful: but they found 
 it the very reverse. It was never of a good 
 description — and often of the worst. The bread, 
 being supplied by’ contract, was dark brown, 
 coarse, gritty’, and to the very taste bearing the 
 unmistakable evidence of abominable adultera* 
 tion. The very convicts at Tortsmouth hulks 
 had better bread, and often held up tlieir nice 
 white loaves in derision at the privates who 
 mounted guard over them : so that those gangs 
 of galley-slaves taunted the honest soldiers of 
 the British Army w’ith being worse fed than 
 themselves! The meat, likewise supplied by 
 contract, w’as always of the poorest kind, and 
 sometimes actually unfit for human food. Only 
 two meals a-day’ were allowed — breakfast and 
 dinner — no tea, no supper; and thus the sol- 
 diers had to go many long hours without food, 
 unless enabled to purchase it w’ith their own 
 private funds. In respect, therefore, to prov- 
 ender, fraud the third had been perpetrated 
 towards the recruit. But he dared not com- 
 plain : if he did, he would obtain no redress, 
 and would be eertain to find himself a marked 
 man, on the very first available occasion to be 
 entered on the proscribed list, and thus be in 
 constant danger of a court-martial for the most 
 trivial offence. Lonsdale found too that the 
 private soldier had many persons to please : 
 first, the corporal — then the sergeant — then 
 the sergeant-major — then the ensigns — then the 
 lieutenants, the adjutant especially’ — and then 
 the captain of the depot. Each one too mu<jt 
 be pleased after his own fashion, and according 
 to his own caprices and humours : so that it 
 would require the patience of a Job, the resig- 
 nation of a martyr, the endurance of a saint^ 
 the meekness of an angel, and the sagacity of a 
 philoso})her, to know how to bend to the weak 
 points of each of those authorities, and avoid 
 coming into collision w’ith his strong ones. As 
 for the roseate hues in w’hich Mr. Sergeant 
 Langley had depicted the soldier’s life, had he 
 blackened the picture w’ith the deepest dyes 
 and used a brush dipped in vinegar, he could 
 not possibly have been guilty’ of exaggeration, 
 misrepresentation, or hyperbolic extravagance. 
 
 It must not be supposed from some previous 
 remarks which we have made, that all the sol- 
 diers whom Lonsdale found at the depot were 
 constant frequenters of the public-house, ha- 
 bitually dissiiiated, or pensioners of dissolute 
 women outwardly respectable. No such thing. 
 There were many fine-spii-ited, noble-hearted, 
 well-principled men, like himself — men whom 
 necessity had forced into the ranks, or who had 
 been deluded thither by the misrepresentationa 
 of the recruiting-officers. These soldier# were 
 accustomed to club togetlier some portion of 
 
THE so7,DrEirs vnyr^. 
 
 the pittance wl ich remained to tlictn out of 
 their pay, in order to suWscrihe to a circulating 
 library and to take in a weekly newspaper. 
 As this was however a democrat ic journal, they 
 were eomi>el!ed to lie particularly cautious 
 how they sulfered it to lie about the barrack 
 rooms: for if any one of the officers — old Eieu- 
 tenant ILcathcote alone exccpt.e<l — had ha|>- 
 ptMied to catirh a glim|)se of it, there would 
 have been a furious explosion of anger against 
 the unfortunate me*n who dared subscribe to it. 
 I'hey took in this pai'ticular paper for two 
 reasons. In t he lirst jilace it was the one which 
 most fearlessly advocated the private soldier’s 
 cause, ex[)osed the tyrannies to which he was 
 subjected, and as mercilessly denounced the 
 hoi'rors of the lash as the lash itself fell merci- 
 lessly upon the soldier’s back. Sometimes a 
 soldier would write a letter explaining particu- 
 lar or general g ’ievai ces to the editor of that 
 newspa[)er; and though he gave his real name, 
 and that of the regiment to which he belonged, 
 as a guarantee of good faith on the jiart of the 
 writer, yet he invariably appended a postscript 
 beseeching that the editor would su[)press those 
 names in giving publicity to the document. 
 For a private soldier can scarcly be guilty of a 
 greater crime in the eyes of his olHcers than 
 that of daring to let out the seci-ets of military 
 despotism through the medium of the newspa- 
 per-}U’ess. The martinets of the army tremble 
 at the j)ower of that press; and they use all 
 their endeavors to vilify and cast odium upon 
 any liberal prints which express sympathy 
 towards the private soldier. Captain Courte- 
 nay had issued a special order that the newsjia- 
 per in question should not be admitted into the 
 barracks — a monstrous assumption of power, 
 against which however there was no appeal, and 
 the only remedy for whicu was to procure the 
 journal in a stealthy manner and circulate it as 
 privately as possible. For the oppressive mili- 
 tary code, indirectly, if not directly, seeks to 
 invest the officers with a tyrannical power over 
 the consciences and the minds, as well as the 
 bodies of the soldieiy. The grand aim is to 
 make them complete automatons — to regulate 
 their movements, their proceedings, and tliei’* 
 conduct, to the rigid standard of an enslaving 
 discipline — and to limit their opinions as much 
 as possible within the circumscribed sphere. It 
 Ls im])os3ible to conceive any system more cal- 
 culated to enslave, imbrute, and mechanize the 
 mind, than the British routine ot" military dis- 
 cipline. If it were competent lor human inge- 
 nuity to invent a machine for regulating the 
 range of thought, and directing opinions into a 
 {>articular channel, with a delined boundary 
 which the intellect could not possibly overlea[), 
 — such a machine would be greedily caught 
 uj) by the military autocrats and generally 
 applied' throughout the army. 
 
 The ol-her reason wherefore the soldiers took 
 in the parti'Milar paper alliuled to, was on ac- 
 count of its democratic opinions. The tyranny 
 of supmhors makes <lemocrats of the inferiors 
 who are tyrannized over. Jjonsdale found 
 amongst his comrades many men wlio hud 
 never troubled tlicmsidvos with poIilTnil opi- 
 nions at all, until they entered the ranks — wheri 
 
 the despotism under wbicli they smarted proT* 
 ing suggestive, soon liegnn to make them think 
 that human beings were not created to bo on- 
 chained liody and soul, and that there must be 
 8omclhi"g wrong in the system which reduced 
 one class of men to t he <'ondil,ion of t rembling 
 slaves in the presence of another class. Thus 
 their minds were spcmlily forced into that 
 channel of rellection which rendered them 
 easily accessible to the inllucnco of <Iemocratio 
 ojiimons; and in this belief they soon becamo 
 confirmed by the conversation which they 
 heard arouml them, and by the artidi^ 
 which they read in the newspajier subscribed 
 for, or which were read to them. For amongst 
 the soldiers there were of course many wlio 
 could neither read nor write; and of an 
 evening, when the officers were at mess and 
 there was the least danger of interruption, the 
 newspaper was read aloud in the barrack-room 
 for the behoof of those who were unable to read 
 it for themselves. 
 
 On joining the ilepot, Lonsdale, together with 
 the other recruits, was put into the “awkwai'd 
 s(piad”to undergo the [irocess of drill. The 
 drill-sergeant, no doubt emulating Mr. Bangley’s 
 exanqilc, was harsh, stern, and .severe; and he 
 found fault for the slightest indication of that 
 awkwardness or ignorance which it was his 
 special duty to correct or enlighten. Lonsdale 
 did his best to give satisfaction ; and being 
 naturally quick and intelligent, he really acquit- 
 ted himself in a manner which ought to have 
 [ileased any conscientious individual. But 
 from the very instant of his enlistment, he had 
 become a marked man; for yergeant Langley 
 had not failed to hint to the other non-comnii.s- 
 sioned officers that he was a refractory kind of 
 a fellow who must be kept in check, and that 
 he had an indejicndent spirit which ought to 
 be broken. The drill-sergeant, who was a man 
 of remarkable uglines.s, was from the veiy first 
 predisposed to dislike Lonsdale on account of 
 the manly beauty of his person ; and he did not 
 fail to act up to tlie hints which he had received 
 from Mr. Langley. Therefore when Frederick 
 did not commit faults in the drilling process, 
 the sergeant invented them ; and often and often 
 was the young soldier so taunted, abused, and 
 sworn at, without any just reason, that he felt 
 every vein tingling with indignation, and could 
 scarcely restrain himself from rushing out of the 
 rank and inflicting summary chastisement on 
 the petty tyranny of a drill-sergeant. But no : 
 he invariably stifled his feelings, — submitting 
 to every humiliation; for there was one imago 
 constantly upjiermost in his mind — an image 
 whose countenance appeared to be gazing 
 soothingly ami sympathisingly upon him, and 
 thus to shed the holy and beneticent influence 
 of love upon his soul. 
 
 At the ex|)iration of six weeks the awkward 
 sipiad was drilled in presence of the adjutant, 
 in order to “ pass for arms ;” t hat is to say, their 
 proliciency in the rudiments of the drill-exereiso 
 was to be tested to a.scertain whet her they were 
 tit to commence the exercise of the musket. 
 'I’he a.djutaut was most difficult to please; and 
 Ixiing in a more tban usually ill-humor that 
 day, he failed not to vent his spate upon the iu>- 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFR 
 
 41 
 
 fortunate recruits. He never once reproached 
 tne drill-sergeant for want of tact on his own 
 part, or for having recommended the squad as 
 competent to pass for arms : but all the objur- 
 gations and vituperations, intermingled with 
 no small quantity of oaths, were levelled at 
 the recruits themselves — so that some of them 
 were actually bullied into the commission of 
 the very faults for which they were blamed. 
 The squad was pronounced unhtfor arms; and 
 this was to a certain extent a degradation — at 
 all events, a deep humiliation — because if the 
 recruits had been reviewed by one exercising a 
 dispassionate calmness, they would have ac- 
 quitted themselves in quite a different manner. 
 
 On the same afternoon on which the squad 
 had been thus turned back, Lonsdale was 
 passing through the barrack-yard in a very 
 mournful mood, — when he encountered Ser- 
 geant L 4 ingley. 
 
 “Well, you fellow, what do you think of a 
 •oldier’s life now?” demanded this individual: 
 and there was a sardonic grin upon his coun- 
 tenance. “Why don’t 3 ’ou answer? 1 suppose 
 you wish }mu had never entered the ranks — -but 
 you don’t like to sa^' so. Come speak up, man : 
 isn’t that the case ?” 
 
 “ It is,” replied Frederick, with more of bit- 
 terness in his accents than he could control. 
 
 “Ah! I always thought you were a discon- 
 tented, refractory kind of a fellow. I hav’n’t 
 forgot what ])assed between ^mu and me at 
 Oakleigh — how ^mu tried to sliirk out of tlie 
 business when once you had enlisted: but 1 
 wasn’t such a fool as you thought. Ha! ha! 
 Bates and I managed that affair nice enough. 
 I saw the little notes you wrote to the surgeon 
 and two or three of the tradesmen, begging 
 and impkring them to lend you the smart- 
 money for a few hours : but Bates wasn’t such 
 a fool as to send them. A good fellow was 
 that Bates! — he helped to get me several re- 
 cruits, and you amongst them. But I say, 
 what’s become of that girl 3 ’ou were so fond 
 of, and that came throwing her arms round 
 jmur neck? She was a pretty piece of goods 
 enough : but I dare say that b}' this time she 
 has provided herself with another lover.” 
 
 Lonsdale was moving on in mingled indig- 
 nation and disgust, when Langley commanded 
 him in an authoritative tone to stop — exclaim- 
 ing with a terrible imprecation, “ What do 3 ’ou 
 mean by walking away like this, when 1 con- 
 descend to speak to 3 'ou? You should take 
 care how \'ou behave to ^mur betters, you in- 
 fernal imjmdent scoundrel, 3 ’ou!” 
 
 Frederick could not help flinging upon Lang- 
 lev” a look of the liveliest indignatioii : but he 
 said nothing. 
 
 “Js'ow 1 just tell you what it is,” said the 
 ■ergeant, with intense malignit}’^ in his accents 
 fts well as his e^’es; “you are a sneaking hum- 
 bug — a fellow that would do anything mean 
 wtd shabby* ; and yet you pretend to have a 
 fine spirit of your own. I have got my ej^e 
 upon you ; ana I shall take uncommon good 
 care to punish you for the first piece of impu- 
 dence you show towards me. I don’t think 
 you will know j'our place till 3 ’ou have had a 
 U ste of the cat ; and as sure as my name is 
 
 4 
 
 Langley, you Bhall know what it tastea 
 before j'ou are much older.” 
 
 The sergeant then stalked away: and th« 
 unfortunate 3 'oung soldier felt so truly miser- 
 able, that if it had not been ibr the image o£ 
 Lucj", it is even to be feared that he would 
 have been tempted to put an end to his sor- 
 rows by some desperate means. 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF THE BAILIFFS SCHEME. 
 
 It was about a fortnight after the visit of Ge- 
 rald Redburn to Davis’s cottage, that the 
 young gentleman was one evening, soon after 
 dusk, wending his way from the Manor House 
 in the direction of that dwelling. He walked 
 slowly' — for he was engaged in thought; and it 
 will jierhaps be advisable to make the reader 
 ac(piuiiited with his musings. 
 
 “1 really don’t know what has come over 
 me for the last fortnight ; but I eertainl^" think 
 that I love that girl. Somehow or another I 
 don’t feel towards her as I have towards other 
 women. It’s altogether a different sensation. 
 It isn’t exactly that I want to possess her for 
 awhile and then throw her off: but it seems as 
 if I should like to have her alwaj^s for mj'self 
 — to make her mine entirely, with the certainty 
 that no other person can take her awa}" from 
 me. She is assuredly the most beautiful crea- 
 ture I ever beheld in my life ; and every time 
 1 see her, she strikes me as being handsomer 
 and handsomer. It requires to know that girl 
 to discover how beautiful she is. And then, 
 too, how I like that spirit on her part ! She 
 pretends to be so cold, and reserved, and dis- 
 tant, — as if she wanted a great deal of wooing 
 before she could be won'. Davis assur?.s me it 
 is mere co^mess on her part. I wonder w'he- 
 ther he suspects that I am smitten with her? 
 I don’t think he does : for he alwaj^s speaks to 
 me of her with a sort of friendly confidence, 
 j ust as he might speak to a brother, or an uncle, 
 or any near relation who he krows could not 
 possibl}' have an^" matrimonial design in that 
 quarter. Here have I been regularly every 
 evening at the cottage during the last fort- 
 night ; and the oftener I go the more I feel the 
 necessity of going. Ah ! Davis was quite right 
 when he said that his daughter was not a girl 
 who would listen to any dishonorable propo- 
 sal. I think I have got impudence enough for 
 almost an^hhing : but I could no more make 
 such a proposal to that girl than I could to a 
 duke’s daughter There is something about 
 her that overawes one; and now I begin to 
 understand what is meant by the natural dig- 
 nity of a virtuous woman. I alwaj^s thought 
 until recently that it was something only, to 
 be found in romances, or else in the highest 
 class of society : but Lucy Davis has taught 
 me quite different. She is indeed a superb 
 creature!” 
 
 Here Gerald Redburn stopped short as he 
 approached the cottage ; and he seemed to be 
 struck with a sudden hesitation whether to 
 proceed- 
 
M 
 
 THE SOLDII'IR’S WIFE. 
 
 “But aft«r «11,” he said to himself, “this is 
 Tery absurd oa my part. 1 can’t possibly 
 marry the girl — and as for obtaining lier on 
 any other te^ms, it’s evidently out of the ([ues- 
 tion. I think I had better cut the matter short 
 at once: because it’s no use falling head over 
 ears in love only to make one-self miserable. 
 The governor and my mother would be shock- 
 ed at the idea of my marrying their bailiff’s 
 daughter; and altogether it would not do at 
 all. No: 1 had better cut it at once, and not 
 make a fool of myself any more.” 
 
 Having thus communed with himself as he 
 stood still gazing upon the cottage through the 
 deepening gloom of the evening, Gerald turned 
 abruptly round in order to retrace his way to 
 the Manor House : but he had not gone maii}^ 
 yards when an invincible feeling coni})elled 
 nim to stop short again, and revert his eyes 
 towards the dwelling of her whose beauty had 
 established its empire, although so unwillingly 
 on her side, over his heart. 
 
 “Well, this is strange,” he said to himself. 
 “I feel that I must go and see her. It’s no use 
 fighting against the inclination : it is stronger 
 than one-self. Besides, what if 1 chose to marry 
 her — who could prevent it? Am 1 not inde- 
 pendent of the governor — or shall be in a few 
 weeks when I come of age? The estates arc 
 entailed ; and he can’t keep me out of them — 
 60 that directly I am twenty-one, 1 should have 
 no difficulty in raising what money 1 want. 
 Besides, there’s the romance of the thing: it 
 would be quite a charming novelty; having a 
 hand.some wife with one in one’s regiment. 
 The attraction is sure to collect such gay so- 
 ciety around one — and then the pride too of 
 a beautiful wife to sit at the head of one’s table ! 
 If Lucy was dressed in silks and satins, Avho 
 would know that she was a bailiff’s daughter? 
 She has got the manners of a lady ; and being 
 so quick and intelligent, would soon fall into 
 the ways of polished society as easy as if she 
 had been all her life accustomed to them. 
 Well, at all events, I must think the matter 
 over; and I will just drop in and pay my usual 
 visit this evening.” 
 
 Gerald Redburn accordingly proceeded to 
 the cottage ; and the door was opened by Mar- 
 tha, who invariably looked vexed and anne 3 'ed 
 when he made his appearance. He was at 
 once shown into the little parlor, where Mr. 
 i>avis was seated with his brandy-and-water, 
 and where Lucy was as usual engaged in nee- 
 dlework. 
 
 During tlie fortnight which liad elapsed, she 
 had etnlured the visits of the young man for 
 the simple reason of avoiding anymore terrific 
 eeenes with her father. She must either endure 
 tliose visits, or suffer those scenes: and be- 
 tween the Jilternatives, she chose the former 
 for the sake of maintaining peace in the house- 
 hold. Her affections were so firndy and ina- 
 lianablv riveted noon Jjonsdale that she could 
 not for an instant feel she w.as playing any per- 
 fiilious part towards her absent lover by thus 
 exjiosing In-rsidf to the flatteries and (he ad- 
 »niring looks of Gerald liedburn ; iiiaHnnu h as 
 site gave him not the slighti'st encouragement, 
 — but, on the contrary, as far as nhe dared in 
 
 lier sire’.s presence, and vmy pointedly wlien h« 
 tpiif.ted the I'oom, stinlied to make tiie yonr.r 
 man aware that his attent ions were <listastefuL 
 We have, however, seen, that he had .“et theia 
 down to mere shyiH!SS on her part; and, (hero- 
 fore, still [icrtinaeiously obtruded himself upon 
 her presence, 
 
 Lucy, moreover, endured these scenes be- 
 cause she ho()ed that the tle|)arture of Gerald 
 Redburn from the neighborhood when he ob- 
 tained his commission, would effectually relicTfl 
 her from his visits. Her father had not, during 
 the })ast fortnight, renewed that one topic which 
 Lucy was naturally so anxious to avoid. H« 
 was contented by observing that, notwithstand- 
 ing her coldness, Gerald was everyday becom- 
 ing more inextricably ensnared in the meshes 
 which her charms so involuntarily on her part 
 spread around him; and he considered that it 
 would be quite. time enough to adopt coercive 
 measures to compel his daughter to thi-o\v off 
 that chilling reserve, whenfrerald should be so 
 entangled in the web of love as to hav€ no 
 power left to emancipate himself. The bailiff 
 was also shrewii enough to perceive that this 
 very eoldiiess on his daughter’s part, which iiw 
 had at first teared would serv’^e to damp the 
 young man’s passion, was producing the very 
 contrary effect, and w'as actually jiicpiing it so 
 that Davis was not altogether diseonteiited 
 with Lucy’s demeanor, at iea.st for the present. 
 In short, tilings seemed to be progressing en- 
 tirely to his satisfaction ; and he now only 
 waited for Gerald to speak out plainly and 
 openly, in order to give Lucy to understand 
 that his resolve was sternly taken, and that she 
 must make U[) lier mind to bend to his will. 
 
 Gerald Redburn entered the parlor, u[)on the 
 occasion of wliicli we are now s[>ecially speak- 
 ing, with the orf-hand familiarity of one who 
 knew himself to be a thoroughly welcome 
 guest to the master of the house, lie shook 
 hands with Davis; but he had not as yet dared 
 to venture so far as to offer his hand to Lucy. 
 He had on two or three occasions made a sort 
 of movement to indicate that if he received the 
 slightest encouragement he would give his 
 hand ; but her’s had never been extended to- 
 wards him. A cold and distant salutation was 
 the greeting he ever received fro'i her; for it 
 was not merely that Lucy loved another, but 
 likewise because she could never forget the in- 
 dignities Avhieh Gerald Redburn had heaped 
 upon Frederick, and that it w'as entirely 
 througli him her lover had lost his employment 
 and had been driven to enlistment. 
 
 “Well, Mr. Davis — enjoying your glass aa 
 usual ? ” said Gerald, as he took a .seat l)et\\ eeu 
 the father and daughter, but nearer to the lat- 
 ter. “ You will permit me to join you?” 
 
 “I am really ashamed, IMr. Redburn,” an- 
 swered the bailiff, “that you should always 
 take this eammon stuff instead of wine. Now 
 you know 1 have some wine in the house—' ” 
 
 “And I, on know,’’ rejoined Gerald, with a 
 familiar smile, “that 1 [irefer doing as yon do. 
 
 1 am surfeited with wine — <piite sick of it, I 
 can assure you.” 
 
 “Give Mr. Redburn a clean lumblt.T off 
 sideboaril, Lucy,” said the ba liff. 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 “I would not trouble Miss Davis for the 
 world I ” exclaimed Gerald, springiug from his 
 ehaii and procuring a glass for himself. “The 
 gentlemen were made to wait upon the ladies, 
 and not have the ladies to wait upon them,” 
 
 Lucy took no notice of this wretchedly stale 
 compliment, but continued her needle- work; 
 and with difficulty did she suppress a sigh as 
 she thought how very difierent her feelings 
 would be if PTederick were seated by her side 
 instead of the insufferable youth who had 
 planted himself there. 
 
 “Any news about your commission, Mr. Red- 
 burn ?” said Davis inquiringly ; for he was al- 
 ways apprehensive of hearing that the young 
 man’s departure might be precipitated ere hie 
 schemes were worked out to complete success. 
 
 “No — not yet,” was the welcome response — 
 welcome at least to the father, but quite other- 
 wise to the daughter. “PYom a letter the go- 
 vernor received this morning, I dare say it will 
 be at least a month before I can be gazetted. 
 But, somehow or another, I am not now at all 
 in a hurry to leave home and he looked sig- 
 nificantly at Lucy, who did not, however, ap- 
 pear to notice that she was thus the object of 
 nis regards. 
 
 “Indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Davis. “I thought 
 that you found a country life very dull after the 
 pleasures of London and Oxford ?” 
 
 “ Y es, horribly dull, until recently,” respond- 
 ed Gerald: then, thinking that he was going a 
 little too far and committing himself too much, 
 he turned away from the topic by observing, 
 
 “ So I understand Bates, the hair-dresser, is in 
 difficulties.” 
 
 “Yes,” replied the bailiff, “he can’t pay his 
 debts in the village, and there’s a terrible out- 
 cry against him. The fact is, from what I have 
 beard, he goes too regularly to the public- 
 house of an evening.” 
 
 “But isn’t it said that there are whisperings 
 in the village about his having lent himself to 
 that recruiting-sergeant who was here some 
 weeks ago, and that he helped him to kidnap 
 some of the young villagers 
 
 “Well, there is a rumor to that effect,” re- 
 plied Davis, feeling rather uneasy at the topic ; 
 for he had observed the color on Lucy’s cheeks 
 come and go rapidly at an allusion which so 
 forcibly reminded her of him on whom the fa- 
 ther well knew her affections were deeply set 
 
 “ So Bates, then,” resumed Gerald, “ has got 
 himself into bad odor with the tradesmen in the 
 village ? But at all events, he did one good act : 
 for I understand that he helped somehow or 
 another — but I have never learnt the particu- 
 lars — in getting Oakleigh rid of that ill-condi- 
 tioned lout Lonsdale.” 
 
 “ My dear Mr. Redburn, pray suffer me to pass 
 you the spirit-stand,” Davis hastened to observe : 
 for at that moment Lucy had started visibly, 
 while her countenance became crimson: then 
 she ?ped — almost rushed — to the door, and 
 quitted the room. 
 
 “ Is anything the matter?” demanded Gerald, 
 astounded at this abrupt departure of the young 
 maiden. “I thought,” he added, with a look 
 full of annoyance, “that you had positively 
 assured me there was nothing between her and 
 
 4,1 
 
 Fred. Lonsdale — but that it was your servant* 
 girl?” 
 
 “ I did so — and I informed you correetl}’^, Mr. 
 Redburn,” replied the bailiff; then, never in 
 want of a ready excuse, he proceeded to observe, 
 “The fact is, Martha the servant-girl has been 
 with us a long time; and Lucy has taken a 
 sort of liking to her. Martha is terribly cut 
 up at being separated from her lover, and has 
 made Lucy believe that tlie fellow is a very 
 excellent young man ; so Lucy pities her, and 
 would be inclined to take her part in the mat- 
 ter. You know, my dear Mr. Redburn, froca 
 your own great experience of the world, that 
 young women will stick to each other in ail 
 love-affairs ; and therefore 1 have no doubt Lucy 
 felt annoyed that you should have expressed 
 yourself in such strong terms against Martha’s 
 lover.” 
 
 “Ah! I suppose that was it,” observed Ger- 
 ald. “Well, I am glad you have told me — 
 because I will not touch upon the topic another 
 time in Miss Davis’s presence.” 
 
 “ It certainly would be better to avoid it,” 
 replied the bailiff. 
 
 “ I don’t think, by the bye,” observed Gerald, 
 affecting a careless and somewhat indifferent 
 air, “ that this coyness on the part of Miss Lucy 
 wears off at all. She seemed colder to me than 
 ever this evening, and more reserved.” 
 
 “As I have before explained to you, Mr. Red- 
 burn, it is all in consequence of the girl’s 
 excellent principles. She is afraid of ap- 
 pearing too forward. But with all her shy- 
 ness she feels the honor you do us in dropping 
 in to see us. Of course she could not do other- 
 wise.” 
 
 “Ah 1 then she does look upon me as a 
 friend?” observed Gerald, experiencing a glow 
 of rapture at the thought that, perhaps after 
 all, Lucy was in love with him, and adopted 
 this very coldness of demeanor in order to con- 
 ceal it. 
 
 “She occasionally speaks of you, Mr. Red- 
 burn,” returned the wily Davis; “and in very 
 friendl}^- terms too — particularly friendly.” 
 
 “ 1 am glad to hear it,” said the young gen- 
 tleman ; and then for a few minutes he became 
 thoughtful. “She’s a very nice girl, Davis,” 
 he added, again breaking silence ; “ and it’s no 
 compliment to say that the man is to be envied 
 who will have her for his wife.” 
 
 “Yes — though her father, I can’t possibly 
 help echoing the sentiment. I shall hope to 
 see her married soon. I am sure that if I was 
 to take her for a few months to some fashionable 
 watering-place, she would have her choice ol 
 suitors, i intend to ask Sir Archibald in a few 
 days for leave of absence. I never have had 
 a lioliday yet ; and I am sure your father is too 
 good to refuse me after so many 3'ears of faith- 
 ful service.” 
 
 “ Oh, to be sure!” ejaculated Gerald. “ Bui 
 don’t be in a hurry about it — there’s plenty ol 
 time.” 
 
 “Yes — but observe, Mr. Redburn, Lucy is 
 now twenty — in the bloom of her beauty : and 
 moreover, I think change of air would do her 
 good — for she has been a little indisposed ol 
 late — a trifle paler than she was. But really 1 
 
iS 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 onglit to apologize for intruding my domestic 
 •(fairs upon you,” 
 
 “ Not at all, Davis — very far from it — I like 
 to converse with you on such subjects. It puts 
 me quite on a friendly footing with you. But, 
 as I was observing, 1 shouldn’t be in a hurry, if 
 I was you, to run away yet. Wait a week or 
 two. It’s only now tlie middle of summer; 
 and in another month all the world will be 
 flocking to the sea-side. But is not Miss Lucy 
 going to join us again this evening ?” 
 
 “ 1 have no doubt, if you wish it,” responded 
 Davis. “1 will call her;” — ajid he quitted the 
 room. 
 
 Ascending to his daughter’s chamber, he tried 
 the door — but found it fastened, l^oor Lucy 
 had locked lierself in, that she might give free 
 vent to the tears of that anguish which had 
 been excited in her bosom by the brutal allu- 
 81011 Gerald Redburn made to her absent lover. 
 Davis knocked gently at the door — but she did 
 not answer: for all her senses were absorbed in 
 the depth of her affliction — and she heard not 
 the summons, lie knocked again, and a little 
 louder this time. The sound, reaching her ears, 
 startled her. 
 
 “Who is it?” she said, in a voice clouded 
 with mournfulness. 
 
 “ It is I — your father, Lilc}^” he responded 
 in a low whisper. “ I desire that you will come 
 down.” 
 
 “ I cannot — I am not well — I am suffering.” 
 
 ' “ Lucy, I command you to come down,” 
 
 “ Father, indeed I cannot :”-r-and a convulsive 
 sob reached his ears. 
 
 “ But you must ! — it is my positive desire — 
 my command,” 
 
 “ Father, I cannot — I will not.” 
 
 The bailiff was about to give vent to some 
 terrible threat : but it struck him that the young 
 gentleman below might hear what was passing 
 — and he contented himself by whispering, 
 “ Disobedient girl that you are ! I will make 
 you suffer for it.” 
 
 A sound like the gushing forth of a paroxysm 
 of anguish reached him through the door : but 
 stern and implacable, he paused not to recall 
 his threat — much less to proffer consolation for 
 the effects of his cruel unkindness; and com- 
 posing his features, he descended to the parlor. 
 
 “ Lucy was taken unwell,” he said to Gerald ; 
 
 “ and tliat was the principal reason of her leav- 
 ing the room so suddenly. She most respeet- 
 fully throws herself upon your kindness to 
 excuse her this evening.” 
 
 “ I am truly sorry to hear that she is unwell,” 
 returned Gerald; “and I shall not fail to call 
 to-morrow evening, to assure myself that she is 
 better.” 
 
 He then took liis leave ; and while retracing 
 his 8toj)8 to the mansion, he could not help 
 saving himself, “It is strange — but I am 
 madi) in love wilh that girl I” 
 
 Jt was about ten o’clock when he entered 
 the Manor House, Jind ascended to the draw- 
 ing-room where his father and mother, with 
 Aunt .Jane, W(!re sciited. 
 
 “What is it, G(!rald, that makes you leave 
 OK regularly <iv<ny evening ufUr coffee?” in- 
 quired J..ady Redburn. 
 
 “No good, I dare say, “observed Aunt Jane 
 
 “Evil be to those who evil think,” exclaimed 
 Gerald petulantly, “The fact is, 1 like a little 
 walk in the cool of the evening.” 
 
 “But you remain out so late,” rejoined her 
 ladyship, “and 1 am sure the dews at this hour 
 cannot be good for you.” 
 
 “They seem to smell very much of brandy," 
 remarked Aunt Jane, who had eaug.ht a whiff 
 of her nephew’s breath as he turned round to 
 address her a moment back. 
 
 “ I hoj)e that you don’t go down to Bushell’s 
 of an evening?’’ said the Baronet, looking at 
 his son with mingled suspiciorj and alarm. 
 
 “I should rather think not,” he niturned 
 snappishly. “What the deuce could [intsuch a 
 thing itito your head? 1 suppose that if I 
 choose to step into the dining-room as 1 coma 
 in, and take a drop of cold s])irlts-and-water, I 
 am not to be ({uestioned about it just as if I 
 were a child.” 
 
 “Certainly not, my dear boy,” exclaimed 
 Lady Redburn. “You know that Aunt Jane 
 says sharp things now and then ; but she doesn’t 
 mean any harm,” 
 
 “kSometimes my sharp things hit hoine,” ob 
 served Aunt Jane. “But Gerald hasn’t told 
 you yet where he wanders on these beautiful 
 tine dewy evenings.” 
 
 “ Well, if you must know, I smoke my cigar 
 through the fields.” 
 
 “ And you are not afraid of gipsies or rob- 
 bers?” said Aunt Jane, with sometliing very 
 much like contempt. 
 
 The young gentleman did not condescend to 
 take any notice of this observation ; and the 
 discourse speedily flowed into another channel. 
 
 Another fortnight passed, during which 
 Gerald continued to be a constant evening 
 visitor at Davis’s cottage. Lucy, still anxious 
 to avoid as much as possible angering her 
 father, — for there had been a terrible scene 
 between them on the morning after she had 
 quitted the room so abruptly, — endured as 
 heretofore the presence of the young gentle- 
 man ; and he, becoming if possible more and 
 more madly in love, grew more and more 
 pointed in his remarks. We had almost 
 said that he became more pointed in his atten- 
 tions : but this would have been to a certain 
 degree inaccurate, inasmuch as Lucy to the 
 extent of her power avoided giving any oppor- 
 tunity of manifesting them. She still looked 
 forward to his departure from the neighbor- 
 hood as the only means of releasing her from 
 the ordeal through which she was every even- 
 ing doomed to pass; for as he had hitherto 
 made her no open declaration of love, she 
 secretly hoped that he was too shrewd and 
 worldly-wise to fall into the snare which her 
 father had set for him. But tlien, on the other 
 hand, xvlierefore these constant visits? and 
 wherefore, too, that satisfaction which her 
 father experienced when he was there? Coi;ld 
 there be a seciet understanding between them ? 
 Lucy scarcely thought so; for if her father had 
 t(!stiffed any evidence of liis design, would not 
 the young man have recoiled indignantly fiom 
 being dr.agged into such a trap? Boor Lucy 
 Beai>ely know what to think : but she waa very. 
 
THE feOLDIER 3 WIFE. 
 
 4S 
 
 ?«7 unhappy ; and there were times when she 
 #ven seriously thought of abandoning her home. 
 Hut this is the last step which a virtuous and 
 well-principled young woman ever adopts ; 
 and Lucy felt that it could only be taken as an 
 extreme resource, should her position become 
 truly desperate. 
 
 Mr. Davis now began to teel somewhat an- 
 noyed and apprehensive because Gerald did 
 not bring matters to a crisis. A whole month 
 had elapsed since the first visit paid; and 
 regularly every evening had the visit been 
 renewed. That the youth was deeply, passion- 
 ately in love, was evident enough: but what 
 restrained him from speaking out? Was it 
 indeed that he was effectually struggling against 
 this passion, and that his pride still rose supe- 
 rior to his love ? The keen-sighted Davis had 
 but little difficulty in discovering that such 
 was the case ; and as the time was now draw- 
 ing near when Gerald would come of age and 
 also be gazetted, he resolved to bring matters 
 to a crisis. 
 
 Accordingly, one evening — at the expiration 
 of the montli of incessant visits — Davis of his 
 own accord gave Lucy some hint to leave the 
 room, — a hint which she was by no means slow 
 in obeying. 
 
 “Well, Mr. Redburn,” he said, after a few 
 remarks on indifferent subjects, and when they 
 were alone together, “I have made up my mind 
 to take Lucy to the sea-side at once.” 
 
 “Ah ! you have made up your mind ?” ejacu- 
 lated the youth, with a start and a look of 
 annoyance. 
 
 “Yes. I purpose to wait upon Sir Archi- 
 bald to-morrow morning, and beg a three 
 months' holiday. Indeed, I have already hint- 
 ed to him that I should like it ; and he gave me 
 to understand that I need only ask in order to 
 have.” 
 
 “Well, I was in hopes that you would not 
 be in such a hurry,” said Gerald : and then he 
 fidgeted abcnit on his chair. “ The truth is, 
 Davis ” 
 
 But he stopped short ; and a violent struggle 
 took place within him. Though generally of a 
 reckless disposition, and inconsiderate in his 
 conduct, yet the inffuence of the passion he 
 experienced for Lucy had somewhat sobered 
 him down and rendered him reflective. He 
 therefore saw that things had reached an im- 
 ortant crisis ; and that if he once committed 
 imself to a pledge and engagement, he could 
 not afterwards retract. What should he do ? 
 He thought of his family — and he thought of 
 Lucy : he thought of his pride — and he thought 
 of love : but Lucy’s image triumphed over family 
 considerations, and love vanquished pride. 
 
 “The fact is, Davis,” he said, after a brief 
 pause, “ you need not go to the sea-side at all 
 to find a suitable husband for your charming 
 daughter.” 
 
 The bailiff affected to stare at Gerald in 
 speechless amazement. 
 
 What I say is true enough,^' continued the 
 young gentleman. “In a word, then, I lOve 
 your daughter — and I will marry her. It’s 
 serious — there’s no joking in such things ” 
 
 “ But, my dear Mr. Redburn,” said Davis, still 
 4 
 
 appearing as if he could scarcely conquer his 
 surprise, “it is impossible!” 
 
 “ How is it impossible ?” 
 
 “ Y our father would never consent.” 
 
 “ I don’t want his consent. I know he would 
 not : but what is that to me ! I must take care 
 of my own happiness. In two weeks I shall bs 
 of age — and then who can prevent me marry- 
 ing as I like ?” 
 
 “ Much, my dear sir, as I feel flattered and 
 honored by this compliment,” said the bailiff, 
 assuming a renionstrative tone, “ it is impossible 
 that situated as I am in respect to your hon- 
 ored father ” 
 
 “We will talk of all that presently,” inter- 
 rupted Gerald. “ At present let me be assured 
 that Lucy will accept me ? I can promise you 
 that I am taking no rash step. A week — even 
 a fortnight back, I should have opened my 
 mind to you ; but I resolved to reflect. I Aav< 
 reflected and therefore I now speak.” 
 
 “ Y"ou have taken me so completely unawares 
 — so suddenly — so abruptly,” observed the 
 cunning Davis, “that I really khow not how 
 to answer you. If your parents gave their 
 consent, Mr. Redburn. it would be the happiest 
 and proudest momeiiV of my life to see my 
 daiigliter accompany you to the altar : and I 
 may say this much — that Lucy would prove 
 obedient to her father’s wish. But, my dear 
 sir, we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that 
 !Sir Archibald and Lady Redburn would never 
 give such consent.” 
 
 “ Have I not already told you,” exclaimed 
 Gerald, petulantly, “ that I do not want it ? 
 To a certain extent I am independent of my 
 father. He is purchasing my commission for 
 me — I sliall have m}^ fit-out — and he has prom- 
 ised to lodge five hundred pounds at a banker’s 
 to my account the moment I join my regiment. 
 That will carry us on for a time, and you know 
 very well that, as the estates are all entailed 
 and can’t be left away from me, I can raise 
 money by post-obits, or whatever they are 
 called. As for you, Davis, I believe you have 
 saved money, and therefore aie independent of 
 my father, — supposing that he does ride rusty 
 with you on this account. But if I elope witK 
 Lucy — what then ? He couldn’t blame you, 
 and need never know that you were aware of 
 what was going on.” 
 
 “jSo, Mr. Redburn,” replied Davis : “if this 
 
 alliance should take place 1 say, if it should 
 
 it would be my duty to accompany my 
 
 daughter to the altar and in person bestow her 
 upon you. I would sooner sacrifice my situa 
 tion in your father’s service, than afford Sfcope 
 for the tongues of scandal by secretly coun 
 selling an elopement.” 
 
 “ Well, just as you like — I only threw out 
 the hint. But pray give me a decisive answer 
 this evening. Row that the ice is once brokes, 
 
 I cannot remain in uncertainty and suspense.” 
 
 “ And suppose that I yield to your urgent 
 entreaties,” resumed the bailiff’, “what course 
 do you propose ?” 
 
 “Just to wait till I have got my commission 
 and the money is paid into the bank in my 
 name ; then I can easily procure a fortnights 
 Leave o*’ absence ere joining the regiment^-— 
 
fO 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 when JOTL could meet me with. Lucy at Coven- 
 try >r Lincoln, or Derby, or any place at a 
 tolerably convenient distance — and there, wiHi 
 a special license, the ceremony could be accom- 
 j; Ilshed.” 
 
 Davis appeared to ruminate profoundly for 
 aeveral minutes, during which Gerald gazed 
 upon him with the most unfeigned suspense : 
 for, we repeat, he was indeed madly and J)a8- 
 aionately m love with Imcy. 
 
 “ You require an answer at once, Mr. Red- 
 burn?” said the bailiff slowly. “ It is a serious 
 question — and one for which I was so little 
 pre[)ared ” 
 
 “ But 3’ou are a man of business, as well as a 
 man of the world,” interposed Gerald; “and 
 you can surely make up your mind ? I beseech 
 you to do so. If you refuse, common prudence 
 will forbid me from visiting you again: but if 
 you consent, you will send me away so happy. 
 Oh, so happy — you cannot conjecture !” 
 
 “ My dear sir,” returned the bailiff, “ I cannot 
 possibly refuse to yield to ^mur entreaties. I 
 therefore give my consent.” 
 
 “Thanks — a thousand thanks!” exclaimed 
 Gerald ; and seizing the bailiff’s hand, he pre.ssed 
 it warmly. “May I come to-morrow evening 
 with the assurance of being kindly received by 
 Miss Lucy ?” 
 
 “Will you take my advice in one thing, Mr. 
 Redburn ?” asked Davis, as an idea struck him 
 how to manage the matter with his daughter. 
 
 “ You have only to express your wishes, and 
 I shall agree to them,” responded Gerald 
 eagerly. 
 
 “ Luc}", as you are aware, is a girl of very 
 delicate sensibilities and of the highest notions 
 of propriety. She will consider the courtship 
 of a month to be too brief; and she will like- 
 wise mistrust the happiness that is in store for 
 her. She will reflect, and naturally par- 
 don me for saying so that you are very 
 
 young, that 3 011 have been rather wild, and 
 that like too many 3’oUng gentlemen, you may 
 perhaps be changeable. It would therefore 
 please me better that you should eontinue to 
 visit upon the same terms as at present ; and 
 that even when taking 3mur departure from 
 the neighborhood, 3'ou should make no formal 
 avowal to my daughter. But so soon as ever 
 3mu please after 3’ou have left, you ean write 
 lier a letter, enclosed in one to m3’self, and in 
 which you can address her in terms befitting 
 the circumstances. Your letter to me will 
 notify the place, the day, and the hour, where 
 and when we are to meet 3mu — you will have 
 the special license in readiness — and the cere- 
 mony can take place. These are my sugges- 
 tions, m3’ dear Mr. Redburn — and I hope the}’ 
 will prove agreeable fo 3’ou.” 
 
 “1 have already said that I will follow your 
 wibhes in all things. Be it as you say :” — then 
 with another cordial shake of the hand, Gerald 
 Redburn took his leave of the bailiff. 
 
 When he was gone, Davis shut himself uj) in 
 the j)arlour and rubbe<l his hands more glee- 
 fully than he Imd done on the first occasion of 
 the young genfJenian’s visit. 11 is countenance 
 glowed with the animation of joy and triumph. 
 Ue beheld his ])ioject« steadily and surely ad- 
 
 vancing towards a successful psue; and 
 congratulated himself upon having taken a 1 - 
 vantage of circumstances with such admirable 
 tact, and conducted the whole chicanery of hia 
 machinations with such a masterly skill. Luev, 
 on hearing that the young gentleman bad taken 
 his dei)arture, returne<l to the room ; and 
 though her father instantaneously composed 
 his countenance into its wonted cold severity of 
 .aspect — yet the instant the door opened, sha 
 had caught a glimpse of that vanishing anima- 
 tion which he tlius chased away from his fea- 
 tures. She could n(;t help looking hard at him ; 
 and he saw that some suspicion was excited in 
 her mind. He however said nothing, but sat 
 down to table, the supper-tray being brought in. 
 
 During the fortnight wnich now ebi[) 8 ed 
 Gerald continued his evening visits regularly ; 
 and Lucy could not help observing that ho 
 seemed to place himself on a more familiar foot- 
 ing with her father than heretofore — whilo 
 towards herself his conduct was marked with 
 as much pointed attention as circumstances 
 allowed him to pay her. She still maintained 
 her cold reserve towards him : but he was now 
 accustomed to it, and felt assured th.at it wa* 
 nothing but what her father had re])resented — 
 namel3’, a co 3 ’nes 3 that would wear off. StiL 
 she had her misgivings that some secret treache- 
 ry was at work, and that there was a privata 
 understanding between her father and Gerald. 
 She more than once entertained the idea 01 
 seeking an opportunity to converse with him 
 privatel}’, and in a few brief but impressive 
 words give him to understand that she had not 
 failed to observe his attentions, but that they 
 were most displeasing to her, as in truth her 
 heart was inalienabl3^ devoted to another. But 
 she hesitated to take this step — in the first 
 place, because, as he had made no overt decla- 
 ration, she in maiden modesty had no right to 
 assume that there was any serious meaning in 
 those attentions; and in the second place, sh« 
 reflected that he perhaps already knew that 
 her affections were engaged elsewhere, but wa» 
 indifferent on the point. She therefore held 
 her peace ; and thus the days passed on — th« 
 evening visits were repeated — until Gerald on« 
 night announced joy’fully that he was gazetted 
 to a commission in the — th regiment. 
 
 It seemed as if Lucy were stricken with a 
 blow ; for this was the same identical regiment 
 to which Frederick Lonsdale belonged — and 
 the poor girl could not help instantaneously 
 perceiving that his remorseless enemy would 
 now obtain every possible opportunit3’ of tyr- 
 annizing over him. Davis at once comprehended 
 what was passing in his daughter’s mind; and 
 he hastened to make some observation in tha 
 hope of diverting Gerald’kS attention from her. 
 Luc}’, overpowered by her feelings, was com- 
 jielled to (piit the room abru})tl3’; and when 
 she had thus disappeared, the wil}" bailiff said 
 to the 3’oung gentleman, “Tvow, Mr. Relburn, 
 you can have no doubt as to the state of my 
 daughter’s feelings towards v'ou.” 
 
 “ Is it possible then,” cxchumed the ovego 3 ^cd 
 Gerald, forgetting at the morneiit the coincid- 
 ence of the regiment to whieh he w.vs ajipointad 
 being the same us that in whose ranks Lousdala 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 served, — “is it pofsible that she is so much af- 
 fected hy this somewhat sudden announcement 
 of my immediate departure from the neigh- 
 borhood ?” 
 
 “It is so,” responded Davis. “Beneath that 
 apparent reserve on her part, she cherishes a 
 fond affection for you. She knows not that her 
 love will he rendered happy ; and it therefore 
 rests with you, my dear sir, how soon she shall 
 be made acquaiiiied with the bliss that awaits 
 her.” 
 
 “I leave with my father to-morrow for Lon- 
 don, to procure my outfit. Th*^ regiment is 
 
 stationed at Portsmouth And, by the bye, it 
 
 happens to be the very same in which that 
 fellow Lonsdale serves!’ 
 
 “All, indeed!” ejaculated Davis, as if now 
 having the circumstance recalled to his memory 
 for the first time. 
 
 “Yes — it is so. But never mind him: we 
 liave important things to think of. The 
 moment I get quit of the governor in London, 
 I will write to you, as previously agreed. May 
 I not see Lucy again this evening?” 
 
 “Do you not think it would be much better 
 that you should suffer her to compose the feel- 
 ings Vliich have been so suddenly excited ? I 
 beseech this forbearance on your part.” 
 
 “I am entirely in your bands,” responded 
 Gerald : and then, after some fartlier conversa- 
 tion, he took his departure from the cottage. 
 
 CHAPTER XHT. 
 
 THE OAKLEIGH POST-OFFICE. 
 
 At the same time that this scene was passing 
 at the bailiff’s abode. Sir Archibald Redburn, 
 her ladyship, and Aunt Jane, were seated in 
 the drawing-room at the ?kIanor House, con- 
 versing upon the appearance of Gerald’s name 
 amongst the notices of the War Office in the 
 Gazette. Or rather, the Baronet and his wife 
 were discussing the same, while Miss Redburn 
 was interjecting her acrid remarks after her 
 wonted fashion. The frivolous mother was 
 immensely delighted at the idea that her son 
 was now an officer in his Majesty’s service ; and 
 ehe already pictured him to herself in his scar- 
 let coat, his sash, his cap and feather, and with 
 his sword by his side. Sir Archibald likewise 
 experienced all the father’s pride: but Aunt 
 Jane threw in something about “a monkey 
 dressed up and seated on an Italian boy’s 
 organ.” 
 
 In the middle of the discourse a domestic 
 entered the room t6 announce that Mr. Bates 
 from the village most humbly requested a few 
 minutes’ audience of the Baronet. Sir Archi- 
 bald was first inclined to reply that he could 
 sec nobody on business at that hour : but as a 
 thought struck liirn, he observed, “Ah, Bates! 
 I understand it was he who persuaded that 
 good-for-nothing fellow Frederick Lonsdale to 
 enlist ; and he likewise rid us of some of our 
 surplus laborers by the same means. He de- 
 serves praise ; and sc I will grant him an inter- 
 view.” 
 
 “ If he had killt d the surplus laborers right 
 
 h\ 
 
 off at once,” observed Aunt Jane, “I BuppoM 
 you would give him a pension.” 
 
 Sir Archibald, without taking any notice of 
 this remark, proceeded to another room, where 
 the village barber was immediately introduced 
 to his presence. Mr. Bates was very shabby— 
 or in common parlance, excessively seedy : but 
 he had done his best to brighten up his appear- 
 ance by an extra application of beai’s-grease 
 (his own hog’s-lard compound) to hk hair and 
 whiskers ; and therefore about the head he had 
 a shining oily look. He bowed very low to 
 the great man, and by his deportment testified 
 the most fawning, grovelling servility. 
 
 “ Well, Bates, what is it?” asked the Baronet, 
 throwing himself into a large easy chair and 
 keeping the barber standing in front of him. 
 
 “I beg ten thousand pardons for the intru- 
 sion, Sir Archibald,” replied Bates, with another 
 low bow ; “ but I understand from one of the 
 servants of the Manor, who was down in the 
 village just now, that you are going to London 
 to-morrow, sir: and if I might be so bold, 
 humble an individual as I am, to ask a favour 
 of a great gentleman — baronet — lord of the 
 manor — justice of the peace — and whal 
 not ” 
 
 “ Come, Bates, make haste about it,” observed 
 Sir Archibald, smiling ; for he was quite vain 
 enough and quite narrow-minded enough to be 
 flattered by the man’s inflated compliments. 
 
 I won’t detain you a minute, sir,” returned 
 the barber. “ The fact is. Sir Archibald, Mrs. 
 Sugden, who had the post-office down in the 
 village ” 
 
 “ Of course — I know. She died this morning. 
 And so I suppose 3’ou want to have the letter- 
 box left at your shop — eh? Is that it, Bates?” 
 
 “I always knew that Sir Archibald Redburn 
 was a gentleman of no ordinary stamp; but 
 this is the first time I have received a proof 
 that he can read people’s thoughts. It’s quite 
 astonishing. But no wonder. Sir Archibald, 
 that you have such a keen eye in detecting « 
 tramp, a thief, or a poacher.” 
 
 “Well, they do say that I am rather sharp in 
 that way,” oli^served the Baronet, complacently 
 caressing his chin. “ And so you want the post- 
 office, — eh ?” 
 
 “ I do. Sir Archibald. You see, it’s got wind 
 in the village that I assisted the recruiting- 
 sergeant who was there some weeks back, to 
 get some of the young chaps that went away 
 with him; and they have written to their 
 friends to say that they are not at all happy or 
 comfortable in their regiment, and that Ser- 
 geant Langley told them many lies himself and 
 got me to tell a many too to entice them over.” 
 
 “Discontented dogs, I dare say,” remarked 
 the Baronet. “ There’s no satisfying the lower 
 orders : they are always grumbling. Even the 
 prisons and workhouses ain’t good enough for 
 them according to their account. And yet look 
 at the county-rates, how they swell up! Look 
 at them, Mr. Bates, I say!” 
 
 “ Ah, indeed they do, Sir Archibald !” said 
 the barber, turning up his eyes with solemn 
 awe as if he beheld the county- rates upon the 
 ceiling. “ Well, sir, as I was saying these dis- 
 contented dogs as you have so properly deu^* 
 
it 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WH'K 
 
 miuatdd them, have made terrible misehief 
 with their friends about me in the village; and 
 there’s a dead set aj^ainst me. The tradesmen 
 had a sort of meeting last night at E jisheH’s 
 and passed a lot of resolutions, of which 1 hap- 
 pen to have got a copy. Here they be, sir:” — 
 and Mr. Bates pulled out from his waistcoat- 
 pocket a grimy rumpled piece of ])aper, which 
 he tendered to the baronet. 
 
 “Read them, my good fellow,” observed Sir 
 Archibald, majestically waving him oil'; for the 
 paper was too dirty for his aristocratic fingers 
 to touch — and moreover the barber’s breath 
 combined the odors of onions and rum. 
 
 “1 will. Sir Archibald:” and then in a sing- 
 song voice, Mr. Bates proceeded to read the 
 following important document : — 
 
 “ Minutes of a meeting of the tradesmen of 
 the village of Oakleigh, held at the Royal Oak, 
 on Tuesday evening, 3rd of August, 1828, Mr. 
 Sifkin in the Chair. 
 
 “Moved by Mr. Beagley, seconded by Mr. 
 Mummery, and carried unanimously — That 
 whereas Obadiah Bates has aided and abetted 
 a recruiting-sorgeant in enticing away some 
 young men from the said village, this meeting 
 has no longer any confidence in Obadiah Bat<^s 
 as a hairdresser and shaver. 
 
 “ Moved by Mr. Clegg, seconded by Mr. Po- 
 eock, and carried by only one dissentient — 
 That steps be taken to negotiate with some 
 other hairdresser and shaver to come and es- 
 tablish himself in Oakleigh for the benefit of 
 ihe inhabitants generally and the peace of our 
 Sovereign Lord the King. 
 
 “ Moved by Mr. Tripes, seconded by Mr. 
 Sheep wash, and carried unanimousl}^ — That 
 Messrs. Clegg, Mummery, Brogden, and Jud- 
 kins, do form themselves into a committee to 
 carry out the above resolution, and that the 
 members of this meeting do subscribe sixpence 
 a-piece to defray the expense of postages, tke., 
 in carrying on the above important negotia- 
 tion.” 
 
 “There, Sir Archibald!” ejaculated Bates, 
 when he had read the document, “ if that isn’t 
 rank treason, sedition, and rebellion, I don’t , 
 know what is. A secret hole-and-corner meet- 
 ing — and to lug in the name of our Sovereign 
 Lord the King ” 
 
 “ I don’t know about it being treason or re- 
 bellion,” observed the Baronet, who could not 
 help laughing ; “ but it’s very clear that there is 
 a dead set, as you call it, against yourself; and 
 1 certainly shall take your })art.” 
 
 The little barber’s countenance brightened 
 Bp to a degree of animation that rendered it a 
 ■uitable match for the oily glossiness of his 
 hair and whiskers ; and he bowed so low that 
 no Mussulman’s salaam was over more pro- 
 found. 
 
 “ Well, but about thi.s imst-oflice business — 
 what do you want me to do, eh f” 
 
 “ I have drawn up, sir, a little jxitition to 
 Uie Postma.stcr-Ceneral,” rc|)lied Bates, “sot- 
 ting forth niv manifold claims to the vacant, 
 ■itiiution — that my grundfat her, my f.at.her, and 
 
 noyscll were all born and bre 1 in the village 
 
 but ho ‘e’s the document, sil :” — and now from' 
 
 one of his coal j)ockets he produced the mema 
 rial, cai-clnlly wrapped uf in a piece of uew» 
 paper, and which by its cleaidinc.ss formed • 
 remarkable contrast with the dirty scraj* con 
 taining the rcsolnf.ion.s. 
 
 “ Yon can leave it,” said the Baronet; “and 
 I will undertake to send it to the l^>stmaster• 
 General with a strung l•ecommendation Irom 
 luyself. Bates, you shall have the po^tofHce: 
 its already us good as in your possession.” 
 
 “ 1 am sure, Sir Archibald, 1 shall never 1>« 
 able to repay your goodne.ss. It’s a matter of 
 five [)ound a-year; and then, you see, the [ico- 
 ple Diufit come to the shop where the jiost-ofiicd 
 is — and so they will think twice about spityig 
 me.” 
 
 “ Well, I have given yon my word, and you 
 shall have the post-olfice.” 
 
 Thus 8{)eaking, Sir Archibald Redburn rose 
 from his seat to intimate tliat the barber might 
 retire. The hint was accordingly taken by Mr, 
 Bates, and he departed, immensely delighted at 
 the result of the interview. 
 
 Gn the lollowing morning Gerald bade fare* 
 well to his mother and Aunt Jane, — receiving 
 from the former many earnest entreaties about 
 writing to her every week to .say how he got 
 on, and many injunctions against dissipation 
 and late hours; while from the latter he was 
 favored with the rccommeiTilation “to be a 
 good child, and not dream yet awhile of aping 
 the airs of a man : because,” added Aunt Jane, 
 “ there’s many a little drummer-boy wears a 
 red-coat but isn’t a man for all that.” 
 
 The same evening the Baronet and his son 
 arrived in London; and on the following morn- 
 ing Sir Archibald, true to his promise to Mr. 
 Bates, despatched the memorial with a note ta 
 the Postmaster-General. In the course of a 
 few days Sir Archibald received a very cour- 
 teous reply, ,to the effect that his recommenda- 
 tion had been attended to, and that the letter- 
 box at Oakleigh had been duly entrusted to the 
 charge of Mr. Obadiah Bates, perfumer and 
 :iairdresser of that village. 
 
 Meanwhile Gerald’s outfit was progressing. 
 Messrs. Bicknell and Moore, the fashionable 
 army-clothiers at the corner of Bond Street^ 
 were put into requisition for the uniforms and 
 all necessary appurtenances: a couple of beau- 
 tiful horses were purchased for the young gen- 
 tleman’s use— and the sum of live hundred 
 pounds was paid through Sir Archibald’s Lon- 
 don banker, to a banker at Portsmouth, also 
 for Gerald’s express behoof and in his name. 
 
 A very proud day was it for Gerald Redbum 
 when he first tried on his uniform ; and the 
 baronet was so delighted at his son’s appear- 
 ance, that he much regretted he had not 
 brought Lady Redburn up to London that she 
 might see him in it. 
 
 “ But no matter,” he said, by way of consola- 
 tion ; “you will get leave of alisence in a few 
 monlhs, and then you can come home. Your 
 mother will be ([uite in ecstacies at your ap- 
 peuruuce; ami I really do not think tliat oven 
 Aunt Jane could find anything bitter lo say in 
 respect to you. VV’c are going to Lady Gala* 
 mai'an’s party this evening, and you shall Weal 
 'your uniform.” 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 ft 
 
 The outfit wns complete at the end of a fort- 
 night after their arrival in town ; and the day 
 was no w at hand when Gerald was to proceed 
 to Portsmouth to join his regiment. One of 
 his father’s grooms from the Manor House had 
 been attached to his service, and was sent off 
 to take the horses by easy stages to Ports- 
 mouth. When the morning of departure ar- 
 rived, the baronet embraced his son — gave him 
 •nch good advice as he thought necessary, or 
 as he was competent to impart — and then saw 
 him enter a post-chaise which had been hired 
 to take the young gentleman to Portsmouth. 
 Having thus seen his son off. Sir Archibald 
 Reilburn entered his own carriage and retraced 
 his Wily to his ancestral home in the midland 
 county where it was situated. 
 
 But Gerald did not proceed in the post- 
 chaise many miles from London. At the end 
 of the first stage he pretended to have forgot- 
 ten some important business, and promptly 
 returned to the metropolis. There he put up 
 at a different hotel from where he and his 
 father had been staying, and hastened to the 
 Horse Guards to solicit a fortnight’s additional 
 leave of absence ere joining his regiment, on the 
 plea that his mother had been taken seriously 
 ill, and_he had been sent for to return home at 
 onee. Permission was at once accorded him; 
 and he was thus master of his time. He now 
 wrote off to Jacob Jones, the groom at Ports- 
 mouth, to tell him that he should not be there 
 for a fortnight, but that the man was by no 
 means to mention the circumstance to anybody 
 at Oakleigh if he should happen to write to his 
 friends or acquaintances there. Gerald knew 
 that the groom could be trusted, and was there- 
 fore easy upon that score. By the same post 
 he wrote to the Portsmouth Danker, desiring 
 him to remit a hundred pounds without delay: 
 for his father had not given him in ready cash 
 very much more than would have sufficed to 
 pay his travelling expenses. 
 
 But these were not all the letters that Gerald 
 wrote on that day. He penned a long letter 
 to Lucy, telling her how much he loved her, 
 how necessary she was to his happiness, how 
 deliberately he had reflected upon the step 
 which he was now taking, and how sineerely 
 he would devote himself to ensure her felicity. 
 He concluded by making her an offer of his 
 hand, and referred her to her father for parti- 
 culars of the arrangements which he informed 
 her had already been made for the celebration 
 of their marriage. Altogether the letter was 
 written in an unexceptionable style, and re- 
 flected none of the bad qualities or weak points 
 of the young man’s character. 
 
 He then wrote the following letter to Mr. 
 Davis : — 
 
 “ Hatchett’s Hotel, Piccadilly. 
 “August 2Uth, 1828. 
 
 “ My dear Sir, 
 
 “ According to promise, I take the first op- 
 |>ortunity of writing to Miss Davis and your- 
 self The letter to your dear Lucy I enclose 
 unsealed, that you may peruse it ere placing 
 it in lier hands. I fervently hope that my 
 ruit will prove acceptable to your daughter; 
 aud from aU that has passed between you and 
 
 me, as well as from the evidence of feeling 
 which she.testified on the last occasion I was 
 at your house, I entertain no appreheusion 
 upon the subject. 
 
 “And now, my dear sir, I will proceed to 
 explain the arrangements I propose, and 1.0 
 ■which I hope and trust you will assent. My 
 father has duly lodged the sum of money of 
 which I spoke to you, in the Portsenouth 
 banker’s hands. I have written to that banker 
 for a portion of the money to be sent to me. 
 That remittance I shall receive the day after 
 to-morrow ; but in case of any delay, suppose 
 that we calculate /our days ere it reaches me. 
 On the fourth day hence, therefore, I shall 
 leave London for Coventry : that is to say on 
 the 24th. I had better have the 25th clear for 
 procuring the special license and making the 
 requisite arrangements. If, therefore, you will 
 leave Oakleigh early in the morning of the 
 26th, you will be at Coventry by midday, where 
 we can meet at the George Hotel ; and within 
 the hour then passing your dear Lucy may be- 
 come my own much-beloved wife. 
 
 “A reply by return of post, addressed to Mr. 
 Smith, Hatchett’s Hotel, will duly fall into my 
 hands, as I shall give the waiters instructions 
 to that effect 
 
 “ Believe me to remain, My dear sir, 
 
 “ Your’s most sincerely, and soon 
 to be your son-in-law, 
 
 “ Gerald REDBURif.’* 
 
 In this epistle to Mr. Davis, Gerald enclosed 
 the letter for Lucy ; and the packet, together 
 with the other letters he had written, was at 
 once sent to the post. 
 
 ***** 
 
 * « « * 
 ***** 
 
 We must now transport the reader back 
 again to the village of Oakleigh, where we 
 shall find Mr. Bates duly exercising the impor 
 tant functions of postmaster — and perhaps, too, 
 somewhat exceeding the precise limits of his 
 office and authority. 
 
 Fimt of all, we should observe that a letter- 
 box had been fixed in his window ; and on the 
 strength of his appointment he had painted up 
 his shop. Business being slack in consequence 
 of the “ conspiracy ” against him, and the coin 
 in his pocket being limited to something like 
 eighteen-pence, Mr. Bates undertook the paint- 
 ing process himself, and a very beautiful daub 
 he made of it. Nevertheless, when conq^leted 
 it delighted his eyes, and that was sufficient. 
 His own name shone resplendent in yellow 
 letters upon a green ground ; and the facia like- 
 wise had the sounding titles of “ Perfumer an 
 Hairdresser” completely renovated. On a 
 wooden pane specially introduced into the 
 lowest row of glass ones in his window ap- 
 peared the important announcement of Posi 
 Office ; and as if there were any difficulty in 
 comprehending what purpose the box was to 
 serve, the words “For Letters” were duly 
 scrawled underneath the horizontal slit. 
 
 We must now look into Mr. Bates’s shop on 
 the morning after Gerald Redburn lad posted 
 his letters, and there we shall find the barber 
 
S4 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIRE. 
 
 opening the letter-bag wbicl tlie mail-cart had 
 juBt brought over from the ‘.own of Middleton. 
 
 “And BO tliore’a a conspiracy against me in 
 the village — eh?” said Dates to himself; “and 
 they are negotiating to get another barber, are 
 they? Well, then, I will have a conspiracy 
 against ihem^ for I don’t mean to be postmaster 
 for nothing. If 1 don’t lind out all their .secrets, 
 my name isn’t Obadiah Bates. Thoga who ask 
 the tradesmen at Middleton who su ){)ly them 
 with goods, for longer credit — those who have 
 given bills and can’t tak' them up, but want 
 renewals — and those who go writing scandal 
 to their friends in other pla-'cs, and get scandal 
 wi itten them hack in return- -shall all be found 
 olit. 1 will get them all inh' my j)ower, and 
 teach them what it is to oH'end a man like me.” 
 
 Bates took the bag with him into his little 
 back room — simt himself in — and began sorting 
 the letters, d'hose that were fo.- the Manor 
 House he })ut a))art by themselves, with a 
 string tied round them. Next he proceeded 
 ▼ery deliberately and carefully to open a letter 
 addressed to Mr. Clegg — then anothe.r to Mr. 
 Judkins — then one to Mr. Mummery — aiid three 
 or four more; and having made himself master 
 of the contents, he sealed them uj) again in 
 such a manner tliat it was impossible to dii’cern 
 that their sanctity had been violated. 
 
 “Hah! here’s a letter for Davis the baililT!” 
 he said to himself, turning the packet over and 
 over in his hand. “ And a good thick letter 
 too — an enclosure in it I What’s the post- 
 mark? London — eh! And what a nice hand- 
 writing: a gentleman’s, evidently! I should 
 like very much to see what this letter contains. 
 Peter Davis sometimes looks precious high and 
 haughty at me. They say he is well to do and 
 warm: but who knows? There’s no telling 
 what a man is. Why, there’s Mummery: one 
 would think that he had saved money — and 
 yet by the letter I have just read, it’s very 
 clear he has not got a ten-pound note in the 
 world to bless himself with — or else he wouldn’t 
 write to borrow money of his brother-in-law at 
 Carlisle. But this letter to Davis? Some how 
 or another 1 feel uncommon curious about it. 
 It’s a plain seal, and looks as if it was stamped 
 with the top of a pencil-case ; so it’s easy to 
 re-seal it with this stamp that I have got. Well, 
 here goes!” 
 
 Thus speaking, Mr. Bates very carefully 
 broke the seal of the letter, and was speedily 
 deep in the contents. As he read on, an 
 ex[)ressi()n of the utmost 8urj>rise gathered upon 
 his conntenance, rapidly increasing into posi- 
 tive wondei-ment — while abrupt and jerking 
 ejaculations escaped him as he continued the 
 Oerusal. 
 
 “ W lio v/^ould have tliought it ? What a 
 Dusiness! Well, I never! This beats everv- 
 thing. d’he cunning fox! The yomig fool! 
 All, wliat a mystery !” — and in this manner did 
 tlic b.'ii-l>er give vent to his startletl feelings as 
 he read tbe lid.tcr and t he enclosure. 
 
 Having liriislnid tbe perusal, be re-sealed tlie 
 packet witb t be nicest precaution ; and by tbe 
 lime lie bad done it, tbe man win/ was employ- 
 ed to deliver l.lie letters made Ins appearance 
 to fi>lch tlicm. Wben be bad taken bis de- 
 
 parture, Bates sat himself down in his shop to 
 reflect witb continued wondennent upon tlia 
 discovery be bad made by tbe violation of Iho 
 letter addressed to Mr. Davis tbe bailit£ 
 
 CHAITER XIV. 
 
 TUB LKTTER. 
 
 Return we again to Portsmouth, where wo 
 shall find Frederick Lonsdale becoming daily 
 more and more disgusted with tbe life upon 
 wbicb be had entereil. At the same time he 
 bore up with fortitude against the sorrows ‘ol 
 his lot, as well as against the petty tyrannies 
 to which he was subjected on the jiart of Ser- 
 geant Langley and tlie non-commi«sione<l offi- 
 cers. He maintained the strictest guard over 
 his conduct; for perceiving that he was a 
 marked man, he resol ve<l to afford no ojiportu- 
 nity for the visitation of a direct and positive 
 act of vengeance on Langley’s part. 
 
 Three months had now elapsed since he had 
 quitteil Oakleigh ; and during this interval he 
 had received several letters from Lucy. These 
 epistles, which breathed the holiest and purest 
 affection, liad proved a source of some con-sola- 
 tion to liis wounded sjiirit. We (pialify our 
 i-emark by the word “ .some,” inasmuch as those 
 letters, tender as they were and all that a lover 
 could hope, nevertheless failed to impart a 
 perfect solace, because they most painfully 
 made him reflect upon the happiness he had 
 for the time lost by the failure of the plan that 
 was to have uip+ed him without delay to Lucy. 
 The letters we'e addressed on the outside m 
 the handwriting of Martha, so that there might 
 be no clue at the village post-office to show 
 from whom they really emanated. But on 
 each occasion Lucy enjoined Frederick not to 
 write to her in return for the present, as she 
 had no confidante in the village to whom such 
 letters could be addressed; and if he wrote 
 under cover to Martha, her father might pos- 
 sibly take it into his head to intercept and 
 open the correspondence. Therefore Frede- 
 rick was debarred from the solace and gratifi- 
 cation of pouring forth all the fervor of hit 
 love in an epistolary form to his adored Lucy. 
 
 We must observe that she carefully forbore 
 in her letters from making the slightest allusion 
 to Gerald Redburn and his constant visits at 
 the cottage. As she felt perfectly resolute in 
 her own mind that these visits should result in 
 nothing so far as she was concerned, she did 
 not choose to increase the manifold sources of 
 her lover’s sorrows by making him aware of 
 the persecutions to which she was being sub- 
 jected, and of the mysterious understanding 
 which evidently subsisted between her father 
 and (xorald. Therefore in consecpience of this 
 genei’ous forbearance and delicate consideration 
 on Lucy’s part, Frederick remained in complete 
 ignorance of all that was going ou at the 
 cottage. 
 
 At tbe barracks, the moment ti'o newspaper 
 arrived, the very first column tha was looked 
 at. by the sobliers, was the one con aining ths 
 (jazetce with the notifications Iron, the War 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 M 
 
 Office. The reader may therefore conjecture 
 the surprise and alarm which suddenly seized 
 upon Frederick Lonsdale, when he one day 
 beheld the appointment of “ Gerald Redburn, 
 Esq., to be Ensign by purchase in the — th 
 regiment.” The coincidence which thus nomi- 
 jiated Sir Archibald’s son to the same corps in 
 which Lonsdale w as serving, naturally appear- 
 ed most inauspicicus to the young soldier. The 
 following day brought him a letter from Lucy, 
 mentioning the circumstance, and tenderly en- 
 treating that he would exert his utmost to 
 avoid giving Mr. Redburn an opportunity 
 (when joining the depot) to vent his malignant 
 spite upon him. Lonsdale vowed in his heart 
 that Lucy’s affectionate advice should not be 
 lost : but it wao with a deepening despondency 
 he reflected that another enemy would speedily 
 be added to the list of those against whom he 
 had already to maintain himself on his guard 
 with such unvarying constancy. 
 
 A fortnight after Gerald Redburn’s name ap- 
 peared in the Gazette as an officer in his Ma- 
 jesU^’s service, J.acob Jones the groom arrived 
 at rortsmouth in charge of the two horses. In 
 him Lonsdale recognized an old acquaintance ; 
 and as Jacob was a good-hearted man in his 
 way, though somewhat spoilt by the service in 
 which he had been for so many years, it wms 
 with a certain degree of pleasure that Frederick 
 encountered him. He brought the intelligence 
 that his young master would soon join the 
 depot : but in a day or two he informed Lons- 
 dale that Mr. Redburn was not to be expected 
 for another fortnight. Beyond this, Jacob — 
 who was discreet and trustworthy — gave no 
 •jiiformation. Indeed all he himself knew, or 
 ,’*ather suspected, was that his young master had 
 obtained this additional leave of absence un- 
 known to his father; and hence the injunction 
 contained in Gerald’s letter to the groom, not 
 to mention the circumstance on writing to his 
 friends at Oakleigh. 
 
 Two or three days after Lonsdale had re- 
 ceived this information from Jacob Jones — or 
 to be perfectly accurate as to the date, in con- 
 Bequence of what is to follow — it was on the 
 morning of the 24th of August, that Sergeant 
 Langley entered the room where Lonsdale was 
 quartered with several of his comrades, and 
 looked around to assure himself that it was 
 kept in neat and proper order. Lonsdale hap- 
 pened to be alone in that room at the time the 
 sergeant thus made his appearance; and he 
 knew perfectly well that the real object of the 
 visit was to find some fault, if possible. 
 
 “Well, what are you doing here, moping all 
 by yourself?” exclaimed the sergeant, fixing 
 his eyes savagely upon the young soldier. “ You 
 look altogether the most discontented fellow 
 at the depot.” 
 
 “ I hope, Mr. Langley, that my looks give you 
 no offence,” observed Lonsdale, forcing himself 
 to speak civilly and respectfully. 
 
 “Yes, but they do though. I hate a sullen 
 niserable aspect : it does harm to my feelings — 
 and the feelings of an acting sergeant-major 
 ought to be respeated. I tell you what I like — 
 and that is to see a soldier’s countenance as 
 bright as his breast-plate. But, by the bye, do 
 
 you ever hear from Oakleigh now!” — and there 
 was a malicious grin upon the sergeant’s coun- 
 tenance. “Ah, you don’t choose to answer that 
 question, eh? Perhaps you think that the 
 bailiff’s pretty daughter is pining, and sighing 
 and moping away just as you are? But I can 
 tell you, my fine fellow, that it’s nothing of the 
 sort.” 
 
 Frederick started, and gazed with surprise 
 upon Sergeant Langley. Aot that he for a 
 moment entertained the slightest suspicion of 
 Lucy’s constancy: but he saw that Langley 
 had something peculiar in his thoughts, and of 
 which he was availing himself in the hope of 
 indicting torture upon Lonsdale’s mind. 
 
 “ Ah ! you may well look at me in that man- 
 ner,” resumed the sergeant. “I know what’i 
 going on at Oakleigh : but of course I am not 
 the man to let the cat out of the bag. How- 
 ever, I would just give you one piece of advice, 
 Master Lonsdale — and that is, you had better 
 not buoy yourself up with the hope that Miss 
 Lucy means to wait till your seven years have 
 expired. Such a lovely creature as that isn’t 
 for a low fellow like you. She was meant for 
 your betters, 1 can tell you. And so now yoq 
 know.” 
 
 With these words Sergeant Langley turned 
 away in his usual pompous stateliness, and 
 walked majestically through the long barrack- 
 room. Kow it happened that Mr. Langley had 
 caught a cold ; and as he was marching on, he 
 was seized with a sudden fit of sneezing — so 
 that he hastened to draw forth his handkerchief 
 from within his double-breasted coat. But in 
 so doing, a letter which he had thrust there, fell 
 upon the floor, altogether unperceived by him. 
 He quitted the room ; and Lonsdale remained 
 seated in a thoughtful mood, wondering what 
 could be the sergeant’s motive for speaking to 
 him as he had just done. 
 
 We repeat that not for an instant did Frede- 
 rick believe a syllable to the prejudice of the 
 constancy of his beloved : but still he could not 
 help fancying that there must be something 
 going on at Oakleigh which had reached the 
 sergeant’s knowledge and led him to speak in 
 that manner. Perchance Mr. Davis himself wae 
 endeavoring to bring about a marriage between 
 Lucy and some suitor of his own selection > — 
 perhaps, too, Lucy had as yet remained in ig- 
 norance of this design against her happiness?— 
 or perhaps, being aware of it, she had forborno 
 from mentioning it in her letters for fear of 
 augmenting the sorrows of him whom her cor- 
 respondence was intended to console? 
 
 While the young soldier was thus ruminating; 
 his eyes suddenly fell upon the letter which lay 
 upon the floor at a little distance. He proceed- 
 ed to pick it up, and observed that it was ad- 
 dressed to Mr. Langley. It had come partially 
 open as it fell from the sergeant’s coat ; and a 
 portion of the writing it contained met Lons- 
 dale’s eyes, without any studied intent on hia 
 part to violate the sanctity of the letter. The 
 name of Lucy, coupled with that of Gerald 
 Redburn, caused the young soldier to start with 
 amazement ; and at the same instant a sense oi 
 some deeply ramified treachery was excited 
 witlfin liimT What he now did was natural 
 
M 
 
 ilTE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 .«nough iindti the circumstance?, and therefore 
 pardonahle. Utterly hwing sight of the sacred 
 churaeter of a letter whieh had thus fallen into 
 his |) 08 Session impelk* ' by one idea only, and 
 obedient to but one impulse — he began to de- 
 vour with avidity the eonteuts of the document. 
 They ran as follow ; — 
 
 ‘Post Office, Oakleigh. 
 
 “August !2l8t, 1828. 
 
 “Dear Mr. Langley, 
 
 “I am very much obliged to you for having 
 thought of me. 1 received your very welcome 
 letter, and lose no time in replying. 1 take it 
 as a great mark of friendship that you should 
 have remembered the pleasant evenings 1 used 
 to pass in your company at the Oak, and the 
 little services I ha<i the pleasure of rendering 
 you in respect to the recruits. The post-office 
 has fallen into my hands; and therefore, you 
 see, I have become an important kind of cha- 
 racter in the village. But 1 am not the man to 
 give myself any airs on that account. At the 
 same time I do feel that 1 have risen a peg or 
 two in life. I sincerely hope that I shall some 
 day have the pleasure of seeing you again ; and 
 • if ever you come to Oakleigh on the same bu- 
 siness as before, you will know where to find a 
 friend to assist. 
 
 “ You ask me what news there is at Oakleigh, 
 and whether Davis’s girl frets after that good- 
 for-nothing fellow Lonsdale if I am going to 
 tell you such a piece of business that only came 
 to my knowledge this very morning — but Itow, 
 you will excuse me for not explaining. Would 
 believe it? Gerald Redburn, who has just 
 ■got his commission in your own regiment, is 
 going to marry Lucy ! It’s all settled ! I don’t 
 mean that iSir Archibald has given his consent : 
 for the fact is, he knows nothing about it. It’s 
 all private like ; and young Gerald has planned 
 everything with Davis as nice as possible. Ah ! 
 that fellow Davis is wide-awake, I can tell you. 
 But as 1 dare say you will be interested with 
 this little bit of gossip — particularly as Gerald 
 Redburn now belongs to your regiment, and I 
 suppose means to take his wife with him when 
 he joins — I will just give you a little insight 
 into what’s going on. Young Redburn is at 
 this moment in London, waiting for remittances. 
 On the 24th he is to be at Coventry to get the 
 special license and make everything right. 
 Davis and his daughter are to leave Oakleigh 
 early on the 26th, and are to meet Gerald at 
 the George Hotel, Coventry, by mid-day: and 
 then the young couple are to be spliced at once. 
 What do you think of this? An artful dodge, 
 say I. Of course you must keep it all dark, 
 and not mention it to a soul. In fact, it’s one 
 of the deepest and best contrived j)lots I ever 
 knew in all my, life. It beats anything I ever 
 read in a romance. 
 
 “So now no more from 
 
 “ Your obliged and true friend, 
 
 “Ohaoiaii Batk.s.” 
 
 It would be difficult to describe the state of 
 frenzied excitement info whieh Kredcjriek Lons- 
 dale was lashed up by th<j astounding revcla- 
 Uuu contained in this letter, d'hero was a feel- 
 
 ing like madness in his brain; and for a fei» 
 minutes he was utterly incompetent for dclib» 
 rate reflection. But as the paroxysm of frenzy 
 gradually passed away, he referred to the lettei 
 to convince himself that it was not a waking 
 dream of a hideous character whieh had fastened 
 itself upon his imagination. No — it was but 
 too true ; and he could not doubt that Lucy was 
 to be made the victim of a treacherous under- 
 standing between her father and Gerald Red- 
 burn. What on (‘arth was he to do ? ( )h, whal 
 
 was he to do? Was he not bound hand and 
 foot by his position as a soldier? Should he 
 ask for prompt leave of absence? No: he re- 
 collected that a fui'lough was never accorded 
 under a certain period of service. Oh! again 
 and again during the few minutes whicli were 
 now elapsing, did the almost distracted young 
 man ask himself what he should do! There 
 was a fearful hurry hi his brain — anguish in 
 his heart — a sense of the aeutest agony rending 
 his soul. But still, what was he to do? what 
 was he to do? 
 
 This was the morning of the 24th. On the 
 26th, in the middle of the day, the ceremony 
 was to take place. lie had only two days and 
 a few additional hours to reach Coventry, and 
 but half-a-dozen shillings in his pocket. Porte- 
 mouth was seventy -two miles from London ; 
 and from London the distance to Coventry was 
 ninety. A hundred and sixty-two miles to lie 
 accomplished in two days and a few hours 1 
 For an instant he shrunk appalled from the ap- 
 parent hopelessness of such an undertaking; 
 but the next moment he smote his breast vio- 
 lently, ejaculating aloud, “By heaven, I will do 
 it!” 
 
 Yes — he would fly to the deliverance of his 
 Lucy ! Oh, he felt convinced that she could be 
 no party to the transaction — that she would be 
 swayed by the cruellest coercion and the most 
 pitiless intimidation — and that with no one 
 hand to succor her, the sacrifice would per- 
 haps be consummated! Yes — he would fly to 
 her rescue. But, ah ! was it not desertion ? 
 Perish all considerations, when everything that 
 rendered life tolerable was at stake! 
 
 His resolve was thus speedily taken. But 
 how was he to put it into execution ? The plain 
 clothes which he had worn when first joining 
 the depot, had been taken from him and put 
 amongst the stores. If he expended the few 
 shillings he possessed in purchasing some such 
 sordid wretched suit as an old-elothes store 
 would furnish for the amount he could thus af- 
 ford, he would have nothing left to buy bread 
 upon the way — not a shilling to give a carrier 
 for a lift in his cart or van. No: he must set 
 off as he was — he must speed away in his 
 undress-uniform whieh he had on. At all risks 
 must he escape thus ! ' 
 
 For a moment a thought struck him. World 
 Jacob Jones lend him a suit of clothes — or per- 
 haps some money to purchase one? Yes: there 
 was hope in the idea; and thrusting Bates’s 
 let ter into the breast of his coat, he descended 
 from the barrack-room. Issuing forth from the 
 yai’d, he rej)nired to the livery-stables where 
 Jacob Jones had put up his young master’s 
 horses. He looked about for tlio object of his 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE 
 
 i7 
 
 ■•arob— but could not see bim he inquired for 
 aim, and learnt that he had g )ne out with an 
 intimation that he might not be back for two 
 or three hours! Two or three hours! it was 
 impossible to lose so much time. No — every 
 moment was now precious as gold: for he had 
 a journey of one hundred and sixty-two miles 
 before him! 
 
 Frederick accordingly tarried no longer. 
 He sped through the town — traversed Ports- 
 mouth and Portsea — and emerged upon the 
 Loudon road. Once beyond view of the houses, 
 he quickened his pace, and hurried onward with 
 tlie sternest resolution of purpose. Presently he 
 was overtaken by a butcher’s cart carrying 
 meat out to some of the gentlemen’s houses in 
 the suburbs. Pie made a sign to the boy who 
 drove it to stop, and asked him for a lift as far 
 as he was going. 
 
 “You’re on leave, ’spose?” said the boy, 
 staring very hard at him. 
 
 “Yes,” was Lonsdale’s unhesitating answer: 
 and this was the first falsehood he had ever 
 told in his life. 
 
 “Well, get up,” said the lad: “and look 
 sharp :” — then as the vehicle drove rapidly on, 
 he observed, “You see, Mr. Soldier, I was ob- 
 leeged to ax you tlte question whether you was 
 on leave — furlough, I thinks you call it — cos 
 why, you chaps sometimes deserts, and it might 
 get a fellow into trouble for assisting a red-coat 
 to cut his stick.” 
 
 Lonsdale said nothing: he had not hardihood 
 enough to give utterance to another falsehood 
 .-so he remained silent, suftering the boy to 
 imagine whatever he chose. He however 
 speedily forced himself to converse with an ap- 
 parent gaiety of tone, so that if the lad for 
 an instant suspected anytliing wrong, he soon 
 ceased to entertain the idea. The ca t con- 
 veyed Lonsdale for about four miles; and at 
 that point he alighted as it was going no fur- 
 ther. He offered the boy sixpence: but the 
 youth, who was the butcher’s own son, said, 
 “No, no — keep your money, Mr. Soldier. 1 
 know very well that you chaps ain’t over-bur- 
 thened with it — and as you are going holiday- 
 making it will be of service.” 
 
 Frederick thanked the lad with fervor, and 
 pi’oceeded on his way : but when out of sight of 
 the cart, he exerted his utmost speed to in- 
 crease the distance between himself and the 
 garrison-town from which he had just deserted. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 COVENTRY. 
 
 W E must now return to Oakleigh. It was in 
 the evening of the 25th, after supper at the 
 •ottage, and just as Lucy was rising from her 
 seat to retire to her chamber, that her father 
 »aid to her, “By the bye, Lucy, I forgot to 
 mention that to-morrow morning we are going 
 to Coventry. I have several purchases to make 
 there ; and as you are no doubt wanting some 
 new things, you may as well accompany me. 
 I have got the loan of Bushell’s chaise-cart to 
 tak4 us as far as Middleton; and then we shall 
 
 get the coach for the rest of the journey. 
 up rather early, as we shall start at eight 
 o’clock.” 
 
 Lucy was for the first moment stricken with 
 a vague suspicion of impending evil, as her fa- 
 ther began to speak : but he continued m so 
 off-hand a manner, that her misgiving gradu- 
 ally died away — and as she withdrew to her 
 chamber, she thought to herself that, after all, 
 there was nothing so strange and unusual in 
 the proceeding. As a matter of course, Davis 
 had not shown her the letter which Gerald 
 Redburn had specially addressed to her through 
 him, and in which he made her an offer of hia 
 hand. The father intended to leave every 
 thing in the shape of explanation until the 
 very last moment, when he calculated that the 
 announcement of what was to take place would 
 come upon her with the violence of a thunder- 
 clap, and so completely overwhelm her with 
 its astounding effects that she would be para- 
 lysed into powerless and helpless submission. 
 
 But when Lucy was alone in her chamber, 
 she began t j reflect upon what had just taken 
 place ; and rapidly did her misgivings and sus- 
 picions return. Was it possible that all those 
 visits which Gerald Redburn had been wont to 
 pay, were to result in nothing ? Had her father 
 deliberately encouraged him to force his atten- 
 tions upon her, without a hope as to the. ac- 
 complishment of the ulterior aim which she 
 knew he had entertained? And then, was 
 there not something very much savoring of 
 mystery in this journey to Coventry? Where- 
 fore had^she not been told of it until almost 
 the last moment? Yes — assuredly there was 
 enough to excite the suspicions and arouse the 
 misgivings of Lucy Davis. 
 
 The longer she reflected, the greater grew 
 her apprehensions. She conjured up all pos- 
 sible kinds of evils, torturing herself with the 
 wildest alarms. Although educated far above 
 her sphere, and naturally intelligent, she was, 
 nevertheless, so far ignorant of the world and 
 inexperienced in the laws of the country, as to 
 be unaware of the amount of power which 
 these laws enabled a father to exercise over 
 his children ; and in her terror she naturally 
 magnified this power into a positive despo- 
 tism. Now, therefore, — as her lover at Ports- 
 mouth had done on the preceding day, — sh« 
 asked herself over and over again, what she 
 was to do ? Should she fly from the paternal 
 home ? This serious step she hesitated to take. 
 What if, after all, her fears should be ground- 
 less, and there was no ulterior meaning in this 
 journey to Coventry ? And moreover, would it 
 not be better at least to wait until she had 
 some more positive proof of treacherous intent, 
 ere she threw herself upon the wide world! 
 What positive danger could be in store for her, 
 that she might not discover at least one chance 
 of avoiding it? Yes — she resolved to avoid 
 anything precipitate in her own conduct, and 
 be guided by circumstances; But before she 
 retired to rest, she knelt down and implored 
 heaven’s protection, mingling in her prayers 
 the most fervid vows of love and constancy 
 towards him whose name was not forgotten ia 
 her pious intercessions. 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFK 
 
 H8 
 
 Comforted and strengthened by this out- 
 pouring of her devotions, J.ucy retired to rest; 
 and sleep fell upon her eyes. She awoke at an 
 early hour, and heard her father moving in 
 his own room, which was next to her’s. She 
 attired herself in her best aj){)arel : but it was 
 with a fluttering heart and trembling hands 
 that she performed the duties of tlie toilet — 
 for the presentiment of coming evil was gradu- 
 ally yet surely stealing back again to her soul. 
 In case of the worst, she took with her what- 
 soever amount of money she possessed, and 
 which consisted of ten poumls. She likewise 
 secured about her person some few little tiin- 
 kets which she liad received as mementos from 
 her deceased mother; and as her preparations 
 thus appeared ominous of a separation from hei' 
 home for a long time — perhaps for ever — she 
 was Seized with a sudden paroxysm of grief, 
 and the tears streamed down her cheeks. 
 Somewhat relieved by this outpouring of her 
 soul’s affliction, she composed her looks as well 
 as she was able — wiped away the traces of her 
 tears — and descended to the parlor. Her fa- 
 ther was already there. Nothing in his aspect, 
 his words, or his manner, indicated a sinister 
 design: so that once more did Lucy begin to 
 recover confidence. She could not however 
 induce herself to swallow a morsel of food ; 
 and every now and then she sank into fits of 
 such deep abstraction that when she suddenly 
 started up from them again, she observed her 
 sire surveying her with a scrutinizing look. 
 
 “I do not feel well to-da}^,” she at lengtli 
 said, “ and would much rather you would ex- 
 cuse my accompanying you,” 
 
 “The little jaunt will do you good,” re- 
 sponded Mr. i)avis. “We shall not return 
 home till to-morrow, and therefore you must 
 take a few necessaries with you. i3e quick, 
 Lucy: for it is time we should start.” 
 
 The young damsel, perceiving that it was 
 useless to urge any further objection, ascended 
 once again to her chamber, and found Martha 
 there. 
 
 “ My dear Miss,” said the faithful servant- 
 girl, “ how unhappy you look ! Surely you do 
 not fear that there is something wrong in the 
 sudden journey you are about to take?” 
 
 “Martha, my dear girl, I know not what to 
 think,” replied Lucy, witli a sort of hysterical 
 nervousness. “ 1 am unhappy — very unhappy. 
 It may be all fancy on my part; and heaven 
 ^rant that it is! Jlut I cannot help entertain- 
 ing some terrible apprehension. Even now it 
 seems to me as if 1 were taking a last farewell 
 of my little chamber — and of you also!” 
 
 “Jjo not go, dear Miss — do not go I” said the 
 girl, weeping. 
 
 “ J.,ucy, are you ready?” exclaimed the 
 bailin' 's voice from the bottom of the stairs. 
 
 “In a moment, father,” she rej)licd: then 
 having hurried on her bonnet and shawl, slie 
 eml>raced Martha with a stronger presenti- 
 ment than ever that it was really a farewell 
 the was Ihus taking, 
 
 “(Jood bye. my dear, dear young mistress,” 
 ■aid the good hearted jicasant-giil, who was 
 frighte.ned as well as grieved at Lucy’s appear- 
 ance; for though it was a fine warm autumn 
 
 morning, yet the bailifT’s daughter sliivercd m 
 if under the irifhuuice of an ice-wind. 
 
 Lucy sped down si airs willi a little parca. 
 of necessaries in her hand, and found her fa 
 ther waiting somewhat impatiently. Slie Hung 
 a (juick but melancholy look around the little 
 parloi- — still feeling as if she were bidding a 
 long adieu to her once hapj)y home: and then 
 she issued forth from the cottage. Her father 
 gave her his ai'in; and they desce.nded the 
 gentle slope towar<ls the village. l>avis spoke 
 more than he had been wont to do for 8om« 
 time j)ast, and likewise with an air of more ' 
 affectionate cheerfulness; but he had all the 
 conversation to himself, for Lucy said nothing. 
 She <lid not hear the remarks he made : she 
 knew that he was talking — but the sense of 
 his discourse was lost upon her, so completely 
 absoi'bed was she in her own reflections. 
 
 They a])proached the Royal Oak, where Mr. 
 Bushell’s neat little chaise-cart was in readi- 
 ness; and Davis said in a hurried whisi)er to 
 his daughter, “ For heaven’s sake, Lucy, cheer 
 up! What makes you so dull? One would 
 think that instead of a ])leasure jaunt, we were 
 going upon some melancholy mission.” 
 
 The very words struck prophetic upon Lucy’s 
 bi'ain, and she bout a wild look upon her father, 
 as if there were bewilderment mingled with 
 terror in her thoughts. 
 
 lie hastened to assist lier into the vehicle; 
 aiid placing himself by her side, took the reina 
 from the hostler. 
 
 “You won’t get your chaise baek agdin till 
 to-morrow, friend Bushell,” he observed to tlw 
 landlord, who was standing near to see them 
 off. 
 
 “ It’s quite at your service, Mr, Davis, for as 
 long as you choose, A pleasant journey to you 
 — and to you also. Miss.” 
 
 The chaise-cart then drove away, and as it 
 passed through the village, Lucy observed 
 Bates standing upon the thre.shold of his shop. 
 It might have been fancy, or it might not, but 
 it certainly struck her, as she threw a look of 
 aversion xipon him, that the barber’s counten- 
 ance wore at the moment an expression of sar- 
 donic malignity — a fiendish diabolical mockery, 
 which struck like an ice-bolt to her heart, leav- 
 ing behind it the influence of a superstitious 
 terror as if she had just beheld a bird of ill 
 omen. The chaise-cart passed on, the village 
 was cleared, and the travellers were borne 
 rapidly along the road towards Middleton, 
 where' they were to take the stage-coach. 
 
 Mr. Davis continued to discourse with cheer^ 
 fulness and kindness, and imperceptibly Lucy’s 
 spirits rose somewhat. The excitement of 
 travelling contributed its effect thus to give a 
 healthier tone to her mind, and by the time 
 Middleton was reached, she had almost suo- 
 ceeded in persuading hcrsc^lf that she had been 
 torturing her heart with very foolish and 
 groundless fears. The vehicle was put up at the 
 inn where the coach stopped, two inside places 
 were found vacant in the stage — and father 
 and daughter were now whirling along ths 
 high road to (k)ventry. 
 
 'bhe clocks of this ancient place of Lady Go- 
 diva renown, were striking twelve as the stage 
 
THE SOLDIER’S W^YK 
 
 if 
 
 ooach drove up to the door of the booking-office, 
 which happened to be next to the Royal 
 George. Davis and his daughter alighted, and 
 at once entered the hotel. Here the bailiff 
 desired the waiter to conduct them immediate- 
 iy to a private room — a command that was 
 promptly obeyed. Biit ere the domestic re- 
 tired, Da"? s exchanged with him a few words, 
 uttered rapidly aside and in a very low whis- 
 per. The fact is, he inquired whethei- a gentle- 
 man named Redbarn was in the hotel ? and on 
 receiving an answer in the affirmative, he 
 desired the waitei to go with his (Mr. Davis’s) 
 complimejits, and trial he would join Mr. Red- 
 burn in ten minutes. 
 
 All her suspicions, all her misgivings, came 
 back at once, vividly and with renewed power, 
 to the mind of the unhappy Lucy. This whis- 
 pering appeared darkly ominous, and her heart 
 sank within her. She threw a frightened and 
 inquiring look upon her father : the glance that 
 met her own, seemed the strongest confirma- 
 tion of the truth of her apprehensions, for on 
 the bailiff s countenance there was now an ex- 
 pression of a grave and serious meaning, min- 
 gled with the stern resolve of a determined 
 man. 
 
 “ Lucy,” he said, “ the moment is now arrived 
 for explanations — ” 
 
 “Ah!” she ejaculated, but in a low and 
 stifling voice ; and then sinking upon a seat, she 
 gazed on her sire with mingled wildness and 
 vacancy. 
 
 “Daughter,” he resumed, addressing her in a 
 firm and implacable voice, “it is your i)arent 
 who is about to make known to you his inten- 
 tions, and I warn you to beware how you 
 prove a disobedient child. Listen — prepare 
 yourself to hear something that may startle 
 you, but take care how you shriek out, for I 
 am resolved not to endure any love-sick girlish 
 airs, much less to be moved by them. Within 
 the hour that is passing, you will bestow your 
 hand upon Mr. Gerald Redburn 1” 
 
 “No, father — never!” responded Lucy, sud- 
 denly acquiring a degree of firmness which 
 astonished even herself as she experienced it: 
 and slowly rising from the chair which she had 
 taken, she stood before her father pale and 
 colorless as a marble statue, but with a strange 
 gleaming m the eyes and a strong compression 
 of the lips. 
 
 “Lucy,” said Mr. Davis, staggered for an 
 instant, bin only for an instant, “ will you dare 
 your father’s curse? Remember what I said 
 to you some weeks ago ! My mind is set upon 
 the accomplishment of this grand and brilliant 
 alliance, which I have labored to bring about 
 for you. Do not interrupt me, but listen. Mr. 
 Redburn has offered you his hand. Here is a 
 letter which he sent me two or three days back, 
 with the idea that I should deliver it to you at 
 once. You can read it.” 
 
 Lucy shook her head — not in an excited 
 manner, but firmly and resoluf ely ; and there 
 was something strange and even terrible in the 
 fortitude with which she was armed at this 
 momrnt. 
 
 “No?” ejaculated Davis: “then you still 
 dare me, you still defy me! We shall see 
 
 whether you will do so when I have finished 
 speaking. I shall not fall to your feet, Lucy, 
 and implore you to make your father happy : 
 
 I shall not trust to prayers and entreaties, nor 
 leave myself entirely at your mercy, because it 
 is but too plain that you have made up your 
 mind to be disobedient. But I will tell joa 
 this, that if you in your wilfulness and your 
 obstinacy destroy the proud dream in which I 
 have cradled myself, if with a remorseless hand 
 you dash down the fabric of those hopes which 
 f have labored to build up, the eonsequencet 
 will be terrible indeed? 1 have made my will, 
 leaving all I possess to a public charity. And 
 why have 1 taken this precaution ? That if you 
 continue to dare me until the end — if you drive 
 me to the catastrophe which Avill remain as my 
 only alternative — 1 shall at least die knowing 
 that I have throivn as a beggar upon the world 
 the disobedient girl — the heartless daughter, 
 who drove her father to suicide !” 
 
 “ Good heavens ! speak not thus — olg speak 
 not thus, I implore you! You will drive me 
 mad!” and now poor Lucy, the whole state of 
 her feelings changing in a moment, clasped her 
 hands and extended them imploringly toward^! 
 her sire. 
 
 “Do not think that I am uttering any idle 
 threat,” responded Davis, still cold, stern, and 
 implacable. “ If you refuse to receive Gerald 
 Redburn as your husband, I will drive you 
 forth with m}’ bitterest, bitterest curse ?” 
 
 “ 0 God !” murmured Lucy, ivith a stifled 
 shriek at the same time jjassing betiveen her 
 lips. 
 
 “Yes — my bitterest curse, laid upon jmur 
 head with all the crushing, withering power 
 that the awful feelings of my soul can impart 
 to it! — a curse, Lucy, that shall cling to you 
 throughout the remainder of your wretched 
 life — a curse that shall haunt you like a spectre, 
 attend upon you by day, ajipear in your dreams 
 by night, — a curse too that shall embody 
 itself in the grisly shape of that ])arent whom 
 you will have driven to die in the blood of a 
 distracted suicide. Behold — this weapon ia 
 loaded !” 
 
 “Merciful God; what will become of me?" 
 exclaimed the wretched Lucy, sinking upon her 
 knees and clasping her hands in bitterest an- 
 guish as her father produced a pistol from his 
 pocket. 
 
 “You now know all,” he continued, slowly 
 returning the weapon (which, we nee<i hardly 
 say, was uof loaded) to the pocket whence he 
 had taken it; and neither by word nor motion 
 did he bid bis daughter rise from the suppliant 
 posture to which she had sunk. “ Gerald Red- 
 burn is here within these walls. All the requi- 
 site arrangements are made ; he has the mar- 
 riage-license — and the cler-gyman is no doubt 
 in attendance. Will you, or will you not, 
 become his wife? Will you force your coun- 
 tenance to assume at least a look of resignatioii f 
 will you suffer it to appear that it is with yon 
 consent as well as with mine, that this mai^ 
 riage takes place? Or will you fail in all or 
 any one of these details, and ruin everything! 
 If so, deal candidly with me at once. I shall 
 then know whether I have or have i ot • 
 
60 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFR 
 
 daughf er. If I have, you will see me happy 
 be^’^ond the power of language to describe: if I 
 have not, then need you only remain here long 
 enough to receive my curse — and at the saTiie 
 instant that yon door closes behind you as I 
 drive you from my presence, will the report of 
 this weapon sound your father’s death-knell in 
 vour ear.” 
 
 There was something awful beyond the pos- 
 sibility of mere verbal narration, in the looks, 
 the language, and the manner of the unscrupu- 
 lous man as he thus addressed his alnnjst 
 frenzied daughter, llis words came with an 
 overwhelming power upon her, striking her 
 blow iipou blow — stunning her in one sense- 
 with coni^ternation, so that she remained speech- 
 less — but in another sense, exciting the liveliest 
 agonies in her mind. There, as she knelt at 
 his feet — there, as she was in that suppliant 
 osturc, her face pale as marble, — she wrung 
 er hands in despair — she longed to give vent 
 to the crucifixion of her anguish in one jiene- 
 trating, thrilling, rending scream — but she 
 could not: her lips wei'e seale<l! 
 
 “Now, Lucy,” said her father, “your deci- 
 sion — what is it? Speak: there is no time to 
 lose. Mr. Redburn must not be trifled with.” 
 
 “ Father — father — 1 am half mad !” exclaimed 
 Lucy, starting up to her feet as if suddenl}’ 
 galvanized. “Oh, by the memory of my saint- 
 ed mother, I beseech you not to accomplish 
 this wickedness ! No, no: you will not — you 
 cannot. It is too terrible ! Oh, if you talk of 
 Buicide, it is I who shall become the distracted 
 suicide !” 
 
 “ Girl, no more of this !” ejaculated her father 
 fiercely; and catching her by the wrist, he 
 shook her with brutal violence. “By Satan, 
 my will shall be done — or I will d) what I 
 have threatened! My word is pledged to 
 Redburn ; and if I ever look him in the face 
 again, it shall be in the confidence that my 
 pledge is to be kept.” 
 
 ' Father,” said Lucy, with a look so woe- 
 begone, so full of an illimitable despair that it 
 would have moved the heart of almost any 
 other being in the world, “you are murdering 
 me — you are murdering me!” 
 
 “ Enough ! This must end !” exclaimed Da- 
 vis in a terrible voice : “ it has already lasted 
 loo long. How is it to be ? Say at once. I will 
 be trifled with no longer. Your decision? 
 Quick, quick — your decision? Talk of mad- 
 ness — it is I who am well nigh driven to it!” 
 
 “ 0 God, what -Hm I to do ? what will become 
 of me ?” — and again dW Lucy sink down into 
 the chair, liorror-strick^. a, dismayed, yet fren- 
 zied. “ Fatlicr, if 1 say yes, it will be my 
 death — and not only my death, but that of 
 another — of him v/liorn 1 love — to 'whom my 
 U’oth is pliglited ” 
 
 “Allude not to that man!” ejaculated Davis, 
 more fiercely even than liefore. “ You must 
 nay yes — you shall, unless you choose to become 
 my murdci'css 1 And it will be pai'ilcide, 
 Jaicy — pan-icide, 1 repeaf> — the unpardonable 
 ci’inlcl” 
 
 The unforf-unate yciiii'^ woman fe-lt as if her 
 BeriHcs were aliamloning her. Her hands re- 
 juLtid iLc clasp in which they had held each 
 
 other — her arms dropped dowr.\.istle8!»ly bj 
 side — and she gazed with a soi-t of maniac 
 vacancy ujxm lier father. He rejicabMl his 
 ([uestion demanding her decision. She heai’il 
 that he spoke — but umlcrstood not tie; puqioil 
 of his words. His very form grew mdistim t 
 before her — the room 8ecme<l whirling round — 
 strange and fantastic shapf^s appeared to rise 
 up about her — the articles of furniture assum<?d 
 living forms — and hideous countenaneea grin- 
 ned in mockery upon her, that of lbi1.es suddenly 
 appearing in ihe midst with the same expres- 
 sion of malignant meaning that ho had worn 
 when she jiassed his shop in ti e morning. 
 Again did her father address luir. He ad- 
 vanced close up to her — he took her hand — he 
 jiressed it — she knew not wJiat he said — she 
 had lost the memory of the preceding scene — 
 she neither beheld nor understoo(l anv thing 
 with distinctness: she was in a dream, though 
 wide awake. A third time did he speak to her 
 while she was in this condition — and phe 
 thought that he required some answer: but 
 without knowing to what she was answci'ing, 
 she mechanically rnurmiired, “Yes.” 
 
 “Tiien may heaven bless you, dearest Lucy !” 
 were the words which now all in a momtnt 
 plainly and intelligibly smote upon her ears. 
 
 Her waking dream vanished — she und r- 
 stood her position in all its frightful reality — 
 and she stretched out her hand to hold L«r 
 father back as he rushed away from her. 
 
 The next instant he had quitted the apart- 
 ment — and she found herself alone. It was ‘n 
 the enthusiasm of joy and triumph that he h>d 
 thus sped away to see Gerald Redburn. 
 
 As a sudden glare of light thrown into a 
 dark room brings forth every object into viv i 
 relief, so did an instantaneous clearness ari-e 
 in Lucy’s mind — and every thought and idea 
 harbored there, was . in a moment redeemed 
 from confusion and bewilderment. She com- 
 prehended what she had done — that she had 
 spoken the fatal yes — and that her father had 
 gone to signify her assent to thedoathed and 
 detested object who sought her as his bride. 
 Oh ! had she then for a single instant — and even 
 in the unconsciousness of that moment — proved 
 faithless to her plighted love to Frederick 
 Lonsdale ? -There was anguish in the thought ; 
 and every other consideration vanishing from 
 her mind, she. rushed from the room. 
 
 She had not taken olf her bonnet and shawl 
 on first entering ; and thus there was naught to 
 delay her. Down the stairs she precipitated 
 herself — splashed past an astonished waiter who 
 was ascending at the time — and flitted forth 
 from the hotel. Along the street she hurried, 
 reckless of the attention which her excited 
 manner and precipitate speed naturally drew 
 upoti her; and in a few minutes she gained a 
 more secluded part of the town. There she 
 slackened her pace to recover breath. All of a 
 sudden an ejaculation of joy fell on her ears; 
 and at the instant she raised her eyes in recog- 
 nition of that well-known voice, she was clasped 
 ir the .arms of Frederick Lonsdale 1 
 
i 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFK fl 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 '•'UE FUGITIVES. 
 
 A QUARTER ot an hour after this meeting, the 
 lovers might have been observed wending tlieir 
 ■way through some fields in the vicinage of Cov- 
 entry, and speeding towards a grove, where 
 they could screen themselves from pursuit and 
 enter into those mutual explanations which 
 were so much longed for. Hand in hand did 
 they press onward, exchanging but a few words, 
 and these of love and tenderness — but bend- 
 ing upon each other looks that spoke the feel- 
 ings of their hearts ten thousand times more 
 eloqueiAly thaii even the few words thus 
 Bpoken. 
 
 The reader will perhaps be surprised to learn 
 thatLonsdale appeared most respectably attired 
 in a good suit of clothes — not of fustian nor of i 
 working-class materials, but of broad cloth ; 
 and although his looks ■were wretchedly hag- 
 Mrd and careworn, and he was evidently suf- 
 fering from the effects of immense physical fa- 
 tigue and mental anxiety, he nevertheless had 
 an air of superiority above his condition amount- 
 ing almost to gentility, which even in the hurry 
 and excitement of her thoughts Lucy could not i 
 help noticing. 
 
 In a few minutes they reached the grove : 
 they plunged into its shade — they sought its 
 depths ; and there, upon the huge trunk of a 
 tree -wdiich had been cut down, did they seat 
 themselves side by side — and again did they 
 indulge in a fond embrace. But now for the 
 first time since she had fled so precipitately 
 from the hotel, did a horrible thought recur 
 with frightful vividness to the young damsel’s 
 mind. That threat which her. father had ut- 
 tered — a threat which he had indeed made so 
 deliberately, and with such stern solemnity, — 
 tlie threat of self-destruction 1 Frederick per- 
 ceived that a species of mortal terror suddenly 
 fastened itself upon his well-beloved : she grew 
 pale as death, and was sinking back as if about 
 to faint, had he not sustained her in his arms. 
 The excited eagerness with which he besought 
 her to tell him what ailed her, recalled her to 
 herself ; and in a few rapid but explicit words 
 Bhe gave him to understand what her father 
 had threatened, and the reminiscence of which 
 had so suddenly smit her with a feeling like 
 that of death. But Frederick hastened to re- 
 assure her. 
 
 “ I think, my beloved Lucy,” he replied, “ that 
 I understand your father’s character much bet- 
 ter than you do. Believe me, — and in so so- 
 lemn and grave a matter I would not buoy you 
 aj with a hope in the truthfulness of which 1 
 experienced no confidence, — but believe me, I 
 iay, when I assure you that he is the last man 
 m existence to carry such a threat into execu- 
 tion. No, dearest Lucy, — it is not the cold, 
 calculating, worldly-minded man of his nature 
 that voluntarily puts a period to his life for 
 Buch a disappointment as this. His first im-j 
 pulse on discovering your flight, will have been 
 to search for you ; and in the excitement of the 
 proceeding he will forget his threat. Besides, 
 ao you not see, Lucy, t hat it was but one of the 
 
 5 
 
 terribly coercive means t lat he adopted to rea- 
 der 3mu pliant and yielding f” 
 
 Miss Davis felt her confidence revive as her 
 lover thus spoke; and when she looked calmly 
 at that terrible scene which had ere now taken 
 place with her fatlier, she felt assured that 
 ITederick must be right. She now entered into 
 the fullest explanations, tell.ng him all that had 
 occurred in respect to Gerald Redburn during 
 their sejiaration, and wherefore she had sup- 
 })r(.«sed in her letters all allusion to the subject 
 She likewise explained how she had been be 
 glided into this journey to Coventry— ho\9 she 
 had entertained her misgivings — and how tl ey 
 were for the moment strengthened by the sinis- 
 ter aspect of Bates standing upon the thresli- 
 old of his shop ; but how at the same time she 
 was unacquainted ivith any particulars to ena- 
 ble her to associate that individual with her 
 sire’s treacherous proceedings. She described 
 the fearful scene which had taken place between 
 her father and herself, — frankly admitting that 
 in a moment of the squI’s consternation, stupor, 
 and bewilderment, she had breathed the word 
 7/c.<t, — but adding, with endearing looks thrown 
 upon her lover, that the instant she became 
 mistress of her thoughts and actions once more, 
 she had allowed but one idea to sway her — 
 and that was the troth she had plighted to 
 him. 
 
 Often during Lucy’s recital, did Fredericli 
 express by his looks and his caresses the feel- 
 ings that the several points of her narrative 
 excited within him. Those looks and those 
 caresses indicated all the gratitude he felt foi 
 her delicate forbearance in suppressing every 
 allusion in her letters to Gerald Redburn — 
 all the admiration he experienced for her de 
 voted constancy — all the sympathy that swelled 
 in his heart for her sufferings and perseeutiona 
 — and all the indignation that inspired him at 
 the treacherous intents to which she was to 
 have been made the victim. 
 
 He then entered upon his own narrative — 
 telling her how the discovery of Bates’s letter 
 to Sergeant Langley had made him acquainted 
 with the whole plot. Lucy now indeed com- 
 prehended why it was that the barber had 
 worn so sardonic a look as he stood upon hta 
 threshhold : but her thoughts were speedily 
 diverted, and most painfully so, into another 
 channel, when Frederick proceeded in melan- 
 choly candor to reveal to her that he was not 
 absent from his regiment with leave, but that 
 he was a deserter ! Fortunately for the poor 
 girl she knew not the dread consequences to 
 which he had rendered himself liable : yet at 
 the same time she was suiflciently acquainted 
 with the subject to perceive- that he had taken 
 a most serious step, and one which would dra'W 
 down upon him at least some punishment. But 
 all her interest was quickly absorbed in the 
 narrative which Frederick gave of the fatigues 
 and the privations he had suffered during his 
 immense journey of one hundred and sixty -two 
 I miles, accomplished in exactly fifty hours. The 
 greater portion of his journey he had performed 
 on foot, — until at last he had been compelled 
 through fear of not reaching Coventry in t’rae, 
 I to give all the money he had in his pocket foi 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFR 
 
 %% 
 
 a riJe on the ten of a stage-coach so far as the 
 foaehmau would take him for that amount. 
 
 “ This morning at nine o’clock,” he cont inued, 
 “on alighting from the coach, 1 still found 
 inyself many, many miles from Coventry, with- 
 out a j)enny in my ])ocket — almost starving 
 with hunger — and racked by the terrible ap- 
 prehension that it would be impossible for me 
 to reach my destination in time to save you. 
 At that hour as I was approaching a villatfc — 
 dragging myself painfully along — my ears sud- 
 denly caught the sounds of wheels and horses’ 
 lioofs dashing along the road Avith a celerity 
 that at once convinced me something was amiss. 
 Then I heard the screams of female voices ; and 
 almost immediately afterwards an open chaise, 
 containing a gentleman and two ladies, and 
 drawn by twoliigh-sjiirited horses, came rush- 
 ing along behind me. At a glance 1 perceived 
 that the horses were running away ; the gen- 
 tleman had dropped the reins, and tlie vehicle 
 was swaying from side to side in a manner 
 which threatened it with an immediate upset. 
 Besides Avhich, there were several heaps of 
 stones along the side of the road ; and the 
 chaise was whirled by the maddened horses 
 over them one after another in rapid succession. 
 I sprang foi'ward — caught the rein — and al- 
 though dragged along for upwards of a minute, 
 I must confess, Lucy, to the imminent danger 
 of my life — I succeeded in stop[)ing the animals. 
 The thanks which I received from the gentle- 
 man and two ladies, were of the most fervid 
 kind : indeed I had saved their liv^es. The 
 gentleman made me a present of ten guineas; 
 and bidding me farewell, pursued his way. 
 You may conceive the joy which I e.xperienced ! 
 Did it not look as if heaven itself had thrown 
 me in the way of this adventure, that I might 
 obtain the means of prosecuting my journey ? 
 And, Oh ! it was an unspeakable relief to be 
 able to put off my uniform, and purchase a 
 suit of plain clothes. It appeared to me as if 
 tliere were safety and security in the change ; 
 and I sel^feted a suit of this kind — the better to 
 disguise myself — for no one would think of 
 looking for a deserter in such a garb. I walked 
 on with hope in my heart ; and presently I 
 obtained a ride in a tradesman’s cart that was 
 proceeding for several miles in the same direc- 
 tion as myself. Then there was another long 
 walk — and then a coach overtaking me, con- 
 Tcy-ed me into Coventry; and I alighted in the 
 very street where a few moments afterwards, to 
 my surprise and joy, I happily encountered 
 you.” 
 
 Having given mutual explanations, the lovers 
 lost no time in discussing the plans which were 
 naturally suggested by the circumstances of 
 their position. Lonsdale enteilained not the 
 slightest idea of returning to his i-egiment. He 
 had snifered too much, even aj>art from other 
 considerations, to i-eturn voluntarily to that 
 caj-thly pandemonium whence he had escaped. 
 ]iesi<les, he knew ffill well, alt hough he breathed 
 not a hint thereof to Lucy, that if he did returji, 
 it would be with the certainty of undergoing 
 the frightful lacerations of the cnt-’o-nine-tails. 
 }i is idea was that they should repair with the 
 least |R»sHible delay to some remote j>l'ice, and 
 
 there fix their abode for a few weeks, while th« 
 banns of marriage were put up in the local 
 church; then, after their utiion, that they 
 should repair to some other j)lace, where 
 a feigned name they might settle down in the 
 hope that he would elfectually bailie any search 
 that might be instituted after him as a desert- 
 er, and where by his honest industry a liveli- 
 hood might be obtained. Lucy coincided with 
 her lover’s views. What objection had she to 
 oiler? He spoke of their imme<liate marriage 
 with so much delicacy and tenderness, that sh« 
 loved him more devotedly if [mssible than ever ; 
 and with blushes on her cheeks, but ha[)pine8i 
 in hei- eyes, she signified her assent. 
 
 When their little plans were settled, they 
 examined their stock of money, and found that 
 they had e.xactly sixteen pounds in their pos- 
 session ; — namely, the ten which Lucy had so 
 fortunately brought with her, and six remaining 
 out of the sum [)re8ented by the gentleman to 
 Lonsdale. It was not much to begin the world 
 with, j)articularly as all their personal proper- 
 ty in. respect to wearing apparel consisted of 
 the things they had on tliem at the time; but 
 they were determined upon practising all re- 
 quisite frugality and economy — and they had 
 hope in their hearts, as well as an abundance 
 of love ; and therefore they considered their 
 prospects to be sufficiently cheering. 
 
 Having rested and conveVsed for nearly an 
 hour in the grove, they continued their way 
 across the fields, — not exactly knowing in which 
 direction they were proceeding, but resolved 
 to wander on until they reached some main 
 road, where they meant to take the first public 
 conveyance bound for any place sufficiently 
 distant to answer their purposes. In another 
 hour their design was so far carried out that 
 they found themselves seated together on the 
 outside of a coach proceeding to York ; and as 
 the vehicle sped farther and farther on, their 
 spirits rose in proportion to the distance which 
 was thus increasing between themselves and 
 the midland counties. 
 
 On arriving at York, they immediately hired 
 two distinct lodgings, and at once took the 
 requisite steps for having the banns of marriage 
 put up in the parish where they had thus taken 
 up their quarters. In a few days any latent 
 misgiving which Lucy might have experienced 
 in respect to her father, was completely dissi- 
 pated by the appearance of the following ad- 
 vertisement in a London newspaper, which 
 happened to meet Frederick’s eye, and which 
 he lost no time in showing to his well-beloved : — 
 
 “ L. D. of Oakleigh, — You are earnestly en- 
 treated to return home to your father, who is 
 distracted at your flight. lie faithfully prom- 
 ises that his intentions on a certain matter shall 
 not be persevered in. All is ended and broken 
 off in that respect.” 
 
 Lucy’s mind Avas noAV completely set at rest 
 Avith regard to her father’s safety: but not for 
 a moment did she entertain the thought of 
 complying Avitli the above requisition. Much 
 as slie deploi'cd the painful neeossity which 
 liad compelled her to fly from the paiernal cob 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 et 
 
 tJTol, she coirld not without abandoning Lons- 
 dale return to her father. Sxich a sacrifice she 
 woTtld not make. Thongli still experiencing a 
 filial regard for her sire, slie could no longer 
 love him with the same pure and confiding af- 
 fection as she had been wont to experience: 
 his treatment had been too harsh — his tyranny 
 too unrelenting — and his own character had 
 been developed in colors too dark, not to shock 
 the ingenuous feelings of his daugliter, and ena- 
 ble her to discover in her own conscience a 
 complete justification for the course which she' 
 was pursuing. At the same time she longed 
 to make him aware .hat she was incapable of 
 adopting a wrong path, and that if she re- 
 noimced her home for ever, it must not thence 
 be inferred that she was likely to disgrace the 
 name that she had borne. Frederick, when her 
 wishes were made known to him, suggested 
 that if she would write a letter to her father, 
 he would give it to the guard of one of the 
 York and London coaches, with strict injunc- 
 tions to put it into the post-office in the metro- 
 polis. Lucy accordingly penned the following 
 lines : — 
 
 “ My dear father, 
 
 "For in such terms must I address you, inas- 
 much as notwithstanding everything that has 
 occurred, I cannot forget that until recently 
 your treatment of me was always such as to 
 demand my devoted love. I have seen your 
 advertisement in the newspapers: but it is im- 
 possible that I can obey your wishes. Things 
 nave gone too far to permit the hope that we 
 could ever again live happily beneath the same 
 roof. Rest assured that your daughter will 
 never forget the excellent advice which her 
 deceased and lamented mother was wont to 
 instil into her mind. No, father — on this head 
 you need not entertain the slightest apprehen- 
 sion ; but you may trust in this assurance, even 
 if you do not know my character sufficiently to 
 be full well aware that I am incapable of d<f- 
 ing anything wrong. From time to time, if 
 opportunities should arrive, you may expect to 
 hear from me ; and I cherish the hope that I 
 shall be enabled hereafter to suggest some 
 means by which you may communicate with 
 me, if such be your desire. But it is not pro- 
 bable that I shall confide to you the place of 
 my abode ; and this I mention not in any spirit 
 of defiance — because of that I am incapable — 
 but tliat you may spare yourself the excite- 
 ment, the suspense, and the cost of unavailing 
 researches to discover me. Y ou know, father, 
 that I am* not to blame for having fled from 
 you:' it was my only alternative — the last re- 
 source to which your own conduct drove me. 
 But do not think that I cherish any animosity 
 against you. Suc-h a feeling is incompatible 
 with the filial love I have ever borne you. 
 Therefore, when I beseech heaven to forgive 
 you, as I forgive you, for your cruelty towards 
 me — and when I add that I am doing my best 
 to efface the sense of it from my mind — it is in 
 all sincerity I give you these assurances. Y es : 
 that God may 1 less you, my dear father, is in- 
 deed the prayei of your daughter, 
 
 ‘‘ L. D.” 
 
 This letter, b< ing duly sealed and addressed, 
 was given by Lonsdale to the guard of one of 
 the coaches; and a fee of five shillings elicited 
 a ready promise that the instructions which 
 accompanied it should be punctually obeyed. 
 Lucy, thinking that her father might possibly 
 address her again through the medium of the 
 newspapers, begged her lover to keep his e^'e 
 upon them ; and in about a week another ad- 
 vertisement appeared, to the following efi’ect 
 
 "L. D. — I have received jour letter bearing 
 the London post-mark. Again and again do I 
 beseech you to return. The intelligence has 
 reached me that a certain person, F. L., has 
 deserted from his regiment. I implore you by 
 everything sacred not to unite yourself to that 
 man. You do not know his real character. 
 Besides, are you aware that at any moment he 
 may be snatched away from you and subjected 
 to an infamous punishment ? 
 
 ‘‘Your distracted father, 
 
 “P. D.” 
 
 For a moment did Frederick Lonsdale hesi- 
 tate to show this advertisement to Lucy. Not 
 that he feared any evil effect from the base in 
 sinuation regarding his own character, because 
 he knew that his well-beloved would put the 
 proper construction theron : but it was on ac- 
 count of the revelation .which would be made 
 to her respecting the penalty affixed to the 
 crime of desertion, that he thus hesitateffi 
 Caifdor was however one of the leading cha- 
 racteristics of the young man; and he there- 
 fore promptly made up his mind to show her 
 the advertisement He did so, — at the same 
 time gently and delicately making her aware 
 of the nature of the punishment to which her 
 father alluded. At first Lucy was dreadfully 
 shocked, and became convulsed with grief: but 
 the assurances which Frederick gave her, to 
 the efiect that their precautions v/ere so weE 
 taken and their future plans were so well laid 
 as to render his capture the most distant of 
 chances, succeeded in consoling the young 
 damsel. As for this second entreaty on the 
 part of her father, she remained unmoved, — 
 her resolution being firmly taken to sacrifice 
 all the world rather than abandon her lover. 
 
 The banns having been duly asked on three* 
 consecutive Sundays, the marriage was cele- 
 brated with as mKch privacy and simplicity as 
 possible ; and Lucy Davis became the bride of 
 him whom she loved so tenderly and devotedly 
 Forgotten now were all past sufferings and 
 afflictions ; and the young pair experienced a 
 sense of happiness which* absorbed every ap- 
 prehension of future sorrows. The day after 
 their union they proceeded to Carlisle, where 
 they resolved to settle down. They had no 
 particul-ar object in choosing this place, beyond 
 the circumstance of its extreme remotenese 
 from that midland county in which Mr. Davis 
 dwelt, and of its still greater distance from 
 Portsmouth, where the depot of Lonsdale’s re- 
 giment was stationed. The reader has already 
 seen that their little plans were prudentially 
 sketched out beforehand, and that they did not 
 I abandon themsekes to chance circumstaiUMi 
 
TIIE SOLDIER’S WIFR 
 
 more than in their peciiliar position they couM 
 help. On arriving at Carlisle, they found their 
 etock of money diminished to about eight 
 pounds, — their travelling-expenses, their three 
 Vv'eeks’ living at York, tlie marriage-fees, and 
 the purchase of necessary articles of clothing, 
 having absorbed the diltercnce: but their ex- 
 penditure had been characterized by the most 
 rigid economy. They hii-ed a couple of fur- 
 nished rooms m a respectable Irouse, but at a 
 cheap rent — and lost no time in carrying into 
 execution the plans already laid down. 
 
 Adopting the fictitious name of Mortimer, 
 Frederick had little circulars printed, to the 
 effect that he sought to establish a school for 
 bovs of a tender age, whom he undertook to 
 instruct in the rudiments of a plain education ; 
 while other circulars announced that Lucy 
 would execute needlework, either plain or 
 fancy, on very reasonable terms. The land- 
 lady of the house was a respectable kind- 
 hearted woman; and from the very first mo- 
 ment of her new lodgers’ arrival, she experi- 
 enced an interest in them. She cheerfully 
 undertook, therefore, to forward their views. 
 Fortune — for the present, at all events — seemed 
 weary of persecuting the affectionate young 
 couple; and Lucy’s circulars, aided by the 
 strong recommendations of Mrs. Harrison, the 
 good widow, speedily produced the desired re- 
 sults. Work came in rapidly ; and as she exe- 
 cuted it with neatness, taste, and punctuality, 
 she gained the favor of those who patronised 
 her. Three or four day-scholars were likewise 
 obtained for Frederick; and the parents of 
 these children were so much pleased with his 
 adJress and his unassuming manners, that they 
 promised to extend their recommendations to 
 the utmost of their power. The families from 
 whom Lucy received work likewise experienced 
 an interest in the young wife, whose personal 
 beauty was so great, whose manners were so 
 agreeable, and whose looks were so modest ; 
 and thus the newly-married couple met with a 
 success even exceeding their own most san- 
 guine expectations. 
 
 Weeks passed away and grew into months, 
 and Lucy had more work than she could pos- 
 sibly do; for Frederick, while he beheld with 
 admiration and gratitude her great industry, 
 would hot permit her to toil to a degree that 
 should injure her health, especially as he him- 
 self had increased his scliool to some fifteen or 
 sixteen scholars. They earned mo'rs than was 
 requisite to me'^t their expenditurs, and were 
 euablo<l every week to accumulate some little 
 savings. Thus time passed on ; and everything 
 progresse<l favorably with the young couple. 
 
 They were, indeed, as happy as could possi- 
 bly be expected. One circumstance only at 
 times brought a chill upon their spirits; and 
 when they observed the slightest desp)omiency 
 on each other’s j)art they knew full well what 
 it was that pnxluced it. Ilut then they would 
 throw th<;ir arms round each other’s nocks, and 
 in the fond fervor of that pui'e and holy em- 
 brace, exj)erionco in the very circumstance of 
 their devoted love a renewed sense of security. 
 Xseed we say that the fear which thus from 
 lime to time visited them, was lest the present 
 
 even flowing v Ic cf happiness was too favor 
 able to last, and that they should prepara 
 themselves for any ac(!idcnt which might lead 
 to the recognition aii<l arrest of Frederick! 
 Hut, as time wore on, the intervals between 
 these fits of des})ondency grew longer and 
 longer; and having faith in licaven, ainl hope 
 aiul trust in a supernal I'rovidence, they could 
 scarcely think that the bli.ss they now enjoyed 
 could be cruelly scattcreil to the winds. 
 
 It was a pleasing .spectacle to see Frederick, 
 surrounded by his little pupils — patiently, 
 kindl}’, and with pains-taking care instructine 
 their minds and enlarging their intellectual 
 capacities; while Lucy, seated by tbe lire — for 
 it was now winter — occui>ie<l herself with her 
 Avork. From time to time she would raise her 
 eyes off that work; and, as if by a species of 
 magnetic intuition, PYederick would at the 
 same moment lift his regards from his book — 
 and when those glances met, it was in the 
 transfusion and unison of ineffable feelings of 
 love and devotion. On a Sunday they might 
 be seen repairing to the parish church arm-in- 
 arm, both dressed with ta.ste and neatness, yet 
 in an unassuming manner, receiving the kind- 
 est salutations from all the neighbors, and 
 being pointed out as a veritable pattern for 
 married couples. 
 
 Thus did time pa.s.s away. The Spring ar 
 rived with its verdure and its flowers — Sum- 
 mer came with its sunny glories — and when 
 the Autumn fruits Avere gathered from the 
 trees, Lucy became the mother of a boy, whose 
 presence Avas hailed with rapture by the over- 
 joyed and delighted parents. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 A VIRTUOUS woman is the very embodiment 
 and personifieation of love. The true beginning 
 and end of all that is pure and worthy of wo- 
 man-kind, is love. Love may be made to con- 
 stitute all woman’s happiness ; but if the hea- 
 venly passion be perverted, it proves the source 
 of all her sorrows. Very beautiful, indeed, is 
 the principle of love in woman : it constitutes 
 a roseate atmosphere “ in which she lives, anj 
 moves, and has her being” — and it forms a 
 halo of celestial purity to surround her. Its 
 light shines in the glance of her eyes — beams 
 in .the smile upon her lips — and malies the mu- 
 sic of her softest tones ; for the melody of wo- 
 man’s voice is but a prolonged echo of the spi- 
 rit of love. It is impossible to think of the 
 beneficent yet unobtrusive influence of a vir- 
 tuous woman without expeiiencing a sense oi 
 the most exalted admiration. Bell?!ld her as 
 the obedient daughter — hoAV much she will en- 
 dure, through Avhat trials she will pass, and 
 hoAV goading must become the jiarental tyran- 
 ny ere she Avill alloAv her spirit to rebel against 
 the authors of her being! Rohohl her when 
 loving some <^bject Avorthy of her devotion — 
 mark her uuTurying constancy — the resolution 
 uniting with tenderness in the nature of her 
 alfectiOn — tl»' tenacity Avith whicli she clingt 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE 
 
 
 to him whom she knows to be deserving of her 
 love. Again, behold her as the wife joyously 
 welcoming her husband home — feeding her 
 spirit with the memory of his looks and smiles 
 when he is absent — and with all the sublimest 
 elements of an ever-enduring constancy and 
 faith appealing to his soul. And lastl}’, con- 
 template her as the mother, pressing her new- 
 born babe to her bosom — studying to trace 
 in its little countenance the lineaments of its 
 sire— and fondly making imagination continue 
 the work in this respect beyond the point 
 where verisimilitude has sto})ped. Yes — wo- 
 man, when imbued with a })ure and virtuous 
 love, is an angel-creature : and well may poets 
 strike their lyres to sing her praise — well might 
 the warriors of old hav^e dared deeds of high 
 emprize for the meed of her smile — well may 
 the student trim his lamp to write essays upon 
 her manifold good qiialities! All these tributes 
 and all this b image does she deserve. Last at 
 the cross and earliest at the grave of the Sa- 
 viour, she teaches to the sincere Christian some 
 of the sweetest and holiest morals of his faith ; 
 and thus is the name of Woman hallowed by 
 religion likewise as well as sanctitied by love. 
 
 From all that the reader has seen of Lucy’s 
 character, he will not be disposed to dissent 
 from the assertion that she was one of the love- 
 liest and most loveable, as well as loving types 
 ^f that pure and virtuous portion of womankind 
 whose praises we have endeavored to record. 
 And was not Frederick happy now ? — happy as 
 he stood by the couch where his young wife 
 lay with the child nestling in her bosom ? — 
 happy when, convalescent again, she was en- 
 abled to accompany him in his evening walk 
 with the babe in her arms? — happy, too, when 
 in the midst of his pupils he glanced aside and 
 beheld her peeping over her work at the sweet 
 in:ant that lay slumbering in her lap ? Yes : 
 Frederick was completely happy. We say 
 cmapletely, because he had ceased to think of 
 the possibility of danger; or if he had not 
 altogether ceased to think of it, he at least 
 believed it to be so little probable as to be no 
 more dreaded than the fall of a house, a fatal 
 flash of lightning, or any one of those casual- 
 ties which, though possible, are nevertheless 
 held to be too remote to trouble the even tenor 
 of existence. More than a year had now passed 
 since he quitted his regiment; and never once 
 during his residence at Carlisle had he met a 
 single soul who could proclaim the fact that his 
 name was not Mortimer, but that it was Lons- 
 dale the Deserter! 
 
 It was not however altogether so with Lucy. 
 Woman is of a less sanguine disposition than 
 man : whatever may or can happen, she never 
 regards as extremely improbable : but there 
 are times when she thinks of it — and though 
 perhaps not with such a fixity of the mental 
 regards as to materially disturb the equanimity 
 of her happiness, she nevertheless does think of 
 it, and likewise pray heaven to avert the cala- 
 mity. ’riius is it that when misfortunes come, 
 woman is more prepared than' man to meet 
 them, and can all the better fulfil her heavenly 
 mission of man’s consoler. Lucy sometimes 
 thought of the possibility of their present hap- 
 
 piness being disturbed : but she did not exactly 
 apprehend it. When the idea stole into her 
 mind, ste sent up a prayer from the depth of 
 . er heart, and usually felt solaced. Occasion- 
 ally however, since the birth of her child, the 
 saddening idea would dwell with a greater 
 I pertinacity in her soul; and when Frederick 
 occasionally went out alone on anyjittle busi- 
 ness — such as to make a call upon the pareiiU 
 of his pupils, and so forth — she would fin'd her- 
 self falling into a somewhat mournful reverie 
 while gazing upon her babe’s countenance, 
 and wondering whether that dear child would 
 ever have to be subjected to miseries and pri- 
 vations through anything that might hapjien to 
 its father? Often would Lucy blanie herself 
 for giving way to these reflections, which she 
 fancied showed a mistrust of Providence , and 
 in Frederick’s society she had of late never found 
 herself yielding to the saddening influence. So 
 devoted was her love for her husband, that 
 his presence filled her soul with lustre, as a 
 strong light shed throughout a room leaves not 
 a nook nor corner dark beyond the reach of 
 its effulgence. 
 
 The Autumn had passed — Winter had come 
 — the Christmas’ season was at hand ; and little 
 Freddy — for the boy had been christened after 
 its father — was thriving apace. Shallow- 
 minded young men or old bachelors may turn 
 up their noses and sneer as they will at the 
 foolish fondness which fathers sometimes show 
 towards their children; but it is an incontro- 
 vertible fact, that the best men are those who 
 are the most devob^d to these little innocent 
 I beings whom they have called into existence. 
 Be assured that the father who can take a child, 
 dandle it upon his knees, toss it up in the air, 
 })lay with it as if he were only a great big boy 
 liiinself, and even talk what may be termed the 
 silliest nonsense to it, — is a man in whose heart 
 are concreted all the most generous feelings, 
 the noblest sympathies, and the sublimest ele- 
 ments of virtue. tSuch a man was Frederick ; 
 and in his devoted kindness towards his son — 
 in the joyous hilarity with which during a lei- 
 sure half-hour he would play with the little 
 being — his adoring Lucy beheld a thousand ad- 
 ditional proofs of the love which he cherished 
 towards herself. 
 
 Aot only was the young couple thus happy, 
 but likewise prosperous. The claims of the 
 new-comer upon Lucy had necessarily absorbed 
 much of the time that she used to devote to 
 needlework: and thus her earnings were much 
 less than they were wont to be: but on the 
 other hand Frederick’s school had increased — 
 he had thirty day -scholars — and the two ground 
 floor apartments had been thrown into one to 
 constitute the school-room. ()ur hero and 
 heroine had engaged the first floor as well; 
 and it was through no selfish feeling that Mri 
 Harrison, the worthy widow-woman, often 
 congratulated them on their increasing pros- 
 perity which had caused them to become such 
 excellent lodgers for her. Their income was a 
 comfortable one ; and during the fifteen month* 
 they had been settled at Carlisle, they had put 
 by fifty pounds. 
 
 It was Christmas Eve — and all Ln^y’* pr» 
 
THE SOLDIEirS WHTi 
 
 parations for the following day were complete. 
 The parents of one of Erederick’s j)upils had 
 sent him a fine turkey as a ])resent. and Lucy, 
 with an aieh smile, liad assured lier liushaml 
 that the plum-pud<ling would be unexception- 
 able. They were sitting at tea — the l).')be was 
 slumbering in his cradle — the curtains were 
 closed — the candles were lighted — a cheerfvd 
 fire blazed in the grate — and the kettle was 
 singing u[)on the hob — when Mrs. Harrison 
 enteretl the room somewhat in a hurry, ami 
 stated that the father of one of Frederick’s 
 scholars had been thrown out of his gig and 
 met with a very severe accident. It did not 
 however ai)pear that the injury Avas likely to 
 prove fatal : but still it was a sevei-e one. Our 
 hero and Lucy both expressed their unfeigned 
 sorrow ; and Avhen tea Avas over, Frederick 
 thought that it would be but courteous and 
 kind if he Avere to step round and make per- 
 sonal inquiries concerning the sufferer. Lucy 
 at once coincided Avith the sugge.stion ; and 
 Frederick, having embraced her and the babe, 
 put on his liat and cloak and sallied forth. It 
 was a fine frosty night, with the ground as 
 hard as marble, ami a clear moon shining in 
 the midst of a cloudle.ss sky. If. Avas however 
 exceedingly cold ; and Frederick, having just 
 left a nice Avarm room, sped rapidly along. 
 Having made the inquiry, and to his satisfac- 
 tion learnt that the injury was not even so 
 great as had been represented to him, — he was 
 wending his way home again, when on turning 
 the corner of a street he ran someAvhat violently 
 against an individual who was coming from 
 the opposite direction: then, as they both in- 
 stinctively dreAV back to beg each other’s par- 
 don, Frederick to his horror and dismay recog- 
 nized Obadiah Bates, the Oakleigh barber. 
 The recognition was mutual ; and for a few 
 moments they stood speechless, gazing upon 
 each other — -Frederick in consternation, and 
 Bates in shame. 
 
 The latter was however the first to regain 
 his composure, or rather his wonted effrontery ; 
 and seizing Frederick’s hand, he said, “Come, 
 Lonsdale, I hope there’s no ill will ?” 
 
 “ No, no — not the slightest,” stammered out 
 our unhappy hero, who felt as if the fabric of 
 his happiness had suddenly been shaken by an 
 earthquake, and Avas already toppling ready 
 to fall and bury himself and those he held so 
 dear in its ruins. 
 
 “ Well, I am glad to hear you say that,” said 
 Bates; and then there was another pause, while 
 tliey again surveyed each other. 
 
 The scrutinizing eyes of the barber showed 
 him that Lonsdale Avas Avell-dressed : that is to 
 say, not with any pretension, but in a style that 
 bespoke comfortable circumstances. On the 
 other hand. Bates himself looked the same 
 ■liabby starveling he always was; and with 
 neither gj-eat coat nor cloak he seemed half 
 pei ishe*! with the cold. 
 
 “ What has brought you to Carlisle?” asked 
 Frederick, scai-cely knowing what ho said : for 
 there was a bewilderment in his brain. His 
 mental glance reverted to the interior of the 
 parlor he had so recently (luitted — and behold- 
 ing his wife and child there us ho had left 
 
 them, one sm.Tng and happy, the other ilura- 
 boring in the sweet sleep of innocence-— a hor- 
 rible pang shot through his heart; for he felt 
 as if this unfortunate encounter was the begin- 
 ning of a fresh scries of evils. 
 
 “ What’s brought me to (Jarlislc?” repeated 
 Hates. “ Why, a precious unpleasant business, 
 1 can tell you.” 
 
 “Unpleasant? What is it?” asked Frede- 
 rick, Avith nervous (pii(tkness, for he took the 
 allusion to himself, in the .same way that a man 
 who has committed a crime takes any random 
 word bordering upon the topic as an accusation 
 throAvn out against him. 
 
 “ Why, it’s all about a letter that’s lost:” — 
 and his ansAver Avas some little relief to Jmne- 
 dale’s agitated mind. “ The fact is you, see — 
 but it’s uncommon cold standing here, and 
 1 Avant to have five minutes’ chut with you. 
 Where can we go? Ho you live near here? 
 for J 8uppo.se you do live at Carlisle?” 
 
 “No,” replied P’rederick, forced by the ter- 
 rible urgency of his jiosition to tell a falsehood- 
 “ I am only here for a day or two — but — and — ” 
 
 “.Well, then, let’s go to your hotel or tavern, 
 or Avherever you are stopping — or into this 
 public-house if you like :” and he pointed to 
 one which Avas near where they had stopped 
 short. 
 
 Lonsdale hated public-houses — ho never fre- 
 quented them, but still he dare not offend the 
 barber, and therefore at once accompanied him 
 to that which he had pointed out. There hap- 
 pened to be no one in the parlor at the time 
 they entered, and Bates, taking another survey 
 of our hero’s appearance, muttered to himselti 
 “It isn’t ale or grog that he ought to stand, 
 togged as he is: it’s wine!” Then he added 
 aloud, “ Come, Fred, for old acquaintance sake 
 we ought to drink a bottle of wine together.” 
 
 “With all my heart,” said Lonsdale, trying 
 to look cheerful, although when he thought of 
 the past he felt bitterly the necessity which 
 compelled him thus to assume an aspect of 
 friendliness towards this scoundrel who had 
 practised such diabolical treachery towards 
 him. 
 
 The wine was ordered, and they sat down at 
 a table together. 
 
 “ Here’s to you,” said Bates, raising his glass 
 to his lips : “ and here’s to a renewal of old 
 friendship ;” then, having tossed off his wine, 
 he proceeded to observe with his usual volu- 
 bilit}", “ Oh, about that letter business I was 
 going to tell you. The fact is, you see. that 
 felloAv Mummery, at Oakleigh — you recollect 
 him — swears that he put a fifty-pound not e into 
 a letter directed to his brother-in-law who lives 
 here in Carlisle; but the brother-in-laAV ap- 
 pears never to have had the letter — and so, 
 what with one thing and another, it’s liinted 
 that the letter never left Oakleigh at all, but 
 was lost through my carelessness, or else inter- 
 cepted, or self-appropriated, or something of 
 that sort. By-the-bye, you may not know I 
 have had the post-office at Oakleigh for the 
 lust fifteen or sixteen months. Well, the Post 
 niastcr-Oencral has been written to, and there 
 has been an officer from the Post-Office in Lon- 
 don down to Oakleigh, making inquiries; eiifj 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIRE 
 
 fr 
 
 the long and short of it is, that if I don’t trace 
 the letter or make good the fifty pound, I shall 
 lose the post-office and perhaps get into a worse 
 Bcrape still. Mummery says he doesn’t want 
 to hurt me if I can only make it right with his 
 brother-in-law. It seems that this brother-in- 
 law lent Mummery the money a long time ago 
 just when I first had the post-office — and it 
 was to repay the loan that Mummery, as lie 
 Bays, posted the letter with the fifty pounds. 
 Didn’t you always think Mummery was well to 
 do ? But it seems he isn’t thougli. However, 
 
 I have been obliged to come to Carlisle to see 
 the brother-in-law, in the hope of getting him 
 to give me time to make good the money, be- 
 cause if he’s satisfied, the authorities in London 
 will be satisfied too. But the fellow is a brute 
 to deal with : he never was in Oakleigh in his 
 life, and therefore doesn’t care a fig for any of 
 the Oakleigh people, and says he doesn’t see 
 why he should be put out of the way for me. 
 So you see, Fred, that I am in a deuce of a 
 mess, and it’s a very fortunate thing that I 
 happen to tumble in with you.” 
 
 “Fortunate?” ejaculated Lonsdale. 
 
 “ Y es — to be sure : fortunate !" repeated 
 the barber, emphasizing the word. “ It’s 
 pretty clear,” he continued, looking him hard 
 in the face, “ that you are in jolly good circum- 
 stances : and therefore I know you won’t refuse 
 an old friend the loan of a fifty pound note.” 
 
 An expression of anguish swept over Lons- 
 dale’s countenance. He was no niggard of his 
 money, but was naturally of a most generous 
 disposition; it was, nevertheless, most galling 
 — most torturing, to contemplate this vile ex- 
 tol tion that was sought to be practised by one 
 who, so far from having any claim upon him, 
 .»ught, if circumstances would permit the inflic- 
 *ior of sueh chastisement, to be kicked out 
 ignominiously from his presence. But to feel 
 himself in the power of such at individual, and 
 to be compelled to give the whole of his little 
 savings to such a wretch, was indeed sufficient 
 to call up that look of anguish to our hero’s 
 countenance. The barber noticed it, but did 
 not choose to make any observation, for he un- 
 derstood tolerably well what was passing in 
 Frederick’s mind. 
 
 “ Come, you don’t drink,” he said, refilling 
 his glass for the sixth or seventh time, while 
 that of Lonsdale remained altogether un- 
 touched. 
 
 “ I do not care about wine,” replied Frede- 
 rick, “ But let us understand each other,” he 
 immediately continued, now determined to 
 come to the point at once, “ If I give you fifty 
 pounds, what guarantee have I that you will 
 not reward me with ingratitude ?” 
 
 “I shouldn’t do such a thing 1” exclaimed 
 the barber. 
 
 “ Ah ! but remember past circumstances,” 
 rejoined Lonsdale bitterly. 
 
 “ Oh ! but it’s very different now. I was so 
 poor and pinched, as you well know, that even 
 the few shillings I got fiom Langley for doing 
 what I did, was an object: but now, if 1 can 
 only make up this fifty pounds, it will put me 
 all right, and I shall consider myself your 
 dobtor in every way.” 
 
 “ If I were certain that y( u wo’.iid really 
 keep my secret,” continued Fiederick, — “that 
 is to say, if when you go back to Oakleigh, you 
 will carefully abstain from mentioning that 
 you saw me — I will give you the amount you 
 require.” 
 
 Mr. Bates poured forth a perfect volley of 
 the most emphatic assurances, and Lonsdale, 
 bidding him wait there until his return, sallied 
 forth from the public-house. 
 
 Oh ! how sad, how sad a thing it is for a 
 man who fondly and devotedly loves his wife, 
 i^nd who cherishes her happiness as the only 
 element of his own, to be compelled to go into 
 the presence of that wife and break to her tho 
 intelligence of a new calamity I Such waa 
 Frederick’s position now. For a moment, in 
 the deep love whicli he felt for Lucy, he 
 thought of suppressing the circumstance and 
 devising some excuse for requiring the whole 
 amount of their little savings — or even bor- 
 rowing the required sum from one of the nu- 
 merous friends he had made during his resi- 
 dence at Carlisle. But no : a second thought 
 convinced him of the prudence of telling hia 
 wife everything. They v,'ere so completely one, 
 that he felt he had no more right to keep back 
 a grief from her knowledge, than he had to 
 withhold a happiness; and therefore he re- 
 solved to deal frankly and candidly with her. 
 But as he entered the house and ascended to 
 their sitting-room on the first floor he expe- 
 rienced so ineffable a load of misery that he 
 could have cried out. On opening the door he 
 beheld Lucy bending over the cradle ; and as 
 fehe turned around to greet him with a joyous 
 glance, and with a smile upon the lip that 
 awaited the usual kiss, she was instantaneously 
 smitten with his aspect, so altered did it seem 
 from what it was when he went forth 1 Her 
 first thought was that the individual whom he 
 had been to see had died of his injury ; and 
 this belief was strengthened by his prolonged 
 absence. 
 
 Then followed a scene that was painful in- 
 deed. Frederick strained his wife to his breast, 
 and gently broke to her the whole circum- 
 stance which had occurred. Notwithstanding 
 the precautions he thus took in graduating tho 
 development of the intelligence, it proved a sad 
 blow to Luey : but subduing any passionat^o 
 outburst of grief, she at once began to minister 
 the tejiderest and most endearing consolations 
 to her husband, beseechtng him not to give way 
 to despair, but to summon all his fortitude to 
 his aid — for his own sake, for her’s, and for that 
 of the beloved infant sleeping in its cradle. Oh 1 
 how deeply at that moment did Frederick ap- 
 preciate the angel character of his wife ! ho jt 
 full of a sweet anodyne were the words which 
 came from her lips in the soft music of her 
 voice ! how replete "w ith love and devotion 
 were the looks that her beauteous blue eyes 
 bent upon him 1 Again and again did he press 
 her to his heart ; and then, 1 aving taken from 
 his writing-desk the whole amount of their 
 little savings, he snatched another embrace ond 
 sped back to the public- house wheie he had 
 left the barbel. 
 
 Bates, having during his absence finiahed 
 
C8 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 the wine, was now engaged in the discussion of 
 a largo tumbler of brandy-and-water and a 
 cigar : for ho thought that as Lonsdale would 
 have to pay the reckoning, he need not stint 
 himself in his present enjoyments. It was a 
 hard matter for our hero to maintain a com- 
 posed look in the presence of this man from 
 whoso base treachery he had already suffered 
 Eo much, and who was now so mercilessly plun- 
 dering him : but ho saw the necessity of con- 
 tinuing in the same conciliatory humor which 
 he had already adopted ; and as he counted 
 down the money upon the table, he said to 
 Bates, “ I now give you the savings of more 
 than a twelvemonth’s toil. May you be moved 
 by my conduct towards you to keep my secret ! 
 One single word inadvertently dropped from 
 your lips, will suffice to set upon my track 
 those who would show me no mercy ; and if so, 
 it would be ruin — utter ruin — not merely for my- 
 self alone ” 
 
 But Lonsdale could not finish the sentence. 
 Ho thought of his wife — he thought of his child 
 — and his heart swelled with emotions to a 
 degree that choked his utterance. Tears start- 
 ed into his eyes : but he hastily dashed them 
 away; and ringing the bell for the waiter, paid 
 the expenses incurred for Mr. Bates’s regale- 
 ment. 
 
 “ I suppose that you are married to Lucy, 
 Miss Davis that was, Mrs. Lonsdale that is ?” 
 said the barber, after having joyously conveyed 
 to his pocket the fifty sovereigns which he had 
 just extorted from the young man. “ Davis 
 the bailiff seems to have felt his daughter’s loss 
 terribly. I don’t mean that he shows it in the 
 form of grief, because he isn’t the kind of chap 
 to do that ; but he’s grown harsher and severer 
 than ever towards all who are under him. A 
 precious tyrant he has become, I can tell you ; 
 and so morose and reserved to everybody in the 
 village, that nobody dares speak to him.” 
 
 “You will pardon me for not remaining any 
 longer with you,” interrupted Lonsdale. “ But 
 once more I conjure — I entreat you, not to breathe 
 a word of your having met me !” 
 
 “It will be just the same as if we hadn’t 
 met at all,” replied Bates. “ Come, give us your 
 hand, Fred, and let us part good friends.” 
 
 Our hero did give his hand to the man — for 
 he dared not refuse ; but the very touch sent a 
 cold thrill to his heart’s core, as if he had sud- 
 denly come in contact with the slimy form of 
 a coiled-up serpent. He then issued from the 
 public-house ; but as he returned homeward, he 
 stopped and looked back several times to 
 assure himself that Bates was not following 
 him. There was no appearance that the bar- 
 ber was doing so; and in a few minutes Frede- 
 rick was once more with his wife and child. 
 He told Lucy how solemnly Bates had promised 
 to keep his secret; but they both knew in their 
 hearts ihat they could trust with but little cer- 
 tainty to the pledges of such a man. It was a 
 mournful Christmas Eve for them ; they felt 
 tliat they had now nothing but the immensity 
 of their own love to console them; for even the 
 ■miles of the babe, when he woke up and Lucy 
 took him ui)on her la]), sent a pang to their 
 h«arta as they simultavaously experienced a 
 
 dread least the future had sorrows In store for 
 themselves, the effects of which would redound 
 upon the head of the little one. 
 
 The following day was Christmas, They 
 wont to church as usual ; and though always 
 accustomed to pray fervently, there was on 
 this occasion a deeper earnestness, if possible, 
 in their devotions — a more yearning strength 
 of intercession sent up from their hearts, that 
 heaven would preserve them from those terri- 
 ble ills which would shatter the entire fabrio 
 of their happiness. Their neighbors and friends 
 could not help noticing, on the way to and 
 from church, that the couple in whoso welfare 
 so generous an interest was experienced, had 
 something like a shade of melancholy upon 
 their countenances; although heaven knows 
 Lucy did her best to assume a cheerful aH])ect 
 in order that she might diminish her husband’s 
 despondency. When the Christmas dinner was 
 served up, she smiled as she had been wont to 
 do, and by her looks endeavored to throw 
 beams of cheerfulness upon the scene; but 
 Frederick partook of the repast with an inward 
 sense of bitterness, as if everything ho eat 
 turned into gall. In the evening, when the 
 curtains were closed, the candles lighted, and 
 they sat before the fire that blazed in the gnife 
 — Lucy having the baby upon her lap — Frede- 
 rick felt that ho could no longer look upon this 
 as his home, but that it was merely a temporary 
 resting-])lace from which circumstances might 
 compel them to flee suddenly, or whence he 
 might be dragged away ignominiously. It 
 seemed as if all his happiness had been poi- 
 soned at its very source. Full well — too well, 
 did Lucy comprehend everything that was 
 passing in his mind; and she re'doubled her 
 endearments, her consolations, and her caresses. 
 Throughout the whole of that day not a word 
 passed between the husband and wife respect, 
 ing the oue incident which now engrossed all 
 their thoughts ; and though by a sort of tacit 
 understanding they had for that day avoided 
 the painful topic, yet on the following one they 
 with a similar spontaneity felt the necessity of 
 deliberating most seriously upon it. 
 
 There had been a reward of ten pounds 
 offered for Lonsdale’s apprehension as a de- 
 serter. Bates was sure to know of this, as 
 Frederick had received the proofs that he 
 was in correspondence with Sergeant Langley. 
 Would the barber be contented with the sum 
 he had extorted from his victim ? or would he 
 ruthlessly sacrifice all Frederick’s future pros- 
 pects for the sake of obtaining this additional 
 ten pounds ? Would he be moved to compas- 
 sion ? or would his own intense selfishness pre- 
 vail ? Herein lay the danger : for that Bates 
 was tolerably well convinced Frederick was 
 really living at Carlisle, there could be scarcely 
 a doubt. Under these circumstances Frede- 
 rick and Lucy beheld two alternatives presented 
 to their contemplation. One was to remain 
 where they were and risk everything : the other 
 was to lose no time in taking their departure 
 to some other place. If they adopted the 
 former alternative, would they not exist in 
 constant terror, trembling at every knock at 
 the front door, and starting every time any 
 
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THE SOLDIER’? WIFE. 
 
 •9 
 
 •n« hapj «ned to inquire for them ? But if 
 they adopted the latter alternative, would 
 fchey not be compelled to break up their little 
 home, renounce all in a moment the certain 
 and present means of obtaining a livelihood, 
 absorb in travelling expenses wliatsoever funds 
 they could still command, and perhaps plunge 
 themselves into })enury wliile vainly and in- 
 eifectualiy struggling to re-establish tlieir posi- 
 tion in another {)lace ? It was the middle of 
 winter too — a hard winter — Avith every chance 
 of a prolonged severity of nipping cold ; and as 
 the young coiq)le looked around tlieir coml'ort- 
 able apartments, they naturally recoiled from 
 tlie idea of exposing their tender babe to the 
 probabilities of a cJiill, cheerless garret, with 
 the bare walls frowning in bleakness upon 
 them — no tire in the grate — no bed upon the 
 door — and destitution as their stern, pitiless 
 guest. But still, as they thus discoursed upon 
 the two alternatives presented to their contem- 
 plation, — discoursed, too, more with the elo- 
 quent language of the eyes than in uttered 
 W'ords respecting the saddest portion of their 
 prospects, — Lucy besought her husband to 
 understand her Avell when she assured him 
 that if he considered a removal absolutely 
 necessary for his safety, she was prejiared to 
 enter with fortitude upon this new }>hase in 
 their career, — adding that as he knew best, it 
 was only for him to decide and she woidd be 
 content. Lonsdale could not bear the idea of 
 exposing his wife and child to the dreariest 
 chances and the direst privations, for the pur- 
 pose of flying from an evil which after all 
 might be only imaginary; and therefore he 
 resolved that they should remain where they 
 were, and trust in heaven. 
 
 Several days now passed ; and though Lucy 
 smiled as sweetly as ever, yet it was impossible 
 the husband and wife could conceal from them- 
 selves that their happiness had i-eceived a 
 blow — that a sad change had entered their 
 dwelling — and that they could no longer sit 
 down and discourse with any confidence on 
 the future. They even felt, as they partook 
 of one meal, that they might not be together 
 to sit down to the next ; and when they retired 
 to rest at night, it was with the sickening 
 thought that on the following night they might 
 be torn asunder. In spite of all her efforts to 
 maintain a cheerful aspect, Lucy grew visibly 
 paler day by day — while Frederick also be- 
 came haggard and careworn. They forced 
 themselves to eat lest they should too fearfully 
 reveal to each other the state of their thoughts ; 
 but they had no appetite — and often did their 
 hearts heave against their food. The bread 
 which they earned by their honest industry, 
 was no longer sweetened by the sense that it 
 might be eaten in secunty. Thus, at the expi- 
 ration of a fortnight Lonsdale was compelled 
 to arrive at the conclusion that this state of 
 things could not last, and that if they con- 
 tinued such a mode of existence, they would 
 be killing themselves by inches. Straining his 
 wife to his breast, he spoke out frankly, saying 
 that they must remove elsewhere. Lucy at 
 once convinced her husband that he might 
 reckon upon her ♦brtitude ; and keeping back 
 
 her tears — stifling t'ns convnlsWe sobs x^hich 
 made her heart swell almost to bursting— -she 
 set about the immediate preparations for their 
 departure. 
 
 Mrs. Harrison, the worthy widow-Avoman, 
 Avas really shocked Avhen so suddeidy and 
 unexpected!}’ informed that circumstances com- 
 pelled them to leave Carlisle. She kneAV that 
 lier lodgers had no debts — for they paid their 
 Avay Avith the nit)st scrupulous punctuality ; 
 ami Lucy, not choosing to descend to any 
 falsehood, had not given her to understand that 
 they had still better |>rospects elseAvhere. Mrs. 
 Harrison could not ask for explanations, ai 
 none Avere volunteered; and therefore her sur- 
 pi-ise Avas equal to her soitoav. For the greater 
 j»ortion of the night succeeding the day on 
 Avhich the resolve of departure Avas taken, 
 Frederick sat up Avriting notes to the parents 
 of his pui)ils, — stating that circumstances com- 
 pelled him thus abruptly to give up his school, 
 and Avarmly thanking those Avhose patronage 
 and fricjidshi}) he had enjoyed. It Avas a sad, 
 sad task: but his mind Avas made up with 
 foi-titude. Lucy Avould not retire to rest : she 
 pretended to have yet many things to pack up, 
 that she might retnain Avith her husband ; and 
 in her endearing caresses and soothing AV’orda, 
 did he experience some degree of consolation. 
 
 When morning came, and the school was 
 assembled as usual, Frederick addressed his 
 little scholars, bidding them all an affectionate 
 farcAvell — giving them some excellent advice — 
 and counselling them to bear in their minds 
 the precepts Avhich he had endeavored to 
 inculcate. He then dismissed them Avith the 
 notes to their parents ; and when the room 
 Avas cleared and he stood alone there, he could 
 not help giving Avay to a sudden outburst of 
 grief. At that instant the door opened — tAvo 
 arms Avere thi-oAvn fondly round his neck — and 
 a softly murmuring voice implored him to be 
 comforted. Again and again did he press his 
 beloved Avife to his breast ; and as she exerted 
 all her fortitude, he felt alike strengthened and 
 consoled. 
 
 The preparations for departure were now 
 completely made ; and in a few minutes a 
 porter Avould co:ne to take the bo.xes to the 
 coach-office. When their rent Avas paid, they 
 had exactly four pounds in money left: but 
 Frederick had a Avatch, and Lucy had her own 
 little articles of JeAvellery — and therein existed 
 the means of obtaining additional resources. 
 Thus they Avere not without the hope of being 
 able to manage for some little time to come. Th« 
 porter made his appearance for the luggage — 
 Uie fareAvells to Mrs. Harrison were said — and 
 our hero and heroine were issuing forth from 
 the house, the latter with the child in her 
 arms, when they started back in dismay on 
 beholding an individual in a red coat rapidly 
 ai)proaching up the street, followed by two or 
 three persons in plain clothes. They did not 
 at once recognize that man who wore the uni- 
 form : the circumstance itself had struck them 
 as fearfully ominous: but the second glancs 
 which they flung towards the individual, 
 showed them that he was none othei than Ser- 
 geant Langley I 
 
TO 
 
 THE SOIJ^IERS WIFK 
 
 “My own dear doai wife,” said Lonsdale, in 
 a low, Inii-i’ied, but earnest whispei “in tlie 
 name of God, support yourself to meet this 
 trial !” 
 
 “ \’'e 8 , dearest Frederiek — I am calm — I am 
 nerved lint 3 'ou !” / 
 
 “ If rjoa bear up, I shall — and he bent upon 
 her a look of the most adoring fondness. 
 
 The next instant Jsei'geaiit liUngley reached 
 the house, attended by the town-constables, 
 whom he had brought to assist in making the 
 capture. 
 
 “1 am your prisoner — I surrender m 3 ’self,” 
 ftftid Lonsdale, knowing that resistance was 
 vain : indeed he dreiimt not of attempting an^’. 
 
 The whole truth now Hashed to the eom])re- 
 Lensi(.)u of Mrs. I larrison. She saw that Fre- 
 ' - ' k 'vns a doi^rrter ! Hut deepl}’, deepl}'^ 
 B^unpatiuzing with him and his young wile, 
 she at once said all she could to console them 
 both. Ah I ami consolation was indeed neces- 
 sary, notwithstanding their mutual assurances 
 of fortitude, when the sergeant, with a look of 
 diabolical malignity, produced a pair of hand- 
 eutfs, which he ordered the constables to fasten 
 upon Frederick’s wrists. 
 
 “ For heaven’s sake spare me this indignityM” 
 exclaimed our hero. “ I will not attem[)t to 
 escape — God is my witness that 1 will not!” 
 
 Then Luc}", with the babe in her arms, sank 
 upon her knees to implore Sergeant Langley’s 
 forbearance in res[>ect to those ignominious 
 irons; and even the constables, moved by a 
 scene which was full of indescribable pathos, 
 held back. In a stern voice Lauglej’ com- 
 manded them to do their duty; and Lonsdale 
 threw an imploring glance upon his wife, that 
 she would summon all her fortitude to her aid. 
 She I'ose from her knees, and for a moment 
 placing her child in Mrs. Harrison’s ai'ins, em- 
 braced her husband fondly', at the same time 
 whispering some words of solace in his ear, 
 together with the assurance that if he would 
 bear the calamity with courage, her’s would 
 not fail. 
 
 “ Come — I have no time for this nonsense,” 
 exclaimed Sergeant Langley, tapping his cane 
 violentl}" upon the floor of the passage where 
 the scene took place. “The coach is going — 
 and we must be oft'.” 
 
 “And I may be allowed to aceompan}^ m 3 " 
 husbf.nd?” said Lucy in an imploring voice. 
 
 “ On ! if 3 "ou have got the money to pay 
 your fare, I can’t [)revent you going by the 
 same coach,” returned Langley, not daring for 
 very shame sake to speak too brutally to the 
 afflicted wife. 
 
 Hut we will not linger over this scene of 
 mingled j)athos, anguish, and humiliation. 
 Huftice it to sa^’ that the handcuft's were put 
 upon Frederick B wrists, and that he was con- 
 ducted as a j»risoncr along the stieet which he 
 had BO often t hi-eaded amongst the friendly and 
 respectful salutations of the neighbors. He 
 kept his head bent down, looking inM, her to the 
 right /loi- to th(^ left: for In; fidt as if the eyes 
 of the whole worhl were upon him. I^uey, 
 having taken another farewell of Mrs. llarri- 
 Kin, followed her husband to the eoach-officii, 
 the pcrter bringing u]> the rear vritli tlto lug- 
 
 gage. All the [daces inside the coacVi wer« 
 l)reviou8ly taken: but there were just tliree 
 outside that I’cmained vacant. The Sergeant 
 at once paid f jr two — his own and Frederick’s. 
 Lonsdale beSoxight his wife to wait for another 
 coach, that she might obtain an inside place: 
 but she assure<l him that she could manage to 
 wrap up the babe so warmly that there need 
 be no h;ar for the belovc<l infant; — while, a.i 
 foi' herself, no dread of cold nor an 3 ’ carthlj' 
 suft’ering should induce her l,o separate from her 
 husband. She acconlingly took the third 
 place, and was thus enabled to sit by Frede- 
 rick’s side. 
 
 T1 e news of Lonsdale’s arrest as a deserter 
 had spread like wildiirc in the immediate 
 neighborhood of Mis. 1 lari-ison’s house; and 
 reaching amongst others the ears of the worthy 
 tradesman who had sent the tui-kcy as a pre- 
 sent, tliis individual wrapped up something in 
 a ])aper, and sjx'eding dow'n to the coach-oftice^ 
 arrived just as the vehicle was about to start 
 Reaching up his hand to Mrs. J^onsdale, he 
 said, “Take this — take this: and may Go<l bless 
 3 "ou both!” 
 
 Lucy mechanically’ took the little packet 
 which he presented to her; and as she felt that 
 it contained money’, she was about to exjiress 
 her thanks — but the worthy tradesman was 
 already speeding away’ from the spot where he 
 ha<l performed tliis benevolent act. The little 
 parcel contained five sovereigns: and thus, 
 when in. the course of a few hours the child 
 began evidently’ to suffer from the effects of 
 cold, notwithstanding Lucy’s anxious care, she 
 suft'ered herself to be [irevailed upon to take an 
 inside place which became vacant by’ its occu- 
 [)aut reaching the end of his journey. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 THE COURT-MARTIAL. 
 
 A WEEK had elapsed since the terrible mis- 
 fortune which thus overtook the Lonsdales at 
 Carlisle; and we now behold poor Lucy the 
 occupant of an humble lodging at Portsmouth. 
 It was one small ready’-furnished room that she 
 had thus hired at a low rent, and W’here she 
 sat with her babe in her arms. But that 
 child’g<^father was not there ! He was a prisoner 
 at the barracks, about to be brought before the 
 court-martial already^ summoned to take cog- 
 nizance of his case. To say that Lucy was un- 
 happy’, were to say’ nothing: she was almost 
 overwhelmed with grief. Yet for her child’s 
 ^.ake, as well us for the sake, of that husband 
 from whom she was separated, did she en- 
 deavor to the utmost of her jiower to bear up 
 against the sense of bitter, bitter affliction. It 
 was not so much that their home was broken 
 uj>, and that she was sejiarated from Frederick, 
 that she exjierienced this poignant anguish. 
 The blow was sti’uck, and she could have re- 
 signed herself to it with a becoming fortitude: 
 but when she thought that he whom she loved 
 Ao devotedly’, so adoringly — every hair of whoso 
 head was more precious than gold in her esti- 
 mation, — that /ic, tiis cherished one, would bt 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 71 
 
 tS«d up to the accursed triangle and lacerated 
 with the diabolical scourge, — Oh! then it was 
 that her heart was racked with intolerable 
 
 was named Wyndham ; and Lncy learnt, with 
 an angnienting grief, that he was a stern, se 
 vere, implacable man — not nie/ely a rigid dis- 
 
 pangj — that her brain was harrowed with ex- |ciplinai-ian, but a tyrannical martinet. Sh« 
 
 cruciations of direst anguish — that her whole 
 being was convulsed by one rending paroxysm 
 of ineffable agony. She knew that when the 
 punishment was over and he should have reco- 
 vered from its effects, they would be enabled to 
 meet —that every day he could pass hours with 
 her — and consequently that their separation 
 was not eternal : nor did she fear that her own 
 industry 'would fail to procure sufficient for the 
 wants of hej-self and little Frederick. But. oh ! 
 in front of her, and closest of all objects to her 
 mental vision, stood the appalling punishment 
 to which her husband was certain to be sub- 
 jected. It rose like a wall of brass before her 
 eyes, barring whatsoever hopeful or cheering 
 prospects that might possibly lie beyond. It 
 was sad — very sad indeed, to think of this 
 beautiful, amiable, and aifectionate young wm- 
 man, who had never injured a living soul — 
 never done harm willingly to the meanest of 
 God’s creatures — thus plunged into an abyss of 
 such appalling woe. 
 
 It was at the house of an old couple in a re- 
 tired part of the town of Portsmouth, that Lucy 
 had found a lodging. She had frankly told 
 them her circumstances, and explained to them 
 the position of her unfortunate husband. They 
 were people who eked out their other little 
 means by letting this one room in their hum- 
 ble habitation ; and they cared but little who 
 occupied it, so long as their rent was regularly 
 paid. That Lucy possessed the power of satis- 
 fying their demands in this respect, they re- 
 ceived ocular demonstration ; and therefore 
 they had not hesitated to let her have the 
 room. They were not actually bad-hearted 
 people — but they certainly had little of the 
 milk of human kindness in their constitutions ; 
 and consequently their deportment towards 
 Mrs. Lonsdale was that of a mere civility, with- 
 out any attempt to bestow sympathy or con- 
 solation. But even if such an attempt were 
 made, it could in no way have diminished the 
 unfortuimie young woman’s sorrow’s. They 
 were too profound for the reach of sympath}’ — 
 too colossal to be affected by the words of con- 
 solation. Her’s was a grief, too, which made 
 her court solitude , and in her little chamber 
 did she .remain nrjujstering to her child — at one 
 time brooding in deep despondency upon her 
 afflictions — at another so excited by anguish 
 Uiat she felt as if she could go mad I 
 
 All communications of a direct nature be- 
 tween herself and her husband was stopped : 
 tut the wife of one of hi’ comrades called upon 
 her from kind motives, ro let her* know that he 
 was well in health and bearing up with be- 
 coming fortitude against his calamity. He 
 was lodged in the black-hole, a sentry eon 
 stantly keeping guard over him ; and the regi- 
 mental court-martial, as already stated, was 
 summoned to try him 
 
 \V e must now observe that the entire corps 
 of the regiment had a few months back arrived 
 m England ; and the depot was consequently 
 
 likewise learnt that (xerald Redburn was with 
 his i-egiment ; and thus the poor creature could 
 not even console herself with the hope that 
 some leniency might be shown in the awar 1 of 
 punishment in respect to her husband. Never- 
 theless, Lucy was resolved that the moment 
 the result of the court-martial should be known, 
 she would arm herself with all her courage and 
 wait upon the Colonel to intercede on Freda 
 rick’s behalf. 
 
 We need not dwell at any length upon the 
 details of the military trial to wdiich Lonsdale 
 was subjected. Gerald Redburn was one of 
 the officers forming the court-martial’; and in 
 him the unfortunate soldier found a bitter ene- 
 my. There was not however much scope for 
 the exercise of any particular malignity, inas 
 much as the case was ])lain enough, with little 
 need for tlie sifting of evidence. The fact that 
 Lonsdale had deserted, was patent ; and of 
 course he did not attempt to deny it. No! 
 choosing to drag his beloved wife’s name before 
 the court-martial, nor yet to give publicity to 
 the tyrannous cruelty and treachery of her 
 own father, Frederick contented himself in hii 
 defence by the assurance that nothing save a 
 circumstance of the most pressing and urgent 
 nature could have induced him to desert. 
 frankly admitted the magnitude of the offence, 
 and throwing himself upon the mercy of the 
 court, besought that the punishment to be 
 aAvarded should be rendered as light as would 
 be deemed compatible with the aim of military 
 justice. There was a fine manly frankness in 
 his demeanor, which could not fail to be no- 
 ticed by all present ; and as there was not the 
 slightest tinge of bold effrontery or reckless 
 hardihood mingled with that air, he succeeded 
 in creating a favorable impression upon the 
 minds of three or four of the officers : but on 
 the majority, whatsoever was noble, or lofty, 
 or open-hearted in his aspect was thrown 
 away, so far as concerned any benefit to him- 
 self. Captain Courtenay, having the night be- 
 fore lost a very large sum of money at the 
 gambling table, was in a particular ill-humor 
 at the time. Lieutenant Scott, who continued 
 to be adjutant to the regiment as he had been 
 to the depot, took his cue entirely from the 
 captain, on w’horn he was accustomed to spunge. 
 The lion. Gustavus Ferdinand Richard Fitz- 
 morris, not having been in bed all night, 
 yawned fearfully, and played with 'his dishe- 
 velled locks in a conceited manner ; while Mr. 
 Paget, the youth from the Royal Military Col 
 lege — now a little past eighteen — assumed a 
 very grave look, and whispered to old Lieu- 
 tenant Heathcote, next to whom he sat, that it 
 was as bad a ease as any he had ever known- 
 just for all the w’orld as if his experience in 
 such matters was very large indeed! As for 
 Mr. Heathcote himself, he fixed a look of the 
 sincerest compassion upon Lonsdale through 
 the whole proceedings. 
 
 The room was cleared foi the deliberation oi 
 
 merged therein. The Colonel of the regiment 'the court-martial — the ballot was taken — and 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 It 
 
 the result was, as a matter of course, Guilti/. 
 The sentence wliich followed, was to the effect 
 that Private Frederick Lonsdale should receive 
 five hundred lashes for the eritne of desertion. 
 The prisoner was brought in — his sentence was 
 made known to him — and while he bowed to 
 the decision of the court, his' li[)s were com- 
 pressed for a moment witli the bitterness of a 
 heartfelt anguish and a wil.liering sense of con- 
 summate degradation. He was then taken 
 back to the black-hole, with the intimation 
 that the sentence would be carried <)ut so soon 
 as the proceedings of the eourt-iunrt ial should 
 have been approved of at the Horse Guards in 
 London. 
 
 It was about nine o’clock in the evening, and 
 Colonel Wyndham, who, being an unmarried 
 man, resided at his <piarters in the barrack.s, 
 was sitting in one of his apartments, drirdving 
 champagne with a couple of gay ladies of a 
 certain character. He was a man a year or 
 two under forty, — tall, rather good-h»oking, 
 and very well made. He had a soldier-like 
 appearance ; and when not engaged in such 
 questionable recreations as that in the midst of 
 which we now find him, had a stern severity 
 of look. Now, however, he Avas completely 
 imbending: the dignity of his rank and of his 
 social position was thrown aside ; and he was 
 enjoying hiinself — if the word enjo)/me7it may 
 be used in such a sense — as fully and with as 
 much self-abandonment as the youngest of his 
 officers could have done. He was telling some 
 capital stories, too, — how, when he was a boy, 
 he had run away from Eton — and how when 
 he first entered the army, he was frequently in 
 the habit of absenting himself without leave — 
 but how, by means of the interest of aristocratic 
 connexions, he had invariably escaped any un- 
 pleasant consequences beyond a simple repri- 
 mand. While thus vaunting his breaches of 
 discipline in the presence of the two gay ladies 
 with whom he was recreating himself. Colonel 
 Wyndham never once reflected that ho had 
 that day condemned to a horrible punishment 
 an unfortunate private soldier for his otie act of 
 desertion ! 
 
 W hile Colonel Wyndham was seated between 
 the two ladies, quaffing champagne and telling 
 them anecdotes — receiving in return their mere- 
 tricious caresses — his servant (one of the private 
 soldiers of the regiment) knocked at the door ; 
 and on being bidden to enter, informed his 
 master that a young woman desired to speak 
 with him. 
 
 “ Who the deuce is she?” asked the Colonel. 
 
 “She did not give her name, sir,” was the 
 response; “as she said it was of no use: but 
 she begged and entreated a few moments’ in- 
 terview. 1 think, sir — but 1 don’t know — that 
 she is the wife of Private Lonsdale.” 
 
 “Ah, by. Jove!” ejaculated the Colonel; “I 
 recollect that Redburn told me she is u sweet 
 pretty creature. Is it so?” 
 
 “She is indeed, sir: and it was her beauty, 
 of which I have heard sjicak — as well as because 
 ihc looks very unhappv — that made me think 
 ■he must bo Mrs. Lonsdale.” 
 
 “Oh, then I will see her!” said the Colonel. 
 '“Shall Aie huv« her in here?” he exclaimed,! 
 
 appealing to his Iwo female friends. “ Brt no: 
 that won’t exactly do though, when I come to 
 liiiiik of it. Excuse me for a few minutes, and 
 1 will tell you all about her when I come liack." 
 
 “Then mind and don’t lie long,” sjiid one of 
 the gay holies: “or else we shall conn* and lock 
 after you.’’ 
 
 The Colonel laughed and rose from his seat* 
 but as he proceeded to the rootu where Lucy - 
 tor she indeed the visitress was — had b*‘en <1« 
 sired to wait, he comj»osed his countenance int« 
 its habitual severity of look, d'he moment he 
 entered that room, the light of the caudle.! 
 beaming uj)on Lucy’s countcminco, revealed to 
 his eyes an amount of lov liness which far 
 transcended all his expectations, d'he yonng 
 woman was pale — very pale : but her pallor 
 only rendered her all the more intci'csting — 
 and her beautiful blue eyes appeare<l so full of 
 a melting languor with the deej) melancholy 
 resting on them — and her lips, somewhat ajtart 
 with suspense ami an expression of half-cJitreaty 
 as the Colonel entered the room, i-evealed teeth 
 of such pearly whiteness, that VVymlharn was 
 (piite struck by her appearance. His looks 
 settled u])on her; and rapidly scanning her 
 from head to foot, they followed all the outlinea 
 of a form modelled to the most symmetrical 
 proportions — so that his pcssion was at once 
 excited, and he was smitten with a desii-e to 
 possess this beautiful creature. He did not 
 however ]»ermit his feelings to be betrayed 
 his countenance, although the severity of his 
 aspect became somewhat I’elaxed under the i.u- 
 fluence of Lucy’s loveliness. 
 
 “ Who are you ? and what do you require ol 
 me?” he asked, affecting not to have the least 
 idea who she was. 
 
 “ I am the wife, sir, of that unfortunate young 
 man Frederick Lonsdale :” — and as Lucy thus 
 spoke in a voice clouded with grief, but still 
 full of the most melting melody — melancholy’s 
 own soft murmuring cadences— *he tears gush- 
 ed forth from her eyes. 
 
 “Unfortunate do you call him?” said the 
 Colonel. “A crime wilfully committed, cannot 
 be regarded as a misfortune that overtakes a 
 person in spite of himsell.” 
 
 “ Ah ! sir, if you only knew all the circum- 
 stances,” exclaimed Lucy, clasping her hands 
 and looking up with tearful entreaty at the 
 Colonel, “ I am sure you would pity Frederick 
 Lonsdale!” ' 
 
 “ And therefore I suppose you are come to 
 intercede for him?” observed Wyndham. 
 
 “Yes, sir: and on my knees do I implore 
 your mercy!” ci'ied Lucy, sinking down at the 
 Colonel’s feet. “ I have heard, sir — alas, I have 
 heard the terrible punishment to which he has 
 been condemned; and it is greater than even 
 in my most horrible misgivings I had expected, 
 1 know that he must be punished — I do not 
 ask you to pardon him altogether ; because I 
 am too fatally aware that sucli a request would 
 not obtain a moment’s attention. But I do 
 beseech you. Colonel Wyndham, to mitigate 
 the [)enarty. You have the power — and 1 con- 
 jure you to exercise it. Oh, sir! you behold 
 at your feet a wife who is almost distracted; 
 land if 1 had dared, 1 should have brought mj 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 shild to place it at your feet aiso, that its inno- 
 cent j)i asence might plead in unconscious elo- 
 quence for its father !” 
 
 “ C<*me, come — rise up,” said the Colonel ; and 
 taking Lucy’s hands, he raised her from her 
 suppliant posture. “Thert! now sit down — 
 and we will talk the matter over.” 
 
 Lucy thought there was kindness alike in his 
 words and in his manner; and hope began to 
 warm her heart. She did sit down — for she 
 felt faint, and ill, and exhausted from the ef- 
 fects of mental anguish, sleepless nights, and 
 an inability to take a proper quat tity of food 
 through almost utter loss of appetite, although 
 she was still giving its natural nourishment 
 to her child from Tier bosom. She looked up 
 into the Colonel’s eountenance ; and again 
 clasping her hands, she tried to speak ; but her 
 feelings overpowered her, and she could not at 
 the moment give utterance to a word. 
 
 “You know,” said the Colonel, “that your 
 husband is condemned to receive five hundred 
 lashes ?” 
 
 Lucy groaned in the bitterness of her spirit 
 and wrung her hands with hysterical despair, 
 then again she clasped them, crying, “ For God’s 
 aake, be merciful, sir 1 be merciful !” 
 
 “You are, then, very much attached to your 
 husband?” he sai^ devouring her with his re- 
 gards, and yet still so masking his features 
 with a calmness of aspect that she comprehend- 
 ed not the real meaning of his l#oks. 
 
 “ Oh, sir 1 he is my chief happiness in this 
 world !” exclaimed Lucy with impassioned vehe- 
 mence. “ If he were taken from me, I should 
 die. Not even our child would prove a solace 
 or a link strong enough to bind me to exist- 
 ence !” 
 
 “Ah! then you love your husband so very 
 dearly ?” said the Colonel more drily and stern- 
 ly than he had yet spoken ; for it struck him 
 that he had no chance of success with such a 
 wife ; but at the next instant another idea oc- 
 curred to him, suggesting that in the very depth 
 of this extreme love other’s there was a hope for 
 himself — and he accordingly said, as if in a 
 musing tone, “ Well, it is in my power to 
 mitigate this sentence, although the case is a 
 bad one. You see, it is not the mere fact of 
 desertion, but that of remaining away from the 
 regiment nearly eighteen months — ” 
 
 “ Ah, sir 1 but the circumstances were so pe- 
 culiar,” exclaimed Lucy, the flame of hope 
 burning still more brightly in her heart. “ Fre- 
 derick was attached to me : our faith was plight- 
 ed to each other. He learnt by accident that 
 my father sought to compel me to wed another 
 — and in his despair he fled from the regiment. 
 Having once taken that step, how could he re- 
 turn? Oh, Colonel Wyndham! believe me — 
 believe me — this is no ordinary case ! It is 
 replete with extenuation for Frederick 1” 
 
 “And you love him so fondly,” said the 
 Colonel, again fixing his eyes devouringly upon 
 Lucy, “ that you are resolved to leave nothing 
 nnattempted to procure a mitigation of his 
 •entence ?” 
 
 “ Oh, sir ! is it not my duty to do all I can 
 for that purpose? Believe me, Colonel Wynd- 
 k*m, if by any sacrifice on my p« "t,” continued 
 
 19 
 
 Lucy, t peaking with the strong excitement ol 
 her feeling, “ I can ac’iieve that end — if by go 
 ing forth in the rags »f beggary to drag my 
 self and my child through the streets and im 
 plore alms, I could diminish but by a single 
 stripe the horrible punishment that awaits my 
 husband. — how cheerfully, Oh ! how cheerfully 
 would 1 do it 1” 
 
 “Ah! you would make any sacrifice ?”said the 
 Colonel. “Do you not sjeak somewhat rashly i 
 or is your love for your husband indeed s« 
 strong that — ” 
 
 “Any sacrifice short of dishonor!” exclaimed 
 Lucy : and she felt a species of shock at the 
 idea that her words had been somewhat too 
 literally interpreted. 
 
 “ But what if the only means of obtaining 
 a mitigation of your husband’s sentence — ” 
 
 “ Enough, Colonel Wyndham !” ejaculated 
 the terrified Lucy ; for it was now no longer 
 possible to mistake the meaning of the looks 
 which were fastened upon her. 
 
 She rose from her seat, coloring with indig- 
 nation, 3 'et half broken-hearted ; and she was 
 moving towards ’the door, when the Colonel 
 exclaimed, “ Stop a moment, Mrs. Lonsdale ! 
 If you really love your husband as you say — ” 
 
 “ I do, sir — I do — heaven knows how fondly I 
 love him!” — and Lucy did stop short: for it 
 instantaneously struck her that what the Colo- 
 nel had just now looked and said, might only 
 have been to put her affection to the test. 
 
 “Then if your love be so great,” he at once 
 rejoined, “there" ought to be no sacrifice which 
 you are unprepared to make. Come, Mrs. Lons- 
 dale — do not be so over-particular. I have the 
 power to mitigate your husband’s sentence — I 
 can reduce it one-half — 3 "es, even to less than 
 
 one-half — and I will do so but upon one 
 
 condition.” 
 
 Lucy knew not whether she heard aright, or 
 if she were putting the correct interpretation 
 upon the words which she did hear : and she 
 gazed upon the Colonel in a sort of bewildei 
 ment. 
 
 “ It rests with jmu,” he said — “ entirely witk 
 y'ou, to what extent your husband’s ])unishment 
 shall reach — and as he tlius spoke, he took 
 ' her hand and pressed it, at the same time gaz- 
 ing upon her in a manner whieh could no lon- 
 ger leave her in the slightest doubt as to hii 
 real meaning. 
 
 “No, sir — no — never!” she cried hy'sterical- 
 ly, as she snatched her hand from his clasp. 
 
 “One word, Mrs. Lonsdale!” said Wynd 
 ham, placing his back against the door of the 
 apartment. 
 
 “ Not another word, sir! Let me go ! Good 
 heavens, that I should have exposed myself to 
 this!” — and she sobbed convulsively. 
 
 “Yes, but you must hear me. You know not 
 perhaps the circumstances that may attend tliis 
 flogging—” 
 
 “Ah !” — and Lucy gasped in the agony of 
 suspense, in the dread that some fresh horror* 
 awaited her in respect to her unfortunate hua- 
 band. 
 
 “It is by no means probable,” Wyndhain 
 went on to observe — and he spoke rapidly— 
 ' that your husband will be able tc endure th« 
 
T4 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 full amount of his punishment on the first oe- 
 casion : in which case, after lie has been cured 
 in the hospital, he will be brought out again 
 to receive the remainder!” 
 
 “Oh — but this is Iioi-rible, horrible !” exclairn- 
 e\l Lucy, becoming deadly pale, and staggering 
 against a chair for support. 
 
 “More than all that,” continued the Colonel, 
 “ he will be a marked man in the regiment — 
 liable to be tried and condemned again for the 
 slightest olFence. Now, it rests with me to 
 mitigate his punishment. It rests with me also 
 to lift as it were the ban for him afterwards. 
 It rests with me, too, to give him opportunities 
 of pushing his way in the cornu — of obtain-j 
 
 “just one kiss! For if you do come into %i. *' 
 oliicers’ quarters ” 
 
 “Where F expected to find honorable men," 
 exclaimeil Lucy indignantly: and as Reuburn 
 endeavored to throw his arms around her, she 
 [lushed him away with such force that he fell 
 against the balustrades. 
 
 “ I will be revenged on Lonsdale for this I" 
 he exclaimed in 8|utcful accents: but I^ucy 
 condescendetl to give no rc|>ly — and hurrying 
 down the stairs, she was sjieedily outside tli* 
 b irracks. 
 
 With an anguish in her heart that tran- 
 . cended all the poignancy of any feeling she 
 Old ever yet known, she returned to her 
 
 ing. non-commissioned rank; and all this will odging, where the woman of the house had 
 I do for him, if you — ” Taken chai’ge of the child during her absence. 
 
 “ Colonel Wyndham,” interrupted Lucy, al Then, on again finditig herself alone in her 
 her presence of mind being brought back b | chamber, with her babe pressed to her bosom, 
 
 Lucy we[)t bitter scalding tears over the little 
 innocent. Her looks were reverted to the 
 ha[)py home which but a few weeks back she 
 and her husband had jmssessed at Carlisle ; 
 and as she thought how suddenly it had bee" 
 swept away, and how calamity u[)on calamity 
 had been accumulating ever since, it appeared 
 as if she had been whirled through the lapid 
 stages of a hideous dream. She could look 
 back u[)on the [lurity and the innocence of her 
 own life without a blush; and she could not 
 help wondering how it was that heaven thus 
 sulfered her to be so tortured. 
 
 In three days a communication was received 
 from the Horse Guards to the effect that the 
 proceedings of the court-martial were approved 
 of, and that the punishment was to take jjlace. 
 Very early in the morning of the fouith Jay, 
 two young drummer-boys might have been 
 seen in an outhouse of the barracks, practising 
 with a cat-o’-nine-tails at a sack of sawdust 
 placed in a leaning position against the wall 
 These youths were to inflict the atrocious 
 punishment — a task which they had never pei*- 
 formed before ; and as they knew that they 
 themselves would be punished if they did not 
 accomplish their loathsome and revolting duty 
 in Avhat Sergeant-Major Langley termed a 
 “scientific manner,” they were thus practising 
 betimes the handling of the accursed instru 
 ment of torture. 
 
 “I don’t think I shall be able to do it,” ob- 
 served one, suddenly flinging down the murder- 
 ous weapon. 
 
 “Don’t you?” exclaimed the other, likewise 
 desisting from the experimental flogging of the 
 sack. “Well, that’s exactly ni^ feeling. It 
 already makes me heave at the heart.” 
 
 “I feel all over so (pieer,” resumed the firsts 
 “ that it seems as if I was going to faint. I am 
 sure 1 shall never get through it:” — and then 
 the drummer-boy, who was Hot above sixteen, 
 wiped the tears from his eyes. 
 
 “ It’s dreadful,” observed his companion, 
 swallowing a sob, “to be forced into this. 
 Supj)ose J.onsdale died under it, I should look 
 upon myself as a mui'derer for the rest of fny 
 life. It’s too bad! Why shouldn’t some of tlie 
 oliicers that ordered the punishment, have th« 
 inflicting of il ?” 
 
 At tlu» moment Mr. Langley entered tb« 
 
 her aid by the strong flood of indignation tha 
 again set in, — “ my husband is too much in yoi, • 
 
 F owor for me to provoke 3’ou b}^ expressing r. .1 
 think and feel at \'our present conduct. ( u, 
 sir! when a wife in the rending anguish of ficr 
 heart comes to throw herself at your feet *nd 
 implore mercy for her husband, is it not a - ruel 
 thing — to say nothing worse — that she should 
 have another dagger driven deep dows. into 
 that already too much lacerated heart! 1 ormit 
 me to retire. Colonel W3mdham.” 
 
 “ You are resolved upon leavdng me laus?” 
 he exclaimed, in mingled humiliation ar.d in- 
 dignation. 
 
 “ Yes, sir: I have no farther business nere:” 
 — and Luey withdrew from the epartmenc, the 
 Colonel no longer endeavoring to retain ner 
 As she descended the stairs, so overpowering 
 a sense of anguish seized upon her that Kue was 
 compelled to lean against the wall for rupport. 
 Hei* feelings had been most cruelly <x>rtured. 
 Had she experienced a stern refusal, tne effect 
 would have been less than the insulting over- 
 tures which had been made to her. She was 
 truly wretched — wounded in her most delicate 
 sensibilities. For some moments did she rest 
 there, sobbing bitterl3’ — till aroused, or rather 
 startled, b3' hearing rapid footsteps ascending 
 the stairs. Then she continued to advance ; 
 and the next instant found herself face to face 
 with Gerald Redburn. He was in his uniform, 
 having only just left the mess-table, where he 
 had remained drinking; and his countenance 
 was flushed. 
 
 “ Ah, Lucy,” he exclaimed, half in surprise 
 %nd half with an insolent familiarity; “is this 
 you ! 1 8U[)pose you have been to the Colonel 
 
 ibout 3’^our husband ?” 
 
 “Allow me to {)ass, sir,” she said, as he 
 barred her way. 
 
 “.Just one word, Lucy,” cried Gerald, seizing 
 her by the hand: then as she literally tore that 
 hand back from his grasp, he said, “Why, 
 what a fool you are to get into such a rage for 
 nothing. Gf (course I know the Colonel would 
 do nothing for 301 u : he is severity itself. Rut 
 if I was to int(;rccdc, it would be ilifferent.” 
 
 “I command y<)u to let me pass, sir,” inter- 
 ru[)te<l i..ucy, resolved to escajie from farther 
 iusulte. 
 
 “ Not without a kiss,” ejaculate<l Redburn : 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 OTit-lio'ise. Sincf the return of the regiment 
 to England, he had been promoted to the post 
 of Sergeant-Major, having previously been only 
 acting in that capacity to the depot. Very 
 proud, and stately, and pompous was Mr. 
 Langley now; and very hap[)y and higlily 
 satisfied was he on this particular morning, 
 because the man whum, on account of Ids very 
 superiority, he hated and detested above all 
 others in the world, was about to receive a 
 crowning humiliation and a fiendish punish- 
 ment. 
 
 The moment Sergeant-Major Langley thus 
 made his appearance the ouuhouse, the drum- 
 mer-b(/vs, frightened into a bastard kind of 
 fortitu ie, began lashing away at the sack of 
 sawdu't again ; and the sergeant stood admiring 
 them in silence for a few minutes. In the very 
 desperation of their feelings the poor youths 
 infiicted the blows with all their might and 
 main, — all the more severely, too, because they 
 knew that in this experimentalising there was 
 no human flesh palpitating under the scourge. 
 
 “Excellent! capital! famous!” exclaimed Mr. 
 Langley, his admiration bursting forth in these 
 ejaculatory epithets. “ ^Nothing can be better ! 
 You will do it well! And mind, always try 
 and hit again in the same place there is 
 nothing like keeping at the same r<k ». Don’t 
 spare him, my boys, when you cou ^ to the 
 point: he is a bad character, and is spirit 
 must be thrashed out of him. And . w come 
 along with me.” 
 
 Mr. Langley took the two drummt i to the 
 canteen ; and there he made them eaci drink a 
 glass of l)randy, observing to the keep. * of the 
 military public-house, “ These are • ^e two 
 brave tellows who are to operate on i - nisdale 
 rc^sently. There’s nothing like a r ‘ass of 
 randy to put the mettle into their It will 
 make them as fierce and hardened a- igers. 
 And now, my boys, be off to breakfast, and 
 look sharp,” 
 
 The two drummers issued forth from the 
 canteen, exchanging rapi<l looks of unutterable 
 horror at the thought of having been com- 
 pared to a wild beast in respect to the savage 
 fei'ocit}: wliich they were presently to exercise 
 U wards a fellow-creature. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE FLOGGING. 
 
 Hai,f-an-uoitr afterwards, the regiment was 
 drawn up in the barrack-square, in the midst 
 of which the triangle was erected. This con- 
 j^i-ited of three poles, about twelve feet in length, 
 fastened all together at the top, and the other 
 three ends spread out in such a manner that 
 the tr’angle became self-supporting. Several 
 ot tl ^ accursed weapons lay upon the ground 
 Mcar. W e should observe that the eat consists 
 of nine lashes fastened to a wooden handle; 
 And each lash has five hard knots — those at the 
 ends being tied round with pieces of twine or 
 very Strong pack-thread, so as to hold them 
 •tjcure and prevent th'' lashes from unravelling. 
 
 6 
 
 Each lash is about twentj inches Vong; and 
 they are made of a cord ki it with a pocuLar 
 compactness in order to render the blows they 
 inflict more stinging, cutting, and mercilessly 
 efl'ective. 
 
 IS ear the triangle stood a pitcher of water 
 and a drinking-cup, so that the victim might 
 from time to time be lefreshed, the better to 
 endure the full amount, or at all events as large 
 an amount as possible, of the satanic punish- 
 ment. 
 
 Tim regiment was drawn up in a square, tfc* 
 triangle being in the midst, — so that every eye 
 could command a view of the hideous ee^fv 
 mony. The colonel, the major, and the staff- 
 officers were iq>on horseback; the other officeis 
 were in their accustomed places. Presently 
 the drummers advanced up to the immediate 
 vicinage of the triangle, so that by the rolling 
 of their drums they might as much as possible 
 drown the cries of human agony, should the 
 victim send any forth. Then, everything be- 
 ing in readiness, Frederick Lonsdale was let 
 out from the black-hole, in his undress uniform, 
 and accompanied by a guard. lie walked with 
 a firm step : his countenance was ashy pale — 
 but in the strongly compressed lip, the sternly 
 fixed eyes, and the rigidity of all the mus- 
 cles of his face, might be read the deeply 
 taken i-esolution to meet his punishment with 
 as much fortitude as possible. Upon reaching 
 the triangle, his jacket and shirt w'ere stripped 
 off him ; and he thus a})peared naked to the 
 waist. The flush of shame at being thus ex- 
 posed i)i semi-nudity to so many eyes, swept 
 over his countenance, which then again imme- 
 diately relapsed into ghastly pallor. He was 
 now commanded by Sergeant Langleys, who 
 advanced to the spot — his cane in one hand and 
 a little memorandum-book in the other — to 
 stretch himself in such a maimer against two 
 poles of the triangle, with his face inward, that 
 one arm and one leg might be attached to 
 each. Ilis arms were distended upwards to 
 their fullest stretch, so as to be high above his 
 head ; and then the process of binding imme- 
 diately commenced. With strong cords was 
 he thus fastened at the wrists, the elbows, the 
 knees, and the ankles, to the poles; so that 
 being held tight in every limb, and at the prin- 
 cipal joints of these limbs, he was powerless 
 and immoveable — save and- except for the 
 writhings and convulsions of excruciating 
 agonies. The regimental surgeon now ap- 
 peared upon the scene ; and the two drummer- 
 boys who had been selected to inflict the chas- 
 tisement, likewise advanced. Their counte- 
 nances were very pale ; and notwithstanding 
 the brandy, they shivered visibly from head to 
 foot. Langley bent upon them a stem ar.d 
 threatening glance; and again, as when he ap 
 jieared before them in the outhouse, were they 
 literally frightened into a plucking-up of all 
 their courage. Lonsdale was firm and reso- 
 lute: and thus these poor youths had to exer- 
 cise greater efforts to collect their own forti- 
 tude to inflict the chastisement, than he had 
 to meet it. 
 
 “Xow then, first drummer-boy!” said Lamg- 
 ley “take up the cat and do your duty;— 
 
'^6 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 and having rK-u’ st cen, he opened his memo- 
 randuai-l)ook a^’.u V » k a pencil to write down 
 the rairnber of 3ack asli as he counted tliein 
 one alter the other. 
 
 The drummer took tlie murderous weapon 
 in his hand — made tlie line lashes swing twice 
 round aliove his head -and at the same mo- 
 ment tliat the drum hi \t, the first blow was 
 iuliieted. JNine long di tinct marks of a livid 
 hue aiipeared upon Fredi ick’s hack: while the 
 Sergeant-Major called oi.V Oiin !" \n a loud 
 voice. Tile victim felt a ea'ong quivei" of mor- 
 tal agony thrill along every nerve, fibre, and 
 muscle, from the crown of h\ \ hea<l to the soles 
 of his feet; hut no sound OAfapi'd him. His 
 lips were com[)ressed firmly u^gether, as if to 
 keep <lowu even the slightci; murmur that 
 might he passing behind. 
 
 The drummei--hoy drew the t^i'^s of the mur- 
 derous wea[)ou tJirough the fingws of the left 
 hand, and then looked on the p \\'a to see if 
 any sanguinary stains were there, hut blood 
 had not been drawn by that first vSW ^ke. lie 
 had stepped back a pace or two after intlicting 
 it — then he swung twice round his lieu I again 
 — advanced — and dealt the second blow The 
 Sergeaut-Alajor called out “ T'vo /” — but .amidst 
 the rolling of the drums, not a murmur, mach 
 less a cry from the lips of Lonsdale, miuglt<l 
 therewith. Yet it had seemed as if a (piantity 
 of red hot cinders had been suddenly thrown 
 upon his back. Of a livelier red were the 
 traces which the accursed instrument had left 
 behind; and a close observer might have seen 
 that the precise spots which the knots touched, 
 were marked by a little larger s[)ace and with 
 a brighter re<l. The third blow fell, and this 
 time, as the drummer-boy drew the lashes 
 through his left hand, the stains of blood were 
 left behind. Lonsdale had writhed with a 
 quick spasmodic movement; but still no sound 
 from his lipsl The fearful work went on up 
 to twenty-five strokes; and then ISergeant 
 Langley cried out “Halt!” 
 
 Lonsdale’s back was by this time a lump of 
 raw flesh; the blood was trickling down upon 
 his pantaloons — and clots fell upon the ground. 
 Not a murmur had as yet escaped him, although 
 at each successive blow , the anguish had be- 
 come more intense — so that it seemed as if 
 boiling oil or molten lead were being sprinkled 
 upon all the nerves laid bare — or as if vulture- 
 talons were fixed upon every fibre and muscle, 
 rending, teai’ing, and pulling them pitilessly. 
 The sui-geon felt the victim’s pulse ; and water 
 was given t(,> him. He maintained a firm look 
 while the medical man ga/.ed upon his counte- 
 nance: but he drank the water with avidity — 
 foi' his throat felt as dry and parc'hed as if he 
 ha<l Ixicn swallowing ashes. 
 
 The second drummer-boy now took a fresh 
 cat; and piomptixl by a fierce threatening 
 jock ^i•<Mn Sergeant Langley, he commence<l 
 his turn, with a vigorous arm. Blow after 
 l;lo\v |«-ll, ihe sergeant counting them in due 
 order, ami tin; drums rolling; but still not a 
 *onnd — not, !i cry — not a murmur, from the lips 
 •d Janis<lale! Vet at each fresh stroke, it ap- 
 iK'ured as ifevery lil)r(; and hnuseU* in his back, 
 being completely laid bare, had knives scraped 
 
 raj)idly (►ver them. Now pieces of skin an4 
 (lesh <;ame off with each sue.cessive blow, an4 
 the <lrummer-boy sickened at, t he siu;lit ard th 4 
 contact,, as he drew the lashes of the wt»i|»oi 
 through his hand to clear them ther<;of. Tin 
 second twenty-live strokes weri; given, and 
 again the sergeant cric<l, “Halt!” 
 
 Meanwhile s(;veral private soldiers of tb.e re- 
 giment had fallen out of the ranks in a fainting 
 tit at the hori’ible spectacle ; but, a.s soon rs re- 
 covered by their comrades, they were fericd 
 to stand U[) again. The Cohmel gallopped 
 up to each who thus fell; and as tliey « ame 
 back to consciousness, he levclleil t,he most 
 brutal imprecations at their heads, — thi’csteu- 
 ing to have them served in the same manner, 
 “if they showed any more of their nonsense.” 
 But while the men were thus succumbing be- 
 neath the inlluence of their horrified and sick- 
 ened feelings, not one of the otlicers exhibited 
 the slightest emotion — uidess it were old Lieu- 
 tenant Ileathcote; but even his good heart haa 
 been habituated, during his long years of ser- 
 vice, to these ghastly revolting s|)ectacles— 
 and therefore he was at least enabled to con- 
 ceal whatsoever inward emotion he might have 
 felt. 
 
 The surgeon liaving again felt Lonsdale’s 
 pulse, and more water having been adminis- 
 tered to him, the first drummer-boy resumea 
 the cat, and the punishment pi-ogressed. It 
 must not be thought that a re[)etition of the 
 blows rendei'cd the llesh gradually insetisible 
 to pain : there was no numbness of the kind ; 
 but each fresh stroke produced a livelier and a 
 keener sense of excruciation. Sometimes there 
 was a horrible tingling — then it felt as if all 
 the cords were furnished with razors that smote 
 edgeways upon the flesh — then as if myriads 
 of pins, propelled by some powerful force, had 
 shot with their points deep into the raw palpi- 
 tating llesh — theji as if a bunch of brambles 
 had suddenly been pressed hard upon the back 
 — and then again the tearing of the vulture- 
 talons at the fibres — the scraping of the nervek 
 with knives — the dropping of boiling oil and 
 molten lead: these were the excruciations — 
 Varied, intense, ineffable — which the victim 
 had to endure! Thus the punishment went 
 on, until he had received three hundred lashes; 
 and during the whole time he had not uttered 
 a sound. But it was impossible even for that 
 strong resolute-minded young man to repress 
 the awful writhings and convulsions which 
 seized upon him! 
 
 By this tiine the two drummer-boys were all 
 covered with blood from head to foot ; and 
 there were pieces of skin and fiesh adhering to 
 their garments. Oh! it was horrible, horrible, 
 to tliiidc that they should thus be besmeared 
 with the gore of a fellow-creature, — hoi-riblcy 
 most horrible, that morsels from the living man 
 should thus be cut a\yay to affix themselves 
 upon their clothes! But still more horrible to 
 look upon that back where the skin was all 
 literally cut up and Hayed olf, and where tlut 
 (piiven’ng muscles were laid bare amidst ihs 
 i‘aw palpitating llesh! Many of the soldiers 
 continued to fall fainting from the ranks; bttt 
 no emotion was exhibited by the otlicefs. 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 Tliree hur.iKfcd blows having been inflicted, 
 ^ei e was a D* ger halt. The surgeon felt Lons- 
 dale’s pulse for some minutes in the presence 
 of Colonel Wyndham, who had stationed him- 
 eelf near the triangle. 
 
 “I can endure more,” said Lonsdale, in a low 
 subdued voice: “and would rather receive at 
 once all that is intended to give me.” 
 
 “Then d n his eyes, let him have it!” 
 
 vociferated the Colonel, resolved to avenge 
 upon the husband the humiliating rebufi' he had 
 received at the hands of the wife. “Go on, 
 Langley.” 
 
 “1 don’t think, sir,” returned the Sergeant- 
 major, carrying his hand to his cap, “that 
 these two boys can do any more.” 
 
 “ Then let us have two fresh ones.” said the 
 Colonel, and forthwith the order was obeyed. 
 
 The punishment was resumed with strong 
 and vigorous arms, and with fresh cats. But 
 that point had now at length been reached 
 when the intensity of the pain began to sub- 
 side ; and Lonsdale’s head falling forward, he 
 had no longer need to compress Ids lips or ex- 
 ercise any control over his feelings; for there 
 was a sort of dull, heav^y, dead numbness upon 
 him. Yet his senses had not abandoned him: 
 he knew what was going on, but he had not 
 the same active power of thought as hitherto; 
 while to the eyes of the beholders, it seemed as 
 if the drummers were wielding their weapons 
 against a lump of inanimate raw flesh. All 
 traces of distinct wales had become merged 
 into one general mass of rawness, from the 
 nape of the neck to the waistband of the trou- 
 sers, and round upon the ribs. It was one tre- 
 mendous laceration, as if the whole skin had 
 been flayed away in a i)iece, and then the flesh 
 had been cut \ip with myriads of sharp short 
 hacking instruments like those used in the i)ro- i 
 eess of cupping. Thus did the atrocious punisli- 
 ment progress until the end. The whole flve 
 hundred lashes were administered ; and the 
 two drummer-bo3’3, who had succeeded the 
 first set, retired "from the scene as besmeared 
 with blood as their predecessors. i 
 
 It was done — the sataiiic work was over — ; 
 and Lonsdale, now in a state of total uncou- 
 Bciousness, was borne away to the hospital — • 
 to be cured, if possible — or to die, if beyond 
 the reach of medical aid. Thus was it tliat the 
 same medical man, who disgraced and disho- i 
 nored the sublime art which he professed, by 
 consenting to attend at the infernal scene, was 
 called upon to cure the hideous injuries wliich 
 he had sanctioned, and to the infliction of i 
 which he had been a party. Sergeant Langley 
 experienced a degree of satisfaction which was 
 only damped by the thought that as Lonsdale 
 had’ endured the entire amount of punishment 
 et once, he would not have to be brought out 
 again as soon as healed. But he however! 
 found a consolation in the resolve that it 
 should not be hifi fault if the young soldier did 
 not soon undergo another taste of the cat at 
 the triangle. As for Colonel Wyndham and 
 Gerald Redburn, they likewise experienced a 
 fiendish satisfaction at the spectacle they had 
 witnessed; and as they sij)ped their wine at 
 the me-is-table in the evening, they felt that 
 
 ’ll 
 
 , they were avenged for tlie rebuff which they 
 
 ■ had resi>ectively received from Lucy. 
 
 ‘ And now, wliat of pooir Lucy ? She knew 
 
 ■ the day and the hour when the punishment 
 was to be inflicted upon her husband ; and as 
 
 ■ that hour was proclaimed by the church clocks 
 , of Portsmouth, she had locked the door of her 
 
 chamber — she had fallen upon her knees by the 
 side of the bed — and burying her face in her 
 I hands, she had put up such pi-ayeis to heaven, 
 that, for fervor, and sincerity, and earnestnesa 
 of pleading, never before ascended from tlnr 
 human heart. She had l)esought Omnipotent 
 Providence to inspire her beloved iuisband 
 i with fortitude to bear liis punishment, ami 
 with physical power to survive it: she had 
 prayed, too, that this same Providence would 
 move the hearts of those who had the author- 
 ity to mitigate the amount of the chastisement. 
 O God! who can describe that [)Oor young wo- 
 man’s terrific feelings of anguish and agony as 
 she thought to herself that, even then, as she 
 knelt there, the fearful instrument of lortui'e 
 was lacerating, and teai'ing, and rending, and 
 flaying, and all but murdering the being whom 
 she loved most in the whole world, and to save 
 whom the slightest pain she would cheerfully 
 have laid down her life! As her imagination, 
 excited almost to a frenzied pitch, followed ejieli 
 blow that was dealt ui)on her husband's back, 
 by a sympathetic feeling it appeai'ed as if 
 every stripe struck at the same time upon her 
 own heart. Very terrible was the anguish thus 
 endured by Lucy Lonsdale: her own soul was 
 torn, and lacerated, and rent — boiling oil and 
 molten lead were upon her own fibres — vul- 
 ture-talons fastened themselves upon her own 
 muscles — thrills of the aeutest agony shot 
 through her from h.ead to foot. Such was iier 
 sym{)athy with him whom she loved so tender- 
 ly — so adoringly — so fervidly! 
 
 For two mortal hours did the unhappy young 
 woman pass through this frightful ordeal of 
 mental and imaginalive excruciations. For- 
 tunately, during the whole time, the child slept 
 soundly; for she felt that if it had awakened 
 and craved nourishment, she would not have 
 had surticient energy to bestow it. At length 
 — at the expiration of those two hours — a 
 knock was heard at her room-door: she rose 
 from her knees to open it — and the friendly 
 soldier’s wife made her appearance. At first 
 the good woman was start, led and horrified at 
 Lucy’s aspect — so ashy pale was her counte- 
 nance — so utterly woe-begone her looks — so de- 
 spairing her regards! The soldier’s wife came 
 to announce that the punishment was over — • 
 that Frederick had endured it all — that lie had 
 been taken to the hospital — and that now that 
 eveiTthing had been done to cut him to pieces, 
 everything was being done in its turn to heal 
 jhim again. Lucy gratefully thanked the wo- 
 man for her kindness, but did not ask her te 
 remain : for she wished to be alone. 
 
 Then, when once more alone, Lucy took her 
 babe u])on her knees; and weeping over it bit- 
 terly, bitterly, she murmured half aloud, “ Poor 
 child ! little do you think the awful horrors 
 which your father has this day endured, or th« 
 anguish which your motiier has experieuced’ 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 t8 
 
 Pity is it, clear cliild, tliat 3 ’oi; will ever ex- 
 change this blessed state of igtioranee for the 
 knowledge that thure are in llie woild human 
 beings of so fiend-like a eharaeter as to tie uj) 
 thei)’ fellow-ereaturiis and lacerate them almost 
 to |)ieees! O Almighty (Jod! wherefore do 
 thy thunders sleep — why are thy lightnings at 
 rest — when that being whom thou did’st create 
 after thine own image, is thus barbarously 
 maltr eated by his fellow men ? Oh I when i 
 was a girl, 1 I’ead in books that this was a 
 (ihristiau eountry — that we were a humane 
 jreojrle — that we had a good paternal govern- 
 ment — and that the si)irit of the laws revolted 
 against acts of barbarism and oppression : and 
 1 was taught, tdf), to regard with horror and 
 loathing the fanatics of other times, who in- 
 flicted the tortures of the I'ack, the thumb- 
 screw, the steel boot, the <picstion by water’, 
 and the other hoi’rors per[)etratcd in the lit- 
 quisitiorr. But, oh ! how sti’ange it is for- 
 books to inculcate one set of ideas, while expe- 
 rience of the world stanr^rs them with all the 
 flagiancy of falsehood. We a humane and ci- 
 vilized people ! and yet tolerate this horror 
 which cries up to heaveir for vengeance! iNo, 
 iro — we are barbai’ians — our Christianity is a 
 rrrockery — our religioir is a preteircc — our laws 
 are a delusion — aird we have no right to vaunt 
 our owir humanity in eontrast with the tieird- 
 ish cruelty of the {rerished Imprisition !” 
 
 As Lucy gave way to this train of nrusings, 
 the glow of indignation brought back the color’ 
 to her cheeks ; she felt the blood boiliirg iir her 
 v'eiirs — her eyes tiashed fire — her nosti’ils di- 
 lated — and she looked as if inspired by some 
 spii’it which had never existed in her before. 
 Her confidence in human nature had received 
 a shock : she began to see things in a new 
 light — she felt that with an artificial system 
 of laws and justiee, there wei-e around her 
 the visible and tangible evidences of diabolic 
 tyi’annies. There were numerou • churches in 
 that same town of Portsmouth where she now 
 dwelt ; and from evoi’y pulpit on the Sabbath 
 went forth teachings of humanity and forgive- 
 ness : but of Jill the clergymen who thus 
 pi’eached the divine doctrines of the Saviour — 
 not one had been found bold and honest enough 
 to present himself in the barrack-^^ard that 
 morning and ])rotest in the name of heaven 
 against the satanie d‘'.ed which was being com- 
 mitted there! 
 
 Lucy’s spirit had thus flamed up for awhile 
 after the departure of tl'e good-natured sol- 
 dier's wife; but it soon sank again to the deep- 
 est despondency; and then once more did she 
 weiqi bitterly, bitterly, over the child whom 
 ehe strained tc her bosom. Oh! it pierces us 
 to lJie(pii(;k to r’cllect (Ui the h.arrowing anguish 
 which that young niothei’ — herself so innocent, 
 Ko pure-n.r.icled, and so inoffensive — experi- 
 enced ' Ah, ye demon-hcarted misci’caiits 
 who uphold the horrors of the lash! do ye not 
 know, )’(!j»tile cowards that ye arc* — diabolical 
 emissai’icH of Sal, an ujMm cai’lh — cold-blooded 
 mei’cile.s.s liends — do ye not know,"we ask, that 
 the scourge which ye cause to be wielded 
 against the l)a*tk of a man, full often reBounds 
 on tlie heart of a woman? Do at''©!’ 
 
 pause to reflect, detestable savages that ye ap«, 
 that the mui’dcrous weapon whii’h cu 1 j 4 deep 
 into the palpitating flesh of the tied-np soldier, 
 (Mits as deeply and simultaneously too into the 
 bosom of the soldier’s wife? But no I Ve art 
 incapabli! of any such humanizing reflection. 
 And here in this moment of our buridng indig 
 nation, we declai’c that we would sooner com 
 pauionize with the li(;rcc8t of wild beasts o. 
 the most loathsome of r<!ptiles, than lemain ia 
 tlie society of a man who dares to avow him 
 self an advocate of the lash. Wheiever such 
 men are found, let them be 8purne<l from the 
 presence of those who entci’tain better and 
 more Christian feelings: let them be 8corne<l — 
 spit u])on — treated as the vilest and most hate- 
 ful of vermin I Jf a man advocating the lash, 
 dares to Say that he is a Christian, tell him 
 that he lies most fovdiy, and that Christianity 
 itself is desecrated by the a.ssertion 1 If he be 
 a husband and a father, then [)ity his wife and 
 his children: for rest assured tliat he is the 
 vilest and most cold-blooded of domestic ty- 
 rants! If he be a merchant or a trader, have 
 no opinion of his honesty : for honesty is the 
 I’esult of good and proper feelings — whereiis 
 there can be nothing but the most abhorrent 
 [lassions agitating, like reptiles in a morass, at 
 the bottom of the foul and fetid soul of the 
 man who advocates the punishment of the lash I 
 In short, heap and accumulate all the powers 
 of language — gather together all the elements 
 of the most tiery indignation — collect and 
 assemble all the terrible energies of the direst 
 aversion and the bitterest hate, to constitute 
 one tremendous crushing anathema to heap 
 upon the head of the monster who dares pro- 
 claim himself a supporter of the scourge? 
 
 But to return to the progress of our narra- 
 tive. Some hours had j)assed after the visit of 
 the good-natured soldier’s wife — when Lucy, 
 with her child in her arms, repaired to the 
 barracks to inquire if she might be permitted 
 to see her husband ? She was told that she 
 could not for the present — that he was pro- 
 gressing as well as under circumstances could 
 be expected — and that in a few days’ time she 
 would doubtless be permitted to visit him. 
 She dragged herself back to her lodging Li the 
 deepest, deepest despondency ; and ascending 
 to her chamber, sat down to meditate again. 
 She did not hear the heavy footsteps of a man 
 ascending the stairs: nor did she hear that he 
 knocked twice at the door of her room — so 
 completely absorbed were her thoughts in the 
 one tremendous and terrific topic. • But now 
 the door oiiened ; and she half started from her 
 seat on observing a male form appear upon the 
 threshold. It was dusk : a solitary candle burnt 
 dimly uiion the table — and as the visitor ad- 
 vanced slowly into the room, the feeble rav9 
 meeting his countenance, revealed to her eyes 
 the face of her father. 
 
 An ejaeulation of astonishment, not alto- 
 getlicr unmingicd with gi’atification, escaj>ed 
 her lips as the thought flashed to her mind that 
 if he came in a friendly spirit, she would derive 
 at least some consolation from the paternaJ 
 presence. 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 tl 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE soldier’s wife. 
 
 Sevexteen nontlis had elapsed since Lucy last 
 saw her fither: and during this interval he 
 had become much altered. It was not the 
 ordinary etfect of the lapse of time upon him : 
 but care and vexation had evidently helped to 
 do the work. He entered the room with a 
 slow puce and with a severe aspect, — so that 
 as Lucy sprang from her seat and was ad- 
 vancing to meet him, she shrank back chilled 
 by his looks. She did not immediately speak, 
 for she scarcely knew what to say ; and Mr. 
 Davis, closing the door, approached a chair in 
 which he seated himself. Then glancing round 
 the room with a look that seemed to bid Lucy 
 observe into what a comparatively mean con- 
 dition she had brought herself, he fixed his 
 eyes attentively upon her — but in such a man- 
 ner that plainly indicated he did not choose to 
 take any notice of the child which she held in 
 her arms. This cold cruelty on his part was 
 not lost upon her : her feelings as a mother 
 were wounded in their most sensitive point — 
 and wretched as she already was with the sense 
 of her unfortunate husband’s martyrdom, it 
 required but this incident to draw forth her 
 tears afresh. 
 
 “And thus we meet again, Lucy?” said her 
 father in a deep voice. “To what have ^mu 
 brought yourself ?” 
 
 “Am 1 not sufficiently unhappy without this 
 taunt from your lips?” she asked, suddenly 
 wiping away her tears ; for she felt that her 
 farher’s words conveyed a sort of slur thrown 
 cut upon the marriage which she had contract- 
 ed — and her indignation was excited. “ 1 care 
 nothing for poverty ; and as for privation, that, 
 thank heaven, I have not yet known — and 
 •hall not know, as long as I have hands to 
 work and any remnant of health to enable me 
 to work.’ 
 
 “Your husband has this day ” 
 
 “Father,” interrupted Lucy, with hysterical 
 quickness, “speak not of it. Xo one must 
 allude in my hearing to that circumstance, 
 unless in the tone of sympathy; and as you 
 feel none, I beseech you to spare my heart any 
 additional tortures.” 
 
 “Xow, Lucy, do you know wherefore I have 
 •ougljt you out?” resumed Davis. “I heard 
 of y<mr husband’s arrest and that he had been 
 brought back to Portsmouth. I thought to 
 myself that you had perhaps experienced 
 enough of the consequences of your disobe- 
 dience and your marriage ; and I have under- 
 taken this long journey to offer you a home 
 again, if you choose to accept it.” 
 
 “My home, father, is wlieresoever I can live 
 nearest to my husband ; and therefore, while 
 thanking you for your offer, 1 cannot accept it.” 
 
 “You love your husband, then, better than 
 your fathei ?” 
 
 Lucy made no reply: but she bent her looks 
 tip.on ilie child, fiom wliose sweet countenance 
 her parent had studiously kept away his 
 regards. 
 
 “Surely your dream ol happiness must have 
 become dispelled by this time?” continued Mr. 
 Davis: “and if you [)ersist in clinging to that 
 man who is unable to support you, you will 
 assuredly sink down into misery — perhaps into 
 something worse.” 
 
 “Father, you dare not insult me thus!” ex 
 claimed Lucy, her eyes flashing with indigna 
 tioii. “ Oh ! do not destroy the feeling of 
 affection which I yet entertain toward you I” — 
 and there was something exquisitely pathetic 
 in the young woman’s appeal. 
 
 “Affection?” echoed Davis. wTk a sneer 
 “do not talk to me of affection! Have I not 
 suffered from your disobedience? might you 
 not have formed a brilliant alliance? and had 
 you followed my advice, would you not now at 
 this moment be the wife of a gentleman and an 
 officer — the heir to an immense fortune? Yes, 
 you would now be the companion of ladies and 
 gentlemen, living in comfort and splendor ” 
 
 “ But, father,” interrupted Lucy, “ all that 
 would not have constituted my ha[)piness: for 
 I could be happier in the meanest garret with 
 him whom 1 sincerely love, than I could be in 
 gilded saloons with one whom I loved not.” 
 
 “ All this sounds very fine in the page of a 
 romance,” observed Davis, sneeringly again: 
 “ but the stern realities of life cannot be colored 
 by the roseate hues of love. 1 scarcely fanci«;d, 
 Lucy, to find you in this perverse frame of 
 mind. I thought that you would cheerfully 
 and gratefully acce})! my proposal to return 
 home. You have left your father in solitude 
 and loneliness, to follow the fortunes of an 
 individual whom you know he never liked 
 He now comes to oiler you his forgiveness, ana 
 to entreat, if you will, that you return to the 
 place of your birth, to render the rest of hk 
 days as happy as you can. Xow, Lucy, is this 
 asking too much ?” 
 
 “ It is, father — because it is asking me to 
 abandon one whom 1 have sworn at the altar 
 to love and cling to, and towards whom my 
 own heart prompts me most faithfully to ke< p 
 those pledges.” 
 
 “Then listen well and patientl}", Lucy, to 
 what I have to say, ’’’resumed Davis, in a voice 
 that was bitterly implacable. “ I give y< u 
 this last chance. You have dashed to the 
 ground all my fondly chei’ished hopes — you 
 have annihilated the brightest dream of my 
 existence. Nevertheless, 1 proffer you my par- 
 don, on condition that you leave this man 
 
 Ah! make not a gesture of impatience and 
 
 that you return home. But 1 repeat, this is 
 the last chance. If you refuse and disobey me 
 now, 1 throw you on for ever. I have already 
 made my will, leaving all 1 possess away from 
 you. Come home — and the instant you cross 
 the threshold, that will sliall be burnt before 
 your eyes : but refuse, and it shall ’•emain in 
 existence that its provisions may be cai ried out 
 at my death. And now observe well, Lucy — 
 tlie time will come when, if you disobey me, 
 you will be exposed lo the direst privations — 
 when you will sink down into the bitterest 
 [tenury: and then you will seek that homo 
 which you now refuse! But the door will b« 
 closed against you: your letters, suppl.eutixig 
 
•0 
 
 THE HOI.DIER’S WIFM 
 
 assistance, "vdll receive no answer ; and yon 
 will repent — most wofiilly, most profoundly 
 repent your obstinacy and perverseness of 
 tills day. Once more, therefore, do 1 ask you 
 whether you will accept my proffer and acicom- 
 pany me hack to Oakleiirli? Take four-and- 
 twenty hours to consider of it, if you will.” 
 
 “1 re<pure not as many minutes — no, nor a 
 single one I” replied Lucy. “My mind is made 
 up, and not for worlds, however gi'eat my [iri- 
 vations, would I abandon my husband. And 
 here let me tell you, father, that never for a 
 moment have I had cause to repent the stej) 1 
 have taken: never has a single harsh word nor 
 an im[»atient look on Frederick’s part taught 
 me to regretj the day that I accompanied him 
 to the altar. You have spoken, fathov of what 
 my j)ros[)ects may perchance be : I A do you 
 not reflect that the time may come that you 
 will repent your harshness towai-ds your 
 daughter? Oh! if I have indeed offended you 
 — if I have been really and truly disobedient, — 
 yet if ever there were a time when a daughtei- 
 might expect to receive her jiarent’s forgive- 
 ness, it is now that my heart is bleeding with 
 painful wounds, and that my soul is tortured 
 with terrible excruciations. If ever there were 
 a time, I repeat, when a father should be 
 moved to take pity on his daughter — to soothe 
 and console her — to breathe the words of jia- 
 rontal kindness in her ears — this is the moment, 
 and you are the father who should manifest 
 tnat sympathy!” 
 
 IStern and ^moved by this piteous, pathetic 
 appeal, Davis rose slowly from his seat; when 
 1 ucy, anguished at the idea that her father 
 snould lea.e her thus, fell upon her knees at 
 ais feet — and holding up her child towards 
 aim, exclaimed, “One kind word — Oh! but 
 one kind word, ere you leave me — for this dear 
 infant’s sake!” 
 
 “ Lucy, it is the child of the man that I hate 
 n)ore than any other man in the world,” said 
 Davis, sternly. 
 
 “But it is my child — your daughter’s child! 
 it is your grandchild!” exclaimed the half-dis- 
 tracted young woman. 
 
 “ Return home, and I acknowledge m}^ grand- 
 child,” was the bailiff’s response: “ but persist 
 in your refusal, and I acknowledge it not.” 
 
 “ Oh ! it is impossible that you can be so 
 harsh!” cried Lucy. “Look at this dear child 
 — it has not offended you : and it is cruel — oh, 
 it is cruel, to visit your wrath upon it!” 
 
 “ For the last time, Luev, will you come?” 
 
 “No, father — I carmot.’’^ 
 
 “ Then 1 throw you off for ever — I discard 
 you — I leave my curse behind me!” 
 
 “ Ob, fjrod ! he has cursed me — my own father 
 has cui-sed me I” shrie;r.'';d forth the wretched 
 1 uc\ : and she fell back senseless upon the floor. 
 
 Wlicn she I’cturned fo consciousness, her fa- 
 ther was gone, and the babe was crying by her 
 aide. It was il,s piteous wail that had brought 
 the ruothei- back to life. Snatching the dear 
 infant to h<;r bosom — at this moimmt luu’ only 
 consolation — Lucy we[)t over it long and plen- 
 Ujously. Her father’s curse still rang in her 
 ears; and it lay like a weight of lead U[)on her 
 aeurt, terrible to bMir. 
 
 Early on the following mori ng the young 
 motlnu’, with t-he child in her ariiiS!, re|)aired to 
 the barracks to impure after her husband. Sho 
 learnt that he was doing well: and this was at 
 Icaiit some consolat ion. Day after <lav, for the 
 next fort night, did she present herself reguluHy 
 at an early hour to make the .satin* impiiry; 
 and it wiu ti source of infinite relief to her 
 wounded ftielings to receive good jiccounta tip /O 
 ctndi o(t<rasion. At length she was admitt.ed to 
 an interview with her husbiind. (Jood hea- 
 vens, how alt(*red was he ! Ihile, thin, and 
 emaciiited — looking like the ghost of his former 
 self — it seemeil as if all vigorous vitabty had 
 been lacerated out of him by the atrocioua 
 wetipon. Lucy wjis fcjirfully shocked ; and 
 with convulsive sobbing did she sink into hia 
 arms. He strained her to his breast: iind then 
 he hivished his ciiresscs upon his child : then 
 he embraced his wife agjiin — and then he once 
 more took little Frederick in his arms and 
 showered his emlcjirments upon him. lint till 
 this while, though testifying unabated fondneaa 
 for these dear objects, not a tear dimmed Lons- 
 dale’s eye; and when the first paroxysm of joy 
 was passed at meeting them, he became 
 thoughtful and abstracted. i..ucy, always ac- 
 customed to ileal with the utmost frankness to- 
 wards her husband, told him of the visit which 
 she had received from her father; and when 
 Frederick undersfood how resolutely she had 
 rejected Mr. Davis’s proj)osal to return home, 
 he gazed at her with unspeakable fondnesa 
 Still there wuas something in his lo(»k and man- 
 ner which did Lucy harm to contemplate: foi 
 she saw that some change had assuredly been 
 wrought within him. It was not a change in 
 respect to herself or their child: for nothing 
 could exceeil Frederick’s tenderness or devotion 
 towards them both ; but it was a change in re 
 spect to himself, — as it he had lost all confi 
 dence in the world, and broo<led darkly anc 
 ominously over his wrongs and his sorrows 
 Lucy, however, did not question him directl} 
 upon the subject: she thouglit that the impres 
 sion would gradually wear off; and she honed 
 at future interviews to observe a change foi 
 the better. Indeed, she delicately avoided th« 
 slightest allusion to the subject of his punish 
 nient; but by the earnest tenderness and en- 
 dearing caresses which she testified, the excel 
 lent wife endeavored to infuse solace into hh 
 soul. 
 
 Frederick remained six weeks in the ho.spitfJ 
 before he was re{)orted fit for service agaia 
 Every day after that first interview, was Luej 
 permitted to see him; but it was with eonti 
 nued })ain and sorrow she still noticed that 
 gloomy brooding on his part — those intervaU 
 of abstraction — and that change which hac 
 evidently taken jilace in the former healthj 
 tone of iiis mind. Still, however, she said no 
 thing: for now she buoyed herself up with tlw 
 hope that when once he should be able to gel 
 out again, fresh air, exercise, his military avo 
 cafi<)ns, and the leisure hours he might be ena- 
 bled to spend with herself and his cliild, would 
 produce a salutary effect upon him. 
 
 On the first day that Lonsdale quitted th< 
 hospital, he and Lucy had a serious ccuversa- 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 bon relative to the Tneans by whreh she herself 
 was to oljtnin a subsistence. During tlie two 
 months wliich by tliis time had ela})sed since 
 their I'emoval from Carlisle, she had lived with 
 the utmost economy and frugality ; but still 
 the lit tle store of money they liad in their pos- 
 session at the time was disappearing and if 
 Lucy had not already taken some steps to earn 
 her livelihood, it was because so long as her 
 luisband was in the hospital she had not the 
 heart nor the courage to think of any thing 
 but him. jSow, however, that he was once 
 more at la>ge, they discussed the matter toge- 
 ther; and Lucy intimated her intention of seek- 
 ing needle-woi'k, as she had done when tiny 
 W'ere tirst at Cai'lisle. We should observe tha , 
 although accustomed to display the most ui: 
 disguised frankness tow'ards her husband, sh. 
 did not think it right to inform him of the con 
 duct of Colonel Wyndham, nor the insulting 
 behavior of Gerald Redburn: for she was 
 alarmed lest his manly' spirit should prompt 
 him to resent against those two officers the in- 
 dignities they’ had offered to his wife, and thus 
 inevitably’ draw down upon himself some sig- 
 nal manifestations of their vindictiveness. 
 
 On the day following the conference wdth 
 Frederick, Lucy’ intimated to her huidlady that 
 she wished to procure needlework, and asked 
 her assistance. Very’ different was the con- 
 duct of this woman from that of worthy’ Mrs. 
 Harrison, at Carlisle. She merely gave Lucy’ 
 a few general hints, without making the slight- 
 est proffer to forw’ard her views. Indeed, she 
 did not appear over well pleased with the ap- 
 plication, — thiiiking probably’ that her rent was 
 no longer safe, if her lodger’s ciicumfetances 
 were so precarious. 
 
 The suggestions w'hich the landlady had 
 thrown out w’erc merely tc the effect tnat 
 Lucy’ might, perhaps, obtain w’ork from certain 
 shops the addresses of w’hich she named; and 
 the young w’oman lost no time in ajiplying in 
 those quarters. She w’as offered w’ork from a 
 slopseller, provided she could deposit five 
 ounds as a safe return of the materials when 
 uly’ made up. This sum Mrs. Lonsdale Avas 
 speedily’ enabled to raise, having a portion by’ 
 her, and by pledging some of her jewellery’. 
 It W’as her first visit to the pawnbroker’s ; and 
 though she experienced a sense of shame on 
 entering the establishment, y’et she parted from 
 her trinkets w’ithout a pang, because she felt 
 that it W’as to ensure the means of subsistence 
 through her ow’n honest industry’. She took 
 the five pounds to the slopseller, and received 
 a quantity of w’ork, with w hich she hunied 
 heme and to which she at once sat down. 
 When Frederick presently visited her, she told 
 him what she had done. He embraced her 
 ivith all his w’onted affection, but gently’ chided 
 her for having parted with her own things in 
 preference to his w’atch, w’hich had remained 
 in her possession. However, it W’as no harsh 
 W’ord that he spoke — but merely’ an affectionate 
 remonstrance, and w’hich Lucy accordingly’ re- 
 ceived as a proof of kindness on his part. At 
 the end of a week, when she took her work 
 back, she received fifteen shillings for w’hat she 
 bad done : for be it observed that at the time 
 
 V 
 
 of W’hich we are writing, this kind of work waf 
 ten times better paid than it ia at the j)reetnt 
 day’. The slopseller w’as w’ell pleased at the 
 neatness with which it was executed, and 
 offered her some work of a superior character, 
 which she at once accepted ; and the second 
 w’eek her earnings amounted to very nearly a 
 pound. Thusho])e once more glimmered up in 
 the bosom of poor Lucy’ ; and all cares relative 
 to subsistence being thus banished — at least for 
 the present — some little alleviation was ex- 
 perienced for her sorrow’s. Still her hapjuness 
 Avould have been greater, could she have seen 
 that Frederick Avas the same being he formerly 
 w as. To her and her little son he Avas still the 
 same in all his devoted fondness, — passing his 
 leisure time entirely’ at his Avife’s lodging. Avalk- 
 ing out with her of an evening wlien it w’as 
 fine, or else reading to her as she sat at work. 
 But often Avould he fall into those mood® of 
 al)straction and those deep broodings frona 
 Avhich she had hojAed that he Avould be Aveaned 
 Avhen restored to healfh. There Avei’e times, 
 too, Avhen he had a strange look, the thenght 
 of which often troubled her Avhen she waa 
 alone, and liaunted her occasionally’ in her 
 dreams, — a look that seemed to imply’ the deep 
 sense that his were Avrongs Avhich craved 
 vengeance, and that he Avould be revenged if 
 he had an o{)portunity’. Still she never ques- 
 tioned him uj)On the subject : and still likeAvise 
 she went on ho})ing that all this would Avear off 
 in the course of time. 
 
 She seldom stirred out of her room except 
 Avheu accompanied by her husband ; for she 
 had on two or three occasions met Colonel 
 Wyndham and Gerald Redburn, w’ho had 
 looked at her Avith a supercilious impei-tinence ; 
 and she trembled a* *.he idea of fresh insults 
 from their hands — the more so that if they were 
 offered, she dared not tell them to her husband. 
 She had also met Sergeant Langley, who had 
 flung upon her a malignant glance as lie stalked 
 jiompously by’ ; and though she did not fear at 
 his hands the same species of indignity’ Avhich 
 she had too much reason to apprehend on th« 
 jiart of the tAvo unprincipled officers above- 
 mentioned, yet it did her harm to encounter 
 the man Avho had show’ii himself so bitterly 
 iiostile to her husband. 
 
 Time passed on — months elapsed — and » 
 comparative degree of happiness reigned at 
 the little lodging. The cliild throve apace, 
 and Avas noAv able to toddle about from chair 
 to chair. Lucy’’s earnings averaged eighteen 
 shillings a-Aveek ; and every’ eA’ening she enjoy’- 
 ed Frederick’s presence at the neatly spread 
 little tea-table. The private soldiers are only 
 alloAved in the barracks breakfast and dinner: 
 there is no proA’ision for either tea or supper ; 
 and thus it Avas Lucy’’s satisfaction and joy to 
 be enaliled to provide a comfortable meal for 
 her husband. Gft-times would he deplore the 
 circumstances of his position, Avhieh preA’ented 
 him from doing anything toAvards contributing 
 to the little domestic resources : for he had but 
 tenpence half-penny a-week out of his pay in 
 the foim of pocket-money’. This how’evef he 
 did net expend at the canteen or the pulMc- 
 house, but laid it out in the hire of boc ki^ 
 
THE .-^OLDIErrS WIFK 
 
 wliioh hi read aloud to Lucy jrheu she was 
 working of an evening, lie liad at first 
 thought of devoting his leisure liours to a little 
 eehool. if he eould get one together: hut there 
 were several reasons wherefore, on inaturer re- 
 flection, this project had to he ahandoned. In 
 the lirst place there would he an ohjection on 
 the part of parents to send their ehildi'cn to 
 receive tuition at the hainls of a }>rivate soldier, 
 c^econdly, even if this were not the case, thei’e 
 would he so many interruptions when it was 
 his turn to he on guard, or when thei'e was 
 any extra duty to he [lerforined ; — and thirdly, 
 he could not find enough time each day to im- 
 part the surticient amount of instruction to 
 Kc-hool-hoys, The jdan, therefore, having been 
 well talked over hy him and Lucy, was rejected, 
 and thus he was enahled to do nothing towaials 
 assisting in the expenses at the little lodging. 
 It often galled him sa<lly to think that he 
 should in any way encroach u[)on his wife’s 
 earnings, even for the evening meals which he 
 shareil with her: hut if ever lie alluded to the 
 suhject, it caused Lucy so much pain and threw 
 Buch a damp upon her si)irits, that he invari- 
 ably regretted having ex[)ressed his feelings 
 upon the topic : and thus he soon ceased from 
 any allusion thereto. In respect to his jiosition 
 in the regiment, we need only observe that he 
 was most regular and careful in the jierform- 
 ance of his duties, being resolved to aitbrd his 
 enemies no opportunity, by any dereliction on 
 his part, for direct jiersecution. 
 
 Thus did the time pass on ; and Christmas 
 came again. It was the rule in the regiment 
 that those soldiers happening to have friends 
 or relations in the town, who would invite 
 them to dinner on that day, obtained leave of 
 absence after morning service ; and thus it was 
 agreed, in compliance with Lucy’s entreaty, 
 that Fi'ederick should avail himself of the per- 
 mission so generally accorded. With mingled 
 feelings did she make her prejiarations. It 
 was in one sense a sort of pleasure that they 
 should dine together on this day of universal 
 festivity : but on the other hand she could not 
 help thinking of the mournful apprehensions 
 pnd presentient misgivings amongst which they 
 had eaten their last Christmas dinner together, 
 the extortion of Bates having taken place, as 
 the reader will remember, on the previous 
 evening. This made her reflect that if it had 
 not been for the inauspicious appearance of 
 that man at Carlisle, they might still he dwell- 
 ing in happiness there at the present time ; and 
 the feai-ful indignity which her husband had 
 endured hy the lacerations of the scourge, 
 would not have taken place. Nevertheless, 
 Lucy was moi’e inclined on the present occa- 
 •ion to yield herself up to hopeful thoughts 
 than to desponding ones ; and when Frederick 
 made his appearance at one o’clock on Christ- 
 inas I>ay, he not only found a nicely spread 
 table awaiting him, hut al.so a beautiful wife 
 welcoming him with the lendercst and fondest 
 tinilcK. ’I'hcn, what.<!ver was hurhouring in his 
 »oul, was for the lime forgolltni; he embraced 
 IjUcv — ho fondled hi.s wife — ami tlicv were all 
 bappy together. After dinner th<-y walked out; 
 aad it was with an unfeigned jt>y that Lucy 
 
 [lerceived that her husband was in much bettor 
 sjiirits than he had been ever since the terriblo 
 [)unishmc,nt ho had received. 
 
 When they jiai'ted in the evening, Frcdenck 
 turned hack from the threshold wliich he had 
 alreaily erosseil ; and again priissing Lucy in 
 his arm.s, he said in a low tcndei .nice “ My 
 ilearest wile, I am afraid you have soim times 
 seen me abstracted and monrnfni : hut it we« 
 no easy task to surmount all of a sudden a 
 goading sense of the hitt.cr wronu's I ha<l en- 
 dured. 'ro-fla,y 1 have experienced such true 
 happiness that it seems as if it were the era of 
 a more healthful change in my feelings, (iood 
 night, dearest.” 
 
 He departed with the warmth of Lucy’g 
 kisses upon his cheeks; and the fond adoring 
 wife slept that night the sleep of ha]»piue38. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 ANOTHER CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 Three more months passed away; and during 
 this interval Frederick aj)[)eare<l fully to carry 
 out the parting promise he had made to Lucy 
 on Christmas day. He seemed to have re- 
 covered his former s{)irit,s — or at all events to 
 wrestle so successfully against whatsoever sense 
 of wrong and humiliation might still linger in 
 his breast, that no reflection thereof apjiearcd 
 mion his features. Lucy was now indeed as 
 ha|>py as under all circumstances she could 
 ho[)e to he : for that the full measure of un- 
 alloyed felicity would ever again be her’s iu 
 this world, was not to be hoped for. The mark 
 of the lash was on her husband’s back, and was 
 seared as indelibly on her own heart ; the 
 wound on the hack and the wound on the heart 
 were healed — hut still they were tender, and 
 the least touch made them smart. LonsHale 
 had regained all the outward appearances of 
 health : hut there were times when he experi- 
 enced a pain in the lungs, as if he had received 
 some internal injury from the frightful chas- 
 tisement. But never did he breatheia word 
 in Lucy’s ear relative to these sensations: he 
 could not however avoid fancying at times that 
 in the long lain his life would be abridged by 
 the effects of the diabolic torture. 
 
 Three months, we sa^', had passed since the 
 happy Christmas they had s[)ent together, — 
 when one morning the slopseller for whom Lucy 
 worked, sent a message to her lodging, re- 
 ipiesting that she would come to him at once. 
 fShe accoi-dingly hastened thither, with her lit- 
 tle Freddy, now upwards of eigliteen months 
 old; and found that her employer, having an 
 order suddenly sent in for some work reipiiring 
 great care, wished to place in her hands as 
 much thereof as she could undertake to com- 
 plete in a given time. Lucy accepted the task, 
 and hastened hack homeward. As she entered 
 t he st reet where she dwelt, she suddenly found 
 hm-sclf face to face with (Jerald Redhurn. 
 
 “Ah, Lucy!” he exclaimeil, stopping short so 
 as literally to bar her way: “it's a long time 
 since you anl I met. How well you are lookr 
 
 J 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIEE. 
 
 M 
 
 mg, to bo dtire! Upon ray ecul you grow 
 handsomer than ever!” 
 
 Lucy was endeavouring to pass by the im- 
 pudent coxcomb, — when hastily glancing 
 around, and perceiving that they were unob- 
 served, the street being a secluded one, he 
 caught her by the hand and holding it fast, 
 Stud, “Come, my dear Lucy, you must be tired 
 of that soldier chap of yours. Put yourself 
 under my protection, and I will make a lady 
 of you.” 
 
 “Unhand me, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Lonsdale 
 indignantly: and she struggled hard to escape 
 from him. 
 
 “ Xo, by heaven I we don’t part like this,” he 
 cried. “ You know I have long loved 3 m u., 1 
 must and will have a chat with you now.” 
 
 But Lucy succeeded in bursting away from 
 
 sensuality of passion in respect to l ucy. Her 
 extreme loveliness could not fail to keep tbie 
 grosser feeling alive in the breast of the profli- 
 gate Redburn ; and as he had never seen her 
 look handsomer than she did when he met her 
 in the street as just described, passion flamed 
 up in his breast with the flercest fires. I'e- 
 praved and unprincipled as he himself was, he 
 could scarcely' believe in the existence of real 
 virtue on the part of a private soldier’s wife; 
 he thought that the manner in which she had 
 thus treated him, was the result of the linger- 
 ing of an embittered feeling, on account of the 
 jiast, and which might easily be overcome by 
 cajolery and coaxing. In short, he flattered 
 himself that if he seriously' set about the con- 
 quest, he could scarcely' fail to achieve it. Up- 
 oji this canqiaign he resolved to enter ; and be- 
 
 him, and hurried home, the frightened child ing now acquainted with her abode, he thought 
 
 crydng bitterly. She ascended to her chamber, 
 and for a considerable time was unable to 
 compose her feelings sufficiently to commence 
 the work she had undertaken, and which was 
 required in such a hurry. Her bosom swelled 
 with Lidignation at the treatment she had re- 
 ceived —a treatment, too, which she had no 
 means of resenting ; for she dared not commu- 
 nicate ‘t to her husband on account of the mo- 
 tives already specified. At length, however, 
 she srr othered her excitement as well as she 
 was ab le, and set to work. 
 
 Meanwhile Gerald Redburn, who, we should 
 observe, had recently' obtained by purchase the 
 rank of lieutenant in the regiment, had, through 
 this litfle incident, ascertained Lucy’s abode; 
 and he resolved to profit by' the discovery'. 
 Whatever real love he might have experienced 
 for her at the time when in his blind infatua- 
 tion he would have married her, had long since 
 •ubsided; and now that he was better ac- 
 quainted with the world, he often thought 
 what an idiot he was to have ever thought of 
 making her his wife. That same experience 
 had moreover opened his eyes to the craftiness 
 which Davis had pursued towards him. As a 
 matter of course the flight of Lucy' from Co- 
 ventry and her subsequent marriage with 
 Lonsdale had at the time fully convinced him 
 that he had never possessed her love, but that 
 her present husband had indeed always been 
 tlie object thereof. He had never adopted any' 
 means to punish Davis for the artifices so cun- 
 ningly set to ensnare him into a marriage with 
 his daughter ; because by' so doing the whole 
 affair would have come to the knowledge of 
 his parents. Thus was it that the matter still 
 remained unsuspected in that quarter. When 
 Davis had visited Portsmouth for the purpose 
 of seeing Lucy', he had not attempted to obtain 
 an interview with Gerald; and thus the y'oung 
 gentleman had no opportunity of learning from 
 him where Lucy' dwelt. She lived in such se- 
 clusion that her address was generally unknown 
 amongst her husband’s comrades ; and thus was 
 it that until the present occasion of which we 
 are speaking, Gerald had remained in igno- 
 rance thereof. 
 
 But if the infatuation of love had so com- 
 pletely passed away' from Lieutenant Redburn’s 
 heart, he nevertheless experienced the strong 
 
 it needless to waste time in undertaking the 
 enterprise. 
 
 When parade was over, Gerald dressed him- 
 self in plain clothes, and proceeded to the house 
 where Mrs. Lonsdale dwelt. The landlady 
 opened the door to his summons ; and a five 
 shilling piece slipped into her hand, elicited 
 the information that Lucy’s husband was not 
 with her at the moment. He accordingly 
 ascended the stairs to her chamber ; and the 
 landlady, who had hitherto thought that Lucy 
 was a most discreet and virtuous y'oung woman, 
 muttered to herself, “Well, after all, she’s no 
 better than the generality' of them.” 
 
 Meanwhile Redburn had reached the door of 
 Lucy’s chamber, at which he knocked. He had 
 ascended so gently that she had not heard his 
 footsteps ; and conceiving it to be the landlady, 
 said, “ Come in.” 
 
 He at once obey'ed the invitation ; and Lucy,, 
 flinging down the work, started up amazed and 
 indignant at the outrageous insolence of this 
 intrusion. 
 
 “ Now, my' dear Mrs. Lonsdale,” said Gerald, 
 shutting the door, “ pray don’t put y'ourself in 
 a passion : for I can assure you that I wish to 
 s{)eak to you very seriously indeed ;” — and as 
 he thus commenced what he considered to be 
 breaking the ice, he was well satisfied to ob- 
 serve that the child was sleeping soundly' on the 
 bed. 
 
 “ Understand me well, Mr. Redburn!” said 
 Lucy', whose cheeks, from being flushed with 
 indignation, had become ashy' pale at the cruel 
 sense of her position ; but she spoke with ac- 
 centuated firmness. “ I do not wish that a dis- 
 turbance shall be created in the house. If such 
 were the case, my husband would not fail to 
 hear of it ; and indeed I expect him here every 
 moment, I am well aware, if he were to testify 
 his resentment towards you, that as his officer, 
 y'ou would not fail to find the means of a bitter 
 vetigence. But do not for an instant suppose 
 me capable of a dishonoring deed. Frankly 
 and firmly' I tell you that 1 would sooner per- 
 ish than stoop to infamy'. Whatever wild hope 
 may therefore have brought you hither, may 
 be discarded from your mind at once. And 
 now, sir, that I have restrained myself thus far 
 to make you understand everything, I eqjoia 
 you to depart.” 
 
M 
 
 niE SOLDI Kirs WIFR 
 
 “ But, Lucy, this is really too ridiculous — ” 
 
 “Begone, sir I or you will compel me to sum- 
 mon ass is1,a lice.” 
 
 “No, no — you will not make such a fool of 
 yourself.” 
 
 “Mr. lledburn, for the last time I command 
 you to he gone. At any i-isk, I will not for an- 
 other instant tolerate your presence. 1 will 
 alai-in the house !” 
 
 “Nonsense, Lucy! you are too good fora 
 soldier’s wife ; and as 1 told you just now, 1 will 
 make a lady of you.” 
 
 “This is too much !” ejaculated laicy : and 
 she sprang towards the door. 
 
 “ iiy heaven you are superbly handsome!” 
 cried (Jerald, maddened with passion ; and he 
 threw his arms round her waist. 
 
 She struggled against him, and «ncceeded in 
 escaping Iroin his hold ; then tearing open tJie 
 door, she screamed for assistance. But at the 
 same instanther husband came rushing up the 
 staircase ; and bursting into the room, compre- 
 hended it all at once. 
 
 “ Begone, sir — de[)art hence!” he exclaimed, 
 in a furious passion : “ or all officer thougli you 
 be, I will kick you ignomiiiiously down the 
 stairs.” 
 
 “ Do you know, fellow, to whom you are 
 talking ?” demanded (Jerald, drawing himself 
 up with matchless effrontery. 
 
 “ Yes — to an unprincipled scoundrel !” replied 
 Frederick ; and clenching his fist, he quickly 
 added, “ Begone, sir — or I shall cease to be 
 master of myself.” 
 
 “ Y on shall smart for this, you rascal !” ejacu- 
 lated Retlburn : but fearful of summary chas- 
 tisement, he hastened down the stairs ; and by 
 the threats which he kept on muttering as he 
 passed by the landlady, she was made com- 
 pletely to comprehend that her trausitoiy sus- 
 picion of Lucy’s impropriety was utterly un- 
 founded. 
 
 “ O Frederick !” cried Lucy, flinging herself 
 into her husband’s arms the moment Gerald had 
 left the room; “ what will be tlie consequence 
 of this ? Have you laid yourself open to any- 
 thing he may do ?” — and there was mortal an- 
 guish in her voice and looks. 
 
 “ There can be no immediate consequences, 
 dearest Luc}',” replied Lonsdale, “ because he 
 dai cs not make known what has taken place. 
 Compose yourself.” 
 
 “ Oh ! it is you that must compose yourself, 
 my beloved husband; for I perceive that you 
 are much agitated.” 
 
 “ (J Lucy, is it not sufficient to drive us to de- 
 spair?” exclaimed Frederick, dashing his open 
 palm forcibdy against his forehead. “To think 
 that this villain should dare violate the sanctity 
 of your chamber — and that I am at the mercy 
 of a wretch such as he! Oh, the accursed 
 Bhackles which 1 feel fastened u])on every 
 Htnb ! — scarcely able to protect my own beloved 
 wife fi-om onl.rag(! and insult!” 
 
 “ Fnnl(;ri(d{, dear h’redm'ic-k — for heaven’s 
 Bake calm f his ten-ibh! cxchLmient:” — and Lucy 
 lavished upon him the t(md(!reHt caresses. 
 *' There 1” sIk! suddenly ejac-tdated, snatching 
 uj) their child who had wake<l up; and bring- 
 jjg the boy to its father, she added, “ Fo;* the 
 
 sake of this dear innocent, I beseecn jnti 
 calm yourself!” 
 
 “1 will, 1 will, Lucy,' he respotnhvl, fitting 
 <lown and taking Ids.son upon his knees. “ Birt 
 now, tell me all that occurred.” 
 
 Lucy at once frankly t(dd her husbainl how 
 she had met Gerald liedburn at about nine 
 o’clock in the moridng — what he had said t/Q 
 her — how he Inul just now pemetrated to hei 
 chainl)er — and what had then taken place. 
 While she 8|)oke, she saw that Lonsdale lcf\ 
 off fondling the child — that a dark cloud 
 lowered over his feature.s — that his brows be- 
 came knit, his lips conq)re.ssed, and his whole 
 form (puvering with a spasnu/dic sensatioru 
 Again did she beseech and implore that he 
 would calm his excitement, both for her sake 
 and that of his son. He promised that he 
 would; but for the rest of the time they were 
 together that day, she could not h<!lj) noticing 
 that his looks frecpiently assumed that ominous 
 aspect whitdi had been wont to tcn'ifvhei’, and 
 that he likewise relapsed into his old fits of 
 moody abstraction. iShe slept but little during 
 the night that followed: for there was now 
 once again a presentiment of apiiroaching evil 
 in poor Lucy’s heart. 
 
 Several weeks elapsed after this incident, 
 without any other worthy of nan-ation. But 
 Fi’ederick had lost his good splints again. 
 Oftener and oftener came back the cloud to his 
 countenance: more frequently did his moods 
 of abstraction return. Lucy grew more and 
 more alarmed; and she resolved at length to 
 speak to him very seriously on the subject. 
 
 “My dearest husband,” she said one day, 
 placing herself iqion his knee, and throwing 
 her arm round his neck: “there is something 
 jireying upon your mind. Do make me your 
 confidante.” 
 
 “ Oh, Lucy !” he cried, with a sudden out- 
 burst of excitement, as if feelings long pent up 
 now forced for themselves an issue ; “ I have 
 endeavored as much as possible to keep my 
 sorrows from you — but I can conceal them no 
 longer !” 
 
 “ VYhat do you mean, Frederick ?” asked 
 Lucy, frightened and dismayed. 
 
 “ I mean, my beloved wife, that I am endur- 
 ing in my regiment the tortures of perdition : 
 I mean that 1 am subjected to such a series of 
 persecutions fi'om the young fiend Redburn, 
 that my patience is exhausted ! Whenever I 
 ha[)peu to cross his path and no one else is 
 nigh, he mutters ‘ or ‘ Scoundrel' or flings 
 at me some other goading taunt. When on 
 guard, if he be the ofiicer on duty, everything 
 is wi'ong with me. 1 am slovenly — or I am 
 unsoldier-like — or I am not quick enough in 
 
 my movements But heaven only knows 
 
 the thousand and one 'petty tynyinies that I 
 have to endui-e ! 1 feel that I shall go mad, 
 
 Lucy — I shall go mad !” 
 
 “ (.)h ! my dearest husband, for heu ven’s sak« 
 IrainpiiHize yourself!” — and the affectionate 
 wife put into re(pii8ition all her tenderest en- 
 doannents and most winning ways to soothe 
 Frederick’s excitement. 
 
 “ You are an angel, my beloved!” he said, 
 straining her to his breast : “ but not even an 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 U 
 
 ftagel can teacli me to endure these wrongs 
 with patience. And now listen to me seriously, 
 Luey. Alter I received that frightful punish- 
 ment, my mind became morbid, and 1 che'dshed 
 
 the darkest thoughts of vengeance. Do not 
 
 interrupt me, dearest, but listen. Yes — ven- 
 geance against the author of all our sorrows, 
 that miscreant Bates ! But gradually, under 
 the influence of your love — your smiles — your 
 briglit and beautiful example of Christian re- 
 siirnation — my soul recovered its wonted health- 
 fulness, and I was saved from those dark 
 tJio ights. You remember what I said to you 
 on the night of Christmas Day, when we parted ? 
 
 I then felt like a man cured of a passing mad- 
 iies.s, or lather a gloomy mania. All went well 
 until that incident with Gerald Redburn : but 
 thenceforth my mind lost its healthy tone 
 again — and it has been with difficulty that I 
 have at times escarped from the strange and 
 terrible thoughts that have risen like spirits of 
 evil in my soul. I am now being driven by 
 slow but sure degrees to frenzy. Redburn is 
 bent upon my destruction. And what is woi'st 
 of all, I have no redress ! There is nothing in 
 his conduct towards me that I can actually 
 complain of. And if I did complain, to wliom 
 would it be ? To the Colonel, who is his friend, 
 aiid who would take his part ! Besides, the 
 idea of a private soldier complaining against 
 an officer, is ridiculous, absurd, i)reposterous !” 
 — and Frederick spoke with an exceeding bijt- 
 terness. 
 
 The reader may conjecture with what feel- 
 ings of anguish poor Lucy heard her husband’s 
 explanation, every detail of which was but too 
 well cori’oborated by that increasing moodi- 
 ness on his part which she had lately noticed. 
 What could she do ? what could she say ? what 
 could she suggest ? Her only resource was to 
 soothe him with the gentlest ministrations of 
 that kindness which a loving woman knows so 
 well how to pour forth, but which, alas ! have 
 not always tlie effect of healing the bruised 
 spirit. His excitement was calmed down ; but 
 still the sense of his goading wrongs remained — 
 and the unfortunate husband and wife were 
 compelled to look once more with apprehension 
 ai d dismay into the future. 
 
 Several weeks glided by, and day after day 
 did Lonsdale’s position in his regiment become 
 more intolerable. Desperate was the struggle 
 which the uidiappy man maintained within 
 himself to keep his sorrows veiled as much as 
 possible from the knowledge of Lucy : but the 
 penetrating eyes of a fond and loving wife were 
 not to be thus baffled — and our afflicted heroine 
 saw that matters were approaching some dan- 
 gerous crisis, which she trembled to think of. 
 Ami now again, as was the case at Carlisle after 
 ibe appearance of Bates in that town, Frede- 
 rick and Lucy began to observe that a marked 
 change Avas taking place in each other, — he 
 growing haggard and care-worn — .sAe becoming 
 ale and sickly, — his soul sinking into frequent 
 ts of despondency, her spirits kept up by 
 efforts painfully visible. At length they mu- 
 tually felt that they could no longer keep si- 
 lence upon the subject, although they had en- 
 4 ea vored to do so ; aud one day their eyes sud- 
 
 denly meeting, when each was stealing a glance 
 at the other, they read what was passing iden- 
 tically and simultaneously within their souls. 
 
 “ You are very unhappy, Lucy said Frede- 
 rick, in a mournful voice. 
 
 “ And you, my beloved husband, are still 
 more so,” she replied; then she endeavored to 
 smile in order to cheer him — but it was a sickly 
 attempt; and feeling that it was so, she burst 
 into tears. 
 
 “Do not weep, dearest,” he said: “I cannot 
 endure to see those eyes dimmed with Lears. 
 Every drop that falls thus upon 3'our cheeks, 
 dear Lucy, seems to be molten lead poured 
 upon my own heart.” 
 
 “But what must we do, Frederick?” she 
 asked, Avith a shudder of anguish: “for it is 
 impossible that you can exist longer thus. 
 Tyranny is killing you by inches!” 
 
 “Ah! that is indeed the fatal truth!” he eja- 
 culated, Avith a vehement outburst of excite- 
 ment. “By heaven, I can endure it no longer! 
 
 I have gone through more within the last few 
 months than any man living Avould have put 
 up Avith. Were I unmarried, and did not 
 ^mur image and that of our beloved child con- 
 stantly rise up before me, I should long ago 
 have struck that hend-like tyrant Redburn, 
 and Avhat I tremble at, dear Luc}’^ — Avhat I 
 shudder to think ofW-and yet what 1 foresee to 
 be inevitable — is that some day, when goaded 
 to desperation, I shall strike that man ; and 
 3'ou knoAV Avhat the punishment is for striking 
 an officer — it is death !” 
 
 Lucy gave a quick start, shocked to the 
 uttermost confines of her being by this terrific 
 announcement; and pale as a statue, she gazed 
 upon her husband in a half wild, half vacant 
 dismay. Then in a sudden paroxysm of ineffa- 
 ble anguish, she threw herself upon his breast, 
 weeping bitterly. For a few moments all her 
 poAver of self-command v.anished ; and she mur- 
 mured, amidst rending sobs, “Oh, your enemies 
 will kill you! they will murder you ! they are 
 bent upon your destruction! What is to be 
 done, dearest Frederick ? what is to be done ? 
 Something quickly! It is inq)ossible that you 
 could incur this frightful risk any longer.” 
 
 Lonsdale looked hard at his Avife for nearly 
 a minute, evidently having something in his 
 mind that he Avished to say, but to Avhich he 
 scarcely dared give utterance: then with a 
 sudden mustering up of all his courage, he 
 responded in a deep holloAv voice, “Lucy, to 
 avoid striking a bloAV the penalty of which Is 
 death, we must flee — I must desert!” 
 
 Lucy started not — neither did she shudder: 
 for she Avas prepared for this announcement. 
 She herself saw indeed that it Avas the only 
 alternative. The crisis Avas involved in th« 
 two Avords, death or desertion. And, Oh! to 
 behold her husband withdraAvn from the cer- 
 tainty of committing himself in a manner that 
 should hurry him to the graA'e, even though 
 he must become a deserter a second time, was 
 fraught Avith hope and happiness ! 
 
 “Yes, Frederick,” she murmured: “I am 
 afraid that this indeed is now necessary!” 
 
 “And you, my sweet wife,” he whispered, 
 glancing with appreheTision around, as if th« 
 
85 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 very walla had ears for such n conversation as 
 this, — “ and you will make up your mind to dare 
 whatsoever fatigues must be encountered — 
 whatsoever struggiss have to endure, in 
 establishing a position eUswliere 
 
 “1 can malce up my mind to anything so 
 long as we are togetlier,” re[)lied laiey, fixing 
 U})on him a look of the tenderest devotion : 
 then in a very low whis[>ering voice, she went 
 on to say, “Is it not somewhat singular, dear- 
 est, that you should be about to take this ste}) 
 almost at the very same date that you did so 
 before — just three years back?” 
 
 “Yes — it is strange,” ejaculated P’rederick, 
 now struck by the coincidence. “This is the 
 t went}’ second of August — it was on the twenty- 
 fourth that 1 fled on the last occasion. Jfut 
 you do not consider that there is anything 
 ominous in this?” 
 
 “ Oh, no, no ! I am not so weak-minded. It 
 was merely a passing thought that occurred to 
 me. Let us think no more of it.” 
 
 The husband and wife thereupon began 
 seriously to discuss the [>lan of their proceed- 
 ings. Lucy’s industry had enabled her to save 
 a few pounds: the jewellery which she had 
 ledged had been redeemed from the pawn- 
 roker — and moreover there was a deposit of 
 five pounds which she could claim back from 
 the slopseller. Altogether, in money they could 
 eonimand about twelve pounds ; and in ease of 
 need they could safely reckon oji as much more 
 by making their personal property available. 
 Tiie means of flight were not therefore want- 
 ing; and now the question arose whither should 
 they go? where should they establish them- 
 selves? This point was discussed long and 
 seriously; but at length for several reasons, it 
 was determined that they should proceed to 
 London and fix themselves there — for Frede- 
 rick calculated that in the mass of the multitu- 
 dinous metropolis, it was far more easy for him 
 to lose his identity, as it were, than in any of 
 the cities and towns of the provinces, however 
 remote from Portsmouth or from the Midland 
 Counties they might be. Lucy coincided with 
 tlifse views; and it was resolved to lose no 
 time in carrying their project into execution. 
 When their minds w* '-e thus made up, they 
 both became more tranquil ; and Frederick, 
 indeed, soor disi)layed such an elevation of 
 8r)irits and talked so hopefully of the future, 
 that his aifectionate wife was speedily led to 
 contemplate with a real pleasure the intended 
 change in tlieii jL.^._nstances. 
 
 Tlic next evening was decided upon as the 
 one on wlii(di the flight was to be accomplished. 
 Accordingly, on the following day after the 
 resolve was thus sei'iously and (leliberately 
 come to, Lucy pi'oceeded to the slopseller’s, 
 gave back such work as she had in hand, and 
 received whatsoever little money was due to 
 her, together with the live pounds which had 
 reniaine<l ii\ iiis hands as dc|)osit. It was not/ 
 necessary to <!xpeiid any of her money in plain 
 clot hits lor her husband — inasmuch as he was 
 Well ju'ovided with garments when they had 
 quitted Cai-lisle, and his Sunday suit ha<l re- 
 W*tti7.e<l -iniMi then carefully stowed away in 
 tone of Ler boxes. This suit she now brouglit 
 
 forth — brushed it carefully — and felt a thrill 
 of pleasure at the thought t.hat it was the em- 
 blem of that freedom which he was aiiout U> 
 seek, in conti'a-distinction to the uniform whicli, 
 as the badge of slavery, he was about to put 
 off. To her landlord and landlady an intima- 
 tion was given that circumstances had trans- 
 pired which rendered her removal neciissarv ; 
 and as she had merely hired her room by tlie 
 week, it was but a week’s rent which ."he had 
 to sacrifice through the brevity of this notice. 
 When Fredei’ick made his appearance at the 
 usual hour, she at once saw by his looks that 
 his purpose continued the same ; and she 
 quickly gave him to understand that her own 
 preparations wei‘e complete. 
 
 When dusk arrived, Frederick went back to 
 the barracks to ap[)ear at the evening muster: 
 and Lucy then calle<l in a porter, who took her 
 boxes down to the Point — a famous embarka- 
 tion place at Portsmouth. She entered a 
 wherry, with her little Frederiek, and, the lug- 
 gage being put in, she was speedily rowed 
 across to Gosport, which is on the o])posite side 
 of the bay forming i’ortsmouth harbor. There 
 she proceeded to a public-house which her hus- 
 band had named to her ; and in about half-an 
 hour he joined her at t his rendezvous. liis suit 
 of plain clothes ha<l been kept out of her boxes, 
 and was done up in a separate [>arcel ready for 
 immediate use. lie took it and went away, it 
 being jireviously agreed that the next place of 
 meeting should be at tlie coach-ofhee in about 
 an hour, which would make it half-past ten 
 o’clock, when a night-stage left for London. 
 During his absence, Lucy proceeded to the office 
 and secured two places on the outside of the 
 vehicle: for as it was a beautiful night and the 
 weather was exceedingly warm, they had re- 
 solved to travel thus in order to eeonomise 
 their funds as much as possible. Kothing was 
 demanded for little Freddy, as he would sit 
 upon his parents’ knees by turns. 
 
 Meanwhile Frederick Lonsdale had pro- 
 ceeded along the shore of the harbor to a very 
 secluded spot, and there he changed his clothes. 
 His uniform he wrapped up in a bundle, to- 
 gether with a large stone to sink it ; and then 
 threw it into the water. At the ap 2 )ointed 
 time he met Lucy at the coach-office. They 
 took their places, little Freddy being weff 
 wrapped up — the vehicle started — and the 
 lights of Gosport were soon left far behind 
 
 Our travellers reached London, without any 
 misadventure, soon after seven in the morning; 
 and in the course of the day they were installed 
 in a comfortable little lodging in the neighbor 
 hood of Finsbury Square. Thus was success- 
 fully acconq)lished Frederick Lonsdale’s socond 
 desertion from his regiment. 
 
 CIIAITER XXII. 
 
 THE deserter’s progress. 
 
 Ik we were to enter into details respect! !5g thi* 
 new e[)oeh in the career of our hero and hero- 
 ine, it would be but a work of supererogatioa 
 in respect to what had passed during the oro» 
 
THE SOI.DIER’S "W IFK 
 
 •7 
 
 perous portion of their residence at Carlisle. 
 Ihcy now adopted the fictitious name of Rob- 
 inson, under which Frederick opened a little 
 Bcliool, while Lucy again took in needlework. 
 The}' endured iic embarrassments in a ];)ecuuiary 
 Reuse, and experienced but a small amount of 
 np-hill work in establishing their new position. 
 The frank-hearted unassuming manners of 
 Frederick won him the confidence of the ])a- 
 rents of hi.s pupils ; while the modesty and amia- 
 bility, together with the great beauty of his 
 wife, engaged the interest of those ladies who, 
 in Finsbury Square and its neighborhood, en- 
 trusted her with work. At first they did not 
 stir out more than was absolutely necessary for 
 the purpose of exercise, and to call on their 
 patrons and patronesses ; for Frederick had not 
 failed to read in the newspapers the otter of a 
 reward for his apprehension as a deserter, to- 
 gether with a minute description of his per- 
 sonal appearance. But inasmuch as when he 
 had quitted the regiment his hair was cropped 
 short and he wore whiskers, he had immediate- 
 ly on Ills arrival in London, shaven ott' the 
 whispers — and as in a few weeks his hair grew 
 long, these little changes helped to destroy his 
 identity with the too truthful description given 
 in the advertisement. Such advertisements 
 seldom meet the eyes of those who are not more 
 or less concerned in looking for them ; and thus, 
 in the neighborhood where the Lonsdales had 
 taken up their quarters, there was not a soul 
 who entertained the slightest suspicion at all 
 prejudicial to our hero’s interests. 
 
 Time wore on — weeks swelled into months, 
 months swelled into years, and thus did three 
 of those growing years pao* away from the date 
 of Frederick’s second desertion, lie was now 
 twenty -eight ; Lucy was twenty-six, and she 
 ippeared to be in all the bloom of ripe woman- 
 nood’s glorious beauty, llei charms had ex- 
 panded into a certain degree of einhonpoiut, 
 which, without at all marring the admirable 
 Bymmetry of her proportions, rendered her 
 not merely a handsome but also a very fine 
 woman. Little Frederick, now nearly five 
 years old, was a thriving and beautiful boy, 
 combining in his countenance, so far as a child 
 of that age could, the manly features of his 
 father with the more delicate traits and softly 
 ingenuous looks of his mother. A finer couple, 
 with a finer pledge of their affection, was not 
 \a> be found throughout the whole neighbor- 
 hood where they lived. 
 
 In a pecuniary sense they were prosperous. 
 They now occupied a small house for which 
 they obtained a lease : they had purchased 
 their own furniture — the school consisted of 
 numerous day-pupils — and Lucy was not com- 
 pelled to toil with her needle more than she 
 chose. Indeed, Frederick would not permit 
 her to devote to her work as much time as if 
 left to her own inclination she would have 
 done: but he often said as he embraced her 
 affectionately, “ I never shall forget, dearest 
 Lucy, that when we were at Portsmouth, all 
 the toil fell to your share, and I could do no- 
 thing to assist, in contributing to our little 
 resources then. But now it is different — and 
 you must perry iny labors to be the chief 
 
 source of our maintenance. I love those beau 
 tiful eyes too much to per, dt you to stand the 
 chance of dimming their h -itre by too seduloua 
 an attention to your needle, and tlierefore you 
 must not do more than will contribute to your 
 amusement.” 
 
 The marriage-life has never beheld so bright 
 and beautiful an example of tender, earnest 
 and devoted love as that which subsisted be- 
 tween Frederick and Lucy. Six yeai's had 
 they now been united in matrimonial bonds: 
 but these bonds were silken ones which they 
 were joyful and proud to wear ; or they might 
 even more properly be called links of the 
 choicest and sweetest flowers festooning around 
 their hearts. During these six years not a 
 harsh word, far less an angry one — not a dark 
 look, far less V wrathful one — had ever passed 
 between them. Kot only in the fulness of their 
 love, but also the strange and eventful circum- 
 stances of their married life, did they feel them- 
 selves so bound up the one with the other, that 
 all their tastes, their thoughts, and their expe- 
 riences constituted a remarkable identity. 
 Frederick’s home being so completely happy, 
 and the felicity that his beautiful wife shed 
 around her being so unalloyed, he never wished 
 to seek for amusement or recreation elsewhere : 
 he never thought of pursuing a pleasure in 
 which she could not share. Their recreationa, 
 too, were of a domestic character. They 
 walked out together invariably accompanied 
 by their beloved and only child; and of an 
 evening Frederick woold sit reading aloud to 
 his wife while she was engaged with her needle 
 Or else she would help little Frederick to pre- 
 pare his lessons for the morrow, while her hus- 
 band taught himself French and Latin, in both 
 of which languages he was acquiring a rapid 
 proficiency. They had but few friends with 
 whom they were on visiting footing ; for these 
 had been selected with care and discrimination : 
 but occasionally did they receive those friende 
 at their house to form a little evening party ; 
 and occasion.ally too did the Lonsdales visit 
 them in a similar manner. Thus did time pass 
 on ; and were it not that they both alike knew 
 that in the chapter of accidents there was al- 
 ways the risk of the one dread discovery being 
 made, they would have experienced a happine:^ 
 as complete as mortals could possibly know. 
 It must not however be thought that the feli- 
 city they did enjoy was very seriously troubled 
 by that apprehension ; for it is a characteristic 
 of human nature to become confiding and 
 trustful in that position which by the lapse 
 of time appears to have settled its basis oa 
 security. 
 
 Lonsdale had not failed to keep an eye upoa 
 those newspapers which specially recorded the 
 movements of the army. The regiment to 
 which he properly belonged had recently beea 
 removed frem Portsmouth to Manchester — a 
 place that was still farther remote from Lonr 
 don. Colonel Wyndham still remained in com- 
 mand ; and Gerald Redburn had risen to the 
 rank of Captain — as a matter of course by pur- 
 chase; while poor old Lieutenant Heathcota 
 remained a lieutenant still. Mr. Scott con- 
 tinued tc officiate as Adjutant; but Captaia 
 
TIIE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 Courtenay liad “8ol<r out” some eight or ten I 
 months alter Frederick’s desertion. Our here 
 bad little doul t that tlie captain liad been at 
 length driven by his extravagance to tliis stei). 
 Such were the j)artieiilars he liad gleaned from 
 time to time. In respect to Lucy’s father no 
 information had been obtained; and it was not 
 tlierefore known whether he was alive or dead. 
 Our heroine often thought to herself that it 
 would bo a source of satisfaction to communi- 
 cate with him: but this she dared not do. A 
 letter, although posted from any town distant 
 from London, might, if her father were ran- 
 corously disposed towards hei- husband, lead to 
 researches being made; and therefore she was 
 coun)clled to remain |>erfcctly (piiet in this I'e- 
 62 )ecb. As for Dates the village-barber, and 
 everybody else at Oakleigh with whom they 
 were aeipiainted, or of whom they had any 
 reason to think about, the J^oiisdales were 
 ec^uall}’ in the dark coucerniiig them and their 
 ati'airs. 
 
 One da}", at the expiration of the three years 
 during which our little family had now been 
 settled in London, Fi’ederick had some business 
 to transact in Aldei’sgate ^^treet with the father 
 of one of his })Upils; and on returning from 
 that house he [)assed through the hall of the 
 General Fost-Uttice in St. iMartin’s-le-Gi’and, 
 which (for the benetit of country readers un- 
 ac(|uainted with London] we uiay as well ob- 
 serve constitutes a thoroughfare for those who 
 choose to avail themselves of it. Being in the 
 direction which Lonsdale had to pursue on his 
 way homeward, he was passing through the 
 General Bost-Gffice in the manner described, 
 when an ejaculation of surprise uttered near 
 him, caused him to turn cfuickly ; and to his 
 inexpressible horror and dismay he found him- 
 self confronted by the very man whom last of 
 all on the face of the earth he would have 
 chosen to encounter. This was Bates. If a 
 hideous re[)tile had abruptly sprung up before 
 him — if all in a moment he had beheld a tiger 
 preparing to s])ring at him — or if a yawning 
 gulf had suddenly opened beneath his feet, and 
 he had felt the ground upon the brink giving 
 way under him — the unhappy man could not 
 have fallen back with a more dread recoil. 
 Ruin ap[)eared to look him in the face at that 
 Instant : frightful visions of imminent evil swept 
 like a hurricane through his mind; the aspect 
 of the world changed to his view more sud- 
 denly than the shifting scene of a theatre. All 
 in an instant had he stepped fi'om the confi- 
 dence of secui-ity to the edge of an abyss, into 
 which he felt a remorseless haml was drag- 
 ging him down. The images of Lucy and his 
 child I'ose uj) befoi’e him with despair ])ictiired 
 upon their countenances. In shoi-t, the rajiid 
 ami vai'ied agonies which he expei'ieiieed at 
 that inonient, and all the intensities of which 
 were concentrated into the space of that mo- 
 ment, were as fright, ful and as apiialling as the 
 tbonolits which swiajp through the lirain of the 
 dr-owning man, wln-n in’ the last agony of the 
 mortal htrngoh! his mental looks revei-t to 
 that hoiiKi which lu! hIiuII m-ver IxthoM again! 
 
 Mr. Bales was but vci-y little altered in any 
 rettpoct; he was the same thin, miserable-look- 
 
 ing, half-starved wretcli, in thr*Mul bnre ftp 
 parel, that he had always been m linnsdale’i 
 i-ccolleetion. 11c wore a seedy black coat, very 
 short in the sleeves, and leaving an int,<‘i-val of 
 wrist between the cuff and t,hc old well-worn 
 black kid gloves, at the t,i])s of which the fin- 
 gers ]>eep«*d our. ills hat, of a very i-usty a[>- 
 peai-ance, seemed as if it had been sat upon, 
 and then Srpiee/.ed out again into as shapely an 
 appearance as it could be made to assume aft«r 
 the ci-ushing process: his linen was vru-y dii-ty 
 — his black trousei-s, well woi-n at the kneep 
 and uncomnioidy dingy, were much too short 
 for him, dis[)laying dirty white stockings — ami 
 his shoes seemed jierfectly innocent of blacking. 
 Such was his aspect; and he stoml gazing with 
 a sort of half-familiar half-astonishe<i leer upon 
 the unfortunate man who ali-eady felt that he 
 was again doomed to be the wretch’s victim. 
 
 But upon this occasion Bates seemed to feel 
 that he could not possibly address Lonsdale in 
 those terms of assumed friendliness which be 
 had adopted when they met at Carlisle. That 
 Frederick was again well-to-do in the world, 
 was sulHciently indicated by his personal a{>- 
 pearanee ; and that the barber intended to turn 
 this circumstance to his own advantage, the 
 reader has already guessed. But the villaiu 
 felt tliat this time the extortion must be ao- 
 com[)lished with undisguised etfrontery and 
 open ruffianism, and not by means <.>f the as- 
 sumption of a friendly asi)ect. 
 
 “i know — 1 feel — that you desire to speak to 
 me,” said Lonsdale, breaking silence as soon as 
 he had recovered something like presence of 
 mind : “ but we cannot speak here. Moreover, 
 it may perhaps better suit your own purposes,” 
 he added bitterly, “ if you do not mention my 
 name in this place.” 
 
 “Lead on, then.” said Bates, half-flippantly, 
 half-doggedly ; “ and 1 will follow.” 
 
 They passed out of the Post Office, and Frede- 
 rick stopped at the door of the nearest public- 
 house. 
 
 “No — this won’t do,” said Bates. “I meat, 
 to go home with you. Bo lead the way wher- 
 ever you live.” 
 
 “No,” replied Lonsdale firmly; “you shall 
 not coerce me thus. Whatever may now pass 
 between us, can as well take place here as else- 
 where.” ■ 
 
 “But I say it shan’t though,” rejoined Batea^ 
 in a tone and manner expressive of implacable 
 resoKe. “How do I know in what circum- 
 stances you are ? I mean to judge for mj'self^ 
 and shall then be able to decide what you can 
 afford to make it worth my while to hold my 
 tongue. Bo now lead on.” 
 
 “But if I refuse?” asked Frederick: and then 
 he bit his li[) almost till the blood came, to keep 
 down the fury of those feelings which were agi- 
 tating within him. 
 
 I’here goes a policeman,” was Bates’s 
 prompt answer: “and I can give you intochargl^ 
 
 “ You need not name it,” interrupted Frede- 
 rick bitterly. “But wherefore this terrible 
 persecution on your part? What harm have I 
 1 ‘ver done to you? while, on the ot.her hand, 
 have you not worked me miseries enough 
 
THE SJLDIER’P WIFR 
 
 80 
 
 “C<»n e, I don’t want to stand bandying wor .13 
 k«r5. It suits my purp ose to go with you to 
 your home, where v^er it is ; and therefoie you 
 are only wasting time and exciting yourjelf for 
 notliing.” 
 
 “Aie you not aware — do you not fe -l, that 
 there must be some one at my house who will 
 shrink in horror fror^ your p)resence?” — and 
 Lonsdale spoke in a low deep voice, as he fixed 
 his eyes earnestly upon the sinister countenance 
 of the barber. 
 
 “Uh, 1 will risk all that!” he exclaimed. 
 
 “But wherefore plunge a dagger into the 
 heart of an amiable and excellent woman who 
 never injured you? 3Ir. Bates, I beseech — 1 
 implore — I conjure you to spare her, if you will 
 not spare me'’’ 
 
 “1 tell you again it’s all nonsense to go on 
 like this. You humbugged me at Carlisle ” 
 
 “ I gave you all my savings,” ejaculated 
 Frederick in mingled anguish and rage. 
 
 “Your savings indeed! Why, you was in a 
 position to have given me double. Do you 
 think I didn’t learn that after^\■ards ? The 
 waiter at the public-house told me that Mr. 
 Mortimer — for that's the name you went by — 
 was very comfortably otf: and so, as you only 
 gave me tlie beggarly fifty pounds that 1 got 
 into trouble about, and did not even oiler me a 
 guinea or two to pay my expenses liome, 1 was 
 resolved to punish your meanness.” 
 
 “This is but a wretched excuse indeed for 
 your treachery in betraying me for the reward 
 ofi'ered at the {fine — and Fi-ederick spoke with 
 a bitterness that he could not control, and which 
 indicated at the moment that his feelings ren- 
 dered him reckless of eonsevpuences. 
 
 “iS'ow, if we attract a crowd by standing 
 heie in altercation in the broad daylight,” said 
 Bates, “ it will be entirely your fault. Once 
 more I tell you to lead on — or else I will 
 knock the thing on the head at once by giving 
 you into charge.” 
 
 “Charge — what about giving in charge?” 
 demanded the gruff tones of a policeman, who 
 at the instant issued from the public-house, 
 near the door of which the colloquy was taking 
 place. 
 
 “ Come with tne,” said Lonsdale, in a voice 
 trembling with excitement, as he threw a look 
 of entreaty blended with despair, upon the 
 barber. 
 
 “Oh!” exclaimed this individual, turning to 
 the police constable, “it’s only a matter of 
 conversation between this gentleman and me. 
 There’s no giving in charge in the question.” 
 
 “Beg pardon, sir,” said the constable, toucli- 
 mg his hat to Lonsdale, who had all the ap- 
 pearance of a gentleman ; and the officer went 
 on his way. 
 
 “JNow, 3 ’ou won’t run that risk again, I 
 know ” said the barber, witli impudent etl'ron- 
 tery. “So lend on without any more ado.” 
 
 Fieaerick had indeed received a mortal 
 fright : for it had appeared tc him at one 
 moment that the fangs of the law were about 
 to clutcli him in their grasp. Wretched and 
 miserable — with frenzy in his brain and anguish 
 in his heart — almost wishing that the earth 
 would open and swallow him up — he led the 
 
 way towards his home — that home which h« 
 had left invested with happiness an hour back, 
 but into the bosom of which he was about to 
 return accompanied b}' tlie remorseless source 
 . f sorrow and desolation 1 
 
 “This meeting with you comes amazing 
 hand^’,” said Bates, as the}' proceeded along the 
 street together; for the fellow never could help 
 indulging in his garrulous propensit}’ wheneve, 
 he had the opportunity. “Ihe fact is, 1 hav* 
 got into some more trouble with that cursed 
 post-office at Oakleigh, and have now been 
 ordered up to London to see die Postmastei 
 Secretary anc "“ike if ill right with him if I 
 can. There s -i regulai dead set at (lakleighto 
 ruin me ; but I’ll be hanged if the}^ will prevail 
 though, as long as Tve got such a friend in 
 3 ’ou — and the barber laughed in that subdued 
 chuckling sardonic manner which sounds upon 
 the ear like the mockeiy of fiends. 
 
 Lonsdale made no observation : his mind was 
 tortured with the direst anguish at the idea of 
 the horrible blow whidi in a few minutes 
 would be given to his beloved wife's hapj)ines8. 
 
 “You needn’t make yourself miserable,” re- 
 sumed Bates : “ for if you come down handsome 
 and don’t show no meanness this time, 1 won’t 
 hurt 3 'ou. 1 really was sorry to hear that j-ou 
 
 got such a precious flogging as you did ” 
 
 “By the living God!” ejaculated Lonsdale, 
 suddenly stopping and turning short round upon 
 the barber, who for the moment recoiled in 
 affright ; “ if you remind me of that, 1 shall no 
 longer be master of m^'self. Fiend ! devil ! — the 
 scars cover ni}' back — the scars of that punish- 
 ment which was inflicted through you!" — and 
 as Lonsdale thus spoke, his countenance was 
 convulsed and his e 3 ’es flashed fire. 
 
 “ Well, I won’t sa}' no more upon the subject,” 
 exclaimed the bai-ber, recovering his presence 
 of mind. “ But lead on — the people are already 
 staring at us as they pass.” 
 
 Lonsdale saw that it was so ; and composing 
 his excited and irritated feelings as well as he 
 was able, he continued his wa}' homeward, fol- 
 lowed b}' the villain whom he longed to clutch 
 b}' the throat, hurl into the gutter, and trample 
 under foot. 
 
 The two ground-floor apartments of Lons- 
 dale’s house had been thrown into one to form 
 the school-room ; and Luc}' ha]ipened to be in 
 there at the time when her husband passed the 
 window followed b}^ Bates. It was a half-holi- 
 da}' for the bo 3 's, and therefore no scholars wore 
 assembled on the occasion ; but little Freddy 
 was playing about in the school-room. Tbe 
 instant Luc}' beheld that man, she felt as il 
 struck with a sudden blow cf a hammer; and 
 she staggered back a pace or two ere she could 
 recover herself. Not a sound, not a murmur 
 escaped her lii)s: she was stricken with con- 
 sternation: it seemed as if an ice-bolt had pene- 
 trated her heart; and all the color which health 
 and happiness had brought back to her bloom 
 ing cheeks, fle«^ m a moment, leaving a dead 
 i»,animate pallor oehind. Her husband’s knock 
 at the front door stai-tled her as it were from 
 this stupor: she felt the blood rushing back to 
 her heart with a painful stinging sensation; 
 and the thought Lustautaueoualy occuxied t« 
 
Till SOLDIERS WIFE 
 
 »er tliat thin was the crisis rlemanding tlie cxer- 
 jise of all her fortitude. The sorvaiit-*^irl wlioiii 
 slie kept, oj)ene(l the front door; and Lucy is- 
 euing out of the sclu>ol-r(»oiii, hade tlie tuaid 
 take care of little Frederick, while she went up- 
 stairs with her hushaiid aiul the visitor. 
 
 The glance which Fre<lerick and his wife 
 exchanged, was one expressive of ineffable 
 feelings — feelings that would indeed have 
 indescribable in words even if they ha<l s[)oken ; 
 but they said nothing. Lucy led the way up 
 to the neatly furnished parlor; and Bates, as he 
 followed next, could not hel[) thinking to liiin- 
 self what a splendid creature Mrs. Lonsdale had 
 become. Six years had elaj)sed since he last 
 saw her; and then she was a haiulsoin« and 
 finely formed damsel; now she was the superb 
 woman. 
 
 When the three gained the parlor, Bates sat 
 himself down; and j)utting his old battered hat 
 upon the door, he looked about him as if he 
 were a broker taking stock of a place into which 
 he had just put a seizure. 
 
 Frederick availed himself of the opportunity 
 while the man was thus engaged, to take Lucy 
 aside ; and in a (ptick whispering voice, he said, 
 “The fellow will carry his extortion to the ut- 
 most limit. But my mind is made up. What 
 we have earned by our industry, we will not 
 part with to this villain. 1 will not beggar 
 m 3 ^self to take away the bread from you and 
 my child. No, Lucy ; by heaven I would sooner 
 ret'urn to m}^ regiment! They- can but give me 
 again what I have had before:” — and these last 
 words were uttered bitterly'. 
 
 “ Now then, no whispering !” exclaimed 
 .Bates: “it isn’t polite, and it looks suspicious.” 
 
 “Mr. Bates,” said Lonsdale, turning sharply’ 
 round towards him, with arms folde.l across his 
 chest and with a re.solute air, “1 may’ be a de- 
 serter — I may be in y’our power — and in live 
 minutes I may be dragged away’ hence by’ the 
 police. But nevertheless, I am the master here 
 tor the present; and if y’ou dare speak in that 
 iinpertinent tone again, I will kick you out of 
 the house, no matter what the consequences 
 may be.” 
 
 “ Do not — do not irritate him, my’ dearest 
 hu-sband !” said Lucy, catching Frederick by 
 the aian, and speaking in a rapid whisper over 
 his shoulder. “ It will do no good, it is for 
 your sake 1 counsel y’Ou, my own dear, dear 
 Lusband !” 
 
 Lons'lale threw upon his wife a look of grati- 
 tude and tenderne.ss, and then placed a cha*r 
 for her to sit down, at the same time taking 
 one himself. 
 
 “ You seem inclined to ride it with liigh 
 hand. Master Ijonsdalc,” observed Bates, who 
 for a moii'ient had been staggered am' confused 
 by the manner in which he was addressed: “ but 
 H won’t do.” 
 
 “Now, what do you require of me?” inter- 
 rujited Lonsdale curtly and resolutely. “Of 
 Wiurse, it is mon<!y. Name your demand.” 
 
 “Well, I am not exactly pi'cpared to state a 
 particular sum,” saifl t.hc barber. “'I'his is a 
 lix-rooin house, besides kil.ehcn and washus; 
 *nd HO I suppose alanit forty pound a-y<*ur l•ent, 
 oouBidcring its situatiou. It’s well furnished 
 
 too — quite as well as the doctor’s at Ofikleig.i— 
 almost as good as Mr. Arden’s. Wdl, | Hup- 
 pose 1 mu.st set you down as at henst t wo him 
 di’eil a-y’ear lolks; and tlien reckoning savings, 
 you can’t have less than a year’s ineome put 
 by. So hand us over two hundred |>(yuiids, and 
 you may consider that you are as safe as if you 
 had got your «lischarge from the regiment.’’^ 
 
 Now this sum was ju.st dituble as much ai 
 what the Jjonsdales had I’cnlly saved up: for 
 they had pui-chased their furniture ami the 
 lease ot the house ; and thus their resoui'ces had 
 been much enci'oached upon. But even that 
 jamount of one hundred pounds Frederick waa 
 resolved not to part with. 
 
 “ In the first place,” he said, still cold, firm, 
 and resolute, “1 only po.ssess one-liaif of what 
 you demand: and in the second jilace 1 am re- 
 solved sooner to risk or encounter anything 
 than plunder my’ wife and child to mini.ster to 
 your extortioii-s.” 
 
 “1 won’t bate one farthing of the two hun- 
 dred pounds,” said the barber: “but if you like 
 to give me half now and half in a week, I don't 
 mind waiting in London for it.” 
 
 “1 will do nothing of the sort,” replied Lons- 
 dale. “Ami now perform your worst.” 
 
 “Then what will you do?” asked Bates, fear- 
 ful that he had perhaps gone too far. 
 
 “You ask me what 1 will do,” replied Frede- 
 rick, “which means, to what extent 1 will sulfer 
 my’self to be plundered by you? Well, 1 will 
 do this ” 
 
 “Make it liberal, mind!” interjected Bates. 
 
 “ If you delivered me up to the authorities,” 
 continued Frederick, waving his hand impa- 
 tiently’ at the interruption, “ you would obtain 
 twenty’ pound-s, which is the reward oll'ered for 
 my apprehension: but were I to give you two 
 hundred, or two thousand pounds this moment, 
 you woidd to-morrow betray’ me all the same 
 for the sake of the twenty. The Jud is Iscariot 
 of ])rivate life will not scruple to clutch the 
 silver pieces of blood-money’. Now then, I tell 
 you what I will do. I will give y’ou at once 
 the twenty’ pounds which you would get by 
 betraying me ; and every’ year so long as I re 
 main undiscovered and unmolested, I will faith 
 fully and jmnctually’ remit y’ou tiventy pounds, 
 so that it will be y’our interest to gu.arantee my 
 safety’.” 
 
 “It won’t do. Master Lonsdale!” exclaimed 
 the barber. “ Long before the first year ex- 
 pired, y’ou would be off somewhere else, and I 
 might whistle for my second twenty’ pounds 
 till accident threw me in y’our way’ again. No 
 — I will have the hundred pounds y’ou say’ y*ca 
 have got: and then you can send me the twenty 
 jiounds of hush-money every’ year if you like, 
 'i’hem’s my’ terms.” • 
 
 “And I do not agree to tliem,” replied Frede- 
 rick resolutely’: for he saw that the barber had 
 become less arrogant and overbearing than h« 
 was when he first entered the house. 
 
 “ Come, Mrs. Ijonsdale, juit in a woi\d to pre- 
 vent y’our husband from making a fool of him- 
 self ” ^ t 
 
 “ Do not dare to address my’ wife, 8irl” ia 
 terrupted Fi’cdei’ick indignantly: “and take 
 caro of the words that you utter — for 1 can tell 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 91 
 
 ron that I am in no mood to be trifled with. 
 You think that I utu a desperate man, and you 
 are rigiit : but I am desperate only in this — 
 that if 1 go back to niy regiment to be tortured, 
 maltreated, and tyrannized over, I sball at least 
 have the consolation of knowing that my wife 
 and child are beyond the reach of want; and 
 even if I should die under that self-same torture, 
 they will not be left penniless in the world. 
 Now do you understand that I am (piite des- 
 perate to dare everything rather than impove- 
 risl' them to satisfy your villanous rajiacityi” 
 
 Lucy could not help gazing with admiration 
 upon her husband as he thus spoke ; and though 
 she would willingly — Oh ! so readily, have 
 resigned every farthing they possessed, and 
 even dismantled tlie house from top to bottom 
 to ensure his safety by pacifying the barber — 
 yet she could not utter a word deprecative of ' 
 the noble resolution and lofty courage which 
 Frederick now displayed. 
 
 “ Well, if my terms ain’t accepted,” said Bates, ' 
 resolved to see what effect a renewed menace ’ 
 would produce, “ I shall know how to act — . 
 and rising from his seat, he approached the < 
 door. 
 
 “For heaven’s sake suffer him not to depart!” ; 
 whisi)ered Lucy, with a look of agony at her 
 husband. 
 
 “He will not go, dearest,” replied Frederick, 
 in the same low and hurried voice. ] 
 
 “ One word more,” said Bates. “It does 
 seem rather hard, perhaps, to take all your j 
 savings away; and if you’ve only one hundred 
 — why it’s not much. Come, I’ll be reasonable. : 
 Give me fifty and let the arrangement for ' 
 twenty pounds a year stand good.” 
 
 “You had better do it,” whispered Lucy. ^ 
 “Let us be rid of the dreadful man at once.” 
 
 “You wish it — and it shall be done,” re- 
 joined her husband: then turning his eyes 
 towards the barber, he said, “Since I have 
 succeeded in rendering you thus comparatively 
 modern -c in your terms I agree to them.” 
 
 Thus speaking he made a sign for Luc}’^ to 
 go and fetch the money; and after she had left 
 the room. Bates observed, “ Don’t you mean to 
 ask me to take a little refreshment — a drop of 
 wine, or spirits, or what not?” 
 
 “ 1 have none in the house,” replied Frede- 
 rick, “Yon surely can regale yourself to your 
 heart’s content in a few minutes, when you 
 take your departure with my money in your 
 pocket.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes — I can wait. I suppose you haven’t 
 hear 1 from 3mnder lately?” — and lie jerked his 
 humb over his shoulder. 
 
 “ Do you allude to Oakleigh ? You can very 
 ^ sll in agine that we have no correspondence 
 there. Is Mr. Davis still in his former situa- 
 tion ? ’ 
 
 “ What! hav’n’t you heard, then ?” ejaculated 
 the barber. “Well, I Aave got a bit of news 
 to tell jmu ! Davis has married again. He 
 hiis been married this eighteen months and 
 more; and a very nice match too — one of 
 CVjiycinth’s daughters. Miss Kitty/ — you re- 
 member her — the sprightliest and larkingest 
 of the whole lot. Not that I mean tc '^v any^ 
 harm of her: but I should think that she is 
 2 
 
 rayther too gay, and certainly a good deal too 
 3’oung for old Beter Davis. And between you 
 and me, I think he already repents it: for no 
 looks uncominon glum. And she is so extrava- 
 gant — dresses out finer than ever! Ther'‘’s 
 scarce a day passes that the carrier doesn't 
 bring parcels for Mrs. I)avis ; and 1 ha})pen 
 know,” added Bates, “that she doesn’t pay her 
 linendrapeiy and millinery bills at Middleton 
 very regular.” 
 
 Mr. Bates had indeed peeuliar facilities for 
 oblaining this information, inasmuch as a larg^ 
 poHion of the correspondence passing throiiirh 
 his hands in Ids capacity of postmaster, was 
 regularly and unscrupulously violated by him. 
 
 “And so Mr. Davis is married again?” said 
 Lonsdale, in a musing man«er and not for tne 
 purpose of encouraging an^’thing like familiar 
 conversation with the barber. “Hush! my 
 wife is coming.” 
 
 Lucy re-appeared, and presented to her hus- 
 band the money which she had been to fetch. 
 Lonsdale counted it down upon the table; and 
 Bates, with an air of triumph and satisfaction, 
 consigned it to his pocket. 
 
 “ 1 do not ask 3 011,” sand our hero, “ to keep 
 3*our word — because 1 am well aware that you 
 will oul3' do so if it suits 3'our purpose. But 
 I think that 3’ou will be sufficiently mindful of 
 3'our own interest as to compreliend that a 
 regularH [)aid pension of twent3' pounds a-3’ear, 
 will be better than the same sum obtained once 
 for all, and as a reward for betra3'ing me.” 
 
 “You keep your agreement, and I shall keep 
 mine. And now good b3'e ” — with which words 
 Bates took his departure. 
 
 When he was gone the hu-sband and wife 
 experienced considerable relief ; and Lucy, 
 throwing her arms about Frederick’s neck, said 
 to him, “Now, my dear husband, what are wo 
 to do? Have 3-011 still a feeling of confidenco 
 in your security- ? will y-ou trust yourself to this 
 man ?” 
 
 “No, dearest — ten thousand times no!” re- 
 turned Lonsdale. “Throughout my- negotia- 
 tion with him 1 had a certain object in view.’* 
 
 “ I was convinced of it, Frederick — I, who 
 can read your thoughts so easily, felt certain 
 that you were revolving some ulterior plan in 
 your mind. Oh! hesitate not to explain it to 
 me, w-hatever it may- be. Our home must b# 
 broken up again — and we must go elsewhere. 
 Is it not so? But for that I am prepared. 
 Indeed, I wish it — I desire it.” 
 
 “ Yes, dearest Lucy — that is the course which 
 we must adopt; and it was for this reason 1 
 was determined not to be plundered of all our 
 resoui-ce.s. I know that man well : I can now 
 follow all the tortuous ways and crooked chan- 
 nels of his thoughts. So long as the money- of 
 which he has just robbed us lasts, he will leave 
 us unmolested ; for he flatters himself that I 
 was sincere in offering him the annual pension 
 — Heaven pardon me the falsehood and du- 
 plicity that I practised! — but still such di»- 
 shnuhition and deceit were not crimes, when 
 brought to bear in self-defence against stich a 
 villain!” 
 
 “No, Frederick — yo\i cannot reproach your- 
 self. I understand the object y-ou had ia view: 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 ft 
 
 ft was to pain time. Our perscfuitor will leave 
 un unmolested, with the idea that as you otler- 
 him the pension you ai-e certain to remain 
 tiere in this neighborhood and in this house.” 
 
 ** And into that belief 1 have evidently lulled 
 him, and he will leave us unmolested for the 
 present, thinking that he has only got to write 
 or come at any time in order to practise a fresh 
 extortion. Now, Lucy, cheer your spirits and 
 gather up your courage; for we will take a 
 step that shall baffle him and set at defiance 
 all our other enemies.” 
 
 “Oh, your words fill my heart with joy!” 
 exclaimed Lucy, the color returning to her 
 eneeks. “What do you propose, Frederick?” 
 
 “We will rei)alr to France,” responded our 
 hero. “I understand that there are numbers 
 of English resident in Calais, Boulogne, and 
 particularly in Paris: and in one of those places 
 will we settle. You see, dearest, that whcnevei' 
 we are left to the exertions of our own honest 
 industry, we invariably thrive ; we are not 
 even compelled to surmount diiUculties in es- 
 tablishing ourselves: heaven pros|)ers us, if vile 
 man would leave us unmolested. In France 
 we shall be safe.” 
 
 : “Oh! this resolve which voti have taken, 
 fills my heart with the briglitest ho]ies,” cried | 
 Lucy, joy dancing in her eyes. “ Perha]>s, dear 
 Frederick, it was all for tlie best that this man 
 sliould have come to us to-day ? (Otherwise, 
 we might have lingered on here, lulled into a 
 false security, xintil accident might sooner or 
 later have thrown 3'’ou in the wa}" of some one 
 who, recognising you, would not have been 
 purchaseable with money, but would have sur- 
 rendered ^mu up to your enemies.” 
 
 “ Yes, dearest Lucy — all things considered 
 the mone^" from which we have just parted, will 
 perhaps prove to have been expended for a good 
 purpose.” 
 
 Lonsdale now proceeded to inform his wife 
 that her father had married again ; but he diil 
 not choose to pain her by the intelligence which 
 Mr, Bates had given him respecting the new 
 Mrs. Davis’s extravagant habits, and the hint 
 he had thrown out at the bailiiFs mournful 
 looks, 
 
 “ If this step will conduce to my father’s hap- 
 piness,” said Lucy, “I am rejoiced that he has 
 taken it. When once we are in France, dear 
 Frederick, and be^mnd the reach of dangei-, 
 3’ou will permit me to write to him and be- 
 seech that he will witlnlraw those dreadful 
 words he uttered against me more than three 
 years ago at Portsmouth. For perhaps, now 
 iJiat he feels his home most lonely, and in the 
 ]>ossession of a wife misses not his daughter, 
 kis heai-t will relent.” 
 
 “Certainly, dear Lucy, you shall write to 
 your father the momcJit we an* sch.tled in 
 krance. It would rejoice me unfciguedly that 
 he slnmhl be touched by your filial conduct, 
 and be move<l to reply to yon in a kiml spirit.” 
 
 The Lonsilales, having made up their minds 
 to h-ave England, set about, tiunr preparations 
 ol once. They did not enter upon this task 
 with very [>aiiiful fetrlings; lot there; was hope 
 in tlodr hearts — and they wiun; (umlident of 
 •*rmug a cojiilortable livelihood in the fm’cign 
 
 clitne to which they were about to rep.air. It 
 riecessarily toolv several days to dispose of their 
 furr iture and give up the lease of their housr ; 
 and as dui-ing this interval Fre<ler:ck’s safety 
 remained unmolested, they had no doubt that 
 their calculations were correct in resjtect to the 
 <;<)( rse which Brites would pursue. As at Car- 
 lisle, Frederick took an nifectionate leave o 
 his scholars on breaking up his establishment; 
 and his neighbors and friends were all sincere- 
 ly grieved to part with him and his amiable 
 wife. 
 
 When the hour of departure came, Frederick 
 and Luc 3' could not help experiencing some lit- 
 tle anxiety last the terrible .scene at Carlisle 
 should be enacted over again in Loudon at the 
 last moment; but when the}' entered the hack- 
 ne^'-coach which had come to fetch them, and 
 with all their boxes stowed Upon the roof, and 
 themselves with little Frederick safely enscon- 
 seil, inside the vehicle drove away' and no sinis- 
 ter countenance apj)eared to startle them, the} 
 felt that they were indeed safe. On ari’iving at 
 (Tracechurch Street, they took their j)Iace 3 by 
 a coach just starting for Dover, and were soon 
 beyond the limits of the modern Babylon call- 
 e<l London. They reaehed Dover without any 
 I adventure worth narrating; and when, on the 
 following morning, they stood upon the deck of 
 the steam-vessel bound for Calais, they ex- 
 changed look sof unutterable joy — for they now 
 experienced all the luxury o^ a consciousness 
 of security beyond the possibility of accident 
 or treaciiery. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 THE GOOD SAMARITANS. 
 
 Frederick Lonsdale had rightly sail to his 
 wife that when left to the exertions of theii 
 own honest industry, heaven prospei'ed their- 
 eribrts. They arrived in Calais with about one 
 hundred and twenty pounds in their po-^session, 
 and resolved to remain two or three days at an 
 hotel to ascertain what the chances were of ex- 
 periencing patronage for an English schooL 
 riiese the}' learnt to be far greater than 
 Frederick’s previous information and their own 
 sanguine hopes had led them to expect. At 
 that time Calais was thronged with Eiglish 
 families ; the lace-trade was flourishing, and 
 there were many hundreds of English mechanics 
 engaged in the French factories and earning 
 high wages. There were numerous gentlemen’s 
 families settled in the town and its suburbs; 
 and Lons lale was informed that the great want 
 experience*! was for English schoolmasters. 
 Moreover, on account of llie rapidly increasing 
 trade between Calais and England, many jier- 
 sons engage<l in commercial pursuits in the for- 
 uKir towi), wei'e anxious that their sons shouid 
 learn English: and here was an additional 
 ••hance of success for our hero, who, as already 
 stated, had accpiii’ed by his own self-teaching a 
 considerable proficiency in the French Ian 
 guage. So far as his personal securiety was 
 conc,ci-ne*l, he was as safe on the frontier-town 
 of Calais as ho would have been at the oihei 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 91 
 
 extremity of France hundreds of miles away ; 
 and thus there was every reason to induce the 
 Lonsdalesto fix themselves where they had first 
 set their feet on the French shore. 
 
 A neat, comfortable, and convenient house 
 was taken at a very low rent, everything being 
 excessively cheap in France at the time of which 
 we are wnting— namely, the close of the year 
 1884. Sixty or seventy pounds furnished the 
 house comfortably ; and they took possession of 
 their new abode. It was a happy day for them 
 when they just established themselves in the 
 domicile they had fitted up in the town of Ca- 
 lais ; for they had everything to cheer them, 
 and nothing to tlirow a damp upon their spirits 
 or make them dread to look into tJie future. 
 There was not even now the one subject of ap- 
 prehension to arise like a cloud in tlie midst of 
 the otherwise clear heaven of their happiness ; 
 but that heaven was altogether cloudless now ! 
 
 Lonsdale had some circulars printed and dis- 
 tributed ; and these soon produced their elYect. 
 He retained the name of Robinson, — not be- 
 cause his sense of security was complete, — but 
 because he naturally wished to destroy as much 
 as he could, the possibility that his identifica- 
 tion with the deserter Lonsdale should be even 
 suspected, lest it might injure him in his pro- 
 fessional avocations. Pupils crowded in upon 
 him ; and in the course of a few weeks he had 
 as many as he could accommodate. The school 
 was now larger than it had been in Finsbury ; 
 and although his terms were lower, yet consi- 
 dering the number of his scholars and tlie cheap- 
 ness of the country in which he was living, his 
 profits were not diminished. 
 
 So soon as they were thus comfortably set- 
 tled, Lucy reminded Frederick of his promise 
 that she should be allowed to write to her fa- 
 tlier ; and he at once besought her to do so. 
 She asked him whether any concealment need 
 be practised in respect to their place of abode, 
 and whether he wouhl advise that the letters 
 should be dispatched elsewhere to be posted ? 
 Her husband at once declared that he saw no 
 reason for any such reserve, as the utmost in- 
 jur}' which Mr. Davis could now do him, would 
 be to take measures to spread a report in Calais 
 who he really was : but he did not fora mo- 
 ment apprehend that Lucy’s father wmuld mani- 
 fest any such jietty spite tow'ardshim ; or even 
 if he still felt bitter, wmuld inciu’ the trou- 
 ble and expense of such a vindictive proceed- 
 ing. Lucy accordingly penned the following 
 letter : — 
 
 “Calais, December TTth, 1834. 
 
 “ My dear father, 
 
 “ After so long an interval of silence, it may 
 be that the sight of my handwriting wull not 
 prove altogether unwelcome to you. In this 
 hope at least do I take up my pen. You will 
 perceive that w'e are settled in Calais wdiere I 
 am happy to inform you that tiuough the 
 noble industry of my excellent and vvell-beloved 
 husband, our prospects are most flattering. 
 The intell igence has reached me that you are 
 married, my dear father ; and in the sincere 
 hope that this alliance is contributing to your 
 ha})j)iness, do I offer you my congratulations. 
 To my mother-in-law 1 hope that you Avill ren- 
 
 der my dutiful regards acceptable. And now, 
 dear father, may I entreat that you will pen 
 me a few lines in acknowledgment of this letter, 
 and to convince me that with the lapse of tima 
 you have learned to think less harshly, lesa 
 severely of your daughter? It would "be an 
 infinite source of joy to receive ? tch an assur- 
 ance from you. Do not therefoie, I conjure 
 you, treat this letter with silence: but pray 
 let me hear from you, if it be only a single line 
 at your earliest convenience. This, dear fa- 
 ther, is close upon the Christmas season of the 
 year — a period when animosities should be 
 smoothed and conciliatory feelings should su- 
 persede them. Can you not — will you not, 
 show that you appi'eciate the truth of this in 
 respect to my husband? — for it is with pudde 
 and satisfaction that I can assure you, dear 
 father, he has proved a most kind, a most lov- 
 ing, and a most affectionate husband t» me, 
 and also a fond parent towards Ofir ehild. 
 
 “Trusting, therefore, that you will answer 
 me in a strain wdiich will fill my heart with 
 rejoicing, I subscribe myself, dear "father, 
 
 “ Your very affectionate daughter, 
 
 * “ Lucy. 
 
 “ P. S. Have the kindness to address me as 
 Mrs. Robinson ; for on account of reasons to 
 which 1 need not more particularly allude, we 
 are known in Calais by that name.” 
 
 Lucy showed this letter to her husband, who 
 approved of the tone in wdiich it was written : 
 and a fond caress testified the gratitude he felt 
 for the manner in wdiich his beloved wdfe had 
 alluded to himself. The letter was duly posted ; 
 and Lucy, calculating how many days must 
 elapse ere she w'ould receive a reply, buoyed 
 herself up wdth the hope that at least" by 
 Christmas Day the wished-for response would 
 arrive; and she could scarcely think so exceed- 
 ingly ill of her father, notwithstanding his past 
 conduct, as to suppose that he would refuse to 
 address her in a strain of kindness. 
 
 A day or two after the letter had been de- 
 spatched, a wdiispered rumour reached Frede- 
 rick’s ears that an English gentleman and his 
 wife, wdio had recently arrived in Calais, and 
 who passed by the name of Seagrave, were en- 
 during the bitterest privations in the one room 
 which served as tlieir lodging ; and that being 
 unable to pay their rent, they even stood the 
 chance of being expelled from that last refuge 
 of their destitution. The generous hearts of 
 Frederick and Lucy were immediately touched 
 by this report; and they resolved to go to- 
 gether and visit the distressed couple. It was 
 evening when the circumstances were men- 
 tioned to them ; and they lost no time in set- 
 ting out upon their expedition of charity. The 
 w'eather was pretty cold: a strong north-w'est- 
 erly wind, blowing from the sea, sw'ept through 
 the streets of Calais like a hurricane; and the 
 lamps suspended to the cords stretching across 
 the thoroughfares, swayed to and fro like bells 
 that are rung violently. As Frederick and 
 Lucy drew their ample cloaks all the more 
 closely around them, they experienced a still 
 deeper interest in the couple wdiora they were 
 about to visit; for the reflection was natuiall? 
 
94 
 
 ■ TliE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 forced upon tlieir mlnrl.s that tliis was indeed 
 ei Vjiuer bleakness but too well calculated to 
 enhance the miseries and cive a superaddi^d 
 keenness to the privations of the poor and des- 
 titute. At the same time they felt a glowing 
 sense of gratitude in their hearts, that heaven 
 had so well prospered their own industry ami 
 tlirift as to ]>lace them beyond the reach of 
 such Ills as these which they were now bent 
 upon relieving. 
 
 It was with some difficulty they discovered 
 the house in which Mr. and Mrs. Seagrave dwelt 
 --a house situated in one of the meanest and 
 most secluded streets in the town of Calais. 
 At length, however, they were successful ; and 
 an old crone, whose very countenance was suf- 
 ticient corroboration of the tale they had heard 
 to the effect that her lodgers were to be turned 
 adrift, if they could not pay their rent, indi- 
 cated a dark narrow staircase, but did not offer 
 to escort them. Such brutal rudeness on the 
 part of the woman was a singular exception to 
 the general courtesy and civility which are to 
 be found even amongst the lowest grades of 
 tlie French peoj>le. 
 
 Frederick and his wife groped their way up 
 the staircase ; and on reaching the lauding, 
 knocked at the’ door of the chamber to which 
 tlieir attention had been jiarticularly directed 
 by the woman of the house. Their summons 
 Avas answered by a young female holding a 
 candle in her hand ; and it seemed as if she 
 immediately comprehended the object of this 
 \isit on the part of the two well-dressed per- 
 sons — for she sank back in mingled shame and 
 grief, and the tears started from her e 3 ’es. She 
 was a young creature of not more than seven- 
 teen — exceedingly beautiful, notwithstanding 
 her pale cheeks and her carewoni looks. A 
 j)erfect cloud of the darkest and glossiest raven 
 liair fell in heavy masses upon her shoulders : 
 her fine eyes, matched those ebon tresses ; and 
 it was evident that their lustre, until dimmed 
 by tears, must have been transcendent. She 
 was not above the middle height — of slender 
 figure — but of sylphid symmetry. She wore a 
 silk dress, made in the first style of fashion, but 
 soiled and stained in many places; and Luc}" 
 had no difficulty in perceiving at a glance that 
 this was almost the only garment Avhich the 
 poor young creature had on. 
 
 “Jlrs. Seagrave, I believe?” said our heroine, 
 in her sweetest and softest tones. 
 
 “Who is that, Anna?” asked a voice from 
 the interior of the chamber: and the tones 
 were those of an invalid gentleman speaking 
 faintly and with diflicultj. 
 
 “Is IMr. Seagi’ave ill?” asked Lucy, taking 
 the young creatui'e’s hand. “Fray forgive us 
 for this inti-usion: but we thought tliat ])erha})s 
 
 we might be of some little service Indeed, 
 
 ns your countrywoman, 1 am sure you Avill ac- 
 cept my sympath}^ and aid in the spirit in 
 which both arc od'crcal. This is my husband; 
 and with your jx'rmission he will introduce 
 hiniHclf to ]\lr. Scaf^rave.” 
 
 “Who tJic (hivil lire they, Anna?” again 
 Bpoke the invalid in sharp and pet ulant accents: 
 for he hiL<l evidently failed to c.atch the wor<is| 
 wliich Lucy had just uttered. “Why don’tl 
 
 you tell me what they are saying f what ilo 
 they want? an* they duns? If so, it’s a juty 
 that this cui’sed illness of mine prevents mt 
 from getting up and kicking them <lown stairs.” 
 
 Mrs. Seagrave was so convulsed with grief, 
 that she could not sjaiak. On the one hand 
 the kindness of Lucy’s manner, at a moment 
 when the appeai’ance of friendly suee.or wai 
 evidently so lit, tie cx[)ected, had deeply touched 
 the heart of the young ci’cat iire; whih*, on the 
 other hand, the shai-j) and almost cruel tones 
 in which I\Ir, Seagrave spoke, cut that same 
 gentle lu^irt to the very core. Freileriek and 
 Lucy undei'stood it all in a moment: it was a 
 case of woman’s illimitable and devoted love, 
 patience, and resignation — tenderest mini.ster- 
 mgs and gentlest soothings — towards one who 
 but little a]>preciated the extent of that affeo- 
 tion. At the same time, too, it occurred to 
 Frederick that the voice of the invalid was not 
 altogether unknown to him: the accents imleed 
 a})})earetl familiar to his eai*, although bespoke 
 in too low and faint a tone to enable our hero 
 to recognise them com[>letely. 
 
 Mrs. Seagrave had i)resscd Lucy’s hand with 
 all the ehxpience of silent gratitude between 
 both her own — at the same time bending upon 
 her a look which indicated all the gratitinle 
 that tilled her heart, but to which she could 
 not timl words at the moment to give expres- 
 sion. Then, making a sign for Mr. and Mrs. 
 Lonsdale to remain where they were for a few 
 minutes, she ap}u-oached the couch in which 
 the invalid lay, and a portion of which was vi- 
 sible to the charitable visitors through the open 
 door as they stood on the landing. 
 
 “Henry dear,” said the young creature, in a 
 voice of that soft and clouded harmony which 
 showed that it was used to keep down teal's 
 and stifle sobs — but a voice full of the most 
 touching pathos, — in its very accents bearing 
 the burden of a devoted but ill requited loveij 
 “ Henry' dear,” the murmuring tones repeated, 
 “here are friends come to see us. Shall I ask 
 them to enter?. Do not, do not look at me so 
 impatiently!” she added in an imploring man- 
 ner, but in a whisper that was not intended to 
 reach the ears of the visitors, although it did 
 so. 
 
 “ Friends do you say* ?” observed Seagrave 
 bitterly’, yet still in the faint and painful ac- 
 cents of the invalid speaking with diffi.culty’: 
 “I havm been so long unaccustomed to see the 
 things you call friends, that it would be rather 
 novel to look at such curiosities. Yes, let them 
 come in.” 
 
 Anna tripped awayHrom the couch, evidently 
 rejoiced at the permission thus accorded, al- 
 though given in such a strange, bitter, harslg 
 unfeeling, and cynical style: for tlie poor young 
 creature had no doubt anticipated a stern re- 
 fusal to suffer them to enter at all. She made 
 a sign for Lonsdale and his Avife to walk in ; 
 ami crossing the threshold, they found them- 
 selves in a meanly furnislu'd chamber, the chill 
 of Avhich Avas as great as that on the lauding, 
 and therefore too plainly indicated that th« 
 shut-up Rl.ove in the corner contained not a 
 I particle of 1‘ueL d'ho invalid had raised him- 
 IseU’ to a hnlf -siting posture in the bed: hia 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 95 
 
 eonntenance was ghastly pale — the impress of 
 deatli’s hand was already u[)oii it: but in the 
 wreck and emaciation of the once haughtily 
 handsome features, Frederick had no difficulty 
 In recognising at the instant the dissipated and 
 reckless spendthrift — Captain Courtenay ! 
 
 He started back in mingled surprise and hor- 
 ror, and an ejaculation escaped his lips: but 
 the horror he thus felt was through no appre- 
 hension on his own account, because he had 
 nothing to fear: it was excited by the specta- 
 cle which met his eyes — the death-bed of the 
 once gay, dashing, handsome, and proud Cour- 
 tenay 1 
 
 “ tVhy does he cry out like that ?” asked the 
 invalid: and indeed both Lucy and Anna had 
 turned their amazed and inquiring looks upon 
 Frederick. “I think I ought to know that 
 face,” continued Courtenay, gazing intently 
 with his dull glassy eyes upon our hero: then, 
 as the truth flashed in upon his memory, he al- 
 most bounded in his bed, as he exclaimed in 
 stronger accents, mingled with a haughty fierce- 
 ness, “ Why, it is that scoundrel, Lonsdale the 
 deserter!” 
 
 Lucy was cruelly shocked ; and staggering 
 back, she clung for support to the arm of her 
 husband, who stood petrified, not knowing 
 what to say or do : for he also was cruelly 
 shocked at this heartless conduct on the part 
 of one whom he had come expressl}' to relieve. 
 As for Anna, she hastened to throw her arms 
 round Courtena3'’s neck, murmuring, “Do not 
 excite yourself, dear Henry! Ao matter what 
 Mr. Lonsdale has been, it was for the kindest 
 and most generous purpose that he came hither 
 now.” 
 
 “Do get awa^T-, Anna — you half stifle me,” 
 said Courtena}", with unfeeling petulance. 
 “There! what the devil’s the use of whimper- 
 ing like that ? May I be hanged if 3'ou ain’t 
 alwa^’s ciying from morning till night. But 
 why does that fellow remain here ? 1 must get 
 
 up to kick him down stairs: he has onl^’ come 
 <0 uiock me, just because I am under a cloud 
 for the present :” — and Courtena}’ actually" made 
 an effort to get out of bed, repulsing poor Anna 
 with the utmost brutalit}", and even hurling an 
 imprecation at her. But the effort was too 
 great for him: disease held him by strong 
 chains to that bed, which it was too evident 
 he could never leave alive; and sinking back 
 upon the bolster in exhaustion, he muttered 
 with shocking bitterness, “It’s all through ^mu, 
 Anna, throwing ^our arms round my neck and 
 awing me about: }’ou have shaken all the 
 reath out of 1113' bod3\” 
 
 “Captain Courtenay,” said Lonsdale, who 
 had by this time recovered his presence of 
 mind, “ 1 do beseech 3'ou to understand that it 
 is entirely with a Christian intent that I and 
 my wife have come hither now. We knew not 
 whom we should see. Little indeed did I ex- 
 pect to recognise in Mr. iSeagrave any one who 
 was known to me.” 
 
 “ I will be hanged if the fellow isn’t talking 
 just as if we had been intimate acquaintances,” 
 muttered Courtenay, speaking with diflicult3". 
 ‘Cel out, I sav — be off with 3’ou ! If we were 
 jji England, 1 should send for the police.” 
 
 “0 Henry!” exclaimed Anna, weeping bit- 
 terly, and clasping her hands in an agon3’ of 
 despair: “this is indeed too much. For Gmi’a 
 sake, Mr. Lonsdale, do not heed him ! And 3’ou, 
 my dear madam,” she continued, turning to 
 Luc 3^, whose hands she took and pressed with 
 grateful fervor, “do not, do not be angry or 
 account of this ! Alas,” ad led the poor creature, 
 in a voice almost suffocated with sobs, “wo 
 have suffered so much that I fear his reason ia 
 impaired.” 
 
 “ Captain Courtena3",” said Lonsdale, ad- 
 vancing towards the bed, “ believe me when I 
 assure 3'ou that to the utmost of my endeavora 
 will I contribute to your comfort. I do not for 
 a moment forget the difference of our social 
 positions ” 
 
 “ Then why the deuce do you stay here any 
 longer?” interrupted the dying man, with still 
 unrelenting bitterness. “I don’t want your 
 help: it suits us to live like this — doesnT it, 
 Anna ? Say yes. We don’t want for anything ; 
 and if we did, I would sooner starve — yes, by 
 God, starve — than accept anything from such 
 hands as yours! And now be off. Why the 
 deuce don’t 3mu go? Anna, turn them both 
 out directly! Do 3mu hear me? I command 
 3mu to turn them out!” — and now, completely 
 exhausted by the efforts which it cost him thus 
 to speak. Captain Courtena3' sank into a state 
 of insensibility. 
 
 “ He is dead ! heavens, he is dead !” ex- 
 claimed Anna wildl3"; and falling upon her 
 knees by the side of the bed, she buried hei 
 face in her hands, giving vent to the most pas 
 sionate outpouring of grief. 
 
 “No — he is not dead: do not excite 3mursell 
 thus,” hastily whispered Lucy : then she lost n<r 
 time in applying restoratives — and from a bas- 
 ket which she had brought under her cloak, 
 and which was filled with provisions of every 
 kind, she drew forth a bottle of brandy, and 
 pouring some into a glass, bathed the invalid’s 
 temples with it 
 
 For some minutes poor Anna was so over- 
 powered by her feelings that she could not lend 
 her any assistance: the thought that he whom 
 she loved so devotedly was no more, had strick- 
 en her with a convulsing agony, almost driving 
 her distracted, and from which paroxysm of 
 anguish she could not speedily recover. Bui 
 when, thanks to the kind ministration of Mrs. 
 Lonsdale, Captain Courtenay began to show 
 signs of returning animation, the 3mung crea 
 ture’s g)-ief changed into the wildest jo3' ; and 
 throwing lier arms round Luc3"’s neck, she em- 
 braced her fervently. It was at least twenty 
 minutes before the Captain returned to a com- 
 plete state of consciousness; and in the mean 
 time Frederick had withdrawn from the room, 
 in order that his presence might not disturb 
 the unfortunate gentleman again on coming 
 back to himself 
 
 “Where am I?” murmured Courtena3% ir a 
 faint voice, as he opened his e3’es and gazed 
 : vacantl3’^ around : but his intellect was still toe 
 clouded, his thoughts too confused, to enable 
 him to understand the circumstances of his po- 
 ! sition — so that his ideas wandered into other 
 1 channels, and the reminis<:-2ri3es of past timei 
 
96 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFl'l 
 
 caiaeba k, but in jiimbleJ bewiblennent, to his 
 ti’ain, “Come, Fit/Jiiorris, puss the bottle: 
 wily tlie deuce do you let it stuiid before that 
 eilly puling boy, I’uget? He thinks himself a i 
 mau — he is but a child — a glass makes him 
 drunk. Now, Scott, come up to my room, and : 
 we’ll crack a bottle between us. Don’t bring 
 old Ileathcote with you : lie is such an awful 
 bore. Now, Wyndham, are you going to ride 
 cut to-day? or let us sit down and play picipiet 
 — bve guinea stakes. Oh, you prefer ecarte ? 
 VVell, 60 be it. I’ll bet you twenty guineas to i 
 five that 1 vole you. Done 1 Voled by God 1 
 Have at it again ? Oh, Anna, so I have got 3mu 
 after all? Well, ^mu pla^^ed the prude a pre- 
 cious long time: but now you are mine. Eh — 
 what? you talk of marriage? Absurd! Cap- 
 tain Courtenay never marries: he loves and he 
 seduces — but marriage be hanged I What is 
 that you say? It will break 3'our mother’s 
 heart! Stuti’ and nonsense! — women’s hearts 
 don’t break. Tie him up there! I like to see 
 the triangle. Now then, l^ergeant-Major Lang- 
 U-.y — ^tell those drummer boys to do their duty, 
 riie rascals! make them hit harder! Take up 
 another cat ; you vagabond ; and now lay it on 
 in good style. It does one’s heart good to see 
 ^lat !” 
 
 In this manner did Captain Courtenay con- 
 tinue to talk, murmuringl^' and wanderingly, 
 in broken sentences — tl^dng from one subject to 
 another — sometimes in low accents, sometimes 
 with feverish excitement — while his looks mo- 
 delled themselves to the nature of the ejacula- 
 tions he thus sent forth. To Mrs. Lonsdale, who 
 was standing near, a revelation was thereb}^ 
 made concerning the precise nature of the con- 
 nexion between the Captain and the unfortu- 
 nate young creature who loved him so devoted- 
 ly, and who having first been made the dupe 
 of his treaeheiy, had since become the victim 
 of his tj^rann}". As those portions of his sub- 
 dued ravings, or rather wanderings, came from 
 his lips, the wretched Anna again sank down 
 upon her knees — again buried her face in the 
 bedding — again gave vent to convulsive sobs. 
 I’ainfuily, most painfully did Luc}' feel for that 
 interesting and beautiful creature: yes — inte- 
 resting, we repeat, because of her faithful love 
 and devoted constancy towards the man who 
 had ruined her. Bending down towards the 
 kneeling, weeping, sobbing girl, Lucy whis- 
 pered in soft and soothing tones, “ Poor crea- 
 ture ! you are to be pitied rather than be 
 blamed: and whatever happens here, I will be 
 1 friend to you.” 
 
 Aana started up, and throwing herself upon 
 Mrs Jjonsdale’s bo.som, wept long and passion- 
 ately. 
 
 “ Now, is that fellow gone?” said Courtenay, 
 after a j) luse in his wanderings, during which 
 hi.'< intellect had recovered from its confusion. 
 
 Mrs. Lonsdale stood back, behind the head 
 of the common japanned bedstead, so that she 
 was now screened fi’om the invalid’s view: for 
 she was IVtarful that even her |)resenee, as Lons- 
 dale’s wife, might tend to provoke fresh oxcite- 
 rnent on the part of the invalid. 
 
 “ Hetwy — (leaf Henry,” sai<l Anna, hastily 
 wij»ing away hei tears, and bending over the 
 
 Captain, “you aro very ill -and exeit# 
 3'ourself greatly.” 
 
 “Then wh^' do you let such people as thus# 
 come near me?” <lemand(;d the invalid sharply-. 
 
 “ The^" came, Heniy, with the best and purest 
 motives,” was Anna’s gentle response. “ Do not, 
 
 I beseech you — Oh, do not think ill of thosii 
 kind and benevolent j)ersons!” 
 
 “ What the deuce would 3'ou have me do?” 
 interrujited Courtenay. “ Hav’n’t I told you 
 about that fellow Lonsdale’s case — what u 
 scamp the rascal was — ” 
 
 “Hush, hush, for God’s sake!” ejaculated 
 Anna, cruelly tortured on Lucy’s account. 
 
 “ Why should 1 hush if they are gone ? That 
 fellow was a private soldier; and do you 8U|>' 
 J)o 30 , Anna, for a single moment, that I who 
 was his officer, will accept succour from him? 
 
 1 would sooner perish — I would sooner die out- 
 right of starvation. Give me some water: my 
 throat’s as j)arched as perdition itself. I wisa 
 to God I had some nice cooling wine: but as I 
 haven’t, give me water. Come, look sharp 
 about it.” 
 
 Anna turned away from the couch to fill a 
 glass with water; but Mrs. Loirsdale, stooping 
 down to the basket which stood at her feeb 
 drew forth a bottle of wine, which she quickly 
 handed to the young lady ; and Anna, flinging 
 a glance of gratitude upon her, hastened to mix 
 some wine and water in the glass. She then 
 approached the bed, and tendering it to the 
 invalid, said in a soft endearing tone “ Drink 
 this, dear Henry — it will do you good.” 
 
 “ Wh3", what the deuce is it ? It’s dark — it’s 
 not water. There is wine in it,” ejaculated 
 Courtenay. 
 
 “ No — there is something in it — just to color 
 it — it will do 3mu good :” — and Anna spoke hesi- 
 tatingly, with evident apprehension lest he 
 should discover the source from whence the 
 wine came, and in his stern unbending pride 
 refuse it. 
 
 “ W ell, but what the devil is it ? Do you 
 want to knock me off at once? are you giving 
 me poison ?” he exclaimed brutally. 
 
 “ 0 God !” muttered the unhappy girl ; and 
 she would have fallen, had she not clung to the 
 head of the bedstead for support. “Henr}*, 
 Henry, is this the reward for all my love I 
 Have I not clung to you devotedly? have I not 
 suffered with jmu? Yes — and heaven is my 
 witness that I have refused food, pleading ill- 
 ness, that you might have more for yourselfl 
 Oh, it is too cruel — it is too cruel !” 
 
 “Don’t stand whimpering there, and going 
 on like this!” ejaculated the Captain, savagely'. 
 “I suppose it is wine, then?” he continued, 
 still holding the glass in his hand. “ But, ah ! I 
 can guess where it comes from — and in a mo- 
 ment he dashed the contents of the tumbler 
 upon the floor; then in a stern voice he said, 
 “Now fill it with water.” 
 
 The tears rained down poor Anna’s cheeks, 
 as she received the glass from his hand and 
 obeyed his mandate. She threw a deprecating 
 im[)!oring look upon Lucy, as much as to beseech 
 her not to feel wounded or offended at thi? 
 fresh manifestation of the intense ])ride which 
 . the fallen man still clung to, even when at th« 
 
 1 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFR 
 
 
 ^int of death ; and the kind-hearted Mrs. Lons- 
 made Anna aware with a significant glance 
 that she was grieved, but not indignant. 
 
 “Tlierel that’s more welcome than all tue 
 wine in the wdrld if sent by charity!” It was 
 thus that Courtenay spoke, when, havmg 
 emptied the glass, he gave it back to Anna : 
 then after a silence of upwards of a minute, he 
 said, “ Have you got anything to eat ? I feel 
 faint and hungry. A crust will do: for I sup- 
 pose there is nothing more.” 
 
 Mrs. Lonsdale took a loaf from the basket, 
 and handed it to Anna, who approached the 
 bed with it. 
 
 “ Where did you get all that from ?” demanded 
 Courtenay, with brutal abruptness. 
 
 “I sent out something to be pledged just 
 
 BOW ” 
 
 ‘ It’s false I there was nothing left to pledge. 
 You hadn’t even an under-garment left. Now, 
 tell me what have you pledged? 
 
 “Some linen — some trifles — no matter what: 
 but pray eat !” and poor Anna, again convulsed 
 with grief, proffered him a piece of the bread : 
 then as she saw that he did eat it, for he be- 
 lieved what she had just told him, her anguish 
 abated, and something like an expression of 
 joy gathered upon her countenance. 
 
 “ There, dear Henry,” she said : “ you feel 
 better now ? Let me put away the hair from 
 over your forehead — ” 
 
 “No — let me alone: I shall be better pre- 
 sently. What a smell of brandy there is?” 
 
 “It was a little drop I borrowed from the 
 woman of the house to recover you just now 
 when jmu fainted.” 
 
 ‘ That’s as false as perdition, Anna!” ex- 
 claimed Courtenay, with fierce brutality : “ for 
 the hag wouldn’t give you a drop. All, I sup- 
 ose she will come up again to-morrow with 
 er threats and her impudence : but 1 hope to 
 be better then — and I will pitch her neck and 
 jrop down stairs. Deuce take these mean and 
 pitiful relations of mine, to leave me here in 
 such a state! I will write to Wyndham to- 
 morrow, to lend me fifty pounds : he is sure to 
 Bend it — and I don’t mind borrowing of a gen- 
 tleman. By the bye, I sha’n’t forget to men- 
 tion that I fell in with that scoundrel Lons- 
 dale — 
 
 “ O Henry, it is really too bad,” cried Anna, 
 “ to speak thus of one who came — ” 
 
 “ Hold your tongue, you minx — and don’t 
 dare dictate to me! I never have beat you 
 yet : but I will soon. And now be quiet : don’t 
 talk any more, for I feel inclined to sleep.” 
 
 Anna bent over the sick man’s couch, and 
 wiprinted a kiss upon his wan emaciated cheek : 
 but he muttered something to the effect that 
 “be wished she wouldn’t bother him;” and she 
 drew back, with difficulty suppressing a sob. In 
 a few minutes Captain Courtenay slumbered ; 
 and Lucy then asked Anna in what way she 
 could best assist her. She intimated that the 
 basket contained a variety of necessaries and 
 aomforts; and still more delicately hinted that 
 amongst the things would be found a hundred 
 francs — a sum equivalent to four pounds of 
 English money. Anna expressed her fervid 
 gratitude to her benefactress — and then ex- 
 7 
 
 claimed, “ Oh, that he would permit a phyui- 
 cian to be sent for!” 
 
 “I will speed for one this moment,” cried 
 Lucy, hastening the chamber door. 
 
 “No — it is usele.ss,” responded Anna, shaking 
 her head mournfully. “He will not have a 
 doctor: he persists in believing that he will 
 soon get well, if left to himself. He pretends 
 that I annoy and vex him: though heaven 
 knows what he would have done for weeks and 
 weeks past without me ! If I entreat him to 
 have medical advice, he beds me hold my 
 tongue. If I caress and endeavor to sooth* 
 
 him But, ah, Mrs. Lonsdale you have seen 
 
 enough to imagine all I suffer!” and the poor 
 young creature burst into tears. 
 
 “But he must have advice!” said Lucy, 
 firmly, when this new paroxysm of grief on the 
 part of Anna had subsided. “He cannot b« 
 left thus!” , 
 
 “Do you — do you think he is very — very 
 ill ?” asked the affectionate girl, in the hesitat- 
 ing voice of one who feared to put the ques- 
 tion, because she but too },lainly foresaw what 
 the response would be. “No — he js not bo 
 very ill — is he? Tell me that he is not.” 
 
 “ My dear young lady,” replied Lucy, fixing 
 upon the hapless creature a look of boundlesa 
 compassion, “you must not buoy yourself up 
 with the hope that he wiU speedily get well : 
 for I am afraid that ” 
 
 “That he is indeed very ill?” — and Anna 
 gazed upon our heroine with painful anxiety, 
 while she spoke in the hushed voice of pro- 
 foundest terror. 
 
 “ Y es — I am afraid that he is very ill. H* 
 must have advice. I will send a physician to 
 him on leaving this house. The doctor will, if 
 needful, force his attentions upon Captain Cour- 
 tenay.” 
 
 “ G'se the name of Seagrave,” said Anna im- 
 ploringly : “ for his pride is such, that so long aa 
 he remains in poverty he will not suffer him- 
 self to be knowu.” 
 
 Lucy pressed the poor girl’s hand with a sad 
 tightening at her own heart ; she felt convinced 
 that within a very few days, if not within a 
 few hours, the object of the young lady’s 
 devoted love would cease to exist. 
 
 Mrs. ].ionsdale descended the stairs, and found 
 her husband in conversation with the woman 
 of the house in a room on the ground-floor. A 
 pile of money, amounting at least to two hun- 
 dred francs — or eight pounds — lay upon tb* 
 table; and in his hand Frederick held a receipt 
 which the woman had just written. He had 
 paid the entire arrears of rent due by Captain 
 Courtenay ; and this was perhaps one of the 
 noblest chapters in Lonsdale’s life — that not- 
 withstanding all the goading insults he had 
 within the last hour endured from that proud 
 remorseless man, he had thus parted \^ith the 
 earnings of his own industry to alleviate the 
 sorrows of his illness and smoothe down hia 
 dying pillow ! 
 
 “Frederick,” murmured Lucy, as they issued 
 forth from the house together — and she pressed 
 his arm fervidly to her bosom as she spoke, — 
 “I always knew you were the most generous 
 hearted ol men; but this last incident has jual 
 
08 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFR 
 
 digplftVfcl } onr character to me in all its most 
 plorioiis ct,»ors. (xod bless you, my beloved 
 Frederiok ! Oh, that such a one as you should 
 ever have ^Trone through so much!” 
 
 “ And you, my sweet Lucy,” rej>lie<l our hero, 
 — “have you rjt also shown the kindest of 
 sympathies for the afiliction of others? After 
 all, we have but done oui- duty; and in our 
 hearts’ satisfaction is there an adequate re- 
 ward ” 
 
 They proceeded to the nearest physician’s 
 house, and at once des[)atehed him to the in- 
 valid, — Lonsdale guaranteeing the payment of 
 his fees. The benevolent couple then returned 
 to their own house: but for all the rest of that 
 evening they could talk and think of nothing 
 except the sad scene of whi'..h they had been 
 Bpectatoiu 
 
 As soon as Frederick was dressed on the fcl- 
 lowing morning, he called upon the physician 
 to inquire concerning his patient. The medi- 
 cal gentleman told him precisely what he 
 already expected to hear; namely, that iMr. 
 Seagrave was beyond the possibilit}’^ of hope — 
 that it was evident a naturally vigorous consti- 
 tution had been broken down by a career of 
 inveterate dissipation and reckless debauchery 
 — and that recent sulFerings, privations, and 
 miseries had hurried the unfortunate man on 
 towards the crowning catastrophe. The i>hy- 
 sician added that it was scarcelv possible Mr. 
 Seagrave could exist thi'oughout the day — that 
 a great change for the worse had taken place 
 in him during the night — and that he (the 
 medical man) was immediately about to return 
 to the couch of his dying j>atieut. Fredei’ick, 
 much shocked to learn that the issue was so 
 near at hand, inquired if the doctor had in any 
 ■way prepared Mrs. Seagrave for it? — to which 
 the medical gentleman replied that he had felt 
 it his duty to do so, and that the poor young 
 creature was in a state bordering on distrac- 
 tion. Frederick besought him to lose not a 
 minute in returning to Mr. Seagrave’s lodgings, 
 ■while he hurried home to tell Lucy all he had 
 just heard. 
 
 “I will go and do my best to soothe poor 
 Anna,” said Mrs. Lonsdale: then taking her 
 husband’s hand, and looking up earnestly in 
 hie face, she addeil, “Frederick, that unfortu- 
 nate girl, who is doubtless far more to be pitied 
 than blamed, will soon be 'w ithout a home.” 
 
 “No, my dear wife,” answered Lonsdale, at 
 once anticipating Lucy’s meaning: “henceforth 
 she must have a home with us.” 
 
 Our heroine embraced her noble-hearted 
 husband, and tlmn lost no time in s])eeding 
 away or her mission of benevolence and Chris- 
 tian cha ’ity. hen she reached the house in 
 which Cotirteoay and Anna dwelt, the old 
 woman, who o[)(!ned the door, shook her head 
 as mindr as to inqdy' that then; was n(» hope; 
 for now that she saw her lodgers had friends, 
 she could alford to manifest a little sympathy 
 on tlnrir Ixdialf — ehielly, no doubt., because sin; 
 WHS al'raid of losing l hem b(»t,h t hrough t he death 
 of on«;. Lucy ast;eiidc<l tin; stairs, and gently 
 jraased into the rdianiber of the ‘lying man. 
 The phy-;ician was seate(| by tbe snle of the 
 bed— uldle Anna wu‘ beinling over the oationt. 
 
 |her tears drojrpingon his checks, and her bowjr* 
 convulsed with the sobs which slie vainly en- 
 deavoured to stifle. She had evidently been up 
 all night: the cloud of her raven black iiair 
 was pushed back in dishevelled masses from 
 her thi-obbing temples, ujron which the luxuid- 
 ant ti'osses kept obtnnling as she bent over the 
 dying man: her cheeks were ashy pale — and 
 when she turne<l to pi’css Lucy’s hand, there 
 was a wild des|>air in her large Irlack eyes that 
 actually terrified the kind visiti-ess who came 
 to console her*. As foi’ the patient himself, li« 
 was lying motioidess, but with his eyes wide 
 open, gazing up as if they were hxed on tlv 
 pole su{)[)orting the cuidain.s, or else ujm)h soint 
 object created by a morbid fancy. If the hand 
 of death had visibly begun to touch his cheeks 
 on the jri-evious evening, its mai'k was now stilJ 
 nioi’e tmmistakably discernible upon every 
 lineament; and as Lucy glanced towai*ds the 
 physician, he made her a rapid sign that the 
 crisis was near at hand. 
 
 “ Will you rot come away, for a few minutei 
 into some other room?” whispered Lucy tc 
 Anna, thinking it better, if possible, to withdraw 
 her from the sight of the death-struggle wdiicli 
 was evidently a[)proaching. 
 
 “Oh, not for worlds!” murmured the un 
 hajrpy girl, clasping her hands in the anguish 
 of her desjiair. “But tell me, dearest Mi’s. 
 Lonsdale — tell me what you think; is there no 
 hope ? 1 dai'e not admit to myself that 1 under- 
 
 stand what this kind gentleman” — alluding to 
 the doctor — “has been saying to me. Tell rne, 
 tell me, is there indeed no hope?” — and the 
 poor creature shuddered all over, as if with an 
 ice-chill, while the chatteiing of her teeth waa 
 plainly audible. 
 
 “You must, my dear Anna —you must in- 
 deed,” said Lucy, the tears streaming down her 
 cheeks, — “prepare yourself — for- the woi-stl” 
 
 “ Oh ! but not yet — not yet I” murm ured th« 
 unhappy girl, in low but hysterical accents, 
 while she still continued to shiver from head tc 
 foot. “It cannot be so near! Tell me — dc 
 you not think that he will live a week — jus* 
 one short week — so that I may get accustomet 
 to the thought that he must die ?” 
 
 “My dear 3 mung friend,” answered Lucy 
 “do not, I beseech }rou, buoy j'ourself up with 
 any hope. Indeed, suffering as he now is — re- 
 duced to extremities as you behold him — ^yoo 
 cannot in mercy’ wish him to linger on!” 
 
 “No, no — I have no hope — it has been gone 
 for hours past ? But at the same time, erne doet 
 cling to hope, even as it is vanishing away? 
 My God, to think that he is going — that I shall 
 
 lose him soon all I have dear upon earth 
 
 And 1 — what will become of me?” 
 
 “You will find a home with me, dear Anna.’’ 
 was Lucy’s gentle and affectionate re})ly’. 
 
 “ Ah, excellent friend that ymu are — best and 
 kindest of women!” exclaimed Anna, pi-essing 
 Lucy’s hand to her lips: “ten thousand thanks. 
 But it was not of thal I was thiidving. Even if 
 from this chamber 1 wore conveyed to a palae# 
 when he is gone, yet still should I ask what is 
 to become of me ^ 1 cannot live without him:” 
 and sinking upon a chair’, she again abandonod 
 herself to all the wild bil.ternes.s of her grie£ 
 
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tL SOLDIER’S vniit 
 
 99 
 
 In a few moments tJ.e patient moved in liis 
 eoucli, and gave a prolonged gasp. Anna 
 Bi;arted from her seat, and hasteiied to bend 
 over him, in an agony of terror lest he should 
 be no more, and that this was his last sigh 
 which she had heard. But it was not so. 
 Courtenay was yet alive: and the ph 3 ’sieian, 
 pouring a few drops of some colorless liquid 
 from a little pl-ial into a wine-glass half-tilled 
 with water, forced the contents down his 
 throat. 
 
 “Will that revive him?” was Anna’s eager 
 but whispered question. 
 
 “ 1 fear, Mrs. Seagrave,” responded the phy- 
 sician, “ that its elt’ect will be slight — I dare 
 tot tell you otherwise.” 
 
 “ Oh ! if he could only recognise me,” mur- 
 mured Anna : and now she covered his ghasth" 
 cheeks wit!, the most passionate kisses, — kisses 
 in ^^hich all the immensity of her love and the 
 wildness of her affliction appeared to be blent, 
 — kisses, which, if the tenderest demonstrations 
 of woman’s holy affection could infuse life into 
 the d^ung, would have proved ten thousand 
 times more effective than the subtle essence 
 which the medical man had just administered 
 in the wine-glass. 
 
 For the next half-hour Courtenay continued 
 to lie motionless, his eyes wandering slightly, 
 and his lips ever^’ now and then opening to 
 give forth a prolonged and painful gasj -. All 
 this while Anna continued to bend over him, 
 lavishing her caresses upon that countenance 
 where the clammy' chill of death was already 
 fast gathering. Presently his lips, gradually 
 unfolding, remained apart alU'gether — and 
 then there came up from his tliroat a low half- 
 whistling, half-gurglinr sound which did not 
 subside. For two or three minutes Anna listened 
 in dund) and statue-like suspense. It was a 
 Bound that evidently' eame ominously upon her 
 ears; and when she perceived that it did not 
 leave off, but that it increased into a kind of 
 rattle, as of water and of wind meeting and 
 agitating together in the throat, — she threw a 
 wild glance of terror upon the physician, de- 
 manding quickly, “What is that?” 
 
 “ My dear young lady',” was the medical 
 man’s solemn response, “ you would do well to 
 leave the room with your friend.” 
 
 “No, no,” murmured the wretched being ; “ 1 
 understand it now! I will remain until the 
 last!” — and her teeth again chattered with the 
 intensity of her agony'. 
 
 • Yes — it was indeed the death-rattle now in 
 the throat of the dying man : and Lucy, feeling 
 more than ever at tliat instant a boundless 
 compassion for the y'oung lady, could not re- 
 strain her tears and her sobs. For two or three 
 minutes, that ominous, awful sound continued, 
 — while Anna’s moans mingled with the caress- 
 es as she bent over the departing one. At 
 length the rattling ap]^eared to subside — it 
 ceased — and a wild piercing shriet, thrilling 
 forth from Anna’s lips, indicated that all was 
 over. She started up as if suddenly' galvanized 
 as she gave vent to that scream : then she 
 appeared to stagger back a pace or two : Lucy 
 •prang forward to save her from falling — but 
 at the self-same moment the unfortunate y'oung 
 
 creature fell forwai 1 upon the couch — and 
 with a low nioan remained motionless, with 
 her face on the breast of the corpse. Lucy and 
 the physician hastened to raise her: but tc 
 their unspeakable horror they beheld a little 
 pool of blood upon the shirt of Captain Courte- 
 nay; and the glance which they threw at 
 Anna’s countenance, revealed to them the sad 
 truth in a moment. The poor girl was dead ! 
 She had burst a blood-vessel: the tide of life 
 had poured forth from between her lips: it 
 might literally be said that her heart had sud- 
 denly bi'oken. 
 
 Thanks to the generosity of the Lonsdales, 
 Courtenay' and the unfortunate Anna were laid 
 side by side in the cemetery without the walla 
 of Calais ; and the English Protestant minister 
 who was established in the town, performed 
 the funeral rites. L(»nsdale then communicated 
 to the British Consul the secret of the deceased 
 gentleman’s l eal name, in order that his friends 
 might be written to and apprised of his death. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 Tllf: LETTER. 
 
 This tragical circumstance produced a very 
 painful effect upon the minds of both Fredei-iek 
 and Lucy — more especially upon that of the 
 latter, who had been an ey'e-witness of the 
 closijig scene. They’ however had the satisfac- 
 tion of knowing that they had done all they 
 could for the de[)arted — and far more than 
 most other persons in the world would have 
 jierforrned, especially under the circumstances, 
 which tended to throw out our hero’s charac- 
 ter in such noble coloi’s. 
 
 Christmas Day passed : the month of De- 
 cember was drawing to a close, conducting 
 with it the y'ear to which it belonged into the 
 grave of Time ; — and Lucy began to fear that 
 her father would not answer her letter. But 
 one morning the postman called at the Lons- 
 dales’ house ; and an epistle, bearing the Eng- 
 lish postmark, ,but the address of which waa 
 written in a female hand, was delivered to our 
 heroine, being directed to Mrs. Robinson. She 
 hastened to tear it open, and found its conteuta 
 to be as follows : — 
 
 “ Paris Hotel, Dover. 
 
 “Decembei 29th, 1834. 
 
 “ My dear Lucy, 
 
 “ For in this style will ymu permit me to ad- 
 dress you, considering the position in which w« 
 stand relative to each other. Your father 
 received your letter, which was indeed most 
 welcome to him. For some time past he had 
 been led to the reflection that his conduct might 
 possibly have been too harsh and too severe 
 towards you, I wdll not altogether take credit 
 to myself for having induced these feelings in 
 y’our father’s breast; but y'ou will at least give 
 me credit for having fostered them ; for 1 assure 
 y’ou that from the very day on which I became 
 your mother-in-law, I have exerted my’self to 
 promote a reconciliation between my husband 
 and his daughter. Therefore, months and 
 months ago, had he known where to find you, 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFli 
 
 he wo'aLl have certainly taken up his pen to 
 write you a few lines and assui'e you of Ins 
 desire to bury all the past in oblivion, 'riius 
 was it that your letter })roveJ truly welcome 
 both to him and to myself. And perhaps, 
 viear Lucy, you will be still more rejoiced to 
 learn that this forgiveness on your father’s part is 
 intended not to be confined to yourself alone, 
 but to include your husband. The manner in 
 which you write of Mr. i>onsdale’s invariably 
 kind and ali’ectionate conduct towards you 
 could not fail to touch the heart of a father 
 ab’eady disposed to receive his daughter to his 
 arms. You will therefore have the jileasure 
 of conveying to Mr. Lonsdale the assurance of 
 Mr. Davis, tliat when next they meet, it will 
 be to exchange the warmest and the most 
 cordial pressure of the hand. 
 
 “You will doubtless be astonished to see 
 that I date this letter from Dover: but when 
 I explain the I’eason, you will accept it as an 
 additional proof of Mr. Davis’s anxiety to elfectj 
 a speedy reconciliation with yourself and your 
 husband. Here, however, by what I am about 
 to state, I find myself compelled to throw a 
 damp upon the joy which a former part of my 
 letter will doubtless occasion you. For some 
 time past your father’s health has caused great 
 alarm to myself and his friends. He is not un- 
 aware that his health is inijiaired, and very 
 materially so — amongst the evidences of which 
 ts a certain morbid state of feeling which causes! 
 ;he idea of a speedily approaching death to 
 kaunt him constantly. 1 do not however think 
 iliat there is any very serious apprehension. 
 
 “ Linder that impression, notwithstanding, 
 ^onr father was determined to undertake a 
 journey to Calais that he might embrace you 
 ere he dies. He was well aware that certain 
 reasons would lead you and Mr. Lonsdale to 
 prefci that this visit should be paid to you both 
 in Calais, than that you should be reejuested to 
 Vxidertake a journey to England for the pur- 
 poiie of a meeting. I need scarcely say, Lucy, 
 that I attempted not to dissuade my husband 
 from a plan so entirely in accordance with my 
 own good feeling towards you. I moreover 
 fancied that change of air and scene, even at 
 this cold winter-season, would benefit your fa- 
 ther. AYe accordingly set out three days ago, 
 and arrived at Dover last night. But the fa- 
 tigues of travelling — combined perhaps with 
 some little degree of excitement at the thouglit 
 t/f meeting you and your husband again, and 
 on such dili'erent terms as heretofore, — operated 
 prejudicially to your father’s liealth; and he 
 was during the night taken very ill. Again I 
 assure you tliat there is no cause for serious 
 ii|)prehension ; and the metlical gentleman who 
 is in attcmlance upon him, is of the same opi- 
 nion. But it is considei’cd most inexpedient for 
 Vonr father to cross the channel at this season 
 of theyc.ar; and the medical at tendant strongl^^ 
 fec1»s his face against it. Mr. Davis, howewer, is 
 now more than evci' anxious to embrace you, 
 dear Lucy, and shake Mr. Lonsdale by the 
 band: more than ever is he imbued with the 
 moi-bid jjrcHcntimeiit that he has but a short 
 time io live*. Under these cii-cumstanct's, I 
 euruestly conjure both you and your husband 
 
 to come across, if it be only for a single day, 
 and see Mr. I>avi8. 
 
 “ 1 have jiut olf writing until clo.«e njion the 
 |)ost-hour, that I might see how he pia»gr(*s8ea. 
 lie has just told me ti.at he feels convinced 
 his end is apjiroaching ; and I certainly fear 
 that he will tret and grieve himself into a very 
 serious illness, which may prove really fatak 
 unle.ssyou come, both ol you, and ajijicase him. 
 
 I say both of I/O a, because my husband declaret 
 tliat he couhl not die hajijiily unle.ss he grasped 
 Mr. Lonsdale’s hand, as well as embi'ace<i you, 
 dear Lucy, in his arms. He feels that he has 
 wrongs to atone for towards your husband; 
 and he would not even be satisfied with a inert 
 verbal assurance, conveyed by the li|>s of 
 another, of Mr. Lons<lale’s comjilete forgive- 
 ness. Therefore, under all these circumstancei^ 
 1 have no doubt that you will both accede to 
 the urgent retpiest which 1 thus proffer on be- 
 half of myself and my husband. 
 
 I “ Believe me to remain, dearest Lucy, 
 
 “ Your affectionate mother-in-law, 
 
 “ Catukkinii; Davis.” 
 
 As the reader may suppose, Lucy was in oi>« 
 sense overjoyed by this letter. It assui-ed her 
 of a complete reconciliation witliJier father — 
 and what was eipially deiightfuk it proffered 
 the same towards her husband. She, however, 
 could not lielji fearing, on the other hand, that 
 jlicr father’s illness was more severe than hei 
 mother-in-law either chose to believe or admit. 
 Having read the letter, she placed it in Frede- 
 rick’s hands, and watched his countenance as 
 he read it. His features showed by their ex- 
 pression that he fully sliared in his beloved 
 lAicy's joy and delight in respect to the prof- 
 fered reconciliation ; and when he had finished 
 the perusal, he at once said to her, “We must 
 
 go-” 
 
 “You do not apprehend that you are in- 
 curring any risk?” asked Lucy, clinging affec- 
 tionately to his arm. 
 
 “So little, I conceive,” was her husband’s re- 
 ply, “ that it will cause me no uneasiness : but 
 even if I thought it great, I should not shrink 
 from chancing it under such circumstances. 
 No, dear Lucy — I am not apprehensive on that 
 score. The regiment ta wbich I belonged, is 
 still stationed at Mancl.ettter, many long miles 
 away from Dover. Yes, we will go! Fortu- 
 nately it is the Christmas holidays, and therefore 
 vve can spare a few days without detriment tr 
 the school.” 
 
 “And Freddy will go with us?” said Lucy. 
 
 “As a matter of course. The dear child will 
 enjoy the little trij): and moreover, under pre- 
 sent circumstances, your father will be de- 
 lighted to acknowledge and welcome his grand- 
 son.” 
 
 The preparations tliey had to make for so 
 short an exjiedition, were necessarily few and 
 limited; and they accordingly resolved to an- 
 swer the letter in person by proceeding to 
 Dover on the following day. It was a source 
 ,of sal.isfaction that the weather was now very 
 bcauliful, considering the season of the year — 
 Jiealthy and bracing, without being bleakly 
 ■ cold: and the sea was perfectly calm. 
 
THE SOLDIEEw’S WITH 
 
 101 
 
 rick and Lucy, witli their beloved little boy, 
 stepped accoiflingh’ on the deck of the Freiicli 
 eteam-packet at about ten in the morning ; and 
 in abotit two hours and a half they entered Lo- 
 ver harbor. It was perhaps with a momentary 
 sense of insecurity — or rather, we should say, 
 with something like a regret at having been 
 compelled to q\iit a state of completest security 
 — that Fredeidek stepped forth from the steam- 
 packet on the stairs leading to the quay: but 
 this feeling almost immediatelv vanished, as 
 he thought to himself of the million chances to 
 one that, there were against his being recognised 
 and taken, Lucy experienced a transitory 
 fluttering at the heart — but nothing that might 
 be railed serious ap])rehension : for she saw 
 likewise the incalculable chances in favor of 
 her husband, and the few that existed agaijist 
 him. To little Frederick, the whole scene was 
 full of the novelty and excitement of change ; 
 and he skipped up the 8tej)S in front of his fa- 
 ther and mother. Their portmanteau remained 
 behind, to go first of all to the Custom House, 
 ere they could receive it. 
 
 The top of the steps was reached and the 
 LonsdaleS had just jdanted their feet upon the 
 quay, when a hand was laid on Frederick’s 
 arm — and on his ears, as well as on those of his 
 wife, fell the ominous words, “You are my 
 prisoner!” 
 
 A shriek rose up to Lucy’s lips — but with an 
 almost [treterhuman effort she kept it back : 
 for quick as lightning did a sense of duty 
 spring up in her mind — that duty which she, in 
 her angel-character of a devoted and virtuous 
 woman, was ever ready to perform: namely, 
 the ministration of solace to her husband. 
 
 “1 v/ill go with you quietly,” said Lonsdale 
 to the constable; “and will reward you if you 
 spare me any ignomijiy in the presence of this 
 crowd;” — but the vc'ice in which he spoke was 
 the low deep tone of utter despair. 
 
 “I don’t want to hurt your feelings more 
 than I can help,” replied the constable : at the 
 same moment making a sign over his shoulder 
 for two of his comrades, who were close at 
 hand, to keep back, “feo come along quick. 
 
 I must take your arm though:” — to which of 
 course Frederick was compelled to submit. 
 
 Fortunately the passengers who were land- 
 ing at the time, were so bus}’' in hurrying off 
 to their homes or to hotels, or else to meet the 
 friends assembled to receive them, that tlie 
 arrest passed unnoticed by those aiauind ; and 
 thus the unfortunate Lonsdales were s[»ared 
 the ignominy of becoming a mark for universal 
 obseivation. Lucy — pale as death, but keej)- 
 iug back tours and sobs alike — clung to her 
 husband’s arms, which she pressed with even a 
 convulsive violence, in mute enti-eaty that he 
 would bear up against this frightful calamity. 
 WTth hci‘ other hand she led the boy, who was 
 intelligent enough to perceive that something 
 was wrong: but what it was he of course could 
 not possibly understand. The looks of his 
 father and mother struck the poor little fellow 
 with a dismay that prevented him from putting 
 a single question ; but when Lucy saw him 
 glance upwards, half in fright and half in 
 euriosity at her own and Frederick’s counte- 
 
 nances, it was with a world of difficult}- she 
 could repress a violent outburst of rending 
 anguish. What Lonsdale’s feelings were, we 
 must leave to the reader to imagine ; we can- 
 didly confess that we have exhausted what- 
 soever power of language we may be enabled 
 to wield in describing his emotions on former 
 occasions when ovei taken by calamity — so that 
 we have no words left to convey an adequate 
 idea of the sense of despair with which he re- 
 ceived this withering blight that now fell upo» 
 his happiness and his heart. 
 
 “Where do you choose to he taken to?" 
 asked the constable as they {)roceeded on their 
 w’ay. “There will be no coach till the after- 
 noon up to London ” 
 
 “ Wlio is at the Paris hotel?” demanded 
 Lonsdale, feeling who the author of this atro- 
 city was, and believing him to be there. 
 
 “ Well,” returned the man evasively, “you 
 may just as well go to the Paris as aiiy where 
 else: for 1 see that you miust be a person that 
 has got money to spend.” 
 
 Frederick made no answ’er. An awfful stu- 
 por seized upon his brain ; he appeared to he 
 walking in a dream. They proceeded to the 
 Paris Hotel ; and on a word from the constable, 
 a waiter showed them at once to a private 
 room. Almost immediately afterw’ards tl'8 
 other tw'o constables made their appearance* 
 and one of them said to him w-lio liad taken 
 Frederick into custody, “You must put on the 
 handcuffs. He says that this is a slippery 
 chap.” 
 
 “He ? To whom do you allude ?” ejaculated 
 our hero, starting up from the chair on which 
 he had sunk down when entering that room. 
 “ Who. is he? where is he? Tell him to come 
 hither that I may sacrifice him to my ven- 
 geance!” 
 
 “ Oh, my dearest husband !” cried Lucy, 
 throwing her arms about his neck, and now 
 bursting into a paroxysm of grief which could 
 no longer be restrained : “ 1 beseech and im- 
 plore you to calm yourself!” 
 
 “Calm myself, Lucy!” echoed Lonsdale, a 
 withering bitterness in his accents, and the 
 direst vengeance in his looks; “as well bid the 
 storms of heaven to be at j'eace ! It is for you, 
 my beloved one, that 1 feel thus deeply. O 
 God ! the anguish, the horroi-, the excruciation 
 of all this!” — and sinking down again upon the 
 chair from which he had so recently started up, 
 the unhappy man covered his face with his 
 hands and sobbed aloud. 
 
 Tlie little boy climbed up on his father’s lap, 
 imploring him in piteous accents not to cry • 
 and Lucy, falling upon her knees by her hu> 
 band’s side, in a broken voice, renewed her 
 supj)lications that he would be calm It was 
 a scene of such bitter burning anguish that the 
 constables themselves were for the instant 
 moved ; and they exchanged looks as much as 
 to inijdy that they were sorry to be compelled 
 to witness it. 
 
 “Well, I will be calm!” exclaimed Frederick 
 with an abruptness that in itself was terrible — 
 for it appeared as if his reason were suddenly 
 touched: then, in a moment perceiving iliS 
 horriiied dismay that ippeared on the cuod* 
 
102 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S WIFIi 
 
 t«nances of his wife and cliild, h« tlircAV his 
 inns round them l)()tli, caught them to his 
 I»rea.st ami covei’cd them with kisses. His t(!.irs 
 jxmred out freely; ami he experienced some 
 plight relief — or at all events, an ahateimmt of 
 the terrific excitement that a moment befoi-e 
 had existed in his mind. 
 
 The eonstal^le who had arrested him, now 
 slowly and somewhat hesitatingly [)roduced 
 from his [)oeket certain ohjeets wliieh sent fortli 
 an ominous metallic .sound ; ami both Frederick 
 and Lucy at once too well understood wliat 
 they were. The little boy a|)peared to have 
 some dim but terrible idea that “ the wieke<l 
 men,’’ as he called them, were about to put 
 chains ui)on his father; ami he looked on in 
 fipeechless dismay. liis beautiful countenance 
 had lost its color : the child seemed [)ale, fright- 
 ened, and ill — (.)h, what a spectacle to liarrow 
 the minds of his jmi-ents! 
 
 “Five guineas,” said Lonsdale, “if you take 
 me up to London without 
 
 The oHicer glanced towards his compaiiions, 
 both of whom had [placed their backs against 
 the door; and one of them making a sign to 
 the effect that he who held the handcuffs had 
 better wait a moment, is.sued from the room. 
 In a few minutes he returned, saying, “ As we 
 have got charge of the prisoner, it’s all at 
 our own risk whether he escapes or not, so we 
 can do as we like.” 
 
 The consequence was that, after a little ne- 
 gotiation, the constables agreed that, if the 
 sum were doubled, they would not put on the 
 handcurfs. Fortunately, the Lonsdales had 
 come from Calais well provided with money: 
 the ten guineas were paid down, and thu.s, for 
 the present at least, was the unhappy man 
 spared that fearful indignity, and his wife and 
 child the anguish of seeing it inflicted. 
 
 “Will you permit me,”- asked Lonsdale, “to 
 be alone with my famil}^ for a little while? 
 You can keep outside tiie door.” 
 
 This also was agreed to : and when the three 
 constables ha'l i.ssued forth, there was a repe- 
 tition of that anguished scene of embracing, 
 and sobbing, and weeping, which wc have ju.st 
 now described. But when the father and mo- 
 t.her regained suttieieat fortitude to enable 
 them to look their hideous calamity in the face, 
 and discu-ss what \vas to be done, thev’' began 
 to converse in whisjiering voice.s, in such a way 
 that little Frederick might not overhear what 
 they said. 
 
 “No, dearest Lucy,” remarked Lonsdale, 
 “listen to what 1 am about to say; and I be- 
 seech you to be guided by 1113 ^ counsels, which 
 are also my wisnes. You know, dearest — alas, 
 that I should be compelled to torture 3 U)ur 
 htnirt by giving vei'bal exprcjssion to the horri- 
 ble thing; but you know, dearest, that 1 have 
 a feai-ful ordeal to pass thi'ougli — a repetition 
 of what 1 have already umhirgone ! But you 
 must not, be present in the same town while 
 llmt is taking place. No: for our child’s sake 
 it must imL i)<! so! What I de,sire is this — that 
 y<»u ret urn to ( 'alais with lit tle hrt'derick to- 
 morrow, and that, you take the n<!Cv‘Ssar 3 ’ iiiea- 
 Bures to sell olf all lliat we possitss l.hcro. 'I'liis 
 %ill occupy several Jajp you can then return 
 
 to England, and come on to Manchester. Ly 
 the time you arrive there, all will be over. 
 You understami me, dearest — and you will ful- 
 fil my wishes!” 
 
 “ \ es, my' beloved husbaml — yon have but 
 to express your desire and it becomes law for 
 me. But, for heaven’s sake, do not aliandon all 
 
 hope -Oh! let me not see that bitter k>ok 
 
 u|)on 3 'our countenance! — it will haunt me lik« 
 a horrible spectre when we are .separat.ed 1” 
 
 “No, dearest — 1 will study to compose my 
 feelings. But i/ou, my Imloved — will i/oa pro- 
 mise i.liat \’ou will endeavor to do the same 
 
 “t will, I will: for each otluiFs sake must W4 
 do it!” — and then there were more embrocinga 
 — and, ala.s, more wee[)ingsl 
 
 But we will not dwell any longer U[)on thia 
 sad, sad scene. Suffice it to say that the un- 
 fortunate family were left entirely to them- 
 selves until the departure of the night-coach 
 up to Ijoiidon ; and then the sadness of that 
 scene became far sadder still in the moment of 
 separation. Lucy felt as if the chords of her 
 heart were being torn out of her— as if she 
 were parting with life itself amidst rending 
 agonies; but she suffered not all the extreme 
 bitterness of her anguish to be betrayed by' her 
 looks. The poor child wept as if his little 
 heart would break; and again and again were 
 those last embraces renewed, ere Lonsdale 
 could so far master his emotions and exercise 
 his fortitude as to tear liimself away from the 
 beloved ones and rush from the room. Then 
 Lucy, snatching up little Frederick in her arms, 
 continued to weep over him long and plente- 
 ously, in the poignant crucifixion of her feel- 
 ings. 
 
 ' Lonsdale entered the coach, and found that 
 he was to be accompanied by two of the consta- 
 bles. The whole of the inside of the vehicle 
 had, however, been engaged to insure the safe 
 custody of the prisoner: three of the seats 
 were already occupied by himself and the two 
 constables — but who was to have the fourth f 
 All doubt on that point, however, was speedily 
 cleared up: for a person, mudied in a great 
 coat, the long skirts of which trailed at his 
 heels, came forth from the hotel, and with soma 
 degree of hesitation approached the door of 
 the vehicle. 
 
 “ Now, sir, jump in !” cried the guard, who 
 was standing with the coach-door open in hi* 
 hand ; and at that instant the light of the lamp 
 fell full upon the countenance of Obadiah 
 Bates. 
 
 “ You <are sure he wont do me a mischief P 
 he said to the constables, still hesitating to en- 
 ter the coach. 
 
 “He has pledged himself to be perfectly 
 quiet,” was the response. “if he isn’t, w« 
 must .sli[) the darbies on.” 
 
 Bates acco!-dingly entered the vehicle, and 
 took the vacant place : the guard banged th« 
 door — and, leaping up behind, shouted “All 
 right” — wlnu'ciipon the equipage rolled away 
 fro 11 the front of the Baris Hotel. 
 
 Not a word was spoken until long after the 
 sl.age was beyond the [u'ceimits of Itover; and 
 then the bari)er, who had beer lidgeting about 
 for Homo minutes — evideutlv stirred by a 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 it?ong in:])iilse to indulge in his gai'rulous pro- 
 petjsity — fiiinui-ked, “Well, 1 say, this job was 
 done neat and clean, wasn’t it if” 
 
 “Are you addressing yourself to me?” de- 
 manded Lonsdale ; for the interior of the coach 
 being ij[-iite dark, he could not exactly perceive 
 in wTiich direction iiates was looking. But as 
 ho thus addressed that greatest of all iiiis- 
 Bi-eants, he felt the fury of a tiger springing up 
 within him — a boiling rage — a tend hie thirst 
 for vengeance, such as he had never expe- 
 rienced in his life before. 
 
 “ Well, I was speaking to anybody that 
 cliooses to listen,” answered Bates. “ Come, 
 Lonsdale, you must confess that you deserved 
 this of mo.” 
 
 “ When I pledged myself to remain perfectly 
 uiet,” replied dVederick, now experiencing a 
 iriiculty amounting almost to an excruciation 
 t<) prevent himself from Hying at the barber’s 
 throat and throttling him, “ I at least expected 
 that every cause of irritation would be avoid- 
 
 “ Coras, come, Mr. Bates,” said one of the 
 constables, “ it isn’t exactly fair.” 
 
 “ Well, then, 1 won’t address myself to him;” 
 and throughout the rest of the journey the bar- 
 ber kept his word. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 TUB BRAXniXG. 
 
 It was a cold, dismal, drizzling evening, on the 
 Lliird day after the arrest at Dover, that the un- 
 hap[)y Frederick Lonsdale entered the town of 
 Manchester in the custody of Bates and the two 
 Dover constables. He had now the handculfs 
 on his wrists ; but he was not altogether dis- 
 pirited. There was a sinister gleaming in his 
 eyes and a settled moodiness on his counte- 
 nance, indicating full well that his mind, in- 
 el ead of being sunken into despondency, was 
 at work with a frightful activity, lie was, in- 
 deed, thinking of all his wrongs ; and he could 
 no more keep back a craving for vengeance 
 than the mariner can repel the violence of the 
 current which hurries him onward into the vor- 
 tex of the Maelstrom. There was a project 
 in Lonsdale’s mind which he fancied would — if 
 carried out^ and if his conjectures on a certain 
 fHiiut were correct — afford him the means of 
 iiitlicting a terrible punisliment upon the au- 
 thor of liis calamities. What his project was, 
 and what our hero’s conjectures were, will 
 irans})ire in due course. 
 
 On being delivered up at the barracks where 
 his regiment was stationed, Lonsdale avus con- 
 signed to the black-hole. It is not our purpose 
 to linger upon this portion of our narrative: to 
 do so, would be merely a repetition of what 
 has bet n placed on record before. Suffice it to 
 Ei’.y, that a court-martial being duly summoned, 
 Frederick was condemned to receive five hun- 
 dred lashes — and in addition tJ>ereto, to be 
 hi an Jed ai a deserter I That he had rendered 
 hiii.seif liable to this last mentioned horror, he 
 ail aloi g too well knew: but never, when on 
 tae f_\¥ occasions he and Lucy had, er« leuiviug 
 
 0 
 
 lOS 
 
 England for France, touched u[)on the even- 
 tualities which might aidse from his detection, 
 had he drop[)cd a hint to her that there was a 
 penalty provided by the remorseless tyranny of 
 the military code in addition to the already 
 sufficient atrocities of the lash. To be branded 
 — Oh, it was indeed something frightful to con- 
 template! — and it was chiefly because he had 
 apprehended this, that he counselled his wdfa 
 to i-emain far away with their child until tha 
 measure of his punishment should be accom- 
 plished. But now he learnt to his dismay, that 
 I he would have to undergo the flogging first; 
 and not till he was cured, would he be sub- 
 jected to the process of branding. Reckoning 
 tliat it would take full six weeks ere he could 
 hope to issue from the infiruraiy, was he to keep 
 Lucy away from Manchester the whole of tha 
 time ? Y es — it was absolutely necessary to tak*. 
 this step: for he knew full well that it would 
 drive her to despair if she learnt that when the 
 demoniac tortures of the lash were over, he had 
 yet to look forward to a punishment which, if 
 far less painful, was if possible far moic inlV 
 mous. 
 
 The permission to write to a wife is seldom 
 refused to a private soldier when on the eve ol 
 undergoing his punishment, lie is looked u]ion 
 as an individual who stands upon an abyss a1 
 the bottom of which is death ; and he is there- 
 fore treated in some respects like the condemned 
 felon awaiting the da}' of execution. Lonsdale 
 obtained writing-materials ; and in a letter full 
 of mingled endearments and entreaties, he be- 
 sought Lucy not to think of coming to Man- 
 chester until she received another communica- 
 tion from him to let her know wdien he was 
 released from the infirmary. He reminded her 
 how desirable it was that their son should re- 
 main in ignorance of the ignominy and the toi*- 
 ture to which the father was to be subjected; 
 and in order to keep the boy in this state of 
 ignorance, it was i;equisite that he should see 
 his sire at large the moment he set foot Avith 
 his mother in Manchester. We need hardly 
 state that Frederick’s letter abounded in tender 
 assurances of his devoted love, and of such con- 
 solations as it was possible for him to impart 
 under the distressing circumstances of the case. 
 
 On the following morning Frederick Lonsdale 
 underwent the lacerations of the scourge in the 
 presence of the entire regiment, h^ergeant- 
 Major Langley was in attendance, as on the 
 former occasion ; and under his directions there 
 was no chance of the drummer-boys being per^ 
 mitted to spare the full vigor of their arms or 
 the Satanic poAvers of the lash. Without a 
 murmur from the lips, but with rage in the 
 heart and frenzy in the brain, did the unhap- 
 py Lonsdale receive the merciless infliction. 
 Though the wounds of the former flagellation 
 had long since been healed and the skin grown 
 over them, yet Avas the Avliole of the back and 
 the sjtace extending round upon the ribs most 
 painfully tender; and inasmuch as a field which 
 has once been ploughed, is ail the more easy to 
 plough up again, so was it with the flesh of th« 
 unhapiy Lonsdale. This time the very first 
 blow fetched blood ; and ere many Avere inflict- 
 ed, the thongs of tJie accursed scourge beyaji 
 
104 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 bo tear away the shin, cut up the flesh, an<l 
 hack out iiioi'seLs witli a inercilcss excruciation. 
 Again did many soldiers fall fainting from the 
 ranks — and again did the olllcers look on, steim 
 — implacable — unmove<l, at t he flaying j)roces8. 
 Dut what words can convey even a tithe of all 
 the mortal agonies that were endured by our 
 unha])])y hero beneath the ferocious lash ? The 
 sentence was that he should receive five hun- 
 dred blows: every blow might be multiplied 
 by nine: and thus when the puni/htEant was 
 over, he hud in reality received four thousand 
 and five hundred stripes 1 Take the agony whicli 
 is endured by the victim when being scalped 
 bv the tomahawk of the Indian — take the inef- 
 fable ])angs which are nndei-gone by the writh- 
 -g wretch when encircled by the compressing 
 coils of one of Ceylon’s mightiest snakes — take 
 the excruciation that is experienced by the un- 
 fortunate being when the claws of a tiger have 
 struck deep into his pal|)itating flesh — take the 
 crucifying anguish of the bathing sailor when a 
 siiark seizes upon his limbs — take the feai'ful 
 sutferings of the wretch enduring the process 
 of impalement — take, we say, all these egonies 
 — add to them whatsoever others the imagina- 
 tion can suggest — multiply them a thousand- 
 fold — and then an idea may be formed of the 
 hideous torture endured by Frederick Lorsdale 
 on the occasion of this second punishment And 
 yet, as we have said, he bore it with a fortiUide 
 displaying the natural magnanimity of his soul ; 
 and by an almost incredible elFort of his manly 
 will, he suppressed the utterance of even a sigh 
 or a murmur indicative of the agonies he was 
 fufFering. Yes — the whole sum of the five liun- 
 dred lashes did he thus receive; and in a state 
 of complete unconsciousness was he borne to 
 the infirmary. 
 
 In the course of a few days he received a 
 letter from Lucy. Like his own, it was full of 
 expressions of tenderness and words of condo- 
 lence; and it dutifully expressed the fair but 
 unhappy writer’s intention to abide by the 
 counsels she had received from her husband. 
 He wrote back to inform her that the punish- 
 ment of the lash was over, and that the circum- 
 stance of his thus being able to respond to her 
 ej)istle so soon, might convince her that, so far 
 a.s his health was concerned, he was progressing 
 as favorably as could be expected. He conclu- 
 ded bv renewing his promise to write to her 
 igain the instant he should become aware of 
 the day when he might ho])e for his discharge 
 from the hospital. Again in a short time did 
 he receive a letter frijin Lucy, — to the effect 
 that she hud already disposed of their goods in 
 Calais, and that she was anxiously awaiting the 
 much wisinjd-for summons that would enable 
 her to speed to Alanebester. We need hai’dly 
 fcuy that her epistle was full of the tenderest 
 fcondolenees wit h her unhappy husband for the 
 iwful [Miiiishment he had received, — mingled 
 likewise with fei'vid expressions of thanks to 
 heaven that, lie hud survived t he diabolical tor- 
 ture. Shesaiil t hat little f'l-ed.ly was constantly 
 iji'piiiing lor his papa, and wished t.o know 
 “what tiio.se wiektsl men luol done to himj” 
 I’erhap.-', in r*fo dmg tln-se lit I, le circumstances, 
 Lucy went soineuhaL larLher than she would 
 
 liave done had she been in a state of niirul proper 
 for calm deliber.ation : that is t.o sav, she would 
 have suppressed all mention of these traiu of 
 affection on the })nrt of the child which could 
 not do otherwise than excite the tnost [»ainful 
 feelings, in (me sense, on the part of Lonsdale. 
 Oh, that the beloved boy should have Ihus to 
 impure for his absent father! — oh, that a fatluif 
 should have to reflect that his very manhc<Hi 
 had been tlagi-antly and uUerl}' disgraced by 
 an infamous j)unisliment which dared not b« 
 whispered in the hearing of that child! 
 
 Weeks passed on — and there was a frccpient 
 interchange of letters between Frederick and 
 Lucy. Hut our hero’s recovery was slower on 
 the present occasion than it was on the first; 
 the wounds were deeper — the flaying of the skin 
 was more extensive — the flesli was more com 
 pletely cut up — the muscles and fibi-es were 
 more softened and more thoi’ouglily beaten into 
 a greater degree of pulpim.-ss, than had been 
 the case at rortsmouth. He had literally been 
 scourged to within an inch of his life. (Jh, the 
 miscreants? And they would have affected to 
 recoil in horror from the reading of a tale of the 
 Russian knout. Maudlin sym})athy ! let us 
 hear no more of the horrors of the Russian 
 knout, so long as we have the horret-s of th« 
 cat-o’-nine-tails in our own land. 
 
 Two months elapsed from the date of the 
 flogging, before tlie surgeon pronouneed Fre- 
 derick Lonsdale convalescent. The period was 
 therefore now come when he was to undergo 
 the remaining portion of liis sentence. He had 
 been advised by some of his humane comrades, 
 whom he had met in the infirmary, or who 
 visited him there, to petition Colonel Wyndham 
 for a reprieve in respect to the branding : but 
 while thanking his advisers for the good feel- 
 ing which prompted this counsel, our hero 
 steadily and stendy refused to seek a favor at 
 the hands of any one of those whom he could 
 not regard otherwise than as his enemies. It 
 was on the morning of the 15th of Alarch, 183.5, 
 that the regiment was drawn up in a scpiare 
 on the parade-ground — the same as if it were 
 to witness the scourging process ; and Lons- 
 dale was marched forth from the infirmary to 
 be branded as a deserter. He neither walked 
 so erect as was his wont, nor with the same 
 firmness of step ; but it was not that his heart 
 failed him — it was because he was still weak 
 and feeble from the effects of the awful pun- 
 ishment he had receivecL Indeed, he was so 
 emaciated — his countenance was so ghastly 
 white — that he looked but the ghost of hit 
 former self. Still there was a stern decision 
 in his eyes and in his compressed lips; and he 
 exerted all his energy to surmount as much 
 as possible the sense of enervation which bent 
 his form somewhat, and rendered his pace 
 slow and languid. Was there any pity felt for 
 that unfortunate man as he thus painfully 
 dragged himself towards the centre of the 
 s(piare? Yes: an illimitable compassion on 
 the paid of the private soldiers — but none on 
 that of the officers, Lieutenant Hcathcote alone 
 excel )ted. 
 
 When stationed in the midst of the regi- 
 ment, Lonsdale iiad again to submit to the 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 101 
 
 i^gTftdation of being stripped naked to the 
 Vaist. The surgeon was present to superin- 
 iend the branditig process — not so much how- 
 ever in his medical character, as merely to in- 
 etruct tlie drum-major, whose duty it was to 
 operate, how to accomplish his task : for there 
 was in Teality no danger attending the process, 
 and comj)aj‘atively little pain — at least for one 
 who had gone through the hideous excrucia- 
 tions of the lash. But then the infamy, — Oh ! 
 it was this — it was this, that constituted the 
 pain — the agony! 
 
 Our hero being stripped to the waist, as 
 above stated, the drum-major dipped a camel’s 
 hair brush into a small bottle which had been 
 furnished him, aind which contained a thick 
 black liquid. He then traced with his brush 
 tlio letter D on Lonsdale’s left side, two inches 
 below the arm-pit, and upon a part which the 
 scourge had cut up two months back, and 
 which was only just skinned over. The letter 
 itself was about an inch in length. The drum- 
 major then took a small bottle of saddler’s 
 needles, three-sided and serrated: with these 
 he pierced the skin all over tlie tracing of the 
 letter, so as to draw blood — which heaven 
 knows was easily done on that sore spot, which 
 had so lately been flayed, ploughed, furrowed, 
 hewed, and hacked, by the remorseless scourge 1 
 Lonsdale remained motionless as a statue — 
 save perhaps in respect to a slight quivering of 
 the lips and the eye-lids ; for he felt that, even 
 as in the lowest depth there is a deeper still, 
 81 . that beyond the degradation of the cat-o’- 
 n'.ne-tails, there was the greater infamy of the 
 brand. When the puncturing process was over, 
 tlie drum-major took some guiijiowder between 
 his linger and thumb, and rubbed it in u])ou 
 the wound for the purpose of rendering the 
 mark indelible. The exjilanation of the process 
 is this; that the charcoal of the gunpowder is 
 forced into the small oriflces punctured by the 
 needles, and remains in the skin without fester- 
 ing after the wound has healed up : so that as 
 a matter of course the black color of the 
 charcoal renders the letter D not merely visible, 
 but likewise indelible. 
 
 And there stood Lonsdale, enduring this 
 (B'O wiling infamy — half-naked in the presence 
 of his comrades — his back showing the deep 
 red mark of the scourge which had lacerated it 
 two months back! — there he stood, this unfor- 
 tunate man — in a civilized countrv — in a land 
 of Bibles and Missionary Societies — to have the 
 mark of Cain aftixed upon him! Wlien the 
 process was over, he was conducted back to 
 the infirmary — there to remain until the wound 
 •^'ould be completely healed, when he might 
 r*» 8 uine his military duties. He learned from 
 Uft sai'geon that there was every reason to 
 bfdie’v e that he would quit the infirmary at the 
 expiration of a week ; and he therefoi-e wrote 
 to Lucy to teT her that she might nc w leave 
 Calais and join him without delay. But did 
 he acquaint his beloved wife with the circum- 
 Btances of the branding infamy he had sus- 
 tained? — No — not for worlds would he have 
 plunged this additional dagger into a heart 
 which was already deeply wounded ! — and he 
 hoped, considering the seclusion in which she 
 8 
 
 would live when arriving in Manehester, that 
 not even a whisper of the hideous circum- 
 stance would reach her ears. 
 
 On the sixth day after the marking proces* 
 Frederick w'as discharged from the infirmary. 
 Before he returned to his quarters, he waa 
 summoned to the presence of Colonel W^’nd- 
 ham, with whom Adjutant Scott was seated at 
 the time — while Sergeant-Major L.''.ngley waa 
 standing bold upright, in the “first positi on,’* 
 at a respectful distance from the tabic. 
 
 “Noav then. Private Lonsdale,” saivi the C^ 
 lonel, speaking coldly and sternly, “you ara 
 going back to your duties — and you bad better 
 take care of yourself: for I can tell you that 
 
 you have a character to redeem Do you 
 
 think he’ll ever redeem it, Langley?” 
 
 The sergeant-major shook his head oui\nou»’ 
 ly ; and poor Lonsdale felt that he was lik« 
 a dog to whom a bad name had been g'ven, 
 and who might be strung up ofi-hand w.tivout 
 mercy and without pity. But he said notldng : 
 his mood then was the sullenness of despaii. 
 
 “ Come, Scott,” resumed the Colonel, turning 
 towards the Adjutant: “tell this .fellow v by 
 he wuas sent for here.” 
 
 “ Private Lonsdale,” said the officer thus ad- 
 dressed — s}»eaking with business-like delibera- 
 tion, and referring to a written memorandum 
 at the same time — “you originally enlisted for 
 seven years. Was it not so, Langle}- ?” 
 
 “ It was, sir,” responded the sergeant-major. 
 
 “Well, it a})]>ears. Private Lonsdale,” con- 
 tinued Mr. Scott, “that. you enlisted on the 
 loth of May, 1828 — and you deserted on the 
 24th of August of the same year. That made 
 three months and one week of service. You 
 Were capLired on the 10th of Januar}^ l&P.O ; 
 and you served up to the 23rd of August, 1832 : 
 that interval comprised a period that we will 
 put dowui as nineteen months and a half. Then 
 you deserted again — and you remained away 
 until Dec. 31st, 1834, when you were captured 
 at Dover. From that date until this day — 
 March 22nd, 1835 — is comprised a period of 
 service that we will put down as two months 
 and three w'eeks. Now, Lungley — how do you 
 make out these figures? am 1 right?” 
 
 “ Perfectly so, sir,” responded the sergeant- 
 major. “There’s three periods of service, sir-— 
 the first, three months and a week — the second, 
 nineteen months and two weeks — the third, 
 
 two months and three weeks altogether, 
 
 twenty -five months and two w'eeks.” 
 
 “ Or two years and six weeks,” interjected th# 
 Colonel. 
 
 “Now, then. Private Lonsdale,” resumed the 
 Adjutant, “ you understand for what purpose 
 these calculations are made. You enlisted to 
 serve — mind, to serve — for seven years. Your 
 desertions count as nothing. You have served 
 altogether two years and six weeks: you have 
 
 therefore still to serve how much do you 
 
 make it, Langley?” 
 
 “ Four years, ten months, and two weeks, 
 sir,” was the sergeant-major’s measured and ao 
 centuated response. 
 
 “Just so,” observed Colonel Wyndham, with 
 a yawn : for he was already wearied of a 
 tedious mass of figui'es. 
 
TITE SCIIDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 «0i 
 
 “Yon underntan J, TVivale Lonadnlo,” 
 
 •aid Mr f>cott: “you have neaily five years 
 more to serve. And Jiow you can retire.” 
 
 Our hero did retire — and with a heart full of 
 despair. Not that he had just learnt anything 
 for which he was uripre})are(l : he had previously 
 known full well that he was lial>!e to seiwe the 
 entire period for which he had originally en- 
 listed — and. his Lucy was likewise aware of 
 the same fact. But he was tilled with despair 
 because the treatment he had just experienced 
 at the hands of his sup(!riors was that of a cold 
 brutality — a heartless aggravation of all the 
 miseries he had endured, lie saw that he was 
 indeed a marked man — that no sym[)athy was 
 felt towards him by his olHcers, e\ en thorgh 
 he had paid the penalty of liis otiences — aye, 
 and dreadfully paid it too! 
 
 On leaving the colotiel’s apartment, lie has- 
 tened to get ready for parade, and appeared 
 under arms for the tirst time since his retui’ii to 
 the regiment. The cross-belts sat heavily upon 
 him: his baidc was sore — he felt a pain in his 
 loins — his lungs seemed affected. But when the 
 parade was over, and his heavy accoutrements 
 were thrown aside, he breathed more freel}' — 
 his spirits rose somewhat, too — for he expected 
 his beloved wife and child to arrive at Man- 
 chester in the evening. A lodging must be 
 provided for them; and accordingly in the 
 afternoon — when he had some few hours to 
 dispose of — he sallied forth to make the re<jui- 
 eite research, lie soon found the aceomrnoda- 
 tion he required: and having ati ample supply 
 of ready money, which he had brought with 
 him from Dover, he was enabled to pay the 
 rent in advance. In the evening he repaired to 
 the particular stage by which he had directed 
 Lucy to come ; and when it drove up to the 
 door, he had the satisfaction of perceiving his 
 beloved wife and little son amongst the pas- 
 sengers. In a few moments our hero and 
 heroine were clasped in each other’s arms; 
 and Lucy, forgettingat the instant that her un- 
 fortunate husband’s back must be sore, clasped 
 him with an energy of tenderness that made 
 him writhe in that embrace. But in the fulness 
 of her emotions at that tirst instant of meeting, 
 she observed it not : or else. Oh ! what a bitter, 
 bitter pang it would have sent like a barbed 
 arrow to her heart’s core! Little Frederick 
 had been previously informed by his mamma 
 that his father was now a soldier; and there- 
 fore the child was not amazed tu see his parent 
 in a uniform. On the contrary he was delight- 
 ed ; and fervid indeed was the embrace in 
 which he was strained by that affectionate 
 father. 
 
 A porter being procured to convey Lucy’s 
 boxes, the little party ])roceeded along the 
 •treet to the house in wliicli the lodging was 
 4 ngagc<l, and which was at no great distance. 
 Wild 3 repairing thither arm-in-arm, the hus- 
 band and wif(! could not help noticing the 
 great change which had taken place in each 
 other during the thi’ci; months wiiich had now 
 •<> nearly elapsed sinci; they ]>Mrled. 'I'he 
 reader is alrca<ly aware that. IVcd(jri(dc was 
 pule and emaciated, and he still walked i iviu- 
 luli^ and lungui Jly. Lucy was likewise .*iile 
 
 and much care worn: indeer lier countenanM 
 l)Ut too cvidmilly Ixttrayed the immensity of 
 the grief which slie had cxpericnce<l during tii# 
 inteiwal of separation. Both .'il ndiously endea- 
 vored to eonceal from each other how much 
 they were shocked at observing 1h<*se (dianges 
 in their ap[)earance; and not a syllable waa 
 spokem in respect to the awful juinish cent that 
 Frederick had endured. 
 
 It was a spacious and airy bedroom whiek 
 L(>ns<lale had hired — ready furnished — in & 
 respectable house, but in a somewhat secluded 
 street; and as he had given the landlady ii»- 
 structious to purchase such neciissaries as wer« 
 required for immediate use, the matcn-ials for a 
 comfortable repast were found ready on their 
 arrival at the lodging. J.,ucy, truly i-ejoiccd to 
 be restored to her husband, manifested as much 
 cheerfulness as under circumstances was |) 09 » 
 sible: but Fre<lerick was unable to ea.st off a 
 certain gloom which apjicared to have fastened 
 its shade upon his coiuitenance and settled ita 
 influence upon his heart. . The child, — too 
 yung to notice the altered ajipearance of his 
 father, or to perceive that there was aught 
 of moodiness hanging upon his 8[)ii’its — 
 and ilelighted to be in his father’s presence 
 once again, — played about the room in a 
 frolicsome manner, evei'}^ now and then climb- 
 ing upon ijonsdale’s knees, thi-owing hia 
 arms about his neck, and kissing him ali’ectiou- 
 ately. 
 
 On the following day Frederick and Lucy 
 hold a deliberation upon their affairs. The 
 furniture which they had originally purchased 
 in Calais for seventy pounds, had realized fifty 
 on being sold; ami tliis was the best bargain 
 that Lucy was able to make. But altogether 
 they could command about sixty pounds. The 
 reader may perha[)S wonder why Frederick did 
 not make up his mind to leave his regiment 
 again as soon as possible and flee back to 
 France — there to remain for ever, with the 
 fl.xed determination of allowing no pretext or 
 stratagem to seduce him again to his native 
 land. But no : he had not now the energy 
 sufficient for this. Ilis nature was already 
 undergoing a change : he looked upon the whole 
 woi-ld with distrust : he felt as if his was an evil 
 destiny, which he must irresistibly fulfll. But 
 he did not state all this to Luc}'. lie had still 
 a boundless love for her, — and also for their 
 child : so that if he did not hint at another de- 
 sertion, neither did he give his reason for not 
 attem[)ting it; and Lucy of course did not 
 breathe a syllable bordering upon such a sug- 
 gestion. She reminded Frederick that when 
 at Portsmouth she had comfortably sustained 
 herself by means of needle-work, and sh« 
 thought of having recourse to the same pursuit 
 again. With a portmn of their ready money, 
 furniture might be bought for two little rooms; 
 and thus a saving in the rental be effected. 
 But, on the othei- hand, it was by no meant 
 certain that the regiment would remain long in 
 Manehester ; amWf it were suddenly or speedily 
 removed, the furniture would have to be re-sold 
 at a considerable loss. Therefore, all thing! 
 considered, it was resolved that Lucy should 
 continue to occupy the present lodging,— Fr^ 
 
THE SOLDIER'? WIFE. 
 
 lot 
 
 derick suggesting that when in a few weeks’ 
 time her health, which had recetitly suffered 
 much, shcudd be completely restored, she might 
 carry out the other part of her plan and pro- 
 cuie needle- work. 
 
 “ And now,” he observed, when the discussion 
 of their affairs was over, “I am going to tell 
 yell, my dear Lucy, what 1 pur|)ose to do. I 
 intend to write to the Postmaster-General, and 
 inform him that I have every reason to believe 
 the villain Bates opens the letters which pass 
 through his hands. How could he have known 
 we were at Calais, unless he had opened that 
 letter which you had penned to your father S’” 
 
 “Oh! fatal, fatal letter!” ejaculated Lucy: 
 •'would to heaven I had never written itS” 
 
 “Do not blame yourself, my dearest wife,” 
 responded her husband: “you have no need to 
 do so. But to return to what I was saying. 
 That letter which deluded us away from Calais, 
 could only have been written by some person 
 who had read the one which 3’ou addressed to 
 your father. We know that Bates must have 
 tampered with the correspondence between 
 Gerald Re<lburn and your father seven 3’ears 
 ago — or else he could not have written that let- 
 tw to Sergeant Langle}' which made me aware 
 of what was going on. Oh ! to be revenged 
 
 upon that villain — to be revenged upon him 
 
 Oh, it will prove the sweetest moment of 1113’ 
 life 1” 
 
 Our hero spoke with a sudden access of bit- 
 terness that positively frightened Luc3’. She 
 started — she gazed in wild and anguished dis- 
 may' upon him: for there was something of 
 almost fiend-like implacability in his words and 
 his looks at that instant. 
 
 “ Much as we have suffered — deeply’ as you 
 have suffered, my’^ beloved husband,” she said 
 at length giving utterance to her feelings — and 
 she spoke in a low tremulous voice as she looked 
 up with plaintive earnestness into his counte- 
 nance, — “yet revenge is an evil sentiment to 
 cherish. Oh, Frederick! I beseech you — I be- 
 seech you to banish it from your heart — that 
 heart which is so good, so magnanimous!” 
 
 “That was, y*ou mean, Lucy!” he exclaimed: 
 “but it is warped — cruelly^ warped towards all 
 the world, except ymurself and our dear child.” 
 
 “ Oh ! say not so — speak not thus, dear Frede- 
 rick,” murmured Lucy, now stricken with the 
 •addest presentiments. “At all events do no- 
 thing rashly: take time to reflect Your 
 
 mind,” she continued hesitatingly, “ will soon 
 recover a healthier tone ” 
 
 “LucyM” suddenly interrupted our hero, “I 
 have suffered enough to change the nature of 
 a saint ! It is not alone for my'self that 1 feel 
 BO deeply’: it is for you and our dear child that 
 I have thus suffered. Oh ! when I think of the 
 happy’ home which we so recently possessed — 
 of the security’ in which we dwelt — and then of 
 the unparalleled treachery which lured us 
 thenc\j, it is enough to drive me mad — My God, 
 It is enough to drive me mad !” 
 
 “ Frederick, I beseech y’ou nol; to talk thus,” 
 said Lucy, unable to restrain the tears that 
 were jxiuring down her cheeks. “ What can I 
 
 gay — what can I do to comfort you I Oh, 
 
 what can 1 dc ” 
 
 The boy, who had hithertc been playing at 
 tlie farther end of tlie room, now timidly’ ap- 
 proached his parents : for he thought that theyr 
 were quarrelling — although he had never in 
 his life seen the slightest dispute arise betw een 
 them. But the siqiposition was new natural 
 enough on his pai t, as he could not possibly 
 comju'ehend whei'efore they were thus speaking 
 in so excited a manner. 
 
 “ My dear child,” exclaimed Lucy, snatching 
 aim up in her arms, “ do not look thus sorrow- 
 ful.” 
 
 “ But papa was scolding you,” he said, be- 
 ginning to ciy. 
 
 “No, no — your papa ncrer scolded me!” and 
 at this assurance the little fellow’s countenance 
 brightened up. 
 
 “ We must talk this matter over alone, Lucy," 
 said Lonsdale, having caressed his little son. 
 “Take him to the w’oman of the house for a 
 few minutes, and let her buy him him a toy.” 
 
 The child was thus disposed of for a little 
 while ; and when Lucy returned to the cham- 
 ber, she found her husband pacing to and fro 
 in a moody' manner, with his arms folded across 
 his chest. He did not immediately perceive 
 her re-ajipearance ; and her ear caught an eja- 
 culation which fell half subdued frdm his lips, 
 and which sent a fresh thrill of anguished pre- 
 sentiment through her heart. 
 
 “ The miscreant — 1 will be avenged, I will 
 be avenged!” — such w’ere the w'ords wdiich 
 Lucy had thus caught; and almost immediate- 
 ly afterwards Fredei ick saw’ that she had come 
 back. “Now, my dear w'ife,” he continued, 
 taking her hand and pressing it in his ow’ii, 
 “you must permit me to have my’ w'ay in this. 
 
 I feel that the only solace to my wounded 
 spirit w'ill be the [uuiishment of that remorse- 
 less villain. Surely, surely’, you, dear Lucy’, 
 must hate him as 1 do?” 
 
 “ If he came starving to our door,” she re- 
 sponded, “ I do believe that 1 should have the 
 courage to refuse him a moi-sel of bread : and 
 still I have not the heart — forgiv’e me for say- 
 ing so, dear Frederick — to take steps of my ow'n 
 accord to involve a fellow-creature in ruin. [ 
 am sure that when the sense of bitter suffering 
 has somewhat yielded to the lapse of time on 
 your part — for time has a healing influence — ’* 
 
 “ Oh ! there are some wounds,” ejaculated 
 Frederick, “which time can never heal! But 
 pray, dear Lucy, think not the w’orse of me if 
 I persist in doing that which an unconquerabl# 
 impulse urges me to acconqilish.” 
 
 “ I will say no more, my dear husband,” sh« 
 rejoined : but it w'as with a profound mournful- 
 ness alike of tone and voice that she spoke. 
 
 Lonsdale hastened to take writing materials: 
 and seating himself at the table, he penned a 
 letter to the Postmaster-General, expressing a 
 conviction, from various circumstances which 
 had come to his know'ledge, that Obadiah 
 Bates, of the post-oflice at Oakleigh, was ao- 
 customed to violate the sanctity of the corres- 
 pondence passing through his hands. Lucy 
 watched her husband w'ith the most painful 
 feelings as he penned this letter. She saw that 
 he gl oated over the work he was doing; and 
 when she reflected how changed his uatur« 
 
lot 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 must bo to permit so vindictive a sentiment to 
 harbor in tiis breast, she slinddei-ed witli u 
 recurrence of that vague misgiving wliich liad 
 already smitten her in i^espect to the future. 
 The letter was fohled up and addressed : and 
 Frederick sallied forth to take it to the post- 
 office. Then Luc}^ hurried down stairs — fetched 
 lip her little son — and covered him with the 
 most jiassiouate kisses as she led him up to the 
 ehainber. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 MU. Rossroi. 
 
 It was about a fortnight after our hero’s letter 
 to the Postmaster-CTcneral had been desj)atehed 
 from Manchester, that Mr. Obadiah Bates re- 
 paired at about nine o’elock in the evening to 
 the Royal Oak. A long, long time had elapsed 
 since he had joined the company in the parlor 
 of that little iiostelry, as he had been wont to 
 do when first intro<luced to our readers. But 
 on this particular evening i\Ir. Bates was seized 
 with an unusual fit of boldness. Not that he 
 was ever deficient in effrontery: but still he 
 had not chosen voluntarily to encounter the 
 cold and d^tant looks of his fellow-tradesmen 
 of the village. It may therefore be properly 
 defined an access of more than his wonted 
 impudence which induced him on this occasion 
 to bend his way towards Bushell’s. Perhaps 
 it was that he had taken an extra drop of 
 spirits in his own dwelling on that particular 
 evening: or perhaps it was because he had 
 treated himself to a new suit of clothes, wliich 
 'the village tailor had made for him ; and he 
 was not only desirous of showing them off, but 
 he likewise fancied that the said tailor, who 
 was sure to be at the Royal Oak, could not 
 possibly give him the cold shoulder after the 
 fulfilment of such an order. 
 
 “ Besides,” said Bates to himself, as he walked 
 along, “ this ill-feeling towards me can’t last 
 for ever: but how is it to be put a stop to, 
 unless I do something to appease the minds of 
 all these fellows? Here have I been regularly 
 cut, as one may say — and I can’t bear it any 
 longer. I will go up boldly to the Oak — take 
 my four penn’orth of gin and my screw of 
 bakker — and see what they will say. A man 
 like me isn’t to be crushed. If they have any 
 of their nonsense, perhaps I can drop a hint or 
 two about their j)rivate affairs that will rather 
 astonish them ; and if that don’t bring them 
 over into a better humor, I’m sure I don’t know 
 what the deuce will.” 
 
 By the time he had finished this soliloquy, 
 t’ne Royal Oak was reached ; and Mr. Bates, 
 Ktickiiig his hat jauntily over his right ear, and 
 snifiliiig to catch the fragi’aiice of the ex(piisite 
 bears’ gi-ease (made from lard) which anointed 
 his locks and whiskers, walked boldly into the 
 litt.lc parlor. Several of fhe village tradesmen 
 were assembled, drinking Ibeir ale and smoking 
 their pipes; while old Bnshell oeenpied his 
 usual seat at the chimney-corner ; though there 
 was no lire in the grate — for it was the month 
 of Aj)ril, and Ibe Spring weather was mild. 
 Tliere WJia also an imlividual, who, it Jipj)oared, 
 
 had arrived at Oakleigh that evening by the 
 carrier’s van from Middleton. He was a tall 
 man — nearly six feet in stature, and bulky in 
 projmrtion. His age might be about fifty:' hii 
 hail-, of an iron gray, was .short and cns[)ed; 
 and on the ujiper j)art of his forehead thor* 
 was a long red seam evidently produc«*<l by a 
 terrific wound. He was dre.ssed in a black 
 body-eoat and waistcoat, drab breeches, aiu 
 top-boots. He had a heavy look: yet there 
 were moments when his eyes would twinkU 
 with an exceeding sharpness; and there was a 
 sort of pricking-up of the ears when any on* 
 began to s[)eak after a pause in the discourse. 
 This }>er.son who had given the name of Mr. 
 Ro.sser, was smoking his l>ipe, and doing ample 
 justice to a quart-])ot of Mr. Busliell’s excellent 
 ale. 
 
 “Well, Mr. Bates,” said the landlord, who 
 always made it a r-ulo to be civil to everybody, 
 and never mixed himrelf up in the village 
 (Quarrels, — “you are qm'te a stranger amongst 
 us. I am very glad b) see you.” 
 
 “I hope others are b>o,” replied the barber, 
 glancing around upon the company : then 
 taking his seat, he said, '‘Landlord, order me 
 four penn’orth of gin— cold without — and a 
 screw.” 
 
 The village tradesmen,— including Mr. Mum- 
 mery the baker, concerning whose remittance 
 to his brother-in-law at Carlisle Mr. Bates had 
 well nigh got himself into such serious trouble, 
 looked particularly cold and glum as the bar- 
 ber made his appearance. Two or three 
 “hems” and sluM-f. couglis were irivcn —several 
 significant looks were exchanged — and then 
 divers faces were half buried in pewter mea- 
 sures, as if to conceal or subdue emotions. Mr. 
 Rosser likewise took a long draught from his 
 own quart-pot, over the rim of which he eyed 
 Mr. Bates very attentively, without however 
 appearing to do so. 
 
 “ What is that person ?” whispered the bar- 
 ber to old Bushell. 
 
 ‘ He is staying at the house : he came from 
 Middleton this evening, and says he has got 
 some business down in these parts. I don’t 
 know what he is. He looks like a farmer — • 
 and 3^et he doesn’t, somehow or another.” 
 
 “Well, he has an orkard cut over his fore- 
 head, at all events,” said Bates, gliding back 
 to his seat, which he had for a moment quitted 
 to question Mr. Bushell. “Now, gentlemen,” 
 he continued, looking around upon the as- 
 sembled tradesmen, “you needn’t seenKso pre- 
 cious distant: I hav’n’t brought the plag^ae 
 with me — and I do think you have made a 
 dead set against me quite long enough.” 
 
 “Well, 1 do think Mr. Bates has been some- 
 what harshly treated,” said the village tailor*, 
 then in a Avhis])er to the individual who sat 
 next to him, he added, “ Come, Beagley, don’t 
 look so cold at him. I made him them clothe* 
 — and he paid me qiiite honorable.” 
 
 “ You see, gentlemen,” resumed the barber, 
 “you tried to get a new hairdresser into th* 
 village about seven 3war3 ago: but you couldn’t 
 manage it. Nobod}' would come in opposition 
 to me; and though some of 3'ou do go over to 
 Middletnn Uy get your hair cut, yet theie’* • 
 
THE SOl^DlER’S WIFK 
 
 lOf 
 
 m.iny of you still obliged to come to me-r-and 
 I may add tiiumphantly, that the sale of my 
 iuperfine bear’s-grease has scarcely fallen olf.’^ 
 
 “ I tell you what it is, Mr. Bates,” said Mr. 
 Sheepwash, who considered himself a very ex- 
 cellent speaker, “ I say it for myself — and when 
 I say it for myself, I mean that I am speaking 
 on my own account indiwidually, and not col- 
 lectively, — leastways as a ’umble inhabitant of 
 Unis here willage — and it may be that I am ex- 
 pressing the opinions of other honorable gen- 
 tlemen which is now present, — I say therefore, 
 Mr. Bates, that there wouldn’t be no objection 
 to you if so be you would just clear up them 
 little suspicious things which is floating about 
 in men’s minds agin you!” 
 
 “ What suspicious things f” demanded Bates, 
 with matchless effrontery, though he had no 
 difficulty in guessing the subject of Mr. Sheep- 
 wash’s allusion. 
 
 “ Why, I mean,” responded this erudite per- 
 tonage — “ and wlien I say I mean, it is that I 
 want you to understand — leastways to compre- 
 hend — both on my part and on the part of the 
 honorable gents which 1 beholds around me on 
 this memorable occasion, that it’s vispered — 
 and when 1 say vispered, I mean it’s spoke out 
 aloud, that you, Mr. Bates, should have tam- 
 pered with the wiolability of correspondence 
 passed through your hands.” 
 
 “Then I say it’s a lie!” ejaculated the bar- 
 ber, striking his elenched fist upon the table, so 
 that every one of the pewter pots and glasses 
 performed a pirouette at the imminent risk of 
 U]>setting. “ Who accuses me ?” 
 
 “ I do,” said Mr. Mummery, the baker, laying 
 down his pipe and looking awfully stern. 
 
 “Well, but about that there fifty pound-note,” 
 said the barber, nothing discomfited, “I had to 
 pay it, and that shows I was an honest man. 
 But who knows that you. Mummery, ever put 
 it into the letter ?” 
 
 “ IIow corned it,” asked Mummery, “ that 
 long before I paid my brother-in-law back that 
 money, you, Mr. Bates, went whispering about 
 in Oakleigh to whoever would listen to you, 
 that I had borrowed it! How did you know 
 this, I say ?” asked the baker, waxing wrathful, 
 “ unless you had opened some of the letters that 
 had passed betwixt me and my brother-in-law V' 
 
 “Oh! them kind of things,” answered Bates, 
 with a eontemptuous toss of the head, “ soon 
 get wind!” — and then he added maliciously, 
 “ When people passes themselves off as being 
 warm and well-tto-do when they’re nothing of 
 the sort, they can’t keep the mask on their faces 
 long.” 
 
 “ But I want to know now,” spoke Mr. Jud- 
 kins, who was a mean-looking man, “ how it 
 was, Mr. Bates, that you came to learn about 
 my writing to the , mercer at Middleton for a 
 little acconimodation in the shape of eredit, 
 •uch as all merchants want now and then ? 1 
 
 know for a fact you spoke of it in your shop, 
 and I can bring witnesses to prove it.”, 
 
 “Come, Bates,” chimed in Mr. Whippersnap- 
 per, who had recently opened a little haber- 
 dashery shop in the village, and who was a 
 busy, bustling, quick-speakirg man, very short, 
 rerj thin, very volatile, and aver stai-ting as 
 
 constantly receiving galvanic shocks, — “corner 
 Bates — this wont do. Bates — it’s not right, 
 Bates — you don’t meet the question fair. Bates 
 — it looks queer, Bate.^ — I d stick up for you if 
 I could. Bates — but I can’t, Bates — and that’i 
 all about it, Bates.” 
 
 “ But I want to know,” said Mr. Clegg, a short 
 savage-looking man, with very long features, 
 and a sepulchral voice, “ how it was that you 
 found out I had the misfortune to have a biU 
 protested at Middleton? You told ISir Archy 
 liedburn of it six months ago ; and the Baronet 
 told Davis to look precious sharp after my 
 rent in consequence. Kow, sir, will you ex- 
 plain that matter ?” 
 
 “Yes, now — come explain it. Bates,” ejacu- 
 lated Mr. Whippersna})per. “You must ex- 
 plain it. Bates — ^mu can’t get off it. Bates — out 
 it must come. Bates — there’s no use shilly-shall}^- 
 ing, Bates — we’re down upon you. Bates — and 
 no mistake. Bates — I can tell you. Bates.” 
 
 “Well, since we are talking on these things,” 
 exclaimed Mr. Bocock, another of the guests: 
 “ 1 have got a question to put to Mr. Bates, and 
 I should like him to tell me how it was he 
 found out that 1 had quarrelled with my father- 
 in-law at Coventry — and how one day a letter 
 I had from my father-in-law came to be sealed 
 with two dilferent colored waxes ? Why, I 
 showed the letter to friend Tripes here ; and it 
 was as clear as daylight! There was the red 
 wax over the blue, quite plain.” 
 
 “Ah! Bates — it begins to look queer. Bates, 
 precious queer. Bates,” again chimed in Mi*. 
 VV'hippersiiapper. “ What about the father- 
 in-law, Bates — and the quarrel. Bates — and 
 telling friend Tripe about it. Bates — that’s the 
 worst point. Bates — telling friend Tripes, Bates 
 — it don’t look well. Bates — what made you 
 tell friend Tripes, Bates?” 
 
 “Now, Mr. Bates,” resumed Mr. Sheepwash, 
 “you have heard what these honorable gents 
 have to say on the, subject; and when I ob- 
 serve you have heerd what they say, I mean 
 what I say — leastways that you’ve listened to 
 them accusations. But it’s my dooty to put a 
 question to you ; and when I say a question, I 
 mean a somethin that wants a answer, least- 
 ways a reply. Why was it you was had up to 
 London to see the Postmaster-General — or 
 leastways the General Postmaster — in the 
 hautumn of last year? Wasn’t it about a 
 bank-note as was missing out of a letter sent to 
 our friend Mr. Brogden, who I do not see here 
 this evening — and when I say I don’t see him 
 here, I mean that he’s not present — leastways 
 that he isn’t with us on this highly important 
 occasion.” 
 
 “ That’s it, Sheepwash — you’ve done it well, 
 Sheepwaslq” cried Mr. Whippersnapper : 
 “you’ve hit him hard, Sheepwash — put it in a 
 nut-shell, Sheepwash — not a word too much, 
 Sheepwash — not a word too little, Sheepwash. 
 Come, Bates, no more nonsense. Bates — stand 
 up. Bates — meet your accusers. Bates — look 
 ’em in the face. Bates — like a man. Bates — or 
 it’s all dickey with you. Bates — I can tell you. 
 Bates.” 
 
 And indeed Mr. Whippersnapper seemed to 
 have sjooken ^he exact truth : for all eyes wer« 
 
110 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIPT. 
 
 turne<3 upon the barber in anxious exjx^ctatiot) 
 of the resjxuises he woiihl give to the eliarges 
 levelletl against him. He had listened to them 
 with a mingled superciliousness and eirront«M'y, 
 as if the subject matter of discourse was either 
 beneath Ids notice, or else involving points so 
 easy of refutation, t hat he could alfoi’d to take 
 his time over the affair. Even Mr. Rosser, al- 
 though a perfect .stranger in Oskleigh, seemed 
 to be interested in the proceeding, and listened 
 with silent attention, — pricking up his ears, 
 however, each time a fresh accuser spoke out. 
 lint ere Mr. Jiates condescended to o[>en his 
 lips, another visitor entered the j)ar]or — ami 
 this was Mr. Jtavis, bucy’s father. 
 
 “(food evening, sir,’’ said Dushell, otbciously 
 bustling to place a chair for the baililb “Come 
 to take your usual evening’s whitf along with 
 118 . sir?” 
 
 “ Mr. Davis,” observed Sheepwash, “has been 
 n gi-eat acijuisition among us for the last two 
 or three months; and when I say an acipiisi- 
 tion, I mean a wallyable addition — leastways, 
 a gentleman whose company is much esteem- 
 ed. Your health, Mr. Davis.” 
 
 “Ah,” said the bailiff, in bitter accents, “one 
 is sometimes glad to drop in when there’s a 
 little pleasant society. Hushell, give me some 
 hot brandy-and-water and a pipe.” 
 
 “Poor fellow!” whispered the tailor to Mr. 
 Beagley: “ he’s ten-ibly hen-i>ecked at home. 
 All! it was a sad day for Davis when he mar- 
 ried Colyciuth’s daughter.” 
 
 “And 1 say, Bushell — while you’re about it, 
 Bushell,” vociferated Mr. Whipjiersnapper, 
 “order me another sixp^'iin’orth, Bushell — gin, 
 Bushell — hot, Bushell — with a sipieeze of 
 lemon, Bushell — and plenty of sugar, Bushell — 
 and I say, Bushell — order me another screw at 
 the same time, Bushell — and a clean clay, 
 with a sealing-wax at the top, Bushell — there’s 
 a good fellow, Bushell.” 
 
 The bailiff’s and the haberdasher’s orders 
 were soon executed; and then there was a 
 brief pause — during which Mr. Sheepwash ap- 
 peared to be collecting matter for a fresh speech. 
 
 “Oh, Mr. Bates! 1 see you here, do 1?” sud- 
 denly exclaimed Mr. Davis, glancing around 
 the room when he had lighted his pi[>e. 
 
 “ Yes — I’ve just dropped in to take my four 
 penn’orth,” responded the barber. “ The fact 
 i8, I thought there had been enough ill-will to- 
 Avards me for the last few years in the village ; 
 and I wanted to see whether these gentlemen 
 Avhich call themselves Christians and is regular 
 at Church on Sundays, mean to keej) up their 
 Bjiite in resj)ect to your humble servant forever. 
 And now that I come in a friendly way 
 amongst them, they trumj) up no end of lies 
 about me — as if th ■ charactei of Obadiah Bates 
 was a football to I ) kicked about in the dirt 
 from one to another. lloweveiy as they’ve all 
 made their charge.s. I’ll answer them in a lumj).” 
 
 “ Bj-avo, Bate.s — well done, Bat.c.s — go it, 
 BatcH — that’s what 1 (uill plucky. Bates!” ex- 
 claiim;d Mi'. W hippersnupper. “ You’ve come 
 out strong. Bates — answin' all their charges. 
 Bates — ami put your.self right, Buto.s — tire 
 away. Bates — that’s your sort. Bates.” 
 
 • vVtdb then, gentlemen,” resumed the barber, 
 
 amazed by this nuirung fire of compliments tti 
 the part of one wlio had hitherto seemed an 
 enemy, “ I will answei' these charges in a lump.’" 
 
 “Stop!” ejaculated Davis. “Perhaps yoa 
 will answer mine, Mr. Bate.s, at the same tirn« 
 along with the lump,” he aihled, in toius bit- 
 terly sarcastic. “1 want to know, Mr. Bat«s, 
 how it is that you have spreatl abroad reporU 
 that Mr.s. Davis has run into debt with milli- 
 ners ami dre.ssmakcrs at Middleton, and that 
 they had written to ner to threat»;n to ad- 
 dre.ss themselves to me unless she paid thena 
 their accounts? i want t<; know that, Mr. 
 Bates! But perhaps 1 should do well to be 
 more explicit still — .so that you shan’t have a 
 loophole of escape. This <fa'.;' 1 learn foi- the 
 first time that such letters h<ivt been written to 
 my wife from the Middleton tradesmen. It 
 came to my knowledge in an indirect way, and 
 1 taxed her with it. She then confessed that 
 she had received such letters, but that she had 
 burnt them all, and not mentioned the thing to 
 a soul. Now then, 1 want to know how the 
 busine.ss could possibly have got abroad ?” 
 
 “Ch! I heard all about it at Middleton, 
 when I Avas over there t’other day,” exclaimed 
 Bates in an olf-haml manner: “the tradesmen 
 made no secret of it.” 
 
 “That’s false!” exclaimed Davis. “I my- 
 self have been this day to Middleton to settle 
 all these accounts, and 1 know for a fact the 
 tradesmen did not speak of it — but showed the 
 greatest forbeai'ance and delicacy. But my 
 wife told me she had reason to believe that 
 some of those letters she received had been 
 opened Avhile passing through the post-office. 
 And the Middleton ti'adesmen told me this 
 very day that some of the letters they received 
 in reply from my wife, had been tampered 
 with. Now, Mr. Bates, when 1 find that you 
 sj)read those reports abroad about Mrs. Davis’s 
 extravagance, and considering that you hold 
 the post-office here, and have been in trouble 
 more than once about letters here, — I have 
 good reason to accuse you of having played 
 very dirty tricks about the correspondence 
 between Mrs. Davis and the Middleton trades- 
 men.” 
 
 “I deny it, sir!” exclaimed the barber: “and 
 I defy anybody to say that black’s the Avhite 
 of my' ey'e.” 
 
 “Hullo, Bates — that won’t do. Bates!” cried 
 Mr. Whipjiersnapper, dejireeatingly. “Things 
 are looking bad. Bates — precious bad. Bates — 
 they’ve took a turn against you. Bates — ^you 
 don’t come uja to the scratch. Bates — you’re in 
 a corner. Bates — it won’t do, Bates — 1 can tell 
 you. Bates.” 
 
 “ (fentlemen,” resumed Davis, “it’s a very 
 .sad thing to have to talk in a public room of 
 one’s domestic affairs: but 1 am not such a fool 
 as to su|)})()sc that my unhajipiness at home is 
 any secret here. In fact,” he added bitterly, 
 “ I don’t want it to be. 1 married a young 
 wife — and 1 have been terribly juinished for it. 
 But 1 rejieat that Mr. Bates has violated eor- 
 resjxmdence ; and 1 ajijical to you, gentlemen, 
 whether Obadiah Bates is a tit and proper par- 
 son to hold the jiost-ollice a.iy longer?” 
 
 “1 propose,” said Mr. ISheepwash, “tliat % 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIER 
 
 
 committee of five be appointed to investigate 
 tbe matter; and wiien 1 say a eomniittee, 
 gentlemen, I mean that three is to form a quo- 
 rum — leastways, that they shall be eligible to 
 deliberate. And 1 beg to pi opose farther, that 
 our respected friend i\h-. Beagley be one of the 
 *4id committee; and when 1 say Mr. Beagley, 
 i mean a gentleman which is ki o*vn to you ail 
 — because you all know him — a gentleman 
 whose wirtues is emblazoj.ed in the hearts of 
 all present — a gentleman ” 
 
 d’his magnificent speech, during the delivery 
 of which Mr. Beagley sat in modest confusion, 
 was interrupted by the sounds of an e(]ui])age 
 dashing up to the front of the Royal Oak ; and 
 had it not been for this incident, heaven alone 
 can tell how many more compliments Mr. 
 Sheepwash would have passed u])on his honor- 
 able friend Mr. Beagley. Bushel! rushed from 
 the room ; and Bates, alway s excessively cu- 
 rious and inquisitive, sprang from his seat, 
 raised the blind, and jieeped from the window. 
 
 “ It’slSir Archibald’s carriage !” he ejaculated. 
 
 “ I wonder what he can want down here at ten 
 o’clock in the evening.” 
 
 Mr. Rosser, who 'liad not opened his lips 
 throughout the preceding colloquy on the part 
 of the company, laid down his pipe — emptied 
 his quart-pot — and then wiped his mouth with 
 the sleeve of his coat. Almost immediately 
 afterwards, Bushell returned to the room, say- 
 ing, “ Mr. Rosser, Sir Archibald Redburn is de- 
 sirous of sj)eaking to you.” 
 
 The individual thus addressed, — and who 
 had evidently expected the summons the mo- 
 ment he learnt from Bates’s ejaculation whose 
 the equipage was, — rose from his seat, and is- 
 sued Irom the parlor, Bushell showing him the 
 way to the room where Sir Archibald Redburn 
 was waiting. In a few moments the landlord 
 re-a]»pcHreu, anu resumed his seat and his pipe. 
 
 “ \V ho can this Mr. Rosser be ?” exclaimed 
 Mr. Judkins, the afi'air of Bates and the post- 
 office being for the instant laid aside. “Ber- 
 haps he is come to bid for the Burnside Farm, 
 that fell wacaut t’other day. You must know, 
 Mr. Davis 
 
 “It’s not that. I’m sure,” responded the 
 bailiff, “for the farm yvas let yesterday. 1 
 know no more who this Mr. Rosser is than you 
 do ; but I am certain that he has not come to 
 Oakleigh to be a tenant of the Baronet’s — for, 
 if so, 1 should have been sure to hear of it.” 
 
 “Then wdio can he be!” cried Mr. Judkins. 
 
 The door now opened again ; and Sir Archi- 
 bald Redburn made his appearance, closely fol- 
 lowed by Mr. Rosser. All the comi)any laid 
 down their pipes, and rose from their seats out of 
 respect to tiie great man, who, condescendingly 
 waving his hand, said, “Pray, take your chairs 
 — don’t let me disturb you. Ah! Davis — are 
 you here? M'hy, I thought you never came to 
 tlie Oak of an evening?” added Sir Archibald, 
 wilh a smile. 
 
 “1 am not happy at home, sir,” was the res- 
 ponse bitterly given. 
 
 “So much the worse,” observed the Baronet; 
 then as his looks suddenly became stern and 
 wvere, he bent his eyes u})on the bai-ber, say- 
 ing, “Mr. Bates, a letter was posted .o me m 
 
 London three days ago. It has been traced m 
 far as the Oakleigh post-office. That letter 
 contained nothing but a five-pound note, with- 
 out the slightest information from whom it 
 came. It has not been delivered to me. Where 
 is it, sir ?” 
 
 “ A letter. Sir Archibald ?” echoed Bates, af- 
 fecting the utmost surprise. “You had all 
 your letters, sir, sent up regularly yesterday 
 and to-da}', as usual ; and so that one must 
 have been amongst them.” 
 
 “iSo, Mr. Bates — it was no?,” replied the 
 Baronet, looking as if he meant to penetrate 
 the starveling barber through and through 
 with his glances. “ The number of the note was 
 21795.” 
 
 “ Eh — what ?” suddenly ejaculated the tailor: 
 and pulling out an old greasy pocket-book, he 
 drew forth, from amidst a motley assemblage 
 of cloth and waistcoat patterns, measures, and 
 dirty scrajis of memoranda, a bank-note at 
 which he glanced for a moment. “Why, here 
 it is! Eumber 21795 — the very identic, al onel 
 And it was you. Bates, that paid it to me fox 
 the suit of clothes you’ve got on your back. If 
 the note’s a stolen one, give me back the clothes : 
 I’ll strip ’em otf you. Five pounds! why, it’s 
 enoxigh to i-uin me quite, and send me on the 
 parish !” 
 
 feir Archibald’s accusation — the barber’s 
 ready denial — and the tailor’s excitement and 
 volubility, ail combined to produce an immense 
 sensation in the little parlor of the Royal Oak. 
 But we should observe that Mr. Rosser leant 
 calmly with his back against the door, and with 
 his hands in his pockets, appearing to be look- 
 ing up at the ceiling — though in reality he had 
 his twinkling eyes fixed upon Bates. The bar- 
 ber himself was confounded by the exposure 
 so suddenly made by the tailor, who, he had 
 doubtless flattered himself, had omitted to ob- 
 serve the number of the bank-note. 
 
 “ IN ow, officer, do your duty !” said Sh* Archi- 
 bald, in a stern voice. 
 
 Thereupon Mr. Rosser advanced towards th« 
 barber; and seizing him by the collar, said, 
 “You are my prisoneid” 
 
 “For God’s sake, Sir Archibald — good, kind 
 Sir Archibald — don’t do this!” almost shrieked 
 forth the wretched Bates, his effrontery com- 
 pletely abandoning him. “It will be the ruin 
 of me !” 
 
 “Silence, sir! you are a villain!” ejaculated 
 the Baronet. “It was through me you ob- 
 tained the }»ost-ofiice — and you have scanda- 
 lously violated your trust. (.;fficer, a’way with 
 him! My carriage is at your service to convey 
 your jufsoner across to the jail at Middleton.^ 
 
 “ First and foremost, if you please. Sir Arclii- 
 bald, we will search the fellow,” said Mr. Pos- 
 ser : and thereupon he plunged his hands into 
 the barber’s j)ockcts, the unhappy man himself 
 not offering the slightest resistance. “What 
 have we here?” continued the officer, drawing 
 forth an envelope. “AVhy, actually the fool 
 has not had the precaution to destroy the ve:y 
 letter I posted myself in London to you. Sir 
 Archibald, and which contained the bank-note 1” 
 
 If any evidence were wanting in addition 
 tliat which the tailor had afforded, it was no'W 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 113 
 
 found: and Bates’s was placed beyond 
 
 the possibility of doubt. He was as |)!ile as 
 death, — cj^uiverins' from liead to foot, and throw- 
 ing his half-frightened half-appealing looks 
 around. 
 
 “ All up, Bates — ^all up, Bates,” whispered 
 Mr. Wlii[)persnapper to the discoiuiiteil barber. 
 “ Won’t do. Bates — precious scoundrel. Bates — 
 you’ll be transported for it. Bates — as sure as 
 you’re alive. Bates — serves you right. Bates — 
 no pity for you. Bates — noaie wl atever. Bates.” 
 
 “Come, hold your chattering” growled Mr. 
 Ilosser to the little linendraper, who thereupon 
 shrank back in an in.stant. 
 
 ■ “ iTou must give the olRcer that bank-note,” 
 
 said the Baronet to the tailor: “it is a link in 
 the chain of evi<lenee.” 
 
 “But who is to pay me for the scoundrel’s 
 clothes f’ vociferated the unfortunate sud’erer. 
 
 “ Oh ! you Tuust matiaye as best you can,” re- 
 turned Sir Archibald drily. “Now, take him 
 off, Mr. Rosser.” 
 
 The olffcer speedily settled with Mr. Bushell 
 the amount of his reckoning; and wishing the 
 Baronet and the assembled company good night, 
 bore his prisoner away to the carriage. Tlie 
 tailor rushed after them to beg ami beseech that 
 Bates might be taken home lirst, to put on an 
 old suit of clothes and surrender up the new 
 ones; but Mr. Rosser grutiiy replied that he 
 had no time for such nonsense — and the efpiip-; 
 a^e drove away, leaving the discomfited tailor 
 bitterly bewailing his loss. iSir Archibald re- 
 turned on foot to the Manor ; and the village 
 tradesmen, together with Mr. Davis, remained 
 until a late hour at the Royal Oak, discussing 
 the incident which had occurred. When the 
 party broke up, the bailiff was far overcome 
 •with liquor, and in this condition he staggered 
 home, where a violent altercation took place 
 between himself and his wife. 
 
 When the Spring assizes were held in the 
 county a fortnight afterwards, Obadiah Bates 
 was placed in the dock, charged with stealing 
 a letter containing a five-pound Bank of 
 England note, the property of the Postmas- 
 ter-General. Mr. Rosser, who appeared as a 
 witnes.s, stated that he was a Bow Street offi- 
 cer, and that in conserjueuce of certain inibr- 
 noation he had received from the Post-Offic§ 
 authorities in London, he posted a letter, con- 
 tiiining a five-pound note, the number of which 
 he took, addressing the letter to Sir Archibald 
 Redburn, whom he had {)reviously ascertained 
 U) be the nearest justice of the peace in the 
 neighborhood of Gakleigli. He likewise took 
 means to make Sir Atvdiibald acquainted with 
 what was being done, and the oi/pict thereof. 
 As had been anticif)ated, the prisoner Obadiah 
 Bates intercepted the letter, and purloined the 
 bank-note. The tailor, — for wliom, we should 
 observe, a subscription had been raised amongst 
 the tradesmen of Oakleigli, — likewise attetided 
 at the trial : and he proved that tlic prisoner 
 had pai<l him t he partic.ular bank-note allu hul 
 to, lor a suit of <dotIies. The evidence was 
 •omplete ug.'iinst Bates ; and h(; was senteiiced 
 to transportation for fourte.en years. 
 
 A few days nfterwards — just Ixffore the order 
 irrivwl at tl e jn'ison for removing th*» '“.onvicts 
 
 away to the sea port whence a ship to nail 
 lor Botany Bay, — the barber receiveo th« fol- 
 lowing letter : — 
 
 “ Manchester, May ffi.h, IS?, ."5. 
 
 “I have read in the newspapei-s the partieU' 
 bars ot your trial and eondetnnation. I am 
 thus avenged for the bitter wronos you have 
 wrought against me: for it was I who gave the 
 Po.st-Olfice authorities that information in pur- 
 suance of which they acted. You are going to 
 a [)cnal clime where you will work in chalfto 
 for fourteen years. I have been reading ao- 
 coiints of the horrors to which transpo-f^s arc 
 subjected, tliat 1 might glean an idea jf the 
 hideou.s sulfei-ings which are in store for yoiu I 
 gloat over your posif.ioii. Would that circum- 
 stances [)ermittcd me to visit you in your dun- 
 geon, ami behold the wretched 3()ectacle that 
 your ap})earance must pre.sent I Miscreant 
 that you are ! you have persecuted me with 
 the most unrelenting bittei-ness. Twice have 
 you ruined my fairest prospects. I’wice have 
 you been the cau.se that I was subjected to a 
 horrible [)unishment. Nay, more, — it is through 
 j/oa that 1 bear u[)on my body the brand of a 
 deserter — that brand which is indelible ! But 
 U|)on you a brand equally indelible is now set 
 — the brand of a felon’s infamy I I have un 
 dergone the tortures of the lash : but they are 
 over now. My i)unishinent is past : yoiirs is 
 about to commence — and it will endure for 
 fourteen long years. Not a day will pass that 
 b shall not tliink of you. But flatter not your 
 self it will be with commiseration or sympathy. 
 No; it will be with a fiendish delight — heaven 
 pardon me for saying so — to reflect that you 
 are enduring the horrors of transportation. 
 Mine was a generous heart ; through your vil- 
 lany it has been warped. Mine were noble 
 feelings ; through your hideous treachery they 
 have been destroyed. Oh, it is no light thing 
 for any individual to be the cause of making 
 such a wreck of a fellow-creature ! But if my 
 suffering.s have been great, your’s will be hor- 
 rible ; if your perfidy has been vile the pun- 
 ishment will at least be commensurate. 
 
 “ Go, monster that you are! — go to the land 
 of your exile and your misery ! There, when 
 working in chains — in that cesspool of English 
 crime — when smarting under the blow of a 
 heartless overseer — when drenched with the 
 heavy rains, or fainting beneath the intensity 
 of the heat — when half starving upon the most 
 nauseous fare — when subjected to the ill-treat- 
 ment, the gibe.s, and the cur.ses of your felon- 
 companions — when in the bitterness of your 
 mental agony calling upon heaven to send you 
 death as a relief, because, coward that you arel 
 you will not dare to escape by suicide froti 
 that earthly hell to which you are going — 
 when, I say, you are passing through that pau- 
 demoniuin of tortures — then think of the man, 
 his wife, and his child, whom you were twice 
 1 he means of snatching from a ha; [>v home 
 and plunging into the vortex of misery. Go, 
 reptile! — 1 can waste no more words iqvm youl 
 “ Fukdkuiok Lonsd.vlb.” 
 
 Such was the letter that Obadiah Bat4>e re- 
 jceiveil in the gaol at Middleton, a few 
 alter lus uuudeiunutiou. 
 
THE SOj-HIER’S WIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 VHE bailiff’s WI*-E. 
 
 Bhorvi.y after Bates’s trial Gerald Redburn 
 Hrriveil at the Manor to pass a few weeks with 
 his parents. During the seven years which had 
 now nearly elapsed since he became an officer 
 in the army, his health had undergone no con- 
 siderable improvement : but it certainly had 
 not become worse. Though now close upon 
 eiglit-and-twenty, tlere was nothing manly in 
 his a|)|»earance : he looked feeble and effeminate 
 — spoke in a weak voice — and seemed as if he 
 were not long destined for this world. He had 
 co-stinued a raki^h, dissipated life, so that the 
 vital essences were drying up within him, and no 
 leisure had been allowed for the impaired con- 
 stitution of his youth to resuscitate itself in 
 manhood. It was indeed a great mistake on the 
 part of his parents to imagine that a military 
 life would render him steady : but they had 
 fancied that its activity would have contributed 
 to the reinvigoration of his health. Every 
 year, since he entered the army, had he paid a 
 visit for a few weeks to the Manor; and on 
 each occasion Sir Archibald and Lady Redburn 
 had endeavored to persuade themselves that he 
 was looking better. During his stay at home, 
 too, he did improve in appearance somewhat, 
 — the fresh air of the country imparting a little 
 color to his cheeks, and there being not at 
 Oakleigh the same inducements or facilities for 
 dissipation as there were at the towns where he 
 had been quartered, and when in the compan- 
 ionship of his brother officers. 
 
 On the present occasion he returned home 
 sickly, pale, and emaciated as usual ; and when 
 Lady Redburn made him put on his uniform 
 that she might see how he looked in it, — obser- 
 ving that his appearance was certainly changed 
 for the better, — Aunt Jane curtly observed 
 “ that fine feathers made fine birds.” On the 
 day after Gerald's arrival at the Manor, Sir 
 Archibald Redburn took an opportunity of 
 having some private di'^course with his wife, 
 carefully excluding Aunt Jane from this con- 
 ference. 
 
 “ Now, my dear,” said the Baronet, when he 
 and her ladyship were thus closetted together, 
 “ what do you candidly think of Gerald ?” 
 
 “ Dear me. Sir Archy — you quite frighten 
 me by the question! — as if you thought there 
 was something wrong. I am sure he looked 
 uncommonly well in his uniform yesterday, 
 when 1 made him put it on for dinner ; and 
 by the time he lias been here for a few days 
 you will see him quite ruddy on the cheeks.” 
 
 “ Yes,” responded the Baronet; “and when 
 he goes back to his regiment again, all that 
 ruddiness will depart. The fact i.s, my dear, 
 we have blinded ourselves to the real truih 
 too long. Gerald possesses a sickly coustitu 
 tion — and there is no use, denying it. He is 
 •till as dissipated as ever: indeed we know 
 that he is very extravagant.” 
 
 “ I am sure, Sir Archy,” rejoined her lady- 
 ship, “it is very wnaig of y»)u to speak thus 
 tti’ our only son. You *'ave got plenty of 
 
 IIS 
 
 money : and why should he pot have enough 
 to spend and enjoy himself?” 
 
 “ I am afraid he has too much — a great 
 deal too much 1” exclaimed the Baronet. “ 1 
 tell you what. Lady Redburn — Gerald muat 
 marry.” 
 
 “ Oh, dear me ! he is but a boy. Why, you 
 wouhl make me out quite old. For heaven’s 
 sake don’t, think of his marrying yet!’ 
 
 “ Nonsense 1” ejaculated Sir Archibald : “do 
 endeavor to talk sen>ibly for once in a way. I 
 tell you that in order to make Gerald pei fectly 
 steady, he must marry. Why, he is close 
 upon twenty-eight ! ’ 
 
 “ Ah 1 how time flies,” interjected Lady Red- 
 burn ; and then she looked in a mirror to as- 
 sure herself that her hair was as dark and her 
 teeth were as white as ever : but perhaps 
 the survey was not altogether so satisl'actory 
 as she could have wished — for she heaved a 
 profound sigh and resumed the seat from which 
 she liad risen. 
 
 “ Y"es,” continued Sir Archibald, “ we must 
 find a wife for Gerald. He is home on the 
 present occasion for six weeks. Ample time 
 for him to become engaged to some eligible 
 young lady 1” 
 
 “ But 1 do not think,” said the Baronet’s 
 wife, “ that Gerald is a marrying man.” 
 
 “ We must make him so: or else he will 
 continue dissipated and irregular,” rejoined Sir 
 Archibald. “Come, my dear, look around 
 amongst your acquaintances, and consider who 
 will be the best match for Gerald.” 
 
 “ Ah 1 the task is not an easy one,” said her 
 ladyship, with another sigh. “There is Sir 
 John Portman’s daughter: but then she haa 
 got red hair — and 1 can’t endure red hair — 
 although in other res[)ects she is very good- 
 looking and is an heiress. 'J’hen there is Sir 
 Charles Otway’s host of daughters — six of 
 them, and all beautiful ; a nice choice there— 
 but the worst of it is that Sir Charles is over 
 head and ears in debt, and cannot give his chil- 
 dren a farthing. What say you to Captain Mon- 
 tague’s youngest daughter f She is only nine- 
 teen, and her aunt has left her thirty thousand 
 pounds. But, Oh — I forgot — she has a pug 
 nose : and you know. Sir Archy, it would be 
 impossible for a young lady with a pug nose 
 to enter the Redburn family. By -the bye, 
 there is Squire Evelyn’s sister — a sweet pretty 
 girl — very amiable and very ladylike ; but she 
 has no ear for music — and for a young lady wh<# 
 can’t play and who dances out of time, it is 
 quite shocking 1 No — we must look farther. 
 What do you say to the Hon. Elizabeth Chal- 
 loner ? Lord Challoner is very rich, and has 
 plenty of money in the funds — so that he is 
 sure to give his daughter something handsome. 
 But 1 forgot — there was a little story about the 
 Hon. Miss Elizabeth and her dancing master 
 some time ago. Rumor said that she was 
 caught about to elope with him ; .so that we 
 can t possibly think of her. Of course we can- 
 not for a moment fix our eyes upon Mr. Hard- 
 ing’s eldest daughter : she has not a [)enny, 
 although her good looks certainly recommeua 
 lier. But 1 have it 1 Lady Adela Clive will 
 exactly suit 1” — -and the countenance uf Um 
 
114 
 
 TIIT. SOLDI Kirs WIFE. 
 
 Buronet’s wife exyresBed triumph at the 
 thunf;ht. 
 
 *• Well,” n’msed Si Arcliihnhl, “ it is not a had 
 BUi^gefttion. 'llie old Karl of Ihirton letl liir* 
 daughter twenty live thousand pounds, and she 
 is ijeaily of age. Her mother, Jaidy Lurton, is 
 Very iiilimate with us; and 1 Hatter ni\self 
 would he pleased at the match. Besides, Lady 
 Adela IS an exceedingly handsome and vny ac 
 Coiupii.'-hed gill; and such a daughler-in-law 
 Would he an ohject of pride. I tell you what 
 yon iiiust do, my deal ; write at once and ask 
 the Countt^Hs of Burton and Larly Adela to spend 
 II few weeks with us. d'hey will he sure tn 
 come. 1 w ill undeilake to give Gerald an iiiti 
 matioii, in the course of a day or two after their 
 arrival, that 1 should he glad if lie would jiay 
 his adili esses to Lady Adela : and you can di In 
 calely hint to the Countess that it wuuUl he hy 
 no nmaiis a had match fol the young couple — so 
 that she (til her part may tutor her daughter. — 
 I'lie Countess is a woimm of the W(»iid ; and 
 Lady Adela is in complete subjection to her. 
 But this, nf course, you know as well as 1 do: 
 and therefore you will he fully aware how to 
 act. One thing however I fancy we should do 
 Well to agree upon — wdiicli is, that we had bet- 
 ter not tell aunt Jane w hat is going on, or she 
 might, take it into her head to throw cold water 
 upon tlie whole scheme,” 
 
 “ 1 think so too,” le.^ponded her ladyship. — 
 Your sister, Sir Archibald, grow-s worse and 
 worse — and within the last few years, her tem- 
 per has become of a sourness that at times quite 
 annoys me.” 
 
 “ Well, well, I suppose that we must put uj) 
 with it,” said the Baioiiet, who, by one ot those 
 eccentricities often observed on the jiart of even 
 tlie most worldly-minded natures, was much at- 
 tached to Ins sister. “ She can’t help being 
 wliat she is, I su[)[)ose that it is all cniiiiected 
 with her health : for if not, I can see no other 
 means of accounting for it. And now go, my 
 dear — w'lite your letter to Lady Burton — and 1 
 Will send it to Clive Hall at once.” 
 
 Meanwhile Captain Redhurn had sauntered 
 out through the grounds, smoking a cigar, al- 
 tlit.ugh it was in the forenoon part of the day. 
 We sliould here oUerve that on the previous 
 occasions of his visit to the Manor, since he had 
 joined his regiment, he had treated Davis, the 
 baiiitf, with the most marked coldness — never 
 epeaking to him — and scaicely even acknow- 
 ledging the respectful salute which this indi- 
 vidual ihouglit It pnuleiit to bestow. On his 
 part., howevt r, Davis had endeavored to avoid 
 meeting the Ban. nets son: and thus no conver- 
 Bation had ever taken place h(‘lween tlieni 
 Bince that day — nearly, seven years back — when 
 ihe inai riage scheme in respect to Lucy was so 
 completely fnistiated at Coventry. 
 
 VV hile C( raid was strolling through the park, 
 pulling his cigar and looking ut his d.igs whicli 
 weie scampi ring and gamholling ahont, he he- 
 held Davis walking a little in advance, and ap- 
 
 t ianaiily in di-ep reflect on. ]Vow, Cajitu n Red- 
 )Uin happem-d to he at the moment in one of 
 those lil-nainred moods which experience a plea 
 sure in annoying any individual who is tiie oh- 
 »4ict of dislike : and having heaitl from his ser- 
 
 vant that very morning what a wretchi-rl lift 
 llie hailill was leading m liis si.'cond mairiage- 
 veiituie, the malignant Ceiald could not lesis* 
 the templalioi) of say ing sonielliing spiief'til. — 
 C^nickeiiing liis pace, he overlook Mr Davis; 
 blit pretending not to see him, w.is jiassing on a 
 lilile on one side — then tinning lomid, as if tc 
 call the dogs towards him, lie grew suddenly 
 Cold and haughty as his * y*‘s set lied upon Inicy’t 
 father, d his individual touched his hat and wa« 
 hastening on in ihe diiection of his cottage, when 
 Gerald exi laimed, “ Slop a moment, Davis 1 It 
 is a long time since you and i said u word to 
 each oihei.” 
 
 “ It An a long time, sir,” replied the hailifl^ 
 witli another touch of ihe liat. “ J thoughtyoU 
 hole me ill-will ; and .so of coui.se 1 was not 
 forward enough to ad.iress you when you liav« 
 been down at the Manor.” 
 
 “ 1 suppose the fact i.s, ymir conscience pricked 
 you a little — eh, Davis f”— ami Gerald sent a 
 tremendous puff of smoke forth from between 
 his lijis as he uttered these words, 
 
 “ 1 don’t know that it should, Cajitain Red 
 hum,” responded Davis, for a moment confused 
 but the next moment he recovered his presence 
 of mind. 
 
 “ 'I he deuce you don’t 1” ejaculated Gerald. — 
 “ Come, since 1 have broken the ice and have 
 condescended to sj.eak to you again, 1 may as 
 well tell you lliat though 1 was the dupe of 
 your tricks at the time, 1 have seen through 
 them long since. Ah I it would have been a 
 very nice day's work for you to liave entrapped 
 me into tliat inairiage! Mr. Davis would have 
 become a gentleman, and Lucy a lady : Mr. 
 Davis would have given himself airs, and Lucy 
 would not he die wife of a wietcJied private sol- 
 dier — a branded deserter!” 
 
 “Captain Redburii, I hope you will not talk 
 about it.” said the bailiff, trembling with mingled 
 rage and a sense of humiliation. “ 1 am unhappy 
 enough as it is, 1 can a.-suie you, sir.” 
 
 “ Well, 1 understand you are not over and 
 above comfortable with your second wife,” 
 oliserved Gerahl. “ Somewhat gay and extra- 
 vagant — eh, Davis ?’ 
 
 “ She is, indeed, sir — and there’s no use 
 denying it,” responded the bailiff, moumfully. 
 “ When she was plain Kitty Goljcinth, she waa 
 all amiability and smiles: hut now she is a she- 
 devil in teiiqier. What masks some women 
 can wear, to be sure !” 
 
 Gerald liked this scene. He hated and 
 detested the bailiff with all the power of his 
 natural malignity : he hated and (ielesled him, 
 not only because he had enileavonred toii^veigle 
 him into that marriage vvitli Lucy, bin likewise 
 because he was the fatlier of this same Lucy 
 who had scorned all Ins advances. He ihought 
 iliat it would afford liini siill f'artlier j.leasure 
 if he were enabled to coiiteiiij.laie w itlj his own 
 eyes the iiinsery which Davis enduieii with hia 
 ViOient-tenipcred wile, iie had notlnng to do 
 except to lounge ahgiit and smoke his cigar . 
 the time already liung heavy on his hands; and 
 it occutiid to him that he might as well amuse 
 himself as not ut Davis’s expense, 'i'hei el'ore, 
 suddenly changing his look and his tone, he 
 assumed a friendly demeanor, — saying “CoUMi, 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE 
 
 111 
 
 Da iri8, T hare been angry with you quite long) 
 enougli : I don’t wish to be too hard — it’s not 
 in my nature. You sought to do the best you 
 Ct)uld for your girl — and it was all ri^lit and 
 natural. So we will bury the past in oblivion. 
 
 1 have not forgot that 1 used to spend some 
 agreeable evenings with you; and I always 
 liked your conversation — for you are a very 
 intelligent man, Davis.” 
 
 “ I am truly glad, Captain Rodburn, to hear 
 you speak in this manner,” responded Davis ; 
 
 “ it’s very noble and generous on your part. 
 Perhaps, sir, you would do me the honor to 
 walk in and take a glass of my cider. I remem- 
 ber you liked it once — and this was said with 
 an inward sneering feeling, but which was not 
 outwardly expressed. 
 
 “ With all my lieart, Davis,” said Gerald, 
 affecting an offhanded frankness: so he and 
 tl^e bailiff advanced towards the cottage to- 
 gether. 
 
 But while they are proceeding thither, we 
 will pause for a few minutes to explain what 
 was passing in Davis’s mind. Not for an instant 
 had he been deceived by the sudden change in 
 Gerald Redburn’s manner. He understood full 
 well the spiteful nature of the Baronet’s son, 
 and was loo shrewd not to penetrate his vindictive 
 motives in addressing him afier so many years 
 of cold and haughty reserve. He likewise 
 fathomed Captain Redburn’s intention in speak 
 ing in a way which was the same as making 
 an overture to pay another visit to the cottage. 
 Now, the wily Davis was sud.ienly struck by 
 an idea. His wife, though a perfect vixen in 
 temper, was a very good looking woman ; but 
 in consequence of that very temjier, as well as on 
 account of her extravagance, Davis was heartily 
 anxious to get rid of her. V\ hat if Gerald Reil- 
 burn might take it into his head to make secret 
 overtures to lier ? what if he were to think to 
 himself that he might just as well divert his 
 time with a passing amour while at the Manor ? 
 If so, there would not only be a giound for 
 divorce, but also for obtaining heavy pecuniary 
 damages against Gerald Redburn ; and the sum 
 thus procured, would amply remunerate Davis 
 for the loss of his Situation, which must inevitably 
 be expected to follow the commencement of 
 aw proceedings. All these calculations swept 
 ihrough the astute and unprincipled bailiff’s 
 mind in a moment while Gerald was delivering 
 himself of that speech of assumed friendliness ; 
 and hence the invitation which Mr. Davis gave 
 him to walk to the cottage and partake of some 
 cider. 
 
 Captain Redburn knew Davis’s wife well, and 
 had often spoke to her when she was Miss Kitty 
 Col^cinth, although the Colycinth family were 
 not considered good enough to visit at the 
 Manor. But on proceeding to the cottage on 
 the present occasion, Gerald had not the sliglitest 
 idea of flirting with Mrs. Davis : liis sole object 
 was that already described — namely, to obtain 
 once more a footing at Davis’s residence, so that 
 he might secretly gloat ^over the domestic 
 miseries of a man whom he disliked. We may 
 here observe that Mrs. Davis was about twenty- 
 six years of age — of middle stature — slender — 
 but very weR formed. She had a remarkably 
 
 clear complexion — CTight hazel eyes — a profti* 
 sion of brown hair, which she wore in long 
 clustering ringlets — ricli red lips and a beautiful 
 set of teeth. She was dressed quite like a lady 
 — which indeed she considered herself to be, as 
 a surgeon’s daughter, notwiihstaiidiiig she liad 
 married a bailiff’ and had never been admitted 
 within the exclusive circle of the Manor House, 
 Although of such vixenish temper towards her 
 luisbaiid, she could be amiable enough when 
 she chose towards others; and the moment she 
 beheld Captain Redburn pass the window in 
 company with the bailiff, she put on her most 
 pleasing and fascinating smile. 
 
 The door was opened by the servant- woman, 
 not the good-natured Martha whom we have 
 seen in the earlier chapters of this tale: for she 
 had married some three or four years back, and 
 was comfortably settled in life — as indeed she 
 .deserved to be. Gerald entered the little parlor 
 where he had been wont to discuss brandy-and- 
 water with Davis and endeavor to force his at- 
 tentions upon Lucy. At the first glance he 
 could not help thinking that the surgeon’s 
 daughter had improved by marriage in the 
 exact proportion that her husband had suffered 
 thereby ; and with a friendliness that was not 
 altogether assumed towards the lady, he ex- 
 tended his hand, saying, “I am very glad to see 
 you, Mrs. Davis.” 
 
 ‘‘ Captain Redburn is truly welcome here,” she 
 responded witli such affability that it seemed 
 scarcely possible she could storm, and rave, and 
 enact the fury at times. 
 
 “ Pray sit down, sir,’ said Davis ; ‘and I will 
 fetch some of that nice cider ” 
 
 “ Cider, Peter 1” remarked the lady, with a 
 dejnecatiiig look. “ Order the servant to bring 
 in some wine; and I think 1 have a few biscuits 
 here,” she added, turning to tlie side-board and 
 producing the cakes from a drawer. 
 
 ‘•Thank you,” said Gerald, “ I would much 
 prefer cider: it is more refreshintr at this time 
 nf the day. But if you will permit me to drop 
 in now and then of an evening, 1 may perhaps 
 be beguiled into something stronger.” 
 
 ‘‘ You will always be welcome — most w®!- 
 come,” replied Mrs. Davis, perceiving that he? 
 husband had just quitted the room to fetch the 
 cider. 
 
 “ Oh, I have not forgotten that you and I a;*o 
 old acquaintances!” exclaimed Captain Red- 
 burn : “ but I must not call you Kitty any 
 longer, now that you have become a sedate 
 married woman.” 
 
 *• Oh, very sedate indeed !” she cried with a 
 merry laugh. “ 1 beg that you will not stand 
 
 on any ceremony with me at least, not when 
 
 such restraint may be thrown off’,” she added, 
 glancing towards the door. 
 
 ‘ I understand — Davis is jealous, eh ?” ob- 
 served Redburn, in a voice of mysterious con- 
 fidence : and then he thought to himself, •* What 
 fun it would be to excite the fellow’s jealousy P 
 
 “ Oh, jealous !” echoed Kitty : “ he is every- 
 thing that is unbearable. 1 am sure he leads 
 me such a life, I wish I had never seen him 1” 
 
 “ How you are calumniated 1” observed Ge 
 raid. “ Report says that you are the mastw 
 here " 
 
116 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 “Well, I suppose,” she rejpoiirlecl, laugliinpr 
 m as to (lisj)lay lier fine teeth, “a woman will 
 endeavor to liave lier own way — and 1 am no 
 exception to the general rule. But if I have 
 spoken in a sort of confidential manner to you. 
 Captain Redburn, it is because you yourself re- 
 minded me that we are old acquaintances. And 
 now tell me how long are you going to stay at 
 the Manor ?” 
 
 “ About six weeks — unless I get so thoroughy 
 tired of a country life before my leave of absence 
 expires, that I fitid myself obliged to cut it.” 
 
 That is being very hard upon us poor Oak- 
 Jeigh people,” observed Mrs. Davis, with an 
 archly reproachful smile. 
 
 “ Oh 1 but there are of course exceptions.” ex- 
 claimed Gerald ; “ and first and foremost stands 
 yourself” 
 
 “Military gentlemen are very clever at com- 
 pliments — -.Captain Redburn especially:” and 
 again she laughed slily. 
 
 “ Will you allow me to prove the sincerity of 
 my words by paying you an ocv-asional visit of 
 an evening?” 
 
 ‘‘Have I not already assured you of a wel- 
 come? My evenings,” she continued, “are 
 Bometimes lonely enough — for Mr. Davis has 
 taken it into his head for the last two or three 
 months to go and spend his at the Royal Oak.” 
 
 “ Oh, fie !” ejaculated Gerald : “ what a 
 shame! — and to leave you pining by yourself!” 
 
 “ Yes — pining indeed,” ejaculated Kitty, with 
 a contemptuous toss of the head. “ My mother 
 and sisters come up to 8up[)er with me — and 
 Bometimes my fether, when he is not too busy : 
 and besides then), I have a few friends who 
 drop in. But Mr. Davis grumbles like a bear. 
 Baying that I am too gay — that 1 see too much 
 company — that it all costs money — and sucli 
 nonsense as that.” 
 
 “ Nonsense indeed,” said Redburn. “ But I 
 Buppose,” he continued, laughing, “that you tell 
 him your mind pretty freely ?” 
 
 “ Oh, trust me for that ! If he chooses to go 
 ancf get tipsy at the Oak, I don’t see why I am 
 to sit moping at home.” 
 
 “ You would be very silly if you did,” rejoined 
 Captain Redl)urn. “ But what the deuce makes 
 him so long getting that cider ? and are you not 
 lifraid that he will overhear what you say ?” 
 
 “ Not I 1” ejaculated Kitty, talking louder 
 than before, as if in bravado. “ 1 would not 
 hesitate to tell him my thoughts, even in your 
 presence.” 
 
 “ Oh ! pray don’t mind me,” replied Gerald, 
 “ If it will be any relief to your feelings. Be- 
 Bid(<l, 1 always like to see women assert their 
 rights; they always look handsomer when they 
 are angry. Biay forgive me for saying so.” 
 
 “ Your compliment would almost provoke 
 me to be angry with yoa,” said Mrs. Davis, 
 laughing. 
 
 “ Jt wouhl be trouble thrown away,” rejoined 
 Redburn; “because you could not look hund- 
 Bomer than you do at this moment.” 
 
 “ Really you have a piece of llattery ready 
 at the lip of your longiK; in answer to every- 
 thing 1 sa^ — and the thoughtless wife laughed 
 gaily again. 
 
 At this moment Davis, who had been listen- 
 
 ing at the door fir the last five minutes, made 
 his appearance with the bottle of cider in hia 
 hand, but looking as if he had not overheard a 
 single syllable of wdiat had been taking place. 
 
 “ Really, Peter,” said Mr.s. Davis, availing her- 
 self of a pretext for showing off her before 
 
 Captain Redburn, “ you have taken your time 
 to fetch that cider.” 
 
 “ 1 could not find the key of the cujiboard, my 
 dear,” resjionded the bailiff. 
 
 “ 'riien you .•'hould not have lost it,” retortea 
 his wife. “Here is Captain Redburn dying 
 with thirst ” 
 
 “ Not quite so bad as that,” observed Gerald, 
 laughing. 
 
 “ Oh, yes — but you are — and Mr. Davis ia 
 very rude to have kept you waiting.” 
 
 The cicier was poured out — Gerald drank two 
 or three glasses — and Davis thought that for 
 the sake of ajipearances he had better remain 
 present on this occasion. The conversation 
 therefore turned upon indifferent topics; and 
 when Gerald rose to depart, he pres.sed Mrs. 
 Davis’s hand tenderly in his own. Likewise 
 shaking hands with Davis, he threw upon him a 
 look which was as much as to imply that all 
 animosity was at an end — although he piorni.sed 
 himself in his heai t that he would do his be.st to 
 foster the wife’s ill-feeling towards her husband, 
 and call at the cottage now and then, when he 
 knew Davis would be there, to witne.ss the re- 
 sults. On the other hand, the unprincipled 
 bailiff chuckled inwardly : for he had heard 
 enough at the parlor-door to convince him tliat 
 his wife and Captain Redburn was already on 
 very good terms with each other. 
 
 Three or four days afterwards, the Countess 
 of Burton and her daughter Lady Adela Clive, 
 having accepted Lady Kedburn’s invitation, ar- 
 rived at the Manor House. The Countess w’aa 
 not an old woman : she was but a few years on 
 the shady side of forty. She had never been 
 handsome, and had even something old maidish 
 in her looks ; for she was prim and sedate — 
 speaking but a few words, and those measured 
 and deliberate — very particular in her own 
 bearing, and exacting the utmost respect from 
 others. She was a thoroughly worldly-minded 
 woman, almost to heartlessness. She regarded 
 her daughter with a feeling of pride rather than 
 with the melting tenderness of a true maternal 
 love ; and all her thoughts were concentrated 
 in the hope of enabling Lady Adela to form a 
 good match. She looked upon money as of the 
 first importance, and a title as a secondary con- 
 sideration ; so that she would much raiher her 
 daughter should marry a wealthy commoner 
 than a poor nobleman. 
 
 Lady Adela Clive was twenty years of age, 
 and certainly one of the must beautiful creatures 
 that ever graced this world with her presence. 
 She was tall and exquisitely formed, her shape 
 blending the fullness of a Hebe with the liglit- 
 ness of a Sylph. Her hair was of raven black- 
 ness, and was generally worn in the Spanish 
 style, — gathered up in mas.-^ive bandeaux, and 
 with the knot high up on the back of the head, 
 thus setting off its Grecian shape to the utmost 
 advantage. Her eyes were blue, — tlnit deep 
 blue winch in certain lights, and at a little dnt> 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 in 
 
 lanoe, appears to be darker — but whick, 
 
 when seen in the day-time, is of violet hue The 
 bn)W8 were hif:fhly arched, and were set Ujion the 
 opals of a fine forehead, wliite as snow and 
 emooth as alabaster. Her complexion was fair, 
 and with but little color: it was that paleness 
 which so often accomp.inies a high order of in 
 tellect : — and of this elevated standard was the 
 niind of Adela Clive. To continue, however, 
 the sketch of her portraiture, we must observe 
 that her nose was perfectly straight — the upper 
 lip short and slightly curved — the under li[) 
 somewhat fuller, but not to give a sensuous ex- 
 pression to the beautiful intellectual countenance. 
 The chin was small and delicately rounded: the 
 teeth were like pearls. Her movements were 
 replete with mingled dignity, elegance, and 
 grace. She was altogether a divine creature. 
 
 But how was it that she had not already be- 
 come a bride, with the attractions of beauty, 
 rank, and wealth — and the still greater advan- 
 tages of brilliant accomplishments? Because 
 her mother — who, though so thoroughly worldly- 
 minded, was nevertheless an old fashioned wo- 
 man — preferred living at the time-honored coun- 
 try-seat, Clive Hall, about a dozen miles distant 
 from the Manor House, rather than passing any 
 portion of her time amidst the gaieties of Lon- 
 don. Her son — Adela’s brother, two or three 
 years older than herself — had succeeded to the 
 family title and estates: he was married, and 
 occupied the town mansion, completely surren- 
 dering up Clive Hall *0 the use of his mother 
 and sister. It was therefore on account of lead- 
 ing a comparatively secluded life, that Lady 
 Adela had not as yet won tlie affections or 
 captivated the heart of any individual on wluim 
 Lady Burton cliose to bestow her. Offers she 
 had certainly received; but none was d(‘emed 
 eligible by the mother — although one had been 
 most agreeable to the young lady herself. Of 
 this, however, we shall have to speak presently : 
 suffice it to say, that it was generally b<dieved 
 her affections were totally disengaged; and the 
 time had now come when the Countess of Bur- 
 ton seriously thought of marrying her daughter. 
 When, therefore, she received Lady Reilburn’s 
 note of invitation to pass a few weeks at the 
 Manor House — the letter mentioning, as if quite 
 in a casual way, that Captain Redburn was at 
 home — it had struck Lady Burton, that the son 
 of the richest and most iniluential baronet in the 
 county, would form an excellent match for her 
 daughter. Under this impression she had ac- 
 cepted the invitation, and arrived with Lady 
 Adela, and a couple of lady’s-maids, ,at the 
 Mantir House. 
 
 Before continuing our narrative, we must ob- 
 serve, that Lady Adela Clive had been brought 
 up in a habit of implicit obedience towards lier 
 mother. Thotlgh possessing so fine an intellect, 
 and the high spirit which invariably accom- 
 panies an elevated standard of mind, the young 
 lady had never been accustomed to assert her 
 )wn will, but to continue in that routine which 
 her parent rendered habitual. Her spirit there 
 fore slept, as it were — while her intellect had 
 Lot been sufficiently enlarged by contact with 
 the world, to make her fully comprehend that 
 ihe was not altogether an automaton, to move 
 
 and think only at her mother’s good will and 
 pleasure. She was naturally of an affect’onate 
 dispo.'-ition ; she was an only daughter; she had 
 been brought up entirely at home, her education 
 having been conducted by governesses under 
 Lady Burton’s continual supervision. She had 
 never beeii to a boarding-school ; she had not 
 visited London more than on three or four oc- 
 casions, and then only for a few weeks each 
 time ; and therefore she was completely' ignorant 
 of the world This ignorance might be better 
 characterized as the most unsophisticated art- 
 lessness and ingenuousness, but which never 
 merged into awkward diffidence or girlish em- 
 barrassment, because the natural power of her 
 mind rescued her from those extremes. Such 
 was Adela Clive — the beautiful and interesting 
 creature whom it was intended, if practicable, 
 to bestow as (t wife upon the sickly, ill-con- 
 ditioned, effeminate, and dissipated Gerald Red- 
 burn. 
 
 It had so happened, that on the last two or 
 three occasions when Captain Redburn paid 
 his annual visit to the Manor, he did not fall in 
 with Lady Adela Clive. He had known her, 
 however, almost from childhood ; but when last 
 he saw her, she was a girl of seventeen. Now 
 she was a blooming young woman of twenty* 
 and the lapse of that interval had made a won- 
 drous chatige in her appearance. Gerald was 
 immediately struck by her extraordinary beauty, 
 so that Sir Archihald and Lady Redburn ex- 
 changed significant looks, as they observed th« 
 impression which Lady Adela made upon their 
 son. The Countess of Burton likewise perceived 
 that impression, and noticed those looks on tha 
 part of rhe Baronet and his spouse: she there- 
 fore understood in a moment what was passing 
 in their minds — and she was secretly pleased, 
 because it correi ponded with her own views. 
 Aunt Jane suspe :ted what was going on; and 
 a withering sneei passed over her pale, emaci- 
 ated countenance as she observed the striking 
 contrast betweer the beautiful and brilliant 
 Adela Clive and the dissipated, sickly Gerald 
 Redburu. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 iUNT JANE. 
 
 For the first w sek after the arrival of th« 
 Countess and her d.iughter at the Manor Horse, 
 Gerald was constant in his attendance upon the 
 latter. When the ladies remained in-doors, he 
 sat with them in the drawing-room ; when they 
 walked out, he accompanied them ; Avhen theyr 
 took an airing in the carriage, he went with 
 them on horseback ; and when Adela wished 
 to take a longer ramble than her aunt and 
 Lady Redburn chose to venture upon, Gerald 
 was her companion. A s he was on his very 
 best behavior, Adela failed at first to perceive 
 any of the bad points in his disposition ; and 
 she accepted his courtesies as those which the 
 son of the host and hostess of the mansion 
 where she was staying, was bound to show. 
 
 It happeued, at the expiration oi this first 
 
11-8 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 week, that Lady Burton was token somewhat 
 indisposed, and kept her chamber. Adela, who, 
 Rs we have nlr(!ady said, was devotedly attach- 
 ed to her mother, passed tlie greater portion of 
 tlie day with her ; and tlms Gerald was thrown 
 upon his own resources. He had an hour’s walk 
 wilh Adela in the afternoon : hut in the evening 
 he had nothing to do ; and not liking what la; 
 called “ the slow work” of sitting with his 
 father, mother, and Aunt Jane in tlie drawing- 
 rooni, he helhought himself of jiaying a visit to 
 the bailitf’s cottage. Lighting his (‘igar, he hent 
 his way between eight and nine o’clock to Mr. 
 Davis's dwelling, and on knocking at the door 
 was immf'diaiely admitted by the woman-ser- 
 vant. He. learnt that Mr. Davis was not at 
 home, but that Mrs. Davis was. He according- 
 ly entered the pailor, and found the mistress of 
 the Cottage seated alone, reading a new lU/Vel 
 from .a batch of volumes which the carrier had 
 brought her a day or two previou.sly from the 
 ciiculating library at Middleton. ISlie received 
 Captain Redburn with a marked and studied 
 coldness, barely giving liim her hand, and in- 
 stantaneously withdrawing it again. 
 
 “ M'hy, what on earth is the matter?” lie ex- 
 clainu'd ; “ how have I oft'ended you ?” 
 
 “ Oh, not oli'ended !” said Mrs Davis with a 
 toss ( f the lu-ad which rnarle all her ringlets 
 shake like a weeiiing willow in a hurricane. “ 1 
 am too independent to be (/ft'ended. Captain 
 Redburn ! ’ 
 
 “Then what is the matter?” demanded Ge- 
 rald; “for I see there is something wrong.” 
 
 “ Matter ? Oh, nothing ! I suppose 1 have 
 got my pro|u*r pride, like other ladies — and 
 again she tossed her head and gave a look of 
 mingled significancy and vexation. 
 
 “ Well but what does it all mean ? I suppose 
 the fact IS, you think I have behaved rude in 
 not Calling for a whole week.” 
 
 “Oh! you are your own master; and of 
 course you can do just as you like. There are 
 lathes staying at the Manor, and they deserve 
 your first consideration. Pray go back to them. 
 They will miss you greatly — particularly the 
 young otie with whom you walk about. 1 dare 
 say she will want you to turn over her music 
 for her at the piano — or liold a skein ttf silk — 
 or something of that kind; so pray go!” 
 
 “ Really, Kittv, this is very stupid on your 
 part ” 
 
 “ Kitty ! pray whom do you call Kitty, sir? 
 It was all very well three or four years back 
 when I w'as a single girl: but now. Captain 
 Redburn, that I am a married woman, 1 beg to 
 be called Mrs. Davis.” 
 
 “ Oh, very well. But the other evening,” con- 
 tinued Gerald, “ when I drojiped in according 
 to the permission 1 had received, 1 addressed you 
 as Kitty and you were not oli'ended,” 
 
 “ Peiha|)H I was not — because 1 look you for 
 a friend; l)ut now that more than a week has 
 elapsed since you condescended to honor this 
 humble alxide with your presence, I can only 
 think (hat you druj) in here, us you call it, when 
 YOU have nothing better to<lo: and in plain 
 tei ms. Captain Redburn, 1 <lon’t mean tii be 
 treateil in (his way, or let the oiUtuge be made 
 R convenience o£” 
 
 “ Every evening I have been endeavoring tc 
 get away,” resumed the Captain, “ and pay my 
 respects to you : but I have been detained at 
 home. Surely this apology otight to suflice ?” 
 
 “ Ah ! if 1 thought you had really wisla-d to 
 come, it would perhaps be dilferent:” — and the 
 lady showed that she suffered herself to Ix) 
 moved. 
 
 “ Well, you may feel a.ssured of it — and 1 
 [iromise that my visits shall be oftener paid in 
 Cuture. Come, give me your hand and let ui 
 make it up” 
 
 For a few moments Mrs Davis thought it re- 
 quisite to pout and look sullen : but she soon 
 yielded, as she all along intended to do, and 
 gave her hand to Gerald, who conveyed it to his 
 bps. 
 
 “ Dear me, Captain Redburn, you are gallant 
 this evening!” — and Kitty affected to turn away 
 her countenance as if to hide her blushes. 
 
 “ I cannot be too gallant towards a pretty 
 woman, such as you — and Gerald fixed hia 
 eyes wilh impudent meaning upon her. 
 
 “ Now what will you take?” she exclaimed, 
 laughing merrily and archly ; then hastening to 
 the sidt.'-board, she brought forth wine, and cakes, 
 and fruit, which she placed on the table. 
 
 “ Where is Davis this evening ?” asked Red- 
 burn, as he took a chair close by the one in 
 which the lady had now seated herself. 
 
 “ Oh ! down at the publ c-hou.se, as usual,” she 
 replied. “ But perhaps he is better there than 
 here.” 
 
 “ Dill he know that I came the other evening 
 and .stayed so late ?” 
 
 So late 1 Why, it was only eleven o’clock 
 when you went away, and he did not come back 
 till past twelve — very tip.sy, as usual.” 
 
 “ Aiul what did you say to him ?” inquired 
 Gerald ; “ did you give him your mind ?” 
 
 “ To tell you the truth,” returned Mrs. Davi.s. 
 “ I did not on that particular occasion — then, 
 after a few moments’ pause, she added in a sim- 
 pering tone, “I myself had passed the evening 
 so jileaeantly, that so far from being angry 
 his absence, I was glad of it.” 
 
 ‘ Oh, but you should always show your 
 spirit,” said Gerald, “no matter what you may 
 really feel in your heart : for if Davis once 
 thinks that you are yielding, he W’ill play the 
 tyrant with a vengeance — and you will be com- 
 pletely subdued.” 
 
 “ I'here is a great deal of truth in what you 
 say. Captain Retlburn.” 
 
 “ Call me Gerald ; I like it better — and then 
 I shall call you Kitty.” 
 
 “ Well tlien, Gerald,” resumed the lady, again 
 laughing; “ 1 think you have spoken very judi- 
 ciously.” 
 
 “ But if you were to call me dear Gerald,” 
 .said the Captain, looking amorously upon her, 
 “ it would l>e more agreeable still.” 
 
 “ Oh ! what would you think if I diil ?” mufs 
 mured Mrs. Davis, now simpering again and 
 pretending to be very much confused. 
 
 “ 1 should think if you said so, that you meant 
 it,” he replied. 
 
 '* Ah ! but I must not mean it,” the continued 
 “ it would be very improper indeed ” 
 
 “Ntaisensel between you and me, who baVR 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE 
 
 119 
 
 known each other so long! But what time do 
 you think Davis will return this evening ?” 
 
 “ Not till midnight ; he seldom or ever does. 
 I suppose you intend to favor me with your 
 company for an hour or two ; and 1 will order 
 Sarah” — alluding to the woman servant — “to 
 get a nice little supper ready,” 
 
 “ No, never mind the supper : I dine so late. 
 Besides, it’ssueh an interruption to discourse. — 
 But I will stay here till past eleven. How I 
 should like to hear you give your husbatul a 
 good scolding ! There is nothing I admire so 
 much as a woman of spirit. Ah 1 I do love a 
 woman who shows her independence! She 
 looks so fine on those occasions” 
 
 “Do you 'hink so?” — and the frivolous crea 
 ture took all that was said as complimentary 
 to herself. “ I am resolved to let Davis see this 
 evening, when he comes back, that I have got 
 as good a spirit of my own as ever. He is 
 sure to return tipsy.” 
 
 “ Then he has taken to drinking lately ?” ob- 
 eerveil Redburn. 
 
 “ Oh, yes — terribly 1 He was always fond of 
 his spirits-and-water of an evening; but he used 
 to take his glass at home, and never went into 
 extremes. But of late he has frequented the 
 public-house, and drinks deeper every day.” 
 
 “ What a disgusting sight is a drunken hus- 
 band,” retnatked Gerald. “ 1 wonder any wo 
 man of spirit puts up with it!” 
 
 “ Ob, you sliould hear how I sometimes go on 
 against him,” exclaimed Kitty. “ You would 
 then see that 1 really do possess a spirit.” 
 
 “I should like to hear you. I told you just 
 DOW that there is nothing I love so much as to 
 see a woman of spirit — particularly when her 
 anger is not diiected against myself.” 
 
 “ 1 tell you what,” said Mrs. Davis, as a 
 thought struck her, — “ if you would really like 
 to hear me tell Peter my mind, you could just 
 wait till he comes in,” 
 
 “ All 1 but 1 do not want him to find me here — 
 at least not at such a late hour. But if I did 
 stay, how would you manage it ?’’ 
 
 “ You could citnceal yourself behind the win- 
 dow-curtains,” replied Mrs. Davis. “ He would 
 not stay long in the room here, when once I be- 
 gan to siorm at him ; and as soon as he went 
 up stairs, i could let you secretly and quietly 
 out of the house.” 
 
 “ It is a great temptation,” observed Gerald ; 
 “ and I am almost inclined to stay,” 
 
 He did so-^and sat conversing with the 
 thoughtless woman until past eleven o’clock. — 
 Suddenly there was a knock at the front door ; 
 and Kitty exclaimed, “ There he is — a good half- 
 hour earlier than usual !’’ 
 
 “ Perhaps he is sober,” hastily suggested Ge- 
 rald. 
 
 “ Not a chance of it. By the very way he 
 knocked, I know that he is tipsy.” 
 
 “ But the servant will tell him I am here,” 
 was Red burn’s next remark. 
 
 “ She will say nothing of the kind — she never 
 •peaks unless spoken to. Now then, if you 
 leally wrsh to hear a scene, hide yourself at 
 once ” 
 
 Captain Redburtr immediately passed behind 
 the curtains, which he drew in such a manner as 
 
 to conceal himself ; and scarcely was he en- 
 sconced in the wdndow- recess, when the bailiflf 
 entered the parlor. 
 
 “ A pretty state you are in, Peter,” exclaimed 
 the wife. “ How dare you jueserrt yourself in 
 this conditiorr before me? 1 would have }ou 
 know that I am trot to be outtitged or insulted 
 in such a nianrrer. Oh, what a spectacle you 
 are ! what a loathsome object !” 
 
 “ Now then, enough of this,” growled Davis; 
 “and get up to bed with }Ou.” 
 
 “ I shall not at your command,” retorted 
 Kitty. “Be off yourself. 1 am sure you must 
 be anxious to lie down — for you can scarcely 
 stand ” 
 
 “Go up,. I tell you directly !” exclaimed tht 
 bailiff, speaking in a less tipsy tnartner than be 
 fore, and wiib a resolute sternness. “ Go up, 1 
 say — I am determined to be c-beyed.” 
 
 “Then 1 won’t,” ejaculated Ins wdl'e. “You 
 shall not tyiarrrrize over me: 1 will show you 
 that I am the misU’e.-s htue.” 
 
 “ And 1 will show that I am the master. 
 Come trow, go up to bed directly — and Davis 
 spoke itt a still firmer voice and in a still more 
 resolute tone of command. 
 
 Kitty was not jrrepaied for this. She had 
 really ihonghl (hat her husband, preferring to 
 Continue the altercation up stairs, w'oultl irasteti 
 up to bed, as had previously been his wont. 
 She grew alarmed lest he should iliscover Red- 
 burn’s presence in the ro in ; and she now per- 
 ceived ail the imprudence of the step she bad 
 taken in allowing him to conceal himself thers 
 She theiefore thought that the best plan would 
 be to get Iter husband up stairs as soott as pos- 
 sible; and adopting a srrmewbat more concilia- 
 tory tone arid manner, she said, “ I presume yo« 
 are coming up at once.” 
 
 “ Yes, directly — iben taking up one of the 
 candles, he said, “ Sarah will put out the ^thei 
 light, when she has seen that ail is safe. Go u| 
 — and 1 will follow you.” 
 
 Mrs, Davis was only too glad to find that 
 there was tiiis easy escape from the dilemma 
 into which she liad got herself; but still think- 
 ing it necessary to show her spirit, she exclaimed, 
 “Come along, then: the sooner you get up to 
 bed the better — and I will give you my mind, 
 I promise you ! I will teach you what it is to 
 come home to me every night in such a dis- 
 graceful state, you brute, you !” 
 
 Davis said not a word, but followed his wife 
 from the parlor. Pausing a moment in the pas- 
 sage, he cried out, “Now, ISaiali, we are going 
 up to bed. See that all’s right.” 
 
 The servant at once made her appearance 
 and a rapid look of significance was exchanged 
 between Davis and lierseif — a look which Kitiy 
 failed to ob.-et ve, as she liad already began to 
 ascend the stairs. Davis followed his wife; and 
 they entered the bed chamber together. Sarah 
 proceeded to the parlor; and Gerald Redburn, 
 emerging from belriiid die curtains, placed his 
 finger to his lip. The woman started — or af- 
 fected to start, as if in dismay at the sudden 
 appearance of the Baronet’s son ; and he, at 
 once slipping a couple of guineas into Jier band, 
 said in a hurried whisper, “ Let me out afl 
 
TIDi SOLDIER’S W1F;2. 
 
 qiiiclc BR you cnn — anri ‘or lieaven’s sake don’t 
 Bay a word to your master !” 
 
 *• Not I, sir, J see and hear, but say nothing. 
 Indeed, I don’t want to see or hear more 
 tlian I can help, Young people will be young 
 peoj)le.” 
 
 “ To be sure, to be sure,” observed Gerald, 
 well pleased that the woman should be thus ac- 
 cessible to bribery. 
 
 ’riie cottage door was opened cautiously, and 
 he stole out. As he hurried back to the Manor 
 House, he said to himself, “ it was a deuced 
 deal too foolish of me to go hiding behind tliose 
 curtains: but 1 did want to hear Kitty blow the 
 fellow Davis up. I think she is devli^hly in 
 
 love with me ; but I don’t know perhaps 1 
 
 had better not and yet it would be taking a 
 
 tine revenge on that scoundrel Davis, for trying 
 to hook me into marrying his daughter seven 
 years ago. Ah, the villain ! what lies he did 
 tell me — what tricks he did play — and what a 
 narrow escape 1 had too ! How I could ever 
 have been such a fool, I can’t rmike out.” 
 
 It was past twelve o’clock when Gerald en- 
 tered the Manor House ; and ascending to the 
 drawing-room, lie found his father and mother, 
 together with Aunt Jane, seated there, evidently 
 waiting his return. 'J’he Baronet was dozing 
 over the j)aper — Lady Kedburn was reclining 
 on a sofa, revolving in her mind the number of 
 friends and acquaintances who ought to be 
 asked to the wedding when Gerald should lead 
 Lady Adela Clive to the altar — an event which 
 she looked upon as beyond all doubt; while 
 Aunt Jane, sitting up in her chair as prim and 
 sour-looking as ever, was occiqiied in knitting. 
 
 “ Why, Gerald, my dear boy, how laie you 
 are 1” said his mother, as he entered the room. 
 " Where have you been f’ 
 
 “Oh, 1 just dropped in at the Ardens,” he re- 
 sponded, glibly uttering the first excuse that 
 came into his head. 
 
 “ 1 suppose,” said Aunt Jane, “that Mr. Arden 
 was very glad to see you I’ 
 
 “ Oh, very !” ejaculated Gerald. 
 
 “ Then Mr. Arden is ubiquitous,” observed 
 Aunt Jane, with a sneer: “for he has been with 
 us the whole evening, and has only just this 
 minute taken his departure.” , 
 
 “Well then,” said Gerald, bursting out into a 
 supercilious laugh, “ 1 suppose I hav’n’t been 
 there at all. And I tell you what it is. Aunt 
 Jane — you needn’t show such anxiety to catch 
 me out in a fib. 1 am not a boy now.” 
 
 “No — you are a manikiu,” she observed 
 juietly. 
 
 “ And you are a nasty, ill-tempered, sour- 
 looking old maid,” ejaculated Gerald : and he 
 flung himself out of the room in a violent rage. 
 
 “ 'i’hat Wiis not right of Gerald — very wrong 
 indeed 1’ exclaimed the Baronet, red with indig 
 nation. 
 
 “ But then Aunt Jane should not question 
 him: he is not a child now,” observed her 
 ladyship. 
 
 “it was you, my dear, who first questioned 
 him,” rejilied Aunt Jane. “ As for his imperti- 
 nence, 1 care nothing alamt it. It’s the way he 
 has been brought uj) :” — and with these words 
 vhe quitted the ap irlment. 
 
 Another week passed, during which CnntAhi 
 Redburn confinu»Ml his MShiiliiiiics finvardw I.ady 
 Adela Clive : hut slic* now hegan to feel somo- 
 what importuned thereby, mikI gradually at- 
 forded him fewer opjxirl unities of being alone 
 with her. 'I’he suspicion had ari-eii in her 
 mind, though dimly and vaguely, that he was 
 paying his court lo Ikm- ; and she grew fiigl.ir 
 etied at the thought. She grew liightiMied lor 
 more reasons than one: firstly, because her af- 
 fections were irrevncahly liestnwed 
 anniher — secondly, hecaii-e she liad Ijegiin to 
 dislike Gerald Ridlmrn — and thirdly, l>ecauso 
 her mother had hinted lo her (hut the time was 
 apjiroaching when she must think of settling in 
 lile. Ill order to avoid Cajitaiii Redhurii, sho 
 tio longer walked nut except when her mothei 
 or Lady Redhuni walked out likewiso ; ami if 
 she found herself alone with (iorald in the 
 drawing room, she speedily withdrew to her 
 own chamher. 
 
 During this second week of the visit of Lady 
 Burton and Lady Adela at the Manor House, 
 Gerald managed to call twice at the bailitf’a 
 cottage, and to pass an hour or two on eacli oc- 
 casion with Kitty, lint when he on the second 
 visit endeavored to transfer a kiss from her 
 hand to her lips, she repulsed him '•uth moro 
 resolution than he had aiilicijiaieo • for the 
 truth is, that Mrs. Davis, though an exceedingly 
 tlioughtless woman — fond of flattery end flirt- 
 ing, and well jileased at receiving the visits of 
 a captain in tlie army, who was also a wealthy 
 baronet’s son — was not so depraved as to fling 
 liersClf into bis arms at the first oveiture 
 Nevertheless, it was in a laughing mruner that 
 she had repulsed liim, althougli so n .'■olutely, 
 for she did not think that lie efitei t£ hied any 
 delibeiate intention toward.s her. On bis part 
 Kedburn set her beliavior down as f shyness 
 which it would take but little troubl '■ to con- 
 quer ; and he determined that the next time ho 
 visited at the cottage he would not si bmit so 
 easily to a rebutf, if it should be attenij ted. 
 
 It was at the ex[)iration of ihe secon \ week 
 of which we have spoken, that Gerald on en- 
 tering the drawing-room one forenoon, found 
 Aunt Jane seated there alone. He wai about 
 to retire, when she said, “ Don’t go awai for a 
 minute : I want to speak to you.” 
 
 “ And what the deuce do you want to i \y to 
 me?” he asked, somewhat savagely. 
 
 “ I suppose you hate me,” observed Miss 
 Redburn. “ Well, your hatred won’t kill rqe: 
 lor I do not think that even if you were eiigag^ 
 iu battle, you would prove very formidable to 
 ail enemy.” 
 
 “ Was it to talk in this ill-tempered way tliat 
 you told me to stop ?” — and Gerald was again 
 moving towards the door. 
 
 “No — 1 meant to speak to you about Adela 
 Clive:” — and Aunt Jane /ixed her eyes of 
 glassy azure with a jieculiar look upon her 
 nephew. 
 
 “Ahl”he ejaculated, advancing straight iq? 
 to where she was seated. “And pray wliat do 
 you want to tell me about Adela?” 
 
 “ Oh, little enough,’’ she respoiKled iu a sneer- 
 ing tone: “only it struck me that you were be- 
 coming rather sweet iu that quarter — and 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 121 
 
 perhaps you •will find that the grapes are 
 •our.” 
 
 “ What the deuce do you mean ? I wish you 
 would speak intelligibly.” 
 
 “ 1 suppose you have heard that Adcla is in 
 love with another ?” — and Aunt Jane seemed 
 to experience a sort of malignant pleasure as 
 she tliLis spoke. 
 
 “ In love with another! I never heard of it 
 bef(»re — and what’s more, T don't believe it. 
 Kow then, please to be explicit.” 
 
 “ If you don’t believe me,” said Aunt Jane, 
 in a cofd but half-sneering voice, “there is no 
 use in my uttering another word.” 
 
 “You may just as well tell me what you 
 
 riage for their son — their nephew Reginald and 
 Adela had become deeply attached. It is not 
 however supposed that any explanation took 
 place between them ; for Herbert knew in his 
 heart that his five hundred a-year woidd not re- 
 commend him to the Counte.ss of Burton as a 
 husband for her daughter. He knew the world, 
 you see. The Countess di.-covered this attach- 
 ment, Just about the same time she discovered 
 Mr. Stansfield’s debauched conduct. So it was 
 in one sense fortunate that the Stansfields left 
 Clive Hall somewhat abruptly, inasmuch as 
 Reginald Herbert was compelled to accompany 
 them.” 
 
 “And pray how did you learn all this?” iry 
 
 have irot in vour head,” remarked Gerald ; “be-! quired Gerald, when his aunt had ceased speak- 
 cause then I can judge for myself.’’ | ing. 
 
 “Yes — you are such a fine discriminator:! ‘-Oh! it was whispered about at the time," 
 you know the difference between a man and ! she responded; “and I have not the slightest 
 a monkey when you look in the glass. How- ' doubt it was strictly true. Ask your parents, 
 ever,” continued the sjuteful woman, perceiv - 1 if you like: they know more of such things 
 ing that her nephew bit his lip with rage, “ I than I do — and they can tell you all about it, if 
 may as well-tell you what I have heard. About they think fit to speak the truth.” 
 eighteen months ago, Lord and Lady Stansfield,; “ Well, it may be that Adela formed a girlish 
 together with their son and nephew, jiaid a visit attachment which has passed away,” remarked 
 to Clive Hall. I don’t think you know the Gerald. 
 
 Stansfields ? No great loss, at least for a sen-, “ How do you know that it has passed ?” in- 
 sible person : although yo?< would have taken ifi- quired the aunt. “It is so easy to assume 
 finite delight in their society. Lord Stansfield things as being true because we wish them so.” 
 is as arrogant and ovei bearing as your father, “ But how do you know that it has not passed 
 and perhaps a trifle more wooden-headed : Lady away?” demanded Gerald. 
 
 Stansfield is quite as frivolous as your mother, “ I judge from appeaiances,” rejoined Miss 
 but oldt'r and uglier. As for the Hitnorable Redburn. I know that Adela Clive’s nund 
 Ferdinand Stansfield, he is a veritable puppy — cherishes some image; and I would stake my 
 a shalhiw-minded coxcomb — sickly-lookiiig and existence that it is not yours.” 
 
 You seem to ne 
 
 How do you know that ? 
 very positive.” 
 
 “ Because, knowing Adela Clive thoroughly 
 as I do — knowing you also thoroughl}**aa I do — 
 I am confident that she is no more caj^able of 
 
 dissipa'ed, but very self-sufficient wkthal. In 
 short, he reminds me uncomm tdy of yourself 
 But the nephew, Reginald Herbert, is quite a 
 dilferent being. He must now be about three- 
 and-twenty — tall, handsomely formed, and ex- 
 ceedingly good-looking. He is intelligent too. loving you than of becoming enamored of one 
 He has got more in his little finger in ihe shape of the scarecrows stuck up in the corn-fields.” 
 of knowledge, than some persons that 1 know “ You are exceeding complimentary, aunt, I 
 have in their whole composition. He is likewi.-e must say,” observed Gerald, bitterly. “ Perhapa 
 a good young man —steady, well principled, and you think yourself a great beauty.” 
 of a magnanimous spirit. Of course you can “ jf j one tithe of your conceit, T certaiiily 
 have iio conception ()f such a character it is gpouhl : but under circumstances I do not.” 
 
 not likely you could : f )r in this world people 
 are too ajit to judge otheis by themselves. The 
 great misfortune is that Reginald Herbert has not 
 
 “Well, we shall see,” muttered Gerald to 
 himself: and he abiuptly quitted the drawing- 
 
 , ] .1, 1 1 < j r room. On the landing he encountered his mo- 
 
 pennv piece beyond the salary derived from a , j- .i .. ^ x 
 
 L.rnnint which 1 ,P l.ald. Th.t i« who was proceeding to that apartment, 
 
 and the thought struck him that he would in- 
 quire more particularly into what Aunt Jano 
 had just been telling him. So he beckoned 
 Lady Redburn into another room ; and when 
 
 persons of rnv acquaintance. Now, it happened . t . i tv r - 
 
 f, , u j. c 11 a 11 ‘ .1 pose, mother, that 1 was to make an offer of my 
 
 that Reginal Herbert fi ll deeply in love, as the t k. a i i . j ai :-.i- i 
 
 phrase goes, with Adela Olive; and wliat was 
 
 Government situation which he holds. That is 
 only five hundred a-year — a trifle that would 
 not pay for your cigars, although it enables him 
 to live honorably like a gentleman — whicli is 
 
 more than fiftv thousand a-vear could do to haaiiv ^ i ai a i i i < c- 
 X XT u i,„ ' they w'ere alone there together, he said, “&up- 
 
 do vou think it would be 
 
 equally natural, Adela Clive fell as deeply in 
 Ijve w'iih him. Tlie real object of the Stans- 
 fields' visit to Clive Hall, was for the son and 
 heir to pay his court to Adela; but Lady Bur- 
 ton discovered something so derogatory to liis 
 character as a gentleman and an embryo noble- 
 man, that she declined the connexion on behalf 
 of her daughter. Perhaps she will have to do 
 the same thing over again very shortly in a7io- 
 tfter case. However, while the Stansfields had 
 been vainly endeavoring to arrange that mar- 
 
 d 
 
 hand to Lady Adel; 
 accepted it” 
 
 “ My dear ooy,"' responded her ladyship, quite 
 delighted to see that he was in this matrimonial 
 mood, “ I arn certain it would he accepted, be- 
 cause the Countess has taken a liking to you 
 and she would only have to breathe a word to 
 her daugliter ” 
 
 “ Ah I but that is not exactly what I meant,* 
 interrupted Gerald. “ I mean, do you think 
 that Adela of her own free will would accept 
 me ? It has struck me that she has grown 
 
122 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 rathpr pliy within the last few days: slie does 
 not walk with nie in the grounds any longer,” 
 
 “It is mere girlish coyness,” observed Lady 
 Redhurn. 
 
 “ But aunt Jane has been telling me, in lier 
 own beautiful style, a long story about a cer- 
 tain Mr, Reginahl Heibert ” 
 
 “ All iKnisense, Gerald. Now the truth is,” 
 continued her ladyship, “ that I and the Count- 
 ess have within the last hour been having some 
 serious conversation together. Our views are 
 identical ; and since } on aie j)leased wiih Lady 
 Adela, her mother wdl take care that she shall 
 be pleased will) you.” 
 
 “ d'his is at least satisfactory,’’ < xclaimed Cap- 
 tain Redhurn. “But somehow or anothei', this 
 Reginald Herbert is a iiiime that slicks in niy 
 throat, I should not like to marry a girl who 
 loved another, because there is no saying what 
 might happen heieafter,” 
 
 “Lady Adela, Geiald, is virtue itself,” re- 
 gponded his mother, with more seriousness than 
 Bl)e was wont to display. “But of course you 
 cannot yet propose to Lady Adela. It will be 
 time enough w hen your leave of absence ex- 
 pires a month hence; and then, in the course of 
 a few months more, you can obtain another 
 leave of absence, or else quit the aimy alto- 
 gether — which perhaps would be belter — and 
 settle tiown in life.” 
 
 “ About quitting the army, I don’t know,” le- 
 joined Gerald. “ 1 rather like the red coat. — 
 But about this Reginald Herbert ” 
 
 “I'he report was all false, I can assure you,” 
 replied his mother. “Aunt Jane was very 
 wrong to put such nonsense in your head. In- 
 deed 1 cannot fancy how' she came to perceive 
 you had any thoughts in thiit quarter.” 
 
 “ It’s my opinion the old gii 1 is shrewder and 
 keener by a great deal than you fancy. Hoav- 
 ever, I am glad 1 have spoken to you on the 
 subject : for 1 have now no doubt it w'as all 
 Aunt Jane’s malignity and spite. She is a 
 crabbed old maid herself, and does not like to 
 see other women stand a chance of getting hus- 
 bands. Besides, she aj)pears to take a pleasure 
 in throwing a damp on one’s hopes or spirits ; 
 and she is getting more bitter every day. Where 
 IS Adela now 
 
 “She has gone down to accompany her mo- 
 ther for a few turt)s in the garden. The Coun- 
 tess is going to hint as delicately as she can that 
 whatsoever attentions you may choose to pay, 
 are to be received graciously, I do not tliink 
 ou will find any more shyness in tliai quarter. 
 II a few minutes you would do well to join the 
 Uidies: the Countiiss will be sure to leave you 
 with Lady Adela, whom you will no doubt find 
 olHidiently subniissive to the suggestions thrown 
 out by her mother.” 
 
 At this mometit Sir Archibald Redhurn en- 
 tred llie room with the local journal in his 
 band. 
 
 “ Whiit do you think ?” he exchiimed ; “ that 
 fellow Bates has made his escape from the olli- 
 cers who w<!ie conveying him to Borlstuouth. — 
 Here’s a full account of it in the paper. Ah 1 
 tlial ic one of the must cunning scoundrels 1 
 •ver knew in all m^' life.” 
 
 (iiirald not feeling >ery j articulurly inter- 
 
 ested in Mr. Bates’s afTairs, quitted the room and 
 descended to the gaid(>n. ’I'here he observed 
 the Cuunte.ss of Burton and Lady Adela Cliv« 
 walking tog* ther, — the latter with her eyes 
 bent down tipon the gravel-path, as if in a very 
 seiious mood. Heat first hesitated to accost 
 them ; for he thought that pethaps llie Connies* 
 might not have finished her lecture to her 
 ilaughter; but her ladyship beckoned him to 
 approach — and as he drew near, she said, “ Von 
 seemed unceilain, f/aj»lain Redhurn, whether 
 you siiouhl join us. 1 can assure you that if w« 
 are not taking you fiom anymore agieeable 
 occupation, your company would be most wel- 
 come. ’I'iie w eal her is tiuly beautiful and ii)- 
 ’ iting for a walk.” 
 
 Geiald offered the ladies each an arm; the 
 Countess took one — Adela the otln-r — and they 
 issued forth into the giouiids. 'I’he young lady 
 was evidently laboring under a deep depression 
 of spirits, which she however stiove to conquer, 
 or at least to conceal. But she only spoke in 
 monosyllables, or in brief sentences ; and as for 
 a smile, none gleamed upon her lips. After a 
 few till ns in the gaiden were taken,- lire Coun- 
 tess complained of fatigue, — say ing, “ 1 must 
 now go in-doors ; but it is no reason why 1 
 should deprive you two of your walk.” 
 
 ’I’lius speaking, she quilled Gerald’s arm and 
 entered llie mansion, leaving her daughter wiih 
 him whom she ho])ed to behold the young lady'a 
 bridegroom. 
 
 “ Shall w e extend our -walk a little. Lady 
 Adela V’ inquired Gerald. “ 1 do not lliink you 
 have yet been in the direction of Oakleigh, ex- 
 cept in the carriage; and there is si.rne beauti- 
 ful scenery in the neighborhood of the village,” 
 
 “ 1 shall be happy to accompany you,” waa 
 the youtig lady’s reply, but delivered in a some- 
 what Cold tone, and certainly in a mournful one ; 
 for she was stdl the prey of desponding 
 thoughts. 
 
 Passing round to the front of the mansion. 
 Captain Redhurn conducted his beautiful Cum- 
 panioii down the geiule slope leading towards 
 the grove, in the vicinage of Oakleigh; and 
 while tlius strolling onw ard, lie jiointed out vari- 
 ous scenes and spots which he considered inter- 
 esting. 
 
 “And whose is that picturesque little cot- 
 tage inquired Lady Aclela, by way of saying 
 something : for she had been many minutes si- 
 lent, and she did not wisli to appear absolutely 
 rude towards lier companion. 
 
 “Oh! that is the bailiff's resident e — a man 
 named Davis. He used to he a very excelleul 
 seivaiit of my father’s; but of late he has got 
 dissipated — frequents the public-house — and ia 
 in the habit of getting tipsy. 1 don t think the 
 governor know’s all his goings-on : in fact, 1 am 
 sure he doesn’t — but I think it is my duty to give 
 him a hint. J mean my father — for Lady Adela 
 looked evidently at a loss f<>r a moment to com- 
 prehend whom Captain Redhurn meant by t/ui 
 governor. “This fellow Davis, (he baililf of 
 whom we are speaking, ’ he continued, “ liiarried 
 a s( coud wife between two and tliree years ago 
 — a young woman much above himself^ though 
 not of course htdongiiig to our circle. !She ia 
 the daughter of the village doctor — a good look 
 
THE aOLDTERS WIFK 
 
 ir^ person enough, but ebockingly extrivagatit, 
 gay, and flirty. Tlie fact is,” proceeded Gerald, 
 conceiving that tins was an excellent opportn- 
 uity to pass himself off before Lady Adda as a 
 right-thinking and well-principled man, as well 
 •8 a great discriminator in respect to the good 
 or evil qualities of the female sex, — “ 1 very 
 much dislike those gaily-dressing, flaunting, flirt- 
 ish women, who give themselves airs and rtare 
 impudently at all young men That is just 
 what Mrs. Davis is : she is uncommonly forward 
 - — and in short, I think it is a most unfortunate 
 match for the bailitf. ’ 
 
 “ Pei haps, therefore,” suggested Adela, with 
 a truly generous intention, “you had better not 
 be too severe upon him in reporting his conduct 
 to Sir Archibald Kedburn; for the })oor man 
 may have domestic cares which drive him away 
 from his home.” 
 
 “ I am sure, if your ladyship wishes me to be 
 merciful,” said Gerald, “ 1 shall cheerfully fol- 
 low your bidding. In all things it will be a 
 pleasure to me to pay every attention to the 
 slightest word that diops from yotfr lips.” 
 
 Adda bent down her eyes and said nothing; 
 but her heart swelled wiihin her, for she per- 
 ceived that Captain Kedburn was indeed serious 
 in paying his addresses towards her — those ad- 
 dresses which, her mother had hinted to her 
 ere now in the garden, she was not to repudiate. 
 At this moment, Gerald Kedburn cfiught sight 
 of a gayly-dressed female approaching up the 
 pathway from the village. She was appareled 
 in all the colors of the rainbow, and therefore 
 in the gaudiest style as well as in the worst 
 possible taste. He had no trouble in recognizing 
 Mrs. Davis; and his first impulse was to turn 
 suddenly off with Adela in another direction : 
 but he felt that this would be an insult which 
 Kitty was quite capable of resenting upon the 
 ep<jt — and he naturally dreaded such a scene. 
 Besides, it woukl ap[)eiip extraordinary to Lady 
 Adela herself, to drag her out of the beaten 
 pathway over the grass ; and while he was hesi- 
 tating what Course to adopt, it became too late 
 to retreat or diverge at all. 
 
 “ How do you do, Captain Redburn ?” said 
 Mrs. Davis, walking straight up to him and ex- 
 tending her hand. 
 
 Gerald was compelled to stop, — compelled 
 also to take that hand ; but instantaneously re- 
 linquishing it, he bowed somewhat distantly, 
 and was leatiing Lady Adela away, when Mrs, 
 Davis exclaimed, “ Pray introduce me to her 
 ladyship. 1 have heard so much of her, and 
 quite lung to know her. Do, my dear Captain 
 Kedburn, introduce me, there's a good soul ! ’ — 
 and she spoke with an easy off-hand familiarity, 
 as well as with the utmost effrontery. 
 
 ' *• T.ady Adela Clive and the Countess of Bur- 
 ton.” re{)lied Gerald, shaking his head in a de- 
 precating manner at Kitty, “are paying a quiet 
 and friendly visit at the Manor, and do not iurm 
 atiy new acquaintances. Pray do not think me 
 
 rude Good morning 1" — and raising his hat 
 
 to make a polite bow in order to disarm Kilty 
 of any ill-humor, he led Adela onward. 
 
 The young lady was naturally surprised that 
 the flaunting, forward, gaudily appareled wo- 
 man whom they hud just passed, should have 
 
 12i 
 
 addressed Captain Redburn with so much famk 
 liarity. But she said nolliing, Geiald cast an 
 anxious look over his shoulder to a.-<sure himself 
 that Kitty had continuerl her way to the cottage; 
 and finding that she had, he breathed somewhat 
 more freely. He felt that some explanation was 
 due to Lady Adela; yet how could he possibly 
 tell her that this was the identical Mrs, Davis 
 of whoin he had spoken so disparagingiy but a 
 few minutes before ? He inwardly cur.'-ed his 
 folly in having committed such an oversight at 
 to bring Adela for a walk in that direction ; but 
 the evil was done — and something must be said 
 to remedy it. 
 
 “ How very rude and impertinent some of 
 these country people are apt to be,” be began. 
 “ 'I'bey are so forward and encroaching. I’liat's 
 the wife of a very substantial farmer — a tenant 
 of my fathers; and so of course 1 was bound 
 to be decently civil to her. 1 dare say she has 
 gone to call upon those Davises that we were 
 talking about.” 
 
 “ 1 really thought, from the description you 
 bad jneviously given, Captain Redburn, that it 
 was Mrs. Davis herself,” observed Adela. 
 
 “ Oh, dear me, no ! would be rather too 
 much of a good thing! Wliat, the bailiff’s wife 
 to address me in sucli a familiar style !” 
 
 “ It certainly was rather familiar,” observed 
 Lady Adela coldly. 
 
 “Yes : but as 1 tell you, they are capital ten- 
 ants, and perhaps on that account have been a 
 little humored ; so that they take advantage of 
 it. But here is Mr. Arden.” 
 
 The village clergyman drew nigh at the mo- 
 ment, and took oil his hat to Lady Adela, with 
 wlioin he was acquainted. He then shook 
 hands with Kedhurn ; and the usual compli- 
 mentary observations were exclianged. 
 
 “ Did you see with what scandalous gayety 
 that female was dressed out ?” inquired the Rev. 
 Mr. Arden, looking in the direction of the bai- 
 liff's cottage, and tliereforci not observing the 
 hasty shake of the liead which Gerald gave at 
 the instant. “ It is a positive shame to see the 
 wife of a working man, — for her husband is 
 only a working man of a superior grade, — thus 
 wasting the domestic substance in silks, and fine 
 shawls, and flowing veils, and flaunting rib- 
 bons.” 
 
 “ Are you going up to the Manor, Mr. Ar- 
 den ?” interrupted Gerald, who bad grown very 
 uneasy at the clergyman’s remarks; “for we 
 intend to proceed a little farther.” 
 
 “No 1 merely came forth for a stroll,” was 
 the reverend gentleman’s response ; “and with 
 your permission 1 will join you.” 
 
 While thus speaking, he placed himself by 
 Lady Atiela’s side, so that the deprecating looks 
 wliich Redburn was still throwing upon liim, 
 remained un perceived. 
 
 “As 1 was observing,” he continued, “ it is 
 really shameful to see tliat ” 
 
 “'I'bere is a beautiful spot. Lady Adela!” 
 ejaculated Gerald, pointing towards the grove 
 inlersecled by the rivulet — that grove made 
 memorable in this narrative as the trysting- 
 place of Frederiek and Lucy before their mar- 
 riage. 
 
 “ 1 declare,” continued the clergyman, still 
 
124 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIrE. 
 
 harping upon the same string, “ tliat I 
 preach a ^ernion against sucli (aitrageous cim- 
 duct, if it he continued. It is hringing scaiuiul 
 on the good na)ne of our sweet little village ; 
 and I, as the pastor, have a duty to j)eifoini 
 
 “ How [)icturesqne, Lady Adela,”said Gerald, 
 who was walking onward in tortures, “does the 
 cliurch look when seen from this spot hut he 
 was speaking somewhat at random ; for it was 
 only the vane which could just be descried 
 above the embowering yew-trees. 
 
 “ Does not your ladyship consider I shall be 
 doing my duty,” proceeded Mr. Arden, most 
 anxious to pa.«s himself off as the zealous minis- 
 ter of bis ffock, “ if 1 denounce from the j)ulpit 
 
 “But Captain Redburn assuresMie,” observed 
 Adela, “that they are very worthy persons.” 
 
 “ indeed !” (jacnlated the clergy man. “ Davis, 
 who has turned out a drunkard ” 
 
 “ ’I’liat was not Mrs. Davis,” said Adela, now 
 beginning to enteitain some suspicion that the 
 truth luul not been told her. 
 
 “Not Mrs Davis !” echoed the Rev. Mr. Ar- 
 den, growing warm upon the subject : “ there 
 is no j)ossibility of mistaking l,>er. She passed 
 me by — and 1 saw her ascenil the slope ; but 1 
 lost sight of her on account of a turning in the, 
 p gryve for some minutes, until I observed your I 
 ladyship and Captain Redburn.” 
 
 “ No, indeed ! Was that Davi.s’8 wdfe ?” ejacu- 
 lated the latter, wdth affected amazement. “I 
 really thought it was Mrs. Tomkins.” 
 
 “ Mis. 'I’omkins !” said the parson : “ why, you 
 know she has been dead for the last twelve 
 months.” 
 
 “ Oh ! well, there’s some mistake,” observed 
 Gerald, covered with confusion. “ J think your 
 ladyship will perhaps be tired if we proceed any 
 farther.” 
 
 “ J think so too,” she said coldly ; and quitting 
 her Companion’s arm, she added, “ W ith your 
 permission 1 will walk alone.” 
 
 Mr. Arden now took his leave of Lady Adela 
 and Gerald ; and the two, retracing their way 
 towards the Manor, walked on in silence. The 
 circumstance relative to the bailiff’s wife was 
 altogether trivial enough ; but still it had dis- 
 played a certain duplicity and falsehood on 
 Captain Redburn’s part, which had suddenly 
 lowered him very considerably in Lady Adela’s 
 estimation. She coidd not possibly conceive 
 what motive he had for thus deluding her as to 
 that female’s identity — unless it were that he 
 was in reality more friendly with her than he 
 had chosen to acknowledge — and the pure mind 
 of the young lady was shocked at the suspicion. 
 On the other hand, Gerald felt that he had got 
 himself into a liitle dilemma; and he was very 
 much afwiid that Adela would mention the cir- 
 cumstance to her mother — in which case, it 
 W'ould naturally be supjiosed that he was far 
 more intimate with Mrs. Davis than he ought to 
 be, and more improperly so than he really was. 
 He knew not what to say: he could not ask 
 Adela Ix) keej) silent upon the suliject; and he 
 Iherel'ore thought the best plan was to leave 
 tlaj inaiter to lake its course, .^fler walking. 
 Borne uiintiles in silence, he renuWi-d the conver- 
 
 sation, by directing his fair comj^nion's atten- 
 tion to some interesting [liece of scenery; but 
 her rejilies were cold and distant. Again th«Te 
 wa.s an interval of silence, which he tiroke by 
 asking her if she would now take his arm 
 again; but she declined, observing that she jae- 
 ferred walking without any sujiporl. In this 
 manner they regained the house; and Adela, 
 at once ascending to her own chamber, sent a 
 message by her maid to her mother in th« 
 drawing-room, to the effect that she w'ished to 
 sjieak tolur. The Coun'e.ss hastened to her 
 daughter’s apartment; and then Adela told her 
 all that had occuired. 
 
 “ You need not think anything of it, my de.ir 
 girl.” said the C aintess of Burton. “On the 
 contrary, if you understood these things — which, 
 thank heaven, you do not — you would perceive 
 that there was a great deal of delicacy in Cafr- 
 tain Redburifs conduct, which the officious ol>- 
 servalions of Mr. Arden neutralized. Jkinish it 
 from your mind, Adela; and Captain Redburn 
 will become quite steady, when once he settles 
 down into married life.” 
 
 Thus speaking, and without giving her daugh- 
 ter time for any remonstrance, the Countess 
 quitted the chamber. She had naturally been 
 struck by the idea that Gerald had perhaps 
 .flirted, or even been still more intimate with 
 I the bailiff ’s wife, and tiiat his sense of honor 
 and decency had promjited him to give so posi- 
 tive a refusal to the request which the woman 
 had made for an introduction to Lady Adela. 
 tShe therefore was rather inclined to entertain 
 a higher opinion of Gerald, than otherwise, on 
 account oi this incident; for she knew that 
 “yjung men would be young men,” as the pal- 
 liative [Rrase goes; and she contrasted the 
 seeming delicacy of his conduct most favorably 
 with a certain disgraceful display of loose prin- 
 ciples which had come to her knowledge on the 
 part of the Hon. Ferdinand Stansfield, at the 
 time this latter iiidiviilual was a candidate for 
 Adela’s hand, and which circumstance had led 
 the Countess to put an abrupt end to the court- 
 .'liip. But the present ca.se was altogether a 
 different one in her eyes ; and being % thorough 
 woman of the world, the Countess of Burton 
 was by no means disposed to interrupt the pro- 
 giess of things towards the accomplishment of 
 a good match for her daughter, just because 
 accident had made known a little affair of gal- 
 lantry on the Captain’s part. Thus Gerald’s 
 fears on this head proved to be unfounded. 
 But Adela herself was now, if possible, more 
 than ever repugnant to the idea of having to 
 receive the addresses of Captain Redburn ; and 
 in the solitude of her chamber she sighed and 
 wept, as sh.! thought of the high-minded, the 
 upright, and the hai\dsome Reginald Herbert. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE BILLET-DOUX. 
 
 In the evening, Gerald Redburn sallied forth 
 from the mansion, with his cigar in his mouth, 
 and bent his steps towards the builiff'’s cottage. 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 26 
 
 He had two objects in making this call so soon 
 after the (x;currenco of the forenoon. In the 
 fir^t place, he was anxious to disarm Kitty of 
 any animosity she might experience on account 
 of the somewhat cold way he had treated her — 
 for he was just sufficiently smitten with her to 
 make her the object of a passing amour; and in 
 the natural malignity «)f his soul, he sought to 
 accomplish this as the best revenge he coujd 
 take upon the bailiff. In tlie second place, he 
 wished to impress upon Kitty’s mind the neces- 
 sity of observing something like a decent for- 
 bearance the next time slie might happen to 
 meet him in company with Lady Adela. 
 
 On arriving at the cottage, Captain Redbnrn 
 learnt from Sarah, the woman-servant, that Mr. 
 Davis was out, as usual, but that Mrs. Davis 
 was alone in the parU)r. Kitty had expected 
 this visit, and was prepared with sullen looks 
 and pouting lips to give tlie Captain a cold re- 
 ception. Her pride had been bitterly annoyed 
 — her vanity wounded in its most sensitive 
 point ; while she had not sufficient good sense 
 and discretion to make her aware that her own 
 conduct had been most indelicately forward, 
 and that Gerald had treated her with even moio 
 consideration than she deserved, or than he in | 
 his own ill-conditioned nature might have been I 
 expected to display. 
 
 •'Ah! this is just as I thought,” said Cap- 
 taiu Redbnrn. “ What’s the use of being bad- 
 tempered ?” 
 
 “ It is like your impudence, asking me such a 
 question,” returned Mrs. Davis, shaking her 
 head and her curls: — and we may parentheti- 
 cally observe tliat she had arranged lier hair 
 most artistically, and put on her best apparel, 
 together with all the ornaments she possessed, 
 in anticipation of this visit. “So you would 
 have cut me to-day if you could, when you were 
 walking with tliat proud-looking girl.” 
 
 “Come, Kilty, don’t give yourself these airs,” 
 said Redburn, coexingly. “ Upon my word you 
 look quite cliarming this evening. Are you 
 expecting company t” 
 
 “ I expected no one — I thought I should have 
 been all by myself — I didn’t want any one to 
 drop in;” — and she pouted like a spoilt child. 
 
 “Not even me? Well, at all events I am 
 happy in having surprised you in one of your 
 prettiest moments. You really do look quite 
 fa.scinating. What beautiful hair 1” — and he 
 ventured to touch lier perfumed ringlets. 
 
 “ Be quiet. Captain Redburn 1 How dare you 
 — particularly after your conduct to-day ” 
 
 “ This dress becomes your complexion admi- 
 rably.” 
 
 “ Well, it is fortunate that you are pleased 
 with something.” 
 
 “ Pleased : 1 am always pleased with you — 
 or else why should I come to see you ? But do 
 let me look at that ring,’' he said, as a pretext 
 for taking her hand, which she abandoned to 
 him with only a slight show of resistance. “It 
 is really very pretty — the hand I mean, and not 
 the ring:”- -and as he spoke, he pressed that 
 han<i to his lips. 
 
 “ Fie, Captain Redburn 1” exclaimed Kitty, 
 affecting b turn away her bead in confusion 
 
 “ Are you not ashamed of yourself after your 
 conduct of to-day ?” 
 
 “ Pray do not return to the subject. This 
 costume sets off your figure to the greatest ad- 
 vantage: you .are really very well made — a 
 sweet pretty shape : a milliner must take pride 
 in dre.ssiiig you.” 
 
 “ How you do talk !” cried the thoughtless 
 woman, suffei ing herself to be gradually wheed- 
 led into a good humor. 
 
 “ 1 am only telling you the truth. Now, 
 Kitty, pray don't be angry with me any longer. 
 1 could not help acting as 1 did; and you ate a 
 woman of such fine intelligence and admirable 
 good sense, you must .see it in that bglit.” 
 
 “ All flattery !” she exclaimed, with an arch 
 look: for she wa.s now completely softened. 
 
 “ You are so bewitchingly beautiful this eve- 
 ning that I must receive a practical assurance 
 t)f your forgiveness:” — and lie pressed ins lipa 
 to liers, without experiencing a repulse ou the 
 present occasion. 
 
 But that very same instant tlie door opened; 
 and Siirah made lier appearance, bearing the 
 snuffer-tray iu her liand. Mr.s. Davis flew to a 
 seat — and Redburn ran liis fingers through hia 
 I hair, liumming a tune. The servant said noth- 
 |ing; she looked discrelioii itself, and it was im- 
 possible to tell by her aspect whether she had 
 seen that care.ss or not. She deposited the 
 snuffer-tray upon the table, and quitted the 
 room. 
 
 “ How provoking !” ejaculated Mrs. Davis, 
 who was iu reality much annoyed. 
 
 “ 011 1 she will not say a word,” observed 
 Redburn “ Besides, she must have thought 
 there was something singular the other night, 
 when 1 was concealed behind the curtains ” 
 
 “ Nevertlieless, 1 wish she had not seen this,” 
 answered Kitty ; and slie inwardly resolved 
 that it should not take place again. 
 
 “'Where is Davis tlii.s evening?” asked Red- 
 burn. “ At the public-house, as usual, 1 sup- 
 pose” 
 
 “ Most likely. I wish lie would not leave me 
 like tlii.s — I wish he was a better husband — 1 
 wish I had a husband that I could love and 
 respect, and who would stay at home. I wish, 
 in short 1 don’t know what I wish.” 
 
 “How queer you are talking,” exclaimed 
 Redburn, gazing upon her in the most unfeigned 
 surprise. 
 
 “ I fear,” she immediately answered, “ that I 
 am acting very thoughtlessly and very fool- 
 ishly. 1 am already compromised before tho 
 servant,” she continued in a tone of vexation. 
 “ What must she think ? Oh, I have been very 
 imprudent 1 Now, Captain Redburn, I entreat 
 you to do me a service.” 
 
 “ What is it ?” he asked, still astonished at the 
 seriousness winch she had smldenly put ou, and 
 which was evidently real and unaffected. 
 
 “ I wish you would leave me,” she replied, 
 rising from her cliair, but remaining at a little 
 distance ; “and 1 beseech that if you come here 
 again, it may be in tlie broad day-light when 
 people are about.” 
 
 •• Tins i.s most ridiculous, Kitty!” ejaculated 
 the Bironet’s son. “ What has come over yoa 
 all of a sudden ?” 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE 
 
 
 ** A feeling like a remorse for the tlionght | 
 lesHne^s of my conduct,” slie at once rejoined, 
 with a firtiiness o| look and tone of wl icii he | 
 *liiid ttol fancied her capable “ I see that all this I 
 lias gone too far; — not too far, heaven he 
 thanked, to retract — hut still too far for toy re- 
 putation, which is now in the hands of a ser- 
 rant. Do — I beseech you — leave me !” 
 
 ‘‘ What! ami you have any compunction on 
 account of that brutal drunken iiusbaiid of 
 yours '<■’ cried (ierald contenifttuously. 
 
 “ Ah ! but lie still my liusband,” responded 
 
 Kitty; “ and, and do, 1 beseech you, leave 
 
 me. 1 have .stood upon a precipice — I see it 
 all now. Foolish, and giddy, and thoughtless 
 though I may be, I am not wicked. IsN», no!” 
 — and she seemed to shudder as slie spoke. 
 
 “ Hut are you serious? or is this a part you 
 are playing ?”— -and still Rediiurn gazed upon 
 her with mingled surprise and incredulity. 
 
 ^ “ I am serious — perfectly so,” she answered. 
 
 “But 1 can forgive you for asking me if 1 am 
 playing a part; the levity of my conduct has 
 been sutlicieut to wairaut you in thinking any- 
 thing. Do leave me. Captain Redburn.” 
 
 “ You wish us to part thus?” he siiid, affect- 
 ing a reproiichful look and air, so that she 
 really thought he had conceived an affection for 
 her of a deeper iind more genuine character 
 than the mere sensual passion which he in 
 reality entertained. 
 
 “ VVe must part thus,” she responded, in a 
 voice mournful but firm ; for she on her side 
 had conceived a real attachment towards him. 
 “ Do not be afraid I shall be guilty of such im- 
 propiiety as to accost you again when you are 
 walking with Lady Adela Clive. You are 
 paying your addresses to her: that I well 
 know. She is a very beautiful girl, and you 
 
 will love her yes, you will love her, if you 
 
 do n(>t already. In every way, therefore, it 
 would be most wicked — most unpardonable, of 
 me to encourage your visits here.” 
 
 “ If we must part, then,” sai<l Gerald, “ will 
 you grant me one favor ? Permit me to send 
 you some little present to-niorrow as a token of 
 my esteem and friendship. Let Sarah go 
 down to the Oak when the van comes in from 
 Middleton, and inquire for a parcel directed to 
 you. Now, do not refuse me: it is the oidy 
 condition upon which I will go away at once.” 
 
 “ Well, well, have it your own way,” mur- 
 mured Kitty, who felt that her fortitude was 
 Vsaving her and that she was becoming every 
 instant more and more enamored of Gerald 
 Redburn. “ Now, pray leave me alone.” 
 
 “ One more kiss on that fair hand, and I take 
 niy departure.” 
 
 “ Now go,” she saiil, having for a moment 
 yielded lum her hand. “ (fo, I beseech you 
 — and she spoke with an hysterical kind of 
 nei voiisnesH, as if battling against the yielding 
 weakiK'sH that was coming over her. 
 
 “ Good bye,” said Gerald. “ Hut remember, 
 if you wish to see me again, a note delivered at 
 the Manor will bring me immediatedy hither.” 
 
 With these wonis he issued forth from the 
 cottage, slipping a guimui into Sarah’s hand as 
 a tiribe to ensuie her silenci; in r(‘spect to the 
 curesH which she hud seen him bestow upon 
 
 her mistress. As he retraced nis way towards 
 the Manor House, he could scarcely tiring hirrv- 
 sell to believe that the scene which had jusi 
 taken place was a reality and not a dream. A 
 man ot his disposition was naturally astonished 
 that a woman whoni he hail regarded as being 
 80 vain, thoughtless, and I'rivolous — so accessi- 
 ble to Haltery, so easily cajoled by complimentf 
 — should have had the courage to stop short 
 when she ajipeared to he limiting along the 
 road to ruin. Hut still lie felt persuaded that 
 it was only a transient apprehension — a tem- 
 porary feeling" of remorse, wdiich had made her 
 hesitate: and hence that sudden projiosal he 
 had made that she would accept some present 
 he was to send her on the morrow, lie had 
 fancied that success in this amour was a »nHtler 
 of certainly, and ’ikewise of comparative ease. 
 He found it difficult, though he still felt confi- 
 dent of ultimate triumph. I'he repulse he had 
 (‘Xiierienced strengthened his desire to achieve 
 that triumph ; and according to his libertine 
 notions be considered that his very credit as a 
 successful lady’s-man wuis at stake, — so that to 
 liim it appeared necessary for his own pride’s 
 satisfaction that he should accomplish a victory. 
 
 At breakfast-time on tlie following morning 
 he intimated tliat he intended to ride over to 
 Middleton, to make some purchases wliich he 
 required. Accordingly, mounting his horse, he 
 proceeded to that town, where he bought a very 
 liand.some silk dress, and a box of kid gloves. 
 These he ordered to be made up into a parcel 
 and addressed to Mrs. Davis, with a written 
 memorandum that it was “to be left at the 
 Royal Oak, Oakleigh, till called for” He then 
 gave instructions to the mercer of wliom lie pur- 
 chased the articles, to forward the parcel by the 
 van. leaving tlie money to pay the carriage. All 
 Ibis being done, he rode back to the Manor 
 House, which he reachi d by lunch time. When 
 lliis repast was over, he invited Lady Adela 
 Clive to take a walk throuijli the grounds, Slie 
 was about to refuse; but a look from her mo- 
 ther made her murmur forth an affirmative 
 answer. But throughout the ramble she was 
 cold and distant, though entirely courteous and 
 well-bred even in her very reserve. Her de- 
 meanor was ii>vested with a certain maidenly 
 dignity, which displayed the high-minded char- 
 acter of the young lady in one of its noblest 
 phases. 
 
 A fortnight passed ; the Countess of Burton 
 and Adela had now been a month at the Manor 
 House; and all things appeared to be progress- 
 ing ill accordance w’itli the views and wishes of 
 the young lady’s mother, the Baronet, and his 
 wife. Every day Adela walked out with Cap- 
 tain Redhurn ; but her deportment towards him 
 was still that of dignified coldness. He was far 
 from being so inexjiei ienced as not to observe 
 it; indeed be understood it but too w’ ell. He 
 saw that Lady Adela disliked bin , and that she 
 merely tolerated his addresses in obedience to 
 the commands of her mother. He hiipsc-lf 
 became more and more enamored of the young 
 lady — that is to say, of her jiersonal beauty ; for 
 as to love in its purest and holiest meaning, lia 
 was incajmble of the sentiment. It even gav« 
 'him pleasure to think that she would be coin* 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE 
 
 ^f!c(l to yield to the wishes of her pare»it and 
 •ceomnany him to the altar : tliere would be in 
 tho mere act of forcitig^ her thither a revenue for 
 the cohliiess which she now demonstrated to- 
 wards him. 
 
 But during this fortnijrht, what had been 
 assiiig in the mind of Mrs. Davis ? The reader 
 as seen tluit though in the first instance she 
 had welcomed Ca|)tain Redtiurn to the cottage 
 in (he thoughtless humor of one who was flat- 
 tered at the j>resence of such a visitor, she Imd 
 rapidly conceived a more tender feeling towai Is 
 liitn. In her eves liis pale countenance beciime 
 interesting — his emaciated figure appeared a 
 symmetrical slenderness — his flippant discourse 
 an off lianiled frankness. She hated her hus- 
 band. too: Gerald had encouraged the feeling — 
 and this conduct on his part she had regarded 
 as symjiathv with what she called her domestic 
 sorrows. She looked upon herself as an injured 
 wife, neve- la'fleoting that her own temper had 
 driven her husband away from his home to pass 
 the evenings at the public-house. It is most dan- 
 gerous when a young man shows, or is believed 
 to show, sympathy with a young wife who 
 fancies herself the object of t^Tanny on the part 
 of an elderly husband. Such was Mrs. Davis’s 
 position ; and when alone of an evening, she 
 thought to herself that it would be a consolation 
 if Captain Redburn were just to drop in and 
 have a chat with her. Moreover, that handsome 
 present which he sent her from Middleton liad 
 gratified tier vanity in more wavs than one. 
 She had not sufficient courage to reject the gift, 
 because slie loved finery, and also because she 
 considered it as a proof of Redburn’s affection. 
 She gradually reasoned herself into the belief 
 that though he intended to marry Lady Adela 
 from Worldly motives, yet tliat she herself pos- 
 sessed his love. Her head was soon turned with 
 these fancies* and almost every day her fingeis 
 itched to pen a few lines to Captain Redburn 
 and i^vr*" him to pass an evening with her But 
 throughout the fortnight she had sufficient cour- 
 *age, blended with sufficient appreliensions, to 
 make her throw down the pen every lime she 
 took it up; and in her better moments she re- 
 joiced at her f.)rtitude. 
 
 But at the expiration of this fortnight, when 
 Bbe remembered that in two weeks more Cap- 
 tain Redburn’s leave of absence would exjiire, 
 she could no longer resist the temptation She 
 accordingly wrote a few lines inviting him to 
 visit her; and carefully sealing the note, she 
 gave it to Sarah to take up to the Manor, with 
 iastructlons to make a pretence cf visiting the 
 servants tliere and of watching an opportunity to 
 deliver the billet into Captain Redburn’s own 
 hand. She felt certain that Sarah was discreet ; 
 and she knew full well that Gerald would give 
 the woman a gohlen reward for her, secrecy. 
 Sarah acquitted herself of the commission ac- 
 cording to the order she had received ; and 
 when she returned to the cottage with the inti- 
 mation that Captain Redburn would be there 
 between eight and nine o’clock, Mrs. Davis fl it 
 a tremor pass through her entire frame as Ivor 
 heart was smitten with rerret at what she had 
 dona 
 
 But it was too late tc xsltreat ; and as the 
 
 12 f 
 
 hours passed by, that feeling wore off, and she 
 looked forward wil'n a fluttering sensation of 
 pleasure to the expected visit. A little before 
 eight o’clock, Mr. Davis went firth a.s usual; 
 and Kitty ascended lo lier cliamber to perfirm 
 her toilet. She found herself insensibly gliding 
 into pleasurable ser.sations as she arranged her 
 liair and put on the very handsome silk dress 
 which Captain Riylburn had sertt her from Mid- 
 dleton. She gazed in the glass: the heightened 
 Color of her cheeks, and tlie light tliat was dau- 
 cing in her eyes, added to her good looks; and 
 the survey was therefore completely satisfac- 
 tory. She tlien descended to the pailor, where 
 a cheerful fire was blazing in the grate, for the 
 atituinn evenings were now cold ; and she s-pread 
 with her own hands n))on the table, the wine 
 and the dessi-rt provided for the occasion. 
 
 At about half-past eig) t, Gerald Redburn 
 made his afipearance ; atif'. the moment he was 
 alone witli Mrs. Davis, he pressed her hand, with 
 every evidence of enthusiasm, to his lips, assu- 
 ring her that her billet had affoided him the 
 mo>t unfeigned pleasure. He observed at a 
 glance that her toilet had been carefully studied; 
 and he understood full well tile vanity winch 
 had made her seek to render herself as fasci- 
 nating as possible for the occasion. She really 
 did look uncommonly well — prettier than he 
 had ever seen her before; and he felt an inward 
 glow of tiium[>h at tlie idea of approaching 
 success. 
 
 “ You must think very ill of me,” she said, 
 when they were seated at the table, to have 
 written to you ” 
 
 “ Very ill !” lie ejaculated. “ On the contrary, 
 it gave me infinite pleasure. How can any one 
 think ill of a pretty woman who suffers him to 
 jierceive tliat lie is not an object of indifference 
 to her ? You look perfictly resplendent this 
 evening. What a pity it is you tire cotifiiied 
 ill this humble cottage ! You ought to be in 
 a splendid di awing room. Not but that every- 
 thing is quite comfortable here: 1 am only 
 speaking comparatively.” 
 
 “ Do you really mean me to understand,” she 
 asked, witli a languishing tenderness, “ tliat you 
 care anything for me ?” 
 
 “How can you put such a question ? Why 
 am 1 here, if I did not? why was 1 so ready to 
 obey your summons ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; I think you like me — a little,” slie mur- 
 mured, tremulously; “because you knowhow 
 unhappy 1 am at liome — you have sympathized 
 witli me — you have shown a friendly feeling; 
 tint then, perhaps, you dearly love Adela?” 
 
 “I mean to marry lier,” rejoined Redburn; 
 ■‘but as for love, it’s quite another thing. I 
 I love you, Kitty; and if you were single, I 
 would marry you.” 
 
 “No, no — I cannot believe that. When I 
 was single ” 
 
 “ Ah, but then I did not know you so well 
 as I do now ; and you really were not half so 
 pretty. You have improved wonderfully in 
 the last two or three years.” 
 
 “ Do you really think so ?” she said, flattered 
 by the assurance. 
 
 “I think so, o»* I should not say it. Come, 
 do nut be coy,”* he added, as she somewhat ra* 
 

 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 luctaritly yielded him her liand again : hut when 
 he attempted to transfer his lips from that hand 
 to her cheek, she drew hack, and repulsed liim 
 l.rtiily. “How nonsensical you are, Kitty I” lie 
 said, with an access of ill-humor. 
 
 “ No, no, I do not think so!” she cried, a sud- 
 den revulsion of feeling faking jilaoe, and a 
 sense of (he impropriety of her conduct hecom- 
 * ing jiaramount a<i:ain ; while a pang of remorse 
 for liaving committed herself hy inviting him 
 hack, shot through her heart. 
 
 “ Well, hut if you have merely sent for me,” 
 said Captain Redhurn, angrily, “to hecome the 
 ohject of your whims and ca[)ric('s — to see you 
 play off your prudery and fastidious airs — I 
 can tell you that I do not choose to he made 
 such a fool of.” 
 
 “No, no!” ejaculated Mrs Davis, with an 
 hysterical nervousness (hat was very far from 
 being affected, hut was indeed most real ; “1 
 •would not for the world have you think that I 
 sought to tiifle with you ; and as for insulting 
 you in the manner to which you allude, 1 am 
 incapable of it. But surely — surely, if I fiel 
 conirition for what I have done — if my eyes aie 
 opened, and I see that 1 have heen acting im- 
 prudent ly and incorrectly ” 
 
 “All this is mere stuff and nonsense — child’s 
 talk!” interrupted Gerald; for as the color 
 mounted to the lady’s cheeks in the excitement 
 of her feelings, she looked too handsome at (he 
 moment f(»r him to abandon the hope arid the 
 intent which he had entertained with regard to 
 her. “Come, dear Kitty,” he continued, once 
 more adopting a coaxing and cajoling tone, 
 “get rid of these silly scruples ” 
 
 “ 0 Gerald — Gerald!” she murmured, “you 
 •will be the ruin of me! What am I to do? 
 Have meicy upon me! I feel that I am in 
 your power' — I have goi^e too far — you have a 
 right to treat me as you will; but stdl 1 conjure 
 and implore ” 
 
 “ Kitty, you are truly beautiful !** interrupted 
 Gerald, passitrg hrs arm round her waist, and 
 pressing his lips to hers. 
 
 At that mouierrt the door opened, and Sarah 
 entered the room. A shriek escaped from the 
 Ups of Mrs. Davis, as she tore herself away from 
 Captain Redburn’s arms ; while he, covered 
 •with confusion, was for a few irrstants utterly 
 at a loss how to act. Sarah, who appeared to 
 have iirtruded orrly for the pirrpose of inquiring 
 whether Mrs. Davis chose to have supper served 
 up, put the question with as much calmness as 
 if she had observed nothing wrong; arrd Gerald, 
 hastily drawing her aside, slipped four or five 
 guineas into her lamd, whisper ing, “ You are a 
 discreet and faitld'ul woman : we rely u[)on 
 you. Bray he cautious: for Davis is as jealous 
 as an ogr e ; and it would not do to create a 
 •cene.” 
 
 While he was tlms endeavoring to put a 
 golden seal ujion the woman s lifm, Mrvs. Davis 
 rushed from (la; room, almost in a frenzied con- 
 dition of mind — and sped up to her own charm 
 I>er. Gerald was lialf incliimd to quit (he cot- 
 tage at once: hut ire thought that perhaps it 
 was a mere transient ebullition of fet ling on her 
 part, and that she would de*^* iid again pre- 
 awilly, when it had si->>sided. He accordingly 
 
 lingered in the parlor — poured out a of 
 
 wine — drank it — and then paced to and fro, still 
 uncertain how to act. Meaitwhih* Sarah, having 
 received (he bribe, quitted the |•oom. In a few 
 minutes (jerald heard a door open up-stair s, 
 and he said to himself, “She’s corning back 
 agfiin. I was sure she would — it was only a 
 sudden friglih” 
 
 But he was disappointed: for Mrs. Davii, 
 instead of dei-cending the stairs, called out for 
 Sarah to come up to her; and she spoke in a 
 voice lliat was full of a nervous ti'epidaliou. 
 
 “What the deuce can (his mean?’ ihonght 
 Captain Redbunr to himself: and he waited to 
 see the res, lit. 
 
 Sarah, having obeyed her mistress’s sum* 
 moiis, almost irninediately came down stair* 
 again; and entering the jiarlor, she closed the 
 door in a cautious, deliheiate inamier. 
 
 “Well, what is it?’ demanded Gerald im- 
 j'.aliently. “Is your mistress coming down 
 again 
 
 “ No, sir,” responded the woman, whose 
 conntenance wore a serious exfires- ion. “She 
 requests that you will take your departure at 
 once.” 
 
 “ Oh, that is the end of it — eh ?” exclaimed 
 Gerald, both angry and mortitied. “There 
 never was such folly — and 1 am a stark staring 
 fool for my pains.” 
 
 With these w'ords Ire put on his hat, snatched 
 up his gloves, and abruptly quitted the bouse. 
 On bis way back to the Manor, he thought to 
 himself, “Kilty loves me — she is deeply enam- 
 ored of me — and sire wull be sending fur me 
 again. But may 1 be banged if I’ll go 1 I 
 would not give a far tiring to succeed iu that 
 quai ter now, after so niuclr prudery and non- 
 sense. Why, if it were known, it’s enough to 
 make me the laughitig-stock of every-body who 
 might hear of it. 1 will have nothing more to 
 do with the affair, and by my contemptuous 
 neglect, Kitty will be -well punished for havirog 
 trifled with me.” 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE BREAKFAST-TABLK 
 
 On the following morning the Redburn family^ 
 together with their lady-guests the Countess of 
 Burton and Adela Clive, were seated at tb« 
 usual hour at the bieakfirst-table, when a foot- 
 man entered and placed several letters and 
 newspaper s by the Baronet’s side. Having just 
 glanced at the adrlies.ses of those letters, and 
 judging by the hand-writing tliat they were of 
 no particular consequence. Sir Archibald put 
 tliem aside for perusal after breakfast, and pro- 
 ceeded to open one of the London jotuiiala 
 which liad anivetl. For the first few minutes 
 bis looks wandei'ed over the columns lu a casual 
 indifferent manner, as if be found iiotliing very 
 attractive in tlieii contents: but siuideiily h« 
 uttered an ejacidaii< ii, and at the same moment 
 bis interest ai'peaicd to be riveted ou some- 
 thing which had just canglit his eye. 
 
 “ Any thing paiiicular t” inquired Lady 
 bivn. 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 I2f 
 
 “ITo, nothing: that is to say, nothing of 
 
 gny consequence,” stammered the Baronet : 
 ** merely a political announcement, but which 
 has no interest for ladies.” 
 
 “ The mobs are all quiet throughout the 
 country, I hope?” said her ladyship. 
 
 “ How can it be otherwise,” interjected Aunt 
 Jane, “when the nation is blessed with such 
 gallant soldiers as our Gerald here, to over-awe 
 the multitudes ?” 
 
 “ I will thank you to keep your observations 
 to yourself,” said“ the Captain, bitterly annoyed 
 at being thus made to appear ridiculous in the 
 presence of Adela and her mother. 
 
 The door now again opened ; and the foot- 
 man announced the Rev Mr. Arden. He had 
 an important look ; and it was not difficult to 
 perceive that something had occurred in the 
 village, the intelligence of which he had lost no 
 time in bringing to the Manor House. 
 
 “Well, Arden, any news ?” inquired the Baro- 
 net, when the usual complimentary greetings 
 had been exchanged and the clergyman had 
 taken a seat : but while he put the question. 
 Sir Archibald retained the newspaper in his 
 hand, although he desisted from reading it. 
 
 “ Such an excitement at Oakleigh !” responded 
 Mr. Arden. “ Not that I am at all surprised at 
 what has happened : indeed, I always expected 
 it would end somehow or another in that 
 way ” 
 
 “ But what is it ?” demanded Sir Archibald 
 somewhat impatiently. 
 
 “ Nothing more nor less than this — that Peter 
 Davis, your bailiff, turned his wife out of doors 
 last niglit.” 
 
 Gerald let fall his knife and fork with which 
 he was eating some pigeon-pie : but no one ap- 
 peared to take any particular notice of what 
 seemed to be an accident — unless it were Aunt 
 Jane, whose cold glassy azure eyes were sud- 
 denly fixed upon him in a searching manner. 
 
 “ Turned out of doors !” ejaculated the 
 Baronet. “ And what for ?” 
 
 “ Dear me, how cruel !” said Lady Redburn, 
 as she sipped her chocolate. “ But I don’t 
 think it rained in the night, although there 
 might have been a heavy dew ; and it must be 
 very inconvenient to be turned out of doors at 
 the risk of getting damp feet, cold, and rheu- 
 matism, and all that sort of thing.” 
 
 “ It does not appear,” continued Mr. Arden, 
 * that Mrs. Davis wandered about all night, as 
 your ladyship seems to appiehend; for she 
 went straight home to her father's house — and 
 iliere she is at present.” 
 
 “ But V hat was it all about?” inquired the 
 Baronet. “ 1 am afraid Davis has lately been 
 frequenting the public-house more than he 
 ought Indeed, I know that he has ; for he ad- 
 mitted as mmh to me that night when I went 
 down to the Oak about Bates’s business.” 
 
 “ It is not as yet known,” continued Mr. 
 Arden, “ what induced the bailiff to have re 
 course to such an extreme measure. The Co- 
 lyciuth.s did not setid for me the first thing this 
 morning, as tiiey ought to have done, to make 
 me acquiiinted with all the circumstances and 
 ask tor my advice. Considering that lam ” 
 
 y 
 
 “ Their spiritual pastor and master,” inter' 
 jected Aunt Jane: “that’s in the Catechism.” 
 
 “ Well, but this is a most extraordinary pro- 
 ceeding,” said the Baronet ; and now he laid the 
 newspaper upon the table: but as Aunt Jane 
 immediately caught it up, he exclaimed, “ Don’t 
 take that, my dear. I want it:” — and he 
 reached forth his hand for her to give it back 
 again. 
 
 “ I shall not detain it many minutes,” she re- 
 plied, with her habitual cold imperturbability; 
 “and you can discuss the village scandal with 
 Mr. Arden in the meantime.” 
 
 “ But I had not done reading the paper,” 
 said the Baronet, evidently much annoyed thiit 
 he had let it go out of Ids hand, and vaitdy en- 
 deavoring to conceal the vexation he felt at hia 
 inadvertence. 
 
 Aunt Jane took no notice of this last remon- 
 strance ; but with the most provoking self will, 
 as her brother considered it to be, she persisted 
 in reatliiig the paper. He fidgetted uneasily 
 upon his chair for a few moments ; but perceiv- 
 ing that his manner was exciting attention, he 
 at once sought to divert it by turning to Mr. 
 Arden and renewing the conversation relative 
 to the intelligence which that gentleman had 
 brought. 
 
 “ But is there no suspicion afloat,” he in- 
 quired, “ as to the cause of this proceeding on’ 
 Davis’s part ?” 
 
 “ I have heard of nothing specific.” was Mr. 
 Arden s response. “ No doubt some levity, or 
 else the discovery of some fresh extravagance, 
 in respect to his wife, has induced Mr. Davis to 
 adopt such a course. It is an extreme measure, 
 and could only be justified by some very gross 
 misconduct on his wife's part. Whatever it is, 
 the Colycinths no doubt hope to hush the mat- 
 ter up without any farther scandal.” 
 
 Again did the door open, and a footman en- 
 tered bearing a note, which he handed to the 
 Baronet, who immediately exclaimed, “ I’his is 
 Davis’s hand-writing ! Perhaps we shall now 
 learn something.” 
 
 Captain Redburn was all this while a prey 
 to feelings which may be more easily imagined 
 than described. That it was in consequence of 
 his flirtation with Kitty, her husband had ex- 
 pelled her from his house, had naturally oc- 
 curred to him at once ; and it likewise struck 
 him that Sarah must have played a treacherous 
 part. It was not that he cared for anything 
 which his parents might say upon the subject: 
 but he was fearful that if a full exposure took 
 place, he should lose the beautiful Adela Clive. 
 From the moment of dropping his knife and 
 fork until that when the footman brought in the 
 note from Davis, he had been sitting upon 
 thorns, — doing his best however to-veil his un- 
 easiness by a still more vigorous attack upon 
 the pigeon pie. But now tliat this letter was 
 brought in, lie could not help watching with 
 intense eagerness the countenance of ids fathei; 
 who was opening the missive. 
 
 “ Why, what can this possibly mean ?” ejaco- 
 lated the Barone't, with an air of the most un- 
 feigned astonishment as he ran his eyes over 
 the note. “Davis resigns his situation in my 
 service ; and iu such a laconic way, it is post 
 
ISO 
 
 TIIR SOLD’KU’8 VVIFK 
 
 tirely ru»le — ungrateful to a degree — most iin 
 proper." 
 
 “ Head it aloud," said Aunt Ja?ie ; and o?ire 
 irioie weie lier gliiss\ eyes turned with a soil 
 of malignant sif^ni Heaney upon Gerald, who 
 Coloied like a jieony — and t(» hide hi' eonliision, 
 ^'as suddenly seized with a fit of coiioliintr^ so 
 that he averted his face and held up his hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 “ 'This is what Davis says,” continued the 
 Ban met ; and lie read the note, wliich ran as 
 follows ; — 
 
 “ Sir, 
 
 “ Circumstances conijud me to resign at once 
 the situation which so many years I have had 
 the honor of holding ufion your estate. As 
 business of importance calls me at once to 
 Middleton, where 1 may he for some davs, 1 
 have to request that you will lose no time in 
 appoiiiting my successor; as I shall he unahle 
 ti> pei foriu my duties any longer. J have 
 already given instructions to have the cottage 
 cleared of all iny furniture ; so that it will he 
 ready in the course of the day to receive a new 
 occupant. 
 
 ‘‘ I remain, Sir, 
 
 “ Your obedient huinhle Servant, 
 “PETER DAVIS.” 
 
 “ Are all his accounts right?” inquired Lady 
 Redhurn : “for it looks very suspicious and very 
 odd.” 
 
 “ It was but the other day T went over his ac- 
 counts," returned the Baronet; “and they were 
 perfectly accurate. No : it is nothing of that 
 kind w'hich has driven Davis to this step. I 
 can’t understand it.” 
 
 “ Perhaps it.will all transpire in due course,” 
 said Aunt Jan’e, with another malignant glance 
 at Gerald. “ But 1 do not see any particular 
 political announcement in this paper. The only 
 thing f)f consequence is the sudden death of ’’ 
 
 ‘‘ My dear, my dear,” interrupted the Baronet 
 hastily ; “ pray don’t talk of death. The subject 
 is so gloomy !” 
 
 “Mr. Arden will tell you,’’ rejoined Aunt 
 Jane, “that we always ought to have our ideas 
 fixed upon the transitory state of our being. 
 Poor Ferdinand Slansfield ! to have fallen dead 
 •f a|>o[dexy in such a manner — it is really 
 ^•jite shocking ! But it is an ill wind that 
 blows nobody any good ; and now the nephew 
 Reginald Herbert is heir to the title and 
 estates.” 
 
 Captain Redburn, on hearing his aunt make 
 this announcement, glanced quickly at Lady 
 Adela Clive; and at once saw that slie had sud- 
 denly become a [iriiy to an immense excitement, 
 which she could not pos.sibly conceal. I’he co- 
 *or went and came in rajiid transitions ujion her 
 cheeks — she triunbled visibly — and her con- 
 fusion increased to such an extcait that she could 
 not r(!strain her tears. Ah I they were tears of 
 ■uddenly awakened hojie — tears called forth by 
 an ineflabh! tenderness of feeling — tears that 
 flowed from a source the existence of which 
 •nly those who have well and truly loved, and 
 whose love' has encountered cruel obstacles, cai; 
 properly understand 1 The Countess of Burtoii 
 
 Jlooked at her daughter— but said nr hing. Thu 
 I Maionet and I.ady Redburn exchanged quick 
 glances of uneasiness: Mr. Arden, who pert’eclly 
 well undeistood the asp»;ct of alfairs. gazed 
 slowly aiound on all present : — while Aunt 
 .Jane, completely saii.'fied with the excitement 
 'he had pioduced, went on retiding the ptiperai 
 coldly and impel tin btddy as if iKUhing laid ha|> 
 pened. For ujiwards of a minute the silence 
 lhat ensued was most awkward and embanasi*. 
 ing: no one seemed to date tobie.ak it — because 
 no one, even if inclined to speak, knew not wliiit 
 to say. But all in a inomenl the scene acrpiired 
 an iiugmented inleiest : for Adela Clive, over- 
 whelmed with confu.'.ion, and feeling it to bo 
 impossible to Conquer her emotions, abruptly 
 rose from lier seat and quitted the room. ’Phe 
 Countess of Burton hesitated for an instant what 
 Course to adopt : and with all her wonted 
 presence of mind, and coldly calculating worldly 
 disposition, she was bewildered and embar- 
 rassed. But thinking it best to put a certain 
 Complexion on her daughter’s behavior, she 
 likewise ro.se, observing, “I am afiaid Adela is 
 ill:’’ — and hurried from the apartment. 
 
 “Why, what is the matter?” aske 1 Aunt 
 Jane, slowly raising her eyes from the newa- 
 jiaper and looking around her in unfeigned 
 astonishment. “ Have you said or done any- 
 thing rude, Gerald, to offend your intended I 
 for 1 know that you can be an unmannerly boy 
 at times.” 
 
 But the Captain, not condescending to give 
 his aunt any re-ponse, rose from his seat and 
 walked to the window, whence he pretended to 
 gaze forth, but where he vainly endeavoied to 
 stifle the chagrined feeling he experienced at 
 having acquired the assurance that Lady Adela 
 was deeply attached to Reginald Herbert. Ah, 
 this name! — much as he had hated it before, he 
 now loathed and detested it with all the power 
 of his natural malignity ! 
 
 “ Had you not better go, my dear.” said the 
 Baronet to his \Vjfe. “ and see how Lady Adela 
 is 
 
 “ I think not, Sir Archy — I think not,” re- 
 sponded her ladyship : and then with a signifi- 
 cant glance, she added, “ The Countess will do 
 all that is needful.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so,” said the Baronet; and by way 
 of turning the conversation, lest Aunt Jane 
 should thrust in any more of her inalicious ob- 
 servations, he exclaimed, “But about this fellow 
 Davis ?” 
 
 Gerald had already heard quite enough — in- 
 deed too much respecting the bailiff and hia 
 wife; and he quitted the rooni quite as abruptly 
 as Lady Adela and her mother had done a few 
 minutes previously. Lighting his cigar, and 
 taking his dogs with him, he walked down into 
 the village for the purpose of ascertaining, if 
 possible, some particulars relative to Kitty’s 
 abrupt expulsion from her home. As he passed 
 the bailiff’s cottage, he saw a van at the door, 
 and some men moving out all the furniture: but 
 he did not observe Sarah the woman servant 
 assisting. He had a great miiul to approach 
 the cottage and see if she were there, so as to 
 learn whether she had really betrayed him, or 
 •whether Davis’s jealousy had been excited froni 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 131 
 
 Wiy other quarter : but, on a second thouglit, he 1 
 decid<*<l that it ^lould be better not to look after 
 tlie wotnan — V>ecause, if she liad proved treach- 
 erous, slie would scarcely confess it ; and in any 
 case it would seetn odd — perhaps suspicious — 
 if he went inakit)g inquiries So he walked on 
 into the village ; and entering tin* Royal Oak, 
 called for a alass of brandy and soda-water. 
 Bu-hell prompdy served the beverage; and 
 Geralil endeavored to lead him into conveisatii n 
 respecting Davis and his wife ; but ihe landlord 
 knew no niiae than Mr. Arden in respect to the 
 details. It was now mid-day; and from what 
 Bnshell stateil. Mrs. Davis had not stirred out 
 of her parents’ house a’l tlie morning : nor indeed 
 bad her mother or sisters; — but it had not been 
 noticed that Dr. Colycinth, on going his usual 
 rounds, was grave, taciturn, and evidently much 
 afflicted. 
 
 Having learnt little more than he already 
 knew, Gerald retraced his way to the Manor. 
 As he entered tlie house, his mother happened 
 to ho descending the staircase at the moment ; 
 and she beckoned him into a parlor. 
 
 “ I know what is passing in your mind, 
 Gerald,” she .said : “but there is nothing to an- 
 noy you. I have had a private conversation 
 with the Countess: and everything remains as 
 it did — that is to say, provided you give a satis- 
 factory answer relative to one little circum- 
 Btance which appears rather to trouble her.” 
 
 “ And what the deuce is that ?” inquired the 
 Captain, although he could very well guess to 
 what circumstance his mother had alluded. 
 
 “ Ah !” she said, with evident satisfaction : “ I 
 see by your manner that the fears of the Coun- 
 tess are altogetln^r unfounded ; and I assured 
 her that they w’ere. Indeed, I was quite as- 
 tonished that she could have hinted at such a 
 thing: but it was no doubt because of the ma- 
 lignant inuendoes that Aunt Jane threw out 
 
 “ What are you talking about, mother ?” de- 
 manded Gerald, still affecting to be ignorant 
 of the subject that was uppermost in his 
 thoughts. 
 
 “ Oh ! I forgot that I had not told you : but 
 of course it is too absurd. The Countess fan- 
 cied, somehow or another, that you were not 
 Rltogether a stranger to the affairs of these Da- 
 vises ” 
 
 “ What the devil are the Davises to me?” in- 
 terrupted Gerald, with affected contempt. 
 
 “ What indeed ?” exclaimed his mother : “ that 
 is preci.-^ely the question I put to the Countess, 
 But Aunt Jane threw such significant looks at 
 you when we were talking about the Davises at 
 the breakfast-table ” 
 
 “ I hate Aunt Jane !” cried Captain Redburn, 
 with a bitterness that was thoroughly sincere. 
 
 “ And I shall soon hate her too,” responded 
 his mother, “ if she tries to make mischief. If 
 it hadn't been for her nasty officiousness, Adela 
 would not have heard of Ferdinand Stansfield’s 
 death, and the change which has therefore taken 
 place in Reginald Herbert’s prospects, Adela 
 never reads the newspaper ; and your father 
 would have kept the thing quiet, if it hadn’t 
 been for that meddling mischief-making sister 
 of his" 
 
 “But what lines it matter,” asked Geral<> 
 since you your<elf assuretl me the other day 
 that Adela does not care a fig for this Mr Re- 
 ginald Herbert? I begin to think — in fact, I 
 iiave thought so ju'etty nearly all along, since I 
 first heard life name mentioned — that she cares 
 more for him than you choose to admit. Of 
 course, mother, as you have got eyes, you could 
 not avoid seeing how she turned the moment 
 Aunt Jane mentioned Ferdinand Stansfield’s 
 death.” 
 
 “Oh! you must not care for the silly emo- 
 tions of a young artless creature like her. The 
 Countess assures me that present arrangements 
 shall stand as they are. And now I will go 
 and tell her that I have ha<l a very long and 
 serious conversation with you about these Da- 
 vises, and that you have pledged me your most 
 solemn and sacred word of honor that you had 
 nothing to do with the matter.” 
 
 “ To be sure 1 Say that — say anything. But, 
 mother, don’t you think it would be better, un- 
 der all circumstances, if 1 were now to pop the 
 question to Lady Adela as soon as possible?” 
 
 “ Leave it all to me,” replied Lady Redbum 
 “ I will speak to the Countess upon the sub- 
 ject.” 
 
 With these words she hastened from the 
 room ; and Gerald feeling pretty well assured 
 that Lady Adela would not take her usual 
 walk that day, mounted his horse and galloped 
 across the country. He did not return till din- 
 ner-time: for he had no inclination to be cate- 
 chised by his father in respect to the Davises, 
 and he did not choose to expose himself more 
 than was absolutely necessary to thg malignant 
 observations of Aunt Jane. He did not there- 
 fore proceed to the drawing-room till within a 
 few niinutes of the usual hour when the dinner- 
 bell rang. On entering that apartment, he 
 found Lady Adela seated between her mother 
 and his own on the sofa. She looked exceed- 
 ingly pale, and even care-worn. And no won- 
 der! — for her mother had given her positively 
 to understand that she must regard Captain 
 Redburn as her future husband. As to the 
 Baronet, he was well satisfied to perceive thai 
 affairs still progressed according to his wisJjes; 
 while Aunt Jane sat more silent than was even 
 her wont, but appeared to have a certain ma- 
 lignity twinkling in her usual dull glassy eyoa. 
 I'he dinner-bell rang — the meal passed away 
 somewhat heavily — and in the evening Lady 
 Adela requested to be excused, on the plea of 
 headaclie, from taking her seat at the piano. — 
 Not even the remonstrating look which hermo- 
 tlu'r gave her, could induce the young lady to 
 witlulraw her refusal ; and this Avas almost the 
 first time she hail failed to sacrifice her own 
 wishes to those of her parent. But on the pres- 
 ent occasion, she felt much too miserable to 
 send forth the enlivening strains of music. 
 
 The evening passed away languidly and 
 dull; and the inmates of the Manor retired to 
 their respective chambers somewhat earlier than 
 usual. On the following morning they gathered 
 at the breakfast-table at the wonted hour ; and 
 Gerald observed that Lady Adela Clive loriked 
 I more care-worn than on the preceding evraing 
 I She was likewise colder and more distant 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 X *’2 
 
 ward? tf^an slie ever yet liad been; and 
 
 dlie received in glacial silence tlie little atten- 
 tions lio sla.wed her, — acknowledging them nidy 
 with a slight incilination of the head. I’he Coun- 
 tess of Burton from time to time darted angry 
 and repioachful looks at her daughter; hut the 
 young lady ditl not observe them— and even if 
 she had, she felt too profoundly wretched to as- 
 sume a cheerfulness of spirits. 
 
 Presently a fo(ttman entered with the morn 
 ing’s letters and newspapers; and as tlie Ikiro- 
 n< t examined the addresses of the former, he took 
 up one, saying, “ 'I his is for you, (ierald. It 
 bears the Middlett n postmark. I should know 
 this hand wiiting. It is Fleecewell, the attor- 
 ney’s, What can he possibly want with you ?” 
 And Sir Archibald Redburn retained the letter 
 in his haiul as if he was half inclined to ojien it. 
 
 “ 1 am sure I can’t think what Fleecewell can 
 want with me,” observed Gerald, carele.ssly and 
 indifferently ; indeed he spoke the truth — as 
 notwithstanding his extravagances, he owed no 
 money, for the simple reason that his father al- 
 lowed him as much as he wanted. “ Hand 
 over the letter, and we’ll soon see what it con- 
 tains.” 
 
 “ Should you like me to read it for you ?” 
 asked Aunt Jane, as she received the document 
 from her brother in order to pass it to her ne- 
 phew. 
 
 “ I’m sure I don’t mind,” responded the Cap- 
 tain, wdth an air of disdainful indifference; for 
 he thought to himself that Aunt Jane fancied 
 it was concerning something he would like kept 
 concealetl ; and as on this head he experienced 
 the most overweening confidence, he thought 
 he might obtain at a very cheap rate a cha- 
 racter for frankness and open heartedness in the 
 estimation of the Countess and Lady Adela. 
 “ Oh, yes ! open it — and read it aloud, by all 
 means !” he exclaimed. “ I have no secrets, 
 thank God ! and so you are welcome to see 
 what it says.” 
 
 “Very good,” said Aunt Jane dryly ; then 
 without any more ado, she opened the letter ; 
 and as calmly and deliberately as if it were a 
 mere invitation to dinner, read its contents in 
 the following manner ; — 
 
 “ No. 7, High Street, Middleton, 
 
 “ June 14th, 1835. 
 
 Davis V. Yourself 
 
 “ Sir, 
 
 “ I am instructed by Mr. Peter Davis to com- 
 mence legal proceedings against you, and enter 
 ftn action of damages for the seduction of my 
 client’s wife, Catherine Davis. I will therefore 
 thank you to acquaint me by return of post 
 with the name of your solicitor, who will ac- 
 cept tlie usual jirocesH on your behalf. 
 
 “ Your obedient Servant, 
 
 “FRANCIS FLEECEWELL. 
 
 “ Cajffain Redburn.” 
 
 Not II word was spoken by any of the list- 
 «nerH while Aunt Jane so calmly and delihm'- 
 litely H‘ad this letter. Gerald himself was 
 Dverwlielmed with confusion ; the B.iionet and 
 Lady K( (Iburii sat aghast. 'I'he Countes.s of 
 Burton’s luce grew grave and ominous, even to 
 
 a degree of awful solemnity; but ns foi La<2j 
 Adela, she .scarcely paid any attention to th« 
 document, and certaiidy obtained but a very 
 vague atid general notion of its contents. The 
 moment Aunt Jatie had concluded the reading 
 of tlie letti'f, the Countess of Burton rose— 
 stem, dignified, and implacable — fiom her seat ; 
 and taking her daughter’s hand, she said in a 
 freezing voice, “Come, Adela; we will make 
 itnmediate pteparations for our departure.” 
 
 Sir Aichihahl Redburn sjaang fidin hia 
 chair — seized the letter from Aunt Jane’s hand 
 — and vocifeiated in a towering passion, “It’a 
 all through your cursed malignity !” 
 
 “ He told me to read it,” was her quiet re- 
 sponse ; and she went on eating her toast as if 
 nothing were the matter. 
 
 Lady Redburn, awakening from her stupor 
 of con>teruation, at first thought of speeding ia 
 pursuit of the Countess of Burton and endeav- 
 oring to allay the storm ; then she thought of 
 abusing her son ; next of tearing Aunt Jane’s 
 eyes out ; and lastly of upbraiding her hu,sband 
 for handing his sister the letter. But not being 
 able to settle her mind upon any one of theso 
 [iroceedings, she thought it best to go off into 
 hysterics — and did so accordingly. ISir Archi- 
 bald tore at the bell to summon her ladyship’s 
 maids ; for Aunt Jane offered not to render the 
 slightest assistance — and Gerald, availing him- 
 self of the confusion, slipped from the room 
 Thi'owing on his hat, he hurried forth from the 
 mansion ; and refiairing to a knot of tre<js at a 
 little distance, flung himself on the grass under 
 their shade to reflect upon all that had taken 
 place. In about half an hour he perceived the 
 Countess of Burton’s own carriage drive round 
 to the front entrance of the Manor; he beheld 
 his father hand her ladyship and Adela into the 
 vehicle ; he saw the two lady’s maids ascend 
 to the rumble ; and then the equipage arove 
 rapidly away. 
 
 “ Adela is lost to me,” he said to himself, 
 accompanying the remark with a bitter impre- 
 cation ; and perhaps Captain Redburn never 
 felt more humiliated or more mortified in all hia 
 life than he did at that moment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE CANTEEN. 
 
 We must now return to the Lonsdales, whom 
 we left at Manchester. Lucy was aware tha^ 
 her husband had written that letter which the 
 condemned barber received in the gaol at Mid- 
 dleton — a letter wherein our hero had poured 
 forth all the rancor of an envenomed spirit 
 against his bitterest enemy. Yes; poor Lucy 
 was aware that he had penned and despatched 
 that letter; for he had made no secret of it to 
 his wife, ble had even n-ad it over to her 
 with a kind of gloating ferocity and savage 
 satisfaction that did her harm to behold. >he 
 ventured gently to remonstrate against such a 
 manifestation of triumph over a fallen enemy: 
 but Fiederick was inexorable — and he cut hia 
 wife short with more abruptness and a mannei 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFt. 
 
 133 
 
 mwe approaching to avgrj petulance than lie 
 had ever before exhibited. Lucy turned aside 
 to conceal her tears ; and then Frederick, per- 
 ceiving, that she wept, clasped her in his arms 
 — implored her pardon if he had spoken liastily 
 — but did not either keep back the letter or 
 modify its contents. 
 
 Lucy now hoped that as her husband’s venge- 
 ance was appeased in respect to Bates, he would 
 recover a somewhat more healthy tone of mind 
 And such, during the lapse of a few weeks after 
 he had despatched that letter, proved to be the 
 case. He ceased to speak of his wiongs; he 
 endeavored to seem as cheei ful as pos.-ible ; 
 but to a great extent, these spirits were forced ; 
 and that such was the case, his manner some- 
 times betrayed — for the scars of infamy were 
 upon his back, and the indelible brand of a 
 still dee])er inf.imy on his side ! Tliat he had 
 undergone the branding process, he had care- 
 fully kept secret from his wife; and Lucy in- 
 deed remained unaware of it. 
 
 When he read in a newspaper that Bates 
 had escaped from the custody of those who 
 were conveying him, together with other con- 
 victs, to the sea port whiaice the »hip was to 
 sail for New South Wales, he experienced a 
 feeling as if a sad calamity had hapjiened to 
 himself. Indeed, his vengeance was disappoint- 
 ed — that vengeance which he had taken such 
 trouble to gratify, and over the first success of 
 which he had gloated so ferociously. It now 
 suddenly appeared to him as if he had a fresh 
 task to accomplish — a fresh deed to do. He 
 endeavored to conceal the state of his mind from 
 his affectiona'e wife ; but she saw that sorne- 
 th.ing new had occurred to annoy him; and 
 when she besought him to unbosom these fresh 
 SOI rows, whatever they might be, he only yave 
 an evasive reply. She llieref.)re said nothing 
 more ; but for some days he continued so moody, 
 gloomy, and strange in his looks and manner, 
 that she became frightened. She fancied that 
 he was experiencing renewed tyrannies in his 
 regiment, and tliat he foibore from mentioning 
 them, in order not to afflict her. Entertaining 
 this belief, and giving him the credit for such a 
 feeling, her heart yearned so devotedly towards 
 him, that, if it were possible for her love to be 
 increased, it was increased then. 
 
 We should observe, that as several weeks 
 fcnud now ela[)8ed since Lucy’s arrival in Man- 
 chester, she had obtained work, and was enabled 
 to earn a comfortable subsistence, as she had 
 done at Portsmouth. The routine of their life 
 would have been pietty well the same as it had 
 been there, were it not that Frederick liimself 
 was becoming an altered man. It was perfectly 
 tjue that he passed nearly all his leisure lime 
 at tL i! lodging, and that he yielded not to the 
 tempiations of dissipaiion. He had still suffi- 
 cient Command over himself to avoid having 
 recourse to drinking, in order to drown his cares ; 
 he was still sober — indeed, most temperate, 
 steady, and well-conducted. But it was in his 
 mood and his manner that he w^s changing. 
 He undertook to teach little Freddy, as he had 
 been wont to do : but, in the midst of the les- 
 sons, he would fall into fits of abstraction — or, 
 he w luld suddenly start up from his chair, and, 
 
 with an involuntary impulsiveness, begin to 
 pace to and fro in his room. Then his wife 
 would lay down her work — gently approach 
 liim — throw her arms round Lis neck — and en 
 treat, in the most afficlionate and endearing 
 terms, that lie would exert his forliiude to think 
 less painfully of the past, and more hopefully 
 of the future. On such occasions as these, he 
 would strain that admirable woman to his 
 breast — he would promise everything she ask- 
 ed — he would embrace their son in his turn- 
 lie would resume his seat — and the lessons 
 would go on uninterruptedly for hours. Per- 
 haps, indeed, tlie black mood would not return 
 again thrnuyhout that day — at least not osten- 
 sibly, however insidiously the shadow might 
 steal back upon the heart that beat unseen 
 within. But still that black mood wou^d come 
 back: and as Lucy bent over her work, frequent 
 were the looks which she stole at her husband; 
 and if she beheld his countenance expressive of 
 placidity, she would feel a fervid thankfulness 
 in her soul : but if, on the other hand, she beheld 
 the shade settling gradually on that loved face, 
 a patig of direst agony would shoot through her 
 bosom. 
 
 One morning — about a fortnight after Bates’s 
 escape — Lonsdale had occasion to hurry to the 
 lodging, between breakfast and the parade-time, 
 to fetch something he had left there on the pre- 
 vious day. Being in a great hurry, he rushed 
 up stairs and burst into the room — when, to Ida 
 mingled terror and dismay, he beheld Ids Lucy 
 stretched senseless on the bed, the woman of 
 the house tidministei ing restoratives, and little 
 Freddy crying bitterly. At that instant, and 
 at that .spectacle, every other thought was ban- 
 ished from Lonsdale’s mind, save the love he 
 bore for his own beautiful and devoted wife: 
 and, half-fi enzied, he feared she was at the point 
 of death. The woman of the house, however, 
 re-assured him ; and as Lucy now began to 
 show symptoms of returning animation, the 
 husband’s worst apprehensions were tranquil- 
 lized. 
 
 *• What was it ? what caused it ? what ails 
 my beloved Lucy ?’’ he asked, still immensely 
 excited. 
 
 “ 1 think it was all on account of that letter, ** 
 said the woman — and she pointed towards th« 
 table. 
 
 “ Yes, it was, papa,” said little Frederick, 
 in a voice almost choked with sobs. “ The 
 moment mamma read it she fell down on the 
 carpet ” 
 
 Lonsdale rushed to the table — snatched up 
 the letter — and with feelings that may be more 
 easily conceived than described, read the follow 
 ing words: — * 
 
 “ Mrs. Lonsdale, 
 
 “ Your husband has done his best to get me 
 sent out of the country ; but he has not suc- 
 ceeded. You may tell him I received his ras- 
 cally letter that he sent me to Middleton gaol , 
 but I will be revenged for it. I will stick to 
 him through life. And now I am going to tell 
 you a secret : for I know Frederick Lonsdale 
 quite well enough to be aware that he would 
 do his best to keep tbe thing from you. Yoa 
 
84 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 know he has been flogged twice: but 111 be 
 bound y(»u do not know that lie has been 
 branded 1 Yes — branded like another Cain! 
 Ask him to show the letter ll> staniped just 
 under his left aim : ask him to sliow you that! 
 
 “The eternal enemy of vour husband, 
 
 “OHADlAll RATKS. 
 
 “ P. S. Dont let him flatter himself, if he sees 
 tliis, that because it bears the London post- 
 mark I shall be easily found out. 1 am not 
 quite such a fool.” 
 
 A low moan, like one of mortal anguish, es- 
 caped slowly from the throat of Frederick Lons- 
 dale, when he reached that part in the letter 
 which revealed the secret of what he regarded 
 as the crowning ignominy of his life. All hell 
 appeared to rage in his breast ; and if Obadiah 
 Bates had entered the room at that moment, 
 Lonsdale would have assassinated him then Jind 
 there. When he had finished the letter, he 
 crushed it with convulsive violence in his hands ; 
 then he tore it with a sort of rabid fury into the 
 minutest fragments, and stamped upon them 
 with rage. His countenance was white as a 
 sheet; but his features writhed spasmodically — 
 his eyes literally glared. The ferocity of a hy- 
 ena possessed the unfortunate man at that mo- 
 aient. The woman of the hou.se, who was un- 
 acquainted with the contents of the letter, gazed 
 upon him in astonishment — the boy in the st::- 
 por of tlismay. Lucy was now recovering; ami 
 opening her eyes, she shrieked on beholding her 
 husband — for the conviction Hashed in a moment 
 to her mind thiit he had read ihat fearful letter. 
 He rushed towards her — he raised lier upon the 
 bed — he strained her to his breast : she wound 
 her arms about his neck, embracing him with an 
 almost frantic vehemence. When the first par- 
 oxysm of emotions was past, he beckoned the 
 landlady to wutlnlraw: and then all in a mo- 
 ment a sudden change came over him. Tiie 
 dark mood seized upon him ; and he stood, with 
 folded arms, gazing upon his wife and child with 
 Ro expres^iou of dreary, dismal, forlorn despair. 
 Lucy, now galvanized as it were into compleie 
 life, sprang from the couch — folded her hus- 
 band again in her arms — and besought him to 
 be Comforted. 
 
 “Lucy,” he said, in a deep hollow whisper, 
 which she alone heard, and tlie sense of which 
 the boy could not catch : “ am I not a branded 
 wretcli ? am 1 fit to possess the love of a pure 
 and spotless being such as you <” 
 
 “ Oh, Frederick I what words are the.se !” she 
 murmured, amidst convulsions of grief. “ Is it 
 possible that my love could be changed towards 
 you ? For God’s sake talk not thus to me 
 again 1” — then as a sudden reminiscence flashed 
 to her mind, she said, “ Bui how is it that you 
 are liere ? 'I'he jiarade ” 
 
 “ 'I’nie 1” ejaculated Lonsdale; and in a bit- 
 ter tone he adtled, “ 'I'liey must not have an 
 opportunity of btignuilizing me as a deserter 
 ay am /” 
 
 With these word.s, he burst away from the 
 preM'iiCe of hi.s wife aiui child, and reached the 
 Lai lacks only just in tinu! to put on his cross- 
 belts — seize his muslet — and fall into the ranks. 
 But througliout lliu paiade lie moved like a 
 
 mere automaton — moving indeed only b*9canR« 
 his comrade on his right and his comrade on bin 
 left moved in a p.articnlar Wiiy, and went 
 through particular manipulations with the mus- 
 ket. All that Lonsdale did was purely tnechani 
 eal. He heard not the Words of command : even 
 the music of the band w.is but a dull, droning 
 incomprehensible sound in his ear.s. Hi.s coin- 
 rade.s nearest, to him saw th:it he was very 
 strange, and fancied that he was intoxicated— 
 although his Countenance was jiale as ashen. 
 Fortunate was it for him ih.'it neither Jiaiigley 
 nor any of the oflicers noticed his peculiarity of 
 manner; or else he would indeed iiave lieeii do- 
 nounced as under the influence of liquor, and 
 would have been punished accordingly. He 
 felt like a man who was walking in a dietiin: a 
 hideous nightmare was weighing upon him, 
 parMyzing lus mind, but not the |>ower of physi- 
 cal locomotion. When the juirade was over, he 
 was awakened from that stupor of the senses by 
 the questions with whi<-h he was plied by those 
 of his Comrades who had especially marked hw 
 singular mood. 
 
 “ Why, Lonsdale, my dear fellow,” said one, 
 in a tone of good natured banter, “ you are 
 breaking out. 'I'liis i.s quite :» new thing for 
 you, isn t it ? You must take tieuced good care 
 that Langley tlon't see you: for mind, your 
 name is down in the black book.” 
 
 “ W’hy, what do you think I’ ejaculated Fre- 
 derick, almost fiercely : “ that 1 have been 
 drinking ?” 
 
 “ 1 don’t think about it,” was the response: 
 “ I know you have. Anybody can tell t/iat. 
 But wliere's the blame, after all ? One must 
 drown one’s cares sometimes: and heaven 
 knows tliat us poor devils of private soldiers 
 have got enough of them at times?” 
 
 “ Ah I drown one’s cares?’’ repeated Long 
 dale, in an abstracted mood. “ Does drink do 
 that ?” 
 
 “ Why, of course it does : and I should fancy 
 that though you are such a sober fellow, you 
 must know that a glass of good ale warms the 
 lieart — but a glass of brandy better still, if one 
 has got money enough to gel it.” 
 
 “ Ah I braiuly warms the heart,” said Lons- 
 dale, again repeating the other’s words wit! 
 the slow and tieliberate air of a man who has 
 just received a hint suggesting a new idea. 
 
 “ Why, what on earth is the matter with you I 
 You’re just tipsy enough to be stupid, without 
 being tipsy enough to be gay.” 
 
 “ Gay ! Wouhl liquor make me gay? Then 
 come along, halfa-dozen of you, and I will 
 stand treat at the canteen. Anything,” he 
 cried, in the half maniac pitch of exultation to 
 which despair itself sometimes rises — “any- 
 thing to get rid of this feeling here !" — and with 
 the fingers of his right haiul he |)()inted to the 
 spot under his left arm where the indelible 
 letter had been branded. “ It seems to burn 
 like red hot iron !” — becontinued, with inciens 
 ing excitement, while Ids eyes shot forth sinis- 
 ter fires. “ Clime along, I say, half a dozen of 
 you — and we will have brandy to drown our 
 cares.” 
 
 Half wild — with but u dim recollection of h<t 
 wife and son, — or rather, still more frenziedij 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFR 
 
 13ft 
 
 goa>lc(I by the images of those beloved ones 
 •w^hose condition had been so much altered by 
 the fiendish persecution of Bates, — Lonsdale 
 hastened to the canteen, closely followed by 
 half a dozen of his comrades, wliom he had in- 
 vited to pariake of the treat he proposed to 
 give them. 'I'liere was a hurry in his brain — a 
 fearful agitation in his heart, that prevented 
 him for a moment from being a free agent. 
 Indeed, such was the condition of the unfor- 
 tunate man at the time that had he committed 
 a murder, he could not righteously have been 
 held responsible for the deed. He was in such 
 a state of frenzied excitement that he liad 
 never known before. His fellow soldiers, liow- 
 ever, did not attach so much importance to it 
 as to adopt at»y measures of coercion or per- 
 suasion to tranquillize him. They thought that 
 he had broken out at letigth — that he was pre 
 pared for “ a lark’" — and they were ready to 
 join heart and soul in it. Had they rightly 
 understood the condition of his mind, their con- 
 duct would have been very different ; and there- 
 fore it was in no ungenerous nor selfish humor 
 on their part that they suffered him to speed 
 to the canteen, and likewise followed him 
 thither. 
 
 On arriving there, Frederick tossed down 
 half-a-sovereign — for be it remembered that he 
 and his wife had an ample supply of ready 
 money ; — and he called for a bottle of brandy. 
 His comrades were delighted : they fancied he 
 had experienced a windfall somehow or another, 
 and meant to celebrate it by regaling them. 
 The glass of brandy he poured down his 
 throat was the first dram of raw spirits he had 
 ever taken in his life ; and no sooner had he 
 swallowed it, than by a strange revulsion of 
 feeling he was seized with the con.sciousness 
 of havirjg done a wrong deed — and a pang of 
 remorse shot violently through his heart, as if 
 a dagger had suddenly transfixed it. His mood 
 changed all in a moment : the fever heat of an 
 unnatural excitement subsided — and his com 
 rades fancied tliaf he had suddenly become 
 aober. Taking up the change which the keeper 
 of the canteen liad to render him out of his 
 half sovereign, Lonstlale walked forth from the 
 public house without uttering a word. Tho>;e 
 who remained behind, laughingly asked each 
 Other what on earth had come over him ? — but 
 •peedily ceasing to trouble themselves any 
 more on the subject, they drank the remainder 
 of the brandy to his health, though he was 
 abeent. 
 
 While passing through the streets on the 
 way to the lodging, Frederick Lonsdale recol 
 lected the condition in which he had left Lucv 
 in the morning ; and his heart was smitten 
 witii an indescribable sadness. He felt that 
 the moment he was freed from his duties at 
 the barracks, he ought to have rushed to his 
 wife, to assure himself that she had sustained 
 no relapse and that she was better. Altogether 
 he Was deeply dissati>fied with himself ; and 
 he inwardly vowed to make the amplest atone 
 nient, by the kindness of his demeanor thetice- 
 forih, for this first instance of neglect v/hereof 
 he had been guilty. On reaching the h(»use, he 
 hastened up stairs to the apartment. Lucy Wiial 
 
 at work — little Frederick was learning hii 
 lesson; but the instant our hei 3 entered the 
 room, the w'ork was laid down — the task-book 
 temporarily abandoned — and he bestowed the 
 usual embrace first upon his wife, tlien upon 
 his son. Ah! w'herelore did Lucy, as she re- 
 ceived that Caress, suddenly gaze upon her hus- 
 band witli a look of dismay f bhe smelt hif 
 breath : it was laden with the fume of potcn, 
 liquor. 
 
 “ Yes, dearest Lucy,” he said, in the spirit of 
 that open-hearted frankness which was really 
 natural to him, “ I confos that 1 did enter the 
 canteen — but only for a moment; and that wa* 
 a moment of desperation. It shall not occur 
 again. Pray believe me. 1 know you wdll not 
 reproach me : but it is your continued confidence 
 that 1 seek.” 
 
 Luc}”^ pressed his hand in silence; for it WM 
 a hard struggle on her part to restrain her teart 
 and subdue the emotions that were swelling ill 
 her bosom. Throughout the rest of that day 
 our hero was so affeciionate in his language ana 
 manner, and so strenuously exerted liimself to 
 keep < If the dark mood, that his wife’s confidence 
 was Completely restored ; and she hoped that 
 the momentary weakness of which her husband 
 had been guilty, would serve as a warning to 
 maintain him in the right path, and not as the 
 stepping stone of temptations to lead him into 
 the wrong one. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE HOUSE IN THE DARK ALLEY. 
 
 Captain Redburn returned to his regiment in 
 an exceeding ill-liumour with himself and ail the 
 wtald. dhe sensuous passion which he had 
 conceived for Adela Clive was mistaken by him 
 I for the sincerest and most genuine love ; and at 
 all events the feeling was strong enough to 
 : render the disappoiniment most goading and 
 
 ■ vexatious. Besides, he was cruelly humiliated 
 * — profoundly mortified : for it was well known 
 ! at Oakleigh, and amongst the surrounding 
 ! nobility and gentry, tliat he was paying his 
 
 I addre.'ses to the beautiful patrician damsel at 
 - the Manor house ; and to be .so summarily 
 rejected was indeed moie than sufficient to aim 
 
 ■ a blow at his vanity and self conceit. But thi« 
 
 ' was not all. He had a law-suit pending, for 
 
 an offence which he had in reality never com- 
 . mitted, but which notwithstanding he had every 
 reason to apprehend might be established by 
 circumstantial evidence against him. Had it 
 been some high-b(»rn beauty of lire patrician 
 sphere whom he was thus charged with seducing 
 from the paths of virtue, his vanity would liave 
 bt'en gratified — his selt conceit rendered exult- 
 ant : he would liave C'tnsidereo it a feather in 
 his cap — and he would not have even taken tire 
 trouble to defend the action, although the 
 allegation wa^in itself false. Quite the contrary 1 
 — he would have cheei fully allowed his father 
 to pay some few thousands of pounds damages, 
 so long as he might retain the credit of such a 
 I brilliant umour. But a bailiff 's wife — and te 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 nave tlie action brought n>':vMiPt liitn by a morn 
 working-man — there wa^A m all this H<»:>i(;tliiiig 
 excessively humiliating to liis j)ri(le aiici which 
 filled his soul withchagim 1 
 
 He dieaded, on lejniuing his n'giment, to 
 become the laughing-stock ot his hrolher-tifticers 
 ■when they should hear of what they would term 
 the “low contiexion” he had formed on the one 
 hand, and how on the other he had been refused 
 by the beautiful Adela Clive. Indeed, he 
 would not have returned to the legiment at all, 
 were it not that he was heartily glad to escape 
 fioi/i the family circle at the Abmor House, and 
 from his own native neighboi hood. For his 
 father had rated him soundly — his mother was 
 continually deploring the brilliant alliance be 
 bad lost — Aunt dane never omitted an opportu- 
 nity of indulgii’g in her sly sneers, goading 
 taunts, and bitter sarcasms — Air. Arden shook 
 bis head gloomily — the domestics apjieareil to 
 titter as they ^las.sed him — and some of the 
 villagers, when he strolled into Oakleigh, could 
 not prevent themselves from laughing outright 
 in his face. Under all the.'^e circumstances. 
 Captain Kedburn was exceedingly glad when 
 tlie period of leave expired, and he was enabled 
 to rejoin his regiment. glad, as the reader 
 
 may comprehend, only in one sense — and that 
 was to e.^cape fiom home : his heart was still 
 full of bitterness towards all mankind. 
 
 Til news travel fast: and thus, on rejoining 
 bis regiment, Captain Redburn found that the 
 circunistauces which had recently occuired at 
 Oakleigh were known at heatl-quarters. Nay, 
 Qiore — the tale, in travelling from the midland 
 county to Alanchester, had undergone the usual 
 plastic process of exaggeration and alteration. — I 
 In the fiist [ilace, rumor had declared lhatCap-| 
 tain Redburn was coolly and scornfully jilted by 
 Lady Adela Clive ; and in the second place, 
 the bailitf’s wife was reported to be a woman of 
 the lowest and vulgarest character. On the 
 first day after his return to his regiment, Gerald 
 found himself the object of much covert saieasm 
 and ironical bantering at the mess-table. He 
 ■W'as no favorite with the generality of his bro- 
 ther officers. Some of them did not mind drink- 
 ing wine at his expense, riding his horses, and 
 borrowing his money : but his excessive vanity — 
 the flippancy of his rliscourse — the arrogance of 
 bis self-conceit — and his ill-conditioned nature 
 altogether, had proved so insutferable as to 
 counterbalance the advantages to be derived 
 fiom his friendship. Moreover the oflicers at a 
 mess-table are seldom or never averse to amus- 
 ing themselves at the expense of one of their 
 laxly — jiarticularly w'hen they can safely make 
 a butt of bim ; and Gerald Redbuin’s reinita- 
 tion for C(»urage did not stand so high as to ex- 
 empt him from such an ordeal, fl'he conse- 
 quence was, he found himself the object of a 
 great deal of irony and sarcasm, — jesting and 
 banter; and the natural malignity of liis dispo- 
 wtiori was goaded to a degree that it craved to 
 wreak its vengeance in some quarter where it 
 might safely do so. Matters went on in this 
 way for several weeks; and as Redburn did not 
 tliink of resenting tbe treatment he received at 
 Uie mesa- table, tlie sneers became bolder, tliel 
 
 taunts more direct, tlie bantering more cont.mn 
 
 OUS. 
 
 One evening he felt so cxcessivi-lv humiliated, 
 and at the same time so bitterly I'liraged, that 
 on risiiig from the table, he went forth into tl.*^ 
 bariack-yard, determined to pour forth the vials 
 of his spite upon the first victim that In* might 
 encounter. Now, it hapjiened that Saigeant- 
 Alajor Langley who wa.s always fond of tiji- 
 phng, had been taktng an extra glass or two at 
 the canteen ; arid thi.s redoubtable individual was 
 wending his way across the barrack-yard in a 
 condition but little consistent with that rigid 
 military discipline for which he himself was so 
 great a stickler. In {ilain te ns Air. Jiaiigley 
 could with difficulty maintain his equilibrium 
 and his progress instead of being direct as a 
 line, was as tortuous and meandering as if he 
 were following the curves of an eccentric river. 
 He moreover swayed from side > side — ever 
 and anon staggering, and catching hini.«elf ud 
 as it w'ere when about to fall, — the wliol * while 
 muttering sundry imprecations against his eyes 
 and limbs, and wondering liow it was that the 
 entire array of barrack-buildings ajipeared to be 
 moving round. All on a sudden the cracked 
 weak voice of Captain RA-dburn fell u))on the 
 sergeant’s ears ; and somewhat sobered by the 
 vague consciousness that he was in the presence 
 of an officer, he steadied his pace — gave the 
 wonted salute — and was j^assing onward. 
 
 “ Langley — Sergeant-Alajor Langley I” ejacu- 
 lated Redburn : “ one Avord, sin ah !” 
 
 T he sergeant stood stock still — drew himself 
 up in the first position — repeated the military 
 salute — and by one of those mechanical efforts 
 which only a barrack-made automaton could 
 possibly exert at such a moment and under such 
 circumstances, assumed a look of perfect so- 
 briety. 
 
 “ Sergeant Langley,” exclaimed Gerald, '‘you 
 have been drinking — you are intoxicated !” 
 
 “ With all due submission and deference. Cap- 
 tain Redburn,” was the answer, delivered in so 
 collected a manner that it astonished Langley 
 himself, “ 1 humbly submit that it cannot be the 
 case. I would rather plead guilty, sir, to the 
 charge at once than contradict an officer Avhom 
 1 consider a model ” 
 
 “Well, well,” ejaculated Redburn, “ I 8up>- 
 pose I am mistaken ?” — and turning upon hia 
 heel, he w^alked hurriedly away muttering to 
 himself, “ 1 don’t think I am, though — but after 
 all, Langley is a very good fellow.” 
 
 The truth is, Gerald’s vanity was suddenly 
 flattered by that compliment which the cunning 
 sergeant — cunning even in his cups — had so 
 adroitly paid him; indeed his malignity was for 
 the moment disarmed, at least towards him on 
 whom he was about to vent it. Stopping at tl»e 
 guard-house to light a cigar, Gerald stiolled out 
 of the barrack-yard, and commenced lounging 
 through the streets of Alanchester. 
 
 Aleanwhile Air. Langley, having so astutely 
 and jiromptly extricated himself from a danger 
 which seemed alike serious and imminent, con- 
 tinued his way to his quarters. The elFort which 
 it had cost him to look and sjieak sober for the 
 swift brief space of a few moments, could not 
 be sustained : a reaction as promptly took 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 137 
 
 place — and the Sergeant-Major was, if possible, 
 or*ore inebriated than at first. But the sense of 
 that peril which lie had just escaped, lingered 
 in his mind, embittering it at the thought of 
 having been thus taken to task by a superior, 
 and impelling him to avenge himself in his turn 
 upon the first person in the shajie of an inferior 
 that he might liappeti to meet. Frederick Lons- 
 dale was at this moment returning to the bar- 
 racks from his wife’s lodging. He had come 
 back half-an-hour earlier than the time pre- 
 scribed by the “summer regulations,” inasmuch 
 as he had to be on guard the following day, and 
 he had his accoutrements to pipe-clay and po- 
 lish ; for beingia marked man, he was compel- 
 led to exercise the utmost circumspection on 
 this point. He began ascending the stone stair- 
 ca.se of that department of the barrack-building 
 just at the time that Sergeant Major Langley 
 was mounting his own quarters. All of a sud- 
 den our hero heard a heavy fall on the landing 
 just above — a fall as if a man had tumbled 
 heavily, like an inert helpless mass. Darting up 
 the stairs, Lonsdale immediately recognized the 
 Sergeant-Major, who, though a light was burn- 
 ing there, hud stumbled over the uppermost step 
 and had fallen flat down upon the landing. — 
 Frederick at once assisted him to rise ; and as 
 for the first few moments Mr. Langley found it 
 somewhat difficult and inconvenient to stand 
 steadily upon his legs, Lonsdale propped liim 
 up against the wall. Here was a humiliation 
 for the Sergeant Major — to be seen in such a 
 plight by the man whom he detested! — and 
 what was still more moi tifying, to have rt;ceived 
 succour from him ! He could not possibly ex- 
 press thanks for such assistance : and therefore 
 he at once fell into the opjiosile extreme. 
 
 “Lonsdale,’’ he said, “you have been drink- 
 ing, sir ?” 
 
 “ No — I have not,” responded our hero, curtly 
 and indignantly. 
 
 ‘“Don’t tell me you have not,” ejaculated the 
 Sergeant-Major: “why, you can liardly stand, 
 sir 1 1 see you have been drinking — your face 
 
 is red — your eyes excited — and there is a hor- 
 rid smell of liquor under my very nose.” 
 
 “No doubt ■ f it,” rejoined Frederick, unable 
 to repress this cutting remark. 
 
 “ What do you mean, sirrah ?” vociferated 
 Langley, now furious with rage ‘‘ Do you in- 
 
 t(ud to insinuate why, you are as tipsy as 
 
 you can be! You tumbled flat down 1’ 
 
 “ Mr, Langle),’’ interru{)ted our hero, sternly 
 and resolutely, “if you say but another word, 1 
 shall call witnesses who will at once pronounce 
 by the state of our clothing, which of the two it 
 is that has just sprawled upon the dusty land- 
 ing ” 
 
 With these works Frederick turned upon his 
 heel, and sped tjp the second flight to his own 
 quaiters. 
 
 In the meantime Captain Redbtirn had saun- 
 tered forth, as above stated, into the streets. 
 Lucy and little Frederick had accompanied 
 Lonsdale nearly as far as the barrack-gate. It 
 was not often that they did this, inasmuch as 
 Lucy cho.se not to be out in the streets of an 
 •veiling ; but on the present occasion she had 
 tome work to take home, and she had moreover 
 10 
 
 some little purchases to make, the necessity fot 
 which she had only discovered just as her hus- 
 band was about to return to the barracks. Cap 
 tain Red burn was strolling along, smoking his 
 cigar — staring impudently at the women who 
 passed, especially the factory-girls that were 
 leaving the mills — and sometimes stopping to 
 look into those shops that were frequented by 
 females. Presently he beheld a fine looking 
 woman, neatly but plainly dressed, emerge 
 fiom a linen-draper’s establishment. She was 
 accompanied by a little boy about six years 
 old ; and altogether she had a highly respecta- 
 ble as well as modest appearance. Gerald did 
 not immediately catch a glimpse of her counte- 
 nance : but her fine figure instantaneously struck 
 him ; and as she walked along as if in haste to 
 regain her own dwelling, he hurried his foot- 
 steps. Overtaking her in a few moments, he 
 turned and stared with cool insolence as he waa 
 passing: and now, to his mingled surprise and 
 satisfaction, he at once recognized Mrs. Lons- 
 dale. 
 
 He had not seen her since her return to 
 Manchester : indeed he had long ceased to think 
 of her. Years therefore had elajised since he 
 had last beheld her, which was on that occasion 
 when he so grossly intruded into her lodging at 
 Portsmouth. During this interval she had ex- 
 panded into the glory of a splendid womanhood ; 
 and though her countenance was somewhat pale 
 aiul wore an expression of softly settled melan- 
 choly, she was still eminently beautiful. That 
 pensive look gave an additional interest to her 
 regular and well-sculptured features; and though 
 her apparel was plain and simple, yet it was 
 neatly fashioned, and set off her fine shape to 
 the fullest advantage. 
 
 On perceiving that the oflficer who stared at 
 her so impudently, and who had immediately 
 recognized her, was none other than Captain 
 Redburn, Lucy could not help starting back 
 with a sort of recoil, and the color at once 
 mounted to her cheeks. A most wicked thought * 
 at the same instant flashed through the mind of 
 Gerald, — but though perfectly consistent with 
 the light and immoral notions he entertained of 
 female virtue generally. Was she not by thii 
 time heartily tired of her soldier-husband t and 
 would she not now prove a comparatively ea.sy 
 conquest? Gerald’s passions were fired; and 
 he was altogether in a mood requiring some 
 novel pursuit in order to distract his thoughts 
 from the various unpleasant circumstances press- 
 ing upon them. 
 
 “ Ah, Mrs. Lonsdale !” he exclaimed : “ it is a 
 long time since you and 1 met:” — and as he 
 thus spoke, he stopped short in the midst of the 
 narrow pavement, in such a manner as to bar 
 her way, without however having the appear- 
 ance of rudeness in the eyes of tiie passers-by. 
 
 Lucy was for the moment alike bewiklered 
 and indignant at the cool effrontery with which 
 Captam Redburn addressed her: but speedily 
 recovering lier presence of mind, she said in it, 
 reserved and dignified manner, “ May 1 re- 
 quest, sir, that you will allow me to proceed ?** 
 
 “ Come, what nonsense is this ?” exclaimed 
 Gerald. “ Surely you don’t bear animosity ?” 
 
 Lucy, with little Frederick clinging to b«f 
 
138 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE 
 
 band, cndcfirored to paPs; and as flie street was 
 Boinewliat throtif^('d at the tinie, Captain Red- 
 burn dared not attempt to molest her. He ac 
 cord ingly stood aside; and she continued her 
 way. Rut he followed close behind, lliinhinf^ 
 that perhaps it was only because the boy was 
 with hei that she was thus f^uarded in her con- 
 duct : at all events he wa.s determined to ascer- 
 tain where she lived. Mrs. Lonsdale felt certain 
 that she \vas thus followed : but she data d not 
 look round, for fear Gerald, whose inordinate 
 Vanity and self-conceit she well underalood, 
 should fancy it was an encouragement given on 
 her part. Her blood boiled in her veins at the 
 idea of thus being subjected to a renewal of 
 those persecutions and insults which in years 
 
 f iast she had experienced at his hands; and 
 ilended with her indignation, there was a feel- 
 ing of bitter grief at an occurrence which 
 seemed to forebode fresh evils. In this state 
 of mind she continued her w’ay ; and presently 
 little Frederick, after looking round, said, 
 “Mamma, that gentleman in the red coat is 
 following us.” 
 
 Lucy quickened her pace; and, dragging her 
 eon along in an excited manner, turned abruptly 
 round the first corner, in the hope of escaping 
 from this annoying pursuit. As a matter of 
 course, she was most anxious to pre\ent Cap- 
 tain Redburn from discovering the place of her 
 abode; and this was her object in so suddenly 
 diverging from the direct path thither. It was 
 a narrow, dark, and unfrequented street — or 
 rather, alley — into which she had thus turned 
 off; but she heard footsteps following close be- 
 hind — and she had no doubt they were those 
 of Redburn. Still she turned not her head. 
 Tbe alley w'as threaded ; she struck into ano 
 ther, darker and more dismal than the first; 
 and as the footsteps still followed, she caught 
 up little Freddy in her arms, and sped along 
 with the hurry of desperation. The boy was, 
 however, too heavy for her to carry him many 
 minutes; and as her ears no longer caught the 
 sounds of pursuing steps, she paused, completely 
 out of breath. 
 
 •‘What is the matter, dear mamma?” asbed 
 the child, as she set him down again ; for he 
 was much frightened, though he could not ex- 
 actly comprehend wherefore his mother had 
 fled thus precipitately. 
 
 But before she had time to answer him, the 
 footsteps were again heard rapidly approach- 
 ing; and, in a few moments, Mrs. Lonsdale and 
 little Freddy were overtaken by Captain Red- 
 bun i. 
 
 ‘ One word, Lucy — jtist one word,” he said ; 
 then, in a hurried whisper, he added, “The boy 
 won’t tell ; I will give him something to buy a 
 toy with.” 
 
 “ Captain Redburn,” answered Lucy, for her 
 husband’s sake endeavoring to speak rather in 
 a tone of reproachful entreaty than in one of 
 resent fill indignation, though this latter was 
 the actual feeling she expeiieiiced — “ it is not 
 manly of you thus to persecute an unprotected 
 woman. Indeed, I must iijipeal for assistance, 
 unless ” 
 
 “ Wlierel and to whom ?” demanded G(*rald, 
 ■oorufully ; for he now saw in a moment that 
 
 he had much under-rated her virtue and bet 
 firmness. “All is dark and silent here; it is a 
 neighborhood where you might scream in vain.** 
 
 “Captain Redburn,” cried Lucy, now no 
 longer able to curb her resentment — “how dara 
 \ou address me thus in the presence of thia 
 child ?” 
 
 “Well, well,” observed Gerald, fearful that 
 notwithstanding the quietude of (he locality, 
 an alarm might be raised; “1 will not conde- 
 scend to talk to you any further. But recollect, 
 Mrs. Lon.sdale, that since you treat me in this 
 manner, there is one that 1 can make smart 
 for it.” 
 
 With this words he turned upon his heel, 
 and sauntered away — while Lucy, dragging 
 along the afirighted P’reddy, ha.stened on in the 
 contrary direction. It was in a narrow alley 
 running between two immense factories, where 
 this scene occurred. '^I’he lights were all extin- 
 guished in the milks, and but a feebh; glimmer- 
 ing of the moonbeams penetrated down into the 
 little thoroughfare. Captain Redburn was con- 
 tinuing his way, wishing in his heart that he 
 could devise some scheme to get Lucy into his 
 power, when he felt his arm 8udde»dy clutched 
 by a man who emerged from the black shade 
 of an archway close by. Redburn, ihoueh by 
 courtesy termed a “gallant officer,” was not en- 
 dowed with any considerable amount of courage ; 
 and his first thought was (hat he was being at- 
 tacked by a robber. Indeed, an ejaculation of 
 alarm burst from his lips; and instead of draw- 
 ing his sword, he was about to betake himself 
 to liis heels, when the man said, “Don’t be 
 afraid. Captain Redburn ; I have overheard all, 
 and I can serve you.” 
 
 “ Overheard what ?’’ demanded Gerald, some- 
 what relieved from his apprehensions ; but still 
 having stepped back, he kept at as great a dis- 
 tance as the width of the alley would allow, 
 from the object before him. 
 
 “ Overheard all that took place betwixt you 
 and Lucy Lonsdale,” replied this individual, 
 “ 1 tell you, that I can render you assistance in 
 that quarter.” 
 
 “ Indeed !” ejaculated Redburn; but still half- 
 suspicious, as well as half incredulous, lie de- 
 manded, “Who are you? how came you to 
 know me ?” 
 
 “Never mind all that,” responded the stran- 
 ger. “You have a certain purpose to serve — • 
 and I can assist you. You want to achieve a 
 conquest — and 1 want money. Can a baigain 
 be siruck between us ?” 
 
 Yes — on the condition that I only pay the 
 reward when your portion of the woik is done." 
 
 “ Well, be it so — 1 can, peihaps, manage to 
 struggle on till then. But we can’t talk the 
 matter over here. My lodging — if a lodging it 
 can be called — is close by. Will you Come to 
 
 It ?” 
 
 Gerald hesitated. It might be some snare 
 into which treachery sought to inveigle him. 
 He looked hard at (he man, but could only 
 catch all indistinct view of his countenanca. 
 He wore a large-brimmed hat that overshadow- 
 ed his features ; he was roughly and coarsely 
 dressed in the fustiar and corduroy of a working 
 man; und yet he did not speak altogether lik« 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 189 
 
 one Gerald strained his eyes to obtain a better 
 look at his countenance — and be succeeded ; but 
 a shuddering setisation ran through him — for it 
 seemed as if he were gazing upon sornetliing 
 as hideous and horrible as a deatli's head. 
 
 “Ah! you are frighiened said the man, 
 with a bitter laugh, “ What ! at a poor misei a- 
 ble wretch like me? And you with a red coat 
 on, and a sword by your siile 1” 
 
 “Well,'’ ejaculated Redburn, stung by the 
 taunt: “lead the way— and 1 will follow you.” 
 
 “ It’s oidy a dozen paces distant — and the' 
 man, passing along the alley, reached a small 
 house, which even in that uncertain light ap- 
 peared of a most dilapidated and sinister aspect. 
 The idea that this man, whose countenance had 
 made sucli a hideous impression upon Redburn, 
 should dwell in such a cut-tinoat ghost-haunted 
 looking place as that, conjuied up fresh terrors 
 —vague, shuddering, and undefined — in Gerald's 
 imagination ; and when the stranger drew torth 
 a latch-key, and opened the door, and all ap- 
 peared dark and silent as the tomb within, this 
 gallant officer, though having a sword by his 
 side, hesitated to follow. 
 
 “ You had better dr.iw that weapon of yours,*’ 
 said the man ; “ and if you observe anything to 
 indicate treachery, you Can cut me down at 
 once. 1 tell you that if you will trust me, 
 Lucy Lonsdale shall be yours : but if you rlon’t 
 like to come in here and talk the matter (<ver, 
 lead the wav to some secluded spot, and I will 
 follow.” 
 
 “ Go on,” said Redburn, again goaded into an 
 artificial courage by the doubt thrown upon his 
 Valor; nevertheless, as he entered that dark 
 and silent habitation, he laid Ids hand upon his 
 sword, ready to draw it fortli in ca<e of need. 
 
 The man shut the dour ; and they were now 
 alone together in the pitchy blackness of the 
 passage. A thousand horrible thouglits flashed 
 through Redburn’s mind. Was the fellow 
 about to spring at his throat ? would he deal 
 him a treacherous blow with a dagger? would 
 a posse of ambushed murderers suddenly burst 
 forth and seize upon him ? would a trap-door 
 give way all in a moment beneath his feet ? 
 He trembled from head to font, bitterly repent- 
 ing that he had enteied the house. 
 
 *• Stop an instant,’’ said the man, “ while I 
 get a light:” — and opening a side-door, he en- 
 tered somewhere.. In a few moments a light 
 glimmered through the opening ; and Redburn 
 passed into the room wdiich the stranger had 
 tiius previously entered. Tlie latter was sland- 
 ing with his back towards him at the instant, in 
 tire act of lighting a candle, wdiich was stuck in 
 a blacking bottle, that stood on the small pro- 
 jecting fragment of a mouldeied wotiden man- 
 tel-pi. ce. I’lie glance that Gerald flung around, 
 •howed him that he was in a place which but 
 too well accounted for the meaning of the stran- 
 ger’s Words, when he so bitterly said, “ if a 
 mtiging it can be Called.” d here were shutters 
 fiustened outside the window: but scarcely a 
 particle of the window itself remained — not a 
 luoisel of glass, and the sashes as well as the 
 fiamework all broken and fallen away. The 
 air-holes of the shutters were stuffed through 
 With what appeared tc be black and rotting 
 
 rags. The ceiling was of sooty obscurity ■ — the 
 floor equally black wdih collected dirt. The 
 door, wiili clefts in the panels, hung crazily to 
 one hinge, d’he walks were for the most part 
 as black as the ceiling and floor — but in some 
 place.s green wdlh the damp mildew, and as di- 
 la)jitlaletl as if the phice had been left to fall 
 into ruin through a long series of years. Furni- 
 ture theie wa.s none, pro[)erly so spe;iking, in 
 this miserable den. A saucepan on the grate— 
 a broken mug by the side of the blacking bo tie 
 oil the mantel — a few coals and biiiulles of 
 wi‘od thrown down in one corner - and what 
 ai)[)eared to be a heap of rags, with a dirty 
 tattered blanket, spread in the shape of a bed 
 in another corner, — these were the only articles 
 that afforded a sign that it was a human habita- 
 tion : for there was neither table uoi chair in 
 the place. 
 
 J t required but a glance to embrace the en- 
 tire wretchedness of the room ; and having 
 thrown that glance around, Redburii’s eyes 
 once more settled on the man, wlio liad just 
 flni'hed lighting the caudle. I’hrowiug the 
 match into (he grate, lie slowly tinned round 
 tow'ards Gerald, wdio literally recoiled in horror 
 from the countenance wlich was thus more dis- 
 tinctly revealed to him than in the dark alley 
 outside. Heavniis, wliat a couiiteiiaiice ! It 
 was of a deep livid hue, marked with immense 
 seams, as if it had beeti shockingly burnt in a 
 tire, or had been sealed with a red-hot iron. 
 One e}e was extiiiguislied — that is to say, the 
 sight was evidently gone, and the orb looked of 
 a dull leaden line like lliat of a fish that has 
 been a long time out of the water. I'he other 
 possessed the power of vision, but was all in 
 flamed and red — the lushes were burnt off — and 
 it seemed as if the pupil were set in a mass of 
 congealed gore. A part of the nose appeared 
 to be eaten aw’ay : the lips were swollen and 
 puffed out to three times their natural size, look- 
 ing larger than the mouth of any negro; and 
 their line was that of the slips of liver that are 
 exposed for sale in cat’s meat shops. As before 
 stated, this horrible object was clothed in the 
 coarsest and most poverty-stricken manner; and 
 his entire appearance was too disgusting — too 
 loathsome — even to inspire pity. 
 
 Slowly did he reimn'e his hat, tlius display- 
 ing a crop of dark hair that had been cut close; 
 and tlie scarlet seams of searing or burning, 
 whatsoever it were that had injured him, actu- 
 ally extended up above his forehead on to the 
 crown of his head, leaving large spaces where 
 the hair did not grow at all. In short, it would 
 be impossible to coticeive anything in the shajre 
 of a human being more closely bordering upon 
 hideous monstrosity than this wretch. 
 
 As he took off' his hat, he bent his on.e eye 
 searchiiigly upon Gerald Redburn; and then his 
 horrible couiiteiiaiice relaxed, or expanded, or 
 changed — we scaicely know which term to use 
 — into a sort of smile, as he said, “ Well, you 
 don’t know me then ?” 
 
 “Know you, good God !” ejaculated Redburn, 
 utterly unable to conceal the loathing, horror, 
 and intense disgust which he felt at the couiem- 
 platiou of tins awful objedt. “I never saw you 
 ill my life before.” 
 
140 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 “ Well, all riglif — T am glad you say so,” re ’ 
 plied the man. “ You see I can’t ask you to sit, 
 down, because there is no accommodation ’I’he 
 only use in having brought you liere is that we 
 can talk matters quietly over.” 
 
 “But who are you? liow came you to know 
 me? how came you to kmtw Lucy Lonsdale? 
 and why -were you listening to us at tlie time?” 
 
 “ 1’he last question had b(!st he answered 
 first,” responded the object. “ it won’t be diffi- 
 cult for you to understand wli}' I don’t show my* 
 self much out of doors in the day time: so what 
 little purchases I have to make — and they are 
 not many — I generally do after dark. 1'hats 
 the re.'iaon I was out at the time, and coming 
 along the alley, wlu-n I heard you two talking. 
 This house, you see, is in Chancery,” continued 
 the man: “it looks like a Chancery house, 
 do(‘.sn’t it? It’s an emb’em of one of those 
 blessed institutions of our’s that statesmen, and 
 lords, and wealthy folks are always crying uj) 
 to the skies. But no matter: it’s a lucky thing 
 for me that there is such a thing as the Chan- 
 cery Court — or else this house wouldn t have 
 tumbled into ruins, and I shouldn’t have known 
 where to lay my head. It’s better to sleej) 
 even within these four walls, and on those rags, 
 than on a dung-hill in the open air. Welt, one 
 night — when i first came to Manchester — as 1 
 was crawling along this alley, sinking with fa- 
 tigue, and thinking whethe” 1 had not better go 
 and pilch myself into the Irwell, or dash out 
 my brains against a wall, — I saw one of these 
 sliutters blowing open with the w'ind. JSo 1 
 crept into the room, laid down on the floor, and 
 slept till morning. Then I ventured out to beg : 
 for 1 was starving. Some ladies and gentlemen 
 passed by and turned away from me in horr(;r : 
 but some poor factory slaves, — men and wo- 
 men, — yes, and young girls too, amongst them, — 
 took compassion on me, clubbed together a do- 
 zen shillings, and so saved me from dying in the 
 street. Then I took possession of this place. I 
 found an old latcli key amongst a heap of rags 
 and rubbish ; and it seemed as if by the pos- 
 session of that key, I had got a hold on the 
 house itself. Now you know as much as I con- 
 Bider it necessary to tell you of my circum- 
 Btances.” 
 
 “ But wdio are you ?” again inquired Red- 
 burn : “and how came you to be injured in that 
 dreadful manner ? Above all, how canie you 
 to know me and Lucy Lonsdale ? and what do 
 you mean by saying that you can serve me in 
 respect to her ?” 
 
 “ First and foremost you ask me who I am,” 
 resjmnded the spectre. “ 1 take it for granted 
 we shall have to meet again ; and it will be 
 Convenient that you should know me by some 
 name. You can call me Smith. It’s as good a 
 name as any other ; and it comprises perhaps 
 the largest family in the whole country. As to 
 the hurts I have received, they were done by 
 burning — a liouse catching on lire, or something 
 of that sort. Next, as to how 1 knew you and 
 Mrs. Lonsdale, it does not exactly matter. I’er- 
 hapH 1 am a great inquirer, though 1 do only 
 creep out, as a general rule, after dark. Be- 
 bid(!H,” added the man, as if catching at an idea, 
 “you and Mrs. Lonsdale addressed each other 
 
 by name while falkitig togelhe Lastly, how 
 I propose to serve you — (hnl is altogether ano- 
 ther thing.” 
 
 “ And after all, it is the main thing,” observed 
 Redbiirn, somewhat anxious to be gone from the 
 w'letched (hfi where he found himself, and tho 
 hideous jaesence in which he stood. 
 
 “ Leave it to me to nianage,” nq'oined the 
 individual, who, it a[)peared, chose to be ki.own 
 by the not very uncommon name of Sijnith. 
 “ If you receive a letter at your quarlerR, 
 stating that on a jiarticular day and at a cer- 
 tain hour, Mrs. Lonsdale may be found at 
 some house the occupants of which are not 
 over particular as to what takes place beneath 
 their roof ” 
 
 “ I understand you,” interjected Redbum, 
 “ I know what sort of house you mean. But 
 is it possible ” 
 
 “ Leave it to me, I say,” exclaimed Smith. 
 “ If you receive sucli a letter, J ask, telling you 
 that Lucy ^Lonsdale is there, I suppose you 
 won’t hesitate to fly to the ajipointment ?” 
 
 “Not I!” exclaimed Redburn : “and your 
 reward shall be a liberal one. In the mean- 
 time, although at first I did not intend to give 
 you anything in advance, here are five sove- 
 reigns as an earnest of my good intentions.” 
 
 “ 1 shall take the money,” responded the 
 man, “ because there will be fees to pay the 
 people of the house before they w ill enter into 
 the plot.” 
 
 'I’hus speaking, he extended his hand to re- 
 ceive the gold which Captain Redburn had just 
 taken from his purse; and again did the latter 
 lecoil with an irresistible .sensation of loathing 
 and horror — for the hand which the miserable 
 being thus stretched forth was seamed, and 
 seared in, as frightful a manner as his counie- 
 nance. 
 
 “ Now then I shall take my departure,” said 
 the Captain : but as lie issued forth from the 
 room. It was with a lingering misgiving that 
 some treachery might be yet intended. How- 
 ever, the human monster, who called himself 
 Smith, appeared to have no such purpose in 
 view ; and Gerald Redburn passed out of the 
 dilapidated building in perfect safety. He fell 
 that he breathed far more freely when once 
 again in the o})en air ; and having threaded the 
 alley, he emerged into the well lighted and 
 bustling street wdth a feeling of self congratu- 
 lation that he had passed unhurt through an 
 adventure of a most singular and suspicious 
 character. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE GUARD-ROOM. 
 
 The next day Frederick Lonsdale was on 
 guard. On these occasions he was unable to 
 pay a visit to the lodging ; and therefore he 
 remained in ignorance of the insults to which 
 his wife had been subjected on the preceding 
 evening. 
 
 Sergeant Majcr Lan^tdrr had awakened on 
 the morning oi tire p»ir .iin.V'U’ day of which we 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 Hi 
 
 tro now speaking, witli a racking head ache, 
 but with the full recollection of what had 
 passed between hiiKself and Lonsdale on the 
 staircase. At first he was afraid lest our hero, 
 out of revenge for past occurrence^, should re- 
 port him to the Colonel — in which case wit 
 nesses might be brought forward, including 
 Captain Redburn himself, to prove that the 
 charge was correct, and that he was really 
 much intoxicated. But Lonsdale, although he 
 would have gladly taken any step to avenge 
 himself upon Langley, thought on ids own side 
 that it would be useless to report this instance 
 of the Sergeant-Major’s misconduct. He did 
 not know that Redburn had seen him in that 
 state : nor was he aware that other witnesses 
 could be found to substantiate the charge 
 Moreover, feeling himself to be a marked man 
 in the regiment, Lonsdale entertained the humi 
 bating belief that notiiing he might advance 
 against a superior would be listened to with 
 attention. For these motives theretdre — and 
 through no good feeling towanls Langley — he 
 held his peace. When the parade was over, 
 and the cJergeant-Major found that no notice 
 was taken of his delinquency, he saw that Lons 
 dale could not have mentioned the circum- 
 Btanco ; and he was shrewd enough, on calmer 
 consideration, to penetrate our hero’s reasons. 
 
 “ He would have blabbed if he thought he 
 should be believed,” said Langley to himself; 
 “ and therefore I owe him nothing for his' 
 silence.” 
 
 On the contrary, the Sergeant-Major felt that 
 he owed Lonsdale a new grudge for having be- 
 come the witness of his inebriate condition. 
 His spite was resuscitated with fresh rancor 
 against the unfortunate private soldier. Though 
 Frederick’s accoutrements were in the best 
 possible order, Langley found fault, and seized 
 an opportunity to curse and swear at him most 
 virulently, as an idle, slovenly, dirty, good for- 
 nothing fellow. Our hero grew pale as death — 
 bit his lip almost till the blood came — and felt 
 that it was only with an almost superhuman 
 exertion that he could prevent himself from 
 knocking the Sergeant-Major down. Langley 
 comprehended full well what was passing in 
 his mind ; and feeling himself to be quite safe 
 in the exercise of his petty tyranny, continued 
 to fling out the most cutting taunts, coupled 
 with the grossest abuse, at poor Lonsdale. 
 Throughout that day he visited the guaid-ioom 
 several times, and on each occasion had some 
 fault to find with our hero; while, as if to ren 
 der his vituperations all the more galling, he 
 travelled out of his way to bestow the most ex- 
 travagant praise upon the other soldiers on 
 duty. Frederick felt that a devil was being 
 excited within him — that if this were the com- 
 mencement of a new epoch of petty tyranny, 
 overt and direct, he could not endure it — that 
 his patience would give way — and that in a 
 moment of frenzy he should be driven to do 
 •omething desperate. He was in a state of 
 what may be termed subdued excitement : it 
 was the slumbering of a volcano. He almost 
 loathed himselt as an unmanly coward for en 
 during so much without resenting it, no matte* 
 what tlie consequence might be. 
 
 In the evening, when those soldiers of tho 
 guard who were not on sentry at the time, 
 were sitting together engaged in conversation, 
 the boy from the canteen came in for orders. 
 A subscription was quickly entered into accord- 
 ing to the means of the subscribers, for a supply 
 of beer. It happened that their funds were on 
 this occasion all excessively short; and the 
 quantity of liquor to be furnished would 
 be proportionately small. Lonsdale sat apart 
 in moody silence, not even observing what 
 was going on. He was brooding upon his wrongs 
 past and present — and with sombre apprehen- 
 sion looking forward to those that appeared to 
 be looming in the future. 
 
 “ Come, Lonsdale,” said one of his comrades, 
 we are precious short here ; won’t you contrib- 
 ute for once in a way 
 
 “ You know he never does,” said another, wlio 
 was a good, well-disposed man ; *• and therefore 
 why put him to the pain of refusal ? We all 
 like Lonsdale, and are perfectly content to let 
 him have his own way.” 
 
 “ But I say though,” interposed a third, 
 don t you recollect that a few weeks ago 
 Lonsdaie treated us to brandy at the can- 
 teen F’ 
 
 “ W^hat is that you are talking about ?” inquired 
 our hero, suddenly starling up from his seal and 
 advancing towards the grouji : “you want money 
 to make up your subscription ? Well 1 feel ia 
 a humor to drink something this evening. Here 
 -~leL It be strong ale — *110 strongest you have 
 got — and he tosaed a five-shilling piece to tho 
 pot-boy. 
 
 Jn a few minutes the ale was brought ; and 
 good strong liquor it was too — the primest old 
 ale that was drawn at the canteen, one pint of 
 which was sufficient to get into the head of any 
 man not accustomed to drink, and a pot of 
 which would make even ihe strongest head feel 
 dizzy. True it is — and alas I that we should b« 
 compelled to confess it — that at the moment 
 when he received the first glass, Lonsdale fancied 
 that the images of Lucy and his beloved little 
 boy rose up before him with mournfully entreat- 
 ing looks : but the warning was disregarded. 
 He felt so completely miserable — so broken in 
 mind — so crushed in spiiii, — so completely 
 weighed down by a deep despondency, that he 
 couid not possibly resist the temptation or the 
 opportunity of imbibing an artificial stimulant. 
 It was in a sort of desj^eration that he did so ; 
 it was in one of those moods when a man feels 
 .ncliiied to sell his soul to Satan in order to 
 puic. ase exemption from present sufferings and 
 the sense of wrongs. He knew tliat ho was 
 taking a false step — he remembered the vow ha 
 pledged Lucy on the occasion when he drank 
 the brandy — his conscience told him he was 
 entering on a dangerous path: but on the other 
 hand, he felt the absolute necessity of raising 
 himself up from that abyss of despondency into 
 which he had been plunged. 
 
 The first glass of ale which he thus took on 
 the occasion whereof we are speaking, diffused 
 a glow through his entire frame : he felt hi 
 heart lighter but still his spirits were not 
 sufficiently raised above that point at which 
 they felt uncomfortable. He accepted another 
 
42 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 glftsa wlion the ale was pnsoed round a second 
 time: and then liia heart appeared (o t>e 
 bounding wiihin hitn. lie began to reflect 
 that he had been a fool to sutler liitn''elf lo be 
 epii il-va iished by the at)use of SeigeanI, Lang- 
 ley : he oiiglit to have tiealed it, with indithM- 
 ence — to liave let tlie nifliiui bully go on as he 
 liked wiihout taking any nolici^ of him : it wits 
 perfectly i idiculous lo make lunr elf mi.'-erable 
 for such trifles 1 After all, there was more 
 conilort in a good glass of ale than he had 
 imagined ; and if it cheered his spirits, why 
 ehoud he not lake it 'i laicy was no doubt an 
 exc( lleiit. woman — he loved her (learl\ — and he 
 always wouhl love her : but it would be going 
 a little loo far for ber lo object to Ids drinking 
 a social gliiss with his comrades, especially 
 when It (lid him good. Reddes, he was not to 
 remtiin atuiched to his wife’s ajiron-sl rings. It 
 was sdl Very well in the honeymoon of their 
 Youthful love : but by this time the fervour of 
 that heart-worship, reciprocally felt, ought to 
 have mellowed (lowii into a more sober and 
 rational ft ehng. And then too, how was she 
 to know tluit he took his g'ass ? If she objected 
 to it, he need not tell her : there was no use in 
 making her unhappy. iSo he could kee[) her in 
 the dark ou ihe subject, and yet indulge hum elf 
 in a little iimocenl leci etil loii all the saiiK*. Rut 
 moderation — only moderation ! — he felt con- 
 vinced he never could be a drunkard ! It was 
 not in the moderate use of the good things of 
 this world that any evil lay — but in the abuse 
 thereof ; and he was quite sure of being enabled 
 to adhere to modeialion and avoid plunging into 
 excess. 
 
 Such was the rea.soning with which Frede- 
 rick Lonsdale endeavored to quiet the qualms 
 of conscience as he accepted the third glass of 
 strong ale wliich was passed round; and yet all 
 that time he was endeavoring to cheat his own 
 good sem-e and delude ids intellect with this 
 wretched strain of sophistry, he felt the effects 
 of the second glass working in his brain ; and 
 though wliile thinking of moderation, ami jilii. 
 miiig himself so conlideniiy upon his fortitude 
 to avoid excess, he was already by taking that 
 third glass overstepping the boundary which 
 fii'parated the one from be other. The ground 
 of moderation itse'f is a dangerous one for even 
 the Strongest-minded man to tread upon, when 
 once he begins to feel that it is necessary to 
 Bati.sfy his own set u pies by means of argument. 
 All drunkards liave first of all been model aie 
 drinkers ; and 'when moderate drinkers, they 
 were as satisfied as our hero Lonsdale, that 
 they cnuld never by any accident or chance fall 
 into an extreme. It is tins nvei weening confi- 
 dence in one’s self tliat proves the rum of mil- 
 lion.s. '1 lie Enemy of Mankind never laid a 
 more sncce.'-sful snaie m the pathway of the liu- 
 aan race, llian this arrogant self-sulliciency 
 wliich makes the presumptuous inoitul boast 
 that bo is Hlamling in security upon a rock at 
 the very inomniL when bis feet aio slijiping 
 over the edge of a precipice. 
 
 Rut lo letuiii lo our nanalive. 1’he tliird 
 glass of ale was diiink ; and now Lonsdale ex- 
 perienced a greater degree of exliiliiration from 
 liie cllecls of strong li(|uor than he had ever 
 
 felt in his life heforn. He w'as not exactly tipsy . 
 hut lie wa,s not sober, lie knew perfectly well 
 what he was about, and had a complete com- 
 mand ov<‘r his words and aclion.s; he was even 
 sntlicienlly prudent to refuse die '■•nrih glass of 
 ale when the can went round igain, notwith- 
 standing Ids month wateiial lo iniliihe it. Rut 
 diere was a devil-nie-care sort of K’cklessness 
 about him, as if he had taken a resolve not to 
 allow the I roubles of the world to atfert him 
 any more, hut lo meet them with a snpercilioua 
 indifference, to sustain which an ai tificial stiiiiu- 
 hint might be derived from a glass of good 
 liquor. 
 
 Soon after ten o’clock Sergeant Langley and 
 Captain Hedburn entered the giiai'd bouse. (4e- 
 rald bad been ordered by the Coloirel to make 
 the round of the barracks with the Serjeant 
 Major for some jiarticiilar reason which we need 
 not liere spr eify : and hence this visit. The 
 soldiers all immediately stood up in a respectful 
 manner : hut I lie cans and glasses had not been 
 so successfully put out of sight as to be unob- 
 served by Redburii and Langley, 
 
 “ Hallo, my men said Gerald, who having 
 been bantered as usual at the mess-table, was 
 in an execrable liuinor; “you seem to have 
 been having a regular orgie here? I don’t mind 
 a gla.ss of beer a-piece ; no one would object to 
 tluit ; hut by the size and number of tliose tin 
 cans you must have had six times that quan- 
 tity.’ 
 
 Now, be it observed that Captain Redbum 
 himself liad only imbibed that evening one bot- 
 tle of slierry, a pint of port, and a bottle of 
 claret — to say noibing of three or four glasses 
 of soda-water and brandy during the day, and 
 some bottled ale at lunch. He did not stand 
 with exceeding steadiness on his legs; there 
 was a certain thickness as well as hicenping 
 hesiiation in liis S|)eeclj ; and as he was leaving 
 the me.'j.s-table new roars of laughter had burst 
 foitli when Lieutenant Paget had whispered 
 loud enough for every one to hear, “ that Reb- 
 buin was more than half-seas over.” But what 
 an otfleer may do with wine, a private soldier 
 must not think of doing with beer ; that is, to 
 say, drink too much. An otBcer may get drunk 
 every evening of his life, and ten to one he will 
 be set (town by his comrades as a capital, jo- 
 vial-hearted fellow, — save and except in such a 
 ca:?e as Redburu’s where there are grounds for 
 personal dislike ; but even in this instance, th« 
 inebriety of the individual will only serve to 
 make him a laugliing-stock, or furnish another 
 arrow for the how of sarcasm. How dilferent 
 is it with tiie private soldier ! If he only be- 
 comes the least thing inehiiated, instead of be- 
 ing set down as a capital, jovial hearted fellow, 
 he is at once denounced as a drunken dog and 
 a good-for-nothing scoundrel. 
 
 To resume our story. When Captain Red- 
 burn, standing unsteadily and with a tipsy hic- 
 cup, remonstrated witli the soldiers on the 
 quantity of ale which they had evidently drunk, 
 lliey all endeavored to look as demure and so- 
 ber a.s they j) 08 .sihly could. Indeed, none of 
 them were much tlie worse for what they had 
 taken, in the common acc'eptiuice of the term— 
 unless it were Lonsdale, whose flushed counts 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 144 
 
 nance and flasbins? ey ei aenoted an unusual de- 
 gree of excitement. 
 
 “ Conie, Sergeant Major,” said Gerald, en- 
 deavoring to look exceedingly stern — and we 
 have already remarked that he was in a parti- 
 cularly had Immor, — “are any of these men 
 
 tipsy i Examine ti)em well Hah ! Private 
 
 Whal’s-your-name Lonsdale, i^n’t it ?’ — ^jnst 
 
 as if Gerald did not know the name as well as 
 his I'Wii ; “ I think ynu have a drop too much. 
 
 Doe n t tie look terriidy excited, Langley ?” 
 
 “ Terrible, sir,” resfumded the Serjeant-Major, 
 who, h( ing on this occasion quite sober himself, 
 was enabled to draw his form pomjxuisly up to 
 its full height and assume a deprecating tone 
 of Voice. 
 
 “ Stand forward, you fellow,” said Gerald, 
 thus ad.Tessing Lonsdale, with much greater 
 bruta’ity than he would have used in speaking 
 to one of the dogs at his father’s man- ion. 
 
 “ Now, then — be quick about it,” he added, in- 
 asmuch as our hero, with the hot blood boiling 
 furiously in his veins, for a moment felt inclined 
 to resent the manner in which he was thus 
 treated. “ d'here now — take the camlle, Lang- 
 ley — hold it before his face, and let me have a 
 good look at him. What do you think, Lang- 
 ley ? isi.i’t he tipsy ?” 
 
 *“ Quite, sir,” responded the sergeant. 
 
 “ I deny it !" ejaculated Frederick, Hinging the 
 negative with an indignant fierceness at the 
 Sergeant-Major. 
 
 “ Hold your tongue, fellow !” cried Redburn. 
 “No insubordination here! You have been 
 drinking ale ” 
 
 “ I have, sir — I confess it,” answered Frede- 
 ick “ but I deny that I am inebriateil.” 
 
 “ Inebriaieu; None of your tine words here,” 
 rejoined Gerald contemptuously. “ What bu- 
 einess has a beggar like you to study the diction- 
 ary !” 
 
 “ Beggar!” echoed Londsdale, a galvanic 
 thrill of rage sweeping through Ids entire form. 
 
 “ What, sir! do you mean to give me any of 
 your insolence?” exclaimed Gerald, but step- 
 ping back two or three paces at the same mo- 
 ment, for fear lest the outraged private soldier 
 Bhould da.sh him to the ground. 
 
 “ I meant no insolence. Captain Redburn,” 
 answered ^Lnnsdale, now' mastering his emm 
 tions, although with considerable difficulty. “ I 
 am accused of being drunk — since you do not 
 Lke the other term ” 
 
 “ This is fresh insolence,” interrupted Red- 
 burn ; then all in a moment it flashed to his 
 mind that the plot of the man Smith might be 
 Considerably aided if Lonsdale were kept out of 
 tlte way from his wife’s lodgings for a few days ; 
 and here was an opportunity of accom[)lishing 
 this particular object. “ Yes ; I repeat — you 
 have been guilty of the greatest insolence, not 
 only to the Sergeant-Major, but also to myself 
 Consider yourself under arrest; audit depends 
 upon how you behave yourself for the next 
 three or four days, whether I don’t have you 
 brought to a court-martial. He has been pun- 
 islied before, I think — hasn’t he, Langley ?” — 
 and Gerald put the question with a contemptu- 
 ous manner of indifl’erence, as if he did not 
 tiouble himself to recollect such circumstances. 
 
 “ Yes, sir — flogged,” rejdied Langley. 
 
 “ Oh, flogged— eh ?” 
 
 “ Yes, sii — flogged twice : — and the Seigeant- 
 Major accentuated the word with bitter spite- 
 fulness. 
 
 “ 1’wice — eh ?” 
 
 “Yes, sir — and branded trio.” 
 
 “Oh the incorrigible scoundrel!” ejaculated 
 Redburn. “ Well, he is to consider himself 
 under arrest;’* — and thus speaking, he turned 
 away and quitted the guard-house, followeil by 
 Sergeant Langley, who, ere he cro.ssed the 
 threshold, thiew back a look of demoniac mar 
 lignity and fiendi.sh lriumi>h upon the unfortu- 
 nate Lonsdale. A low moan had come forth 
 from his lips at those words which so cruelly 
 and teriibly reminded him that he was a branded 
 deserter, — reminded, too, with such unfeeling 
 barbarity in the presence of his comtades ! A 
 dead sih nce prevailed in the guard-room for 
 some minutes afier Captain Redburn and the 
 Serjeant-Major had taken their depai tore. Lons- 
 dale, with folded arms, paced to and fro — his 
 fine form drawn up to its full height— his 
 shoulders thrown back — thus, unpremeihtatedly 
 on his part displaying the graceful curve at the 
 w'aist in its symmetrical pioportions: but his 
 head was bent forward, and his looks were cast 
 down ill moody thoughtfulness. He felt him- 
 self cruelly outraged — brutally treated. Was 
 he a dog to be thus kicked by a wretch like 
 Gerald Redburn? was he a reptile to be thus 
 trampled upon by the foot of a bully like Ser- 
 geant Langley? Despair was writhing about 
 Ills heart: he felt that if he were to give way to 
 his passion, he could start off from that guard- 
 house like a maniac, and with his bayonet im- 
 molate both his enemies to the vengeance that 
 was burning within him. 
 
 “ It’s a deuced deal too bad,” observed one 
 of the soldiers, at leiigih breaking the long in- 
 terval of silence which liad prevailed ; and as he 
 spoke in a somewhat subdued tone, he looked 
 towards the door to assure himself that there 
 were no eavesdroppers. 
 
 “Yes — too bad,” said another. “Lonsdale 
 didn’t deserve it. For what he has done before, 
 he suffered, and oughtn’t to have it thrown in 
 his teeth.” 
 
 “ Aiul by such a whipper-snapper as that 
 Redburn 1” interjected a third. 
 
 “ And that great hulking bully Langley,” re- 
 marked a fourtli. 
 
 “ Well, we are all liable to it,” said a fifih— 
 an elderly man with a thoughtful countenance 
 “ I tell you what it is, comrades — there will 
 never be any justice in the army, till the offi- 
 cers rise from tlie ranks, as the non-commis- 
 sioned officer! do.” 
 
 “ What nonsense !” cried another soldier. 
 “ The non-commi.“sioned officers are as great 
 bullies as they can well be ; and the officers 
 would be the same, just as they are now, if they 
 also rose from the ranks.” 
 
 “ Softly, softly, my good fellow,” responded 
 the elderly soldier. “ You know very well that 
 1 have reflected on these matters. What I say 
 is this — if it is necessary to have an army at 
 all, it is for the general good, as a safeguard for 
 the whole country. It oughtn’t to be a set of 
 
144 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 mechanized and emhrutcd slaves; it ouglit to be 
 CXtrnposed of freemen, as much brothers of the 
 civilians as civilians amongst themselves ought 
 10 be brothers. Well then, let every regiment 
 elect its own officers — commissior)ed ami non- 
 commissioned Ah 1 aiid have these elections, 
 
 t(K), j)eriodically, so that we should be sure not 
 only of having good officers, but should likewise 
 hold a check upon their conduct, but then, we 
 should be toUl that there would be no disci- 
 pline? What nonsense! there would be better 
 disciplitie where all the links and ties that 
 bound us to each other would be of a human 
 BJul Christian character. Iri P’rance the Na- 
 tional Guaide eh et their officers every yeat — or 
 two years, I forget which ; and there’s as good 
 discipline amongst them as there is in the regu- 
 lar army. In the United Slates, too, the militia 
 elect their own officers; and the American mili- 
 tia is just as good as any regular aiiny in the 
 world. Now, these are facts that I know : so 
 tliere is no nonsense about them. I have got a 
 bi other in Paris — he is naturalized, as they call 
 it there, and obliged to serve in the National 
 Guard : so he has wrote and told me all about 
 it. Then I have an uncle in the United States ; 
 and he also has let me know how the thing 
 works there. Ah ! America is the country for 
 true freedom. With all our talk, and bluster, 
 and braggadocio, we aie only a set of slaves in 
 comparison with the people of the great Ameri- 
 can Union. And as for flogging — why, the 
 Biitish army is almost the only one in the 
 world where it exists now. So 1 sujipose we 
 English soldiers are Considered a »set of brutes 
 and barbarians, that can’t ke kept in order with- 
 out the lash 1” 
 
 The conversation in the guard-room was con- 
 tinued in this strain for some time longer : but 
 it is not our purpose to chronicle any more of 
 the discourse thus held. Throughout that night 
 Lonsdale’s perturbed spirit grew into a more 
 morbid condition : the sense of his wrongs ac- 
 quired a keener edge ; the thirst for vengeance 
 against those whom he regarded as his sworn 
 enemies became stronger, and craved the more 
 dee|)ly to be quenched. 
 
 Early in the morning he penned a hasty note 
 to Lucy, to tell her that he was under arrest, 
 and should be unable to visit the lodging, not 
 merely for that day, but probably for several 
 days to come. He begged of her not to call 
 upon him at the barracks, as he was so fearful 
 'hat she might be subjected to insult at the 
 gauds of that individual whom he bitterly de- 
 nounced as “ an incarnate flend” — thereby mean- 
 ing Gerald Uedburn P'redefick did not enter 
 into any details relative to the cause of the pun- 
 ishment Vhich he was enduring :^ie had too 
 much remorse for his own conduct, to confess to 
 Lucy that he had been drinking; and he had 
 •till too high a sense of honor to deny the cir- 
 cumstance with a bold effroniery. She herself,! 
 full well understanding even the minutest trait 
 in her husband’s disposition, at once saw by the j 
 mania r in which (he nole was wiirded, that | 
 iliere was something wrong. She C4>uld not 
 possibly endure the suspense into which it threw | 
 lier ; and yet she hesitated to disobey the in- 
 jiuictioti he gave, that she should abstain from 
 
 visiting him at the barracks. She was thus b* 
 wildered how to act — till at length she felt it te 
 be her duty to go and nscerlairi how matter* 
 actually stood: for she even feared that th(;y 
 might be worse than her husband had chosen to 
 re[ire.serit. She put into a basket some articles 
 of food lo admini.ster to his comfort : but there- 
 with no intoxicating liquors found a place — and 
 taking little P'rederick with her — for the com- 
 panionship of a child, no matter how tender its 
 age, is ever held as a kind of safeguard hy a 
 ri'Spectable woman — she bent her way to the 
 barracks. On arriving there, she obtained access 
 to her husband ; and he could not hide a feeling 
 of annoyance at her presence. This was be- 
 cause he knew that he should have to tell h*T 
 the whole truth, which he did not like to d(i. 
 She wept at his manner whei' he received her: 
 for she could not repel the thought that some 
 time back he would have regaicled her visit aa 
 a jiroof of her devoted aflectioii. He uiulerstood 
 what was passing in her mind ; and stricken by 
 remorse, did his best to atone for that apparent 
 demonstration of ill-humor, 
 
 “ The fact is,” he said, mustering up all hia 
 courage to speak with frankness, “ I felt so dull 
 and miserable, I took a glass or two of ale. My 
 dear wife, pray don’t look so forlorn and discon- 
 solate all of a sudden : I really could not help 
 it. You don’t know what I suffer at times, or 
 you would jiity me:” — and his countenance was 
 convulsed with a writhing expression of an- 
 guish. 
 
 “ Pity you, dearest Frederick ?” responded 
 the weeping Lucy, “ Oh ! you know that I 
 more than pity you — I enter into all you feel — 
 
 I identify myself with all your sufferings — be- 
 cause 1 love you — heaven alone can tell how 
 much 1 love you 1 I will not reproach you for 
 having taken that liquor, Frederick : but surely, 
 surely your own natural strength of mind does 
 not need such artificial stimulant to sustain it?” 
 
 “ Lucy,’’ he responded, with a sudden par- 
 oxym of violence, “ there are moments when I 
 feel as if 1 should go mad. That villain levelled 
 the most diabolical abuse at me: he nailed me 
 beggar! Just heavens, how did I master my 
 feelings ? And yet I did — for your sake, and 
 that of our dear boy there. 1 was not tipsy : 
 perhaps I was a little excited — I admit that 1 
 was: but more by the state of my feelings 
 than by the liquor 1 had drunk. At all events, 
 my appearance was not more inebriated than 
 that of my comrades on guard; but I was 
 singled out for punishment — 1 alone have to 
 endure that reptile's vengeance. Ah ! think you 
 that it is not enough to drive one wild ? And 
 now I will tell you something that I have not 
 mentioned to you before, but which will prove 
 to you that this miscreant Redbu.rn is the enemy 
 of every one belonging to you or me. When at 
 home some weeks back, he seduced your mo- 
 ther in law ” 
 
 “ Oh 1 my poor father,” murmured Lucy with 
 a deep groan: “ what will he do? what will 
 become of him ?” 
 
 “ Yes — It is a fact that lleilburn did this,” re- 
 plied Lonsdale, accentuating the words : ‘‘ it M 
 the talk of the whole barrack — and he is jeered 
 for it at the mess-tablu. Your father has thrown 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 14f 
 
 np his situation as Sir Archibald’s steward, and 
 has brought an action against Captain Redburn. 
 Don’t think, dear Lucy, that I tell you all this 
 to give you pain ; it is only to show what a dia- 
 bolical villain that man is, and how embittered 
 my soul must be against him.” 
 
 Lonsdale could not help feeling, even while 
 thus speaking, that he was acting an unkind and 
 hypocriiical part: for it was merely to avert 
 from himself his wife’s regrets and reproachful 
 looks on account of his taking too much liquor, 
 that he had endeavored to turn all her attention 
 upon the conduct of Captaiii Redburn. Indeed, 
 je souglit to make himself appear altogether a 
 •■ictim in his wife’s regards, though the conduct 
 of that officer in respect to Kitty had really no- 
 thing to do with the circumstance of the ale- 
 drinking of the preceding evening. 
 
 It was in the bafrack-room where this inter- 
 Tiew took place ; and no one be?ides themselves 
 and little Frederick was present. Nevertheless, 
 Lucy, instead of giving free and unrestraiiied 
 Tent to her grief, siitidued it as much as possi 
 ble, for fear of adding to her husband’s afflic- 
 tions. Lonsdale understood all this; and his 
 heart smote him for behaving with even the 
 slightest degree of hypocrisy towards that ad- 
 mirable woman and for his unkindness in men- 
 tioning a circumstance which he could so well 
 have kept from her knowledge, and had hitherto 
 done 80. 
 
 “ Promise me, dear Frederick — Oh ! do pro- 
 mise me,” she said, that you will exert all your 
 courage to meet your lot with resignation; atid 
 do not — do not, I conjure you — have recourse 
 to any thing that may in a moment wreck all 
 the hopes which remain to us in this life i For 
 we are not without hope, Frederick. We are 
 yet young — and when your time shall have ex- 
 pired, we may settle again comfortably in the 
 World. Then what happiness — Oh, what hap- 
 piness we may enjoy !” 
 
 “ Yes, dear Lucy — we are not without hope,” 
 rejoined Frederick: but as he gave utterance to 
 these words, his soul was smitten with the dark- 
 est presentiments of impending evil and of con- 
 sequent despair. “ Do not be afraid — 1 will not 
 commit any imprudence again. Ah ! you look 
 up so appealingly in my countenance, it seems 
 as if you trembled lest I was promising some- 
 thing which I shall not perform 1 Yet you must 
 once more give me your confidence — and 1 will 
 not deceive you.” 
 
 “ I will, 1 will, my dearest husband,” she re- 
 plied, scarcely able to subdue her sobs : for she 
 could not help remembering that lie had made 
 this pledge before, and that he had broken it. — 
 Then, in order to change the conversation quick- 
 ly, she said, forcing herself to smile as she open- 
 ed her basket, “ Look, I have brought you a 
 few little things to make you as comfortable as 
 I can ; and during the two or three days that 
 you will be absent, I promise that our dear lit- 
 tle Frederick shall not neglect his lessons. How 
 long do you think it will be before you are re- 
 leased from arrest ?” 
 
 “ Only the two or three days you have men- 
 tioned,” returned Lonsdale, deeply moved by 
 the delicate attentions which his wife showed 
 him: “and then, dear Lucy we will endeavor 
 
 to be happy with each other again. Rut pray 
 don’t risk insuU by coming to this place.* 
 
 “ I will not, Frederick,” she answere l, in- 
 wardly sorrowing that he should have given her 
 this hint; because she was prepared to encoun- 
 ter anything rather than desert or neglect her 
 husband in his tribulation. “ Bui tell me that 
 you are not angry with me for coming this 
 once ?” 
 
 “ Angry ? No, dearest — that is not the term 1* 
 ejaculated Lonsdale. “I am onlyfeaiful that 
 you sheuld suffer insolent conduct at the hands 
 of some uf the unprincipled fellows who bear tli« 
 rank of officer. ’ 
 
 Little Frederick had been wandering about 
 the barrack-room in a manner natural to bis 
 age, while this colloquy took place bi tween hia 
 jiarents; and he had not noticed the depth of 
 feeling which they had displayed. Lonsdale 
 now called his little boy to him, and chatted 
 with him fora few minutes. He then embraced 
 them both affectionately, and they took then 
 departure. 
 
 Lucy accompanied by little Frederick, effect- 
 ed her egre.>^s fiom the bai ia< k-_\ ai d without 
 being loliced by anyone in particular : and she 
 regained her lodging, which now looked gloomy 
 enough as .-.he reflected that for two or three 
 days it might not be cheered by the pr^tsence 
 of her husband. Her spirits were most de- 
 sponding. She could not help perceiving, in 
 many details of this interview with Frederick, 
 additional evidences of the change that was 
 taking place within him. She felt that it was a 
 shocking tiling fora wife to ha’e her confidenc< 
 shaken in a husband whom she adored : but she 
 could not blind hey eyes to the fact that hia 
 manner had no^ oeen altogether so frank and 
 candid, nor so affectionate, as it was wont — but 
 that there had been something constrained in 
 his bearing througnout — something forced in 
 the way in which he had sought to divert her 
 attention from his own little backslitling, in or- 
 der to rivet all the power of her feelings upon 
 Gerald Redburn’s conduct. Nor could she ba- 
 nish from her mind that transient ill humor he 
 had shown when she first made her appearance 
 before him. She trembled lest circumstances 
 should again drive him to drink, and that the 
 habit might grow upon him : she feared also 
 that in the gradual warping of his naturally no- 
 ble heart, his love for herself might be im- 
 paired, and that while his disposition was being 
 soured against all the world, no exception might 
 be tnade even for his wife and child. 
 
 Such were the painful thoughts that forced 
 theni.-elves on Lucy’s mind ; and vainly did she 
 endeavor to put them away from her, as if they 
 belonged to the reminiscences of a hideous 
 dream. But *ehe could not : they grew upon 
 her — they were fraught with a veritable mental 
 anguish which she could not control; and they 
 gave rise to the darkest though vaguest forebo- 
 dings. Thus pas.sed the remainder of that day ; 
 and ineffectually did poor Lucy endeavor to set- 
 tle herself to her work. At short intervals she 
 found it dropping from her hand, and her mind 
 falling into a fresh train of gloomiest medita- 
 tion. 
 
 It was about half-past nine in the evening— 
 
14S 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 little Frederick lay in Led, locked in the shmiber 
 of innocence — when a gentle tap was heard at 
 Lucy’s door; ar)d she, thinking it to he the latid- 
 lady, bade the person enter. But instead of the 
 woman of the house, it was an elderly female, 
 decently dressed, and of somewhat matronly 
 appearance. She liad a nal face, the rubicund 
 color of which, a close observer would have at 
 once discerned to arise from drinking: but Lucy 
 was too generous in (he construction slie had 
 put upon outward appearances, (o form any 
 such coticlusion ; while, at (he same time, her 
 mind was in too confused a state to allow her 
 to take very particular notice of the personal 
 characteristics of her visitress. A single candle 
 W'as burning upon the table; and by the light 
 thereof the afflicted wife had been endeavoring 
 to make up for what she considered to be the 
 neglect of her work during the day. The wo- 
 man who now made her appearance, glanced 
 quickly around ; and, ])erc('iving that the boy 
 was fast asleeji in the bed, an air of satisfaction 
 at once took possession of her features; but 
 even this, Lucy failed to observe. 
 
 “ I believe,” said the female, “ that I am 
 Bpeaking to Mrs. Lonsdale, the daughter of 
 Mr. Davis, who uptil recently was in the em- 
 ployment of Sir Archibald Redburn?” 
 
 “My poor father!” ejaculated Lucy; “what 
 of him ? Has he at length consented to forgive 
 his daughter ? does he now need the solace and 
 comfort which I may be enabled to bestow upon 
 him ?” 
 
 “ He needs more !” responded the woman ; 
 *‘he req lires your pres>3nce by the side of that 
 iick b«£? &u which care and trsuble have stretch i 
 
 “ Oh 1 he shall not ask in vain P cried the 
 warm-hearted Mrs. Lonsdale. “Where is he I 
 Tell me, my good woman — keep me not in 
 suspense ;” for she experienced a fond and 
 anxious yearning towards that father whom she 
 had not seen for some }ears; and all the past, 
 so far as liis cruelty tow'ards her liad been con- 
 cerned, was obliterated in a moment. 
 
 “He is liere — in this, town,’ answered the 
 woman, “ He came to Manchester to see you, 
 
 that you might forgive him for everything ” 
 
 “Oh! speak not to rne thus!” interrupted 
 Lucy, veliemently. “It is not for a child to 
 forgive a parent. Where is he ? — where is he ?* 
 “He took lodgings at my house,” returned 
 the woman — “ not being able to find you out 
 immediately. He was ill wlien he came; he 
 has grown worse. At length 1 have di.scovered 
 your abode — and I have come to conduct you 
 to him.” 
 
 “ 1 will go immediately,” rejoined Lucy, full 
 of anxiety and suspense, and totally unsusj)iciou8 
 of any treacherous aim on the part of this wo- 
 man, whose speech and manner were more than 
 friendly — they were motherly. 
 
 To put on her bonnet and shawd, was but the 
 work of a moment ; and this being done, Lucy 
 followed the female from the room. Stopjiing 
 on the ground floor to request the landlady to 
 go up and sit in the chamber during h(;r tem- 
 porary absence, Lucy accompanied the guide 
 out of the house; and as they hurried along 
 through the streets, the feeling that still con- 
 tinued uppermost in the mind of our heroine 
 was totally apart from misgiving and suspicion 
 I it was the absorbing one of anxiety’ &ad soa- 
 I pense in respect to her father 
 
THE SOLDIER’S V\ IFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE SNARE. 
 
 After Lucy and little Freddy had taken their 
 departure from the barrack-room, Lonsdale was 
 left to the solitary companionship of his own 
 thoughts. These were by no means of a plea- 
 Burable nature. He remembered that he had 
 received his wife with a manifestation of petu- 
 lance ; and his heart was stricken with remorse. 
 He remembered, too, that he had plunged a 
 dagger into her heart by revealing to her the 
 circumstance connected with Redburn and her 
 father ; and he bitterly repented the unkindness 
 of that proceeding. He was altogether dis- 
 satisfied with himself — discontented with all the 
 world — soured against all mankind, the two 
 dear ones alone excepted. But then the demon 
 again whispered in his ear ; and, endeavouring 
 to find a justification for himself, he reasoned 
 in the following manner : — 
 
 “ Wh}'- should I thus behave like a mere 
 child in my wife’s presence ? Why should I be 
 afraid to let her know that I took a glass or two 
 of ale? It is like being an unmanly coward. 
 I won’t humble myself in this way in future ; I 
 will assume a higher stand. But at the same 
 time, poor Lucy is so affectionate — and that 
 dear little boy has such winning ways — Oh, my 
 God I that we should ever have seen our com- 
 fortable home in Calais broken up! What hap- 
 piness did we enjoy there! It is enough to 
 drive me mad to think of the past !” 
 
 And Lonsdale clenched his fists — for he felt 
 a demoniac fury raging in his brain; and then 
 the next instant the tears were trickling down 
 his cheeks. Hours passed away — and he con- 
 tinued in a strange unnatural state of mind, — 
 at one moment rebelling against tlie soft influ- 
 ence of his wife, and with difficulty preventing 
 himself from sending to the canteen for liquor ; 
 at another moment melting into tenderness, 
 and vowing that he would never again do any- 
 thing to vex that amiable woman or impair her 
 confidence in him. Thus passed the time, until 
 it was verging towards ten o’clock in the even- 
 ing. His comrades, who occupied the same 
 room with himself, wore now all assembled 
 there, and about to get ready for retiring to 
 rest. Presently there was a knock at the door; 
 and the individual who answered it, said that 
 the boy from the canteen wanted to speak to 
 Ixmsdale. Frederick, who was just beginning 
 to undres.s, hastened out upon the landing, to 
 inquire what the boy wanted. 
 
 “ There’s a person just been and told me to 
 give you this note — and as the lad thus Ex- 
 plained himself, he thrust a soiled and dirty 
 letter into Frederick’s hand. Our hero tore it 
 Cpen, and read the following lines : — 
 
 “There’s a conspiracy going on against your 
 wife. She is being enticed av/ay to a certain 
 place, where her ruin will be accomplished. 
 It’s of no use for you to run off to her lodging, 
 because the people of the house don’t know 
 where she has gone. But if you choose to 
 come out and join me, I will take you to the 
 place. I shall be about fifty yards outside the 
 bftrfack-gate : you can manage to slip out. 
 
 “ A FRIEND. » 
 
 This note was written jj a rude, scrawling 
 manner, but in a hand totally unknown to our 
 hero. He was instantaneously smitten with 
 dismay: but reckless of all consequences, he 
 speedily resolved upon complying with the 
 terms of the letter. Dismissing the boy — with- 
 out thinking of putting to him a single question 
 as to the individual wlio had sent the letter — 
 Lonsdale rushed back into the room, and caught 
 up his cap. Two or three of his comrades, per- 
 ceiving his wild appearance, asked him what 
 was the matter ; and one of them considerately 
 reminded him that he was under arrest and 
 had better be cautious what he did. But Fred- 
 erick heeded not the words that were spoken ; 
 there was hurrj' in his brain — frenzy in his 
 thouglits — burning fire in his heart ; and the 
 image of Gerald Redburn was uppermost in his 
 mind as the perpetrator of the atrocity that he 
 was now so mysteriously called upon to pre- 
 vent. 
 
 He rushed down the stairs — he traversed the 
 barrack-yard — he paid no attention to the ques- 
 tion which a sentry put to him ; but he rushed 
 onward, only slackening his pace when he had 
 cleared the gate. At a short distance there- 
 from, it was nearly quite dark ; but amidst the 
 gloom Frederick perceived a man loitering 
 about, and immediately felt convinced that this 
 was the individual who was waiting for him. 
 He therefore accosted him, demanding hurried- 
 ly, “Are you the person who sent me a letter? 
 My name is Lonsdale.” 
 
 “Come with me,” answered the stranger; 
 and moving on in front, he led the way rapidly 
 through tlie streets. But quickly as the man 
 went, his speed appeared a snail’s pace to Lons- 
 dale, who would have flown, had he been 
 aware of the proper direction to pursue. He 
 had not caught the slightest glimpse of his 
 guide’s countenance ; for the place was not only 
 dark where they had met, but the individual’s 
 features were tlirown into a still deeper shade 
 by a wide-brimmed slouching hat that he wore. 
 Nor did he particularly notice the man’s walk 
 as he led the way ; for their course was pursued 
 through streets of a poor description, where 
 there were few lights, and these scarcely serving 
 to di.spel the gloom that pervaded those tho- 
 roughlares. All that Lonsdale now remarked 
 was that the man seemed to be clad in a coarse, 
 poverty-stricken style; and the only circum- 
 stance which he had observed, at first, was that 
 he had appeared to speek in a feigned voice. 
 This however was a matter of no consequence, 
 and one which stayed not a moment in tho 
 soldier’s thoughts : for how did it signify to him 
 who the individual was, or what his motive 
 could be, since it appeared evident it was a 
 friendly part he was playing? Nor indeed had 
 Frederick sufficient command over his feelings 
 for deliberate reflection at all ; he followed his 
 guide in a state of frenzy mingled with a burn- 
 ing, boiling rage against the author of the vile 
 proceeding, wlioever he might be. But that 
 this was Captain Redburn he had very little 
 doubt. 
 
 The man led on, Lonsdale following close at 
 his heels. They passed through several alleys 
 and lanes which our hero had never thread^ 
 
148 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 before — iiritil at the ^lido turned into 
 
 one which as almost completely dark, and 
 seemed to be a court haviu<>: no egress at the 
 other extremity. Suddenly the man stopped 
 near the door of a house, the lev er shutters of 
 which were closed; but througi. the loopholes, 
 ns well as from a window above, lights were 
 nickering feebly forth — the only ones that res- 
 cued the [)laec from utter gloom. 
 
 ‘‘One word, Mr. Lonsdale.” su'd the stranger, 
 placing his back towards those beams of light 
 in such a maimer as to keej) his countenance 
 still as much as jiossible in the shade, “I need 
 hardly tell you that you will have to act with 
 boldness and promptitude. You will knock at 
 that door: in reply to your question, if you 
 stop to put any, the woman of the house is 
 certain to tell you that no person answering 
 the descrii'tion of your wife is within her ^valls. 
 Don’t believe it. Kush straight upstairs. You 
 Bee that light in the room on the hr.st-floor — you 
 will 1)0 able to judge were it is situated — burst 
 in there — kick down the door, if you find it 
 locked — and it may be that you won’t have 
 esme too late.” 
 
 Having thus spoken in a low whispering 
 voice, but which was still evidently disguised, 
 the man turned away. In so doing his coun- 
 tenance caught the rays streaming through the 
 holes in the ground-floor shutters. Lonsdale, 
 though fearfully excited, and about to rush at the 
 door of that den of infamy', was for an instant .strick- 
 en with' horror and dismay: for it assuredly 
 W'as ihe courtenance of a momster and not of 
 a h.’.man beiog of which he had just caught a 
 glimpse. Fever was there such a spectacle of 
 loathsome V error. But we need not de.scribe 
 the face again: it has already been depicted to 
 our reade-i. 
 
 Tlie mvn hunied away: and the next instant 
 Lonsdah. forgetting all about him, — having 
 nowon’i one idea predominant over his actions, 
 — rusl rd up to the front door, at which he 
 knocked violently. Doubtless the woman of 
 the l ouse thought it was one of her usual pa- 
 tron «; and she hastened to answer the sum- 
 mor.s. As the door thus opened, Frederick per- 
 ceived, by a light burning in the pas.sage, that 
 the female was an elderly one of respectable 
 appearance, though with a very red face. She 
 looked both astonished and frightened on per- 
 ceiving tliat it was a private soldier; and doubt- 
 less judging by the wild rage of his looks, she 
 instantaneously suspected who he really was. 
 Speedily however lussuming an angry air, she 
 exclainied, “And pray who are ymu, coming to 
 a reHj)ectablo house in this unceremonious mau- 
 ncT ?” 
 
 Lonsdale was rushing past her, when she 
 caught him by the tails of liis coat, crying out, 
 “ Help I help !” Iledashed her violently^ away, 
 HO that she fell heavily against the side of the 
 pji.H.s:ige and was stunned by the Ijlow. A 
 coii])io ol lemales, whose immodest looks denot- 
 C(1 what they were, i.ssued froiti an adjoining 
 room ; but ijoii.sdale was already'^ more than 
 half way up the st.aircfise, lie reaehe(l the 
 landing — he tried the handle of the door of I hat 
 apartmeiP which had l;een pointed out to him. 
 lie fbuiid Uml llio door itself was locked ; he 
 
 burst it open — and with a wild cry of joy, hlf 
 wife spr.ang into his arms, A gl.ance showed 
 Lonsdale that (ler.ald Kedburn was likewise in 
 that chamber; and tearing himself away from 
 Lucy, Frederick sijrang towards him like an in 
 furiato tiger. (Jerald drew his sword Irom its 
 sheath, crying out. “ Keej) oM' — or 1 will kill 
 you 1” — but Frederick, snatching avvaiy the wea- 
 pon from him with as riiueh e;ise as if it W'ore 
 a conllict between a giant and a dwarf, broke 
 it in halves; and the next moment, with a blow 
 of his clenched list, he strcchea Kedbun) sense- 
 less upon the tloor. 
 
 “Lome Lucy — cornel” he said, not pausing 
 to ascertain whether he had killed the y'oung 
 ollicer or merely stunned hi.m : and he hurried 
 his wildly excited wife down the staircase. 
 
 The two young females below were at the 
 moment bearing the woman of the house into 
 the room whence they had issued; and at the 
 next instant our hero and Lucy had crossed the 
 threshold of that den of infamy. For .some 
 minutes they were both unal)le to give utter- 
 ance to a word ; but the wife clung to her 
 husband as they threaded their way in the di- 
 rection of the lodging. He felt her bosom 
 palpitating and throbbing violently again.st the 
 arm to which she thus clung with such confid- 
 ing tenaciousness. At length they reached 
 the house where Jaicy dwelt. 1’hc-y ascended 
 to the chamber, in which the landlady was sit- 
 ting, while little Freddy still slept .soundly ; and 
 then Lucy, throwing herself into her husband’s 
 arms, wept and sobbed convulsively. The wo- 
 man of the hou.se knew not what to understand 
 from this scene ; and Frederick, perceiving that 
 she lingered, bade her somewhat impatiently 
 to withdraw. 
 
 It was sometime before mutual explanations 
 could be given. At length Lucy grew suffi- 
 ciently calm to enter upon hers. She told Fre- 
 derick, how the elderly woman had come and 
 beguiled her away— and how, thinking only of 
 her father, she had followed unsuspiciously into 
 the house whither she was conducted. She 
 had been led up-stairs to the room whence she 
 was rescued; and there the woman had abrupt- 
 ly left her. Not immediately noticing this 
 hurried departure, Lucy had down to the bed 
 which was in that room and was surrounded 
 by curtains — expecting to find her sire stretched 
 in illness there. But the couch was empty. 
 Then a suspicion of treachery flashed to her 
 mind: she turned round — and for the first time 
 perceived that she was alone She tried the 
 door — but it was locked : her worst suspicions 
 w^re confirmed. She shrieked for assistance; 
 but none came. Half frenzied, she had tried 
 to beat down the door: but she could not. Ex- 
 hausted with her elforhs, and well nigh over- 
 powered by the harrowed state of her feelings, 
 she had sunk upon a seat in a half-stupor. Ten 
 minutes had probably thus elapsed, when she 
 heard I'oolsteps ascending the stairs. The door 
 opened — and Herald Kedburn made his a))pcar- 
 ance. His countenance was flushed with wine; 
 and instantaneously locking the door, to which 
 Lucy hail Hewn in the hope of anticipating this 
 movement on his part, heat once addressed her 
 in terms that armed her with the fortitude of 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIPE. 
 
 14f 
 
 desperation. At first they were 'cajoleries, and 
 brilliant promises, and earnest entreaties, which 
 Redburn had used; but finding that he was 
 scorned, and loathed, and hated, he had re- 
 course to menaces — threatening to wreak the 
 direst vengeance upon her husband, unless she 
 succumbed. She upbraided him with all the 
 ~ bitterness and resolution she was eapable of 
 displa.ying; and it was in the midst of this 
 scene that her husband had bursted in to her 
 rescue. 
 
 Oil the other hand, Frederick’s explanations 
 were still more promptly given. He showed 
 his wife the note he had received ; and now, 
 recollecting the glimpse which he had caught 
 of that monster-countenance, he wondered more 
 and more who the unknown friend could have 
 been. He was liowever but little disposed for 
 deliberation on the subject; the direst rage 
 filled his heart — and with most rancorous bit- 
 terness did he express a hope that Gerald Red- 
 burn was killed by the blow he had dealt him. 
 Notwithstanding all she had gone through and 
 the excitement of her own feelings, Luc}^ shud- 
 dered as her husband thus spoke ; but though 
 she again fiew into his arms, she could not utter 
 a single syllable of remonstrance ; for she felt — 
 and profoundly felt — that he had but too good 
 reason for the expression of that wish, dark and 
 dreadful though it were. But as her thoughts 
 grew more collected, she began to inquire, with 
 suspense and apprehension, what new dangers 
 he had laid himself open to encounter, by 
 leaving the barracks “after hours,” and like- 
 wise while under arrest? 
 
 “ I fear nothing on that head, Lucy,” replied 
 Lonsdale, “ This time, instead of being com- 
 plained against, it is I that shall become the 
 accuser; and if the idea of British justice be 
 not a mockery and a farce, I will have it against 
 that fiend Redburn — unless, indeed, mine own 
 hand shall have dealt it already. And now, 
 dear Lucy, I must bid you farewell. You will 
 of course give certain explanations to the land- 
 lady to account f)r what she saw just now.” 
 
 Frederick took his departure from the lodg- 
 ing, with rage still in his heart, and a fiery in- 
 dignation thrilling along every nerve — boil- 
 ing in every vein. His throat was as parched 
 as if he had been swallowing ashes; and he 
 could not possibly resist the inclination to turn 
 into a public-house, as he went along, and obtain 
 some drink. This excited him still more, if pos- 
 sible ; but he lost not possession of his intel- 
 lect. On the contrary, he retained it com- 
 pletely; his sense of wrong was sharpened to 
 an edge so keen that it appeared as if nothing 
 could blunt it. On reaching the barracks, he 
 made straight for the Colonel’s apartments ; and 
 on inquiring if that officer was witliin, he re- 
 ceived a reply in the affirmative. The servant 
 — who was himself one of the private soldiers 
 of the regiment — bade Lonsdale to wait a mi- 
 nute while he inlorraed the Colonel that he was 
 there. In a short time the man re-appeared, 
 and conducted Lonsdale to the apartment where 
 Wyndham was seated, smoking a cigar, and 
 drinking spirits-and-waffir. But as Frederick 
 entered that room, 1 .e h rard an inner door close, 
 
 as if some one who was with ffie Colonel had 
 just disappeared in that direction. 
 
 “Well, Lonsdale — what is it?” demanded 
 Wyndham, in an abrupt and angry tone. 
 
 “ Sir,” was the response, “ I seek justice at 
 your hands, if you can give it to me ; and if not, 
 I must look for it elsewhere.” 
 
 “ Now, my man.” said the Colonel, coldly 
 and distantly, “don’t commence with this half- 
 implied threat. If you have been wronged, you 
 have a right to look to me for justice ; but yc-u 
 have no business to anticipate that you will cot 
 obtain it.” 
 
 “If I spoke disrespectfully, sir, I am exceed- 
 ingly sorry. My feelings are most painliffily ex- 
 cited. The person whom I complain agamst ia 
 Captain Redburn.” 
 
 “ Well, what about him ?” demanded the Co- 
 lonel, still coolly puffing his cigar, and lounging 
 back in the chair, with one leg thrown carelessly 
 over the other. 
 
 “ By an atrocious conspiracy, sir, with a wo- 
 man of an infamous description — and by means 
 of a well-concerted tale — my wife was beguiled 
 to a den of abomination. I received a note 
 penned by I know not whom, giving me 
 warning that such was the case. Here is 
 that note ;” — and Frederick handed it to the 
 Colonel. 
 
 “AVell,” said Wyndham, glancing over it, 
 “And 1 suppose you went there? You were 
 under arrest, weren't you ?” 
 
 “I was, sir. But had I been under ten thou- 
 sand arrests, I would have flown to the rescue 
 of my wife 1” 
 
 “Softly, softly,” interrupted Wyndham, 
 sternly; “you must not address me in this W- 
 guage ; it is lull of menaces and breaches of ois- 
 oipline.” 
 
 “ But you can make allowances, sir,” cried 
 Lonsdale, indignantly, “ for the outrage my feel- 
 ings have received!” 
 
 “ Feelings I” muttered the Colonel to himself 
 in a contemptuous manner; “I wonder what 
 the deuce a private soldier has to do with feel- 
 ings;” — then he added aloud, “Well, continue 
 your tale. You went to that place — eh?” 
 
 “ And I rescued my wife. In my anger I 
 flew at Captain Redburn — he drew his sword— 
 
 I seized it — tore it from him — broke it in 
 halves. I tlien dashed him on the floor. Per- 
 haps, sir, he may never recover to meet this an 
 cusation ” 
 
 “ You can make yourself easy on that head,” 
 interrupted Wynham; for he entered the bar- 
 racks just now. I saw him.” 
 
 “ Then, sir, I demand justice at your hands,” 
 ejaculated Lonsdale, whose excitement gave an 
 expression of fierceness alike to his language 
 and his looks. 
 
 “ I am prepared to make all possible allow- 
 ances for you,” said the Colonel, still in a cool, 
 off-hand manner, as he continued to puff his ci- 
 gar; “but if you address me in this intemperate 
 tone, I shall be compelled to punish you.” 
 
 “Good heavens, sir!” cried our hero, almost 
 driven to despair; “is it to be supposed that I 
 have no feeling ? Is the poor private soldier to 
 sever himself from all those emotions and seuti- 
 
160 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 menis whi^h other hiimnn heinprs are allowed to 
 display? Yon are not married, Colonel W3Mid- 
 harn — bnt if 3’’on wore, you would understand 
 aJl that is now passing in my mind. Indeed, as 
 a gentleman — as a man of the world — you 7 nust 
 know what I feel ; you mud comprehend it! I 
 have a wife whom I love, and who has been an 
 angel to me ” 
 
 “ Come, come — wo don’t want any poetic 
 rhap»(‘dies,” interrupted the Colonel. “You are 
 excited — and I think not altogether with your 
 feelings. But, notwithstanding, 1 am pre])arod 
 10 make every allowance. Now, Lonsdale, this 
 matter must be hushed up.” 
 
 “Hushed up, sir? Never!” ejaculated our 
 hero, stamping his foot upon the carpet in a 
 rage. 
 
 “But I say that it must, though,” answered 
 the Colonel ; “ and lor your sake — or rather 
 for your wife’s — as well as for Captain Red- 
 burn’s.” 
 
 “For my sake!” exclaimed Lonsdale, scorn- 
 fully and indignantly. “ Is my silence to be 
 purchased by the promise of a gentler treatment 
 for the future? No, sir, let me continue a 
 marked man in the regiment — let me remain 
 subjected to every species of petty tyranny and 
 annoyance — let me even be tied up again to the 
 triangle and scourged almost to death — then, 
 when the wounds are healed, let me be tied up 
 again, and so on again and again, as often as 
 3’ou will — but tell mo not that I must consent 
 to any compromise in this matter ! Ah, and 
 you said for my wife’s sake also ? — what could 
 bo the meaning of that expression ? Does the 
 black-hearted villain dare lor a moment hint that 
 she proceeded to that house of infamy by her 
 own consent ?” 
 
 “ I have listened to you with more patience 
 than I thought myself capable of displaying,” 
 answered Colonel Wyndham; “because for the 
 third time I tell 3^011 I am making allowances 
 for your feelings. But don’t tax that patience 
 too far — or I shall cut short our colloquy and 
 place you under close arrest. I don’t want to 
 threaten you unnecessaril3^ ; so take warning.’ 
 
 Lonsdale literally groaned in spirit as he lis- 
 tened to tliese words. No sympathy for the 
 private soldier ! — no real compassion for the out- 
 rage he had received in the person of his wife! 
 — merel3’' the cold assurance that an allowance 
 was made for any excitdrnent he might display. 
 — but even this accompanied in the same breath 
 with positive menace ! 
 
 “ We were talking about your wife, Lonsdale 
 — and I repeat,” continued the Colonel, “that 
 for her sake it would be better this should go 
 no further. Captain Redburn would be certain 
 to say that she had met him of her own free 
 will ” 
 
 “ Then, sir, ho would lie like a foul-hearted 
 villain tliat ho is!” vociferated Lonsdale, his 
 e3'0H literally flaming with rage. 
 
 “Silence, sir! 1 will hear no more of this,” 
 oxclaimed tlie Colonel sternly. “ I tell 3^)11 
 what Captain Redburn would say, and I don’t 
 know whetlier it would be true or not.” 
 
 “It would bo false, sir — lalse as liell itself!” 
 cried our hero, utterly unable to subdue his ex- 
 (ilouieiit 
 
 “ Well, it might V/C,” observed Wyndham, cool- 
 ly. “A great many men think tlieir wives jiar- 
 agons of virtue, when perhi'ps they are not al- 
 togetlier such ang(‘Iic creatures.” 
 
 “Do 7 j(>u, Colonel Wyndham,” asked Lons- 
 dale, his voice suddenly becoming low and 
 hoarse, and his countenance white as a sliect, — 
 “do you throw out any aspersion u)»on my 
 wife’s cliaracter?” — and his list w.as clenched 
 wliile he leant partially forward as if ready U-,. 
 spring upon Iiis officer, should a word c*om6 
 trom his lij)s or a look glanc from his eyes cal- 
 culated to threaten the reputation of Lucy Lons- 
 dale with insult. 
 
 “For m3'- part T know nothing about your 
 wife,” responded AV'3'ndham, superciliously and 
 almost contemptuously; while he did not choose 
 even to appear to take notice of the menacing 
 attitude that Lonsdale had assumed. “ I only 
 tell you what Cai)tain Redburn is certain to say 
 whether true or false ; and how can it be A:?- 
 proved ? The woman who, as you allege, en- 
 ticed your wife to her house, would not confeys 
 that she had done so, but would tell a tale to 
 corroborate Captain Redburn’s; and I can assure 
 you, if there was an inquiry, that tale would be 
 believed.” 
 
 Thus speaking, the Colonel lighted another 
 cigar with a piece of paper that he rolled up in 
 an ap])arently careless manner, and ajiplied tx> 
 the wax candle. Lonsdale did not notice the 
 circumstance ; he was thunderstruck by the 
 tremendous amount of iniquity thus displayed 
 to his view. The id«a had suddenly occurred 
 to him that the Colonel had already hear 1 the 
 history of the evening’s transactions from Cap- 
 tain Redburn, previous to his own arrival — and 
 moreover tliat the individual who had retired to 
 the inner room, might be Gerald himself. Fre- 
 derick saw that his wife’s honour was indeed in 
 the hands of an unscrupulous villain. Not for 
 a single instant did he suspect her purity or 
 doubt her virtue ; not for a moment did he be- 
 lieve that Lucy had of her own accord met Ge- 
 rald Redburn. But he could not shut his eyes 
 to the fact that a tale might be told to prove 
 that she was a consenting party ; and the wo- 
 man who had beguiled her, would no doubt give 
 evidence corroborative in that sense, though ut- 
 terly felse. 
 
 “ Well, Colonel Wyndham,” said our hero, in 
 the low deep voice of despair, “ 1 see that I have 
 nothing to expect at 3mur hands. Give me back 
 that note which warned me of the conspiracy. 
 I will endeavour to find out the writer— and per- 
 haps he may afford evidence in proof of m3' ver- 
 sion of tho story.” 
 
 “Oh, certainly! — take back the letter,” said 
 the officer. “But, dear me! where is it? By 
 Jove, 1 recollect! I must have lighted mj’- cigar 
 with it.” 
 
 “ Ah 1” ejaculated Lonsdale, now completely 
 convinced that the Colonel was in league with 
 Gerald Redburn to hush up the matter; and again 
 did a boiling rago flood his entire being with 
 a stream of lava, running along oveiy nerve and 
 fibre — ])ouring through every vein and artery. 
 
 “Well, 1 am veiy sony,” said the Colonel 
 coolly; “but it can’t bo help-'d. It was alto- 
 gether an inadvertence on my part.' Now, 1 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 tell 7011 what, Lonsdale — g:o quietly to your 
 quarters — I release you from arrest — and if you 
 are a good fellow, you have nothing to fear in 
 future.” 
 
 Our hero, half-bewildered, half-desperate — not 
 knowing how to act — feeling tliat there was a 
 vengeance to wreak, but not daring to wreak it 
 — feeling too that there was justice to be ob- 
 'tained, yet not knowing how to obtain it — 
 maddened at the idea of finding himself forced 
 to drop the business — yet painfully fearful of 
 having his wife’s honour crushed beneath the 
 weight of circumstantial evidence— experiencing 
 likewise the overwlielming conviction that he 
 and she stood, humble and defenceless as they 
 were, opposed to men of unscrupulous charac- 
 ters who would leave no stone unturned to ruin 
 them, — Lonsdale, we say, feeling and knowing 
 all this, remained motionless as a statue, gazing 
 vacantly upon Colonel Wyndham. Suddenly he 
 turned round, and hastened away from the 
 apartment. 
 
 As he was going forth from the Colonel’s 
 quaners, he said to the domestic, “Was not 
 Captain Redburn with your master when I 
 came ?” 
 
 “ Well, he was, Lonsdale — and that’s the 
 truth,” replied the man, speaking in a whisper. 
 “But don’t say that 1 told you so ; for the Co- 
 lonel ordered me not to mention it. But is any- 
 thing the matter ?” 
 
 “ Nothing, nothing,” was our hero’s hurried 
 and somewhat petulant response ; and he re- 
 turned to his own quarters in a state of mind 
 that may be more easily understood than de- 
 scribed. 
 
 The moment he had issued from the Colencl’s 
 presence, that inner door opened, and Gerald 
 Redbum came forth, laughing heartily in the 
 disagreeable tones of his weak, cracked voice. 
 
 “ By Jove I Wyndham, you did it capitally,” 
 he exclaimed, flinging himself upon a chair and 
 taking up a cigar. ‘ 1 listened to every word 
 that passed. But what was said in the note 
 that you so cleverly burnt ?” 
 
 The Colonel r^eated, as well as he could re- 
 ollect, the cont^ts of tlie letter. 
 
 “1 wonder whether it was that monster-look- 
 mg scoundrel who could have plajmd me a 
 trick ? But stay — I have got about me the note 
 he sent to me telling me to go to that appoint- 
 ment. Is this the same hand- writing?” 
 
 “ Exactly I I could swear to it,’" answered 
 the Colonel, as he looked at the letter whieh 
 Redburn handed him. “ But why the deuce 
 should ho have played you this trick ?” 
 
 “ I can’t make it out at all,” replied (xerald. 
 ‘You see that he tells me in the note to give 
 to the woman of the house whatever reward J 
 migh; think him entitled to, as it is not likely I 
 shall meet him again. So, on reaching the 
 place, I was fool enough to put twenty pounds 
 into the hag’s hands. I dare say the scoundrel 
 will get ..alf of it ” » 
 
 “Well, no matter,” interrupted Wyndham : 
 
 the affair is evidently settled — for I am cer- 
 tain Lonsdale will take no farther step in it. 
 And il' he did, what would be the use? You 
 would say that his wife met you of her own ac- 
 cord — the woman of the house would tell the 
 11 
 
 fi. 
 
 same story — and the whole thing wotldresolTe 
 itself into an intrigue with a pretty woman, 
 which the husband happened to find out. And 
 now, Redburn, I have aonc you this service — 
 you must perform the promise you made me.” 
 
 “To be sure! You may rely upon it, Wynd- 
 ham,” answered the Captain. “ Let me see — 
 what was it you said ? A thousand guineas— 
 eh ?” 
 
 “Yes — ^just a cool thousand that I want t® 
 borrow of you,” responded the Colonel, continu- 
 ing to puff his cigar in a manner as tranquil 
 and leisurely as he spoke. “You said that you 
 had five hundred at your banker’s.” 
 
 “ For which I will at once write jmu a cheque: 
 and to-morrow I will send off a despatch to the 
 governor, pitching him a tale that will mak® 
 liini send me the rest.” 
 
 “That will do,” observed Wyndham: “so 
 long as I have the other five hundred in a few 
 days.” 
 
 “ Creditors getting rather clamorous — eh ?” 
 remarked Redburn, with another laugh, as he 
 mixed himself a tumbler of spirits-and-vvater * 
 then, having written the cheque, he contin ieil 
 to enjoy his cigar and grog, consoled for hie 
 disappointu^ent in respect to Lucy by what he 
 considered to be the clever and agreeable man- 
 ner in which, by the Colonel’s connivance, he 
 had been extricated from the very serious di- 
 lemma wherein the business had plunged nim. 
 
 Before concluding the present chapter, we 
 must give a few words of explanation. Colonel 
 Wyndham in his heart hated and despised Ger- 
 ald Redburn ; but a very serious loss at tne 
 gaming-table had reduced the Colonel to such a 
 strait that for a time he saw no alternative but 
 to sell his commission and leave the army. 
 Gerald, on hastening back to the barracks after 
 his adventure with Lucy and her husband, went 
 straight to the Colonel^ in the hope of winning 
 him over to his interests. He knew of Wynd- 
 ham’s difficulties, which had been whispered 
 amongst the officers ; and he accordingly threw 
 out a hint that he should be happy to lend him 
 five hundred or a thousand guineas for as long 
 as he might need the accommodation. W3’-nd- 
 ham snapped at the larger sum : an understand- 
 ing was promptly arrived at between the two ; 
 and the result has been seen in the treatment 
 that Lonsdale experienced at the hands of hia 
 commanding officer. For, be it understood, that 
 if the Colonel had taken Lonsdale’s part and 
 done him proper justice, he must have brought 
 Captain Redburn to a court-martial for ungeu- 
 tlpmanly and unofficer-like conduct — the issue 
 of which would have been the inevitable cash- 
 iering of the accused, inasmuch as he possessed 
 so few friends amongst the officers of the regi- 
 ment, who would have to judge him in the 
 matter. 
 
 By the course he had adopted. Colonel Wynd- 
 ham gained two points. In the first place he 
 relieved himself from his pecuniary difficulties ; 
 and in the second place, by I'efusing to see jus- 
 tice done to Luev, he was revenged upon hei 
 for the rejection of his overtures some years 
 back when the regiment was quartered at 
 Portsmouth. 
 
162 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXTTI. 
 
 IKTEMPERANCE, IIYPOCttlST, AND DECEIT. 
 
 Fredeuick Lonsdale passed a sleepless 
 lii2:lit : l.e was tortured by a thousand pangs — 
 racked by the most harrowing rellections. liut 
 upon all these we ne(‘d not dwell: sudiee it to 
 Bay, he was forced into the conclusion tliat to 
 save his wife’s honour from the as])ersions wliich 
 unprincipled individuals would throw u[)on it, 
 he must abandon the hope of ol)taining justice 
 against the ruffian who had sought to outrage 
 and ruin her. In short, Lonsdale must move 
 jio furlher in the matter, tjalliiig and bitter 
 indeed was su'-h a decision: but there was no 
 nlternative. Being relieved from arrest, he was 
 enabled to visit the lodging on the morrow ; 
 and he explained to Luc}’’ all the particulars of 
 his interview with the Colonel. It pained him 
 to be compelled to mention to his wife the 
 threat that had been held out; but he could 
 not avoid revpaling everything, in onler to ac- 
 count for the decision to which he had been 
 driven — namely, to lot the matter drop. Lucy 
 was cj'uelh’ shocked at hearing that her virtue 
 was e\'on breathed upon by suspicioi^’s taint on 
 the psirt of those unscrupulous men : but her 
 husband assured her, with so many tend en- 
 dearments, that he himself believed not for a 
 moment the villainous construction which was 
 Uius sought to be put upon her conduct, that 
 she grew pacified. At all events she calmed 
 herself as w'ell as she was able ; and indeed, 
 the unfortunate young woman had experienced 
 80 many sorrows in her life, that she began to 
 regard each successive one as belonging to a 
 destiny which must be accepted with resigna- 
 tion. 
 
 Several weeks passed ; and Lonsdale experi- 
 enced no renewal of Redburn’s petty tyran- 
 nies. Indeed this officer avoided meeting him 
 as much as possible ; and as our hero was not 
 in the Company which he commanded, there 
 was httle opportunity for them to come into 
 collision. But during this interval Frederick 
 had gradually become a more frequent visitor 
 to the canteen, and a less constant one at Ins 
 'wife’s lodging. There v/ere moments when he 
 was so tortured by a sense of the wrongs he 
 had sustained, and his powerlessness to avenge 
 them, that he felt himself compelled as it were 
 to liy to the use of stimulants to distract his 
 tiioughts. At first ho drank with what he 
 considered to be moderation — that is to say, 
 merely to excite himself somewhat without be- 
 coming absolutely inebriated; and he studious- 
 ly endeavoured to keep the circumstance from 
 his wife. But this course of conduct led to 
 cv’rtain little hy];)oerisies ami deceits, at length 
 ujerging into downright falselioods, u})on which 
 he could not hel[) thinking, when perfectly so- 
 ber, with shame and anguish, lie first of all 
 aU; carraway seeds to disguise the odor of li- 
 quor in his l>reath ; and in older to aeeount for 
 the iiiereasing irregularity of his visits, and 
 Horuetinies his total absence altogether, he 
 woulu (ievise tales (jf extra duty to be per- 
 (bnned — of attentions to bo shown to a sick 
 oomrado — tuid other arULices of a smiilai' de- 
 
 scription. He soon took to smoking: and them 
 it no longer continueil necessary to ''liew th« 
 carraway seeds. It was of course impossibl# 
 for him to rk-iiy that he smoked : but lie assur- 
 ed Lucy that it had been recommended to him 
 by tlie surgeon of the regiment; and in order 
 to excite her sympathy, and disarm tier of those 
 reproaches ami rem'>ustraneos wl ieh. however 
 gently and delicately riiade, ho fear(!d sIk' might 
 addrc'ss to him — he affiriiKid that it w:us ir. OOD- 
 seipKuice of a debility and a sensation of pain 
 which tlie two cruel scourgings he had under- 
 gone had lell hehiiid, that he was tlius advised 
 to have recourse to tobacco. 
 
 The hatiit of smoking gave an impulse totha 
 of drinking, not only by iiroduciiig thirst, but 
 also because it encouraged Lonsdale to sit for 
 intervals together in the tap-room of the can- 
 teen, instead of merely standing at the liar irn- 
 bihiiig his litjiior and departing when he had 
 drunk it. Moreover he roipiired money — in iui- 
 ditioii to the beggarly pittance that remained to 
 him from his pay after the usual deductions — 
 to minster to tliese habits tliat were growing 
 upon him. And now came fresh excuses — fresh 
 artitiee.s — fresh falsehoods, every time he en- 
 croached upon the little pecuniary stock. On 
 one occasi<m it was a comrade who had got into 
 trouble and reepnred a little assi.stanee. On an- 
 other oegasion it was to make up a sum of 
 money to assist the half starving wife and chib 
 dren of another comrade: then perhajis it was 
 to contribute tow'ards setting up a soldier’s 
 widow in a little business — or else it was to 
 purchase some accoutrement to rojilace one he 
 had lost. All these were pure hetions ; and 
 though at first Lonsdale had devised them with 
 difficulty and told them with a very bad grace, 
 yet by degrees he became hardened, and made 
 his statements with a glib tongue and an un- 
 blushing countenance. 
 
 Poor Lucy endeavoured for a long time to 
 close her eyes as much as possible against the 
 actual truth : she sought to persuade herself 
 that her suspicions were unfounded — that it was 
 only her fancy that Frederick looked excited as 
 if with liquor — and that it was impossible hia 
 moral courage and natural excellence of disposi- 
 tion could thus be giving way. Never did a 
 retisoner argue more strenuously to convince an 
 opponent, than did this poor young woman to 
 persuade herself that what she leared was con- 
 trary to what she hoped. Thus weeks and 
 months passed away : but Lucy could not con- 
 tinue for ever to reason herself against the piv- 
 tent evidence of facts. The pretext for en- 
 croaching on their store — the excuses for irreg^ 
 ular visits and protracted absences — the eva- 
 sions with which her husband sought to account 
 for his flushed cheeks and excited manner, — all 
 combined to destroy liis wile’s coufiilenee in tho 
 rectitude of his conduct, and to preclude the 
 possibility of shutting her eyes any longer to 
 the feaiiul truth. 
 
 But did she reproach him? did she upbraid 
 him ? did she even remonsti ato with him ? No : 
 she did nothing of all this — at least not at first 
 But slie redoubled, if possible, tlie attentioni 
 and assiduities which she was ever wont to 
 show him when he wmi at the lodging. Bbt 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 153 
 
 endeavoured to render the little home so com- 1 
 fortable that he might have all the less excuse 
 for keeping away from it. She assumed a 
 cheerfulness which she did not and could not 
 feel, and studied her best to make her humble 
 abode attractive. Slie increased the hitherto 
 prescribed amount to be laid out for the tea and 
 supper which he took with her — that is to say, 
 when he was there — and also for the Sunday's 
 diurxer : she prepared for I’itn liitle delicacies 
 which she thought would please his palate; 
 and when he took leave of her lor the evening, 
 she would tell him with the sweetest smile — 
 but, alas! all forced and artiticlal — that if he 
 would be sure and come on the morrow, he 
 would find something nicer than even the re- 
 past of which he had been partaking. Thus 
 Lucy hersel.‘‘ though with the best intentions in 
 the woild, w.ts gradually led into certain little 
 extravaganceiL : but as she weekly and dail}' 
 beheld thth stock of money diminishing, she 
 toiled all th'^ more arduously with her needle 
 in order to si’pply the deticiencies as much as 
 possible. 
 
 There were times when Frederick Lonsdale 
 contemplated w'th the bitterest anguish the 
 course that he wxj pursuing. He saw that his 
 wife understood it all, .and that though she ap- 
 peared satistied wuh the excuses he was con- 
 stantly making to ci.crouch upon their funds 
 and to absent himself from the lodging, yet that 
 she studied by her den eanoi to show that she 
 put faith in all he said. He looked back to 
 other times when he wouM have hated himself 
 for even causing that excefei t woman a single 
 moment’s uneasiness: bat now there was 
 scarcely a day that he was rol planting a dag- 
 ger in her heart. He felt that i.'s coiidcct was 
 cruel to a degree, although his maniaer towards 
 his wife and child still continued khid and af- 
 fectionate when he was with them. Sut after 
 all, this was a mere negative kindness ; it was 
 only the passive abstention from actual ill-treat- 
 ment, urnile in reality the course he was pur- 
 suing v/as one continued series of aggressions 
 oa their happine.ss, comfort, and welfare. On 
 those occasions wlien his better feelings thus 
 asserted their empire and he was enabled to re- 
 flect upon the cruelty of his conduct, he would 
 record in his own soul the most sacred vows 
 and pledges to refarm. He would even pray to 
 heaven, in anguish and bitterness o: spirit, for 
 strength of mind to keep this resolve ; but 
 temptations would fall in his way — or some 
 tyranny on the pait of his superiors would ag- 
 gravate him; and then he would go to the can- 
 teen again. Sometimes in one of those remorse- 
 ful moods, he would wander out into the open 
 country like a forlorn and desolate being — ask- 
 ing himself what he could pos.sibly do to retrieve 
 llie moral ground he had lost — crying out in the 
 strong voice of comscience-stiiken anguish — and 
 again imploring heaven to save him ere it was 
 too late. But heaven helps not those who help 
 not themselves : and Lonsdale did not help him- 
 self I 
 
 Thus time passed on ; and though ho was not 
 yet a drunkard, yet he wjis a drinkei*. On no 
 occasion had he committed such an excess as 
 to become absolutely helpless: he had never 
 
 got downright intoxicated: he had hitherto 
 been rather a tippler than aconlirmed sot. But 
 these are merely the phases and gradations 
 which the victim of intemperance ’s passing 
 through. Few fall all of a sudden — and least 
 of all a man whose mind is nat irally strong 
 and whose principl e are inherently good, as 
 Lon.sdale’s had hitherto been. But yet, lor all 
 this, the descent is rapid enough; and a few 
 montlis, wiien the habit of drinking is once im 
 bibed, make fearful inroads both upon strengtia 
 of mind and goodness of principle. So was it 
 with our hero. The periods of remorse occur- 
 red at longer intervals ; and their duration be- 
 came shorter and shorter. A certain reckless- 
 ness was superseding that yearning struggle 
 which he at first made to regain the lost ground 
 of the past; and unfortunately, in his hitter 
 wrongs and excruciating sorrows, he began w 
 find for himself a suliicient justification for tae 
 course he was pursuing. 
 
 Alas for poor Lucy 1 When her eyes wore 
 once completely opened to the lamentable 
 truth — when she no lunger dared attempt to 
 reason herself to the contrary — she felt that her 
 happiness was being extinguished by inches. 
 She toiled and toiled wdth her needle to supply 
 tlie encroachments made upon the nione}^ sl>e 
 had brought from France : but the outgoings fax 
 exceeded the incomings. She kept her apart- 
 ment in the nicest possible order — the little boy 
 was always dressed with neatness, though 
 plainly — she herself presented a corresponding 
 appearance — she taught him his lessons, to 
 which his father paid now but little attention — 
 and she had to devote time to the preparation 
 of those meals by means of which she souglit 
 to lure her husband to the humble home. To 
 accomplish all this, engrossed a considei’ablo 
 portion of her time; and she was therefore 
 compelled to sit up later and later by night ia 
 order to indemnify henself on the score of ber 
 work. It was a hard task for poor Lucy to as- 
 sume a constant air of cheerfulness in the pres- 
 ence of her husband ; and when he was not 
 there, the revulsion of feelings which she ex- 
 perienced was often bitter indeed. She would 
 look back with anguished regret to those periods 
 when they were located at Carlisle — or when 
 they dwelt in Finsbury and in Calais — as sea- 
 sons of happiness that had f >wn, never to re- 
 turn! Often and often was she tempted to 
 ding herself at her husband’s feet, and imploro 
 him by the love they felt for each other — for 
 the sake of their dear child — and by every 
 solemn and sacred tie that bound them all to 
 each other, that he would renounce the habits 
 which were so fatally growing upon him. But 
 she feared that even the tenderest remonstranf*® 
 might be taken for a reproach — the most fervid 
 prayer for an upbraiding: and she trembled — 
 Oh, tlie poor creature trembled — to do augnt 
 that should alienate Frederick still more from 
 her homel 
 
 Frequently during the intervals of his ab- 
 sence — but when he ouyrht to be there — Lucy 
 would hnd herself dropping the work from lier 
 hands and falling into the most mournful rev- 
 erie. The tears would unconsciously steal 
 dc' •' n her countenance ; and her bosom would 
 
154 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 hocomo convajlflod with paapinj? sor)a. Tlicn 
 the little boy would approach, and look up so 
 wistfully into his motlicr’s face; and when ho 
 saw that she wept he also would weep, and 
 flingino; his little arms around her neck, would 
 beg and entreat her not to cry. When tlie mind 
 of a parent is happy, there is vSoinething ineffa- 
 bly delicious in the endearments of a child: but 
 when that mind is oppressed with cruel woe, 
 tl)o?)3 endearments enhancH3 ihs bitterness — for 
 the child itself becomes an object of gloomy ap- 
 jrehension for the future. And into this train 
 of jeflection did Lucy often fall. If anything 
 «hould happen to her husband, she would still 
 toil on to maintain herself and the child in as 
 much respeclal)ility and comfort as might be 
 possible: but if anything should happen to her, 
 wdiat would become of that darling boy? Oh, 
 when she gazed upon the sweet child’s counte- 
 nance — passed her lingers through his curl}'- 
 locks tliat were soil as silk — looked into his 
 beautiful bright eyes — and listened to the music 
 of his voice, an excruciating pang would shoot 
 tlu’ough her heart: her brain would reel — and 
 she would almost wish that he had never been 
 born. Then she would retrospect to those 
 times when he was a source of joy, and comfort, 
 and pride, alike to herself and her husband : 
 but now the father was gradually neglecting 
 liim more and more — and she, the poor mother, 
 felt that upon her alone depended little Frede- 
 rick’s welfare 1 
 
 Amidst the various excuses which Lonsdale 
 had made to his wife lor the habits he had con- 
 tracted, there was one which was not altogether 
 false, though it was used for a false purpose. 
 We allude tc the pains which he declared that 
 he experienced as the result of the two cruel 
 scourgings he had received with the Satanic cat- 
 o’-nine tails. Yes: this was indeed true. For 
 there were times when he felt pangs shooting 
 through the loins as if they were those of an 
 acute rheumatism ; and his lungs showed evi- 
 dent symptoms of being affected. One day, 
 when he found himself spitting blood, — and it 
 happened to be on an occasion that he had 
 taken no strong drink — one of those intervals 
 of remoi'seful feeling which now, alas ! were so 
 fijw and so far between, — he sped in dismay to 
 the regimental surgeon to ask his advice. The 
 medical man examined him; and then coolly 
 Rjud that it was all the result of the floggings 
 he had received. He gave Lonsdale some me- 
 dicine; and forthwith went off to a billiard-table, 
 taking it quite as a matter of course that the in- 
 fliction of military torture should thus threaten 
 U) al^ridge the life of a fellow-creature. Lons- 
 dale meiilioned not to Lucy the incident which 
 vt: have Just related: but it served on the other 
 hand to revive the keenest sense of the wrongs 
 he bed endured and driwe him again to strong 
 drink wherein to drown his cares. 
 
 Fiflcen months had elap.sed since our hero 
 had been brought back to his regiment; and it 
 wan now the beginning of Spring, 183G. The 
 rogirrumt, at this jjeriod, suddenly received 
 orders to remove to the town of Middleton, 
 which was but a few miles dista.nt from the vil- 
 lugo of (lakleigh. Disturbances amongst the 
 wm king clusses were appreJienck i in tliat dis- 
 
 trict ; and hence the determination of the Got- 
 ernment to send so considerable a number of 
 tToo])S to Middleton. ‘'Yheri Lonsdale heard th« 
 intelligence, he treated it with the utmost indif- 
 ference: for his soul was becoming quite callona 
 to those circumstances which a few niontha 
 back would have lieen fraught with very differ- 
 ent feelings on his part. Lut when he rejiaired 
 to the lodging to cordrnunicate the tidings to 
 Lucy, tho thought of returning into the neigh- 
 bourhood of her own native village suddenly 
 overjiowered her with varied and conflicting 
 emotions. At a glance of her mental vision, 
 she embraced all those scenes that were asso- 
 ciated with such tender memories for her, — th* 
 village of Dakleigh with its picturesijue church 
 — the stream in the grove, where she and Fred- 
 erick were wont to snatch their stolen inter- 
 views, and where their mutual love was first 
 avowed — the cottage upon tho green slopo 
 where she was born, and where she had passed 
 so many years of her life, — all, all were vividly 
 reproduced in her mind. She burst into tears: 
 it was an agony of' emotions which at that in- 
 stant she endured. Her husband said a few 
 words to solace her. and just caressed her cheek 
 with his hand: but his arms were not now 
 thrown lovingly round her neck — he snatched 
 her not to his breast — he lavished not upon her 
 those endearments which but a few months 
 back, under such circumstance.s, he would have 
 bestowed. Yet ho was not actually unkind : 
 he did not speak impatiently— he did not thicie 
 her for her tears ; but this falling off from the 
 tenderness of other times was in itself a callous- 
 ness and an indifference in the estimation of 
 poor Lucy. 
 
 “Well, my dear,” he said, after she had 
 conquered her feelings and was forcing herself 
 to smile again, “ in three days the regiment is 
 to set out. You and little Fred had better take 
 your departure by the coach to morrow or next 
 day — so that you will have a comfortable lodg- 
 ing by the time I get there.” 
 
 “ Yes — with pleasure — as you wish it, Fre- 
 derick,” she answered; though at the same 
 time the thought struek her that this was not 
 the course he would have adopted a while back; 
 he would have told her to follow only after he 
 himself should have reached the place of desti- 
 nation, so that he might have a lodging ready 
 for the reception of his wife and child. 
 
 “And now,” he continued, not perceiving 
 that the plan lie recommended had produced a 
 sorrowful effect upon Lucy, “let us see how the 
 funds stand. Come, my dear, be quick and 
 open your desk: for I must hasten back to 
 quarters and make some little arrangements.” 
 
 Lucy did make haste to open the desk, be- 
 cause she feared that her husband was at the least 
 thing inclined to bo angry — and yet she knew 
 not at what ; but her hands trembled, for she 
 was well aware that the stock of money she 
 was about to display was at a very low ebb. 
 
 “How much have wo?” demanded Fredoi’ick, 
 who, instead of having any arrangements to 
 make at tho barracks, had a party of his com- 
 rades waiting for him at tho canteen. 
 
 “ Wo have one pound in gold here — five 
 pounds, tho deposit loft at tho warehouse — 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 I5S 
 
 I have a few shillings in my purse, besides a 
 trifle to receive for work. Altogether,” added 
 Lucy, “we can command about seven pounds.” 
 
 “Seven pounds!” ejaculated her husband: 
 “is that all? Why, we had sixty when you 
 came from Calais!” 
 
 “1 know it, Frederick,” responded Lucy, in a 
 moifrnful tone: but instantly brightening up, 
 she exclaimed with a forced smile of cheerful- 
 ness, “ There is ample for our wants. I have 
 but a week’s rent to pay for the room, and no 
 debts. Freddy and I can go outside the coach ; 
 and after all these expenses, we shall yet have 
 money — ample indeed — to settle us at Mid- 
 dleton until I can procure work there.” 
 
 “ But how is it possible we could have spent 
 so much?” demanded our hero. “Why the 
 money seems to have slipped away like water : 
 and yet you have earnev sixteen or eighteen 
 shillings a week. Why don’t you answer, 
 Lucy? Come, tell me. You kept the purse — 
 and you ought to know how all the money has 
 gone.” 
 
 “My dear husband,” she said, with difficulty 
 keeping back her tears, “I have noted down 
 every farthing of our expenditure — there is a 
 regular account ” 
 
 “Well, then,” interrupted Frederick petulant- 
 ly, “just let me have a look at it; for I really 
 can’t understand it!” and he spoke in a harsher 
 manner than ever he had done before. 
 
 Lucy opened another compartment of her 
 desk, and drew forth a little account-book, 
 wherein the financial entries were all duly made 
 in her own neat hand-writing— -that pretty 
 writing which her husband had once been wont 
 to admire. He took the book somewhat rudely 
 from her hand; and at the moment a tear drop- 
 ed upon the cover. To wipe it away with her 
 ’kerchief was the work of an instant ; and then 
 she swept that ’kerchief across her eyes. 
 
 “ Come, come, Lucy — this is foolish — this is 
 foolish,” said her husband, softened by her grief. 
 “ I didn’t mean to say anything harsh; only I 
 thought it odd that so much money should have 
 gone — for heaven knows where we are to get 
 any more !” 
 
 “ Do not trouble yourself upon that head, 
 dearest Frederick.” his wife hastily rejoined. 
 “ I can work at Middleton as well as in Man- 
 chester:” and she endeavoured to smile through 
 the tears which were still glistening in her eyes. 
 
 Our hero sat down and began to examine the 
 account book. It was not that he mistrusted 
 Lucy in the management of their finances , but 
 it was because he was really at a loss to conjec- 
 tm’e how the money had gone — and he had be- 
 come too callous to her feelings to recollect that 
 it might wound lierthus to investigate the items 
 of the expenditure. Nor did he continue that 
 investigation long: for the frequent recurrence 
 of different sums of money put down to him- 
 self, startled him with the fact that it was he 
 who Imd made such inroads upon their store. 
 Nevertheless, he did observe also that the cost 
 for those delicacies which had been served up 
 at the evening repasts was likewise great : and 
 being thrown into an ill-humor by the conscious- 
 ttess of his own extravagance, he could not help 
 renting it somewhat upon his pocr wife. 
 
 “What a lot of money,” he said, “haa gone 
 for suppers — it is positively awful !” 
 
 “ I am sorry you should make this remark, 
 Frederick — because they were provided to con- 
 duce to your comfort:” — and again had Lucy 
 the utmost difficulty in keeping back an out- 
 burst of anguish ; for her husband’s words 
 struck her as being unkind almost to cruelty. 
 
 “ Well, I am sorry you should have got sucli 
 things for me — 1 didn’t want them — and I am 
 sure I never asked for them. They wore here 
 — and so I partook of them: but I couldn’t 
 have thought for a moment that tliey would 
 have run away with the money in this manner. 
 Why, what the deuce ails you now ? How fool- 
 ish you are :his evening.” 
 
 The alflicted wife was sobbing with convul- 
 sive anguish ; and the little boy, seeing that 
 his mother wept, began to cry also, saying, 
 “ Pray, papa, don’t scold dear mamma.” 
 
 “Nonsense, Fred — hold your tongue!” said 
 Lonsdale. “ Come, Lucy — I didn't mean to 
 annoy you. There — take the book; 1 have 
 done with it:” — and as he tossed it down upon 
 the table, he added, “I am sure if J had known 
 that it would have produced this scene, I would 
 not have asked to look at it at all.” 
 
 “ Frederick, dearest Frederick,” cried Lucy, 
 in an imploring tone, “ I beseech you not to 
 speak thus harshly to me. I can endure any- 
 thing but that! Heaven knows I have worked 
 hard — oh ! so very hard, to make up the do- 
 ficiencies caused .by our expenditure ; but I 
 could not do impossibilities. 1 can assure you, 
 dear Frederick, that myself and the child have 
 lived off the humplest fare, in respect to those 
 meals which we have taken alone. But if you 
 require that money which we have left, pray 
 take it — a few shillings will suffice for Freddy 
 and me — Besides, there are my trinkets ” 
 
 “And there is ray watch, too,” added Lons- 
 dale. “But all I want is just one of these;” — 
 and he took up a sovereign. “ You can keep 
 the rest: but pray be economical, dear Lucy. 
 For as I said just now, when our money id 
 gone and those things are parted with” — mean- 
 ing the jewelry — “ I am sure I do not know 
 where we are to get any more. And now 
 when will you start? to-morrow or next day?” 
 
 “You tell me, dear Frederick,” answered the 
 wife, meekly and entreatingly, “ that your regi- 
 ment will not march for three days : would it 
 not be better f()r us to remain here during the 
 interval? for we have a week’s rent to pay ” 
 
 “ Oh ! I think you had much better go to- 
 morrow — or at least next day,” intei rupted her 
 husband : because then you will be sure to be 
 all settled at Middleton by the time 1 get there.’ 
 
 “To-morrow if you wish it,” observed Lucy, 
 as a thought struck her. “Shall you be able 
 to pass this evening with us ? as we shall per- 
 haps start early to-morrow, before you can leave 
 the barracks.” 
 
 “ I would if I could, dear Lucy,” replied 
 Lonsdale, now adopting a kinder tone and de- 
 meanour towards his wife, who displayed such 
 readiness to do everything he suggested : “ bu* 
 the Colonel has given orders for us all to be in 
 barracks atrsix o’clock to begin our preparatiooe 
 for departure — and it is now more than half- 
 
THE SOLblER'S WIFE. 
 
 1 »« 
 
 past fire. So you must really excuse mo. 
 Good bye, dear Ijucy — good bye, P>ed. I shall 
 see you botli again in a few days at Middleton. 
 You cati leave a note at the barracks to tell mo 
 where I shall lind you.” 
 
 Lonsdale kissed his wife and .son with a 
 transiently reviving tenderne.ss of feeling; and 
 for the moment he experienced a pang of re- 
 morse at hurrying them away from Manchester 
 80 suddenly, and at least three or lour days 
 before there was any real necessity for their 
 dc[)arture. Lut as he recollected the motive 
 which thus inlluenccd him, ho did not bid them 
 stay — the sentiment of compunction was stilled 
 within him — and he issued lorth from their 
 presence. The reader has doubtless understood 
 full well that the alleged preparations for de- 
 parture were merely an excuse to enable Fre- 
 derick to join his comrades at the canteen ; and 
 the reason why he was anxious to hurry Lucy 
 and Freddy olf to Middleton, was that lor the 
 next two or three days he might enjoy a com- 
 plete holiday, as he considered it to be — that is 
 to say, ample leisure t(j spend his money in 
 drink and tobacco, without the necessity of 
 passing even a single minute with his wife and 
 child. 
 
 But what thought was it that had so sudden- 
 ly struck Lucy when she acquiesced in her 
 husband’s desire that she and their son should 
 leave Manchester on the morrow? She had 
 seen the low state to which their funds were 
 reduced — she had heard Frederick remark that 
 the jewelry would soon have to go — he had 
 likewise charged her to be economical — he had 
 manifested anger at their great expenditure — 
 and she looked forward with a shuddering terror 
 to the day when there should be no reserve 
 fund in their possession, and when her toil 
 would remain the sole source not merely of 
 maintenance for herself and the boy, but like- 
 wise to furnish her husband with pocket-money, 
 which she saw but too plainly had become in- 
 dispensable. The necessity of eking out their 
 little remaining means in the most parsimonious 
 manner, had therefore presented itself to her; 
 and the thought that had so suddenly struck 
 her, was that instead of herself and little 
 Freddy proceeding to Middleton by the coach, 
 they might go by the waggon. To such an 
 alternative poor Lucy could readily make up 
 her mind; and she would have adopted it with 
 cheerfulness, if her husband were but the same 
 now that he was wont to be. But, alas! he 
 v.as not. This was the first time he had spok- 
 en .so angrily to her — the fir.st time that she 
 was smitten with a .sense of undeserved cru- 
 elly at his hands; and it cut the unfjrtunate 
 wife to the very quick. S!ie knew al.so that he 
 could not po.ssibly have to make preparations 
 tltree days before the removal of the regiment ; 
 Buch prcparati(ms would occupy but an hour, 
 even if so much ; — and l)itter as was the i)ang 
 that it cost h(;r t<j say to hersellj •‘Fredei’ick is 
 dc'ceiving me,” she could md provemt those 
 words Ijeing whispcM'ed l)y In.-r soul’s secret 
 voice. And then tlie momjy ho had taken — a 
 wtvereign — a largo sum from their little reserve, 
 — wliat coidd it be for? Alas, alas! Lucy 
 know full well how it vyould bo oxpondiM, 
 
 althopgli at the time die had neither mi; rmurod 
 nor looked anglit in the shape of reprf>i»«-;h or 
 remonstrance. That ijof)le-!ieartefl woman — ao 
 loving, .so tender, .so devoted, and at the same 
 time so magnanimous — was pn-pared to make 
 any sacrifice fi)r the husband of her .soul's best 
 
 and purest affections; but still — Imt still 
 
 Oh! she was only 'a woman alter all, at: J slia 
 craved and yearned to bo lf)V(‘d, and cherished, 
 and treated tenderly in return 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI Y. 
 
 MIDDLETON. 
 
 Shortly after Frederick left' the lodging 
 Lucy went forth, aocomi)anied l)y her little son, 
 to take back the work she had in hand to th« 
 warehouse which had furnislied her with em- 
 ployment ; and she received the dcqjosit, as well 
 as the amount that was due to her. She i.ext 
 proceeded to make imiuiries resjiecting the 
 wagon and found that one would leave for 
 the Midland Counties at six o’clock on the en- 
 suing morning. She then returned to the lodg- 
 ing : but sh£ coidd not help noticing that there 
 were several soldiers of Frederick’s regiment 
 still walking about the street.s, although it was 
 now past seven o’clock and he had a.ssured hei 
 that the Colonel bad given orders for them all 
 to be in their quarters by six. This was a 
 confirmation, if an} were needed, that he had 
 deceived her; and yet she loved him as fondly 
 and as tenderly as ever — although her confi- 
 dence in his t>-uthfulness had for some time past 
 received so rrany shocks, and his very affectioi* 
 itself had undergone a visible diminution. 
 
 After little Frederick was in bed and had 
 fallen asleep, Mrs. Lonsdale commenced hei 
 preparation® for departure. These she perform- 
 ed with a heavy heart; for the circumstance 0( 
 a removal to another place was the same as bid- 
 ding her look into the future and wonder whal 
 her destiny might be at the next abode. Ah I 
 but she trembled and shuddered thus to fling 
 her mental vision forward : for the gloomiest 
 images of evil — the dire.st foreboding.s, present 
 ed themselves to her view. And this removal 
 too — whither was it to take her? Into th« 
 neighbourhood of those scenes which were as- 
 sociated with so many reminiscences that mual 
 inevitably excite emotions of a painful charac 
 ter. She lay down to rest that night with ar 
 aching heart and a throbbing brain; and as slv 
 pressed her son to her bosom, she wept ovei 
 his sleeping countenance — wept tears of bitter 
 est grief as she thought of the future! 
 
 It was a cold and misty morning at tlie end 
 of March, wiien Lucy and little Freddy took 
 their places in the wagon. Four or live dirty, 
 ill-looking, coarse-mannered men and womei. 
 were huddled together in tlio same receptacle; 
 and their conversation, though not absolutely 
 disgusting, was of a nature which Lucy but 
 little liked to hear. As the day advaimed, sha 
 go ^ut and walked — but not too far, rbr fear 
 of fatiguing tho boy; and thus again ffM sha 
 compelled to return into tho B»»cjeLy </ tor 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 167 
 
 diRAgreeable companions. The distance from . 
 Manchester to Middleton was about eighty 
 m'les: the wagon only went at the slow rate 
 of about four miles an hour, exclusive of stop- 
 pages — and those were frequent. Altogether 
 it took nearly four-an : -twenty h,jurs to reach 
 the place of destination. We will not dwell 
 upon the particulars of tl.o, route : sutlice it to 
 R.\y that ever}' possible discomfort was endured 
 by poor Lucy — while on the otlier hand she 
 d d l\or best to make aer son feel as little as 
 pr'ssible tlie inconvoniaices and annoyances of 
 ll'-is tedious, wearisome, ignominious mode of 
 traveling. 
 
 It was about six o’clock on the following 
 morning that the huge wain entered the town 
 of Middleton. The streets were almost com- 
 pletely deserted: it w;is still too early for more 
 than a few stragglers to be abroad. Cheerless 
 indeed was the aspect of the sleeping town ; 
 and Lucy, vvho had given all her warmest gar- 
 ments to little Frederick to wrap him up dur- 
 ing the night, was nearly perished with the 
 cold. Indeed the chill had appeared to pene- 
 trate to the very marrow of her bones ; her 
 teeth chattered — her limbs were stiff — she felt 
 entirely wretched. The wagon stopped at a 
 public-house, which seemed to be one of the 
 only places as yet open at that hour in the 
 morning; and here Lucy was constrained to 
 take up her temporary quarters. It was some 
 time before a dirty, slipshod drab of a girl, who 
 seemed but half awake, could coax the tire to 
 light in the room to which she conducted Mrs. 
 Lonsdale and Freddy: then it was another lialf- I 
 hour before they could bo accommodated with 
 a bed-chamber wherein to perform their ablu- 
 tions; and quite another hour after that, before 
 tAc slightest preparations for breaklast were 
 made. However, at length tne nre inrew out 
 a genial warmth — a somewhat more comforta- 
 ble meal than could have been expected from 
 first appearances, was served up — and Lucy 
 Biniled as cheerfully as she could, in order to 
 prevent her beloved boy from catching the in- 
 fection of her own low spirits. There was at 
 least one source of gratification — the wearisome 
 journey was over, and a saving of at least 
 thirty shillings had been accomplished by tak- 
 ing that mode of conveyance. 
 
 After break'fast Lucy sallied forth with Fred- 
 erick in search of a lodging. Nearly eight 
 years liad elapsed since she was last at Middle- 
 ton : that was when she had accompanied 
 nor faiher on the memorable journey to Coven- 
 try on the occasion when he souglit to compel 
 her to wed Gerald Iledburn. She knew Mid- 
 dleton well; every street was familiar to her; 
 and as she now passed through those thorough- 
 fares, they irresistibly revived the recolleetions 
 of otlier times. She sought a poor part of the 
 town : for she required but a humble lodging ; 
 and after some research she at length found 
 what she wanted. A single room, ready fur- 
 nished at half-a-crown a week, was thus secur- 
 ed in the dwelling of an old couple, and where 
 there were no other lodgers. Lucy was on her 
 way back to the public-house to pay her bill 
 and have her boxes forwarded to her ne^ 
 home, when, as she was turning jae corner of 
 
 . a street — holu/ng little Freddy by the hand, 
 she encountered her father. But, heavens I 
 how altered was he I His countenance bore 
 the unmistakable signs of intemperance: hia 
 breath indicated that he had already taken a 
 dram that morning. Though dressed in good 
 clothes, his appearance was slovenly and dirty 
 — his linen was .soiled — he looked, in short; 
 the confirmed drunkard. 
 
 A faint cry of mingled joy and suspense burst 
 from Lucy’s lips : for she did not instantaneous- 
 ly perceive how very much altered was his ap- 
 pearance — and the hope sprang up in her heart 
 that she would not be rejected now. This 
 hope, however, was blended with an apprehen- 
 sion that it might be otherwise. Mr. Davis 
 gazed upon her with that kind of vacant stare 
 which characterizes the drunkard ; and she 
 knew not from the nature of his look whether 
 the hope or the fear would bo realized. But 
 now at a glance she perceived how changed he 
 was ; and bursting into tears, she seized his 
 hand, murmuring, “ Father — dear father — will 
 you not forgive me?” 
 
 “No — never I” he suddenly exclaimed, snatch- 
 ing away that hand — retreating a pace or two 
 — and stopping short again. 
 
 Little Frederick looked up into his mother’s 
 countenance with some degree of alarm : and 
 when he saw that she was weeping, he clung 
 to tlie skirts of her dro.ss, begging her to come 
 away — for he liked not the look of the individ- 
 ual whom she had called her father. 
 
 “No,” co;itinued Davis, stern and implaca- 
 I ble : “ the word forgiveness^ Lucy, shall never 
 be spoken by my lips. Years ago, at Ports- 
 mouth, I gave you the last chance: I shall not 
 renew it. As you have made }'our bed, so you 
 may lie in it. You might be a lady at this 
 moment: what are you? You look pale and 
 careworn: have you yet come to your right 
 senses in respect to the course you took ? Cau 
 you meet my eyes and tell me you are stUi 
 happy with ycur husband?” 
 
 Lucy could give no response : the tears were 
 streaming down her cheek.s — her bosom was 
 convulsed with sobs. She leant against a wall 
 for support, with her son still clinging to her in 
 affright. 
 
 “I understand that your husband’s regiment 
 is coming here in a few days,” resumed her fa- 
 ther; “and busine.ss keeps me in this town. 
 Tell him, should he meet me, to beware how 
 he ventures to address me : for I will spurn 
 him as I would a dog. And you, Lucy — the 
 next time wo may chance to encounter each 
 other, do you pass me by as you would any 
 other stranger.” 
 
 Thus speaking, Mr. Davis turned abruptly 
 away, and plunged into the nearest public- 
 house. Fortunately, the scene we have just 
 described took place in a secluded part of the 
 town ; otherwise it was but to( well calculated 
 to attract disagreeable notice. For a few mo- 
 ments Lucy was unable to command her feel- 
 ings. Oh ! she felt that her circumstances were 
 precisely those in which her fitther's forgiveness 
 — if indeed he had anything to forgive — but at 
 all events a reconciliation with him, would have 
 been a source of comfort and solace 1 It was 
 
168 
 
 THK SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 not of his property that she thoii^lit at tlio 
 fiino: she knew not indeed what ids pecuniary 
 position ini^'litbe; it was oidy to be enabled 
 to {iress his l)and in kindness once more, and 
 to be acknowkuljj^ed as his child — it was only 
 this that she had sought — and it was denied 
 her I Poor Lucy, the cup other bitterness a})- 
 peared to bo filled unto the brim ; and no won- 
 der was it that some moments elat)sed ore she 
 coui'l subdue her tbolings — no wonder was it 
 that she remained unconscious of the tribulation 
 into which the scene had plunged her little son. 
 
 But at length she did calm her emotions: she 
 was aroused to a sense of her position in that 
 street — ex})osed to the gaze of whomsoever 
 might be j)assing; and hastily breathing a few 
 consolatory and affectionate syllables to the 
 boy, she hastened onward with him to the tav- 
 ern where they had first i)ut up. There she 
 paid the bill, and desi)atched a porter with her 
 boxes to the lodging she had taken. On re- 
 ti rning thither, she bnsied herself in unpack- 
 ing her trunks, letting little Frederick help her, 
 00 that the time should not hang heavy on his 
 hands. She herself bustled about in order, if 
 possible, to escape from the disagreeable reflec- 
 tions which kept crowding in upon her mind ; 
 but this was no easy bisk. When the arrange- 
 ments were all completed and the little cham- 
 ber was made to look as neat as po.ssible, Lucy 
 left Freddy in charge of the people of the 
 house, while she went forth to make some re- 
 quisite purchases, and also to seek for needle- 
 work at once, as she was resolved not to suffer 
 any delay to elapse ere she began earning 
 money. While she was in a grocer’s shop buy- 
 ing some articles which she required, she be- 
 came a listener to the following conversation 
 that took place between the tradesman himself 
 and an old female who was likewise making 
 gome purchases. 
 
 “ Well, and so the case will really be tried 
 at these Spring Assizes — eh, Mr. Mowbray ?” 
 said the old gossip : for such she evidently 
 
 was. 
 
 “Yes, ma’am; anid they will soon be on 
 uow,” responded the grocer. “The damages, 
 they say, are laid at two thousand pound.s. 
 Ahi it’s a fine business for Fleecewell ; and I 
 am told he has got evidence that the Captain 
 tan t possibly rebut.” 
 
 “ It’s a shocking thing,” observed the gossip, 
 •haking her head very seriously, “ when a 
 young married woman forgets herself in that 
 way. Do you know, Mr. Mowbray, what has 
 become of her ?” 
 
 “ I understand she is at home with her fami- 
 ly — the Colycintlis .at Oakleigh ; and they all 
 vehemently protest lier innocence — that it was 
 a little silly flirtation — nothing more.” 
 
 “Oh I people always say that,” observed the 
 gossip. “ (tf course it’s natui-al ; one’s father, 
 mother, ami si.sters woidd not lie pleading 
 guilty on behalf of their accused relative. 1 
 am told that .Mr. Davis himself has been slop- 
 ping at Mifhileton ever since.” 
 
 “ Yes’ — and he’s took to drinking quite hor- 
 rid,” responded the grocer. “ Some say it’s 
 care and worry that drove him to it; but I’ll 
 be bound hiu lawyer will maku ti:u best of it. 
 
 Ah I Fleecewell w a sh.arp fellow ; and if any 
 practitioner can prove black’s white, or whit©'* 
 black, to the satisfaction of .a jiiry, he’s the man.” 
 
 By this time Lucy was .served with what she 
 wanted ; and she m.ade h.'iste to get out of the 
 shop. Indexed, she would not have rom.ained 
 there to hear as itiuch as she did~es[)ecially 
 when the discourse turned uj)on the drinking 
 habits of her father — were it not that she hiwJ 
 given her orders to the grocer t)etbre the culk> 
 (piy commenced, and .she did not choose to in- 
 vite special notice to her.solf by hurrying abrupt- 
 ly away. But as she proceeded throng li the 
 .street, .she felt bitterly alllictcd that her fath- 
 er’s intemperance should have become a sub’ 
 joct of gossip and scandal ; and she wished — ■ 
 oh t how devoutly she wished, that her sire 
 would l)ut bo reconciled to her, that she might 
 endeavour to wean him from the courses of de- 
 grading and debasing dissij):ition. Father and 
 husband — both given to intemperance I Alaa, 
 it was a shocking reflection for this pure-mind- 
 ed and virtuous woman ! 
 
 Being well ac(p]ainted with Middleton, sho 
 knew in what cpiarters to apply for work; and 
 she hail little difficulty in obtaining it. This 
 was at least a source of comfort and consolation, 
 as she was now ensured the means of living 
 for her dear child and herself. On the follow- 
 ing morning she lel't a note at the barrack* 
 that Frederick might receive it the moment ho 
 arrived at Middleton ; and a few days after- 
 wards the regiment marched into the town. It 
 was late in the alternoon when Lonsdale made 
 his appearance at his wife’s lodging ; and she 
 flew into his arms with joy and delight. Little 
 Freddy was also rejoiced to see his father ; and 
 his ple.asure continued unabated — whereas thaf. 
 of poor Lucy speedily received a shock, wlieu 
 after the first effusion of feeling was over, she 
 liad leisure to observe her husband’s appear- 
 ance and saw that he was much under the in- 
 fluence of liquor. The tears came into her 
 eyes : but quickly averting her countenance, 
 she wiped them aw.ay, and began to tell him 
 of her interview with her father. She did not 
 however mention the brutal .message wdiich 
 Davis had desired her to deliver to her hus- 
 band ; and she softened down as much as pos- 
 sible the cold-hearted asperity of his conduct 
 towards herself. Passing rapidly on to a more 
 agreeable subject, she told Frederick how sho 
 had promptly obtained work at a very fair rate 
 of remuneration, and for a deposit of only a 
 couple of pounds. She did not immediately 
 inform him that sho and little Freddy had tra- 
 veled by the wagon; she was bashful in mak- 
 ing known her self-saerilice of comfort to the 
 exigencies of their position : but the boy let it 
 out — and Lonsdale was neither so tipsy nor so 
 callous as to be altogether unmoved by this 
 fresh proof of his wife’s goodness. Indeed, ho 
 was stricken with a transient pang of remor.se 
 at his own j)ast evtrav.agances, and at the re- 
 collection that cveiy farthing rt the last sover- 
 eign ho had taken from her had Itcen expended 
 in li(pior. But the leeling soon passed away; 
 and I'rc ho quilted her that evening, he devia^ 
 an excuse to extract a few shillings from Ulf 
 umall reserve that now reiaaiuod in hand. 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 169 
 
 A few days afterwards the Judges on the 
 Midland Circuit arrived at Middleton, and the 
 Assizes were opened. It was a singular coin- 
 cidence that the regiment to which Captain Red- 
 burn belonged should have been ordered to the 
 very town where the trial was to take place, 
 and at the very time it was to come on ; but 
 such was the fact — and he was therefore on the 
 spot at this juncture. His father had already 
 instructed an attorney to take measures for the 
 detence ; but there was little defence to make 
 at all, beyond a bare denial of the charge for 
 whiclx the action was brought. The affair 
 created a very great sensation, not merely in 
 the town of Middleton, and the neighbouring 
 villages of Oakleigh, but throughout the entire 
 district, where the Redburn family were so well 
 known. Tlie case came on the first day of tiie 
 Assizes. Sir Archibald Redburn arrived from 
 the Manor eariy in the morning to assure him- 
 self that the attorney was doing the utmost 
 which lay in his power for the defence, by re- 
 taining able counsel : but neither the father nor 
 the son thouglit fit to be present in the court. 
 Nor was Davis himself there ; he remained at a 
 public-house hard by, whiling away the time 
 drinking brandy-and-water, and reading the oc- 
 casional notes that Fleecewell sent him out by 
 his clerk to make him aware how the case was 
 progressing. 
 
 The counsel for the plaintiff commenced by 
 observing, in a lachrymose tone and with lugu- 
 brious look, that this was one of those instances 
 where the feelings of a fond, attentive and 
 adoring husband has been outraged in a manner 
 for which no pecuniary recompense could atone, 
 but which nevertheless in an exemplary point 
 of view demanded the heaviest damages. These 
 damages were laid at two thousand pounds. 
 The learned counsel went on to state that his 
 client, Peter Davis, was a man who for a long 
 series of years liad held the responsible situation 
 of land-steward or bailitf to Sir Archibald Red- 
 burn, a wealthy baronet whose name was well 
 known in that part of the country. Mr. Davis 
 had conducted himself in a manner to win the 
 confidence of his employer, as well as the es- 
 teem of all his neighbours and friends. His 
 moral character was unimpeachable; and in 
 short he was a man endowed with a kindly dis- 
 position. a generous heart, and with the most 
 honourable principles. Having been for some 
 years a widower — during wliich period his 
 daughter had married much below herself, and 
 in a way calculated to afflict the heart of this 
 kindest and best of fathers — he at length felt 
 himself so lonely, so disconsolate, and so forlorn 
 Ln the solitude of his own home, that he had 
 resolved to take unto himself another helpmate, 
 who might be the partner of such little proper- 
 ty as by his honest thrift he had accumulated, 
 as well as a comfort to him while descending 
 into the vale of life. Animated with this in- 
 tention, Mr. Davis addressed himself to a young 
 lady possessed of considerable personal attrac- 
 tions, and who was the daughter of Dr. Coly- 
 ci ith, an eminent medical practitioner who had 
 long been settled at the picturesque little vil- 
 lage of Oakleigh. Miss Catherine Colycinth- - 
 for that was the maiden name of the lady ut»w 
 
 alluded to — was not only beautiful bat also 
 highly accomplished; and indeed she might b^ 
 considered to move in a sphere above that U 
 which Mr. Davis himself properly belonged. 
 The learned counsel explained that if he dwelt 
 thus emphatically upon the charms and attrao 
 tions, personal as well as mental, of the lady in 
 question — and upon the high standing and res- 
 pectability of her family — it was for the purpose 
 of proving how great a treasure his client, Peter 
 Davis, had lost — seduced away, as slie was, from 
 his bosom by the vile machinations, the insidious’ 
 artifices, and the detestable perfidy of the de- 
 fendant. Captain Redburn. 
 
 This being a point in the learned counsel’s 
 speech where he meant to make a particular im- 
 pression upon the jury, he paused and took a 
 huge pinch of snuff, as if to compose the feelings 
 that had been excited by the sense of those 
 deep wrongs which his client had sustained and 
 which the worthy barrister appeared to appre- 
 ciate so fully. 
 
 “ Well, gentlemen of the jury,” he continued 
 to observe, “ under the most pleasing and fa- 
 vourable auspices did Peter Davis conduct Ca- 
 thrine Colycinth to the altar. There certainly 
 was some disparity in their years ; but the posi- 
 tion in which my client was enabled to place 
 his wife, was an eligible one for her, — inasmuch 
 as she had no fortune of hei own, and he was 
 a man of some little substance. I believe, 
 gentlemen, I may safely declare that the young 
 lady found in my client a kind, endearing, and 
 affectionate husband. Being beautiful as well 
 as young, it was natural that the bride should 
 be fond of embellishing her charms by means 
 of the advantages of apparel ; and to prove to 
 you that Mr. Davis was anxious and willing to 
 contribute to her happiness to the utmost of his 
 power, he gave his wife free permission to ob- 
 tain what.soever articles of raiment, jewelry, 
 and so forth, she chose to order from the trades- 
 men of Middleton. Indeed, the fond and ador- 
 ing husband took delight in paying the bills as 
 they were sent in. I will read to you, gentle- 
 men, a few of these bills ; and you may judge 
 from their .amounts that Mr. Davis was not the 
 man to deny his wife anything in reason upon 
 which her mind was set.” 
 
 The learned counsel, having read the bills, 
 proceeded to observe that two years and a half 
 thus passed away in uninterrupted bliss, alike 
 for the husband and wife ; but at the end of 
 this period the snake found his way into the 
 grass growing around that cottage which had 
 hitherto been a little paradise upon earth. Or, 
 to drop the metaphor and to speak in plainer 
 terms. Captain Redburn came into the neigh- 
 bourhood. This gentleman, continued the learn- 
 ed counsel, was a Captain in the army — a per- 
 son of most agreeable manners and fascinating 
 appearance — embellished with all masculine 
 graces — but who unfortunately used these ad- 
 vantages ’for the infamous betrayal of female 
 virtue. Captain Redburn was the son of Sir 
 Archibald Redburn, who had been already 
 mentioned, and whose name (added the counsel) 
 must be well known to every juryman sitting 
 in that box. It was perhaps therefore unneces- 
 sary for him (the learned counsel) to inform this 
 
160 
 
 THK SOLDIEF S WIFE. 
 
 enlightened, intelligent, and high-minded jury, 
 that Sir Archibald lledhurii was a very ricli 
 man — and that liis son, the defendant in the 
 present ease, was the heir to all his i)os,sossion.s. ^ 
 The jury, therefore, when theyciune to consider 
 the qnesf.ion of damages, need not be nice or 
 delicate ii. the manner of awarding them ; for 
 the defmdant was well able to pay — and this 
 was a case which, by its unparalleled atrocity, 
 the un-heard of villaiiy which characterized it, 
 the unscrnpulous perli<lies which had been used 
 to seduce the plaintilf’s wife from the path of ■ 
 virtue, required the heaviest damages that could 
 be awarded. For when he (the learned counsel) 
 informed that generous-hearted and magnani- 
 mous jury whom he had the honour to address 
 — and it w;vs an honour he should never tbrget 
 — tiiat his unfortunate client, Peter Davis, the 
 plaintiff in this action, had been reduced tfom a 
 condition of supreme hap[)iness to that of a 
 heart broken, foi'ioru, disconsolate man — crushed 
 by the sense of bitter wrong — 'WOunded in 
 hi:S honour — wounded in his heart — wounded in 
 all his keenest su.sc-eiitibilities, — when he (the 
 learned counsel) told the jury all this, he telt 
 assured that the verdict would bo such as to 
 award the full amount of damages which his 
 unfortunate client claimed. 
 
 Hav ing thus worked up the jury to that de- 
 gree of mingled sentimentality and self-conceit 
 which he considered most favorable to enable 
 him to model tiieir minds to liis qiurpose, the 
 learned counsel proceeded to explain rlie nature 
 of the evidence which would be brought before 
 them; and when he had done. this — paying the 
 highest compliment to Sarah Bodkin, tlie prin- 
 cipal witness in the case — lie wound up with a 
 peroration depicting in such pathetic terms the 
 mental agonies whicli his client, Mr. Davis, had 
 endured ever since the discovery of his wife’s 
 iufidelity, that two young females and an elderly 
 one (the latter with a brandy-flask in her reti- 
 cule) were so overcome that they were carried 
 out of court in a state of insensibility. But all 
 this while the unfortunate client was boozing 
 at the public-house over the way, and chuckling 
 at the prospect of sacking the heavy damages 
 which Fleece well’s notes assured him he was 
 certain to obtain. 
 
 Sarah Bodkin, the first witness who was 
 called, deposed that she had been between three 
 and four years servant-of-all-work in the house- 
 hold )f Mr. Davis. She remembered a certain 
 forenoon in the month of May, 1835, when Cap- 
 tain Bedburn accompanied Mr. Davis to the 
 cottage, and was shown into the parlour where 
 Mrs. Davis was seated. Mr. Davis went to a 
 cujiboard in the back part of the premises to 
 obtain some eider; and .«ho (Sarali Bodkin) 
 having to pass the jiarlour-door, which was ajar, 
 heard Captain Redfmrn talking very familiarly 
 with .Mrs. Davi.s. ISho was so astonislied that 
 she was rivited to tlio spot — “ ipiite struck all 
 of' a lma[).” as the saying was — and could not 
 help liiiariiig wliat fiilfowed. Ca|)tain Redimrn 
 said “ iie supposed ho must not call Mrs. Davis 
 by the familiar name of Kitty any longc'r ;” 
 whereupon she bade him stand upon no cere- 
 mony. Witness supposed that Mr.s. Davis fiin- 
 that Cuptuic Redbuin, being the son of her 
 
 husband’s employer, had a sort of right to ad- 
 dress her in lliat rnanin r. She (Sarah Hodkiu' 
 recollectecl anotle**’ ocicasion when Captain Beil- 
 Imrn called at the cottage; that was in th® 
 evening, and Mrs. Davis was alone, )ter husband 
 having gone out to atteml to some business. 
 She (witness) again listened at the door, and 
 heard Captain Bedl)iirn call Mrs. Davis “ Ivitty.” 
 .Mrs. Davis begged him not to do so; sin; (aa 
 witness thought) had doubtless roll leted that it 
 was imj)ro[)er; but Captain Redbrnn persisted 
 in his liimiliar mode of address, at d plied her 
 with flatteries, insomuch that the ji )or lady suf- 
 fbred him to press her hand to his lips. 'Hien 
 Captain Redburn went on to aims } .Mr. Davis 
 in a very shocking manner; and bj dintof per- 
 . suasion ho got Mrs. Davis to allow him to stay 
 I till midnight, he concealing himself liehind the 
 curtains in the parlour when Mr. Da is returned 
 home. She (the witness) subseipie^'fly let Cap- 
 tain Redburn out of the house Remembered 
 another occasion — also in the evening — wlien 
 Captain Redburn called. Witness again h.sten- 
 ed at the door, and again heard bun ply the 
 lady with flatteries. Also heard Cajkain Red- 
 burn ki.ss her; thought it was very improper, 
 and went into the room under pretei ee of car- 
 rying a snuffer-tray: both of them looked very 
 much confused. Listened afterwards at the 
 door, and heard iMrs. Davis conjure Captain 
 Redburn not to see her again. He noon after 
 went away. On the following evenin.g she was 
 sent to the Boyal Oak, at Oakleigh, on some 
 errand : a parcel was given to her fbi her mis- 
 tress; and when she took it home, the lady 
 found it was a present of a silk dress, a shawl, 
 and a box of kid gloves sent by Captain Red- 
 burn. Witness had no doubt that this present, 
 added to all the flatteries with which she had 
 been plied, turned the poor lady’s head ‘uid ren- 
 dered her'an easy victim to the insidioi s sedu- 
 cer. A fortnight afterwards she (the witness) 
 was sent with a note written by her mistress 
 to Captain Bedburn at the Manor House. In 
 the evening Captain Redburn called at the cot- 
 tage. She (witness) did not immediately listen 
 at the door again; she did not like to do so: 
 but having occasion to go to the parlour to in- 
 quire whether her mistress would have supper 
 served up, found that lady in Captain Redburn’a 
 arms. Mrs. Davis hurried up to her own room; 
 and the Captain took his departure. When 
 her master, Mr. Davis, came homo, she told him 
 all she knew : she thought it was her duty to 
 do so. Mr. Davis seemed confounded at the 
 intelligence ; but presently flying into a dread- 
 ful state of excitement, he expelled his wife 
 from his house. 
 
 When cross-examined by the counsel for 
 Ca[)tain Redburn, Sarah Bodkin affirmed with 
 the most unblushing effrontery that she had 
 never received any money from the defendant 
 — had never been set by Mr. Davis to watch hia 
 wife — would not have done such a thing — did 
 not know what were the contents of the nota 
 that she took to the Manor House. If she had 
 thought it was to invito Captain Redburn, 
 would not have taken it at all. Was not do- 
 sh'iMl by her mistress— jjmi the last occasion thaJ 
 Captain Redburn was over thore, and 'whea 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 161 
 
 Mrs. Davis wont up to bar room — ^to go and re- 
 quest that tlie Captain would take his departure 
 at once. Was quite sure that he hurried away 
 of his own accord, frightened at what had taken 
 place. Had not been living ever since at Mid- 
 dleton upon luoiiey given her by Davis so as to 
 be in readiness and on the spot for this trial : 
 had lived upon her own savings, and had never 
 observed to any one at Middleton that if Davis 
 got heavy damages it would be a good day 
 for her. 
 
 Witnesses were then called to prove that 
 Gerald Redburn was a Captain in the army — 
 that he was only son and heir of Sir Archibald 
 Redburn — and that his father supplied him 
 amply with money. The linendraper of whom 
 he liad bought the presents sent to Mrs. Davis, 
 was likewise summoned to substantiate this cir- 
 cumstance ; and the tradesman perfectly well 
 recollected the manner in whi^h Captain Rod- 
 burn had ordered the parcel to be addressed, 
 and how he had left money to pay the carriage. 
 The marriage of Peter Davis with Catherine 
 Colycinth was likewise proved; and thus termi- 
 aated the case for the plaintiff. 
 
 The barrister who had been retained for the 
 defence of Captain Redburn, was a man of great 
 ability and well skilled in proceedings of this 
 \ature ; but he had on the present occasion a 
 difficult course to pursue, inasmuch as the ma- 
 terials with which he had to work were of a 
 most meagre description. He commenced by 
 ridiculing the pathos and lachrymose setimental- 
 ism wherewith the opposing counsel had sought 
 to invest the case of his client, Mr. Davis; and 
 he then proceeded to answer in detail the va- 
 rious points put forward on behalf of the said 
 plaintiff’. But as it is not our purpose to extend 
 this chapter of our narrative to an unneces.sary 
 length, it will be sufficient to glance rapidly 
 over the most salient points of the speech for 
 the defence. The jury had been told how great 
 wms the treasure which Mr. Davis had taken 
 unto his bosom in the person of Miss Catherine 
 Colycinth: her personal charms, her mental 
 accomplishments, and her eminent parentage 
 had all been duly paraded to the attention of 
 the court. But what were the plain tacts, strip- 
 ped of all metaphor and exaggeration? Here 
 was a pretDr-looking girl, the daughter of a 
 humble village apothecary, with just a suffi- 
 ciency of boarding-school education to render 
 her vain, giddy, and conceited, without raising 
 her to the standard of drawing-room elegance 
 and perfection I And then the jury were told 
 that this young person had been lured away 
 from the path of virtue by such empty flatteries 
 and trumpery compliments as a dashing officer 
 was almost certain, under such circumstances, 
 to utter. The extravagancies of the lady, her 
 love lor dress, and the recklessness with which 
 she contracted debts to gratify that inclination 
 on her part, had all been rendered available by 
 forensic ingenuity, as proofs of a fond husband’s 
 indulgence : whereas witnesses would present- 
 ly be produced to show how bitterly Mr. Davis 
 had resented his wife’s expensive tendencies, 
 and how he had complained of the bills which 
 had showered in upon him from the Middleton 
 tradtoneo. Nay, more • it would likewise be 
 11 
 
 shown that the lady had run thus recklessiy in- 
 to debt unknown t<> her husband in the first in- 
 stance ; and that it \vas only in ccmseqnence o^ 
 certain rumours which reached the oars o' Mr. 
 Davis, that he was able to inquire into the mat- 
 ter and discovered the amount of liabilitief- thug 
 entailed upon him. Therefore, umler ali these 
 circumstances, was this such a wife whose loss 
 the plaintiff' could very much regret, or for 
 whicli loss the heaviest damages should be 
 awarded ? and was it not the very acme of hy- 
 perbolic ludicrousness to represent the plaintiff 
 as heart-broken and spirit-crushed on account 
 of such a loss? 
 
 The learned counsel, after a brief pause, went 
 on to say, “ I have thus shown you. gentlemen 
 of the jury, that even if Captain Redburn had 
 seduced away the plaintiff’s wife from the path 
 of honour, the loss to the plaintiff himself of 
 such a woman coulci not possibly be estimated 
 at die amount claimed in this action. On the 
 contrary, the very smallest coin in the realm 
 would be an ample compensation. But on the 
 other hand, I am positively instructed that no- 
 thing criminal ever did take place between Cap- 
 tain Redburn and Mrs. Davis; and to this ho 
 pledges himself as a gentleman and an officer. 
 And here it is my bounden duty to observe, 
 however unpleasant such observation may be 
 to my client. Captain Redburn, that he is not al- 
 together the irresistible Adonis which my 
 learned friend has so eloquently sought to de- 
 pict: he is not a man who, either by personal 
 beauty or fascination of address, would be at all 
 likely to say with Caesar, ‘ I came — 1 saw — I 
 conquered.’ That there was some little silly flir- 
 tation between Mrs.Davis and himself, can scarce- 
 ly be denied: and that perhaps Captain Redburn’a 
 views and hopes were not altogether strictly 
 honourable or moral, must also be conceded. 
 But the lady herself, though frivolous, vain, con- 
 ceited, and extravagant, was not depraved. 
 Doubtless it flattered that idle vanity on her 
 part to have a young officer — a Baronet’s son — 
 dangling after her ; especially as her husband 
 neglected her most cruelly — passed his own 
 time at a public-house — and was accustomed to 
 return home at late hours in a filthy state of 
 intoxication. But 1 repeat, Mrs. Davis was not 
 depraved; and therefore she could not have 
 been criminal. There was something artless in 
 the very frivolity of her vanity — .something of 
 school-girl giddiness in the flirtation which she 
 carried on ; but beyond this her conduct be- 
 came not reprehensible. On each occasion she 
 repelled Captain Redburn’s advances when they ^ 
 became too pointed. A kiss on the hand might 
 have been snatched, but a kiss on the cheek 
 was resented: and of her own accord did the 
 lady on more occasions than one insist tiiat Cap- 
 tain Redburn should leave her. Many of these 
 facts could have been proven by the witness, 
 Sarah Bodkin, had she chosen to speak the 
 truth : but, thank God I gentlemen of the jury, 
 there -are laws in this country for the punish- 
 ment of perjury. Now, with regard to the pre- 
 sent sent from Middleton to Mrs. Davis, we do 
 not attempt to deny the fact. It was sent by 
 Captain Redburn in the hope of fuikhering hig 
 views; it was accepted by the ladym the gasao 
 
162 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE 
 
 imthinking giddiness which characterized her 
 entire conduct.” 
 
 Tlie learned counsel commented in this strain 
 for upwards of two hours on the various points 
 of the evidence lijr tlie plaintilf; and he wound 
 up a very ingenious and skilful speeeli with a ter- 
 rilic denuneiatioe of Peter Davis hiinselt; whom 
 he represented as u inau that had been a cJ’uel and 
 remorseless lather — a neglectful, soitisli husband 
 to his second wife — the suborner of the whole- 
 sale perjury committed by ISarah Bodkin — and 
 a wretch wlio had availed himself of the llimsiest 
 circumstances, not merely as a pretext to get 
 rid of this second wife, but also to enrich him- 
 self by the extortion of a large sum under the 
 fictioa of damages from the pocket of Captain 
 Redburn nominally, but from the purse of ISir 
 Archibald in reality. 
 
 Several witnesses were called for the defence. 
 A woman, at whose house . Sarah Bodkin had 
 lodged for seme months past at Middleton, 
 proved that she (Sarah Bodkin) had said that if 
 Ml. Davis succeeded in his action it would be a 
 good tiling tor her; and that, moreover. Fleece- 
 well’s clerk had called on several occasions and 
 had brought her money. Several of the Mid- 
 dleton tradesmen proved how Mrs. Davis had 
 couiracted debts with them — how they had been 
 compelled to write letters threatening to enclose 
 the bJls toiler husband — and iiow, when Davis 
 called upon them, lie grumbled bittei'ly at his 
 wile’s extravagancies, enjoining them to give 
 her no more credit. Utiier witnesses, chielly 
 tradesmen from Oakleigh, proved how Davis 
 had Ifequented the Royal Oak ; and how, even 
 previously to Captain Redburn’s visits to the 
 cottage, he had been wont to complain of his 
 wife’s temper and express his deep regrets that 
 he had ever married her. 
 
 The Judge summed up with clearness and 
 impartiality ; and the jury retired to deliberate. 
 The trial had already occupied nearly the whole 
 day : it was already six o’clock in the evening ; 
 and it was past seven before the jury could agree. 
 At length they came back to their box ; and the 
 foreman delivered a verdict for the plaintiff — 
 damages Xi,uU0. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXY. 
 
 THE POLITICAL MEETING. 
 
 Although the year 183G, of which we are 
 wntirig, was not characterized by any very ge- 
 neral agitation on the paid of the industrious 
 classes of the United Kingdom, yet there were 
 c<.;rtain districts in which tlie greatest discontent 
 prevailed. 'I'liis was especially the case in that 
 Midland County where Middleton was situated; 
 lor the working classes ot liiis town and all the 
 Burrounding districts were plunged into the 
 dee-pest disLres.s. it is not ourpurpo.se to enter 
 into minute details on this head; sullice it to 
 Bay tliat the industrious orders of Middleton, 
 goaded almost to de.speration by misery and 
 wretchedness, wore assuming a most Ibrmidablo 
 attitude, itiirgc.- meetings laid been held at dif- 
 bient times iur some munths past ; the speulvors 
 
 had grown bolder and bolder in exposing thf 
 fraud which hail been [iractii.-ed uiion the peopla 
 by the Reform Bill of 1832; and resolutions 
 were passed, exfiressive of a determination to 
 have the full measure of tho.so rights which be- 
 long to the entire communit^L but ^f which so 
 largo a portion were unjustly debarred by an 
 aiTogadt and desiiotic oligarci y. It was in 
 cons(!([uence of these meetings, and of this bold 
 but manly and patriotic language, that Colonel 
 Wymlhani’s regiment had been ordmx-d to Mid- 
 dleton. Notwithstanding the presence of the 
 soldiery, the agitation went on increasing; 
 meetings continued to be held; but no threat 
 of physical force was used by any of the speak- 
 ers. In short, the working classes of that town 
 and district were merely intent upon a greiU 
 moral moveinent. They thought that if such 
 assemblages were convened, at which firm but 
 peaceful resolutions were passed, and petitions 
 drawn u{) to be pre.sented to the Legislature, an 
 impression would be made u[)on that body, and 
 it would be impossible for the Covernrnent of 
 the country to ignore rejiresentations .so res- 
 pectfully made, or repudiate claims so peaceably 
 urged. 
 
 In such circumstances was it that the regi- 
 merit to which Lonsdale belonged took up ita 
 ipiarters at Middleton. A few weeks elapsed 
 without any opportunity arising to afford a pre- 
 text for Colonel Wyndham to accept the coer- 
 cion and repression of the working clas.ses. He 
 was, however, in frequent communication with 
 the local magistrates; and to them he signitied 
 his readiness to act rigorously and peremptorily 
 whenever he .should be called upon. The 
 strictest injunctions were issued against any of 
 the soldiers attending the meetings of trie work- 
 ing classes ; and threats of severe punishment 
 were held out in case of disobedience. 
 
 At length the wished-for opportunity appear- 
 ed to present itself for Colonel Wyndham to ex- 
 hibit his zeal on behalf of the cause of tyranny 
 and oppression. It was at the close of the 
 month of July, in the year of which we are 
 writing, that a great meeting of the working 
 classes was advertised to be held in the imme- 
 diate neighbourhood of Middleton, on a particu- 
 lar Monday morning. Specific instructions 
 were transmitted from London to Colonel 
 Wyndham, enjoining him how to act; but 
 these were kept altogether secret until the 
 Sunday immediately preceding the day on 
 which the meeting was to be held. On that 
 Sunday three troops of a cavalry regiment sta- 
 tioned at Coventry, entered Middleton and 
 were quartered at the barracks. The regiment 
 to which Lonsdale belonged, paraded on that 
 morning as usual, and was marched to church. 
 On returning from divine worship, the regiment 
 was drawn up in the barrack-yard, and formed 
 into a .square, the better to hear the addresa 
 which Colonel Wyndham was about to deliver, 
 lie spoke to this elfect: — 
 
 It is understood that a number of seditious, 
 discontented, and evil-disposed persons will as- 
 .semblu to-morrow outside the town, under pre 
 tenco of jiotitioning the Oovornment for the re- 
 dress of alleged grievances Those person! 
 have really no t ricvancos to rodres'j; and thoir 
 
THE SOLDIER S WIFE- 
 
 168 
 
 rwvi object is to excite terror and alarm, and 
 perhaps to pillage and plunder. Now, m}’- 
 men, it may be that you will tind yourselves 
 called upon to act ; and if so, I arn very certain 
 you will do your duty. You will be kept in 
 barracks for the rest of this day ; and after din- 
 ner you will all take and rougli-sliarpen the 
 points of your bayonets. The non-commission- 
 ed officers will rough-sharpen their swords; 
 and I tell you, my men, that if to-morrow you 
 do have to use your weapons, you are not to 
 be overnice in the matter. I hope none of 
 you are imbued with those revolutionary and 
 detestable doctrines which vile demagogues are 
 so assiduously disseminating; but it any one 
 of you should be heard giving utterance to such 
 Bedition, we will see if the cat-o’-nine-tails will 
 not til rash it out.” 
 
 Thus ended the Colonel’s speech : the regi- 
 ment retired to its quarters ; and after dinner 
 the process of rough-sharpening the bayonets 
 commenced. The object was that those mur- 
 derous weapons should inflict jagged wounds, 
 which from their dreadful ghastliness would be 
 all the more difficult to cure. A number of 
 grindstones were provided for the purpose : and 
 thus Were the soldiers, after having attended 
 church in the morning to near the doctrines of 
 Christianity preached, compelled to make these 
 hideous preparations for the massacre of their 
 fellow-countrymen. It became rumored through 
 the regiment that the three troops of cavalry 
 which had arrived on the same day, had re- 
 ceived similar orders : namely, to rough-sharpen 
 their swords ; and therefore it appeared as if 
 something very serious were intended for the 
 occasion of the meeting of tlie working classes. 
 Now, we have previously stated that democra- 
 tic opinions were very rife in Lonsdale’s regi- 
 ment, and that the most liberal of the weekly 
 newspapers then in existence was extensively 
 read and circulated amongst tlie soldiers. They 
 therefore did experience considerable sympatliy 
 with the objects of the forthcoming meeting; 
 and to those objects they wished all possible 
 success. Consequently, it was with the most 
 painful feelings that the soldiers pursued the 
 horrible work of sharpening their bayonets. 
 Glailly — most gladly, would they have disobey- 
 ed the mandate: but Sergeant-Major Langley 
 went round to assure himself that the work 
 was done fully and effectually. The Colonel 
 himself, and the generality of the officers like- 
 wise, gave their supervision. The older pri- 
 vates shook their heads gloomily and wore seri- 
 ous countenances ; the younger ones whisper- 
 ed amongst themselves, and testifled their ab- 
 horrence of the fearful proceeding as much as 
 they dared. But none felt more bitterly on 
 the subject than Frederick Lonsdale. His 
 countenance was ashy pale ; and there was a 
 strange light glimmering in his eyes. He long- 
 ed to break out into open rebellion against a 
 mandate which he considered to be repugnant 
 to human nature and hateful in the sigtit of 
 heaven. He felt that when he had enlisted as 
 % soldier, it was in the belief that it was for the 
 purpose ot performing manly duties, and not of 
 doing a coward’s work ; and he looked upon 
 
 the order which had been issued, as one calcu- 
 lated to degrade and dishonor the British soL 
 dier down to the level of a mere hireling cut- 
 throat. In such a state of mind, it cannot bo 
 wondered if Lonsdale held back when his turn 
 came to approach the grind.stone. At that m.o- 
 mont his very life hung bj^ a thread. Had ho 
 thrown down his arms and refused to sharpen 
 his bayonet, the offence would have been muti- 
 ny; and considering his past punishments, the 
 penalty would have been death. Then what 
 would become of his wife and child ? All these 
 considerations swept through his mind in a 
 moment, for he was thoroughly sober on the 
 occasion ; — and exerting an almost superhuman 
 effort over his feelings, he approached the grind- 
 stone. At that instant Sergeant Langley’? 
 voice thundered in his ears. 
 
 “Now then, you fellow, what are you hesi- 
 tating about ? I knew deuced well that yon 
 were sure to hang back. A scoundrel like yot. 
 is enough to corrupt the whole regiment. I 
 havn’t forgot what I heard about you at Oak- 
 leigh at the time you enlisted — how you were 
 notorious for the seditious doctrines you propa- 
 gated. Come, sir, work away at the grind- 
 stone; and if it’s nece.ssary for the sake of our 
 blessed laws and glorious constitution to make 
 an attack upon those vagabonds and rapscal- 
 lions who are to meet to-morrow, I shall keep 
 a sharp eye upon you. Go on, you scoundrel 
 — grind away — and take care you do your 
 duty 1” 
 
 And Lonsdale did grind away, because he 
 was compelled to do so. The dissipated career 
 which he had led for some time past, had not 
 stifled all generous feelings in his soul. Though 
 rendered somewhat callous and indifferent — too 
 callous and too indifferent — towards his excel- 
 lent wife and beautiful child, yet the edge of 
 his political feeling was by no means blunted; 
 indeed, it had lost none of its keenness; and 
 hence the strength of his emotions on the pre- 
 sent occasion. When he had done sharpening 
 his bayonet, he hurried off to the canteen and 
 drank deeply to drown the bitterness of his 
 feelings. 
 
 On the following morning the working classes 
 of Middleton were seen hurrying to the spot 
 appointed for the meeting — ^a large open space 
 just outside the town. Numbers from all the 
 adjacent villages and hamlets had likewise 
 been pouring in to the same focus from an ear- 
 ly hour in tlie morning ; and remoter places — 
 even large towns — within a circuit of twenty 
 miles, had contributed to swell the multitude 
 assembling on the present occasion. Thus, by 
 the time the proceedings commenced, there 
 were at least ten thousand persons gathered to- 
 gether at the appointed place : but all were in- 
 spired with the same peaceable view, yet feel- 
 ing that they had a duty to perform, and re- 
 solving to accomplish it boldly and manfully. 
 There was not a single individual in that im- 
 mense assemblage who had come provided with 
 any offensive weapon ; the idea of a physical 
 force demonstration was altogether out of th© 
 question ,• and the leaders of the working classes 
 had ado /ed every possible precaution to avoid 
 
164 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 ftirnishlng the local magistratos with a pretext 
 Ibr calling out the military force. 
 
 The proceedings of the tneetiug commoncod. 
 The weather was inaguilieent : the suii was' 
 Bhiniiig bright in a cloudless sky ; and a gentle ! 
 breeze mit'gated the intensity of tlio summer 
 heat. A wagon served as a platform for the 
 chairman and tlio speakers; and all around 
 this stage were assembled tlie honest sons of 
 toil — ten thousand in number — wlio had flock- 
 ed thither t(* ratify with their suffrages the pro- 
 lest that haO been drawn u|) against the slavery 
 ^ which thoy were held, and to support the 
 Detition which was huuilily to implore the con- 
 tessiou of tJieir rights. An impartial and honest- 
 minded observer would have beheld, at one 
 lingle glance Uirovvu over that crowd, suRicieiit 
 to oouvinee him that there must indeed be an 
 immensity of wrongs to complain against, when 
 fcliose who were able and willing to work could 
 obtain no work to do, and when their wretched 
 garments and the ghastly signs of famine upon 
 their countenances Jjut too plainly indicyited the 
 amount of the sufferings they had endured and 
 were still enduring. On the outskirts of the 
 crowd there were several women, some with 
 babies in their arms: mi.sery and starvation 
 were stamped upon the eouutenauees ofthese un- 
 forfuiiate creatures; and their very look served 
 as a sad and painful corroboration of the im- 
 pression first made by tiie aiipearance of those 
 on whom they were dependent for support. 
 The infants whom these women carried, seem- 
 ed to be pining away as if through downright 
 want; and altogether the aspect of that multi- 
 tude was such as to proclaim trumpet-tongued 
 the colossal wrongs of the working classes. 
 
 A chairman having been chosen, the pro- 
 ceedings commenced, when half a dozen per- 
 Bons on horseback Mmre descried emerging 
 from the town. The rumor that the Mayor 
 and other magistrates were approaching, circu- 
 lated like wild-tire throughout the assemblage; 
 and all eyes were rivited upon the chairman, 
 expressive of the suspense that was felt until 
 he announced the policy which was to be 
 adopted by the people’s leaders on the occasion. 
 In a calm, firm voice, the chairman reminded 
 the meeting that it was the privilege of Eng- 
 lishmen to assemble for the pui-pose of discuss- 
 ing grievances and petitioning for redress — that 
 Buch were the objects of the present assemblage 
 — that these objects were fully proven by the 
 documents to be submitted for the approbation 
 of the meeting — that as they were all unarmed, 
 and therefore incapable of mischief even if they 
 possessed the inclination, it would be the most 
 outrageous exercise of tyranny on the part of 
 tlie authorities to prevent the continuation of 
 the jiroceedings— and that therelbre it v/;is his 
 (the chairman’s) duty to counsel the meeting to 
 remain hrm uniil the close of the business, and 
 under ixj circumstances to display a dastard 
 quailing, or to concede an ignominious submis- 
 Bion. 
 
 This Hpeecl w.'is received with a Iremondous 
 out burst ol ajiplauso ; and even as a dead body 
 may l>o galvanized, were those iralo, sickly, 
 fcuiaciated Icrnis inspired with s thrill of patri- 
 
 otic entlmsiasm in the con scion sn opr that their'i 
 was the cause of right and justice, and tnat 
 they were only performing a duty to tliemselvei, 
 their familie.s. and the millions of their fellow- 
 workers and torlers througlamt the land. Hcarce- 
 ly had that outburst ol’ ten thousand voices died 
 away, when the Mayor, accompanied by bii 
 brother-magistrate.s — all on horseback — rode up 
 to the out, skirt ol' the meeting, in a pcrempt,ory 
 and even brutal manner, did the Mayor call 
 upon the chairman to ordi-r the assrmtilage tc 
 dispevse. 'J’lie chairman re{)lied, respectfully 
 but firmly, that it was a legal meeting, a.ssetn- 
 bled l()r a legal oiiject; and he must decline to 
 obey the mandate issued. Thenmpon the 
 Mayor retorted that there was an Act of Par- 
 liament, passed in the time of Charles 1 1, and 
 still extant, forbidding more than lilt}’’ persong 
 to assemlile at a time in any one place. The 
 chairman rejoined that this was not generally 
 believed to bo the law of the land; and he re- 
 minded the Mayor that t.iis functionary himself 
 had frequently called meetings ol the gentry 
 an'd middle-class for political purpose.s, and at 
 which large numbers were as.seinbled. The 
 Mayor flew into a passion, answering that what 
 the gentry and the middle class might do, was 
 quite another thing ; but that the ralible and 
 rilf-ralf must not be permitted to distuib the 
 public peace. At this insolent speech the May- 
 or was saluted by an outburst of indignation, 
 which continued long, and might to a certaia 
 degree ai)|)ear menacing, though it was noth- 
 ing more than he deserved — foi he himself 1 ad 
 provoked it. In the midst of the confusion, the 
 yelling, the shouting, and the vociferating that 
 pealed forth from all sides, and which the chair- 
 man was utterly unable to suppress, the Mayor 
 read the Riot Act. He himself was a coward 
 in his heart, as all ruffian-bullies are : he waa 
 afraid of the storm which his own insolence had 
 raised ; his countenance was white as a sheet — 
 his hands trembled so that he could scarcely 
 hold the document from which he was reading 
 — his voice was hurried, but low, tremulous, 
 and broken — and in the midst of the din which 
 was growing louder and louder, the words he 
 uttered could not be heard a dozen yards off. 
 Scarcely had he finished, when his horse, which 
 had for some minutes been showing symptoraa 
 of increasing restlessness, became unmanagear 
 ble ; and swerving abruptly round, trampled a 
 poor woman with a babe in hern-rms under its 
 hoofs. The child was killed on the spot — the 
 woman had her thigh fractured — and the terri- 
 fic screams which she sent forth added to tho 
 confusion and even horror of the scene. The 
 horse gallopped madly away, the terrilied May- 
 or clinging with frantic energy to its neck; and 
 his brother-functionaries followed him at the 
 utmost speed of their own animals. 
 
 Cries of rage and yells of execratron burst 
 forth from those ol the crowd who wtTC nearest 
 to the scene of this fearful accident; and the 
 rumor of what had happened spread like wild- 
 lire throughout tho assemblage. As is invari- 
 ably and unavoidably the t'ase in such circum- 
 stance.s, the report became exaggerated the far- 
 ther it Hew; so that the general impreeaioff 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFF. 
 
 irhich it created, was that the Mayor had with I 
 purposed brutality spurred his horse into the 
 midst of the meeting, and had trampled down j 
 several persons, killing a child and severely in- 
 juring its nmther. The confusion soon became 
 immense. Men. previously goaded to the very 
 verge of desperation by famine, by wretched- 
 ness, and by the sense of bitter wrong, were 
 now driven to a state bordering on frenzy. 
 And yet all tlieir indignation, so reasonable and 
 BO natural, was venting itself merely in clamor- 
 ous demands for justice: no positive menace 
 was used — no specific threat was thrown out : 
 nor did the members of that meeting make any 
 movement as if to proceed elsewhere to commit 
 an outrvige or wreak a vengeance. 
 
 The poor woman and the dead child were 
 borne to a neighbouring cottage ; and the chair- 
 man, having succeeded somewhat in lulling the 
 ,8torm, was about to explain that the Riot Act 
 had been read, and to put it to the meeting 
 whether it would still continue its proceedings, 
 or disperse — when there was a sudden cry of 
 “ The military !” All eyes were instantaneously 
 reverted towards the town ; and true enough, 
 the soldiers were seen issuing thence, from two 
 dis tiuct parts. The dragoons, with their sabres 
 drawn, were advancing at a trot; Colonel 
 Wyndham’s regiment was simultaneously bear- 
 ing down in double-quick time. The persons 
 composing the meeting could not conceive it 
 possible that an attack was really intended ; and 
 with a few exceptions, they stood their ground. 
 But the utmost confusion and clamour prevailed : 
 women were screaming, as they fled away from 
 the outskirts of the assemblage : with wild locks, 
 bonnets falling off, and dishevelled hair, they 
 wefe crying for fathers, and husbands, and 
 brothers, to come away likewise. Some females 
 remained with the meeting, clinging to those 
 who were their natural supporters. The men 
 were everywhere offering suggestions and re- 
 commending dirterent things to be done ; and 
 thus in the confusion which prevailed, nearly 
 all were leaders and none became followers. 
 The din was immense: and yet there was noth- 
 ing really menacing in the aspect of the assem- 
 blage, tumultuous though it had grown. 
 
 The general impression still was that the 
 troops would come to i halt when on the out- 
 skirts of the meeting but as they drew^iear 
 the terrific word “ Oh jrgeP'' was heard ringing 
 through the air ; and the next moment the dra- 
 goons, bursting into a gallop, poured down on 
 the unarmed multitude. At the same time 
 Colonel Wyndham’s regiment charged likewise, 
 with fixed bayonets ; and the scene all in an 
 instant became hideous and horrible beyond the 
 power of description. The wildest shrieks and 
 cries — the most awful yells and groans were 
 mingling with the shouts of alarm and vocifera- 
 tions of rage. The people fled in all directions ; 
 and the word Halt P' suddenly stopped the 
 carnage which had already commenced on the 
 part of the dragoons and the infantry. In a few 
 minutes the entire space was cleared, save and 
 except of the two corps of military, and some 
 twenty or thirty unfortunate persons who had 
 been .slai i or grievously wounded by the charge 
 Amongst these vittims were five or six women, 
 
 les 
 
 two of them having children in their anna. 
 Over tlie adjacent meadows the members of the 
 dispersed meeting niiglit be seen running for 
 their lives: but after a little while some few of 
 them began to retrace tho'i way slowly, with 
 the horrified apprehension Uiat tiny had lost 
 those who were near and dear to tliom ii thi 
 murderous charge of the militaiy. As for th« 
 commanding officers of these corps, they felt 
 satisfied with the blow they had struck; the 
 “ rilf-ralf and rabble” -^.-ere dispersed ; and ac- 
 cording to their idea, an example of terrorism 
 had been afforded whicli would not very speed 
 ily be forgotten. They inarched back thei 
 troops into the town, and ordered them U 
 keep to their barracks for the rest of the day, 
 
 Glooni}^ were the looks — sombre indeed waa 
 the demeanor, of most of the private soldiers 
 of Lonsdale’s regiment, when on reaching theii 
 quarters, they were no longer under the eyes of 
 their officers. Tlie}^ spoke but little: the state 
 of their feelings was exhibited rather in their 
 countenances than by words. Lonsdale was 
 the prey to emotions which he had perhaps 
 never experienced before, much though lie had 
 gone through, and much anguish of mind though 
 on former occasions he had known. He was 
 in the front rank of the leading company at the 
 time of the charge ; and his bayonet had in- 
 flicted a ghastly wound upon a poor working 
 man. He had been compelled to do what was 
 termed “ his duty.” Under the regime of mili- 
 tary discipline it was impossible for him to act 
 otherwise. When once in the serried rank, he 
 could not hang back : he could not even lower 
 or elevate his musket, nor turn the point of ths 
 bayonet aside, so as to avoid thrusting it into a 
 fellow-creature: — the weapon had its exact 
 place in the bristling array, as he himself had-, 
 his place in the rank. A man was on his right 
 — a man was on his left hand : shoulder against 
 shoulder were they thus marshalled ; and be- 
 tween the muskets of these two was his own 
 bound to appear in due parallel. By these 
 means is it that the regular order of the entire 
 rank is kept : and thus the reader will compre- 
 hend that there was no possibility of flinching ; 
 but that the soldiers of a corps, a company, a 
 regiment, or a brigade, constitute but individual- 
 items t)f a machine, of a lesser or greater mag- 
 nitude, which when put in motion must proceed 
 and act according to the impulse given. It 
 would be as unjust and absurd to blame Lons- 
 dale for what he did on that occasion, although 
 his bayonet had pierced the body of a victim, 
 as to blame one of the wlxeels of a locomotive 
 wliich, when propelled l)y the engineer, dashes 
 ini ' another train, scattering death, and horror, 
 ana disaster around. Need we add I hat in the 
 evening Lonsdale repaired to the canteen, and 
 there drank deep to drown the' sense of the 
 feelings that were goading him to desperation ? 
 And this was the case likewise with many and 
 many of his comrades; — all indeed who had 
 any money to spend, were but too glad to have 
 recourse to liquor in order to escape from the 
 dark and dismal impressions left upon their 
 minds by the scene of the morning. 
 
 On the following da}'’, as Lonsdale — with a 
 head aching from the previous night’s debauch, 
 
THE SOLDIER'^ WIFP.. 
 
 •nd a heart; aohinc: at the roTnembrance of the 
 carnape — was wendinf^ liis way towards ttie lit- 
 tle lodf>;ing, he noticed that the working men 
 whom ho passed looked npou him, some with 
 unrestraiped horror and aversion, others with a 
 niournful commiseration. Idiose who were least 
 ..equainted with the imperious tyra,nny of that 
 discipline which rules the })rivatc soldier as 
 A\'ith a rod of iron, naturally held these soldiers 
 themselves n^sponsible for the hideous deeds 
 that had been done : but others who were bet- 
 ter instructed upon the subject, know that the 
 private soldier was' naught but a mechanized 
 and automnton-niade being, whose ])ositiou was 
 but too well calculated to excite a mournl'ul 
 pity. But such i)ity as this was so galling to 
 Lonsdale’s mind as the looks of aversion, loath- 
 ing, and' abhorrence which he encountered else- 
 wliere ; and feeling a kdnd of madness in his 
 brain, ho was about to rush into a public house 
 to obtain liquor, when he recollected that he 
 bad spent all his money on the previous even- 
 ing at the canteen. He sped on to the loding. 
 'V\hth a sort of wildness he burst violently into 
 tlie room, where Lucy was occui)i(Hl with her 
 work, and where little Fredei'ick was studying 
 his lessons; and his first demand was, “Have 
 you got any money?” 
 
 “ Money, my dear Frederick ?” she repeated, 
 meekly and timidly, while her looks showed that 
 she was frightened at his manner. 
 
 “Yes — money,” he reiterated, with a sort of 
 brutality in his accents. “Come now, don’t 
 stand staring at me in this manner ” 
 
 Lucy burst into tears, while she hastened to 
 put forth from her pocket a few shillings upon 
 the table — all the money she could command. 
 Her husband snatched them up, and was rush- 
 ing avvay, when she sprang forward, and catch- 
 ing him by the arm, murmured in a voice bro- 
 ken with convulsing sobs, “Has anything hap- 
 pened, dear Frederick? why are you thus? 
 Not one kiss? not one kind word? not even so 
 much as a look at your dear boy ?” 
 
 “ Lucy,” answered her husband, abruptly 
 closing the door which he had half opened, and 
 turning as suddenly round towards her, “ I feel 
 as if 1 were going mad ! You know what hap- 
 pened yesterday — you know that there was 
 murder done under colour of the law outside 
 the town? And I, Lucy, I — your husband — 
 the father of that boy — was one of the assas- 
 sins I Yes: you may turn pale Oh! even 
 
 if yoii, too loathe, abhor, and hate me, it will be 
 but natural ! But that hand which you have 
 pressed in tenderness — that hand which your 
 lips have touched — that hand which at times 
 has sni'tothcd down the hair upon the pure 
 brow of that boy — this band it is which is now 
 stained with human blood 1 Oh, my God, 
 Lucy I it is enough to make me curse myself — 
 to make me curse the world — to make me 
 curse- But heavens! what is the matter ?” 
 
 And as he uttered these last words, lie sprang 
 forward to (tatch his wife, whom he suddenly 
 [)erceiv<;d to tie falling: but he was not in time 
 U) save h(;r — and she droppcid heavily upon the 
 florir in a dead swoon. Ho raised her in his 
 arms — he |»laced her upon the bed — ho hasten- 
 bd to Bprinklo water upon her countenance, 
 
 wbicli was pale ns marble. Care and angi '«li 
 had for a long time past Vieon making it tl n: 
 it now looked like the face of a corpse — 1 .at 
 countenance once so cminerdly beautiful ! 1 it- 
 
 tle Frederick was crying bitterly; and in a 
 paroxysm of excruciating reriiorse for his ii-^t 
 conduct, Lonsdale enibraced the child ; a.nl 
 bending over the inanimate form of his wile, he 
 covered her cheeks also witli kisses. While he 
 was still lavishing the.so caresses upon her, she 
 came back to c()nsciousnc*i : she felt the warmth 
 of her husband’s ki.ssc.s — a thrill of surprised d v 
 light galvanized her from head to foot. Wind- 
 ing her arms about his neck, she strained him 
 to her bosom, — and once more — but only Ibr « 
 few moments — Lucy Lonsdale was liajipy. 
 
 No: this happiness la.stcd but a I'ew momentrt 
 for the feeling of remorse which had smitter.i 
 the husband, quickly jtassed awa}' when hesa’^r 
 that his wife had recovered. It was as if tho 
 tenderness of romance melted all on a sudden 
 at the renewal of tlie commoni)lace as[)ect of 
 things. Lucy gently and timidly asked whether 
 he could not remain and spend an hour — only 
 one short hour — with herself and little Fred- 
 erick. But Lonsdale had at the time an insati- 
 ate craving lor the artificial stimulant of strong 
 drink; and glibly uttering an excuse, betook 
 his hurried dej)arture, with his wife’s money in 
 his pocket. And, as we have before said, it 
 was all the money she pos.sessed at the time. 
 This was Tuesday: she would have no work 
 done till Saturday — no more money to receive 
 till it was done. The cupboard contained 
 enough bread — and nothing else — for that daj^’s 
 meahs: but on the following day Lucy was com- 
 pelled to take some article of jewelry to the 
 pawnbroker’s, and raise the means tor supplying 
 herself and the boy wdth food. ,Oh I for her- 
 self she cared not : she would have submitted 
 to any privation sooner than have paid that visit 
 to the pawnbroker ! But the child could not be 
 suffered to know the pangs of hunger likewise; 
 and it wms for him that she did it. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYL 
 
 fl 
 
 STILL DOWNWARD. 
 
 Time wore on — weeks and months passed 
 away — and the year' 1836 was drawing to a 
 close. Frederick Lonsdale grew more invet-, 
 erate in his dissipated habits — more thoroughly 
 eontirmed in his evil courses. He seldom now 
 paid a visit to the lodging, unless it were to 
 obtain money; and as the price of Avork waa 
 falling, and even work itself was not always to 
 bo hud, poor Jjucy’s means of supplying her 
 husband’s extravagances grow narrower and 
 narrower. One after the other had the articles 
 of jewelry been })ledged : they were now all 
 gone; and the i)r()ceeds had been swallowed up 
 by Lonsdale at the canteen. Frequent were 
 the minor punishments to which he was sub- 
 jected ; and every time ho thus endured 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 HIT 
 
 peralties of his intemperate habits, he heard 
 himself pronounced “incorrigible.” 
 
 And Lucy toiled on — toiled on as much as 
 she was able; tliat is to say, whenever she 
 could obtain work. But poverty was stealing 
 into the little home, — stealing insidiously, but 
 steadily and surely, as poverty does steal ; for 
 it seldom strikes one down of a sudden. In- 
 stead of pouncing upon its victim at once, it 
 circles round aiml round about — plays witli its 
 object — angles with its, -feelings — tortures it as 
 a cat does a mouse — but gradually and gradual- 
 ly hems it around into a narrower compass, 
 Wl it begins to compress it as the snake does 
 iihe writhing victim it lias enfolded in its loath- 
 some coils. Thus does poverty proceed by 
 means of slow tortures : but eacli successive 
 one is more keenly felt than its predecessor — 
 as the nearer one approaches to the horrid re- 
 gions of the North, the sharper and more pettg- 
 nant is felt each gust of the ice-wind. Alas! 
 sad were the privations which Lucy had begun 
 to experience, but which she kept as much as 
 possible as her own share, — still providing to 
 the utmost of her power for her well beloved 
 boy. Though work was fluctuating and pre- 
 carious. she could have still managed — slie 
 could have rubbed on — she could have eked 
 out the slender means it produced, were it not 
 for the constant demands her husband made 
 upon her scanty purse. As delicatel,y as she 
 could, did she make him aware of the difficulty 
 of maintaining her little home : but he did not 
 choose to understand her, so long as there was 
 a shilling or sixpence forthcoming to be spent 
 at the canteen. Sometimes he would take from 
 her even the last small coin upon which she had 
 reckoned wherewith to purcliase bread for her 
 son ; and then she would have to go and im- 
 plore credit at the baker’s or else part with a 
 garment at the pawnbroker’s. 
 
 But even this was not the sum of poor Lucy’s 
 sorrows ; it was not the total of her affiictions. 
 The time came when she was forced to tell her 
 husband that she had no money. Then he de- 
 manded savagely whether she was growing lazy 
 and did not work? She replied, witli the 
 tears streaming down her cheeks, that she had 
 been a week without work, as the wareliouse 
 had none to give her. Lonsdale insisted that 
 she should go and demand back the deposit of 
 tv/c pounds which she had left. Now for the 
 first time in her life — or at least towards her 
 hvsband — did Lucy manifest a certain degree 
 of spirit: she positively refused to withdraw 
 that deposit — it was the only condition on 
 which she could hope for work again ; and 
 work had been promised her for tlie ensuing 
 week. The deposit was, so to speak, the little 
 capiial that supplied herself and her child with 
 bread Lonsdale grew furious, and rushed out 
 of the house. He himself went straight to 
 Lucy’s employers and demanded the return of 
 the money; but they, having heard things to 
 his disparagement, declined to hand the amount 
 over, without a written order from his wife. 
 He sped back to the lodging, and at first be- 
 pouffht her to sign such a paper. No: much as 
 It pained her to refuse, she could not — she dared 
 QOt He grew violent: she fell upon her 
 12 
 
 knees, beseeching him not tc press hep. Ha 
 had recourse to coaxing agaiii; half of tha 
 money would do — but still Lucy would not. 
 Ten shillings, then — five shillings — any portion 
 of the money : but Lucy knew that it would J)e 
 utter ruiii — hopcle.ss misery — starvation — and 
 finally the poor liouse ; and still she refused. 
 Lonsdale burst away from her in a violar.t pas- 
 sion ; and for the i;est of that day the unfortu- 
 nate woman remained plunged in a depth of 
 grief from which not even the affectionate en- 
 dearments of the boy would raise her. 
 
 This violent scene was speedily followed by 
 others of a similar character. Lonsdale would 
 eagerly watch when his wife had work, know- 
 ing that as Saturday came round he would ob- 
 tain the means for a debauch. He would even 
 waylay her as she returned from the warehouse, 
 and would compel her to hand him over a con- 
 siderable part of her earnings. He thought not 
 of the long weary hours which poor Lucy had 
 toiled and toiled to obtain that pittaace where- 
 of he plundered her in so large a part. He 
 thought not of the privations that she and their 
 son would have to endure for want of the 
 shillings that he expended in drink. He marked 
 not that the face whose beauty had once been 
 to him the object of pride, and love, and joy, 
 had become pinched, and care-worn, and hag- 
 gard — that the fine contours of that form which 
 he had been wont to admire, were suffering 
 and shrinking from the same causes — that liis 
 poor wife was losing the strength as well aa 
 the robustness and the hues of health, beneath 
 the weiglit of oppressive toil and merciless po- 
 verty. Nor did he observe that the boy who 
 liad once been his solace and delight — the ob 
 ject of his tenderest care — whom he had dan- 
 dled upon hi.s knee — and who had been accua 
 tomed to fiy into his arms, was likewise grow- 
 ing pale and losing the joyous spirits natural to 
 his age, and that he shrank back in fear and 
 trembling whenever the much altered father 
 entered the room. AH this Lonsdale saw not; 
 or if he saw it, he recked not for it ; and it 
 fitiled to make a salutary impression on turn. 
 
 And now as time wore on, sadder scenea 
 took place in that little lodging. Again did 
 the brutal husband — for sucli indeed he had 
 now become — renew the demand that the de- 
 posit should be withdrawn from the wanhou^a. 
 Again did Lucy resist. Lonsdale, craving for 
 liquor — ready to sacrifice everything in order to 
 obtain it — cared not what might happen for the 
 morrow so that he could obtain money for the 
 day. He threatened — he stormed — he menaced 
 — he made use of language such as Lucy had 
 never heard is.sue from his lips before, and 
 which she shuddered to refiect upon after he 
 was gone. But she would not consent to de- 
 prive lier son of bread in order that the father 
 miglit have drink. The scene was terrible — 
 and, Ah 1 terrible too in its close : for the in- 
 furiate Lonsdale struck his amiable and excel- 
 lent wife. She sank down upon a seat like one 
 annihilated : she could not believe the evidence 
 of her own senses. He had struck her — Oh 1 
 after all she had done for him — after all the 
 love she had ciierished towards him, he had 
 struck her 1 and in the nresence too of the boy, 
 
168 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 who, niHhir:^ towards her, tl'rew his little arms 
 Habont hor nock, sobhinpai d wcepinu' })it{“()usly 1 
 Lotisdnlo sped from tho room with rcmorso 
 ••nnklifijr in l)iH heart like tho slinf^ of a soor- 
 oion ortho venomod tootl: of a snake. 
 
 Rut this remorse was only transient. Similar 
 BCMBiies succeeded ; and it sooon became no un- 
 eornmon thing tor the busl)and to beat his un- 
 fortunate wife. The j)eopleof the house would 
 at length put up with these disturbances no 
 longer; and the reader may conceive how bit- 
 tor was poor JiUcy’s humiliation, wlimi she was 
 one day told that she miglit look out lor another 
 lodging, ‘‘as they would not have a drunken 
 blackgiiard of a soldier constantly coming to 
 create a riot there.” Oh I that her own Fred- 
 erick — the object of her constant and un- 
 wearied love — the man whom she still loved 
 and cherished notwithstanding all his brutality 
 tjowards her — should have sunk down to such 
 a degree of degradation as to be thus spoken 
 of! Vividly to poor Lucy’s mind came back 
 those scenes of ha{)piness which she had known 
 at Carlisle, in Finsbury, and in Calais — w'hen 
 her husband \vas loy,ed and respected by all who 
 knew'’ him — and when he loved his wife and 
 his child, and respected himself Was it jios- 
 eible that he could have so changed ? Lucy 
 felt as if all the })ast w'-ere a dream : it appear- 
 ed as if it never could have existed, to be suc- 
 ceeded by present circumstances. Or else these 
 present circumstances themselves were a dream, 
 and she was under the influence of a hideous 
 nightmaro? But, no — alas! no: it w'as all 
 indeed too terrible a reality. She knew that it 
 was so : she could not blind herself to the tact. 
 Here were a thousand causes to convince her 
 that it was all real — horribly, hideously real. 
 She knew it when she looked in the glass and 
 beheld her own altered appearance ; she knew 
 it when she looked at her son, and through her 
 scalding tears beheld him like one pining away, 
 she knew it by the blow's she had received from 
 her husband, and which had left bruises on her 
 shoulders and her arms: she knew it by those 
 cutting words uttered by the people of the 
 house and which still rang in her ears. Yes: 
 she knew it — and she felt it all too : she felt the 
 poverty that was around her — that was staring 
 her in the face — that was hemming hoi in on 
 every side — that stood like a lean, lank, sharp- 
 visaged si)ectre ever before her: she felt it in 
 the thousand and one reminiscences of the past 
 with which the circumstances of the present 
 contrasted so drearily, so dismally. 
 
 But it was necessary to remove to another 
 lodging; and in such removals poverty llnds a 
 more wTctched home on each occasion, until at 
 lengtli it is left without a homo at all. But to 
 this ])oiiit L icy had not come: it w:us for the 
 pres(/nt only a nmioval — a removal to a cheaper 
 ftnd consequently a more misi'ralde chamber — 
 » mere attic in a house wIkmc there were other 
 lodgers. But still, in tliat same spirit of thrift, 
 nnd oleariliiic'SH, and tidiness which had ever 
 eharacicri/,cd Lucy, and no ])or1.ion of which 
 ■he lia<l left bcliimi her when being dniggcd 
 over thf! nnigli places of tin- world’s ]);itliwav. 
 Hie jioor c-rcaluro omleavourcd to make tins 
 wrokclied attic as conifortablo and us neut us 
 
 possible. And still she oontiniiFni to bAl witn 
 i,er needle; and still she did her Ix'Si to sup- 
 port herself and her son; and though their 
 garnamts had by ibis time become scant and 
 shabby, yet their extreme propriety and cleuD- 
 liness rescued them from appearing (iownright 
 mean and sordid. l''or a moment — and only a 
 moment — Lonsdale was shocked when bo first 
 entered this new lodging: for he was no 
 stranger to the cause (hat had flriven Lucy from 
 I tiio previous one. But anything like a feeling 
 of remorse on his jiart was now as transient as 
 it was rare; and as he succeeded on the oa-a* 
 sion in extorting a shilling ^i•om his jioor wife, 
 he went away with exubeiant spirits. Tu« 
 man had by this time become thoroughly cm- 
 bruted: even those line feelings which had ani- 
 mated him on the occasion of the military cru- 
 sade against the working clas.ses, had ceased to 
 exist; and if the same scene were to be en- 
 acted over again, he would hav^ mercilessly 
 bayonetted a hundred of his fchow-crcaturea, 
 provided that he had jireviously been well plied 
 with beer or spirits. And not only the last 
 remnants of the generous sentiments of other 
 times were thus passing away — but his health 
 was liiiling, and his good looks were disap[)ear- 
 ing. He often sjiat blood — his lungs were 
 affected — he was troubled with son's and pains 
 jin the loins: for the effects produced by the 
 , two severe Hoggings he had sustained were 
 aggravated by his intemperance. Tlie man was 
 rajadly becoming, alike in mind and body, the 
 wreck of his former self; physically and men- 
 tally was he being de.stroyed. And the process 
 was now suicidal: it was his own work, as was 
 the bankruptcy of his chai'acter also. 
 
 Wo may here incidentally observe that since 
 the trial which took place in the Spring, Lucy 
 had heard nothing of her father; and she had 
 never once met him in the streets of Middleton 
 —nor had she noticed her husband on any oc- 
 casion mention that he had fallen in with Mr 
 Davis. She often wished to a.scertain what had 
 become of him : she more than feared that 1 \a 
 also had growui inveterate in his drinking 
 habits : and even amidst her own manifold 
 cares and sorrows, she still found time to think 
 affectionately and sympatlnzingly concerning 
 her parent. The year w^as drawing to a close : 
 Christmas w^as at hand — a sad and mournful 
 Christmas for poor Lucy — wdien accident fur- 
 nished her with the information that she had so 
 much longed to' obtain. One da}', when mak- 
 ing some small purchases at a shop, she over- 
 heard tw'o persons — likewise customers there- 
 talking of her lather. They did not know w'ho 
 she w'as, and therefore went on speaking. 
 From wdiat passed between them, Lucy learnt 
 that Mr. Davis had removed to Coventry imme- 
 diately after the trial — that he inhabited a W'ell- 
 furnished and c-omfortable dw'clling in that 
 town — that Sarah Bodkin was his housekeeper 
 — and that he had almost completely given him- 
 self up to drink. It further appeared that with 
 the damages ho hadobtiiincd, together wilh the 
 properly ho previously possessed, lie w.kS .u 
 very comfortable circumstances, and might have 
 occupied a liighly respectable standing in so- 
 ciety, were it not for his dnuikeu habita. Luc/ 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 169 
 
 f 9 hirned to her attic-lodgine with a heart hea- 1 
 vier, if possible, than when she had issued i 
 forth. Her father v/as well off — he could sue- j 
 cour her if he chose in this period of her pover- ! 
 ty : but she feared — or rather she knew, how | 
 useless it would be to write to him, and how' 
 inveterate he w;i^ against her. These considera- 1 
 tions naturally and irresistibly forced upon her 
 mind the thought of the misery that had resulted 
 from the marriage she had contracted: and yet 
 she could not wish the past undone so far as 
 that marriage was concerned. As for a single 
 scintilla tion of regret that she had not espoused 
 G-erald Bedburn, Lucy was too pure-minded to 
 entertain such a feeling. Besides, that the 
 marriage had thus resulted in unliappiuess for 
 herself, could not for an instant be accounted 
 for as a retribution for any disobedience of 
 which she was guiltj'' in respect to her father : 
 under the circumstances which existed at the 
 time, it was no disobedience at all; and the 
 union would have been a happy one, had not 
 her husband been subjected to such cruelty 
 and remorseless persecutions. But Oh I if she 
 could only make her peace with her father, even 
 though he might not succour her in her poverty, 
 it would still be balm to her soul. She wrote 
 to him ; and the letter remained unanswered. 
 This was another dagger plunged into the heart 
 of poor Lucy. 
 
 Christmas Eve came ; and she wondered. 
 Badly and mournfully, whether Frederick would 
 dine with her on the following day. She had 
 saved up a few shillings to purcliase the Christ- 
 mas dinner: she had toiled hard and stinted 
 herself sorely in order to make this little sav- 
 ing; for she thought that if her husband could 
 once again be induced to sit down comfortably 
 with his wife and son at the table, and if that 
 dear boy’s heart should also for this once be 
 gladdened, it would still be an oasis in that dis- 
 mal arid desert constituting the world of her 
 present experience. It was about four o’clock 
 in the afternoon — and Lucy had waited indoors 
 until now, in expectation that her husband 
 would come, so that she might assure herself 
 whether ho intended to dine with them on the 
 following day. But as he had not yet made lus 
 appearance, and it was already dark, she re- 
 solved, with a subdued sigh, to go forth and 
 make her purcliases. She had put on her bon- 
 net and shawl, when Lonsdale’s well known 
 step was heard ascending the stairs; and he 
 entered the room. He was half tipsy ; and his 
 first demand was whether Lucy had any mo- 
 ney. She never told him a fasehood, and 
 therefore would not on this occasion ; but 
 frankly admitted that she had five shillings, 
 with which she was going to buy the Christmas 
 dinner — and she besought him to come and 
 partake of it. 
 
 “ You can’t go out at this hour,” he said, his 
 manner and tone all of a sudden becoming 
 kind and affectionate, notwithstanding his semi- 
 inebriety : ‘‘it's quite dark, and there are a 
 good many bad cliaracters abroad in the street 
 just now. To be sure, I meant to come and 
 dine with you to-morrow ; and I hope we shall 
 bo comfortable together. Let me go and buy 
 the things for you.” 
 
 A misgiving smote Lucy’s heart : but not for 
 au instant would she betray it. So she gave 
 her husband the money ; and away lie went, 
 promising to return in about half-an-hour. But 
 the half-hour passed — and he re-appeared not. 
 It grow into an hour — then another hour went 
 by — then another — but still no Lonsdale. 
 Lacy’s misgivings were now completely con- 
 firmed. He had taken the money without tlm 
 intention of coming back: it would all go In 
 strong drink ; and she — tlie poor wife — and the 
 boy might starve at home ! She had not ano- 
 ther farthing : she had not a garment which 
 she could dispense with, to raise money upon. 
 She looked in the cupboard : there was a loaf of 
 bread — and naught besides. There was not 
 even any tea, nor sugar, nor milk. Neither 
 had she any coals; and the weather was of a 
 bitter chill. With a tii robbing brain and an an- 
 guished heart, she sat down and endeavoured 
 to work: but she could not. This last act of 
 her husband struck her as something so heart- 
 less — savouring indeed of such cold-blooded 
 cruelty — that it was well nigh overwhelming. 
 It was not for the dinner she cared: a piece of 
 dry bread would suffice for her : but Lonsdale 
 had robbed his son of that dinner which Lucy 
 had promised, and of which the poor boy, child- 
 like, had been talking all the week. She won- 
 dered how her husband could possibly have 
 had the heart to do it. Vainly, in the natural 
 generosity of her soul, did she endeavour to 
 find a palliation for his conduct : but she could 
 not. 
 
 And thus that Christmas Day was passed, ia 
 wretchedness and sorrow for poor Lucy. Her 
 husband did not make his appearance. He 
 knew there was nothing there, either to eat or 
 to drink, that would suit his palate. There was 
 no tire in the grate — the room was like an ioe- 
 well — the snow was falling — and Lucy could 
 not even take little Freddy to church or to 
 walk. All day long she held him on her lap, 
 wrapped up ia a shawl, and pressed to her 
 bosom, to keep ’him warm, while she herself 
 was shivering with the cold. Bread and water 
 was their only fare: but the bread which Lucy 
 ate was moistened with her tears. 
 
 A week passed ; and Lonsdale did not ven- 
 ture into his wife’s presence. She dared not 
 seek him at the barracks: for on two or three 
 previous occasions, when she had done so in 
 alarm at his protracted absence, he had been 
 most violent in his reproaches, and had posi- 
 tively ordered her never to adopt such a course 
 again. But on this occasion, when the seventh 
 day came and Frederick did not appear in the 
 afternoon, Lucy grew so seriously Irightened 
 that she resolved at any hazard to go and in- 
 quire for him. But scarcely had she thus made 
 up her mind, when he entered the room, and 
 instantly began framing an excuse for not hav- 
 ing returned on Cliristmas Eve. He said that 
 he had been jostled and robbed in the street, 
 and that he did not like to come back, Lucy 
 made no reply ; and Frederick seeing that ha 
 was not believed, flew into a rage, endeavour- 
 ing to pick a quarrel. But, as usual, he had it 
 all on liis own side: for his gentle wife bora 
 everything meekly, and retorted nothing aft- 
 
no 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S W.FE. 
 
 grily. She however entivatod her husband to 
 coiiposo himself, and not address her in such 
 harsli terms, as slie would not for tlie world 
 give him any olfence. lie told her that if she 
 wanted to make it up with him, she must do 
 him a service; and then he revived tlm oft- 
 re'peated demand lor the doiiosit. But Lucy 
 re'used. Frederick gave hei’ a violent blow ; 
 this time it was on the face — and it felled her 
 to the lloor, where she remained senseless. 
 
 When she came back to consciousness, she 
 found her little boy clinging t(» her neck and 
 crying bitterly. She said and d' 1 all she i)ossi- 
 ble could to soo he him, though lier own heart 
 was well nigh ready to burst. 
 
 “ Papa has taken away the things,” observed 
 little Frederick, when he was somewhat tran- 
 quillized. 
 
 “What things, my dear child?” inquired 
 Lucy, not comprehending the boy’s meaning. 
 
 “Your work, mamma,” was the response. 
 
 “ Ah 1” — and Lucy started as if a serpent had 
 gtuug her. She understood it all in a moment ; 
 and a sense of utter ruin — harrowing and hor- 
 rifying — stuck to her soul. In a fearful state 
 of excitement she put on her bonnet and shawl; 
 and leaving little Freddy in charge of a female 
 lodger, who occupied the adjacent attic, she 
 rushed olf to the warehouse. There she re- 
 ceived the conllnnation of her worst fear.s. Her 
 husband had taken back the half-finished work 
 which she had in hand — he had forged her 
 name to an order for the repayment of the ue- 
 posit of two pounds — and he Lad obtained the 
 money. Lucy’s distress was piteous to a de- 
 gree ; and she besought that the work might be 
 given back to her. The people of the ware- 
 house had little feeling for the sorrows of those 
 who toiled for them: it was with them a pure 
 business-consideration; they made it a rule of 
 the establishment never to give out work with- 
 out a deposit ; and this rule could not be de- 
 parted from. Moreover, Lonsdale had been to 
 the warehouse on several occasions, and liad 
 deported himself in so violent a manner that he 
 had become an object of terror. The clothiers 
 were therefore far from sorry at the occurrence 
 of an incident wliich, by putting an end to their 
 connexion with Lucy, would guarantee them 
 against her husband’s visits in future. 
 
 Half-distracted, the unliappy woman wan- 
 dered back to her miserable home. As she 
 passed through the streets, her brain appeared 
 to reel : it seemed as if frenzy were in it. She 
 could not compose herself to deliberate reflec- 
 tion. The last plank which separated her from 
 the waters of destruction, appeared to be gone: 
 the last straw at which she had clutched to 
 BJive herself from drowning, \. as torn from her 
 gra-sp. And, Oii ! her boy — her beloved child 
 — her dear little Fredei'ick — wh.at wms now to 
 become of him? Great God I what was to be- 
 eouiU of tli&m both? 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 DEEPER DOWNWARD STILL. 
 
 Every day tliroughout tlie ensuing week— 
 fi-om morning till night — did Lucy wandor from 
 shop to shop, imploring work. ' Ye.s: it was 
 not asking — it was imploring. For the love of 
 Heaven, give her work, that she might obtain 
 bread for her boy and herself I If they would 
 but trust her with work, she would return it 
 punctually — she would execute it well — she 
 cared not how little she was paid, so long 
 she could earn something. It was but work 
 that she asked for; it was but the bread of in- 
 dustry that she craved : for mercy’s sake give 
 her work 1 Ah, but could she pay a deposit ? 
 Xo — she could not: but she was honest — there 
 was not a stain upon her character — she had 
 never done a wrong thing — she would perish 
 sooner. It was all very well and all very fine; 
 but a deposit of money was required — the hon- 
 oc of a person could not be taken as a pledge — 
 it was worth nothing, even at a pawnbroker’s. 
 Well, but she was not altogether a stranger at 
 Middleton: Oakleigh, whicli was at no great 
 distance, was her native place ; she wms the 
 daughter of Mr. Davis who for so many years 
 had been Sir Archibald Redburn’s land-steward. 
 This too was all very well and all very fine: 
 but it was not a money-deposit. And more- 
 over, how came it that Mr. Davis, who was 
 known to be well o(f, left his daughter in such 
 a strait? They were very sorry — these people 
 to whom she ap])lied — but they could not assist 
 her; they must beg to decline; and really they 
 were so busy, they could not attend to her any 
 longer I 
 
 In this manner did poor Lucy experience dis- 
 appointment after disappointment — rebuff after 
 rebuff : in this way was she treated. She waa 
 poorly clad ; and no one would trust her. Yet 
 it was but work that she entreated, and prayed 
 for, and almost went down upon her knees to 
 implore. But in this Christian country she 
 could not obtain that work, unless able to guar- 
 antee her integrity by a money-surety. Oh ! if 
 those to whom she addressed herself, had but 
 studied well that beautiful countenance — still 
 beautiful, pale and careworn though it were, — 
 if they had examined those traits to which pal- 
 lor itself imparted a still more delicate and 
 touching interest, — they surely would not have 
 conceived a suspicion injurious to Lucy’s hon- 
 esty ? But they had no time — thos^ people of 
 this busy money-making country — to examine 
 physiognomies : and even if tliey had, they 
 would still have fallen baek upon the stern, 
 cold, worldly-minded calculation that looks 
 were not deposits 
 
 Thus a week passed in vain and futile wan- 
 derings from warehouse to warehouse — from 
 shop to shop. And always without success! 
 Throughout this week Lucy had managed to 
 obtain bread for her child, and an occasional 
 crust for herself ; bfit this was done only by 
 ])arting with some of her own raiment — that 
 r.aiment which she could so ill spare in the midst 
 of the deep cold winter I The week’s rent be- 
 came duo ; with the utmost difficulty it waa 
 paid : but,tho direst penury now stared the un- 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 171 
 
 happy raotLer aud the poor boy in the face. 
 She felt the icy hand of Want lying heavy upon 
 her shoulder ; it was like the hand of the dead, 
 sending a glacial chill piercing and penetrating 
 to the very marrow of her bones. Thoughts of 
 suicide would creep into her mind ; and though 
 she shuddered with the direst horror, and en- 
 deavored to shake them off, still they would 
 come back again; and there were moments 
 when she feared that her reason was abandon- 
 ing her — that she was going mad. And during 
 this week of harrowing bitterness — a week of 
 excruciating miguish — a week through which 
 she had dragged herself she scarcely knew how 
 — slie saw nothing of her husband. But at 
 length he came back again ; and sorrowfully — 
 despairingly — but with no more reproach than 
 was conveyed in her looks and her accents — she 
 told him ail she had suffered, and all that little 
 Frederick had suffered likewise. For a moment 
 he appeared shocked — but only for a moment: 
 and then he told her the best thing she cpuld 
 do, would be to go to Coventry and see her fa- 
 ther ; for he had heard tiiat Mr. Davis was liv- 
 ing there in good circumstances. She replied, 
 amidst torrents of tears, that she had vainly 
 written to him some time back, and had receiv- 
 ed no answer. 
 
 “Well,” said Lonsdale, in a sullen mood and 
 with sulky accents, “ I am sure I don’t know 
 what you are to do. For my part, I was obliged 
 to take that money — I wanted it — and of course 
 there is no harm in using one’s wife’s name. 
 Come, what on earth are you whimpering for 
 like that?” 
 
 “ G-ood heavens, Frederick!” exclaimed Lucy, 
 with a sudden access of wildness ; “ how can I 
 help weeping ? Did you not know that when 
 you wont and received that money, you were 
 taking the very bread out of that poor boy’s 
 mouth ?” 
 
 “ Oh 1 by Jove, if you are going to reproach 
 me, I sha’n’t stay here — and the brutal fellow, 
 starting up from liis seat, placed his hand upon 
 the latch. 
 
 “ For God’s sake, Frederick, do not leave me 
 thus I” implored the agonizing Lucy. “Oh! I 
 forgive you for what you have done ! Do but 
 consult with me what I am to do ” 
 
 “ Forgive me indeed !” he said, turning fierce- 
 ly round upon her: “that’s a pretty way to 
 talk to your husband. If you do it again, I will 
 make you remember it:” — and he clenched his 
 fist to strike her. 
 
 “Oh, papa!” cried the boy, rushing between 
 them : “ do not boat poiir mama — pray do not !” 
 
 “Get out, you little brat, you!” — and Lons- 
 dale gave the cnild a brutal kick : having done 
 which, he quitted the attic. ^ 
 
 “My poor boy,” murmured Lucy, snatching 
 little Frederick up in her arms, pressing him to 
 her bosom, and covering him with her kisses 
 and her tears ; “ I could have endured anything 
 but this! Oh, it is too much ! it is too much !” 
 —and then she continued to sob and weep, and 
 moan and lament, as if her heart would break. 
 
 This shocking scene took place at about two 
 © clock in the afternoon ; and Lonsdale, on 'eav- 
 ini^ his wife’s lodging, walked in a mood d des- 
 perate auUenuess towards the buiracka. He 
 
 had called upon Lucy in the hope that she 
 would have managed to get over the difficulty 
 wherein he had plunged her, and that he should 
 have found her able to give him some money. 
 The disappointment he experienced threw him 
 into that humor of bi’utal sulkiness which ho 
 had displayed. The two pounds he liad obtain- 
 ed from the warehouse, hud melted away at the 
 canteen and other places ; for wlienever he had 
 mono}'', he invariably treated his comrades hi a 
 profuse manner until it was gone. He bad 
 committed a deep debauch on the previous 
 night: he now felt an earnest longing for a 
 stimulant to cheer up his s['irits which were 
 suffering a painful reaction. His rnird was in 
 a morbid state ; he recked not what become of 
 him. 
 
 He was proceeding through the street in tills 
 mood, — wondering where he could obtain cre- 
 dit for liquor, or how he could raise any money 
 to procure some, — when on passing round a 
 corner, he ran against Sergeant-Major Langley. 
 
 “Now then, you awkward scoundrel!” ex- 
 claimed Langley : “ why the deuce don’t you 
 see where you are going ? But most likely you 
 did it on purpose, you blackguard thief!” 
 
 “How could I do it on purpose?” demanded 
 Frederick gruffly ; “ since I did not .see you till 
 we ran against each other ? If you can see 
 through a brick wall, I can’t ; and I may just 
 as well say that you ran against me on pur- 
 pose ” 
 
 “ Wiiat the deuce means all this impudence?’* 
 vociferated Langley, his countenance becoming 
 purple with rage. “But I suppose you are 
 tipsy as usual ?” 
 
 “ No, Mr. Langley — I am not,” replied our 
 hero quickly. “ I take heaven to witness that 
 I have not had a single drop of beer or spirits 
 all day.” 
 
 “ Well, it’s something to plume yourself upon, 
 no doubt,” rejoined the Sergeant-Major v.dth a 
 sneer : “ for you have become the most drunken 
 blackguard in the whole regiment.” 
 
 “It’s precious fine for you to speak in this 
 manner.” retorted Lonsdale, his blood boiling 
 with rage, “ when you know very well that I 
 picked you up one night, in the barrack-yard at 
 Manchester, in a beastly state of intoxication.” 
 
 “ Hold your tongue, you insolent scoundrel!” 
 interrupted Langley, with vehemence, 
 
 “Scoundrel yourself!” cried Frederick pas- 
 sionately : “ yes — the most hellish of scoundrels 
 — a scoundrel of the blackest dye — a scoundrel 
 of an infamy tlnit transcends all description 
 
 this is what you are, Mr. Langley — aud I 
 
 defy you!” 
 
 “ What’s the matter here ?” demanded Cap- 
 tain Redburn, who came round the corner at 
 the moment. “Is this beggar insulting you, 
 Hangley ?”•— and he flung a look of the suprem- 
 est contempt upon our hero. 
 
 “Beggar!” echoed Lonsdale, now rendered 
 perfectly infuriate : and in the ungovernable 
 madue.ss of his rage lie struck Redburn a blow 
 which sent him staggering back several paces. 
 
 “Ah! he has struck me!” exclaimed Red- 
 burn. “ Langley, take him to the guard-house !” 
 
 “No — nor yet a dozen of you!” vociferated 
 Lonsdale, who was literally in a state of frenzy: 
 
172 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 and drawing liis bayonet at the very instant 
 that Langley was rushing towards him, the 
 point wouiHled tliis individual in the arm. 
 
 A crowd was speedily collected — .several 
 ot'acr soldiers came up at the moment — and 
 Langley urdenul them to take Lon.sdale into 
 custody. The unhappy man, smitten in a,n in- 
 Btunt l)y a sense of the awful ])o.sition in which 
 he now .sto(jd, droj)ped his l)ayonet — })re.ssed 
 his hand to his brow — and .staggei’ing back, as 
 the images ofihs wife and child rose up vividly 
 before him, murmured in a voice of deepest 
 agony, “ Aly Ood, iny God 1 what have 1 
 done ?” 
 
 He ofTered no farther resistance — but was 
 coi hicted as a prisoner to the barracks, where 
 he was at once placed under close arrest. 
 
 In the counso of the evening Lucy was wend- 
 ii\g her way through the streets, in the direc- 
 tion of that warehou.se for which she had first 
 of all worked, and whence her husband had 
 received back the deposit. So desperate was 
 the condition to which she was reduced, that 
 she had resolved to make one more aiipeal in 
 that quarter. But on arriving there, slie was 
 at once told “ that it was of no use to come 
 bothering any more, for that nothing could be 
 done for her.” She actually fell upon her knee.s, 
 imploring work : but her prayer remained un- 
 heeded — or rather, elicited only a stern com- 
 mand that she would take herself olf. Heart- 
 broken, and wringing her hands as she pa.ssed 
 along the streets, she was retracing her way 
 towards the lodging, — when by the light stream- 
 ing from a shop-window, she was suddenly re- 
 cognized by a respectably-dressed woman, 
 about hve-and-twenty^ years of age, who ex- 
 claimed, “ Good heavens I it must be you, Mrs. 
 Lonsdale 1” 
 
 “ Martha ?” said Lucy, with a feeling of joy 
 at thus hearing a well-known voice and once 
 more beholding a friendly countenance : and 
 then they shook each other by the hand most 
 cordially. 
 
 Martha’s tale was soon told : she had mar- 
 ried a respectable and steady young man, named 
 Selwyn — the son of a small farmer, living about 
 twenty miles from Middleton and a dozen miles 
 from Oakleigh: she had two children — and was 
 very happy and comfortable. Poor Lucy could 
 not answer for herself in the same cheerful 
 strain ; and as she never gave vent to any com- 
 plaint against her husband, the words of ex- 
 planation she did give to Martha, were few and 
 guarded. But the tears ran down her cheek.s, 
 as she admitted she was in great distress; and 
 Mrs. Selwyn manifested the sincerest sympathy. 
 
 “ I am Inistening back to the friend's house 
 whi/ro my husband is waiting for me,” she 
 iwid; “for 1 have been out to make some pur- 
 thasoH, and have been detained longer than I 
 thcaight — .so tiiat 1 am afraid he will be unea.sy. 
 We are going homo the lirst thing to-morrow 
 morning; but as wo are oceasienaliy at Middlc- 
 tem, 1 shall have the pleasure of seeing you 
 again. J'erhaiw yem will write and tell mo 
 wh(;rc I can lind you V 1 can never I'orget. my 
 dear Mrs. Jicmsdalo, how kindly you u.sed to 
 Ixdiavo towards me ; and I hope you won’t 1)0 
 •ngry^ if I bog you tc; acicept this little trillo.” 
 
 Wbilo she was thus s|jeaking, the kind- 
 
 hearted Mrs. Selwyn had V»eeu manoeuvring tc 
 tak(> some; money out of her purse under covei 
 of hei- shawl, so that Lucy might not observe 
 what she was doi ig : and h.astily thrusting tl)e 
 amount into our hei'oine’s hand, Martha hurried 
 rapidly away, not .so mucb to escajic Jiticy’s ac- 
 knowh'dginents of gratitude, as tlirougli fiair 
 she might decline to acce[)t of any jcecamiiuy 
 succjour at all. Poor Mrs. Lonsdale held Iho 
 money mechanically, but rcmaimal .standing (or 
 some tninutes on the spot where Mrs. Selwyn 
 had lelt her: for tliis meeting with one wlio 
 had known her in better time's, and who W'aa 
 the conlidante of her earliest love fiir Frederick, 
 laid vividly conjured up manifold remini.scences 
 but too well calculated to touch her deeply. 
 But, Ah ! she had money in her hand — she 
 might now purchase bread for her .son — jirovi- 
 dence had not altogether deserted her. The 
 sum which Martha had thus forced upon her, 
 was live sovereigns — a jierfect trea.sure — a veri- 
 table mine of wealth, in the estimation of our 
 heroine, who but a lew minutes before had been 
 racked by the .sense of utter destitution and 
 imminent starvation. Invoking a blessing upon 
 the iiead of the generous friend whom she had 
 just encountered, Mr.s. Lonsdale sped on to the 
 baker’s shop where she was accustomed to deal 
 and which was in the close vicinage of me 
 house where she lodged. As she was waiting 
 while the baker gave her change for one of her 
 gold pieces, she could not help noticing that the 
 man looked at her in a {leculiar manner — not 
 impudently, but with an air of mingled surprise 
 and commiseration: and as he stooped down to 
 his till, Lucy distinctly heard him mutter to 
 himself, “Surely she can’t know of it?” 
 
 “Know of what?” cried Mrs. Lonsdale 
 eagerly: and she was instantaneously smitten 
 with the presentiment of something wrong. 
 The baker, perceiving his inadvertence, looked 
 both sorry and confused : but his manner only 
 increased Lucy’s apprehensioms. “ For heaven’s 
 sake tell me what you meant?” she said: “ has 
 anything occurred to my dear boy during my 
 brief absence ?” — and there was the wildness 
 of terror in her looks. 
 
 “No — it is not that,” stammered the baker. 
 “ Indeed, I am very sorry I should have said a 
 w'ord — but it slipped out unknowingly, as one 
 may say ” 
 
 “ You are driving me mad I” cried Lucy with 
 frenzied vehemence. “ What is it? wluit is it 7 
 Has anything happened to my husband ?” 
 
 “Well,* poor creature — I don’t like to distress 
 
 you — but but — your husband ds in some 
 
 little trouble 1 really thought you must 
 
 have heard of it — and yet 1 saw that you 
 hadn’t ” 
 
 “ Now, what is it ?” said Lucy, speaking in a 
 low deep voice, and nerving herself to receive 
 some terrific di.sclosure. “You see I arn calm 
 — 1 am collected. F’or God’s sake do not keep 
 mo in suspense!” — but her calmness was most 
 unnatural, and a thou.sand wild distracting 
 thoughts were sweeping through her brain. 
 
 “ 1 hope it won’t t.irn out as serious as I 
 have hoard,” said the baker: “but I am told 
 
 now pray don’t make yourself too unhap- 
 
 I py 1 am iold that your husband 1 hara 
 
 no doubt ho was provoked to do it 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 178 
 
 ** What has he done?” asked Lucy, the words 
 coming hoarse between her chattering teeth ; 
 and she was sliivering with direst apprehension 
 from hea(i to foot. 
 
 “ I say I have no doubt he was provoked to 
 do it — or else he never would liave lifted his 
 hand agaitist his officer ” 
 
 A hollow groan came from Lucy’s throat ; 
 and she sank down in appalled dismay and 
 black despair upon a seat that was near. The 
 baker summoned his wife to bring a glass of 
 water; but when it was proffered to our un- 
 happy heroine, she only shook her head with a 
 sadness so deep, so drear, so dismal, that the 
 V)aktr and his wife were much affected. They 
 invited her to step into their little parlor and 
 compose herself : but though she heard that 
 they were speaking, she caught not the sense of 
 That they said : it was a meie droning in her 
 ars, as if she was experiencing the sensations 
 of drowning. But all in a moment she started 
 up, as if galvatiized by a sudden access of 
 frenzy ; and flying precip lately from the shop, 
 rushed along the street like one demented. 
 
 In an incredibly short space of time, she 
 gained the barracks. There she made enquiries 
 of the sentinel at the gate ; and the tale she had 
 already heard was not merely confirmed, but 
 now received additions so feaiful, that the un- 
 fortunate wife felt as if she must scream ou*^^ 
 in her wiid affliction, and thus piss into a state 
 of raving madness; for not only had her husband 
 struck Gerald Redburn, but he had drawn his 
 bayonet against Sergeant Langley ; he had. 
 woutrtlea hrm rn th arm — ht had defierl the 
 militar-y authorities to arrest him — in short, he 
 had been guilty of a complication of offettces, 
 the penalty for which was something whose bare 
 coirtemplation made lier brain reel, filling it 
 with frenzy, and her soul with awful horror. 
 She besought leave to see her unf irtunate bus 
 band ; but the serui*'el assur ed her that it wer-e 
 useless to apply for such permission that even- 
 ing ; and Lucy dragged herself away from the 
 barrack-gate, feeling that the cup of her mis- 
 eries was now, not merely filled to the brim, 
 but was running over. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 A SCENE AT THE MANOR HOUSE. 
 
 Tkx days had elapsed since the events re- 
 corded in tire precerling chapter; and Captain 
 Redburn rode over one morrring — as indeed he 
 was frequently accustomed to do — to the 
 Manor Douse. Sir Ai’chibald, Lady Redburn, 
 and ikirnt Jane were sitting together in the 
 drawing-room, when Gerald made his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 “ Well.” said the baronet, after some obser- 
 vations on indifferent matters had been ex- 
 changed, “what about the court martial and 
 that fellow Lonsdale ?” 
 
 “ Oh 1 it came off yesterday,” responded 
 Gerald in a careless manner, as he ran his fin-, 
 gers through his hair; “ and as a matter of course ; 
 the rascal’s days in this world are numbered. * 
 
 You see, he had no real defence ,ft make: for 
 when lie began quarrelling with Langley, ho 
 positively declared and took heaven itself to 
 witness that he had not been drinking ” 
 
 “And if he ha<l,” observed the baronet, “it 
 would only have been an aggravation of bia 
 offence. Whenever culprits are brought before 
 me, and plead drunkenness for anything they 
 may have done, I always, tell them that ” 
 
 “ Never mind what you tell them,” inter- 
 rupted Aunt Jane, who, instead of her wonted 
 cold sneering bitterness, spoke with a strango 
 petulance. “ I dare say you don’t otter the 
 [)oor wretches any consolation : you seem to 
 have a delight for the stocks and the treadmill.” 
 
 “The stocks,” remarked the Baronet, shaking 
 his head in evident regret at the increasing 
 desuetude of what he considered to be a time- 
 honored institution, “ have nearly gone out of 
 vogue, and I must confess I am sorry for it. It 
 was a most salutary punishment; and if my ad- 
 vice had been taken in certain quarters ” 
 
 “ But Gerald hasn’t finished telling us about 
 the court martial, my dear,” said Lady Red- 
 burn ; “ and of course we are all interested in 
 it: for that wicked fellow Lonsdale always had 
 a spite against our Gerald — and for that very 
 reason I have ever been convinced that he 
 would come to no good. Well, Gerald — and so 
 he had no shadow of a defence to make ?” 
 
 “Oh! he tried to say a great many things, 
 and bring a great many charges against me; 
 and he wanted to talk a great deal about the 
 tyrannies, as he called them, to which he liad 
 been subjected. But of course all those things 
 were extraneous, and had nothing to do with 
 the subject of the courtmartial. In respect to 
 the accusations themselves, there was really no 
 defence. You see Langley deposed that as he 
 was Walking along the street, Lonsdale hustled 
 him on pui pose ; and when Langley gently and 
 kindly remonstrated with him upon the impro- 
 priety of his behavior, the scoundrel became 
 terribly abusive. Of course Langley concluded 
 at once that he must be tipsy, or he would never 
 act in that manner : so he said to him in a con- 
 ciliatory tone, ‘ Come now, Lonsdale, I don’t 
 wish to get you into any trouble : but you are 
 in liquor, and the best thing you can do is to 
 go straight to your quarteis anil keep yourself 
 quiet.’ — Now this was kind enough, wasn’t it 
 
 “Yes — if Sergeant Langley may be believed 
 on his oath,” interjected Aunt Jane; and her 
 pale countenance appeared to be more ghastly 
 pale than ever at this moment. 
 
 “Believed on his oath ?” ejaculated Gerald : 
 “ and why the deuce shouldn’t he be ? Besides, 
 there was a great deal of what he alleged that 
 I was able to corroborate: for coming up at the 
 moment, I heard Lonsdale abusing Langley 
 like a pickpocket, — calling him all the scoun- 
 drels he could possibly lay his tongue to— 
 scoundrel this — scoundrel that — scoundrel th» 
 other ” 
 
 “ And perhaps if he had distributed the same 
 compliments elsewhere, he wouldn’t have been 
 w'rong,” again interjected Miss Redburn, with a 
 i degree of bitterness that had something actually 
 ; fiendish in its rancor as she bent her eyes oa 
 I Gerald : and even these eyes were not at th« 
 
174 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE 
 
 ittomeiit glassy and dead as was tlieir wont — 
 but tlu*y were suddeidy animated with ti)e glare 
 of a leptile. 
 
 “ None of your nonsense, Aunt Jane,” said 
 Gerald contemptuously. 
 
 “ Dear me, (ion’t stare at him in that way, 
 Miss Redhurn,” cried lier ladyship to her sister- 
 in-hivv. “You positively frighten me! Sir 
 Archibald — Sir Archibald ” 
 
 “ Well, my dear — leave Jane alone — I see 
 
 her never mind her. Come, Gerald, go on 
 
 with your narrative. You were telling us,” 
 observed the Baronet, “ that you came up at 
 the moment when Lonsdale was abusing Lang- 
 ley ” 
 
 “ Yes--— calling him all the scoundrels in the 
 world. Of course I was preciously annoyed at 
 such a breach of discipline; and I interfered, 
 
 1 dare say I did call Lonsdale some name : but 
 that’s common enough on the jiart of us officers 
 towards the privates — and nothing is thought 
 of it. So, tlien Lonsdale struck me a blow that 
 almost knocked me down ; and drawing his 
 bayonet, he made a desperate assault on Lang- 
 ley. if it hadn’t been that some other soldiers 
 came up at the time, I think murder would have 
 been done. Well, doesn't the scoundrel de- 
 eerve any tiling he may get fur it ? Tliat’s what 
 I want to know.” 
 
 “ Of course you have done your best to mur- 
 der him,” sai(i Aunt Jane. 
 
 “ Murder him !” ejaculated Gerald. “ What 
 the deuce do you mean by such an expression 
 as that?” 
 
 “I mean just what I say,' responded Aunt 
 Jane; and still washer countenance absolutely 
 ghastly — still were her eyes shining with a 
 sinister, reptile-glare, that was enough to make 
 une shudder. 
 
 “ Well, I’ll be hanged,” exclaimed Gerald, 
 feeling an unaccountably disagreeable sensa- 
 tion stealing over him, “ if 1 can make you out 
 at all to-day. Aunt Jane ” 
 
 “ Oh ! don’t mind her,” interrupted the 
 Baronet, “ she means no harm — you know it’s 
 only her way. By-the-bye, is Langley’s Wound 
 dangerous ?” 
 
 “Not very,” answered the Captain. “The 
 bayonet pierced right through the fleshy part 
 of the arm ” 
 
 “ Pity that it did not pierce deep down into 
 the heart,’’ said Aunt Jane — “aye, and not only 
 of Langley — but likewise of another whom 1 
 could name.” 
 
 “ My dear, my dear,” interposed the Baronet 
 angrily, “ this is too much — 1 really can’t per- 
 mit ” 
 
 “ Who cares for wlwt you either permit or 
 gainsay f” demanded Miss Redlairn, tutw turn- 
 iiig her sinister looks and her corj)se-like counte- 
 Dance towards her br<»ther. 
 
 “She’s mad — stark staring mad,” whispered 
 Gerald to his father then*’s no doubt about 
 it — and I really', Kailly am afraid she means to 
 do me a niischn t. ’ 
 
 « pooii — iuins(;nse 1” said the Baronet. “ My 
 dear Kist<'r,” he continued, addressing himself to 
 R(Mlbnrn, “ perhaps you hud better retire 
 B litilfl to your own chamber — 1 don’t think you 
 are very well to day ” 
 
 “ Weli, indeed 1" ejaculated Aunt Jane, wltk 
 a fiercer bitltiriKiss than ev«T before. “ What 
 should make me unwell? Do know— <'h I 
 
 no — you don’t — and no one here, knows. But 
 
 /know aye, and there is another not far 
 
 off, who knows likewise I Yet no matter — no 
 matter 1” — and now she looked as if frenzy 
 were seizing upon her brain, and there was 
 such a strange wildness in her air — such a cat- 
 like fury in her gaze that she was absolutely 
 frightful to behold. 
 
 At this moment the dof)r opened, and Mr. 
 Arden was announced, d’he reverend gentle- 
 man, upon entering the room, immediately yier- 
 ceived that something strange had taken place; 
 because his first glance, falling upon ^luss Red- 
 burn, showed him that horrific expres.sion of 
 count<'nance which we have just emieavored to 
 describe, and which still lingered as the rector 
 made his apyiearance. Mr. Arden gave a start 
 — stopped short — and was seized with a strange 
 confusion, mingled with alarm • but almost in- 
 stantaneously recovering himself, he said, “ Per- 
 haps I am intruding — I am afraid that I am." 
 
 “ What nonsense, Ardiai !” exclaimed tho 
 Baronet: “you know perfectly well you never 
 are an intruder here. Why should you think 
 so ?” 
 
 “ I suppose because he saw Aunt Jane show- 
 ing off,” observed Gerald, with a spiteful look 
 at Miss Red burn. 
 
 “ Dare not to insult me, you miserable 
 hound 1” was Miss Redburn’s fierce ejaculation 
 then turning towards The rector, she said in a 
 milder manner, but still with considerable bit- 
 terness in her accents, “ We were talkiij^g just 
 now about the state of my health ; and 1 asked 
 them what they knew of my being well or un- 
 well ? But you, Mr. Arden, are acquainted 
 with my secrets — are you not ? Y"es : you have 
 been my spiritual consoler !” — and it was a wild 
 and ironical laugh that Aunt Jane sent forth 
 ringing through the room. 
 
 “ By heaven, she really is mad — she must be 
 mad !” said the Baronet aside to his wife. “ I 
 do positively think that Gerald was right when 
 he said so. See how strange she looks 1’ 
 
 “ Are you talking about me ?" cried Aunt 
 Jane: “ are you^ talking about me,' Archibald ? 
 If so, say it out aloud — speak it boldly — let 
 Mr. Arden hear — ^ — But whatever you do, I 
 would advise you to prevent this son of your’s, 
 — for I will not call him nephew, — from insulting 
 me again; or 1 will make him repent it. Dog, 
 
 1 could kill you !” — aiul terrible was her look as 
 she flung those words at Gerald Redburn. 
 
 “ Well, I certainly sha’n’t .stand this any 
 longer,” said the Captain, again becoming fright- 
 ened : “it is carrying the joke too far;” — then 
 in an under tone to his father he added, “ If you 
 don’t lock Aunt Jane up, she will do someborjy 
 a miscliief.” 
 
 With ihose words he was about to leave the 
 room, when Lady Redburn called him back, 
 saying, “ Don’t go, Gerald. Surely you can ra- 
 main and pass the day with us then per^ 
 ceiviiig that Aunt Jane had become tranquil 
 once more, and had seated herself in a window- 
 recess, her ladyship added, I don’t tlriuk yo * 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 175 
 
 had finished telling us about that reprobate — 
 what’s his name?” 
 
 “ Fiederick Lonsdale you mean,”, said Gerald, 
 returning to his seat. “Have you heard the 
 news, Mr. Arden ?” 
 
 “ Yes, ’ replied the clergyman. “I — I have 
 
 indeed heard that-^ that 1 mean that 
 
 the unfortunate man ” 
 
 “ Has been condemned to death,” added Ge- 
 rald, finishing tlie sentence for the clergyman, 
 who appeared to stammer so tliat he was ut- 
 terly at a loss for words to finish it for himself. 
 
 But scarcely had Captain Redburn thus 
 «poken, when Aunt Jane sprang up fiom the 
 window-recess with a wild and terrific cry as 
 if seized with the pangs of some mortal agony ; 
 and advancing three or four steps towards her 
 nephew, with an expression of diabolic fury in 
 her countenance, she all in a moment dropped 
 senseless upon the carpet, <xs if shot through 
 the heart. Sir Archibald, — who, as we stated 
 on a former occasion, was the only one in the 
 family that had any rt'gard for Aunt Jane, — 
 sprang forward and lifted her up; while Lady 
 Redburn almost tore down the bell-pull in sum- 
 moning assistance. 
 
 “ She is dead — or she is dying, — all sense has 
 abandoned her ! ” exclaimed Sir Archibald, as 
 he carrietl his sister to a sofa. “ Lady Red- 
 burn, my dear, come and attend to her — Ge- 
 rald, get some water hand me that bottle of 
 
 salts, Arden quick, quick f’ 
 
 But the rector moved not from his chair: his 
 countenance was ghastly white — he seemed 
 stricken with consternation and dismay — and 
 he gazed in strange vacancy upon the inani- 
 mate form of Miss Redlairn, whom her brother 
 had placed upon the sofa. At this moment 
 several domestics, alarmed by the furious peal- 
 ing of the bell, rushed into the room ; and 
 amongst them was Miss Redburn’s own maid. 
 She saw that her mistress was in a deep and 
 dangerous swoon, and at once entreated that 
 medical assisiance might be summoned. She 
 and another female servant administered resto- 
 ratives : but tliey produded no effect; and they 
 accordingly decided upon conveying Miss Red- 
 burn up to her own chamber, where they might 
 loosen or take off her garments, and at all events 
 be less constrained in the treatment that was 
 requisite. But again did Mi.ss Redburn’s maid 
 enjoin that medical assistance should be sum- 
 moned. 
 
 “ Yes — we must send for a doctor,’’ cried Sir 
 Archibald, as his sister was being borne from 
 the room. “ Paul,” he added, addressing one of 
 the footmen, “ run down into the village and 
 fetch up Colycinih ” 
 
 “ Colycinth, my dear?” said Lady Redburn, 
 •Can y<iu think of such a thing after all that 
 has taken place ? ’ — and she glanced significantly 
 towards her son: for be it remembered that Mrs 
 Davis, the bailiff’s wile, was Mr. Col_)cinth’s 
 daughter. 
 
 “No matter, my dear !” exclaimed the Baronet 
 impatiently: “my sister cannot be suffered to 
 die for want of medical aid. Run, Paul — run, 
 and fe^cli up Mr. Col^cintli directly.” 
 
 Paul and the other male domestics quitted 
 the room ; and now Sir Archibald notice*, the 
 
 pale countenance and strange looks of the Rev. 
 Mr. Arden. This gentleman, having somewhat 
 recovered from that consternation into which 
 Aunt Jane’s thrilling shriek and immediately 
 en.^uing swoon had thrown him, had risen from 
 his seat with the air of a man who sti'uggles to 
 throw off' a sen.se of terror or othei oppression 
 which is on him: but his feaiures were still 
 deadly pale — his eyes were wild — and his 
 entire aspect denoted a niighty inward troiible. 
 
 “Why, what ails you, Arden?'’ exclaimed 
 Sir Archibald : “ are you going to be ill too ?” 
 
 “ 1 am sure it was enough to frighten Mr. 
 Arden, or any one else out of his wits,” said 
 Lady Redburn. “For my part, it has imule me 
 so nervous and ill, I don’t know what to do.” 
 
 “Nervous and ill!’ ob.^erved Gerald: “it 
 was enough to make the devil nervou.s and ill. 
 For my part, 1 shall go and take a turn in the 
 grounds and smoke a cigar : for, as you may 
 suppose, 1 am not very anxious to meet old 
 Coljcinth. Though I have all along declared, 
 and shall ever j^ersist in declaring that his 
 daughter is as innocent as an angel so far as I 
 am concerned, yet I know very well the Coly- 
 ciiiths regard me as tiie cause of all that trouble 
 and exposure — or whatever they call it; and so 
 1 shall get out of the w'ay while the doctor is 
 here.'’ 
 
 Having thu,s spoken in his usual flippant man- 
 ner, Captain Redburn left the apartment ; and 
 lighting a e gar, he si t olled forth into the garden 
 in order to avoid the chance of meeting Kitty 
 Davis’s father. 
 
 We must here inform the reader tliat Mr. 
 Colycinth was not the regular medical attendant 
 at the Manor House. It happened that both 
 Sir Archibald and Lady Redburn enjoyed 
 excellent health, and seldom required any 
 medical aid at all : but when they did, a physi- 
 cian was fetched from Middleton. On some 
 occasions Mr. Colycinth had been called in to 
 attend any of the servants who might happen 
 to be ill : but these instances were likewise rare 
 — and when they did occur, the village surgeon 
 received no more attention or civility at the 
 Baronet’s mansion than any tradesman who 
 called there on business. I'lie reader has been 
 already informed that the Colycinlhs were not 
 considered to be good enough to visit at the 
 Manor House ; and therefore, wiienever the 
 surgeon was called in on an emergency, he was 
 never asked to tlie drawing-room — never invited 
 to take any refreshment — and indeed he was 
 treated just about as well as the horse-doctor 
 who administ<'red boluses to any of the animals 
 in Sir Archibald's stable. 
 
 But to continue the thread of our narrative. 
 It happen* d that when Paul the footman reached 
 the village, he encountered Mr. Colycinth in 
 his gig : and on making known his business, he 
 perceived tliat the surgeon suddenly became 
 serious, and hesitated what to do. 
 
 “I can assure you, sir,” said the footman, 
 “ that Miss Redburn is in a very dangeroua 
 state; and 1 hope you will come.” 
 
 “ Very well. 1 suppose I must,” said Mr. 
 Colycinth. “Jump up — and 1 will drive you 
 at once to the Manor.” 
 
 It was perfectly true, as Captain Redburn 
 
175 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFK. 
 
 had said, that Mr. Colyointh regarded liini willi 
 considerable aiiiiiidsity, as llie author of hi.s 
 da’igliler’s (li.«tri ace. Kirndy conviticc'd however 
 was Mr Colycinlh (hat Kitty liad oidy been 
 guilty of a serif-a of silly fhi tatioiia, and nothing 
 more: but sldl it was Captain UcMlbiirn who had 
 led her into those ini j)rndenoea and indiscre- 
 tions, — Captain bedbiiin, tin refore, who was the 
 eansi* < f everything that had occurred. Mr. 
 Colycinth had never liked tlu' Redburn family ; 
 but the Haronet w'as too great a man, ami too 
 powerfid in the district, for a humble villagi*- 
 Burgeon to dare show his teeth. Mr. Colycinth 
 had therefc re always attended at the mansion 
 when called in ; and had ahva\ s deported him- 
 self with the utmost appearance of respe ct and 
 clelVrence towards (he Baronet. lie had not 
 however the less keenly felt the haughty treat- 
 ment ( xpeiicuced at (he great man’s hands, or 
 tig stately pride with which Lady Redburn 
 was We nt to acknowledge the salutations of 
 Mrs. Colycinth and her daughters. But since 
 the ex[)Iosiou of Davis’s affair, both Sir Archi- 
 bald and Lady Redburn had thought it neces- 
 sary to cut (he Colyciuths altogether: they 
 chose to feel and act as if their son was the ag- 
 grieved party and Kitty Davis (he aggressor: 
 and hence, wlu iiever an opportunity jiresented 
 itself — especially on going to church on Sun- 
 days — had they ignored the Colycinth family 
 BiiiCe the occurrence referred to. 
 
 Under all these circumstances the reader 
 cannot be surprised that Mr Colycinth sluiuld 
 have hesitated to obey the footman’s summons 
 to the Manor; and if on second thoughts he had 
 consented to proceed thither, it was through no 
 symjiathy for any member of the Redburn fa- 
 mily — nor from any feeling of pure humanity. 
 But the motive which did influence Mr. Colv- 
 
 culty, as I ain given to »>ndcrstnnd, that 
 maids could lestore her to animation 1 can- 
 
 not say to consciousness; for she is tiot consriouB 
 yet. Will ^ oil go, my dear,'’ added Sir Archi- 
 bald, turning to his wife, “ and conduct Mr. 
 Colycinth up to Aunt .lane’s chamber?” 
 
 Lady Redlairn looked very much as if sho 
 would rather decline the oflice : but doubtles* 
 reflecting (hat it would seem thoroughly heart- 
 less to do, she slowly raised herself up from a 
 half-ieclining position on the sofa, — saying, with 
 an air (tf haughty coiide'Cension, “Yes; if Mr. 
 Colycinth will follow me, I have no objtiction to 
 show him the way.” 
 
 Meanwhile, however, Mr. Arden had shaken 
 Mr. Colycinlh by the hand with a degree of 
 cordiality that somewhat suijirised the Baionet; 
 and when Lady Jtedburn and the surgeon had 
 (juitted the drawing-room. Sir Archibald said, 
 “ I did not know, Arden, that you were on such 
 good terms wiih Colycinth” 
 
 “Oh, good terms! I don't know about that," 
 responded the rector. “ You are aware, my 
 dear Sir Archibald, that a clergyman is com- 
 pelled to be civil to his [larishioners : but I 
 would not have you fancy that Mrs. Arden is at 
 all intimate with Mr.s. Colycinlh.” 
 
 “’I should ho[)e not,” said the Baronet. “ But, 
 by the bye, what has become of that young wo- 
 man — you know who 1 mean — Mrs. Davis. Is 
 she at home with her family ?” 
 
 “Yes: but she scarcely ever goes out,” re- 
 joined th.e clergyman; “and when she doe.s, it 
 is only of an evening after dusk, to take a little 
 exercise wilh her mother. She never cornea 
 
 to church And, now that I think of it, I 
 
 shall take this opportunity of remonstrating 
 with Colycinth upon the subject. Though per- 
 fectly'^ willing to agree with your view of the 
 
 cinth in obeying that summons, was twofohl.! late unfortunate case. Sir Archibald, and to 
 In the first place he did not deem it prudent toj believe that there was nothing criminal between 
 hurl an open defiance at Sir Archibald Redburn ;! her and the Captain, — still lier levity, her fri 
 
 and in the second place there was a certain gra- 
 tification of his pride, even amounting to a sort 
 of revenge, in being able to say to himself. 
 “ For all their fine airs they cannot do without 
 me ,when an emergency happens.” Hence it 
 may be inferred that Mr. Colycinth was not him- 
 self of the most amiable and philanthropic dis- 
 position in existence — but on the contrary, one 
 who cherished a sense of wrong, though he was 
 naturally too meanly selfish, too much alive to 
 h:o "'wu interests, and too worldly minded to 
 proclaim .t openly or avenge it courageously. 
 
 Such was the surgeon of the village of Oak- 
 leigh. Oil arriving at the Manor, he leapt out 
 of hi.s gig: for he was an active, bustling, 
 elightly-made man of fifiy-tive years of age, — 
 \i’d hurrying up the entrance-steps, lie was at 
 'lice e.-iorled by Raul the footman to the draw- 
 ing room, d'o lh,,t apartment he had never 
 b'-en iiitrocliiciid Ik; fore ; — his previous aeejuaint- 
 ance with the mansion being mainly limited to 
 the servants’ hall or the chambers of the do- 
 mes lies. 
 
 “ Walk in, Mr. Colycinth,” said tliu Baronet, 
 in a patronizing manner. “ My sister Mi is 
 K(-dburn has Ix-en taken very ill. Indeed, she 
 
 volity, and her idle silly vanity, have to be 
 atoned for ; and where can they be atoned for 
 save in the temple of worship ?” 
 
 But we will leave the Baronet and Mr. Arden 
 to pursue their conversation together in the 
 drawing-room, while we follow in the footsteps 
 of Lady Redburn and Mr. Colycinth, as they 
 proceeded to Aunt Jane’s chamber. This was 
 situated on a higher fioor. at the end of a long 
 passage ; and the windows looked upon tlie 
 garden at the back of the house. ’I’heie was in 
 that part of the building anoiher stair case, com- 
 municating with that passage, and leading down 
 to a vestibule in the close vicinage of the ser- 
 vants’ ofliciis. d’his vestibule also had a door 
 leading into a little yard walled off from the 
 garden. 'I'he leaiier will have to keep these 
 circumstances in mind. 
 
 Lady Redburn led the way. without uttering 
 a word, to Aunt Jane’s chamber, — Mi . Ccilycinth 
 following at a little distance. >She opened the 
 door and looked in — first of all to see if ho 
 might enter ; then turning round, she bade him 
 walk in. He did so; but scarcely had he 
 crossed (he threshold, when he gave a kind of 
 start — and his eyes were instantaneously swept 
 
 fell into a swoon about three (piarlers of an in a singularly searching manner round that 
 ^our buck; luid it was with the greatest diili-lroom. But that movement on his part wus &o 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 177 
 
 abrupt and so quickly over, that it was not no- 
 ticed by Lady Redburn — nor yet by Aunt 
 Jane’s maid, wiio was in attendance upon her 
 mistress. As for Aunt Jane herself, she was in 
 precisely the cojidition which Sir Aichibald had 
 de.''Cribed : that is to say, she liad been restoied 
 from her swoon, but appeared to be unconscious 
 of all that was passing around her. 
 
 Mr. Ciilycinth questioned I le maid as to the 
 origin of the fit, and oilier details which it was 
 necessary for him to learn : but even while I'S 
 tening to the responses given to his queues, he 
 had i ceriain air of pre-occupation which both 
 Ladv Redbuin and the maid did notice, and 
 which they attiibuted to an affectation i.f grave 
 professional solemnity. Two or three times did 
 Mr. Colycinlh glance around the room ; and 
 even wlnle feeling the patient’s pulse with one 
 hand and holding his watch in the other, his 
 eyes travelled away from the dial, and settled 
 themselves first on one piece of furniture — then 
 an another. 
 
 “There is nothing serious to apprehend,” he 
 eaid at length. “ Miss lied burn must have 
 experienced some shock — or her feelings by 
 Borne means or other must have been greatly 
 sxciteil ” 
 
 “And yet I cannot understand how,” ob- 
 served Lady Redburn, somewhat disdainfully 
 exhibiting her mistrust of the professional man’s 
 explanations. “ My son Captain 'Redburn had 
 merely been talking of a certain court-martial 
 held on a soldier in his regiment ” 
 
 “ One Frederick Lonsdale,” said the maid. 
 “ Perhaps you remember the name, Mr. Coly- 
 cinlh i He lived ia Oakleigh before he en- 
 listed.” 
 
 But the surgeon made no reply; he was now 
 gazing intently upon the countenance of his pa- 
 tient — who, on her part, witli her eyes wide 
 open, was staring in glassy vacancy at the cur- 
 tains at the foot of the bed, 
 
 “ Well, I will go and send up some medicine 
 at once,” ejaculated Mr. Colycinth, starling up 
 from his seat by the side of the couch in a some- 
 what abrupt manner : and then again were his 
 eyes swept around the chamber. “Miss Red- 
 burn must be kept very quiet ” 
 
 “ Oh, of course I” said her ladyship, with a 
 Blight toss of the liead; “you need scarcely tell 
 us that. Indeed you ought to know that Miss 
 Redburn will receive every attention : and per- 
 haps It would be better to send over to Middle- 
 ton for the regular family physician, wlio is a 
 very clever man.” 
 
 This remark was superciliously insolent 
 enough : but Mr. Colycinth did not appear to 
 notice it; — and again for a few moments did he 
 ga 2 e witl) singular abstraction upon the wasted, 
 ghastly, and almost fieshless countenance of the 
 patient. Then suddenly catching up his hat, he 
 repeated his former intimation that he would 
 hasten home to send up some medicine ; and he 
 moved towards tlie door without even the cere- 
 mony of a bow to Lady Redbuin, and without 
 pausing to see whether slie meant to conduct 
 him away from the chamber, as she had brought 
 him thither. 
 
 “ Well, upon my word I” said Lady Redburn, 
 with a more indignant toss of tiie head tlnm she 
 
 had previously given; “this paltry village sur- 
 geon suddenly seems to consider himself a great 
 man, now that he is formally called in to attend 
 U])iin a Baronet’s sister!” 
 
 But Mr. Colycinlh heard not this haughty, 
 insolent remark ; or if lie heard, he did not heed 
 t ; and, issuing from the chanibt r, he liurried 
 forth from the passage. Lady Redburn follow- 
 ed him, for the purpose of calling him to ac- 
 count for daring to pass out of the room before 
 lier; and indeed she was resolved to “take him 
 well to task,” and “give him a piece of her 
 mind !’’ 
 
 “ Mr. Colycinth !” she exalaimed — “Mr. Coly- 
 cinth, 1 say ! — come here, sir ! Stop ! I wish 
 to speak to you I What insolence ! — what pre- 
 suiiiptioii 1 But what does the man mean? 
 That is not the way hack to the drawing-room— 
 it leads down to the servants’ offices — it is a 
 private staircase, sir — I insist that you do not 
 intrude there 1” 
 
 But still Mr. Colycinth heeded her not ; and, 
 as the reader has most probably understood, 
 insteail of passing along the pas.^age, he had 
 abruptly turned off down that staircase v/hich 
 has previously been described. 
 
 “One — two — three — four;” and the surgeon 
 counted the steps in an audible manner as he 
 descended tliem. 
 
 “ Why, the man is mad !” cried Lady Red- 
 burn ; “ Ills head is certainly turned I” 
 
 “ Five — six — seven — eight ;” and still did Mr. 
 Colycinth go on counting the steps as he de- 
 scended that staircase, till at length a turning 
 concealed him from the view of Lady Redburn, 
 who had remained standing at the top. 
 
 “ He is certainly mad,” she again said to her- 
 self ; “ and the sooner he gets out of the house, 
 the better ;” 
 
 She then continued her own way along the 
 passage, and down the principal staircase, to 
 the drawing-room — where she related to her 
 husband and Mr. Arden the details of Mr. Coly- 
 cinth’s singular behavior. The Baronet began 
 to fume, and speak in a high and lofty tone of 
 what he termetl “ the airs of a paltry, beggarly 
 village-surgeon ;” but Mr. Arden, with a very 
 strange expression of countenance, turned away 
 to the window, and seemed to lie looking forth 
 upon the park — whereas in reality he was ga- 
 zing on vacancy, and his entire aspect again 
 denoted the mighty trouble that was agitating 
 in his soul 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Colycintli liad descended the 
 private staircase, counting every step, till h« 
 reached the bottom — and thus numbering alto- 
 gether sixty-two. He emerged into the yard, 
 and stood for a few moments gazing round him, 
 to the surprise of some of the servants who 
 j beheld him through the windows of the offices, 
 and who could not think what he was doing, 
 or what possessed him. One of them at length 
 came to the conclusion that he must have lost 
 his way, and therefore accosted him with a ques- 
 tion to that effect ; but Mr. Colycinth, who ap- 
 peared completely abstracted, gave no reply • 
 and, passing out of the yard by a door the po- 
 sition of which he seemed to have been particu- 
 larly examining, he found himself in the garden, 
 
 There he again looked about, and then struflt 
 
T78 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 Into a patliway leading to a gate opening through 
 the palings into the grounds. He now seemed 
 complete!} satisfied with the result of his exami- 
 nation of the j)remises; and a smile of malig- 
 nant triuinj)h ap{)eare(l upon his countenance. 
 
 At this moment the sounds of footsteps reach- 
 ed his ears: he looked round, and beheld Cap- 
 tain Redbum passing ahtng an adjacent gravel- 
 walk, and smoking a cigar. 
 
 “ Good !” was the curt observation which Mr. 
 Colycinlh muttered to himself; and he proceed- 
 ed fortliwitli to confront Gerald, wlio, not having 
 previously noticed him, was both surprised and 
 Btartled at his abrujit apjH'arance. 
 
 “Captain Redburn,’ said the village-surgefin, 
 in a firm and decisive voice, as if he felt that 
 he was endowed with an authority to intimate 
 his will with tlie certainty of its being obeyed ; 
 “this meeting is most opjxatune. You will do 
 me the favor, sir, to accomjiany me to the 
 drawing-room, where I have something to say.” 
 
 Gerald was so astounded at this peremptory 
 mode of address, tliat he was for some instants 
 at a loss what to reply ; but at length recover- 
 ing himself, he exclaimed, insolently, “ And pray 
 who the deuce are you, Mr. Colycinth, that you 
 take it upon yourself to order me about just as 
 if I was an inferior ?” 
 
 “ I tell you, sir,” responded the surgeon, who 
 was half-surprised at himself in being enabled 
 to adopt such a tone towards the great man’s 
 son — “ I tell you, sir, that you would do well 
 to accompany me to the drawing-room ; for 1 
 have statements to make which closely concern 
 the honor of your fatality.” 
 
 Captain Redburn was at once smitten with 
 the conviction that this must be true : other- 
 wise Mr. Colycinth, hitherto so cringingly civil 
 and fawningly pctlite to all who were in a better 
 social position than himself, could not dare to 
 speak in so peremptory a manner. But not 
 choosing to humble his own pride, Gerald said 
 in his wonted self-sufficient stylo, “ Well, come 
 along then, since you wish it — and without 
 exchanging another word, they proceeded to 
 the drawing-room together 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 DISCLOSURES AND CONFESSIONS.’ 
 
 Sir Archibald and Lady Redburn were still 
 conversing in indignant terms upon Mr Coly • 
 cinth’s strange behavior; and the Rev. Mr. 
 Arden was still gazing forth in a vacant manner, 
 but with great inward trouble, from the win- 
 dow, — when Captain Redburn entered the 
 apartment, closely followed by tlie village-sur- 
 geon. 'I'he Baronet and his wife at once as- 
 sumed very haughty and wrathful looks on the 
 upj)ea\ance of Mr. Colycinth : but Mr. Arden, 
 — mining suddenly round as the door opened, 
 and at once ob erving ih.it the surgeon’s counte- 
 iiaiKMi wore a look of mingled decision ami 
 tiiumpl.anl satiKlaction. — sank down, in a sort 
 tort u. sjieechiess dismay, upon an otto nan in 
 that window -I ecess. 
 
 “ Mr. Colycinth,” began Sir Arcliibald, in a 
 riompously inllated style, “ I cannot find wordi 
 to express the astoni.shment — I may even say 
 the (li.sgnst — with which I learnt of your rude- 
 ness to Lady Redburn ” 
 
 “ Sir Archibald,” interrupted the surgeon, 
 “ I have no time to waste in a mere bandying 
 of words. I have a certain task to perform— 
 and I intend to accom|)li.sh it.” 
 
 I’he Baionet. and his wife were perfectly con- 
 founded at what they conceived to be tlie tro- 
 mendous arrogance of the village apothecary; 
 while Gerald looked on with unleigneil curiosity 
 But Mr. Arden, suildenly springing up from his 
 seat, rushed towards Colycintli ; and seizing 
 liim by the arm, clutched it with spasmodic 
 violence, as he said in a low liollow voice, “For 
 God’s sake, have mercy I” 
 
 'I'his singular ajipeal was not bean! by thfl 
 Baronet, his wife, or Gerald — though they of 
 course saw the sudden excitement of the rector's 
 manner; but Mr. Colycinth replied in atone 
 loud enough lor all to hear, “ Mr. Arden, I 
 have resolved how to act — you cannot turn me 
 trom my jiurpose— but it will be the fault of 
 ilmse present if w hat 1 am about to state, tran- 
 spires beyond these four walls.” 
 
 'I he clergyman staggered back as if struck 
 with a mortal blow : a hollow groan came 
 slowly forth from his throat — and he looked the 
 picture of wretchedness itself. Xo criminal 
 about to be led forth to the place of executiijii, 
 ever could have appeared more ghastly in 
 aspect — more dismayed, more woe begone, or 
 more terror-stricken, than the Rev. Mr. Arden 
 at that moment. But, as if all on a sudden 
 goaded by despair to a particular course, he 
 snatched up his hat, and was rushing jnecipi 
 lately toward.s the door, — when Mr. Colycinlh 
 caught him forcibly by the arm, crying in a 
 voice of firmest resolve, “ Xo — you shall remain 
 to corroborate the tale I am about to tell, and 
 which you will not dare deny 1” 
 
 The clergyman was suddenly reduced to the 
 passive obedience of a child in the hands of a 
 tyrant father; and incapable of another etiort 
 to quit the room, he sulfered the village sur- 
 geon to conduct him to a seat. Drawing the 
 chair close towards the table, Mr. Arden buried 
 his face in his hands and sobbed audibly. 
 
 These incidents struck the beholders with an 
 astonishment almost amounting to a consterna- 
 tion, — confirming Gerald Redburn’s previously 
 entertained suspicion that the surgeon must in- 
 deed be conscious of some suddenly and mys- 
 teriously acquired authoriiy, — and striking the 
 , Baronet and hie wife with a similar conviction. 
 , tSir Archibald no longer attempted to overawe 
 and intimidate Mr. Colycinth with big words 
 and blustering manner ; but seating liimself at 
 the table, he waited with anxious susjiense for 
 whatsoever was to ensue. Lady Redburn, 
 quitting the sofa where she liad been reclining, 
 also approached the table; and Gerald did the 
 same. 
 
 “ It is not my purpose,” began Mr. Coly cinth, 
 “ to use any unnecessary ciicumlocution in what 
 , I am about to say. Mine is a plain story, 
 I though involving details which will strike you, 
 j Bir Archibald — you also, Lady Redburn — uud 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 179 
 
 ytn likcTs^ise, sir,” turning to the Captain, “ with 
 the utmost astonishment.” 
 
 He paused for a few moments ; while the 
 three listeners whom he had specially address- 
 ed, were filled with the acutest suspense ; but 
 Mr. Arden still remained with his countenance 
 buried in his hands — though his subs hud now 
 ceased. 
 
 “ The incident of which I am about to 
 speak,” resume<l Mr. Colycinth, “ occurred near- 
 ly thirty-one years ago. At that time I had 
 been but a few months established at Oakleigh ; 
 and I had to contend agaitist another medical 
 gentleman ))ractising there at the time and of 
 old standing in the neighborhood. I was strug- 
 gling again.st difficulties, — fearing that I should 
 not be able to surmount them, — with a wife to 
 eupport, and the prospect of family/ The 
 work was far more of an up-hill nature than in 
 my sanguine hopes I had antici|)ated to find it ; 
 and despair was already entering my soul, — 
 when sotnething took place which furnished the 
 means of maintaining my battle against hostile 
 ciicnrnstances. One night, at about eleven 
 o’clock — just as I was pteparing to retire to bed 
 — the surgery-bell rang. My wife, who was ill 
 tlirough anxiety for the future, had already re- 
 tired ; aiid the servant-girl whom we kept, had 
 likewise sought her chamber. I hastened to 
 answer the summons ; and a gentleman whom 
 I knew full well, at once entered the surgery. 
 He w'as in considerable agitation — I may say 
 in a state of almost frenzied excitement; and it 
 was only in broken sentences that he could 
 make his objects anfl wishes known. He in- 
 formed me that a young lady, of good family, 
 v/as about to become a mother wiiliout being a 
 wife; and my professional assistance was imme- 
 diately requirt d. As a maiter of course, I 
 readily cntisented to accompany the gentleman, 
 and j)roceed whithersoever he might direct me. 
 But on growing more composed, he gave me to 
 understand that there were certain conditions to 
 be observed ; and that if I assented to them, a 
 hundred guineas should be my reward. This 
 Bum to me was an immense fortune : for rny 
 resources were at a very low ebb, and a few 
 minutes previously iny jiosition had appeared 
 60 desperate that 1 had shed tears as 1 thought 
 of it. 1 therefore clutched with avidity at 
 whatsoever conditions might be imposed ; and 
 they were soon explained. I was to accom- 
 pany the gentleman blindfolded, and to submit 
 Uj any precaution which he might suggest or 
 tliink fit in order to prevent me from discover- 
 ing the place to which I was about to be taken. 
 I agreed-^and the gentleman at once gave me 
 half the promised reward as an earnest of his 
 eincerity. Having hastily run up stairs to 
 breathe a few words of joyous hope in the ears 
 of my wife, I reiurned to the surgery, and 
 gpeedily put up such medicaments as might 
 prove necessary in the case I was about to at- 
 tend. 1 then accompanied the gentleman from 
 the house ; and lie led me into the lane running 
 by the side of the church-yard. There a gig 
 was waiting ; and the man who held the liorse, 
 immediately disappeared. It was a dark night 
 —and the lane was involved in almost com-| 
 plete obscurity. The gentleman blindfolded me : 
 
 with a large shawl kerchief which he had evi- 
 dently brought for the purpose ; and he assisted 
 me to take a .seat in the gig. Placing himself 
 by my siile, he drove rapidly aw'ay ; but all the 
 while our journey lasted he requested me to 
 keep my hands upon my knees, and with the 
 gloves off, so that he might .see them easily and 
 thus assure himself that I made no attempt to 
 raise the bandage The drive lasted alxiut 
 half an-hour ; but it occurred to me at the time, 
 that it was unnecessarily prolonged, and that a 
 circuitous route was taken, to mystify me all 
 the more completely as to the direction we wera 
 pursuing. Tliis suspicion was excited by tha 
 f.ict that two or three times the gentleman rein- 
 ed in the horse, and stopped short for a few mo- 
 ments, as if not quite certain which road to pur- 
 sue : whereas methought that had he taken a 
 direct one, he must have known it well, seeing 
 that he could not be unfamiliar with the place 
 to which he was bearing me, as he was so pro- 
 minent an actor in the night’s proceedings. 
 However, the drive, as I have said, lasted half- 
 an hour ; and at the expiration thereof we stop- 
 ped. My Companion made me alight with him, 
 and keep close by his side with my hands 
 down. 1 judged that l)e was tying the reins 
 of the horse to something, and that there was 
 no groom or other servant ready at hand to 
 take charge of the vehicle. Then he satisfied 
 himself that the bandage was secure ; and 
 taking my arm, he led me on. It might have 
 been partly curiosity, which you will admit was 
 natural enough under such circumstances, — and 
 it might have bet n partly with the desire of 
 (liscovei ing some clue to a secret for the keeping 
 of which it was evident that gold would be 
 lavished, — which induced me to se-ze upon any 
 circumstance helping to afford such a clue. I 
 therefore judged of the nature of the ground 
 on which we trod ; 1 stored in my memory the 
 I gates or doors through which we passed, as well 
 as the turning we took afier each successive 
 lone; and when we finally entered some habi- 
 tation, I counted the steps of the staircase up 
 whicli I was led. I was conducted by my com- 
 j)anion into a chamber, wheie I was told in a 
 hurried whisper that I should find my patient. 
 The gentleman likewise exchanged a few whis- 
 pered words with some one, who replied to him 
 ! in a female voice : but the sense of their re- 
 marks 1 did not catch. Doubtless they were 
 inquiries on the gentleman's part as to the state 
 of the patient. 1 heard him quit the room; 
 and then the door was locked. 1 did not offer 
 to remove the bandage of my own accord ; and 
 the same female voice I had heard whispering 
 with tiie gentleman, asked me if it was neces- 
 sary to do so. I replied in the affirmative— 
 that it was imperiously necessary. She remon- 
 strated ; but 1 positively refused to render the 
 slightest assistance if blindfolded. She request- 
 ed me to sit down, guiding me to a chair: there 
 was a delay of a few moments, and then she 
 bade me remove the bandage. I did so — and 
 found myself in a handsomely furnished cham- 
 ber, every feature of which at once settled it- 
 self in my memory at the first glance I threw 
 around. But the patient whom 1 had come to 
 attend had on a thick black veil ; tlie womM 
 
180 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 who had epokon to me had her own fentnres 
 ooncealed in a similar manner. I was not loni; 
 there before a male child was horn ; it was a 
 €ne babe — and the mother herself had, so far 
 ns I co’dd judge, every prospect of a sfieedv 
 Convales(‘ence. I should observe that the fe- 
 male attendant ap[>eaied by her figure, her 
 gait, and lier sfieech, to he ar) elderly woman, 
 if not an old one; and by her apparel she did 
 not seem to be a regular dependant of the 
 household — hut rather a nurse hired for the oc- 
 casion, or else a charwoman. When my ser- 
 vices were ove;, this woman unlocked and 
 opened the door. She then hade me resume 
 the bandage, which she secured with her own 
 hands, taking good care to fasten it in such 
 a manner that I aould distinguish nothing 
 without lifting it. Then I was consigned 
 once more to the care of the gentleman who 
 had brought me thither; he led me out of the 
 dwelling by the same way we had entered ; and 
 again did I count the steps of the staircase, in 
 order to convince myself that I had accurately 
 numbered them in the first instance. He con- 
 ducted me back to the spot where the gig was 
 wailing; we ascended the vthich*— and my 
 companion drove away from the place. This 
 drive also lasted half-an-hour ; and we stopped 
 in the lane by the church-yard whence we laid 
 set out. The gentleman gave me the remaining 
 fifty guineas, and promised that thenceforth he^ 
 would secretly use his influence in my favor, to 
 recommend me professionally wheresoever he 
 could, without ap[)earing to have a jirivate mo- 
 tive for doing so. We parted — and I returned 
 home. You may well «u|ijiose that I was lost 
 in conjecture as to the place to which I had 
 been taken; for within half-an-hour’s drive of 
 Oakleigh, there were several habitations, any of 
 which might have been the scene of that mys- 
 terious transaction. Years and years have pas- 
 sed since then — nearly thirty-one of those long 
 years, as 1 stated at the outset; and it was re- 
 served for this day to clear up the mystery and 
 reveal the secret to my knowledge. Yes,’’ added 
 Mr, Colycinth, in a louder and more emphatic 
 voice than that in which he had been speaking, 
 “ it was to this mansion I was brought — it was 
 to Miss Redburn’s chamber that I was conduct- 
 ed — and thei L sits the gentleman who was my 
 companion ou that memorable night !” 
 
 He pointed to Mr. Arden as he spoke ; and 
 the clergyman groaned in the bitterness of his 
 spirit. No word escaped the lips of the Baro- 
 net, of Lady Redburn, or of Gerald ; they were 
 paralyzed with wonder and dismay — they were 
 stricken dumb — a consternation was upon them. 
 For evisi Gerald himself, though entertaining a 
 malignant hatred towards his aunt, compre- 
 hended full well how terrible would be the dis- 
 lionor redounding on the whole family, if this 
 circumstance W(;re made known to I lie world. 
 
 “ Yes,” ctaitimied Mr. Colycinth, “ this is the 
 mansion to which I w'as brought ! I have 
 Counted the steps (»f the private staircase — I 
 have examin(;il the exact position ctf the door 
 opening from the vestibule into the yard — of 
 that other d<ior opiaiing fi oin the boundary-wall 
 into tim garden — and of llie gale leailing from 
 Uie garden into the grounds. 1 liuve examined 
 
 likewise the wiixlings and turnings on those 
 [larts of file pr<Miiise8 ; and all correspond with 
 the facts treasured up in my memory. Let Mr 
 Arden deny my tale if he dare ! A.li, and you 
 spoke to me just now of mercy, Mr. Arden I you 
 would have had me keep silence in re.«pect to 
 the discoV(!ry I had made! And why so? For 
 whose sake? Not for yonr’s, Mr. Anleii I — for 
 of late years yon ha ve grown proud and haugh- 
 ty — yoiir wife has looked down upon mine — 
 you yourself ha ve looked down upon me ! Nay, 
 more ; — donhtle.ss imagining that the, secret wiia 
 so well preserved, 1 never could penetrate it — 
 and that if I dared to tell the tale so far as I 
 knew it, everybody w’ould set it down as a vilo 
 calumny in respect to yourself — yon have even 
 acted as if yon chose to repudiate or lose sight 
 of the obligation wliicli you owed me. Y'on 
 have indulged in supercilious and impertinent 
 criticisms on the conduct of my danirliteis. — 
 Affecting a rigid sanclimonionsne.ss, you have 
 denmniced lliem as vain and frivolous — flaunt- 
 ing dressers — flirting, giddy young women. — 
 And yon. Sir Archibald Redburn — and you, 
 La<ly Redburn — have treated me and mine 
 with all the liauglity airs of great people look- 
 ing down u|)ou llieir inferiors. But you, Cap- 
 tain Redburn, liave been the means of niituiig 
 
 love 
 arro- 
 gance of all of you have been doomed tii expe- 
 rience a bitter liumiliation. One woid more.— - 
 I know it not for a certainty — but every circum- 
 stance rioAV tends to justify the sus[)icion and 
 corroborate the belief — that the unfortunate off- 
 spring of Miss Redburn — yowr offspring too, Mr, 
 Arden — is none other than that same Freder- 
 ick Lonsdale who lies under sentence of death 
 at Middleton !” 
 
 “ He is, he is !'’ groaned Mr. Arden ; and now 
 lifting up his head, he revealed a couiiteiiaiico 
 so convulsed with the ineffable agonies which 
 were rending his soul, that his entire physical 
 aspect seemed to be altered. “Yes, Mr. Coly- 
 cinih lias sp(»keii naught but th'e truth ; and in 
 me. Sir Arcliibald Redburn, you behold the 
 most miserable of men !” 
 
 The Baronet rose from' his seat, and walked 
 three or four times to and fro ii. the apartment, 
 in a state of considerable agitation. Lady Red- 
 burn was inmietisely shocked ; Gerald was full 
 of apprehension lest a terrific exposure should 
 take place; and he thought to himself that if 
 this were so, he shouhl never dare go back to 
 his regiment or look the world again iti the face, 
 tifter all his conduct to P’rederick Lonsdale. 
 
 “ Mr. Arden,” at length said the Baronet, 
 walking straight up to the miserable man, 
 whose ap[ieaiaiice was indeed pitiable in tha 
 extreme, “ let everything be confessed — let eve- 
 rything be made known ! Tell me the entire 
 history of the past — fill uj) whatsoever details 
 are wanting in (he narrative we have heard.” 
 
 “ I will,’ said the Rector. “Good God ! what- 
 soever atonement I can offer, shall be cheerfully 
 made — even though at the sacrifice of my own 
 reputation in (he woi Id.” 
 
 'I'licn followed the exjdanations which the 
 Baronet sought, — but g'ven in such broken swi 
 
 the reputation of a child vvhom 1 love 
 
 love as much as the rich man can po.ssibly 
 Ahs childieii. But this day the riride and 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 181 
 
 — inteiTuptcfl by 33 many sobs and moans, 
 If. well as floods of tears — and intermingled too 
 with so many entreaties for pardon and mercy, 
 that it would be impossibh* to record the narra- 
 tive precisely as it was delivered by the wretch- 
 ed Arden. We will therefore cor)vey it in our 
 own language, and in as condensed a shape as 
 possible. 
 
 We must however commence by observing 
 that about thirty-two years previous to the date 
 of which we are writing. Jane Redburn, Sir 
 Archibald's sister, was a beauteous girl of six- 
 teen. A ga\ , laughing, and joyous creature was 
 she, — perfectly inexperienced in tl)e world, — but 
 with a very susceptible heart, and passions 
 wl'.ich, though slumbering then, otdy needed to 
 be awakened to become full of ardor. The pa- 
 rents of Archibald and Jane Redburn had died 
 early. Jane was educated by a governess, — at 
 first under the supervision of an old aunt, who 
 at that time resided at the Manor. But the 
 aunt died when Jane was fifteen : the gover- 
 ness remained another year, — at the expiration 
 of which it was considered that the young lady’s 
 education was finished ; and the tutoress was 
 accordingly dismissed. Archibald and Jane 
 now jesided alone together at the Manor 
 Hou>e — without relatives to be the guides or 
 companions of the young lady. At that time. 
 Sir Archibald, being only twenty-six, and as yet 
 unmarried, was a gay dashing man, — fond of 
 field sports when in the country, and fond of 
 dissipation when in London. He was much at- 
 tached to his sister: but he neglected her, with- 
 out however wilfully intending to do so. Indeed, 
 this neglect consisted in leaving her too much 
 alone — throwing her too much upon her own re- 
 B^Mirces — and taking no measures to provide her 
 with the permanent companionship of any eli- 
 gible females. The consequence was that Jane 
 was treated as a woman when .she w'as still 
 only a girl ; she was the mistress of the Manor: 
 she presided over the household — she did as she 
 chose. The Rev. Mr. Arden had lately been in- 
 ducted into the Rectory of Oakleigh. At the 
 time we are speaking of, he was about two- 
 and thirty — of an exceedingly handsome per- 
 son, fascinating manners, winning address, and 
 brilliant powers of conversation. He was mar- 
 ried, and had already two children, tlis career 
 at the University had been dissipated and prof- 
 ligate : and his habits continued irrf;gular even 
 for some years after he had left College: in- 
 deed, he had lost two or three curacies through 
 his bad conduct; and it was owing to a fortu- 
 nate fiiendship with Sir Archibald that he set- 
 tled down at length in the living of Oakleigh — 
 Mr. Arden was a thoroughly unprincipled man: 
 and when in the course of time he perceived 
 that the beautiful, artless, and inexperienced 
 Jane Redburn had conceived agrowing attach- 
 ment for him, he was base and wicked enouf' h 
 to encourage the sentiment. She at first did 
 not comprehend it — she did not know what it 
 was — she mistook it foi' friendship; and giving 
 way to its influence, only had her eyes opened 
 to the real state of her heart, when that heart's 
 affections were inextricably entangled. Mr. 
 A rdeii fanned the flame till it well nigh devour- 
 
 ed her : he used the most detestable sophistry 
 to stifle h(‘r .scruples and overcome her viitue — 
 and he succeeded but too well. 
 
 Sir Archibald 8 frequent absences from home, 
 afforded ample opportunities for his sister and 
 Mr. Arden to pursue their illicit amour — which, 
 we should add, was so carefu'ly veiled, that it 
 remained utterly unsuspected by every one. 
 In due time, Jane Redburn found herself in a 
 way to become a mother; and then both she 
 and Mr. Arden grew seriou>ly alarmed. The 
 citcumsiance was, however, concealed until the 
 very last : Miss Redburn managetl to hide he? 
 position from even the prying eyes of the female 
 servants of the hou.sehold. I’'ortnnately for thi# 
 purpose of concealment, Sir Archibald Redburn 
 took it into his head to pay a three montha’ 
 visit to London at the time when the crisis was 
 approaching. He expected his sister to go with 
 him — and was somewhat surprised when she 
 begged to be allowed to remain at the Manor. 
 He had, however, become so much accustomed 
 to let her have her own way, and to treat hei 
 as a grow’n-up woman who could be properly 
 left to her own guidance, that he did not insist; 
 and so she remairred. This was a great point 
 won in the estimation of Mr. Arden; and he 
 now began to breathe more freely. In a variety 
 of ways did he counsel her how to act, in order 
 to prepare for the coming event. Following 
 all his suggestions, she gradually dispensed witt 
 the services of her lady's-maid in respect to the 
 toilet; and, with a great pretence of strictness, 
 she compelled all the servants to retire to their 
 chambers at a particular hour, and to bring her, 
 every evening, the keys of the premises. As 
 the time ajiproached, Mr. Arden made a confi- 
 dante of a poor woman of the name of Grant, 
 who resided in the village, and wdiom he knew 
 to be the very person suited for the purpose. 
 Miss Redburn engaged her, on his recommen- 
 dation, as an occasional charwoman to asist at 
 the Manor House; and thus was she afforded 
 a footing beneath that roof without exciting any 
 suspicion as to the ulterior object. It was more- 
 over privately arranged, that if the expected 
 infant should live, Mrs. Grant was to have the 
 care of it. We must add, that it was all along 
 the Rector’s purpose to employ the professional 
 services of Mr. Colycinth, when the time should 
 come — but not to entrust him with the secret 
 beforehand. He saw that Colycinth was strug- 
 gling and needy, and that difficulties were grow- 
 ing fast around him ; and it. was therefore natu- 
 ral to suppose that he would jump at the pro- 
 posal when made, and willingly accede to the 
 conditions accompanying it. Nevertheless, when 
 the crisis did arrive, Mr. Arden was naturally 
 filled with apprehensions of discovery and ex- 
 posure; and hence the excitement he had dis- 
 played when calling upon Colycitith on the 
 memorable night the incidents of which have 
 already been described. All, however, passed 
 off with the sfrictrst secrecy, and without the 
 slightest misadventure. Mrs. Grant was there, 
 ready at hand — the domestics liitd retired at 
 the usual hour — Mi.ss Redburu had the keys of 
 the tloors and gates, which afforded Mr. Arden 
 and the surgeon the means of ingress and egress 
 and when the servants arose in the morning, 
 
182 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S 
 
 they entertained not the remotest suspicion of 
 wliat had occurred (luring the night. 
 
 But we must observe that after the de- 
 paiture of Mr. Arden and Colyciiith on that 
 Batne niemorahle night, — and so soon as Miss 
 Redburn could he safely left alone, — Mrs. 
 Grant re()aired with the t)abe to her own cot 
 tage ; and for several weeks she uianagtal to 
 prevent her neighbors from knowing that there 
 was any such little stranger Ijeneath Ikm- roof — 
 so that the date of its arrival could not, by any 
 ])ossit)le suspicion, nor by any whispeiing of 
 scandal, l)e regarded as identical with a three 
 or four days’ indisj)osition which it was alleged 
 Miss Redburn had experienced. Indeed, nearly 
 two whole months elapsed before Mrs. Grant’s 
 neighbors knew that there was a child in her 
 care ; and when at last she chose to suffer the 
 circumstance to become known, she pretended 
 that she had only received the infant on that 
 same day. Mr. Colycinth had his suspicions 
 that she was the woman whom he had seen at 
 the place to which h« was taken, and that this 
 was the child whom he had helped to bring 
 into the world. He therefore — dexterously 
 and cunningly, as he thought — threw out a few 
 hints in private to Mrs. Grant, with the hope 
 of leading her into revelations: but she jdayed 
 her part so well iu affecting not to understand 
 him, that he imagined he must be mistaken — 
 or if not, it was plain enough that the woman 
 intended to keep the secret. Indeed Mrs.] 
 Grant was thoroughly trustworthy ; and more-j 
 over, as she was promised a certain weekly! 
 stipend for the maintenance of the child, with 
 the understanding that it would be taken from 
 her should the secret become known, she fout)d 
 it to her interest to put a seal upon her lips. 
 Having previously been merely a charwoman, 
 she now oj)ened a little shop, to serve as an 
 ostensible source of her livelihood : but as it 
 was well known in the village that it could not' 
 possibly su|)port her, thence arose the rumor j 
 that she received some assistance from another i 
 quarter. But what this source w'as, no one ever j 
 knew — no one indeed ever surmised. It was} 
 perfectly natural that the clergyman of the; 
 parish should drop in to pay her a visit from 
 time to time, as he did to his other parishioners ; 
 and he took good care, when putting the sti 
 pend into her hand, that no witness was ever 
 present. 
 
 The name of Frederick Lonsdale was be- 
 stowed upon the child. This nomenclature 
 sprang not from any suggestion on the part of 
 either the father or the nutther ; it w’as entirely 
 the result of the good woman’s own choice, and j 
 might be explained by the fact that she loved 
 th«; Chiistian name Frederick, and that when 
 thinking of a surname for the boy, she had 
 lighted upon that of Ijoundale in an old news 
 j>aper. So he was called Frederick Lonsdale ; 
 and Ik; grew up with the mysbuy hanging 
 about his birth — Jane Redburn’s secret remain- 
 ing iKjt merely unkmtwn, but utterly unsuspect- 
 ed. Ah for any attachment ever having sub 
 KiHt(;d ladweeii herself and Mr. Arden, such an 
 idea never entered the h<;ad of a soul. But 
 though th(! world kn(;w not h<;r frailty, and in 
 deed her guilt,— -guilt in thus ubaiidoniijg to a 
 
 stranger the child wlio had asked not to t>« 
 born, — there was a secret monitor within her 
 bosom that constantly reminded her of the past. 
 Her dis|)osition chang(;d : her mind became 
 jaundicecf; and she learnt to loctk with an evil 
 eye u[)on the world. She saw in Mr. Arden 
 the veri(“st hypocrite and most consummate im- 
 postor that ever dared desecrate th<* pidpit; 
 and this alone was sufficient to mak(; hei mia- 
 trust every human being. To mistrust in such 
 a sense, was almost to hate ; and as she was 
 thus led to regard her fellow-creaturrn with a 
 feeding so closely hordering upon aversion, it 
 could not be wendered if her accents and the 
 manner of her speech gradually becanie in- 
 fused with that bitterness and acrimony which 
 in course of time became habitual, d he physi- 
 cid aspect of the woman changed conciiricntly 
 with lier mental condilion, and the carr; which 
 corroded in tier soul, preyed also ujion the 
 heart’s vitid.s. But did she continue to love 
 Mr. Arden? No — im|)ossible ! As her expe- 
 rience of the wot 1(1 became enlarged, — and ft 
 did so speedily, as the necessary result of her 
 own fall and iicqujiintance with sin — she w'«a 
 led to regard, him as the black hetirted autho. 
 of her shame, her guilt, and all her sufU'iings. 
 From prudentiiil motives — wliich ire obvious 
 enough — she did not choose to come to aifopen 
 rupture with him : they therefore continued to 
 meet throughout the lapse of long, long years, 
 iti the light of acqutiintances : but never from 
 the birth of their child was the word “ love ” 
 mentioned ; and with that event Miss Red- 
 burn’s frailty terminated. She sunsequently 
 sinned no more. 
 
 And now, the next question which doubtless 
 occurs to the reader is, whether they loved their 
 Son — the offsjiring of their illicit amour 1 Mr. 
 Arden did not. A man seldom or never cares 
 for his illegitimate child ; and the rector of 
 Oakleigh was by no means an individual likely 
 to prove an exception to that rule. So far 
 fiom entertaining the slightest feeling of kind- 
 ness tow’ards Fredeiick Lonsdale, Mr. Arden 
 regai'ded him wdth a hatred that increased as 
 th(' boy grew up: tho-ugh during Widow Grant’s 
 lifetime, he never in any way manifested an 
 aversion wdiich would have shocked and pained 
 the woman, wdio possessed a good heart and 
 had learnt to love her charge as dearly as if he 
 were her own son. But what of Aunt Jane ? 
 It is generally very different with a woman 
 than with a man in respect to an illegitimate 
 child : the mother usually loves the being that 
 was born in shame, and through whom her ho- 
 nor is either risked or ruined. But from this 
 rule Miss Redburn was an exception. I’he off- 
 spring of her illicit love was included to a 
 certain degree in the aversion which she enter- 
 tained for all mankind: and thus she never ex- 
 peri(;nced a yearning to speed to the village — 
 to clas]) him to her bosom — and acknowledge 
 him as her own. Yet Miss Redburn had be- 
 come ridigious: in pro])ortion as her hatred of 
 the world had increased, so had her piety — or 
 rather that sort of piety which such persons 
 devise and fashion for tliemselves. Moreover, 
 though regarding the rector of Oakleigh as a 
 consumnuilo hypocrite, she neverthelesa at- 
 
THE .SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 IM 
 
 tended his church tririce every Sunday : but 
 then, it was not to listen to nis discourse — it 
 was oidy because she felt the necessity of visit- 
 ing a tem|)]e of worship, and she could not pos- 
 sibly choose another than that which belonged 
 to tlie parish were she dwelt. It would how- 
 ever occupy too much space to enter upon mi- 
 nute explanations respecting the pc'Culiarities 
 into which this unhappy woman’s mind settled 
 itself : suffice it to say that though her entire 
 nature was embittered by tlie guilt of her 
 earlier years, she sought not to make an atone- 
 ment by acknowledging her son and doing her 
 duty towards him — but slie took refuge in a 
 church-going regularity and a habit of prayer- 
 reading in private, which she persuaded herself 
 to believe were the sole elements of a true re- 
 ligious piety. 
 
 The reader is aware that shortly after Fred- 
 erick Lonsdale attained the age of eighteen, a 
 fire consumed Mrs. Grant’s cottage ; and the 
 poor old woman herself, being bed-ridden, per- 
 ished in the conflagration. Mr. Arden expe- 
 rienced no sorrow at this catastrophe ; on the 
 contrary, he was well pleased at the occur- 
 rence; — and though Miss Redburn herself 
 scarcely regretted it, yet to do her justice, she 
 experienced a much less heartless feeling on the 
 subject than the rector. Their secret now ap- 
 peared to be safe beyond the possibility of dis- 
 covery ; but there was a moment when Aunt 
 Jane, on hearing that Frederick Lonsdale was 
 lefc penniless by the calamity, ftdt her soul moved 
 towards him; — and she proposed to Mr. Arden 
 that something should be done for his benefit. 
 She represented that whatever should be tints 
 done, might be made to appear the spontaneous 
 bounty of himself as tlie village-clergyman, 
 though her jturse should furnish the means. 
 But he would not for a single instant consent to 
 Ute proposition. He had acquired the reputa- 
 tion of a steady, religious, and holy man; and 
 be would do nothing that should excite the 
 fliintest suspicion, or lead the villagers to form 
 couiectures as to the motive of any special kind- 
 ness shown towards Frederick Lonsdale. No : 
 he would rather tliat his ignored and unacknow- 
 ledged son .should starve, than that by doing 
 aught for him he might incur the slightest 
 chance of having the past suspected and his re- 
 puta ion ruined. For Mr. Colycinth continued 
 to d -ell in the village; and if he saw that 
 Frederick Lonsdale received any especial favors 
 from Mr. Arden, he might be led to form a con- 
 clusion by no means agreeable to the reverend 
 gentleman. Therefore Lonsdale was left to 
 shift f..r himself; and he became a laborer on 
 the estate of his own mother s brother. 
 
 From the fact that Miss Rcidburn did on that 
 particular occasion make such a proposal to Mr. 
 Arden, the reader may infer that there were 
 moments when her heart was smitten with re- 
 morse on account of her ignored and neglected 
 oflspring. It was so; but these moments were 
 rare indeed, and occurred only at long intervals. 
 In such a mood was it, for instance, that on the 
 day when Frederick Lonsdale was finally sworn 
 as a recruit in presence of tSir Archibald Red- 
 burn, Aunt ‘4;uie fixed upon hkii so peculiar a 
 ook as he was traversing the hall, — that look 
 
 13 
 
 which frequently liauAled him afterwards, and 
 which he never could understand For, as 
 thought at the time, it certainly was not spite, 
 nor gloating triumph: but how could he fantv 
 it was a commiseration? Oh, much less could 
 he fancy that it was the look of a mother’s 
 remorse which at that moment was flung upon 
 him! Yet it was so: and the next time Misa 
 Redburn had an opportunity of speaking iu 
 private to Mr. Arden, she told him of the jud- 
 deu paroxysm of bitter, bitter anguish she had 
 experienced when beholding her own offs p jig 
 going away as a recruit in the power of Serp-iant 
 Langley. Yet it was not with the idea of re- 
 ceiving any sympathy from Mr Arden that she 
 thus communicated the state of her feelings ; it 
 was more as a reproach which she levelled at 
 him ! For the clergyman had not hesitated, oc. 
 more occasions than one, and even in her pre- 
 sence, to join in with the Baronet and Gerald in 
 depreciatory language of Frederick Lonsdale — 
 his own son ! 
 
 But little more in the shape of explanation 
 remains to be given. The reader has seen how, 
 during the last few years wliich this narrative 
 has embraced. Aunt Jane’s spite had become 
 more bitter and more rancorous towards her 
 nephew Gerald. This was natural. Slie re- 
 garded him as the author of her own son’s dis- 
 missal from Sir Archibald’s employment, and 
 of the necessity which had driven him to enlist; 
 and though she loved not tliat son — though she 
 cared not for him — though it was only at dis- 
 tant and fitful moments of compunction she 
 thought of him without aversion, — yet it was 
 entirely consistent with the morbid state of her 
 mind, that she should look upon his bitterest 
 jiersecutor with hatred. Moreover, inasmuch as 
 every time Gerald mentioned the name of Lons- 
 dale, on the occasion of his visits to the Manor 
 House, dtiring the lapse of the last few years, it 
 was in the most rancorous spirit, — Miss Red- 
 burn’s malignity was proportionately increased 
 towards her nephew for those very causes. But 
 now at last things had come to a crisis. Fred- 
 erick Lonsdale was condemned to die — and for 
 an offence to which Aunt Jane had no doubt 
 that Gerald had provoked him. It was natural 
 that her remorse on account of her unacknow- 
 ledged son should become embittered almost to 
 madness; it was natural, too, that with ner acri- 
 monious disposition, she should vent her spite 
 against Gerald with all the virulence wnich the 
 reader has seen her display when he roue across 
 to the Manor, and announced the issue of the 
 court-martial. Mr. Arden had also heard the 
 intelligence that self-same morning: anu lienoe 
 his somewhat early visit to the Manor--foi* lie 
 was devoured with excruciating terrors as to 
 tlie way in which Miss Redburn might receive 
 it, and-the course she might at tlie last hour 
 think fit to adopt towards her offspring. No 
 wonder, therefore, that when first eniering the 
 room, and catching a glimpse of her ahastly 
 countenance — whereon was written a tablet of 
 thoughts inexplicable at the time to me others 
 present, but which he could too well read, — nc 
 wonder, we say, that Mr. Arden was seized 
 with so mortal a terror, and that he shouia have 
 felt and looked like one annihilated, wneu Miai 
 
184 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 Pfdlnirn, maddenc 1 to dosporafion, Huddctdy 
 gave vent to ihat, terrific cry, and ft II down in a 
 pwoon. Nor will the rc'adei' marvel that the 
 rector of Oaklei^li should have heen aj^ain 
 Btricken with dismay, when Colycintli followed 
 Gerald Red’tiorn into tint drawin^-iootn, with ati 
 expression upon his countenance which at once 
 convincetl the luiserahle man that his worst 
 fears were ctinfiiiued — that the secret was dis- 
 covered — aiul that the suigeon intended to pro- 
 claim it. 
 
 Yes; and all was indeed now known. Coly- 
 cinth’s tale, followed u|) by Arden’s confessions, 
 revealed the whole astounding circumstances to 
 Sir Archibald and Lady liedburn, and to Gerald. 
 Thus did they now learn that Frederick Lons- 
 dale — the man whose name had for years been 
 made the object of hatred and iiversiiai, scorn 
 and contem|)t, at the Manor House — who had 
 beeji driven by the Baronet and his son to en- 
 listment — whom that same son had persecuted 
 %o remorselessly and so pitilessly, and in a cer- 
 tain sense had even hunted to the very death, 
 — thus did they learn that this self-same 
 Frederick Lonsdale was the offspring of a scion 
 of their own family, and that the blood of 
 the Redburus might be said to circulate in his 
 veins 1 
 
 But what was to be done ? The Baronet 
 knew not — Lady Redburn knew not — Gerald 
 knew not. Mr. Arden, convulsed with grief, 
 rather through dread of exposure, than through 
 remorse for the past, could suggest nothing. 
 And even if he were able to command his ideas 
 and collect his thoughts, to reason deliberately, 
 what was there that he could possibly suggest, 
 he who was overwhelmed with shame and con- 
 fusion, in the presence of tliose whose relative 
 he had dishonored, and had entailed upon her 
 Buch long years of misery ! The Baronet would 
 have spurned and driven the vile man iguornini 
 ously forth from the house, only that he also 
 trembled at exposure, and was thinking how he 
 could best hush up all that had been made 
 knowii in that drawing-room within the past 
 hour. He knew full well that after the painful 
 excitement she had shown, and the sudden ebul- 
 htiou of agonized feeling to which she had given 
 vent, — Aunt Jane, when fully restored to con- 
 Bciousness, would insist that no effort sluiuld be 
 epared to save Lonsdale’s life. In this respect, 
 therefore. Sir Archibald Redburn ’s resolve was 
 promptly taken. 
 
 Suddenly accosting his wife, he bent down to 
 her, and said in a (piick excited whisper, “ Go you 
 U{) to your sister in-law’s room — remain with 
 her — endeavor as much as possible to dispense 
 with the presence of the maid, so that when she 
 Comes coiujiletely to lieiself, you may be at 
 hand to give her tlie immediate assurance that 
 all my inlluence shall be exerted to procure 
 Lonsdale’s jiardon. But tell her likewise — im- 
 jiiess It upon her mind — make her thoroughly 
 understand, that the secret jiiiist still be kept — 
 that he must never know to wliom he owes his 
 Is'ing — that the mystery of his parentage must 
 continiM!. 'I’ell her also, that his future welfare 
 
 bliall be my care In short, do all >oti can to 
 
 traiKpiilhze her mind, so that site shall not be- 
 irav IterHelf." 
 
 Lady Redburn, — who trembled as much m 
 her husband at the idea of an exposure in 
 respect to a member of tin* family into which 
 she had marriial, — displayed iinnsnal alacrity 
 in hastening to fulfil his instructions ; and when 
 .'■he had left the di awing-r<M»m, Sir Ardiibalc. 
 beckoned Mr. Colycintli to step asidi! with him 
 to the farther extremity of that spacious apart- 
 iiH'iit, .'riie surgeon, — who hail remained seated 
 near the talde with the air of a man possessixi 
 of a tremendous seen t giving him the power to 
 dictate his own terms, — followed the Barotek 
 into a window-recess; and the latter, feeling 
 that he had no time to lose and that all hia 
 proceedings must tiow be ex|)(Mliliously taker, 
 at once .said to the village surgeon, “Mr. Coly- 
 cinth, what do you rerpiire of me? Name 
 the conditions upon which you will keep this 
 secret” 
 
 “ Five thousand pounds,” was the surgeon’s 
 imiiH'diate response: and the look ^ ,,eh he 
 fixed upon the Baronet, showed that tee terms 
 had been already settled in his own mina, ano 
 that lie was resolved to extort the full amount 
 Ilf hi.s demand without the abalement of a single 
 farthing. 
 
 “You shall have that sum,” responded Sir 
 Archibald Redburn. “ I am about to proceed 
 to London — the money shall be placed in your 
 name in the Bank of England. Now liusten 
 home, and send up such medicines as my sister 
 may require.” 
 
 Mr. Colycintli could not repress a smile of 
 triumphant satisfaction at the readiness with 
 wliich hi.s terms were accepted ; and with a 
 slight bow he quitted the apartment. 
 
 “ Mr. Arden,’ said the Baronet, tu)w approach- 
 ing the clergyman, who trembled like an aspen 
 leaf when thus accosted by the brother of her 
 whom he had so ba.sely wronged and beguiled 
 in her inexpei ieiiced girlhood, — “ Mr. Arden 
 and the Baronet spoke coldly and sternly, — ‘I 
 need not tell you that our friendship is at an end 
 — our acquaintance also. Nevermore may y*..v 
 set foot within these walls ; and svhen we me«fc 
 henceforth, it will be as strangers. Devise what 
 tale you will to account amongst your parish- 
 ic/ners for this breach, which they will not fiiil 
 full soon to notice : but doubtless for your own 
 sake you will keep inviolable the secret of your 
 own ba-e perfidy and of my sister’s shame. Be- 
 gone, sir 1” 
 
 The wretched man was for a moment inclined 
 to fling himself at the feet of Sir Archibald Red- 
 burn ami imploie his p.iiklon : but he dared not; 
 he felt that for such guilt as his, no pardon 
 could be accorded. In the most abject state of 
 humiliation he slunk out of the room ; and it 
 was not till he began descending the staircase 
 that he could so lar master his feelings as to con- 
 gratulate himself on having escaped the fullest 
 exposure of his conduct to the whole world, or 
 that he recollected the necessity of assuming a 
 tranquil demeanor in order to avoid attracting 
 the notice of the domestics whom he might 
 encounter while })assiug forth from the man-« 
 sion. 
 
 “ Gerald,” said the Baronet, turning quickly 
 to his son, the monffnt Mr. Arden had issuec 
 from tlio drawing-room, “ what is the iuterva 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 that in the ordinary course would be allowed to 
 elapse ere the execution of the sentence ?” 
 
 “The proceedings of the court-martial, ” re 
 pponded Captain Redburn, “have to be sent up 
 to the Horse Guards for approval. They were 
 no doubt despatched by yesferday’s post : they 
 will probably be returned by Friday morning — 
 in which case the execution would take place on 
 Saturday 
 
 “ And to day is Tuesday/’ said the Baronet. 
 “ There is no time to lose. I shall take hiy 
 departure for Londoti within an hour. Hasten 
 you back to Middleton, and see Colonel Wynd- 
 ham at once. If 1 remember riglit, he is under 
 obligations to you — yttu have lent him money 
 
 he is still needy and necessitous Well 
 
 then, offer to lend or give him a thousand — 
 
 two thousand — three tliousatid pounds any 
 
 sum, so that he will do what you demand.’' 
 
 “ And what am I to ask of him r’ inquired 
 Gerald. 
 
 “ Can’ you not understand T exclaimed the Ba- 
 ronet, stamping his foot impatiently. “ Piocure 
 from him a recommendation to mercy — and lose 
 no time in despatching it by a mounted messen- 
 ger to London, it will materially assist the 
 endeavors which 1 also shall make. But' 
 beware, Gerald, how you trifle or he?itate in 
 this matter : for 1 fear me, that we have.dready 
 too much to answer for in respect to the tiasat- 
 ment which, from first to last, Frederick Lons- 
 dale has ex|)erienced at our haiuls. And one 
 word more, Gerald,” added the Baronet. “ Be 
 you here — at tlie Manor — on F'riday, to await 
 my return — so that if 1 am fortunate enough to 
 bring with me the pardon or reprieve whicliever 
 it may be, you can at once set off' with it to 
 Middleton, and give it with your own hands to 
 Colonel Wyndham. It will be a matter of life 
 
 or death and no ordinary messenger must 
 
 be trusted in such a case. You understand me, 
 Gerald f Away with you — away with you to 
 Middleton at once !” 
 
 Captain Redburn lost no time in mounting 
 his horse to ride back to Middleton ; and the 
 traveling-carriage being speedily got in readi- 
 ness, Sir Archibald set off' on his journey to 
 Loudon. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE CONDEMNED SOLDIER. 
 
 In a cell, at the extremity of a passage com- 
 municating from the guard house of the bar- 
 racks at Middleton, Frederick Lonsdale was 
 seated The window — narrow and iiigli up — 
 was defended by massive iron bars ; the door 
 was of huge proportions: the walls were thick, 
 and of the mo^t solid masonry. In that pas- 
 sage a sentinel walked to and fro ; and tlie 
 measured tread of his footsteps beat monoto- 
 nously upon die ear of the condemned. There 
 was not die .-lightest possibility of e.-cape, — 
 even if such a liope had been otherwise than an 
 occasional wild and transient thought which flit- 
 ted through his brain — a thought to be rejected 
 as soon as it sprang up, and to leave the dark- 
 <ies8 of deapair beliind I 
 
 lU 
 
 It was Wednesday afternoon — the day after 
 that on which the pi eceding scences had taken 
 place at the Manor House. Frederick Lonsdale, 
 now unable to procure any artificial stimulant, 
 was a prey to the deepest despondency. Re- 
 morse was devouring bis heart, as he thought 
 of his conduct towards tlie most amiable of 
 wives and the most affectionate of children. It 
 would have been some little consolation were 
 lie able to reflect that bis conduct bad been 
 otlierwise, and that lie had continued a good 
 husband and a kind father even until tlie las* 
 But the solace of such a reflection was denied 
 him: and yvitli the bitterest regret did he look 
 back on all the siiff'erings lie bad made bLs Lucy 
 and bis little Frederick endure. 
 
 He was plunged into a mood of such sad and 
 awful meditation, that in it.self it was almost a 
 siiffioient jmnishment for whatsoever he might 
 have done — when he heard the key turn in th* 
 lock — the huge bolts were drawn back — Lucy 
 and the boy entered the cell. The door was 
 closed behind them again: the key turned and 
 the bolts were diawn once more. Then ensued 
 a scene which defies all the power of language 
 to depict — a scene in which a conscience-stricken 
 husband, an anguished wife, and a wildly sob- 
 bing child were the three actors. For the poor 
 boy knew that eomething terrible was to bap- 
 j)en to his father, althoiigli he had not been suf- 
 fered to learn the whole tremendous truth. 
 Lonsdale strained his poor wife to his breast — 
 then be embraced his son — all amidst convul- 
 sions of grief: and then he turned aside to pour 
 forth the ngony of his heart in floods of tears 
 and piteous lamentations. Lucy fell u|)on her 
 knees — took his hand — pressed it to her lips. — 
 sobbing and weeping convulsively, and feeling 
 as if her heart would break. 
 
 After a while there was some little degree of 
 composure on the part of those three unhappy 
 beings; and Lonsdale asked, in a low whisper- 
 ing voice, whether his wife would forgive him 
 for all the sorrows he had caused her ? Forgive 
 
 liim Oh, yes ! had his cruelty been ten 
 
 thousand times greater than it was, she would 
 have forgiven him ! Indeed, there was no for- 
 giveness to award : for she had never been an- 
 gered against him. She had felt and she had 
 suffered : but not the slightest sentiment of ran- 
 cor had ever penetrated into the noble heart of 
 that generous woman. Forgive him ? — Oh, if 
 there were indeed any forgiveness to be lie- 
 stowed, most cordially did she bestow it! But 
 again and again did she beseech him not to ad- 
 dress her in that strain — not to sue for pardon , 
 for she had made every allowance on his be- 
 half at the time — she had pitied and she had 
 loved him : her anger had never been excited 1 
 
 Then Lonsdale, in the most earnest manner, 
 assured her how bitteiL', bitterly he repented 
 of the [last — and how fully he apjireciated the 
 treasure he had possessed in the wife to whom 
 these words were addressed. Oil ! if he could 
 but live the last two years of his existence over 
 again — how different would his conduct be 1 
 Lucy conjured him to fix his thoughts upon the 
 future: for she saw that it was agony for him 
 to revert them upon tlie past. In a low wbi«- 
 peiing voice — so that the child might not catek 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 
 the fcnrfni import of his words — T.onsdiilc as- 
 Bured her that, wheti left to the solitude of that 
 duujreou-cel 1, he modelled his ihonghts as much 
 as he was eiiahled towards making his jx-ace 
 with heaven; and that when llu; awful monient 
 came, he should meet his doom with the firm- 
 ness of a man, and the resignation (tf a Chris- 
 tian. poor Lucy laid her heatl upon his shoul- 
 der, and vainly endeavored to stifle the sohs 
 that were convulsing her heart. '^I'hen, as lions- 
 dale held her clasped in one arm and his ho\ 
 in the other, he was smitten with an appalling 
 despair as he asked himself what was to become 
 
 of them Oh ! what wuis to become of thetn '{ 
 
 He f( ared that his poor wife would not long 
 survive his death; and theti, wlio would take 
 chargtt of the boy ? who would rear him ? who 
 would be kind to him ? -who W( uid even give 
 Inm a home ttnd food ? As he asked hirn.self 
 ^these questions, despair seemed to be turning 
 into madness — afiliction rising into frenzy. 
 
 “ Oh, my Ood ! ’ he exclaimed wildly ; “ what 
 will become of you both ? what will become of 
 you ?” 
 
 “Hush, dearest Frederick!” said the poor 
 wife, stiaining him still closer to her har- 
 rowed and tortured bosom ; “ give not way to 
 these dreadful thoughts. Oh, what can I do to 
 impart consolation to your soul ? I’cll me, dear 
 Frederick, what can I do ? w'hat can I say 
 
 But the unhappy Lonsdale w^as now unable 
 tt» give atiy response; he was once moie con- 
 vulsed with anguish — he was a jney to tlie 
 wildest despair. Disengaging himself from the 
 arms of his wife and sou, he began pacing to 
 and fro in the cell ; and ptmt Lucy was afiaid 
 to accost him with fresh entreaties that he W'ould 
 gather his fortitude to his aid — for she had no 
 hope to give; and where is the consolation 
 which is not based upon hope? Suddenly he 
 B'.op[ied short — and for a few instants contem- 
 plated his wife and his son with a look so 
 
 tad Oh 1 so sad — it was the dismalest and 
 
 dreariest that ever apj)eared upon the human 
 countenance. For dining those few moments 
 myriads of agonizing thoughts swept through 
 the brain of the unhaiipy man. He beheld the 
 care-worn, haggard countenance and wasted 
 form of that wife, who was once so beautiful in 
 the vigor of healtli and in the cheerfulness of 
 her disposiiion; he beheld, too, the pale face 
 and emaciated figure of the once blooming boy ; 
 atid although at the instant no tears were trick- 
 ling down the cheeks of the miserable man, yet 
 inwardly his heart was weej)ing tears of blood. 
 Never had the death-bed known such anguish — 
 never had the churchyard seen such utter woe 
 on the brink of the hollowed grave — as the af- 
 fliction and despair which were experienced 
 then in that dungcon-cell. And, oil 1 when 
 ineniory winged its rapid fl'ght beyond those 
 iron bars anil tho.se mas.>^ive walls, and ll(*w to 
 the fair HCiaies in the neighborhood of Oakleigh, 
 amidst which he had first known his J^ucy — 
 where he had liist learnt to love her — where 
 they had be«*n wont to meet by the stream 
 in the grove — and where they had whispered 
 the words of love, — Oh 1 what memory thus 
 levihiled those scenes, and when relrospi‘Clion 
 traveled iu]»idly over the incidents of those haji- 
 
 pier times, it was enough to drive him to mad* 
 ness — to goad him into frenzy — as his mind, re* 
 turning abruptly fiom the past, settled itwlf 
 again upon the liorrible present! During thosf 
 few moments that he tliiis stood gazing upon 
 his wile, and child — and as thesis memoriea 
 surged uj) into his reeling, throbbing, bursting 
 brain — the unhappy man endured entire worldn 
 of torture — passeil through the concentrated 
 excrucial ions of whole centurie.s. Again did 
 tiie t(‘ars gush foith from his eyes: again did 
 the convulsing sobs e.scape from his lialfsulfo- 
 cating throat ; — and snatching his wife and child 
 to his ariiKs, he covered them with passionate 
 kisse.“ — he bedewed them with his tears — ha 
 moaned and lamented over them as never man 
 before or since moaned ovi-r the wife who was 
 soon to become a widow, or over the child who 
 was soon to be left an orphan ! 
 
 'i'he scene, as we said at the outset, tran- 
 scend(‘(l all jiower of desci ijition. I’liere is no 
 language competent to convey an idea of t!ie 
 anguish and the mental agony ei.dured within 
 those four walks. Oh! for whatsoever offence 
 Lonsdale might have committed, society and 
 the world were already fearfully avenged ! 
 
 An hour [Uissed ; and at the ex[)iration of 
 that interval the door was opened again — and 
 the soldier who appeared upon tlie threshold, 
 was himself well nigh overcome with grief on 
 
 sued. Yes — piteous indeed was it: and yet 
 tliese were not the last farewells that were 
 spoken. It was believed that the executica 
 would take jilace on the Saturday; this was 
 only the Wednesday — there were two more 
 clear days to intervene — two more visits for the 
 wife and child to pay to a •condemned husband 
 and fatlier. If therefore this leave-taking w’aa 
 so fraught with crucifying anguish — if it were 
 so profoundly characterized by feelings of de- 
 spair — how would those poor creatures pass 
 through the ordeal of the Iasi farewell, when the 
 Friday evening should come? Such was the 
 thought which traversed the mind of the com- 
 pa.ssionate soldier, as he stood upon the thresh- 
 old of the cell — and the tears trickled down 
 his countenance : he too sobbed aloud. At 
 length the almost heartbroken Lucy and the 
 weeping boy issued forth from the dungeon : 
 and Lonsdale flung himself iu despair upon hia 
 pallet. 
 
 On the following day — the Thursday — there 
 was a repetition of the distressing scene which 
 we have endeavored to describe ; and when the 
 moment approached for another separation, 
 h’rederick summoned all his fortitude to his aid 
 to whisjier something in liis wife’s ear. 
 
 “ To-morrow, my own dear Lucy,” he said, 
 in a voice which despite all his efforts, was 
 broken and tremulous with the emotions that 
 were rending his heart, “to-morrow will be the 
 last time for us to meet in this world.” 
 
 Lonsdale stopjied short : fir he felt his poor 
 wife’s arms tightening convulsively round his 
 neck — and he felt too that a strong spasmodifl 
 shudtieiing passed through her entire fi'^me. 
 Oh, how iiielfable was her anguish, as her k 'Ars 
 was smitten with the fearful import ofhu .3®* 
 band’s words 1 
 
 I beholding the piteous leave-taking that now en- 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 187 
 
 “ For heaven’s sake command yourself, my 
 6wrn a«ar wife,” murmured the miserable man : 
 * for we must exert all our fortitude. I’o- 
 morrow, then, will be our last interview, and you 
 and I must be alone together. To-day I shall 
 
 bid farewell an eternal farewell to — to *’ 
 
 Blithe could not finish the broken, murmured, 
 whispered sentence as he glanced towards the 
 pale though beautiful countenance of little 
 Frederick, who with the tears bedewing his 
 cheeks, was gazing up at him in so sad a man- 
 ner, that the father’s heart was riven with an- 
 guish. But when the moment came for this 
 day’s meeting to end, and wlien t^uit father, on 
 straining the boy to his breast, felt that it was 
 for the last time, — Oh, it was crucifixion ! it was 
 mpalement ! it was the agony of agonies that 
 ie endured 1 It seemed as if life itself were 
 being torn away from him, amidst excruciating 
 tortni es : it was as if parting from ihe very 
 chords that held his soul as yet bound to exis- 
 tence. And the child, in>tinctively compre- 
 hending what it meant, asked in so piteous a 
 tone “ if he should never see his dear papa 
 again ?” that both Lonsdale and Lucy felt as if 
 they were on the verge of shrieking forth as 
 maniacs, or of dashing their lieads against the 
 wall in despair. Indeed, for a short space did 
 frenzy so seize upon the brain of the condemned 
 soldier, that he lield both his wife and child to 
 his breast, declaring that he would not part from 
 them ; and they also clung with an equal tena- 
 city to him. But at length Lucy staggered 
 forth from the cell, with the weeping boy : the 
 door closed, and Lonsdale, seized with the sud- 
 den numbness of a stupor, fell heavily upon the 
 Slone floor. When he came back to conscious- 
 ness, it all appeared to him a hideous dream : 
 but the conviction of its reality soon fastened 
 upon him a^aiii, — and then what anguish did he 
 enduie! what bitter lamentations came forth 
 f, om his lips ! 
 
 On the ensuing day — the Friday — Frederick 
 Lonsdale was informed at about noon that the 
 proceedings of tlie court-martial had been ap- 
 proved of at the Horse Guards, and that the 
 sentence would be carried into etfecc on the fol- 
 lowing morning. We most however observe 
 that Colonel Wyndham had Complied with Cap- 
 tain Redburn’s snlicitation for a recommenda- 
 tion to meicy; and that this recommendation 
 liad been duly despatclied to the Horse 
 Guards in Lohdoii. Ii had reached the com- 
 mander-in-chief after he had sent off his first 
 uecision : indeed the approval of the sentence 
 and the recommendation to rm rcy cro.ssed each 
 other on the way — so hat ihe receipt (f the 
 former at Middleton was no proof tha> the latter 
 Would not be attended to. But it was not usual 
 to suffer a condemned soldier to learn tlial any in 
 terest was being used on Irs liehaif, or that theie 
 was any hope of a reprieve; and Lonsdale was 
 consequently left in peifect gnoraiice of what 
 Was going on. He thereldre received that an- 
 nouncement in resjiect to tlie approval of the 
 Sentence by the Horse Guartls, as the final 
 warning to prepare for a doom that was inevita- 
 ble. Not for an instant had he entertained the 
 slightest .iope, even from the very tiist ; for he 
 knew hou rancorous we'e his enemies, and he 
 
 little thought of the interest that had so sud- 
 denly been awakened on his behalf at the dwel- 
 ling of Sir Archibald Redhurn. 
 
 Nov/ came the last interview between him- 
 self and Lucy. His farewells had been said to 
 little Frederick on the previous day ; he had 
 felt that it would be better that he and his wife 
 should on this final occasion be alone together. 
 It w'as at five o’clock in the evening that .slie 
 was introduced td the cell. The poor creature 
 had, on her own part, nerved herself with all the 
 energy of her soul for tliis last meeting : Lons- 
 dale had done the same on his side. He wished 
 to converse with her in a mood of sacred serene 
 composure : he wished once more to receive 
 from her lips the assurance that his past mis- 
 conduct was forgiven ; and he was desirous that 
 this assurance should be conveyed, not in im- 
 passioned and vehement accents, but with as 
 much awe-felt solemnity as if the speaker were 
 by tlie side of a death-bed. And then, too, he 
 wished to talk to Lucy seriously of the future : 
 to implore that she would endeavor to live for 
 their child’s sake — and to take counsel with her 
 in respect to the means of obtaining her subsis- 
 tence. With these several objects in view, 
 Frederick Lonsdale had ])ut forth all tlie natural 
 ])Owers of his mind, and had gathered all his 
 energies, so that there might be no undue weak- 
 ness nor tailing at the last. 
 
 Lucy emered the cell — the door closed be- 
 hind her — the next instant they were clasped 
 in eacli otlier's ai ms, fl’hen for several minutes 
 all their fortitude appeared to be melting away ; 
 all their strength of mind was yielding to the 
 influence of ineffable emotions. But each at 
 length remembered tlie predetermined attempt 
 to a[)|iear as calm as possible ; and sitting down 
 together, with each otliin’s hanils retained in a 
 firm clasp, they struggled against the gush of 
 feelings that were swelling and surging np into 
 their very throats. '1 hey gazed upon each 
 other long, and tenderly, and mournfully. — 
 Heavens! how poor Lucy was altered. For 
 many months past her personal appearance had 
 been changing : for many weeks past it had 
 been changintr more and more : within the last 
 few days it had been changing more rapidly 
 still : but within the last iwe.nt\-four hours (hat 
 cliaiige had been terrific. It had done the work 
 of years. She looked as if the anguish of the 
 entire eartli had been coricentraied in her bo- 
 .'■om — a.s if the woes of all ihe woild had accu- 
 mulated tliemsclves upon her heaii. And yet, 
 even with that profiiundly mouri.ful expre.s.don 
 upon her countenance — with despair in iier 
 eyes — with woe printed and stamped on every 
 feature — there was still an interesting beauty 
 left, which filled her husband’s heart with an 
 inertable pathos. 0 God 1 that he had ever 
 been cruel to such a wife as this ! and worse slid, 
 that he had ever raised his hand against her ! 
 All the immensity of the love she had borne 
 him — that love which had survived all cruelty, 
 all ill treatment, all blows — that love which 
 had known no diminution even when she lier 
 Seif was dragged through the mire of poverty 
 and amid.st the keenly piercing ihorns of the 
 wi.rld’s highway — the whole exient of this sub- 
 lime and immortal affectiuu was now more tluw 
 
THE SOLDIER’S W IFE. 
 
 IM 
 
 ever unde! fltood, more than ever appreciated hy 
 .Fre<lerick Lotjndale I 
 
 He sank upon his knees before his wife — lie 
 pressed lier hand to his lips — lie ^azcd np into 
 iiei countenance — and he said to lier in a deep 
 tonchinf( voice, “ Dearest Lucy, do not interrupt 
 me for a few niinules while I address you, 1 
 will not again a^k you to forgive me for the past, 
 because 1 do indeed compiehend that your 
 anger was never excited against me. It was 
 my intention ere you came just now. to entreat 
 that solemn assurance of paidon Irom your lips: 
 but 1 feel that it would lie almost an iii'-ult to 
 your generous heart to do so. Yet let me as- 
 sure yovi, my own beloveil wife, that the 
 greatest Jiang which now toitures my heart is 
 causerl by the reflection of how cruelly 1 have 
 U'<ed you. No, dearest — do not interrujit me ! 
 Permit me to say all that 1 wish : it is a relief 
 thus to assure you of my contrition. For now 
 
 that we are about to jiart for ever, beloved 
 
 Lucy 1 feel how dear you are to me — I 
 
 comjjrehend nil your virtues— all your excel- 
 lencies My (iod ! my God ! that I shouhl 
 
 ever have lost sight of them !” — and the unfor- 
 tunate man’s fortitude breaking down in an in- 
 Btant, he was convulsed with anguish. 
 
 Lucy threw herself upon his neck, and sobVied 
 and wej)t with the bitterest affliction. Her 
 courage had vanished likewise, — vtmished as a 
 dream ; and she exjierienced all the excruciat 
 ing jioignancy of the heart's acutest woe. It 
 was a long time ere they could so tar comjiose 
 themselves as to enter upon deliberate discourse 
 again ; and then, once more seated side by siile, 
 tiiey gazed on each other for several minutes 
 ere the silence was broken. But Lonsdale with 
 a superhuman effort gathered together the 
 wrecks of his fortitude, and began to speak 
 U|)on those other topics which he had t»een 
 solicitous to touch upon. Lucy saw that it 
 would be a solace to his mind if she reas 
 sured him with regard to herself; aiid there- 
 fore she }ielded to the turn which he sought 
 to give to their discourse. She said that for 
 the sake of their child she would cling to 
 existence — that they were not altogether with- 
 out friends — and that they even had a home 
 oHered tliem: for Mrs. Selwyn had been with 
 Lucy on the previous evening — she hail sought 
 the unhajrjiy woman for the purjiose of min- 
 istering to whatsoever wants she might have, 
 ami giving her the assurance that both her- 
 self and little Frederick would he welcomed 
 beneath her roof. This assurance, too, she had 
 been fully emjjowered to give by her husband 
 — Mr. Selwyn ; — and all these circumstances 
 did Lucy now exjilain to Lonsdale. It was in- 
 deed a relief and a solace to the unhappy man 
 to receive such intelligence : but in the nio^t 
 earnest manner did he again and again conjure 
 his wife to live on for little Frederick’s sake. 
 
 At length the moment of sejiaration came. 
 How can wC desciilie it? We cannot. We 
 are lost in the presence of the imnn'iisity of that 
 anguish — the illimitalile extent of that despair 
 ing sorrow. Words are inelfeci ual : the might- 
 iest j)ower of language sinks into insignilicanco 
 when viewed in comjiarison with the fearful 
 eloquence of woe exjiresbed in the looks, the 
 
 tears, the j,arting words, and the pasaiorraf* 
 ki><.-es which took jilacetheii. Again and again 
 did Lucy, after tearing herself away, rush back 
 into her hiisbiind’s arms: again and again did 
 they jiress each oilier in an embrace which 
 tliey thought must be the. last. But at length 
 that la.Ht, embrace was taken. 1'liev l>olh felt 
 ihat it was cruelty tonne another to jirolong 
 the scene. 'I'hey sejiarated ; and the closing 
 door suddenly became as it were an uvl.imau- 
 line wall — a hairier imnjense, insnjierable— 
 between the wildly distracted wife who went 
 foilh Irojii the dungeon, and the desjjair- 
 stiicken husband who remained wiliiin its walls. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 CLIVE HALL. 
 
 More than eighteen months had elapsed 
 since the visit whic.ii the Countess of Burton 
 and her daughter Lady Adela Clive jiaid to 
 the Manor House. During she whole of this 
 interval they had remained at Clive Hall. 
 Lady Adela had become of age, and was en- 
 lilletl to her fortune, amounting to tw'enty- 
 tive thousand jiounds. 'i’he Countess had not 
 suggested to her daughter to accejit the suit 
 of any new aspirant to her hand, since the sud- 
 den ureaking-oti of the contemplated match 
 with Gerald Redburn. 'J’he Counte.ss knew 
 that Adela’s heart was engaged to Mr. Regi- 
 nald Herbert, tlie nejihew' of Lord and Lady 
 Stanslield; and her ojiinion w'as altogether 
 changed in resj^ect to that gentleman since he 
 had l econie the jiresumptive heir to his uncle's 
 titie and estates in consequence of the death of 
 the Hon. Ferdinand Stansheld, Mr. Reginald 
 Herbert, as the future Lord Stansfield, was a 
 very different person in the Countess of Bur- 
 ton’s eyes from Mr. Reginald Herbert with a 
 Government situation of only five hundred 
 a-year and no other prospects. Therefore her 
 ladyshij) w'as quite prejaired to bestow her 
 daughter upon Mr. Herbert if he presented him- 
 self to claim the young lady’s hand. And that 
 he wouki do so the Counte.ss fully expected ; 
 and therefore, after her return with Adela 
 from the Manor House to Clive Hall, she rose 
 every morning, saying to herself, “Surely he 
 will come to-day ?’ But days, and weeks, and 
 months passed by — and Mr. Reginald Herbert 
 made not his apjrearance at the Hall. 
 
 And Adela — did not she also hope and expect 
 that Reginald w’ould come? She did: for her 
 heart wa- entirely his owm — her virgin affections 
 were centred in liim. But he was not different 
 in her estimation, as the heir presumptive to a 
 peerage and an estate, than when he was the 
 mere Government offleial with a comjiarative 
 small income and no jiro.'^pects. She loved him 
 then, and she loved him now : she loved him 
 not better now than she loved him then — be- 
 cause she had all along loved v/ith the utmost 
 cajmeity of woman’s heart for the tender senti- 
 ment. Jkit she had hojied that when a decent 
 period of mourning hiul ex|)ired for his deceased 
 cousin, Mr. Herbert would endeavour to see her 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 ISf 
 
 •gam. Not that any actual irowal of love had | 
 ever passed between them — much less any ‘ 
 pledge or promise given : but still Adela knew 
 that at the time he was staying at Clive Hall, 
 she was not an object of itulilference to him — 
 and her heart t(dd her that he had not failed to 
 penetrate her own feelings. Then, wherefore 
 did he not come ? had he forgotten her ? had 
 the impression worn away ? did he now love 
 another ? These were the questions whicli poor 
 Adela was constantly asking herself in secret: 
 but she was too generous-hearted, and had too 
 good an opinion of the Avorid, to suppose tliat 
 the affection entertained by a young man of 
 Buch iiolile disposition and lofty feelings as 
 Reginald Herbert possessed, could be either 
 vacillating or tiiinsitory. 
 
 The countess of Burton was constantly looking 
 amongst the “ Fashionalile Intel igence” of the 
 Morning Po fit, io which she was an inveteralely 
 regular sub criber, in order to ascertain soine- 
 tliing of the movements of the StansfieUl family ; 
 and she had likewise written to her eon the Earl 
 of Burton in London, to inform her from time to 
 time of anything he might hear on that subject. 
 But she at first gleaned little from either source : 
 the knowletige thus obtained was limited to 
 these few details — that Mr. Herbert had resigned 
 his Government situation — that he had taken 
 up his abode altogether with his uncle anil aunt 
 — that by his kind and affectionate behaviour 
 towards them he had consoled them for the loss 
 of their son — and that ^hey lived in a somewhat 
 gecluded manner at the fine old ancestral seat 
 in one of the southern counties. But at length 
 there were other pieces of intelligence winch 
 the Countess of Burton learnt ; namely, that Mr. 
 Reginald Herbert Avas not married — that it was 
 belicVt' he was not even paying his addresses 
 to any young lady — that disliking society, he 
 was addicted to solitary rambles — and that he 
 was supposed to be afflicted with some secret 
 melancholy. The Couniess felt assured that he 
 still cherished an affection for her daughter ; 
 and therefore, as time passed on and he neither 
 came nor wrote, she marvelled more and more 
 at his absence and his silence. She had a 
 great mind to adopt some measure to revive her 
 acquaintance Avith the Siansfields ; but a coolness 
 had naturally arisen from the circumstance of 
 her so suddenly declining to bestow her daughter 
 upon the Hon. Mr. Ferdinand; and she there- 
 fore felt that it would be indelicate to make 
 tlie first overture towards a renewal of friend- 
 ship. 
 
 Thus had the interval passed away since the 
 visit paid by the Countess and Lady Adela to 
 the Redburns at the Manor House; and while 
 the mother was racking her brain lor some 
 expedient to let Reginald know that he might 
 have her daughter for the asking, the daughter 
 herself was becoming more and more desponding. 
 She, too, was fond of solitary rambles: and 
 during the bright days of summer — or on the 
 frosty ones of winter — might she have been 
 seen walking by herself for hours together in 
 the spacious grounds attached to Clive Hall. 
 She did not tell her mother what was preying 
 upon her ruind : nor did the mother bieatlie a 
 Byllable to Adela of what was passing in her' 
 
 own in respect to Mr. Herbert. But there wa« 
 one inmate of the Hall of whom Adeha made a 
 Confidante ; and this was Mrs. Browning, the old 
 housekeeper, who had been for many long years 
 in the family — who had witnessed Adela's birth 
 — and who loved the young lady with quite a 
 malernal affection. Toiler therefore had Adela 
 breathed the tale of her love — or rather she had 
 confessed it when questioned : and the kind- 
 hearted Mrs. Browning did her best to banish 
 the young lady’s fears and to encourage her 
 hopes. Therefore, when Adela was not rambling 
 in the grounds — or when her presence was not 
 required by the Countess — she would repair to 
 the housekeeper’s room ; and taking her work 
 widi her, would sit and talk to the old dame on 
 the one engrossing topic — that topic so dear to 
 her heart ! 
 
 We must now observe that the incident we 
 are about to relate, occurred on that very self- 
 same Friday Avhich had Avitnessed the parting 
 scene of agony between Frederick Lonsdale and 
 his wife in th^i dungeon-cell at the Middleton 
 barracks. It was about noon on that day — and 
 the Aveathei being unfavorable for walking, Lady 
 Adela Clive took her Avork-basket, and repaired 
 to Mrs. Browning’s room. She was dressed in 
 a plain morning goAvn, which came high up in 
 the neck — indeed to the very throat ; but the 
 fashion of Avhich set off the beautiful symmetry 
 of her form to the best advantage. He hair was 
 arranged in bands — that hair Avhose raven black- 
 ness gave additional brilliancy to the transpa- 
 rent fairness of her complexion She never had 
 much color upon her cheeks: the little they had 
 once possessed, had disappeared — and she was 
 pale. In her eyes of deepest blue there Avas • 
 melancholy expression ; arid the pensivenesa 
 into which she Avas wont to fall, gave a most 
 touching interest to the whole of that beauteous 
 countenance. 
 
 Seating herself in a chair near the old house- 
 keeper, Adela made but a few casual remarks, 
 relative to the dismal aspect of theAve.Aher; 
 and then she pursued her needlework in silence. 
 Mrs. Browning noticed that her beloved young 
 lady Avas even sadder than she had recently 
 been ; and it pained her to observe this dee[)en- 
 ing despoiuhiiicy. She was about to bid her* 
 cheer up: but slie felt — for the first time — that 
 it almost amounted to a cruel mockery to en- 
 courage hopes where none appeared to exist; or 
 at least where, judging by all circum.slaiices, 
 such hopes ought to be abandoned. So she said 
 nothing — but sat watching with a mournful 
 look the pen.sive countenance of the beautiful 
 Adela. 
 
 Pre-ently Mrs. Browning recollected that she 
 had ILigolten to give some instructions to the 
 domestics below ; and she quilted the room for 
 the purpose. Adela sulfered her work to droop 
 upon her lap; and leaning back in the chair, 
 with her head bent forward, the fell into a deep 
 and mournful reverie. She had not failed to 
 observe that on this occasion — and for the first 
 time — the housekeejier had volunteered not a 
 syllable to cheer her; and she could not help 
 regarding the circumstance as ominous of the 
 death of all hope. Ought she, theu to think 
 anything more of Reginald Herbert ? or ought 
 
IfO 
 
 'illE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 •he not to do lier uttnost to batusli liia imaj^e 
 from her mind? Yes: her maidenly f)ri(I(; as 
 well as her exquisite feminine delicacy told her 
 that she ouqht. For the sake of her happiness, 
 too, she felt that it was a duty she owed unto 
 herself. I’ut, ah I it was so easy t(* talk or to 
 think of hanishiiijjf that imaj^e — and so difficult 
 to accomplish the aim! And her happiness, 
 too — was not that already gone? was it not 
 wrecked ? how could it be restored ? 
 
 In Ibis deep and painful reverie did the 
 beauteous Adela Clive renuun wrapped up for 
 a considerable time — she knew not how loiig — 
 after the old housekeeper had left the room. 
 Perhaps nearly half-an-liour had thus elapsed, 
 when the door opened again. Adela scarcely 
 noticed it, or if she did, she thought it was 
 Mrs. Browning returning She did not raise 
 litr eyes: she did not even endeavor to arouse 
 herself from that despf)nding reverie, h’ootsteps 
 were advancing slowly towards her; and then a 
 voice spoke. But, heavens! that voice — it was 
 
 not the housekeeper’s Oh, no I it was one 
 
 which but a few moments back she thought 
 she should never hear again ! 
 
 “Lady Adela, pardon this intrusion,” were 
 the words spoken by that voice : and she could 
 ecarcely suppress a shriek of sur[)ri8e or a cry 
 of joy, as suddenly looking up, she beheld Re- 
 ginald Herbert standing bef)re her. 
 
 He was a fine, tall, handsome man of about 
 six-and-twenty : his nobly-firmed countenance 
 beamed with intelligence — and the loftiest feel- 
 ings were stamped upon the high and opeii 
 firehead. He beheld that sudden stai t which 
 Adela gave — he saw that his presence had sent 
 a thrill of joy through her entire frame — sus- 
 pense and fear were all in a moment banished 
 from his heart — he knew that he was b(doved 
 as fmdly and as faithfully as he himself had 
 never cea.sed to love. But as no verbal avcwal 
 had ever taken place between them — as his lip 
 bad never even so much as touched her cheek — 
 and naught but the gentle pressure of the hand, 
 the looks that met and lingered in blending ten- 
 derness, and the sigh that was half subdued, had 
 alone been the indications of the passion that 
 was mutually felt, when upwards of three years 
 back he was a guest at Clive Hall, — he did not 
 feel himself as yet in (he conditirai of an ac- 
 cepted suitor; although his heart was now 
 dancing with the hope that ere many minutes 
 elapsed he would be so. 
 
 “ Lady Adela,” he again said, “ pardon this 
 ititrusion :” — and he took her haml. He felt 
 tliat it trembled in his own ; while the tell-tale 
 blush uf)on the cheeks, tint downcast looks, and 
 the vi.-ilile tremor which agitated Ikt, were 
 further indicatior)s, if any were wanting, of iJie 
 ba[)[)ines8 which his presencf; had suddenly in- 
 fused into h(;r sotil. “ If 1 have done wrong by 
 intruding here,” he conti^jued, “you must blame 
 your worthy housekee|)er, and not me — f»r it 
 WHS she wlio bade me come hither. Indtual, 
 
 wile brought me up to the very door; and 
 
 ami — if she did not accompany me across the 
 tbiesh(*ld,” added Jierbeit, “it was, 1 suppose, 
 beCMUse she fancied I laid something ])articular 
 
 lO MV.” 
 
 Autslii inuriiiured a few words, assuring him 
 
 that it was no intrusior, and inviting him to I»# 
 seated : but sufldenly feeling that she ought not 
 to display this embarrassnuait and confusion, 
 she regaimal a ci'rtain degree <if composure by 
 dint of a strong effirt, and said, “ Will yon not 
 repair to the drawing-room, where we sliall no 
 doubt lind my mother ?’’ 
 
 “ Will you permit me. Lady Adela,” he ask- 
 ed, “ to remain here with you for a few min- 
 utes? On my arrival 1 of course inquircMl for 
 the Countess in the first instance, and was in- 
 formed that her ladyship would ioin me in the 
 
 drawing-room in a quarter of an bout. Then 
 
 pardon me if I di'-jilayed so much anxiety to 
 see you 1 inquired for you. I’he house- 
 
 keeper was ascending the stairs at the inoimait 
 She took me under her charge, as I have al- 
 ready explained, and introduced me hither 
 'I'ell m(* I hen, Lady Adela, may 1 remain here a 
 few minutes with you?” 
 
 1’here was an unmistakable tenderness in his 
 looks as he thus addressed her, and that sort of 
 delicate and refined familiarity in liis tone, 
 which showed that he felt he was not altogether 
 an unwelcome intruder. It was a tone, too, in 
 which a joyous hopefulness was breathed in 
 the accents. It was the tfine of love. Larly 
 Adela felt her heart too full of emotions to al- 
 l(jw her to give utterance to a single word. All 
 her confusion returned ; a delicious and pleas- 
 urable confusion, which was displayed in the 
 roses that blushed upon her damask cheek.s — 
 in the bashful down-casting of the looks — and 
 in the trembling of the hands as she mechani- 
 cally took up her work again. She sat down 
 Reginald Herbert took the housekeeper’s unoc 
 cupied chair which stood near ; and bending 
 forward, he continued to address her in those 
 accents which had already wafted a tale of love 
 to her ears by its very tones, though not as yet 
 in the words it had uttered. 
 
 Lady Adela,” he said, “ I hope that I shall 
 not be deemed presumptuous in expressing my 
 belief that I aiii'iiot althgether an object of 
 indifference to you ; and equally sanguine is my 
 ho])e that you will not be offended if 1 declare 
 that for upwards of three years your image has 
 never been absent from my mind.’' 
 
 He paused for a reply : but she gave none. 
 She went on working ; she plied her needle with 
 a marvellous assiduity : one might have thought 
 that she really had a certain task to perform in 
 a given amount of time. But, ah ! the tell- 
 tale blush was deej)ening upon those damask 
 cheeks as she bent over her work ; her hand 
 trembled; the very fluttering of her heart was 
 plainly audible. Never was confusion more 
 exqui-itely delicious for a lover to behokl : 
 never was it in itself more eKiquent in recipro- 
 cating an avdwal of affection. 
 
 “O Adela!” said Mr. Herbert, in playful ten- 
 derne.ss, “do not devote to that invidious work 
 the atlentiiin which 1 seek to monopolize alto- 
 gether for my.-elf. What 1 you will not put it 
 (lowii ? you persist in plying that odious needle 
 — although 1 have come so many long mile» 
 to throw myself at your feet. It is cruel of 
 you, Adela — dear Adela — too cruel 1” — and h« 
 raised his finger in the same mood of playful 
 tenderness that he hud been adopting : fur bit 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE, 
 
 191 
 
 henrt Tas bounding with joy and delight; he 
 knew that he was wooing one who would be- 
 come his bride. 
 
 And the work did drop suddenly from Lady 
 Adela’s hands. Their eyes met: he caught 
 those hands — he pressed them to his lips — he 
 fell upon his knees before her — and in terms of 
 manly earnesttiess and frank sincerity did he 
 roclaim his passion. The affirmative was 
 reathed in his ear, — breathed in that soft.sil- 
 very voice whose accents sank down like the 
 most delicious music into his soul; and rising 
 from liis supidiant posture, he clasped the 
 blushing maiden in his arms. 
 
 Then followed ceitain explanations on his 
 part. While he was oidy the Government offi- 
 cial, with a slender income and with no bright 
 prospects to contemplate, he had not dared 
 openly to declare his love — no, not even after 
 the suit of his cousin Ferdinand Stansfield had 
 been rejected. And when tliat cousin’s death 
 so suddenly altered his position and made him 
 the heir presumptive to a proud title and im- 
 mense estates, the rumor had reached him that 
 Lady Adela had become engaged to Captain 
 Redburn — so that his heart was smitten with 
 desp(*ndeocy. It was only within the last few 
 davs, and by mere accident, tliat another report 
 upon the subject had come to his ears, — a re- 
 port of a far ditferent and more cheering charac- 
 ter, to ilie etiect that the former one was un- 
 founded, and that Lady Adela was still unwed- 
 ded — still disengaged. Then, with the full ami 
 free consent of Lord and Lady Stansfield, he had 
 sped to Clive Hall to proclaim ins love and to 
 proffer his suit. 
 
 By the time the preceding explanations were 
 given, worthy Mrs. Browning, the housekeeper, 
 ventured to peep into the room. As the reader 
 may well imagine, she had her own good reasons 
 for setuling Mr. Herbert up to that apartment, 
 where he might find the object of liis visit. She 
 knew tliat if poor Adela had been sinking into 
 despondency and beginning to pine away, Regi- 
 nald was the only physician upon earth wliose 
 presence could bring her back to health and 
 spirits; and that in the language which he 
 miglit breath in her ears, there would be a ta- 
 lisinanic power of an infallible quality. There- 
 fore, when Mrs. Browning looked into the room, 
 and perceived the lovers gazing upon each other 
 ■with smiling fondness and a soft caressing joy 
 in their iook^s, the heart of the old housekeeper 
 bounded with delight, and she almost felt her- 
 self ynung again at the interesting spectacle. 
 As she advanced into ihe room with an aicli 
 smile on her venerable countenance, Adela 
 sprang towards her — embraced her with affec- 
 tionate gratitude — and in a few murmuring 
 Words, thanked her for all the consolation slic 
 had proffeied, and the hopes which almost 
 until the very last she had prophetically lield 
 out, and which were at length receiving their 
 fuitilmeiit. 
 
 Witlmi the hour that was passing, Reginald 
 Herbert had formally solicited of the Countess 
 her dauglner’s hand in marriage; and to her 
 ladysliip did he repeat the explanations, to ac- 
 count fof liis absence and his silence, which he 
 had already g. veil to the charming and well- 
 
 beloved Adela. The Countess, as the readei 
 may be assured, did not reject tlie suit of Regi- 
 nald Herbert on behalf of her daughter; and 
 thus liappiiiess was again fully restored within 
 the precincts of Clive Hall. 
 
 Mr. Herbert bad travelled post from bis un- 
 cle’s mansion in one of the soulliern counties as 
 far as Middleton, which was tlie nearest large 
 town to Clive Hall ; and liaving rested there the 
 previous night, he liad on the forenoon of this 
 day of which we are sjieaking, hired a horse at 
 the hotel where he put up, and had riildeo 
 across to the Hall, whicli was only a few miles 
 distant. He wms of course invited to pass the 
 remainder of the day with the Countess and his 
 intended bride; hut, for obvious reasons, ha 
 could not be asked to take up his quarters alto- 
 gether at the mansion during his eontenqdated 
 stay in the neighborhood. The lime jiassed 
 away so agreeably in the society of his beloved, 
 that it was not until a late hour in tlie evening 
 that he thouglit of taking his departure. Indeed, 
 the time-piece on the mantel in the drawing- 
 room proclaimed the liour of eleven, when he 
 fancied it could not possibly be more than nine; 
 and it was not before he had referred to liis own 
 watch that he could bring liimself to believe the 
 ormolu clock was coriect. A domestic was 
 then summoned to order the horse to be imme- 
 diately got in readiness; and in a few miiititea 
 Reginald Herbert was in the sadille, liaving 
 taken leave of Adela and the Countess, with the 
 understanding that he was to ride over to break- 
 fast on the following morning. 
 
 It was a beautiful moonlit night in the month 
 of January; the ground was hard as marble 
 with tlie frost — the air was crisp and cold, but 
 without a raw bleakness. Upon the leafless 
 hedges and tlie skeleton boughs of the trees, the 
 wliite tracery of the frost-work gleamed in the 
 argentine flood which poured down from a bril- 
 liant moon and its company of countless stars: 
 the trampling of tlie liorse’s hoofs on the hard 
 road sent forth the only sounds that broke the 
 silence of the night. At first Reginald Herbert, 
 well wrapped up in a winter-coat, urged the 
 steed lo a gallopping pace, in order to keep off 
 as much as pos.sible the inteiiseness of the cold, 
 and quicken his own blood as well as that of 
 the animal into a glowing circulation. But after 
 awhile he drew in the reitis and slackened the 
 horse’s pace to a walk : for the steam waa 
 ascending from its sides in vapory whitenesa 
 around him. 
 
 He had probably been proceeding at this di- 
 minished rate for about five minutes, when he 
 ob erved suine dark object by the side (.f the 
 road at a little distance, and appearing to be a 
 man sitting on a bank. As he (Irew nearer, he 
 found his ciinjecture right ; for the object proved 
 to be a man, who rising up, began to walk in 
 the directiiin from whicli Herbert was coming 
 As he approached, Reginald perceived tliat he 
 walked with difficulty, as if dragging himself 
 along ; and supposing iiim to be some destitute 
 person overcome with fatigue — perliaps home- 
 less and destitute — he resnlved to offer liim pe- 
 cuniary succor ; for Mr. Herbert possessed a most 
 generous heart, whicli was ea-^iK moved by the 
 specUbcJ' of poverty and dis less. The n\mn 
 
TIIK SOI.DIER’S WIFE 
 
 I9S 
 
 was now close enrogli for Rejjfinnld to ftbserve 
 that he vvas clad in raf^s, and tliat he had neillier 
 times nor stockinga on his feet. H<t he |)nlled in 
 bis horse to a halt, — and said, “ My ])(>or felhiw, 
 on s(U‘iii in great distress : wait a moment, and 
 
 will relieve yon.” 
 
 “ Thank yon, sir — tliank yon,” answia’ed the 
 man hastily, and in a .somewhat strange, ,>nid ex- 
 cited tone: Imt still h' IP lot stop. As he 
 Bpoke, however, he half-tnrned and partially 
 raised his countenance towards Mr. lleihert,^ 
 who for a few instants was so shocked hy tlie 
 revolting aspect of this face, that h(^ conhl not 
 give ntterance to a word. It was a face .seem- 
 ing rather to belong to some unnatural monster 
 tiian to a man; but as it has been before de- 
 BCiibed to our readers, we need not enter njion 
 the loathsome task of delineating it anew. 
 
 “ Why don’t yon stop ?” exclaimed IJerbert, 
 recoveiing his self-possession, and angry with 
 liim.sell that he should even by his temporary 
 silence have appeared to revolt from tlie pre- 
 sence of that wretched being. “ Here is some- 
 thing for yon:” — and thrusting his hand into 
 bis pocket, he drew forth several pieces of 
 silver. 
 
 “'I'hank you, sir — thank you kindly,” said the 
 Btranger, now retracing the few steps he had 
 taken past the spot where Mr. Htohert had 
 pulled in his horse: and exteiuling his hand, 
 but without again raising his countenance, he 
 received the liberal donation: then without 
 another word he continued his way in a manner 
 as if he were dragging himself along with a 
 painful degree of haste. 
 
 Mr. Herbert was so much struck by the pe- 
 culiarity of this individual’s manner that he re 
 mained looking back at him for more than a 
 minute : then urging on the horse again, he said 
 to himself, “ Poor fellow, distress and suffering 
 appear to have half crazed him.” 
 
 in a short time Middleton was reached; and 
 Reginald, forgetting the incident which had oc- 
 curred on the road, and thinking only of the 
 beauteou.s Adela Clive, hastened to seek his 
 comfortable couch at the hotel where he had 
 taken up his quarters. 
 
 At eight o’clock in the morning he was once 
 more on horseback; and by nine lie alighted at 
 tJie entrance of Clive Hall. A groom was in 
 readiness to receive the horse, and a footman to 
 escort its rider to the breakfast-parlor. Adela 
 was already there, with joy dancing in her eyes 
 as she hastened forward to welcome her lover; 
 and the Couniess of Jhirton soon made her ap- 
 pearance. Put scarcely had they all three sat 
 down to breakfast, when a footman entered the 
 room in a somewhat hasty and excited manner, 
 — and said, “My lady, there is a strange man 
 just been found in the out house at the end of 
 the meadow; and he seems to be dying. He 
 is badly wounded ; and what with lo.ss of blood 
 and the cold, he is in a very deplorable state. 
 Such a dreadful ohject too 1” — and the domes- 
 tic shudder<!d vi.sibly as he spoke. 
 
 “ A jierson dying 1” exclaimed Adela, imjinl- 
 sively anticipating in the generosity of her 
 heart whatsover orders her mother might be 
 disposed to give upon the subject. “ Pet him 
 at once be brought into the house — let liim be 
 
 taken can' of — let medical aseistance b« aeiil 
 for.” 
 
 “ I’o be sure,” cried the Countess: “ let all 
 this be done — and done quickly. It must never 
 lie said that we sulfered a poor creature to di« 
 as it were at onr very door.” 
 
 “ I will mysr-lf go and superintend tlie pro- 
 ceeding,” exclaimed Mr. Herbert, starting from 
 his seat : for in consequence of what the foot- 
 man had said, tin* incident of the pievions night 
 was suddenly recalled to his rneinorv ; and it 
 struck him that the nidortnnate being now 
 spoken of, was the same wretched object whom 
 lie himself had encountered and reliev<-d. He 
 accordingly hasteiu'd from the breakfast ptirlor, 
 followed by the footman ; and passing round fo 
 the rear of the spacious mansion, they hurried 
 to the outhouse, wdiich w-as about two hnndied 
 yards distant. It was a soi t of .'•hed where the 
 huge roller for the meadows and several gar- 
 den inijilenK'iiis of a heavy kind were wont to 
 be kept : and there the object of all this bene- 
 volent solicitude had been found by one of the 
 menials of the household. Three or four of the 
 servants were already upon the spot, when Her- 
 bert, followed by the footman, reached it; and 
 every necessary succor was being rendered to 
 the miserable man, who proved, as Reginald 
 had conjectured, to be the same that he liad 
 met in the road on the previous night. He had 
 a wound on the side of the head — another on 
 the shoulder ; and by the state of his tattered 
 garments it was evident that he had lost a 
 great deal of blood. When first found, it ap 
 jieared that he was in a state of comjilele in 
 animation — and his limbs were as rigid as if he 
 had been frozen with the cold. Brandy waa 
 now being administered to him; and the do- 
 mestics seemed to lose sight of the loathsome 
 ugliness of his countenance, in their generous 
 zeal to save the life of a fellow creature, d’he 
 spark of existence was not extinct : but the 
 miserable being continued insensible of all that 
 was passing iiiound him. By Mr. Herbert’s 
 order he was at once conveyed towards the 
 Hall, and borne into the nearest convenient 
 chamber belonging to the domestics’ depart- 
 ment of the mansion. His rags were stripped 
 off him ; and he was placed in a comfortable 
 bed, warmed with a pan of coals for his recep- 
 tion. Tlie administraiion of proper restoratives 
 was continued ; and a messenger was despatch- 
 ed on horseback to the nearest village to fetch 
 the surgeon, — bandages being in the meanwhile 
 placed on the severe w’ounds w Inch the man 
 liad received. He lived — he was recovering 
 gradually — but remained unconscious of all 
 that was going on. 
 
 When the first hurry and bustle attendant 
 upon all these proceedings had somewhat sub- 
 sided, and as Mr. Herbert was about to leave 
 the room where he had personally superin- 
 tended them, his attention was directed by one 
 of the footmen to certain objects which liad 
 fallen out of the pocket of the man’s tattered 
 garments as they were strijiped off him. 
 'I'he.se things consisted of a handsome purse, 
 well tilled with gold and silver — several 
 loose silver coins, no doubt those that IJerbert 
 had himself placed in his hand on the previouf 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFR 
 
 night — and a letter of the form and dimen- 
 sions of an official despatch. The circumstance 
 that the man should be so severely woumled, 
 — the wounds themselves appearing like sword- 
 cuts, — had already struck Herbert and all the 
 others ' present as exceedingly suspicious, 
 thoutrh it had not checked the course of their 
 humane atid philanthropic exertions : but their 
 suspicions were not merely aggravated — they 
 seemed almost to be ci)nfirmed — by the fact 
 of that handsome and well-filled purse being 
 found in the possession of so poverty stricken an 
 object. Reginald took the letter which the 
 footman handed him, and at once perceived by 
 the usual formulary that it was “ On His Ma- 
 jesty's Service.” It was directed to “ Lieuten- 
 ant-Colonel Wyndham, — th Regiment of In- 
 fantry, Middleton.” The seal, which was that 
 of the Horse Guards, was broken ; and there- 
 fore without another moment’s hesitation did 
 Mr. Herbert proceed to make himself acquaint- 
 ed with the contents of the despatch, thinking 
 that it might p'robably throw some light on the 
 circumstances of the suspected stranger. 
 
 That letter contained a reprieve for Frederick 
 Lonsilale ! 
 
 “ Let the horse be got in readiness this mo- 
 ment !” was the instantaneous order issued by 
 Herbert, who suddenly became dreadfully ex 
 citeil. “ Or rather, saddle me the fleetest be- 
 longing to her ladyship. Quick! quick I there 
 is not a moment to lose 1 My God 1 the life of 
 a fellow-creature depends upon it — and 1 may 
 yet be too late 1” 
 
 For this was Saturday — and Mr. Herbert re- 
 collected having heard on the jirevious day at 
 Middleton, that a soldier was to be executed on 
 this very morning, in the barrack-yard, though 
 the hour had not been specifically mentioned. 
 
 He rushed back into the mansion — he burst 
 into the breakfast-parlor — and in a few hurried 
 words explained to the Countess and Adela 
 wherefore he was about to take horse and gal- 
 lop with all possible speed to Middleton. — 
 Scarcely were his explanations given to the dis- 
 mayed and affrighted ladies, who, as well as 
 liimself, were horrified lest he should be too 
 late, — a footman entered to announce that the 
 horse w’as in readiness. Reginald Herbert hur- 
 ried away — sprang into the saddle — and at 
 once impelled the steed into the swiftest pace 
 that it was capable of putting forth. 
 
 It was ten o’clock when he thus dashed away 
 from Clive Hall — three quarters of an hour 
 would bring him to Middleton. Should he be 
 too late i 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ****** 
 
 At about seven o’clock in the morning of this 
 Saturday of which we are writing. Adjutant 
 Scott proceeded to Colonel Wyndham’s apart- 
 ments, and was at once shown into the dressing- 
 room where the commanding- officer was in the 
 middle of his toilet. 
 
 “Any news, Colonel?” asked the Adjutant, 
 
 IM 
 
 the moment he was thus ushered into Wynd- 
 ham’s presence 
 
 None,” was the response. “ But there are 
 three good hours yet : and moreover there is 
 the post to arrive. Not that 1 think such a 
 document, if it is really to come, would be en- 
 trusted to the post-office ” 
 
 “ Did you not (ell me, Colonel,” interrupted 
 the Adjutant, “ that Sir Archibald Redburu was 
 interesting himself in this matter ?” 
 
 “Yes: and Captain Redbuai went over to 
 the Manor yesterday expressly to await his fa- 
 ther’s return from London. He said,” continued 
 Colonel Wyndham, “ that he hoped to be back 
 at night.” 
 
 “ That is last night, you mean ?” observed the 
 Adjutant inquiringly. 
 
 “ Exactly so: and from what lie said, I cer- 
 tainly expected him. It appears that Sir Archi- 
 bald has been using all his interest — and that is 
 not a little — with the Horse Guards to get this 
 fellow off’.” 
 
 “ And you sent a recommendation to mercy, 
 did you not inquired the Adjutant. 
 
 “ Oh 1 of Course,” answered the Colonel. — 
 “ Redburn told me that his father had known 
 Lonsdale ever since he was a child — that he had 
 been brought up at Oakleigh, which is on the 
 family estate, and that the Baronet did not like 
 the idea of one of /«s people, as he calls them, 
 dying in such a way. ISo he sent Redbu»n to 
 ask me to in let fere.” 
 
 “ It’s all right and proper enough,” observed 
 the Adjutant. “ One does these kind of things 
 to oblige persons of Sir Archibald Redburn’a 
 rank and standing.” 
 
 “ Precisely so,” said Wyndham ; but he did 
 not think it all lu-cessary to add that he had not 
 signed the recommendation to mercy before 
 Captain Redburn promised him another loan of 
 a thousand guineas. 
 
 “ 1 presume. Colonel,” said the Adjutant, 
 “that 1 am to issue the necessary orders just aa 
 if no reprieve were expected ?” 
 
 “ Unquestionably,” replied Wyndham: “and 
 if we hear nothing by ten o’clock, the sentence 
 must of course be carried out. Under circum- 
 stances, we can stretch half-an-hour so as to give 
 the fellow a last chance.” 
 
 “ fi’hen I will counter-order it from ten o’clock, 
 and specify half past,” said the Adjutant: and 
 the Colonel having nodded approvingly as he 
 wiped his razor on the shaving cioth, Mr. Scott 
 issued from the room. 
 
 Two hours passed ; and a little after nine 
 o’clock, as Colonel Wyndham was discussing 
 his muffins and chocolate, with other delicacies, 
 at the breakfast-table, his letters were brought 
 in and placed by his side. He took them up- 
 turned them over one after the other — but pei^ 
 ceived amongst them no despatch bearing above 
 the address the formulary of “ On His Majes- 
 ty’s Service.” 
 
 “ Any intelligence yet ?” inquired Scott, once 
 more making his appearance. 
 
 ‘ None,” responded Wyndham : but to make 
 perfectly sure, he opened the letters — glanced 
 at the signatures — and repeated the 
 “ None.” 
 
 “And Redburn not come back I” 
 
1V4 
 
 Tlli: SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 “No. He told mo,” continued the Colonel, 
 “ that lie inui^t wait for his father’s return from 
 London under :iny circumstances What o'clock 
 is it now 't Half [last nine,” added Wyndham, 
 after consultinji^ Ids watch. “ Well, there is a 
 good hour — an liour and aquarter we may call 
 it, considering the jireliminaries which will take 
 place after the troops are drawn up.” 
 
 “ An liour and a quarlei,’ repeated tlie Adju- 
 tant, — “a [irecious close shave i 1 should not 
 like it to be myseif” 
 
 “No — nor 1,” rejoined tlie Colonel, helping 
 himself to another cu[) of chocolate. 
 
 Another hour elapsed; it was now half past 
 ten o’clock — and no intelligence had been re- 
 ceived. Ca|)tain Redburn came not: neither 
 letter nor message reached the Colonel in re- 
 spect to the sentence pronounced on Frederick 
 Lonsdale. He looked forth from his window ; 
 the l egiment was drawn up in the spacious bar- 
 rack-yard; and his presence was now alone 
 awaited in order that the awful ceremony 
 might be proceeded with. He accr)rdingly de- 
 scended into the yaid ; and the Adjutant ac- 
 costed him with the wonted salute, to receive 
 his final orders. 
 
 “ I have heaid nothing, Scott,” said Wynd- 
 ham. “We must go on. Have you [)icked out 
 the firing-party ?” 
 
 “ Yes, sir,” replied the Adjutant; “fourteen 
 hi all.” 
 
 “ Some from each company, I suppose ?” said 
 Wyndham, inquiringly. 
 
 “ Yes^ sir. 1 left it to Langley’s discretion — 
 and he has chosen eight of the oldest hands and 
 six youngsters. They have all received their 
 instructions.” 
 
 “ To keep themselves steady and take good 
 aim ?” remarked the Colonel. “But the sig- 
 nals — are they agreed upon ?” 
 
 “ The Drum-Major, sir, whose duty it is to 
 give them, has made all arrangements with tlie 
 firing-party. Everything will be properly un- 
 derstood between them.” 
 
 “ Then let the Major proceed, Scott,” said the 
 Colonel: and the Adjutant hastened to convey 
 his instructions to the officer alluded to. 
 
 d'he regiment, when taking its station on the 
 parade-ground, was drawn up in companies: the 
 Command was now given by the Major for them 
 to wheel into line; and the firing-party was 
 marched to the front. The aspect of tlie soldiery 
 was at that moment dee[)ly and solemnly 
 interesting. Every countenance was pale, witli 
 an expre^sion of mingled anxiety and awe upon 
 it : every one who glanced at his comrade, be- 
 held in his features the reflection of his own 
 feelings. 'J’he sentiment of commiseration for 
 Fred rick Li nsdale, and ol horror at ihe punish- 
 ment about to be inflicted, was all but universal. 
 
 martyr, and not a.s a culprit, he wa.s alKiiit to 
 undergo the sentence that liad been j>ronounc%d 
 upon him. 
 
 Immediately after the firing-party had been 
 moved to the front of the line, Frederick Lons 
 dale was brought out, under a small escort, froit 
 tlie guard-house. He was dressed in his uniform, 
 but without his shako, his cross-beLs, and side- 
 arms. His countenance was pale as death — 
 that death which he was advancing to meet : 
 but he walked with head erect, with a fit in step 
 anil with a resoluie expression of counienanive. 
 d’hose who had seen him twice flogged and once 
 branded, felt assured that he would not fiiuch 
 now ; they were right. The moment he ap- 
 peared ujKjn the jiarade-ground, his eyes swept 
 over the scene that met them : it was awful and 
 inqiosing to a degree. All that pomp of 
 military jiarade — tliat force of eight hundred 
 men, marshalled for the jairpose of beholding 
 one humble individual done to death I He 
 beheld Compassionate synqnithy and harrowing 
 suspense depicted upon almost every counte- 
 nance. For a momet he felt touched by those 
 evidences of synqiathy on the jiart of his Com- 
 rades : the next instant he nerved himself with 
 an iron fortitude, — for the other was t feeling 
 to which he dared not give way. 
 
 With looks as firm as his steps, did he ad- 
 vance towards the centre of the yard ; and there 
 he stopped .short. He knew that it was his 
 privilege — the last he could claim on earth — 
 to addre.-5S a few words to the parade ; and he 
 purposed to avail himself of it. 'J’his was a 
 moment of even a more profound suspense and 
 a more awful anxiety for tlie assembled sol- 
 diery than they had before experienied : it 
 seemed to them as if they were about to listen 
 to the words of a dead man ! There was a 
 silence as deep and as solemn as if some spell 
 had suddenly alighted upon all who had ga- 
 thered there, — turning them into statues. A pin 
 might have been heard to drop on the hard 
 frozen ground where tlie troops were drawn up. 
 The breath w'as suspended ; the very pulses 
 themselves seemed to have ceased to beat. All 
 was still and silent: but yet there was a ter- 
 rible amount of keenly active and acutely lelt 
 vitality expressed on ihe countenances along 
 whose pale array Lonsdale's eyes slowly tra- 
 velled. At length that solemn pause — that 
 dread silence — was broken. 
 
 “ Friends and comrades,” said the dour^ed 
 man, speaking in a firm voice, and w hich with- 
 out vociferating elf'oi t penetrated to the re- 
 motest cornel of the immense bai rack -y aid, 
 “ you see before you one whose eyes in a few 
 swift brief minuies will be closed in death — 
 wliose heart will have ceased to beat — w hose 
 
 — some of the oflicers and non-commissioned , form will be reduced to a mere lump of clay. 
 ofliceiHCoiisiituiing the Old) exiepiion.s, 'I hough j 1 am about to ajijiear in tlie presence ot .i 
 the lull measure of llie wrongs and persecutions ihighiu' tribunal than that wliose sentence has 
 which our hero had endured, wa.s not known, — placed me here to die; and if 1 tremble at the 
 vet a Miflieiency had come to the knowledge of | ihought of so soon standing before that sublime 
 hiK fellow soldiers to make them regard him as judgmeiit-siait, it is not on account ol that ileed 
 the victim of a hmg series of cruel misforlunes for which the earthly one of the other day has 
 and biitei tyrannies, rather ihaii as a wilful and condemned me. No: it is because 1 feel that 
 wicked oflender iigainst the laws of military whatever faults 1 may have committed, have 
 'iiM.ipini'''. 'i'hey therefore felt that it was as a been ollences against those who provoked theud 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 IH 
 
 D?t — who merited them not. I allude tc the 
 best of wives — to the dearest of children.” 
 
 Here his voice faltered for a few moments, 
 and tears dimmed his eyes. Tears too were 
 trickling down the pale ;heeks of those in the 
 serried rank ; and the sob which rose up into 
 the throat of many a soldier there, found a 
 similarly half stifled echo in that of a comrade 
 standing next. But Lonsdale, hastily dashing 
 away his own :ears. drew himself suddenly up, 
 as if to show that having resolved to be firm, 
 he would be ; and then his speech was conti- 
 nued tlms 
 
 “ And yet 1 scarcely tremble at the thought 
 of appearing before that celestial judgment- 
 seat ; for the Almighty who sitteth there, c;.n 
 attest that the only errors of my life liave been 
 those to which I ere now alluded, and whicli 
 redound upon my wife and child. That angel- 
 wife of mwie has forgiven me in her own name 
 and in that of our son. Yes — by them 1 am 
 forgiven: and my Maker will not show me less 
 mercy than Iliave experienced at their hands. 
 I stand not here to admit the justice of my 
 sentence: I proclaim it to be unjust! About 
 to appear in the presence of One at whose foot- 
 stool no falsehood may be told, I speak to you 
 now as if I were already kneeling there: I 
 speak to you as if I were in the jiresence of 
 my God. I declare, then, that the eviiience 
 which Captain Redburn bore against me — and 
 the evidence which Mr. Langley bore against 
 me — were both alike colored, tortured, and ex- 
 aggerated, so as to bring about this catastrophe. 
 But upon that subject I will say no more. Did 
 J clioose to open the floodgates of animosities 
 and upbiaidings, I might pour forth a torrent 
 that would overwhelm tlie many, many enemies 
 I have had to encounter since the fatal day I 
 became a soldier. But if a sense of bitter, bit- 
 ter wrong will not permit me, even in this su- 
 preme moment, to say that I forgive those ene- 
 mies — if human nature asserts its empire even 
 until the very last instant when it is about to 
 dissolve away — yet do I earnestly and entreat- 
 ing implore heaven to touch their hearts and 
 lead them, when I am gone, to be more merci- 
 ful, more forbearing, more christian-like towards 
 others who sliall remain subject to their autho- 
 rity, Friends and comrades, I have little more 
 to say. It is only this : — that had circum- 
 stances of war ever called us to mingle in 
 scenes of strife, I should have borne my part as 
 a brave man — I should not have shrunk from 
 where perils were greatest and dangers were 
 thickest. Imagine not, therefore, my heart will 
 fail me now that in a few short minutes I shall 
 meet Death face to face !” 
 
 Lonsdale ceased ; but there was not alto- 
 gether a dead silence now — fo/ the sobs of many 
 and many of the soldiers were plainly audible. 
 Tl e doomed man, turning round, walked slowly 
 — but with head erect and firm footsteps — to a 
 greater distance from the line^; and he halted 
 about twenty feet in front of a coffin, which had 
 been silently and stealthily borne on the ground 
 and placed there while he was in the midst of 
 his speech. His looks did not quail when, oti 
 turning round, he caught sight of that sinister 
 object : he knew that it would be there — he I 
 
 was prepared to behold it ; and even if k were 
 otherwise, his fortitude was nerved to a degree 
 well calculated to shield him against a sudden 
 sliock. Taking off his red coat, he threw it 
 upon the ground — and then .sank on his knees, 
 his hands clasped in silet)t prayer. A soldier, 
 especially appointed for the purpose, appi oached 
 him as noiselessly as if treading in the chamber 
 of death, and advancing up to the couch of 
 death itself; and proceeded to fasten a bandage 
 over his eyes. At the same time he whispered, 
 “Lonsdale, forgive me for having any share in 
 these proceedings: but I cannot help it !” 
 
 “ I forgive you, my poor friend,” was the low 
 and solemnly uttered respon.se of the doomed 
 man. “ You are but an automaton, as every 
 one is who enters the ranks of the army. Fare- 
 well ! God bless you!” 
 
 “ God ble-8 you,” murmured the weeping sol- 
 dier, as he pressed the hand which Lotisdale 
 stretched out. He then withdrew ; and our 
 hero, again joining his hands, abandoned himself 
 altogether to his devotions, — praying for heaven 
 to have mercy upon his own soul, and not to de- 
 sert the wife and the child whom he was leav- 
 ing behind. 
 
 Immediately Lonsdale had ki)elt down, the 
 Drum Major of the regiment, who had stationed 
 himself near the firing-party, gave a peculiar 
 flourish of his cane ; and the fourteen soldiers 
 who were selected to perform the hideous part 
 of executioners, advanced to a stack of muskets 
 immediately in front of them — and each took a 
 piece. There were fourteen of these weapons 
 — as many muskets as there were men in the 
 firing party : and it was known that but thir- 
 teen were loaded with ball, and one with pow- 
 der only. Thi.s conlem|)tible device for cheating 
 each individual into the belief that it was he 
 himself who held the musket containing the 
 blank cartridge, was the most signal prt^of that 
 could possibly be afforded of the consciousness 
 of those w!to inflict the extreme rigors of mili- 
 tary discipline, how revolting it is to human na- 
 ture to make men the executioners of their fel- 
 low man. The firing-party had been as pro- 
 foundly touched as any of the rest by Lonsdale’s 
 speech : each and all of tliose fourteen sokiiers 
 would have flung down the weapons of death if 
 they dared, and vowed that tltough they would 
 fight their enemies in battle, it was an outrage 
 to their feelings to ask them to murder a friend 
 in cold blood. But, no : they dared not ! — those 
 living automatons had no power of volition; it 
 was theirs only to obey ! 
 
 When the fourteen men of the firing-party 
 had taken their fourteen muskets, and had 
 promptly formed themselves into a rank again 
 — all this taking place in the deepest silence-— 
 there was a pause more dreadful than can be 
 described. But it was a pause of only a few 
 moments. The Drum Major, again fixing hia 
 eyes earnestly and expressively upon them, — 
 and satisfied that the looks of them all were 
 rivetted upon him, — gave the second signal; 
 namely, another flourish of his cane. It waa 
 likewise the last ! The fourteen muskets were 
 raised and levelled : another pause, but only of 
 three moments — and then the loud report of the 
 fire arms struck quick and sharp uport every 
 
!M 
 
 THt^; SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 ear. Lonsdale’s liarula were thrown upward, 
 and he fell lieavily u[)on his V);ick. ’I'he s[)ms 
 luodic sliiidder wliich sinvjltanenusly quivered 
 along the whole line, was sorasUiing not merely 
 to he .'?rm — but likewise to he heard! 
 
 The victim was not dead. ’I'liongh pierced 
 by several halls, life yet lingered in him ; his 
 hands wavi'd like the fins of a fish wheti taken 
 out of the water and in the last agonies of death 
 The Drum Major had four more loaded muskets 
 at hand: these he promptly ordered the four 
 oldest and steadient of the firing-party to take. 
 They obeyed him — obeyed also the few rapidly 
 whi.“pered instructions he gave : and hastening 
 towanls the prostrate form of their comrade, 
 they placed the muzzles to his lu-ad and poured 
 in the last volley, crashing his skull and scatter- 
 ing his brains upon the ground where he lay. 
 If the foinier acts of the tragedy were hideous 
 and horrible, this last one was satanic, hellish, 
 and damnable! 
 
 Prom|)tly was the word of command given 
 for the line to break by falling back into com- 
 panies; and the next order was to “march past 
 in slow time.” As each company came in a 
 line with the body, the word was given to 
 “mark time” — which is a process of lifting the 
 feet but Vainging them back to the spot whence 
 they w'ere raised, so that the corps while thus 
 engaged makes no advance, ddie order “ Eyes 
 Left” was then issued, for the purpose of com- 
 pelling: the company thus marking time to fix 
 their eyes upon the corpse which lay brained 
 and skull-shattered there. Oh, the refinements 
 of infernal cruelty to which the military code 
 has reached ! Oh, the essence of all imaginable 
 horrors which it has succeeded in concentrating! 
 Could it be sujiposed that the spectacle of that 
 murdered and mangled man would make the 
 beholders virtuous and good ? No — such was 
 not the intention ; but it was to produce a 
 mechanized and slavish obedience under the ter- 
 rorism of a frightful example. 
 
 While the regiment was thus marching past 
 in 8k)W time, each company being successively 
 compelled to pause and gaze in the manner de- 
 scribed on the slauglitered victim, the quick 
 galloping tramp ot a horse’s hoofs was heard, 
 from the outside of tlie barrack-wall, approach- 
 ing the gates, which had been closed during the 
 execution. The sentinel who stood there, in- 
 stinctively struck with the idea that it was some 
 messenger of authority approaching, flung open 
 tlio.se gates ; and Reginald Herbert galloped 
 into the barrack-yard. But the insiant Ids eyes 
 encountered the spectacle of death, he threw 
 up his arms in despair, — exclaiming in a voice 
 of rending tigony, ‘‘ Oh, it is too late 1” 
 
 A fearful sen.sation seizi-d ujion all present: 
 the troojis came to a dead lialt without any 
 word of command to that ellect. Every one 
 understood what it was. A reprieve iiad ar- 
 rived — but as its bearer laid proclaimed in that 
 anguished tone, it had come too lute I 
 
 Colonel Wyndhum was the first to rush up 
 to the spot where Mr. ileibcit ihrew himself 
 from liis hotse, a prey to all the liorrible feelings 
 of a man who has hoped to do a good deed, but 
 ^ho la ballli.d in the ultcnijit. Almost frantic, 
 
 he gave the Colonel the dt spatch ; hut white 
 this officer was yet reading it, another circum- 
 stance of mingled liorror and mystery trans- 
 pired, to divert somewhat the allenlion of all 
 pre.-^ent in that barrack-yard from the otlier 
 dread incidents of the hour that was passing. 
 
 1’hrough the gates, which had been thrown 
 open for Mr. Herbert, an ominous corteqe began 
 to make its way. Several laborers su[>p''ited 
 a hurdle upon their shoulders; and in this lay 
 an object, which, though covered up with some 
 rude kind of cloth, was never! hele.-s unmista- 
 kably a Corpse. A crowd of dismayed and 
 horrified spectators thronged in the; rear of the 
 wotking-men and their burlhtn. d'he si-ntinel 
 suffered the latter to pass, but sternly bade the 
 niultiliide keej) back. Colonel VVyudhain and 
 o'her officers, acconqianied by Mr. Herbert, has 
 tened to learn whose corji^e it was which was 
 thus borne into the barrack-yard, d’he men de- 
 posited the hurdle upon the ground — the cover- 
 ing was taken off — and the horrified ejaculation 
 of “Captain Iledburn 1” burst forih from the 
 lips of the officers. 
 
 It was a ghastly spectacle. Gerald was in 
 his undress uniform, just as he had quilted the 
 barracks on the preceding day to ride across to 
 the Manor; his garments were saturated with 
 water, and were soiled with mud and slirne. 
 His sword was gone from its sheath. One side 
 of his head ap|)earetl to be completely beaten 
 in; and his features were horrildy disfigured, as 
 if he had leceived murderous blows even on the 
 very face. His pockets had been rifled, with 
 the exception of his watch, which was inside the 
 breast of his buttoned-up surtout-coat ; so that 
 it had either e.sca[)ed the assas.sin’s notice— or 
 else the nuirderer must have been alarmed in 
 the ni'idst of the despoiling process and taken 
 precipitately to flight. The tale of the laboring 
 men who had borne the body to the barracks, 
 was soon told. They were at work ere now, in 
 a field about _tw'o miles from Middleton, and 
 w'hich was separated by a deej) slimy ditch 
 from the main road leading to Oakleigh — when 
 one of them fancied he saw a human hand pro- 
 jecting out of the muddy water, d’his led to a 
 search; and the body of Captain Redburn was 
 drawn out upon the bank. In the road close 
 by there were indications of a struggle having 
 taken place, and also of the corpse having been 
 dragged from the spot where the conflict had 
 evidently occurred, to that part of the ditch in 
 which it was found immersed. 
 
 When the working-men’s tale was told. Col. 
 Wyndham hastily inquired of Mr. Herbert how 
 he became jiossessed of the reprieve ? Regi- 
 nald’s exjilanations were alike promptly given ; 
 and it thus became evident tliat the murderer 
 of Gerald Redburn could be no other than the 
 monster-looking man whom he had so recently 
 left at Clive Hall. For everything was but too 
 terribly clear now 1 Sir Archibald Reilburn 
 must liave returned on the preceding night to 
 the Manor, bearing the reprieve with liim — 
 Gerald, in pursuance of the purpose for which 
 lie had gone home, had set olf to bear the pre- 
 cious document to Middleton — he had been way 
 laid and munlered on the road — his assassin had 
 fled with the desjmtch, and thus hud caused lU« 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 197 
 
 deatli 01 Froilerick Lonsdale in addition to that 
 of Redhurn ! 
 
 All this was appalling and horrible — a hide- 
 ous and frightful complication of tragedies and 
 crimes. But there was ()t)e more scene of mark- 
 ed interest yet to occur: for scarcely had all 
 those explanations been mutually given and lis- 
 tened to by the group gathered round the hur- 
 dle whereon the dead body lay, when Sir Ar- 
 diibald Redburn, mounted on a foaming horse, 
 galloped into the barrack yard. He had been 
 startled into liorrible misgivings and flung into 
 a terrible dismay about a couple of hours back, 
 by the circumstance of the horse which his son 
 had ri<lden on the previous evening, having 
 Deen found wandering m the fields near Oak- 
 lei gh ; and as one of the stirrups was broken, 
 Lis first and most natural thought was that Ge- 
 rald had been thrown, and either killed, or else 
 BO seriously injured, that he had not the power 
 to regain possession of the steed, which had ac- 
 fordingly strayed away until instinct had led 
 the animal to the neighborhood most familiar 
 to it. For we should observe that ' it was not 
 Captain Redburn’s own horse on which he had 
 set otf on the preceding night from the Manor : 
 it was one belonging to his father — and hence 
 the return of the steed to the neighborhood of 
 its own stable. Without loss of time Sir Archi- 
 bald Redburn had ridden over to Middleton in 
 a state of the acutest suspense; and he arrived 
 to behold the corpse of his s in stretched at one 
 extremity of the barrack-yard, and the corpse 
 of Frederick Lonsdale — that son’s victim — ut 
 the other 1 
 
 “ My God, my God ! there is retribution in 
 all this !” exclaimed the unhappy man : and 
 he would have fallen headling from his horse, 
 had not those near rushed forward to catch him 
 in their arms. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE WIDOW AND THE ORPHAN. 
 
 Upon her knees in her humble chamber, and 
 ^ith little Fiederick also kneeling by her side, 
 was Lucy Lonsdale, while the incidents <if the 
 preceding chapter were taking place. She was 
 pra\ ing that lietiven would sustain her unhappy 
 husband in the fortitude of Christian piety and 
 manly resignation to the last: and she was 
 teaching her son to pray also fir that father 
 whom he would never behold again. The poor 
 boy comprehended this; he understood that nev- 
 er mote in this life would he look his sire in the 
 fl3e; but beyond tlmt he knew nothing. He 
 conceived not how this was to be ; and yet with 
 some instinctive feeling of awe and consterna- 
 tion, he dared not ask his poor afflicted mother 
 the que.'tion. Not for worlds would she suffer 
 him to know — at least yet awhile — how his fa- 
 ther was being done to death by his fellow-men 
 under the color of the law : she preferred to 
 leave him in vague, and dim, and misty uncer- 
 tainty u[X)n the hideous subject. For the most 
 part the language of her prayer was solemnly 
 OoUec^ ar.d lucidly continuous : for her’s was 
 
 now sorrow too profound — too immense — to 
 And a vent in passionate ebullitions. For these 
 are accompanied by tears — and tears are a re 
 lief : but such relief was denied to the unhappy 
 Lucy. It was not a mere wound productive of 
 bitter anguish which she had received ; it was a 
 shock — crushing, overwhelming, and prostrating 
 — which she had sustained. 
 
 But at intervals she took her boy in her arms 
 — strained him to her bosom — and held him 
 lightly there fir many minutes, without relaxing 
 her hold upon his firm. Then she wouhl ceaiie 
 [irayingand gaze upon him in tlie dismal dieary 
 blankness of despair. Still not a tear si ole down 
 her cheeks : her’s was a soi row past all weeping. 
 Weeping ! — Oh, it is a luxury for those who are 
 afflicted ; it relieves the surcharged heart of 
 half its loail ! Yes— there is a luxury in tears; 
 and therefore Lucy knew it not. She did not 
 rave — she burst not forth into frenzied excess — 
 she gave not way to maniac wildness. Through 
 all those phases of woe had she passed on firmer 
 occasions, — when Lonsdale was ensnared by 
 Langley at Oakleigh — when her father sought 
 to coerce her into marriage wiih Gerald Red- 
 burn — each time that her husband wa.s betrayed 
 as a deserter by the villain Bates — each time 
 too that he was lacerated by the scourge — and 
 many, many times when he had maltreated her 
 during the last year: these were her experiences 
 of the wild bitterness and rending tortures of 
 affliction. But it was otherwise now. Physical 
 pains rack the body untd it sinks into an insen- 
 sibility to additional excruciation ; so do the 
 barbed irons of moral torture enter into the soul 
 until its feelings sink into numbness with the 
 excess of their own ineffable agony. Thus was 
 it with Lucy Lonsdale. 'I’here was oite object 
 which now held her to lif^ — and this was her 
 son. Save and except in respect to him, the 
 whole world, with its swarming mdlions of 
 inhabitants — its business and its bustle — its con- 
 flicting passions and iis jarring interests — its 
 pains and its pleasures — was but a mere blank, 
 She might live on for the sake of that child — 
 she might toil fur him — but it would be mechan- 
 ically : she would breathe, and move, and 
 perform the functions of existence — but it would 
 tie without consciousness: she would know not 
 the world around her — and the world would 
 only know her as a loin and desolate being, 
 whose blighted hopes and ruined heart would 
 permit her to take no share in its occupations 
 nor to 8} mpathize with its enjoyments. Such 
 was the state in which she felt iierself to be 
 
 And Lucy knelt and prayed in her humble 
 chamber — and the boy knelt by her side. She 
 knew not the exact hour at which the execution 
 of her husband was to take place : she h.^d not 
 dared ask the question of him at their farewell 
 meeting — she had not dared ask it of any othci 
 But slie had learnt enough to make her aware 
 that all would be over at least by clever, o’clock 
 or. that forenoon : and therefore she continued 
 praying until eleven. Then, as the sound sent, 
 forth by the iron tongue of Time from the neigh 
 boring church, told her that the hour was come 
 — that it was eleven o’clock — she knew tfat 
 she was a widow : elie knew that her ooy waa 
 fatherless 1 She rose Rom ber knees : bar 
 
19S 
 
 THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 inovempntH latifriiicl dull, heavy, and slow : 
 her look was not exactly vacant — it was one of 
 blank consternation and appalled disinay. Ano- 
 tli(T long, long etnbiace (lid she bestow upon 
 the boy : or ratluir she held him in her arms 
 tightly clasped, — both still and motionless for 
 many minutes. It was like a statuary grouj) 
 personifying illimitable woe in the tenement of 
 despair. 
 
 presently she moved again. This time it 
 was to open a box and take forth two dresses — 
 one for herself, one for her son. 'i’hey were 
 deep black— mourning garments, which she had 
 been prejiaring for two days past, and for the 
 possession of which she was indebted to the 
 bounty of Mrs. Selwyn. She apparelled her 
 boy in his black raiment — she j)ut on her own — 
 and she said to herself that never more, so long 
 as life might last, would she wear aught save 
 the widow’s weeds. 
 
 Scarcely was this toilet to commemorate the 
 dead completed, when she heard a knock at the 
 chamber-dour. It had been preceded by the 
 Bounds of footsteps : but her eai- had caught 
 them not. Now she remembered that Mrs. 
 Selwyn had on the jirevious day besought per- 
 mission to pass thU day with her — but that she 
 had refused, observing that it was a day which 
 she and her son must pass alone together. The 
 same with the Sunday, when she would follow 
 her husband’s remains to the grave. But she 
 had promised that on the Monday she would 
 receive her kind friend. Such was the arrange- 
 ment; but now the idea occurred to her that 
 Martha, contravening her wishes for the best 
 and k ridest purposes, had come never theless. 
 In a voice that was deep, low, and solemn, she 
 biide whoever it were to enter. I'he door 
 Ojiened slowly: Sir Archibald Redburn, accom- 
 panied b}' a gentleman whom Lucy knew not, 
 entered the chamber. Fora moment a look of 
 unconquerable aversion flashed from her- e^ es 
 as they encountered the features of the Baronet 
 — the man who was the first jiersecutor of her 
 deceased husband — whose Conduct, in depriving 
 him of work, had proved the first link of the 
 entii-e chain of calamities which had found an 
 end this day at the muzzle of the soldiers’ 
 muskets. And that man too — was he not the 
 father of Gerald Redburn, who had been a still 
 more ratrcorous persecutor of her husband ? 
 Yes: and Lucy’s heart was warped, so that she 
 could not be magnanimous any longer — but she 
 wamld vi-it the sins of the son upon the father, 
 as well as those of the father upon the son. Yet 
 the look of aversion which she thus threw upon 
 the Ban netwas only ti’ansient, though the feel- 
 ing which prompted it remained: the next mo- 
 ment her countenance settled down into the 
 fixed expre.ssirjn of a sorrow so dreary and 
 (Ji mal — .so jirofound — that it was even beyond 
 despair itself 
 
 “Mrs. LoiisdahV’ said the Baronet, in a 
 strange trembling voice, the accents of which 
 apj)ear(id indeed a most melancholy corrobora- 
 tion of the words he went on to utter, — “you 
 see before you a broken hearted man — a man 
 who would lly at once from the world — would 
 bury himself in the solitude of his own chamber 
 —who has no spirit left for any earthly pur- 
 
 po.s((,-_were it not that he felt he had n duty to 
 perform— a duty which must not be delayed 
 another minute: and that duty has brought him 
 hither. Mrs. Lonsdale,” he continiu'd, in a tono 
 of still deeper woe, “you see before you 
 father who had just come from gazing on th 
 corpse of his murdered son, and who feels the 
 it was a righteous retribution decreed liy heav( 
 itself! Yes — it isso. Gerald — the hope of ( 
 lif( — is no more 1 1 am childless — 1 am broke/ 
 
 hearted. But enough ! — I come to offer you % 
 home — a home for yoursidf — a home for yoi r 
 boy — a home where at least the cold hand of 
 poverty will never more be laid ujion your 
 shoulders, and where those with whom you are 
 to dwell, will surr.iund you both with the | 
 kindest and ter, derest sym|)athie8. Mrs. Lons- j 
 dale will ym: dccept this home that I offer V’ 
 
 But Lucy gazed upon him as if she scarcely 
 understood what he meant. She had shuddei ed ' 
 for an instant as he spoke of his rnurdeied son i 
 and then she thought that she had not compr(J- ' 
 hended h'm — that she must be dreaming: and l 
 she looked as if she were so. 
 
 “ And I, Mrs. Lonsdale,” said the gentleman ! 
 who accompanied the Baronet, “ have come 
 likewise to ofler you a home. Yoti know me . 
 ran — btit when you do come to know me, you | 
 will learn that 1 am a man of honor — of a cer- I 
 tain social standing— and with high rank in ^ 
 perspective. I have heard enough of your sad i 
 story to experience an immense interest on 1 
 your behalf. In a short time I shall lead to the I 
 altar a young lady who possesse.s a heart that i 
 will cherish the kindest sympathies for you. | 
 Her home is not far distant; and thither do I I 
 offer to conduct you, in the full confiilence that i 
 you will meet a cordial welcome. My name is 
 Reginald Herbert : I am the nephew of Lord 
 Staiisfield ; and it is to Clive Hall tliat I pur- 
 pose to escort yourself and that sweet boy of 
 your’s.” 
 
 If Lucy had not comprehended all that the ! 
 Bai'onet said, — not a single word on the other | 
 hand which Vlr. Herbert had uttered, was lost 
 upon her ; and she perceived by his tone, by. [ 
 his look, and by his language, that Providence | 
 liad sent her a generous fi-iend in him. For the j 
 moment she was recalled as it were from the I 
 numbness of her sorrow to reflect that she her- [ 
 self might not be long in this world, and that it | 
 would savor of ingratitude towards Heaven 
 itself not to accept whatsoever bounties might 
 be available for her son. She knew that the 
 Selwyns, though comfortable in circumstances, 
 were yet living by their own industry — and that 
 she ought not to suffer herself and little Fre- 
 derick to become burdens upon them : she 
 feared, too, that notwithstanding her widow- 
 hood and her son’s orphaned state, her own 
 father’s door would continue closed against 
 them. So her mind, having achieved this rapid 
 survey' of all circumstances during a brief in- 
 terval of remarkable clearness, was speedily 
 made up. 
 
 Rising from her seat, which she had hitherto 
 maintained, she bent her looks upon the Baro- 
 net and said, “ Sir Archibald Redburn, if you 
 are unhappy I will not add to your afflictions 
 by an-/ re])roachc8 from my lips. Let it be 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFK 
 
 199 
 
 sufficient for me to declare that were I and my 
 boy starving, and did you proffer us a morsel 
 of bread, and the boy in the rabid eagerness of 
 famine placed it to his lips, I would snatch it 
 from him — I would trample it in the mire — 
 even though the want of it were to make him 
 perish the next instant before my eyes !'’ 
 
 The Baronet groaned in the bitterness of his 
 anguish : for he felt — deeply, deeply felt — how 
 well deserved was this response from the 
 lips of that much injured woman. 
 
 “ Mr. Herbert,” she almost immediately said, 
 turning towards Reginald, “ the thanks of a 
 heart-broken widow and of a poor fatherless 
 boy are your due. Accept them — accept them, 
 as the only return for the noble generosity 
 of your conduct And I on ray part accept 
 for myself and this dear boy the home which 
 you have offered us. But not to-day can we 
 g; hence — nor to-morrow ” 
 
 “ 1 understand you, Mrs. Lonsdale,” said 
 Herbert “ On Monday, at eleven o’clock, 
 there will be a post-chaise at the door of this 
 house to bear you both to your new home. 
 Sir Archibald Redburn, we will depart” 
 
 Lucy extended her hand to Mr. Herbert ; and 
 as he held it he said in a voice that was broken 
 by his feelings, “ My Adela shall cherish you 
 as a sister.” He then turned hastily to little 
 Frederick, took him up in his arms, and kissed 
 him with almost a father’s warmth ; and as he 
 retreated precipitately from the room, the boy 
 wiped away the tear-drops that the generous- 
 hearted Reginald had Rift upon his pale cheeks. 
 
 Sir Archibald Redburn — a crushed, broken- 
 hearted, miserable man — dragged himself away 
 in Herbert’s footsteps : the widow and the 
 orphan were once more alone together. 
 
 An hour afterwards Reginald Herbert again 
 leapt off his horse at the entrance to Clive Hall. 
 Immediately after the scenes at the barracks, 
 the officers of justice had been sent thither to 
 ensure the safe custody of the monster looking 
 man ; and Reginald had despatched by them a 
 hastily written note to the Countess of Burton, 
 outlining what had taken place. As the reader 
 may suppose, the inmates of the Hall were 
 thrown into a perfect state of consternation on 
 learning that there was a murderer beneath 
 that roof; and when Herbert reached the man- 
 sion, he found that the excitement and dismay 
 had but little abated. 
 
 It was now past two o’clock in the after- 
 noon ; and the suspected murderer was only 
 just returning to such a state of consciousness 
 as to have any recollection of what had hap- 
 pened to him. Some hours back — indeed, very 
 soon after Reginald’s speedy departure with 
 the official despatch for Midoleton, — medical 
 assistance had arrived at the Hall ; and every- 
 thing requisite was done for the miseraole 
 wretch. When the officers of justice reached 
 the mansion, the surgeon declared that it w'ould 
 be immediate death to remove the prisoner — 
 that he must remain at least for a few more 
 hours where he was, if not until the following 
 day ; and the constables were accordingly lo- 
 cated amongst the domestics, — there being no 
 need for them to keep watch in the captive’s 
 room, as he was chained to his bed by a bond 
 
 14 
 
 even firmer than human nands could have 
 rivetted upon him. 
 
 Reginald Herbert, on returning to Clive Hall, 
 explained more in detail than his note had pre- 
 viously done to the Countess and Adela, tlie sad 
 things widen had transpired at Middleton ; and 
 he recited all he had heard respecting the me- 
 lancholy history of poor Lonsdale. Even be- 
 fore he mentioned the proposition which he 
 had taken upon himself to submit to that un- 
 fortunate widow, in respect to a home for her- 
 self and son, — Adela, with generous entliusiasm, 
 and wdth the tears streaming down her cheeks, 
 exclaimed, as she seized the hand of the 
 Countess, ‘‘ Mother — dear mother, is there 
 naught which your heart suggests in respect 
 to those poor creatures ?” 
 
 Then Herbert at once went on to explain 
 what he had done ; and he not merely received 
 the approval of Adela and the Countess, but 
 likewise their thanks that he should have en- 
 listed them in the same Christian service which 
 he himself had so nobly undertaken. 
 
 Mr. Herbert, leaving the drawing-room where 
 this discourse had taken place with the two 
 ladies, was proceeding to the monster-looking 
 man’s chamber, in older to learn whether he 
 had come completely back to consciousness, 
 and whether he had made any confession, — 
 when he met one of the constables issuing 
 thence. 
 
 “ It is all right, sir,” said the officer : “ the 
 fellow' is recovering rapidly — he is able to 
 speak — and the gallows won’t be cheated of 
 its due.” 
 
 “ Has he avowed his crime t” inquired Re- 
 ginald hastily. 
 
 “ He has — and glories in it,” answered the 
 officer. 
 
 “ 1’he miscreant 1” ejaculated Herbert, with 
 a shudder. 
 
 “ But what’s more,” proceeded the constable, 
 “ he turns out to be an old acquaintance of 
 mine — though I never should have recognized 
 him in the awful object he has become. He 
 was condemned about two years ago at Mid- 
 dleton to transportation; and he escaped on his 
 way to the convict-ship.” 
 
 “ Then who is he ?” asked Reginald Herbert. 
 
 “ His name is Obadiuh Bates,” replied the 
 constable. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 OBADIAH BATES. ’ 
 
 Yes — the monster-looking man was none 
 other than the readers old acquaintance, the 
 barber of Oakleigh ; and: we will at once pro- 
 ceed to give certain explanations in respect ta 
 the criminal career of the miscreant. 
 
 The reader has seen how, on obtaining pos- 
 session of the post-office, he tampered with the 
 letters in a variety of ways — and in one es- 
 pecially, to execute that diabolical deed of 
 treachery which brought Frederick Lonsdale 
 from Calais, and led him into the trap set ta 
 catch him at Dover. That letter, which pui^ 
 
®00 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 ported to ennarmte from Mrs. Davis, was writlon 
 hy some female at Middleton, with wliom the 
 harber was arqnaiotcd. and whose epi'-lolary 
 qnalitications were of a much liigher standard 
 than lier inoial ones. He had sought her co- 
 operation in tliat parlicuhir scheme ; — and wiili 
 the C( rtainty of obtaining the reward offered for 
 the deserter’s apprehension, he had recompensed 
 the woman liberally. When he was appre- 
 hended and condemned to tiausj)ortation, lie re 
 ceived in Middleton gatd, as the reader is aware, 
 thiit bitter letter which Lonsdale wrote, ami 
 which excited all the most horrible vindictive 
 passions of Bates’s mind. We need not enter 
 itilo d^'tails respecting his escape; suffice it to 
 reniiaik that he effected it, — and in order to se- 
 cure himself against the chance of being retaken, 
 he had recourse to the desperate expedient of 
 disfiguring his countenance by means of vitriol. 
 The application of the corrosive fluid was how- 
 ever auended by efiects more terrible than he 
 had calculated upon, — depiiving him of the 
 sight of one of his eyes. Kevertheless, he con- 
 soled himself with the reflection that the de- 
 struction of his identity was all the more com- 
 plete ; and when he looked at his face in the 
 glass, he knew full well that not even those who 
 had known him best, would recognize Obatliah 
 Bates in the monstrous loathsome object which 
 Ire had become. He wrote to Mrs. Lonsdale at 
 Manchester, to tell her that her hustrand had 
 been branded; and of that husband he signed 
 himself" the eternal enemy.” 
 
 Shortly afterwards he proceeded to Manches- 
 ter, with the hope of finding ojipoi tunities to 
 wneak his vengeance upon the objects of his 
 liatred. His deplorable condition — die wretch- 
 edness to which he was reduced — die means by 
 which he was saved from starvation by some 
 factory slaves — and the accident that led him 
 to seek refuge in the house which Chancery de- 
 lays were suffering to fall inio ruins, are already 
 known to the leader: for when ciiance one night 
 threw Bales in the way of Gerald Kedburii, 
 those particulars of his narrative which the 
 wretch volunteered, were strictly true. All of 
 a sudden he found himself possessed of the 
 wished-for opportunities, as he calculated and 
 hoped, to wreak his vengeance. The vile beings 
 of this world are never at a loss where to find 
 creatures of a kindred villany when their co- 
 operation is required: it needs but to plunge 
 into the cesspools of vice and demoralizalion to 
 discover such ready and willing agents. Thus 
 was it that Obadiah Bates found in the keeper 
 of an infamous house the accomplice that he 
 8<;ught. Lucy was enticed thitliei — Kedburn 
 received a note to bid liim hasten to where he 
 might seize upon his prey — and Bales felt assu- 
 red that the dishonor of Lonsdale's wife would 
 be efJ’ected by violence. But this was rx>t tdl 
 the vengeance he meditated ; his plan was two- 
 fohl — tlie blow was to strike not merely the 
 LonsdiileH, but Gerald Redbuin himself; and 
 hence the note which Bates sent to warn the 
 husband of his wife's danger : hence t. o Ins ap 
 parent zeal in conducting Lonsdale to the house 
 where he was to find Lucy and Redburn. For 
 Bates calculated that when Lonsdale, on burst- 
 kig abruptly into the room w'hich was so par- 
 
 ticularly pointed out to him, slionld disco^w 
 that hi.s wife’s ruin had been nccoinpliHhed, ha 
 would immolate R«‘dbnrn to his rage. Alltliese 
 difibolical liopes on the miscreant’s part were 
 however fm-tiated : for Jjiicy was rescued ip 
 time, and Redburn escajied with his life. Why 
 was it that the fiendish vindictiveness of Bates 
 was thus directed against Gerald Redburn as 
 well as against the Daisdales ? It was becauso 
 Sir Archibald Redburn was one of those who 
 had effocted the exposure, the ruin, and the con- 
 dtmnation of Bates, in respect to the letter- 
 tamperings at the post-office, and therefore he 
 sought to revenge himself against the sire by 
 levelling a blow at the son. 
 
 We need not linger upon our narrative in or- 
 der to describe how, during the interval of nioi-e 
 than eighteen months after the transactions at 
 Manchester, Obadiah Bates became a wretched 
 wandi rer over the face of the country. At last 
 he read in a newspaper that a General Court- 
 Martial had just been held on private Frederick 
 Lonsdale at the Middleton Barracks, and that 
 the accused was found guilty and condemned to 
 death. Bates chuckled with a savage gloating 
 over this intelligence, and resolved to he pres- 
 ent at the final scene — or at least near it. Ho 
 felt assured that he could venture with perfect 
 safety into a neighborhood where he had once 
 been well known : for General Redburn had not 
 recognized him at Manchester — Lonsdale had 
 not recognized him — and others of his old ac- 
 quaintances, whom he had occasionally met in 
 his wanderings, had likewise failed to discern 
 the identity of Obadiah Bates with the hitleoua 
 (tbject he had rendered himself. He pursued his 
 weary way — night came — and at about eleven 
 o’clock he was within a few miles of Middleton. 
 That night, as the reader will remember, was 
 brilliantly illuminated with moon and stars: and 
 thus, when an officer on horseback happened to 
 overtake Bates on the road, the miscieant had 
 no difficulty in at oirce recognizing Captain Red- 
 burn. A diabolical thought flashed to his mind 
 in a moment; and it instantaneously became a 
 jjurpose which he resolved to execute. He was 
 penniless and starving — Redburn was sure to 
 have money about his person. Moreover there 
 was yet a vengeance to be wreaked against the 
 sire: why not wreak it, as formerly attempted, 
 through the medium of the son ? 
 
 With the suddenness and fury of a famished 
 tiger darling at its prey, did Bales spring at 
 Gerald Redburn, who was walking his horse at 
 the moment. The steed, terrified at that pre- 
 cipitate Rush towards it, shied abruptly — one 
 of the stirrup-leathers broke, and Redburn W9^ 
 hurled to the ground, while the horse galloped 
 madly away. Then commenced a desperate 
 struggle : Gerald managed to regain his legs ; 
 and drawing his sword, inflicted a couple of se- 
 vere wounds' upon his assailant. Bales howevei 
 succeeded in wresting the weapon from his 
 grasp ; and holding it by the blade, he dealt a 
 terrific blow with the hilt on the side of Red- 
 burn’s head. 'J'he victim fell : but the infuri- 
 ated Bates continued to beat him with the 
 sword-hilt till he was quite certain life was ex- 
 tinct. He then threw the weapon into the ditch 
 and proceeded to rifle the pockets of the imu> 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE 
 
 SOI 
 
 (l^red man. Scarc(dy however had he possessed 
 himself of a packet and a purse, when he 
 thought he lieard footsteps a[)pn»aching; and 
 hastily dragging the body to the ditcli, he low- 
 ered it in. Then, turning off into the fields, he 
 sped across tlieiu for a considerable distance ; 
 till at length well nigh exhausted with loss of 
 blood and' tlie fatigues he had suffered during 
 the day, he sat down to rest himself. There he 
 examined the purse, and found that its contetits 
 were ample enough to seem a perfect treasure 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 eader will not be satisfied unless we fui 
 nish him with a few particulars respecting the 
 most prominent characters tliat, having figured 
 in our narrative, yet retnain to he disposed of. 
 
 And first of Lucy’s father. We have already 
 stated that this man became a confiimed drunk- 
 
 in the eyes of a man who was penniless a short jard. The habit of intern peranpe»grew upon him 
 time before. Next he opened the despatch ;] with an inveteracy that at le^lgth it might be 
 and by aid of the brilliant moonlight, he was ! literally said he was never sober. He took no 
 enabled to read its contents. A reprieve for ! note of what was passing in the world around 
 Lonsdale who he had hoped was to be executed him — but abandoned himself completely to 
 on the following morning! The vile heart of ' strong liquor. It was not till nearly a month 
 Bates bounded in his breast. With one blow i after his son in-law’s execution that the circum 
 he had wreaked a two-fold vengeance, — I stance accidentally reached his ears: for Sarah 
 vengeance against the Redburns — vetigeance] Bodkin, who lived wdth him as his housekeeper, 
 against Lonsdale, for whom no reprieve should - studiously concealed the occurrence as long as 
 
 come 1 
 
 she was able, for fear lest his heart should be 
 
 He was about to take the money out of the | touched with remorse and melt towards his 
 purse, so that he might fling the purse itself I daughter, in which case her own influence over 
 away, — and he likewise contemplated tearing the wretched man might be destroyed. For 
 up the despatch into fragments, — when he j the same object did she intercept and suppress 
 thought he beheld forms moving about at the | a touching and affectionate letter which Lucy 
 farther extremity of the field in which he had! wrote to her sire about a week after tlie trage- 
 paused to rest. Doubtless they were only phan- dy that deprived her of a husband and her son 
 toms conjured up by the man’s guilty fears: but j of a father. Davis was too much lost to the 
 they had the effect of making him resume his sense of external circumstances to be moved 
 precipitate flight. Accordingly, having hastily | either to savage joy or remorseful pity, when 
 secured the purse and the desjiatch in his pock- 1 he did at length hear of Lonsilale’s death; and 
 ets, hesped across the meadows until he reached j he continued his inebriate habits as usual. Sa- 
 a road, where he again found himself so ex- j rah Bodkin, having first obtained an immense 
 hausted that he was compelletl to sit down. — | influence over him, ultimately endeavored to in- 
 There it was tliat Reginald Herbert encountered | duce him to make a will in her favor; and this 
 and relieved him. Bates knew that the roail led he agreed to do. But the woman fancied that 
 away from Middleton, which place it was now ! he might yet live some years, during which a 
 his object to avoid rather than to seek: and he i reconciliation with his daughter and the rever- 
 dragged himself along as well as he was able. | sal of the will were things quite within the chap- 
 Thus did he proceed a few miles, until he could | ter of accidents : so she thought of persuading 
 go no farther. He was now in the immediate j him to sell out his money from the funds and 
 vicinage of Clive Hall, which was known tojkeepitall in a strong-box at home. For this 
 
 him : he crept into the shed, where he was sub 
 eequently discovered, and lay down with the m 
 tention of resting himself for a couple of hours, 
 and then resuming his journey. But when sleep 
 fell upon him, tlie cold [taralyzed his limbs 
 and exhaustion through loss of blood, aided to 
 prolong his slumber, which, deepening into total 
 unconsciousness, would have speedily termi- 
 nated in death, had he not been fiiund and 
 kindly treated in the manner already des- 
 cribed. 
 
 The preceding explanations were gathered 
 from him partially during the few houis that he 
 remained at Clive Hall after his restoration to 
 consciousness, and partially some weeks later, 
 when in the condemned cell at Middleton, and 
 on the eve of expiating his crimes on the gal- 
 lows, he filled up whatsoever gaps had remained 
 in his previous avowals. Not that he confessed 
 anything in the spirit of contrition : he remained 
 hardened until the very last ; and when he 
 spoke of his misdeeds, it was only to gloat over 
 the wrongs he had made others expereiice, 
 and the vengeauce he had consummated. 
 
 she urged various reasons, which were of course 
 unfounded enough, but quite sufficient to ope- 
 rate as she desired on the embruted and atten- 
 uated mind of the wretched sot. He according- 
 ly did a.s she suggested ; and the transaction 
 was effected through the medium of a solicitor 
 at Coventry, where Davis resided. But not 
 many days after the whole amount was paid 
 over to the miserable drunkard, Sarah Bodkin 
 endeavored to decamp with the strong-box. By 
 a combination of ciicumstances, which we need 
 not pause to describe, she wa» detected and 
 stopped by some of the neighbors who had 
 found out what was going ou. When in prison, 
 she manifested an exceeding bitterness against 
 Davis, who had been persuaded to prosecute 
 her, and who even kept himself moderately so- 
 ber for the purpose. In order to spite him, she 
 confessed that. she had committed perjury in the 
 matter of the trial against Grerald Redburn, and 
 that she had been suborned to do it by Davis 
 himself. 
 
 These facts came to the ears of Mr. Colycinth, 
 who in the meanwhile had removed from Oak- 
 leigh and settled at Coventry by aid of the five 
 thousand pounds received from Sir Archibald 
 
THE SOLDIER’S TTIFK 
 
 Redbiim to Tceep Aunt Jane’s secret. On learn- 
 ing the revelations made by Sarah Bodkin, Mr. 
 Colycinth at once moved in the matter; and 
 the result was the complete establishment of 
 his daughter Kitty’s innocence so far as the 
 graver imputation was concerned — thus leaving 
 her only amenable to public opinion on the 
 score of a giddy imprudence. A criminal prose- 
 cution was at once instituted by Mr. Colycinth 
 against Davis for subornation of perjury ; and 
 he was conveyed to jail. There, however, he 
 died in a few days, — died in the arms of that 
 daughter whom he had discarded — whom he 
 had treated so cruelly — but who nevertheless 
 flew to him on the wings of filial love the in- 
 stant his downfall reached her ears. In his su 
 preme moments he repented of the past, and 
 surrendered up his breath while entreating the 
 forgiveness of his daughter and invoking bles- 
 sings on her head. 
 
 Sarah Bodkin was convicted of the attempt 
 at robbery, and was sentenced to a term of im- 
 prisonment, — at the expiration of which she fell 
 into the most abandoned ways and became ano- 
 ther item in the immense aggregate of female 
 depravity which constitutes the shame of civili- 
 sation and the scandal of Christendom. 
 
 Miss Redburn — otherwise called “ Aunt Jane’’ 
 — experienced a very long and severe illness as 
 the consequence of the cruel excitement she had 
 undergone at the time her son was condemned 
 to death. For weeks she continued unconscious 
 of what was passing around her, — sometimes 
 plunged into stupor, and at others raving in de- 
 lirium. When she recovered full possession of 
 her mental faculties, the fatal intelligence was 
 gradually broken to her that Lonsdale had 
 Ceased to exist. She thus found that her secret 
 was known to her brother and her sister-in-law : 
 but a long time elapsed ere she exerted herself 
 sufficiently to ask for explanations how it had 
 transpired. She was smitten with the direst 
 remorse, which was not even mitigated by the 
 cynical temperament of her mind. For the 
 death of Gerald she shed not a single tear — 
 she breathed no word of regret : but for that of 
 her son her grief was more bitter than could 
 possibly have been expected after the long 
 vears of heart-hardening through which she 
 Iiad passed. But she lived on fur several years 
 more, — her reflections constituting a martyrdom 
 which nevertheless was only a too well-de- 
 served punislmient for the cruel abandonment 
 of the olfspring of lier girlhoods illicit love. 
 But from the date of those incidents at the Ma- 
 nor House which brought her secret to light, 
 she never again set foot within the walls tif 
 Oakleigh Church : she never again met Mr. Ar- 
 nec f ice to face. During the last few years of 
 her life, which only terminated recently, she 
 Confined herself almost exclusively to her own 
 chamber at the Manor; for by some means or 
 an<.»tlu;r — most probably from the Colycinths — 
 her story got whispered abroad — it ceased to 
 Mrntiiiue a secret — and she dared not stand the 
 Jiance of encountering even the humblest vil- 
 Hger of Oakleigh who might point to her ns 
 the unnatural mother that had never shown the 
 •lightest care for her son uatil it became too late 
 iu cart for him at all. 
 
 As for Mr. Arden — he continued to reside al 
 Oakleigh ; and though after a time it came Ui 
 his knowledge that rumor was whispering un- 
 pleasant things in respect to the past, yet he 
 never by word or look afforded the slightest evi- 
 dence that he was aware of what was thus said 
 to his disparagement: but n'gularly as the Sal>- 
 baih-day came round, did he a.scend the pulpit 
 and preach in a style as if his own life hail been 
 so stainless and immaculate as to exemplify in 
 himself the value of the precepts which he en- 
 forced. 
 
 Reginald Herbert conducted the beauteous 
 Adela Clive to the altar about six months after 
 the occurrences which have been so fullv detail- 
 ed in the last few chapters. Their union has 
 proved a happy one — their wedded life a scene 
 of felicity as little interrupted by worldly cares 
 as can possibly be the lot of the moat favored 
 of this world's denizens. Some few years after 
 their marriage, the death of his uncle put Regi- 
 nald in posse.ssion of the family title and es- 
 tates ; and, as Lord Stansfield, his conduct in 
 the House of Peers affords a striking and pleas- 
 ing contrast with that of the generality of the 
 haughty and intolerant nobles constituting that 
 branch of the Legislature. 
 
 Sir Archibald Redburn did not livelong after 
 the terrible events which occurred at Middle- 
 ton. For some three or four years he dragged 
 on a miserable existence, taking no pleasure in 
 anything — brooding gloomily over the past — 
 shunning all society — and wasting away physi- 
 cally as the process of a breaking heart con- 
 ducted him towards the grave. Lady Redburn, 
 at first distracted by the death of her son, grad- 
 ually fell into a state of almost complete idi- 
 otcy ; and thus she lived until a year or two 
 back, when she sank out of a state of existence 
 which for a long period had been but a mise 
 rable blank. 
 
 Colonel Wyndham was compelled, by increa- 
 sing pecuniary embarrassments, to leave the 
 Army some two or three years after the tragic 
 occurrence at Middleton : but iu recompense 
 for the “signal services” which he rendered to 
 the cause of “ law and order’’ oy the massacre 
 of the working classes with the bayonets of his 
 troops, the Government found for him a lucrative 
 sinecure appointment ; and some time afterwards 
 the sudden and unexpected death of a noble 
 relative elevated him to the Peerage. He now 
 sits in the House of Lords, and signalizes him- 
 self by the most virulent and rabid oppiisitioo 
 to every measure which has for its object the 
 elevation of the industrious orders. If ever the 
 subject of military flogging be brought up, it is 
 certain to find a staunch and strenuous advocate 
 in him ; and he is ready with a dozen instances 
 to prove that the discipline of the Army could 
 not be maintained without it. But in the oppo- 
 site sense, his memory is conveniently faulty : 
 for he never alludes to the case of Frederick 
 Lonsdide. 
 
 ISeijeiint-Major Langley, having received a 
 little windfall in the shape of a legacy, be- 
 queathed him by a brother who was better ofl' iu 
 the world than himself, retired from the Army 
 and eiiiburked his little capital in a public-house^ 
 situated in one of the not very respectabia 
 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
 
 203 
 
 quarters of Ldndon. He however proved the 
 most constant patron of his own malt and 
 spirituous liquors ; and what with inattention to 
 business through his intemperate habits, and 
 the fierce competition of a rival establishment, 
 Mr. Langley in due time found himself utterly 
 ruined. The brewers and distillers, who held 
 his lease and a warrant of attorney over his 
 goods, took possession of everything — while a 
 Couple of Sheriffs’ officers seized Mr. Langley’s 
 portly person and bore him away to Whitecross- 
 Street Piison. Thence he emerged after awhile 
 by passing through the Insolvents’ Court ; and 
 on thus obtaining his release, he sank down into 
 a very degraded condition, his entire dependetice 
 being the wretched pittance of a pension he 
 received from the Government. He continued 
 for a few years to haunt the tap-room of the 
 public-house where he had once presided as the 
 master ; and there might he have been seen, 
 spending his money freely when he had any — 
 cadging for beer and tobacco when he had none 
 — and telling the most marvellous tales of his 
 travels and his exploits to all who would listen 
 to him. At length he received an unlucky blow 
 on the head from a quart pt)t that was flung in 
 a drunken row ; and being taken to the hospital, 
 he died in a few days. Thus ignominiously 
 perished the once magniloquent and redoubtable 
 Sergeant Langley. 
 
 Lucy and her boy found a home at Clive Hall, 
 and kind friends in those who were so generously 
 interested in their behalf. The death of Mr. 
 Davis shor*ly afterwards, put Lucy in possession 
 of the hop*^ at Coventry where her father had 
 
 dwelt, and which he had purchased, — together 
 with three thousand pounds in ready money 
 She accordingly took up her abode there, to 
 devote herself to the education of her son. But 
 it was destined that the widow and the orphan 
 of the murdered soldier were not much longer 
 to breathe the air of this world : the former had 
 received a shock which it was impossible for 
 one who had loved so tenderly and so well, to' 
 surmount — and the seeds of decline slowly 
 developed themselves on the part of the latter. 
 Three years after Lonsdale’s execution, Lucy 
 was stretched upon the bed of death : but kind 
 friends were there — and in her last moments 
 she was solaced by the assurance of Reginald 
 and Adela that her son should again find a home 
 with them and become the object of their tender 
 care. Alas ! she little thought how soon that 
 well-beloved boy would be laid beside her in 
 the silent grave 1 — she knew not that the hues 
 upon his cheeks were the death-roses of consump- 
 tion ! She expired in the hope thai he might 
 live long to experience a happier destiny than 
 his unfortunate sire had known ; and her 
 remains were consigned to the same grave where 
 her husband lay m the churchyard at Middleton, 
 Within two years from the second 4ate graven 
 on the stone which marked the resting-place o! 
 Frederick and Lucy Lonsdale, the sod was 
 removed again — the earth was thrown up — the 
 pit was hollowed to receive another shrouded 
 slumberer— and a third name was now inscribed 
 upon the head-stone. Need we say whose 
 name it was ? The son lay sleeping with ius 
 parents 1 
 
 \ 
 
 na Bi». 
 
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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 5 
 
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6 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 
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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 
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8 
 
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 The I^ife of Charles Dickens. By 7>r. TT, 
 
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 Twenty Years After 75 
 
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 Forty-five Guardsmen 75 
 
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 Price of a set, In Black Cloth, In five volumes 515 00 
 
 " " “ Full Law Library style 17.50 
 
 “ “ Half Calf, antique 25.00 
 
 “ “ “ Hal f Calf, full gilt back, etc 25.00 
 
 THE SHAKSPEAEE NOVELS. 
 
 Touth of Shakspcare..51 I Shnkspeare and hie 
 
 The Secret Passion ... 1 O') | Friends 1 00 
 
 The three above books are also bound in 1 vol. for 54 CO 
 
 MILITAEY NOVELS. 
 
 with Illuminated Military Covers, In Colors. 
 
 Charles O'Malley 75 Three Guardsmen. 
 
 Jack Hinton 75 
 
 The Knight of Gwynnc...75 
 
 1 1 arry Lorrequ t r 15 
 
 Tom Butke of Ours 75 
 
 Arthur O’Leary 15 
 
 Con Creean 75 
 
 Kate O’Donoghue 7> 
 
 Horace Timpletou 75 
 
 Davenport J>unn 75 
 
 Following the Drum 40 
 
 Valentine Vox 75 
 
 Tv,'in Lieutenants 75 
 
 Stories of Waterloo 75 
 
 The Soldier’s Wife 75 
 
 Guerilla Chief 
 Jack Adam’s Adventures, 
 
 Twenty Years After 
 
 Bragelonnc, Son of Athos 
 Wallace, Hero Scotland. 1 
 Forty-five Guardsmen . . . . 
 Tom Bowling’s Advent’s. 
 
 Life of Robert Brace 
 
 The Gipsy Chief. 
 
 Massacre of Glencoe 
 
 Life of Guv Fawkes 
 
 Child of Waterloo 
 
 Advent’s of Ben Brace... 
 Life of Jack Ariel 
 
 GEORGE LIPPARD’S WORKS. 
 
 The Quaker City; or 
 Monksof Monk Hall. ,51 60 
 
 Paul Ardeuheim 1 50 
 
 Washington and his 
 Generals, or Legends 
 of the Revolution.... 1 60 
 Blanche of Brandywine 1 50 
 Above in cloth $2 each. 
 
 Mysteries of Florence.51 00 
 
 The Empire City 75 
 
 Memoirs of a Preacher.... 75 
 
 The Nazarene.. 76 
 
 Washington and his Men. 75 
 
 Legends of Mexico 50 
 
 The Entranced 25 
 
 Bank Director’s Son 25 
 
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 Thomas Balscomb 75 j Trials of a Governess. . .71 
 
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 Tho Oxonians 50 The Courtier. 
 
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 WADSWORTH’S SERMONS. 
 
 America’s Mission 25 j Thank.'givlng ; a Thanks- 
 
 Thankfulness aud Char- giving Sermon 15 
 
 25 1 rulitlcslii Religion 12 
 
 Henry Ward Beecher nii War and FlmHiicipatloii 15 
 
 Rev. Wllliain T. Brantley’s Union Sermon 15 
 
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 rUty and Wood’s Com- 
 
 leto Hong Book, 10 
 
 lotleon Song Book 10 
 
 nlatloii Melodies 10 
 
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 lUns Ilreltmnnn as an Uhlan, and other New nBlladi..75 
 
 Hans Ilrelimanu’s Party and other Ballndt 73 
 
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 1 opplngthe Quetllo ; or, Tho Belie of the Ball 75 
 
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 Roanokci or, Wbercls Utopia? By C. M. Wiley 75 
 
 J he Crock of Gold. By Martin Farfjnliar Tuiiiier 75 
 
 The Twins and Heart. By Martin Farquhar ■|'iipper. .75 
 Ned Musgrave; or Most Unfortunate .Man In tlie World 75 
 
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 Webster’s and Wayne’s Sjieeches In Reply to Col. Foo.e.7| 
 
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 B iudl'tl of t • Prairie... .75 
 
 Tom Racquet 75 
 
 Salathlel.by Croly 75 
 
 Coriniie.or Italy 75 
 
 Aristocracy 7,5 
 
 Inquisition In Rnain 75 
 
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 Wiltehall J5 
 
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 Ocnevra 73 
 
 Nothins to Say 75 
 
 Father Clement. cloth 75 
 
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 Life of Ocn. P. II. Sheridan. Clo*li 5L00; paper 75 cts- 
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 Twelve .Montlii of .Matrimony., Uv Emllle F. Carlen,,ri 
 
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 Diary of a Physician 50 
 
 Ella .“Stratford 50 
 
 Josephine 50 
 
 Robert Oaklands 50 
 
 Abednego, Morey I.ci dcr 50 
 Female I.lleln New York/.O 
 
 Aynes Grey 50 
 
 Bell Brandon 60 
 
 Beautiful French Girl. ...50 
 
 Moreton Hall 50 
 
 Jenny Ambrose .50 
 
 Admiral’s Daughter ill 
 
 The Emigrant Squire.. ..61 
 
 The Orphan Sisters 55 
 
 Greatest Plague of Life. .55 
 
 The Two Lovers 65 
 
 Fortune Hunter Ill 
 
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 Alllcford .M 
 
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 Violet 15 
 
 Life of Gen. McClellan. .. 19 
 
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 Mysterlesof a Convent... 25 
 
 The Deformed 25 
 
 Two Frima Donnas 26 
 
 Mysterious Marriage 25 
 
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 Charles Ransford 25 
 
 Abbey of Innismoyle 25 
 
 Gllddon’s Ancient Egypt. 2.5 
 Life of Bishop Hughes... 25 
 Life of General Butler... .25 
 
 The Sower’s Reward ’Ji 
 
 The Woman In Grey Hi 
 
 Msteriesof Bedlam 
 
 Book of Ghost Stories.... Iti 
 
 The Iron Cross 7Jt3 
 
 The l.adies’ Etiquette.. ..W 
 PhlMplnSearchofa WIfe.Sfl 
 Nobleman’s Daughter.... 15 
 
 Rifle Shots 35 
 
 Life of General Meade. ...25 
 G. F. Train &the Fenlans.Sa 
 
 Aunt Margaret’s Trouble. By Chas. DickenB’Daughter.26 
 
 Madison’s Exposition of Odd Fellowship 515 
 
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 Adventures of Don Quixote and S^neho Panza #1 00 
 
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 Southern Life 1 00 | Gen. Scott’s Portrait.. 1 00 
 
 Tangarua, a Poem 1 00 1 Henry Clay’s Portrait. 1 00 
 
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 U.S. Light Infantry Drill. 25 1 
 U. S. Government Infan- 
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 Elleworih's Zouave Drlll.25 
 The Soldier’s Compauion.fii 
 The Soldier’s Guide 25 
 
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 Odd Fellowship Exposed. 13 
 Sons of Malta Exposed... I3 
 Life of Rev. John MulF.t.l3 
 Dr. Berg on Jesuits 13 
 
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 Archbishop Hughes... IS 
 
 Train and Hughes 10 
 
 Train on Slavery 10 
 
 Arthur’s Receipts for Preserving Fruits, etc IS 
 
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 'I'hes Pens arc recommended to all, being preferred to 
 the old fashioned quill pen, for easy writing. Try them. 
 
 Sabsoribo to Fetorsons’ Counterfeit Detector and National Bank Note List, a valuable Business 
 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
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 Soldier's wile / by G W M Reynolds 
 
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