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 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
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 MARY P E I C E ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 \f 1 
 
 THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 0( 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MOXniSK's SECRET. 
 
 WiTn my earliest recollections are associated the 
 l<iii(l :md loviiif,' ways of K'ood and aftcdinnate 
 Varents; and althou{jh they were poor, they main- hard-working man 
 No. 1 
 
 taincd themselves in a respectable position. My 
 father was a journeymaii-oarpenter ; and from al\ 
 that I h.ive over learnt, as well as from tlio many 
 circmustaiicis impressed upon my iiiomory, ho 
 nuiot have been a very steady, temperate, and 
 That he was devotedly at-
 
 HABT PBICE; OB, THE MEMOIBS OF A SEBVAXT-HAID. 
 
 tacheii to my mother I have likewise the best 
 possible reason to know; and that our little home 
 was to all appeai-ance one of the happiest in the 
 town of Ashforii, there could be no doubt. My 
 mother was a very handsome woman, with fine 
 dark hair and eyes, pale countenance, and a some- 
 what pensive if not positively melancholy expres- 
 sion. I remember, too, that she had a very fine 
 set of teeth ; and unlike most parents in humble 
 life, she was very particular in making me, my 
 brothers, and my sisters, also take care of our 
 teeth. Amongst rcy girlish memories is likewise 
 blended the fact that my father used frequently to 
 lau^h, in a good-humoured way, at the "genteel 
 notions" which his wife endeavoured to instil into 
 our minds ; and on more occasions than one did I 
 hear the neighbours' wives speak of my mother as 
 being "the lady- like Mrs. Price," or as "the 
 genteel wife of tiie ciirpenter." 
 
 Certain it is that my mother took very great 
 paius to bring up myself, my brothers, and sisters, 
 as tenderly aud as respectably as she could. She 
 taught us to read and write — gave us lessons in 
 arithmetic, history, and geography — and imparted 
 to us an amount of instructiou which would alone 
 be sufficient to prove that she was a very superior 
 woman, considering her station as the wife of a 
 humble journeyman-carpenter. Siie would nut 
 allow us to go to the Charity School, nor could she 
 afford to let us attend any other school : but 
 she took a pride iu teaching us herself — and very 
 competent she was to do it. That onr father 
 experienced the most affectionate gratitude to- 
 wards her for the exemphry manner in which she 
 thus sought to train us, was natural enough ; and 
 with the happiest reminiscences of my early years 
 are mingled those scenes of domestic bliss when 
 seated at the cottage-portico on the summer 
 evening, or before the cheerful fire on the winter's 
 night, my father would take us upon his knees and 
 bid us always love aud be good unto the kind 
 mother who kept us so neat and clean and taught 
 us so many good things. Yet do I likewise re- 
 member that sometimes a sort of damp was thrown 
 over these scenes by the deepening of the pensive- 
 ness of my mother's looks — or even by the actual 
 trickling of tears down her cheeks ; aud then my 
 father would beseech her to tell him whether she 
 was unhappy— and if so, the reason wliy. But 
 without giving him any direct answer, so far as 
 I can remember, she would start from her si at, 
 fling her arms about his neck, and exclaim, 
 " Dearest Robert, you are the kindest and best 
 of husbands ! how can I be otherwise than ha;)py ?" 
 Regularly at an early hour in the morning did 
 my father go to his work, always seeming ciieerful 
 and in good spirits; and when he returned home to 
 his dinner at mid-day, or came b:ick from work in 
 the evening, he was ever in the same biyihe mood. 
 The neighbours used to say that Robert Price was 
 the best-looking, the most contented, and the most 
 industrious man iu the town; and if ever Mr. 
 Matthews, the master for whom he worked, called 
 at our cottaq^e. he was sure to compliment my 
 mother on the neatness and cleanliness with which 
 sj\e kept it. Every Sunday moruing we went to 
 clmrch; and though it was but a poor working 
 man's family, yet I recollect full well many little 
 incidents which prove that we wore taken notice of 
 by the richer folk, and tha'. the Prices' childreu as 
 
 well as their parents were held up as a pattern aud 
 an example to their neighbours. 
 
 I have en'.ered into all these particulars that my 
 readers may understand the good influences under 
 which the earlier portion of my life and that of my 
 brothers and sisters was passed. And here I should 
 observe that we were five children in all — two bro- 
 thers and three sisters. Robert (so named after our 
 father) was the eldest: I cama next: William was 
 the third;— and then Sarah and Jane. From the 
 youngest to the eldest we averaged two years be- 
 tween each other; and thus when Robert (the eldest) 
 was thirteen years old, I was eleven, and the youngest 
 was five. I have mentioned these particular ages 
 because it was just at this period of our lives that 
 an incident occurred which I must here record. 
 
 One forenoon, our father being at work as usual, 
 we were all seated round the table receiving the 
 wonted instruction from our mother, when she sud- 
 denly gave vent to an ejaculation which frightened 
 us all and made us look quickly round towards the 
 window on which our mother's eyes were setiled at 
 the time. In a tone strangely peremptory, however, 
 and indeed most unusually abrupt and cross for her, 
 she exclaimed, "Look at your books!" — and ever 
 accustomed to yield ready obedience to our parents, 
 we at once threw our eyes back again upon the 
 lessons we were learning. But the glance which I 
 and (as it subsequently appeared) Robert also had 
 thrown round at the time, was quick enough to 
 catch the counteuaaca of some gentleman just at 
 the instant it was vauishing from the window; and 
 it struck me that his rudeness in staring in had 
 startled my mother and made her cry out. But I 
 recollect full well that my heart swelled at the 
 monient and was ready to burst at the sharp angry 
 manner in which she had spoken to ua ; and 
 perhaps she saw the impression her words and 
 manner had thus made : for she almost imme- 
 diately said, " Cheer up, Mary dear. I did not mean 
 to scold you, nor yet any of you." Tnen rising 
 abruptly tr>im her seat, she hastily kissed us all 
 round — told us to mind aud sit still till she came 
 back— aud went out, saying she should only be a 
 minute or two. Thus, without stopping to put oa 
 bonnet or shawl, she issued forth, closing the door 
 behind her. 
 
 I know not how it was, or what impulsive or 
 iustinctivo feeling could have beea stirring within 
 me — being only eleven years old at the time— but 
 sure enough it is that I experienced a certain sen- 
 sation like a tightening at the heart, as if I had 
 become suddenly aware that something was wrong, 
 though what it was I could not conjecture. The 
 same misgiviug had struck Rjbert; and creeping 
 rouiid to me, he whispered, ■' Mary dear, did yoa 
 see how odd mother looked when siie went out?" 
 
 "Hush!" whispered I: "we must not talk on 
 those things — we ought not even tc see them. 
 Beside.-!, you were told not to leave your seat, 
 
 Robert " 
 
 " But I feel as if something bad was going to 
 happen," he answered in a low and mournful voice, 
 " Did you see that gentleman who looked in at the 
 window ?" 
 
 " Yes," I replied. " I suppose it was some rude 
 person staring in upon us." 
 
 " I don't know," said Robert in a strange tone 
 and also with a peculiar look. •' I have seen that 
 gentleman once before look in at the window io
 
 MABY price; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 just the same way ; and then mother went out as 
 she has done 7iow.'" 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and Robert 
 instantaneously jjUded back to his seat— but not 
 80 quickly as to escape the notice of our mother 
 as she re-entered the cottage. I glanced around 
 instinctively. She was pale — deadly pale — and, 
 Oh ! so sad-looking, at the moment she appeared 
 on the threshold : but the very next instant, as she 
 , caught sight of Robert speediug back to his seat 
 j the colour rushed to her checks again and mounted 
 I up to her very forehead. Her eyes also seemed 
 ' to brighten up — or rather to flash in a manner 
 I had never noticed before ; and indeed I was 
 80 frightened at this sudden change in her man- 
 ner, that I hastily turned my head again and 
 kept my eyes fixed on my lesson-book. It seemed 
 to me as if I had suddenly beheld my mother in a 
 new light— as if all in a moment something had 
 been revealed to me which raised up a vague and 
 unknown uneasiness in my mind, shaking as it were 
 the sublime faith which I had previously held in her 
 perfection. It may easily be supposed, indeed, 
 how strong was the impression which this scene 
 made upon my mind, since I am able so accurately 
 to describe it now. 
 
 Returniug to her seat, my mother proceeded to 
 hear us say our lessons as usual. As I stood 
 before her with my book in my hand, I raised my 
 eyes timidly up to her countenance ; and I could 
 not help noticing that she looked at mo in return, 
 not with the same placid affectionate gaze as was 
 her wont, but in a manner which I scarcely com- 
 prehended then, but which I am now able to 
 describe as the quick, keen, searching glance of 
 uneasiness. However, she said nothing at the 
 time ; but when the usual routine of the morning's 
 instruction was over, she bade William, Sarah, 
 and Jane go out and play in the little front garden, 
 keeping Robert and mj'self in the room with her. 
 Then, as soon as he and I were thus alone with 
 her, she drew us towards her — and looking ns 
 both steadfastly in the face, said, " My dear 
 children, I am going to ask js*:? something, and I 
 know you will tell me the truth." She paused ; 
 and then added in a tremulous tone, "Robert, 
 what were you doing out of your seat ? — or rather, 
 what had you been saying to Mary, while I went 
 out for a minute or two?" 
 
 "Nothing, mother," answered Robert with an 
 effrontery which absolutely startled me : for though 
 on some previous occasions I had seen prool^ of 
 great boldness on my eldest brother's part — a bold- 
 ness, too, for which he had been blamed — I was 
 not prepared to see him adopt such a very bold 
 and daring attitude as this. 
 
 "Now, Robert, you are telling me a story, and 
 this is very wicked of you :" then turning to me, 
 my mother said, " You, dear little Mary, will tell 
 rac ihn truth. "What was Robert doing out of his 
 place?" 
 
 " Ho came and whispered to me that he had 
 seen a gontlcman looking in at the window," was 
 the answer which I returned in spite of the 
 threatening shake of the htad that Robert gave 
 at the moment: "and 1 told him that I had like- 
 wise seen the gentleman. Then ho said ho had 
 seen that same gentleman look in once before, and 
 you went out then as you did to-day. But don't 
 be angry with Robert, mother." 
 
 " No," was her calm reply : and yet it struck 
 me at the moment that a strange expression, which 
 I can now understand to have been one of an 
 excruciating anguish that she sought to subdue, 
 passed over her countenance : " I will not be angry 
 with him— I have no right to be angry with him ! 
 But listen to me, my dear children. That gentle- 
 man" — and here she raised her handkerchief to 
 her eyes for a moment, and I caught a sound like 
 a stifled sob — " that gentleman," she almost imme- 
 diately continued, but in a strange voice that well 
 nigh terrified me, " came to deliver some message 
 of no very great consequence. But do not tell 
 your father that you saw him. Now promise me, 
 Robert — and you too, little Mary— that you will 
 not think any more of this circumstanee ; and at 
 all events that you will not say a word about it. 
 Remember it is your own mother who asks it." 
 
 " Oh ! I will forget it this moment," I exclaimed, 
 throwing myself upon her bosom and winding my 
 arms around her neck. 
 
 Robert too, much moved and no doubt sorry for 
 the falsehood he had told, joined in this tender 
 scene; and our mother strained us both to her 
 breast with a degree of emotion which was really 
 the vent she sought for feelings that had been pro- 
 foundly stirred. Again and again did she thus 
 embrace us, appearing even to mourn and sorrow 
 over us, and calling us her " dear, dear children," 
 in a tone that struck me at the time, young as I 
 wa?, as having something ominous in it and fraught 
 with apprehensions of coming evil. 
 
 Tiie incident which I have just related made a 
 deep impression upon me; but Robert soon ap- 
 peared to have forgotten it altogether. Indeed, 
 there can be no possible harm, considering all 
 that has since occurred in my here mentioning 
 that Robert had atread v given evidence of a call jus, 
 indifferent, and even perverse disposition. He was 
 as yet loo young to be actually heartless, and had not 
 come sufiiciently in contact with the world to de- 
 velope any of those bad qualities the germs of which 
 existed within him : but he was not even then alto- 
 gether so good a lad as he ought to have been ; and 
 in the same way that the reader has just seen him 
 utter a bold falsehood in order to avoid an ex- 
 pected scolding, did he frequently conueal his 
 boyish misdeeds by an audacious denial. At least 
 this began to be particularly the case during the 
 two or three years that followed the incident which 
 I have just related; and once when I remonstrated 
 with him for having told wliat I knew to be an un- 
 truth, he said in a dogged tone of retort, " Well, 
 mother once told us jiot to tell something to father, 
 and that's a sort of falsehood; so that I am only 
 doing for myself what she made me do for her." 
 
 This answer affected me strangely. It all in a 
 moment opened my eyes to something which I had 
 suspected but dimly and vaguely before. I said 
 to myselt; " Could it possibly be that my mother 
 was doing something wrong on that occasion, and 
 that she really sought to conceal it from my 
 father? No— it is impossible. She is all good- 
 ness — all virtue : she would not do anything wrong 
 for tho world. Everybody says she is tlie best of 
 wives ; and I know she is tho best of mothers." 
 
 Thus did I reason with myself. And yet I was 
 not convinced. My confidence in the perhiction 
 of that mother whom 1 loved so tenderly, was no.v 
 fur more aeriously shaken than at the time whea
 
 t 
 
 !\uy PiHCE; OU, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEBVAST-MAU). 
 
 the occurrence itaelf took place. Robert's words 
 had sunk deep into my soul; and I had attained an 
 afje, being now nbout fourteen, when they were 
 indeed full well calculated to make such a vivid im- 
 pres-iion upon me and set me a-thinking: most 
 seriously and also most sadly. Yet of what did I 
 su-ipect my mother? to what did my misgivings 
 seem to point? I knew not. Too inexperienced 
 to be able to give form and substance to my own 
 thoughts, I felt uneasy without comprehending 
 the cause of this uneasiness : suspicion was gra- 
 dually gathering strength in my breast ; and yet 
 I knew not what I suspected nor even what there 
 possibly could be to suspect. But still I felt un- 
 happy ; and being even from my tenderest years 
 of a pensive disposition, I thought much in secret 
 on the subject that thus troubled me. 
 
 Nevertheless, when at other times I gazed upon 
 that handsome but pale countenance, with it:> 
 mingled expression of goodness and melancholy — 
 or when I listened to the words of instruction and 
 the inculcations of religion that flowed from 
 my mother's lips — and when I beheld her kneeling 
 by my father's side in the fine old church, listening 
 to the syllables of hope and life which came from 
 the eloqueut preacher's tongue — I said to myself, 
 "Yes, my mother is indeed the best of women! 
 She did nothing wrong and meant nothing wrong, 
 when she bade her children keep that secret from 
 her husband." 
 
 In this manner did I endeavour to reassure my- 
 self: but more frequently still did I feel the sus- 
 picions and misgiviugs settling themselves upon 
 my miud, even to the dethronement of those argu- 
 ments wherewith I sought to compel and constrain 
 a belief in the purity and Innocence of my mother's 
 intention relative to the secret which she had so 
 earnestly eojoiaed Bobert and me to keep. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE LETTER WITH THE BUCB. SUAL. 
 
 I WAS now a little past fifteen years' of age. Robert 
 was over seventeen ; and thougli bearing a strong 
 reseuihlance to our mother, was yet not a pood- 
 looking iad. There was something sinister in his 
 looks ; and when he was speaking, an unpleasant 
 feeling would aiise in the mind that he was not 
 telling the truth — or at all events that duplicity and 
 artifice were in his laogu:ige and his intentions. 
 Not that he had dons anything at all serious in the 
 way of misconduct : but, as I have before stateJ, ' 
 he maifilestiid a great disregar'd for truth ; aud I t 
 may now add that he was neither so industrious j 
 nor 80 steady as ho ought to have been. Our fa- ; 
 ther had got him apprenticed to Mr. Matthews, j 
 the master for whom he worked ; but amongst the 
 jouriieymtin in the same employ, they were not all 
 so ateady aud regular in their habits as our father; 
 and unfortunately Robert preferred the company 
 that was least calculated to benefit him. My mo- 
 ther frequently remonstrated with him,— pointing 
 outiiie value of good habits aud an honest charac- 
 ter as evidenced in the example of our tathcr ; and 
 showing how irrcfjularity of conduct was certain to 
 undergo opprobrium and rcproacli, as in the case 
 of two very wicked fellows, named Bulldog and 
 Sawbridge, who were the sc tndal and nuisance 
 
 ot the whole town. But despite the gentle though 
 earnest remonstrances of our mother, Robert's 
 C'lilousness evidently gained ground ; and he either 
 made no answer to her representations or else 
 walked indifferently away. His father did not 
 seem to take so much notice of his little acts of 
 irregularity or unsteadiness: or if he did, he set 
 them down to the inexperience of youth and con- 
 tented himself with the belief that any tendency to 
 wildness, manifested at such an age, would in flue 
 time wear away. 
 
 My brother William, who at the period of which 
 I am now writing was thirteen years old, was very 
 different from Robert in many respects. Bearing 
 however the same striking resemblance to our mo- 
 ther, he possessed all the openness and frankness 
 of her countenance. Tall for his age, slightly 
 built, and of a somewhat delicate appearance, he 
 was a most interesting boy— affectionate, kind- 
 hearted, and of generous disposition— moreover, a 
 sincere lover of the truth. His intelligence was 
 likewise greater than that of Robert; and though 
 four years younger tiiaa his elder brother, hn was 
 much a-head of him in all mental acquirements. 
 William was indeed a most promising child even 
 from his earUest years; and when attired in his 
 neat Sunday apparel, I have heard t:ie remark fre- 
 quently whispered, "That is young William Price: 
 what a genteel boy for a carpi;uter's son !" 
 
 My sister Sarah, at this tiuie eleven years old, 
 was a, beautiful girl, the miniature image of hie 
 mother. Nothing could e.vceed the luxuriance of 
 her blac'ij hair: romance-writers would speak of 
 its silken softness and its raven glossiness : but 
 without any exaggeration I mean to say it was the 
 finest hair tliat ever formed an ebon croivu fur one of 
 our sex. Ker eyes too were wonJrausly hue. And 
 here I am Lkewise avoiding auj thing like extreme 
 e.xpressioas ; but when 1 declare thc-.t in !io ciiild 
 of eleven years old did I over see eyes so large, so 
 black, aud so softly bright as those of my sister 
 Sarah, I am only teliiug the plain truth. Her sym- 
 metry for a child of her age was perfect : her fea- 
 tures had the Grecian outline— her hands aud feet 
 were delicate to a degree. In a word, she gave 
 promise of grotviug ui» into a beautiful gir), and if 
 permitted to live, of expanding iuto a splendid 
 womanhood. 
 
 As for the youngest of us all, little Jane— then 
 nine years old — she was a fa*, chubby, blue-eyed, 
 brown-haired girl, w.th a certain distant resemblance 
 to the mother, hut with all the distinctive fe:itures 
 resembling those of the father. Good-natured, gay, 
 anil happy, she was always the darling (as the 
 youngest, it was her right to be) of the family ; and 
 It is iiupossihle to conceive a greater contrast be- 
 tween two sisters than that which existed between 
 this cherub-looking Jane and the serious, selfish, 
 vain, and prideful Sarah— for all this my sister 
 assuredly was, even in her girlhootl! 
 
 And now that I have so fully introduced my 
 parents and my brothers and sisters to the Reader, 
 perhaps he will wish to know something concerning 
 myself. At the age and under the circumstances 
 which I am thus penning my autobiography, it may 
 be permitted for me to say, without the imputation 
 of vanity, that I was cousidered to be a good-looking 
 girl, in the same style as my mother and sister 
 Sarah: that is, with dark hair and eyes, very litlie 
 colour upon the cheeks, and somewhat delicate *««-
 
 MARY PRICE ; Oft, THE lIEMOInS Oi' A SERVANT-JlAID. 
 
 tures. 1 have already hinted that through the care 
 of our mother we possessed good teeth ; and I was 
 not an exception to this rule. As for my stature, 
 when I grew up to womanhood I was what is termed 
 above the middle height and the least thing inclined 
 to be stout. But enough, at least for the present, 
 of any details relative to .my personal appearance; 
 and I now resume the thread of my narrative. 
 
 One day — and never, never can I cease tliinking 
 of that memorable day — William, Sarali, Jane, and 
 myself were seated with our mother in the neat little 
 parlour of our cottage. It was about eleven in the 
 forenoon; and William was reading while the rest 
 of us were engaged with the needle. Suddenly we 
 heard my brother Robert's voice in altercation with 
 someone outside the dwelling: and listening, the 
 words *' Give me the letter, 1 say !" fell upon our 
 ears. My mother immediatt-ly gave vent to an eja- 
 culation as if struck by a sudden idea; and flinging 
 down her work, s-he hastened out of the cottage. It 
 was summer-time ; and the front door stood open. 
 I looked round witlioiit moving from my seat : for 
 I felt a presentiment that this was some new phase 
 in the history oi my mother's secret — and not for 
 worlds would I have given her pain by any display 
 of impertinent curiosity. I saw Robert, in his 
 working-dress and with his brown pajier cap upon 
 his iiead, holding by the collar a short, thick-set, 
 half-loutish, half-idiot youth who did odd jobs about 
 the outskirts of the town and was known as Mad 
 Tommy. This individual, who was about twenty 
 j'ears of ape and dressed in coarse, dirty, and patched 
 corduroy, vvas gazing with an air of stolid and yet 
 savage defiance at Robert, wiio again shook him 
 violently, crying, " Then you won't give me the 
 letter — eh ? But here's mother herself'" 
 
 " For shame, Robert — unhand the poor fellow," 
 ehe said; "why did you mole.-:t hira ?" 
 
 "I met him here at the gate," replied Robert 
 sullenly, "and ;i!-ked him what he wanted. He 
 said he had got a letter for you. I told him 
 to give it to me, and I would take it in to you. 
 He declared he would do no su-'h thing — that 
 lie would not trust me with it " 
 
 " No more I would," exclaimed Mad Temmy : 
 "not likely — not likely I" and he rubbed his hands, 
 at the same time giving a cunning leer at my 
 mother. 
 
 " Enough, enough '." she liastened to exclaim in 
 a tone and manner which I could not help ob- 
 serving were both alike full of trepidation: but 
 suddenly assuming a conciliatory and caressing 
 voice, she said, "Now, Mr. Thomas, what have 
 you got for me? Give it to me; and here is 
 something for you;"— at the same time taking a 
 small silver coin from her pocket. 
 
 " No, no — not likely, not likely I" exclaimed the 
 idiot, shaking his head with a look of what may be 
 termed vacant knowingness. " The gentleman 
 told me to be sure and not take anything for 
 bringing up the letter, and also to mind and 
 not tirop it in the gutter— or forget it ' 
 
 " Well, well, give it to me," said my poor .noihcr, 
 evidently suffering the excruciation of a strange 
 and wild uneasiness, which was nevertheless all the 
 more poignant because she sought to conceal 
 it ; for the eye of her eldest son — then a youth of 
 past sevenleou and keenly alive to suspicion — was 
 tixed upon her with a gaze full of doubt and 
 mistrusts 
 
 Iliad Tommy handed l-.er a letter sealed witn 
 black wax, and then quickly turning on his heel, 
 darted away, shouting, "Not likely, not likely that 
 I should go taking anything for my trouble— not 
 likely, not likely !" 
 
 Meanwhile my mother, having taken the letter 
 in her hand, hastily thrus; it into her bosom; and 
 then looking up at Robert, she said in a low 
 tremulous voice, " What brought you horns from 
 your work before the usual hour ?" 
 
 "I came to fetch something that father wants," 
 was the answer. " But what is the matter with 
 you, mother?" he inquired, looking so fixedly at 
 her that I thought to myself this was the most 
 cruel display of inconsiderateness and want of 
 feeing on his part towards her, that I had ever yet 
 ob-ierved. 
 
 "What is the matter with me?" she repeated in 
 her own sweet soft voice, hut which now seemed to 
 bear in its tone the vibrations which came direct 
 from her heart's core. " Nothing — nothing is the 
 matter with me:" — then, after a few moments' 
 hesitation and speaking with a vi:-ible effort as 
 if conquering a repugnance, she said, " This letter, 
 Robert, is from a dear friend, but one whom your 
 father likes not. It will be doing me a service no: to 
 notice before him that I have received this letter." 
 
 " I am sure I don't want to betray your secrets, 
 mother, if you will keep mine," said Robert, in a 
 rude and dogged manner. "Therefore, if you do 
 happen to see me go into the Three Bells again, 
 mind you d'^n't tell father of it, as you did last 
 Siturday night— or else I shall let the cat out 
 of the bag in return about your letter, so as to 
 have tit for tat." 
 
 "Robert— this from t/o«.'" exclaimed— nay, al- 
 most shrieked our mother; and I saw her step 
 back a pace or two as if struck with a sudden blow 
 of a hammer : then she stood gazing in the stupor 
 of amazement at Robert, as if she dared not 
 believe and yet knew not how to doubt the evi- 
 dence of her own ears and eyes. 
 
 *'Lor, mother, d-in't be foolish now," he said 
 with a look of indifference, slightly tainted with 
 scorn: "we don't want any sentimental nonsense 
 now. A bargain's a bargain : you receive your 
 letters on the sly, and I'll go to the public-house 
 on the sly— but we won't tell sf each other." 
 
 "Good heavens! is it possible you can speak to 
 me thus?' exclaimed my poor mother, joining her 
 hands in despair. 
 
 But Robert took no farther notice of her : on 
 the contrary, he entered the house, procured some 
 tool which he had come to fetch, and was is-suing 
 forth again, when his mother, who was now stand- 
 ing upon the threshold, said to hira in a low plain- 
 tive voice, " Have you forgotten, Robert, all the 
 tenderness I have had for you— all the love I have 
 shown you — all the devoted care I have bestowed 
 upon you ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't deny it," he answered in a voice 
 of positive brutality : "but I am no longer a child 
 — I am a young man now, and I mean to let you 
 know it too. So I shall go to the Three Bell:: when 
 I chouse and smoke my pipe ; and yuu will tell 
 father tiiat you sent me on an errand. If you 
 don't, then out shall come all about the gentleman 
 looking in at the window three or four years i'^o, 
 and your goiniT out to him — then this letter buiii- 
 oess now "
 
 MAKY PBICE ; OB, THE MEMOIES OP A SEEVAMT-MAID. 
 
 "Robert, Robert, what have you done?"' I ex- 
 claimed, darting from my seat as I beheld our poor 
 mother suddenly stagger on the threshold of the 
 door; and the next moment, just as I was about to 
 extend my arms to save her, she fell headlong. 
 
 Her brow came in violent contact with the little 
 red brick pathway leading from the front door to 
 the wicket-gate of the garden — and there she lay 
 senseless. All was now horror and confusion in 
 the house. Robert, doubtless conscience-striciien 
 for what he had done, hastily helped me to raise 
 her: but poor William, spiinging ibiwarJ, pushed 
 his elder brother aside, exclaiming bitterly, "O 
 Robert, Robert I it is you who have done this !" — 
 and then, while the tears poured down the gene- 
 rous boy's countenance, he assisted me to convey 
 our still seuocless parent into the bedroom, Sarah 
 and little Jane following us in consternation. 
 
 There was a large contus on on my mother's 
 forehead, and an abrasion of the skin: bat no 
 blood came. I bathed her head with vinegar-ai«d- 
 water, and still life returned not. I tore open her 
 dress, from which the letter fell at my feet: but 
 there I let it lay, having no thought for anything 
 save my dear beloved parent. Lifn was not extinct 
 ^for her lips quivered slightly; and a pulsation, 
 feeble though it, were, was felt at the heart. Vainly 
 however did I give her air — vainly continue to 
 bathe her head and hold vinegar to her nostrils: 
 she still lay senseless upon the coucii. William 
 was well nigh distracted ; and yet he vented no 
 more reproaches upon Robert, who stood by evi- 
 dently a prey to remorse. Poor little Jane was 
 now crying bitterly, while Sarah endeavoured to 
 console her. As for my own feelings, they can be 
 better imagined than described — although, as I 
 have ere now said, I had no leisure for thought : 
 yet it was in a state bordering upon frenzied ex- 
 citement that I continued my attentions towards 
 the still inanimate form of my mother. 
 
 "You must go for Mr. Collins," said I, meaning 
 the surgeon : and away sped both William and 
 Robert at the same time. 
 
 About ten minutes now elapsed, and still my mo- 
 ther continued insensible. Yet I knew she was not 
 dead, because there was an occasional twitching of 
 the lip and quivering of the closed eyelid.'*. I could 
 also feel the beating of her heart, but feeble as 
 that cf aa infant. Forgotten was the letter — the 
 unfortunate letter— which lay at my feet: but 
 through the tumultuous crowd of my agonizing 
 ideas, penetrated as it were distinct and poignant 
 the sense of all the heartless cruelty of Robert's 
 conduct towards that parent who had loved him so 
 tenderly and so well. 
 
 At the expiration of the ten minutes Robert 
 came back accompanied by our fatlier, who was 
 already dreadfully agitated at the tidings he had 
 heard, and who i!ow became almost frantic when 
 he found that his beloved wife was still wrapt in a 
 trance that so near approximated unto that of 
 death. 
 
 " Where is William ? Is Mr. Collins comiog ?" 
 I demanded, in the intense haste of anguished ex- 
 citement. 
 
 "William is gone for him," answered Robert ; 
 "while 1 went and fetched father." 
 
 " O God ! spare my dear, dear wife !" was now 
 the cry which went thrilliugly forth from the lips 
 of my father as he bent over the still inanimate 
 
 form of her whom he loved. " Open your eye»— 
 speak — look up at me — say that you know me 
 O heavens ! give some sign of life — depart not 
 thus — 'tis I, your husbami, who implore you to 
 look up at him 1" — and then my distracted father 
 covered the marble countenance of my mother 
 with his wild and passionate caresses. 
 
 "Father, dear father," I ventured to murmur, 
 halt mad with grief thouijh I was, "tiiis is not the 
 way to recover her ! Let me continue to bathe 
 
 her forehead until Mr. Collins comes Ah! 
 
 thank heaven, here he is T' 
 
 For at the moment William returned, accom- 
 panied by the worthy and kind-heartid surgeon, 
 who immediately proceeded to open a vein in my 
 mothers arm. A dead silence now prevailed in 
 the room — a silence awful in the suspense wiiere- 
 with it seemed to be laden. And there did we 
 all stand arouad, with gaze intently fixed upon 
 the surgeon's countenance — watching each fea- 
 ture, each line, each lineament, for the slightest 
 e.'cpression that might give some assurance of 
 hope. For myself, I know that my very breath 
 was suspended: my heart had as it were ceased to 
 beat— the blood felt as if it were suddenly struck 
 stagnant in my veins — yet not frozen, for it burnt 
 with a torturing sensation. 
 
 "There is hope," said Mr. Collins, at length 
 breaking the awful silence : "indeed, there is every 
 hope," he added, as the blood flowed freely from 
 my mother's arm : and in less than another minute 
 she began to give short quick gaspings, as if re- 
 turning animation was accompanied by a sense of 
 pain. 
 
 In a few minutes more she opened her eyes 
 feebly and slowly : but they beamed not with the 
 rays of consciousness, though with the light of life 
 — and she almost immediately closed them again. 
 Shudderingly I whispered a brief and harried 
 query in the doctor's ear. 
 
 « Wi!l she live ?" I asked. 
 
 "1 hope so— I believe so," he replied emphati- 
 cally. " Life is returning quickly :" then after 
 another interval of a few minutes, although the pa- 
 tient's eyes still remained closed, he gave still 
 more cheering and positive assurances. 
 
 " Tell me, Mary," said my father, now drawing 
 me a little aside and speaking in a low whisper, 
 "how this happened. Robert gave me some har- 
 ried particulars ; but I was too excited to under- 
 stand them, I however recollect that he said 
 something about having had a few words with bis 
 mother about a letter; but he begged me not to 
 
 say anything about it before her Ah I what 
 
 is this?" — and advancing towards the bed, my 
 father stooped down and picked up the letter ou 
 which his eyes had that moment settled. 
 
 " Fdther, you will not read it ?" I said, laying my 
 hand upon his as he was about to break the black 
 seal : for at the instant a presentiment of evil 
 pierced through me like an electric shock from 
 head to foot, and I believe that I must have looked 
 with deprecating and frightened regard up into 
 his countenance. 
 
 " Wily not, Mary ?" he asked with a sort of half 
 smile, as if the bare idea of not opening the letter 
 were too ridiculous to be entertained seriously. 
 " Your mother and I have no secrets from each 
 other — we never have had— and you may depend 
 upon it that she would have shown me this letter
 
 HARF price; OE, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEEVAXT-MAID. 
 
 of her own accord the moment I returned, if this 
 sad occurrence had not taken place :" — and he 
 glanced towards the bed. 
 
 I felt assured that my mother would not have 
 shown him the letter: but I dared not say so. 
 Nor could I any farther urge him not to open it. 
 No — nor was there even time to do so, if I had 
 been disposed ; for the seal was already brcal:ing 
 between his fingers — the letter was unfolding — 
 and now, stepping towards the window, he began 
 to run iiis eyes over its contents. 
 
 Heavens 1 how can I find words to describe the 
 scene which followed? — how can I describe the 
 awful change that suddenly seized upon my father ? 
 What words are strong enough to pourtray the 
 wild look of incredulity which he first flung upon 
 that letter— then the expression of profound horror 
 into which this look deepened the next moment- 
 then the blank, the unutterable despair which 
 succeeded, rendering his countenance wh'te and 
 ghastly, making him stagger back aud press his 
 hand upon his heart, while tlie ejaculation of 
 " O God I O God !" rose to his lips, but fell faint 
 and low therefrom. 
 
 All this dreadful scene — all these quick tran- 
 sitions of meotal agony — took place iu less than 
 half a minute, while I was staadin;^ by paralysed 
 with dread horror. Suddenly inspired with the 
 energy of desperation, I was about to put some 
 question to my father, when advancing towards 
 the couch, he pushed the doctor abruptly aside, 
 and then stood gazing for a few moments with a 
 strange and unnatural stedfastness upon the coun- 
 tenance of his wife. I had followed him mechani- 
 cally from the window to the bed ; and methought, 
 young as I was, that I could read in his blank 
 despairing looks a portion of the agony that was 
 torturing his soul. I faucied indeed that he was 
 contemplatinif my mother with the forlorn and 
 appalled air of oue who, having a veil suddenly 
 torn from his eyes and enabled to read some fear- 
 ful secret, keeps asking himself, "Is it possible? 
 ii it possible ? My God I can it be ?" 
 
 Mr. Collins surveyed him in astonishment — 
 Robert was more deeply moved than he had been 
 for some years past; while William, understanding 
 that something was wrong, but not comprehend- 
 ing what it could be, gazed with mingled suspense 
 and terror depicted in his eloquent features. As 
 for Sarah and little Jane, they actually retreated 
 into a corner, cowed, overawed, and alarmed, at 
 the strange aud unnatural aspect which their 
 father wore. 
 
 But let me not linger at any unnecessary length 
 upon this scene of memorable horror. Suddenly 
 starting from the impalement of those agonised 
 feelings which had transfixed him, and with the 
 letter — the fatal letter— escaping from his hand, 
 mostjikely unobserved by hiinself,--my father 
 turned away, advanced a pace or two like one who 
 walks in a dream, then suddenly stopped short 
 again— folded his arms across his breast — and 
 slowly cast his eyes around upon his children. In 
 that deliberate and measured look he embraced 
 ns all— and Oh ! what a world of feeling was there 
 in the despair of that last look, the dimness of 
 which was thus shed upon us I 
 
 The next moment, with a sudden ejaculation of 
 rage, resembling tlie yell of a savage l)east, my 
 father shot away from our presence, aud speeding 
 
 forth from the cottage, rushed towanls the fields, 
 I was on the point of flying: after hira ; and Wil- 
 liam with the same intent had already bounded 
 towards the door, when my mother suddenly 
 started up in the couch, opened her eyes, and 
 gazed wildly around her. Whether it was that by 
 some subtle and unknown influence communicating 
 between mind and mind without the aid of voice 
 and ears, she had been made to comprehend what 
 had just taken place on the part of her husband— 
 or whether her abrupt return to life at this very 
 moment was a mere coincidence, I knew not: but 
 certain it is that it added to the mystic horror of 
 the scene. 
 
 In the wild quick glance which she flung around 
 she appeared to embrace all the features of the 
 group, while the presence of the surgeon and her 
 own still bleeding &rm at once made her aware o' 
 the danger through which she had passed. But 
 while the first sense of all this must have been 
 thrilling in the brain, her eyes fell on the letter 
 which her husband had left Ijing on the bed : and 
 the moment she saw that it was open, she fell back 
 upon the pillow— gave one wild thrilling shriek of 
 mortal agony— and the next moment became still as 
 death. 
 
 And it was in death's stillnesi, too, that she now 
 lav I 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CUP OF UIISFORTUNB FILLED TO THE BRIM. 
 
 Althouoh she had no sooner breathed her last 
 than the conviction of the fearful truth flashed to 
 my soul, yet I refused to believe it. No — it was not 
 possible : at least it seemed not possible to me ! To 
 think that one who had scircely entered her thirty- 
 sixth year, and was therefore but in the prime of 
 life as she was also in the vigour of health and in 
 the bloom of beauty, — to think, I say, that she who 
 half-an-hour before had been seated tranquilly and 
 serenely with us in the little parlour, should in that 
 short space of time have gone through so many 
 phases of suffering and then sunk out of existence, 
 was scarcely credible. At all events to my young 
 mind, sanguine with the hopes of fifteen summers 
 and but little experienced from the world's teachings 
 of as many winters, it appeared next to impossible 
 that a fond parent was gone, never to return I 
 William shared all my ineflable anguish — shared 
 also that incredulity which still conjured up hope 
 because hope was so necessary where it was so much 
 dreaded to look despair in the face. Robert stood 
 with folded arms, gazing down upon the marble and 
 motionless features of the dead : but the tears which 
 trickled down his cheeks, the stifling sobs which 
 convulsed his heart, and the working of his lips, 
 showed how deeply his sullen and callous nature 
 was aj,'itated now. As for Sarah, she seemed to be 
 struck with a kind of intuitive conviction that thi$ 
 was death whereon she gazed: but little Jane, having 
 no power of such conception, crept away from 
 Sarah, and embracing my knees, asked in a low 
 frightened tone, " what was the matter with manmia T 
 and why the naui;hty man " (meaning the surgeon) 
 " had made het arm bleed?" 
 
 Then di(i all the punt-up emotions of ray agonix- 
 ing soul find vent in a flood of bitterest weepiug;
 
 MABV PRICE on, THB WEMOlaS OF A SEUVANT-M AID. 
 
 and sinkiujj upon a chair, I caught up my little 
 sister upon my kuecs and strained her to my bosom 
 —for I felt— d cruoUy, deeply felt— that I was left 
 in the world to be unto her a mother now ! 
 
 At the expiration of a few minutes after the vital 
 spirit had fled for ever, Mr. Collins, who was himself 
 much aflocted by this scene, gently mrgcd that wo 
 should retire into the parloiu"; and wo all followed 
 his kindly-given advice. But ere he led me from 
 the chamber of death, I bent over my dej)artcd 
 parent and imprinted a kiss upon her countenance, 
 where death's awful rigidity was already settling: 
 then, as I was about to turn away and quit the 
 room, I saw liobert stretch forth his hand to take 
 the letter, which lay on the coverlid, close indeed by 
 one of the now wax-liko liands of the departed. 
 
 " You must not touch that letter, Kobert," I 
 said in a tone which even startled myself with its 
 deep sepulchral accents : then instantaneously 
 turning towards tlu\surgeon, I observed, " That 
 letter, sir, contains my mother's secret ; and 
 
 whatever it be it must be kept inviolable so far as 
 her chikben are concerned." 
 
 " I understand you, Mary," replied Mr. Collins ; 
 and taking up the letter, ho at once consigned it 
 to his pocket, adding, " You are desirous that it 
 should remain in my keeping?" 
 
 I threw upon him a look of gratitude, for my 
 heart was now too full to speak : and then I 
 proceeded to the parlour in company with the 
 kind sm-geon, and followed by my brothers and 
 sisters. 
 
 Having gently and mildly reasoned with us 
 upon the necessity of enduring our misfortune 
 with Clu-istian resignation, Mr. Collins proceeded 
 to observe that he would cause an immediate 
 search to be instituted for our father, lie \iko- 
 wise intimated, with all the delicacy of a truly 
 generous heart, that the funeral arrangements 
 should be conducted on a scale of respectability, 
 and that there were no doubt benevolent persons 
 I in Ashl'ord who would join in providing the means 

 
 MAUY PltlCE; OK, TilE MEilOlttS OF SERVAN'T-MAID. 
 
 to defray llie expenses, slioultl our father prove to I 
 be witkout the requisite funds. Ho liko'.vise added 
 that as there must be a Coroner's Inquest, and it 
 might be necessary to show the letter, he would 
 take care its contents should not transpire to the 
 public, if they were of a nature to render it de- 
 sirable to suppress them. The worthy man then 
 departed, promising to retiu-u and see us in the 
 evening. 
 
 Hours passed, and still our father, now a 
 widower, retui-ned not. What could have become 
 of him? Had he intended to leave his home for 
 ever ? and was that the farewell glance that he 
 flung around him ere he sped forth so wildly 
 from the chamber which a few minutes after be- 
 came that of death ? In a word, had our sire — 
 our only surviving parent — deserted his home and 
 his children altogether ? I knew nut what to think, 
 but was racked with sore misgivings. Not once 
 however, did I allow my thoughts to pause, as it 
 were, to speculate on what might have been the 
 contents of that letter with the black seal. As I 
 had said before, it was my mother s secret ; and I 
 would no more have thought of penetrating it than 
 I would have dreamt of violating the sanctity of 
 that grave to which her remains were shortly to be 
 consigned. 
 
 It was summer time when these dreadful inci- 
 dents occurred : and just as the sun was making 
 the western horizon glow with its departing 
 beams, the little wicket gate of the garden opened, 
 and Tommy the idiot slowly advanced up to the 
 entrance of the cottage, where his uncouth form 
 remained darkening the open door-way. But 
 there was a strange expression on his counte- 
 nance — a look of mingled vacuity and horror, as if 
 he had become the depositor of some dreadful secret, 
 which, while it implanted its strongest terrors in his 
 soul, threw all his ideas into worse confusion and 
 bewilderment than before. 
 
 For more than a minute did he remain on the 
 threshold, gazing in upon us, an afflicted group of 
 bereaved cliildren, as we sat altogether with our 
 hands locked in each other's clasp and looking elo- 
 quent in the ileep silence of oui- grief. We thought 
 that having heard of the dread calamity which had 
 taken place, he was come with the well-meauLug 
 purpose of bestowing his compassion upon us; and 
 therefore we approached hitn not — nor did we think 
 it necessary to usk him what he wanted. But pre- 
 sently he advanced slowly into the room; and 
 coming close up to us, he said in a strange tone and 
 with a still stranger look, " Gone, gone — both 
 parents gone ! Tucy told me that the mother was 
 dead — and 1 saw the father " 
 
 JN'ow we all started from oiu' seats, and with stream- 
 ing eyes and frantic accents entreated our informant 
 to explain his meaning — to tell us what he knew*— 
 and to give us, in tine, some deUuite tnUugs, even 
 tiiough they might be the worst, of our father ! 
 
 " i shouldn't keep it from you," he said, gazing 
 upon us more strangely 'than ever; "'no, no — 'tis 
 not likely, 'tis not likely. JDowu by the river just 
 now — i saw it all — thi'oat cut lirst — plunge iu uuer- 
 wards — dreadful, dreadful !" 
 
 It would be impossible for words to describe the 
 anguish which was excited iu that cottage-parlour 
 by the dimly obscui-e yet frightfully intelligible re- 
 velation which Mad Tommy had just made iu his 
 KO. 2 
 
 peculiar manner. Eobert and William resolved to 
 go with the idiot at once to the spot where the catas- 
 trophe alluded to had taken place — while I remained 
 with the girls. Away they went : and as they after- 
 wards told mo, they called at a neighbour's, who 
 went with them, taking di'ags and lanterns. 
 
 The river Stour runs at a distance of about half a 
 mile to the south of Ashford. It is in that part a 
 narrow stream, but in some places very deep. Eun- 
 ning through the verdant meadows, and meandering 
 its way amidst some of the most beautiful parts of 
 Kent, it gradually widens until it becomes broad 
 and deep enough at Sandwich to afford a haven for 
 two-mast ships ; and a little farther on it falls into 
 the sea near Eamsgate. 
 
 For upwards of two hours were my brothers ab- 
 sent on this dreadful night. The sun went down- 
 darkness fell upon the earth — I closed the cottage- 
 door — my little sisters, worn out with fatigue, fell 
 asleep — and I remained alone as it were in the house. 
 Yes — the sleep of life in one room and the sleejj of 
 death iu anotlier made the cottage then a solitude 
 for me ! Methought the caudle never burnt so dim. 
 Not that I was afraid — not that I was superstitious. 
 O no — I knew that even if the shade of the departed 
 should be permitted to rise up before me, it would 
 not be to scare but to console me — not to curse but 
 to bless me. I knelt down and prayed. Never, 
 never had I prayed so fervently before ! But my 
 heart was so full — Oh ! it was so full — I wonder it 
 did not burst. 
 
 At length, when two mortal hours had expired, 
 llobert and William came back. Mad Tommy had 
 in the first instance conducted them to a place on 
 the river bank where there were foot-marks, and 
 blood-stains, and a deep trace in the grass as if a 
 body, faUing down in that spot, had slid by its own 
 weight or else crept down into the river. On the 
 bank a knife stained with blood was picked up : it 
 was our father's knife. The drags were used — but 
 all to no purpose. The river was however swollen 
 with recent heavy rains, and the corpse might have 
 been carried onward with the rapid current to be 
 ultimately wafted to the sea, there to become a prey 
 to the unknown monsters of the deep. 
 
 The inference from all that could be gleaned from 
 Mad Tommy, and from the traces observed on the 
 river's bank by the aid of the lanterns, was that our 
 unlbrtunate father, goaded to desperation by the cUs- 
 covery of that secret which the letter revealed, but 
 which we dared not penetrate, had inllicted a wound 
 upon himself on the bank and had either fallen or 
 else crept down into the water. But whatever were 
 the ch-cumstauces of the terrible deed, it seemed 
 clear enough to us that we were now orphans ui the 
 wide world— orphans at our tender age when the 
 experiences of that world were so utterly wanting 
 to us— orphans indeed, ilependent on the bounty of 
 those benevolent persons whom our calamities sud- 
 denly made oiu- friends ! 
 
 On the ibllowing day an inquest was held uinni 
 the remains of our depai-led mother ; and it bemg 
 ascertainetl that she had a long standing disease of 
 the heart, a verdict was returned in accordance there- 
 with. Whether the letter was produced or not, Ido 
 not know. The whole all'air relative to the inquisi- 
 tion was managed so quietly, ilelicalely, and speedily 
 — thanks to Mr. Coliuis— that it was a solace to 
 have 80 well got rid of iuCli an unpleasant ceremo-
 
 10 
 
 SIABY price; OE, the StEMOIRS OF A BEBVAST-MAlD. 
 
 nia), and I felt no inclination to dwell unnecessarily 
 upon it. In these respects my dear brother V/iiliam 
 resembled me ; and Robert, even if he felt inclined 
 to ask any questions, ventured not to do so. The 
 letter accordingly remained with Mr. Collins, un- 
 asked for though not forgotten ; and he through 
 motives of delicacy made no allusion to it. 
 
 Those who have lost near and dear relatives and 
 who have had funerals in their houses, know full 
 well how sad and sorrowful a period it is between 
 the moment when the breath j^oes forth from the 
 body and that when the body itself is consigned to 
 its last home. To say nothing of thoss frequent 
 outbursts of anguish to which the tortured heart 
 gives vent — to say nothing either of those moments 
 of profound despondency when the spirit sinks 
 entirely within, as if itself were drooping down 
 into the grave, while the eye remains tearless and 
 the countenance bears the stamp of an ineffable 
 woe — to say nothing of such intervals as these, 
 there is a sufficiency of torture to be felt and gloom 
 to overshadow the soul as the sombre details of the 
 funeral preparatives develop themselves. The 
 measuring for the mourning — the low voice in which 
 every body speaks, as if stricken vyith the sense 
 that it is the house of death — the slow, cautious, 
 stealthy manner in which the undertaker and his 
 men creep about, and in and out the chamber of 
 the dead — the old nurse who persists in giving you 
 some details of the appearance of the corpse when 
 she dressed it in the garments of the grave, and 
 how she has heard its bones crack during the pro- 
 cess of elongation— then the secret manner in 
 which the coffin is borne in to the darkened room 
 of death — the sad, sad ceremony of taking the last, 
 last look at the marble features of her who is gone 
 — then the deep sinking at the stomach, and tight- 
 ening of the heart, and suffocation of the throat 
 which are experienced during that dread hour 
 •when the sorawing down of the lid is taking olace 
 — next the circumstance so astonishing and so re- 
 volting to those who are mourning for the lost one, 
 that the manager and the myrmidons of the 
 solemn ceremony are partaking of ardent spirits 
 around the narrow receptacle of the dead,— all 
 these are the heart's bitterest, direst experiences in 
 the school of sorrow ! 
 
 But when the moment comes to see the coffin 
 borne forth fiom that home where the loved one, 
 who is now cold and stiff within that narrow box of 
 ominous shape, was once the source of happiness 
 and love, the centre of the heart's best and purest 
 affections,— to know, to feel, and to say unto one's- 
 self that the being so loved has gone never to 
 return, — 'tis now that the heart sinks more pro- 
 foundly than ever. But the keenest excruciation 
 of all — the agony of agonies— the moment of the 
 soul's crucifixion is yet to come : and it is 
 felt, when, the coffin being lowered into the grave, 
 the clay falls heavy, dull, and sullen like lumps of 
 lead on the lugubriously sounding lid! 
 
 But wherefore should 1 dwell longer upon these 
 harrowing reflections? why have I dwelt upon them 
 so long at all ? It is not because I could now sit 
 calmly and dispassionately down to write of feel- 
 ings 80 fraught with anguish, experienced years ago : 
 but it is because the memory of the solemn occa- 
 sion calls up for the moment all the pristine vivid- 
 ness and intenseness of those feelings, that I depict 
 them thus, in order to show how dear to me was 
 
 my beloved mother then—hon dear her memory 
 continues now ! 
 
 To resume. The funeral was over— and for a 
 few weeks we were left alone together in the cottage 
 to solace each other and to allow time for the first 
 fever-heat of our afflictions to subside. At last 
 Mr. Collins, who had frequently visited us, in- 
 timated one day that if we felt in the humour for 
 serious conversation, he wished to discourse with 
 us on our future prospects. We at once signifiecl 
 our readiness te listen to him who had proved so 
 kind a benefactor to us. At least such were the 
 terms in which Robert, William, and myself spoke : 
 for of course Sarah and poor little Jane were too 
 young to comprehend the extent of Mr. Collins's 
 icindness or the seriousness of the discossion tb»t 
 was now to take place. 
 
 The worthy surgeon proceeded to talk to us in 
 the kindest manner, and to develop the plans which 
 he had chalked out for our future proceedings. 
 Robert was already apprenticed to Mr. Matthews 
 the carpenter ; and his master had now consented 
 to take him to live in his house altogether. Mr, 
 Collins proposed to take William into bis service- 
 first as errand-boy, and subsequently, if he got 
 on well, to be taught how to compound and dis- 
 pense medicines so that he might attend in the 
 surgery. A charitable but somewhat eccentric old 
 lady, named Whitfield, had agreed to give a home 
 to Sarah and Jane until the time should come for 
 them to be placed in a position to get their own 
 living; and with regard to myself, a situation a* 
 under nurse-maid in a good family residing in the 
 county was at my disposal. 
 
 "Such, my young friends," said Mr. Collins 
 when he had gradually developed his views, "is 
 what I propose shall be done for each and all. I 
 know that it is a distressing thing to break up 
 your little home and separate you from each other. 
 But what is to be done? There is no alternative; 
 and you must bend to necessity. Besides, it is not 
 as if you were going to be dispersed over the 
 world. The only one who will have to leave Ash- 
 ford at all is you, Mary; and you are not to go 
 many miles distant. You will have an occasional 
 holiday, and an opportunity of visiting the town to 
 see your brothers and sisters— while they will be 
 enabled to meet frequently. Now, what do you 
 say to my plans?" 
 
 What could we say? We were all gratitude, but 
 at the same time all tears. Ah! never, never 
 can I forget the feelings that animated me then, 
 as I held Sarah in one arm and little Jane in the 
 other, covering them with kisses and with tears. 
 That breaking-up of our home to which Mr. 
 Collins had alluded, was indeed what I had been 
 dreading for weeks past : and it was now on the 
 poyit of being consummated! But, as he said, 
 there was no alternative ; and therefore we were 
 compelled to submit. Poor William was sadly 
 afflicted; but Robert certainly cared much less 
 about it than I had anticipated. I wished at the 
 time that he could have cared more ; and it was no 
 solace to me to observe that he did not weep ! 
 
 On the following day, at sunrise, we all bent 
 our steps to the churchyard ; and there we stood 
 around our mother's grave, in the belief that we 
 were thus penorraing a sacred and filial duty in 
 visiting the hallowed spot. Oh ! what would I not 
 have given to recall the lost one from her eternal
 
 MAEY price; OE, THE MEMOIRS OP A SEKVANT-MAID. 
 
 11 
 
 sleep, and bring her back to us to be a guide, a 
 protection, and a solace? Ten years of my life — 
 aye, twenty— thirty— all, all, so that I might re- 
 store a parent to those little orphan sisters whose 
 hands I held by the side of the mound beneath 
 which our mother slept. But all such fancies were 
 visionary and vain. I knew it— I felt it — and with 
 streaming eyes I led my little sisters back to the 
 cottage, my two brothers following at a short dis- 
 tance. 
 
 Next morning we were separated. Sarah and 
 Jane were taken by Mr. Collins to the house of 
 Mrs. "Whitfield, the lady who had consented to 
 receive them. Sarah was not so much affected as 
 I fancied she would have been. The novelty of 
 the proceeding had its charm for her young and 
 inexperienced mind; and she was moreover dressed 
 in a manner that flattered her little vanity. 
 Heavens! to be thus pleased a.t. Vfea.v'mg mourning 
 — Oh ! how little and how meanly it made me 
 think of human nature ! As for poor Jane, she 
 clung to me in such an affectionate manner that it 
 almost broke my heart to tear myself away. But 
 at length we separated; and when my two sisters 
 were thus taken from me, I felt as if a sudden gulf 
 had opened at my feet to separate me for ever 
 from all possible happiness in this world. 
 
 That same afternoon I parted also from Robert 
 and "William. They accompanied me to the place 
 whence the van started for the neighbouring town 
 of "Wye, which was my destination; and I could 
 not help noticing, even amidst the poignancy of 
 my own grief, that Robert shed but few tears 
 while William sobbed as if his heart would break. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MT FIRST PLACE. 
 
 The residence of Mr. and Mrs. Twisden was situ- 
 ated about half a mile from "Wye. It was a neat 
 country-house, with a paddock, orchard, and large 
 gardens; and though not spacious, possessed 
 every requisite for ease and comfort. 
 
 It was between three and four o'clock in the af- 
 ternoon of a cold October day, in the year 1526, 
 that I reached Twisden Lodge, as the place was 
 called : and passing round to the kitchen-entrance, 
 I informed the servants who I was. There were 
 a cook, footman, groom, housemaid, and upper- 
 nurse; and they all received me with kindness 
 enough. Having paid and dismissed the man who 
 brought my box for me from "Wye, I was shown 
 up to the little bed-room that was to be my own. 
 Thence I was introduced to the nursery, where I 
 found that there were three children — a boy of 
 ten, a girl of about six, and a baby of one year. 
 By the time I i)ad made these acquaintances, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Twisden returned from a drive which 
 they had been taking in the carriage ; and soon 
 afterwarils I received a message directing me to 
 go down to the drawing-room. 
 
 It was with a fluttering heart, caused by exces- 
 sive timidity, that I obeyed this summons ; and on 
 enteriD.g the drawing-room, I was not much 
 cheered on observing at the first glance that ]Mrs. 
 Twisden was a cross-looking, sharp-eyed, vixenish 
 lady, whose real disposition could not possibly be 
 
 mistaken even by an observer so inexperienced as I 
 was at the time. She was about thirty-two years 
 of age— most gaily, indeed gaudily dressed, and 
 woi'e a profusion of jewellery. On the other 
 hand, the aspect of her husband was as benevo- 
 lent and encouraging as hers was sour and dis- 
 agreeable. He was at least double her age, with 
 a bald head, white hair, a red jolly-looking face, 
 and a stout person. He was dressed quite plainly, 
 wore brown knee-breeches and gaiters, and looked 
 like a gentleman-farmer. Such indeed he had 
 been, but for some years past had given up the 
 farm to a grown-up son by a former marriage, 
 and was now living on his little estate, upon the 
 fruits of his industry. 
 
 " You are the young woman that Mr. Collins so 
 strongly recommended?" said Mrs. Twisden, fix- 
 ing her eyes upon me as if she were looking out 
 for any stories that she thought I might perhaps 
 tell her. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," I answered, with a curtsey; "and 
 I am very much obliged to you for taking such 
 compassion upon me :" — but here I stopped short 
 and burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 "Come, come — this is silly, child," said Mrs. 
 Twisden, rather too sharply I thought, consider- 
 ing that she might have known 1 could not help 
 it. 
 
 " Don't be cross to the poor girl, my dear," said 
 her husband, though evidently speaking in a man- 
 ner as if he were afraid of her. 
 
 "Please to hold your tongue, Mr. Tvrisden," the 
 lady immediately retorted, accompanying her 
 words with a quick gesture and a very sharp 
 look. "You know well enough that the manage- 
 ment of the household devolves upon me, and I 
 must beg you not to interfere." 
 
 " But, my dear," said her husband, in a tone of 
 remonstrance, " I only " 
 
 "Enough, Jlr. Twisden 1" interrupted the lady 
 curtfy. " We will not argue the point, if you 
 please :" then turning her eyes quickly back again 
 upon me, she asked, "How old are you, young 
 woman?" 
 . " Nearly sixteen, ma'am," was my reply. 
 
 " Not a young woman at all, then— a mere girl," 
 said Mr. Twisden. 
 
 "I beg you will not interrupt us," retorted his 
 wife. "And your name?' she demanded of me. 
 " I have forgotten what Mr. Collins said it was." 
 
 " Mary Price, please ma'am," I answered. 
 
 "Nearly all nursery-maids are called Mary, I 
 declare," exclaimed Mr. Twisden in a goud-ha- 
 moured manner. 
 
 "Pray keep your observations to yourself," said 
 Mrs. Twisden, looking so prim and demure that 
 one would have thought her husbiind had com- 
 mitted some unpardonable oversight. 
 
 " My dear, I did but jest," ho said in a depre- 
 cating mamier. 
 
 "But you should never jest, Mr. Twisden, in 
 presence of your inferiors:" — then again fixing her 
 sharp, restless, penetrating eyes upon me, she said, 
 " Of course, JIary, you arc aware of the arrange- 
 ment I made with Mr. Collins concerning you? 
 You will have to bo up in the nursei-y altogether : 
 and mind, you have no business down in the 
 servants' hall or kitchen whatsoever. I do not 
 allow g033ip[)ing — and I must warn you against 
 if'oi»''"K aii'i whispering. As for followers, I will
 
 12 
 
 MAnv I'nicii; on, the memoirs op a servant-maid. 
 
 not have them at all. Wlicn you want to see your 
 rel.-itions \ou must go to them: I will uot liave 
 thein comiritf liere to ruQ after you. Do you 
 Understand me?" 
 
 1 did indeed understand that the hdy was eiving 
 me a great mauy unnecessary cautions, and in a 
 tone and mamier, too, just aj if I had already 
 committed some of the fault-i ajiaiiist which she 
 WHS waruintj me— or as if she had previously heard 
 th it I was a person very likely to fall into those 
 errors. In fact, h'.r lan^ua^i; cut me to the quick : 
 for I h.ad come to the house wiih tlie determinatiou 
 to do my very best, and 1 already felt a presenti- 
 ment that notiiiiig would give this lady sati>fac- 
 tion. However, I subdiied my f'.elia;{s with a 
 j^^reat effort, and murmured a faint "Ycs," in 
 .'iDHwer to her question "whether I understood 
 her?" 
 
 " You see sho is very timid and bashful, poor 
 thiiijf," said Mr. Twisdeu, aj^aiii puttinij in a vrord 
 in niy favour. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Mr. Twisden!" at once re- 
 torted the lady, in a peremptory tone. " The 
 stillest water is sometimes the deepest. Not that 
 1 mf^au to say anylh n:j against this girl here. At 
 all events we sliall give her a fair trial " 
 
 "To be sure, to be sur.;, poor thing!" said 
 Mr. Tivisden, t;dcing up the pok ;r and thrustiuLf it 
 with some violence between the bars, as if to make 
 a little display of determinaLioa cu his own part. 
 
 "The lire cJocs not requTe stirring, Mr. Twis- 
 den," immediately exclaimed his wifj. " I can't 
 afford to let you waite the coals in this manner. 
 And as for your saying poor thing, 1 think she 
 is indeed very much to be pitied, to have got into 
 such a house as this without ever having been at 
 service before I Young womau," she continued, 
 again fixing her eyes upon mo, "you will have to 
 take care of the baby who is really the most good- 
 tempered ^" 
 
 " The Grossest," faintly murmured Mr. Twisden. 
 
 " No, sir !" ejaculated his wife, darting upon him 
 a withering look which threatened a perfect scene 
 so soon as I should have left the room : "baby is 
 the dearest, sweetest, best-tempered child in the 
 ■whole world if he is but treated properly. But he 
 v/auts talking to, fondling, playing with, and coax- 
 ing. ' Of course he has got his little spirit, young 
 as he is — and so has Miranda — and so also has 
 Gustavus," added the lady, thus alluding to the 
 other tenants of the nursery. 
 
 I now ventured to give utterance to a few words 
 expressive of my desire to do ray best atid afford 
 satisfaction ; and with tears in my eyes and a 
 broken voice, I assured Mrs. Twisden tliat I had 
 been too well brought up to have any inclination 
 for gossipping, giggling, or idling. 
 
 "Too well brought up!" she literally screamed 
 out in a sharp querulous voice that rang through 
 my brain and made her husband start visibly. 
 " For goodness' sake don't use that phrase here, 
 young woman! We never had servants who pre- 
 tended to have been respectably brought up, but 
 they always turned out bad. One made away with 
 
 the linen You remember, Mr. Twisden ? That 
 
 was the tall girl you said was good-looking — although, 
 for my part, I never could see aoythmg but brazeu 
 impudence " 
 
 "lain sure, my dear, your taste is better than 
 mine," said the old gentleman, evidently in the hope 
 
 of conciliating and soothing his comparatively young 
 wife. " But really " 
 
 " No buts, if you please, Mr. Twisden," she inter- 
 rupted sharply : then agiin addressing herself to 
 me, she said, '■ You will take care of little Dickey— 
 that's the baby — and mind he does not cry. I hold 
 you answerable for his crying. You must also look 
 after Master Gustavus and Miss Miranda. They 
 are dear amiable children, and can be led, but not 
 driven. Their tempers are sweet; but tii-ey have 
 their mother's spirit " 
 
 Here Mr. Twisden gave a sort of low groan : then 
 as if immediately feeling that he had committed 
 himself, be affected to turn it off into a littie fit of 
 couching. 
 
 " Yes — they have their mother's spirit," continued 
 Mrs. Twisden with an emphasis so pointed that it 
 made the old gentleman wince: "and they cannot 
 hear to be thwarted improperly. So they must be 
 humoured: and mind, I don't like any tales to be 
 told out of the nursery. It affords a bad example 
 to the children. You will always keep them neat 
 and clean, and see that they doa't run up and down 
 stairs with dirty shoes. When it is fine you will 
 take them out for a walk in the grounds; but not let 
 them go on the grass to get their feet wet— nor yet 
 into the gardeu to trample down the borders. You 
 will have to keep all their clothes in order ; and in 
 fact you must devote all your spare time to needle- 
 work. For an industrious girl there is plenty to do. 
 As for wages, you know ot course what I have agreed 
 upon ? Two shillings a-week — that is to say, eight 
 shillings a month — for the first year: and then, if 
 you suit, I shall uot mind raising you to half- 
 a-crown a weeL So be a good girl — do your 
 best " 
 
 "Your very best, mind," here ventured to inter- 
 pose Mr. Twisden again: and it struck me that his 
 manner as plainly as possible conveyed the inti- 
 mation that nothing but the very bett would sund 
 the slightest chance of pleasing his wife. 
 
 "Hold your tongue, Mr. Twisden!" she imme^ 
 diately said. " Don't interfere between me and my 
 servants. I dare say this young woman and 1 shall 
 get on very well together, if she will only do all 1 
 have told her. You may now retire, Mary. Go up 
 and make friends with the little people in the nur- 
 sery." 
 
 Such was my first interview with my master and 
 mistress; and I cannot say that it was at ail calcu- 
 lated to put me in good spirits. Mr. Twisden was 
 evidently a kind-hearted man; but it was equally 
 clear that he was powerless in his household. Ou 
 the other hand, ^Irs. Twisden had already struck 
 me as being a lady with very little feeling. The 
 deep mourniug in which I was clad, must have re- 
 minded her of the misfortunes I had experienced : 
 but yet, not one single word of compassion or sym- 
 pathy had passed her lips — nothing but warnings, 
 and cautions, and injunctions, and purely worldly 
 subjects. 
 
 " But perhaps she fancies that I myself have no 
 feeling ?" I thought, as I sped back to the nursery. 
 "Perhaps she supposes that the mourning drapery 
 merely clothes my outward form, and hanga not 
 within the sanctuary of the heart!" 
 
 I could not help reflecting also, that it was 
 strange ^Ir. Collins should have procured for me 
 a f'ituutiou— and my _^first situation too— iu the 
 service of a lady of so severe, and almost despotic
 
 MARV PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 13 
 
 a character. But then I thought to myself that 
 very probably all ladies were alike in these re- 
 apects towards their servants. Nevertheless, the 
 idea did strike me that Mr. Collins might have 
 fancied Mrs. Twisden to be kinder and more 
 amiable than she really was. Which conjecture 
 was true on my part, will presently appear. 
 
 I soon found that it was no easy task to follow 
 the manifold instructions which ray mistress had 
 given me. First of all with regard to the baby, 
 I do Delieve there never was such a peevish, cross, 
 and passionate child in the whole world. There 
 were times when I could do nothing with him : he 
 would scream, and kick, and fight, as if he were 
 going into fis. He would dash the cups and 
 saucers containing his food off the table, or out of 
 my hands. If I kissed and fondled him, he would 
 throw himself back over my arm in such a way 
 that bis head would hang down and I feared lest 
 his back would break. Then if I said some little 
 scolding word to endeavour to make liim tractable, 
 he would suddenly spring up, elastic as an ee', 
 seize hold of my cap, my neckerchief, or any part 
 of my dress, and tear it seriously. I had hiai to 
 sleep with me, and could scarcely get any rest. 
 If during the day, when he was awake, 1 only set 
 him down for a moment, he would commence 
 such .1 screaming as to alarm the whole house; 
 and as for doing any needle-work, it was totaliy 
 out of the question. So much for Master Dickey, 
 the baby! 
 Then Mister Gustavus was the most disagree- 
 
 tears. Do your duty, and don't ill-treat the ear 
 cliild as you have bcea doing ever since ynu firct 
 set foot iuto the house. It is positively shamelul ! 
 I dare say if I strip the little darling I should find 
 him all black and blue, — a perfect mass of bruises'. 
 Now, Miss, none of your impudence ! How dare 
 you say that you will with pleasure undress the 
 child and prove that there is not a mark upon 
 him? I know that there lA'.' He is covered with 
 marks : but I could not bear to look at them— so 
 I won't have him undressed at all. W.'<.at ! for 
 j/oMr justification? Who ever heard of a servant's 
 justification? Upon my word things are coming 
 to a pretty pass ! I suppose j'ou will be telling me 
 I hurt your feelings next? Wliat! You have 
 not deserved this? You insolent slut — you im- 
 pertinent hussey— don't answer me again, or I will 
 turn you away at onee without a character.'' 
 
 Then, having delivered herself of tiiese tirades, 
 Mrs. Twisden would fling out of tlie nursery, 
 leaving the door wide open, and perhaps continue 
 her unlady-Iike abuse all down stairs till she 
 reached the drawing-room, tlie door of which she 
 would bang behind her with a violence that shuok 
 the whole house. 
 
 My readers can already judge pretty well of 
 what I had to put; up with. But I Iiave not tolJ 
 them near all. Unless I kept the b;iby constantly 
 on ray lap or walktd about with him in my arms — 
 for lie was a very backward child and could not 
 stand on his own legs yot — I was sure to see him 
 go into those screaming fits which brought liis 
 
 able boy it is possible to conceive. He delighted I mimma up-stairs and led to such dreadful scenes 
 in making hideous faces, saying ruile things, and | that they well nigh drove me to despair. And yet 
 playing practical jokes of the most mischievous I on the other hand I was expected to keep the 
 description. Ilis fister Bliranda was just as bad I children's clothes in good order. Indeed, the 
 in these respects ; and in addition thereto, pos- upper-nurse would do notiiing but lounge all day 
 sessed all the vi.\enish temper of the mo'Lher. before the fire. Thus aii the care and all tlu^ 
 
 lud"ed I soon found that I was to lead a dread- blame fell upon me. When the baby slept I diil 
 fill life of it. When the baby screamed, Mrs. I my best with the needle: but these intervals were 
 Twisden was constantly sending or coming up to , not long enough ;o enable mo to keep the litnu in 
 
 the nursery to know "what on earth was tlie 
 matter v/ith that dear child?'' — and when I de- 
 clared that I could do nothing at all with the dear 
 chilli, she woidd either send up again to say that 
 unless I could manage to keep him quiet I was of 
 no earthly use in the house and had better go 
 about my business; or else she would rush up her- 
 self and overwhelm me with the most stinging, the 
 most cruel, th?, most heartless reproaches. I will 
 just give a specimen of the language used on these 
 occasion?!. 
 
 " .Mary, what are you doing to that child ? No- 
 thing! Don't tell me <A«<: it is false ! You jnust 
 have been doing something to him. He would not 
 cry like that unle-s you had hurt him. I am 
 
 proper repair ;- and as for my own clotiies, I iiovt 
 could lind a iiionient to put a stitcli i;i!o tliein. 
 Once I. tat up half iho night mending ilic children's 
 liiuin : but tlie ;,'urdei)er wliosaw the light through 
 the window, told Mis Twisden, and she gave mo 
 such a scolding tliat made me ill for a week after- 
 wards. 
 
 She declared that I was an idle, worthless, good- 
 for-nothing, deceitful hussey, who sar. up at night 
 no doubt for the purpose of reading some trumpery 
 novr;l, or of writing bivc-nonsensa to some loose 
 I'ellow. Ah! if I had been of an evil-disposed 
 character, would she not have put these things 
 iuto my head and thus hive prepared the way for 
 me to do them? But I have always noticeii th.it 
 
 afraid you ill-treat him. You iiave been beating, mistresses say atiy thing that comes int) tludr head 
 
 or pinching, or shaking him. Don't tell me it's his 
 temper! He's the sweetest temper in existence 
 if petted and fondled. We 1, you say he has torn 
 your cap to pieces ? So he will if you don't ma'<;e 
 him good. The poor little darling ! see how he is 
 sobbing!! know you wima« have hurt him dread- 
 fully. This can't continue. I see very well that 
 you are not fond of cbilcb-eii. You arc not fit for 
 the nursery. Indeed, I don't know what you are 
 fit for. You are certainly not worth your salt 
 here; and if you don't go on better I shall give 
 you warning at the end of the month. Come now, 
 don't sit whimperiog there I I hate crocodile'a 
 
 when they are in n passion, without caring how 
 cruel and undeserved may be the blow, or how 
 demoralizing may be its inliuciicc. 
 
 When I toi'k the children out to walk, it was 
 utterly impossible to make Master Gustavus and 
 Miss Miranda do a single thing that I tald them. 
 They would persist not only in running over the 
 damp grass, but would aciually roll u[ion it : or, 
 escaping fiooi me, they would get into the garden 
 and lio more damage to the t)orders in a .single 
 h:ilf-hour than a whole host of the most frolicsome 
 cats could possibly accomplish in a da.y. AH tl»o 
 blame of thcs-j freaks fell upon me. 1 wai told
 
 u 
 
 MABY price; OB, THE MEMOIBa OF A 6EEVANT-MAID. 
 
 that I neglected the children — that I let them run 
 wild where they liked— and that it was quite 
 evident I did not care one fig about keeping my 
 place. If driven almost to desperation by these 
 taunts, I exercised some little severity towards 
 Master Gustavus and Miss Miranda, they would 
 start off tojjether, go boldly into their mamma's 
 presence, and with the most unblushing effrontery 
 accuse me of having beaten and pinched them so 
 that tliey could not bear it. Vainly might I pro- 
 test that I had certainly spoken sharply, but that 
 not for worlds would I inflict personal chastise- 
 ment on them. Again would pour forth the usual 
 volley of "impudent hussies, false jades, deceitful 
 creatures, lying minxes, and good-for-nothing 
 I trulk," in which style of language Mrs. Twisden 
 j was such an adept. But sometimss she would 
 assume quite a tragic air and address me in lan- 
 guage so high-flown and with a demeanour so 
 majestic that I used to be fearful she was takin-g 
 j leave of her senses — until, getting accustomed to 
 ! her, I found that this was one of the moods into 
 I which her passion hurried her : and I noticed that 
 j when she did give way to this particular mood 
 I (which was not very often) she would check herself 
 I suddenly and then look ashamed aad confused for 
 f nearly a minute. 
 
 j Nothing could be more miserable than the 
 I existence which I led at Twisden Lodge. It was 
 one incessant state of nervous excitement from 
 morning to night. I felt that I was submitting to 
 the process of being killed by inches for the sake 
 of the little food I ate and of two shillings a-week ! 
 But yet I resolved to endure it all as well as I 
 could; for I knew not whether I should obtain 
 another situation if I left this, nor whether I 
 couid leave this at all without damaging myself in 
 the estimation of Mr. Collins. Besides, that dread- 
 ful threat of bein^ dismissed without a character 
 ever rang in my ears ; for it was a threat which 
 Mrs. Twisden not only launched against me, but 
 likewise at each of her other servants in their turn. 
 Not that she ever ventured to be half so violent or 
 half so abusive to them as she was to me : but then 
 they were men and women of mature years, know- 
 ing the world well, and not at a loss how to get 
 other situations ; — whereas I was a poor, friendless, 
 orphan girl of sixteen— and Oh ! it was so easy for 
 Mrs. Twisden to trample upon me ! 
 
 Often and often did I think of writing to Mr. 
 Collins and telling him exactly how 1 was situated 
 and all that took place : but my courage failed me 
 every time I took up the pen. Thus months passed 
 away— the only gleam of happiness I experienced 
 during the interval being shed upon my melancholy 
 existence by the occasional letters I received from 
 Robert, William, and Savali — though Kobert's 
 letters were few and laconic in comparison with 
 dear William's, which were frequent and lengthy. 
 One day— it was in the beginning of June — I 
 was sitting unhappy enough in the nursery, the 
 baby having just fallen asleep, when 1 received a 
 message ordering me to go down to the drawing- 
 room, as Mr. Collins was there, and wanted to see 
 inc. This announcement scut a perfect thrill of 
 liappiness through my entire frame; and I felt 
 that iny looks were brightening up all in a moment. 
 To the drawing-room I accordingly sped ; and on 
 entering, I found the worthy surgeon seated at 
 lunch with Mr. and Mrs. Twisden. But to my 
 
 I surprise — and surprised I indeed was, as my 
 ' readers may well suppose — Mrs. Twisden was 
 looking so amiable, so kind, and ind«ed so benevo- 
 lent, that I scarcely knew her for the same lady : 
 and for the moment 1 could not believe it possible 
 that a vinegar aspect could be so completely 
 thrown off and succeeded by the sunniest smiles. 
 
 " Here fs Mary!" she exclaimed, the moment I 
 made my appearance: then as I stood transfixed 
 with astonishment at her altered looks and voice, 
 she said in the kindest accents, " Come forward, my 
 dear girl. Here is your worthy benefactor, Mr. 
 Collins, come to inquire after you ; and I have beea 
 telling him how happy you are with those dear 
 children up in the nursery, and what romps you 
 
 have together " 
 
 *' And yet," said Mr. Collins, " she does not look 
 quite so well as she did. You have grown taller, 
 Mary," he continued, addressing himself to me : 
 " but you look thinner, and you have lost what little 
 
 colour you ever had " 
 
 '' Why, all that happens with young people who 
 are growing," exclaimed Mrs. Twisden, with so merry 
 a laugh that it was no wonder if ^Ir. Collins took 
 her for the most good-humoured lady in existence. 
 
 " Well, I suppose it is as you say," he observed. 
 " At all events I am glad to hear you are happy, 
 Mary. William, I can assure you, is gettmg oa 
 famously : he gives me the utmost satisfaction. A 
 nicer nor a steadier boy I never knew." 
 
 " Oh ! I am so pleased to hear these tidings," I 
 exclaimed, with a gush of such warm and tender 
 emotions pouring into the heart that my eyes filled 
 with tears. " And my dear sisters ?" 1 asked. 
 
 " Both happy and comfortable," replied the sur- 
 geon. " Sarah is growing fast, and little Jane is as 
 chubby and round-faced as ever. Sarah is a leeUe 
 too self-willed and spirited, and does not seem 
 sulhciently to understand her dependent positioa : 
 but all this will wear o3 do doubt. She is young 
 now—" 
 
 " And Robert, sir V I asked : but at the same 
 instant a cloud lowered visibly upon Mr. Collins* 
 features, aud a sad misgiving struck to my very 
 heart's core. 
 
 " Robert might be steadier," he hastened to ob- 
 serve, perceiving that his altering looks had suddenly 
 changed mine. " Indeed, I wish you would write 
 to him, Mary, and tell him that I have complained 
 to you concerning his conduct^-or rather that I 
 have echoed in your hearing the complaints which 
 his master Mr. Matthews has more than once made 
 to me. For a young lad over eighteen he certainly 
 ought to know better — particularly considering the 
 exemplary manner in which he was brought up. I 
 am sorry to afflict you, Mary, by saying anything 
 unpleasant: but I should not be doing my duty 
 unless I told you the truth in respect to your eldest 
 brother." 
 
 " I hope, sir — most sincerely hope," were the 
 words which fell tremulously from my lips, " that 
 Robert has done nothing wrong — nothing to forfeit 
 your good opinion aud that of Mr. Matthews, beyond 
 redemptiou ?" 
 
 " No, no— I do not say that" exclaimed Mr. Collins. 
 " He has done nothing positively detrimental to his 
 character * but he goes the proper way to do so. lu. 
 a word, he steals otl'from his work, gets to the ale- 
 house, and has eveu been seen playing at dice 
 and cards with some very bad characters. So you
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A 6ERVANT-MAID. 
 
 15 
 
 must write to him, Mary— tell him what I say, and 
 conjure him to reform his conduct while it is yet 
 time." 
 
 •' I am sure that Mary will write her brother a 
 very proper letter," said Mrs. Twisden; "and if 
 a good girl ought to make a good brother, then 
 should Robert Price assuredly profit by his sister's 
 example." 
 
 " Yes, yes— she is a very good girl," now chimed 
 in old Mr. Twisden; "and as pretty as she is 
 good." 
 
 I coloured up to the eyes at these words : yet 
 even in the midst of my confusion I could not 
 help noticing that Mrs. Twisden suddenly threw 
 a perfectly fiendish look upon her husband. But 
 instantaneously relapsing into smiles again, she 
 said in a merry tone, " O fie, Mr. Twisden ! you 
 make poor Mary blush up to the very eyes. But 
 Mr. T. is always jocular, you know," she added, 
 turning to Mr. Collins : " and his jocularity is of 
 so harmless and truly good-humoured a charac- 
 ter, it is impossible to be offended with him. He's 
 a dear good kind husband :" — and she patted his 
 cheek with every appearance of devoted affection. 
 
 After a little more conversation with Mr. Collins 
 I withdrew; and on returning to the nursery, found 
 Master Gustavus and Miss Miranda dragging the 
 baby about the room, while the upper nurse sat 
 fast asleep by the fire. Baby was screaming 
 frightfully ; and it took me an hour to pacify him. 
 I then managed to obtain leisure sufiicient to 
 write a letter to Robert ; and wishing it to go by 
 that same evening's post, I went down to take it to 
 the kitchen so that the gardener might convey it 
 along with Mr. Twisden's letters to the receiving- 
 box at "Wye. But as I traversed the first-floor 
 landing, my ears were assailed by the sharp 
 querulous voice of Mrs. Twisden, who was address- 
 ing her husband in the drawing-room the door of 
 which happened to be standing ajar. 
 
 "And so you call that jade pretty, do you, you 
 old villain ?" she cried. " I'll teach you to look 
 at pretty girls, I will ! I will tear your old eyes 
 out of youv head, if you ever dare to do it again. 
 Pretty indeed ! she is nothing but an impudent 
 trull ; and if she don't behave herself, I will pack 
 her off bag and baggage." 
 
 " But my dear, my dear," interposed Mr. Twis- 
 den, in a voice of abject entreaty, " did you not say 
 all you could to Mr. Collins in favour of the girl ?'' 
 
 "Well, to be sure I did — and what then?'' 
 shrieked forth my mistress. " 0ns likes to appear 
 kind and good to one's servants oefore one's 
 friends ; but privately 1 hate all servants !" 
 
 " Well, well, my dear," said her husband sooth- 
 ingly, " hate just what you like and whom you like ; 
 only just love wic a little less before stran'^ers, so 
 that you may love me a little more when they are 
 gone." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Mr. Twisden !" exclaimed 
 bis lady. 
 
 But I paused to listen no longer. Indeed I 
 even felt annoyed with mys2lf for having stopped 
 to listen at all ; and speeding down stairs, I gave 
 my letter to the gardener, who was just about to set 
 off with hia bag to Wye. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Several more months passed, and I continued to 
 endure exactly the same Idnd of existence which I 
 have been describing. I did not even dare ask for 
 a holiday to go and see my brothers and sisters 
 at Ashford ; and thus a whole year and upwards 
 had passed since we were separated. Robert had 
 answered the letter I wrote him : but though there 
 was nothing actually l)rutal in his response, I can- 
 not say that it was affectionate towards myself or 
 respectful in the mention he made of his employer. 
 He said Mr. Matthews was an old grumbler whom 
 no one could satisfy, and that Mr. Collins was so 
 very particular he saw evil in the most innocent 
 amusement : then he went on to say that he was 
 my elder and that it was not seemly or becoming 
 in me to write to him in such a reproachful style. 
 But in conviusion, he had assured me that I need 
 not be afraid of his bringing disgrace down on tho 
 name we bore. 
 
 Upwards of a year had passed, I say, since 1 
 first set foot at Twisden Lodge; and it was now 
 the mouth of November, with its short gloomy 
 days and its long, long wintry nights. One fore- 
 noon, when it was a little finer than the few pre~ 
 ceding days had been, and there was a glimpse of 
 sunshine upon the hoar frost that sheeted the 
 trees, the roofs, and the grass with silver, — I took 
 Master Dickey, the youngest child (for he was now 
 called " baby " no more) out for a walk. The other 
 two children had, for some reason which I forget, 
 remained in-doors; and I was therefore enabled 
 to enjoy— if enjoyment it were — the companion- 
 ship of my own thoughts as I led along the little 
 fellow who had only been able to walk within the 
 last few months, he being a very backward child. 
 All of a sudden, as we reached a stilo leading 
 from the paddock into the fields, 1 noticed that a 
 man was seated upon the step on the other side ; 
 and as he raised his countenance I gave veuv, to 
 a faint shriek on beholding my brother Robert. 
 
 " Ah ! Mary, is tliat you?" he said in a manner 
 that had not very much affection in it: but be 
 nevertheless stepped over the stile and kissed me 
 on the cheek. 
 
 His breath smelt of liquor; and on regarding 
 him more closely, I was strucic — indeed saocked 
 — by his dissipated appearance, lie »as also 
 shabby and dirty and looked as if he had been 
 passing the previous, night in debauch, or else 
 wandering about. Altogether his appearance Wiio 
 but too well calculated to give nie the greatest 
 pain; and the maddening thought ti-ished to my 
 mind, with the force of an inspiiatiuu, that he 
 would not turn out well in life. 
 
 "Good heavens, Robert I" I exclaimed; "how 
 strange you look! When did you leave Ashford? 
 where have you been?" 
 
 " Oh ! I have just come out for a spree," he re- 
 plied, with the coarse accents, tho bravado look, 
 and the rakish hardihood of tho youth \>ht apes 
 the dissi[)ation of tho m:jn. *' The old fillow — I 
 meau Matthews — gavo me a holiday for tho day; 
 and so I thought 1 would just tramp across and 
 sec you, since you don't conic to Ashford to see us." 
 
 " My master and mistress have not been ablo
 
 16 
 
 MAKY rUICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SKRVANX-MAID. 
 
 to spare me," I replied; ''but they hnve promised 
 mc a holidaj- in a few weeks. Bu& you do not look, 
 Robert, as 1 should like to see you look," I eoa- 
 tiiiued with great seriousness. " In faot, you seem 
 as if you had been out, or at least up, all iiifflit, 
 rather than having only just walked across from 
 Ashi'ord." 
 
 " Oh 1 bothor take the lookV' ho said with a 
 flort of reckless bravado which made hi'S accents 
 go cold to my heart's core: "a 'prentice who is 
 hard-worked and deuced badly paid— not over 
 particularly well fed too— caa't look very bloom- 
 ing." 
 
 " But how loDfi: have you b^cn sitting on this 
 stile ?" I asked, fancying that he had some rea- 
 son for not coming direct on to ilin Loilge. 
 
 "How long?" he eciioed. "Olil only a few 
 minutes: but I thought it likely perhaps you 
 would be walking out, and I didn't knoiv but 
 what you would rather have me meet you 
 here than calling on you at the big mnnsion 
 itself. Besides, I don't like cominj: in contact 
 with those lace-bedizened and yellow-plu^hud 
 flunkeys, who look as stately as if they meant 
 to crush you, or as savage as if they inten led to 
 snap one's head off." 
 
 "Well," I said mournfully — for it struck me 
 that there was something strange, umccountahle, 
 and even suspicious in his looks, liis words, and 
 his proceeding, "you have not told me how the 
 dear girls are, and William " 
 
 "Oh! Bill is getting on swimmingly," he re- 
 pied: "but he had the impud. nee to take me to 
 task a month ago, and so I have not seen him 
 since. As for Sarah, siie is growing a deuced 
 uico giri — full of spirit, too; and little Jane is as 
 fat as ever." 
 
 "And are they happy?" I inquired: "for I 
 need scarcely ask if they are well and kindly 
 treated." 
 
 "Happy!" exclaimed Robert: "I should think 
 they are, too — plenty to eat and drink, and no- 
 thing to do e.xoept needle-work or some S'lc'i n(m- 
 scnse. But 1 say, Mary, we can't very well talk 
 here: and pcrlia;>s you won't like to introduce me 
 into the kitc'icu tUoie,"— pointing lo the L )dge — 
 "for I know 1 am not quit; as neat and clean as 
 I might be. But you miy manage, perhaps, to 
 let me slip up to your own room ; and there we 
 can have a nice cozy chat to^et'ier." 
 
 "Hubert my dear brother," 1 exclaimed, lurst- 
 ing into tears ; " how strangely altered you are I 
 The idea of even asking me to iutr iduce you steal- 
 tliilyanl slily into the house! No — couju round 
 boldly, if you will, with me to the .servants' hall." 
 
 " No, not this time," he answered. "I am not 
 well togged enough. But what a nice place it is 
 though," he continued, fi.ving his eyes on the Lodge. 
 "A servants' hall, eh — and a kiiciicn besides?" 
 
 "Yes, to be sure," I said. 
 
 "Whit! and a butler's pantry and all that kind 
 of thing?" ho continued. 
 
 " Yes," I again answered. " Is it not a gentle- 
 man's liouse?" 
 
 *' And he's very rich, I suppose, the old fellow ?" 
 sai 1 Robert, apparently in a careless manner. 
 
 "Yes, 1 think ho is very well off," I observed. 
 
 "Oh! of course he is," exclaimed Robert. "I 
 euppnae he lives in good style— dines off silver 
 plate every day—" 
 
 "H-; lives like a gentleman, as he is," was my 
 answer. 
 
 "Many servants — eh?" inquired Robert. "But- 
 ler, I suppose ?" 
 
 "No— but a footman who performs the duty of 
 one," I replied. 
 
 " What? lakes care of the wine-cellar, the plate 
 in the pantry, an 1 all those kind of things?" said 
 Robert. " Ah ! that's just the berth I should like : 
 it's muoh better than a miserable 'prentice to an 
 old drudge of a carpenter." 
 
 " I am sorry to find that you are not satisfied 
 with your condition," said 1. "Do you know, 
 Robert, I have been very uneasy concerning you ; 
 p.vA you cimnot conceive all the distress of mind 1 
 experienced when 1 wrote that le ter " 
 
 "Well, about the letter," he exclaimed, inter- 
 rupting me : " did I not answer it ? did I not pro- 
 mise you I would bs a good steady fellow? But 
 I raaliy cannot help admiring your master's house," 
 he continued, with his eye* still fixed upon Twis- 
 den Lodge. " I suppose those three windows w.th 
 the red curtains and the yellow friiiges are the 
 drawing-room?" — then, as I nodded assent, he 
 added, "And I'll be bound that the windows over- 
 head with the blue curtains just seen through, and 
 the beautiful snow-white bliuda, are the old folks' 
 bedroom ?" 
 
 "Dear me, Robert, how childishly you are talk- 
 ing!" I exclaimed. "Considering we have been 
 parted so long, and might be supposed to have so 
 much to say to each other " 
 
 "What! do you mean that I am chiMish?" he 
 asked. " If I feel interested in the place where you 
 live, is there any harm in that?" 
 
 "Fcrgive me, Robert," I hastened to CTCclaim, 
 my heart suddenly yearning towards him at the bare 
 idea of his feeling interested in me, his sister, who 
 loved him so well, "Go on, Robert — ask me any 
 que?tion3 you like." : 
 
 " Loiu bless you, Maiy," he said, " it is no matter 
 to me where your master and mistress sleep, or 
 where they don't: but just to satisfy a whim, didn't 
 I guess right now about that upper room being their 
 bed-cliamber ?" 
 
 " Yes, your conjecture is true," I responded : 
 " and tliose two windows you see on the corrcspoud- 
 ing side of the buildin,' are toe nursery." 
 
 " Is that where you sleep, Mary I" 
 
 "No: the top window above the po;'tico is my 
 room, where this little fellow and I sleep together." 
 
 " Ah ! it's a nice place," observed Robert : " but 
 lonely though — very lonely. I suppose you havo 
 plenty of bolis and bars, pistols and blunderbusses, 
 and all those kind of things ?" 
 
 " 1 never saw any fire-arms in the house since I 
 hare been there," was my reply : "and as for bolts 
 and bsrs, I do not know that such defences are par- 
 ticularly in request. Of cour^o all proper pre- 
 cautions are taken : but no one ever thinks of thieves 
 and robbers in this neighbourhood. I have not 
 heard a single syllable said upon the subject since 
 I first came here." • • 
 
 " But I hope, dear Mary," said Robert, with an 
 apparent air of coucern, " that you always lock your 
 door of a night? I'll be bound that your master 
 and mistress take very good care to lock tluir bed- 
 room door " 
 
 " Indeed," I exclaimed, "I am veiy certain they 
 do Ttot: for when Master Dickey here has been
 
 JUUY pbice; or, the memoirs of a «erv ant-maid. 
 
 crying of a morning, Mrs. Twisden has suddenly 
 ruslicd out of her cliamber to ask wliat was the 
 matter, and I have heard no bolts drawn back nor 
 key turned in the lock." 
 
 " Well, you must know, dear Mary," observed 
 Robert, "tliat if I entertain any fears it is only 
 on your account, because the place is certainly as 
 
 lonely as it well can b& However," he iiuine- 
 
 dialely added, "enough upon ttiis point. I am 
 glad I have seen you: but I wish you would not 
 go making yourself miserable on my account, and 
 writing me such melancholy letters. Rest assured 
 that I shall do all tliat's right and turn out all 
 that's well." 
 
 "Good heavens!" I exclaimed, terrified at the 
 words he had just uttered; for it seemed as if 
 knowing the elements of his own weakness, he was 
 in a negative sense predicting his own ruin : " have 
 you ever contemplated the possibility of turning 
 out otherwise thun well? Consider, my dear bro- 
 NO. 3. 
 
 ther, I said," now taking his hand and pressing it 
 affectionately, "one false step made can never be 
 retrieved." 
 
 " That's just what old Dr. Nance said in the 
 pulpit the other Sunday," interrupted Robert. 
 
 " Ah ! then you do still go to church," I ex- 
 claimed, a sensation of joy and hope springing up 
 witliin me. 
 
 " To be sure I do, Mary," replied my brother: 
 then in a different tone, anil whicli seemed to me to 
 be at the timcfrau'^ht with deep earnestness, he said, 
 " I am not so bad as I know that I have been re- 
 ported to you. By your lett?r I saw that old 
 Collins had been telling you I frequented tlie ale- 
 house, and that was one of the couiplaiuts of old 
 Matthews " 
 
 " Mr. Coilicis and Mr. IMatthews," said I cor- 
 rectively. 
 
 •' Yes— to ho surq — beg pardon, Mary dear," 
 rgoincd Robert, with ^ mo:mnlary llippancy; but
 
 MABV PBIOE; Olt, TUS MEMOIBS OF A SEBVAUT-MAID. 
 
 instantly resuming a serious manner and voice, he 
 continued thus:— "It is all very well for Mr. 
 M;it,tiiews to go and tell talcs; but sometimes oi 
 a S itur iay niifht, when pay-hour corner, he hasn't 
 got the money ready, so his foreman tells all the 
 men to go round to the Saracen* Head tap and 
 wait there till h.3 conies. "Weil, of course they 
 must do sumothiiig; and what can they do but 
 diink and smoks— and this perhaps up to eight, 
 nine, or even ten o'c'ock— and as pay time ii at 
 five, several hours are so spent in dnoking. Well 
 then, if old Mntthew3 regularly encourages this 
 amongst his men, how can he grumble if his 'pren- 
 tice just drops in to a little quiet respectable ale- 
 house on the outsldrts and takes a drop with a 
 friend ?" 
 
 " I wish to heaven, Robert, you would promise me 
 never to go there again ?" — and as I spoke I looked 
 oainestly up into his cuunteiianoe. "Now, my 
 dear brother, you have been drinkiojj this morn- 
 ing — -" 
 
 " Well, just a glass of ale," h3 exclaimed; "and 
 there's no harm in that durLn;j a ftva mile walk. 
 But however, [ really will bear in mind all you tell 
 
 me, Maiy, for you are a goo 1 girl But I say," 
 
 he sudrie'niy ex'c aimed, " what dog is that barking?" 
 — and he se.imed to listen attentively. 
 
 "Dog!" I echoed. " I can hear n jne." 
 
 "0.1 ! but I did though," he immediately said : 
 "and a good large one too! It must be about 
 your premises." 
 
 "We have no doga at the pre3?nt moment,"' 
 said I. •' Mr. Reuben Twisdjn— that is masters 
 son, who lives at the firm over yonder — took away 
 our dog last week, because he barked so at night 
 time." 
 
 " Ah 1 indeed," observed Robert. " Well, good 
 bye, Mary dear: I must be off now. I promised 
 Mr. Matthews to be home early in the evuuiug, and 
 I shall keep my word." 
 
 " Then jou really mean," said I, " to turn over a 
 new leaf?" 
 
 " I do, upon my worJ," he replied. " When you 
 come to Ashford In a week or two, as you say you 
 shall, you will hear quite another aocouut of me. 
 Come, kiss nie— and now good bye." 
 
 We embraced and parted ; and I hurried back to 
 the house — for this colloquy had exceeded half-an- 
 hour, and Master Dickey was getting sleepy and 
 cross. But the moment I entered the hall 1 heard 
 liie drawing-room bell ring violently; and the ibot- 
 man, who had run up to answer the summons, mat 
 lue on the stairs as 1 was ascending a minute or two 
 afterwards, and stated tiiat Mrs. Twisden desired to 
 see me the moment I had taken Master Dickey up 
 to the nursery. I instantaneously knew that some- 
 thing was wrontr, and suspected that I had been 
 seen in conversation with my brother: but as he 
 was my brother, I fancied that I had only to mention 
 this circumstance in order to set liie nutter at rest. 
 Accordingly, having consigned the child to the care 
 of the upper-nvirse, nn;l having taken otT my b.tnnet 
 and shawl, I proceeded to the drawing-room, where 
 Mr. Twisdcn was lolling in an e.isy chair looking at 
 the fire, and his lady was seated bolt upright in an 
 arm-ciiair, as starch and prim as you please, and 
 witii her mind as well as her face evidently made up 
 for " a scene." 
 
 " Come in, young woman — shut the doar," she 
 said, in a curt peremptory maimer: then pointiug 
 
 towards a spy-gl;iss which lay upon a side-table, she 
 said with a leer of malignant mockery, " This tells 
 tales, bringing distant objects close to view, and 
 showing the slightest gestures of people, even at the 
 end of the paddock." 
 
 I blushed— not through any sensa of shame, 
 because I had done no wrong ; but it was with a 
 feeling of indignation at the thought of having my 
 actions (for I knew that she was alluding to me) the 
 subject of so mean and base an espial. 
 
 "There, Mr. Twisden !" she ejaculated in atone 
 of triumph as sh3 turned t;jward3 her husband : 
 "did I not al.vays tell you that this was as sly a 
 puss as ever walked ? But you have invariably 
 taken her part, you luve— iuterforin^ between me 
 and my servants ■■ " 
 
 " I am sure, my dear," began Mr. TirLideD, re- 
 verentially, "Inever— — " 
 
 "Enough, sir!" broke in the lady with an air of 
 majestic disdiiinfulnesa: then turning to me, while 
 her counieiiauce suddenly grew distorted wit'i 
 rage, she cried, " And now, you siut, what have yuu 
 got to say for yourself— meeting a lover down 
 there at the siile, and kissing him under the very 
 windows of the house ! Oh ! you shameloss wretch, 
 what an example for that dear cldld of mine that 
 you dared take with you! Mr. Ttfiadt-n, sir, dj 
 you allow our child — our iimocent offspring — to 
 be Vwii demoralized— thus carrupted— thus con- 
 taminated?" 
 
 "Whom do you mean, my dear?" asked her 
 huband, with quiet vaouity. "Not the baby 
 surely 2" 
 
 " Yes, sir — that innocent babe," continned Mrs. 
 Twisden, still pursuing her heroics: "our babe, I 
 say, who beheld this vile slut, kissing £ome loose 
 follow " 
 
 " If you please, ma'am," said I, my cheeks colour- 
 ing wit!i indignation, but my eyes gushing with 
 tears at the same moment, " it was my brother — 
 ray eldest brother Robert— who came to see 
 me — >-" 
 
 <*Ahl iadaed," ejaculated Mr. Twisdeo, sud- 
 denly starling ronod in his seat, and with the air 
 of one who was unfeig.iedly rejoiced to find tiiat a 
 fdllow-creature could put fortli a triamphaut vin- 
 dication against an imputed oITencc. 
 
 "Yes, sir, such is the solemu truth," I added 
 emphatically, even with vehemance : "and i; was 
 beoauio mistress to'd me at the be,'inning that she 
 would allow no followers of any kind, I did not 
 persist ia bringing my brother rouul to the ser- 
 vants' hall — altliougi) I certainly did ask liim once 
 to aicompany ine thither." 
 
 "Tiien you see, my dear," said Mr. Twisden, 
 " the poor girl has explained h.;r conJuct "' 
 
 "Poor girl, indeed 1" cried the lady, whj was 
 evidently convinced thit 1 had sp )kea the truth, 
 bat had not the generosity to acknowledge that 
 she had accusel me wron.>f jUy. " 1 beg you will 
 not spsak of any young woman iu such a manner, 
 Mr. Twisden, in my preu-nce. As for explainmg 
 any tiling, of course there's always an excuse 
 rjaJy. There never was a feraUj servant yet who 
 had not a host of coiivo.iient brothers, and uncles, 
 and cousins; and aft.-r all they are nearly ail 
 lovers! However, I shall look ovc- it this time," 
 she continued, as if suft'oriug herself to be softened 
 into mercy. 
 
 " Bat 1 cau assure yon, ma'am," said I, a suffi-
 
 i&ABt fsice; on, tee j!F.-jsora? op a seuvant-haid. 
 
 m 
 
 «? spiri-j iffsisg ^ishia 123 to ra^iki xsa 
 tf5J7olt agiiiust tha idea of being pard):ioil for 
 Eothinw; "1 have noS doa3 aay harm. ThiS 
 young man was my brother, who \7alked over from 
 Ashi'orJ to see me ; and if you d > not believe me, 
 it is so easy to satisfy your£eif, ma'am, that I ara 
 speaking the truth." 
 
 "As if I should take th-; IrouWe I" observed 
 Mrs. Twisden, with a disdainful toss of the head. 
 
 I might have reminded her — but of course I 
 dared not— that she had taken a great deal of 
 trouble to endeavour to blast my character, 
 and that as a Christian it became her ti spare no 
 pains in arriving a*i the truth, supposing that she 
 still doubted it — which of course she did ?iof. She 
 had espied my movements with the telescope — 
 she had evidently watched for tlie moment when I 
 re-entered to ring the ball furiously and order me 
 into her presence — she had even arranged herself 
 with that magisterial primness in the arm- chair 
 so as to make ths scene all the more gratifying to 
 her own enjoyment of petty tyranny and all the 
 more crashing for myse f : but now it was with a 
 prideful t>s3 of the head that she rejected any- 
 thing like trouble in doing me justice. And how 
 often have I seen this same devouring eagerness 
 and gloating readiness oa the part of masters and 
 mistresses to crush poor servants to the very du^t: 
 but seldom, very seldom, would they even have 
 given themselves the trouble to walk across the 
 room to clear that same poor seryant from sus- 
 picion! 
 
 " Weil, I have told you," resumed Mrs. Twis- 
 den sharply, as if I had sought this interview and 
 had either produced the scene or was tlie C'lUse 
 of prolonging it, — "I have told you that I will 
 look over it this time. "Wliat more can you want ? 
 It is not every mistress who is so indulgent as I 
 am. There, that's enough," she added, still more 
 petulantly ; for the tears T^ere now pouring down 
 my cheeks. "Il's no use whimpering. I have 
 before told you I don't 1 ke crocodiles' tears." 
 
 "But, my dear," interposed her husband mildly, 
 " thi'^ young woman has proved her innocence " 
 
 "Hold your tongue, Mr. Twisden. I do not in- 
 terf'^re between you and your footman, or grocm, 
 and I beg that you «ill not iaterfera between me 
 and my maids. Now, Mary, there's enough of all 
 this. Retire to the nursery." 
 
 Tiiough smarting bitteily under the sense of 
 keenest wrong and cruellest outrage, yet what 
 could I do? To venture a word of remonstrame 
 would be to risk my place ; and that I dared not 
 loe, bad though it were. I ancordini,'Iy hastened 
 to withdraw: but ce the door completely closed 
 behind mc, I heard Mrs. Tvfisden say to her hus- 
 band in a low, his-iing voice, f u 1 of reptile like 
 malit;nity, "You old villain, you still take her 
 p 4rt, do you ! But beware how " 
 
 1 heard no more : for at that instant 1 closed 
 the d lor. Novfrtheless, I liad iieard enough to 
 €aff ;rd mo an additional proof that my mister took 
 com;;assion upon m", and even suffered on that 
 account from the vixenish temper of his wife. 
 
 CHAFTEa ff. 
 
 THK TRIP TO CANTEnSUIit. 
 
 A FF.T7 uaytj after t':e scsne which I have just io- 
 scribed, I accompanied 5Ir. and ^irs. Twisden in 
 the carriage to Canterbury, which ancient clLy is 
 only some seven oi eight miles from Wye. Mr. 
 Twisden had business at the banlcer's; and Air;. 
 Twisdon wanted to go " shopping." Tiio day wis 
 remavk-v:j!y ftue for the season of the year, the air 
 being clear, crisp, an 1 fnsty; and therefore it was 
 considered thitit wou'd do Master Dickey good. I 
 of course went to take care of iiim, — the amiable 
 Master Gustavus and Miss Miranda remaining at 
 home with the upper-nurse. 
 
 On arriving at Cantarhui-y, the carriage was put 
 up at the Fountain Hotel, where lunch was also 
 ordered to be ready by and bye. Sir. Twisden 
 went off to his banker's ; and I followed my mis- 
 tress in her shopping rounds. 
 
 And here I may observe that to her other faults, 
 which were certainly not a few, she added that of 
 the most pineh'ng, grasping meanars?. We went 
 into one linen draper's shop, where she sat nearly 
 an hour, making the assistant pull the whole placj 
 to pieces in order to show her the different goods 
 it was her whim to inspect. For my parr, patient 
 and enduring as I am naturally and as circum- 
 stances iiuleed compelled me to be, I wondered at 
 the patience and endurance of the shopman, not 
 merely in respect to having to show so many dif- 
 ferent things when only one article in reality was 
 required, but also on account of the airs which the 
 lady gave herself, the imperious manner in which 
 she ordered him about, and the style in which she 
 took him to task when he was not quick enough 
 for her. But there was the porr young man, as 
 submissive, as polite, and as obliging as it was pos- 
 sible to be ; wiiilo it appeared that in proporti n as 
 his obsequiousness grew servile and cringing, Mrs. 
 Twisden's manner became all the more imperious 
 and overbearing. At length, having inspected a 
 hundred different articles, and had as many pieces 
 of goods taken down and spread open durmg the 
 hour we staid there as wouid take at least hilf a 
 diy to fold up and put in their places aga-'n, Mrs. 
 Twisden ended by laying out exactly thirteen shil- 
 lings and sixpence: and though the parcel was so 
 very small that she m-ght have put it into hor reti- 
 cule, or I could of course have carried it for her, 
 she would insist that it should be sent to the 
 Foujitain //eW,— thrcateidng ttiat if it were not 
 there within nn hour she would never deal at that 
 shop ag;dn. Tluu, as she touk her departure 
 amidst the b.wings and scrapin!,'S of the master- 
 draper and his shopman, siie received their liomage 
 just feraU the world as if she felt that she was a 
 great b'Tiefictross to the cstablislmi' nt and had 
 been liying out there at least a* many pounds a) 
 she had spent shillings. 
 
 We thence proceeded to three or four other 
 ships, v.h re my ni'stfess behaved in just the same 
 way, i^ivii g a vast amount < f trouidc, sliowinij off 
 her aiis, ;'nd ending by purcl asing next to nothing. 
 I was really so ashamed of ii' r procre linirs that I 
 fe't as if it was I my«olf who was do'ng all that she 
 dill ; and 1 coold not help thinking that if poor 
 women wore to give one tithe of tiiat troable, thet
 
 20 
 
 MAny price; ob, the MEMoins op a servant-maid. 
 
 w^ould very soon be told that their custom was not 
 wanted and that the sliopkeepers would rathe" 
 have their room than their company. 
 
 Bit it was not merely in giving trouble and 
 turning the shops topsy-turvy that Mrs. Tirisden 
 displayed her bal taste: for when she l;ad at 
 len;jth selected some small article, she would sit 
 liagsjliug about the price, beating down the shop- 
 man even for a few pence, in a manner which made 
 the blood tingle to the very tips of my finders, and 
 I felt all the shame and confusion which my mis- 
 tress ought to have experienced. I recollect, too, 
 upon tlie occasion of this visit to Canterbury which 
 I am describing, that when I thought our shopping 
 rounds were over and we were returning to the 
 hotel, Mrs. Twisden, who seemed to be in rather a 
 good humour, suddenly turned to me, exclaiming, 
 " By the by, Mary, there is a new liaen draper's 
 opened, I hear, in Mercery Lane. I must just go 
 and have a look at it. Not that I want any thing : 
 but it is as well just to see " 
 
 Here she mumbled something to herself, so that 
 I lost the remaindir of the sentence; and on she 
 sped to the new draper's, I cljsely following, 
 dragging the great heavy child in my arms— for he 
 was now fast a-sleep. 
 
 Tlie moment we entered the establishment, one 
 shopman outside tlie counter handed chairs, and 
 another inside stood reaiy to receive orders. Mrs. 
 Twisden desired him to show her some silks for 
 dresses; and in a moment a pile of beautiful pieces 
 was spread before her. While examining them, 
 she took care to let the shopman know that she 
 was Mrs. Twisden of Twisden Lodge, near Wye, 
 and that she was accustomed to deal at Canter- 
 lury, but that she did not care with whom she 
 dealt pirticularlj', so long as she was well served. 
 Of course this announcement of her name and 
 conditional promise of patronage placed the shop- 
 man more on the alert than ever ; and nothing 
 could equ^l his attention. He was positively ex- 
 erucia.iiig in liis politeness; and for my part I fvlt 
 it was quite piiufulto foresee that all this marvel- 
 lous cAi ity and insinuating obsequiousness would 
 be tliro-.vn aw.ny. But my mistress experienced no 
 such fe. ling. When she liad inspected the silks — 
 fe t them— lingered them — pulled them to try their 
 strength — anl inquired all their pi ices, she asked 
 to look at some satins. These she treated in just 
 the same manner, looking however ju-t for all the 
 world as if she meant to end by at least a twenty 
 guinea purchase. However, she gave no order for 
 satins, but desired to be shown some velvets; and 
 this request was instantaneously complied with. It 
 really seemed as if a fairy wand brought down piles 
 of costly stuffs from shelves and boxes and iieaped 
 them upon the count«r. The shopman was evi- 
 dently in the highest possible spirits; and from j 
 time to time I saw him fling a most encouraging 
 and self-satislicd look towards his master, who was ■ 
 seated at a little high desk at the far end of the 
 establishment, no doubt waiting to write oat the 
 heavy order which he supposed himself abcu^ to 
 receive. I saw all the hopes that were thus in- 
 spired, and I felt as ashamed — indeed as wretchft*! 
 as if 1 had committed a crime : fi)r I suspected hat 
 all tliis was about to end. Indeed, I heartilj 
 wished myself safe out of the shop. There, however, 
 did my mistress remain an hour — a full hour — in- 
 specting everythitg she fancied until the counter- 
 
 literally groaned beneath the weight of all the 
 goods heaped upon it. At longih she rose, and 
 coo'Iy saying, " We'.l, I shall call in another day," 
 slowiy stalked out of the shop. The master anl 
 his assistants were evidently astounded fjr the 
 moment: but speedily recovering themselves, they 
 bowed her out with as much politeness as if she 
 had spent fifty guineas amongst them. It was 
 quite a relief to me when we got out of Mercery 
 Lane: fori Ecarcely conceived it possible that a 
 lady who so ostentatiously paraded her wealth and 
 vaunted her position, could have had an entire 
 shop thus pulled to pieces out of sheer curiosity 
 and then have taken her leave after all withont 
 buying so much as a yard of ribbon ! 
 
 AVell, we now retraced our way to the Fountai* 
 Hotel, which was indeed close by; and my mistress 
 desired me to follow her into the room where the 
 luncheon was served up. On being c mducted by 
 the waiter to that apartment, we found Mr. Twis- 
 den seated at the fire, in company with a militai-y 
 officer in his blue undress uniform. He was tall iu 
 stature, certamly very handsome .Tnd of elegant 
 appearance : his age was about three or four-and- 
 tweiity— his hair and eyes were dark — hii whiskers 
 were carefully curled — and he had a moustache 
 which, though as jetty as his hair, was nevertheless 
 as delicately pencilled as his eyebrows. 
 
 "My dear," said Mr. Twisden, introducing the 
 officer to his wife, " I just now fell in with aa ac- 
 quaintance of oui's at tlie banker's. This is Sir Au- 
 brey Clavering, Major in command of His Majesty's 
 regiment of infantry stationed at the bar- 
 
 racks of this city." 
 
 "I believe that I had the honour," said the 
 young baronet — for such he was — "tf seeing Mrs. 
 Twisden at Dover three or four years ago. I was 
 then comparatively a boy," he added, with a cer- 
 tain tinge of affectation in his voice and manner 
 as he twirled his moustache. 
 
 " I perfectly re collect," said Mrs. Twisden, now 
 assuming all that amiability which she could put on 
 to suit particular occasions. " You were then a 
 lieutenant iu your regiment. Sir Aubrey, if I mis- 
 take not ? And now " 
 
 " Now you see, my dear, he is a Majn; although 
 but little better than still a minor in years:'' — aud 
 Mr. Twisden laughed so heartily at his wretched 
 joke that he grew quite purple in the face. 
 
 " Always jocular and good-natured, you see. Sir 
 Aubrey," said Mrs. Twisden, flinging towards her 
 husband a look which a casual observer might sup- 
 pose to be fraught with the sweetest amiability, but 
 which was really penetrated with a certain electric 
 warning that he had better mind and not make » 
 fool of himself. 
 
 " I can assure you, madam," said the Baronet^ 
 " that 1 was quite charmed to meet with your ex- 
 cellent husband again. He insisted upon brinjf- 
 ing me hither to lunch ; and he has followed up 
 his Idndness by inviting me to visit Twisden 
 Lodge " 
 
 " 1 am sure," interrupted the lady, with the most 
 mellifluous urbanity, " nothing will give us greater 
 pleasure than to receive you at the Lodge. In- 
 deed, before we talce our leave to-day, Mr. Twisden 
 must get from you a settled promise as to when 
 you will come." 
 
 " To be sure — and the sooner the better," ob- 
 served my master, evidently rejoiced to U»ink that
 
 MAltY PRICE ; OH, THE MEMOIRS 01' A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 21 
 
 the invitation he had thus given, for a wonder ex- 
 perienced hjs wife's approval. " Come, name your 
 own diy, Ciavcring-, and bring any of your friends 
 you like. What say you to Monday next?" 
 
 " I sliall be entirely at your service," replied Sir 
 Aubrey: then advancing towards the corner in 
 which 1 had seated myself with JMaster Dickey on 
 ray lap, he said in a tone of assumed admiration, 
 " What a lovely little creature ! I never saw such a 
 fine fellow in all my Ufe. I suppose he is the 
 youngest — eh ?" 
 
 And he patted the clieeks of the child, who 
 I am bomid for truth's sake to declare was deci- 
 dedly the ugliest and most repulsive-looking infant 
 I ever saw. 
 
 "Yes, that is the youngest," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Twisden, in an eestacy of delight at the compli- 
 ments lavished on Master Dickey. "Doa"t you 
 think he is uncommonly like his pa ?" 
 
 " Well, I really think he is," answered the officer, 
 as he stood in front of where I was seated, appa- 
 rently contemplating the child, but in reality with 
 his eyes fixed upon my face in such a manner that 
 I felt myself turning the colour of scarlet and 
 trembling all over with confusion. " He is indeed 
 a splendid little fellow," added Sir Aubrey: and 
 as he again patted the child's cheek, he gave me a 
 squeeze of the hand. 
 
 I drew my hand away with such abruptness and 
 gave such a start of indignation that the child 
 awoke and began setting up so terrific a screaming 
 that Sir Aubrey retreated in dismay to the fireside, 
 exclaiming, " 1 am afraid I have done something 
 wrong : but I hope to be forgiven." 
 
 1 could not help seeing that while he apparently 
 alluded to tlie fiict of disturbing the child, as indeed 
 Mr. and Mrs. Twisden took his meaning to be, he 
 was in reality conveying a sort of apology to me 
 for his rudeness, so as to disarm me of that resent- 
 ment which might induce me to tell my mistress 
 what had happened. But of course it was an inci- 
 dent which 1 dared not mention to such a woman 
 as Mrs. Twisden, who was the last in the world to 
 give a poor servant-girl credit for good intentions 
 or virtuous notions. 
 
 It was some time be ''ore I could manage to pacify 
 JFastcr Dickey; and this was only done by giving 
 him a large tart from a dish of sweets upon the 
 side-board. 
 
 iNIr. and Mrs. Twisden and Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 now sat down to lunch ; and of the conversation 
 whicli took place I must record the following por- 
 tion. 
 
 "Let me see," said Mr. Twisden, as he held a 
 plass of brown sherry between his eyes and the 
 light of the window, " it must be five years since I 
 saw you, Clavering, at Dover. Ah! you little 
 thought then that you were destined one day to 
 succeed to the title and estates wliich you now 
 possess." 
 
 " No — assuredly, such an event was not within 
 the range of prophecy," observed the Baronet. 
 " My deceased cousin, being in the prime of life 
 and full of vigorous health, seemed destined to live 
 to a good old age ; and thoM}]^h he had rcmaiiiod so 
 long uninarricil, yet it was not to be expected that 
 he meant to continue in single blessedness all his 
 life. At all events, it w.os not for rnij sake that he 
 would have remained unmarried: he had no par- 
 ticular fondness for me, so as to m< kc him wish to 
 
 leave me his heir, as indeed I was in law so long as 
 he remained childless."' 
 
 "And his death," observed Mr. Twisden,— "dij 
 you think it was accidental, or suicide ?" 
 
 "Accidental, no doubt!" exclaimed Sir Aubrey. 
 " What earthly reason had he to commit suicide ?" 
 
 " It was not by violence, then, that lie perished ?" 
 asked Sir. Twisden. " No foul play was sus- 
 pected?" 
 
 "No," rejoined the Baronet: "I don't think 
 such an idea struck anybody. But the fact is that 
 the corpse, when found, was so shockingly decom- 
 posed and so disfigured — indeed, half eaten by the 
 fish— that if it had not been for the watch and 
 sea's which remained in his fob, and a signet-ring 
 which he always carried in his purse, it would have 
 been by no means easy to have proved the identity 
 of my poor cousin's body." 
 
 " We were much shocked on reading the account 
 in the papers when it took place," said Mrs. Twis- 
 den. " Not that we had any particular acquaint- 
 ance with the late Sir M''yndham Clavering : indeed 
 we had not very often seen him — only at County 
 Balls, Canterbury Races, and on such-like occa- 
 sions." 
 
 " You remember, my dear, we saw him at Dover," 
 said Mr. Twisden, "when we first had the pleasure 
 of forming the acquaintance of Sir Aubrey— then 
 plain Lieutenant Clavering," added my master with 
 a smile. 
 
 " To be sure, we saw Sir Wyndham then !" eja- 
 culated Mrs. Twisden. " And now. Sir Aubrey," 
 she continued, also «ith a smile, " I hope yon do 
 not mean to follow the example of your late cousin 
 and let all the best years of your life slip by with- 
 out seeking the blessing-s of matrimony ?" 
 
 Here INIr. Twisden gave a sort of subdued groan, 
 and appeared to writhe for a moment uneasily on 
 his chair. 
 
 "Is anything the matter with j'ou, my dear.'" 
 asked his lady, with well assumed tenderness of 
 tone, but with a quick flash of lightning-menace in 
 her looks. " I am afraid this partridge-pie is dis- 
 agreeing with you?" 
 
 " No, my dear— it is not the pie exactly," stam- 
 mered Mr. Twisden, with an indescribably comical 
 expression of misery upon his countenance. " But 
 you were recommending our young friend here to 
 marry soon. Wow I — I— should advise " 
 
 And then the old gentleman mumbled something 
 about "evil day" and "as long as possible," so 
 that Sir Aubrey Clavering certiinly stared in as- 
 tonishment, and Mrs. Twiiden looked daggers at 
 her unfortunate husband. 
 
 " He's only joking," she exclaimed, with a laugh 
 into which she endeavoured to throw .ts much 
 jocularity as possible, but whieli w;is p:diifully hys- 
 terical in its mockery of mirthfulnops. *■ You see, 
 Sir Aubrey, Mr. T. has had such hnppy experience 
 of the joys of matrimony, that wlioti deit'i de- 
 prived him of his first spouse, he was fain to take a 
 second." 
 
 "And I am convinced, madam," said the B.iroiiet, 
 who doubtless saw that tlie conversation had taken 
 a disagreeable turn f )r hi-t host and hostess, " my 
 friend Mr. Twisden must nccour.t himself the po-- 
 sf ssor of a tre.isuro in yourself. Now, Twi^dcii," 
 he added quickly, in order to give a turn to tho 
 d scour.sp, "I sliall ncc< pt your kind invitation for 
 next Monday, and sliall come willi bag and bnff
 
 23 
 
 MAnT rnicE; or, toe memoibs of a snn vast maid. 
 
 gr'ge rc;uly to pass a wfflc «i'h yi)u. Perlinps I 
 thili eviMi liiirig a fr find, accordi::g' to the per- 
 niissi'.n 1 h^ive received." 
 
 The coiivcrrialion thereupon flowed into a new 
 chaniK-l : hut I need now chninicle no more cf it. 
 "Wliffi lunch was over, I was allowed to partake of 
 wl at I chose at a sidctahle : hut I c-iuU not help 
 observing th;it Sir Aui)rey C'avering frequently 
 fixed his eyes upon me in a mimncr that 1 did not 
 like, and which covered me with con''u3ion. In- 
 deed, I f' It very g'ad wlien tbo carrinfre was or- 
 dered. Of course Sir Aubrey iiandcd Mrs. Twi;- 
 d'^n in; and ih-^n he assisted me to entor, obscrviNg 
 " Taiie care : it is awkward to ascend with that fini! 
 lieavy fidlow in your arms." 
 
 This was no doubt deemed by him a necessary 
 excu;io for his condescension in helping- a poor ser- 
 vant girl in such a manner : but while he did thus 
 assist me, he again squeezed my hand, as he h;id 
 previously done in tl.o room. Aa:ain also did I 
 withdraw it so abruptly as to make him aware that 
 to tlio extent of my power I resented the liberty 
 he tlim dared to t:ikc. 
 
 The caa'iage rolh d away; and during the ride 
 back to Twisden Lodge tlie lady did notliing but 
 addnss her husband in the sliarpest an>i most 
 prov'lfing manner, duubtl>'S3 to avenge hersfdF for 
 what he l^ad sa d r;'srC(.:iiii^ matrimonial matters 
 to Sir Autrey Clavering. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AN AI/ARMINO ADVENTURB. 
 
 As i\Ir. and Mrs. Twisdcn were soinowhat fatigned 
 with tiioir day's tip to C mt rbury, tliey I'etired 
 to re-t about lialf-an-hmir earlier tlian usual. In- 
 decni, it was sliort y after ten o'c Oek when the 
 entire houseliold tiad wiihdraNvn for the night; and 
 Us 1 also was much weaned with having bad to 
 drag a heavy child ab >ut the streets of Canter- 
 bury, I saiv with much pleasu c that the litile 
 f(llow was in a sleep so piofuund that it promised 
 to last. Ace Tdingly, I lay down in the expec;a- 
 lion of eiijoyiiig a i^ood nij^ht's rest; and a very 
 few minutes after my head touched the pillow, 
 sleep iVU upon my eyes. 
 
 I knew not how long I had t!iu< sMmbercd; but 
 suddenly was I awakened by loud cries sounding 
 through the hou-e. I started up in bed ircm'iling 
 all over — a cold perspiration b.'ithing me from 
 head to foot, and my liearr. bcatifg so loud that it 
 seemed lik.5 a clos' d hand thumping at the bed's 
 head. M'llh su.sp i.d'd brtalli I li>.tened. The 
 cry of " Thieves ! ' whic'i liad prev ous'y rung in 
 my ears, w.is cciniinud. Botti my ma.'-ter and 
 nli^tre^s were K'ivuig vent to tiiose cries; ami in a 
 few moments 1 heard the footman and cnachiiian, 
 who both slept at the lop of Iho lioust-, call ng out 
 tliat they wfrc coining. Then there wa's the rii-ii 
 of feet in the passiigos and down tho stairs; and 
 my feats were increasing t;) a degree of exeiuci- 
 Riiiin 1 cared not move— I couhl not, even it I 
 had dated; for the rocm w.ts [dtch da'k, anda 
 thousand vagiie fears wi re traieing up n inc. 
 
 In a few moments I hear I a sweeping kind of 
 noise, ns if some one wa'i stealing along the passage, 
 his eh thes brushing ag^iinst the wall : anH the next 
 moment the sound sopped at my door I The blood 
 
 curdled in my veins — a fearful consternsfion Ecizei* 
 upon me. I heard some one tryi?!g the handle; and 
 as I never locked ths door, there '.vas no hindrance 
 to its being opened. Opened th'?r., it was— and some- 
 body stole in. I heard him as plainly as possible: 
 I also heard the door shut again and then locked ;— 
 but I neither remembered nor heard any more, for 
 at that instant my senses abandoned me. How long 
 I remained in this state I know not: but as con- 
 sciousness gradually returned and I slowly recol- 
 lected what had taken place, I once more became 
 the prey to an awful consternation. I felt convinced 
 that a thief was concealed in my room — most pro- 
 bably under the bed. Heavens! what a ci Id shud- 
 dering swept through me as this conviction settled 
 itself in my mind. There I lay for a few minutes, 
 rigid as a corpse, hut with all the faculties of my 
 soul vividly and fearfully awake. Utter darkness 
 still rei'.'ned in the roam: it was therefore night 
 jtill. Silence also now prevailed throughout the 
 house — a silence that seemed to entomb me in its 
 stupendous depth ! 
 
 Sudrlenly the idea flashed across my brain that I 
 had been labouring under the influence of a hideous 
 night-mare. Those cries I had heard on the part 
 of my master and mistress— those responsive as- 
 surances from the men-servants— then the rush of 
 footsteps— and lastly the stealthy intrusion of some 
 one into my chamber, — all might have been but the 
 dread incidents of a vision! The longer I pondered 
 upon this interpreta.ion of my alarms, the more 
 feasible did it seetn. I took courage; and mustering 
 all my energies, stepped forth from the couch. I 
 tried the door gently an;l noiselessly, so as not to dis- 
 turb the household, and found that it was unlocked. 
 Still more encouraged, I lighted the candle ; and the 
 quick glance which I threw around, revealed not 
 the pre^ence of any intruder. Still farther strength- 
 ened in my belief that I had been dreaming, I looked 
 under the hcii — and no one was there. Notlimg was 
 disturbed in the little room; and extinguishing the 
 candle, I re-sought the cuuch. A troubled sleep 
 fell upon my eyes; and the terrors I iiad experienced 
 were renewed in my dreams. I awoke early in the 
 morning with a bad hea<!-itche and feeling ill and 
 feverish. The excitement indeed that 1 endured in 
 the night, had been (ireadful to a degree — so great 
 tliat it was no wonder I looked pale and feit unwell. 
 Hastily dressing myself, I took ^Lister Dickey into 
 the nursery ; and the moment I entered, tiie upper 
 nurse-maid, who was then combing Miss Miranda's 
 hair, exclaimed, " Well, here's a pretty business!" 
 
 "What?" I cried, in mingled astonishment and 
 terror: for it instantaneous y struck me that my 
 supposed dream might havd been a positive truth 
 after all. 
 
 " H >w ! is it possible yoa slept through all that 
 noise?" exclaimed the upper-iiurse. "Well, I do 
 envy you ! As for me, 1 well nigh went into hys- 
 terics— particulaily when it was thought that cue of 
 the thieves had concealed himself somewhere in the 
 housi>." 
 
 ''Good heavens!" I exclaiine.i, thus receiving at 
 every word she uttered fresh continnation of the 
 lending causes of my night's alarm: "do tell me 
 what has taken place 1" 
 
 •' Why, the house has been broken open «nd 
 robbed," was the leply. "Ever so much pUte was 
 ttken fro;n the p.iniry; and the thieves were ac- 
 taalijr bold and daring enough to push their way
 
 HARr PRICE ; OB, THE MESIOIES OF A SEBVANT-MAID. 
 
 23 
 
 into master's and mistress's bed-chamber, where 
 they had got hold of the purses and watches — when 
 mistress awoke and began aUrniing the house with 
 her cries. Then, it seems, the thieves cat and ran, 
 flinging down the watcliesand purses in their alarm j 
 but as there was no light in the room, master and 
 mistress couldn't tell how many there were. They 
 think, however, there were three of them. John 
 and Thomas'*— alluding to the footman and coach- 
 man — "rushed down from their own rooms and 
 made straiglit for master's ; and as tliey went along 
 in the dark, they fancied some one brisked by them 
 and stole up towards the top of the house. How- 
 ever, nothing could be done till lights were procured ; 
 and then the search was comnienced down below in 
 the first instance. The thieves had broken in at the 
 EcuUery-window; and getting into the pantry, had 
 taken all the plate that was left out dirty from last 
 night's dinner and supper. It's lucky the rest was 
 locked up in the iron safe, which they had evidently 
 tried to open, but had failed in the attempt. John 
 and Thomas called up the gardener; and they 
 searched all about the premises — but it was quite 
 clear that the thieves, whoever they were, had got 
 sufe off. Tlien came the search throughout tiie 
 bouse; and every room was entered — except your's, 
 by the bye : and as your door was found locked, and 
 it was supposed you were fast asleep, master ordered 
 you not to be disturbed for fear of frightening Dickey. 
 Well, nobody was found ; and so the idea of one of 
 the thieves having sneaked up to ihe top of the 
 house, was evidently erroneous. You may conceive 
 that we were all in a dreadful fright, and indeed I 
 am still all over in a tremble, so that lean scarce do 
 Miss Miranda's hair." 
 
 Tiie reader may suppose with what strange 
 intfrest and eveu awful attontion I listened to this 
 narrative: but 1 did not interrupt it until the con- 
 clu-iion. Then I lold the upper-uusse what had 
 t;iken plu ;e, and how cruelly I had been alarmed 
 and thrown into a stnte of uacousciousness. My 
 tale couhrmed tlio idea that one of the thieves 
 hal r'^mained in the houie; and it was of course 
 to be supposed thit whci he found a I quiet he 
 succeeded iu escaping thence again. V/iiile we 
 wcie yet convi rail g, up came the housemaid with 
 the information t lat the front door liad been 
 found nnloched and unbolted when she went down 
 an hour back, although the foutmaa well recol- 
 lected having locked and boltsd the door ere he 
 retired to rest on the prejeding evening. Here 
 was another faut confirmatory of uiy tale ; and the 
 way iu wh ch the t'.iief who had secreted himself 
 in my room had after all succeeded in escaping 
 from the house, was now fuliy explained. 
 
 As a matter of c )urse the important episode 
 connc'j'.ed with myself in the past night's adven- 
 ture was duly communicated to Mr. and Mrs. 
 Trtisdcn; and when I had told my story, my mas- 
 ter said, " Ah ! poor girl, it's a great blessing for 
 you that you were not found this morning with 
 your throat slit from ear to ear." 
 
 " Poor girl indeed !" said Mrs. Twisden petu- 
 lantly : " I think she was a very foolish girl to bo 
 80 dreadfully frightened and lose her senses. 
 Why, the thief might have carried off our dear 
 
 .ittle Dickey " 
 
 "But, my dear," observed her husband, sooth- 
 inj;ly and deferentially, "as a matter of course 
 the rascal o.ily entered the room at hazard— open- 
 
 ing perhaps the first door that his hand encoun- 
 tered in the dark — aud as the room itself wa^ 
 dark — -I suppose, Mary, you don't burn a 
 light?" 
 
 "Li^ht indeed! she would not dare," ejaculated 
 Mrs, Twisden. "But I suppose you were going 
 to say," she continued, addressing her husband, 
 " that as the thief entered the room in the dark, 
 he could not see our lovely child slumbering there ? 
 Otherwise he would have tiikea it away — Oh ! he 
 would have taken it away — as well as the silver 
 forks and spoons, the fish- slice, and the butter- 
 ladle! O dear! O dear!"— and Mrs. Twisden 
 fell into one of those fits of heroic miseries ia 
 which she occasionally indulged, and which I have 
 since seen enacted upon the stage. 
 
 " Come, come — compose yourself, my love," 
 said her husband, adopting his most soothing tone, 
 though evidently appioacliing her in great alarm. 
 " I really don't think tliat there was any danger 
 of our dear Dickey's having been taken off. 
 Tiiieves don't often break into houses to steal chil- 
 dren " V 
 
 " Ah ! but remember, Mr. Twisden," cried the 
 l?.dy, suddenly recollecdng a new source of alarm, 
 "it our sweetest boy had happened to aw.^ke and 
 cry, the thief might have murdered him— yes, mur- 
 dered h m !— and I shu Ider when I think of it!"— 
 and again she appeared to me to be playing a part 
 that w.is scarcely natural. 
 
 "Well," resumed her husband, "we must be 
 thankful that things have ended as they have ; and 
 we can easily put up with the loss of a little plate 
 considering that nothing worse has occurred." 
 
 "Nothing worse, Mr. Twisden!" exc aimed his 
 lady, with a theatrical air : " when the tiiief was 
 concealed in the room along with our blessed 
 child?" 
 
 Here I fancied that the discussion was over so 
 f.r as I coud possibly be concerned; and not 
 desiring to witness the altercation between my 
 master and mistress, I withdre»v. As a matter of 
 course, precautious were now taken a^^ainst a re- 
 newal of the predatory incursion which had been 
 made : fire-arms were purchased — fresh bolts and 
 bars were put up to the doors of the lower premises 
 — and master's dog was got back from young Mr. 
 Twisden at the firm. Bills were aUo printed at 
 Can erbur}', and posted about through the wholo 
 district, ofl:'ering a reward of fifty poun is for tho 
 discovery of the burglars : but all to no effect. 
 
 On the fulowing Monday, as I was out for a 
 walk with the children between eleven and twelva 
 in the forenoon, two gentlemen riding on horaO' 
 back — and followed by a groom, also mounted— 
 suddenly reiued iu their steeds as they rea.-hed 
 that part of the road where I and the children 
 were walking. 
 
 " V/hieh is the entrance to the grounds belongf- 
 ing to Twisden Lodge ?" d.manded a voice which 
 I immediately recognised : and looking up, I be- 
 held, as I expected. Sir Aubrey Claveriiig. " Aht 
 it's tho pretty nursery-maid, I declare 1" ho ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 I felt the colour rushing to my checks, which 
 suddenly burnt painfully ; and as xny eyes glanced 
 from tho B.ironot to his companion, ero they were 
 cast upon the ground, I observed that the latter 
 was a young gentleman of not more tlian eighteen 
 or nineteen.
 
 21 
 
 UARTC PBICE; OB, THE M£M0II13 OF A SEBV ANT-MAID. 
 
 " Come, my pretty maid, will yoa answer ray 
 question ?" siid the Baronet : " for I know you 
 must still be in Mrs. Twisden's service, because I 
 recojfniso that heaidiful fellow there, with the 
 great hat and feathers :" — and he gave an ironical 
 accentuation to the word which I have marked for 
 italic, as if he meant to imply that he really con- 
 sidered Master Dickey to be the very reverse of 
 That he denominated him. 
 
 "That gate yonder, sir," I said, "opens into the 
 paddock in front of Twisdcn Lod»e :" — and I was 
 about to continue my walk with the children. 
 
 "Stop one moment," exclaimed Sir Aubrey: 
 "don't be in such a hurry. Are these all little 
 Twisdens? But I need not ask: they are as like 
 as three peas — and precious ugly peas too," he 
 added aside to his younger friend. 
 
 " Mind what you say, Ciavering," observed the 
 latter : " the poor children cannot help being ug!y ; 
 and as for their nur^e, she seems a very good 
 modest kind of girl— a very genteel girl too— and 
 it is ungenerous to detain her here again >t her 
 will." 
 
 This speech, delivered in a tone of friendly re- 
 monstrance, was assuredly not intended to reach 
 my ears : but 1 did hear it all the same— and I 
 flung an involun'.ary look of gratitude upon that 
 younar gentleman who had thus spoken on my 
 behalf. 
 
 " AVcU, thank you for the information you have 
 given us, my dear," exclaimed Ciavering: and 
 putting spurs to their horses, the two gentlemen 
 rode onward, followed by the groom, while 1 con- 
 tinued my walk with the children. 
 
 I could not help thinking of the kind manner 
 and suft though masculine tons in which Sir Aubrey 
 Clavcring's companion had spoken. They were 
 both in plain clothes: but it struck me that the 
 young gentleman was most probably a'l officer in 
 the same regiment ; because when at the Fountain 
 Hotel Mr. TwisJen had desired the Birontt to 
 bring any of his brother-officers with him when 
 he came to visit the Lodge. 
 
 On my return to the house again, after the walk, 
 I learnt that my conjecture was correct. The 
 young gentleman was the Hon. Eustace Quentin, 
 and was a Lieutenant in Sir Aubrey Clavering's 
 regiment. I may here add that Mr. Queiitin was 
 certainly the handsomest young gont'eman I had 
 ever seen in my life. He was tall, slender, and as 
 straight as a l.mce: his h;>ir was of a rich brown, 
 very thick, glossy, and naturally arranging itself 
 in large wavy curls;— his eyes were of a fine h;izel, 
 large, bright, and serving as respicndent mirrors 
 to rcHect the intelligence that beamed upon his 
 high pale forehead. Ilis features were small— bis 
 nose straight— his upper lip siiort and curving with 
 a haughty ex|iresion— and he had a brilliant set 
 of teeth. His father was said to be a great lord, 
 immensely rich; and the Hon. Eustace was the 
 second son. 
 
 It may well be supposed that the arrival of such 
 visiiors at Twisdeu Lodge produced quite a sen- 
 sation in the household. Mr. Reuben Twisden and 
 his wife — fur he was married — came from the firm 
 to stop a few d lys at the Lodge, which was thus 
 made a;< gay as p issible. Mis. Twisden ([ mean 
 my mistress) now came out in such gay and gaudy 
 colours that, she produced a sort of rainliow-clFeot 
 a» she sat in the dia.ving rouin; and .t wa* vciy 
 
 evident that she sought to be as amiable aa she 
 could. I kept more in-doors than ever, and even 
 avoided as much as possible taking the children 
 out for a walk : for I had conceived an objection, 
 amounting almost to a fear, of standing the chance 
 of meeting Sir Aubrey Clavtring. For, every day 
 after dinner, the children were had in to dessert ; 
 and it was my duty to take in Master Dickey and 
 set him up in a high chair— on which occasions I 
 could not help noticing that the Baronet surveyeti 
 me in a manner i did not like. 
 
 A week had elapsed, and I was in hope that the 
 guests were about to take their departure— the 
 more so as I had been promised a two days' hoi- 
 day to visit my brothers and sisters at Ashford so 
 soon as the house was quiet again. It happened 
 that on the Monday following that of the visitors' 
 arrival, the weather was most splendid for the lime 
 of the year. It was the beginning of December: 
 the ground wai hard as marble ; but the sky was 
 of pure and cloudless azure. The sun shone 
 brightly; and the air was of a wholesome, healthy, 
 and invigorating coldness — not fraught with a nip- 
 ping chill. At about eleven in the forenoon Mrs. 
 Twisden came up into the nursery ; and not seeing 
 any signs of preparation for taking the children 
 out for a walk, she flew into a violent rage, poured 
 forth a volley of abuse upon me, called me an idle 
 slut, a lazy indolent worthless baggage, and ended 
 by declaring that I was not fit even to tweep the 
 boards of a penny theatre I I thought this last ex- 
 pression strange, but ventured on no rep'y at all 
 to that or any other portion of the abuse thus 
 heaped upon me. Indeed, I was only too glad to 
 escape from the scene by hastening to dress the 
 children and take them out. Threading the pad- 
 dock, I took them into tiie main road ; and was 
 proceeding w.th them in the direction of the town, 
 when all of a sudden I heard footsteps behind me. 
 Looking back I beheld Sir Aubrey Ciavering: 
 and my annoyance and confuion were no doubt 
 immed ately depicted on my countena'ice. 
 
 " Hah ! this is indeed an unexpected pleasure,' 
 he exclaimed. " Lured by the beauty of the morn- 
 ing, I thought I would ramble forth, little expect- 
 ing to have an opi)ortunity of meeting you — which 
 opportunity I have been looking for from the first 
 moment I set foot within those walls :'' — and glanc- 
 ing towards the Lodge, his eyes the next moment 
 settled upon me with a peculiar expression full of 
 a mysterious meaning. 
 
 For an instant I stood undecided how to act : 
 but suddenly feeling the necessity of asserting the 
 dignity of my sex — poor, humble, and obscure a 
 member of it as I was— I said, "You can have 
 nothing to say to me, sir, to which I «aii listen :" — 
 and I liurried on with the children. 
 
 But Sir Aubro}' Ciavering «as almost imme- 
 diately by my side ; and laying his hand upon my 
 arm, he said in a low quick voice, " ^lary, 1 beseech 
 you to listen to me for a moment. I have some- 
 thing of the utmost importance to say. The truth 
 is, you have made an impression on me, such an 
 imprcssiim as 1 cannot easily describe. Pray li-ten 
 to me !" 
 
 He would not have had time even to say so much 
 as this, if 1 had not been stupitied and dismayed 
 for a few monients by the sud lenncss as we 1 ;is the 
 nature of the avowal. But speedily rcoovcriu;,' my 
 presence of mind, I g'auccd towards the childrcu.
 
 ilAIiY IBICE OR, THE »4EM0IRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 25 
 
 I ! 
 
 wI;o were standing cicse by, gazing up at both of 
 us, I said, " Here are witnesses of your conduct 
 tov/ards me : but they may tell the tale in a way to 
 compromise me. If you have any generosity, sir, 
 1 beseech you to leave me at once." 
 
 "No, Mary— I will not — I cannot," replied the 
 Major, passionately, "1 love you — I declare so- 
 lemnly that I love you " 
 
 " Come, my dears," said I, turning hastily to- 
 wards the children, "let us go back home, sinc^ 
 this gentleman will not allow us to walk any 
 longer :" — and seizing the children's hands, I 
 hun-ied them along. 
 
 " Cruel, cruel Mary !" muttered Sir Aubrey in a 
 deep voice. "You have no right to treat me 
 thus : I am speaking to you respectfully and ear- 
 nestly " 
 
 "And I, sir, as respectfully and earnestly desire 
 you to leave mo," 1 exclaimed aloud, resolved that 
 No. 4. 
 
 the two eldest children should well understand 
 that I gave no encouragement to Sir Aubray 
 Clavering. 
 
 " Well, I shall find another opportunity of speak- 
 ing to you," he said : and turning back, he hastily 
 retraced his way to the Lodge. 
 
 "What did that gentleman want with jou, 
 Mary ?" asked Ma.ster Gustavus. 
 
 " He is a very rude gentleman," said I, " and 
 sVished to wa'k with us : but your mamma will not 
 allow us to walk with anybody — neither did i wish 
 to walk with him." 
 
 The children soon thought of something else, 
 and began running about as usual, getting into all 
 kinds of mischief; so that I had my wonted work 
 of running after them, dragging them out of 
 hc<lgfs, picUing thorn up when they tumbled down, 
 and then soothing them when they cried or screamed 
 at having hurt themselves. Tho walk being eudec^
 
 26 
 
 MARY PKICE; OB, THE MEM0IB3 OF A SBBV ANT-MAID. 
 
 I was very glad to be safe in the nursery a','ain : 
 but I told the upper nurse- maid how rudely Sb 
 Aubrey Clavering had behaved. 
 
 And here 1 would pause f>)r a moment to alvise 
 8ervant-;,Mr]3 invariably to take the eariinst oppor- 
 tunity of communicatin;,' to their fellow-domestics, 
 if not to their relatives or friends, any insult or 
 outrage they may experience from those licensed 
 libertinci of society termed "gentlemen:" becauas 
 such complaint at once proves that the mind resents 
 the treatment, and it cannot afterwards be thrown 
 in one's tcetli that encouraijemcnt was given, or 
 tliat the thing was not much cared for ai no com- 
 plaint was made. 1 am well aware tliat in sucli 
 matters complaints cannot always be made to the 
 mistresses themselves; because, unfortunately, 
 mistresses too often appear in the light of coemiea 
 rather than of frictids to poor suffering female- 
 servants: but I repeat, that prompt Cotcplaint can 
 be made and should be made to one's fellow-ser- 
 vants, if one's relatives and Iriends be tiot in the 
 same neighbourhood. 
 
 The upper nurse-maid, to whom t told my story, 
 laughed and treated the subject lightly,— tellin;^ 
 me that I ouglit to have listened to the handsome 
 Major and asked him whether he meant to propose 
 marria-^e or not: and finding that my fe low- 
 servant treated the matter in this light, I retired 
 to my ofrn room to commune with myse f in soli- 
 tude. NieTertheless, I was satisfied in having com- 
 municated Sir Aubrey Clavering's conduct to her: 
 because by So doing I had proved that neither had 
 I encoufaged nor did I feel flattered by it. 
 
 After the nurseiy-diuner, as the weather still 
 contiutted remarkably fine, Mrs. Twisdeu ordered 
 me ko take the youngest child into the garden. 
 Master QtlStatus and Miss Miranda were going to 
 pass the afternoon at Mr. Reuben Twisd n's at the 
 farm— for that gentleman and his lady had returned 
 thither on thb previous Saturday. Well, in the 
 garden I accordingly rambled with Master Dickey ; 
 nod as lie could now rtiu about with all ease, he 
 played up and down the gravel walks with his toys. 
 I gave way to my reflections. 1 thought of Sir 
 Aubrey Claveriug's rude conduct, and felt that I 
 had scarcely a fi ieud on earth to protect me against 
 similar outrage fiom him or from others in future. 
 Never did the lot of a young servant-girl appear to 
 me more lone, more unprotected, or more miser- 
 able than on this occasion ; and as I raised my 
 looks to the pure azure heaven high over-arching 
 this world of our's, I could not help wondering 
 whether the spirit of my departed mother looked 
 down from those empyrean realms and beheld what 
 was passing below. In the grave was the shrouded 
 alumberer— entranced deep in her wormy solitude 
 was she entombed : but Oh ! was there cot an 
 essence surviving those mortal remains and 
 mingling with that spirit-life which belongs unto 
 immortality? If so — and not for worlds would I 
 believe otherwise— then doubtless the angel-eyes 
 of my sainted mother were gazing down upon me ; 
 and though the thought melted my heart to a de- 
 gree of tenderness that well nigh overpowered me, 
 nevertheless it inspired me with hope and solace as 
 I pondered over my position then and marrclled 
 what my future career was to be I 
 
 But while still in this serious mood, I was sud- 
 denly startled by the sounds of footstsps approach- 
 ing from behind ; and us I was at that moment at 
 
 the extremity of the garden farthest from the 
 house, and in an avenue of thick branchin>f ever- 
 greens, the suspicion which iustantancously flashed 
 to my mind filled me with terror. Hastily I looked 
 round : the suspicion was confirmed— and the next 
 moment Sir Aubrey Clavering stood by my side. 
 
 "I told you, my pretty Mary," he said, "that I 
 would find an opportunity of speaking toyouagiia: 
 but I did not think it would come so Boon. Now, 
 mark,— you must and thaU hear me. That little 
 brat is playing with bis toys and requires no looking 
 after; and the other u^iy apes of children are not 
 here to watch us with their great big owl's eyes. 
 Tiierefore every circuni jtance is favourable. If you 
 endeavour to riln awaf from me, I will hold you 
 fast by main force: aid if you seek to cry out, I 
 will put my hand over your pretty mouth and gag 
 you. Now then, you see that I am resolute and 
 determined. Hear mr you Bhalll" be added ve- 
 hemently. 
 
 "Heavens!" I exclaimed, now awakening from 
 the paralysis of dismay and wonderment into which 
 the passionate volubility and healed manner of his 
 language had thrown me: "is this a gentleman — 
 an officer — who is speaking to me, a poor defenceless 
 girl? Sir, you have dated to use threats towards 
 me — and let me teil yoa that in so doing you have 
 played a coward's part." 
 
 " Mary, if I had not conceived a violent passion 
 for you," he replied, in a strangely altered tone, " I 
 should ha'.e you for daring to use the word coward 
 tome. On my soul, I love you! How can such 
 avowal be an insult?" 
 
 " Because, sir, I am too young to hear such lan- 
 guage at all," was my immeJiate answer. "But 
 even were it otherwise, it is unbecoming to a degree 
 that these words should be addressed by one of your 
 rank and position to a poor humble servant-girl 
 such as I. Sir," I addeJ, " 1 do not wish to create a 
 scene, nor make a disturbance; but if you bar my 
 passage hence, I shall certainly cry out for assist- 
 ance :"— and thus speaking, I turned abruptly and 
 hastened towards the end of the avenue. 
 
 But in less than half a minute Sir Aubrey was at 
 my side: one arm was thrown around my waist, 
 and his left hand was pressed forcibly upon my 
 mouth. Dragging me to a seat, he placed me 
 somewhat violently there, — sayin^^ in a hoarse tone 
 of de.^perate resolution, " By heaven, Mary, you 
 shall listen to me !" — and as his hand fell from my 
 mouth and his arm from my waist, he seemed to 
 be trembling all over with the violence of passion. 
 
 Half-fainting, I had not pawer at the moment to 
 cry out : rcy voice was stifled by the very strength 
 of my emotions of shame, indignation, and astuu- 
 ishment. 
 
 " Yes, you shall hear me," he said, with quick 
 and excited utterance : and I could see beyond all 
 doubt that this was no feigned intensity of feeling 
 ou his i>Hrt. " I tell you that I love you ! I am 
 rich — 1 will make your happiness my study — I will 
 surround you with all comforts and luxuries— you 
 shall have a splendid equipage, a fins Louse to live 
 in, servants to wait upon you " 
 
 "Enough, sir— enough!" I exclaimed, now scd- 
 dcniy rccoveriug the faculty of speech : then as he 
 stretched out his arins to rc-taiu me, I dashed them 
 aside, crying, "Unhand nie, sir!" — and forgetting 
 tho child, I fled towards the end of the avenue. 
 
 But fleeter far was his pace : in another miuut«
 
 MABJT PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEIiVANt-MAID. 
 
 27 
 
 again was lie by my side — and ajain too did liis 
 arm encircle ray waist. A cry now broke from my 
 lips; but he held me with a sort of maddeneil 
 tenacity. 1 struggled vidently — and yet I could 
 not cry out so loudly as I wished. I was choking 
 — my throat felt as if fiHed with ashes. At length 
 I succeeded in again breaking away from him : 
 again he pursued and cau>jht me just where the 
 avenue terminated in an open walk — and now with 
 a wild cry of terror I sank down. The very next 
 instant a third person appeared upon the scene. I 
 hoard the quick ejaculation of mingled wonder and 
 anger followed by blows rapidly dealt; and the 
 next moment I was rescued from the power of 
 Clavering and in the arms of my deliverer. 
 
 He flew with me to the bench where Sir Aubrey 
 nad set me down so violently, but where he who 
 now bore me, placed me so gently : and as I 
 opened my eyes, with the long gasp of conscious- 
 ness fully returning, I found that it was the Hon. 
 Eustace Quentin who had thus so promptly and so 
 generously stepped in to my rescue. 
 
 But before 1 had time to give utterance to a 
 word expressive of my gratitude, Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vering approached, his lace white with rage, hia 
 lips quivering, and his eyes flashing fire. 
 
 " Queutin," he said, in a voice hoarse with that 
 passion which was thus betrayed by his counte- 
 nince, "you will give me satisfaction for this out- 
 rage. But as I do not wish it to be known that I 
 have been led into such a Quixotic adventure for 
 such a Dulcinca of a nursery-maid, perhaps it 
 would be well to observe as much silence and se- 
 crecy as possible. Of course you and I, Quentin, 
 cannot meet as friends again at the same table — 
 at least for the present. Therefore, leaving you 
 the prize you have carried off," — anil here he 
 glanced with bitter malignity towards me — ''I 
 shall at once return to Canterbury. Any excuse 
 will do for those Twisdcns to account for my ab- 
 rupt departure. Perhaps you will engage the fair 
 one," — and again he looked towards me — "to put 
 a seal upon her pretty lips relative to this adven- 
 ture ?" 
 
 Having thus spoken, with an utterance so quick 
 (hit his words take three times the space to read 
 that they did to be spoken, Sir Aubrey C!ave.-r- 
 ing turned npon his heel and hastily quitted the 
 uvenue. 
 
 Covered with confusion — trembling from head 
 to foot — not knowing wliat to say or what to 
 do — yet at the time very far from compre- 
 hending what was meant by •' giving satisf iction," 
 I remained seated on the beucli until Clavering 
 had disappeared from my view: then raising ray 
 eyes timidly, 1 said in a tremulous voice, " ]Mr. 
 Quentin, I thank you— thank you very sin- 
 cerely " 
 
 And then I could say no more, but burst into 
 tears. 
 
 *' You have nothing to thank me for," he re- 
 plied, in a voice that was so kind and encouraying, 
 at the same time so full of a manly mu-tic, that it 
 seemed to sink down into my very heart. " I only 
 did for you precisely what I should have done for 
 any other fcmiile under similar circumstances. 
 The outrage was gross— the more so because so 
 evidently unprovoked by you." 
 
 " Believe me, sir," was my answer, "I am totally 
 incapable of giving any encouragement to such 
 
 rudeness. Though but a humble servant-girl, I 
 have my little feelings as well as the highest and 
 the richest." 
 
 " No doubt of it — I understand you well !" ex- 
 claimed i\[r. Quentin, with an earnestness in his 
 tone which proved that he felt what he said. 
 ** And if I mistake not," he added, slowly and he- 
 sitatingly, as if afraid of wounding those very 
 feelings for the possession of which he gave me 
 credit, "you were not originally brought up for 
 this humble condition ?" 
 
 "I never could have aspired to any other, 
 sir," was my answer. " My parents were poor "' 
 
 ''And yet," he exclaimed, "there is a certain 
 air of superiority — of refinement — about you! 
 Your converiation too — your language — your 
 choice of words " 
 
 "My poor mother, sir," I murmured, blushing 
 and trembling, and the tears still chasing their 
 way down my cheeks. 
 
 "Ah! poor girl, I understand! You had a 
 kind good mother — and you have lost her ?" — and 
 as he thus spoke, he gazed upon me with a look 
 so full of genuine compassion and sincere sym- 
 pathy, that I felt as if it were sweet — oh! sweet in- 
 deed, to have inspired such generous feelings in 
 the noble heart of that good youth: for goodness 
 was marked in every lineament of his countenance, 
 and on his forehead sat frankness and candour- 
 " I thought from the very first that there was a 
 certain degree of interest attached to you — I felt 
 assured that your's was no common history," he 
 continued. " But you shall give me an oppor- 
 tunity of listening to it to-morrow — that is to say, 
 if you have no objection ? I do beseech and im- 
 plore you, however, to believe tiiat I am not in- 
 spired by any feeling of idle] or impertinent curi- 
 osity. No — on my soul it is far otherwise !" — 
 then, after a few moments' hesitation, during 
 which he continued to gaze upon me with an 
 earnestness so full of generous sympathy that it 
 could not offend — and it was very different from 
 the burning looks which Sir Aubrey Clavering had 
 been wont to fix on me— he' suddenly cried, " To- 
 morrow afternoon I return to Canterbury. In the 
 morning, then — say at about eleven o'clock — I 
 will be in tliis avenue. Perhaps you will not re- 
 fuse to be here also? Do not— do not refuse, I 
 implore you !" 
 
 Having thus spoken quickly and excitedly, he 
 seized my hand, pressed it for a single moment in 
 his own, and then sped away— leaving me to the 
 strange, the wild, and the conflicting feelings 
 which all the rapidly successive incidents for the 
 last quarter of an hour had been so well calculated 
 to conjure up. 
 
 But in a very few minutes I was aroused from 
 my reverie of mixoil thoughts— some beiug plea- 
 surable and some painful— by the unromantic 
 sound of Master Dickey crying ready to break his 
 heart; and on speeding to the spot, I found that 
 he had fallen into some prickly evcrgrccis. 
 Blaming myself bitterly for having for a single 
 moment forgotten that he was left ttius wandering 
 about, I hastened to console and soothe him as 
 .well as I could: but his face, which was sciatchcd 
 in several places, no doubt pained him, and I had 
 to take him into the house, screaming and roar- 
 ing as he was, at the risk of bringing forth Mrs. 
 Twisden to overwhelm me with reproaches. For-
 
 2."? 
 
 ifAnv rnrcR; oft, the Jr!■;^^lrR^ of a seuvant-maid. 
 
 tuiat'-ly, however, she was just bid iiii!» l.irewell to 
 Sir Aubroy C avering' ii» tlie drawiiifj room; I 
 therefore m;ini;^eJ t ) get tiio little fell »w up into 
 the nursery wit lout encouiiteria^ bis marnini : 
 and oucc there, I contrive I tu appease liiin with a 
 Kirat slice of bread and-biitter and sugar, aud a 
 qiuntity of cold cream on liis fico. 
 
 CHAPTER viir. 
 
 THE DlX.vnil PAKTT. 
 
 In the evoninLj of this memorable day— for a me- 
 m n'ai)le d ly in certain respects it really was, as 
 will rather appear from the results than from what 
 til! reader already knowj ot the incidents them- 
 hc ves — a stran;je scene took place at Twisdpn 
 Lodge. But as I did not behold it myself, I can 
 only describe it from the manner in which it was 
 subsequently related to me by the upper-nurse, 
 who had it from the footman wlio did see it. 
 
 It appears that as the two ofRcers had originally 
 decided upon returning to Can tei bury on the fol- 
 lowing day, a graad dinner-party was to wind up 
 the week's gaieties at the Lod'^e. Sumptuous pre- 
 parations hal besn made for the banquet; and 
 ihere can be no doubt that Mrs. Twisdcn intended 
 to astonish not only Sir Aubrey Ciavering and the 
 Hon. Eustace Quentin, but also the numerous 
 guests whom she had invited. It was assuredly 
 then some source oi vexation to her that the 
 Baronet should have taken his departu.e so ab- 
 ruptly : but it is equally probable that Mrs. Twis- 
 den managed to console herself with the circum- 
 stance thai Mr. Q;ienlin remained, and that all 
 the surrouniiing aristocracy and gentry had ac- 
 cepted the inviiation to the festival. 
 
 I am sure that a mint of money must have been 
 expended on that occasion. Hampers came down 
 from Loudon, cont\ining such delicacies and luxu- 
 ries that the very names of them were previously 
 unknown to every servant in the establishment, 
 and most likely to the master and m stress also. 
 The celebrated Gunter, who, we were told, was a 
 f.imous "cook,'' aho came from London to super- 
 intend the banquet ; and my fellow-servants were 
 not a little surprised to find that ha had actually 
 travelled post, in his own carriage ! He came with a 
 double knock at the door— was dressed as fine as 
 a gentleman — md evidently expected to be called 
 ''sir." On going into the kitchen, he soon made 
 the cook feel that she had suddenly becnue re- 
 duced to the grade of a mere scullion. He found 
 fault with everything fche had already done, and 
 every preparation made was wrong ; but in an 
 incredibly short space of time ho put them all 
 right. Having arrived lite, and turning every- 
 ihing topsy-turvy as he did, there was a great deal 
 to do ; but he had it all done in excellent time, in- 
 spiring everybody with his own activity. 
 
 The footman and Mrs. TwisJen herself had laid 
 the table in the dining-room, and got everything 
 in what they considered apple-pie order by three 
 o'clook, although the baiquet was not to take 
 place till live. At ab )Ut twenty minutes to tint 
 hour, Mr. Gunter, liaving put things in the kitchen 
 VO rights, weut up into the dining-room to 
 
 put th'it tr) right* also; and he coolly ordered 
 every article of plate and glass to be tiken off 
 the table that he might liy it all over again. The 
 footman was in dismay and hastened to fetch Mrs. 
 Twi.sden. Sh'» protested vehement'y against any 
 a'tcra'.ion, declaring that the table was Idd out 
 under her own superiutendence and according to 
 her own taste. 
 
 " Very well then, ma'am," said Mr. Gunter 
 coolly. " Order out my horsei<, and I will take 
 myself back to London. I am no use here." 
 
 Mrs Twisden attempted to give herself airs: but 
 .Mr. Gunter deliberately put on his hat and wa^ 
 wallcing aw.iy, when she begged pardon for her im- 
 pptuosity and had recourse to coaxing and ca- 
 jolery. He accordingly stayed — puled the table 
 to pieces — had it arranged in his own fashion — 
 and compelled Mrs. Twisden to confess that the 
 improvement was striking. 
 
 The guests had already begun to arrive— the 
 yard was full of carriage! — and the stables were 
 thronged with horses. There was Sir Buffer Buff, 
 the High Sheriff of the county— Sir Timely RaUll, 
 one of the County Members— Dr. Simony, the 
 DeanofCanterbury Cathedral— Mr. Gripely Hold- 
 fast, the eminent attorney of Canterbury — Sir 
 Jukes Skiraply, the Hon. Mr. Pennyfeather, and 
 a dozen more squires and great landown rs having 
 " seats" in the neighbourhood, and all accompanied 
 by their wives and daughters. Altogether, about 
 forty guests sat down to the splendid binquet: 
 and never had Mrs. Twisden appeared so amiable. 
 It was no doubt an immense relief for her husband 
 to contemplate the interval of several hours' 
 liberty and license which were now before liim ; 
 and the old gentleman, as I understood afterwards, 
 was certainly as gay and as merry as he might 
 wed be under such auspicious circumstances. 
 
 The banquet passed off admirably ; and when the 
 dessert was placed upon the table the best possible 
 humour seemed to prevail. It was while the first 
 attack on the fruit was being made, and before the 
 ladies had retired to the drawing-room, that the 
 footman entered and whispered something to Mr. 
 Tivisden, who at once said, also in a low tone, 
 " You must ask your mistress." Tiie footman ac- 
 cordingly passed round the room, to beliind Mrs. 
 Twisden's chair, and whispered in her car; but she 
 shook her head, and s.aid, "Impossible! not to- 
 idght." The footman then withdrew. But in a 
 few minutes he came back again, evidently to bring 
 some fresh message, aud doing so with considerable 
 reluctance— most likely through fear of his mis- 
 tress's temper. 
 
 " Well, John, what is it now ?" she asked with 
 some little degree of petul.ance : then having re- 
 ceived the whispered message, she conlinusd aloud, 
 " Well, Mr. Twisden, there's been so muel» whisper- 
 ing and coming in and going nut duiiiig the last 
 ten minutes, that our friends must be curious to 
 know what it can all mean; and therefore 1 sh.all 
 explain it. The fact is," she cmtiuuel, casting 
 her eyes around the table witli a most amiablo 
 look, so as to embrace the whole company at once 
 in that beneficent survey, " here is poor .Mr. Trip«, 
 the comic actor " 
 
 "Ahl" ejaculated Sir Buffer Buff: "the one 
 who has been dcl'ghtiiig us all so nmeh at Canter- 
 bury theatre for the last tliree mont'is?" 
 
 " riicsamo,"' answered Mr.*. Twisden: "a'though,
 
 MAHY PRICE ; on, Tltl3 MEJfOIBS OF A SllRVAMT-JUjD. 
 
 29 
 
 to tell ynu tlie trutli, I have not been once to see 
 him. The f.ict is," she continued, in I'atlier a 
 serious tone, '• I do not go out of my way to patron- 
 ize t'le stage. I am not quite clear that it in- 
 culcates sound morality — and morals, you know, 
 Sir Buffer, above all things, particularly fur the 
 lower orders." 
 
 "Oh lyes— for the lower orders indeed! They 
 arc such a dreadful drunken depraved set," 
 he added, refilling his glass with the fine old 
 Port. " But pray proceed, madam. What about 
 poor Trips ?" 
 
 "I am informed," continued Mrs. Twis'len, 
 " that it is Mr. Trips' benefit — or, as he calls it, 
 his bespeak—next Monday night : that is to say, 
 tills day week — and he has hired a fly at his own 
 cxpcnsj to go round to all the nobility and gentry 
 to solicit tlieir patronage on the occasion. The 
 Lod;^e happens to be pretty nearly the last in his 
 rounds— and hence his coming so late : but he now 
 earnestly begs and implores that I atiU grant him 
 an interview for a few minutes— as if not, it will 
 compel him to take another fly and come out to- 
 morrow again at an expense which, 1 need 
 Bcircely tell you, the poor man can very ill 
 afford." 
 
 "And therefore, my dear madam," exclaimed 
 Sir Buffer, "you, in your sublime charitj', were 
 well disposed to see this poor man, even thuu;i!;h it 
 might take you away from your guests for afew 
 minutes? Now, as I was not at home to-day when 
 he called at Buffer Park— as I hear he did— I 
 should like to see him myself." 
 
 "And I also," said Sir Timely Ratall : "for I 
 was cut when he called — and I will cheefully patron- 
 ize the poor fellow." 
 
 "By all means! by all means!" exclaimed 
 several voices, the good wine having opened the 
 heavls of many who during the cooler moments of 
 the day would have given a stern refusal to the 
 poor actor's prayer. 
 
 "Well, I cannot oppose your benevolent inten- 
 tions," said the Very Reverend Dr. Simony : " but 
 at the same time I cannot encourage them. I 
 hold with our amiable hostess that the stage 
 is fraught with corrupting influences for the 
 lower ordera. But again, I say, I olfer no objec- 
 tion ?" 
 
 '•Then what shall we do, my dear?" asked Mr. 
 Twisden. "Shall we have the poor fellow in and 
 let him take down the names of those who will 
 patronize his bespeak ?" 
 
 "It will perhaps be the best plan, under circum- 
 stances," resumed the Dean of Cnutcrbury Cathe- 
 dral. " But permit me to suggest that our amiable 
 and excellent hostess, who entertains such elevated 
 notions of true religion and morality, should 
 address a few appropriate observations to this un- 
 fortunate man, who, as I conceive, is pursuing a 
 calling that cannot be called godly." 
 
 " I will assuredly take that duty upon myself," 
 said Mrs. Twisden, evidently much flattered by 
 the compliment implied ; then turning to the 
 footman, she said, " John, tell Mr. Trips to 
 walk in." 
 
 The footman accordingly withdrew, and in afow 
 I minutes re-appeared, ushermg in the comic actor. 
 I And a very comical figure did Mr. Trips cut: for 
 1 he wore a white great coat buttoned across his 
 j chest, a great handkerchief concealing all the lower 
 
 part of his face and coming up to his nose, ami a 
 theatrical scratch-wig together with a pair of ia'se 
 whiskers, most likely to make himself look smart. 
 But there can be no doubt that Mr. Trips, during 
 his rounds since the morning, had been hospitably 
 treated at some places where he had called, and 
 had stopped to refresh himself at a great many ale- 
 houses along the road. The consequence was that 
 the comic acts, in addition to his natural humour, 
 had all the artificial comicality which semi-intoxi- 
 cation frequently imparts ; and as his scratch-wig 
 had gat all awry and drawn over his forehead, 
 and he had a certain roll in his gait, he hioked 
 very singular indeed as he staggered in and en- 
 deavoured to seem sober while making his bow. 
 The footman who had not previously perceived 
 Mr. Trip's condition of ebrietj-, thought it prudent, 
 now that he did notice it, to stand close by and 
 thus be prepared for any emergency that might 
 arise. 
 
 Mr. Twisden looked very hard at Mr. Trips 
 the moment he entered the room : but he kept 
 bowing and scraping in such a manner that it 
 was impossible for any one to obtain an accurate 
 view of his countenance, two-thirds of which were 
 concealed by the handkerchief and the wig. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Trips," said the lady, now glancing 
 in a self satisfied manner around, as much as to 
 bid the company observe what an excoilent moral 
 and pathetic address she was about to deliver, — 
 "you are invited ,into the presence of myself, my 
 husband, and our distinguished gue-ts, in order 
 Ihit we may do for you, through benevolence, thit 
 which we might not perhaps be inc ined to do if 
 your profession as an actor were alone taken into 
 consideration. For few of us here present, and 
 myself perhaps as little as any,"would— if it de- 
 pended on us — permit a single theatre to open its 
 doors except to receive that high and distinguished 
 class which " 
 
 " Well, I'll be hanged if this don't beat cock- 
 fighting!" suddenly exclaimed the cimical Mr. 
 Trips: and at the same moment twisting himself 
 into the attitude of a clown, with his knees turned 
 out angularly, his hands resting upon them, his 
 el'bows likewise protruded, and his body leant for- 
 ward, he said, "Come, Betsy! if you feathered your 
 nest well enough, don't go prc;ichi!ig sermons to 
 an old friend !" 
 
 The reader may imagine the horror and dismay 
 which seized upon the company as ;\Ir. Trips thus 
 addressed the lady of the house; and the footman 
 was so astounded that ho could neither move baud 
 nor foot. Mrs. Twisden gave a faint shriek and 
 then sat aghast; Mr. Twisden looked annihilated; 
 — but Mr. Trips, nothing disconcerted — on tho 
 contrary, apparently excited to a most mischief- 
 making humour— suddenly threw off his scratch- 
 wig, his false whiskers, and his great handkerchief, 
 thus revealing the whole of the most comical face 
 that ever provoked shouts of laughter amongst 
 the "gods" at a theatre. 
 
 "Now, don't yer recognize mo, Betiy?" he ox- 
 claimed, with one leap like a frog up to Mrs. Twis- 
 den ; and then, half squatting in front of her, ho 
 kept bobbing his head backward and forward liKo 
 a matidarin. " Ah I I dare say /<nrt altered — and 
 so would you be if you hail stuck to the stage as 
 long as I have. But you cut it ten or a doz -ii 
 years ago. Ah! it was fortunate for you that yco
 
 30 
 
 siARV Ti'.ica; on, tug MEMoins of a seevaxt-maid. 
 
 IiooU'-d Mr. Tivi'idcn there! r>iit who the deuce 
 would havellio'.ight it ? I leiDomtierweM enow win n 
 you suddenly disappeared fioni old Bi;?ulcbWi;de';* 
 Company and no one knew what had become of 
 yer. Cut now the mysttry's out ! Lord, 1 recog- 
 nized ycr apfain almost direct'y : there's no mis- 
 taking you, Belsy. Come, give your hand to an 
 old pal ! ' — and thus speaking, BIr. Trips extended 
 hi3 great paw, which certainly was not the cleanest 
 in the worh], 
 
 A dreadful scene of confusion now ensued. Mr. 
 Twisden, recovering soraewh.it o( his presence of 
 mind, rose from his seat ordering the footman " to 
 turn that drunken fellow out." But this was more 
 than John could do: for Mr. Trips insisted upon 
 being heard; and he proceeded with great volubi- 
 lity to remind the horror-stricken lady of so many 
 little facts connected with her early professional 
 career, that she at last fainted outright. Mr. 
 Trips cow grew alarmed; aud the Hon. Eustace 
 Qutntin managed to half drag and half lead him 
 out of the room. Then, on getting him into the 
 had, he thruot a handful of guineas upon him and 
 persuaded him to take his departure io the luin- 
 bei ii)g old fiy in which he had been iiis rounds. 
 
 But here I must hasten to observe that amongst 
 all the little reminiscences which the comic actor 
 liad conjured up relative to Mrs. Twisdeu, he had 
 said nothing, nor even hinted at anything, to her 
 moral discredit; and there is no reason to believe 
 that when she was on the stage her conduct was 
 otherwise than correct 
 
 To resume. As a matter of course a scene of 
 exlraordiiiary confusion followed the exposure 
 made by Mr. Trips. Mrs. Tvvisden was conveyed 
 to her chamber— Mr. Twisden hurried afier her, 
 ostensibly to minister unto his beloved spouse, but 
 most probably to escape from the unpleasant gaze 
 of his friends — and soon afterwards prompt orders 
 were given by the numerous guests for their car- 
 riages to be got ready. The party thus broke up 
 two or three hours earlier than was intended; and 
 every one save the Hon. Eustace Quentin left the 
 house with a precipitation which showed that from 
 thenceforth and for ever they cut the acquaintance 
 of the Tivisdens. 
 
 But in the meantime, while these things were 
 occurring in the drawing-room, I was up in the 
 nursery enj^agcd partially in keeping, or endea- 
 vouring to keep, the unruiy children in order, and 
 pai iiaily with my own troubled reflections. The 
 upper-nurse had gone down into the servants' hall 
 to gt't her share of the creams, jellies, whips, and 
 sweet things that had come down from the par- 
 lour; and 1 was left up in the nursery to keep the 
 children quiet. Quantities of tart? and other 
 things had certainly been tent up to them ; and 
 while en;,Mged in the process of devouring the 
 same, Master Gustavus, Miss Jlirands, and Master 
 Dickey were tolerably well satisfied: but when the 
 dishes were emptied and two or three of them 
 smashed in t!io quarrel who should, have the 
 tcraping, I might almost say the licking of them, 
 these three ngrecuble children began to plague my 
 lifi) out. Master Gustavus would insist upon going 
 down stairs: but because 1 Iccked the door to 
 prevent him, ho kicked, butted at me like a ram, 
 threw heavy tilings at mc, and then sat down to 
 cover me with abuse. 
 
 *' You nasty disagreeable hussey, you— what are 
 
 yon ? Nothing but a servant ; aiii servants would 
 all be brggars if it wasn't for rich people like my 
 pa and ma w!:o take you into their houses. You 
 haven't got any pa and ma ; and so I may kick you 
 about just as 1 like. I know what you hive — 
 halfa-crown a week. You had two shillitigs at 
 first; and now you have sixpence more. Only 
 fancy, IMiry dear, half-a-crown a week— isn't she 
 rich? O my rye!" — and here he got up and began 
 dancing round mo, making .such hideous faces and 
 saying such provoking things that patient and 
 good-tempered, thank God, as I am, I could realiy 
 have boxed hii ears. 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'll do," he presently cried; 
 "I'll tell my ma that you eat up ail the sweets and 
 hardly let us have a bit, and that you beat poor 
 little Dickey because he cried for some." 
 
 "You are a very wicked storyteller, Master 
 Gustavus," said I: "for you know I have not 
 touiihed the sweet things, but gave them all to you 
 children— and as for beating your little brother I 
 would not do it. You are very naughty to me. I 
 never go ii.to "Wye to buy myself any little thing, 
 but wha' I always bring you soma apples, or cakes, 
 or sweetituff; and since you know that I have 
 two-and- sixpence a week, you can guess how well 
 I am able to afford to buy you anything." 
 
 " Well, I am sure I don't want you to buy any- 
 thing," tejoined the d'.>^agrccable boy: and then 
 Miranda took up a similar strain, while Dickey 
 began to cry — so that aIto<:ether it was a pleasant 
 evcnii'g for me. But it was no exception to the 
 general rule; and t'r.erefore the reader may sup- 
 pose what kind of life it was that I led. And yet 
 all this was nothing t^) other things that I have 
 endured in other families, as will appear in the 
 future chnpters of my narrative. 
 
 Presently JIaster Dickey cried himself off to 
 sleep ; and by giving her a penny, I coaxed Mi- 
 randa to go to bed, Then a little later Master 
 Gustavus fell asleep in a chair; and I now had an 
 opportunity of pondering more deliberately on s 
 certain subject than I was previously able to do. 
 F mean that appointment whic'ii the Hon. Mr. 
 Eustace Qucutin had made, or rather attempted 
 to make, witli me for the following morning. Now 
 I will confess the truth, and ac!«ROTledge that my 
 inclinations secretly prompted me t'> keep that 
 appointment. Mr. Quenliu had rendered me a 
 great service : he had likewise treated me more 
 as an equal than as an inferior, with a sort of re- 
 spectful attention and not with the patronising 
 familiarity wliich he might hive been expected to 
 bestow upon a humble menial in such a case. He 
 had moreover expressed an interest in my welfare: 
 he had asked me to tell him my story ; and he had 
 almost a right to demand it after the si..;nal ser- 
 vice he had done me. If, too, he considered that 
 the incident of the morning was one wiiich au- 
 thorised him to interest himself in my affairs and 
 bestow his friendship upon mc, would it be grate- 
 ful or respectful of mc to refuse sucii innocent ad- 
 vances? Suoli were my reasonings on the one 
 hand; ami these being added to the fact that 
 Mr. Quentin was a very handsome, elegant, un- 
 assuming young gentleman, it c.^iii scarcely bo 
 wondered if, as I just now said, my inclinations 
 prompted me to keep the appjiutment. 
 
 But on the other hand, a sense of duty whispered 
 that I should not keep the appointment. Mr.
 
 MAuv p;acE ; on, xua MiiJioius of a seuvant-uaid. 
 
 31 
 
 Eustace Quentin had only done what any luan pos- 
 sessing a narticle of good feeling would have per- 
 fornisd under such circumstances; and 1 had given 
 him the only return which it was possible for me to 
 afford and which he oujht to expect— namely, my 
 thanks. A friendship between one so highly placed 
 and myself who was so lowly placed, was out of 
 the question ; and as to tr.aking known my history 
 to so young a msn, who was unmarried, and there- 
 fore having no household in wliich he could give me 
 u belter situation than the one I held, was absurd. 
 Moreover, it was precisely because he tsas so hand- 
 some, elegant, and well-mannered, that I had no 
 right even to think of such a thing as keeping this 
 appointment. So, by dint of these reasoning--, or 
 rather counter-reasouings, I actually felt angry with 
 myself for even having deliberated a point which my 
 own good sense should at once have enabled me to 
 make up my mind on ; and 1 accordingly came to 
 the conclusiou that I would not go into the garden, 
 or even near the garden, on the moriovr, so long as 
 Mr. Quentin remained in the house. 
 
 I felt satisfied with myself for having come to 
 this decision : but nevertheless there was a tinge of 
 regret on account of the necessity which urged me 
 to that resolve. Not that I repined against the im- 
 periousness of duty: but I could not help sighing 
 when I thought that if I were a lady moving ia the 
 same sphere as himself, I might meet Mr. Quentin 
 again — accept his friendship -and — and— — 
 
 But I shall not now go on recording all the silly 
 ridiculous things which entered into my head on 
 that occasion. Suffice it for the reader to know that 
 I had a sense of prudence and a moral courage suf- 
 ficient to make me resolve that I would not keep the 
 appointment that had been given : but if the deter- 
 mination thus to act did in anyway cost me a pang, 
 it is my business and not the reader's. 
 
 Well, I was giving way to the varied thoughts 
 thus conjured up, when suddenly the upper-nurse 
 rushed in and began telling me all that had taken 
 place down stairs in the (liaing-room. She was re- 
 joiced, as were the other servants: but I cannot say 
 that I shared in that feeling. Mrs. Twisden had 
 often been cruel, harsh, and unkind — very unkind — 
 to me : but I wished her no harm — much less sought 
 revenge ; and I therefore experienced no pleasure in 
 learning ho\7 she had been exposed. But as I sub- 
 sequently pondered upon that exposure, I could now 
 full well comprehend how it v/as that my mistress 
 was occasionally wont to give way to those "heroics" 
 and declamatory moods which had at various times 
 so much surprised me. Tlte mystery was now ex- 
 plained ; and my only surprise was, that if her early 
 breeding had been of a low character, how s!ie had 
 managed to acquire any of the ways and manners 
 of a lady at all— which to a certain extent she had 
 assuredly done. But then I reflected that she was 
 a very quick, sharp, and intelligent v.'oman ; and 
 with such qualities one may prolit by closo obser- 
 vation so as to become a clever imitator. 
 
 Early on the following morning Mr. Twisden 
 sent for all tlie servant?, one a^ter the other, into 
 the pai lour, and told us that urgent business com- 
 pelled hiiu to go upon the Continent for some 
 time, and that ho should therefore bre ik up his 
 establishment, lie gave us all a month's wages 
 eac'n ; and when it came to my turn to go in and 
 receive the auuouncement together with iny 
 ■iiotK y, 1 coalu not hd[i reeling d'.-eply L'V tlic old 
 
 gentleman— for I sar that althouglj he tried to 
 carry it off in au uuconcorned manner, he was 
 really deeply affected and much humidated. 1 re- 
 membered how often he had put in a kind word to 
 take my part when his wife was scolding me; aud 
 I burst into tears. 
 
 "Poor girl, poor girl," he said: "you are the 
 only one of all the servants who has any real 
 feeling. God bless you!" — and he turned away 
 towards the fire-place : but I could hear some- 
 thing that much resembled a deep sob. 
 
 I was now very deeply affected; and half- 
 blinded by my tears I did not at the moment per- 
 ceive, as I took my money from the table, that 
 in addition to the number of shillings due to me 
 there were two golden guiacas. Thinking he 
 had made a mistake, I stammered forth some ob- 
 servation to draw Ids attention to the circum- 
 stance. But wavin:f his hand impatiently, without 
 turning his head, he said in a broken voice, " Take 
 it, take it, Mary ; aud may you never want a 
 friend !" 
 
 I could not find words to thank him; so pro- 
 foundly were my feelings moved that tliey choked 
 my utterance. But he knew that I was grateful : 
 for he heard me sobbing, and I was compelled 
 to wait for nearly a minute at the room-door ere 
 I could so far tranquillize myself as to issue forth 
 again. 
 
 As I was crossing tlie hill to ascend the stairs, 
 I found myself face to face with Mr. Quentin. 
 
 " I am going to the garden," he hastily whis- 
 pered. 
 
 I shook my head, dp.rted up the stairs, and 
 hastening to my own rooai, proceeded to pack up 
 my box. When this was done, I repaired to the 
 nursery to bid the children "gooJ-bye ;" but I wa9 
 told by the upper-nurse, who was also just about to 
 depart, that Mr3. Twisden had rung for them while 
 I was down stairs and they were all three in her 
 room. Thither I accordingly hastened, aud 
 knocked at the door. 
 
 •'Who's there?" sharply demanded Mrs. TvTis- 
 den's voice from the inside. 
 
 "It's Mary, ma'am," I taid; "come to wish you 
 'good-bye' and the children too." 
 
 " Oh ! you can't come in," exclaimed Mrs. Ttris- 
 den. "Goodbye," she added abruptly. 
 
 1 could not conceive hovr it was possible for her 
 to give herself airs or remain in an ill-humour 
 under such circumstances ; but bein; now anxious 
 to get away, I did not stop to ponder upnn this 
 little incident. Leaving my box to be fetched by 
 the carrier, 1 said "good bye" to my fellow-ser- 
 vants, and sped away towards Vfye without look- 
 ing behind me. I feared lest Mr. Quentin should 
 be walking about ; and in pursuance of the reso- 
 lu>:oa I hid adopted, I did not wish to meet 
 him. 
 
 CH.lPTEll IX. 
 
 THE TUKI2Ii: BELLS ALnnOUSB. 
 
 It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when I 
 entered Ashford again, after an abseiscc of more 
 than a year. As the carrier's van pa-Jsed by .Mrs. 
 Whitfield's, I alighted there, aud in a few miuutPS 
 had the p'oasuro of embracing my two sisteri.
 
 S2 
 
 MARY PEICE; OB, TSIZ MEM0IK3 OF A SEBVANT-MAID. 
 
 This siti-factioa was however the least thing 
 damped by what I thought was the coIJness jf 
 Sarali's manner towards me: but that transitory 
 pang was soon forgotten in the contenip'ation of 
 the exuberant joy with wliich dear Httle Jane wel- 
 comed me. Sh"i clung round my neck, crying nni 
 laughing, and sajiog such pretty things that it 
 was easy to perceive how devotedly attached the 
 dear girl was to nic; and I hugged and kissed 
 her again and again in tlie temlcrcst manner. 
 
 AVhcn I iiad leisure to suivey my two sisters, 1 
 found I hem wonderfully improved. Sarah, who was 
 now thirteen years old, was a fine tall girl for her 
 n^p, and somewhat precocious-looking. Jane, who 
 was eleven, seemed as fat and good-humoured as 
 ever, and reminded me of the great wax-dolls which 
 1 had seen in the shops at Canterbury. Both the 
 girls were very neatly, almost elegantly dressed, and 
 in a manner quite superior to their condition in life 
 and also inconsistent with their prospects, if they 
 were to go out to service when old enough. Ou 
 questioning them, I found that they went to a very 
 good Young Ladies' Day School close by, and that 
 what they learnt was like their apparel— namely, 
 above their condition. I was moreover told that 
 they had latterly taken all tlicir meals with Mrs. 
 "Whitfield, and were indeed her companions in the 
 '•awing-room ; and I felt somewhat grieved at 
 this. Not that I envied ray sisters' prosperity — 
 God forbid ! I would have cheerfully sacrificed my 
 life to have'ensured its permanence; and it was 
 because I felt that it would not be permanent, t)ut 
 must cease some time or aaother, that my heart 
 misgave me. 
 
 It was in a parlour on the ground-floor that (his 
 interview with my sisters took place ; and presently 
 Mrs. Whitfield entered. She was an old lady of 
 sixty — tall, thin, and wrinkled— with great horn 
 spectacles on her hooked-nose. She was tolerably 
 well off, and was excessively benevolent, but as 
 eccentric and whimsical as she was charitable. 
 Sitting down in a narrow awkward arm-chair with 
 a great high back, and in wliich she p'aced herself 
 bolt upright as if she were a statue, she bade me 
 in a kind tone resume the seat from which I had 
 risen on her entrance : then after a few questions 
 relative to myscll', she said, "You are a good 
 steady young woman aud will get oa well. In fact, 
 it is only by leaving you to push your own way iu 
 the world that you will do it thoroughly : and so 
 j'ou must try and rise in time to the rank of house- 
 keeper in some rich family. Then you will be set- 
 tled fur life. As for your two sisters here, I have 
 given them a fair trial; and likirg them well 
 enough, am now having them educated to bo 
 nursery-governessf s when the proper time comes. 
 They are good girls, but Sarah is perhaps too sell- 
 willeii and vain, while Jane is too full of spirits and 
 too frolicsome. However, I dare say they will get 
 on very well : but as I now propose to do for them 
 much more th:!n I intended at first when I gave 
 them a home, 1 ni:an to do it iu my own way and 
 without interference from any one. So, if you 
 remain in Ashford, doii"t come and see them 
 oflener than once a fortnight, for fear of uii- 
 BCtlling their mimls. Indeed, 1 have already told 
 your brother William ihis ; but as for your bro- 
 ther Ilobert, I am sorry to say that I li ive been 
 coinpcllcd to forbid him from coiuiug near the 
 hou^e at all." 
 
 "Indcedl" I exclaimed, ail my thoughts now 
 suddenly and painfully turned into a new chau. 
 ncl. " I hope, ma'am, he has not been doing any- 
 thinz wrong?" 
 
 "Oh! I don't accuse him of anything specific," 
 cried the old lady : *' but I am afraid he goes with 
 bad characters, and is an idle young fellow. Be- 
 sides, tho last time lie caled here, I certainly 
 missed a silver spoon iu a very unaccountable 
 manner " 
 
 " Good heavens, ma'am !" I exclaimed, bursl'rg 
 into tears : " you would not have me infer ilnt 
 my brother — the brother too 0f these dear girL> — 
 is a thief?" 
 
 "I did not use the word," said the old lady, in 
 that quiet way which was really quite provoking. 
 " All I can add is that he comes not to my house 
 any more. But whatever he has done or may do, 
 will not prejudice me in respect to your two sisters. 
 As long as they conduct themselves well, I shall 
 not for a single moment bold them answerable for 
 the faults of their relatives." 
 
 Thus spake the eccentric old lady ; and fancying 
 that she was growing impatient of my stay, I has- 
 tened to abridge it. She did not invite me to re- 
 turn; and hiving embrace! my sisters, I turned 
 away from the bouse with a somewhat heavy 
 heart. 
 
 I now directed my steps to Mr. Collins' abode ; 
 and oa ringing at the bell, the door was immedi- 
 ately opened by 'William. But though he instanta- 
 neously threw himself .into my arms and embraced 
 me affectionately, I had no diffiaulty in observing 
 that he was very far from happy ; audoa his taking 
 me into a little parlour behind the surgery, wherd 
 there happened to be no one at the moment, I 
 questioned him relative to his desponding looUs. 
 Tiie first thing he told nie gave me great pain. 
 Our kind benefactor 5Ir. Coilios had lately expe- 
 rienced so severe a pecuniary loss through the 
 treachery of a friend, that he had been compelled 
 to quit Ashford abruptly that very moruiug in 
 order to avoid being arrested for debt; aud the 
 biiliffs were at that moment in the house. I wai 
 greatly shocked at hearing this, the more so as 
 William informed me that from what he h u! he;irJ 
 the assistant and the bailill"s say, everylhitg wt.u d 
 be sold off. Fortunately Mr. Collins was a single 
 man, having no one dependant on him : but this 
 reflection was only a trifling mitigation, not an 
 abrogation of the source of grief. 
 
 But William had other causes for despondency 
 and sorrow: and he assured me that if I had not 
 come to Ashford just at this time, he should have 
 written to me ou certain serious matters — adding 
 that if he had not done so before, it was bee .use 
 he had postponed as long as possible the taking 
 up his pen to address lue ia a manner that would 
 give me pain. His words alarmed me ; and in 
 order to put me out of suspense he proceeded to 
 speak as follows : — 
 
 •' Jly dear Mary, in the first place I am afraid 
 that ?ilrs. Whitfield is bringing up Sarah and Jane 
 iu a manner that will scarcely prove beuefici il t') 
 them in after-life. At first, as indeed I wr. ti and 
 told you, they lived in the kitchen along with the 
 maid-servants and went to a respcctible pl.iiu 
 day-seliool. But within the last few weeks Mrs. 
 Whitfield has made quite a change in nil that. 
 Sarah aud Jai c arc takcu into the parlour, dro&aed
 
 handsomely, and sent to a new school, where they 
 learn umsic and dancing. Mrs. Wliitficild says 
 she means to make them nursery -governesses; 
 and altliojfjh until lately I could go and see them 
 as oftiiu as I liked, she has told me within the 
 last fe.T weel;3 that I am not to call more fre- 
 quently than once a fortni(^ht. I know tliat the 
 old lady is celebrated for her eccentricities, and 
 look upon this as a mere wliim or fancy on her 
 part: but I am afraid it will prove a dear one for 
 our poor sisters." 
 
 I interrupted my brother Vrilliam for the pur- 
 pose of explaining to him that tliese were precisely 
 my fears, and the deductions I hid made from the 
 visit just paid to Airs. Whiifii.ld's residence. 
 
 •' Jjut she is reputed to have some little amount 
 of propeity," coiitinuud Wii.iain, " entirely at her 
 own disposal. Indeed, I dare say you have heard 
 it whispered, as I have done more than once, that 
 Bhe is a miser and has a great hoard in her house. 
 
 Nor does it appear that she has any relations— at 
 least, she lias never been kni)wn to bo visited by 
 any, nor yet to speak of them ; and therefore, 
 considering all tiicse things, it is possible, my 
 dear Mary, that wo have been viewing matters in 
 the gloomie-.t light." 
 
 " 1 hope it may prove so," was my answer, de- 
 livered with a foreboding sigh. 
 
 " Well, let us hope so," added "William, in his 
 earnest generous-hearted manner. " Indeed, seve- 
 ral persons, and puor. Mr. Collins amongst the rest, 
 have assured me that Mrs. Whitheld, having taken 
 it into her head to treat Sarah and Jane in this 
 manner, will no doubt leave them some of her pro- 
 perty, if not all of it; and in that case we shall 
 not have to regret that our sisters are being so 
 well brouglit up." 
 
 "No — far fromit," I exclaimed, with the fervour 
 of an aspiration. " But icll me, dear William, have 
 you related all ypur troubles — all your sources ot
 
 34 
 
 MART price; or, THE ME?.I0IR3 OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 aunoyance?" — and I looked at him in a manner 
 of anxious inquiry, as I said in a half-frightened 
 tone, " And Kobert ?" 
 
 "Ahl" and William's countenance instanta- 
 neously fell as he shook his head ominously. 
 
 "Good heavens!" I cried: "what mean you? 
 Has anything occurred? is he still with Mr. 
 Matthews?" 
 
 " He is still at Mr. Matthews','' returned William, 
 with a look and manner uncommonly serious for a 
 boy of his years, — for he was only fifteen at the time 
 of which I am writing. 
 
 " But you mean to say he is idle — does no work — 
 is perhaps dissipated, and has fallen into bad com- 
 pany ?" said I, slowly and hesitatingly giving utter- 
 ance to the words which I thus put interrogatively, 
 and not without the deep apprehension that matters 
 might be even worse than I had speculatively sha- 
 dowed forth. 
 
 " Oh ! my dearest Mary," cried William, bursting 
 into tears, " Robert, I regret to say, is all that you 
 have conjectured — and I fear— I fear, alas ! that ho 
 will soon become worse !" 
 
 " Tell me everything, William — keep nothing 
 from mel" said I. "It is right and proper that I 
 should know all." 
 
 "Yes— I will conceal nothing from you, Mary," 
 resumed William, wiping his eyes. " You know — 
 or I should rather say you have seen those two bad 
 characters who once insulted father because ha 
 would not go to the ale-house — I mean Nick Saw- 
 bridge, and that man who is invariably known as 
 Ben Bulldog — I do not know what his real name 
 is——" 
 
 "And do you mpan me to understand," said I, 
 the very blood curdling in ray veins, "that Robert 
 frequents the society of such dreadful characters as 
 these V 
 
 " It is too true," responded William, " He has of 
 late been very often with them; and Mr. Matthews 
 has complained to Mr. Collins. In fact, if it were 
 not out of consideration for us all, Mr. Matthews 
 would have him up before the magistrate and get 
 his indentures set aside, besides perhaps having him 
 sent to prison." 
 
 " O heavens !" I exclaimed : " this is indeed evil 
 tidings! Of course you know Robert came to see 
 me three weeks ago — and t!ten he promised to 
 reform." 
 
 " He told me that he had seen you," said William ; 
 "and since that time I hare not once met him. In- 
 deed, I fear he carefully avoids me : but I was told 
 just now that for a week past he has been more con- 
 stantly in the company of Nick Sawbridge and Ben 
 Bulldog than ever — that they have plenty of money 
 beLween them — and that our unfortunate brother 
 has been tipsy in the streets even in the day-time." 
 
 "Alas! alas! is he then totally lost J" I ex- 
 claimed, clasping my hands together : " is he lost 
 beyond all redemption? No, no — I will go and see 
 him — I will reason with him— I will invoke the 
 
 sainted names of our departed parents But 
 
 heavens 1" I cried, suddenly struck by a frightful 
 recollection : " you say that he has plenty of money 
 which he spends in dissipation ? — and Mrs. Whitfield 
 
 hinted Oh ! I cannot allow my lips to frame the 
 
 dreadful words " 
 
 " I know what you mean," said William in a 
 mournful tone, and with a blush rising quickly to 
 his countenance — the evidence of that deep sense of 
 
 the humiliation which he endured at the idea of his 
 brother's shame, or rather iniquity. « Mrs. Whitfield 
 told me of it. You mean the loss of the silrer 
 spoon ?" 
 "I do," was my answer. "But think you, dear 
 
 William, that it is possible our brother Robert -" 
 
 " I know not what to think," he exclaimed. " I 
 would rather not think in the matter— I dare not 
 think !" 
 
 A groan escaped my lips ; and then we sat silent 
 for some minutes gazing upon each other with looks 
 full of deep and painful thought. 
 
 " I will go and seek him," at length I said, rising 
 from my seat 
 
 " But stop," said William : " stay a few moments. 
 You have told me nothing about yourself." 
 
 I then explained to him how I had left my sit- 
 uation, adding that I was anxious to obtain anoiher 
 as speedily as possible ; for the money that I pos- 
 sessed would only be sufficient to furnish me with a 
 new supply of clothes, and I should therefore have 
 no means of supporting myself were I to remain 
 long out of place. 
 
 " I will make inquiries presently," said William, 
 " of the different tradesmen where Mr. Collins deal«. 
 You can sleep here lo-night, I have no doubt. Mr. 
 Collins' housekeeper will give you a bed. At all 
 events, I will tell you when you come back from 
 seeing Robert" 
 
 I now took a temporary leave of William, and 
 bent my way to Mr. Matthews, the master-car- 
 penter to whom my brother Robert was apprenticed. • 
 I found the worthy man in his little counting-house ; 
 and the moment he saw me enter, he gave me his 
 hand kindly, but shook his head gloomily. I burst 
 into tears: for my heart now completely misgave 
 me— and I felt that all I might say to Robert would 
 most likely prove unavailing. He was not in the 
 workshop at the time — nor indeed had he done a 
 single thing in the shape of work for the last week, 
 but had been absent with bad company, returning 
 iiome very late or else stopping out all night As for 
 his staying out all night, 1 learnt from !Mr. Matthews 
 that he had frequently done so within the last tew 
 weeks — indeed, since he had become so very intimate 
 with the two depraved characters whom my brother 
 William had named. Mr. Matthews concluded by 
 saying that he had now exercised his patience to 
 that degree when he could do so no longer; and 
 with pain and sorrow was it he assured me that he 
 could only give my brother one more trial, which he 
 would do for mine and William's sake. I thanked 
 him sincerely, and then set out again in the hope 
 of speedily meeliiig with the object of all this 
 anxiety. 
 
 1 bent my way to the churchyard, in order to visit 
 my mother's grave ; and kneeling by the turfy 
 mound, I wept and prayed for several minutes. 
 Thence I proceeded to take a view of the cottage 
 where I was born, and where the greater portion of 
 my lile had been passed. It was tenanted by a work- 
 ing-man and his family ; but how altered was its 
 aspect from what it was when last I saw it I It had 
 now every appearance of dirt, debauchery, squalor 
 and neglpct. Several of the windows were broken, 
 and the holes stufled up with rags or covered with 
 brown paper. The garden-fence was sadly dilapi- 
 dated: three or four dirty half-naked children were 
 playing about at the door-way ; and some ftw 
 wretched rags and tatters of clothing hung upon il''
 
 MAKV PHIOE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-llAID. 
 
 35 
 
 clothes'-line by the side of the house. I turned 
 away in sorrow — yes, with a pang as if my heart 
 suddenly grew tight; for it seemed to me that the 
 home of my parents was desecrated by the condition 
 to which I now saw it reduced. 
 
 Thence I bent my way towards the Three Bells 
 ale-house, which stood ou the outskirts of the town ; 
 and as I drew near the front-door, which stood wide 
 open, I heard loud voices joining in the chorus of 
 some bacchanalian song. It was now dark, and the 
 candles were lighted inside the place. I stopped 
 and listened. The song continued: and alas! with 
 an agonizing sensation at the heart did I recogn:ze 
 my brother Robert's voice blending with the rest. 
 I thought I should have screamed and sunk down 
 in a fit: but with a violent eflbrt I subdued my 
 feelings so as to preserve my presence of mind. 
 Stepping up to the window of the room whence the 
 uproar appeared to proceed, I was enabled to peep 
 over the blind ; and my looks embraced the interior 
 of the apartment. Five or six men were drinking 
 and smoking; and through the cloud of fleecy 
 vapour which seemed to form the atmosphere of the 
 den, I beheld my brother seated at a table precisely 
 opposite the window. His countenance was flushed 
 with drinking — his hair was in disorder — and though 
 he was evidently not tipsy, yet he was on the high 
 road towards intoxication. He was clad in a n^-w 
 suit of good cloth clothes, although his toilette 
 denoted ali the negligence of dissipated habits; and 
 my heart sickened as I noticed that he was seated 
 between Nick Sawbridge and Ben Bulldog. 
 
 Hera I pause for a few minutes to describe thrse 
 characters— although the task is a most unpleasant 
 one, not only on account of the natural dislike 
 which one has to deal deliberately with the descrip- 
 tion of infamy personified, but a'so for many, 
 many painful reasons which will appear in the 
 course of this narrative. 
 
 Nick Sawbiid;?e, then, was a man of about thirty- 
 five years of age at the time I mention. He was a 
 short, thin, nimble-looking person, with a blotched 
 face and a most repulsive look. He was invariably 
 dressed in the shabbiest manner, even when it was 
 reputed that he had picked up money by his evil 
 courses. But he seemed utterly indifFcrent as to 
 personal appearance, and to delight ouly in every 
 land of debauchery and low revel. 
 
 Quite a diScrent character in outward appear- 
 ance was Ben Bulldog. Picture to yourself a 
 short, thick-set individual, without the slightest 
 appearance of a neck— a bullet-shaped head— a 
 nose beaten in nearly flat with tlie face — an enor- 
 mous mouth garnished with fangs rather than 
 teeth, and singularly wliite— dce,p-set eyes with a 
 savage expression— hair (propped quite close— and 
 atota. absence of whisker: picture to yourself all 
 this, and you have the portrait of Ben Bulldog. 
 But to make it complete, 1 may observe that he 
 wore a dirty yellow shawl-neckerchief the ample 
 folds of which completely concealed whatever little 
 neck he might have— a greasy fustian shooting- 
 jacket with large buttons of white bone— knee- 
 breeches made of corduroy — and top-boots the 
 upper leathers of which were never cleaned, nor 
 the lower ones ever blacked. Altogether, he had 
 a most ferocious appearance. His look was that 
 of savage sullenncss and dog/cd ibstinacy : he 
 seemed a man fitted for the perpe' ration of any 
 ciiiae, and whose iustiucts were of the most brutal 
 
 character. Such was the impression which this 
 horrible individual could not fail to make upon the 
 miud of every one who contemplated liim ; and it 
 was therefore enough to make my heart sink and 
 my blood run cold to observe my unfortunate 
 brother Robert seated by the side of such a dread- 
 ful character. 
 
 AVhat Nick Sawbrid?e and Ben Bulldog were, I 
 did not know at the time. For some years their 
 names had been familiar to me as associated with 
 every kind of low debaucherj', ruffianism, and de- 
 pravity. From my very girlhood such was the im- 
 pression I had received concerning them ; and I 
 knew that if ever any mischief, dishouesry, or out- 
 rage occurred in Ashford or the neighbourhood, 
 and could not positively be brought home to any 
 one, suspicion invariably pointed to these two men 
 as the evil-doers. They lived together in a di'api- 
 dated old house in the neighbourhood of the 
 churchyard. The place had once been a baker's, 
 and was fitted up with an oven and the usual appa- 
 ratus for such a trade. But Sawbridge and the 
 Bulldog did not use their premises for this pur- 
 pose. Nevertheless, the chimney was now and 
 then seen vomiting forth a c'oud of black smoke ; 
 and it was said that the two men were wont, when 
 not employed in a more questionable manner, to 
 boil down horse-flesh, bake livers, and such-iike 
 nasty work, for cats'-meat men, sausage-makers, 
 and so furth. But beyond this there was certainly 
 something m3'Sterious in then- proceedings : for it 
 was known that they received a gi-eat many letters 
 from different parts of the country, and sometimes 
 sent oS'a good number of large parcels, or boxes, 
 carefully corded and sealed, so that the contents 
 might not be kno^vn by the carriers entrusted with 
 them. Rumour liiewise declared that these parcels 
 were never addressed in a straightforward manner, 
 but in some such style as this : — " To A. B. C. To 
 be left at the Coach-Office, Maidstone, till called fur" 
 Sometimes respectable persons from other towns 
 in the county, on visiting Ashford, actually in- 
 quired for these two men and sought them in their 
 ptremises. These circumstances hai all combiued 
 to increase the mystery which clouded a portion of 
 their avocations ; and though the constable had 
 had his eye upon them for some years, their secret 
 in this respect had never been penetrated. 
 
 I have entered into all these particulars, not 
 merely to show the reader that Nick Sawbridge 
 and Ben Bulldog were two characters whose ac- 
 quaintance was sure to be fiital to the reputation 
 and the welfare of my poor brother, but also be- 
 cause the two men are mifortunately dootiucd to 
 play no inconsiderable part on the stage of my 
 narrative — and fearful, sickening revelations will 
 in due course have to be made concerning them. 
 But now, with these few episodical observatior.3 
 let me resume the thread of my tile, reminding the 
 reader that I was standing outside the window of 
 the jTAreeiJe?/* ale-house, it. rritic land profoundly 
 atilicted on perceiving my brother Kobort seated 
 between Nick Sawbridge and Ben Bulldog. 
 
 For a few minutes did I watch Robert's coun- 
 tenance through the window, in order to see if at 
 nny moment I could trace in its varying expression 
 the slightest h»dii;atiou of regret or re.norse f r his 
 presiiit fallen condition. But I could not dis .over 
 any such boureo of hopefulness. 1 behe d liiiii 
 enjoy the co^rae mirth of his two coaipanlous and
 
 36 
 
 itATiY pnrcE; or, thk jrEstoins o? a servast-mahj. 
 
 the rest of the company : 1 saw him play some low 
 practical joke with Sawbridge, and pat the Bulldog 
 on the b-ack ; and in a word, I cuuld not conceal 
 from myself the lamentable truth that he was 
 " hail fellow wdl met " with the present society. 
 Heavens ! what a conclusion was tliis to como to ! 
 and if his poor mother who lay a shrouded sluni- 
 berer in the dark, damp solitude of the churchyard 
 at no great distance, could have risen from her 
 
 grave to behold him now But 1 dare not pursue 
 
 the theme : it overpowers me with the crucifixion 
 of anguish thus to form the bare idea! 
 
 My course was decided upon : 1 was determined 
 how to act. Timid, shrinking young damsel as I 
 v/as, 1 mustered up a degree of eoumge that even 
 surprised myself— and entered the ale-house. 
 
 "Halloa, young woman 1 who do you want?'' 
 growled the landlord as he rose fro-m a chair behind 
 the bar where he was smoking his pipe. 
 
 *' I want a brother whom this house of your's is 
 leading to ruin :" — and as I thus spoke in a firm 
 voice, I threw my deeply sorrowful and reproach- 
 ful looks upon him. 
 
 "Ah! what? Miss Price!" ejaculated the man 
 in surprise. " Well, I ought to have known you 
 al once by the mourning'. But shall I call Robert 
 out for you?" 
 
 " No, I thank you," was my cold response. "If 
 there be any hope for him, he will now feel 
 ashamed and humiliated at the idea of his sister 
 being compelled to seek him in such a place and 
 in such company." 
 
 "Ashamed indeed 1" echoed the landlord, with a 
 coarse laugh. 
 
 Without heeding him farther, I threw open the 
 door, and stopped short on the threshold. The cloud 
 of tobacco-smoke that gushed forth almo t suffo- 
 cated me ; and the fumes of debauchery made my 
 heart heave. 
 
 "What, Mary! is this you ?" cried Robert, sud- 
 denly starting up: and all in a moment, as if ac- 
 tually struck by the very feeling with which I 
 souglit to inspire him by my presence there, he 
 became covered with confusion. 
 
 "Step out, Mary — I'll join you at once," he 
 stamraei'cd forth m he endeavoured to pass by the 
 Bulldog. 
 
 " No, don't go. Bob," exclaimed this ferocious 
 character, whose voice had all the intonations of a 
 savage brutality, hoarse, deep, thick, and growling. 
 " But, my eye ! what a sweet pretty gal your sister 
 has grown ! Let her come and join us. Whafs 
 a good place for the brother must be for the sis- 
 ter; and if so be there isn't room enow on this 
 bench she shall sit on my knee." 
 
 Thereupon he burst into a great coarse ruffian- 
 like laugh, in which he was joined by every one 
 present — except my brother, who looked bevvil- 
 dercd how to act. 
 
 " Come, llobcrt dear — for God's sake come I" 
 said I with accents of the mo3t fervid entreaty ; 
 and I saw that he was still more deeply moved 
 than at first. 
 
 •' What the devil does all this mean ?" cried 
 Nick Sawbridge. " I suppose. Bob, you ain't a- 
 goiiig to tie yourself to your sister's apron-slrings ? 
 Jf so, I'm blowed if me and the Bulldog won't cut 
 you bang at once !" 
 
 " Robert, Robert dear I" I excl.iimod, in a voice 
 that I know must have been piteous and penetrat- 
 
 ing to a degree: "do come with ine, if only for 4 
 few minutes ! I wish to speuk to you on impor- 
 tant matters." 
 
 " Then don't speak dry-lipped, my dear," said 
 the Bulldog, estending towards me a pewter-pol 
 which he grasped with hii great fist that n;ight 
 have felled an ox : and again h'n loud, coarse 
 brutal laugh rang througii the room. 
 
 " Robert, will you stand there while I am thus 
 insulted?" I exclaimed, a dizziness now coming 
 over me and all my presence cf mind rapidly ebb- 
 ing away. 
 
 My brother was evidently labouring under feel- 
 ings of the most paiuf j1 and conflicting nature 
 indeed his countenance at this moment was a 
 complete index to all that was passing in his 
 mind. His better nature urged him to obey my 
 summons ; but the fear of provoking ridicule on 
 the part of his compani^ms chained him to the 
 spot. Besides, he was between the two desperate 
 characters who had become his evil genii: and 
 neither made way to allow him to pass. 
 
 "Robert, will you come? Do ycu not wish — 
 have you nothing to say to your sister after to 
 long a separation ?" — and I believe that as I thus 
 spoke, never did woman's looks express more pas- 
 sionate entreaty, 
 
 "What nonsense!" growled the Bulldog.. "If 
 I had a psalm- singing sister like this, I'd deuced 
 soon send her off about her own business. If she 
 rer'ily likes you, Bob, let lier acknowledge as her 
 friends them as is your'n." 
 
 "So 1 say!" ejaculated Nick Sawbridge : and 
 then there was a general expression of approval 
 all round. 
 
 " Excuse me a minute," said Robert, now sud- 
 denly appearing' to muster up courage to act de- 
 ci-ively. " I »n2<st just say three or four wurds to 
 her— and then I'll come back." 
 
 Thus speaking, h-s pushed away the table from 
 before him in such a manner that he was enabled 
 to pass out from between his two companions ; 
 and with hurried pace he quitted the room. Bu I 
 just as he closed the door behind him, the voice c 
 the Bulldog was hoard vociferating between a roa- \ 
 and a growl, " If you don't come back in three ' 
 minutes, me and Nick will never speak to you again. ' 
 I heard my brother mutter a bitter imprecatioc j 
 as those words reached his eir ; and hurrying mo j 
 out of the ale hou-3e, he said in a sharp siva^je [ 
 tone, " Why did you seek me here ?" | 
 
 " In the first place I souglit you, Robert," saii 
 
 I, " where you ought to have been tbund " i 
 
 "At old Jiattluiws', I suppose?" he excJa-mot I 
 abruptly. " Y.'cll, ai.d he has been telliug you c '■ 
 pretty tale, no doubt?" j 
 
 '•He could tell me notliicg worse than I have ' 
 just seen with my own eyes," «as my answer, ^ivcn 
 in a tone of gentle but profoundly mourn'.ul re- 
 proach. "Ah! llobcrt, is this tiie way you fu'fil 
 the promise you made me when last I saw ycu ? 
 Good heavens! what will become of yon? I shud- 
 der when I think of it. Ttiose dreadlul men whom 
 you have just left will lead you into every kind of 
 wickcdnoss." I 
 
 " I tell you what it is, ISIary, if yon have come to 
 preach to me," said R>bert, doggciily, "you and !• ; 
 shall part at once. I don't like sermons : I m ver j 
 did — and as for there being any harm in my just 
 enjoying myself with my friends " i
 
 jtAliv ntiCE ; OH, 'j'liE MESioins oP a skrvaxI-maid. 
 
 37 
 
 I ''Fi lends!" I echoed: "good heavens! do you 
 j call i/icwi friends ? O Robert ! if your dear parents 
 j were alive, would you dare speak of such frien'is 
 before tliem ?" 
 
 " I wish you would not talk in this way," said my 
 brotl'.er; and he glanced uneasily round towards 
 the open door whence the light was streaming 
 forth. 
 
 " res, yes — but I must," said I: snd seizing his 
 hands I led him farther away into the darlcness — 
 and while ray heart fluttered anxiously with hope, 
 fi;i- I really thought that ho was moved, I said, 
 "Do, ray dear brother— I beseech and impiore you 
 — do give up the friendship of those men wliom 
 every boJy declares to be bad charactors : and do 
 — Oil! do go to your work, bccoma steady, and 
 nvoid tempt;ition ! Remeinber, ray dear, dear Ro- 
 bert, that although our parents arc removed from 
 us so fiir as the:r earthly presence is conrernpd, 
 yet from another world are they looking dowp. 
 upnnus: ai'.dOii! conceive — picture to yourself — 
 what must be the anguisli, the agony of our dear 
 mother— that mother who loved you, Robert, so 
 tenderly and so well— and of that father who ever 
 called you his oion dear 6oy— what must be t'leir 
 anguish, I say, «h"n they look down and behold 
 the paths which you are pursuing? O Robert, 
 Robert! do think of the past, so tint it may heip 
 you for the present, and s:ive you for tlie future ! 
 Think of our once iiappy home — of how W3 ail 
 loved eat'h other, and how if one cried the reH 
 would flock around to soothe and to conwle : — 
 Oh ! think of all this — and do not, do not bo angry 
 with me now for thus speaking to you ! Bei-ides, 
 dear Robert, you are older than I — you are the 
 eldest brother — and not only should I, your sister, 
 be able to cling to you for protection and support, 
 but your other brother ami your two little sisters 
 all should be able to regard you with piiile, an<l 
 love, and truitful aff-'C'.ion. Ah ! Robert, 'ti-s for 
 yoa to be a father unto all of us ; and by the spirits 
 of our departed parents do I conjure you to re- 
 nounce those evil companions who are leading you 
 to destruction !" 
 
 My Voice, which had been failing me during the 
 Ip.tior p:irt of this address, was now completely lost 
 in the stifling sobs that convulsed my busom ; and 
 raising bath my brother's hands to my lips, I 
 covered them with kisses and tears. That he was 
 nmved I have no doubt, although it was too dark 
 for mo to read the workings of his countenance. 
 Bur, his breath came quickly— I could hear the 
 rapid pulsations of his heart- and he did not 
 attempt to withdraw his hands from mine. 
 
 "Tell me, Robert — tell me," I asked, again re- 
 covering the power of utterance, " will you re- 
 nounce those Ciimpanions? will you come with mo 
 ni)W, somewhere — anywhere— so that wo may talk 
 togetlicr ?" 
 
 But at this moment the door of the ale-house, 
 from which we had retired about thirty yards, was 
 suddenly darkened by an ominoui li^'uro which I 
 immeiliately recognized with a eld shudder ; and 
 the brutal voice of the Bulldog was heard exclaim- 
 ing, " Now then, Bob, I and Nick arc off unless 
 I you come back diiectly." 
 
 The summons was like that of the Evil One 
 penetrating through the darkness of the iiijrht to 
 
 struggle against a spell more potent than himself, 
 withdrew his hands abruptly, saying in a quick ex- 
 cited tone, "Well, Mary, you see I must go back, 
 or else they will be offended. But come to-morrow 
 to the workshop, and you will find me there." 
 
 "Stop— one word, I conjure you!" cried I, al- 
 most frantic with grief— and I clung to him des- 
 perately. 
 
 But lie broke away from me, and in another mo- 
 ment rejoined his terrible companion at the ale- 
 house door. Then I saw them disappear insida 
 together ; and with a sensation as if my heart 
 were about to burst, I dragged myself back to Mr. 
 Collins' abode. 
 
 I related to William all that had taken place; 
 awl wo mingled our tears to:rether. Mr. Collins' 
 housekeeper alio wed me to share her bed; and on 
 the following morning I and William proceeded 
 eatly together to INEr. Matthews', in the hope of 
 citeliing Robert before he iiad time to go out. 
 But to our ineftUble grief we learnt that having 
 come home very late and much intoxicated, he had 
 risen early and started off again, coolly leaving a 
 message for Mr. Jilitihews to the effect that he 
 was going to take a vfoek's holiday and should not 
 return till the expiraiioa of that time. So great 
 was the affliction of myself and William, that Mr. 
 IMatthevvs invited lis ittto his parlour to sit doarn ; 
 and when we were a litle composed, he questioned 
 me relative to my own position. I told him that I 
 wag out of place and wished to obtain one as soon 
 as possible. Thereupon, as if struck by a sudden 
 recollection, ho took up a county neivspaper— 
 searched for a few moments amidst its advertising 
 columns— and at length directed my attention to 
 the following antiouacement : — 
 
 WA^TTED, ill a Protestant tradesman's family, a Shop- 
 m;in who t!ioroii;july uniierstands the grocery businesj anl 
 v.ho fe.i's tlic Lord. There is also a vacancy in the sam j 
 family I'or n narsc-aiai'i, who unlerstamls plain noerilc- 
 wnvk, is of Cliurch of Eu'^Iand principles, ami will no', 
 object to make herself generally useful, Apply (if by 
 letter, enclosing lestiiuonials) to J. O. il., Snargale Street, 
 Dover. 
 
 "Now," observed Mr. Matthews, with a ha'f 
 smile upon h'S countenance, '• this is the advertise- 
 ment of a very old friend of nunc, John Obadiah 
 Messiter— a grocer in a large way of bu-iin>'ss ; 
 and he happens at this moment to be at Ashfn-d 
 for some purpose or another, lie and his wife are 
 very pious people ; but 1 do not know any reason 
 why you should not apply for the situation. Not, 
 mind you, that I know anything of tin ir domestic 
 mode of life : for 1 have never visited their es- 
 tablishment at Dover. Messit -r, however, was an 
 old sehoolfel'ow of mine; and I Unov him to be a 
 quiet, plodding, business-like, respectable man. 
 Now, what say yon ?" 
 
 I cheerfully accepted the proposal: and pro- 
 vided with a letter from Mr. .M.itthews, I at 
 once repaired to the Sarnccn's IJcail, where Mr, 
 Messiter wtis staying, lie wis in-doors at the 
 moment; and Hhile William waited outside, I was 
 conducted to a room where Mr. Messiter wai 
 seated. He Vr-as a tall thin man— with' a pale, or 
 rather sallow complexion — huig sliarp fti.itures— 
 and iron-grey hair bru-hed siraght upright idr his | 
 forche.id. Ho ivore a white cravat, r.nd lii'j;h sh rt I 
 
 the wretched being who has sold his soul; and my collars, very stiff and projecting in sharp points , 
 unhappy brother, as if finding it impossible to ' like gilh beyond the corners of his lips, which by- )
 
 38 
 
 MAUV price; OB, THE MEMOUW UF A t>EEVASiT-MAtD. 
 
 the bye were thin, compressed, and gave an ex- 
 pression of priui sanctimoniousuess to his counte- 
 nance. Pie was dressed in a completesuit of bkck, 
 his trousers being short and showing his black 
 cotton stockings and rather clumsy shoes. A hat, 
 very low in the crown ami very broad in the bnm, 
 lay upon the table, in cumpany with a faded cottua 
 umbrella of very considerable proportions. 
 
 On being introduced to Mr. Messiter's presence, 
 I stated my business ; and he listened with the 
 greatest attention. He then read the letter which 
 Mr. Matthews had sent; and. all this time he 
 uttered not a word. Nor did he speak until he 
 h.id read the letter twice'over, examining the ad- 
 dress so as to be sure it was sent to him, and then 
 deliberately consisjned it to a great black pocket- 
 boi k tied round with a shoe- string. 
 
 "And you are the young woman, Mary Price, 
 mentioned in this letter?" he said at length breaking 
 sUeuce and speaking iu a quiet, siow, and deliberate 
 ujatmer ; then on receiving my a Brmative answer, 
 he continued to observe, " You have seen my ad- 
 vertisement— you know what I want and what 
 1 expect. Are you sure that you are piously 
 inclined?" 
 
 " I believe, sir, that I have a proper sense of the 
 importance of religion," was my answer. 
 
 "I hope so, young woman," observed Mr. 
 Messiter, shaking his head with solemn gravity. 
 "You are accustomed to read the Word of God?" 
 
 *' I am, sir," was the reply. 
 
 "And you can do plaiu-sewing?" was the next 
 question. 
 
 " I can do lall kind) of simple needle-work, 
 £ir." 
 
 " You understand the Gospel and can nurse a 
 b;iby ?" coaliuued Mr. Messiter, looking at me 
 very hard as if everything depended on my 
 answer. 
 
 I of course gave an affirmative response, 
 although not over well liking the strange manner 
 in which he coupled religious with household 
 affairs. 
 
 " I am very particular, young woman," he con- 
 tinued ; "and my wife is very particular also. She 
 is a most amiable, exemplary, and estimable 
 woman— meek and lowly iu her sphere — a good 
 wife, a kind mother, and an aifectionate friend. 
 If you think that you can make yourself agreeable 
 t ) such a patteru'Woman, 1 ha\'o no objection to 
 five you a trial." 
 
 I thanked him, and declared my intention and 
 desire to do my best to give satisfiiction. 
 
 *' And now about wages ?" he said. 
 
 I answered that 1 would leave this to him, a com- 
 fortable home with asulficiency to procure adequate 
 clgthing being the extent of ray wants. 
 
 "Well," said he, with exceeding gravity, "the 
 labourer is worthy of his hire; and if you come 
 into my vineyard it shall be at a ;price. What say 
 you to 51. a-year, with an occasioni-tl left-off gown of 
 !Mrs. Messiter's, and an increase a t the end of the 
 iirst year if mutually satisfied?" 
 
 This was less than I had been reiieiving latterly at 
 Twisden Lodge; but I made noobjijction — and hav- 
 ing therelore assented, was duly ei)|;aged. 
 
 " I leave this afternoon at two o' clock by the van 
 for Canterbury," observed Mr. Mi ssiter, " so as to 
 •ave the London coach for Dover.. If you like to 
 accompany me, it will be as welL" •■ 
 
 I gladly accepted this oCer, as I did not like the 
 idea of travelling alone; and taking a temporary 
 leave of Mr. Messiter, I hastened to rejoin Vv'iUiam | 
 in the passage. At that moment Mad Tommy, the | 
 poor idiot of whom I have previously spoken, | 
 entered the hotel, carrying in his hand a large deal 
 box tied round with cord, the knots of which were 
 sealed as a safeguard against iis being opened by 
 any prying individual 
 
 " Well, Miss," he said, upon seeing me and gazirg 
 at me in his wonted vacant manner, " glad to meet 
 you — glad to meet you again. You look well— very 
 well. Not forgot me^h ? Not likely — not likely. 
 How d'ye do. Master William ? Growing fine lad. 
 Always good to poor Tommy. Sometimes give him 
 halfpence — don't forget him — not likely, not likely l" 
 — and then he grinned in his own peculiar fashion. 
 
 While he was thus speaking, the waiter came up 
 and asked him who he wanted. I and William 
 accordingly went away; and I told my brother that 
 1 had engaged myself for Mr. Messiter's place. My 
 preparations for departure were soon made : I went 
 and bade farewell to Sarah and Jane, and then took 
 leave of ray dear brother William. He promised to 
 write to me very soon to tell me how Mr. Collins 
 got on, and also anything that might arise con- 
 cerning our unfortunate brother Robert. Thus we 
 parted, in tears — and on returning to the Saracen't \ 
 Head, I fouud Mr. Messiter waiting for me. The 
 Canterbury van almost immediately drove up to the 
 door: but as the carrier was putting up the baggage, 
 I was struck by observing the box which 2klad 
 Tommy had brought, and on which Mr. Messiter's 
 name was now written in large ink letters. This 
 circumstance filled me at the moment with a str^.nge 
 misgiving: for I recollected all I had ever heard 
 concerning Sawbridge and the Bulldog. But a few 
 moments' reflection reassured me. Mr. Matthews 
 had guaranteed Mr. Messiter's respectability, aud 
 I could not think it probable that he was in any 
 way connected with such desperate characters. Even 
 if he had anything at all to do with them, it could 
 only be in the same way that other persons of re- 
 spectability bad, according to common rumour, 
 some kind of dealing with them ; aud whatever this 
 might be, I was bound to believe that bad as the 
 men themselves were, suc'u dealing was not in itself 
 necessarily evil. Id spite however of this reasoning, 
 I almost regretted the precipitation with whicli I 
 had formed my new engagement: but it was too 
 late to retract 
 
 Entering the van, it drove away ; and as there 
 were several other persons iu it and I was not seated , 
 next to Mr. Messiter, no conversation passed between ] 
 us. Indeed, he did not talk at all, and appeared to 
 be of reserved and quiet disposition — a circumstance 
 which impressed me iu his favour. At Canterbury 
 we took the London coach passing through to Dover , 
 aud our two hours' ride to the place of destination 
 were likewise passed in silence. Indeed, so far as I 
 was concerned, I remained wrapt up in a mournful 
 reverie, my brother Robert being uppermost in luy 
 thoughts : and I trembled as I looked into the future. 
 Poor William's position likewise served as a source 
 of annoyance: for it seerjed certain that he would 
 lose his place at Mr. C' llins*. But Mr. Matthewi 
 had promised to befriend him; and moreover Wil- 
 liam's good character w,,s so well appreciated by ail 
 who knew him that he was not likely to be long io 
 procuring another place. 
 
 ^ — • — 'rn — •ms—- y » - ^^ ■ ■ . i^- -
 
 MAEY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 33 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MT SECOND Pt.ACE. 
 
 Ih the midst of these reflections the stage coach 
 entered Dover; and as it passed along Siiargate 
 Street — the principal one in the town — it set us down 
 at the door of Mr. Messiter's establishment. A 
 delicate-looking, pale-faced woman, with a melan- 
 choly expression of countenance — not over neatly 
 dressed, but indeed somewhat slovenly— opened the 
 private door, and made her appearance on the 
 threshold with a chamber candle in her hand. 
 
 " Well, dear— is this you ?" she said meekly. 
 " I am so glad you have returned." 
 
 "Well, you shall tell me all about that pre- 
 sently," interrupted Mr. Messiter, in % manaer 
 which I thought somewhat sharp. 
 
 The coachman handed in the luggage, and we 
 entered the house. Mrs. Messiter — for she was 
 the pale-faced woman — looked very hard at me, 
 and then in a sort of timid frightened manner 
 towards her husband, as if she longed to ask him 
 who I was, but dared not. 
 
 " This young woman," he said at length, when 
 he had divested himself of his great coat in the 
 pass:ige where we were all three standing, " is a 
 respectable, pious, obliging person, well recom- 
 mended by my friend Matthews— and I hope she 
 will suit." 
 
 ♦' I hope so too," said Mrs. Messiter faintly : but 
 the glance she at the same time flung upon me 
 was anything but friendly in its expression, 
 
 Mr. Messiter now advanced to the top of the 
 kitchen-stairs, and called out " Betsy !" in a curt 
 imperious tone. Then there was a quick tramp- 
 ling of sti;ps up the said stairs ; and a very dirty- 
 looking female of middle age made her appear- 
 ance. To her care was I consigned by my new 
 master, who bade her give me some supper, show 
 me to my room, and tell me what I was to do in 
 the morning. I could not help observing thai, 
 while he issued those instructions, his wife did not 
 give utterance to a word, but stood behind him 
 liolding the candle as if siie herself were a servant 
 — although I could observe that she continued to 
 eye me in no favourable manner. 
 
 As Mr. Matthews had represented to me, Mr. 
 Messiter wa** a grocer in a flourishing way of 
 business. He had the best looking shop of the 
 kind in Snargate Street; and as he bore the re- 
 putation of being a very pious, benevolent, and 
 respectable man, he was f.ivoured with the custom 
 of the clerarymen, the leading gentry, and the most 
 considerable families resident at Djver. He kept 
 two shopmen, and two servants — the dirty-looking 
 female to whom I have already alluded being one, 
 and myself now being the other. My fellow-ser- 
 vant fulfille'i the duties of cook and woman-^Jf-all- 
 work. She made the beds, prepared the food, 
 cleaned down the house, and did the washing every 
 Alonday for the whole family. No wonder, then, 
 that she was always dirty : it would have been a 
 greater wonder if she ever had time to bo clean, 
 save and except on washing days, and then it was 
 oniy her arms which benetitted by the sud-t. She 
 had to get up at four every morning in summer, 
 and at SIX in winter — Mr. Messiter himself rising 
 from his bed to call her if he did not hear her 
 
 stirring at the proper time. Indeed, the only 
 reason why she was not compelled to turn out as 
 early in winter as in summer, wis because she 
 would have required to burn cand'es during the 
 dark season ; and thit was an extravagance not 
 at all suitiug Mr. Me3siter'8 ideas of economy. 
 The j»oor creature, who was a good-natured and 
 really kind-hearted woman, was worked like a 
 slave and paid like a pauper, — her wage^ being 
 11. a year and to find her own tea and su?ar — 
 which I had not to do, as I had my meals in the 
 parlour with the children after Mr. and Mrs, Mes- 
 siter and the shopmen had had theirs. 
 
 And now a word with regard to these shopmen. 
 One was ayoung man of about seven or eight-and- 
 twenty— tall, lank, prim-looking, and sanctimo- 
 nious, like his master — with a canting, whining 
 tone, and a servile obsequiousness of minner. He 
 walked on tiptoe, or as if he were treading on 
 eggs— had an habitual bend in his gait— and 
 seemed altogether one of tho'se individuals who 
 prefer gliding snake-like through the world, rather 
 than walking manfully along their path, neither 
 afraid of seeing or being seen. 
 
 His companion was a younger min, shorter and 
 stouter — but also quiet in his manner, though suf- 
 ficiently insinuating— or shall I say insidious?- in 
 his discourse. Both were scrupulously cleanly in 
 their persons, and always had on most unexcep- 
 tionable aprons. The same may be observed of 
 Mr. Messiter when serving in the shop; but be it 
 recollected that all the washing was done at 
 home on the most economical p!an, and by poor 
 Betsy. 
 
 The Messiters had six children — three boys and 
 three girls — the youngest being a baby of a few 
 months old, and the eldest a boy of about ten. I 
 never saw such quiet docile children in all my life. 
 And yet it was not pure and simple do.i iiy, which 
 means the generous obedience of a nature pro- 
 perly pliant; but these poor children might be 
 termed spirit-broken. There was no life in them : 
 they scarcely played about up in the nursery — or 
 when they did, it was in so languid and .sicUly a 
 manner that it used to make my heart ac".e to see 
 them. The first day I was there I fancied that 
 they were shy on account of having a now nurse- 
 maid ; and I therefore endeavoured to make my- 
 self as agreeable to them as possible. To my sur- 
 prise, they threw their arms abr)ut my neck and 
 cried. Then I endeavoured to cheer them up, and 
 incited them to h'lve a good game of romps: but 
 the eldest boy — a mild, amiable, pensive-looking 
 little fellow — said in so s id a tone, "that if th"y 
 made a noiie their papa would come np and scol.l 
 or beat them." A film suddenly fell from my eyes : 
 and now I understood at once Mr. Mensitei's cha- 
 racter! The timidity and trembling looks of his 
 wife had not enlightened me: but the poor boy's 
 observation made mo c iraprehcnd the whole 
 truth in a moment. Mr. Messiter was a tyrant I 
 
 This idea was speedily confirmed : f,)r the gro- 
 cer, under the garb of sanctity, was in reality one 
 of ihe most hard-hearted ilcspots in dompstjc life 
 I have ever seen throughout my wlioleexprronee. 
 Siintry to a degree — moan beyond all description 
 — parsimonious in ways wliicn I cannot st >p to 
 detail — all his thoughts appeared to be bent upon 
 raoney-making. This pursuit deadened, if not 
 tieatroyed, nil better feelings. He kept shopmen
 
 40 
 
 MAUY pkice; on, the mbmoirs op a servant-maid. 
 
 and servants only because it was necessary to 
 Busta'm an appearance : but he gru Iged every- 
 thing that was eaten beneath his roof. In this hj 
 was impart al enough : for lie did not make any 
 exception in favour of himself. On the contrary, 
 he measured out his own fuoil at each meal as 
 nicely and as accurately as lie meted out the por- 
 tions for the rest. It was for this reason that he 
 would not allow any meals to be taken up into the 
 nursery ; but when he, his wife, and his shopmen 
 had finished at the breakfast-table, the dinner, and 
 the lea, then a bsll rang and I took down the chil- 
 dren to have their repast, of course taking my own 
 with them. Very often Mr. Jlessiter himself 
 would sit by and watch us eating; and then the 
 ciiildren never dared ask twice for anything. If 
 he were not present, his wife would sit by to keep 
 watch in his stead ; and though it was evidently 
 nilh a mother's pang that she refused her chil- 
 dren the qu:intity they craved, she nevertheles 
 was constrained to check them if she thought 
 tiKjy were eating too much. For if Mr. Messiter 
 fancied the provisions went too quickly, he would 
 address his wife in the harshest, sternest , and se- 
 verest lan;,'uage, so tliat the poor woman was 
 frightened to death lest her own children should 
 by eating too much draw down blame upon her- 
 self. 
 
 To enforce such rigorous parsimony ia his es- 
 tablishment, Mr. Mossiter was necessarily a tyrant : 
 he could not be otherwise. But he was a de-pot 
 in many other ways. Tlie house being lar^'C, and 
 so fcvT servants kept, his wife was compelled to as 
 si,t in the domestic arrangements to a degree that 
 drew her into the performance of many menial 
 things which no respectable tradesman's wife 
 should have had to perform. Especially on every 
 ?.Ionday was she compelled to take her s-hare in 
 the washing; and there was the mistress of one of 
 the most thriving trading-establi'^hments in Dover 
 standing at a tub, ''seconding"' the things t'al 
 Betsy washed! Moreover, her husiin.nd made her 
 so mean and paltry an allowance for her own ap- 
 parel, that she could not possibly dress as became 
 her station; and feeling that she was shabby, 
 she had by a not very unnatural transition grown 
 slovenly. The shopmen were wretchedly paid, an 1 
 yet were compelled to maintain a respectable ap- 
 pearance : but they were never allowed any holi- 
 days or any pleasure. On Sunday they went to 
 church twice uith the f.imily; and in the evening 
 they were made to go and teach the charity-chil- 
 dren at the Sunday School. Neverthele.-s, the 
 eldest shopman, whoso name was Sinithson, had 
 been for six or seven years in Mr. Mcssiter's em- 
 ploy: but he was frequently chaiif^lng his second 
 shopman— and the one to whom I have already 
 alluded had i^iven notice to leave. Ileucc the ad- 
 (vertiscmcnt 1 had seen in the county newspaper. 
 The only wonder was how Mr. Mc-..su(.r oou d get 
 any shopman to stay with him at all, corsidering 
 now badly they were paidj' how wretchedly fed, 
 how harsidy treated, and how severely worked. 
 
 I have already noticed the unfivourable looks 
 which Mrs. Mossiter cast upon me the fiist night of 
 my arrival: and for two or three days I observed 
 that she surveyed me with the same leeling of sus- 
 picion or diddce. But gradually her manner 
 changed ; and she soon became as kind as she was 
 at first distant. I could not uououut for this— nor 
 
 did I indeed pause to reflect much upon it when 
 once her manner had so altered towards me. She 
 made me tell her my history — or rather as much 
 of it as I deemed it proper to make known ; and 
 when she heard me eulogise my late parents aud 
 speak of the respectability with which I had been 
 brought up, she said in a raatiner that was singu- 
 larly pointed and emphatic, "Keep to those prin- 
 ciples. Maty. You are young and good-looking ; 
 and unfortunately you are in 'a position of life 
 which exposes you to temptations. You cannot 
 therefore be too circumspect. And mind — mark 
 well what I tell you ! If you ever get into a famiy 
 where the master of the house should eo far forget 
 himself as to ad iress you in an improper manner, 
 do not content yourself with merely rebuking him, 
 but give immediate warning— or leave on the in- 
 stant, if his conduct should have beea very coarse. 
 You understand me ?" 
 
 "I do, ma'am," was my answer: '* and though 
 thanking you sincerely for this well-meant advice, 
 rest asfured that the course you have recom- 
 mended is only that which under sucli circum- 
 stances I should have fulloired of my own ac- 
 cord. " 
 
 " If you adhere to that resolve, Mary," resnmed 
 Mrs. Messiter, now patting my cheek caressingly 
 and bending upon me a look full of kindness, "you 
 may dppend upon it you will not only do your duty 
 towards yourself, but also to others. A good- 
 looUing servant, who either accepts the improper 
 overtures of her master, or who does no: suili- 
 cient'y resent them as to make him desist in future, 
 is not only \i icked towards herself but also towards 
 that master's wife. She may be the means of in- 
 ducing a husband to go astray — to become un- 
 faithful to a faithful wife " 
 
 "O mailam! I hope," was my exclamation, 
 "that there are not many who act so wicked y as 
 this 1" 
 
 " I am glad that you have made the remark," 
 said Mrs. Messiter; "because it proves that you 
 i-eally and truly arc as innocent aud as inexpe- 
 rienced as you seem to be. But when you know 
 more of the world, i\Iary, and when you have beeu 
 longer at service, you will tind that there are many 
 — far, far too mai:y such wicUcd or thoughtless 
 young women as I have just alluded to. But let 
 us change the discourse," she suddenly added : 
 "or rathoi" let us not talk any more for the 
 preent." 
 
 It was after dinner that this conversation took 
 place; and just as ?drs. Messiter had thus abruptly 
 cut it short, she retreated to the window, whera 
 she dropped into her scat, instantly composing her 
 loo'is s ) as not to appear to have been engaged in 
 ani thing like exciting or interesting discourse. 
 For a moment I wondered why she should thus 
 dart away from me, and feared I hal given her 
 some olVcnce: but the opening of the door and the 
 return of her husband to the room explained the 
 u\oinentary singularity of her conduct. She had 
 caught his footstep upon the stairs, her e »r being 
 more acutely sharpened than mine to that particu- 
 lar sound ! 
 
 " What! " he faid, in that hnrd tone in which he 
 was accustomed to speak up-stairs, but which was 
 so very different from the urbane modulation of his 
 voice when serving a customer in the shop below, — 
 '« the dinner thinjjs not cleai-ed away yet ! Ma--*
 
 Moijitcr, if ilary allows these chiMrcn to staff as 
 much as they like, I desire that you will put a 
 proper check upon thera." 
 
 "Ihave be Ml watching them the whole time," 
 said the poorwuman, meekly, and with afriglitencd 
 regard ; " and 1 can assure you " 
 
 " You need assure me of nothing," interrupted 
 Mr. Messiter, stern, cold, and implacable ; " be- 
 cause 1 have eyes and can see. This leg of mutton 
 was cut from here to here when I rose from table : 
 now see how much of it Ls gone I There will 
 scarcely be enough to hash for to-morrow's dinner. 
 Then look at this loaf !— it was cut down' to here 
 just now, and see what a quantity has disappeared !" 
 —and as he thus spoke, lie indicated with a fork the 
 measurement of the articles to which he was 
 alluding. 
 
 " Well, I can assure you, my dear," again said 
 his wife, more timid and depiccatory than ever, 
 NO. 6. 
 
 "that the children have not eaten a bit more than 
 
 usu;il." 
 
 " Then who has ?"' demanded Mr. Messiter, with 
 awful sternness, as he slowly bent his eyes on mc. 
 
 "Having a bad headache, sir," I said, "Ih;ive 
 not eaten any dinner at all :"-and this was the 
 truth. 
 
 " Well, then, it must be the children," resumed 
 the grocer, still severe and cold; "and I desire 
 that yon," he c )niinucd. addressing himself to his 
 wil'c, " wdi look to tliis in future." 
 
 IJaving thus spoken, he walked out of the room ; 
 and wlien the door closed behind him, I observed 
 that tlie tears were trickling down the two eldest 
 children's checks, while the three next sat as if 
 petrified and overawed by their father's manner— 
 the baby ahme being unconsciom of whit was 
 passing. Mrs. Messiter herself now bur,t into 
 tears; and oue after another did she kiss, a.id hug.
 
 42 
 
 MAEY PEICE; OB, THE MEM0IB3 OF A SEBV ANT-MAID. 
 
 and fondle her children with a sort of distraction 
 of liif^hly-wrought feelings. 
 
 The scene I have just related will afiford the 
 reader an idea of Mr. Me-siter's character. In 
 fact, as he was a cold heartless tyrant, without 
 pity and without remorse, so was his wife deeply 
 unhappy. She evidently lived in constant dread 
 of him. If she heard his footstep approaching, 
 she would throw a frightened look around to asaure 
 herself that there was nothing out of place with 
 which he might find fault. Once, when she broke 
 a tumbler, she went up to bed pretending that she 
 was indisposed — or rather perhaps made really ill 
 by her fears. But her indisposition, whether 
 feigned or rea', did not disarm her husband of his 
 resentment, or rather cold implacable resolve to 
 lose no opportunity of saying harsh unfeeling 
 things. Pitiless and stern, he iscended, to her 
 chamber ; and there, standing by the bedside, ke 
 delivered himself of a long tirade on account of 
 the broken tumbler, but sending so many barbed 
 arrows into the poor woman's heart that if she 
 had committed the most heinous crime he could 
 not have addressed her in terms more coldly bitter 
 or more inexorably stern. 
 
 Six weeks passed — awd still the second shopman 
 did not leave. The advertisement for one " who 
 understood the grocery l)usiness and feared the 
 Lord " brought a good many applicants : but none 
 suited — or rather it suited none — so the junior 
 assistant remained for the present. 
 
 One Sunday morning, when I waa seated with 
 the children at the breakfast-table, Mrs. Messiter 
 occupying a chair near the window, she said, " I 
 am aftaid, Mary, that you find this life very, very 
 dull?" 
 
 " No, madam, I do not," I answered : *' for now 
 and then I get a walk with the children on the 
 beach or on the cliffs. Only I could wish for their 
 sake, poor litt'.e things ! that they were more lively. 
 Nicer or better-behaved children I never met 
 with " 
 
 " And you, dear Mary, are so good to us," said 
 the poor, sickly, pensive eldest boy, in a manner 
 which though subdued and low, proved that the 
 words came from his very heart. 
 
 " Yes— I have not failed to observe that Mary is 
 fond of you, my dears ; and I wish to heaven that 
 1 had the means of rewarding her ! But I liave 
 not: no— I have not!"— and repeating the words 
 mechanically, Mrs. Messiter rocked herself to and 
 fro with the tears trickling down her cheeks. 
 
 " You are very kind to speak thus, ma'am," said 
 I, much affected; "and I wish I could see you 
 liappier." 
 
 "Happier!" she cried, almost hysterically and 
 with a convulsive wringing of the hands. •' Oh ! 
 you know not all my troubles !" 
 
 " I am sorry — deeply, deeply sorry, to bear you 
 talk thus," said I. "But pray compose yourself 
 ina'am. See — these dear children are crying. Oh I 
 let us not afflict them more tlian they are at present. 
 Poor things ! they are not like other children : 
 all wholesome animation is crushed out of them." 
 
 "Hush, hush!" suddenly ejaculated Mrs. Mes- 
 siter : " do not talk in that manner— we shall bo 
 overheard:"— then turning towards the window, 
 she said, "What a dreadful day! the rain pours 
 down in torrents. It is not like January— it is 
 more like April." 
 
 " 1 suppose, ma'am," said I, " that there will be 
 no going to church this morning ?" 
 
 " Hush !" again said Mrs. ilessiter ; for she had 
 caught the sound of her husband's step upon the 
 stairs- and in a few moments he entered the room. 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Messiter," he said, "let us have 
 these breakfast-things cleared away and the tab'e 
 arranged for prayers. There can be no going to 
 church this morning ; and therefore we will offer 
 up our thanksgiving to the Lord for all mercies in 
 the retirement of our own dwelling. Mrs. Messiter, 
 you will please to see to this. I am goin;? down to 
 the shop a little, just to commune with my own 
 thoughts ; because there I can shut myae'f in and 
 give wa^ to those 3o!emn reflections which are in- 
 spired by the holiness of the day. Mrs. Messiter, 
 you will send down and summon me at the usual 
 hour." 
 
 Having thus spoken, he was about to quit the 
 room, when recollecting something, he turned and 
 said in a sort of mysterious manner, " "Where is 
 that box .' You know what I mean." 
 
 " It is in the cupboard on the landing, along 
 with the other things. Shall I call one of the shop- 
 men to help you down staii-s with it ?" 
 
 " No— certainly not," he said with peremptory 
 sharpness. "You know that I never allow my 
 shopmen to have an opportunity of prying into my 
 affairs." 
 
 " I cannot he'p you down with it myself," said 
 Mrs. Messiter, timidly : " I feel so weak and ill 
 to-day " 
 
 •• Well then, Mary will," interrupted her husband. 
 " Come," he added, taming towards me. 
 
 I accordingly followed him from the room ; and 
 on the I anding he opened a large cupboard of which 
 he possessed the key. I felt a strange sensatior 
 come over me as if it were a Bluebeard's closet the 
 mysteries of which were about to be revealed: for 
 the idea of that ominous box had not been lost to 
 my recollection— but, on the contrary, had fre- 
 quently haunted me. However, when the cupboard 
 was open I beheld nothing- to alarm me. The box 
 was on the floor; and the shelves wore covered 
 with a quantity of parcels and packages, done up 
 in brown paper carefully tied with string, a»i as I 
 presently perceived, having various marks such as 
 letters of the alphabet, numerals, crosses, and so 
 on, written upon them. Having listened to assure 
 himself that the shopmen were not moving about — 
 (they were up in their room, dressing)— he bade me 
 help him down stairs with the box and several of 
 the packages which he selected : but ere we de- 
 scended, he carefully locked the cupboard again 
 and put the key in his pocket. When I had 
 assisted him with the things into the shop, he 
 tapped me on the cheek, sa} ing, " There's a good 
 girl, JMary." 
 
 I felt myself colouring suddenly : for I did not 
 like such familiarity, although of course I thought 
 he was merely treating me as an elderly person 
 sometimes will act towards a young one ; and hur- 
 rying from the shop I returned to the parlour up- 
 stairs. I immediately noticed on entering that Mrs. 
 Messiter eyed me attentively — and 1 blushed again. 
 
 "What is the matter, JIary?" she asked in a 
 tremulous voice and with a strange look. 
 
 " blaster touched my face with his hand," said I 
 at once ; "and I did not like it. But of courec ho 
 meant no harm."
 
 MARy PRICE : OR, THE MKMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 4b 
 
 Mrs. Messiter turned quickly away— and I saw 
 that she put her pocket-handkerchief up to her 
 eyes: then in a few moments she accosted me 
 a'^ain, saying in a low deep voice, and with a quick 
 sidelon.; glance to assure herself that the children 
 could not overhear her, " Was that all your master 
 did ?■' 
 
 " Had he done more, ma'am," said I, astonished 
 at the question, and likewise indignant, " I should 
 at once have told you." 
 
 "Yes, yes— I know you would, Mary," she said, 
 again applying her handkerchief to her eyes and 
 turning abruptly away. 
 
 The children looked on at this little scene in silent 
 sorrow: they had been tutored by their father's 
 sternness to follow out that harsh maxim so ofien 
 incu'cated in families, "to heai', see, and say no- 
 thing." But it was evident they felt much at thus 
 observing their mother's grief; and the incident 
 itself engendered vague and distant suspicions in 
 ray miud — suspicions which, though dim and un- 
 defined, nevertheless diminished my faith in the 
 rigid correctness of my m:ister's character. 
 
 To continue. The breakfast things were cleared 
 away — a green cloth was spread on the table — 
 chairs were ranged around — bibles and 'prayer- 
 booUs were placed to each seat — and at the upper 
 end of the table, where a writiag-desk was opened, 
 a large church bible and prayer-boo'.c were placed 
 thereon, and an arm-chair with a cushion was 
 f;tition?d in readiness. All these preparations 
 were made by Mrs. Messiter herself; and when 
 she hiid done she went up to dress. In lialf-an- 
 hour she came down again to the parlour, where 
 1 remained with the children ; and then she 
 rang the bell three or four times. In walked Mr. 
 Smithson nnd the other shopman, both attired 
 in their Sunday's best, and looking as demure 
 and sanctimonious as possible. Without say- 
 ing a word they took tiieir seats at the table; 
 and in doing so, buried tlieir faces in their 
 hands for nearly a minute, as peop'e do when 
 praying silently in church. Then the children, 
 who seemed tu know very well what all this meant, 
 made a movement towards the table; and Mrs. 
 Me-siter bade me approach with them. We ac- 
 cordingly all t'jok our seats; and those children 
 (the baby cf course excepted) all went tiirough tiie 
 ceremony of holding down their heads for nearly 
 a minute. With the eldest boy and girl there 
 might have been the reality of prayer in this pro- 
 ceeding : but with the others it could only have 
 been a mere mockery — or to say the least of it, 
 only dumb-show. Again the bell was rung — but 
 this time only once : and in obedience to this last 
 summons came B 'tsy, having just slipped on a 
 clean cap and her best gown fjr the occasion — 
 such a bsst gown as it was ! — but she had not 
 been able to find time to wa^h all the grime off her 
 face, much less from her hands ; and tlu-ougti the 
 transparency of her cap her hair looked grizzly and 
 disordered, as if she had been creeping through a 
 bush. But, poor creature, she had niado as much 
 improvement to her toilette as she had leisure to 
 i-.chieve ! She also went through the ceremony of 
 holding down htr head upon her arms; but 1 do 
 believe that so far as she was coDcerned, it was 
 only to blow her nose with the corner of her 
 apron. 
 
 It DOW seemed that all t^ airaDgcments were 
 
 complete, so far as Mrs. Messiter's supervision of 
 them was concerned: and she accordingly went 
 down-stairs to summon her husband. But she had 
 not left the room many moments, when Mr. Smith- 
 son, who sat on the right hand of the place ar- 
 ranged at the head of the tab'e, suddenly looking 
 down upon the floor, observed that something 
 was wanting. 
 
 "The hassock," he said in a whisper across the 
 table to the other assistant. *' Mrs. Messiter has 
 forgotten the hassock, and the governor will be so 
 very much displeased :" — then flinging a glance 
 at me, he said, "Perhaps you will have the kind- 
 ness to run down and fetch up the hassock? You 
 will find it in the little lumber-room at the back 
 of the hous:>." 
 
 This request was made to me at the moment, 
 because Betsy had just taken the baby to fondle 
 in her arms, and I was therefore free. I of course 
 readily complied with the demand, especially as it 
 was to save poor Mrs. Messiter a scolding from 
 her husband. Lightly I tripped down-stairs ; and 
 as the door leading into the shop was ajar I was 
 passing by on tiptoe towards the lumber-room at 
 the end of the passage: — but at the instant Mr. 
 Messiter's voice reached me, and I could not help 
 overhearing what he said. 
 
 " Well," he was observing, " I have done a pretty 
 good hour's business:" — and he chuckled as if 
 something had put him into a mos?. glorious hu- 
 mour — the first time I had known hl:n to be in 
 such a mood. " There ! 1 have put the sloe-leaves 
 into all that tea— the sand into this sugar — !he 
 turmeric into that mustard — the potato-flour 
 into the arrow-root — the prepared starch into that 
 cocoa — the chicory into the bean coffee — and the 
 stuff out of the deal box into the ground coffee. 
 This, Mrs. M., is what I call industry." 
 
 I heard no more. 1 dared not linger another 
 instant — but, all in a trepidation, sped on to the 
 lumber-room, got the hassock, and hastened noise- 
 lessly up-stairs again. Mr. Smithson pointed to 
 the spot where it was to be placed — namely, un- 
 derneath the head of the table: and having de- 
 posited it there, I resumed ray seat. 
 
 Almost immediately afterwards Mr. and Mrs. 
 Messiter entered the room— the former looking as 
 grave and serious as if he were going to a funeral. 
 Seating himself in the arm-chair at the head of the 
 table, lie leant forward upon the desk — buried his 
 face in his hands- and murmured a prayer audibly. 
 He then proceeded to read the Morning Service, 
 witn every appearance of a full sense of its sublime 
 gravity. At the proper periods he knelt upon the 
 hassock, joining his hands in the same manner as 
 marble monuments in a church, and turning his 
 eyes upward* in a way full well calculated to impress 
 the observer with the conviction of his sanctity. 
 Mr. Smithson acted as clerk, giving the responses in 
 so lugubrious and sepulchral a tone that those "Jry 
 parts of the service which were intended as thanks- 
 giving were make to sound like the outpouriivcs of 
 self-mortification. When the prayers were over, 
 Mr. Messiter read a sermon from the works of some 
 popular divine, and tlie text of which was, "Do 
 unto others as ye would they should do unto you." 
 
 Now, I must candidly confess that for the first 
 time in my life when engaged in the solemnity of 
 worship, my thoughts wandered lo far different sub- 
 jects. The few words which I had overheard Mr.
 
 44 
 
 ItARY PIIIOE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-ifAID. 
 
 Messiier utter to liis wife in the shop below, had 
 been for me a complete revelation. I saw, beyond 
 all doubt, that he was a thorough hypocrite. Having 
 first declared that he was Roing down to the shop 
 to commune rcitk himself in a pious manner, he had 
 in reality taken advantage of that leisure time on 
 the Sunday morning to do, as he expressed it, "a 
 pretty good hour's business." And what was that 
 business.' how had his Sunday morning been em- 
 ployed? In a pursuit which I should call the most 
 wicked dishonesty, mixing im-proper things with his 
 goods — in fact practising the most scandalous adul- 
 terations! 
 
 As I sat looking at that man while reading God's 
 holy word witii every appearance of solemn unction 
 and of the deepest conviction, I could not help ex- 
 periencing a sensation bordering upon aversion and 
 disgust towards such a rank impostor. A tyrant to 
 his wife and children, he was also a knave in his 
 business. A heartless father and despotic husband, 
 he had not even the redeeming virtue of fair and 
 honest dealing, but was in plain terms an unprin- 
 cipled tradesman. I felt shocked at the hideousness 
 in which this man's character was gradually deve- 
 loping itself to my comprehension; and as the sin- 
 gular observations his wife made to me about mas- 
 ters taking liberties with their servants, came back to 
 my recollection— coupled with the little familiarity 
 he had ere now shown towards me — I felt persuaded 
 that there were yet worse traits in his private life 
 over which the veil of hypocrisy had hitherto hung. 
 Indeed, as I thus pursued the train of my reflec- 
 tions, I resolved when the proper day came to give a 
 month's warning to leave his service. 
 
 . CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ■ CBNES UPON THE BEACH. 
 
 Upwards of two months had now elapsed since I 
 had left Twisden Lodge, and during which time I 
 had been at the Messiters*. 1 should have stated in 
 its place, but did not choose to interrupt the thread 
 of my narrative in the preceding chapter to insert 
 the fact, that in a letter which I received from dear 
 William he informed me that Mr. Collins had 
 managed to procure the assistance of some friend in 
 settling his most pressing liabilities ; and that having 
 accordingly returned to his business, it was going on 
 as usual — although the embarrassments through 
 which he had passed seemed to have impaired the 
 energies and broken the spirits of that excellent 
 man. As for Robert, he had altogether quitted 
 Mr. Matthews' service, and his indentures were 
 quashed. IIow he was living William could not 
 say : he had taken a little lodging after leaving ^Ir. 
 Matthews, and appeared to be at no loss for money : 
 but wlienever he met William he studiously shunned 
 him, and in fact seemed desirous to break off all 
 correspondence or communication with his brother 
 and sisters whatever. lie did not write to me — nor 
 did it appear that he had ever been near Mrs. Whit- 
 iield's house since the affair of the lost silver spoon. 
 As for Sarah and Jane, they continued quite well 
 and were pursuing the same routine under Mrs. 
 Whitfield's auspices as when I last saw them. 
 
 I need not say that the intelligence which I thus 
 received concerning Robert, caused me the greatest 
 pain. I wrote to him: but my letters continued 
 
 unanswered — and often and ofien in ilie silence of 
 the night, when darkness was upon the earth and 
 weary heads lay upon their pillows, was I pressing 
 a sleepless couch, watering my hard bolster with my 
 tears, as I thought of what my unhappy brother was 
 and what he might have been ! 
 
 But I will not dwell at too great length on my 
 various sources of sorrow and annoyance. I will only 
 pause to observe that sad indeed is the lot of the 
 poor servant-girl, who, amidst strangers, has no 
 friend to whom she can confide her sorrows — no 
 sympathising bosom into which she can pour forth 
 the warm gush of her anguish. And yet is she 
 expected to maintain a cheerful demeanour — never 
 to be abstracted, for fear of being deemed sullen — 
 never to look melancholy, for fear of being set down 
 a^discontented! 
 
 But to continue. Two months, I say, had elapsed 
 since first I set foot in the Messiters' house; and it 
 was now the beginning of February. One day — 
 the weather being very fine for the season of the 
 year— I was walking on the beach with the baby. 
 The other children had gone with their mother to 
 pass the day at an aunt's house — the only holiday 
 they were allowed while I was in Mr. Messiter's 
 service. I was proceeding slowly along, with the 
 infant in my arms, when I sudd^^nly heard an eja- 
 culation of mingled surprise and joy uttered near 
 me; and raising my looks, encountered those of the 
 Hon. Mr. Eustace Queniin. 
 
 "Miss Price — is it indeed you?" he exclaimed; 
 and springing forward, he caught my hand, press- 
 ing it with the most friendly warmth. 
 
 I was covered with confusion, aud felt that I 
 became crimsou and pale by rapid transitions a 
 dozen times in as many moments. To think that 
 I — a poor humble, obscure nursery-maid, carry- 
 ing a child — should be thus greeted by a young 
 officer of elegant appearance, in his uniform, aud 
 thus beating the insignia of his rauk— was indeed 
 enough to overwhelm me with shame and make me 
 feel so mean, so little, and so paltry that I trem- 
 bled like a guilty thing. 
 
 "Come and sit down here for one minute — only 
 one minute,"' said Mr. Quentin ; and he pointed to 
 one of those neat iron cnairs that are scattered 
 about ou Dovei-beach for the convenience ot 
 loungers. 
 
 I complied mechanically. I was not mistress of 
 myself. Indeed, it were scarcely possible to de- 
 scribe the feelings that now animated me, — cover- 
 ing my cheeks with blushes, making me tremble 
 from head to foot, and causing ray heart to tlutter 
 like a bird in its cage. Hal he spoken or looked 
 with the rudeness of Sir Aubrey Clavering, I should 
 have resented it in a moment and my blood would 
 have boiled with indignation : but there was some- 
 thing so mild and yet so manly — so kind and so 
 frank-hearted— in the bearing, the words, and the 
 appearance of Eustace Quentin, ihiit 1 felt irre- 
 sittib'y attracted towards him. I accordingly 
 seated myself on the chair; and he placed himself 
 by my side. 
 
 " 1 am glad to see you again. Miss Price," he 
 said, addressing me with all the respectful con- 
 sideration which he would have shown towards an 
 equal. " You left Twisden Lodge very suddenly," 
 he continued: "indeed, the whole establislim»-nt 
 was broken up with equal abruiitness— but 1 did 
 not leave without making some little inqiiirits cou-
 
 ii.KRY fRiCE ; oil, the jtEMoinS op A SEUVANT-MAlb. 
 
 45 
 
 Cf rning'yoix of the old gardoner wliom Mr. Twisden 
 k'fc ill charge of the premises. Do not be angry 
 witUnie for liaviag taken such a liberty in respect 
 to you. It was through no idle curiosity, I assure 
 you." 
 
 I listened— and I should be telling the untruth 
 if I were to say that the words which thus fell upon 
 ray ears, carried no feeling of pleasure with them 
 into the heart. They fM— and I sat speechless, in a 
 kind of dreamy state of happiness which I could 
 scarcely fancy to be real. But my eyes were down- 
 cast — I dared not look up at my companion — and 
 1 felt that ray cheeks were glowing and my heart 
 was palpitating. 
 
 " You remember that I had asked you to meet 
 me in the garden at a certain hour," he continued : 
 " but I presume that the unexpected scene which 
 occurred at the Lodge and which caused your 
 abrupt departure, prevented you?" 
 
 "N(i, sir," lobseiveJ, row suddenly recovering 
 the faculty of speech. " Permit me to assure you 
 that I hastened my departure far more than was 
 absolutely necessary, because — to speak frankly — 
 I was unwilling to meet you as you desired." 
 
 '• I am glad you have told me this !" he exclaimed 
 joyfully: "it confirms all that I heard in your 
 praise !" 
 
 " You will pardon me, sir," I said, now thoroughly 
 awakened to a sense of tlie impropriety of remain- 
 ing any longer ia discourse with the young officer, 
 "if I request that you will at once leave me. I 
 appreciate all your kindness — your good feeling 
 —but " 
 
 And I stopped short: for the suffocating emo- 
 tions that rose up from my heart, stifled further 
 utterance. I felt— Oh! so deeply felt, the want of 
 a sincere true friend : but I dared not form this 
 friendship that seemed to be proffered me now — 
 and yet to refuse it was like parting from the very 
 talisman of happiness itself! 
 
 "Not for worlds will I detain you aga'n-t your 
 will !" he exclaimed, with a strange mingliug of 
 hauteur and reproach in his tone — so that I could 
 not help glancing suddenly up at him, and his 
 countenance showed that he was hurt and that his 
 feelings were wounded by my manner, "Ah!" 
 he immediately cried in accents that suddenly lost 
 all their hauteur and were laden only with mild 
 and melancholy reproach, "if you only kneiT what 
 I suffered on account of that adventure which first 
 made me acquainted with you " 
 
 " Suffered?" I exclaimed, now deeply interested. 
 
 "Yes," be continued: "do you not remember 
 that Sir Aubrey Clavering declared I should give 
 liim satisfaction for what then took place ?" 
 
 " Satisfaction ?" I repeated quickly ; and at the 
 same moment the truth Hashed in upon my mind — 
 for I had very recently read in a book something 
 about duelling. " Is it possible " 
 
 "It is quite possible, because it is true," he 
 added, smiling, "that I was compelled to fight 
 with iMajor Clavering two days after that occur- 
 rence at TwisJen Lodge. I was wounded in tlie 
 left arm " 
 
 " Wounded 1" I echoed, now gazing upon him 
 in dismay— and all my thoughts were rivetled on 
 the topic. 
 
 " Yes— I was wounded — and until a few days ago 
 I wore this arm in a sling," he said : " but it ia now 
 quite well." 
 
 "And you were woundcl on my account?" said 
 I, feeling for him as deeply as if he had been a 
 brother. 
 
 "It is nothing. Miss Price— nothing at all," he 
 said, still smiling; "nor did I tell you this to 
 glorify myself. Indeed, I know not why I tolJ 
 it you at all— and perhaps I was wrong to do 
 so " 
 
 "No, no!" I exclaimed: "you were right, sir, 
 to make me aware of the full extent of the ob- 
 ligation which I owe you. But heaven? ! how can 
 I ever repay it?" — and again was the extreme 
 humbleness of ray position in comparison with 
 that of the Hon. Eustace Quenlin, forcefully and 
 painfully brought back to my contemplation. 
 
 He made no reply, but appeared troubled — not 
 with the trouble of any thought derogatory to me 
 or dishonourable to himself, but as if he also, as 
 well as I, had suddenly become reminded of the 
 immense gulf that separated us from each other 
 and made it even ridiculous to talk of obligations 
 or the possibility of repaying them. 
 
 "Have you b8eu long at Dover?" he asked, 
 after a long pause, and evidently because he felt 
 that the silence was growing awkward and painful. 
 
 "Two months," I answered: "but I intend to 
 leave as soon as circumstances will permit. And 
 now, sir, you will pardon me if I quit you abruptly 
 — but not without once more expressing my deep 
 gratitude for what you did for me, and my sorrow 
 on account of what you have suffered." 
 
 "One word raoi-e!' he exclaimed, also rising 
 from the seat as I had done. " In consequence of 
 that quarrel with Clavering, I exchanged into 
 another regiment — the one that is quartered in 
 this town. I am therefore living here for the pre- 
 sent. Now tell me, will you— will you," he earnestly 
 asked, "let me see you again? Stay— do not in- 
 terrupt me— I will tell you at once exactly what 
 I mean. 1 feel interested iu you— I told you so 
 before— nor is it to be wondered at after the little 
 
 scene which made us acquainted besides, I have 
 
 heard enough of you to increase that interest. 
 Now pray hear me ! Not for worlds would I off .nd 
 you ! Has my conduct been such as to make you 
 afraid of me?" 
 
 " No, Mr. Quentin— no," I said; "but I cannot 
 blind myself to the fact that I— a menial— a poor 
 humble girl— am standing here in a public place 
 conversing with you, so infinitely above me !" 
 
 "And therefore you will consent to see me 
 again and in some spot where we may converse 
 more at our ease ?"' he immediately replied : " for 
 I declare to you that whatever words you near 
 from my lips, shall bo those of friendship— or such 
 as a brother might speak to a sister. I have rich 
 relations— I have wealthy friends— many of whom 
 are married ; and 1 will write to them telling them 
 all I know concerning you— how I fell in with \ ou 
 -everything, in fine— and I will ask them to give 
 you a situation where you shall be kindly treated." 
 
 " Again and again, Mr. Quentin," I said, deeply 
 moved, "do I thank you: but you know that I 
 dare not accept this kindness at your hands! You 
 ere now said that you would speaU to me as a bro- 
 ther would speak to a sister. Ah ! sir, if then you 
 would treat me with the sanic generosity and f ir- 
 bearanco that you would wish shown to a loved 
 sister, you will at once let me leave you here— and 
 when we meet again you will not kuow me— you
 
 4G 
 
 MABY PEICE; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVAKT-MATI). 
 
 ■wi'l pass me by Otlierwise, the very friendship | you had none for mine? Was I not a ^ood aun 
 
 with wliich you are dispi.^ed to honour me, would | virtuous eIfI when I first came into your house? 
 prove most ruinous to my prospects." and did you not ruin me? Ah! I know what you 
 
 Having' thu» spoken, I turned away and hurried would say ! You would tell me that you did you:- 
 alon;; without darinjj to look behind. Every in- best for me— that you provided me a comfonabls 
 stant I fancied that I sh )uld hear footsteps in lodjinsf— paid the doctor and the nurse— and 
 
 pursuit. But, no I was suffered to depart without helped me all throuj:h my confinement. But why 
 
 any farther attempt to detain m9 : and then— such make a merit of that? You only did your 
 is liio perversity, such the weaknes", such the wil- duty: ynu seduced me, and the c'nild is your own. 
 fulness of tha iiuman heart !— betause what I first | Ah ! f k.1 that I wr^s," she aided bitterly, " to let 
 feared did not happen, I fe!t dispirited and down- j the fatal cnTmexion ever be renewed! But when 
 
 cast. Methou^ht. in the depths of my soul, tbat if 
 IMr. Quentin had really been so much interested in 
 mo, he would not have suffered me thus to depart 
 ivitliout at least oae more effort to detain me ! 
 
 Bat as I found myself giving way to these rc- 
 fiections, I became grieved and astonished at my 
 own weakness; and summoning all ray moral 
 cncrtyy to my aid, I began to think of the many 
 excellent precepts and admirable lessons which ray 
 dear mother had taught me. Yet these were 
 cciircely powerful enough, with all their holy influ- 
 ence, to restore my mind to a proper temper : for 
 in the midst of those thou;,'hts, which I endea- 
 voured to render as serious, as chastening, and as 
 mor ilizing as poj-sible, would intrude the imaiie of 
 that handsome elegant young man, risking his life 
 tn my account ; and when fancy depicted him 
 pale, ill, and wounded — with his arm in a sling — 
 and all for me. tha humble nurse- m^id — I felt my 
 heart yielding to the tenderest emotions. 
 
 Indeed, such was the agitated condition of my 
 feelings that I dared not immediately retrace my 
 way homeward, but sought some place where I 
 miijiit sit do-Tn — escape from the gsze of those nho 
 were loun^in^j about — and indulge in the luxury of 
 un-een tears. Dover harbour was being repaired 
 at the time ; and on the quays immense masses ol 
 granite were piled about. Penetrating amidst 
 tliese hcaped-up blocks of stone, I soon found a 
 sort c'f nook where I could sit down and compose 
 rayse'f ere I returned to the house. I fell into a 
 deep reverie, pursuing the same current of thoughts 
 wiich I have just been sketching until I became 
 aware that there were voices speaking near me. 
 My reverie had assumed that dreamy abstraction 
 wiiich held my senses partially entliralled, while 
 my ears still caught the words that were being 
 utteied close by ; and thus I became as it were an 
 invo!i;ntary listener— or to speak more plainly, 
 graduaUy found myself listening without the intent 
 to do so. 
 
 •'I tell you that money yon must give me, 
 and money I will have," said a female voice in 
 an:;ry tones. " Do you think I can keep these two 
 children on the begg.arly pittance you have been 
 allowing me? No such thing. What's the use of 
 a pound a mon h— a miserable five shillings a- week, 
 to support those two bouncing boys who have now 
 got I'ppctites a? good as my own? I tell you I can't 
 do it; and if you don't chose to behave more 
 liberally, I'il go to the house and make a fine piece 
 of work." 
 
 " Ilush, hush !" said a man's Toice, but so low 
 that I could net catch the words that fullowci!, 
 though he spoke earnestly for upwards of a 
 minute. 
 
 " Talk of your respectability indeed!" exclaimed 
 the female, more angrily than at fir=t : " why shoul 1 
 1 have any regard for your respectability, when 
 
 I got again into a rcpectable p'ace, did you not 
 find me out? — did you not lead me a second time 
 into error?-— and now here am I, with two chil- 
 dren dependant on me your children V she 
 
 added with passionate vehemence. 
 
 1 was now thoroughly awakened to the conscious- 
 ness that a di>course of a private and delicate 
 nature wai going on behind the very heap of 
 stones wliere I was seated ; and I was about to 
 steal away, wh'jn the male voice spoke again — and 
 this time loud enough for me not only to hear it 
 fully, but also to reogn-se it instantaneously. 
 Heavens ! it was my master, Mr. Jlessiter, who 
 thm spoke : and seized with a consternation, I 
 remained nai'ed to the spot. 
 
 " All this is VPiy well and very true," he said, in 
 accents half-threatening and half-coaxing; "but 
 if you have had your troubles in consequence of 
 our conopxion, I have had mine. Did not my wife 
 find it out? d ics she not know everything ? Yes- 
 even to the very fact that I allow you twelve 
 pounds a-year for the maintenance of your chil- 
 dren?' 
 
 "Oh!" exc'ai-.ncd the woman, with taunting 
 bitterness; " much you care for your wife indeed I 
 Poor thing! as one of her own sex I can't help 
 pitying hrr. She does not even dare look at 
 you in a manner to reproach you with your 
 infidelities: she has not evea the satisfaction — if 
 satisfaction it is — of upbraiding you for your con- 
 duct. No — she is compelled to submit and endure 
 it all patic.tly. But 1 tc 1 you what, Mr. Messiter 
 — you shan't treat me in the same heartless aud 
 tyrannical fashion ! Tne chillren I have are your 
 children, as true as there is a God above us — and 
 you know it too. Therefore you shall do some- 
 thing more for them I I don't want to be unreason- 
 able — I have no objection to work — and God 
 knows I ply my needle from morning to night 
 when I can ge!; work to do. But of late I have 
 lost many good patrons, and all on account of that 
 iT'^ok sanctity which you yourself help to keep up 
 ii "^ tOTO. FamMies find out that I have gone 
 at r in my life -that I am not a widow as I have 
 pretended ; and they rcfnse me work. Nay, some 
 have spurned me from their doors. But 1 can't 
 see ray children starve : and now you know why I 
 sent round to you just now so urgent a message to 
 meet me this forenoon." 
 
 " Well, Margaret," said Mr. Messiter, after a long 
 silence, " I really don't know what to do for you. 
 Business is very bid — competition is ruining all us 
 shopkeepers " 
 
 " Oh ! yes— you are just the man to be ruined!" 
 exclaimed his victim with a mocking laugh. ** Not 
 so long as you have got a cupboard full of all sorts 
 of abominations and devilries to put into your 
 goods! Come, don't look in that manner at me: 
 you kuow very well I found out the sectet of Uiat
 
 MAEY PKICE; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 47 
 
 precious cupboard of your's. Ah ! ah I" she con- 
 tinued with a cliuckle that it did me harm to hear, 
 grating on my nerves as if there were something 
 Satanic in that mirth, — "do you still keep up your 
 old tricks — devote the wet Sunday mornings to com- 
 muning with yourself in the solitude of your shop?" 
 —and here she imitated, certainly in an admirable 
 manner, the cold sanctimonious voice in which 
 Mr, Messiter was wont to speak on ordinary oc- 
 casions. 
 
 "Margaret, what in the world makes you so bitter 
 against me to-day?" he asked, his accents showing 
 that he was frightened. 
 
 ^Bitter indeed!" she cried: and her voice grew 
 swi . 3 bitter as she continued speaking. " What ! do 
 you think I love you ? No, no— I might have liked 
 yoix once — but I hate you — ye?, hate you noio, because 
 you are heartless, vile, mean, and unprincipled to a 
 degree, — so that no one who knows you well can do 
 otherwise than hate you. But even while hating 
 you, yet by some strange feeling — I can't account 
 for it — I am jealous !" 
 
 "Jealous!" ejaculated Messiter, in a tone of 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Yes— jealous," repeated the woman emphati- 
 cally : " but not of your poor wife ! No, no," she 
 added with an ironical laugh: "I am not jealous 
 of her— for 1 know full well that no eastern slave 
 has less power in her household or enjoys less of 
 her lord and master's confidence and love than 
 
 your \nfe. But there is one beneath your roof 
 
 Ah ! now you start— and you look guilty !" 
 
 "By heaven— I swear," exclaimed Mr. Messiter, 
 " that Mary Price is an angel of virtue so far as I 
 am concerned !" 
 
 " Well, but if you have left her unpersecuted 
 hitherto," observed the woman, "it is n:!t that 
 you mean to suffer her to escape you. For the 
 first few months that I was in your service, nothing 
 could be more correct than your deportment 
 towards me— untU one day— I recollect it full nell 
 — you tapped my cheek with a sort of parentally 
 caressing good humour; and from that moment 
 did you weave the web around me — gradually and 
 slowly, it is true- but not the less surely — and I 
 suppose you intend to do the same with this Mary 
 Price. But let me tell you that if you don't get 
 rid of the girl in the first place, and give me some 
 money in the second place, I will bring the whole 
 town about your ears." 
 
 "Come, listen to reason, Margaret," said Mr. 
 Messiter coaxingly. " Promise me not to interfere 
 with my domestic arrangements in any way, and I 
 will give you five pounds now and increase your 
 monthly money to twenty-five shillings." 
 
 " Well," said the woman, evidently much molli- 
 fied by this proposition, " I do not wish to create 
 
 any disturbance " 
 
 " Sec ! here is the bank-note," said Messiter ; 
 
 " and now mind the solemn undertaking is " 
 
 " That Ilet you alone, even to the leavingyou 
 in unmolested possc-ssion of your pretty Mary 
 Price. Tliere is an old proverb about one's neces- 
 sities consenting before one's will However," 
 
 she abruptly e.xclaimcd, "give me the money and 
 let me depart." 
 
 " Good bye, Jlargaret," said Mr. Messiter. 
 "You are really looking very well to-day, and the 
 sea-breeze has given you quite a colour. Come, 
 just one kiss——" 
 
 for I hate 
 
 "No, not one!" cried the woman 
 you !" 
 
 This bitter exclamation was followed by the 
 rustling of garments and the quick retreat of foot- 
 steps ; and then, after a brief pause, I heard the 
 heavier tread of Mr. Messiter as he also took his 
 departure. 
 
 Fortunate was it for me that the baby remained 
 fast adeep during the whole time. 1 thui sat im- 
 paled as it were by the spell which fetainsd ma 
 fast in statue-like immovabilit}'. But tlie reader 
 may probably be enabled to picture to himself the 
 burning indignation which I experienced when I 
 heard my own name introduced into that precious 
 colloquy. Every vein tingleil throughout my frame 
 even to the very tips of my fingers ; and I know 
 not how it was that 1 continued silent and motion- 
 less where I was, instead of bursting from my 
 hiding-place, cjnfroiiting the pair, and bidding 
 them refrain from any farther allusion to me. But 
 perhaps it was that even while feeling myself so 
 deeply aggrieved, I did not choose to stand forth as 
 an eaves-dropper— and moreover, above all other 
 feelings and consiierations, was the stupor of 
 astonishment that sat like a spell upon me. 
 
 Fully and completely was Mr. Messiter's cha- 
 racter now unmasked ; and all my previous sus- 
 picions concerning him were more than justified. 
 His wife, poor creature ! was no stranger to the 
 full extent of his wickedness ; and my heart bled 
 for her when I remembered in what piteous accents 
 and with what a look of wretchedness she had 
 observed to me some weeks back, that evil-disposed 
 or thoughtless girls, by pcrmiiting their masters 
 to take liberties with them, were the cause of end- 
 less miseries in families. Alas, poor woman ! she 
 was telling me at the time her own history! 
 
 For upwards of a quarter of an hour did I re- 
 main seated amidst the huge granite ston:s, pon- 
 dering over all that I hid just heard, and debating 
 within myself wiiat I ought to du. To return to 
 the house and insist upon leavinj^ immediately, 
 would be to entail upon myself the necessity of 
 giving the reason for such precipitate conduct; 
 and though I would mercilessly have told the 
 whole truth to Mebsiter, and boldly have avowed 
 that accident had rendered me aequainttd with 
 the full measure of his iniquities, yet 1 hesitated to 
 take any step calculated to inflict another stab 
 upon the already too deeply wounded heart of his 
 wife. I therefore decided upon waiting till my 
 month was up; for I had already given warning on 
 the previous day to leave at the expiration of the 
 four weeks. 
 
 Having come to this resolve, I slowly retra -ed 
 my way to the house, which I reached just as Mr. 
 Messiter and the two shopmc:i were sitting dowu 
 to diimer. I ascended to the iiurscry ; and bavin,; 
 laid aside ray walking-dress, s^at down to give tho 
 baby his food. Presently the bell rang as a signal 
 for me to descend into the parlour and have my 
 dinner : but Mrs. IMessitcr and the five eldest 
 children being ab>cnt, I did not choose to incur 
 the chance of fiiniiiig myself alone with my ma-ter 
 after all I had so recently overheard. Again did 
 the bell ring at the expiration of about five minutes; 
 and fearful of provoking words, I went out upon 
 the lauding and asked, " Do you want me, sir?" 
 
 " Yes, Mary : couio dowu to your dinner," was 
 tho reply given in Mr. Messiter's cold hard voice.
 
 48 
 
 MABY PBIOE; OB, THE MEJI0IE3 OF A SEBVAHT-MAID. 
 
 •' I do not want any, I thank yoo, sir," was my 
 response. 
 
 " Come down, I say !" he exclaimed, evidently a 
 little excited. 
 
 Taking the baby in my arras, I descended to the 
 parlour: for of course I could not disobey without 
 coming to an open rupture at once — and this, for 
 Mrs. Messiter's sake, as I before said, I was most 
 anxious to avoid. But on entering the room, I threw 
 a quick glance around; and perceiving that Mr. 
 Smiihson and the younger shopman had gone down 
 stairs and that I was reaily alone with my master, I 
 stopped short just within the threshold. 
 
 "Mary," said Mr. Messiter, "come in and have 
 your dinner. I don't like any servants of mine to 
 go witliout their regular meals; for when they get 
 gossiping with other servants, they go and declaie 
 tiiey are half-starved, and so on." 
 
 "I am not in the habit of gossiping, sir," was 
 my answer, delivered firmly but respectfully ; "and 
 1 cannot eat anything at this moment." 
 
 " Stop, Mary !" said Mr. Messiter, as I was about 
 
 to withdraw. "I 1 really think, Mary," — 
 
 and he stammered and hesitated in much confusion, 
 — " that this dear child is not looking quite so well 
 as he was :" — and thus speaking, he advanced close 
 up to me — then pretending to look down into the 
 baby's face, he at the same time gave me a look so 
 full of impudent meaning that I instantaneously 
 drew back, flung upon him a glance of burning in- 
 dignation, and lurniug abruptly round, quitted the 
 room. 
 
 "Mary," he exclaimed, " come back, I say ! "Why 
 do you run off like this ? 1 insist upon your coming 
 back." 
 
 But I would not heed him ; and ascending to the 
 nursery, locked myself in. There I remained for 
 several hours, giving way to the various reflections 
 which my position in all respects was so likely to 
 conjure up. At length I was aroused from my 
 reverie by a knock at the door ; and Betsy's voice 
 immediately was heard informing me that tea was 
 ready. 
 
 It was now seven o'clock in the evening. I had 
 taken nothing since eight in the morning, and there- 
 fore felt faint and exhausted. I asked her if she 
 could not bring me up my tea. She replied that she 
 dared not— that I knew very well the arrangement 
 was for me to take my meals down in the parlour, 
 afttr my master and mistress ; and she inquired 
 why I did not descend now. 
 
 •' Because," was my immediate answer, " I do not 
 choose to be left alone with Mr. Messiter." 
 
 Betsy looked at me with amazement : for she bad 
 not been long in the Messiters' service, and was 
 totally unacquainted with her master's proceedings. 
 
 " I dare say you are astonished, Betsy," said I, 
 " at the answer I have just given you : but it is 
 nevertheless the truth. Do not however say a word 
 to our poor mistress— for I believe she is already 
 afflicted enough." 
 
 "I wouldn't make mischief for all the world," 
 returned the good-hearted Betsy; "and this you 
 know full well. But you needn't be afraid of mas- 
 tec's troubling you in the parlour ; for he's gone 
 down into the shop, and is as busy as possible serving 
 customers. Besides, if you like I'll be upon the 
 look-out; and if he comes up into the parlour, I'll 
 come up also, and pretend to iiave something to do 
 —cleaning the windows, or what not." 
 
 I thanked Betsy for her kindness, and no longer 
 hesitated to descend to the parlour in order to par- 
 take of the refreshment whereof I stood so much in 
 need. But I had not beeu many minutes seated at 
 tiie tea-table, when I heard a knock at the street- 
 door. It was not a single one — nor yet exactly a 
 double one — but something between the two; and I 
 do not know how it wa?, unless it were that I was 
 low-spirited and prone to misgiving, but sure enough 
 that knock struck me as being of a suspicious cha- 
 racter. I heard Betsy go and answer it : then she 
 went into the shop — then she returned to the street- 
 door again — and then I heard heavy footsteps enter 
 the passage below. 
 
 " Wait here a moment," exclaimed Betsy: a-id 
 hurrying up stairs, she came into the parlour, ad- 
 vanced straight up to me, and said in a low myste- 
 rious voice, "There are two such queer-looking 
 characters just come to see master— 1 don t like 
 them at all by their looks— and I don't think t^ao 
 he was over well pleased when I went into the shop 
 and told him that two men from Ashford " 
 
 "Two men from Ashford?" said I, an ice-cbill 
 suddenly seizinfj upon me and penetrating to tho 
 very marrow of my bones. 
 
 " Yes— bat how ill you look ?" said Betsy, sur- 
 veying me attentively. 
 
 "No— it is nothing," I observed; scarcely know- 
 ing what 1 said. " But those men " 
 
 "Master t')M me I was to show them up-stairs 
 and he would be with them directly. I suppose I 
 must show them in here, as there is no fire iu the 
 hack parlour. AVill you go in there and finish 
 your tea?" 
 
 Thus speaking, and without giving me time to 
 utter another word, Betsy snatched up the t«a- 
 tray and carried it into the adjacent parlour,—! 
 following mechanica'ly with a candle in my hand. 
 Then, having thus suddenly and hasti'y made me 
 shift my quarters, Betsy closed the door upon mo- 
 sped down stairs again — and re-ascended with the 
 two visitors from Ashford. 
 
 Having shown thsm into the front parlour, she 
 withdrew: and the moment they were alone to- 
 gether, a deep omiiijus rutfian voice said, with a 
 coarse chuckle, " Well, Kick, I'm blowed if our 
 customer Messiter hasn't got a devilish fine esta- 
 blishment." 
 
 "Ah! and not a little through our help too, 
 Ben," replied Sawbridge : for he and the Bulldog 
 were indeed the two visitors in the front parlour. 
 
 *' Yes— no doubt on't," responded the more des- 
 perate villain of the two. " A man may save a deal 
 of money by sclhng our stuff for pure Moehi 
 coffee :" — and here the fellow gave another coarse 
 laugh. " But I say, Nick," he almost immediately 
 continued, " it's here — isat it— that Robert's pretty 
 sister is in service ?" 
 
 " Why, you know it is as well as I can tell you," 
 replied Sawbridge. " But hush ! the old fellow ia 
 coming. Now mind— stand firm " 
 
 •' Trust nic," growled the Build ig : and then a 
 silence prevailed iu the front parlour, while Sir. 
 Messiter's footsteps were heard ascending the 
 stairs. 
 
 But here I must pause for a few moments to 
 inform the reader that the back parlour, where I 
 was now seated, was only separated from the front 
 by a tliiu pai'tition, and thit whatever took p'ace 
 iu ono room was plainly audible in the other. Ol
 
 MARY price; or, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 49 
 
 course, when Betsy had hurried me from the front 
 into the bank parlour, she had not the slightest 
 idea of placing me in the position of a listener. 
 The fact that I should be so placed by being in 
 that inner room, could not have occurred to her in 
 the hurry phe was in to get the front parlour 
 cleared for the visitors ; and I can solemnly declare 
 that when I so quickly, and indeed so mechani- 
 cally, followed her suggestion of changing into the 
 back-room, it did not for a moment occur to me 
 that I should become an eaves-dropper for the 
 second time on this important day. Such was 
 however the fact: for no sooner was I insta'lcd in 
 the back-room and the visitors were introduced 
 into the front, when those ominous voices reached 
 my ears, confirming my previous suspicion as to 
 wiio the men from Ashford were. Then again was 
 I transfixed to my seat— again was I rendered 
 statue-like and motionless, an insuperable spell 
 NO. 7, 
 
 being upon me and compelling me to remain ther« 
 to listen, whether I would or not !" 
 
 Mr. Messitcr entered tlie parlour, and I h^ard 
 liim close the door carefully behind him. Tiien, 
 almost innucdiately afterwards, he said in his cold, 
 measured, and apparently passionless voice, "Whit 
 is the business on which you desire to speak with 
 me?" 
 
 " By your leave, sir, we will sit down," answered 
 the Bulldog: " for sitting is as cheap as stimdiiig 
 — leastway?, it is so at Ashford, and I don't see 
 wliy it shouldn't be the sumo at Dover." 
 
 "Well, sit down then, if you will," said Mr. 
 Messitrr : " but make haste and tell me your busi- 
 ness. The mcBsago my servant delivered to mo 
 in the shop was that it is of a very private cha- 
 racter." 
 
 " And don't you think it must be so, after a'l 
 the dealings you and us have had tngrther for
 
 50 
 
 MAHY price; or, tite memoirs of a sf.rvakt-maid. 
 
 the last five or six years?" exclaimed ^'ick Saw» 
 bridgo. 
 
 •' But I thought that your way of doiug busi- 
 ness," observed Mr. Messiter, " wa3 never to go 
 near where your customers dwelt ?"' 
 
 "Ah! that's our reg'lar rule," said the Bulldog : 
 "but all rules has their exceptions— aud this pre- 
 sent wisit of our'n is one." 
 
 "But in what way?" asked Mr. Messiter, now 
 growing somewhat impatient— or, I should rather 
 £^y, uneasy, judging by the altering tone of his 
 voice. " If I had wanted any more of the stuff at 
 piesent, I should have written to let you hnow : 
 but as you are well aware that I cannot use too 
 
 much ot it at a time " 
 
 1 "We know that deuced well," interrupted the 
 ! BulUdggiufHy ; "and it's bccau:.e we dou't sell 
 j eiioMgh of the stuff to our different customers, 
 j ar.d also because we arc pjid so very little for it, 
 ! that we now and then run precious short of 
 cosh " 
 
 " Oq which occasion^," observed Nick Saw-- 
 bridge, t-.king up the thread of the discourse, *' we 
 make a cast upon one of our customers, quite per- 
 miscuous, and without no intention of showing 
 any periickler faviour to the rest " 
 
 <' Wiiat am I to understand by all this ?" inter- 
 rupted Mr. INIessiter, evidently with increasing un- 
 easiness. 
 
 " You are just to understand that we want a few 
 yalier beys," returned the Bulldog; " and we 
 thought it was worth while to take the outside of 
 the coach and come over to ask you to advance 
 them." 
 
 " Advance you money I" cried Mr. Messiter, in 
 accents betokening dismay, 
 
 "To be sure — and why not?" demanded the 
 Bulldog. 
 
 "Aye— why not indeed?" echoed Sawbridge. 
 "You can take it out in stuff " 
 
 "Well, as far as a guinea or two will serve yOH," 
 said Mr. Messiter, " I have no objection " 
 
 "A guinea or two !" exclaimed the Bulldog with 
 ruffian ferocity. " We want a matter of twenty." 
 
 "Twenty guineas!" cried Messiter. "Impos- 
 sible — ridiculous ! I shall not use twenty guineas' 
 worth of your stuff in the next ten years. Why, it 
 is only twelve sliilliiigs the large box full?" 
 
 " Come, let's understand each other," said the 
 Bulldog with brutal bluntness. " It isn't what you 
 like or what you don't like — or how much stuff 
 you will use or how much you won't: but the 
 thing is that me and ray friend hei e want twenty 
 guineas wery paitickler, and we dou't mean to 
 leave tliis house without havin'; 'em." 
 
 " And suppose," said Mr. Messiter, iu a voice 
 that now trembled autli'oly, "I send for the con- 
 stable and give you into charge — what then ?" 
 
 "Why, you won't do any such thing, Jlr. INIes- 
 siter," leplied the Bulldog. "It would ruin your 
 business if you di<l. AViien you put your shutters 
 up to-night, you might leave thim there for good 
 — as I'm blowed if there would he any use in ever 
 taking them down again ! I say, Nick, wciiMnt it 
 be a lark?" continued the Bulldog, witli one of 
 his dnad ul chuclvles. "Suppose fiiond Messiter 
 here has us up Lefire the beak for extortion or 
 whatnot? 'J'hen says I, 'Your worship, alow me 
 
 1" to explain. Please your worsliip, me and my trieud 
 lere, which ia Mr. Niciiolas Sawbridge, is ia part- 
 
 nership together as liver bakers for grocers and 
 coffee-dealers.' — 'Liver-bakers!' his worship wil 
 cry out : ' and what does that mean ?' — ' Why, 
 your worship,' I goes on to explain, ' we buys up 
 the diseased livers of cattle and hoi^es ; all the 
 livers for instance belonging to the horses which 
 goes to the knscker's yard; and we wouldn't even 
 be particu'ar about a dead man's liver. Liver it 
 is we want^, and we don't care whose or what liver 
 it is, so long as liver we gets.' — Well then, the old 
 beak will look over his spectacles in aBtoui?h?jent, 
 while I goes on to say, • To be sure, your worship, 
 me and Mr. Siwbridge is liver-bakers ; that i?, we 
 bake livers, grind 'em up into powder Tery fine 
 indeed, and sell the stuff, as we calls it, to the 
 retail tea-dealers and grocers to mix in their 
 coffee; and as it only stands them in twopence a 
 pound, and they cau mix at least an ounce of the 
 stuff to thirteen ounces of chicory and two of real 
 coffte, makii'g up the whole sixteen ounce?, or a 
 poun !, which they sells for " 
 
 " Come, enough of all this !" suddenly exclaimed 
 Mr. Messiter, who, I soppr^se, was wrapped in his 
 reflections while the Bulldog, in an ironical stylo, 
 delivered himself of this long tirade— a tirade, 
 however, which revealed to ne all the horror and 
 revolting monstrosity of that mysteri/us traffic 
 which he and his comrade pursued. " Wiiat is the 
 use of entering into such a strain of talk as 
 this?" contiuued Mr. Messiter: "it will not inti- 
 midate me— and therefore I tell you that plain 
 enough. If you do not depart I will give you into 
 custody; and if yon were to make such an accusi- 
 tiou against me, it would be looked upon as prepos- 
 terous to a degree. Indeed, who would be.ieve 
 such a thing in regard to a respectable trades- 
 man of my standing ? Now, if I condescend to 
 enter even for a moment upon this discussion with 
 yon," added Mr. Messiter, his voice having re- 
 gained all its wonted steriniess and severity, "it is 
 only to show in what an awktrard position you are 
 likely to place yourselves." 
 
 "Then you mean to say you refuse?" obcervel 
 the Bulldog, in a voice so full of savage ferocious- 
 ness that it made me shudder :Uthough out of sight 
 of the ruffian. 
 
 " I mean to say that I do," answered Messiter. 
 " I am not going to be bullied by you." 
 
 "Very well tlicn," said the Bulldog! "Come 
 alonjr. Nick : we shall know what to do," 
 
 " Now niArk," said Messiter, evidently gaining 
 courage just in proportion as he saw that his two 
 visitors were growing crest-fallen; "if you make 
 the slightest disturbance, or give utterance to a 
 iiostile word m you go dotrn stairs, or when you 
 get out into the street, I will at once call for the 
 constables. But if you will depart quietly and 
 trauquiliy, you may rely upon fi;iding a letter con- 
 taining two gniaeas at the Ashiord Post Office the 
 duy after to-morrow." 
 
 "Give us the two guineas now, and we will be 
 off," said tlie Bulldog, ia a tone that resembled the 
 subdued g.-owl of a wild beast. 
 
 There was a pause of about h^.lf a miuute, dur. 
 ing which I suppose that Mr. Messiter was deli- 
 berating what course he should pursue. 
 
 "Here's a guinea then," he at length said; 
 "and now if you go away quietly you will find tho 
 Other at Ashford, as I have promised you." 
 
 The two men said no oKre, but took liieir dc-
 
 MABY rRIOE ; OK, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 di 
 
 par'iure, Mr. Messiter conductiDg them dowa to 
 the street-door; aad they weat away without 
 cre.'iting any disturbance. 
 
 I sped up to the nursery, well provided, heaven 
 knows.with fresh food for reflection. Tlie whole truth 
 con'jerning' those dreadful men was now revealed; 
 and anything' more hideous than their traffic could 
 not well be conce-ived. That they carried it on 
 extensively too, was very certain; and thus the 
 run^.our which had long been current ; to the effect 
 that many respectable persons held intercourse 
 with thera, received its full corroboration. But 
 again I say, what a hideous traffic, and how loath- 
 somely disgusting the abominations which they 
 were the means of enabling fraudulent tradesmen 
 to commingle with one of the most common arti- 
 cles of consumption! The idea that the diseased 
 livers even of horses slaughtered in the knackers' 
 yards, .".bould by such a sophisticated process he 
 converies? mto a substitute for the fragrant berry 
 of Arabia; Then, consilcring also the insight 
 which I had previously obtained into Mr. Blessiter's 
 way of adulterating his goods, what other conclu- 
 siou could I possibly come to than that he was a 
 living lie — a walking cheat ? 
 
 There are many other inferences to be drawn 
 
 from the facts I am now relating— inferences which 
 
 taiid to show how demoralizing must be the habit 
 
 of adulteration and sophistication practised, I fear, 
 
 by a very large number of tradesmen. Breaking 
 
 dovTuall the barriers which separate the individual 
 
 from the patlis of duplicity, deception, knavery, 
 
 and fraud, how cau such proceedings be otherwise 
 
 I than most depraving in their influences ? But to 
 
 I tliink that such men as this Mr. Messiter should 
 
 practise these robberies and rascalities, and then 
 
 walk boldly with head erect through the stieels,, 
 
 I looking their fellow-men in the face — or else slide 
 
 j along the pavement, with prim puiitanical air, to 
 
 church oa Sunday, and there perhaps (with the 
 
 j Pharisee) tliunk God "that they are not as other 
 
 meu are" — Oh ! it is all this that constitutes the 
 
 crowning wonder and the ineffable hypociisy ! 
 
 But to continue. Shortly after those dreadful 
 men from Ashford had taken th-ir leave, Mrs. Mes- 
 I siter and the five eldest cliildrcu returiied from 
 their auut'^i house; and as the little folks were 
 very tired, I put thera all to bed earlier than usual. 
 Then, being myself fatigued and worn out with the 
 e.\oiiement of this day of many incidents, I also 
 was glad to seek my couch sooa after nine 
 o'clock. 
 
 CHAPTER XU, 
 
 A NIGHT OF BOBBOB. 
 
 Wearieb though I was, I could not immediately 
 go to sleep, but lay thinking on all that had oc- 
 curred since the moining— my interview with Mr. 
 Eustace Quentin, the colloquy I had overhenrJ 
 while seated amongst the granite stones on the 
 wharf, Mr. Messiter's conduct towards me when he 
 summoned me down to dinner, and lastly the visit 
 of those two men of whom I could never think 
 without a cold shudder— aye, and also a sigii as 1 
 th lught of my unfortunate brother Robert. 
 
 T. lay awake, then, reflecting upon these things 
 
 for upwards of an hour. I heard Mr. Smithson and 
 the other shopman ascend to the attic which they 
 occupied above the nursery where I slept with the 
 youngest children. Soon afterwards I heard Betsy 
 go up to the other attic at the top of the house ; 
 and at length the slow measured steps of Mr. Mes- 
 siter, accompanied by the lighter tread of his wife, 
 met my ears as they ascended to their chamber, 
 the door of which faced the nursery. Tiien the 
 house became all quiet ; and I gradually sank into 
 the arms of slumber. 
 
 I know not how long I had slept, nor can I tell 
 what it was that awoke me ; but sure and certain 
 enough is it, that I suddenly started up from the 
 midst of a vei'y unpleasant dream, in which the 
 Bulldog and Nick Sawbridge were playing the 
 principal part. Such was the horror which that 
 nightmare had left upon me, that I felt myself 
 bathed in a cold perspiration, and could hear quite 
 plainly the beatings of my heart. The room being 
 pitch dark, and the sensation of terror thus holding 
 me in its grasp as I sprang up in the bed to com- 
 plete wakefulness, I could not immediately per- 
 suade myself that it was merely a dream, but 
 listened with suspended breath to catch a repe- 
 tition of those sounds which in my vision I had 
 heard, or fancied to have heard. Yes— sure 
 enough there loas a noise that sent a fresh thrill 
 of indescribable horror throughout my entire 
 frame! It was a noise a? of a tampering Avith a 
 lock— as if indeed some one was trying to force 
 open a door with a rusty key, or with a key not 
 belonging to it. All in a moment the affair of the 
 burglary at Ttrisden Lodge came flashing back to 
 my recollection, and the dread thought instan- 
 taneously sprang up in my mind, that there were 
 burglars now in Mr. Messiter's house ! 
 
 Suddenly I felt myself armed with a courage and 
 presence of mind which astonished me ; and 
 getting out of bed, I gently— indeed nr)iselessly— 
 opened the door and listened. All was then quiet. 
 Still I listened, remaining with the door ajar for 
 upwards of a minute -and not a sound was heard 
 in the house. Nevertheless, so convinced was I 
 that I had heard the noise whicli I have described, 
 tliat I could not possibly feel re-assured merely 
 because I heard those sounds no longer. Nor 
 couldlietire to re^t again without doing some- 
 thing to clear up all doubts, or rather to satisfy 
 myself ihit my bel'cf was a groundless one. la a 
 word, I had a presentiment that there were bur- 
 glars in the house; and I therefore thought it 
 necessary to act upon this impression. 
 
 Hnstily slipping on a few clothes, I struck a 
 light ; and taking the candle, was on the point of 
 knocking at the door of the chamber where my 
 master and mistress slept, when a sudden thought 
 stayed my hand at the very instant I was about to 
 give the warning tap. If I awoke my master, ha 
 would get up as a matter of course — he would de- 
 scend to look over the house— and he would 
 perhaps bid me accompany him, as I had a light in 
 my hand. All this fl.ishod to my brain in a momenti 
 and so utterly did my mind revolt against the bare 
 idea of finding myself a/oHc with my master in any 
 part of the house at lliat dead hour of the night, 
 that I dared not arouse him. So I crept back into 
 the nursery, sat down on the bed, and began to 
 reflect what I should do. 
 
 To av/aken the young men up-stairs was not to b» 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY.
 
 62 
 
 MABY price; on, THB memoirs of A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 thouglit of— or rather was an idea dismissed as soon 
 as conceived ; because if 1 aroused any one at all, 
 whom should it be but my master T Again I took 
 the light and went forth into the passage. All was 
 •till: the silence of death seemed to prevail through- 
 out the house. Nearly ten minutes had now elapsed 
 since I first heard the noise ; and as it was not re- 
 peated, I really began to think that it could only 
 have been fancy after all. 
 
 This belief now gained upon me; and I was more 
 than half inclined to retire to rest. The children 
 were sleeping soundly. Poor innocents 1 they were 
 Well worn out with the day's pleasuie they had en- 
 joyed at their aunt's: for if pleasure fatigues those 
 v.lio are accustomed to it, how much more wearjing 
 and exhausting is its excitement to those who are 
 pcrmitled to indulge in it only at long, long inter- 
 vals ! Everybody now seemed sleeping in the 
 house, save myself: and wiierefore should I remain 
 away from my bed any longer ? I was about to lay 
 asi:le my apparel and retire to rest again, when all 
 my terrors sprang up with renewed force and the 
 presentim-.nt of danger struck upon my heart so 
 violently that it really seemed as if a voice whispered 
 in my eir.s, " There are thieves in the house!" 
 
 I now felt that it was absolutely impossible to lie 
 dovvii again, or even to extinguish tlie light, until 
 reassured with regard to my fears. But still I 
 experienced an insuperable repugnance, which no 
 dou\)t all the readers of my own sex will full well 
 understani), to arouse my master and incur the 
 chance of having to accompany him about the 
 house. Uniltr any circumstauces it would have 
 bi-en repugnant to my delicacy; but now, after all 
 I hal heard amidst the granite stones on tlie 
 wharf, and remembering his conduct to me after 
 dinner, 1 could not possibly conquer that loathing, 
 even though it were to save the premises from 
 being robbed, or burnt over our heads. 
 
 Under all these circumstances I formed the 
 reso.va of stealing down stairs alone, and clearing 
 up all uncertainty. The night was very cold, this 
 being in the month of February, and a sharp 
 easterly wind blowing from the sea ; so that I 
 threw a shawl over my shoulders. I had slipped 
 on my gown, my shoes, and stocking?, and had 
 boua 1 my hair hastily round my head. I mention 
 all these particulars on account of what is to 
 follow. 
 
 Thus sliglitly attired, but with a thick shawl 
 defending me against the cola, I stole forth and 
 began descending the stairs. The light which I 
 carried in my hand threw sucti sinister-looking 
 s ladows on the wall, that I more than once 
 tuiu-^d my head with a sudden tremor, to assure- 
 n)ys;lf that no one was behind me. The stairs 
 creaked, and then my blood appeared to course 
 with a tingling sensition aiid with maddening 
 Qiickncis in its channels — but only to be struck 
 I stagnant in the ice-ehillcd veins the next moment, 
 as those shadows ou the wall impaled mc with 
 liorror. StU I went on descending the flight, a:id 
 reached the la uling whence the parlours opened. 
 Both doors wereshu'.; and if any lock hal been 
 tried at all, it was assuredly one of these the noise 
 of wiiieh had reached my cars. For here I should 
 observe that every door was carefully locked by 
 Mr. IMessiter himself ere he retired to rest. 
 
 Pausing on that landing, I listened with sus- 
 pended breath. Su^pendoJ breath indeed I I folt 
 
 as if there were no longer any breath in my body, 
 but that I was an animated statue, so cold at that 
 moment wai I. And let not the readers suppose 
 that this consecutive train of sensations, emotions, 
 and feelings, is being exaggerated or wrought up 
 to a high pitch for the sake of dramatic effect ; 
 but rather let the said readers, especially if females, 
 endeavour for a moment to put themselves in my 
 position — having fresh in my mind all the terror 
 left there by the visit of the two dreadful charac- 
 ters from Ashford — remembering also the burglary 
 at Twisden Lodge— and now wandering alone in a 
 large house which a dread presentiment had 
 already peopled with burglars— let all these cir- 
 cumstauces be taken into considt^ration, and the 
 poignancy of my alarms at one moment, and the 
 death-like chill which palsied me at another, may 
 full easily be comprehended. 
 
 We'l, there I was, now listening with eu'pended 
 breath upon the landing. But all was still —and a 
 stupendous silence appeared to entomb me. 1 ap- 
 proached the front parlour door : I crasped the 
 handle — it turned — and the door gave way. It 
 was, then, open: and as this circumstance at once 
 struck me as a corroboration of my worst terrors 
 and that there tcere burglars in the house, I was 
 about to send forth a cry of alarm, when a power- 
 ful arm was suddenly passed over my shoulder 
 from behind— a hand gagged my mouth — another 
 grasped the candle which in my sudden terror I 
 was just letting fall— and thus all in a moment, 
 without even time to utter a cry or move a limb, 
 was I made captive. At the same instant my 
 looks encountered those of Nick Sawbridge, who 
 was the one that caught the falling candle ; while 
 dread instinct made me aware that it was the Bull- 
 dog, who, having seized on me behind, had en- 
 folded me in his vice-like grasp. An awful 
 consternation fell upon me and I became sense- 
 less. 
 
 When I awoke to con? "iousness again, I at once 
 became aware that I was being hurried swiftly 
 along out-of-doors through the streets. A mortal 
 terror seized upon me again— and again did 1 lose 
 all consciousness. Awakening to life a second 
 time, I felt the night air strike chill to my very 
 heart's core ; and 1 still found that I was being 
 borne swiftly alon^ in the arms of two men. 
 Though utter darltness enveloped me, yet could I 
 doubt who those two men were? — and the gasping 
 sounds which my throat sent forth as the horrible 
 conviction settled itself on me that I was in the 
 power of these dreadful characters, made them 
 aware that I had once more returned to conscious- 
 ness, 
 
 " If you dare cry or scream we will blow your 
 brains cut," said the Bulldog : and terrible as was 
 his voico at all times to hear, it now smote upon 
 me with the awfulncss of death itself. 
 
 "For heaven's sake have mercy upon me," I 
 murmured in a dying tone. " What harm have I 
 d ne jou?" 
 
 " Never do you mind thai" was the gruff reply, 
 the Bulldog still speaking. " Now then, if you can 
 walk we will put you on your legs ; but yoa had 
 better mind how you break away fi'om us— for we 
 are now upon the chffs, and with a false step over 
 you go." 
 
 I shudd red, with such a shudlering as never 
 convulsed my frame before or siucc : and now as
 
 MAr.v trice; ok, tub mejioirs of a SERVANr-jtvin. 
 
 ,5.T 
 
 the moon suddenly broke from behind a dark 
 cloud, I cast my eyes wildly around and instan- 
 taneously embraced a sufficiency of the features of 
 the scene to know where I was 
 
 From the lower part of Dover there is a rapid 
 ascent upon the cliffs which beetle above the sea 
 on the one side, and expand out into vast undula- 
 tions inland. Rising thus amphitheatricnlly, there 
 is a place where the acclivity takes a more abrupt 
 ascent still, and slanting; steeply upwards, forms 
 that colossus of those heights known as Shak- 
 speare's Cliff. It was here that these two men 
 were pursuing their way, dragging me betwixt 
 them. 
 
 That the entire scene and all the features of the 
 locality were well known to them, was evident by the 
 manner in which they had sped along in the dark- 
 ness : for strangers in that spot would have stood 
 frightful chances of falling over, down the steep 
 front of the cliffs into tb.e sea, which was dashing 
 against the base, where at high water the waves 
 expend theii- violence at the very foot of those 
 precipitate heights. Indeed, as the moon thus 
 suddenly broke forth, illumining the scene and 
 flinging its rays, (itful and wild, from amidst the 
 storm-clouds, it appeared that we must have been 
 for some minutes almost skirting the ed'j;e cf the 
 precipice. No wonder, then, that so awful a shud- 
 der swept over me as the tremendous horrors of 
 my position thus suddenly burst upon my view I 
 
 Terror no.v sealed my lips : but still my mind 
 had a horrible clearness, and a myriad memories 
 appeared to sweep through it with lightning ve- 
 locity. I thought of my lost parents— my brothers 
 and sisters— all, every thing, that was near or dear 
 to me or in any way connected with me either 
 painfully or pleasurably. But in the midst of 
 these wild yet vivid recollections, there went up 
 from the depths of my soul a fervid prayer to the 
 Almighty, that if it should please him to suffer my 
 own life to be immolated to the rage of these bar- 
 barians, yet that his all-shielding influence might 
 not be withdrawn from those beloved ones whom I 
 should leave behind me. 
 
 " "^Vhereabouts ?" suddenly demanded Nick Saw- 
 bridge of his companion. 
 
 "Kight up a-top," was the prompt reply: and 
 the question and answer smote upon my heart 
 with a dread forcefulness, as if the query had been 
 where my murder was to take place and the reply 
 given acL'ordingly. 
 
 Murder ! O if I shudder now as I Avrite the word 
 and think of all I suffered on that tremendous 
 night, what must have been my feelings then as I 
 felt confident that murder was about to be done 
 and that I was to be the victim ? 
 
 Kapidly up the ascent of Shakspeare's Cliff the 
 ruflians sped, dragging me between them ; and 
 still the moon kept shining down upon us. At 
 length we reached the highest point of that acclivi- 
 tous rock ; and suddenly the men paused within 
 two yards of the verge of the precipice. It was on 
 the peak, as I may describe it, of the mountain 
 that my ruffian-persecutors thus halted. 
 
 "Now sit down a moment, Nick, or we may be 
 observed by the spy-glasses of the coast-guard," 
 said the Bulldog. 
 
 Accordingly they threw me flat upon the grass 
 which clothed the sloping summit of the cliff; and 
 both sat duwn by my side. 
 
 " We must wait till the moon goL's in again," 
 continued the Bulldog: but scarcely had he 
 spoken when a dark cloud swept over the pLinet 
 of the night, and sudden obscurity again enveloped 
 us, as if a funeral pall had been all in a moment 
 drawn over the heavens. 
 
 "Now!" said the Bulldog, starting up— an ex- 
 ample which was instantaneously followed by hia 
 companion. 
 
 They seized upon me— they raised me in their 
 powerful rude arms — and I felt that my last mo- 
 meot was come. There was a shriek of mortal 
 agony which rose up into my very throat, but re- 
 mained stifled there, as if it had encountered a 
 wall barring its egress. I was palsied with horror 
 — and yet consciousuess was vivid within me : but 
 I could neither afford utterance to a syllable of 
 entreaty, nor give vent to a cry for help— no, nor 
 move hand nor fo >t in a struggle to save myself. 
 I was powerless — and every faculty of life was sus- 
 pended, save the poignant feeling of life itself! 
 
 Black as pitch was the darkness which con- 
 tinued to envelope the whole scene; and approach- 
 ing a little nearer to the edge of the precipice, the 
 ruffians laid me flat upon the grass — then knelt 
 down themselves — gave my convulsing form one 
 push— and sent me over the brink. 
 
 Then was it that with the instinctive impulse of 
 mortal agony I stretched out my hands to grasp 
 at something — anything— and they at the instant 
 encountered a projecting root on which my fingers 
 fastened with the greediest avidity and the firmest 
 tenacity. I was ciught also by a jutting portion 
 of the cliff, and thus actually was held and sus- 
 tained about a couple of feet below the edge, but 
 overhanging the tremendous gulf below. 
 
 Not a sound had escaped my lips : for my mind 
 has a vivid recollectiim of every detail, even the 
 minutest, of this tlie most feaiful adventure of my 
 life. Fortunate was it for me that consternation 
 had thus paralyzed my tongue and suspended all 
 power of utterance: otherwise the ruffi ins would 
 have discovered what had happened— liow their 
 murderous aim was thus providentially baffl ;d — 
 and they would have finished their diabolical work. 
 
 As it was, they believed that the deed was done 
 effectually and well, as will appear by t'le following 
 discourse, to which I had to listen as I lay thus 
 suspended between earlh and heaven, ou a little 
 ridge so nairow that if I had not had the roots to 
 sustain me I might have fallen over, and so short 
 that my legs dangled down. But 1 should observe 
 that this ridge jutted forth in the shape of a saddle, 
 so that it was in the hollow thereof that I had 
 been caught and was thus sustained. 
 
 " Now let us rest for a few minutes," said Ben 
 Bulldog ; and I heard him throw himself flat on 
 the grass after having pushed m3 over. "By jingo I 
 this IS what 1 call excitement, Nick" 
 
 "Excitement indeed I" returned his accomplice. 
 "But stid I don't half understand why we have 
 done this. Of course, as you said what we was to 
 do as we hurried the gal along up to this place, it 
 has been done ; and as a matter of course there 
 wiw no waiting for explanition or discussion on 
 the point " 
 
 " Why, what a fool you must be, Nick," inter- j 
 rupted the Bulldog, almost snv.igely, "n')t to un- 
 derstand the meaning of thii here busiuess. Bui 
 come— t tke a drop of the bingo, and then we iriU /
 
 54 
 
 MARY price; or, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVAKT-SrAID. 
 
 1 talk it over; for we must have ten minutes' rest or 
 i so before we start off home^rard." 
 
 I could then tell that the two mea were drink- 
 
 I infj out of a flask or some 8u«ch thin", which they 
 
 I handed to each other; and when they had each 
 
 taken two or three draughts in turn, they resumed 
 
 their discourse. 
 
 "Now don't you see how <he affair will wo.k?" 
 eaid the Bulldog. " Mcssiter comes down in the 
 morning — finds the house robbed — all the plate 
 gone out of the parlour, and the cash taken out of 
 tho till in the shop. "Well, but who could have done 
 it? Terhaps his suspicions will at once fall on you 
 and me : 'cause why? it happens the very night of 
 onr visit to him. But lo and behold I the young 
 gal is missing I She's gone— (led— bolted. Then 
 she's the thief 1 Isu't i% as clear as daylight, 
 Nick?" 
 
 " To be sure," was Sawbridge's reply. " I sec it 
 now plaiu enough." 
 
 " Yes— aud so there won't be no necessity for ns 
 to play at hide and seek, and all that kind of non- 
 sense," continued the Bulldog. " We shall tramp 
 back to Ashford to-night — hide the swag for a 
 little time till the whole thing is blowed over — and 
 then one of us will pop up to London and sell it as 
 we did the things we got from Twisden Lodge." 
 
 Here was a new revelation for me ! 'Twas the 
 revelation, too, of something which had never 
 struck me before; for not once during the two 
 months and upwards which had elapsed since the 
 buiglary at the Lodge, had it struck me to attri- 
 bute it to these rufiians. But, good heavens! what 
 a suspicion now flashed to my mind: — and even as 
 I lay upon that narrow ledge of rock, suspended 
 beMvecn earth and heaven —or rather with the wild 
 sea deep down below and the sable clouds floating 
 high above — I felt myself writhing with the inef- 
 fable anguish produced by that suspicion which had 
 thus suddenly stnrted up in my mind. An ejacu- 
 lation too of agony rose to the very tip of my 
 tongue, and was only caught back as it were by 
 the quick consciousness that were I thus to betray 
 my position to the murderous villains near me, my 
 doom would be completely sealed. 
 
 "But why the deuce," demanded Nick Sawbridge | 
 in continuation, "did you take it into your head to 
 bring the gal all the way up here, just to have the 
 amusement of shoving her over Shakespeare's 
 Cliff?" 
 
 " Why, don't you see," replied Ben Bulldog, " it 
 was necessary that the gal should be disposed 
 of altogether— put clean out of the way— so that 
 she might never turn up no more ; 'cause why> 
 such a total disappearance on her part corrobo- 
 rates the suspicion that 'twas her who robbed the 
 house and bolted with the swag. If we had pitched 
 her into the harbour, her bo<iy would be found ; 
 and if we had tumbled her off any other part of 
 the cliff:;, she would have fallen on the beach and 
 also be found— in which case, as no plate nor no- 
 thing would be discovered on her, it would look like 
 a clear dise of murder. Now don't you see, Nick, 
 why I thought it best we should take the trouble 
 to bring her here? 'cause why you knows as well 
 ai me that anything pitched over from the peak ot 
 old Shakespeare falls bang down into the sea; and 
 with the ebbing tide presently the corpse of the 
 young gal will be carried right down the Channel I 
 and never be seen or heard of no more." * 
 
 " I understand it ail now," said Nick Siwbridge, 
 " and must confess you are one of the downiest 
 coves iu all England. But I .say, suppose young 
 Bob should hear of this business of his tister's dis- 
 appearance T" 
 
 " Nonsense !" exclaimed the Bulldog savagely. 
 * In the first place he don't know we have come 
 to Dover at all ; and so he can't suspect we had 
 anything to do in this night's crack at Mefsitei's 
 house. Id the second place, even if he did sus- 
 pect, you don't think he cares two rapa about 
 that sister of hia'n ? So far from tha^ I don't 
 think hf. would at all mind knowing that we had 
 put her out of the way. Besides, we've got such 
 a hold on him in different ways it isn't likely lie 
 will seek any opportuiiity to quarrel with ns; and 
 if ho doCH," added the Bulldog, with a chuckie, 
 " we can do without him as we used to do before 
 he was one of us." 
 
 " Oh ! to be sure," obseFved Nick : ** only as he's 
 a sharp kind of a chip and isn't particular to a 
 shade or two, we might make him very useiul in 
 course of time; and therefore I don't want to 
 quarrel with him." 
 
 " Tliere ain't no chance of quarrelling with him, 
 I can tell you," rejoined the Bulliog. "But I 
 say," he added, with one of those coarse laughs 
 that grated horribly upon the ears, like the s?.wing 
 of iron, — "how capital all the different circum- 
 stances of this ni^jht's business has turned out for 
 us! Iq the first p'ace, wasn't it f .rtunate we 
 thought of opening that there cupboard on the 
 landing, although we found nothing there but old 
 Messiter's traps for adulteration " 
 
 "Fortunate indeed," added Nick Sawbridge, 
 '•since it served as a hiding-place for us while we 
 i'.eard that girl moving about up-siairs and then 
 coming down to search tlie house. But I raly 
 thought at one time she meant to alarm her master 
 and all the rest." 
 
 " Yes— and you wanted to be off at once," ob- 
 served the Bulldog : " but I would insist on lying 
 still in that cupboard, just to listen to what was 
 going on. For if we had heard the gal knocking 
 at the room-doors up-stairs, it would then have 
 been time to bolt. So you see everything has 
 turned out for the best; and here we've got a 
 matter of five pound in money, plate that will pro- 
 duce us at least a twenty-pound note, and no 
 chance of getting into any trouble on account of 
 the business. In fact, I don't see," added the Bull- 
 dog, •' how Messiter will ever suspect us wheu once 
 he finds that Mary Price is missing." 
 
 In this strain did the two men continue to talk 
 for a few minutes longer, their discourse lasting 
 perhaps altogether a quarter of an hour after I 
 had been thrown over the cliff. They now tjok 
 each another dram of brandy, and then decided 
 upon commencing their march to Ashford. Mean- 
 while the moon had remained concealed behind 
 the black clouds that floated upon hetveu's face; 
 and I blessed— On ! I b essed that darkness which 
 by thus deeply shrouding me, prevented those 
 luiscrcants Irom observing how signally their mur- 
 derous plan had failed and how wonderfully Provi- 
 leuco hud interposed to rescue mc from death.
 
 MAEY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIBS OF A SEEVANT-MAID. 
 
 53 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 THE INCIDENTS OF A MONTII. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the faelinfrs ol 
 relief with which I heard Ben BuUdog and Nick 
 Sawbridge take their departure : but ere I made 
 the slightest attempt to release myself from that 
 appalling position in which I was placed, I suffered 
 at least another five minutes to elapse, so as to make 
 sure that the villains were really gone. Thus was 
 it that altogether I remained about twenty minutes 
 reclining in the hollow of that ledge overlianging 
 the tremendous precipice, at the bottom of which 
 the sea was beating with sullen moans and heavy 
 plashes. Only conceive, twenty minutes in that 
 fearful predicament! It was an age : for feelings 
 so varied and emotions so conflicting that would 
 sufiSce for the narrative of centuries, were com- 
 prised with all the condensation of their poignancies 
 in that interval of twenty minutes. It was an in- 
 terval filled with the essence of all human agonies. 
 But I will not linger at gi'cater length upon this 
 fearful yet wondrous episode in my life : I will pro- 
 ceed at once to state that when satisfied of the two 
 murderous ruffians' departure, I succeeded in re- 
 leasing myself from that perilous position and 
 gained the peak of the cliff above. The", seized 
 with wild hysterical terror at even the bare idea of 
 remaining near the edge of that frightful precipice, 
 I hurried onward for s.'veral yards ; until at 
 length feelinij myself in safety, I stopped short- 
 sank upon my knees— and poured forth my soul 
 in fervid, adoring worship. 
 
 Oh ! how sweet, how sweet was now the enjoy- 
 ment of life— of life snatched from the hideous 
 perils through whidi I had just passed ! In those 
 first moments of my grateful enthusiasm and 
 exultant emotions, I forgot all the lesser incidents 
 of the night's adventure. What to me was it if in 
 the biting chill cf that February season I was ex- 
 posed, thinly clad, to the niglit air — with my slioa.^ 
 and stockings saturated with the damps of the 
 grass, my hair streaming wet with the dews over my 
 shoulders, and with my very garments clinging 
 dnmply around me? What also was the circum- 
 at ince that my master's house had been robbed, 
 and that I must return to tell a tale so extra- 
 ordinary it could scarcely obtain belief? "What, I 
 ask, were all these considerations in comp iriton 
 wiUi the one grand all-absorbing thought that my 
 life, which ere now had been hanging to a thread 
 or inaeed was not worth a moment's purchiise, 
 should now be safe through heaven's wondrous 
 mercy ? 
 
 1 rose from my knees, having thus poured forth 
 my soul in worship : and now all those considera- 
 tions which I have just been sketching forth, 
 sprang up one after the other in my mind. I felt 
 that 1 was cold— for my shawl had come < ff, and I 
 could not remember that I liad had it on at all 
 from the moment that I aivoke to consoiuusuess 
 the second time when being hurried along by the 
 two men. Indeed, bo chill did I now Lccoine that 
 I could not drag myself along very quick : but as I 
 advanced the blood ^0£nled to cireulite more freely 
 in my veins, and I was presently enabled to proceed 
 ;it a quicker pace. Down the slope ot' the heights 
 ilid I go, and at length entered the dark and silent 
 
 streets of the town. The moon which had been 
 peeping forth again and had guided me in my walk 
 over the cbff, was now once more veiled in clouds; 
 sad thus the two or three :^tragglers whom I en- 
 countered in the street noticed not my wretched 
 condition. Finally, I gained my master's house in 
 safety, after an absence, as nearly as I could guess, 
 of about an hour and a half, during which I had 
 looked death face to face, had felt all its bitter- 
 ness, and experienced all its most excruciating 
 agonies ! 
 
 Everything appeared quiet in the house. There 
 were no lights to be seen at any of the windows — no 
 signs of any one moving about within. Tiie front 
 door was shut ; and without hesitation did I ring the 
 bell. Three or four times had I to repeat the sum- 
 mons ere it was answered ; and then at last I saw a 
 glimmering appear through the fanlight above the 
 door. Footsteps approached along the passage, and 
 the door was opened by Betsy, who had huddled on 
 a few clothes. Her astonishment on beholding rae 
 is scarcely describable ; and it was evidently mingled 
 with suspicions of a character most injurious to my 
 prudence and propriety. And no wonder ! those 
 suspicions were natural enough, although my repu- 
 tation had previously been so perfectly unsullied. 
 For I was in the most wretched plight it is possible 
 to conceive — my hair all floating in the wildest 
 disorder, and the scanty clothing which I had on 
 covered with mud and chalk-stains, and hanging 
 about me like damp rags. Moreover, as I was sub- 
 sequently informed, there was such strangeness in 
 my looks that it seemed as if I had just coiiie back 
 from some scene of hideous debauchery. Staggering 
 into the passage, I said in hurried and disjointed sen- 
 tences, " For God's sake close the door, Batsy, — help 
 me up-stairs — let me get to bed — I am frozen — I feel 
 as if I were dying. Dreadful things have happened 
 — dreadful, dreadful things! But I will ttll you all 
 presently," 
 
 And then a sudden sensation of giddiness cama 
 over me: I felt myself reeling, and remember to 
 have been caught in the arms of the now terrified 
 and startled Betsy. Then I recollected nothing more 
 until on awakening from the trance into which I had 
 fallen, I found myself in bed. 
 
 I was not in the nursery, but in asparo bed-room 
 which I immediately recognized. A candle burnt 
 upon a table near me. Betsy and Mrs, Jlessiter, 
 both hall'-dressed and looking wild indeed by that 
 uncertain light, were standing by the side of the 
 couch. There was a strong smell of brandy in the 
 room; and the taste which I now felt in my mouth 
 as well as the half empty glass which Mrs. Messiter 
 held in her hand, showed the nature of the remedy 
 which had been used to recover mo. Quantities 
 of bed clothes were piled npon me— a fire had been 
 lighted— and gratefully do I record tho fact that 
 both by Mrs. Messiter and tho good-tempered 
 Betsy was everything done for me that was posji- 
 ble under the circumstances. 
 
 Scarcely had I recovered my BensoB wheu a 
 (luick impatient tap w.as hoard at th" door, and 
 j\Ira. Messiter immediately went to answer it. She 
 opened the door iiartially ; and 1 heard her say. 
 "Hush! the poor girl is only just recovering — alio 
 must not bo disturhed." 
 
 "Well and goo 1," was my master's stern and 
 cold reply: "but she must explain without dei.iy 
 how she came iu a condition so suspicious."
 
 56 
 
 HART PRICE ; OB, THB MEM0IB3 OF A SEBTANT->rAID. 
 
 " Madam," I said, now exerting myself to speak ; 
 " leave the door ajar for a moment, and let master 
 stay outside and listen. The house has been 
 robbed " 
 
 "Robbed! robbed 1" were now the ejaculations 
 which burst from the lips of the grocer, his wi'"c, 
 and his servant. 
 
 " Yes— robbed, sir," I repeated ; " by those two 
 men who visited you this evening. They have 
 taken away your plate— they hare emptied the 
 till " 
 
 •' Good heavens, Mary I" ejaculated Mrs. Mess:- 
 ter : " what dreadful things are you telling us 1"— 
 and her looks fell upon me full of suspicion. 
 
 " Robbed— robbed — and by those villains !" 
 ejaculated Mr. Messiter. " But are they gone ? 
 How do you know all this ? Speak, JIary— speak ! 
 I insist upon your speaking :" — and he forced his 
 way into the room, his wife not daring to oppose 
 more than a very feeble resistance, which, witli the 
 natural delicacy of her sex on my account, she for 
 a ranment offered. 
 
 "Don't flurry the poor girl, sir," said Betsy, at 
 once perceiving how I shrank under the bed- 
 clothes when my master so rudely and indelicately 
 thrust himself into the chamber. " You had better 
 let her tell missus all she has to s,Ty ; and then 
 missus can come and tell you everything ajjain." 
 
 Mr. Messiter no doubt felt that his credit as a 
 very particular, wcl!-cunducted,aad hi->;hly respect- 
 able man was at stake in the eyes of his servant- 
 of-atl-work ; and he accordingly took the hint 
 which siie gave him and left the room. I then 
 proceeded to inform Mrs. Messiter how I knew 
 that there were two such bad ch.iracteis as the 
 Bulldog and Sawbridge infesting the town of Ash- 
 forJ— liow they had visited her husband on the 
 preceding evening — how 1 had been an unintca 
 tiuual listener to what had passed on the occasion 
 —how I h;ul been alarmed in the ni^ht and had 
 co-.ne dmvn s'.airs to sec lliat the house was safe- 
 how I hid been borne away by the two ruffians- 
 how I had escaped in so providential a manner 
 from the jaws of death— and also how I had over- 
 heard the entire conversation between the Ballio<ir 
 and Sawbridge on the top of Shakspeare's Cliff, 
 gathering from that conversation the particulars of 
 the robbery. 
 
 "Mary," said Mrs. Messiter, who, as well as 
 Betsy, had listened with varying feelings to my 
 narrative, "I have seen so much good of you 
 during the short time you have been with me, that 
 I cannot doubt the truth of your story, extraor- 
 dinary as some of its details are : and if for a 
 moment, when you first stated that the house had 
 been robbed, 1 regarded you with suspicion, you 
 must fortjive me." 
 
 " O, ma'am !" I exclaimed ; " circumstances were 
 indeed suspicious ! But while 1 thank you for your 
 kindness in assuring me that you place implicit 
 bcief in my word, 1 must beg to assure you that I 
 am fully prepared to repeat the same tale before a 
 magistrate, and even to be confronted with the 
 two dreadful meu at whose hands I have en- 
 dured so much. Indeed," I ciied, as a thought 
 suddenly struck me, "if Mr. Messiter were to take 
 apo-t chiise and proceed across to Ashfoid he 
 would doubtless recover his property at once from 
 Uuse men." 
 
 " The suggestion is most valua:ble," said Mrs. 
 
 ilessiter: and bidding Betsy remain to attend 
 upon me, she quitted the room. 
 
 In about twenty minutes she returned, saying 
 that her husband had gone out to knock up neigh- 
 bour Briggsthe baker, whose chaise -cart he me.ant 
 to borrow and drive over at once to Ashford : for 
 of course Mr. Messiter did not exactly like the 
 expense of a post-chaise. Mrs. Messiter then pro- 
 ceeded to inform me that the details I had given 
 relative to the robbery were substantially correct. 
 The locks of the front parlour and the private 
 cupboard on the landing had both been picked, aa 
 had also that of the commode, or side-board, in 
 which the plate was usually kept, but the whole of 
 which had been carried off. The shop had like- 
 wise been entered from the passage, and the till 
 robbed of its contents. Finally, it appesred that 
 the burglars had effected an entrance from the 
 back part of the premises, to which they gained 
 access by climbing over the yard-wall. In fact, 
 the scullery window had been forced t pen ; and 
 thus was it fully proved that the entry had reaily 
 been accomplished by force, and not by the con- 
 nivance of any one inside the dwelling. 
 
 "My husband fully believes the truth of yonr 
 statement in all its details," said Mrs. Messiter : 
 " and he is going off at once to Ashford in the 
 hope of recovering his property. Should he suc- 
 ceed he would r.ither hush up the matter than hav4 
 all the trouble, loss of time, and expense of a 
 prosecution at the Assizes. He has therefore 
 desired me t" request both you and Betsy to keep 
 the matter entirely to yourselves " 
 
 " What, ma'am," I cried, unable to contain ray 
 indignation: "are lliose wretches, then, to go un- 
 punished after all their cruel conduct to ms ? No 
 thanks to them if I am alive at this moment I" 
 
 I spoke with warmth and resolution, because 
 I was under the influence of several exciting 
 thoughts. For I could not help feeling hurt and 
 disgusted — almost enraged — at the cold- blooded 
 selfishness of Mr. Mesdter, who, forsooth, had 
 very excellent reasons for not coming to an open 
 rupture with the Bulldog and Sawbridge. It was 
 nothing that I had been so shockingly treated — 
 nothing tliat I had escaped only by a miracle 
 fiom their murderous clutches — no, all this was 
 nothing at all in comparison with the policy which 
 impelled him to hush up the matter altogether, so 
 as to avoid the inconvenience, disgrace, nnd pro- 
 bable ruin which would ensue from having to give 
 in a court of justice an explanation of the nature 
 of his connexion and transactions with the two 
 ruffians. They, then, were to S'i unpunished for 
 tluir infamous conduct towards me; so that Mr. 
 Messiter might avoid exposure relative to the 
 adulterations of his coffee I The humble servant- 
 maid might be subjected to the most murderous 
 outrage, and the guilty parties must escape with 
 nnpuuty in order to screen th.' meauness and 
 kuiveiy of a sanctimonious hypocrite I I was not 
 vindictive; but still it was natural to desire the 
 punishment of those dreadful characters. And 
 ap irt from my own personal feeling on the sub- 
 iect, 1 had another motive for wishing that con- 
 dign chastisement should overtake them. Ah! 
 the reader can well understand that I was thinking 
 of my brother Robert: for I reasoned williin my- 
 self that if justice were to plunge Sawbr.dge and 
 the Bulldog into prison for a term, ortiansport
 
 MARY PRICE OR, THK MKKOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 •57 
 
 them beyond the seas, there would be some hope 
 of t.!>at v.nfoitunate brother's reformatiou ! 
 
 All these reflectioiis passed through my mind 
 far more rapidly than I have here been enabled to 
 describe them; and under the influence of such 
 feelings it is no wonder if I spoke with warmth and 
 even with indlijuation, when Mrs. Messiter recom- 
 mended sileuc« aad secrecy relative to the night's 
 transactions. 
 
 " My dear girl," she said, in a tone of entreaty, 
 " I beseech you not to suppose that I would advise 
 you to a course repugnant to your feelings : but — 
 but" — and after glancing uneasily toward* Betsy 
 for a moment, as much as to imply that she was 
 one too many in the room, Mrs. Messiter bent 
 down and said in a low but plaintive whisper, " If 
 this affair is made public, everything will transpire 
 relative to my husband's dealings with those dread- 
 ful men. Ruin would overtake us ; and if yuu have 
 MO. 8 
 
 no pity for htm, at least hive mercy upon mc and 
 my poor children !" 
 
 While she tlius spoke, tears trickled dorr, her 
 wan and care-worn cheeks ; and my heart was all 
 in a moment moved towards her in such away that 
 I would rather have suffeied death itBOlf than do 
 her an injury. 
 
 " Tranquillize yourself, mVam," I said, taking 
 her hand and pressing it to my lips. "Not for 
 worlds would I adopt a course calculated to do you 
 or your dear children a mischief." 
 
 The poor womiu could not express her thanks 
 in words— her heart was full almost to bursting: 
 but she kissed my cheek with a fondness that con- 
 vinced mo of her gratitude. Presently her hus- 
 band knocked at the door again, to intimate that 
 ho had obtained tiie loan of neighbour Biiggs's 
 cart to proceed at once to Ashford. He accord- 
 ingly look his departure ; and I experieuced asort
 
 58 
 
 MARY PEIOE; on, THE MEM0IB8 OF A SEaVANT-MAID. 
 
 of relief when I knew that he was gone : for his in- 
 delicate intrusion into my room had aggravated, if 
 possible, the aversion I had previously experienced 
 towards him. Sleep then visited my eyes ; and I 
 did not awake until a late hour in the day, when I 
 found myself much refreshed though still suffering 
 from the effects of cold and exhaustion— so that I 
 gladly followed Mrs. Messiter'a kind recommenda- 
 tion to remain in bed and nurse myself until tho- 
 roughly recovered. 
 
 At about four o'clock in the afternoon Mr. Mes- 
 siter returned from Ashford, his journey having 
 been attended with complete success. The parti- 
 culars thereof, as he detailed them to his wife, and 
 as she repeated them to me, were as follow :— 
 
 It was half-past three in the morning when Mr. 
 Mes:-:iter had set off from Dover; aud at half-past 
 five he reached Canterbury. There he rested an 
 hour and took breakfast, after which he proceeded 
 by the carrier's van to Ashford, k-avina; tbe chaise- 
 cart at the inn- stables at Cantorbuiy. He arrived 
 at Ashford a I'ittle after nine, and went at ouce to 
 the b;>king establishment tenanted by Sawbridge 
 aud the Bulldog. No one answered his summons 
 —the place was shut up— and he therefore con- 
 cluded tliey had not as yet returned. Keeping a 
 watch upon the place from a little distance, he waited 
 until near eleven o'clock, when he beheld them 
 toiling along the road, all bespattered with mud 
 and evidently well wearied with their long walk s 
 for taking it as granted that they had strpck across' 
 the country from Dover to Ashford (as there is no 
 main road direct), they must have walked a dis- 
 tance of about two-and-twenty miles. Without 
 waiting to afford them an opportunity of entering 
 tlieir dwelling, into which Mr. Messiter would per- 
 haps have been by no means ready to follow them 
 — having a due regard for his oivn personal safety — 
 he at once confronted the ruffians; and armed 
 with all imaginable hardilioud though they were, 
 yet they started with guilty amazement on behold- 
 ing the grocer. He at onue told them " that every- 
 thing was known— that Mniy Price had escaped 
 their murderoui intent— that she was alive to bear 
 evidence against them— but that no faither notice 
 would be taken of the matter if they at once gave 
 up the plate and money which they had stolen." 
 Tbe announcement that I, their supposed victim, 
 was alive and ready to coufront them in a tribunal 
 of justice, must have been sufficient to strike ter- 
 ror and dismay — if not indeed a sort of supursti- 
 tious awe— into the souls of even such reckless 
 desperadoes as these : and as they perceived 
 several persons moving about, in pursuance of 
 their usual avocations, close by— e.-pecially five or 
 six sturdy labourers who were passing along the 
 road at the moment— they seemed to feel that a 
 single word from Mr. Messiter's lips would at once 
 ensure their capture upon a cl)arge which might 
 send them to the scaffold. Therefore, after a brief 
 iiut vain attempt to effect a compromise, to which 
 Mr. Messiter would not listen — lor he saw that he 
 had altogether the ui'.pcr hand of the ruffians— 
 ihey .surrendered up all the plate and the money 
 which they had about their persons. Thereupon 
 Mr. Mesoiter hastened back to Canterbury by the 
 first conveyance ; and mounting the chaise-cart 
 again, drove himself iu a sort of triumph home to 
 Dover. 
 
 Sucli WIS (he ri'Rult of the nicmorahle ineiilcntof 
 
 the burglary at Mr. Messiter's house, and which (s 
 nearly cost me my life. It was a week before I 
 could leave the bed-chamber, and another week 
 before I felt well enough to venture out into the 
 open air. In the meantime, however, I had written 
 full particulars of the whole proceedings to my 
 brother William, explaining to him my reason for 
 wishing them kept secret so far as the public was 
 concerned, but enjoining him to see Robert without 
 delay, communicate everything in confidence to 
 him, and then appeal to him whether he would 
 longer associate with the two miscreants who so 
 nearly consummated tbe cold-blooded murder of his 
 sister? By return of post I received a letter from 
 William proffering me the most affectionate sym- 
 pathy and condolence for all I had endured, but 
 breathing a spirit of deep lamentation at the appa- 
 rently untoward nature of my destiny. With regard 
 to Robert, there was nothing cheering to relate; but 
 on the contrary much to apprehend — for he had 
 left Ashford a few days previously, and at about the 
 same time the Bulldog and Sawbridge had likewise 
 disappeared. Were those dreadful men and my 
 unfortunate brother together ? My God ! I hoped 
 not. 
 
 A fortnight had elapsed since the adventures I 
 have bL'en relating ; and during this interval I bad 
 taken my meals in my own room. But being now 
 quite well again, I descended with the children to 
 the parlour, as I had been wont to do previous to 
 those occurrences. And here I should observe that 
 during this interval of a fortnight Mr. Smilhson, 
 the principal shopman, who had been for some 
 years in Mr. Messiter's establishment, left rather 
 suddenly. Umil this time he had always couttived 
 to exist upon good teiins with his master; but on 
 being blamed for something, he had abruptly turned 
 round, given an insolent reply, and threatened to 
 leave upon the spot. Mr. Messiter, not for a moment 
 thinking he would put his menace into execution, 
 told him to leave if he chose : whereupon Mr. 
 Smithsou took his departure then and there, foiiowed 
 by the malignant prophecy of Mr. Messiter " that 
 he woald yet come to the dogs." But it appears 
 that Mr. Smithson only grinned siguificautly and 
 hastened away. 
 
 It was on the very first morning of my descending 
 to breakfast in the parlour after my illness that the 
 following scene occurred. On entering the room, 
 accomp.mied by the children, I found Mr. Messiter 
 pacing to and fro with an expression of mingled 
 wrath and vexation upon his counienaiice; while 
 }^lrs. Messiter was seated neat the window from 
 which she was gazing with a sort of fixed iLtcul- 
 uess. 
 
 " The ungrateful villain — the black-liearted scoun- 
 drel!" exclaimed Mr. Messiter, with all the bitter- 
 ness of concentrated passion. " Is it possible that 
 I have thus cherished a viper in my bosom to sting 
 me at last ? After ail I have done for that man ! 
 I took him into my house when he had not a rag to 
 his back or a shoe to his foot. For years past I 
 have been as a father unto liini, rearing him iu a 
 goiUy manner — conducting him in the paths of 
 virtue and peace, and filling his belly with good 
 wholesome victuals. And now he has done this 1" 
 
 I could not help gazing in mingled curiosity and 
 astonishment at ^Ir. Messiter, whose wailing had 
 something indescribably ridiculous, as well as dole- 
 ful iu it — ihouch heaveu knows *<• had no iulcnlicn
 
 3IAKY PKICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 59 
 
 of imparting to his lament that dash of serio-comic 
 ludicrousness which it assuredly had. 
 
 "Mary," l-.e said, extending his arm towards the 
 window: "behold a spectacle of tlie blackest in- 
 gratitude!"— and having thus spoken, Mr. Messitcr 
 stalked out of the room with an air as miserable and 
 as martyrized as if he were about to be hanged on a 
 charge of which he was innocent. 
 
 I mechanically advanced up to the window, and 
 looking forth, belield that the house opposite, which 
 had been shut up for the last few months, was now 
 opened as a grocer's shop and seemed to have a very 
 excellent, or at all events a very attractive assort- 
 ment of goods exhibited in the window. The shop 
 had been newly painted and decorated, and looked 
 altogether very handsome. But great indeed was 
 my surprise when I beheld the following inscription 
 in large gilt letters on the facia over the wide 
 window: — 
 
 J. SMITHSON, GROCER AND TEA-DKALER. 
 
 (FbOSI llESSITEa'S.) 
 
 The cause of my master's mingled wrathfulaess 
 and lamentation was now explained in a moment ; 
 and that splendid shop, too, was the object on which 
 Mrs. Messiter's eyes were so intently rivetted. Mr. 
 Smithson had thus opened not merely in avowed 
 opposition to his late employer, but also in an esta- 
 blishment exactly facing his own. That establish- 
 ment, it now appeared, had for some weeks past 
 been secretly taken by Mr. Sunithson, and as ?.cretly 
 fitted up. Not but that the Messiters had seen car- 
 penters at work in the place and quantities of goods 
 arriving during the last few days: but l-ttla had they 
 suspected who it was that had taken that house so 
 long shut up ! Even to the ve:y last instant had 
 Mr, Smithson managed to keep his secret ; and it 
 was only on the particular morning of which I am 
 writing, that the whole mystery was cleared up. 
 Then, on Mr. Messiter's coming down to breakfast, 
 did the new shop, just opened for the first time, and 
 the splendid facia-board just fitted up, burst in all 
 the gaud of fresh paint and gilding upon his as- 
 tonished view ! 
 
 But this was not all. For, as I subsequently 
 learnt, while Mr. Messiter and his wife were still 
 gazing in amazement from the window (before I had 
 descended to the parlour), a letter was brought up 
 by Betsy, and which Mrs. Messiter subsequently 
 showed me. It was written by Mr. Smithson; and 
 its contents were to the efTjct that he had all along 
 hated and detested Mr. Messiter— that he had only 
 remained with him -so many years in order to get a 
 thorough insight into his business, it being the best 
 in Dover — that he thanked Mr. Messiter for his kind 
 prophecy about his (Mr. Smithson) going to the dogs 
 — but that he thought it very probable that of the 
 two Mr. Messiter himself would be thp first to expe- 
 rience that ignominious catastrojibe. 
 
 No wonder, then, that Mr. Messiter wa.s pro- 
 foundly annoyed and greatly alarmed by the pro- 
 ceediu;^ i.f his late s'.iopman. For when Mr. Smith- 
 son had stated that he had remained in Mr. Mes- 
 siter s employment to obtain a fud insight into the 
 grocery business, it really meant that he had .slaid 
 80 long in order to become thoroug-hly acquainted 
 with all Mr. Messiter's best customers. Nor was it 
 only for the reasuns already stated that Sir. Mes- 
 siter felt both grieved and a'aruied at the unex- 
 lected opposition wliich had thus sprung up : but 
 
 his ire and his apprehi-nsions were aliUe agjjra- 
 vated by the spirited manner in which Mr. Sralth- 
 son seemed determined to work out the competi- 
 tive principle. For instance, in Jlr. Smithsosi's 
 window was displayed a flaming placard, printed in 
 blue, green, red, and black inks, and the contents 
 of which were to the following effect : — 
 
 BEWARE OF SPURIOUS COFFEE ! ! I 
 Unprincip'ed tradesmen deal largely m an article wbioh 
 
 they are pleased to call Coffee, but which is only a vile 
 
 comi ound of unwholsome ingredients ! ! ! ! 
 J. Smithson pledges himself to sell nothing but genuino 
 
 COFFEE. 
 
 There was another placard, with a wood-cut of a 
 teapot on the top of it, and couched in the follow- 
 ing terms : — 
 
 TEE NOTED TEA-MART 1 
 
 J. SsirrHSON begs to announce to the nobi ity and Gentry 
 of Dover and its vicinity, and to the Pubhc in general, 
 that his Establishment is the only one in this town for rcAi 
 Genuine Teas. 
 
 J. SuHTHSoN likewise begs to announce that he has c;;- 
 tered into a contract with his Imperial Majesty the Em- 
 pei-or of all the Chinas for the supply ot a hmdred tfioir. 
 sand chests oj tea annual;/, and that he is therefore enablinl 
 to ofier a genuine article at the lowest possible figure. 
 The first cocsiarnraent often thousand chests from his Im- 
 perial Majesty has taken place, and the choicest samples 
 are now on sale ! 
 
 No doubt the public must have been iu a sin- 
 gular state of bewilderment and cmjecture where 
 Mr. Smithson could possibly stow away such an 
 enormous quantity of goods, or to what extent the 
 ancient cinq-port of Dover had been undermined 
 to form so capp.cious a cellarage : and it may also 
 have caused many to wonder fww the ten thousand 
 chests of tea arrived in Dover at all, seeing that 
 there had been no extra amount of shipping in the 
 harbour during the winter. But ail this was no 
 business of mine; and so I will not dwell upon it. 
 Let me, in continuation, observe that there was a 
 third placard, stuck above an enormous p:l,> tf 
 brown sugar heaped up like an Egyptian pyrami.l ; 
 bnt it contained only these words — "J. Smithson 
 does not adulterate his sugar:" and then in tiio 
 very middle of the spacious shop-front was the 
 most flaming placard of all, worded as fel- 
 lows : — 
 
 J. Smithson. having declined all farther cenncxion with 
 the Shop over the way, and being determined to vend 
 nothing but the best articles at the lowest possible prices, 
 begs to thank the numerous families on whom he has so 
 long had the honour of attending, for the promise of their 
 sole and exclusive patronage; and he hopes to merit tlio 
 reputation of ih« cheapest, most bas!ness-Iikc, most punc- 
 tual, most obliging, and most stxaiglitforward tradesmai: 
 In Dover. 
 MARK !— No connexion with tho Shop over the way 1 1 1 
 
 Now, were not all these various engines of a 
 brisk and spirited competition enough to drive 
 Mr. Messiter mad ? In f ict, did not the wording 
 of every one of the placards seem to allude most 
 offensively, and indeed apply with unequivocal 
 directness, to him and his establishment? A war 
 of intense opposilion wns evidently contemplated 
 by Mr. Smithson ; and Blr. Messiter therefore (at 
 least, as he alleged) was compelled " to take up arms 
 in his own defence." That is to say, ho hasleno I 
 to a printer and had thousands of haudl>ill» struck 
 off with all possible despatcli. They wore headed 
 " Cautiow," and warned " the unwary public
 
 60 
 
 MAuv ruiCE; or., the iiEMOins of a servant-maid. 
 
 against the unprincipled and nntrndesmanlilce acts 
 of a rival establisiiment." Mr. Messiter employed 
 a man to stand in front of his shop and tiirust 
 these bills upon all persons proceeding alang Snar- 
 gatfi Street. But 3Ir. Smithson was not to be 
 beaten in this way. He also paid a visit to his 
 printer: an'), lo and behold I handbills were dis- 
 tributed in front of his shop, as well as a new and 
 enormous placard being exhibited with the taking 
 announcement " that every one purchasing a pound 
 of Tea at J. Smithson's establishment, should have 
 half a pound of best refined Lump Sugar into the 
 bargain; everybody purchasing a pound of his 
 Coffee should have a quarter of a pound of best 
 Jamaica soft Sugar : and everybody purchasing 
 any article of inferior price, but to the value of a 
 shilling, should have a glass of British Wine or of 
 Cord;al Hollands Gin, according to choice." 
 
 This manoeuvre on the part of Mr. Smithson 
 certainly proveii an immense attraction, and his 
 shop was crowded from morning till night. The 
 men giving away bills were a perfect nuisance to 
 everybody going up and down the street: crowds 
 collected — and in fact the rivalry of the two 
 grocers created an extraordinary sensation. Mr. 
 Messitcr's wonted coldness and reserve seemed to 
 have altogether abandoned him: he was in a con- 
 stant state of excitement and flurry from morning 
 till night when down in the shop; but when up- 
 siairs in the parlour, nothing could exceed the 
 brutality of his ill-humour. He seemed entirely 
 to have thrown ( ff the mask, and to think it no 
 longer necfs-ary to play a part — at least within 
 the walls of liis dwelling. The fact is, he naturally 
 possessed an inlamous temper; and now that it 
 was goaded so painfully by Mr. Smithson's doings, 
 from the instant he awoke in the morning till he 
 went to bed at niy;ht he seemed as if he must vent 
 it upon somebody. His poor children and his wife 
 were the principal sufferers. Whatever they did 
 was wrong. If Mrs. Messiter did not talk to him, 
 he at once flew into a rage, accusing her of being 
 sullen ; and if she began to converse with him ou 
 his appearing in the parlour, then he declared that 
 she bothered him and ought to know better. If 
 the children went near him, they " tormented his 
 life out :" if they kept away from him, they were 
 " being brought up to hate and detest their own 
 father 1" Betsy and myself came in for our share 
 of scolding and ill-humour; but I had given warn- 
 ing to leave, and my time was nearly up — while 
 poor Betsy speedily followed my e.xamp'e. 
 
 Nothing could exceeed the wretchedness of my 
 situation during the last fortnight I was in Mr. 
 Messiter's service. Indeed, from the very instant 
 that Smithson opened his opposition establishment, 
 Mr. Jlessiter took not the trouble to play the 
 hypccrite any longer; but ho became the domestic 
 tyrant openly as he had all along been so privately. 
 Mr. Smithson's conduct was evidently goading him 
 to frenzy: and though I cannot say that I had any 
 pity for Mr. Messiter himself, I nevertheless eu- 
 tertained a boundless compassion for his poor wife 
 and unfortunate children. For it struck me that 
 this eompetitivewar which had commenced between 
 himself and Smithson, would prove the ruin of 
 both : and then, what was to become of Mrs. Mes- 
 siter and her young family ? Yes— 1 really did 
 pity them from the very bottom of my soul ! 
 
 The cud of the month came ; and on the follow- 
 
 ing day I was to leave the grocer's service. I 
 went out for a walk with the children for the last 
 time ; and it really made me sad to mark how 
 their sickly countenances had recently grown 
 more sickly still— as if, young though they were, 
 the terror inspired by their father's increasing 
 harshness, and indeed brutality, had produced an 
 influence like a withering blight fastening upon 
 their very vitals. And the eldest boy too— so 
 pensive, s> delicately handsome— just such a youth 
 as a fither ought to have loved so fondly, because 
 the child himself was of such an affectionate dis- 
 position — he, poor boy, seemed pining away ; and 
 it struck me that consumption had already marked 
 him for its own ! 
 
 My heart, then, was full of sadness as I returned 
 home w th the children from this our last walk; 
 and as soon as I went up-stairs Mrs. Messiter 
 appeared at the parlour door and beckoned me to 
 enter. I accordingly went in ; and she addressed 
 me in the following manner : — 
 
 " Slary,- a circumstance has transpired which 
 enables me to give you some cheering intelligence 
 — at least I think and hope that you will regard it 
 as such." 
 
 " Ah ! ma'am," I said, thinking she was speaking 
 of herself; " if anything has occurred to make you 
 happier " 
 
 " Good God, Mary !" she cried, bursting into 
 tears : " what good fortune can possibly shine upon 
 me? No, no — my own destiny is cast; and I 
 have a presentiment here," she added, pressing 
 her hand with convulsive tightness upon her 
 bosom, " that it will continue and end as sadly as 
 it has begun !" 
 
 "Ahl ma'am, there is a Power above who can 
 change all that !" I said, half blinded by the tears 
 that had started forth upon my lashes.- 
 
 Mrs. Messiter shoolt her head despairingly: 
 then hastily wiping htr eyes, and composing her 
 feelings as well as she was able, she said, " The 
 intelligence to which I alluded refers to yourself, 
 Mary. I presume you wish another situation as 
 soon as you can obtain it ?'' 
 
 I of course replied in the aflBrmative; but at the 
 same time, for more reasons than one, I had re- 
 solved not to go into service again at Dover. For 
 I could not bear the thought of being constantly 
 reminded, every time I passed by Mr. ^Messiter's 
 house, of the unhappiness that prevailed within 
 those walls : while a sentiment of prudence and 
 maidenly modesty forbade me from remaining in 
 a place where 1 stood the chance of encountering 
 the Hon. Eustace Quentin. 
 
 " I think, then," resumed Mrs. Messiter, " that 
 circuniitunce j enable me to give you the assurance 
 of an excellent and most eligible place, which you 
 must go and see about directly. Wiiat say you 
 to entering a nobleman's family ?" 
 
 " Ah ! I should be afraid that my humble conn" 
 try manners would not fit me for such a situation," 
 was my answer. 
 
 " My dear girl, it is an excellent place — and you 
 must be well aware that I would not recommend 
 you to take it unless I thought so. Lord and Lady 
 Harlesdou are at this moment staying at Wright's 
 Hotel, but will return to London to-morrow. "They 
 are in want of an under nurse-maid, and will take 
 you." 
 
 Mrs. Messiter s^oke with an air of conlidcnoe
 
 MARY PRICE ; OU, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 61 
 
 which made me survey her with mingled curiosity 
 and surprise. 
 
 "Do not ask me any questions, Mary," she 
 said, a sickly smile appearing upon her wan coun- 
 tenance. " Some little negotiation has already 
 take n place, and you must go directly and see her 
 ladyship." 
 
 I thanked Mrs. Messiter for her great kindness 
 towards me, and in obedience to her suggestion at 
 once repaired to Wright's Hotel, the finest and most 
 fashionable establishment of the sort in Dover. On 
 arriving there I inquired if Lady Harlesdon was 
 within ; and the waiter to whom 1 addressed my- 
 self, immediately summoned a footman in splendid 
 livery, aud who at once asked me if I was the 
 young person who had been recommended to her 
 ladyship for the vacant situation in the nursery ? 
 I replied in the afi&rmative ; and he desired me to 
 follow him. He then led the way up the principal 
 staircase, and bidding me wait a few moments, 
 entered a room opening therefrom. In about a 
 minute he re-appeared, and at once conducted me 
 into that apartment, — where a lady of exquisite 
 beauty was lounging negligently upon a sofa, and 
 a very old gentleman of dignified demeanour was 
 seated in an arm-chair near her. 
 
 This lady was about three-and-twenty years of 
 age. Her eyes were of the finest azure I ever be- 
 held elsewhere than in the heaven above ; and long 
 flaxen ringlets, looking like tresses of pale satin, 
 showered down upon her shoulders of dazzling 
 whiteness. Nothing could equal — certainly not 
 excel— the snowy whiteness of her skin: her com- 
 plexion indeed was absolutely dazzling ; and 
 though so fair, she had a fine tint of carnation 
 upon her cheeks, while the vivid scarlet of her 
 lips enhanced the animation of her looks. She 
 was tall, slender, and exquisitely symmetrical in 
 shape : her dres?, without being gaudy, was of an 
 elegant description, and most tastefully adapted to 
 suit the fairness of iier complexion. Altogetlier, 
 she wns as bright and beautiful a creature as ever 
 the sun shone upon ; aud for the first minute that 
 I stood in the room I was perfectly dazzled by her 
 presence. 
 
 The old gentleman to whom I have alluded, and 
 whom I supposed to be her father — if not her 
 grandfather — was near seventy ; and though there 
 was nothing repulsive nor forbidding in his air, 
 yet did his countenance wear an expression of the 
 haughtiest aristocratic pride, so that when he 
 turned his eyes upon rae as I entered the room, it 
 sieraed just as if he were some infinitely superior 
 being condescendingly looking down from the 
 pedestal of iiis rank upon me, the humblest of 
 pigmies, below I He was dressed with what might 
 be termed extreme precinion, and evidently took 
 .great jiains with his toilette — perhaps to cum- 
 pensate for the havoc which time had made in his 
 :'ppearance— though he never could have been 
 good-looking. 
 
 Lady Harlesdon was reclining upon the sofa 
 with a sort of languid air as I entered the room; 
 and slowly raising herself up to a sitting-posture, 
 the said in a very sweet voice and with the most 
 encouraging affability of manner, " You are the 
 young person who has been recommended to mo 
 for tiie under nurse-maid's place ?" 
 
 I replied in the affirmative ; and her ladyship, 
 after asking me how old I was and a few other 
 
 ordinary questions, said, " Well, Mary, I am per- 
 fectly willing to receive you into my service " 
 
 "How — what, my dear Clementina!" interrupted 
 her companion, speaking in a voice which was not 
 exactly expressive of rebuke, but of a sort of de- 
 ferential remonstrance, and yet was accompanied 
 with a pompous manner and ostentatious delivery. 
 "You know nothing of this young woman's cha- 
 racter, and you engage her off hand like this 7 
 Really, my dear, you had better let Mrs. Brandon 
 make the necessary inquiries— as indeed she ought 
 to have done, before allowing you to be troubled 
 with seeing this girl at all." 
 
 "Excuse me, my dear," said Lady Harlesdon, 
 with a soft and most bewitching smile, which dis- 
 played two rows of brilliant teeth shining like 
 pearls between the vivid scarlet of her lips ; " I 
 have already heard as much as is necessary relative 
 to this young person. I will tell you all about it 
 presently :" — and she laid her beautiful snowy 
 hand upon his wrinkled one, while she looked up 
 into his face in a manner so full of confiding ten- 
 derness that no doubt was now left in my mind 
 as to the relationship existing between them. 
 
 "Well, well, my dear," said Lord Harlesdon — 
 for he indeed it was, and this young angelic crea- 
 ture of such nymph-like beauty and radiant love- 
 liness, was the wife of that old, old man whom I 
 had at first taken to be her father, with a doubt 
 whether he were not a more antiquated relative 
 still: " well, well — have your own way. You know 
 I humour you in everything :"' and ho patted her 
 cheek in a manner indicative of a doting fond- 
 ness. 
 
 I felt rather uneasy and cast down ray eyes : for 
 it struck me that such manifestations between hus- 
 band and wile ought not to tike place before 
 strangers. But then, what was a poor servant- 
 girl? Nothing at all I — a complete nonentity, 
 whose presence was not to be thought of for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Well, Mary," said Lady Harlesdon, once more 
 turning to me ; " you may consider yourself en- 
 gaged. My housekeeper Sirs. Brandon will ar- 
 range with you about wages and all ihat tort of 
 thing : but as she will fully meet your views in that 
 respect, there need be no delay in your entering 
 upon your duties as soon as you like. When can 
 you come ?— for we return to Loudon to-morrow 
 do we not, my dear?" she asked turning to- 
 wards her husband. 
 
 " Yes — the carriages will be in readiness at 
 eleven o'clock," was Lord Harlesdon's answer; 
 "and therefore the youug woman had better be 
 here at an early hour in the morning." 
 
 1 promised to bo at the liotel by nine o'clock; 
 theu, hftving made ray curtsey, quitted the room 
 and hastened back to Mrs. Messiter, whom I cor- 
 dially thanked for having been the means of pro- 
 curing me a situation in the service of so amiable 
 a lady. I longed to ask Mrs. Messiter how it came 
 to happen that she had succeeded in paving the 
 way so fully for my acceptance on the part of 
 Lady Harlesdon : but as she herself volunteered 
 no explanation, 1 thought it ungenerous to .isk 
 for any, considering tliat she might choOE'e to have 
 her own way of doing me a favour. 
 
 On the following morning 1 took leave of Mrs. 
 Messiter aud the children, and an affecting part- 
 ing it was. Both she aud they cried as 1 said
 
 62 
 
 MAKY PniCE ; OR, THE MEMOIKS OF A SEnVAST-JlAID. 
 
 farewell : indeed the children clun? round me as 
 if I were some near an 1 dear relative— Tvhiie Mrs. 
 Messiter embraced me affectionately, and gave me 
 a few words of advice as good as it was weli- 
 meant. As for Mr. Messiter, he was so busy in 
 superintending the hoisting up of an immense pla- 
 card In front of his shop, and which contained 
 Borae rival announcement levelled at Air. Smith- 
 8on, that he did not see me is-ue forth from tl;e 
 private door; and to tell the truth, I was very 
 glad of an excuse for not saying fjrewell to him 
 at all — but hastening along the street, I soon 
 reaclieJ Wright's Hotel. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MX THIRD FLACi:. 
 
 Ladt Hablesdon was his lordship's third wife, 
 and had been married to him five years. Thoy 
 had three children — the two eldest being boys, 
 and the younge^st a li'.tle girl of a year old. Hav- 
 ing passed the winter in Italy, the family had just 
 returned to England, but had stayed to rest for 
 two or ihree days at Dover, and also because Lady 
 Harlesdon (as 1 understood) had some relation 
 living there whom she wished to see ere proceed- 
 ing to Loudon. The three children had accom- 
 panied their parents in their Continental travel ; 
 and t!ie retinue consisted of his lordship's valet, 
 the steward, two footmen, two lady's-maids, the 
 housekeeper, and the upper nurse, — myseif now 
 entering upon the situation of under nursemaid. 
 
 Precisely at eleven o'clock three travelling car- 
 riages, each with four post-horses, wei-e in readi- 
 ness ; and in a short time the cavalcade was rolling 
 rapidly out of Dover along the London Road. The 
 upper nurse and myself, with the three childi'v'n, 
 occupied the interior of one of the carriages ; and 
 I found my fellow-servant, whose name was Je- 
 mima, a very good-tempered and unaffected young 
 woman. Her kindness to the children was evi- 
 dently of the most genuine character; and she at 
 once placed herself upon a friendly foo:i:)g with 
 me. In the course of coaveruation, during our 
 journey to London, she informed me that Lurd 
 Harlesdon was enormously rich, and that his town- 
 mansion, to which we w-re then proceeding, was 
 of the most magnificent description. He had alsj 
 three or four country seats, and immense estates 
 attached to each. Jemima went on to say that it 
 was a very odd thing how so young and beautil'ul 
 a creature as Lady Harlesdon could have been in- 
 duced to marry a nobleman old enough to be her 
 grandfather; and it did not appear that she had 
 either been forced into the match by her relations, 
 or that poverty had induced her to form such an 
 alliance : for she herself belonged tj a noble and 
 wealthy family, and being endowed with so sur- 
 passing a beauty, was nut likely to have been 
 without many eligible offers on the part of suitors 
 whose age more nearly approached her own. 
 
 Of course Jemima gave me this information j 
 while the eldest boy, who was a very intelligent 
 child of four years old, was sleeping sovmdly : and 
 as he presently awoke, any farther converaatioa { 
 on the same topic was cut short. Soon afterwards, 1 
 it being now late in the afternoon, the carriages ' 
 
 rolled into the hnge metropolis. ? can scarcely 
 say what ray impressions were opon entering 
 London for the first time. It seef^.ed to lae a 
 vast wilderness of brick and mortar ; and I must 
 confess that I experienced a certain feeling of d .=,- 
 appointment at the miserable aspect of the miles 
 and miles of streets through which »'-; passed er^ 
 reaching the We^t End. For though it was dti=k 
 when I thus beheld the capital for the first time, 
 yet by the aid of the street-lamps ai»d the lights 
 in the windows of private houses and shops, I 
 could see quite sufficient to dissipate at once all 
 the delusive conceptions I had hitherto formed 
 relative to the grandeur a ul the magnificence of 
 England's chief city. Indeed, there is nothing 
 beyond a mere sense of vastness to strike the eye 
 of the stranger who enters London for the first 
 time by any of the great routes on the southern 
 side of the river : and thus as the carriage rolled 
 onward through the labyrinth of streets which 
 continue uninterruptedly from Blackheath up to 
 Wcitminster Bridge, it struck me that what I 
 thus saw of Loudon realized only one previously 
 conceived idsa — namely, that of magnitude — while 
 it disappointed numerous others, such as beauty, 
 magnificence, and all the varied signs of a general 
 prosperity. 
 
 But on reaching "Westminster Bridge and be- 
 holding its immense span, traced by the long arch- 
 ing lines of its lamps, I now felt that I was borne 
 across a river at least worthy of being the si'e of 
 such a vast metropolis: and then, on dashing up 
 into the regions of fashion, I began to think that at 
 least some of my visions relative to London would 
 be realized. The carriages drove into Grosvenor 
 Square, and stopped at one of the largest of tlie 
 palatial dwellings of that fashionable quarter. The 
 portals unfolded their wings— a flood of effulgence 
 burst forth from the hall — half-a-dozen domestics 
 in their splendid liveries issued forth — and an 
 equal number of tastefully dressed female servnnts 
 gathered in the hall, to receive their lord and lady 
 after their long absence from home. When I in 
 my turn entered the dwelling, holding the young- 
 est child in my arms, and accompanying Jemima, 
 who took charge of the two little boy:-, — I was per- 
 fectly astonished at the magnificence which met 
 my view on every side. The interior was a perfect 
 blaze of light. The lofty ceiling of the spacious 
 hall was supported by marble pillars; and the open 
 doors on either side afforded glimpses of immense 
 apartments sumptuously furnished, and with 
 enormous lustres suspended to the ceilings. The 
 marble staireise, wide enough for a d >zeu pc- 
 sons to ascend abreast, was liglited ail the way up 
 by lamps held in the hands of beautiful alabaster 
 statues as large as life. The first landing was or- 
 namented also with beautiful specimens of statuary, 
 and splendid vases of porcelain filled with dried 
 rose leaves, that exhaled a delicious but not too 
 powerful perfume. Thence likewise opened several 
 doors leading into the State Apartments, the gran- 
 deur of which, as I threw my looks rapidly inside, 
 filled me with amazement Two more ascents of 
 stairs, as brilliantly lighted and almost as magnifi- 
 cently embellished as the first, led to the hnding 
 whence opened the range of apartments called the 
 Nursery Floor. 
 
 Here was a room expressly devoted for the 
 children to play in, and spread with a thics carpet.
 
 MAEy price; ob, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 63 
 
 so that if thity fell they could not hurt themselves 
 very much. The shelves were corcred with toys 
 of the most beautiful as nell as cxp&asive descrip- 
 tion ; and it really seemed a sin that articles on 
 which so much ingenuity had been bestowed, and 
 which really were of the most artistic description, 
 slwuld be destined to share the common lot of 
 children's playthiogi and thus be doomed to 
 speedy dislocation, fracture, and destruction. An 
 adjoining room was fitted up as a sort of parlour, 
 in which tho cliildren were to take their meals. 
 Beyond this were three bed- chambers, communi- 
 cating one with another, and all furnished taste - 
 I'ully as well as handsomely. To be brief, the 
 aspect of tlie Nursery Floor was not only most 
 cheerful and pleasant, but was also in perfect keep- 
 ing with tile other parts of a house which, as I 
 have said, was furnished in the most sumptuous 
 manner. 
 
 I soon found that my situation was in all respects 
 likely to be a very comfortable one ; and in writing 
 to my dear brotiier William, I failed not to tell 
 him how haonv I should be were I not constantly 
 harassed Dy rears concerning the welfare of my 
 brother Robert. But I had not been many weeks 
 at Harlesdon House, before I began to find out 
 that the other domestics were very far from 
 being as contented as I. Indeed, with the excep- 
 tion of Jemima, they each and all had their com- 
 plaints, to which they failed not to give utterance 
 whenever they came up into the nursery or had 
 opportunities for chatting together. But the sum 
 and substance of these complainings will be better 
 understood if I describe the constitution of the 
 household. 
 
 The person who exercised the highest authority 
 in tills household was his lordship's " geutlem m " 
 — a sedate, elderly, well-mannered person, who 
 always dressed in black and was very neat and 
 precise in his appearance. It was his duty to be 
 in attendance in his lordship's dressing-room, and 
 to superintend everything, but to do nothing him- 
 self. Then there were two valets, who were under 
 the orders of the " geatleman," and whorftd every- 
 thing which he superintended. But in their avo- 
 cations was included nothing absolutely menial ; 
 80 that under them there were two pages ; and as 
 there were certain things which these pages were 
 too genteel to perform, the footmen were at the 
 beck aud call of the pages. But again, as in the 
 lowest depths th.ere is a lower still, so there were 
 offices and duties too menial for even the footmen; 
 and these were delegated to the shoe- black and 
 stable boys. Then the stable-boys themselves 
 were under the grooms; and the grooms bowed to 
 the authority of the coachman; while the coach- 
 man had to take his orders from his lordship's 
 " gentleman." Another important functionary in 
 the household was the steward, who kept all his 
 lordship's accounts and managed the domestic 
 liuaucei. The next in rank was the butler, having 
 an adjutant with the denomiualion of uuder-butler, 
 and an asiistant in the wine-department called tlic 
 cellarer. A similarly graduated scale wai applied to 
 the female hierarchy of the household, tiio highest 
 authority in t'lis sphere being Jlrs. Brandon, the 
 hou-ickeeper. Immediately under her were the 
 lady's-maids, who were much too genteel to do 
 any work that properly belonged to the house- 
 maids ; and the housemaids again would not IhinU 
 
 of " lowering themselves " by performin;? any work 
 that came within the province of the uuder-house- 
 maids. In the kitchen the man- cook gave his 
 orders to the two kitchen-maids, who in tlieir turn 
 kept their own duties as distinct as possible from 
 those of the scullions. Up in the nursery Jemima 
 was the dominant authority and I a merely her 
 lieutenant: but then, as we were both good-tem- 
 pered and never quarrelled— and as we were atone 
 together, and beyond the same influences which 
 moved, agitated, and excited all the rest of the 
 household — there was no possibiUty of dispute as 
 to the precise line of demarcatwa which separated 
 our respective functions. 
 
 Having thus explained the constitution of the 
 household, I thiuk that the reader will be at no 
 great loss to understand how such an orgap.ization 
 contained within itself all the elements of jealousy, 
 envy, and hatred — and how such passions could not 
 fail to lead to endless bickerings, contentious, and 
 complainings, together with the turmoil and ex- 
 citement of petty tyranniej inflicted on the one 
 hand and resented on the other. For instance, if 
 ever his lordship's "gentleman" gave any instruc- 
 tions of his own accord to the steward, there was 
 an immediate clash of the two authorities, the 
 "gentleman" asserting his rank as superior to 
 that of the steward, aud the steward looking very 
 much inclined to snap his fingers in the face 
 of the "gentleman." Tlie valets, disliking the 
 " gentleman," were always whispering bits of 
 scandal so as to make mischief between him and 
 the steward : while on the other hand the butler, 
 hating the steward, was always teUing the " gen- 
 tleman " how disrespectfully the steward spoke of 
 him. Then the valets on one side and the butler 
 on the other did not seem at all to entertain eiiher 
 mutual respect or friendship ; and there were 
 incessant disputes as to whether a valet had the 
 power to order a butler about, or whether on the 
 contrary the butler was not a superior ofiScer to 
 t le valets. The pages generally took part with 
 the valets against butlei- and under-butler; but 
 all united iu common contempt for the footmen ; 
 aud these again vented their spleen upon the 
 stable-boys. Of course Mrs. Brandon the house- 
 keeper was a highly important personage ; and 
 though she admitted tlie lady's-maids to her inti- 
 macy, yet she could not possibly condescend to 
 let a housemaid sit down iu her presence ; and in 
 the same way that the " gentleman," the steward, 
 aud the butler expected to be called "sir" by all 
 their subordinates, so did Mrs. Brandon look to 
 be saluted as "ma'am" by all her inferiors in the 
 female department. The " gentleman " had his 
 room — the steward had his— Mrs. Brandon had 
 her's— and the lady's-maids had their own: the 
 butler had his pantry, with a little parlour adjoin- 
 ing—and all these high domestic functionaries 
 took their meals together in tho housckeoper'-s 
 room, while all the rest took thjir's together in 
 the servants'-hall. But even iu the servants'-hall, 
 immense class-distinctions prevailed : because tho 
 housemaids would not sit next to tho scullions, 
 while the stable-boys were made to eat at a table 
 by themselves. As for Jemima and myself, we 
 had our meals up in the nursery ; aud as 1 before 
 observed, we managed to get on very comfortably 
 together without any quarrelling at all. 
 
 But those nice divisions which I have bjeu
 
 04 
 
 MARY PRicr; ; ob, tue memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 describiog, as markitij^ out tlis "aristocracy," the 
 "gentility," and the "vulgarity" amongst the 
 household servants, were not alone the causes of 
 incessant heartburnings, envies, hatreds, jeal- 
 ousies, and complainings. There was one word 
 which seemed to be the perfect talisman, in an 
 evil sense, of all the most seriuus disputes, and 
 violent altercations. This one word which Itept 
 up such iacessaat intestine warfare, was " Pee- 
 QuisiTES." The "gentleman" was too aristo- 
 cratic to take perquisites at all : they commenced 
 witit the steward and valets on the one hand, and 
 with the housekeeper and the lady's-miids oa the 
 other, — descending down to the lowest menial in 
 either male or female aepai tment. From the left- 
 off garments of his lordship down to the lees of 
 wine in a bottle — from a cast-away silk dress of 
 her ladyship down to the contents of a dripping- 
 pot in the scullery— these perquisites were inces- 
 sant bones of contention, ramifying the spirit of 
 bickering throughout the entire domestic organi- 
 zation. And as so much was said upon this ubject 
 of perquisites, the topic being day after day in one 
 shape or another talked of in my presence, I could 
 not fail to learn many strange particulars relative 
 to the proceedings adopted fi order to increase 
 the amount of booty plundered in the form of 
 "perquisites." 
 
 The whole financial arrangements of the house- 
 hold beiujf in the hands of the steward and the 
 housekeeper, they ei.ijoyeJ immense opportunities 
 for peculation. They had the appointing of all 
 the tradesmen belonging to their respective de- 
 partments, and comiielled every dealer to make 
 out liis bills in such a manner as to afford a liberal 
 discount for the behoof of the said steward and 
 housekeeper when pay-day came. If any trades- 
 man obiected to so dishonest a course — (and very, 
 very rarely were such objections made) —he was 
 coolly told " that he must discontinue send- 
 ing for orders in future;" and this threatened loss 
 of custom very soon rendered him plimt and duc- 
 tile to the plan of proceeding above de.-ciibed. 
 That Lord and Lady Ilarlesdon were perfectly 
 well aware they were thus systematically and con- 
 tinuously robbed, there canuoi be thj slightest 
 doubt: but they were equally conscious that it 
 was part of an invariable system, and that if ttiey 
 were to discharge their present steward and 
 housekeeper, their successors would pursue ex- 
 actly the same course, Besides, it was utterly re- 
 pugnant to the high and mighty notions of lordly 
 wealth and proud aristocracy to condescend to 
 look into tradesmen's bills, or have anything to 
 do with such a vulgar process as the addition of 
 pounds, shillings, and pence I I was posiiively 
 assured in a confidential manner by Jemima, that 
 the housekeeper always re-made out the laun- 
 dress's bill, increasing the charges about three 
 shillings on every ten ; and of course the other 
 small tradesmen's accounts were tampered with in a 
 simdar manner — the largo tradesmen entering, as 
 above stated, into the conspiracy and making out 
 their bills in such a manner as to be able to afford 
 a discount of ten pounds upon every hundred. 
 
 Thwre are however certain minuter details to 
 the explanation of which I must descend. And 
 first of all I will speak of the thousand and cue 
 ways adopted by valets in order to commit their 
 depredations— for such indeed they may be termed 
 
 i^ 
 
 — upon their master's wardrobe. They keep cer- 
 tain articles of apparel out of sight until the re- 
 collection of them is lost; and then it becomes 
 easy to appropriate these articles to themselves. 
 They use pumice-stone to the seams of trousers 
 and the elbows of coats, so as to give them a 
 shabby appearance even when in reality they Are 
 quite new : the articles of apparel thus treated, 
 are thrown aside and become the perquisites of the 
 ingenious but unprincipled valets. As for waist- 
 coats, by pulling off the strings or making a button 
 hang loose, they give them the appearance of 
 bein^ too old for farther use ; and the owner either 
 does not pause to reflect how often he has worn 
 them, or is too aristocratic to wear anything that 
 has been mended, and so orders them to be flung 
 aside. After a party, it is a common trick for 
 valets to grease the garments which their masters 
 have worn, and thus give them an air as if soup, 
 melted butter, or rich gravy had been spilt upon 
 them. By way of a variation in their tricky pro- 
 ceedings, valets artfully cut or burn a sma'l hole 
 in the upper leather of a new baot, after which 
 they know that it will not be worn, but will be 
 added to the list of their perquisites. Sometimes 
 they scripe with a knife the collars or the wrist- 
 bands of shirts, at the edges, to ma'^e the linen 
 look old and fretted oat : but when the said shirts, 
 being discarded, fall into their hands, a new wrist- 
 band or collar renovates them completely. In a 
 word, it would be impossible to detail all the in- 
 stances of low cunning and mean contrivance to 
 which valets have recourse in order to increase 
 their perquisites. I may add, however, thit it is 
 of course their study to promote extravagance on 
 ihe part of their masters ; and if they ai e ia the 
 service of very careless persons, or of masters too 
 proudly aristocratic to condescend to inquire about 
 the state of their wardrobe, they commit tre- 
 mendous depredations. Numbers oi valets, oa 
 leaving service, take substiintial shops, or else be- 
 come the proprietors of first-rate bote's; and a 
 man of this class who without a farthing enters 
 the service of a master whom he may thus rob, 
 is ceriaia to amass a considerable suai of money 
 in eight or ten years. 
 
 It is iust the same with regard to lady's-m.iiJs 
 and the wardrobes of their mistresses. A clever 
 lady's-rcaid, with plenty of tact and cuauiug, will 
 avail lierself of all t'le extravagances and weak- 
 nesses of her mistress in order to suit her own 
 selfish ends. She will aflirm, for instance, " that 
 her ladysliip does not look at all well in the pale 
 satin dress, but that the dark one becomes heradoii- 
 rably :" so the la ly is set aganst the pale satin, 
 which accordingly becomes the perquisite of the 
 artful maid. Or if the coveted satin dress should 
 not become a " cast-ofT' so soon as the maid thirks 
 it ought, she will manage to soil it with a fruit stain 
 or grease; and then with exclamations about its 
 being "a thousand pities," will display the mark to 
 her lady, who of course abandons the dress at 
 once. Furs are purposely soiled, muslin dresses 
 inked, silks and satins staiuid, bonnets beat, linen 
 torn, and all kinds of tricks thus put into practice, 
 in order to swell the lady's-maid's perquisites with 
 the discarded articles from her mistress's ward- 
 robe. 
 
 There are shops where valets and lady's-maid< 
 are in the babit of disposicg of the left-off ga-
 
 MARY PRICE; OR, THE MEMOIRS OV A SERVANT-MAID 
 
 ment'i which thus fall Into their hands; and from 
 what I have heard I caa affirm that many of tliese 
 shops are but little better than receptaules for 
 stolen goods : they are in respect to the higher 
 class of domestic servants what too many of the 
 marine-store dealers are to the lowest orders of 
 the people ; and a great amount of peculation and 
 downright robbery i* occasioned by the facilities 
 with which the proceeds can thus be disposed of. 
 But let me not be misunderstood : I do not mean 
 to stigmatize all valets and all lady's-maids as 
 tricksters and cheats— much less level a sweeping 
 denunciation against the whole of them as a elass 
 of thieves and plunderers. Heaven forbid I There 
 are no doubt many honest valets who would not 
 pilfer even the most trifling article, and mauy 
 laJy'a-maids whoje characters are unimpeachable : 
 but they are only the exceptions to the rule, aud 
 do not form the rule itself. I must likewise observe 
 that if as a class the higher orders of domestic 
 NO. 9 
 
 servants are thus prone to trickery, knavlshness, 
 and peculation, to increase their perquisitns, the 
 proceeding has become so systematic as to cease 
 to be regarded in the light of dishonesty. A valet 
 or a lady's-maid who will not for a moment hesi- 
 tate to have recourse to the means above described, 
 may be scrupulously honest in all other respects, 
 and experience as genuine a horror of downright 
 stealing as the most virtuous persons in the world. 
 In the same way that a tradesman will give short 
 weight or sell adulterated goods, and yet not con- 
 sider that be is practising a dishonest act, so sys- 
 tematic has the proceeding become— will valets 
 and lady's-maids practise their pursuits without 
 being sensible of their nefariouaness. And lastly-, 
 ere I conclude my remarks on this subject, let me 
 add that the system which I have been exposing is 
 as much, if not more, the fault of masters and 
 mistresses themselves than of their servants. This 
 system is kaowo to exist : it is tolerated— it may
 
 M 
 
 MAP.y PRICE ; OB, THE JIEMOIRS OF A SKP.VAXT-^IAID. 
 
 even be said to be winked at and encouraged : 
 seldom is it that ever an attempt is made on the 
 part of masters and mistresses to put a stop 
 to it; and by their very indolence in lookinjj after 
 their own affairs, or else through the ri<liculous 
 pride which makes them consider any such inter- 
 ference to be beneath them, they wilfully shut their 
 eyes to what is going on, and thus tacitly assent to 
 the practice. Thus is it that the laziness and 
 absurd vanity of aristocratic and wealthy families 
 are both alike most demoralizing in their effects, 
 and at least as culpable as the knavery of the 
 sj'stems which they generate or allow to exist. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE BEVELATION OF A SECRET. 
 
 It was in the month of March when I entered the 
 service of Lord and Lady Harlcsdon : three months 
 had elapsed, and it was now once more the middle 
 of glorious simimer. During the interval just 
 named nothing occurred deserving of special men- 
 tion ; and so far as my place was concerned I had 
 every reason to be satisfied— even happy. For I 
 was well treated— well lodged — had excellent food 
 —and was liberally paid in respect to wages. 
 Lady Harlesdon, who made it a rn'e to come op 
 into the nursery once every day, was particularly 
 kind to me, and frequently gave me to understand 
 that I was a special favourite with her. I felt ex- 
 ceedingly grateful : and, as I have above observed, 
 should have been happy enough, were it not that 
 the image of my unfortunate brother Robert was 
 often — Oh! so very often, present to my mind. 
 For, alas! ever since 1 had overheard the dread 
 discourse between the Bulldog and Sawbridge on 
 the top of Sh ikspeare's Cliff, 1 had entertained the 
 worst— yes, the very worst misgivings re'ative to 
 my brother. Suspicions of the darkest character 
 pointed him out to me as even more criminal than 
 1 had previously conceived; and indeed all I over- 
 heard on that dreadful night, had opened my eyes 
 more widel)', but more painfully than ever, to 
 Robert's lost condition. The letters which I from 
 time to time received from William, informed me 
 that Robert had not returned to Ashford; aor 
 was it laiown what had become of him. It how- 
 ever appeared tliat Sawbridge and the Bulldog 
 occasionally revisited the town, but no longer 
 seemed to make it their settled abode, and were 
 indeed more frequently absent than during past 
 times they were wont to be. My imagination de- 
 picted Robert as being more comp'etely under the 
 influence of those wretches than ever; and 1 could 
 not help shuddering as I thought of the future in 
 respect to him. 
 
 But to continue the thread of my narrative. It 
 was one fine morning in the month of June, that 
 Jemima and I had just dressed the cliildren to 
 take them for a walk in Hyde Park, when a page 
 came hastily to announce that her ladyship was 
 ascending to the nursery in company with a gen- 
 tleman, who had come to pass a fortnight at the 
 house and who had expressed a great anxiety to 
 see the little ones. Jemima and I accordingly 
 waited until Lady Harlesdon made her appearance, 
 followed by the gentleman alluded to, and to whom 
 she ffss chatting gaily a« she approached. He 
 
 was dressed in pl.iin clothes: but the very instant 
 that he reached the threshold of the nursery- 
 parlour, did 1 recognize Sir Aubrey Claveringl 
 
 I had the youngest child in my arms at the 
 moment; and it is a wonder that I did not drop 
 the poor little creature in the suddenness of the 
 surprise and confusion which s-ized upon me. 
 Tliat Sir Aubrey instantaneously recognized me 
 also I could see full well : indeed he at ouce gave 
 a quick and scarcely perceptible shake of the head, 
 as much as to imply that he did not want this 
 mutual recognition to be observed by her ladyship. 
 Nevertheless, Lady Harlesdon did notice, or at all 
 events did suspect, that some sign of intelligence 
 had passed between us : for on observing my 
 sudden confusion, she at once tamed round and 
 bent her looks fall upon Sir Aubrey Clavering. 
 
 " Have yon ever seen my under nur^e maid 
 before?" she asked: and methought there was a 
 strange quivering in her voice, while the glai:ce 
 which she now flung back upon me was quite dif- 
 ferent from the amiable expression her looks were 
 wont to wear. 
 
 *' Well — I think not — yes — no," stammered Sir 
 Aubrey; and he vainly twirled his delicately 
 pencilled black moustache as a cover fjr his can- 
 fasion. 
 
 '*Mary," said her ladyship, now fixing her eyes 
 with a strange iutentness upon me, "you have 
 seen this gentleman before ?' 
 
 "Yes, my lady," I at once replied: but I felt 
 that the deepest crimson was suffusing my 
 cheeks. " It was when I was in service at Mr. 
 Twisden's— •" 
 
 " Oh — ah — to be sure— I recollect," exclaimed Sir 
 Aubrey: then in a kind of off-hand contemptaous 
 manner, he said, " But of course one does not recol- 
 lect every nursery-girl one chances to meet in the 
 world." 
 
 Lady Harlesdon for a moment looked distressed ; 
 but almost instantaneously recovering her presence 
 of mind, she said, *' Come, Sir Aubrey, let us retrace 
 out way to the drawing-room. The children, you 
 perceive, are going out." 
 
 "Ah I but I must embrace them all first," ex- 
 claimed Sir Aubrey : and thus speaking he lifted up 
 the Hon. Master Alexander Adolpbus (the eldestX 
 whom be kissed with much ;ippareut warmth: tlien 
 he took up the Hon. Master Albert Henry (ilio 
 second child), who screamed horribly on feeling the 
 moustache in contact with his face. 
 
 But in the meantime Lady Harlesdon took the 
 infant (the Hon. Miss Isabella Clementina) frona ny 
 arms, and herself handed the little creature to Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering;, who likewise bestowed upon the 
 child a due share of his caresses. Lady Harlesdon 
 then gave back the infant to me ; and I could not 
 help noticing that while her manner was very se- 
 rious, there was also au expression of vexation and 
 annoyance in her looks. 
 
 "Beautiful children — beantiful indeed!" ex- 
 claimed Sir Aubrey : and it struck me at the time 
 that he said so with a certain sincerity, very difTerent 
 from the constrained tone of politeness with wliich 
 he had praised Mrs. Twisden's children when stay- 
 ing at the Lodge. 
 
 " Come, Sir Aubrey," said Lady Harlesdon, evi- 
 dently anxious to hurry him away: and he accord- 
 ingly followed her from the room. 
 Jemima and I then took the children for a w^lk
 
 MARy PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OV A SEUV AST-MAID. 
 
 67 
 
 into the Park ; and till we got tbiilier ray companion 
 aaid not a word respecting the scene wliich had just 
 taken place in the nursery. But on entering Uyde 
 Park, we sat down upon a bench inside the en- 
 closure; and while Alexander and Albert played 
 about upon the grass in the warm sunshine, and the 
 little Isabella slept upon my lap, Jemima began to 
 broach the subject which led to the following con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Did you observe how strange her ladyship looked 
 when you said that you had seen Sir Aubrey before 
 at Twisden Lodge ?" 
 
 "I certainly did perceive something unusual and 
 strange in her ladyship's manner." 
 
 "Ah! and now I suspect something," continued 
 Jemima, with a mysterious look, *' which never 
 struck me before! But come here, Alexander!" 
 she cried, as another thought suddenly appeared to 
 flash to her mind. 
 
 The little fellow came up in obedience to this 
 summons ; and Jemima, after gazing at him fixedly 
 for upwards of a minute, said, " Look now, Mary — 
 do you see the likeness ?" 
 
 The question seemed to open my eyes in an in- 
 stant to a fact which had never struck me before, 
 but which now all in a moment became as apparent 
 and unmistakable as possible. 
 
 "Now run and play again, there's a good little 
 fellow," said Jemima: and away sped Alexander to 
 join his little brother in renewed romps upon the 
 grass. " Now what do you think, Mary ?" 
 
 "I think," was my fra^k and candid answer, 
 " that by a strange coincidence there is a great 
 likeness between Mastei' Alexander and Sir Aubrey 
 Olavering." 
 
 "Great likeness indeed!" exclaimed Jemima: 
 and then she looked at me so suspiciuusly, or rather 
 significantly, that 1 could not help penetrating her 
 thoughts, althongh I at first had not the slightest 
 notion of what was thus passing ia her mind. 
 
 " Let us walk," said I, not wishing to continue 
 the subject ; for it seemed to me a painful and also 
 aw indelicate and improper one for servants to 
 enter upoa in respect to their mistress. 
 
 " No," said Jemima, "we will rest here a little 
 longer:" then, after some hesitation and fidgetting, 
 she observed, " 1 will tell you a secret, Mary, if 
 you like ; aud if you promise not to tell any body 
 what 1 am going to say " 
 
 "1 can assure you," was my prompt answer, "I 
 would rather not hear any secrets." 
 
 "Ah! but this one regards yourself," urged Je- 
 mima. 
 
 " llegards me!" I exclaimed, my curiosity now 
 suddenly piqued. 
 
 "Yes: and if," continued Jemima, with a still 
 more meaning look, " I whispci-ed to your car the 
 name of Eustace Quentiu " 
 
 1 could not lielp an ej:iculation of surprise es- 
 caping my hps ; and L felt as if all the blood in my 
 body suddenly g\ished upwards to my coji'te- 
 nance. 
 
 " You see that £ do know something which in- 
 terests you, Mary," coatiiiu:;d Jemim i : " but of 
 course you will never tell any body th:it 1 have 
 talked to you on the suljoct — because I was 
 charged not to muuiiou the name of Eustace 
 Quontin in your hcariig, or at least not until you 
 had found out that he is her ladyship's cousin " 
 
 "Ah I" 1 ejaculated, the susiiicion fiishing it uiy 
 
 mind like lightning that it was through him I had 
 found my way into Lady Harlesdon's service: auu 
 again did I feel myself blushing aud overwhelmed 
 with confusion. 
 
 " Yes — they are first cousins : and it was to see 
 him that my lord and lady, on returning from the 
 continent, remained two or three days at Dover 
 where he is quartered," continued Jemima. " In 
 the forenoon of the day before we left Dover her 
 lidyship sent me to request Mrs. Messiter the 
 grocer's wife to call upon her immediately, and if 
 possible to briog her along with me. So off I went 
 to the address indicated, and found Mrs. Messiter 
 alone. You were out walking with the children at 
 the time, as she told me " 
 
 *' Ah ! I recollect," I exclaimed. " It was my 
 last walk with them !"— and the tears came into 
 my eyes as the images of those pale, pensive, 
 spirit-broken children were thus recalled to my 
 mind. 
 
 " Well, shall I go on ?" inquired Jemima, archly. 
 
 " Yes. Since you have begun the narrative," 
 said I, " there is no need to leave me in a state of 
 suspense or uacertaiuty relative to its subsequent 
 details." 
 
 " Ah ! I thought 1 should excite your cuiiosity 
 at last," exclaimed Jemima, laughing : and then 
 she continued in the following manner:— " Well, 
 as I was saying, Mrs. Me-siter accom^jauied ma to 
 the hotel and I conducted her into her ladyship's 
 presence. When I was about tj withdraw, her 
 ladyship bade me remain, observing that there was 
 no harm in my ov-i hearing what she was about to 
 say. Her ladyship then asked Mr^. Messiter 
 whether she had not a young per-io:i of the name 
 of Mary Price in her service ? — and then you should 
 have heard the way in wliic'i Mrs. Messiter began 
 speaking of you! Or rather," continued the good- 
 natuied Jemima, " you should not have luard ; for 
 it would have made you quite vain to hear how the 
 good woman praised you up to the skies. Her 
 ladyship thou spoke as nenr as 1 can recollect in 
 the following manner:— 'All that you have said, 
 Mrs. Messiter, exactly corroborates everything 
 that h IS been represented to me concerning this 
 Mary Price. Indeed, I have a cousm — ^n excel- 
 lent young gentleman, and whi is totally incapable 
 of a distionourable act, or of entertain'ng aay 
 siiiistei- purpose — who has requested me to take 
 Mary Price into my .'Crvice : but this is to be done 
 wit'iout his name appearing in the matter — other- 
 wise t'le young girl's delicate sensibilities would at 
 once be so touched as to prompt her to refuse the 
 place. It appears, Jlrs. Messiter,' continued her 
 ladyship, ' ihat when Mary Price was in service at 
 Ttviaien Lodge a few montlis ago, one of my 
 cou^iu Qasutiu's brother otiicers, but whose name 
 he has not meuiiuntd to me, grossly insulted thi-i 
 young girl : she resented his comluct, and Queiitin 
 appearing on the scene at the time, afforded her 
 his protection. Butthe circumstance lei to a duel 
 in wh'ch Qucntin was wounded ; and subsequently 
 exohanging regiments, ho fell in the other d.iy 
 wi.h Mary Price again here at Dover. Tlw litt.e 
 conversation whic i took p'aca betiveeu them on 
 the occi.'iion, a 'ded to the interest previoasly 
 e.\L'i td on her belialf, has impressed my cou.sin 
 Qa-'ntiu with a strong desire to see this young 
 girl plai.'cd in a position where she will bo wed 
 t la'.td, and inleed ooinf jrtably provided for. llu
 
 G8 
 
 MARY price; or, THE 5IEM0IB3 OP A SERVAXT-MAID. 
 
 ha3 discovered that she is in your service, Mrs. 
 Messiter : and as she informed him that she was 
 about to leave Dover, I have thought it right to 
 send to you and make you acquainted with all these 
 facts in order to s^e if my cousin's views can be 
 carried out.' — Thereupon Mrs. Messiter undertook 
 to do her best in inducing you, Mary, to enter her 
 ladyship's service : and now you know how the 
 whole matter was brought about." 
 
 I listened to this narrative with feelings so 
 varied that I scarcely know how to explain them. 
 In the first place I experienced a thrill of ineffable 
 pleasure on hearing that I had thus been the ob- 
 ject of Eustace Quentin's consideration : my soul 
 seemed to melt with indescribable tenderness as 
 I received these convincing proofs that he had 
 thought of me. Then, the next moment, I felt 
 angry with myself for allowing these very feelings 
 of bliss to harbour even for a moment in my 'mind. 
 Next I felt that tears were trickling down my 
 cheeks, as I thought of poor Mrs. Messiter launch- 
 ing forth in the goodness of her heart into such 
 eulogies of my character and conduct. 1 also ex- 
 perienced a sensation of mingled pride and satis- 
 faction at the conviction that those eulogies were, 
 at all events to a considerable extent, deserved on 
 my part. Then, again was I touched in the ten- 
 derest point by hearing of the delicate manner in 
 which Eustace Quentin had sought to forward my 
 interests, while he himself kept altogether in the 
 back-ground. Nor less did I feel a profound sen- 
 timent of gratitude towards Lady Harlesdon for 
 the kindness which she had shown, and also for 
 the delicacy which had distinguished her share in 
 the transaction as well as her cousin's. 
 
 " Well, Mary, and what do you think of all I 
 have told you?" asked Jemima, with a look of 
 mingled archness and gaiety. " I really could not 
 help letting out the secret now : I only wonder 1 
 have been able to keep it so long ! "Three whole 
 months ! it is indeed a perfect age to put such 
 restraint on one's-self. But don't you begin to 
 understand a great deal of what occurred in the 
 nursery just now ? Her ladysliip saw that you and 
 Sir Aubrey Claveriug recognized each other; and 
 I suppose she instantaneously suspected that Cla- 
 veriug must have been Quentin's fellow-officer who 
 was guilty of so ungentlemanly an outrage towards 
 you, and which led to the duel. And it was natural 
 enough too," continued the garrulous Jemima, 
 "that her ladyship should thus suddenly come to 
 that conclusion : for Sir Aubrey was in the same 
 regiment with Eustace Quentin— that regiment 
 was quartered at Canterbury — and Canterbury is 
 not very far from Twisden Lodge, where you were 
 in service. Ah ! poor Lady Harlesdon ! she is 
 jealous of you " 
 
 " Oh I fie," 1 exclaimed, the remark seeming 
 altogether as outraj^eous us indelicate; and the 
 colour mounted to my cheeks. 
 
 "Well, you may seem shocked or astonished, 
 whichever it is," observed Jemima : " but what 1 
 said is the truth. 1 can understand it all now as 
 plain as possible. Sir Aubrey Clavering has al- 
 ways been intimate at Harlesdon House — some- 
 times btaying th^re for mouths together " 
 
 ''I wish you would not speak upon this subject 
 any more," said I. " Your allusions are injurious 
 to our mistress, who is kind and good to us, and 
 who according to your own showing has been par- 
 
 ticularly kind and good to me. Indeed she stands 
 in the light of a benefactress " 
 
 " I like her ladyship as well as you do," inter- 
 rupted Jemima: "but that is no reason why «e 
 should not have our own chit-chat upon the very 
 things that are passing before our «ycs. It is 
 quite clear that Sir Aubrey and her iadyship are 
 very intimate together; and when we look at the 
 likeness of these children to him, it's almost a 
 wonder that her ladyship is not afraid to h;ivc him 
 at the house. Dear me ! where can my lord's eyes 
 be ? One would think that some people are wil- 
 fully blind. Ah ! no wonder her ladyship .should 
 have taken a fancy to Sir Aubrey. What au 
 elegant, fascinating man he is— and quite young 
 too — not five-and-twenty yet, I'll be bound. Sucii 
 hair, and eyes, and beautiful whiskers, dark as 
 jet " 
 
 " Do pray leave off this idle go'sipping," I ex- 
 claimed, now exhibiting a feeling ot mingled im- 
 patience and disgust. " Bes des, it is time to go 
 in," I added, rising from my seat : "it must be close 
 upon one o'clock, and the children's dinner will be 
 ready." 
 
 Jemima looked rather annoyed at the abrupt 
 manner in which I cut her short: but i-be was 
 naturally good-tempered, and her pleasantness of 
 humour speedily returned. I walked quick, in or- 
 der as it were to preclude any farther discourse ; 
 and Jemima was compelled to lag behind a Hale, 
 as Master Alexander and Master Albert could nut 
 keep up with this rapidity of my pace. But scarcely 
 had I entered Grosvenor Square, when I heard a 
 voice exclaim, " Miss Price — Miss Price I It is — 
 and yet it can't be — —no, can't be — not likely, not 
 likely." 
 
 That voice I instantaneously knew; and looking 
 round, beheld poor Mad Tommy standing against 
 the iron railings belonging to the area of a splen- 
 did mansion. He was in a far more wretched 
 plight than ever I had seen him in at Ashford. 
 Clothing, so to speak, he had none — merely a mass 
 of rags hanging upon him in such a manner thci ii 
 was a perfect mystery and wonder how they kept 
 together at all. He was dreadfully dirty — his liair 
 was a complete mat, and had pieces of hay iu it, as 
 if he had last slept under a stack, or iu a barn or 
 stable. He had no shoes nor stockings on his feet; 
 and though the weather was certainly glowing with 
 all the warmth of a splendid summer's day, yet was 
 there something cheerless and miserable to a ilu- 
 gree in the aspect of this poor young man. The 
 tears gushed into my eyes as with rapid glance I 
 surveyed him from tiead to foot; and he too 
 seemed to be affected in his own strange way, when 
 he found that it was indeed I— Mary Prict, — and 
 also that I looked nith compasnonatiug sympathy 
 upon him. 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Price— Miss Price, after all !" he 
 said, rubbing his bauds, not exactly together, but 
 over eacli other. " Thought so — thougiit so — 
 moment 1 saw you : but wasn't sure — no, not sure 
 — because grown fine girl— very fine girL Still 
 mourning on— still mourning on 1" 
 
 " Yes," 1 answered, in a sorrowful manner and 
 with a profound sigh; and 1 glanced dowr. at ine 
 half-mourning which I wore, as the two years from 
 the date of the tragedy which deprived uie of my 
 parents had not quite passed away. " But what aie 
 you doing in London ?" I asked.
 
 MART PRICE ; OH, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 69 
 
 "Ah! very unfortunate — very unhappy," an- 
 swered Tommy, shaking his head: then after throw- 
 ing a suspicious glance around, as if he were afraid 
 of being oTerheard or watched by persons of whom 
 he stood in terror, he said, " Bad men brought me 
 up to London — promised me good situation — plenty 
 to eat, plenty to drink, and good cfothes :" — here he 
 glanced dolefully down at the wretched tatters which 
 hung upon bis form, making him seem like a garden 
 scare-crow. " But they wanted me to do wicked 
 things — I would not— not likely, not likely. Ah I 
 those very bad men — deceived poor Tommy I" 
 
 •' Who were they ?" I asked shudderingly ; for it 
 had already struck me to whom the unfortunate 
 being alluded. 
 
 " Ah ! Miss, you know them — bad men, bad men 
 indeed — Nick Sawbridge — Ben Bulldog — no good 
 comeof them— not likely, not likely ! Poor Tommy 
 ran away from them — Tommy afraid of them :" — 
 and here again he threw a trembling and suspicious 
 look around, as if fearful lest the objects of his 
 alarm should suddenly make their appearance. 
 
 " Now, Mary : give that beggar a penny and 
 come along," said Jemima, who at this moment 
 overtook me, leading the two little boys by their 
 hands. 
 
 " This is a poor creature," I said, " whom I have 
 known for many years at Ashford :" — then in a hur- 
 ried voice aside, I whispered, " He is not right in 
 his senses — do not say anything to wound bis 
 feelings." 
 
 " Not I for the world !" lejoined Jemima. " On 
 the contrary, I will give him sixpence :" — and she 
 at once took the coin from her pocket and put it into 
 his hands. 
 
 " Now walk on with the children for a moment," 
 said I ; " and I will overtah « you directly, I 
 wish to see what can be <lone for this poor 
 creature." 
 
 Jemima accordingly proceeded onward with the two 
 little boys; and the moment she was beyond ear- 
 shot, 1 said to Tommy, " Tell me — have you seen 
 anything of my brother Robert in London?" — but 
 he only looked at me very hard and shook his head 
 mournfully. " Tell me, I conjure you," I said, " if 
 you have seen him — if you know what has become 
 
 of him ? Come," I added coaxingly, " 1 know 
 
 you have seen him? Tell me, is he with those two 
 men ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes — he was — don't know whether he is 
 no'.v — think he is — most likely, most likely." 
 
 I was about to ask the poor idiot some further 
 questions, when all of a sudden I beheld him start 
 with a fort of convulsive shudder, while his eyes 
 became fixed in a certain direction with a wild and 
 maniac f^lare. Already anticipating the cause, I 
 looked round, and beheld the unmistakable figures 
 of the Bulldog and Nick Sawbridge at a distance, 
 just emerging from one of the streets leading into 
 the square. They instantaneously saw that they were 
 observed, and disappeared as quickly — doubtless 
 having recognized me, and not choosing to meet me 
 in the broad day -light and in a pan of London 
 where, if 1 were so disposed, I could easily give 
 them into custody for the murderous outrage perpe- 
 trated upon me at Dover. The sudden evaporation, 
 as it almost seemed, of those two men produced a 
 rapid and visible feeling of relief on the part of Mad 
 Tommy: the horror of consternation subsided, and 
 his eyes lost their wild glare. Still it was easy to 
 
 perceive that he was now anxious to get away from 
 that neighbourhood in which the two objects of his 
 terror were thus lurking. 
 
 Taking a sovereign, which I had saved up, from 
 my pocket, I said, " Do you know how much this is. 
 Tommy ?" — but I dropped it on the pavement : 
 for the sight of those two dreadful characters had 
 thrown me into a painful condition of nervous ex- 
 citement, and I felt not only that I was trembling 
 all over but likewise very pale. 
 
 He picked up the coin, and after looking at it 
 for nearly a minute, said, " Yes— I know— 1 know 
 — that a sovereign — same as twenty shillings. 
 Tommy won't take it of Miss Price— not likely, 
 not likely !"— and thrusting it back again into my 
 hand, he sped away with lightning celerity, darted 
 round the corner, and was out of sight in a 
 moment. 
 
 Poor fellow ! my heart melted when I thought 
 of his dreadfully impoverished condition, and how 
 much good this sovereign might have done him 
 had he chosen to take it. But I could not pos- 
 sibly speed after him : for in the first place he had 
 shot away like an arrow ; and secondly I had the 
 youngest child in my arms. I accordingly has- 
 tened onward in mingled agitation and surrow, to 
 rejoin Jemima; and we entered the house together. 
 After dinner in the nursery, I retired with the 
 youngest child, Isabella Clementina, into my own 
 bed-room to give way to the various thoughts which 
 were agitating now so conflictingly in my mind. 
 That my brother was most probably in London, 
 along with Sawbridge and the Bulldog, I had 
 every reason to fear; and I shed bitter, burning 
 tears as I reflected upon the dreadful course he 
 was pursuing. Indeed, I shuddered to look into 
 the future: for if I did, I beheld gaols, hulks, and 
 even scaffolds, with all their associated horrors, 
 looming in the distance, like phantoms dimly seen 
 through a mist. What was to be done for that 
 unfortunate young man? I knew not: and vainly 
 did I ask myself the question a thousand times 
 over, till the subject became too dreadful to think 
 of, and I endeavoured to shut it out from my 
 view. Then my thoughts settled upon the nar- 
 rative which Jemima had told me, and which proved 
 how deeply 1 was indebted to that amiable and 
 excellent young gentleman, the Hou. Eustice 
 Quentia. Ah ! when we parted on the beach at 
 Dover and he suflFered me to leave him so abruptly, 
 making no effort to retain me nor to call me back — 
 it was not that be decided upon dismissing me then 
 and there for ever from his memory ! No : he 
 had thought of me afterwards— he had found out 
 where I lived: but so far from intruding himself 
 upon me — so far indeed from even running the 
 risk of compromising me by hi* attentions— ho 
 was studying in a secret and unknown manner how 
 to render me a service. And this he had accom- 
 plished in a manner so delicate that the favour 
 was a hundred million times enhanced by the very 
 mode in which it was conferred. 
 
 Oh 1 as I gave way to these reflections, I could 
 not help thinking of the great personal beauty of 
 that young man who had thus demonstrated so 
 friendly— so fraternal a feeling towards myself: 
 and 1 felt that his image had become within the 
 last few hours more impressed upon my heart j 
 than ever it was before. Yes : this admission did I 
 make to inysolf — and it gave mo at the same tiiUD
 
 70 
 
 MAny PRICE ; or, the memoiks of a sep.v ant-maid. 
 
 a thrill of pleasure and a pang of excruciation — 
 the former at the thought of bein;? regarded with 
 iuterest by a youth so nuble in nature, so hand- 
 some, and so intellectual as Eustace Quentin — and 
 the latter at the reflection of how wrong, how 
 foolish, indeed how mad it was of me to indulge in 
 aiiyttiing like a hope that the dream which was 
 floating, light and impalpable as a gauzy vapour 
 in my imagination, would ever be substantially 
 realized! 
 
 By means of a strong effort, I turned the cur- 
 rent of my thoughts away from this topic of 
 pleasing pain : and then tliey settled upon all the 
 liii.ts and allusions that Jemima had thrown out 
 iu respect to Lady Ilarlesdon and Sir Aubrey 
 Claveiing. It would bo only a ridiculous affec- 
 tation ot prudery on my part to pretend that I — 
 then going on for eighteen years of age — did not 
 understand the full import and meaning of the 
 upper MursQ-maid's reraaiks. Yes— I did com- 
 prehend tliem; and I will as candidly confess that 
 instead of looking with horror and loathing upon 
 Lady Harlesdon's conduct, I pitied and compas- 
 aiouatcd her; for. Oh ! if she really loved Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering, was it not shocking to contem- 
 plate the spectacle of so young and beautiful a 
 creature being wedded to a man old enough to 
 be her grandfather? There was something re- 
 pugnant to every sentiment of delicacy and to 
 tvery natural feeling in such an alliance. In a 
 word, the longer I thought upon the subject, the 
 more numerous were the extenuations I f'uunJ for 
 Lady Liarlesdon : because I loved her — I regarded 
 her as a benefactress — and the warmth of my 
 gratitude made me zealous to conjure up every 
 possible argument in her defence. 
 
 From this topic did my thoughts gradually 
 wander to the incident which had so recently 
 occurred in the Square in respect to the poor 
 idiot. I felt profoundly sorry for his sad con- 
 iition: and then I shuddered as I pictured to 
 myself the sinister forms of the Bulldog and Saw- 
 brilge lurking about in that neighbourhood. In- 
 deed, the apprehension with which their appear- 
 ance liad filled me, being now revived again, took 
 the form of a presentiment of evil ; and I felt a 
 cold tremor steal over me as I said to myself, 
 '' These men haunt me like evil phantoms i Are 
 they determined to make war upon every family 
 which receives me into its bosom ? First at Twis- 
 deu Lodge — then at the Mossiters' — and is it now 
 to be liere f If indeed those wretches should 
 mark out as their prey every family into which 
 I enter, I shall in time be hunted by tlieni through 
 the world. Or rather, I shall nut dare to set my 
 toot over the threshold of any house, for fear of 
 drawing down upon it an hilliclion, even as the 
 outcast- murderer carries a curse to every hearth 
 which affords hinx its hospitality. Ah! William! 
 there was perhaps more truth than you dreamt of 
 in thuse words which you wrote to me in the 
 aiiguishtd haste of the moment, and in which 
 you lanientingly observed that mine seemed to be 
 a sad destiny ! But no," I exclaimed aloud, as a 
 sudden inspiration of hope flashed in nut > my 
 heart: " God will not let the innocent suffer '." — 
 and tlien instead of any longer continuing to be- 
 wail my gloomy destiny, 1 felt as if an unknown 
 and ineffable consolation were infusing its balm 
 into my soul ; and at the same time my ttioughts 
 
 were, by some association or another, reverted to 
 the image of Eustice Quentin, 
 
 On the following morning I felt Bomewhat 
 feverish and indispoed — probably on account of 
 the excitement which I had undergone on the pre- 
 vious day: and when Jemimi proposed a walk in 
 the Park, I excused myself on t'le above plea. 
 
 " But you know," she said, " that her ladyship 
 insists upon the baby" (as Isabella was generally 
 called) " being taken out every forenoon at this 
 hour : therefore you ought to rally yourself— par- 
 ticularly as the fresh air may do you good." 
 
 " I must really beg you, Jemima, to relieve mc 
 of my duty as best you can this m'lrning," said I: 
 " for I can assure you that my head aches to dis- 
 traction, and I could not even poss.bly c-irry that 
 child across the Square. Perhaps her ladyship will 
 allow the children to be taken out for an airing iu 
 the carriage ?" 
 
 "Ah ! but I like an hour's walk in the Park much 
 better," said Jemima. "It does one a thousand 
 times more good;" — then, after a few moments' 
 consideration, she added, " Well, although it's not 
 just the thing for an upper nurse-maid to carry a 
 child about iu her arms, yet I won't be too aris- 
 tocratic or too genteel on the present occision, 
 but will take Bella out for you, if you will amuse 
 the two boys at home. 1 could not possibly man- 
 age them and carry the baby too." 
 
 This arrangement was accordi'igly agreed npon 
 — the Hon. .Master Alexander and the lion. Master 
 Albert rem lining in the nursery-parlour with me; 
 while Jemima, like a good-natured creature as she 
 was, took out the Hon. Miss Isabella Clementina 
 for an airing. 
 
 An hour passed, during which interval the two 
 little fellows played with their toys — covering the 
 floor with brewer's drays, carts, horses, houses, 
 boxes of bricks, transparent slates, regiments of 
 soldiers, skittles, guns, pistols, bows and arrows, 
 balls, whips, tops, hoops, rollers, drums, tambou- 
 reens — in fact, a perfect Lowther Arcade exhibited 
 in glorious pell-mell and confusion all over 
 the room. I was occupied in writing two letters 
 — one to William, telling him of my interview with 
 Mad Tommy and the sinister appearance of Saw- 
 bri'lge and the BulMog: and the other to Mrs. 
 iNIessitfir, informing her of what a go )d place I 
 had oiitained through her kindness, and hoping 
 she would favuur me with a line in reply to say 
 how herself and her dear children were. But 
 scarcely had I finished these letters, when I was 
 startled by the sounds of some one rushing with un- 
 usual speed up thestairciise; and the next moment 
 one of the housemaids burst into the r.iom. 
 
 "O Mary!" she cried, with greU excitement 
 both of voice .intl manner : "the poor dear baby 
 —that beautiful Bella — that love of a chi d— — " 
 
 " Good luavens ! what is the matter ?'' I asked, 
 springing fiom my chair. 
 
 " The baby— gone— gone!" ejaculated the house- 
 maid. 
 
 "Do you mean dead?" I exclaimed, actually 
 stri ck with horror at the idea of so sudd;.n a catas- 
 trophe : for the child had goue out in the most 
 perlect health. 
 
 " No, no — not dead stolen I" 
 
 "Heavens! stolen?" I echoed, an ice-chill 
 striking to my heart: for I loved the sweet 
 babe, both on its own and its mother's account.
 
 MARY PBIOE ; OB, THE MEM0IK3 OF A SERVANT-MAlO. 
 
 71 
 
 " Yes, stolen! — stolen from Jemima by a couple 
 of gipsies who were pretending to tell her for- 
 tune I" 
 
 "Oh! is this possible?" I cried. "Could 
 
 Jemima have been so foolish — so careless " 
 
 But without pausing to detail the hurried and 
 broken remarks which were exchanged between 
 the housemaid and me, I will at ouce describe 
 what had really taken place. It appears that 
 Jemima with the infant in her arms had strolled 
 into the Park ; and the sun being very powerful 
 she sought the shade of that fine cluster of trees 
 known as " the ring," and until late years famous 
 as the resort of duellists. Seating herself upon a 
 bench, as the child was fast aleep, Jemima took forth 
 a pamphlet called the Norwood Gipsy, and which 
 had a large picture that unfolded and the subject 
 of which represented the aged heroine of the work 
 in her red cloak, telling the fortune of a simple- 
 looking country lass, the whole coloured in a most 
 Hamlng manner. How Jemima could have been 
 foolish enough to purchase such a trashy publica- 
 tion, I cannot conceive: but from what then hap- 
 pened to her and from what she subsequently con- 
 fessed to me, it appears that she had always at- 
 tached implicit faith to books of fortune-telling as 
 well as to the predictions of gipsies. "Well, she was 
 studying with great interest the daub of a picture 
 forming the frontispiece of the pamphlet, when she 
 was suddenly startled by hearing a voice whisper 
 close to iier ear, ♦' That's me !" Looking quickly 
 round, she was struck by observing a little old 
 woman, wearing a red cloak, leaning upon a stick, 
 and appearing very decrepid; but a feeling that 
 amounted almost to a superstitious awe, seized 
 upon Jemima, as the conviction struck her that 
 thij little old woman bore an exact likeness to the 
 gipsy represented in the picture. 
 
 "Fear nothing," said the old woman, observing 
 the effect which her presence had pro luced upon 
 Jemima: then glancing over her shoulder, she 
 beckoned as if inviting somebody to apjiroach — 
 whereupon another gipsy female made her ap- 
 pearance from behind a large tree. As she ad- 
 vanced at the old woman's bidiling, Jemima had 
 an opportunity of scannin;? hnr looks, which she 
 did with much curiosity and interest, not unmin- 
 gled with a superstitious fueling of awe ; for this 
 second gipsy-woman was of remarkable beauty. 
 Not only tall in stature, she was upright as a 
 dan and of hnndsome figure. She wore no cloak, 
 but was dressed in a dark stuff gown, with a 
 coloured apron, and had a fin; new silk handker- 
 ch'ef tied loosely over her head. Her hair, though 
 coarse, struck Jemima as being of the deepest and 
 most perfect bL»ckness, with no gloss nor lustre 
 upon it, but black as ebony or as night. Parted 
 in smooth masses above her swarthy forehead, it 
 was gathered up behind the ears, and huug down 
 beneath the silk iiandkerchief over her back, not 
 in curls, nor even with a wavy flow, but perfectly 
 straight, and yet without the slightest appearance 
 of being hard or wiry. Her eyes were of the 
 deepest black, and piercingly bright, fringed so 
 thickly with the long ebon hislies that the lustre 
 oC those orbs was much subdued and even hhaded 
 thoreliy. H^r lips were thin and red, revealing 
 two rows of teeth which though somewhat la'-^e 
 were white as ivory, »md so regular and even that 
 the proudest lady of quality nii:;ht have cnviud 
 
 them. Her complexion was of true Egyptian 
 duskiness, with a tinge of carnation on the cheeks; 
 and the woman altogether had not only a very 
 handsome but iilso a bold and masculine appear- 
 ance. As she advanced with slow and stately 
 steps, as if to suit the imposing air which she gave 
 herself, Jemima had full opportunity thus to mark 
 her well; and indeed the superstitious faith which 
 Jemima so implicitly put in the prophetic powers 
 of the gipsy tribe, led her to contemplate with the 
 most earnest attention this splendid specimen of 
 the females of that race. 
 
 "I am the Norwood Gipsy, and this is my 
 daughter," whispered the old woman in Jemima's 
 ear. « She is the Queen of her tribe. Behold her 
 well! does not her beauty sit upon her with au 
 effect more majestic than aught which ermine robes 
 or gemmed diadem could confer ?" — and while the 
 old woman was thus speaking, tlie Gipsy Queen 
 (as the handsome female was represented to be) 
 advanced close up to the bench where Jemima was 
 sitting. " Now," continuad the old woman, "cios? 
 my hand with silver and your fortune shall be told. 
 Does not that book which lies beside you, chronic!e 
 the predictions to which I have given utterance 
 for fifty years past, and none of which have ever 
 been falsified? Cross my hand with silver, then: 
 for the presence of my daughter, the Gipsy Queen, 
 is most auspicious for the solemn ceremony." 
 
 The foolish Jemima, fully believing that every- 
 thing thus said to her was perfectly genuine, and 
 with a sensation of mingled suspense, awe, and 
 fluttering expectation, drew forth her purse and 
 produced two half-crowns, which she laid upon the 
 old Norwood Gipsy's open palm. But the wiiy 
 ha?, perceiving that the purse contained more, 
 said, "It is not enough: cover the palm with 
 silver!" Jemima accordingly emptied her purse, 
 containing fifteen or sixteen sliillingj, into the 
 harridan's hand ; and now the old witch seemed 
 contented. 
 
 " You are in the service of a noble family,"* she 
 continued, "and it is a scion of that lordly house 
 which now reposes upon your lap. Amongst 
 the visitors to your noble master's mansion will 
 shortly come a great Prince from foreign parts; 
 and he will be smitten with your beauty, and re- 
 gardless of your humble position, will offt-ryou his 
 hand. The first proposal will be made in secret ; 
 and you must refuse him. The second will be 
 made by letter ; but he will forget to put his name, 
 and therefore must you take no notice of it. But 
 the third time he will openly offer jou marriage in 
 the presence of your uoble master and mistress and 
 a hoct of their friends. Then may you accept him. 
 Your bridal nill be magnificent; and as a Princess 
 will you accompany your husband to his ancient 
 castle and vatjt estates in the country to which he 
 belongs." 
 
 Jemima was intoxicated by this splendid picture 
 which the old gip'y drew and which t^he coloured 
 with many details that are not recorded here, from 
 the simple fact that I have forgotten them. Jemi- 
 ma was certainly a good-looking young woman — 
 not actually vain, but somewhat frivolous; aud as 
 the reader has already seen, she was possessed of 
 an inordinate amount of silly credulity. Iler lirad 
 tlicrefore swam «ith ecstatic pleasure at the t'or- 
 gcouB lulurc which the Norwood Gipsy hki'ictu'd 
 out for her; and while still under the intosicatin;?
 
 }2 
 
 MART PniCE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEUVAST-MAIO. 
 
 influence of ijoldea hopes and fairy anticipations, 
 the Gipsy Queen said to her in a solemn but pieaj- 
 inif voice, " My venerable mother, the greatest of 
 all prophetesses, has told you true, young woman, 
 in every respect : and humble as you are now, yet 
 are you destined to become a great Princess, You 
 will wtar splendid clothes— be covered with the 
 costliest jewels— dwell in a palace— have hosts of 
 servants to wait upon you — and ride in a beautiful 
 carriage drawn by four cream-coloured horses. 
 Your husband the Prince will be young and hand- 
 some—tall and dark— dressing with great elegance 
 and wearing a star upon his breast." 
 
 " And will all this come to pass soon ?" inquired 
 Jemima, her head losing itself with the intoxicat- 
 ing sense of grati&ed pride and ineffable hap- 
 piness. 
 
 " Yes, truly," replied the Gipsy Queen, to whom 
 the foolish young woman's question was ad- 
 dressed: " within a year from the present time." 
 
 ♦'But behold!" suddenly exclaimed the old Nor- 
 WDon hanidan, assuming a weird and mystic look : 
 "the future is revealing other things to me. 
 Three Princes will within the coming year be in- 
 troduced at the mansion of your noble master 
 and mistress. All three will be handsome, and in 
 most respects answering the description which my 
 daughter has just given you. But one is destined 
 to be deprived of his estates by his despotic Sove- 
 reign ; and another is foredoomed to die early by a 
 fall from his horse when hunting ? The remaining 
 one will live prosperously and happily to a good 
 old age; ana he it is whom you ought to mirry !" 
 
 " But what," exclaimed the infatuated Jemima, 
 " if each of the three foreign Princes should make 
 me an offijr— how am I to know which is the one I 
 ouijht to select?" 
 
 ♦• Would you like to behold the image of him on 
 whom you should bestow your hand ?" asked the 
 old Norwood Gipsy : " for I dare not tell you his 
 name." Jemima joyfully accepted the proposal of 
 the hag, who proceeded to observe, "Be it so ! but 
 your eyes must be blindfolded." 
 
 To this Jemima, who was very far from suspect- 
 ing any treacherous conduct, at once gave her 
 cordial assent ; and taking off her bonnet, she suf- 
 fered the gipsy-mother to bind the handkerchief 
 round her eyes. At that very moment the child 
 who had hitiierto been sleeping soundly on Jemi- 
 ma's lap, woke up and began to cry; whereupon 
 the old gipsy exclaimed in a tone expressive of 
 vexation, " Ah ! these sounds will spoil the charm ; 
 and unless you hush them, the image of your 
 princely lover will not appear before you 1" 
 
 " Let me take the child and hold it for a minute," 
 cried the Gipsy Queen. " I am fond of children 
 and can doubtless manage to quiet this little 
 beauty.'' 
 
 Thereupon Jemima felt the child lifted off her 
 lap : but infatuated as she was— absorbed with the 
 iuioxicating sense of one dominant idea — she was 
 still very far from suspecting aught that savoured of 
 treachery; and as Miss Isabella's crying almost 
 iiisiantaneously ceased, there now seemed to be no 
 hindrance to the effectual working of the charm. At 
 least so thought poor Jemima! 
 
 " Remain quiet — move not — keep your eyei shut 
 
 close underneath the handkerchief !" said the Nor- 
 
 ' wood Gipsy; "and in a few minutes you will behold 
 
 ^ a luminous mist arise, in the middle of whicli will 
 
 appear the image of the Prince on whom you are lo 
 bestow your hand." 
 
 Accordingly, in obedience to these strict injunc- 
 tions, Jemima sat motionless as a statue upon the 
 bench, not only completely blindfolded by the hand- 
 kerchief, but also squeezing her eyelids close lo as 
 to shut out any glimmering of the sun-light, lest it 
 
 ^uld mar the lummous glory of the halo which 
 wa=. to arise and reveal to her the form of her princely 
 husband. But three or four minutes elapsed, and 
 all continued as dark as pitch. Not a scintillation 
 of anything like a preternatural lustre rose up to 
 her mental vision: and now it began to strike her 
 that the silence which prevailed around was most 
 complete— unbroken by even so much as the rustling 
 of a garment or the sound of any one breathing. 
 Instead of the lustre rising up to her view, a sus- 
 picion of treachery began to develop itself iu her 
 mind : but putting it away from her, as it were, she 
 said, " My good dame, as yet I behold nothing." 
 No reply was given : the continued silence alarmed 
 her— and tearing off the handkerchief, she threw her 
 frightened, anxious looks around. Good tieavei.s ! 
 she was alone : the gipsies were gone, and had 
 taken the child with them! Overcome with the 
 horrible feelings which now fastened upon her, the 
 wretched Jemima fainted. 
 
 When she came to herself and recollection gra- 
 dually returned, she could scarcely believe that 
 what bad occurred was otherwise than a dreadful 
 dream. But when she saw that she was indeed 
 alone and that the child was gone, her anguish broke 
 out in passionate sobs and bitter weeping. Tnat 
 part of the Park was quite deserted at the time; and 
 her lamentations reached no ear, and drew the atten- 
 tion of no one towards her. Starting wildly up, she 
 threw her bonnet on her bead and began running 
 half frantic iu every direction. Bat nothing could 
 she see of the gipsies : they were gone ; — and having 
 just sufficient presence of mind remaining to make 
 her feel the necessity of giving the alarm as soon aa 
 possible, she hurried homeward. At some distance 
 from the trees she met one of the Park-keepers, 
 whom she informed of what had occurred ; and be 
 promised to commence an immediate search through- 
 out the Park and acquaint the other officials of 
 what had taken place. The unhappy Jemima then 
 sped home to Harlesdon House; but on hastening 
 into her ladyship's presence the poor young woman 
 was so overcome by her feelings that she could not 
 immediutely tell the doleful tale. A restorative 
 was admiv,'stered ; and then she revealed the fearful 
 tidings, to the almost frenzied anguish of Lady 
 Harlesdon. 
 
 Lord Harlesdon was present at the time, as was 
 also Sir Aubrey Clavering: for it was into the draw- 
 ing-room that Jemima had burst with frantic looks 
 on returning to the house. Lady Harlesdon went 
 into hysterics— his lordship rang the bell violently 
 for the domestics— while Sir Aubrey Clavering over- 
 whelmed Jemima wi»h the bitterest and most vehe- 
 ment reproaches. The unhappy young woman 
 fainted once more; but the servants who came rush- 
 ing up iu obedience to his lordship's furious and 
 continuous pealing at the bell, at once proceeded to 
 administer all necessary attentions to both mistress 
 and maid. The valets, footmen, and all the male 
 dependants were at once dispersed in different direc- 
 tions. One was sent to get bills printed aud circu- 
 lated, offering a teward of five hundred Kuine»»
 
 kARY PfelCfe; oft, *HE MEMOIRS Of A SERVANt-MAIl). 
 
 another was despatched to put the local constabulary 
 upon the alert ; and the rest set off to institute a 
 search all about the neighbourhood of the Park. 
 Then, as Lady Ilarleadon was in some measure 
 restored— and at all evenra was bracing herself with 
 all the fortitude possible under such dreadful cir- 
 cumstances—Jemima, who was likewise more com- 
 posed, proceeded to give that rapid outline of the 
 narrative which I have already laid before the 
 reader, and which she herself subsequently detailed 
 to me at length. 
 
 Such was the terrible incident which all in a 
 moment brought anguish, horror, and dismay into 
 llarlesdon House. For myself, I was deeply, 
 deeply grieved — not merely because I loved the 
 child, as I have before said, but also for the sake 
 of its mother who had been so kind and good to 
 me. Besides, I could not think without a cold 
 shudder— indeed a continuous feeling of dismay- 
 on what the destiny of the poor little iimocent 
 No. lO 
 
 might be : but through all the dark clouds of sor- 
 row and affliction which had thus suddenly en- 
 veloped the entire household, there was one gleam 
 of hope. This was suugested by a Bow Street 
 officer who came in the course of the day to learn 
 the particulars of the occurrence ; and his opinion 
 was that the child had only been stolen for the 
 sake of the reward which was expected to be 
 oflfered for its restoration. The hope thus held 
 out served to some extent to console poor Lady 
 Harlesdon, or at all events to enable her to bear 
 up under the cruel blow : but as for Jemima, she 
 was taken very ill— was seized with hysterical fits — 
 became delirious— and in a few hours was pro- 
 nounced by the doctors to be in great danger. 
 
 It was in the middle of the day when the de- 
 plorable occurrence became known at Harlesdon 
 House ; and it was close upon six o'clock in tho 
 evening before all the domestics who had been dis- 
 persed about, returned home again. Their in-
 
 't 
 
 MAIIV: rr.ICE ; on, the memoirs of a SEEVAM-MAfD. 
 
 quiries and their researches had all been vain and 
 inetfeetual ; nor had the Park-keepers experienced 
 any better success. Nothing had been {^leaned 
 relative to the gipsies : in fact no woman in a red 
 cloak nor any with a silk handkerchief bound 
 about her head had been seen in the Park the 
 whole day. That the gipsies had therefore first 
 of all entered the Park in a quiet way and with un- 
 attractive garb, seemed most probable : that they 
 had then assumed the characteristics of their dress 
 amongst the trees for the time being and just be- 
 fore theyrevealcd themselves to Jemima, appeared 
 equally certain : but that they had again laid aside 
 tliosc peculiarities of dress— namely, the red cloak 
 of the one and the silk handkerchief of the other— 
 ere emerging forth from the shade of the trees 
 again, w;is the natural sequence of the former sup- 
 positions. That the cairying oif of the child had 
 therefore been planned beforehand, was strongly 
 to be inferred ; and this belief was strengthened 
 by the circumstance of the gipsies displaying their 
 linowli'dge that Jemima was in the service of a 
 nobk family— a, statement they would not have 
 hazarded at random, because if false it might have 
 tended to excite susjiicions. Therefore, that they 
 really knew Jemima to be Lady Harlesdon's ser- 
 vant and the child to belong to the Harlesdoa 
 family, was tolerably certain. Was it not there- 
 fore clear, all othei- circumstances considered, that 
 the abduction had been previously planned ? If 
 this were the case, there could be no other motive 
 than the extortion of money ; and thus was it that 
 the opinion of the Bow Street officer excited the 
 hope which was so necessary to ward off the 
 anguish of despair. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A HOPS FBOM A STRANGE QUARrER. 
 
 I HAVE already said that it was six o'clock when 
 all the servants returned ft'ora their ineffectual 
 search. It was now the dinner hour in the ban- 
 quettinir-room ; but Lady Harlesdon experienced 
 no inclination for food. Her husband, who bore 
 his misfortune more philosophically, did not ab- 
 stain from taking refresh in out, but sat down to 
 table with Sir Aubrey Clavcring, who, as a guest, 
 was compelled by courtesy to bear his lordship 
 company— although, from what I heard, he ap- 
 peared to feel the calamity even mure acutely than 
 Lord Harlesdon himself. 
 
 It was about half-past si,x when one of her lady- 
 ship's maids came up into the nursery and desired 
 me to taUe the two boys down into the drawing- 
 loom. I at once obeyed; and the moment her 
 two bttlc sons were brouijiit into La'iy Harlesdon's 
 presence, she caught them up in her arms with 
 a kind of frenzy, strained them to her bosom, 
 and covered them with her kisses and her 
 tears. The lady's-maid who had brought mc the 
 summons, had not entered the drawing-room with 
 uie ; and I was now about to retire, think ing that 
 hor ladyship might choose, in the painful state of 
 her feelings, to be alone with her two children ; 
 but she said in a sweet plaintive voice, "You can 
 stay, Mary." 
 
 1 accordingly remained : but Lady Harlesdon con- 
 tiiiui'd to weep and lament over her children, thus 
 
 finding a vent for the grief which wrung her soul 
 on accouut of that other child of which she ha<J 
 been so cruelly bereaved. There was something 
 80 sacred in this agonizing grief on the part of 
 the young mother, that I dared not stand to gaze 
 upon it : it was something too solemn to be in- 
 truded upon by the looks of even one who sympa- 
 thised BO deeply as I did. Moreover, my owa 
 heart wa^ swelling almost to biirstina', and the tears 
 were raining down my cheeks: I felt sob4 rising 
 up into my throat — and indeed I was well nigli 
 convulsed with anguish, not only on account of tbe 
 melancholy spectacle then present, but because I 
 thoufjht that if it were possible for the poor absent 
 babe to be ill-treated hy those wretches who had 
 
 stolen it Ah ! 1 cannot find words to express 
 
 how much I felt 1 
 
 To avoid, therefore, intruding as it were with my 
 gaze upon the sacredness of Lady Harlesdon's 
 grief, and also to prevent that f pcctacle from pro- 
 ducing a violent outburst of my own, I turned 
 aside and advanced to one of the windows which 
 looked upon the Sqairc. My eyes were so filled 
 with scalding tears that at fir^it I beheld nothing; 
 but having wiped away those tears, I gazed forth 
 unconsciously and mechanically— and still was I 
 gazing upon vacancy. Gradually however there 
 came a clearness into my vision ; and slowly did 
 my looks settle upon a person wno was leaning 
 against the iron railings of the enclosure of shrubs 
 in the middle of the Square. It being scarcely 
 seven o'clock in the evening, and in the middle of 
 June, it was of course perfect dayligiit; and in- 
 deed the slant beams of the sua came glinting 
 against the windows from the western liorizon. 
 Tlierefore not only did I plainly perceive that 
 figure posted against the railings opposite the 
 window, but could at once dis'ingaisii the di'api- 
 dated scarecrow form of Mad Tommy ! 
 
 He saw that he had caught my eye, and made 
 mc an impatient sign to come out to him. Quick 
 as lightnmg did the suspicion flash to my mind 
 that the poor fellow's object in wishing to see me 
 was in some way connected with the stolen child ; 
 and without any hesitation did I nod an assent. 
 He then pointed in a particular direction, and at 
 once moved rapidly off in the same liue that he 
 thus indicated. 
 
 For a few moments I paused to reflect how I 
 should manage in order to accomplish my aim. I 
 did not choose to enter into particulars at tliat 
 moment when Lady Harlesdon had so much upon 
 her mind ; and the invention of a false excu-e was 
 most repugnant to my feelings. So, summoning 
 all my firmness to my aid, 1 accosted my nobis 
 mistress, saying, " Will your ladysliip spare me for 
 ten minutes or a quarter of an hour ?" 
 
 Lady Harlesdon scarcely seemed to understand 
 the question, so profoundly was slie absorbed in 
 the melancholy reverie to which the violence of 
 her grief had given place— while the two littlo 
 children, leaning upon her knees, were gazing up 
 plaintively into her countenance. She only nodded 
 her head in reply to the permission which I aaked ; 
 but it was enough, and 1 hastened from tlie room. 
 
 A sort of feverish hope had been excited in my 
 breast by this little incident connected with the 
 poor idiot ; and I sped up-sUirs to ray own room 
 to put on my bonnet and shawl. This being done 
 in a moment, 1 flitted down ag;un, issued from the
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE JIEMOIRS OP A SEHV ANT-MAID. 
 
 75 
 
 house, and hurried alonnf through the Square in 
 the direction in which Mad Tommy had pointed. 
 
 " He evidently desires to see me," I tliought to 
 myself. "But is it with an idiot's low cunning 
 that he wishes the interview to take place else- 
 where than in sight of the liouse ? — or is it with a 
 more refined sentiment of sagacity, or even deli- 
 cacy, on his part ? thus proving that the light of 
 intellect burns more brightly at one time than at 
 another in his mind, and on the present occasion 
 makes him feel the incongruity of a poor wretched 
 being in tatters like himself being seen in conver- 
 sation with a well-dressed dependant in the house- 
 hold of a noble family ? " 
 
 As I was balancing these reflections in my mind, 
 and wondering what he could want with me, — 
 hoping too that it might be in connexion with the 
 stolen babe, — I observed him loitering half way 
 down Charles Street, leading out of the Square, 
 and towards which he had pointed when I was 
 looking from the window. No sooner did he ob- 
 serve that 1 was coming, than he walked still far- 
 ther on, and suddenly disappeared from my view. 
 Still I continued my way ; and on reaching the 
 point where he had vanished, I beheld him waiting 
 under the gateway loading into a stable-yard. His 
 appearance was as miserable as I had noticed it to 
 be on the previous day and as I have already 
 described it : but I could not help remarking with 
 a feeling not only of pleasure but also of increasing 
 hope, that there was something more earnest, 
 more serious, more fixed, so to speak, in his gaze 
 and manner than I had ever observed on any pre- 
 vious occasion during the many years 1 had known 
 him. Not that he seemed fully sensible : alas ! 
 far from it, poor fellow !— but he certainly did seem 
 less crazed, less inane, and less vacant in his 
 look. 
 
 "Miss Price," he said, catching the -black fringe 
 of my shawl between fin?ers that were almost 
 equally black with grime, *' glad you have come — 
 had been watching there off and on for some 
 hours ; but didn't like to stick there altogether. 
 Afi'aid of beadle— drive poor Tommy away." 
 
 " Well," said I speaking to him in as kind a 
 voice as possible ; " what do you want with me ? 
 
 Wilt you accept " 
 
 "No— not that — not that" lie interrupted me 
 with a sort of impatience, or rather petulance, as 
 if lie felt that ho could not make himself understood 
 so promptly as he wished, and indeed that his ideas 
 for the moment were clearer than his faculties of 
 expressing them. " Quite another business— quite, 
 (jaitc!"— then flinging quick and nncasy looks up 
 ami down the stable-yard, ho saifl, " I saw it all — 
 
 everything— and know the women too Ah! but 
 
 they didn't see mc ! Tommy hid behind a tree. I 
 kiiow the nursemaid too— good young woman — 
 gave Tommy sixpence yesterday— <Aa* made me 
 remember her." 
 
 "Good heavens!" I exclaimed, unable at first 
 to give utterance to a single word in the joy which 
 soiziid upon me with the violence of a paroxysm, 
 as the idiot's words confirmed my prc-conccived 
 hope : "you knuw those women, then ? Ah ! come 
 with me at once— come and tell my dear mistress 
 these happy tidings !"' — and catching liim by the 
 hand, I strove to drag him along with me. 
 
 "No, no— not so fast," he exclaimed, remaining 
 iiumoveablo where he stood. " You don't know — 
 
 dreadful place, dreadful place those women went 
 to -bad women, gipsies ! Besides. Tommy do all 
 this in his own way ; but Tommy promise you to 
 get back the child." 
 
 " Thanks — ten thousand, thousand thanks!" I 
 exclaimed, pressing the poor fellow's hand as 
 warmly and as fervently as if he had been my 
 brother ; and the tears of gratitude trickled down 
 my cheeks. "But when will you do it? how will 
 you do it ? Come, my good friend, do let mo 
 
 entreat you to go with me " 
 
 " No, no," interrupted he, flinging away my 
 hand sulkily — almost savagely. " If Tommy does 
 it at all, does it in his own way — not going to let 
 you have your way. You know nothing about it— 
 not likely, not likely." 
 
 " Well then, you shall have it all your own way," 
 sai 1 I soothingly. " But in whatever proceeding 
 you are going to adopt, may I not accompany yoa 
 — may I not go with you? Tiiink — consider — is 
 it not possible I could be of some use? From 
 what you said I suppose those women have taken 
 
 the child to some dreadful place And ah !" I 
 
 ejaculated as a sudden thought struck me, *' per- 
 haps those men S.iwbridge and the Bulldog are 
 connecLed with the affair?" 
 
 "Yes, yes — that's it— that's it!" exclaimed 
 Tommy, all his good humour returning as he 
 looked with a sort of Icnowing earnestness up into 
 my countenance. " They know you— they do you 
 a mischief: but Tommy disguise himself — Ah! 
 he knows how to do it. Tommy very cunning at 
 times !" 
 
 " Well," said I, hurried on by the enthusiasm of 
 a courage which would have made me dare any- 
 thing for the lake of recovering the lost infant 
 and restoring it to its mother's arms : "you speak 
 of disguise — could not I disguise myself and go 
 with you? I am sure I should be useful. Now, 
 Tommy," I continued, perceiving that if I hu- 
 moured him I should carry my point, " 1 know 
 you are very cuflning — very cunning indeed— and 
 you can therefore think of some means to enablo 
 me to accompany you and to make me uselul 
 when I am with you." 
 
 A^ I spoke these words Tommy's countenance 
 grew serious and reflective : then he put his hand 
 up to his forehead as if to steady his thou:xlits ; 
 and as he removed that liand again and fixed 
 his eye> upon my countenance, it struck me that 
 he now looked even more sane than lie had ap- 
 peared at the first moment of this interview. 
 
 " Well, well," ho said at length, spooking in a 
 slower tone and in a more connected manner than 
 ever I had heard him before, — " you s'lall como 
 with me, Miss Price. I thirdc it will be better- 
 yes, much belter. You may be useful— we shall 
 manage it together. I have got it already settled 
 here ;" — and he tapped his forehead significantly. 
 " Shan't forgot it — not likely, not likely." 
 " Am I to go with you now ?" I asked. 
 "No — daylight — diylight — won't do, won't do," 
 he responded, .again losing the power of continuity 
 in his phrases. "When it's dusk— quite dusk, you 
 know — dark — after sunset— then you come to me 
 here— just here — this very place-" 
 
 "That will bo between nine and ten o'clock," 
 said I. 
 
 " Well, Tommy count the cbck — can c )uut ton 
 — and will be here."
 
 76 
 
 MARY TKICE; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 With these words he suddenly sped away just 
 as I was about to put ray hand into ray poclcatand 
 give him some money : but the next moment lie 
 re-appeared witli equal abruptness, and gliding up 
 to me, said, " Miss Price must bring money with 
 her— as much money as that gold- piece— twenty 
 shillings— quite as much— we shall want it. Yes — 
 and more too." 
 
 " Now then, will you take some money to get 
 some nice food " 
 
 Uut without permitting me to finish the sen- 
 tence, he turned away again and fled precipi- 
 tately. 
 
 I hastened back towards Harlesdoa House, 
 eager to impart to my beloved mistress tlie joyous 
 tidings that there was hope. But as I entered the 
 mansion, the thought suddenly struck me that if 1 
 went into full explanations, her ladyship would 
 probably forbid me to run such a fearful risk as to 
 seek the company of the desperate characters who 
 were mixed up in this affair. She would consult 
 her husband and Sir Aubrey Clavering— they 
 might insist upon making use of Mad Tommy's 
 services to guide them with a posse of constables 
 to the dreadful place to which he had alluded as 
 the haunt of those characters— and any such en- 
 deavour to deter the idiot from his own way of 
 conducting the affair would* at once throw him 
 into a sullen humour in which he would doggedly 
 refuse any farther interference in the matter at all. 
 Indeed, knowing him as well as I did, I was fully 
 aware of the necessity of letting him have his own 
 way ; and I did not for a moment dread to trust 
 myself with him in the venture — for I knew that 
 even in cases of the most confirmed idiotcy, there 
 is often a certain cunning flowing through the 
 mistiness of the confused intellect and serving 
 many special purposes much better that even the 
 complete lucidity of the sane individual. 
 
 All these considerations made me determined to 
 enter as little into particulars as possible with 
 Lady Harlesdon — and not at all unless absolutely 
 compelled. Having laid aside ray bonnet and 
 shawl, I went back to the drawing-room, where 
 her ladyship was still alone with her two children. 
 She seemed mure composed than when I left her 
 half aa-hour back— or rather she had her feelings 
 more under command. 
 
 " Well, Mary, where have you been ?" she asked, 
 in a gentle and kind tone; but it was evidently 
 only for the sake of saying something, and not 
 through any actual curiosity to learn the cause of 
 my temporary absence. 
 
 "I wish jour ladyship would do me a favour :" 
 — and as I felt that I was speaking mysteriously, 
 it was no wonder that there was something 
 in my look and manner which struck her us 
 peculiar. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, gazing up fixedly at 
 me as I stood before her. 
 
 " My request will doubtless seem a very singu- 
 lar one," I said; "but still I hope your lady- 
 ship has sufficient confidence in me to give 
 me credit for an utter absence of any improper 
 intention." 
 
 " Do tell me what you mean, Mary," exclaimed 
 my noble mistress, astonishment now appearing 
 upon Iter countenance. 
 
 " 1 wish for leave to go out this evening at ten 
 Vnlock, aul t) ri-m^'u away two, three, or four 
 
 hours — I cannot say how many— perhaps indeed 
 all nii^ht." 
 
 "Good heavens, Mary! what have you got ia 
 your head?" exclaimed her ladyship, full of sur- 
 prise but with no expression of an:;er : then ere I 
 could reply she went on to say, " There « some- 
 thing strange about you — and yet it is a solemn 
 and a serious strangeness, as if you had some 
 fixed purpose in your mind — some settled plan to 
 carry out. But you are so young to wear sucii a 
 look as this ! There is an energy about you thai 
 makes] you appear ia a new and quite unusual 
 Ught." 
 
 " All that your ladyship has said is the exact 
 truth," I answered. " Yes— I liave indeed a settled 
 purpose in my head : but I beseech you to Ksk me 
 no questions now. Need I assure your hdyship 
 that it is relative to — to^— " and here my vjico 
 faltered. 
 
 "Ah! you are a good, au excellent, and kind- 
 hearted girl," exclaimed Lady Harlesdon, tlie tears 
 starting forth upon her lashes. "But iiiy poor 
 Mary, with the best inclination ia the world, and 
 with all the energy of a heroine, you cauuot do 
 more than has already been done acd is etill 
 doing." 
 
 •' Pardon me, my lady," I cried, almost vehe- 
 mently ; ''your ladyship cannot understaul — can- 
 not appreciate In fact, it is my secret— I 
 
 beseech your ladyship to let me have my own way 
 without questioning me any fariner, and also with- 
 out breathing to a soul a liint that anything is 
 being done by me — and if it should prove in- 
 effectual on my part, no harm will result." 
 
 " But it is my duty, Mary," observed Lidy 
 HarlesdoD, with tremulous voice and yielding 
 manner — for I saw she had caught the infection of 
 that hopefulness which shone forth in the energy 
 of my looks and the earnestness of my words, 
 although she could not possibly have the remotest 
 suspicion of what the ground of that hopeluluess on 
 my part was: "it is my duty to see that you do not 
 thrust yourself into any danger. Indeed, I never 
 should forgive myself if, granting you this per- 
 mission which you seek, any barm should befall 
 you." 
 
 " I am determined to go, my lady," said I in a 
 firm voice. " If by so doing I incur your dis- 
 pleasure, I shall be deeply grieved: but heaven 
 kuows it is with the siucerest, the purest motive." 
 
 "My displeasure— no!" exclaimed Lady Harles- 
 don emphatically. " I am not capable of replying 
 your sublime generosity in such a heartless manner. 
 Go, my dear girl. I will malce some efficient 
 excuse to the maids for your absence; and they 
 shall take charge of these children for to-night. 
 Go then— and God bless you !" 
 
 She gave me her hand, which I pressed to my 
 lips ; and theu hastily turning away, I quitted the 
 room. Ascending to the nursery, 1 remained there 
 until it wanted five minutes to ten o'clock— when 
 1 resumed my bonnet and shawl, descended the 
 back staircase, and managed to escape out of tiie 
 house unobserved by any of my fellow- eervan.s.
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 ™, I 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 THE DISGUISE. 
 
 The clocks were striking ten as I hurried along to 
 the place of appointment; and there was Mad 
 Tommy waiting for me. Indeed, the moment lie 
 heard uiy footsteps approaching the stable entrance 
 lie emerged thence; and as the light of the adjacent 
 lamp flashed upon his countenance, I could observe 
 that it had a seriousness and fixity of purpose 
 which gave his look an expression even more sane 
 than it was in the most lucid moment of our pre- 
 vious interview. 
 
 " Miss Price, follow me at a distance," he said : 
 and then making a sort of imperious sign to show 
 that he was resolved to be obeyed, he turned 
 upon his heel and sped along the street. 
 
 On he went, I following at a little distance ; and 
 every now and then he looked back to assure him- 
 self that I had not lost sight of him. In this man- 
 ner did we proceed through the streets, taking an 
 easterly direction: but I was too much absorbed 
 iu the exciting nature of my thoughts to observe 
 very particularly the route which we thus took. 
 Besides, I had implicit faith not only in Tommy's 
 gi^od intentions, but also in the sagacity and cun- 
 uini,' (whichever it may be termed) that he was dis- 
 playing in the present adventure. Not but that I 
 folc it was a very important and likewise a dan- 
 gerous enterprise in which I was embarked ; but 
 though thus sensible to the risk I was running, 
 I did not for a moment shrink from it. On the 
 contrary, I was not merely sustained by the con- 
 viction that I was performing a true Christian 
 duty, but I was also hurried onward by a species 
 of enthusiasm amounting to what may be termed a 
 positive heroism. 
 
 For about half-an-hour did Tommy conduct me 
 through the wide and open streets, the lamps en- 
 abling me to keep him easily in view, although he 
 persisted in walking at some distance in front. 
 But presently he stopped short; and when I came 
 up with him, he said in a mysterious manner, 
 "Miss Price won't be frightened— Tommy take 
 care of her— wouldn't lead her into danger if he 
 could help it— not likely, not likely," 
 
 Having thus spoken, he continued to advance a 
 few yards, and then turned somewhat abruptly 
 into a dark alley or court, whither I immediately 
 followed him. For nearly a minute we proceeded 
 onward in the deepest obscurity, through wliich a 
 faint glimmering of light presently appeared, 
 struggling mistily from the half-glazed windows of 
 a house. Here we stopped ; and Tommy knocked 
 thrice in a peculiar manner at the door, in which a 
 little trap about six inches square was almost im- 
 mediately opened, and the siaister face of an old 
 woman appeared by the ligiit which was shining 
 inside. 
 
 "Who is it?" she demanded in a quick voice; 
 and her eyes seemed to fling glances sharp as 
 needles through the little opening in order to 
 scan our visages. 
 
 " .Me — Tommy— Bulldog's man," was the answer 
 which my companion immediately gave; and I 
 could not hrlp thinking at tlie moment that he 
 had his wits about him lucidly enough noip, thougli 
 still tlicir iirom[)tin.,'s wore evidently of a straugo 
 iiud peculiar ciiaracter. 
 
 "Oh! it's you, is it. Tommy?" said the old 
 woman : and the little trap-door was immediately 
 closed. 
 
 Then I heard the sounds of bolts drawn back 
 and of a chain being removed ; and for an instant 
 a cold tremor swept over me ai I thought that 
 this must be so.r.e terrible place indeed into which 
 I was about to enter. But my courage did not fail 
 me. On the contrary, all my fortituda at once re- 
 turned to my aid, as the door opened and Tommy 
 led the way, full of confidence, across the thres- 
 hold. I followed close; and as we entered a long 
 narrow passage lighted by a candle which the old 
 woman held in her hand, she hastily shut the front 
 door, which was massive and heavy. She then drew 
 the bolts and put up the chain once more ; and 
 while thus employed I surveyed her with attention. 
 She was at least sixty years of age — thin, eren to 
 emaciation — and with so forbidding an expression 
 of countenance that she looked capable of any 
 crime under the sun. She wai dreisod in an old 
 rusty dark stuff gown; and her grey grizzly hair 
 straggled forth from under a dirty wldto cap. 
 
 Scarcely had I taken this survey of the woman, 
 when a door in the passage opened and a man 
 came forth whose hideous aspect struck me with 
 so sudden a horror that I wonder I did not shriek 
 forth. He was of a very great age, and must havu- 
 been tall when his form was erect : but he was 
 now bent to a curve resembling the arc of a bow. 
 His leanness was painful to behold: he looked like 
 a living skeleton, so blighted, Bhrirelled, and 
 withered was he. His face was of spectral aspect : 
 I can liken the skin to nothing else than wettud 
 parchment hanging in a myriad wrinkles, or rattier 
 baggy furrows, down the cheeks and under the 
 chin. Two smal! grey eyes, twinkling with a 
 sinister gleam, prevented this shocking counte- 
 nance from being absolutely corpse-liko : but the 
 glances which those eyes shot forth from uudtr 
 two ragged curtains of eye-lids, were full of 
 blended treachery and suspicion. The ghastliness 
 of that dreadful man's countenance was enhanced 
 by the black silk skull-cap which he wore, and frmu 
 underneath the hem of which straggled forth a few 
 grey hairs which seemed indeed to form a fringe of 
 thin lanky threads for that greasy, rusty skull- 
 cap. 
 
 I have not in the least exaggerated the hideous 
 —I may even say the awful description of this 
 man ; and when I add that an old ^uit of black 
 clothes seemed to hang upon him as if it were a 
 mere skeleton which had been in mockery dressed 
 up to imitate the living being, my readers will 
 admit that the sudden appearance of such an 
 individual was enough to send a thrill of horror 
 through my frame. Tommy at once perceived the 
 effect produced upon me ; and he hastened to re- 
 assure me in his own strange and eccentric waj*. 
 
 "Master of the house — very useful man— never 
 do harm to those who pay him. This is his wife — 
 good woman too in her way. Both good people iu 
 their way. Do anything for money— ask no ques- 
 tions — not likely, not likely." 
 
 " Well, Tommy, this is a pretty lass you've 
 brought here," said the old man, iu so shaking, 
 quaking, quivering a tone that it seemnd ai if 
 uttered by one who was all the lime shiverin,' and 
 trembling with the cold. 
 •' Aye, she'd a tidy las," observed the old woman,
 
 78 
 
 MABV fkiue; on, tqb memoies op a sebvant-maid. 
 
 who, having bolted the door, now eyed me with 
 peculiar attention. 
 
 "Come now — no time for gossip," Tommy has- 
 tened to observe: then turning towards me, he 
 Eftid, "Give money — give money — and old people 
 do what we want— eh, Mr. liyles — eh ?" 
 
 "To be sure," answered the old man, with a 
 thacltle as tremulous and quavering as his speech, 
 and tnditig in a couf^h winch appeared to shake 
 itim almost out of existence: ''anything, as you 
 say, Tommy, for money. But where are your 
 friend* the Bulldog and Nick Sawbridge?" 
 
 " Never mind — no lime to talk now," answered 
 Tommy, quickly. '• Miss Price — money, money." 
 
 I had already taken my purse from my pocket ; 
 and producing a guinea, I placed it in the palm 
 whicli the old man extended; it seemed as if the 
 contact of the gold produced an ecstatic effect, 
 conjuring up a pleasant smile to his countenance 
 —if indeed any expression which those spectral 
 features could wear were capable of appearing 
 pleasant. 
 
 " Now, Miss Price," said Tommy, "you go with 
 old woman, Mrs. Byles. She give you disguise — 
 make you look so that you won't know yourself." 
 
 "Aye, that 1 will," cried the ha^', her own 
 sinister features relaxing into a grim sort of smile. 
 " Come with me, my dear ;" — and passing along 
 the passage, she led the way up an old ricketty 
 staircase, abominably dirty, and the walls of which 
 were of sooty blackness. 
 
 Tommy remained with the old man below ; and 
 I heard them enter the room on the ground-floor 
 together, the door being then shut. These sounds 
 1 cached my ears as I paused on a Utile landing at 
 the liead of the staircase, while Mrs. Bjles un- 
 locked one of three doors which appeared there. 
 Slie then led the way into a room which at once 
 btruck me as beiag a magazine or warehouse to 
 receive the plunder of all t!ie thieves in London. 
 The walls were arranged with shelves from floor 
 to ceiling; and those shelves were crowded with 
 such a niiscellaneous assortment of articles that 
 it \jould ba impossible t > enumerate even a lithe 
 of them. Garments of all kinds, belonging to both 
 sexes, and representing almost every grade in the 
 social sphere — piles of pocket handkerchiefs — 
 heaps of pocket-books — quantities of bibles and 
 prayer-books — saucepans, gridirons, and brass can- 
 dlesticks — mantel ornaments, china, and crockery 
 of all kinds, sises, and shapes—fenders, fire-irons, 
 hearthrugs, pieces of carpet, and door-mat-j— car- 
 riage-lamps, harness, and horse-cloths— baker's 
 sacks, wooden measures, and scales — books in suf- 
 ficient numbers and of such varied character as 
 to constitute a large library of a most miscel- 
 laneous dt'scription — all kinds of nick-nacks 
 usually seen in diawmg-rooms — leaden Ink-stands, 
 publicaua' pewter pots, and Dutch clocks— ba- 
 rometers aiid hour-gla-sL-es — unibrella-str.nds, and 
 even moveable door-scrapers — heaps of pieces of 
 rusty iron, cordage, rope, and string — clothes' Hues 
 and clothes' pegs— baskets of all descrivitious — 
 })ictures, frames, and looking-glasses — snuff-boxes, 
 toilette-m;iterials, knives, forks, and kitchen spoons 
 — children's toys, &c., &c. These may bo taken 
 as a sample of the infinite variety of goods which 
 were crammed upon the shelves, piled upon tables, 
 or littered about on the floor in the spacious ware- 
 house to which Mrs. Uyles had conducted mc. 
 
 "All! my dear, you seem astonished at what 
 you see," she said, her grim features a^jain relax- 
 ing into a smile ; " but all the rest of the house ia 
 pretty well crowded in the same way :"— and as 
 she thus spoke she fixed her eyes with a peculiar 
 expression upon me, no doubt to observe tlie effect 
 which the aspect of the place and her words had 
 jointly produced. 
 
 I however veiled my astonishment as much as 
 possible; fori thought that it would not do to 
 seem too much of a novice in such a place, for 
 fear of being taken for a spy. Nevertheless, my 
 mind was filled with uneasy sensations ; for it was 
 impossible not to understand that this house was 
 a depository for stolen goods, and it did me harm 
 to think that circumstances had led me to breathe 
 so tainted an atmosphere. However, putting the 
 best possible face upon the matter, I said to tbo 
 old woman, "You doubtless understand why I 
 have been introduced hither — or, in plain terms, 
 why I seek your aid ?" 
 
 " Yc3," at once rephed the woman : " I suppose 
 you want to be disguised, as Mad Tommy hiuted 
 downstairs? I don't ask any questions, and yon 
 needn't tell me more than you like. In fact, I 
 would rather not know anything about it. Yoa 
 have paid your money in advance, and that's 
 enough. Now then, suppose I make a nigger girl 
 of you ?' 
 
 I confess that I started involuntarily at this pro* 
 posit on, which Mrs. Byles perceiving, at once said, 
 "You needn't be afraid: the dye that I shall use 
 will all wash o{][ a^ain with a little hot water, soap, 
 and soda. But first of all let us look out fur a 
 dress that will suit you." 
 
 Thereupon she measured my height with a 
 glance; and forthwith produciug a quantity of 
 female apparel from one of the shelves, she said, 
 " Here, any one of these gowns will fit j'ou. Now 
 take your choice." 
 
 Having gleaned sufficient from Mad Tommj^fl 
 remarks to make me aware that it was to some 
 dreadful low place I was to be that night intro- 
 duced in my search after the lost child, I felt 
 assured that I could not be dressed in too poor a 
 manner; and I therefore chose a wretched rag of 
 a cotton dress, the originally dark pattern of which 
 was rendered more dingy by dirt, stains, and 
 grease spots. Indeed, I loathed the idea of putting 
 it on : but it was absolutely necessary, and I there- 
 fore conquered my repugnance. 
 
 The dress being accordingly selected, Mrs. 
 Byles conducted me into a little bedroom opening 
 from the same landing as the warehouse ; and 
 there did I pass througli the ordeal of my loath- 
 some toilette. Taking a large stone bottle from 
 a cupboard, Mrs. Byles poured forth some of its 
 contents into a saucer. This liuid was bbck as 
 ink, of about the consistency of thin uil, and ex- 
 haling a nasty rancid odjur. By means of a small 
 brush she covered my face and neck with this re- 
 volting dye ; and durinjj the process my heart 
 heaved against the nauseating smell. But the 
 stuff dried on almost as quickly as it w.is applied: 
 and by the time the work wis done — which mdeed 
 only occupied about five minutes — I ceased to per- 
 ceive (hat there was any unploasiint odour at all. 
 The same process was applied to my luuds aud 
 wrists; and when completed, 1 looked at myself ia 
 the glass. Oh 1 how 1 shuddered as I caught tbe
 
 MARY nUCE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 reflection of my now sable features; and irresisti- 
 bly (lid the thought strike me how dreadful it 
 would be if the dye should prove inefPaceable and 
 keep me a horrible blackamoor all my life ! But 
 the next inoment I felt assured that this could not 
 he, and indeed that the woman had no possible 
 aiotive in playing me so cruel a trick. To be 
 Drief, I put off my own mourning apparel, and as- 
 sumed the wretched garb that was to complete 
 my disguise. Changed indeed I was ! A false front 
 of coarse ragged black hair, was half covered with 
 the large frill of a dirty cap ; and tiiis again was 
 surmounted by an old battered straw bonnet. The 
 cotton dress came high up iu the neck, and had 
 long sleeves. Over my 3'noulders a scanty plaid 
 shawl was thrown; and I exchanged my neat 
 walking-boots for a pair of heavy clumsy shoes. 
 
 " Now I defy the nearest and dearest relation 
 you have in the world to recognize you I" said 
 Mrs. Byles, evidently surveying with no little ad- 
 miration the effects of her handiwork, as exhibited 
 m my persou. " Whatever business you have in 
 aand, if you only play your cards well, you must 
 succeed. But mind, it won't do to be too genteel. 
 You must alter your walk as much as ever you can ; 
 and as for speaking in that pretty soft voice of 
 your's, will never do. You must talk as if the 
 words came up from a throat down which gin and 
 beer are tolerably often poured. But however, 
 all this is your look-out." 
 
 I could scarcely thank the woman for the acj- 
 vice which she thus gave me— it smote so horribly 
 upon my ears ! Indeed, I felt for the moment as 
 if I were actually committing some crime in what I 
 was doing. My face, neclf, and hands had a sensa- 
 tion just as if they were thickly plastered over with 
 mortar; and the feeling was not merely unccm- 
 fortable in itself, but too well calculated to make 
 me feel degraded in my own estimation and dis- 
 gusted at the part 1 was playing. But when I 
 again reflected how greit would be my satisfac- 
 tion if I succeeded in recovering the lost child, 
 and how immense would be the reward I 
 should reap iu the contemplation of the mother's 
 joy when receiving the beloved infant back into 
 her arms, — I at once discarded all selfish consi- 
 derations, and braced my nerves with resolution to 
 carry out the adventure to the end. 
 
 Mrs. Byles now conducted me down stairs again ; 
 and at the same moment that we reached the passage 
 below, the side door opened and her hideous husband 
 came forth. He was followed by Mad Tommy, in 
 whose person a transformation had taken place in 
 the same style and quite as perfect as my own. That 
 is to say, he also had been changed into a negro. 
 His face, ears, neck, and hands — indeed, as much of 
 liis skin as was anywhere visible — was now of the 
 perfect blackamoor dye; and I was at once struck 
 by the life-like appearance which it had. The most 
 experienced eye could not possibly have penetrated 
 the deceit : the complexion was the precise shade of 
 sooty blackness, with the faintest possible gloss, that 
 forms the characteristic of the negro's skin. A 
 mat of woolly hair covered liis crown, and had so 
 natural an appearance as to defy the discovery that 
 it was a wig. He was dressed in a very shabby suit 
 of black, and certainly looked the black man to per- 
 fection. 
 
 That he was equally struck and indeed satisfied 
 with my appearance, was evidenced by the smile of 
 
 delight that suddenly sprang up in his countenance 
 on beholding me; and yet the next moment I 
 could observe that it was succeeded by au expression 
 of regret, as if he repented having allowed me to 
 embark in an enterprise which required a transfor- 
 mation that so little became me. 
 
 •' Now then," said Mrs. Byles, " you cEa aally 
 forth upon your adventures. But do you mean to 
 come back to-night?" she asked, addressing the 
 question to me: "because if so, I must sit up 
 to let you in and help you to undo your disguise." 
 
 " Yes — back to-nigiit— back to-night," exclaimed 
 Tommy, answering for me. " At least hope so — 
 hope so. Not stay away longer than necessary — 
 not likely, not likely. Now, Miss Price— come 
 along, come along." 
 
 While he was thus speaking, the old woman had 
 opened the front door : and I tripped forth first in 
 order to convince ray companion that I was still as 
 resolute and determined as ever to pursue the pre- 
 sent enterprise to the end. 
 
 " Now," said Tommy as we continued our way 
 farther along the narrow alley into which we had 
 emerged again, *' Miss Price must do exactly what 
 Tommy tells her. Tommy must pass as her brother 
 — but deaf and dumb. Poor Tommy must be deaf 
 and dumb," he repeated with increased emphasis. 
 " You pretend to be Tommy's sister — very kind, 
 very good to her poor nigger brother !" — and now 
 he laughed outright, his fancy evidently much 
 tickled with the idea to which he had just given 
 utterance. 
 
 This was only another proof of the strange saga- 
 city, or cunning, which the poor fellow exhibited 
 throughout the adventure of that ever memorable 
 night. He evidently knew full well that if he spoke 
 he should at once betray himself: for though he was 
 entirely sensible to his own defective speech and 
 broken mode of utterance, yet he had not sufficient 
 command over his ideas to give more fluent and 
 voluble expression to them. Conscious, then, of his 
 own striking fault in this respect, and equally aware 
 that he had not the faculty of amendmg it, he 
 sagaciously or artfully had recourse to a strala- 
 geixL in order to avoid the necessity of speaking at 
 all. 
 
 While I was pondering upon this new instance of 
 the strange construction of the poor fellow's mind, 
 I gradually became aware that he was conducting 
 me into a neighbourhood the aspect of which filled 
 me with terror. We were now threading our way 
 along a narrow street all the revolting phases of 
 which were revealed by the light glimmering from 
 the windows. Indeed, both right and left, all the 
 windows showed that lights were burning within— a 
 sure indication of the crowded stite of the dwellings 
 in that quarter. A glance hastily thrown through 
 the windows of the ground floors, showed that the 
 rooms were thronged to suffocation ; and the atmo- 
 sphere even out of doors was as fetid and sickly as if 
 with the combined breaths of ten thousand fevered 
 invalids. The gutter, running down the middle ot 
 the lane, looked like a little channel of ink with oil 
 •poured on the top of it ; and close by the door of 
 almost every dwelling was there an accumulated 
 mass of filth and garbage. On either side of the 
 way opened narrow and dark courts or passages, the 
 entrances to which seemed almost choked with heap* 
 of ofllil, decomposing vegetables, and feculence of 
 every description. A more minute survey ot the
 
 80 
 
 MAi;y piuce; or, the MEMoins oP a srvant-maid. 
 
 lane ilseU showed that the houses were in the most 
 wretched and dilapidated condition. As if by some 
 strange attraction, opposite buildings seemed to 
 grow nearer to each other at the top like two sym- 
 pathetic trees in a garden ; and to look upward, one 
 side of the street appeared to be nodding forward 
 towards the other, as if to shut out the little air 
 wliicli was permitted to penetrate into the lane at 
 all. The state of the windows indicated the vilest 
 neglect on the part of landlords and the utmost 
 wretchedness on that of tenants; there were more 
 broken panes than whole ones— more gaps stopped 
 up with brown paper, wisps of straw, or bundles 
 of old rotten rags thrust through, than there were 
 squares of glass. Most of the street-doors were 
 standing open : indeed many seemed as if it were 
 no use to shut them, as they were falling from their 
 liinRes. 
 
 The sounds of drunken revelry, brawling, and 
 debauchery issued forth from those loathsome habi- 
 tations, in which human masses appeared to be pent 
 up, — l)uddlirrg close together — crowding, agitating, 
 squeezing, and jostling in redundant numbers, like 
 trountless reptiles in a morass. Looking through the 
 windows, the inmates of those dens might be seen 
 with their countenances bearing the stamp of vice, 
 demoralization, debauchery, and crime, — there being 
 something frightful even in the shadows which their 
 forms threw upon the blackened walls. At some of 
 the doors ill-looking men were seated on the steps, 
 smoking and talking to women whose faces, either 
 bloated and red, or ghastly and emaciate;!, denoted 
 the different stages and varieties of debauchery. I 
 shuddered— shuddered to the innermost confines of 
 my lieing: for, young and inexperienced as I was, 
 especially in the contemplation of a scene which 
 presented so frightful a novelty to ray view, yet did 
 the population of this vile alley strike me as possess* 
 ing every attribute that was thievish and depraved. 
 
 But the street which I am describing — if indeed, 
 even by the utmost stretch of courtesy, it deserves 
 the name oi street at all — was but one of a maze of 
 similar thoroughfares through which my companion 
 was guiding me. For the farther we advanced, the 
 more hideous and horrible grew the features of the 
 place. It seemed like plunging deeper and deeper 
 into a frightful morass, where all the loathsome 
 objects of reptile-life were brought out into relief by 
 the noxious gases of its own feculence. I now felt 
 that I was beholding for the first time the dark side 
 of London ; and heaven knows that whatever my 
 pre-conceived ideas may have been relative to the 
 poor neighbourhoods of the metropolis, they fell im- 
 mensely short of the appalling reality. At every 
 step I took, it appeared as if I were advancing into 
 a cesspool of wretchedness, misery, and vice, whence 
 there could be no self-extrication : I almost feared 
 that I was sinking into a gulf of infamy, whence it 
 were impossible to emerge again. I had seen at the 
 West End ail the brilliant portion of London's in- 
 habitants — I was now threading my way through 
 ihe quarters of its refuse population. Having passed 
 from amidst the palatial mansions of Grosvenor 
 Square to this sink of misery and depravity, it 
 seemed like being suddenly transported from one 
 world to another. I was amazed— I was horror- 
 stricken— I was aghast, at the thought that the 
 centre of light was so closely bordered upon by the 
 centre of darkness! 
 llut since that night I have learnt what I little 
 
 thought and should have scarcely beiieved at the 
 time— that it is not only the profligate, the debauched, 
 and the depraved that swarm together in such neigh, 
 bourhoods — not merely trampers, beggars, thieves, 
 bad women, and the vilest of every class and of both 
 sexes — but that dire necessity compels even honest 
 industry to take up its dwelling there, and the iron 
 hand of poverty forces mechanics and artizan?, with 
 their wives and their children, too frequently to seek 
 lodgings and huddle together in a wretched room in 
 the very midst of those sinks of iniquity to which all 
 the moral corruption of London flows. Yes— and I 
 have heard of poor servants too, who have been 
 forced by grinding misery to betake themselves to 
 those neighbourhoods, which are naught but beds of 
 pestilence whence the physical plague and fever are 
 propagated as well as every species of moral disease, 
 and thence borne heaven alone knows how far and 
 how wide I 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE trampers' ARMS. 
 
 My mind was so deeply impressed with the borrora 
 of the neighbourhood ihrougb which I was proceed- 
 ing, that for some space I forgot everything regard- 
 ing my present position — the part I was enacting — 
 the business I had in hand — and the disguise which 
 I wore. But on passing in front of the windows of 
 a public-house, I was startled cruelly from my 
 deep painful reverie, and recalled with a fearful 
 wakefulness to myself, by a loud coarse brutal laugh 
 which a group »of loungers sent forth as I and 
 Tommy hurried by them. Something was said 
 about " the nigger man aud his black lass;" but I 
 was so frightened that I did not catch the exact 
 words. Such an effect, however, did this incident 
 produce upon me, that I stopped short — staggereii — 
 and would have fallen had not ^lad Tommy caught 
 me by the hand and thus made me aware of the 
 necessity of conquering my emotions. On we sped 
 together, pursued by the coarse and brutal laughter 
 of the half-drunken loungers at the ale-house door ; — 
 and plunging into an alley, darker and more sinister- 
 looking than any I had yet thieadeJ, we did nut 
 slacken our pace till that rude uproarious mirtU 
 which had been excited at our expense, ceased to 
 reach our ears. 
 
 " Miss Price," said Tommy, in a low whisper, 
 "do — do, pray, mind what you are about. If afniid, 
 go no farther— go no farther. Tommy go alone 
 — he manage by himself — most likely, most 
 likely." 
 
 " No, my good friend," I said, throwing as much 
 firmness and decision as possible into my voice ; 
 •'I am resolved to prosecute the enterprise to the 
 last. I must admit that my courage failed me for 
 a moment; but 1 will display no more of that 
 weakness. Indeed, I do full well appreciate the 
 necessity for a boundless courage and the fullest 
 presence of mind, especially as I have got to speak 
 for us both." 
 
 "Yes, yes— that's it," whispered Tommy, in a 
 tone of satisfactioa, as if he were rejoiced to per- 
 ceive that I thus fally understood the relative 
 positions we were to assume : " mind and recol- 
 lect — Tommy nut to specif — you do all the speak- 
 ing. We poor uiggeri>— i^ut landed from sUi{>— >
 
 xrABY riiioE; or, the memoirs of a ^euvant-maid. 
 
 81 
 
 come from West Indie?. But Miss Price know 
 wiiat tftle to tell — have her wits about her." 
 
 " Dont be afraid, Tommy," said I : "you n~<ry 
 depend upon me. But are we near the place ?" 
 
 " Hush I" whispered my companion; and in loss 
 than a minute he stopped opposite a public-house 
 which had liglits in all the lower and first-iloor 
 windows; but so dingy or indeed blackened were 
 these windows themselves, that only a dull glim- 
 mering could penetrate througli into ;t)ie street. 
 Facing this public-house there was a high dead 
 wall ; and altogetlier the place where we now 
 halted was as dispiriting, as murderous-looking, 
 and as cut-throat a quarter as caa well be cou- 
 ceivcd. 
 
 The door stood half open, and showed a sort of 
 bar within, round about which several ill-looking 
 persons were lounging; and the fumes of tobacco 
 rolled forth, poisoning the atmosphere as with a 
 plague mist. 
 
 KQ. 11 
 
 Having paused for a few moiuonts, a> if to afford 
 me breatiiiii;?-time to summon all my fortitude to 
 my aid. Tommy made a sign that we should enter. 
 But as he was now to play the part of a deaf and 
 dumb brother, and therefore to be as it were de- 
 pendent upon my guidance, I went in ftrat — he 
 closely following. 
 
 " Well, you niggers !" vociferated a great stout 
 man wlio was serving liquor within the bar, and 
 who had a greasy fur cap on his head: "what the 
 deuce has brought you to show the light of your 
 precious countenances at the Trampers,' Arms ? 
 But if so be you've got money, you're just as wel- 
 come as ever a white 'uo." 
 
 "1 say, Bill," cried one lounger to another, 
 "ain't this a spicy set out? Come, M 83 Ebony, 
 are you going to stand treat for a pot of beer? If 
 so be you do, I'll take your part ag.iinst no matter 
 who ; and I'll be bound no von'U say black's the 
 white of your eye if liu your friend."
 
 82 
 
 MARY TRICE, OB, TIIE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 The speaker was an imuicnse, tall, herculean- 
 built man, and soemeil quite formidable enoui^'.i to 
 be jusiificd in putting forward the vaunt to which 
 he had just given utterance. I instantaneously 
 saw tlie aJv:iiita,'e of securia^ so potent a cham- 
 pionship ; and plauin^ a shilling upon the bar 
 said, "I will treat you with all my heart." 
 
 " All I so the woman's tiie pay-master — eh ?" ex- 
 claimed the landlord inside the bar, with a coarse 
 lau^h, a* he fumiMheJ the liquor. '' Wei', we can't 
 say that the ^rey mare's the bettor hoss, cos 
 they're both as blaek as blask can be. Is he 
 your hujband or your brother, young woman — or 
 neitlier vou nor t'other ?" 
 
 "xMy brother," I answered. "He is deaf and 
 dumb, poor ftsHow — and therefore so entirely de- 
 pendent upon me " 
 
 " Well," interrupted the great tall man who 
 had proffered his friendship on condition of beia;? 
 treated, and whom I presently found to b3 f imi- 
 lialy denominated Long Joe; "here's your 
 health. Miss Timbactoo— for that's a better name 
 than Ebony : and here's wishing you luck :"— 
 then liavin^ taken a long draught and handed the 
 quart measure to his companions who stood near, 
 he said, "It's just midnight and supper will be 
 ready in a minute : you'll Stay, won't you, Miss 
 Timbuctoo?" 
 
 " Yes," I answered : •' to be sure I will. Are 
 there to be many piesent?" 
 
 "Tiiirty or forty, or so. But there go the 
 dishes !" he exclaimsd, as two or three greasy- 
 looking waiters with dirty aprons emerged from 
 some lower region and began to ascend the stair- 
 case with dishes in their hands — the said dishos 
 sending forth a powerful, and indeed too savoury 
 odour of fat and cabbagos. 
 
 Tommy and I now accompanied Long Joe and 
 his friends who had been lounging at the bar, up- 
 stairs into a spacious room, where two long pa- 
 rallel tables were spread for ihe supper. Dirty 
 cloths — the commonest and roughest knives and 
 forks — vinegar in giiiger-beer bottles — mustard in 
 broken tea-cups — salt in saucers— and pepper in 
 till boxes like flour- dredgers, formed the deoora- 
 tioM^i of the board. There were no chairs save at 
 iho top and bottom, but uncouth deal forms with- 
 out any backs. The ap.irtmeiit itself was of the 
 dirtiest and most cheerless desci'iptioii : the walls 
 and ceiling were black witii soot and smoke — the 
 windows were so begrimed that they w^ro as 
 dingy as if formed of ground glass — aid the tables 
 were lighted by common tiU.'ow canlles stuck in 
 blacking bottles and stationed at long intervals. 
 
 Such was the banquetting-room. But for the 
 company! How can I possibly describe it?— and 
 had it not been for the earnest anxiety I felt to 
 recover the innocent b.ibc from tlie hands of ruth- 
 Jcss strangers and restore it to the arms cf its 
 mother — that mother who had been so kind to me 
 — I should have fled in horror and loathing from 
 the dreadful assembl.sge. Men, whose counlcnancos 
 reflected every possible variety of the worst pas- 
 sioua — women, whoso appearance bespoke a do- 
 praw'.ty that made one ^hudder, were scattered 
 aboQt to the number of peihaps forty. The en- 
 trance of myself and T<>m;ny did not create the 
 excitement which 1 had dreaded: for it seemed as 
 if the company assembled there were ncciistomcd 
 ' to see ail kinds of strange characters ; and more- 
 
 over it was very evident that Long Joe did exer- 
 cise no small amount of i:ifluence over the motley 
 gathering, and no one chose to insult any person 
 whom he honoured with his protection. Thus, 
 when a few persons had gathered round us and ex- 
 changed a remark or iwo with m*>, the ord?al of 
 an introduction to that plaee was happily over. 
 
 The rsadcr may be assured that at tlis very first 
 moment when I put my foot into that room, my 
 looks had been rapidly swept around in shuddering 
 search of the Bulldog and Nick SawbriJge— yes, 
 and also with thu dire apprehension of beholding 
 ray unfortunate broi!»er Robert in their company. 
 But I experienced a momentary relief on satisfying 
 myself that not one of Ih^ three whom my eyes thus 
 sought, was present Than I looked amongst the 
 women to see if there were any gipsies present — or 
 any females at all ans-^ering the description which 
 Jemima had given of the two who had stolen the 
 bab-j i but again were my researches fruitless. 1 
 then began to wonder how on earth Tommy meant 
 to proceed to recover the child— whether the child 
 was within those walla — if so, how he would ascer- 
 tain the fact — and having ascertained it, how he 
 hoped to be able to carry ofl* the baoe from a place 
 infested with desperadoes of such a stamp as those 
 that met the eye on every side. But I was suddenly 
 aroused from my reverie by the exclamation of 
 "Here's the Bulldog!" which was uttered by Long 
 Joe. 
 
 I started — and if I had not been plastered over 
 with the black dye, should have seemed deadly 
 paid ; for I felt as if all the blood was ruslung away 
 from my countenance and gathering at my heart. 
 At that nioment Tommy touched ms in a manner 
 that was really significant enough to my compre- 
 hension, but could not have attracted anything like 
 suspicious attention on the part of others. I kuew 
 that he meant me to summon all my coura^je to my 
 aid ; and being thus reminded of the necessity of so 
 doing, I exerted the utmost moral power to follow 
 the hint which though so tacitly was nevertheless so 
 eloquently given. 
 
 Gliuicing towards the door I beheld Siwbridge 
 and tiie Bulldog making their appearance : but my 
 brother wa-; not ia their company. 
 
 "Holloa I who have wo here ?" shouted the Bull- 
 Jog, ia his coarse ru£rn voice : and, accompanied 
 by Sawbridge, he at once advanced towards the 
 spot where 1 and Tommy were standing in com- 
 pany with Long Joe. " Tiie King an i Queen of 
 the Cannibal Islands !" lie vjcd'erated— and his re- 
 mark was followed by a loud laugii, in which all the 
 guests joined. 
 
 " You must expect a little bantering," said Long 
 Joe to me; "because you're new among us— but 
 the Bulldog means no iiarm. 1 say, old feller," he 
 continued, addressing himself direct to that dread- 
 ful character, " this is Miss Timbuctoo, and she's 
 under my protection, for the ui^ht at least. As 
 for her brother here, poor wretch, he's deaf and 
 dumb, and so to bo pitied." 
 
 "She's got pretty good features for a nigger 
 gal," e.\claimed the Bubdog: "but her hair," he 
 added, fixing his eyes on the false front, "shows 
 her origin. Well, I wish you joy, Joe, of your new 
 acquaintances. But 1 say, where are the gipsies f 
 he ibMiiaiuK d, suddenly lowering his voice. 
 
 " Oil ! you know very well," answered Lang Joe, 
 " that they won't come down staurs and eat at ii-e
 
 MAKr ruicE ; ok, tuk memoirs of a seuvant-maid. 
 
 83 
 
 same t ible with all us here. They have their own 
 habits, and aie as particular as possible." 
 
 " Well, they can do as they like about that," ob- 
 served the Bulldog. "I suppose they're safe 
 eiiou;^h up-stairs, along with the brat?" he added, 
 lowe;ii)g his voice still more and speaking in a 
 coniideutial manner to Long Joe, so as not to be 
 overheard by those around — tiiough he evidently 
 did not care about speaking in my 1; earing ; and I 
 felt, inwardly rejoiced at this proof that he was very 
 far from entertaining the slightest suspicion with 
 regard to me or Tommy. 
 
 "The old dame and her daughter the Gipsy 
 Queen, as she calls her, are both up-stairs," replied 
 Long Joe, in answer to the Bulldog's question ; 
 "and the kid is with 'eai safe and sound. I told 
 you I would keep watch here, to see that those 
 swarthy ladies didn't play any tricks and negotiate 
 a compromise on their own account." 
 
 " Well, it was you who recommended them to us 
 to do the job," observed the Bulldog; "and so of 
 course you was answerable for them — besides 
 being interested iu the retvard we hope to 
 reap." 
 
 "To be sure," remarked Long Joe. "And 
 what's stirring up at the West End ?" 
 
 " Oh! it's all alive," returned the Bulldog: "and 
 the excitement's glorious. jMe and Nick here have 
 been lurking about in the ale-shops and heard all 
 the news. Bills is issued oifering a reward of 
 five hundred guineas for the immediate restoration 
 
 of the child " 
 
 "The deuce!"' ejaculated Long Joe. "Don't 
 you think it would be better to close at once ?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it!" rejoined the Bulldog. "Don't 
 be in a hurry. To-morrow a thousand will be of- 
 fered — and then we will just drop a note into the 
 post to say that the child will never be forthcom- 
 ing till two thousand guineas is offered for her, 
 with a promise of pardon to every body concerned 
 in the business." 
 
 " Why, all this may take perhaps a week or ten 
 days to negotiate V observed Long Joe, in a tone 
 of discontent. 
 
 "Well, no matter," said the Bulldog; "if so be 
 we make a good thing by it at last. Me and Saw- 
 bridge didn't coma up to London to work at trifle j : 
 we have been tinkering about too long with them 
 down at Ashford — and a.^ it was us who thought of 
 this job, planned it all, arranged it, and let you into 
 it, you must let us have our own way in managing 
 it." 
 
 "Well, but you don't think for a minute," re- 
 sumed Long Joe, "that them gipsy women will 
 stay locked up iu- doors for the next week or ten 
 days? Tiie fact is, they're deuced discontented 
 at being kept in at all. They thought they was to 
 have their five guineas apiece as soon as they had 
 brought the child up here, and then be able to get 
 back to Norwood again." 
 
 "Well," exclaimed the Bulldog, with a sort of 
 subdued growl and with a savage ferocity of look; 
 " if so be wo had anybody we could trust to look 
 after the baby for a short time, the two gipsies 
 might tramp off at once— 'cause why, me and Nick 
 here have got ready cash enough to tip 'em the 
 ten guineas.' 
 
 "Here, I say," interrupted Long Joe: and 
 taking the Bulldog and Nick Sawbri Ige aside, he 
 conversed with them for a few minutes in low 
 
 whispo'S: but as they nil thr^e kept their eyes 
 fixed upon me, I felt assured that I was the object 
 of their conversation. I was not however afraid — 
 I had no misgiving : on the contrary, I felt cer- 
 tain that 1 could "ven anticipate what was to 
 come. 
 
 Indeed, as the reader may suppose, I had drunk 
 in with an absorbing interest every syllable of the 
 conversation above detailed. But aU the while I 
 affected to be utterly indifferent to what was pass- 
 ing near mo, and even pretended to make signs 
 with my fingers to Tommy, as if talking to him by 
 means of the dumb alphabet. In a word, at that 
 critical juncture I was armed with all the requisite 
 presence of mind and fortitude for the part which 
 I had to perform. 
 
 When the whispered discourse of the Bulldog, 
 
 Nick Sawbridge, and Long Joe was concluded, they 
 
 accosted me ; and the last-mentioned individual 
 
 sail!, " We have been talking about you, Miss Tira- 
 
 buctoo." 
 
 "About me?" I said, nff^cting a careless air. 
 
 "Come, tell us whet'icr you have got anything 
 
 pariiclar to do — who you are — how long you've been 
 
 in London — and all about it. But don't be afeard," 
 
 immediately added Long Joe : " we don't want to 
 
 know for any bad purpose. So, if you've run away 
 
 from some master or missus who broujjhtyou over 
 
 to England—which is what we werry much suspect 
 
 — you've nothing to be afeard of on our account." 
 
 "But v,hy do you ask?" said I, allowing him 
 
 by my manner to fancy that he had hit upon the 
 
 precise truth. 
 
 "Because, if so be you want a job for a few 
 
 days to put a little money into your pockc; " 
 
 "Ah! if I only thought you were serious, 1 
 should joyfully accept it," said I: "for I have got 
 
 my poor brot'ier dependent on me -" 
 
 " Well then, me and my friends here," continued 
 Long Joe, " will be your friends. Did you h;ippcn 
 to hear me and this gcnelman," — and he glanced 
 towards the Bulldog — ''tilkiag about a babby 
 just now?" 
 " I did hear you say somothing about it," I 
 
 answered: "but " 
 
 "No matter the buts. I dare say you didn't 
 pay no attention, as the business didn't regard 
 you. But come, will you take charge of that there 
 babby for a week or ten days ?" 
 " Where ? I have no home," I answered. 
 "Why, here — up-stairs — and you shall have a 
 deuced nice room for yourself and brother, and 
 plenty of good things to eat and drink— only you 
 will have to be locked in all the time, cos why, 
 it's werry particular that the poor little babby 
 shouldn't go out to stand a chance of getting cold, 
 and the measles is werry much about." 
 
 I pretended to consider for a few moments, 
 during which interval 1 observed that the Bull- 
 dog and Sawbridge were re3:arding mo with an 
 attention that, began to stir up misgivings in my 
 mind; (or although I had, as a matter of cour.se, 
 altered my tone of voice as much a? possible, and 
 assumed as hardy a manner as it was in my nature 
 to affect— moreover, deep as my disgut!<e was — 
 yet I trembled inwardly lest those mi-icreants 
 shouM penetrate the stratagem. I therefore has • 
 tenid to declare that I accepted the proposition; 
 and I now oxpe;ienced the supreme satisfaction 
 and the ineffable relief of seeing them both avert
 
 84 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OH, THn MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 their eyes again in a manner which showed that 
 I hey had not really been regarding me with any 
 degree of suspicion. 
 
 " Then come along with us," said tlie Bulldog : 
 .and he was moving towards the door when some 
 one shouted out that supper was served up. 
 
 Glancing at the tables, I perceived they were 
 covered with huge joints of various descriptions, 
 and immense dishes of vegetables, all sending up 
 a steam that was overpowering in its odour. 
 
 "Mi-s Timbuctoo wants to have supper first," 
 said Long Joe, clutching the Bulldog by the arm. 
 
 "Not I indeed," I histcned to observe, "if it 
 will interfere with any of your arrangements." 
 
 " Can't she and her nigger brother have their 
 supper sent up to 'em?" asked the Bulldog, in a 
 growliny: tone. 
 
 "Certainly— with pleasure," said I: and beckon- 
 ing Tommy to follow me, as if he were totally 
 depeudunt on my signs for his proceeding.-;, 1 
 hastened after the Bulldog, Sawbridge, and Long 
 Joe as they quilted the room. 
 
 And here I should observe that from the fir^t 
 moment we set foot across the threshold of the 
 Tranipers' Arms, Tommy had played his part in a 
 manu'-T which excited my astonishment. He had 
 in every respect looked the deaf and dumb being — 
 appearing to hang upon me for the sliglitest sign 
 to regulate his movements, just as he would really 
 have (lone if Ave had been playin^: natural nistead 
 of artificial parts and he was in reality my deaf 
 and dumb brother. 
 
 The Bulldog led the way to a bedroom a storey 
 higher up; and there I beheld two gipsies an- 
 swering the description which Jemima had given 
 of them. The old hag was dozing in a chair ; 
 while lier tall liandsome daughter, whose remark- 
 able beauty had by no means been exaggerated 
 by Jemimn, was walking to and fro, getting the 
 baby oflp to sleep. Ah! what an emotion of joy 
 suddenly thrilled in my bosom as I beheld that 
 sweet infant safe and sound — and, at least at that 
 moment, utterly unconscious of any change in its 
 condition ! 
 
 " Hah ! what means this ?" demanded the Gipsy 
 Qneen, as her looks, after glancing towards the 
 Bulldog, Sawbridge, and Long Joe, immediately 
 fell upon Tommy and me : and I almost shrank at 
 the moment beneath those dark eyes from whose 
 lustrous depths the arrows of suspicion seemed to 
 flash forth. 
 
 « Oh I it's all right," said the Bulldog. 
 
 "Who are these?" now demanded the old harri- 
 dan, starting up from her chair. 
 
 "Ncvei- do you mind," returned the Bulldog. 
 " "We're going to dismiss you now — that is to say, 
 if you like to go — 'cause why, we don't want to do 
 ti>e thing what's unhandsome " 
 
 "Have you our money ready?'' asked the old 
 Norwood gipsy, in an impatient tone. 
 
 "Aye, to be sure — or else it isn't likely we 
 should take it into our heads to bundle you 
 off " 
 
 " Talk not in this familiar and insolent way to 
 vs," cxclain:cd the Gipsy Queen, drawing up her 
 fine form to the full of its stately height, and 
 having for the moment something really grand 
 and majestic in her appearance. " Altliough for 
 the sake of the yellow gold we h.ave become your j 
 tools in this transaction" — and she glanced down ' 
 
 at the sleeping child in her arms—" we will not be 
 treated with disrespect. But if our reward is at 
 hand, let it be forthcoming at once, and we shall 
 gladly take our departure, llothcr, you will go 
 to-night, will you not?" 
 
 " Aye, to be sure will I, I like not this Lonc^on 
 air, and shall only breathe freely when again at 
 Norwood," answered the old gipsy. 
 
 " Well, here's the money," said the Bulldog, in 
 a sullen humour at the rebuke he had received 
 from the stately Gipsy Queen : and he counted 
 down ten guineas upon the table. 
 
 The old harridan now took her red cloak off the 
 bed, but put it on inside out, so that it appeared 
 of some dark and inobtrusive colour : while the 
 Gipsy Queen, instead of covering her head with 
 the gay silk handkerchief which she wore in Je- 
 mima's presence, put on an old straw bonaet. She 
 then threw a common shawl over her shoulders; 
 and both she and her mother were now ready to 
 depart. Dressed as at this moment I beheld them, 
 it was no wonder if on quitting Jemima in the 
 morning they had effected those prompt changes 
 in their apparel which enabled them to go forth 
 from the park without attracting the slight<'st 
 notice from the keepers. The red cloak was easily 
 turned inside out — the straw bonnet and old shawl 
 might have been at hand behind an adjacent tree 
 — and thus had the principal characteristics of the 
 two women's garb been at once eschewed so soon 
 as the theft of the child from poor Jemima's arms 
 was accomplished." 
 
 To continue. The old Norwood Gipsy and her 
 stately daughter took their departure : but even 
 ere they had gone the infant was already in my 
 arras. My heart throbbed with indescribable joy : 
 for I felt as if the victory was already achieved — 
 the triumph won! 
 
 " Now, then, we shall send you up your supper," 
 said the Bulldog; "and whatever you want yoa 
 must ask for and you'll have. So now good 
 night." 
 
 " Good night. Miss Timbuctoo," added Long 
 Joe. 
 
 " Good night," I answered : and the next mo- 
 ment, as the door closed behind the three retreat- 
 ing ruffians, I and Tommy were left alone together, 
 with the innocent object of this venturous enter- 
 prise of ours. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 TUE RESULT OF THE STRATAGEM. 
 
 Never shall I forget the expression of joy which j 
 suddenly Tghtcd up on Tommy's countcnanoe i 
 the inst.aut we were thus alone together. It was 
 positively ludicrous when appearing on features 
 dyed jet black; and I do believe that he would ; 
 actually have begun to dance about the room, had I 
 not made him a gesture imploring him to moderate, j 
 or ratlier subdue, any actual outburst of exultation, ! 
 for fear of being overheard or watched. T myself , 
 expei icnced a perfect enthusiasm of delight ; and i 
 I could hardly believe that circumstances had t 
 combined so admirably, and in so short a time, 
 to cronn our entcrprize with success. The present 
 position of affairs actually seemed too favourable 
 t J last. I would not however allow anj misgiving
 
 Jl/.UY PIUCE; OU, TUE MEJIOIUS op a SliLl^AMT-MAlb. 
 
 to damp my spirits, but ratlier to serve as an in- 
 diicenietit lor the most prompt and ready action 
 which miglit appear best in order to consummate 
 the achievement. In a word, it became requisite 
 to think how we were to escape from the house, 
 bearinjj the child with us. 
 
 In a few minutes a female servant belonging to 
 the tavern, made her appearance with a tray con- 
 taining two plates of meat, vegetables, bread, a 
 pot of beer, and a smalt bottle of spirits, — tliis last- 
 mentioned article plainly proving that the men 
 who hnd thus sent up the provender judged of 
 Tommy's and my taste by their own. The 
 woman, having intimated that if I required any- 
 thing I was to ring the bell, quitted the room, 
 locking the door behind her. 
 
 I experienced not the least inclination for food; 
 and indeed if I had been ever so hungry, I could 
 not have touched the great thick slices of under- 
 done beef that were swimming in fat gravy. But it 
 was otherwise with poor Tommy ; and finding that 
 I was resolved not to touch a moutiiful, he demo- 
 lished the contents of both plates. He however 
 partook moderately of the beer, and left the spirits 
 altogetiier untouched. 
 
 While he was disposing of the victuals I sat de- 
 liberating upon what course it would now be best 
 to pursue ; and at length I hit upon a scheme 
 which I thought calculated to answer the purpose. 
 Accordingly, when Tommy had finished his supper 
 I conveyed my plan to his ear, but speaking in the 
 lowest possible whisper for precaution's sake. I 
 represented to him that if we could minage to 
 obtain a separate room for him, it was probable 
 enough that the Bulldog and his accomplices, — 
 believing him to be really deaf and dumb, atid 
 therefore regarding him as a poor harmless being, 
 incapable of mischief, much more of treachery — 
 would not adopt any precaution in making him a 
 prisoner. In this case, I went on to say, Tommy 
 might watch his opportunity when the liouse grew 
 quiet, to issue forth from his own room— steal to 
 my door — liberate me — and thus enalde us to quit 
 the place together. Or he might escape by him- 
 self, and go and fetch some constables to come and 
 search the house with a view to ray liberation. 
 
 But tlie moment I menliontd this latter alter- 
 native. Tommy shook his head with much vehe- 
 mence, and then whispered, '' No, no : Tommy 
 never play traitor like that! Bulldog and others 
 bad men — very bad men; but they have given 
 Tommy food, and Tommy won't hurt them— not 
 liltcly, tint likely." 
 
 •' But all tlie rest of the plan you approve of?" 
 said I, in the most conciliatory manner. 
 
 "Yes, yes — all very good — capital!" he an- 
 swered. "Nothing better — nothing better. The 
 men and women down stairs will all drink till very 
 late: then they go away — house shut up. That's 
 our time." 
 
 Perceiving that ray companion fully entered into 
 the spirit of the scheme which I had chalked out, 
 apart from the betrayal of those to whom the DOOr 
 fellow considered, in spite of his knowledge of 
 their wickedness, that he lay under some little 
 obligation,— I rang the bell ; and in a few minutes 
 the woman-servant re-appeared, — Tummy having 
 in the mean time settled iiimsclf down again into 
 the demeanour of a poor deaf and dumb creature, 
 taking scarcely any notice of external objects. 
 
 "I wish to know," said I, " whetlicr my brother 
 here can have a room to himself. We iiave not been 
 accustomed to occupy the same chamber " 
 
 "Well, I don't know for the matter of that," 
 interrupted the woman coarsely : " for niggers, 
 you are precious particular I There's no white 
 people frequents this house that ever was so nice 
 and delicate as all that." 
 
 " My good woman," said I, •' try and manage 
 this for me :"— and I put a shilling into her hand. 
 " 1 dare say you know that lam likely to stay here 
 for the next week or ten days, to take care of this 
 child; and I am to be paid well for my services. 
 I shall not forget you in any little kindness you 
 may show me." 
 
 The coin and this assurance produced an imme- 
 diate efl'ect upon the woman ; and she said, " Well, 
 I'll do my best. Some folks is particular I know ; 
 and perhaps nigger people is more so than whites. 
 Wait a minute : I'll go and see what master says." 
 
 She accordingly quitted the room, again locking 
 the door behind her; and after an absence of 
 about ten minutes, she returned, saying, " Wf^l, 
 I've managed it for you — that is, if so be your 
 brother don't mind sleeping in the same room with 
 three or four other genelmcu as uses the house." 
 
 I stated that my brother would have no objec- 
 tion ; and I then pretended to t.ilk to Tommy by 
 means of the fingers. The cunning he displayed 
 in affecting to follow all my signs with his looks, 
 was truly admirable ; and when I thought it fit to 
 make an end of this dumb show, lie rose and made 
 a sign to the woman that he was ready to follow 
 her. She accordingly conducted hiin away, not 
 forgetting to lock the door behind her. 
 
 I was now alone — left to the companionship of 
 my own thoughts. I kissed the dear child who 
 was sleeping so tranquilly in my arms, saying to 
 myself, " What terrible risks, little one, am I in- 
 curring this night for your sake!" But I felt not 
 the slightest regret at having emb;irked in the 
 venture. On the contrary, I experienced a sort 
 of pride in reflecting how much I had done on 
 behalf of tlie poor innocent. Then I fell into a 
 train of meditation relative to all the various 
 phases of the last few hours' proceedings. I saw 
 plainly enough that the reason why Tmumy would 
 not in the first instance give such information as 
 would have enabled the authorities of justice to 
 make a descent upon the Trampers' Arms and 
 thus recover the child at once, was because he did 
 not choose to be the means of handing over the 
 Bulldng and his accomplices to tlie grasp of the 
 law. He did not mind defeating their ends; but 
 he would not betray them into the hands of 
 justice. 
 
 Tlierefore was it that he had adopted this cir- 
 cuitous and underhand method of accomplishing 
 his purpose. It was likewise clear that he had 
 been initiated by the Bulldog and his confederates 
 into many of the mysteries of low life in London, 
 and that he on this occasion availed himself of 
 that knowledge to carry out his ends— thus mak- 
 ing use as it were of the weapons which they had 
 placed in his hands. In this manner was it that 
 he had rendered the services of ftlr. and Mrs, 
 Byles available in the matter of the disguises; , 
 and it mu-it be confessed that those persons 
 were proficients in the art of person il traii>f)rina- j 
 tiou. But what most of all engaged my thoughts f
 
 MAKv rnicE; ok, the memoirs op a 6ervast-maid. 
 
 and excited my minjfled wondor a'ld admiration, 
 was the remarkable a^ttuteness, sharpness, and 
 sasjacity wliich Tommy had shown throughout the 
 whole nijfiit's proceeding'-!— so fully confirming 
 the oft-procliiinrd fact that there is no kind of 
 idiotcy without its undi r-current of keen-wilted 
 shrewdness, and no species of madness without a 
 method. 
 
 But in addition to all the^c topics for medita- 
 tion, the reader may be well assured that I did not 
 forget those who were so dear to me, and who 
 were so far away — my brother William and my 
 two sisters. I thought also of Robert, — wonder- 
 ing what he was doing, and whether he was still 
 in the hands of th'.)se desperadoes of whose capa- 
 city for daring wickedness and consummate ini- 
 quity the very circumstance which liad led me into 
 the present adventure was a signal proof. These 
 reflections brought a shade of sadness upon my 
 mind; and gloomy mi'^givings crept into my soul. 
 Triumpliant as the success of Tommy and myself 
 had u[) till this moment been, there vvas still lime 
 for it to be succeeded by exposure and discovery 
 — turn into fiilurc — md involve us bot!i iu de- 
 struction. For I felt assured that if we were de- 
 tected, we shoidd never be allowed to quit this 
 dreadful place alive ! 
 
 While I was in the midst of these saddening 
 thought^, Isabella CleinenVina woke up and at 
 once beg.m giving vent to the most frightful 
 scre-iras. I thought the poor child would go into 
 convulsions and expire horribly : for strange to 
 s:iy, it had not struck me that my black face 
 would be but too well calculated to fi 1 the litt!e 
 innocent with iiCFright. .1 concealed the candle 
 under the fire-place, and shaded it with a chair in 
 such a manner as to darken the room: then I 
 walked up and down, tdking to tlie child in the 
 fondest terms possible and doing all I could to 
 tranquilliae it. Tlie babe presently recognised my 
 voice, and gradually grew calmer, until at length 
 she sobbed herself off to sieep again. Tlieu I 
 placed her upon the bed, and was about to sit 
 down, when it struck me thit I would examine 
 the premises upon which the window looked. 
 Gently lifting tie dingy Idind, which was drawn 
 down, I was enabled to prrceive that the room 
 looked upon a yard at the back of the house; nnd 
 the howling of a great dog, issuing from below, 
 uow met my ears. I therefore saw that, even in 
 case of the very worst, there would be no possi- 
 bility of escape in that direction ; and I returned 
 llo my seat, dispirited, nervous, and full of mis- 
 givings. 
 
 The uproarious sounds of revelry from the ban- 
 queiting-room below, now re.iched me audibly 
 enough; and I began to wonder how long the orgie 
 would last, and at what hour the house was likely 
 to be quiet. For a moment I even dreaded lest 
 some of the revellers might sit up all night: but 
 then I recollected the coidident manner iu which 
 Tommy had slated that the place would grow quiet, 
 though at a late hour; and sitished that he was well 
 acquainted with the habits of those frequenting the 
 iiifumous den, I grew reassured on that head. In 
 proportion as I was thus enabled to reason myself 
 into bettor spirits and a more hopeful mood, did a 
 sense of weariness and fatigue creep over me: that 
 is to say, u» tiie nervous excitement of my mini! 
 subsided, nature was enabled to assert its demand 
 
 for a much-needed interval of rest. A sort of 
 dreamy repose gradually and insidiously stole over 
 me ; and though it could not be said that I actually 
 slept soundly, yet did I lose the consciousness of 
 where I was and the circumstauces in which I was 
 placed. 
 
 How long I thus remained in drowsy listlessness, 
 I knew not : but with a sudden start did I wake up 
 to a complete knowledge of everything relative to 
 ray position— and I felt myself shuddering from 
 head to foot with a cold sensation of terror. There 
 was a great noise in the house ; and for the first few 
 moments I knew not what it was. Indeed, there 
 can be no doubt it was this disturbance which had 
 aroused me so abruptly and filled me with such 
 alarm. But my terrors speedily subsided and I 
 experienced an indescribable sense of relief, on dis- 
 covering that it was the party below breaking up 
 and dispersing. I now became aware, too, that the 
 candle had gone out, and that the light which shone 
 faintly in the room was that of morning. I lifted 
 the blind, and perceived that it was the twilight pre- 
 ceding the dawn; and while I was thus peeping 
 forth upon the blackened walls and house-tops of 
 the buildings behind, a churcii-clcek at no great 
 distance struck three. I had thus dozed about two 
 hours. 
 
 Turning away from the window, I went and 
 listened at the door. The revellers were rushing 
 down the stairs, singing, bawling, imitating the 
 crowing of cocks, quarrelling, and shouting vocife- 
 rously — the voices of women mingling with those of 
 men in horrible discordance. Some heavy steps 
 were ascending the stairs; and as they passed by 
 the door of my room, I heard the Bulldog's brutal 
 laugh following some jest to which he had just given 
 utterance. Indeed, I did not breathe freely till that 
 dreadful laugh no longer sounded on my ears, but 
 suddenly ceased as a door in the same passage closed 
 with some degree of violence. 
 
 I felt assured that the Bulldog and his immediate 
 accomplices slept in the house: and then it struck 
 me that it was perhaps in their room Tommy bad 
 been located I A thousand terrors now sprang up 
 at once in my imagination : thought became abso- 
 luie horror. What if his disguise should be de- 
 tected ? what if he should have gone to sleep T Oh I 
 my brain felt as if barbed arrows of fire were pierc- 
 ing it through and through: and staggering back to 
 my seat, I sank upon the chair a prey to anguish as 
 lancinating as that which I experienced when over- 
 han;;ing the edge of Shakspeare's Cliff 
 
 Presently the house became altogether qniet— 
 this deep silence which now prevailed affording a 
 strange contrast with the terrific uproar that had 
 so recently heralded it. Now did 1 begin to regain 
 courage once more; and I th ught that an hour 
 could not pass away without deciding my fate. The 
 child continued to sleep soundly. Poor innocent ! 
 how unconscious was she of the whole proceeding 
 of mingled peril, doubt, and horror, of which it 
 hail been the cause ! 
 
 Nothing could equal the acute suspense which I 
 now experienced. Everything depended upon 
 Mad Tommy— depending therefore upon a poor 
 half-wilted Loing. llihwitted indeed ! Yes— but 
 wiiat astuteness had he luit shown ? aud was it 
 likely that he would ^«ft"el• hiiu:ielf to be discom- 
 fited notof Thus did I endeaviur to reason myself 
 into a hopeful fraino of miud once more: but the
 
 MARiT PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 87 
 
 task was not so easy. One terrible idea was do- 
 minant in my mind — namely, that as the Bulldog' 
 and his accomplices eviilentiy lodged in the house, 
 they would be ready at hand in case of detection 
 to wreak a deadly vengeance upon poor Tommy 
 and me. 
 
 Thus did an hour pass — an hour of varied emo- 
 tions, as terrible as varied ! Meanwhile the sun 
 had risen, and it was now broad day-light. I felt 
 nervous to a degree — ill and miserable. The black 
 dye seemed like a coat of thick concrete mud upon 
 my skin ; and in one of those eccentric moments 
 to which the mind under circumstances of immi- 
 nent peril and triinscendiug horror is liable, I felt 
 as if the greatest happiness next to escaping s»fe 
 and sound from that house, would be the luxury of 
 soap and hot water ! 
 
 An hour had elapsed, I say — ami the church- 
 clock struck four. Almost imiuediately afterwaids 
 1 lieard the key turning in the loak of the Jo >r. 
 Heavens, how my heart beat ! — it was as if a 
 sledge-hammer were strikin;^ continuous blows 
 a;.cainst my side. T!ie door opened — and Tommy, 
 with his finger upon his lip, stole into the room. 
 A reprieve suddenly proclaimsd to tiie condemned 
 wretch wiien standing upon the drop, could not 
 bring greater rehef than tiiat which I now expe- 
 1 ienecd all in a moment. 
 
 "Come, come— not «n instant to lose," said 
 T.)ramy, in a hasty wh'sper, as he held the door 
 still ajar in his hand. 
 
 I was so bewildered with an ineffable sensation 
 of joy, that having put ou my bonnet and rag of a 
 shawl, 1 snatched \iu the child somewhat hastily 
 from the bed; and she gave a low cry. I strahied 
 lier to ray breast in a soothing manner, while 
 Tommy closed the door completely; and the quick 
 glance which I threw upon him showed me that he 
 WHS actually writhing with the agony of suspense. 
 Tortun itely the babe's wail was hushed: but I re- 
 mained standing motionless with her for nearly five 
 minutes in my arms, to make sure that she had in- 
 deed relapsed into slumber. These five minutes 
 were a perfect age I 
 
 "Now," said Tommy at length: and as I gave 
 an affirmative nod, he jpened the door. 
 
 "We then crept stealthily forth together, and 
 bc,'au descending the staircase, whicn was quite 
 light, there being a window in the wall. But the 
 steps creaked beneath our feet; and at every 
 downward pace we took we paused to listen in the 
 prcfouudest suspense. All continued quiet— and 
 we readied the landing of the first floor. The 
 large room was open, and unmistakable signs of 
 the night's orgio met the hasty glance which we 
 threw in to assure ourselves that no one was there. 
 Chairs and tables were upset, and the floor was 
 strown with bottles, pewter measures, tobacco- 
 pipe?, and pieces of caudle. 
 
 Quickly turning away from the revolting scene, 
 1 fuUowed my companion down the last flight of 
 stairs. But at this instant Miss Isabella suddenly 
 opened her fine large eyes; and as she caught 
 sight of my black face, her little fe:)ture3 at once 
 began to wreatiio themselves into the dimples 
 which immediately prelude an infant's crying. 
 
 " llush, hush, dear Belial" I said, in a soothing 
 whisper: but it was of no avail — fortlie child sent 
 forth its shrill peuetrating cry, which was imnic- 
 diiitely followed by a fit of screaming and shrieking. 
 
 A mortal terror seized upon me, and I fe't as if 
 I were becoming frenzied. But Tommy, without 
 losing his pi'esence of mind, rushed to the street- 
 door. 
 
 "Halloa! what's that?" thundered the voice of 
 the Bulldog from above : and then I heard as dis- 
 tinctly as possible a rush of bn-o feet, but witii 
 steps as heavy as thej' were rapid, on the second 
 storey. "Nick — Joe — treacliery — they're gone!' 
 vociferated that dreadful voice : and the next mo- 
 ment the Bulldog and his companions were preci- 
 pitating themselves down the ttairs at a furious 
 rate. 
 
 la the mean time Tommy had unfastened th3 
 chain which secured the front d lor— had drawn 
 back the bolts— and had utilucljed it. 
 
 "Come, come— for God'i sake come!" he ex- 
 claimed, with an agonising lucidity of tone and 
 manner, as he threw open the door. 
 
 Ail in a moment was I inspired with the courage 
 of desperation, as ihe sudden view of the street with- 
 out seemed to promise freedom and safety. I darted 
 towards the door and bounded over the threshold, 
 the terrible imprecations of the Bulldog and his 
 confederates reaching my ears as they precipitated 
 themselves down the last flight. But Tummy, having 
 taken tiie key out of the lock on the inner side of tho 
 dour, had thrust it in again on the outside; so that 
 scarcely had I thus shot forth as it were into the 
 street, when quick as the eye can wiuk Tommy 
 dashed alter ine, drawing the door behind him and 
 locking it fast. 
 
 "Now away for our lives I" he said, as he sped 
 along the alley; and at the same time he hurled the 
 key over the dead «all facing the house whence wo 
 had just escaped so provideniially. 
 
 Forward we ran, and in less than a ininute gained 
 the end of the lane. We glanced back, but saw no 
 one in pursuit: for even supposing that the ruffians 
 whom we had thus outwitted, either burst ojjen the 
 front dour, or thought of leaping through the ground- 
 floor windows, they nevertheless must have paused 
 to put on some clothing, inasmuch as they had 
 risen from their beds to rush down stairs in the 
 manner already I'.esciibed. 
 
 V No one coming — we are all safe I" cried Tommy. 
 "This way, this way!" — ar,d he bounded onward, 
 down another narrow dirty street, wiih me chise 
 following at his heels. Every moment did we look 
 back to see if we were pursued : but not a living 
 soul was to be seen in the street besides ourselves; 
 and forward we sped through the same inazi which 
 we had threaded a few lu,ur8 back, and which I have 
 already described. Indeed, as I substquently learnt, 
 it was in the very heart of St. Giles's that tlie 
 Tramper's Arms was situated ; and at the time of 
 which I am writing no quarter uf London was more 
 horrible, more filthy, or mote fraught with dangers 
 than that. But as 1 was then hurrying through the 
 loathsome district, guided by Mad Tommy, and 
 carrying the child in my arms, I liad liitle leisure or 
 inclination to scan the principal features of the 
 labyrinth, so as to ascertain how far its aspect by 
 day confirmed the impression made upon me by 
 its appearance at night. 
 
 In about ten minutes Tommy suddenly stopped 
 siiort at a lar\;(; d;ngy- looking house in an alley 
 where the other liahitations were niucli sninller aiul 
 of the most wretched description. Every window 
 of the liouse wliere we thus liaiicd, had shutters
 
 88 
 
 MARY rillCE : OK, THE MEMOIKS OF A 6ERVANT-MA1D. 
 
 fastened inside ; and it at once struck me that this 
 must be the Byles's establishment. 
 
 •' Good heavens, Tommy I" said I, selling him by 
 the arm just as he was about to pull the door-bell : 
 "you will not stop here? 'Tis the very place 
 whither those men will pursue us 1" 
 
 "No danger, no danger," returned Tommy, in a 
 tone of mingled confidence and firmness. " Old By les 
 not let them in, but will take care of us. Miss 
 Price will see that Tommy knows how to manage 
 it all:" — and with these words he rang the bell. 
 
 In less than a minute I heard a door open in- 
 side; and then Mrs. Byles asked from witbia, 
 " Who's there ?" 
 
 " Tommy," was the answer given whisperiugly 
 through the keyhole. 
 
 Thereupon chain and bolts fell back— the door 
 opened— and Mrs. Byles appeared in the passage, 
 dressed precisely as I had seen her a few hours 
 back, and looking; as if she had not been in bed 
 all ni<^lit. 
 
 "Ah ! so you are returned?" she said, as Tommy 
 and 1 at once entered the house : for thou'jh I 
 experienced no small hesitation to trust myself 
 within those walls, I did not clioese to rebel 
 atjainst the will of my companion, who had already 
 done so much for me and done that much so well. 
 "And you have got a little one with you, eh?" 
 objerved the woman, as she fixed her eyes upon 
 the child who was nuw sleeping once more. •' But 
 1 suppose you are in a hurry to get rid of this 
 disguise and put on youf own things again ?" 
 
 "While sho was thus speaking, the door in the 
 passage opened, and old Byles made his appear- 
 ance with a dirty white cotton night cap on his 
 Iiead instead of the dingy silk skull-cap, and his 
 lean lank form wrapped in an old faded chintz 
 dressing-down which was ample enough for a 
 Daniel Lambert. 
 
 " Ah ! Tommy and the young lass," he said, a 
 smile appearing upon his hideous countenance. 
 
 "Yes — here we are, safe and sound," Tummy 
 hastened to observe ; " and done what we wanted 
 too! But all that no matter — not your business — 
 ours — our's! You will not let anybody come — not 
 open the door to a soul I Say nobody here I" 
 
 " llest assured of that," said Mrs. Byles: then 
 turning to me, she remarked, " If you are afraid of 
 any thing, you need entertain no alarm on account 
 of me or my husband. "We never mix ourselves up 
 iu other people's afi^airs : we hear, see, and say 
 nothing — and we don't allow any noise or disturb- 
 ance to take place in our house. We buy goods 
 when they are brought to uj for sale; and we 
 disguise people for masquerades or what not," 
 added the woman iu a significant manner ; " but 
 beyond tliat we do nothing. That's tlie way we 
 keep ourselves out of trouble, and avoid coming to 
 lo,!,'gerhcads with the officers of justice." 
 
 1 was much cheered — indeed I may say that my 
 misgivings were completely set at rest — by these 
 assurances: for I had previously fancied that the 
 Byleses were most likely in league with all such 
 characters as the Bulldog, and would take their 
 part or assist thom in carrying out their aims. 
 But I now saw that, in plain terms, they were 
 merely "receivers of stolen goods," with which 
 avocation ttiey united that of supplying c 'stumos 
 and making up disguises, as the reader has already 
 Beeu. 
 
 I now accompanied the woman up-stairs, to the 
 bed-chamber where I had performed my sh'gular 
 toilet on the previous night, and where 1 hastened 
 to discard it with all imaginable pleasure. It was 
 with the most fervid joy that I washed off the 
 odious dye which, as Mrs. Byles had assured me, 
 soon yielded to hot water, soap, and soda ; and in 
 about half-an-hour I was myself again. Perhaps 
 I shall be pardoned if 1 declare that never before 
 nor since did I survey myself with so much satis- 
 faction in the glass as I did when restored to my 
 original complexion and again apparelled in my 
 own vesture. 
 
 When my toilet was finished, I examined into 
 the state of my finances, and found that they were 
 reduced to three or four shihings. I wished to 
 make Mrs. Byles a farther present for her atten- 
 tions; but I did not like to offer her such a trifle 
 as that; and I accordingly assured her that I 
 would call or send in the course of the day and 
 give her some additional recompense. 
 
 " Well, I thought you would," she said, with an 
 evident greedy eagerness after money : " for I saw 
 clear enough that you wasn't one of the sort that 
 generally come here, and that it must be some 
 novel kind of an adventure in which the like of you 
 was engaged. That's what made me take the 
 trouble to sit up for you, which I shouldn't do for 
 or'nary folks." 
 
 I renewed my promise to make the woman a 
 farther present; and she expressed herself satis- 
 fied that I would keep my word. 1 now again 
 took charge of Isabella, who had been sleeping on 
 the bed all the time I was changing my dress ; and 
 on descending to the passage, 1 found Tommy 
 waiting for me. He was transformed back to pre- 
 cisely the same being in all particulars that he 
 was previous to assuming the disguise ; and when 
 I remembered all he had done, as well as the ex- 
 cellence of heart which he had displayed through- 
 out the adventure, it cut me to the quick to behold 
 him once more clad in the vilest and most sordid 
 rags, without shoes or stockings on his feet I 
 
 " On ! why did you not keep the clothes ?" I 
 exclaimed: "and 1 would pay for them. Be- 
 si Ics, you must come with me to receive the 
 thanks " 
 
 " Hush!" he said: "don't talk of that. I don't 
 vant any reward. Give me a shilling — and 1 shall 
 walk back to Ashford. Tommy likes that place 
 best." 
 
 " I will not move out of this house," said I, ad- 
 dressing him in a decisive voice, " till I see you 
 properly dressed; and then you shall come with 
 me, and I know that something good will be done 
 for you. Indeed I am very much mi«taUen if you 
 will ever be allowed to know what want and rags 
 are again," I added, with tears in my eyes. 
 
 "Ah! Miss Price, you are kind — very, very 
 kind," said the poor fellow, wiping away his own 
 tears with the back of his hand : " but Tommy will 
 have his way.'' 
 
 " But I declare that you shall not !" I said, more 
 emphatically still. " I am sure you do not wish to 
 distress mc ? and I shall be very unhappy unless 
 you come with me." 
 
 " Tommy can't — would never dare enter great 
 big house " 
 
 " Yes,'' I exclaimed, a thou''ht striking me : 
 *■ but you must come to tell them that all 1 say is
 
 iMAUV PRICE OlS, THE »1EM01RS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 89 
 
 true— or else I shall not Im believed; and tliere- 
 (ovc, you see, it is quite necessary for you to bear 
 me cotnpaoy to Grosvenor Square " 
 
 " Huili ! don't talk too much," cried Tommy. 
 "Mustn't let aU tlie world know what we have been 
 doiiifj. They will believe you," lie added, with a 
 look so full of meaning that for the instant he ap- 
 peared ill perfect possession of his intellects : then 
 poiutin^f to the child which I carried in my arms, 
 he added, " Here is the proof of jour story." 
 
 " But still you must come !" said I. 
 
 Tommy seemed to reflect profoundly for nearly 
 a minute, during which interval Byles and his wife 
 exchanged a few rapid whispers : for notwith- 
 standing their pruiiential liabit of avoi'liiig any 
 interference with the affairs of otlicrs, they had 
 evidently been listening with no small degree of 
 interest to the brief and rapid dialogue which liad 
 taken place between Tommy and myself. I also 
 observed that they started slightly aud threw upon 
 No. 12 
 
 each other significant looks when I mentioned the 
 name of Grosvenor Square: and then was it that 
 t'ley began whi.sperins together. 
 
 " Excuse rae, Miss," at length said the old man, 
 in his shivering, quaking, and trembling v.)ice : 
 " but I see you are very respectable — pray excuse 
 me— but if you like. Tummy can have anything 
 on credit here, and you can send me round the 
 amount of the little bill in the course of the day." 
 
 " Yes— aud if so be," chimed in Jlrs. IJyIes, 
 ■'you want a guinea or two to give him, Mis, you 
 can have it, I'm sure, and welcome." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you," said I, "and I at 
 once accept the offer relative to the clothes. Now, 
 Tommy, m.ike liaste and go and dress yourself in 
 the best suit you can find to tit you : and then you 
 must come with me." 
 
 " Well, Tommy will take the clothes and ono 
 yellow money-piece —just one," he said ; " but 
 nothing more— nothing more: not hkcly, not
 
 90 
 
 MARY PRICE ; on, THE MEMOIRS OF A 6RVANT-MAID. 
 
 likely! And this is on condition, miud — yuu un- 
 derstand me?— that you dou't make me go with 
 you ?" 
 
 " But you must come with me, I repeat," was my 
 earnest and remonstrative exciain^ition. "You 
 k:iow that those with whom I live, will do every- 
 thing for you— at least my dear lady will : and so 
 you must come 1" 
 
 "Then Tommy won't!" he answered, with a 
 dog^sd manner and sullen look. 
 
 I saw at once that it would be useless to attempt 
 to persuade him to go with me to Harlesdun House ; 
 and I tliereforc thuuifht it better to malte him accept 
 whatever benefits I could at the moment confer upon 
 him — trusting to a future and speedy opportunity 
 of having more done for him through the medium 
 of Lady Hirle-don. I accordingly consented to 
 the compromise he proposed: and having disap- 
 i pcared with old Byles for about ten miautes, he 
 came forth again, c ad in a complet3 suit of uew 
 corduroy, with thick worsted stockings and lace-up 
 boots. 
 
 "He wouldn't take any better," onsjrved Byles, 
 shaking his head despoudingly at the loss of the 
 profit wliicli he would have reaped on a more ex- 
 pensive suit. 
 
 " No, no — not likely, not likely," said the poor 
 follow, evidently feeling as proud and as happy as 
 possible in his new suit, rude and rough though it 
 were. " Tottimy knows what he looks best in — 
 Tommy very smart how — dressed for Sundays!" — 
 and as he laughed, it was with regret I saw that 
 there wds As idiotic a tdbaiicy as ever in his man- 
 ner, 
 
 *' Well iid#j abdttt the money ?" said Mrs. 
 Byles. 
 
 "Aye, dye — tli^ tiioney," echoed her husband, 
 in his qiiivsriiig tones : and with a hand equally 
 tremulous he drew forth a d jzeu guineas from a 
 p.icket of his dressing-gown. 
 
 •• If you will trust me with them all," Snii 1, 
 "let Tommy take tliem every one; and 1 pledge 
 myself that you shall be paid within a feiv 
 hours." 
 
 "All I" ejaculated the object of my remark. 
 " No, no : Tommy not know what to do with 
 them— not likely, not likely I Tommy take two ; 
 
 and that will keep him for so long Oh, so 
 
 long I" 
 
 To be brief, vainly did I urge upon the poor 
 fellow to accept the whole of the money. No 
 coaxing, nor argument, nor entreaty could over- 
 rule his fixed resolve; and I was accordingly 
 f )rced to abandon the point, leaving him to take 
 merely the two pieces of gold. 
 
 An hour had been spent in the manner now 
 described at Byles's establishment — the child was 
 getting very fretful and restless— and I longed to 
 behold Grosvcnor Square agnin. Therefore, hav- 
 ing obtained the spscinc .address of the house on a 
 piece of paper, 1 took leave of its owners and 
 .-allied forth in company with Tommy. On emerg- 
 ing from the lane, a wider thoroughf.iro brought 
 ui into High Street, St. Giles,— just sa the parish 
 churcii was chiming half- past five. Tommy inti- 
 mated his wish to seo me as far ai Grcsvcnor 
 Square, and I joyfully accepted his escort— not 
 BO much through fear of the outwitted ruffians, 
 there being now many persons abroad in the 
 streets ; but with the lingering hype of being en- 
 
 abled to induce him to be presented to my mistress 
 as the individual who had been the means of re- 
 covering her child. 
 
 While proceeding homeward. Tommy gave me 
 a few particulars in his own d sjointed and scarcely 
 intelligible manner, respecting one portion of tie 
 night's adventure which as yet presents a gap in 
 the narrative. This was what h-.pponed to him 
 when, separating from me at the Tramper's Armi, 
 he was assigned to another room. It seems that 
 the chamber to which he was thus shown by the 
 ftmale-servant had four beds in it; and without 
 putting off a single article of apparel, he lay down 
 en one, covering himself with the counterpane. 
 Not for a moment did he go to sleep — but re- 
 mained awake, vigilant and watchful. At last, at 
 about three o'clock (as already described), the 
 p;irty in the supper-room broke up ;' and t!ie Bull- 
 di'g, Nick Sawbridge, and Long Joe repaired to 
 the room where Tommy lay. He pretended to be 
 asleep, although experiencing no inconsiderable 
 dread of detection in respect to the disguise which 
 he wore and who he really was. Fortunately, how- 
 ever, the three fellows did not attempt to molest 
 him or play him any tricUs; but having casnaily 
 remarked " that it waa the nigger chap who was 
 there," they undressed themselves and went to bed. 
 Sawbridge and Long JoC so.m fell asleep; but 
 Tommy fancied that the Bulldog was remaining 
 awake for some time — and hence the delay of an 
 hour ere he ventured to leave his o>Tn couch, 
 steal from the room, and hasten to emancip^'.tc 
 me. The rest is known to the reader; and thus, 
 with those inciiental explnnaiions, the narrative 
 of the night's adventures is rendered complcie. 
 
 I asked Tommy what he thought was the reason 
 that the Bu'ldog and his friends bad not pursued 
 us, and why they had not sought us at the i3yles's 
 house? The aus\7crs he g.:ve me afforded another 
 proof that the faculty of reasoning was not ex- 
 tinct, but merely warped and rendered eccentric 
 as it were withih him. He said, as well as I could 
 understand him, that aUhough we had carried off 
 the child, it by bo means fol owed that the ruffians 
 should have gilessed who we were,— indeed, that it 
 was next to impossible, considering our disguises, 
 that they could have suspected the real truth at 
 all, — and consequentlj', suspecting nothing, there 
 was naught to take them to the Byles's house. As 
 for pursuing us, they migho have in-titutcd a 
 search in the ncigubourhood so soon as they had 
 huddled on their clothes ; but we had got too good 
 a start of them to be ovcrtaljcn. 
 
 Such was Tommy's reasoning upon the subject; 
 and by the tune he had finished we reaohed Gros- 
 venor Square. Oh ! how my heart leaped as I 
 beheld the mansi n into which 1 was about to 
 carry such joy! The feeling was a regard, ten 
 thousand times over, for everything 1 had gme 
 through during the past night. But the full tide 
 of my satisfaction was somewhat checned when, on 
 renewing my entreaty for uiy companion to go 
 with me to the house, ho gave a resolute recusal. 
 I besought and implored him to change his mind : 
 but he would not. I then as!;ed him to meet me 
 a,'ain at a later hour in the day : but he declared 
 his intent on of at once setting off for Ashford. 
 In a word, all I could say was of no avail ; and 
 after wringing my hand warmly, the poor fellow 
 liurriod away. I stood watching him ti;l he turned
 
 lUKY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 91 
 
 the corner of the street along which he sped ; but 
 he did not look back — and v/hen he was out of 
 sight I'gave a profound sigh, thinldng to myself 
 how pleasant it would have been to see that un- 
 fortunate being placed in a condition to insure 
 him against want through the grateful benevolence 
 of Lady Harlesdon. 
 
 The church-clocks were striking six as I rang 
 at the bell of Karlesdon House. One of the under- 
 housemaids speedily answered the summons; and 
 the moment she beheld me with the child in my 
 arms, she gave a cry of mingled amazement and 
 joy which seemed the harbinger of the still more 
 fervid delight that v\as in a few minutes to be ex- 
 perienced within. Not waiting to ask me a single 
 question, the housemaid rushed up-stairs as if she 
 ^^■erc w Id, to carry the happy intelligence to her 
 master and mistress. I ascended more slowly — 
 for I was ready t > drop with fatigue. Lady 
 Harlesdon, having hastily thrown on a morning 
 wrapper, came rushing down from her room to 
 meet me ; but wh n she beheld me with the child 
 in my arms, a sudden faintness seemed to come 
 over her ; and stopping short, she staggered back 
 against the banisters. Almost immediately re- 
 covering herself, h /wever, and bursting into tears 
 of joy, she tore the child from me — strained it to 
 her bosom— covered it with her kisses— and ad- 
 dressed to it so m.any tender, fond, endearing 
 thin.i^'S that I feit my o.tu heart dissolving with in- 
 ettable emotions. 
 
 For two or tlireo minutes did she thus stand 
 upon the stairs, clasping the restored infant to her 
 bosom: then as the first wild gush of feeling had 
 found a vent, she fixed her eyes upon me, saying, 
 "Mary — dear Mary — it is Pruvidence that sent 
 you amongst us! Words have no power to ex- 
 press all I feel for you. Henceforth, my dear 
 
 girl " 
 
 At this moment Lord Harlesdon appeared upon 
 the scene, having huddled on some clothing and 
 his dressing-gown. "When he had caressed the 
 babe, he turned towards me as I was standing near 
 with the tears of joy dimming my eyes ; and in 
 the patronizing tone of a proud man endeavouring 
 to play the part of a b-mefactor, lie said, ■' Young 
 woman, your conduct is good — very good indeed. 
 How you have managed we don't know yet : but 
 that you fiave managed to get back the child is 
 evident enough. After breakf.ist come in to me 
 in tlie library, and 1 siiall make you a present of 
 five guineas for your trouble." 
 
 " Good heaven=!, my lord !" cried Lady Harles- 
 don, in mingled shame and indignation : " how can 
 yon talk thus of a mere money-reward to this dear 
 girl, who henceforth shall bo to me as a fistcr?" 
 
 " My dear, my dear," said Lord Harlesdon, in a 
 pompous tone of remonstrance, "you forget that 
 
 the young woman is but a servant " 
 
 1 remained to hear no more, but glided away 
 along the passage leading from the landing to- 
 wards the back staircase, and hunied up to the 
 nurser}'. My heart was swelling with onflicting 
 emotions— graiitudo toward-i my beloved mistress, 
 and mingled astonishment and bitter mortification 
 at the treatment 1 had just received from my 
 master. But I soon forgot that source of annoy- 
 ance—or rather experienced a muigr.tion of it— 
 when on reacliiiig tlie Nursery Floor I Leeame tiie 
 first to impart to poor Jemima the intclligenco 
 
 that the child was brought back. She was very 
 seriously ill : but the happy tidings of which I was 
 the bearer filled her soul with a joy which must 
 have done her good to experience, as it did me to 
 contemplate its reflection in her features. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE PARK. 
 
 I WENT to bed : but the excitement of my feelings 
 prevented me from sleeping; andin about an hour 
 Lady Harlesdon, having learnt that I was awake, 
 came up with her dear little girl in her arms. She 
 now embraced me most afi^ectionately — said all 
 the kind things she couM possibly conceive — and 
 apologised a thousand times over for her hus- 
 band's unfeeling and even cold-hearted way of 
 treating the immense service I had performed. As 
 a matter of course her ladyship was most anxious 
 to hear how I had recovered the lost one ; and I then 
 gave her the fullest particulars connected with the 
 adventures of the past night, suppressing only the 
 sign of the public-house and the names of the per- 
 sons engaged in the transaction. This I did to pre- 
 vent rigorous measures being adopted to punish the 
 oITjnders. Not that I vvished to screen them on my 
 own account: heaven forbid ! They deserved to be 
 punished ; and without a pang could I have seen 
 tiiem sentenced to long periods of imprisonment. 
 But I felt that it would have been repaying poor 
 Tommy with the blackest ingratitude to adopt a 
 course which his own particular line of proceeding 
 had been taken in order to avert. This I candidly 
 explained to Lady Harlesdon; and she did not 
 press me to reveal the names which I thus purposely 
 withheld. As for the debt which I had contracted 
 with Mr. and Mrs. Byles, this her ladyship at once 
 despatched a footman to discharge, sending as a gra- 
 tuity a couple of guineas more than the amount 
 actually owing. 
 
 I need not say how astonished she was at the nar- 
 rative which I unfolded to her: and indeed so 
 strange was it in many of its particulars, that I was 
 really glad of the corroborative evidence afforded in 
 the fact of that debt having been so incurred at 
 Byles's house ; for without such important tes- 
 timony, it might have seemed that I was romancing. 
 Not that her ladyship would for a moment have 
 suspected me of exaggeration or falsehood : but 
 those to whom she had to repeat the tale might have 
 done so. It was however only to her husband and 
 a few immediate friends, together with the servants 
 of the household — from whom it could not well be 
 concealed— that the narrative of my adventures was 
 recited ; because 1 had represented to her ladyship 
 that if the particulars were made altogether public, 
 and the ruirians from whom her child had been 
 rescued should thus discover that the pretended 
 negro and negress were none other than tl;e poor 
 idiot and I, they would seek some opportunity to 
 iiiflict a deadly vengeance upon us both. There- 
 fore the tale was hushed up as much as possible; 
 and indce;! everybody beneath the roof of Harlesdon 
 House was too much rejoiced at the recovery of the 
 innocent child, no* to promise implicit secrecy as to 
 tlie means adopte 1 to accomplish the restoration. 
 
 The extraordinary degree of excitement 1 liad
 
 9-2 
 
 MAUv rnioG; on, the MK>ron:s of a servant-maid. 
 
 ondured was follownd by a proportionate reac- 
 tion ; and for nearly a week after the memorable 
 adventures which I have been relating, 7 was very 
 much iiidispised. Lady Harlesdon behaved with 
 the utmost kindness towards me : she not only 
 came up twice or thrice a day to see me, but would 
 even sit with me for an hour at a time. On one 
 of these occasions she declared that so soon as I 
 was perfectly recovered, I should leave the Nursery 
 Floor altogether, and have one of the handsome 
 spare bedrooms on the storey below; for that 
 she no longer intended me to occupy a menial 
 nosiiion in her household, but to become a com- 
 panion to herself. She was pleased to tell me 
 that I was as genteel as any l.tdy of her acquaint- 
 ance, and tint iiU I wanted was fashionable ap- 
 parel to make me look altogether like a lady. 
 Such apparel did she declare that I should have ; 
 and she went on talking about th?; splendid jewel- 
 lery that she would purchase for me, and the 
 elegant appearance I shoull have when attired in 
 the toilet which she herself would superintend. 
 Vainly did I assure hor ladyship that I should 
 prefer remaining in my present humble situation; 
 that as for fine clothes and jewels, my ambition 
 iid not tend in that direction ; and that all I 
 sought and all I hoped for in life was to eat the 
 bread of honest industry. However her ladyship, 
 thinking perhaps that I should entertain another 
 opinion if duly put to the test, procured an im- 
 mense assortment of jewellery from t'lo establish- 
 ment where she duiltj and insisted upon my making 
 a selection, llesolntely did I refuse. I trembled 
 indeed at the bare thought of taking so sudden a 
 flight and becoming a fine lady all in a moment. 
 My nob!e mistress was evidently astonished: she 
 could not undei'stan i how it was possible I refused 
 the rich ornaments which she declared would be- 
 come me so well — especially, she remarked, as my 
 tffo years of mourning were nearly expired, and 
 in a few v.'eeks I wns to lay aside my black gar- 
 ments. But I explained to her ladyship tliat as 
 it was repugnant to my feelings to become a de- 
 pendant eating the bread of indolence, 1 profirred 
 10 reraiin in active service in her household; and 
 that in such a capacity it would bo outrageous 
 and preposterous to wear fine clothes an! jewelti. 
 In a word, alter many conversations and battlings 
 between her ladyship and myself on the subject, I 
 consented to accept a plain go'd ring as a test'- 
 mony of her regard: but beyond this I absolutely 
 refused everything. 
 
 Sir Aubrey Ciavering remained a fortnight at 
 the house : but I scarcely saw anything of him ; 
 for rover since the fu\st day of his arrival did he 
 renew his visit to the nursery. If we did happ.^n 
 to meet on the stairs, I tuincJ my looks away 
 from him; and he dii not once offer to speak to 
 mc. I was however glad when I heard that he 
 was gone, and then was cquilly annoyed at being 
 told that he was to join t!ie family again in a few 
 weeks at one of the C3untry-seat3 : for as the 
 reader may suppose, Sr Aubrey was very far from 
 being a favourite of mine. 
 
 Lady Harlesdon now began to take me out in 
 the carriage with her occasionally of an afternoon 
 — ostensibly that 1 might bring the little Isabella 
 for ail airing, but in reality with a view of showing 
 me special marks of her favour. She was rciolved 
 to make me her companion to some extent; and 
 
 in so doing she ingcniou^y fo in 1 ati excuse lor 
 compelling me to accept of two or thiee new 
 dresses. For the time of my mourning expired; 
 and then she represented that inasmuch as Dr. 
 ■Comfit had ordered little Bella to be taken out 
 for an airing in the carriage nearly every day, and 
 as I must go to take care of her, it was requisite 
 that I should be well dressed. Her ladyship ac- 
 cordingly made me accept some dresses, as I have 
 just stated; and she selected those which, being 
 plain but neat and tasteful, were not likely to 
 shock my natural timidity and bashfulness by 
 finery of colour or costliness of material. Though 
 I penetrated all the kind artifice which pervaded 
 these proceedings on her ladyship's part towarda 
 me, I could not refasc her presents without see:n- 
 ing actually over nice and far too pa-ticu'ar in my 
 notions : because there is a point at which it 
 amounts to actual churlishness to refuse to be- 
 come the recipient of wel;-meant bounties— es- 
 pecially when tho e bounties involved the be- 
 stowal of gifts which, consilering our relative 
 circumstances, I might accept. 
 
 Tnus did Lady Harlesdon, with mingled gener- 
 osity and del cacy, seek a variety of ways to de- 
 monstrate her gratitude towards me ; and when 
 she took me with her in the carringe she was ac- 
 customed to chat with me quite in a friendlj', 
 frank, and unconstrained manner — often amusing 
 me with her good-humoured satire upon the pro- 
 minent foliies of fashionable life, instructing me 
 upon many points of learning which the standard 
 of my own education had not reached, and at 
 limes dizzling me with the brilliancy of her 
 wit. 
 
 I remember I was riuing in an open carriage 
 with her ladyship one afternoon in the autumn, 
 round "the drive" in Hyde Park. She was lounging 
 back on the flocculent cusl-.ions with that air of 
 fashionable lassitude which was rather a habit 
 than natural with her — whils I was seated oppo- 
 site with the Hon. ^liss Isabella Clementina on 
 my lap. It was Sunday ; and as at that season of 
 the year the greater portion of the fashionable 
 world were out of town, there were but tew equi- 
 pages belonging to the aristocracy of the West 
 End to be seen in the Park. I should here ob- 
 serve that some particular business kept the 
 Harlesdon family in town; but that his lord>hip 
 hoped to be ei:abled to leave for one of his coun- 
 try mansions at the end of the current month. 
 Rel itivc to Hyde Park on the occa-ion now re- 
 ferred to, I slioulJ add that although few of the 
 fashionable world were left in town to be driving, 
 riding, or walking there, ncvcrthcloss there was 
 no lack of vehicles, horsemen, and pedcstiim 
 loungers. Indeed, the Park presented a very bust- 
 ling and animated appc;>ranco. 
 
 " You see, my dear Mary," said Lady Harles- 
 don, " that a fi 10 Sunday (ills the Pirk with all 
 these gay birds w;:ose p'.umage is either borrowed 
 or else so ill-becomes tliem. Do lo k! here aro 
 all the men-milliners, linendrapers, and shop boys 
 who have bcei serving one all the week, and who 
 now come to astonish one with the r appearatice 
 in the Parle Just observe ! did you ever see such 
 iiifimous hoi-scmen? There goes tlu young man 
 who always serves m'5 at II iwell an i James's : he 
 is cvidcnt'y in excrueiations to maintain his seat 
 upon that high-trotting horic. But who ia this
 
 MAiir price; or, the memoius oi* a servant-maid. 
 
 'Jo 
 
 OIK! tint has just passed us with fixed spurs like 
 a (ioM- officer in plain clutlics? My jeweller's 
 youn;^ man, I declare! But ah! behold that im- 
 portant-looking: gentleman mounted on the grey 
 steed, and having the air of a Minister of State. 
 That is my lord's carriage-builder! This young 
 man who is ri'ling in the contrary direction, and 
 who sits so stiffly on his steed, as if he were an 
 Egyptian mummy, is my milliner's husband. But 
 do look ! he has actually hired a groom for the 
 day from the livery-stables, to follow him upon 
 another hack at a little distance! Now observe 
 those two young men in that gig : see what airs 
 they are giving themselves ! The one who drives 
 is imitating the coachman's flourish witli his whip 
 — and his companion has got an eye-glass with 
 which he is surveying all the female promenadcrs. 
 The most superficial observer can tell that they 
 are two choice specimens of the once-a-wock 
 dandies. But gracious goodness! who do you think 
 they are? Two of Swan and Edgar the linen- 
 drapers' young men ! And now behold, they are 
 actually bowing to Lady Davenport and her two 
 daughters who are passing in their carriage. The 
 monsters ! pretending to be the acquaintances of 
 aristocracy ! Nothing can be more insufferable 
 than these counter-coxcoinbs." 
 
 In tliis manner did Lady Harlesdon tear to pieces 
 the company in the Park. Not that she was natu- 
 rally of an illiberal disposition ; but patrician pre- 
 judices and fashionable arrogances had spoilt her. 
 Fur my part, I could not see why the shopmen be- 
 longing to the establishments at which her lady- 
 ship dealt should not enjoy themselves on a 
 Sunday as well as herself or her entire circle of 
 aristocratic friends: but it is very certain that the 
 Aristocracy do look upon the Park as exclusively 
 their own, and either survey all plebeian intruders 
 with ineffable contempt, or else mercilessly lace- 
 rate them after Lady Harlesdon's fashion. 
 
 As the carriage was proceeding leisurely round 
 " the drive," a gentleman, mounted on a splenflid 
 horse, raised his hat and approached the equipage. 
 The coachman, who with wonderful prescience 
 alwnys seemed to understand when he was to pull 
 up for any privileged acquaintance or friend of liis 
 lioble mistress, at once reined in the horses; and 
 the gentleman rode up to the carriage. He was 
 one of these Fashionables, or Exquisites, who are 
 to be seen only in the atmosphere of the West 
 End— save and except upon very rare occasions, 
 when they penetrate into the City to pay a visit to 
 some money-lender. The gentleman of whom I 
 am now speaking, was the Hon. Captain Lavender 
 — an officer in the Horse Guards. He was tall, 
 thin, and dressed with the nicest precision : but 
 his approach was like what I li;»d read of a ship's 
 drawing near the Spice Islands— a gush of per- 
 fume assailing the senses with an almost over- 
 powering effect. Tins was no wonder : for his hair 
 was glossy with the most fragrant oil — his whiskers 
 owed tiicir lustre to a similar unguent — his breath, 
 as he leant down to speak to her ladyship, was 
 laden with myrrh — and when he drew forth his 
 delicate cambric handkerchief, it exhaled the 
 powerful scent of bergamot. He had a kind of 
 impudent stare in the eyes ; and liis manner would 
 have been by far too familiar, if it were not ex- 
 quisitely polished and courtly. 
 
 Such was the gentleman who, riding up to the 
 
 cairiige, began addressing her ladyship with an 
 affected drawl which admirably suited his eiiiire 
 appearance, but methought was wondrously inap- 
 propriate for a Captain in the Horse Guards. 
 
 " Did your ladyship ever know such intense vul- 
 garity ?" asked the Hon. Captain Lavender, as he 
 fixtd ids quizzing-ghiss in the socket of his left 
 eye and glanced superciliously around upon as 
 much of the company as his look could thus em- 
 brace. " For my part I am so sickened at the 
 sight of aU these wretched linendrapers, that I 
 have sworn never to venture into the Park again 
 on a Sunday. The dust is suffocating, and the 
 commonality is odious. Tliere !" he exclaimed, 
 waving his whip in the direction of a group of 
 females who were walking wiihin the barriers : 
 "see how they are tricked out! All that yellow 
 satins, green silks, and gaudy ribands can pos- 
 sibly do for them, is done : and yet anybody can 
 tell that they no more belong to us than yourlady- 
 sliip does to their order. lu fact, I would lay my 
 life on it that they have come all the way from 
 Fleet Street or Cheapside in a hackney-coach. 
 And by Jove!" ejaculated Captain Lavender, 
 raising his voice, " I can see a piece of straw stick- 
 ing to the yellow fringe of the flaunting blue 
 shawl !" 
 
 " O fie, Captain I you are really too severe," said 
 Lady Harlesdon, laughing. "But joking apart, 
 those women whom you have just pointed out, are 
 particularly unsuccessful in playing the ladies of 
 fashion." 
 
 At this moment another Exquisite, but not more 
 than sixteen or seventeen years of age, rode up to 
 the carri;ig>% and having made his bow to Lady 
 Harlesdon, said in a cracked affected tone,' " 'Pou 
 my word, I'm amazed to see your ladyship yet iu 
 town !" 
 
 " I can assure ycu, Mr. Bergamot," said Lady 
 Harksdon, "that if it had not been for his lord- 
 ship's great Chancery suit, which has already cost 
 him a hundred thousand pounds and lasted forty 
 years, we should have been at Harlesdon Park a 
 fortnight ago. But it is referred back again for 
 the eleventh time to the Master, and his lordship 
 must wait a few days to give his solicitors fresh in- 
 structions." 
 
 " And if I mistake not, it is merely to decide a 
 right of pathway in a field on his lordship's estate ?" 
 said Captain Lavender. 
 
 "Yes— exactly so," replied Lady Harlesdon ; "a 
 field which, being a perfect swamp, is never used, 
 and the pathway across which is of no service to 
 anybody as it leads nowhere. But then, as my lord 
 says, it's the principle of the thing 1" 
 
 '•To be sure— everything for principle 1" said 
 Mr. Bergamot, in his cracked voice. "But I aay. 
 Lavender, where were you yesterday?" 
 
 "Ah!" interrupted the Captain, with a strange 
 affected kind of a laugl), " 1 know why you ask I 
 It was your first day on guard :" — then turning to 
 Lady Harlesdon, he added, "Our young friend 
 here is a Cornet of six weeks* standing, recollect." 
 
 "Her ladyship knows that, Lavender, as well 
 as you," exclaimed ]\Ir. Bergamot, brushing 
 his horse gently with a scented white handker- 
 chief. 
 
 "To bo sure," cried her ladyship: "for you 
 called to show me the Gazette the moment your 
 name appeared iu it."
 
 di 
 
 MAP.Y riiicE ; on, tiik memoius of a eekvaxt-maid. 
 
 "Andwlicn his fir^t suit of uniform was sent 
 home," addeJ Captaia Lavemicr, laughing,', *' he put 
 it on to walk out witii liis mamma and sisters." 
 
 "Ton ray word, that's too bad, Lavender!" said 
 the young Cornet, suddenly becoming the colour 
 of scarlet. " But I say, is it true that there's a 
 break-up at Trevelyan's ?" 
 
 "Yes— sheriffs in possession— every thing to 
 be sold ott — and Trcvclyan himself in the 
 Bench." 
 
 " Ah ! I always thought it would conac to that t I 
 have seen it coming for years!" observed this 
 youn^; Cornet of sixteen, who must therefore Invo 
 been a boy of very acute penetration when he first 
 bc/,'an to foresee thn catastrophe alluded to. 
 "But about Lady Maddox?" 
 
 "Oil! don't talk of it,' exclaimed Captain 
 Lavender. " Such a scandal ! But there's Lady 
 Davenport just riding by with her daughters ; and 
 they are sure to know all the most recent par- 
 ticulais!" 
 
 Wilh these words the Hon. Captain Lavender 
 raised his hat, wheeled round his steed, and 
 lar.cered away to overtake Lady Davenport's 
 equipage. 
 
 "A very excellent fellow is Lavender," said Mr. 
 Bergamot the moment his friend was gone. 
 "Sunie^hat too much of a fop," he continued, 
 fanning himself with his white cambric pocket- 
 handkerchief; "and a /eene highly perfumed. For 
 my part, I think that too much scent spoils a 
 man :" — and yet his own handkerchief was actually 
 sprinkling the air with the most powerful odours. 
 "Poor fellow!" he went on to observe, "I am sorry 
 for him — deuced sorry !" — and be looked after the 
 Captain who had at that moment overtaken and 
 stopped Lady Davenport's carriage. 
 
 "Why— what is the matter?" inquired Lady 
 Harlesdon, with a mysterious look, as if inviting 
 confiilence. 
 
 " What I hasn't your ladyship heard?" exclaimed 
 Mr. Bergamot, now playing with the splendid 
 watch-chain which festooned all over the front of 
 his figured silk waistcoat. "Lavender is quite 
 done up — credit gone — bankers overdrawn — not 
 even his horses in his own name— all made over to 
 his brother-in-law ! There will be a smash soon; 
 and between your ladyship and me, he will have to 
 sell out." 
 
 " Ail ! I understand— sell his commission and 
 leave the army ?" said Lady Harlesdon. 
 
 " O yes— it's quite notorious— every body is 
 talking of it." 
 
 " And yet you asked him plainly enough about 
 Mr. Trevelyan's difficulties ?"' 
 
 "Ton my word, so I did I "Very indiscreet of 
 me — very indiscreet! But then," added tlie youth- 
 ful Exquisite, arranging a lock of hair over his 
 right eyebrow, "there's an excuse forme, I have 
 been up all night on guard— and that's such a bore ! 
 It clouu's one's ideas so!" 
 
 He then proceeded to talk a great deal more — 
 rattling away with his cracked voice and affected 
 manner for nearly five minutes. But all that he 
 said amounted to t'nis— that he had given five 
 hundred guineas the day before yesterday for the 
 hoisn he visa riding;, and hiid been ofi'ered a thou- 
 sand lia!f-an-hour afterwards by Lord Verrigreen, 
 but tliat he would not take fifteen hundred — that 
 he was in treaty for a yacht at Southampton and 
 
 had sent two men to look at it, but was convinced 
 they meant to lake him i.^, and it didn't much mat- 
 ter if they did, as he should get his friend Lurd 
 Verrigreen to take it off his hands— that he had 
 bought "■Whirlwind" which won the cup at Don- 
 caster, but didn't think he should let him run at 
 Newmarket — that he had bets on " Hurricane" for 
 a cool ten thousand, but had hedged so as only " to 
 stand to lose" three thousand— and that fie was en- 
 gaged to dine at five places that day, and didn't 
 know how the deuce he was to manage. 
 
 Having given utterance to :t!l this wi:h consider- 
 able vcluhiliiy, thougii without much variation in 
 the cracked tones of his voice, he lifted his hat and 
 gall jped away. 
 
 The carriage now rolled oaward again; and 
 Lady Harlesdon observed to me, " What insuflFer- 
 abie egotists — what intolerable coxcombs — with 
 their feminine airs and frivolities! Ah! I per- 
 ceive, JMiiry, by your look tliat you wonder 1 re- 
 m;iiiied to talk to tiiem so long, and how I could 
 appear so amiable Siid also listen with so much at- 
 tention to what they said? But all this is p:in and 
 parcel of fashionable life. Those young men — or 
 rather that youtli Captaia Lavender, and that boy 
 Mr. Bergamot — are average spocimens ot those 
 junior 3pri;j;s of the Aristocracy who go into the 
 army ; and tliey make very good loungers in the 
 Pan; as well as very necessary embelli hmenta for 
 the drawing-room. But beyond that I know not of 
 what earthly s-crvice tlicy are. Look, Mary ! You 
 see this old rumbling ytllow barouche ;u-t coming 
 throuijh Grosvenor Gate ? It is the Dowager- 
 Countess of B.igtihoi'ri antiquated equipage; and 
 tliat old frump in it is the Dowager lierself. You 
 don't know liow I detest her! She is the greatest 
 scanJal-mouger, the most iavt^eraie old gossip 
 But she is going to draw up!" 
 
 Wliile her ladyship was yet speaking, the coach- 
 man, perceiving the Dowager's intention, reined 
 la his horses once more ; and the shut-up yellow 
 barouche rumbled close up to Lady HarJesdon's 
 light and elegant open carriage. 
 
 "My dear Countess 1" exclaimed her ladyship, 
 with the utmost amiability of tone and even an 
 affectionate cordiality of manner, " I am delighted 
 to see }ou! luiiecd it was my intention to have 
 called round to ask how you were on my way 
 home." 
 
 " I should have been so delighted to see you," 
 returned the Dow^iger-Countess, displaying her 
 face at the barouche-window. 
 
 She was as complete a mass of counterfeit and 
 deception as false hair, rouge, pearl ponder, vege- 
 table dye, false teeth, and all the minutest acces- 
 sories of an elaborately studied toilet cjuld pos- 
 ■feibly make her. She indeed looked tlie Dowager — 
 portly in form, stately in demeanour, and made up 
 with all kinds of artificialities. Her carriage was 
 heavy and immensely roomy, with armorial bear- 
 ings blazotied all over the door -panels. Her 
 coachman, and the two footmen who st'>od behind, 
 were all three middle-aged, stout, and wore pow- 
 dered wigs: the very horses themselves looked 
 plethoric and fat, even to unwieidincss. 
 
 " vvhen -io you go out of town?' asked Lady 
 Harlesdon. 
 
 "To-morrow, thank heaven!" answered the 
 Dowager. " Was there evor anytliing to equal the 
 present dulnesi ? I declare that nothing iias oc-
 
 MAEY PRICE ; OR, THE SIEilOIKS OF A £ERVANT-iIAID. 
 
 95 
 
 ciin ed to excite or amuse one all the week — except 
 Trcveliaii's break-up aud goinjj to tUo Benuh — 
 LaJy Maddox's eiopemeiit witli Colonel O'Siiaugh- 
 uessy, tlie red-haired Irishman — ihe Hon. Miss 
 Louisa Walsiiigliam's runaway match to Grtjtua — 
 poor old L )rd Gravesend's affair with tlia pretty 
 milliner of Bond Street— Lady Djucastcr's scan- 
 dalous business with the haiidsjme butler — old 
 Lady Shockingtou's being detected cheating at 
 cards — Sir Gregory Grey's attempt at suicide on 
 acc^.uat of difficulties— the piecs of scandal at the 
 
 [ Palace about Lady Kensington And that, I 
 
 ! believe, is all 1" added the Dowager-Countess, as if 
 her list of gossipping topics were not by half long 
 enough. 
 
 " Captain Lavender was talking to me just now," 
 observed L^ily Harlesdon. 
 
 " Wh}', they tell me he is going to marry a fish- 
 monger's daughter," said the Doivager-Countcss, 
 with a look and tone of such disgust that she re;illy 
 seemed as if she were suddenly assailed with a sense 
 of nausea. 
 
 " Indeed !'' cried Lady Harlesdon. " Young Ber- 
 gamot told me that he was in difficulties." 
 
 "Oh yes — it was Lady Jerdan who has ruined 
 him," said the Dowager. 
 
 " Lady Jerdan !" cried my mistress in evident 
 astonishment. " Well, I never heard even a hint of 
 this before ! I thought that Lady Jerdan was the 
 very pink of propriety." 
 
 " Oh ! so her husband thinks, poor man— or 
 rather poor old fool!" — and the Dowager-Countess 
 pursed up her mouth with all the siguificancy pos- 
 sible. 
 
 At this moment another Exquisite, driving a 
 tandem, and accompanied in the vehicle by one 
 groom in a gorgeous livery of green and gold, while 
 another followed as outrider on a splendid horse, 
 dashed by raising his hat with elegant courtesy, — 
 his bow being acknowledged by a most- gracious 
 salutation on the part of the Dowager and an 
 amiable recognition on that of Laiiy Harlesdon. 
 
 *' How admirably Lord Charles Livingstone 
 drives !" observed Lady Harlesdon, in reference to 
 the Exquisite who had just flown by with mad- 
 brained speed. 
 
 " Well, I don't know," said the Dowager with a 
 dubious shake of her head. "But by the bye, this 
 is the first time he haa shown since his retire- 
 ment." 
 
 "What does your ladyship mean?" asked my 
 noble mistress. 
 
 •' Why, have you not missed him for the last 
 six weeks or two months ?" continued the Dowager. 
 •' He lias been what he calls whitewashed, and only 
 got out of the Bench yesterday, after having thrown 
 over the vagabonds his creditors, as he terms them. 
 And so now, I suppose, he will come out in grander 
 style tliau ever. It's always the case with those 
 uiipriuciplod men about town, who never pay any- 
 body : and tlicn they are called high gpiritoJ 1 
 But by tl>e bye, dear Lady Harlesdon," added 
 the Dowager, thrusting her old head out of tho 
 barouch- window so as to speak in a confidential 
 whi.-periiig tone, "you deal at Laughams' tlie 
 jewellers, don't you?'' 
 
 "Yes," replied Lady Harlesdon. 
 " Then 1 wish you would speak a good word to 
 them for mj' nepiiew Octavius. You know him? — 
 that liue-spiritcd, high-minded young fellow who 
 
 eame of ago the Christmas before last. Well, 
 he has run through all his fortune — a hundred 
 thousand pounds — and has got ninety thousand in 
 debt; whicii isn't much, considering all he lias 
 spent. But those Laughams are very sore on the 
 subject and are taking the harshest and cruellest 
 proceedings : they even threaten to put him into 
 the Bench. I wish you would speak a kind word. 
 Not that they will ever receive a penny of t!ie 
 debt due to them ; because Octavius has spent 
 everything: but as I expect to get him out as 
 attache at Constantinople in the course of two or 
 three months, it would mar all if he were arrested. 
 So you will speak to the Laughams about it ? It's 
 only seven tiiousaid that he owes tiiem. But that 
 unprincipled fellow Lord Livingstone, who has just 
 dashed by in his tandem, has let them in for foar 
 thousand, which makes them so sore in respect to 
 Oct ivius's debt. How infamous of Livingstons, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 The Dawager-CouQtess of Bagshot then pro- 
 ceeded to iulorm Lady Harlesdon that she had 
 been tormented to death by her cook, who was 
 accustomed to receive the visit of a soldier down 
 the area-steps — that she had also been plagued by 
 a hall-porter who would not eat cold meat — that 
 she had been compelled to change her laundress 
 on account of being robbed of three dozen cam- 
 bric handkerchiefs — that td increase her vexation 
 the lauiidress laid it upon the lady's-maid and had 
 threatened an action for slander— that her kitchen- 
 maid had been encourgaging all the tramps in the 
 neighbourhood by giving them brokeu victuals — 
 that she had been frightened out of Jier life 
 two nights back by a %e in the kitchen-chimney 
 — that it was a very mysterious occurreuce, she 
 did not know what to think, but if she dared ven- 
 ture to form any opinioe, it was that the fire must 
 have originated from an attempt made by her 
 next-door neighbour, Mr. Chiciiester, who was 
 known to have insured heavily, to burn do wn his 
 house. Finally, the Dowager-Countess of Bagshot 
 observed that she had been to St. George's, Han- 
 over Squire, in the morning, to hear Dr. Walde- 
 grave preach a Charity Sermon — that she had put 
 a ten-pound note into the plate when handed round 
 — that the sermon was very good, but she thought 
 the reverend gentleman looked as if he had tal;ec 
 an extra glass of wine when he went into the ves- i 
 try to put his black gown on— but that altogether \ 
 the service was very impressive— and that Lady | 
 Armitage, who sate in the next pew to her own, 
 had on such a horrid fright of a bonnet, it was po- 
 sitively ludicrous. 
 
 Having delivered herself of these varied pieces 
 of intelligence, gossip, and scandal, the Dowager- 
 Countess of Bagshot reminded Lady Harlcsdou of 
 the affair of her nephew and the Laughams, and 
 then rolled away in her rumbling barouche. 
 
 «' Was there ever such an old gossip !" exclaimed 
 Lady Harlesdon to me, as we were again borne on- 
 ward in the light and elegant open carriage. " It 
 is alwaya with the greatest dilliculty that I can force 
 myself to be civil to her. Now you may third?, 
 Mary, that I am really fond of scandal aud titilc- 
 taltle ; I can however assure you I am not- but in 
 high life wo are compelled to yield to the prevail- 
 ing customs in our own sphere and must fall into 
 the general routine. Of course I am not blind to 
 the faults of that odious Lady Bagshot. See hoff
 
 96 
 
 MiSY prick; or. TUK MiaiOIRS OF A SEKV.iXT-M.VID. 
 
 she ran do«n Lord Cliar:ies Liriogston as au on- | 
 principled youufj man, because he has g^orxe 
 through a fbrtuue aud niped oS his debts : but al- 
 most in the saune breath she was holding; op her 
 own nephev to admiration and esteem, althon^h 
 he is infi&itelj norse. And now she wishes (o foist 
 him apon the public purse ! Then the iiea of ask- 
 ing me to speak to the Laoghama on his behalf 1 
 I wOl do no such thing. After aU, mj dear Mary, 
 there is not a single object in the whole atodj of 
 homani^ more coriooslj and at the same time 
 solemnlr instmctire than a &<ied Dowager of 
 Fashion. Lidj Bagshot is an example. In her 
 youth she was a beauty ; and being conited for 
 her loreline&i, considered the colUration of the 
 mind to be bat a secondiry object. Thus 
 strong as she was in Tanity, so was she weak 
 in iutelleot. Her charms caught the heart — if 
 a heirt indeed he had— of Lord Ba^shot, 
 who was her equal in erery way — very handsome 
 and utterly wiUiout brains. While the careless 
 wife sparkled and dazsled in one sphere, he dissi- 
 pated and debauched in another. Years stole upon ! 
 them : the Coantess had to give np Utc dance and 
 take to the card-table— while her hasbind, ha'f 
 ruined by his extrarjupmces, gave np his stnd and 
 the gaming-honie and took to the bottle. A fit of 
 apoplexy carried him off; and her ladyslup. after 
 a married life of about Ahirty years, found herself ; 
 the wid<iwed mother of a nhole tribe of girls whom ' 
 sbe kal brought np to be as rain, firiTolJOS, and 
 shallow-miuded as herself. But inheriting her { 
 beauty, she managed to get them all off in what 
 arc called good wmddtes. Fcr, mark ! howerer 
 deficient in intellect a lady cf £ishion may be, she 
 iQTariable exliibits a mat x^elliaas amount of shrewd- 
 ness, cannicg, and srtiScs, when playing the part 
 c<f a nuuMesrriag mother for her marriageable 
 daughters. Weli then. Lady Ba^shot s girls bciog 
 all proTi^edfbr and off her hauJs, she fiuds herself 
 at sixty-two lefi entirely to her own resources. 
 Th^e, as yoa may suppose, cannot be of aa in- 
 tellectoal etearader. The Fashionable Intelligeac« 
 In the Moirmimff ite^ the Gmri Mmftaime, and the 
 wind-up scenes in the last new novel, constitute her 
 sole reading. Her daughters Tote their mamma an 
 •Mian; and ocTer go near her. Her home, though 
 lunnioiB to a degree, has no attractions for her : 
 she niBSt be constantly in society. Soaety, as she 
 ■ndostands the tenm. means an assembly of some 
 ttui^ or tartj peq^e squeeaed roond a diniug-table 
 — or some hondreds er^ied into heated room^i. 
 Tfterf she is in her element! When she speaks of E 
 fricndsi, she means acquaintances ; and these com- j 
 prise the whole £>sluonable world. But with all ■ 
 these nominal firieods, she has not a real one. She 
 K religioas in her own way— that is to say, she 
 keeps a pew aitirdy for ker own n3« at St. 
 George's, has it well carpeted and oasluoned, and , 
 Tisits it ererj Sunday to show off her own new ! 
 druses aud find food for ridicaling the toilets of \ 
 oHiers. Her idea ci an agreeable conversation is 
 meetiog with a ooi^enial spirit to aid her in lace- \ 
 rating the reootations of all their acquaintances, < 
 male or fvmaie. Her name figures in public I 
 charities — diat is to say, in tlie subscription lists 
 of Sociedes for pn^pagating Christianity among ' 
 Cannibals who woold eat iq> any missionaiies bold j 
 enough to gc among then:, and dBtributing biUos I 
 amongst sarages utterly unable to read them. ' 
 
 Thus far you know her history. If she lives a fe* 
 years lons^^r slie will be voted a bore not ouly by < 
 her daUj;hter5, but by all her acquaintances ; aiid j 
 she will hare to endure, with as mudi resignation i 
 as the fevered remnants of vanity will permit, the 
 subdued lao^ and covert satire of a generation 
 rising contemporaneously with her grandchildren. 
 Finally, she will catch a severe cold while go ng 
 out to some party, bedizened with ornaments that 
 became her well when young, but which only en- 
 hance the scare-crow hideoosness of the old 
 doaager's form : and d\~ing at last, in spite of the 
 dozen fashionable physicians who may sorroui^d 
 her couch, the mockery cf vanity will be perpe- 
 tuated as long as possible, and she » ill be p'accJ 
 in a splendid coffin lined with crimson velvet and 
 borne wiUi a funeral procession consisting o( 
 twenty black coaches filled wiUi mourners. Lot not 
 one single soul amon^ them really mcuming; 
 to the family vault of all the Ba^hots V 
 
 I was much amused — I m^^Ut almost say in- 
 structed—by this sketch wLich Lady HarlesdoD 
 gave me; for it taught a moral relative to the 
 vanities and follies of high life, which at this 
 moment rctuas its impression upon my micd. 
 
 NoUi'ag farther worth mentioning took place 
 during that Suaday afkerao^.n's ride round the 
 Park: aud i;ideei I have given a description cf it 
 not so much o'^ 'account of any positive coonexioa 
 which it bears to the thread of my narrative, but 
 in order to affjnl the reader a farther insight into 
 Lady Ilarlesdon's character, and show how much 
 a naturally fiaeii t^Uect and liber U disposition had 
 been faiped ar.d marreJ by the frivolities, the 
 prejudice*, and the hab":ti of h=gh life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 HARLESDOS PAK S.. 
 
 It was now the end of September; and the day 
 arrived for leaving London an i repairing to his 
 lordship's couutry sea: in Derbyshire. But before ^ 
 
 we left, I received two letters concerning which I ■ 
 
 most say a few words. -^ 
 
 The first was £rom my dear brother William 
 aid gave me dieering accounts relative to him- 
 self. Mr. Collins, who was now getting on well . 
 again in his affaiis, had increased William's va^es 4 
 and was treating him with marked confidence. 
 Sarah and Jane were quite well, and were suit the 
 objects of Mrs. Whitfield's eccentric kindness: 
 but as for Robert, no tidings whataoever had been 
 received of him. Mad Tommy had retort^ed to 
 Ashtiord and was porsoiag his old career : namely, 
 doing odd jobs, running on messages, holding 
 hors« for the formers on market days, and turn- 
 ing hs hand to anything honest to pick up a 
 living. 
 
 Tite other letter to which I have alluded was 
 from poor Mrs. Messiter ; and as it may prove in- 
 terestiag to the reader, I give it exactly as it was 
 written:— 
 
 "Dover, Sc^tanlwr, »Qx 1S«L 
 ■If I have not aanrand yowr kiwd letter ere tliis, my 
 dear siH, it kas Mt beat tikrowsh want of >w<n<tioi», bat 
 be ewMe a aevere innni ii hasfcr aome wwIb cka nwd me *o 
 my bed. I am, howww, now wmdh bettar, tkaak hnwn ; 
 aal oae «f the first wsa I sake cfwgr r e a loicd ttrtaiik, ti
 
 MARY PKIOE; or, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 97 
 
 to taka ap my pen and scribble a fuvr lines to you. I am 
 charmed to hear that you are in a comfortable place and 
 that your mijtreM is so kind to you. God knows that a 
 person would be cruel and unfeeling indeed not to be kind 
 to you, dear Mary ! You ask after my children— I cannot 
 Bay that they are healthy and well as I could wish to see 
 them : indeed my eldest boy seems to grow sicklier day 
 by day — and he has such a pensive look it almost appears 
 as if death were silently, slowly, and insidiously creeping 
 upen htm t 
 
 " I have laid down my pen to weep, Mary— and now 
 that I am calm again, I re?unie ray scrawl. Mr. Mcs- 
 stter has not beca able to devote any attention to mo 
 during my illness : he is engrossed day and ni^'hl in the 
 rivalry which subsists between our cstablisliraent and 
 Smithson's. It is a veritable war to the knife ! In sad- 
 ness do I record the fact that last Monday Mr. M. and 
 Mr. Smitlison came to blows iu the middle of the public 
 street axuX were bound over to keep the peace. Mr. M. 
 is In a constant state of excitement from morning to 
 night. You know how cold and scilato his looks used to 
 be : now he is over in « fever— almost a frenzy. Ycs- 
 > MO. 13 
 
 terday Mr. Smithson had an enormous copper tea-pot 
 hoisted up In front of his house ; and to-day Mr. M. has 
 been to give orders to have a cofl'ee-pnt, three times as 
 large, made immediately. In this manner pounds and 
 pounds arc flitting away— and, (o tell you the truth, I am 
 afraid that allour profits will go in niiiintainiiigthis despe- 
 rate warfare. Ah ! my dear girl, competition isafriglitful 
 thing in trade : it must lead to ruin in the I'Jiig run. 
 
 "You tell mo that you arc going to Harlesdon Park in 
 Derbysliiro. I shall write to you there as soon as I can, 
 and at greater length than on this occasion. By the bye, 
 you have thanked me for having been in some little degree 
 instrumental in obl.iining for you your present place. I 
 can only say that I spoke of you at tlie lime to Liuly 
 Harlesdon as I thought you deserved. And may you ever 
 contiime to deserve such commendations! 
 
 " God bless you, dear Mary. Your afTectiona'c friend, 
 " Fanni Messptkr." 
 
 The poor woman hail wept over her letter, as 
 she said: ttie traces of her tears wcro there — 
 niid I wept also as I read it Alas! though sa tew
 
 95 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MKMOIHS OF X SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 and (juardpii were the words of that sentence in 
 wi.ich slie sf'Olte of the inability of her hu-band to 
 show her any attention durinfj her i.lnpss, yet for 
 one \vhi> l(n«w the man's character, what a world 
 of meaning was therein those concise syllables I 
 Pali'-'nt, enduring', and r-sij^ned, she not nrrdy 
 sulimi'ted t. all her hu-bund's tyranny and nejj- 
 leot, but actually endeavoured to veil his fauUs, 
 or glance at tliem in the most delicate manner pos- 
 sible. I wept on her accnuut— and a'so on behalf 
 of that poor, pensive, sweet-tempered boy, the 
 break nij of whose spirit beneath a father's crush- 
 in-^ tyranny had no doubt predisposed his consti- 
 tution f. r the seeds of an insidiuua disease which 
 was now undermining him. 
 
 Tiie morning for departure arrived— the travel- 
 ling-carriages were in readiness at an early hour — 
 and the journey into Derbyshire was commenced. 
 Jemima, who had quite recovered her health again, 
 and who through my intercessions had been per- 
 L)itted to retain her place, was my compinion in- 
 side one of the carriages ; and as a matter of course 
 we had the three children with us. But passing 
 over any details connected with the journey, let 
 the reader suppose ns safely arrived at Harlesdon 
 Park ; and it may easily be imagined that on the 
 foUoniug morning I was up betimes to take a sur- 
 vey of the surrounding scenery. 
 
 The mansion was spacious and handsome— situ- 
 ated at a little distance from Bclper, amidst the 
 most beautiful landscapes of which the charming 
 Midlai d county could boast. The River Dcrwent 
 passed through the immense estate, which pre- 
 sented an aspect so richly diversified with natural 
 beauties that 1 have never seen the cqurd. In 
 many parts the banks of the winding stream were 
 luxurif^ntiy wooded ; and beneath the shade of the 
 uiiitng tranches of oak, ash, alder, and elm, the 
 limpid water was sometimes bec'uded from the 
 eye, becoming a musical companion for tike ear 
 alone— till suddenly emerging inta the glorious 
 suidiglit again, it spread acioss an optu plain, 
 meandered through a peaceful valley, or was seen 
 winding its way round some noble height whose 
 dark sides it reflected as it glided beneath. As- 
 cemiing such a height as this, a splendid view was 
 obtained of the rich cultivated lands constituting 
 the Harlesdon estate, so full of tall trees, hedge- 
 rows, and plantations, that the yellow stubble- 
 fields could hard y be perceived amidst the warm 
 though auiumn-tinted greens of the foliage. Here 
 on one side was a wooded bank, above which 
 ifl'ght be seen the ascent of pasture-land thatro^e 
 up behind, and which stre'ching away, jjineil tiie 
 hills or the wide dnwns th tt fonnrd the rolling 
 landscape. T!ie scene, though full of repose, was 
 very far from being melancholy. Th.e partrieiges 
 might be heard calling in the stubble-fields ; the 
 blackbirds were flying from hedge to liedgc, with 
 that peculiar note between a twitter and a s\>iig 
 which forms the choral hymn wherewith they close 
 their meloify for the year; and in the woods over- 
 hanging the Dtrwent myriads of fer.thered clio- 
 ri.-.ter3 seemed to wenve their ra'tallic and Ihiid 
 ti nes into music finer and softer than silver bells 
 or crystal streamlets ever made. 
 
 Such were my impressions on taking the first 
 survey of ihe c'larmmg scenn-y on his lords. ip's 
 e.»t >tu of Harlesdon Park. But 1 had not been 
 there many days before 1 began to liud out that 
 
 where nature was deiightfai even to the realization 
 of those ideas whicli at timss steal nto our fancy 
 relative to the b.st Para d-eof our Fi st P-rent-s, 
 the heart of man was not free fro:n care nor hi ~ lot 
 from d'stress or suffering. Indeed the pea antry 
 on Lord Harleadon's estate were very fir from 
 either being happy or pro-perous. Over-wcrktd 
 and wretchedly paid by the tpnant-farmeri — op- 
 pressed by ills lordship's bail.flf— wa'ched by ray 
 lord's gamekeepers — and stanJing in mortal tern^r 
 of the local pirs'ons, n-jarly all of whom were Jus- 
 tices of the Peac, — the p^^asant-y were in reality 
 nothing better than serf^ or bondsmeu ; while ids 
 lordship himself was regarded with all the aw^* 
 and reverence as well as dr ;ad that eoul i possibly 
 have been shown to a feudal baron. Whenever he 
 rode on liorseback over his estate, he expecie 1 to 
 receive every proof of submission and every testi- 
 monial of abject servility. The labourers were to 
 stand ha*, in hand as he passed, and were to run 
 and open tl.e gates of the fields for the great man : 
 tliC women curtsied, and little children were taught 
 by their pai ents to pay a great deal more defer- 
 ence to his lordship upon earth than to the Lo d 
 in heaven. The parochial schoolmaster of the 
 nearest village had his children drawn up in a 
 litfle infantile regiment to do honour to my lord; 
 ani, in a word, a stranger from some distant clime, 
 imacquainted with E.i;;iish social distinctions, 
 would have faucied that Lord Harlesdon was s me 
 being of quite a different mould from tho^c who 
 thus regarded him with so degraded and debasing 
 a servility. I 
 
 However, upon these particulars I need not ! 
 dwell any lunger at present; — and to continue my I 
 uairatlve I may observe that ten diys aftur the ' 
 arrival of the fami.y at the Park, Sir Aubrey Cla- I 
 vtrin.? came to pay his promised vi^it. Ue wis 
 attended by a valet and a groom. Of this lu.er j 
 it is necessary to say a few words. His name was ' 
 Ji hn Morley : he was short in sta ure, but what is 
 called dapper-made, aud exactly suited for a groom ■ 
 wiio at times had to stand behind a cabrioitt or i 
 accompuuy his master in a light gig. He had red 
 hair, and was much marked with the small pox — , 
 therefore not very prepossessing. Nevertheless, i 
 he was a person of inordinate concit — faiiui-:d | 
 ti at every female was in love with him — and was j 
 most impudent in his familiarity. His a^e was ! 
 about six-and-twenty; and he enjoyed Lis uiasier's j 
 unlimite<l confidence. l 
 
 We had been about a fortnight at Harlesdon I 
 Park ; and it was three or four days afitr the ar- I 
 rival of Sir Aubrey Ciaveiing imi his servants 
 th:)t the following inci<lent took pl-ice. 
 
 It wss about nine o'c'ock on a lovely evening, 
 in the mid ile of October, that I descended from i 
 the nursery into the garden at the back of the 
 maU'iou to take a little ramble t\>r a few miuates, < 
 as I had a slight head ache. The children hid ' 
 been put to bed some time — Jemima was with ; 
 them— aud I hid seized the opportunity to enjoy i 
 this little strod by myself, not merely for the sake ' 
 of the irvsh air but liutwise to give way to my re- 
 fl> ctions. It was a clear beautiful night, rem irka- ' 
 bly warm for the si-ason of the year; and >uc!i a | 
 perfect stillness p evailed that the soul seemed to 
 imbibe peace and comfort from tiie soft trau- I 
 quillity of na'ure. I had walked up and down the I 
 piiueipal avenue iu the garden for uOout a quarter
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, TEK MEKOH 8 OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 99 
 
 of an liour, when I suddenly heard footsteps ap- 
 proaching-; aad by their tread I knew them to be 
 those of a raa i with boots. The suspicion instan- 
 taneou-ly fl ished to my brain that it mijjht be Sir 
 Aubrey Claverin:^ ; and in the terror wliich at the 
 moment seized upon roe, I so far lost my presence 
 of mind that instead of proceedings onward wiih a 
 proper dignity and courage, I glided int^ an 
 arbour formed by a group of shrubs and creeping 
 plants most artistically and tastefully interwoven. 
 But in 01 der that the oresent scene may be fully 
 anderstood, I mu^t observe that this arbour was 
 ot a circular form, and was divided into two com- 
 partments by a green trellis-worlc so thickly co- 
 vered over with tiie mingling foliage and flowers 
 as to form a complete screen or wall. Eich com- 
 partment was furnished with seats and had its ovtu 
 entrance, so that the arrangement might be de- 
 scribed as two arbours joining each ether: and it 
 is of courr-e apparent enough to the reader that 
 while a person in one migritbe unconscious of the 
 presence of any body in the olher, yet that if any 
 wo; ds were spoken they cjuld be plainly heard in 
 either compartment. 
 
 Into one of these divis'0«9 had I glided in the 
 manner already described upon hearing mule foot- 
 steps approauliing : but all of a sudden tiiose 
 sounds ceased, and then there was a slight rustling 
 amidst the shrubs as if the individual, whoever he 
 were, had diverged from the gravel-walk and con- 
 cealed himself amongst the evergreens. Now all 
 w-is still again: but I experieoced so powerful a 
 feiditig of alarm that I remained in the arbour irre- 
 solute how to act J for I hid the conviction strong 
 in my mind tl at some ambush was being laid, 
 though for what purpose aud by whom I knew not. 
 Ilevertheless, the antecedents of Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vering naturally made me suspicious concerning 
 him; and yet it stru'-k me as improbable that he 
 should be l.ving in wait for me so near the house, 
 where my screams could not fall to be heard. 
 
 But wliile I was thus losing myself as it were in 
 a maze of doubts and uncertainties, I suddenly 
 became aware that footsteps were approaching the 
 aibour on tlie opposite side; and ere 1 couid make 
 up my mind to the adoption of any particular 
 course, two persons entered the ojAer compartment 
 of the verdant retreat. 
 
 " Dearest, dearest Clementina," immediately said 
 a voice, which, thougli low and full of tenderness, 
 I at once recognized as that of Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vering: "how dePghtful to have found this oppor- 
 tunity to be a!one to^etlier for a few minutes t" 
 
 •• Ah ! my beloved Aubrey, I have so longed for 
 such a moment as this 1" replied a soft and molting 
 female voice, whicii I likewise knew at once: it was 
 that of noole mistress I 
 
 Heavens I what consternation and dismay now 
 seized upon me ! I was rooted to the seat — not 
 daring to move an inch — yet most unwillingly 
 playing the eivesdropper. Not for worlds would 
 1 hive been voluntarily placed in such a position: 
 but liow to extricate my.-,elf without betraying my 
 presence there at all? A pitcliy darkness j^re- 
 vaiiei within the arbour; for not only was its own 
 Virdure dense with the interlacing boughs and 
 foliage, but around and above wns it within the 
 shade of tall trees. It was therefore impossible 
 that I could be seeti: but then I was most un 
 willing to remain there another instant— for the 
 
 sec ret I had already learnt (or rather this confir- 
 ma'iion of a pre-existing suspicion) had fdled me with 
 trouble and agitation. While I thus 84t motionless 
 as a statue, yet with all my thoughts agitating pain- 
 fully and conflictingly, a new phase in the adven- 
 ture developed itself: for through the deep gloom 
 I suddenly beheld the form of a man steal into the 
 very compartment where I was seated. No snake 
 could glide more noiselessly ; and not a gariiient 
 rustled, nor was a leaf of the foliage disturbed, as 
 he sat himself down on the bench where I al,-o was 
 seated, and within a couple of f^et of me ! Thu?, 
 though with an acute keenness of the faculties, I 
 not only became aware of his presence but also of 
 the exact spot where he placed himself, yet did he 
 remain in total unconsciousness of the circum- 
 stance that any one was so near him on the same 
 bench. It nevertheless struck me tliat he was not 
 only aware of persons being in the other division 
 of the arbour, but that he had crept thus s.cal- 
 thily hither to listen to what was going forward. 
 The most terrible alarm swept through my brain. 
 I fancied tliat the individual near me m j^ht be 
 Lord Harlesdon; and the blood ran cold iu my 
 veins as I thought of the tremendous peril which 
 my mistress now incurred. But the paralysis of 
 di-may was upon me — sealing my lips— keeping 
 me motionless as a statue — petrifying me in fr!ct 
 fiom head to foot; so that if ten thousand reputa- 
 tions were involved at the moment, I could not 
 have given utterance to a syllable uor moved hand 
 nor foot to save one of them. 
 
 But during the minute or two which elapsed after 
 that interchange of tender expressions between Cia- 
 vering and Lady Harlesdon, — and while the un- 
 known figure had glided into my division of the 
 arbour and had placed himself so noiselessly upon 
 the seat, — the conversation had continued in a sub- 
 dued but still plainly audible tone, between the 
 Baronet and her ladyship. 
 
 " It seems scarcely possible," said the latter, •• that 
 you should have been here already three or four 
 days, and that the present should be the first oppor- 
 tunity which we have had of being alone togetlier. 
 Ah ! my dear Aubrey," she continued in accents 
 of the most melting emotion, " what should I do 
 without the solace of your love?" 
 
 " And I, dearest," he answered ; " think you that I 
 am indifierent to the sweet affection whi*:;h you 
 cherish for met Think you I have forgotten how, 
 when we were mere boy aud girl, eo to speak, our 
 love began?" 
 
 " Oh ! would to God that we had fled and married 
 each other fAen/' exclaimed Lady Harlesdon, with 
 a sudden outburst of passionate feeling. 
 
 " You forget, dearest, that I was at the time but a 
 youth alike obscure and poor — a mere ensign in the 
 army «'i»b nothing but my pay, and no hope nor 
 prospect of ever being more than opixirised sub- 
 altern. For it was impossible to foresee that my 
 cousin Sir Wyndham, then in the full vigour of 
 health, and himself a comparatively young man, 
 was destined so soon to be hurried out of this 
 woild " 
 
 " No, no— we could not foresee all that, Aubrey," 
 interrupted Lady Harlesdon, with a kind of hys- i 
 terical velieraence, as if she were tortured by many 
 vain regrets relative to the past : " but that fervid 
 love which we clierished for each other should have 
 inspired us with a more sublime confidence. Yfl
 
 100 
 
 MAKY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A BEIIVANT-MAID. 
 
 Strong as tliat love was in itself, weak was it ami 
 even cowardly in its hopelessness and its despair!" 
 
 «' Why— Oil ! why, dearest Clementina, this ebul- 
 lition of regretful outpourings now?'' asked Sir 
 Aubrey, in accents that were partially soothing and 
 partially reproachful. "Did I not manifest the 
 most tender forbearance towards you from the very 
 first ? Did I not set aside all selfish considerations ? 
 For at the time when our love began, and I was but 
 a poor ensign without hope and almost without pros- 
 pects, did it not seem my interest to induce you, the 
 brilliant (laughter of a rich and noble house, to fiy 
 away with me and become my wife ? Was not such 
 an alliance tempting enough for the poor subaltern ? 
 But no— I was not so selfish nor so base as to sacri- 
 fice you to my own worldly interests I I counselled 
 you to receive the addresses of Lord Harlesdon, who 
 at tlie time was proposing for your hand— ^" 
 
 "And would to heaven, Aubrey," interrupted the 
 lady passionately, " that you had never, never given 
 me such advice! For you know, my well-beloved, 
 that I am not naturally of a depraved heart or pro- 
 fligate disposition; and you will give rae credit for 
 the truth when I assure you that often and ofien is 
 my soul racked with the agonies of remorse when I 
 til nk of my infidelity towards a confiding husband. 
 Besides," she continued, in a tone that gradually 
 became filled with a deep and mournful pathos, 
 "my guilty conscience suggests a thousand liypo- 
 crisies in order to veil my fault. If ever my hus- 
 band looks earnestly upon me, I always fancy that 
 he is reading the secret of my heart, and 1 lavish 
 upon him a myriad of caressing tendernesses in 
 order to lull or avert anything savouring of sus- 
 picion : though heaven knows that none of the 
 genuine feeling of my soul enters into the marks of 
 fondness thus bestowed ! O my beloved Aubrey, I 
 feel that any existence is one incessant falsehood- 
 one tremendous deceit: and there are moments when 
 I shudder to the lowest confines of my whole being 
 as it strikes me that all this fabric of guilr, hypo- 
 crisy, and crime must fall in someday with a sudden 
 and appalling crash!" 
 
 "Good God, dearest Clementina!" cried Sir 
 Aubrey ; " in what au unusual current your 
 thoui^hts are flowing to-night !— and I who fan- 
 cied that this half-hour which we were to steal so 
 pleasantly iu order to pass with each other, was to 
 be full of love's tenderness, fondness, and caresses, 
 instead of misgivings, apnreheusioiis, and repin- 
 ings 1 Beside*', you speak of crime and guilt— and 
 those are harsh words, dearest, to apply uuto your- 
 self." 
 
 •' No, Aubrey, they are not harsh— they are not 
 too severe — because they express the truth," re- 
 plied Lady Harlesdon in a firmer tone, but still 
 with accents of a mournful lament : " and how- 
 ever unpalatable this truth may be, it is impossible 
 to deacien one's convictions or susceptibilities 
 against it. Listen to me with patience, I beseech you. 
 I say then that I use the words crime and guilt, 
 because this luve of our's has long been criminal, 
 and my conduct even from the very day that I be- 
 came Lord llnrlesdon's wife has been stamped 
 with a foul guiltiness. You counselled me to ac- 
 cept as my husliand that old man — old enough to 
 be my grandsire— in preference to any other 
 Buiior: for you know that I had many suitors at 
 the time ! And I did accept him — and many and 
 many a friend was astouished at the circuuistance 
 
 of my accompanying that old, old man to the 
 altar. Ah ! my dear Aubrey, although the thought 
 was not expressed in words between you and me, 
 yet can we lay our hands upon our hearts and 
 affirm that such thought was not harboured 
 there at the time, when you counselled and 
 / agreed that I should wed Lord Harlesdon f 
 And that thought to which I refer, was it not that 
 this marri ige was but to serve as a sort of cloak 
 — a veil — a convenience, for our own secret love? 
 And lias it not been so? Oh! there is never a 
 day when I gaze upon those dear children and in 
 the innermost recesses of my own heart whisper 
 to myself that your image is stimped upon them, 
 —there is never a day, I repeat, that I do not feel 
 as if I were the guiltiest wretch alive, and that 
 God's vengeance nmst sooner or later alight upon 
 my head!' 
 
 •' Good heavens, Clementina, continue not in 
 this diitressing strain !'' ejaculated Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering. " What is the matter with you to- 
 night? what have you uppermost in your mind ? 
 Some painful thought is t jrluring you now " 
 
 " Think you not, Aubrey," asked her ladyship, 
 with a strange bitterness suddenly penetrating 
 her accents, "tlia", the punishment of such guilt 
 as mine is but too often destined to commeace 
 upon earth ? and sadly, sadly do I fear that mine 
 has already begun 1" 
 
 "What iu heaven's name do you mean, Cle- 
 mentina ?" asked Sir Aubrey Clavering, in a 
 voice whlcli expressed his surprise and dismay at 
 this announcement. 
 
 " Oh ! it is doubtless the fate of all who love in 
 loudness but in guilt," returned Lady Harlesdon 
 in a deep voice, " to be punished through the me- 
 dium of their own unhallowed afifections." 
 
 " Ycu speak in enigmas, Clementina," observed 
 Cliivering, almost angrily. " Pray explain your- 
 self." 
 
 " Ah! I can hear by your accents that you half 
 suspect my meaning," she rejoined. 
 
 << No— on my soul I do not," he exclaimed Te- 
 hemently. 
 
 "Then let me tell you the truth," continued 
 Lsdy Harlesdon. " I feel convinced that you are 
 faithless to me Nay, do not start tlius ! I can- 
 not hope nor expect otherwise : but yet the con- 
 viction has not the less its pang. You remember 
 the day on which you came to stuy with us in 
 Grosvenor Square after our return from the Con- 
 tinent? On that very day was it I received the 
 proof of your unfaithfulness ; and from that mo- 
 ment my unhappiness has been stamped." 
 
 " What! are we to renew the scene which took 
 place between you and me that day ? * exclaimed 
 Clavering. "You discovered that it was about the 
 girl Mary Price that Eustace and I had that 
 
 ridiculous .duel ridiculous, I say, because we 
 
 never ought to have quarrelled for such a thing. 
 But is it possible that just because in the passing 
 freak of the^moment I meant to snatch a ki?s from 
 a nursery-maid, you are going to make both your- 
 self and me miseiable?" 
 
 " Do not treat the matter with this unbecoming 
 levity," said Lady Harlesdon. "Mary is a young 
 creature who never could possibly have encour- 
 aged sueh a freedom ; and therefore must you 
 have beeu inspired with something more than a 
 mere dceting interest. For she is exceedingly
 
 MARY price; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 101 
 
 pretty and lady-like— fiue dark eyes, mignificent 
 black hair, a beautiful set of teeth, and an excel- 
 lent figure! Tlierefore ■" 
 
 "Oil! tliererore— therefore — you are jealous 1" 
 exclaimed Ciavering, with a mocking laugh. 
 "Really this is too bad. You want to persuade 
 me, or rather have tried to persuade yourself, 
 thitt I am in love with Mary Price I' 
 
 ♦' Aubrey, do not speak with irony— do not treat 
 me thus," said Lady Harlesdon, in a tone of gentle 
 remonstrance. " I am not torturing myself with vain 
 chimeras. The day before yesterday, when Mary 
 entered the drawing-room with Bella in her arms, 
 you seemed to be gazing affectionately upon the 
 ctiild ; but I could distinguish plainly enough that 
 your glances took a somewhat more sidelong direc- 
 tiun and were fixed upon Mary " 
 
 "By heaven! you are tiavelling out of your way 
 to pick a quarrel I" cried Sir Aubrey. " Is it for 
 that we sought the retirement of this place and 
 this hour? or was it to exchange vows of eternal 
 love ?■' 
 
 " Aye — but of what use these vows ?" interrupted 
 Lady Harlesdon. "I tell you, Aubrey, that Mary's 
 ima;^e is to a certain extent impressed upon your 
 mind; and I lament the circumstance far more 
 than I can express— not merely because it is a 
 proof that your love for me is waning, but also 
 because she is a good giil — a virtuous girl— and a 
 noble-minded girl — and not for worlds would I see 
 her become the object of persecution on your 
 part ! I am well aware that you entertain no hoii- 
 ourable intentions towards her — that marriage, in 
 a word, is out of the question. I shudder therefore 
 when I reflect that your views must be dishonour- 
 able Ah ! " cried Lady Hai lesdon, suddenly 
 
 interrupting herself, "have you forgotten that it 
 was this same generous-hearted girl who risked 
 her very life to rescue our child from the hands of 
 the vilest of the vile ?" 
 
 " I see that you are determined we shall quarrel, 
 Clementina," said Sir Aubrey Ciavering in a cold 
 Voice. "You obstinately persevere in attributing 
 to rac views which never for an instant attained 
 the slightest consistency in my breast. As for 
 lookiu|;r at Mary Price in an improper manner, I 
 utterly deny it. But come," he addeil, somewhat 
 Softened as the sounds of Lady Ilailesdon's sob- 
 bings met his ear and probably !<mote upon his 
 heart : " for heaven's sake do not give way to grief 
 in this manner! What can I do— what can 1 say 
 — to pacify you? Most solemnly 1 swear that I 
 have not spoken to Mary Price once since she has 
 been in your service ! But if you are really so ab- 
 surdly Jealous as all this, why not send the girl 
 away ?" 
 
 " Aubrey," cried her ladyship, evidently with a 
 sudden start, "1 am surprised at you. What! 
 send away this young woman who saved our 
 child " 
 
 " But I meant to have her well provided for," 
 remaiked Ciavering. 
 
 " No — never, never 1" excLiimed Lady Harlesdon 
 vehemently. " Even if what you term my jealousy 
 were to rise to ever so great a pitch, nevertheless 
 so long as Mary Price herself remained innocent 
 of any participation in the cause, would I persist 
 in keeping her with me, I would rather— Oh ! ten 
 thousand times rather sacrifice my own feelings 
 than do an act of injustice towards her 1" 
 
 " Well, I only suggested that you should part 
 with the girl," observed Ciavering, "in order to 
 establish peace between you and me. But per* 
 haps," he immediately added in a cold and almost 
 taunting tone, "you would like me to take my de- 
 parture ?" 
 
 "Ah! cruel, cruel Aubrey 1" cried her ladyship: 
 " I did not think you would torture me thus. But 
 if, after all, I have wronged you — if I have beea 
 unjust towards you in respect to Mary Price- 
 pardon me, pardon me : for you know not — Oh I 
 you know not, how necessary it is that 1 should be 
 loved by you I" 
 
 " Do not be jealous of me any longer, Clemen« 
 tina," returned Ciavering; "but have faith in my 
 love. Why do 1 remain unmarried ? Is it not for 
 your sake ? Is it not in the hope that Lord 
 Harlesdon must soon pay the debt of nature— —" 
 
 " Oil ! hush, hush — we must be more guarded I" 
 murmured her ladyship : and then her words were 
 succeeded by the sounds of kisses. "Now let us 
 re-enter the house," she hastily said : and imme- 
 diately afterwards the retreating footsteps of the 
 fond but guilty pair indicated their departure 
 from tlie scene of this singular and romantic con- 
 versation, j 
 
 But scarcely had the sounds of those footsteps 
 ceased to reach my ears, when the individual who 
 had been listening in the same compartment with 
 myself suddenly arose to leave the place ; and in 
 so doing his hand encountered my dress. Then, 
 with an ejaculation of mingled astonishment and 
 alarm, he seized upon me, demanding, "Who is it? 
 who are you?" 
 
 A cry of terror had escaped my lips at the mo- 
 ment I was thu3 seized upon : but the very next 
 instant the sound of the man's voice conveyed a 
 sudden feeling of relief to my soul — for instead of 
 being Lord Harlesdon, as 1 had expected, the in- 
 truder was John Morley, Sir Aubrey Clavering'a 
 groom. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 Before I continue the narrative I must pause for 
 
 the purpose of saying something in self-justifica- 
 tion: for it may appear alike singular and impro- 
 per to a degree that I should have remained 
 during an entire half-hour a listener to a con- 
 versatiod upon topics as sacred as Ihcy were 
 delicate. Let the reader, however, place himself 
 or herself in my position for a few minutes, and it 
 will easily be perceived that, painful as the course 
 was, I had none other to adopt than to remain 
 silent and motionless there. For at the outset I 
 was so paralysed with consternation as to bo 
 rendered utterly incapable of cither speech or 
 motion,— while the presence of that other indi- 
 vidual at first prolonged this powerlessness to act 
 on my part, and subsequently proved the source 
 of the most bewildering uncertainty. For when I 
 began to recover somewhat from the dismay tint 
 enchained me to my place, the conversation had 
 advanced so far as to reveal the ohc grand import- 
 ant truth — namely, the illicit love subsisting 
 between Lady Harlesdon and Sir Aubrey Claver- /
 
 102 
 
 MARY PRICE ; on, THE MEMOIRS OF A flERVANT-M.VID. 
 
 iug. If I had made the sli^jhtest movement tiicn, 
 I .sliouM only )inv3 siidienly startled aaJ alirmcd 
 the individuiil near ine, and have thus beliayed to 
 trie lovers ttis fact that they had hef^n overhe.ird 
 by no le-is than two persons. And if I h^d thus 
 made them aware of my own aud the other indi- 
 Tidual's presence, would Lady Ilarlesdou for a 
 single instant have believed iny laic? would shi 
 have been induced to imagine that I was there 
 aecideutilly? could she be made to suppose tliati 
 Wiis too ( roioundly absorbed in terror to cry out 
 at first? No — it was not probable; and I shou'd 
 have been regarded in the liglit of a desfiicable 
 caves-droppcT — or what was worse, a pad and 
 eecret spy upon her actions, lu addition to all 
 tlies-e reasons for remainiuj quiet where 1 was, 
 there was tlie awe-in&piriiig idea tiia' my com- 
 patiioa in that particular cojipu-imcnt of the 
 arbour was Lord Harlesdon ; a'ld thus altogether 
 did a variety of feeli^g^ combine to retaiu me 
 there sileut and motionless until the end. 
 
 The render oi :«y als ) uiid'jrsiaiid how, for my 
 noble mistress's sake, I suddenly experienced an 
 iiumeose relief in discovering that the liitheito un- 
 known individual in the same compartment witii 
 niy.self, instead of bting Lord Hirle-^don, was 
 liierely SirAubre.'s groom : forde^ipite her fraihy 
 and licr wickeiiuess in respect to this unfortunate 
 love of iier's, Ic mid not help sympathizing deeply 
 with my poor mistress : and bad tliough it were to 
 liavi- her hecret thus pryed int ) at all, sti 1 was it 
 mue 1 better tiiat the t^py in tlie pressut case 
 should bo a menial, most probibly easy to be 
 bribed, rather than an outraged husband who cjuld 
 only have remained silent so long because brood- 
 ing over the mo-t deadly vengeance. 
 
 " Wno are you? who is it?" were the hurried 
 qui^stiuns put by J,>hn Morley as ha clutched both 
 uiy shoulders with his hands. 
 
 •'lltflease mc — it is I, Mary Price 1" was my 
 answer. 
 
 " Mary Price ! " he exclaimed, instantaneously 
 reliuquishiiig Ids hold upon me, and st irting back 
 in evident amazement — although I could not 
 observe his countenance in the pitchy darkness 
 which prevailed. " Well, upon my word, if .you 
 have not heard enough about yourself to make 
 you as vain as possible " 
 
 " Do not talic thus," interruptel I, now com- 
 pletely recoverin'j my presence of mind. "1 can 
 assure you tliit it was by the merest accident in 
 the world 1 found myselt at such a moment here 
 at all. And now good night." 
 
 I w«s hurrying out of the arbour when Morley 
 caught uie forcibly by the arm, crying, " Stop a 
 monsent — don't be in such drca iful liaste !" 
 
 "Release me — unhand me — I command you I" 
 were the words that now issued from my lips : far 
 I felt all the incouvcnience of being alone at such 
 an hour and ia such a place with a male com- 
 panion. " If you wish to speak to me 1 will come 
 down to the servants* hall presently." 
 
 "Ohl that be hanged," cried Morlej', still re- 
 taining me by the arm. •' You arc sucli a fine lady 
 you never come amongst the servant-^." 
 
 " Because my occupations keep me in the nur- 
 sery," was my rc>pouse: and with a desperate 
 effort I struggled to get away— but tlie brutal 
 fellow grasped me mure violently tl'.an before; and 
 (iiut;ing mc back upon the scat he posted himself 
 
 ill the entrance- way, rhere hi? form appeared like 
 a bl.iek shape dirker thai the darkness. 
 
 •'There now — wiio's th3 strongest?" he said 
 with a mocking lajgh. "But I didu't mean to 
 hurt you, pretty Mary— for you are a sweet girl, as 
 her ladyship said just now to my master." 
 
 "I do implore you to let me go," said I, in a 
 voice of earnest entreaty. " Whit would be 
 thought if any one came here?"' 
 
 " Why, that we are doing just what our betters 
 have done before us," he exclaimed: "miking love 
 to each other, to be sure." 
 
 "1 iusiitthat you Kt me pass immediately," I 
 said, india;nati m now arming mo with courage : 
 and I endeavoured to f jrce my way out. 
 
 "You shan't do it, you iitiie vixm!" he cried, 
 again forcing me back: and n^jt ciioosing to en- 
 courage l;is bruta'ity by farther oppo:>ition or re- 
 sistance on my put, I resolved upon a compro- 
 mise. 
 
 " Tell me what you wish to say to me," said I, 
 "and I will answer you quicltly. But pray do not 
 be ungenerous enough to k-ep me h-.re much 
 longer. I have never injured you ; and 1 can 
 sc Hcsly think you would wish to inflict up^n me 
 so serious aa injury as I should snsiaiu if dis- 
 covered Iiere under ?uch circumstances." 
 
 " Tlion why, my pretty maid, do you thrust your- 
 self iato such a liotheriog mess 1" asked Morley. 
 "I don't deny having come to play the eaves- 
 dropi)er: but yon woald lil<e t>mjke me believe 
 j'.ist the reverse about yourself." 
 
 "As 1 tiave a soul to be taved I am both inno- 
 cent and incapable of voluutciriljr plajiug the 
 spy " 
 
 "Now enough of this nonsense, Miss Mary," in- 
 terrupted the groom. "I know better: all ap- 
 pearances are against you ! You wouldn't beliiive 
 me if I told you a similar tale. Then what I want 
 is soon explained: for as it seems that we are borh 
 rowing in the same boat, I tlii .k we might row 
 together. In plain terms, let's compare notes aud 
 pull with each other." 
 
 " It is us'le^s" interrupted I, "to continue in 
 this straia :" — an 1 my a-cents must have soun Jed 
 full of scorn and mingled indignaiiou. •• Lo.ithing 
 the avocation of spy, and having been m ide oue 
 most pamfully against ray will, 1 liave no ofject in 
 co-operating with you. If you do not believe me 
 now, ypu must think what you will: but the real 
 truth can not be atfectod by j-our opinion." 
 
 John Jlorloy said nothing for several moments; 
 and I therefore concluded that my words had 
 somewhat startled him. 
 
 " Well," said he at length, "you are a queer 
 girl, and I can't make you out. 1 must tliiuk over 
 it. But I say, Mary, you and I dou't kuow much 
 of each other, it is true — for this is but the third 
 or fourth time we have seen each other, if seei"g 
 on the present occasion it is at all. lu any case 
 we have only known each other for three orf)ur 
 days; but if you would let me keep company with 
 you, you would fiud me an honourable and loving 
 sweetheart " 
 
 " Once again I beg of you to let mo depart," 
 said 1, feeling that my cheeks were bum ng with 
 imiignation. 
 
 "Well, I don't want to provoke you," ho siid: 
 ' but perhaps you will think over what I have jii=t 
 been meutioning."
 
 MAEY PEIOE ; OR, THE MEM0IB3 OP A SERVAITT-MAID. 
 
 103 
 
 I made him no answer; but as he st )Oil asiJe to 
 let me pass, I shot away with the speed of au 
 arrow, and retjahiing the house, hurried up to the 
 nursery. It was now close upon ten o'clock; and 
 Jemima wanted to go dovTu and have her tisuiil 
 half-hour's chat in the servants' liall. She accord- 
 ing y hastened from the nursery tlie moment I re- 
 appeared, and I went to beJ. But I could not 
 sleep for a long time. All that had taken place in 
 the garden kept reproducing itself in my lucinory. 
 At one moment I found myself deeply lamenting 
 Lady Harlesdon's cruel destiny — so tenderly hjving 
 one individual, and being indissoluUly united tj 
 another: then I felt shocked at the depravity 
 which had been this evening revealed to my ears — 
 a marriage that had taken phice as a cover to a 
 guilty amour, and the duped liuaband fondly hug- 
 ging the belief that the children who bore his name 
 were really his own I Neit I felt my soul deeply 
 moved with grateful tendernesg towards Lady 
 Harlesdon for the generous manner in which she 
 had spoken of me, and the ingenuous firmness with 
 which she had announced her readiness to make 
 any personal sacrilice of her own feelings rather 
 than behave uiikimily tow;)rds me : and then again I 
 experieneed (he deepest vexation and annoyance 
 to think that my presence in the household shoulJ, 
 by prov./ldng her jealousy, be a source of grief to 
 my noble mistress. Alt''gether, I saw so many 
 traits in her ladyship's conduct to make me pity 
 her misfortunes, condemn her want of moral firm- 
 ness, deplore her errors, admire her generosity, 
 and feel grateful for lier goodness in respect to 
 myself, that perhaps no woman had ever uispired 
 so muiy different feelings as her ladyship excited 
 in my breast. 
 
 From the above reflections it naturally resulted 
 that I should deliherat'i witii myself what course I 
 was to pursue. Should I remain in her ladyship's 
 eervicfi t) be an object of jealousy to herseif and 
 of dis'ionourabla regard on the part of Sir Au- 
 brey Cl.veriiig? But if I were to leave, what 
 re:isoa could I give ? I dared not tell the trutii : 
 because that would be to confess that I liad over- 
 heaid the conv raalinn in the arbour— and I 
 scor'ied the idea of inventing a fdse pretext. 
 Then again, should I allow my kind mistress to 
 remain unconscious of the danger that threatened 
 her reputaiioD and pcrh'ps menaced her with ut- 
 ter rum? — 1 mean the e^p'al institu'ed by Mor- 
 Icy. For was there not every reason to apinehend 
 that he was either already em^jloyed to watch lier 
 lady.-hip an 1 Ins own master, or else that he vvou!d 
 unhesitatingly sell the secret to Lord Harlesdon 
 at any moment? What did he mea i by ob.-crving 
 that it seemed as if we were both rowing tOf,'elher 
 and that we ouglit to compare not^s and pull witli 
 e-ich other? Did it not imply, ti her that he al- 
 ready had a special objeet iu view in thus enacting 
 tht! spy, or that he at Ica^t had some u;teiii.r pur- 
 pose to serve ? That such object or purpose could 
 be favourable to her ladysiiip, was not to be sup- 
 posed; and should 1 allow hi r to remain in ignor- 
 ance of tlie impending danger? It would be 
 cruel: — yet how was 1 to warn her? Only by 
 making her aware of how cveryihing which took 
 place belwen herself and Clavering had been 
 overheard bv M^ rley and me! — and the.-i what would 
 she tliink of me? No : I must leave the whole af- 
 fair to chance, aud refrain from meddling iu it. 
 
 Such was the resolve to which 1 came after at 
 least two hours' reflection aud wildering delibera- 
 tion;— and then I fell asleep. Unpleasant dreams 
 pursued me thoughout that nighi : and i arose iu 
 the mondng with a feeling as if something u:i- 
 pleasant was about to happen. A presentiment of 
 evil hovered in my mind, aud it appeared to me 
 as if this secret with which I had now become ac- 
 quainted respecting my mistress and Sir Aubrey 
 C'averiijg was destined to have the effect of a 
 malignant spoil. I however strove to assume as 
 much cheerfulness as possible, so as to avoid being 
 questioned by Jemima ; and I longed to get break- 
 fast over that I might go forth into the fresh air 
 and court the exhi arating breeze. 
 
 It was a lovely morning — the sun was shinin" 
 brightly — and I was just dressing to accompany 
 Jemima for a walk with the children, when a mes- 
 sage was brought up by a page to the nursery, 
 that I was to go out with my lord aud her lady- 
 ship in the carriage, and was to take Isabella with 
 me. This announcement struck both me and 
 Jemima with something like astonishment : for it 
 was the first time that ever Lord Karlesdon was 
 known to take any of the cliiMren iu tlie same 
 carriage wi:h himself —much less suffer a servant 
 to sit witiiin the same atmosphere that was 
 breathed liy his lordship ! 
 
 " I suppose he is growing affectionate as he gets 
 nearer towards his dotage," observed Jemima. 
 " But after all, you are a favourite with both my 
 lord aud her ladyship. And so you deserve to be," 
 she added wit'i fiank good-humour; "cousidering 
 how you rescued little iSe'.la there." 
 
 To be brief, I hastily put ou my best clothes — 
 op'parelled Miss Isabella, who was now eighteca 
 mouths old, iu her best al-o — and then proceedsid 
 down st'iirs. A large open birouche was in wait- 
 ing ; and when I re;'.clied the hall I fuuud Lord 
 and Lady Harlesdon and Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 all three dressed for going ouf, and just issuing 
 forth to tlie carriage. L idy Harlesdon was leaning 
 ou her husband's arm: Sir Aubrey was walUmg 
 by her t^ide. As I made my appearance. Lord 
 Ilirlesdon exclaimed, "Ah! here's Mary with 
 Bella. How well the little dear looks l" — and he 
 stopped to caress the child. 
 
 I do not know how it was, but it struck me at the 
 moment that thei e was sometidng str luge, unna- 
 tural, and forced in his loidsinp's tone. His viico 
 rebounded with a gaiety to wliieh he was not wout 
 to give way; and methonght it was assumed, and 
 even had a tinge of uai donisin in it. Tiiat some 
 uneasy feeling must have been excited at the same 
 moment in Lady ilarlesdon's b,>som, struck mo 
 likewise: for siie flung a q liok anxious glance at 
 her husband, as if to read his meaning — then her 
 eyes settled upon the child, whom she care sed 
 lovingly — and the next moment she gave a side- 
 long look at Clavermg, who answered witli a brief 
 but, tender smile. 
 
 "Now let us haste to the carriage," said Lord 
 Ilai lesdun, in a voice full of checrfiilucss. " It is 
 a lovely morning; and I feel myself as well, as 
 healthy, and as strong as if I were young ai^aia 
 Ah! to bo young aglin — t/iu< would be gloiiousl" 
 —aud he laughed as if exulting iu the idea: but 
 there was something iu that laii;{h which Rounded 
 .hollow and unnatural to my cars, and again did 
 1 observe the quick seaichiiig Uiok Hung from
 
 104 
 
 MABr PRICE ; OK, THE MEMOIRS OF A 8EEVAXT-MAID, 
 
 Lady Harlesdon'a eyes upon her liusbaud's coun- 
 tenance, and then iustantly averted again, but this 
 time with a more lingering expression of uneasi- 
 ness and doubt in it. 
 
 " Now, my dear," continued the nobleman, aa he 
 handed his wife into the carriaije, " you shall sit 
 nere, and I shall sit next to you, because neither 
 you nor I can ride with our baclts to the horses. 
 Come, Claverinsr, help Mary in : she has got the 
 child in lier arms, poor girl, and cannot get in by 
 herself— besides which she deserves to be treated 
 Iil<e a laiJy after her iieroic conduct in London." 
 
 S ) confused did I become when his lordship told 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering to hand me into the vehicle, 
 that in my haste to scramble in so as to avoid re- 
 ceiving the slightest assistance from him, I nearly 
 fell; and as a matter of course had there been ten 
 thousand Lady Ilarlesdons to make jealous or 
 offend. Sir Aubicy could not do otherwise than 
 catch i'.old of my arm to sustain me and then assist 
 me into the barouche. As I took coy seat I felt 
 that 1 was the colour of scarlet, not only because 
 of my own awkwardness in having thus rendered it 
 necessary for the baronet to hand me in, but also 
 becau:ie of the remarks which Lord Harlesdon 
 went on to make as above recorded. Sir Aubrey 
 leapt in after me, and of course had to place himself 
 by ray side, we occupying the seat with our backs 
 to the horses. The footman threw up the steps, 
 closed the door, and jumped up into the box be- 
 hind : and away rolled the equipage, down the gen- 
 tly sloping gravel road which threaded the im- 
 mense park. 
 
 For nearly a minute did I remain so confused 
 anil b;wili!ered that 1 kept my looks bent down 
 upon the face of the child sleeping in my lap, till I 
 gradually felt that the hues on my cheeks were 
 abating the deepness of their crimson. Then I ven- 
 tured to look up towards the countenance of Lady 
 Ilarlcsdon, facing whom I was seated; and it imme- 
 diately struck me that her features wore an ex- 
 pression of mingled terror and misgiving, which 
 she could not altogether conceal, much less subdue. 
 
 *' It is not often that I finu time lo take any of the 
 children out with me," observed Lord Harlesdon : 
 " but now that we are here at the Park for pleasure, 
 and I have got more time at my disposal, I shall 
 often play the paternal in this manner." 
 
 Then lie laughed : but methought there was some- 
 thing malicious in his mirth — and as I glauccJ at 
 Lady Harlesdon again, I was now more than at 
 first convinced that she experienced a sort of inward 
 consternation and shared my belief that there was 
 something unnatural and forced in the conduct, 
 bearing, and language of his lordship. How Sir 
 Aubrey looked I cannot say ; for I did not choose 
 to turn my eyes towards him. 
 
 " My dear Clementina," resumed Lord Harlesdon, 
 now addressing himself direct to his wife, " I am 
 sure this airing will do you a great deal of good. 
 You did not feel disposed to come out this forenoon 
 when I recommended it at breakfast just now ; but 
 I fancied you looked rather pale, anl knew that the 
 fresh breeze would benefit you. Already indeed 
 is the colour coming back to your cheeks ; and we 
 have not been out yet for half-an-hour. Look, Sir 
 Aubrey ! is not her ladyship the very picture of 
 health at this moment? You who are so old a 
 frienU of the family, can judge whether her ladyship 
 looks as well as she did three or four years back t" 
 
 All this was said in accents that Jarred strangely 
 upon my nerves; and I thsrefore felt convinced it 
 must have sounded more ominously still to Lady 
 Harlesdon and Sir Aubrey Clavering: for under- 
 neath that gloss of buoyant good-humour and ex- 
 hilarating gaiety which Lord Harlesdon assumed, 
 there seemed to be a certain maliciousness and 
 hidden sarcasm. But the hues of the rose had 
 indeed deepened upon the countenance of her lady- 
 ship, and kept deepening there too more and more 
 every instant as her husband continued speaking — 
 until so great, and indeed so visible became her con- 
 fusion as well as the inward terror which oppressed 
 her, that she abruptly averted her head and I saw 
 the big tears roll down her cheeks. Then I glanced 
 towards Lord Harlesdon ; and it struck me that I 
 caught at the moment upon his features an expres- 
 sion of gratified malice at the instant it was flitting 
 away, 
 
 •' By the bye, Clavering," resumed his lordship, 
 now speaking in so familiar and confi lential a tone 
 that I bDgau to tliink all my apprehensions and 
 suspicions concerniug his loo',{3 and manner irere 
 unfounded after all, — " did you see tlut paragraph 
 in the Morning Post about Lidy MadJox?" 
 
 "No— I cannot say thnt I did," answered Sir 
 Aubrey. " What was it ?" 
 
 " Wliy, you know her ladyship ran away with 
 Colonel O'Shaughne-isey about a month ago; and 
 it created a terrible scandal in London. Did it 
 not, my dear?' — and he turned towards Lady 
 Harlesdon. 
 
 •y. s— I believe so," she replied, havin;? reco- 
 vered her presence of mind, though not wiiluut a 
 groat effort, a? with pain and sorrow 1 haJ too 
 clearly seen. 
 
 "Ah! I thought so," observed his lordship. 
 "Those kind of things always do create a scandal; 
 and therefore a husband is a fool for creating an 
 exposure when he discovers thit his wife h is de- 
 ceived him. Pshaw ! it is so common iu high life 
 — in our sphere, you know — that some meios 
 should be devised to deal with ic differently f. om 
 what it has been. Outraged husbands appear to 
 think there are but two ways of trcatug the matter 
 — either of challenging to a duel the author of 
 their dishonour, or in suing him for damages ia 
 tiie Court of King's Bench. Just as if there were 
 no other means of revenge ! I can recommend a 
 dozen — and indeed have a very great mind to 
 publish a book on the subject. The idea of an 
 injured husband lisking his own life in order to 
 get tho chance of taking that of his wife's seducer! 
 —or in suing the villain for damages which per- 
 haps will be never paid, or which, if paid, the 
 scoundrel would not miss ! No, no — all that is not 
 common sense. Those were the resources of a 
 barbarian age : now-a-days the revenge should be 
 as exquisite as the refinement of the circle io 
 which theyaux pas takes place." 
 
 Again did it strike me that there was a strange- 
 ness in his lordship's tone— a covert malice and 
 likewise a soit of passionate vehemence in his 
 words; asif he hiiU'Clf felt all he was saying and 
 identified himself completely therein. That Lady 
 Harlesdon was smitten \Yith the same idea I felt 
 convinced : for 1 saw her shudder visibly, as if 
 with the icy shock given by tho concentrated 
 terror within — while the glitter of uneasiness 
 shone perceptibly in her fine azure eyes. Aa for
 
 MART PRICE OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 105 
 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering-, I think that he felt also 
 uncomfortable : for he fidgetted on the seat and 
 played with his handkerchief, his watch-chain, and 
 his gloves. 
 
 "But wtiat about Lady Maddox?" he asked: 
 and raethought it was by way of sayinp something 
 in order to relieve himself from a conscious em- 
 barrassment. "Your lordship was speaking of 
 Lady Maddox." 
 
 "Ahl by the bye, so I was!" exclaimed the 
 nobleman. " The Morning Post says that Colonel 
 O'Shaughnessey, on finding that her ladyship pos- 
 sessed no jointure of her own, and indeed was 
 altogether without funds, suddenly abandoned 
 her ; and she wrote a most penitent letter to her 
 husband, who of course took no notice of it. Ah ! 
 she is paying the penalty now for her unfaithful- 
 ness. Bitterly, bitterly will she rue the day that 
 she fell! Lord Maddox has certainly got his re- 
 venge by the way her ladyship lias been treated by 
 No. 14 
 
 her seducer t buc in the first instance he was wrong, 
 on discovering the intrigue, to create an explosion 
 and so force his wife as it were into an elopement. 
 He should have pretended not to see it— not to 
 discover it: he should have allowed thiuLis to go 
 on as they were ; and by keeping his wife at home 
 he could have had the finest revenge possible. 
 Day by day could he have prosecuted such a ven- 
 geance—day after day could he have planted a 
 fresh dagger in the heart of his guilty wife. That 
 is the way for an outraged husband to be re- 
 venged I" 
 
 Again did my heart sink within me as I listened 
 to this fearful tirade, every word of which I felt 
 was uttered for a special ()urp')se: and it was but 
 too evident that each successive sentence struck 
 the unhap|iy Lady llarlesdon as it were blow upon 
 blow. Indeed, there was a mnniont when I saw 
 she was BO convulsed with inward i^riet'tiiat I really 
 thought it would burst forth: tor tlie workings of
 
 106 
 
 MARY price; on, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEBVANT-MAID. 
 
 her countenance and the strong compression of 
 her lips proved how much it cost her to restrain 
 her feelings, 
 
 "Well, Clavering, and what do you think of ray 
 views upon those delicate matters?" asked Lord 
 Ilarlesdon, fixing a peculiar look upon the Ba- 
 ronet——" 
 
 «< Oh I I can't say that I altogether agree with 
 your lordship," was Clavering's reply, given hesi- 
 tatingly and in a confused manner. "I think such 
 
 revenge as your lordship speaks of is— is Bat 
 
 after all, I of course am no judge." 
 
 "No you are not married yet!' interrupted 
 
 Lord Harlesdon: and at that instant I was abso- 
 lutely stricken with terror at the loolc of demoniac 
 malice which suddenly distorted his countenance : 
 then immediately laughing as if to turn ofif the 
 effect of this expression which he must have felt to 
 have been upon his features, he added, " By the 
 bye, when do ycu mean to marry, Clave; ir,g? A 
 man of your fortune aud rank c m afford to m^ke 
 some pretty girl happy. Ah ! talking of that, puts 
 me in mind of someili;ng. Clementina, my dear," 
 he continued, turuing to his wife and catching her 
 by the arm, so thatshe could not help turning half 
 round in tlie carriage and looking him full in the 
 fice; "did I ever tell you that our gay and dash- 
 ing friend here fouglit a duel last year with your 
 cousin Eustace Qaentin ?" 
 
 "Ah! my lord," e.xclaimed Claveriag, who I felt 
 was literally writhing upon the scat : for he must 
 have observed the mingled confusion, anguish, and 
 terror which were expressed in Lady Hailesdon's 
 countenance, as her husband, with eyes fixed upon 
 that countenance, addressed her relative to the 
 duel; " this is a matter which really ought not to 
 
 be alluded to. I— I — must positively beg " 
 
 "Oh, nonsense, Claveringl" exclaimed Lord 
 Harlesdon : " what harm can there be in talking of 
 a little adventure that is past ? Besides, I faucied 
 that you were on such terms of intimacy with us 
 ——Why, if I mistake not, you knew her lady- 
 ship," cried the nobleman, intcr!u:)ting himself, 
 " before she was Lady Harlesdon — did you 
 not?" 
 
 " 1 i'orget — I think— yes— I must have had that 
 honour," stammered Sir Aubrey Clavering, while 
 my poor mistress blushed aud turned pale a dozen 
 times in a minute. 
 
 •' Oh ! you can't have forgotten such a thing as 
 that," exclaimed the nobleman with another malig- 
 nant look. "But however, as 1 was saying, Cle- 
 mentina," he continued, still affecting a jocular 
 tone and gay manner, which neveUheless were 
 hollow beyond all posability of mistake; "our frienl 
 Claveriug here did actually and truly figlit a duel 
 with Eustace Quenlin. But I think you are al- 
 ready aware of that circumstance? It I mistake 
 not, Quentin himself told us about it when we met 
 him at Dover after our return from the Continent ? 
 But tike cause of that duel I am well assured you 
 know nothing about, and have never yet heard." 
 
 •' My lord," s;ud LaJy Ilarlesdon, now evidently 
 mustering up all her presence of mind and all her 
 courage to put a stop to a scone that w;\3 every 
 instant growing more an i more painful ; " 1 do 
 beseech you to change your conversation. Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering is evidently distressed at men- 
 tion being made of that dispute which he so unfor- 
 tun.ttely had wi.h a relative of our's " 
 
 " Our's '" ejaculated Lord Harlesdon ^ " Eustace 
 is no relation of mine ! Of yonr's, you mean." 
 
 "Well, my dear, is he not now a relation of* 
 your's also — at least by marriage?" asked Lady 
 Harlesdon, assuming her most winning ways — 
 looking most coaxingly and speaking most caress- 
 ingly- 
 
 " Ah ! then, by the mere fact of man-iage," ex- 
 claimed Lord Harlesdon, " a husband is compelled 
 to acknowledge all kith and kin pertaining to his 
 wife, no matter of what sort or sex ? Pretty babe ! 
 yon are your mamma's darliaz," he immediately 
 added, almost in the same breath, as he leant for- 
 ward and patted Bella's cheeic as she lay sleeping 
 in my lap: " yc, you are mam na's daiSing — and 
 of course mine also," 
 
 I gave a start as if a serpent had stung me : 
 for it struck me in an instant that these laitv.-ords 
 re'ative to the child wa-e a terribly sig-nificant s-e- 
 quence to the former remark concerning a hus- 
 V>and"s acknowledging his wife's kith and Uin. In- 
 deed, the allusion seemed to have a fearful mean- 
 ing. 1 felt Sir Aubrey Clavering start almost as 
 convulsively as I did; and 1 beheld aa expression 
 of wild terror spi-ing up on the features of Lady 
 Harlesdon, as with ghast'y looks her eyes stared 
 upon her husband. Oh ! how I pitied her ; for I 
 saw that the punishment she was enduring was 
 awful. 1 could no longer have any doubt but that 
 it was his revenge which Lord Harlesdon was 
 taking ; and deeply, deeply did I deplore the acci- 
 dent which had made me acqua'nteJ with tUe 
 secret and all the details of tint guilty amour. 
 
 " Oh ! but we were talking of the duel business," 
 continued Lord Harlesdon, seemin 4 to resume the 
 subject quite in a leisurely sort of manner and as 
 if uuawai'e of the emotions which Iiis episodical 
 allusion to the sleeping Bella had produced "Not- 
 withstanding yoiu- frowns and signs. Covering, I 
 am determined to let it all out Why, it is only 
 by way of amusement!" — and he affected to laugh 
 gaiiy. " Well then, you must know, ray dear Cle- 
 mentina," he continued, once more tui-ning half 
 round in the carriage and fixing his eyes upon 
 Lady Haiicsdon, wha was no doubt exerting every 
 vital energy to maintain an air of composure, — 
 "our friend Sir Aubrey went to stay with a family 
 near Canterbury— to nards the close of last year — 
 and there he fell in love with a sweet pretty girl— 
 the nm'sery-maid, I believe, in the family— just as 
 llary is in om-s." 
 
 Here his lordship threw liis eyes upon ras ; and 
 the reader may suppose the confusion and misery 
 which I was enduring as the nobleman, with cold- 
 blooded cruelty, thus entered upon the detads of 
 the painful scene; and methought that in the 
 glistening of his eyes and the worlvings of his 
 countenance, I could discern the ma'icious delight 
 with which he was thus playing and angling with 
 the foeluigs of his wife and the Baronet. Yes— and 
 of mine also ; for ho w.xs now most unjustifiably 
 dragging me into the whole proceeding. 
 
 " A very pretty girl indeed," he repeated ; " and 
 so graphically has the whole transaction been de- 
 scribed to me, that I think I can even give you 
 the complete portraiture of the fair cause of that 
 duel. As a matter of course such a sketch carr.ca 
 with it a degree of interest peculiarly its own ; be- 
 cause the heroine of a duel is invariably ci'cii- 
 latod to inspire feelings of curiosity. Listen then.
 
 MABY PRICE ; OB, TUE MEJIOIfiS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 107 
 
 The young person in question would now be about 
 ei^^hteen years old — a little above the middle 
 heijj;ht— of a very excellent figure, and genteel 
 almost to a Lifly-like appearance. Her hair very 
 dark, with a bright gloss upon it— not coarse, but 
 fiwe and sil!;y : her eyes dark, a'so rather large, 
 and what mny be termed very handsome : her fea- 
 tures regular, classic in profile, and somewhat 
 delicate— not much colour upon the cheeks, except 
 when the emotioi;s are excited, and then no doubt 
 the heroine of my story can blush the deepest 
 crunson. She lias a very pretty mouth— brij^ht 
 coral lip?, and a set of teeth such as the daughter 
 of a duchess might envy." 
 
 It would be impossible to find words to convey 
 an adequate idea of ail I felt as his lordship thus 
 proceaded; and if I record every detail of his 
 portraituri?, it is from no feeling of vanity, but 
 simply because from the very outset of this nar- 
 rative I have resolved to chronicle the exact 
 trutii at all times, no matter how closely and in- 
 timately it may I'egard myself. But painful to a 
 degree were my seusatious as the malicious old 
 man went on desciiling me ; and deep indeed 
 were the blushes that suffused my countenance 
 as he so p:-intedly alluded to them. 1 hung down 
 my head— bent as much over the sleepii!g child 
 a3 I possibly cou'd — and strove to the utmost to 
 conceal my countenance. 1 know not therefore 
 how Lady Ha:lesdcm looked at the lime — mucli 
 less what was the aspect that Sir Aubrey Claver- 
 ing wore: but judging by what I myself felt — I, 
 who was innocent of any wrong— the tortures ex- 
 peijenocd by my poor mistress must have been 
 excruciating to a degree — for she was guiity and 
 she was jealous I 
 
 "Now," continued Lord HarlcsJon, j-itiless 
 and implacable, "you have a pretty correct 
 sketch of the young person whom Sir Aubrey fell 
 ia love «it!i at Ttvisden Lodge: for that was tlie 
 place, when I come to think of it, where the scene 
 occurred. Don't you think, Ciementina dear, that 
 the girl was beautiful enough to inspire sucli a 
 passion ? Come, why do you not answer me? Do 
 you object to have a joke at Sir Aubrey's ex- 
 pciise '{" 
 
 " I would much rather change the conversatiou," 
 replied her ladyship, in a voice so woe-bygone 
 that I felt assured she must be experiencing mor- 
 tal agonies. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense I" exclaimed his lordship : "it is 
 as good a topic for conversation as any other. 
 Clavering, your taste was certainly admirable ; 
 and no one can be surprised at your loving the 
 girl dearly. But come, tell me the truth— is it 
 really a fact that you are secretly engaged to her 
 — that you intend to marry her shortly — and that 
 in the imeival you have contrived by some means 
 to get her into a noble family, in order to pick up 
 polished manners and all tiie gentilities of high 
 life ?"' 
 
 " On my soul, my lord, it is all false 1" ex- 
 claimed the Baronet, viith much iinp?tuosity, and 
 seeming ai if he were dctei mined tiiat the scene 
 should 1)0 put an end to at any risk. "Wlioever 
 has lold your lordship such a pack of nonsense, 
 has gro.-sly deceived you." 
 
 "Ah! it is all very well for you to treat the 
 matter tliu^, my dear friend," inieiruptcd Lord 
 HarlcsduD, afl'ectiug to take the Barouet's wurdi 
 
 and manner alsD with the most perfect good- 
 humour: " but a little bird has whispered these 
 tilings in my ears. Only conceive, my dear Cla- 
 mentina," he continueJ, again turning towards 
 bis wife, on whose burning brain he was thus 
 heaping coa's of fire, — " our friend Sir Aubrey 
 here has nianagtd to get this girl into a family 
 where he himself vi- its. It is really too bad — is 
 it not? But of course young men will be young 
 men. By the bye, IMary," he suddenly exc'aimed 
 — and I started visibly as lie thus called me by 
 name; "if I mistake not, you were at Twisden 
 Lodge, and I believe at about the same time this 
 duel took place? "Were you acquainted with the 
 beautiful heroine of the adventure ? and was she 
 indeed as charming a creature as I have de- 
 scribed ?" 
 
 I did not raise my looks; nor did I even attempt 
 to make any answer. I was overwhelmed witli grief, 
 confusion, and alarm; and as I bowed my eyes 
 a'.'ove the still sleeping child, my tears fell upon the 
 little innocent's cheeks. 
 
 " Why, good heaven ! the girl's crying," exclaimed 
 Lord Harlesdon, whose eyes, sharpened by his 
 malice to the keenest degree of visual power, at once 
 observed those tears. "What on earth does it mean? 
 Come, look up, girl! What are you crying for? 
 Surely nothing has been said to provoke your grief— 
 unless indeed you regret Twisden Lodge and the 
 scenes which took place there." 
 
 Bat still I made no answer nor even raised my 
 head : yet the tears fell thicker and faster from my 
 eyes. 
 
 "See! you are crying all over this dear darling 
 child," continued his lordship ; and taking his hand« 
 kerchief he wiped little Bella's face. " How calmly 
 and beautifully she is sleeping ! But do look, Cle- 
 mentina!" he exclaimed, addressing his wife: "just 
 contemplate our darling child for a few moments, 
 and you will really see a distant resemblance to 
 some face that is familiar to us. Whose face can it 
 be that the dear child thus reminds me of?" 
 
 I shuddered as I heard the vindictive old man 
 thus speaking: for, as a matter of course, all the 
 conversation to which I had listened on the pre- 
 ceding evening in the arbour lecurred to my mind 
 in every minute detail ; and I felt assured that 
 Morley the groom must have betrayed the whole to 
 his lordship. Yes — I shuddered, because I felt how 
 keenly, agonizingly, and excruciatingly my poor 
 mistress must be writhing beneath the terrific lace- 
 ration of her husband's revenge. 
 
 " I feel so ill— indeed, I seem as if I were about 
 to faint," murmured Lady Harlesdon, in a low and 
 feeble voice ; and aa 1 now raised my head suddenly, 
 I observed that she had fallen back in the barouche, 
 ghastly pale, and looking as if the hand of death 
 were upon her. 
 
 " What ! are you indeed ill 1" exclaimed Lord 
 Harlesdon. 
 
 " Yes — very. I feel — I feel — as if my senses were 
 abandoning me:" — and Lady Harlesdon heaved ■ 
 long sigli which was abruptly closed with a quick 
 convulsive gasp. 
 
 " Well, here is old Johnson's farm-house close by. 
 We will drive to it :" — then looking out of the car- 
 riage-window. Lord Harlesdon exclaimed, " Thomas, 
 drive to Farmer Johnson's." 
 
 The order was obeyed ; and in a couple of minutes 
 the carriage dashed up to the front of a large farm
 
 108 
 
 MABV PUICE ; OB, THE MEM0IB3 OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 J 
 
 homestead forming the most prominent feature in 
 a beautifully picturesque landscape. But little lei- 
 sure or inclination had I to observe the aitractions 
 of the surrounding scenery; for my heart was full 
 of grief, and the most painful thoughts were agi- 
 tating in my brain. Lady Harlesdou was evidently 
 very, very ill : and no wonder— for the ride had now 
 continueii upwards of an hour, during which space 
 every minute had been fraught with some new agony 
 —each successive moment had been marked with 
 Bome fresh anguish! For her, poor lady! it must 
 have been the same as dropping molten lead upon 
 the brain laid bare ; and if her guilt had been great, 
 her punishment in this brief hour had been hor- 
 rible. 
 
 Forth from the farm-house came Johnson, his 
 wife, her old mother, two or three grown-up 
 daughters, and likewise a couple of buxom rosy- 
 ciiccked dairy-maids, all anxious to demonstrate 
 tlieir respect towards my lord and her ladyship. 
 
 " My good friends," said the nobleman, "Lady 
 Harlesdon has been suddenly taken uuwcU " 
 
 His lordship had not time to ftuish his sentence 
 ere the entire posse crowded about the carriage; 
 and her ladyship, who was in a fainting state, was 
 taken out by the females and conveyed with all 
 possible tenderness and care into the farm-house. 
 His lordship had already alighted, but had bade 
 Sir Aubrey and myself remain iu the carriage : 
 and now, juit as Lady Harlesdon was being burne 
 to the house, he said in a loud voice, " I must get 
 you, Sir Aubrey, to return with Mary to the Park. 
 I shall remain here with her ladyship, who will 
 require two or three hours' repose. Thomas," he 
 cried, addressing himself to tlw coachman, "you 
 will come back at four o'clock." 
 
 " For my part I would rather take a ramble on 
 foot," observed Sir Aubrey : for Lady Harlesdon, 
 startled into recovery as it were by her husband's 
 words, had flung a wild look arou;id, her acutest 
 sensibilities being no doubt goaded to the quick at 
 the idea of the Baronet riding home alone with me 
 in the carriage. 
 
 " No indeed, I cannot think of it. Sir Aubrey," 
 exclaimed Lord Harlesdon, with a grim smile of 
 malice. "You must get back to the Park with 
 Mary as soon as ever you can, in order to reassure 
 every body that there is nothing dangerous in her 
 ladyship's illness. Indeed, I ask it as a personal 
 favour that you will go straight back. Now then, 
 drive on 1" 
 
 And before Sir Aubrey had time to utter another 
 word of remonstrance, or I had recovered from the 
 fresh confusion into which this ncvr turn iu the 
 day's adventure had thrown me, the carriage rolled 
 away; and there was I, alone inside the vehicle 
 with the very man whom I both disliked and feared 
 move than any other. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 THE BABONET'S SUIT. 
 
 For some minutes a dead silence prevailed. I 
 kept my looks bent down upon the sleeping child ; 
 and as my thoughts slowly settled themselves iu 
 the cells of my brain, 1 began to appreciate all the 
 intense painfulness of that position in which I was 
 
 now placed, and the first idea of which had filled 
 rae with confusion and dismay. All in a moment 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering, who during that interval of 
 several minutes had himself sat silent and motion- 
 less, sh fted his poiition to the back seat, so that 
 by this change he p'aced himself opposite to me. 
 
 " Mary," saiil he, " for heaven's sake tell me, if 
 you caUj what all this means? You must have per- 
 ceived that there was something strange, un- 
 natural, and even pointed to a degree in the con- 
 duct of Lord Harlesdon. Besides, he evidently 
 knew full well tiiat you were ' the young person," as 
 he called you, whose portrait he sketched" 
 
 Sir Aubrey paused for my answer : but I had 
 none to give. What could I say ? The reader is 
 already aware of my motives f jr keeping silent 
 relative to the incidents of the arbour on the pre- 
 ceding night; and anything in the shape of mere 
 comment upon what had just passed, would be to 
 encourage a sort of familiar conversation with the 
 Baronet. 
 
 " Why will you nit speak to me ?" he asked in a 
 tone that was evidently meant to be conciliatory 
 and reassuring. 
 
 " I have nothing to say, sir," was my reply. 
 
 "Would you have me infer that it was you your- 
 self who have been giving all the details of that 
 precious business at Tivisdcn Lodge—" 
 
 "Wliat!" I exclaimed indignantly: "do yoa 
 dare accuse me, sir, of such idle, boastful, ridi- 
 culous talk to Lord Harlesdon ?" 
 
 " Well, if not to Lord Harlesdon, to your fellow- 
 servants," rejoined Sir Aubrey ; "and they have 
 repeated the tittle-tattle." 
 
 "Sir, I am incapable of such conduct," was my 
 indignant answer. "If you only knew how painful 
 this scene has been to me " 
 
 "Ah! I recollect— you cried!" inten'upted Sir 
 Aubrey. " But women are such precious deceivers, 
 it is impossible to know when they are sincere or 
 when they are shamming." 
 
 " Will you permit me to alight, and I will walk 
 home?" — and I endeavoured to thrust my head 
 out of the carriage-window to request the coach- 
 man to stop. 
 
 "Nonsense!" exclaimed the Baronet. "We are 
 at least seven or eight miles away from the Park, 
 and you could not walk such a distance." 
 
 Thus speaking, he drew up the glasses. 
 
 "But I insi:t upon being suffered to alight," 
 said I, with firm tone and manner. 
 
 " Tlien you sh ill do no such thing," he answered, 
 with equal resoluteness. " Now don't make a fool 
 of yourself, Mary, aud play the prude : I am not 
 going to hurt you— I will not lay a finger upon 
 you, I declare ! But perhaps you wdl consent to 
 hear me patiently? WiU you however keep secret 
 what I am going to say, supposing that you refuse 
 the offer I have to make?" 
 
 I gave no answer, but kept my eyes bent down 
 60 as to make Sir Aubrey understand that if 1 
 were compelled to listen to hiui it was altogether 
 against my own inclination. 
 
 "I never did see such a provoking creature as 
 you are," ho conliaued, but not altogotlier with 
 accents of spite. "I had vowed to hale aud de- 
 test you after your conduct towards me at Twis- 
 deu Lodge; but somehow or auoiher your pre 
 sence disarms me of all rancour. Keally, when 1 
 look at you, JIury, you are not only the beautiful
 
 MARr PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 109 
 
 girl that Lord Harlesdon described so graphically, 
 yet with such malicious intent; but there is some- 
 thing about you so sweet, so charming, so fasci- 
 nating, that one cannot help loving you. There ! 
 
 by that very blush which rises to your cheeks " 
 
 " Is it worthy, sir, of the character of a British 
 Officer thus to insult a defenceless female?" I 
 cried, now unable to restrain my feelings any 
 longer. «' Her ladyship shall be informed of your 
 conduct towards me." 
 
 " What do you mean by that threat ?" he asked, 
 fixing his eyes with a searching keenness upon 
 
 me. " Have you any idea But yes, you must 
 
 have after all that has been taking place : and 
 indeed, his lordship seemed to fancy that you were 
 a confidant— else wherefore should he have sought 
 to vent his spite upon you ?" 
 
 Thus did Sir Aubrey continue to muse in an 
 audible tone; and it was apparent enough what 
 was passing in his mind. He fancied that the 
 threat I had used had the vulgar meaning of an 
 intent to excite Lady Harlesdon's jealousy, and 
 that therefore I was acquainted with the secret of 
 her amour with him. 
 
 " I mean, sir," was my answer so soon as I could 
 collect my ideas, "that to my mistress do I look 
 for protection, and to her shall I complain of any 
 rudeness that may be offered to me by a guest or 
 inmate of Harlesdon Park." 
 
 " Prettily but ambiguously expressed," he ex- 
 claimed. " The fact is, Mary, you are deeper than 
 one would think. You have fathomed all this 
 mystery; or perhaps indeed her ladyship has made 
 you her confidant? — And yet that is not likely, 
 considering that she is aware of the little matter 
 
 at Twisden Lodge " 
 
 " Remember, sir," I observed in a tone of re- 
 buke, " that I am but a menial dependant ; and 
 perhaps you will believe me when I declare that I 
 cherish no impertinent curiosity relative to the 
 affairs of my master or mistress." 
 
 "Well, upon that subject we will say no more," 
 observed the Baronet. " A great deal too much 
 perhajis has been said already ; and I am so heartily 
 sick of the thing that come what will and happen 
 what may, I shall take my departure to-night or 
 to-morrow from the Park. Now, such being my 
 resolution, will you Tsten to me for a few moments ? 
 I am sorry that it is an offence to tell you that you 
 are beautiful ; because it is really a hard thing not 
 to be allowed to speak the truth. That however 
 is the truth ; and I must reiterate it at the risk of 
 angering you. This declaration I make to ex- 
 p'aiu my feelings towards you— which are those of 
 a very sincere affection. From the first moment 
 that we met I loved you ; and your image has 
 often and often stolen into my mind even when no 
 circumstance seemed to be conjuring it up. 1 
 should like to have it in my power to place you 
 in a brilliant and prosperous condition— give you 
 a fine house of your own in London- a carriage — 
 
 servants " 
 
 " Silence, sir, I command you 1" was now my indig- 
 nant, I might almost say enraged exclamation : and 
 if he had even been suffered to proceed so far in his 
 address, it was that at first my feelings overcame :ne 
 to such an extent as to render it doubtful whether 
 they were to explode in a flood of tears or an out- 
 break of indignation. In this latter did they now 
 
 glasses ere the Baronet could raise a hand to pre- 
 vent me. 
 
 " For God's sake create no noise I" he exclaimed, 
 all in a moment becoming seriously alarmed. " I 
 will not say another word." 
 
 "And I will not proceed any further in your 
 
 company," was my quick and determi&jd response. 
 
 "Then I will alight," he said— but not with a 
 
 manner as if he were serious : " unless indeed you 
 
 will believe my solemn pledge " 
 
 " No, sir — • I insist upon the carriage being 
 stopped 1"— and I held my hand over the glass that 
 was lowered in order to prevent him from suddenly 
 raising it again. 
 " One word— one single word, Mary !" 
 "No— not a word! I am resolved :"— and thrust- 
 ing forth my head, I desired the coachman to stop. 
 He reined in his horses at once— the footman got 
 down from behind— the door was opened— and I 
 stepped out. Sir Aubrey Clavering said not a 
 word ; but the footman looked at me as if he half- 
 suspected the real truth. Indeed there must have 
 been a certain degree of excitement in my look and 
 manner but too well calculated to convey the im- 
 pression that I was annoyed and had experienced 
 insult. The carriage had stopped just at the corner 
 of a lane branching off from the main road that 
 intersected the estate; and into that shady avenue 
 did I at once turn, — the barouche immediately 
 rolling away again. But in two or three minutes it 
 struck me that I heard a voice call out " Stop !" 
 and at the same moment the retreating sounds of 
 the equipage ceased. 1 fancied that Sir Aubrey 
 had decided upon alighting and would perhaps fol- 
 low me. I accordingly hurried onward up the lane 
 as quickly as I could, considering that^I had a heavy 
 child in nay arms. At length, nearly exhausted, I 
 sat down upon a bank ; and there the pent-up feel- 
 ings of excitement which I had experienced found 
 an issue in tears. 
 
 There was however relief in this flow of sorrow; 
 and wiping my eyes, I was preparing to resume my 
 walk and take the shortest cut across the fields back 
 to the Park, when some one suddenly burst th.rough 
 the hedge fringing the bank where I was seated— 
 and Sir Aubrey Clavering stood before mel I 
 screamed with affright: and then dismay fastened 
 itself upon me, as I beheld the strange wild look 
 which was expressed on his countenance. His fea- 
 tures had become very pale — his under-lip was 
 quivering with excitement — and in his eyes might 
 be read the settled purpose of one who bad sud- 
 denly made up his mind to some bold or desperate 
 resolve. 
 
 "Mary, do not be afraid," he said. "I tako 
 God to witness that I will not harm you 1 As a 
 
 man and as a gentleman But no, I will nut 
 
 take that oath, for I am not master of myself ! I 
 love you, Riary ; by the heaveu aouve us, I lovo 
 you ! This feeling which I have for you, makes 
 me wretched — yes, wretched beyond all descrip- 
 tion : and God only knows whether it caa ever 
 make me hnppy !" 
 
 " Sir Aubrey Clavering," I said, frightened by 
 his wild looks and excited manner, "I beseech 
 and implore that you will leave me." 
 
 " No— I have resolved upon the course I shall 
 pursue," he said: and he literally quivered all 
 over with the strength of his feelings. '' Wheu 
 
 find vent; and as I spoke I lowered one of the I you left me a few minutes back, I said to myself
 
 tlO 
 
 JIA'^Y ntlCE; OR, THI3 JIEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 Let the prr,<le f^o. I was a fool ever to bcstovr a 
 serions thou.'jht upon licr!' — But there was a sen- 
 timent in my lie.irt which belied the flippant levity 
 of my worch. That sentiment became all in a 
 moment otrongcr than myself. Had my lifd 'lo- 
 pendcd on the issue I could not have resisted it. 
 I accordingly stopped the carriage — made some 
 excuse for ali^htin<j and sundiiig it home empty — 
 then cut across the fields t) overtake you: and 
 here I am to propose atiytliinjj or eva-ything! 
 Yes, ftlary — I am almost mad; aad yet there is a 
 desperate calmness in my soul. I will marry you 
 — 1 offer you my hand, here in the prssenca of 
 heaven ! If you consent " 
 
 " No, no— I cannot, I dare not !" was my faulter- 
 in» answer: for the reader may probably imagine 
 how startled and surprised 1 was at the uffer. 
 "It you really have any esteem for me you will 
 leave me at once." 
 
 "Mary, I catmot leave you yet: I will uot— it 
 is impossible!" — and his looks grew wilder as he 
 spoke. " You are not serious in refusiag me : but 
 you think that / shall not fulfil my promise. As 
 God in my witness I will ! Yoa have inspired my 
 soul with feelin^js which have intenvoven them- 
 selves as it were with my entire being'. I love 
 you raadly-^paisionaiely — furiously !" 
 
 "And Lady Ilarlesdou?" 1 exeiaimaJ, scarcely 
 knowing what 1 said, but meauiog to silence him 
 with a rebuke. 
 
 " Oh ! that lias been t'le dream of my youth T' 
 he cried : " but baseless as such dreams always 
 
 are. Well, since you know that eecret then, 
 
 and after all you have seen and hear J this morning 
 you could not help discovering it, even if it were 
 
 unkaowa to you before, 1 will frankly confess 
 
 that I have loved her, and thit I pity and com- 
 passiouate her now J But the love wliich I ex- 
 perieuced for her was nothing — ao, nothing in 
 comparison with this passion which 1 l^el fur you 1 
 I tell you, rilary, 1 love you strongly — aye, even 
 fiercely and furiously ! I could take yuu in my 
 arms and press you to my heart with fiucli violence 
 as even to hurt you. lu ieeJ, it is a maddening, 
 racing passion with which you have inspired me. 
 Say then, will you bo mine ? will you become the 
 sharer of my rank and fortuue ? Your answer I 
 must have uow — this minute. 1 can brjok no 
 delay l" 
 
 Tne torrent of excited words to wliich he thus 
 gave vent with vehement and impassioned utter- 
 auce, alarmed and well nigh overwhelmed me. 1 
 feared lest he should do me a mischief; and yet 
 not even for the sake of getting rid of him, would 
 I condescend to an untruth. No— not for worlds 
 would 1 hava encouraged a hope which 1 never 
 meant to fulfil. I therefore exerted all my energies 
 to arm myself with the fortitude sufficient for a 
 final and positive answer. 
 
 " Sir Aubrey Clavering," said I, " wherefore 
 compel me to repeat what I hava already said ? 
 You have made me an honourable offer, which, 
 consideiing your exalted pusiiion and my humble 
 stale, has certainly atoned for much of your former 
 ill-conduct towards me. But while ackuowledgiug 
 the honour thus conferred upou me, I must beg 
 of you as au olficer and a gentleman " 
 
 "No, no — do uot refuse mo, Mary," he intei'- 
 I'upted, with the most passionate vehemence. " 1 
 MJil not take a refusal ;" — and sciaiug me by the 
 
 wrist he gra~p d me na it were in an iron rice, 
 causing me the acutest pain. 
 
 "Sir Aubrey, yon have hurt me I" I said, with 
 a tone and manner of mild but dignified re- 
 buke. 
 
 "Hurt yon?" he echoed, the words hissing be- 
 tween his set teeth, and bis eyes suddenly flaming 
 witli rage : "I told you that I was not the master 
 of myself. By heaven I I shall do you a mis- 
 chief yet." 
 
 " For God's sake leave me — let me go !" I ex- 
 claimed, now cruelly frightened. 
 
 " Say then — will you be mine ?" he demanded 
 in a voice hoarse with passion. "My pride as 
 well as my love is now concerned ;" — and still he 
 retained my wrist in his gripe. 
 
 " Ah, sir I is this manly— is this gentlemanly 
 on your part ?" I asked, shrinking, and even cow- 
 ering beneath the flaming fury of his eyes. '' If 
 
 you hurt me you may hurt the child Oli ! sir, 
 
 have merey upon me for the sake of this dear 
 child!" — and I looked np with a significant remon- 
 strance into his countenance. 
 
 "Tell me, Mary," he exclaimed, heedless of my 
 appeal, " wherefore do you refuse me? Is it be- 
 cause you love another ? If so, say who he is ! I 
 am determined to know the secret — I will force 
 
 and compel you to reveal it Ah ! by that 
 
 sudden blush v.'hich has mantled upon your cheek, 
 my suspicion is correct! Tell me then who he is ? 
 I will know — I insist upon knowing," he exclaimed 
 with a'armiug wilduess. 
 
 I answered not, but sat upon the bank gazing 
 ia mingled terror and confusioa up into his face, 
 while Miss Bella began to cry. 
 
 "Ah! a su'lden tiiought strikes me!" ex- 
 claimed Sir Aubrey : " I underotaud it, all. You 
 love that baby-ficed Eustace? But I swe.ir that 
 you shall be mine!"— and he again pressed my 
 wrist so forcibly that I screauied out with the 
 pain. 
 
 At this moment the quick clatter of a horse's 
 hoofs reached our ears; and the next instant 
 did the approaching horseman make his appear- 
 ance round a bend in the lane. Au exclama- 
 tion of miugled astonishment and auger burst 
 from his lips, while at the same time a joyous 
 cry of recognition thrilled from mine : and as be 
 sprang from his sted. Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 muttered in a deep tone of oonceuirated rage« 
 " Ab, Eustace Quentin !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE ATOWAI.. 
 
 Yes: the Hon. Eustace Quentia it iras— and at 
 a glance might he perceive that I hailed his 
 presence with delight. Sir Aubrey, iustantanc- 
 ously relinquishing my hand, folded his arms and 
 stood with a mien of haughty defiance, as rising 
 up from the bank I advanced a pace or two to- 
 wards Mr. Quentin. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this ?" he demande J. 
 "But 1 understand it all! Miss Price, Sir Au- 
 brey Claveriug has been again insulting you—" 
 
 I was uow suddenly seized with coufusiou : 1 
 felt the colour rush to my cheeks — and I kuew 
 not how to reply.
 
 MAKY PRICE ; OB, THE ME5I0IES OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " She canuot say that I have insulted her !" Sir 
 Aubrey Claverin^ now observed — and he spoke in 
 a deep voice. "I have offered her my hand— j 
 have made honourable proposals to her — and she 
 has refused them. At this moment I hate her 
 as much as just now I loved her!" 
 
 " It is iufamous of you thus to speak of a young 
 and innocent female who can have done you no 
 harm," exclaimed Eustace Qaentin, his cheeks 
 colourinof with indignation and his eyes flashing 
 fire, as he advanced close up to the Baronet. 
 
 "Look you, my good fello\v," said the latter in 
 a strange tone; *' we have fought onca on her 
 account, and we will fight no moi'o. It is unne- 
 cessary ! for it was only within the last few 
 minutes that I found she loved another: and 
 
 that other is But no, I need not name him I 
 
 Suffice it for me to add that both herself and he 
 shall henceforth be the objects of my implacable 
 revenge." 
 
 With these words, which struck like a hammer 
 upon my brain, Sir Aubrey Clavering turned ab- 
 ruptly on his heel and walked away in the direc- 
 tion of the main road. Covered witli confusion, 
 and well nigh overwhelmed with the varied feelings 
 (which were not however all painful) that agitated 
 within me, I had sunk down upon the bank again, 
 and bending over the chilJ, thus concealed my 
 
 mine— of our's the woes, the sorrows Bat 
 
 I am anticipating ! 
 
 " Mary," resumed Qaentin, after a long pause, 
 during which he still retained ray hand in his own, 
 " the circumstances that have just occurred induce 
 ine to make a revelation which perhaps I should 
 not have done yet awhile — the revelation that I love 
 you. Yes — listen to me, dearest girl, and hear all I 
 have to say. From the very first moment that we 
 ever raef, did you make the most favourable im- 
 ( pression upon my heart ; and I knew that there was 
 indeed such a thing as love at first sight! I loved 
 you for many reasons— not only because you are 
 beautiful, but because your countenance reflects all 
 the amiable quahties of your heart. Do you re- 
 member our conversation on the beach at Dover? 
 Your conduct on that occasion filled me with admi- 
 ration, and confirmed the love which I had already 
 conceived for you. I saw that your soul was purity 
 itsehi and that the chastest sense of duty rose 
 superior to every other consideration. Therefore 
 was it that I did not attempt to detain you when 
 you quitted me so abruptly. No : for I was not 
 then prepared to take so solemn and serious a step 
 as to say that I loved you ; and in none save honour- 
 able terms should I have dared address you. I would 
 have perished first 1 It was this same respectful 
 feeling which prevented me from making any en 
 
 blushing, burning countenance from Eustace Quen- deavoar to see you again while you were at Dover, 
 
 tin. In a few moments he placed himself by my 
 side, and in a low tremulous voice, said, " Mary, 
 you heard the closing remarks which Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering made? From your lips, tlicn, as he 
 doubtless received the assurance that you love 
 another ?" 
 
 "No, sk— nol" I exclaimed, almost iiapetu- 
 ously, 
 
 "But is it so?" he asked, his voice trembling 
 still more than at first. " I thought — indeed I 
 hoped that I understood the Baronet's allusion, 
 lu a word, Slary, I took it for myself." 
 
 I spoke not a syllable, and still kept my face so 
 brat over little Bella that he could not catch the 
 Slightest glimpse of my features: for I was both 
 blushing and weeping, and ineffable scnistious 
 were raaking'my heart flutter and beat audibly. 
 
 "You do not give me any answer," ho said, an 
 unspeakable tenderness in his voice. " Ai> ! Mary, 
 I could be content to become the object of Claver- 
 iiig's implacable vengeance so long as £ was also 
 the object of your love !" 
 
 As tiiese words fell upon my ears, I started — 
 I almost shrieked out : for there was something 
 so intense in the pleasure I felt at the moment 
 tiiat the effect wa^ like a thrilling pain. Then I 
 grew intoxicated with a sense of bliss such as I 
 had never known before : but I neither raised my 
 eyes nor spoke a word. My lips were sealed by 
 the iticffable feelings that had taken possession 
 of me ; and not for worlds at that moment could 
 I have dared to look up into his countenance. 
 
 lie took my hand — and I did not withdraw it. 
 Why should I ? I felt that I loved him ! AH the 
 emotions and feelings that I ever before expe- 
 rienced when thinking of him, were now explained. 
 i'es— I did love him: and perhaps that moment 
 when I thus received the assurance that he loved 
 me in return, was the sweetest and the happipst 
 of my lif*. Ah ! if I had then known all that I 
 wan destined to endure on account of this lovo of 
 
 Were you my own sister, I could not have been 
 more jealous of your reputation ! I knew that you 
 entered the service of Lady Harlesdoa— — " 
 
 " And I have for some time known that you, 
 Mr. Quentin," said I, "generously interested your- 
 self to procure me this situation." 
 
 "Ah! you discovered that?" he exclaimed. 
 " Then you know also that Lady Harlesdoa is my 
 cousin?" 
 
 "I know it," was my answer: but still I raised 
 not my head. •' I had however been several mouths 
 in her ladyship's service ere I ascertained to whom 
 I was indebted " 
 
 " And then," he interrupted me quickly, " were 
 you pleased? were you gratified? did you expe- 
 rience satisfaction on learning what I had doue for 
 you, and how I had done it ?" 
 
 "I felt the deepest, deepest gratitude," was my 
 answer : but my voice was so treiuulous as to be 
 scarcely audible. " And this gratitude was all t!ie 
 more profound in consequence of the delicito 
 manner in which you interested yourself on my 
 bohalf." 
 
 "Did it ever strike you, Mary— did you ever 
 tliiidt that I entertained for you a feeling superior 
 to a common interest? Oh ! I do not adi for any 
 other motive," he exclaimed, '"than to learu 
 whtthcr the feeling with which you inspired ma 
 from the first, bus been in any way reciprocated. 
 In a word, tell me, Mary— dearest Mary— do you 
 love me?" 
 
 I pressed hii hand gently— for no verbal reply 
 could I give. 
 
 " Oh, then you do love me I Yes— you lovo mo !" 
 ho exclaimed in a tone of thrilling enthusiasm ; 
 and throwing liii arm round my neck, he wth 
 tender corapul.-iou forced mo to look up. *' Now 
 JIary," ho cried, as my blushing countenance was 
 upraised towards his own, and I felt tint my eyes 
 were reflecting the lovo that shone iu hli; "say 
 that you lovo me P"
 
 112 
 
 MARY PKICE; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A 8EUVANT-MAID. 
 
 "I do,** was the answer which my lips softly 
 breathed: and then with an enthusiastic rapture 
 Eustace imprinted a kiss upon my forehead. 
 
 "O Mr. Quentin 1" I said, now suddenly awaken- 
 ing from that dream of bliss and disengaging 
 myself from his arms; "you have not well con- 
 sidered— you cannot have maturely weighed and 
 reflected " 
 
 "Bo not distrust my faith," he cried; " because 
 that would be to doubt my love !" 
 
 " O sir ! but you are so young— we arc both so 
 young — so very, very young !" I exclaimed. 
 
 " I am twenty, dearest Mary," he rejoined ; " and 
 in another year shall be my own master." 
 
 " Mr. Quentin," I said, now speaking very se- 
 riously, " I am afraid that I have been guilty of a 
 piece of unpardonable weakness. I should have 
 reflected upon the immeasurable distance between 
 you and me " 
 
 " And would to God that I were more highly 
 placed," he cried, with all the generosity o!" his 
 youthful enthusiasm, "so that I might elevate you 
 in proportion : for you deserve all and everything 
 that the tenderest love and the sincercst admira- 
 tion can possibly accomplish for you 1" 
 
 " Oh, you well nigh overwhelm me with your 
 goodness — your kindness !" I exclaimed, my heart 
 fluttering with indescribable sensations. " But 
 never, never, would I take advantage of this frank 
 and ingenuous conduct on your part. Sooner would 
 I remain the poorest, the liumblest, and the ob- 
 scurest of beings, than by rising to a rank equal 
 to your own, make you regret that you ever ren- 
 dered me the partaker of your honours ! Oh, Mr. 
 Quentin, I have read enough concerning unequal 
 marriages to make me tremble—— But never 
 ehall it be said in your family that you married a 
 low vulgar girl ! Therefore," I exclaimed, with 
 tears in my eyes, but speaking vehemently, " let 
 everything which has just taken place be forgot- 
 ten." 
 
 "Ah! then you do not love me? No, no— yan 
 do not love me!" exclaimed Quentin, in words 
 more passionate than my own. 
 
 " I do, I do," were the exclamations that burst 
 from my lips, while the tears ran down my cheeks : 
 "and it is because I love you thus sincerely that I 
 would not for worlds be the cause ol your unhap- 
 piness." 
 
 " My only idea of happines? is now centred in 
 you, Mary," responded Euilace ; "and if you recall 
 your own avowal of afifection you will render me 
 the most miserable of men. Ah ! every word you 
 speak endears you more and more completely to 
 me : every syllable to whicli you have been giving 
 utteranca convinces me that you possess the 
 noblest of hearts, the most elevated of characters. 
 What! shall I resign such a treasure as thou art? 
 No, no, my beloved Mary, I cannot consent to 
 such a sacrifice. And, Oh! when 1 bethink me in 
 the hurry and bewilderment of my ideas, Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering declared he had solemnly of- 
 fered you his hand, but you refused because you 
 loved another — and that other, it is I — it is 1 1" he 
 exclaimed more exultingly than ever. " Then, if 
 you have rejected the proposals of a wealthy man, 
 decorated with a title, and who being his own 
 master could at once make you his wife, you are 
 indeed consummating a far greater sacrifice on 
 my account than ever 1 can possibly make on 
 
 your's. Hear me then, Mary — hear me solemnly 
 and sacredly proclaim in the face of heaven — in 
 the presence of that sun which is God's own 
 glorious lamp, penetrating everything with its 
 light, even as the All-seeing eye can read deep 
 down into the secrets of every heart, — hear me, I 
 say, declare that you only do I love — you alone 
 will I ever love 1" 
 
 "Pause — reflect, I beseech you, Mr. Quentin," 
 I exclaimed, terrified at the solemnity of the act 
 which he was accomplishing. " Take some little 
 time at least to consider all'this." 
 
 "No— not a minute ;" he answered vehemently. 
 "Besides, if I register in heaven these solemn 
 vows to you, Mary, you will give me a promise 
 equally sacred in return?" 
 
 " Then listen," I exclaimed, my own presence 
 of mind returning in proportion as he was car- 
 ried away by the strong tide of his enthusi.ism. 
 "You said ere now that in another year you 
 will be your own master. Take Iha^ year to 
 reflect well upon the course you will adopt to- 
 wards me. Let everything continue in abey- 
 ance — let us stand with regard to each other 
 precisely 2js if all which we have been saying had 
 remained unsaid. Indeed, let there be no com- 
 munion nor correspondence between us of any kind; 
 and if at the expiration of tiie interval you still en- 
 tertain such flattering opinions relative to me, 1 
 shall gratefully and cheerfully receive the announce- 
 ment. But if, on the other hand," — and here I felt 
 my voice faltering notwithstanding all my eflbrts to 
 maintain my firmness, — " you should find that this 
 passion was more transitory than in your sincerity 
 you now imagine it to be— if in a word you expe- 
 rience at the year's end the least regret that the 
 scene of this day should ever have occurred,— then 
 shall I accept the award with resignation. Con- 
 sider yourself, therefore, Mr. Quentin, under no 
 binding promise to me. I release you from those 
 vows which you have so rashly made^— " 
 
 "Rishly? no, no!" he exclaimed, once more 
 seizing my hand and pressing it between both his 
 own. " To-morrow — a week hence— a month hence 
 —or a year hence, shall I be prepared to reiterate 
 the same 1" 
 
 "Yes— a year hence," I echoed emphatically. 
 'Let it be so." 
 
 "And you will plight me no pledges now ?" he 
 cried entreatingly. 
 
 " No — not one !" was ray firm response. " Mr. 
 Quentin, if I ever become your wife," — and ray 
 heart thrilled with indescribable emjtions as I 
 gave utterance to the word,— "it shall be only 
 when you have pissed the period of your minority, 
 after a sufficiently long interval for you thoroughly 
 to examine into the state of your heart, and under' 
 such circumstances that there never shall be any 
 opportunity for your relatives to s.iy tliat you have 
 been inveigled into a foolish marriage by a self- 
 interested, intriguing young woman. In a word, 
 for my sake as much as fjr your own, do I insist 
 upon this delay of one whole year ere any pro- 
 mises or vows be interchanged." 
 
 I spoke with a calm dignity : for I felt that I was 
 performing a duty. May I be acquitted of vanity 
 or conceit if I declare that I rose above the servility 
 of a dependent position, anJ spoke out with the 
 proudest feelings of a woman { At the same time 
 I urged my plan with an affectionate respectfulness
 
 MAnV FKIOE; on, THE MEMOIRS OP A ^jEUVANT-MATD. 
 
 ii; 
 
 which showed that while I did not forget the social 
 distinction which still existed between us, yet I was 
 neither prude nor hypocrite enough to conceal the 
 genuine and cha«te love with which he had inspired 
 me. 
 
 "Admirable girl !" he exclaimed : " the more I 
 see of you the more must I estimate the loftiness 
 of your feelings and the excellence of your 
 principles. For your sake then, Mary, do I 
 consent to ererythins you have proposed. But 
 think not for a single moment that my love will 
 cool through absence or delay I No— because, if 
 before to-day I loved you well, how much has your 
 present conduct tended to increase my affection ! 
 You have behaved in a manner becoming all the 
 noblest attributes of your sex. Nor will the memory 
 of this day ever be eflaced from my mind. To me 
 it will be the pearl of days — the brightest of recol- 
 lections 1 One thing however I must implore of you 
 —and that is to consent that we shall correspond ?" 
 
 " JNo, Mr. Quentin," I at once answered, firmly 
 No. 16 
 
 resolved to adhere to my purpose. "I appeal 
 to the affection which you have professed to- 
 wards me, to carry out my views to the fullest ex- 
 tent. When we part now, let us not see eacli 
 other again for one whole year." 
 
 " Ah ! this is too harsh, Mary," he cried, press- 
 ing my hand tenderly. 
 
 " Think you that I make no sacrifice of 
 my own feelings?" said I in a tremulous tone. 
 " Yes, yes— I do : and it is like forcing na- 
 ture to act as I am actings at present ! But 
 inasmuch as I am resolved that no member 
 of your family shall ever have to reproach 
 me for word or deed of mine towards you 
 during your minority and while you are still de- 
 pendent on your parents, it is absolutely necessary 
 that all intercourse should cease between us until 
 the day when you become your own master. Tell 
 me when that day "ill be : and then," I added in a 
 faltering and tremulous voice, " I shall expect to 
 receive a letter f om you."
 
 114 
 
 MABY price; on, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 " On the l9t of November-, 1829, shall I be of 
 age," replied Eu3tace : "and instead of your re- 
 ceiving a letter from me on that day, you shall 
 behold me iu person coming to throw myself at 
 your feet and demand your hand." 
 
 " If I am not still with Lady Harlesdon," said 
 I, almost overpowered by the inefifable feelings 
 th.'it were agitating within, " I shall h( at A^hford : 
 aud if on the 1st of November next yea^ 1 do n^t 
 behold you in person, I sha'l repair to the post- 
 ofiace to ask if there be a letter for me. 1 need 
 not tell you that if you come not, I shall at least 
 expect you to write : because should everything 
 else be at an ead between us, I should like to re- 
 ceive a line— just one line— to say that I liave not 
 lost your esteem." 
 
 As I g»ve utterance to these last words, it 
 seemed as if a strong tide of feeling surged up 
 into my very throat. 1 gasped with powerful 
 emotions, and avertiag my countenance melted 
 into tears, which poured freely down my cheeks. 
 
 " Jlary, dear Mary, in order that yoa may en- 
 tertain the fullest conviction of my love aad 
 fidelity," said Eustace, gently placing his arm round 
 my waist, " I will give you every present proof of 
 my devoteduess by assenting to all you stipulate. 
 And it is likewise because I could not for 
 worlds ojipose another word of remonstrance 
 against all the noble arguments aud prudential 
 reasons which you advance for complete separa- 
 tion aud silence duricg the year— it is, I say, be- 
 cause you are too sublime in your woman's 
 strength, too elevated in your femiuine purity, 
 for me to move you from your purpose, that 1 
 agree to all that has been proposed. I should, 
 however, observe that my regiment has just been 
 ordered to Derby, We only arrived there yester- 
 day ; and to-day I obtaiued leave to gallop across 
 to Harlesdon Park, where I intended to stay a 
 week. My servant will come round by Belper in 
 
 the branch-coach with my portmanteau^ May I 
 
 not remain this one short week ?" 
 
 I turned my tearful eyes reproachfully upon him, 
 saying, " What? and for us to meet again during 
 this week, and for me, perhaps, to have to repeat 
 all my arguments over again ?" 
 
 " Mary, dearest Mary !" he exclauned, " you 
 shall be obeyed iu all things ! I luve you too well, 
 too devotedly, not to fulfil your wishes to the ut- 
 most ; aud those wishes are too noble, aud fraught 
 with too sublime a geuerosiiy, not to command my 
 respect. AVell then, when my strvaot comes to- 
 night, I will allege as au excuse that he has 
 brought me an order from my commandiiig cflioer 
 to rejoin at once ; and to-morrow moruiug atday- 
 tireak will I be off again. Are you satisfied, my 
 Mary ?" 
 
 " Yes, perfectly : how can I be otherwise ?" said 
 I. " But now let us separate." 
 
 " One word !" he cried : *' for you have not as yet 
 told me how you came to be subjected to the per- 
 secutions of Claveringat the instant when 1 made 
 my appearance. Fortunate euough it was that I 
 took the bye-roads I ' 
 
 "The explanations you seek are given in a few 
 moments," said I. " I accompanied my lord and 
 her ladyship for au airing iu the carriage; Sir 
 Aubrey Claveriug was with us. Her ladyship waa 
 taken very unwell, and my lord thought it neces- 
 sary that slie should have a few hour's rest at tho 
 
 farm yonder. He according y remained there with 
 her ladyship, insisting that Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 and I should return to the Park. Sir Aubrey ad- 
 dressed me in terms which compelled me to aiight. 
 
 Shortly afterwards he followed me, and You 
 
 kuow the rest." 
 
 "Dearest Mary," exclaimed Eustace, "I do in- 
 deed know from his own lips that he offered you bis 
 hand and that you refused. All ! dearest, the ten- 
 derest love, the most unchanging affection on my part 
 shall be your reward! But now which way are you 
 going ? Ilecollectiiig tiiis neighbourhood well, me- 
 thinks it must be at least three or four miles from 
 Harlesdon Park ; aud you cannot walk that distance, 
 particularly with little Bella there." 
 
 " I shall return to the farm beyond the trees," said 
 I, pointing towari!s Mr. Johnson's homestead, "and 
 wait till the arrival of the carriage, which bis lord- 
 ship ordered for four o'clock." 
 
 " And it is now one o'clock," observed Eustace, 
 consulting his watch. " It is decided then, Mary, 
 that we separate for an entire year ? But what," he 
 suddenly exclaimed, " if Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 should renew his addresses — make them the subject 
 of persecution, or any way eosieavour to carry out 
 his threat cf veTigeance against you ?" 
 
 " Surely her ladyship will protect me against 
 injury at bis hands," said I ; " and as for a renewal 
 of his addresses, I shall know full well how to re|>eat 
 the refusal which I have given him this day. From 
 what he said 1 do not think he will remain at the 
 Park any longer. But if you should meet hiu> pre- 
 sently," 1 added, hesitatingly and tremulously, "do 
 not, I beseech you, allow him to provoke you with 
 angry words or taunts." 
 
 " There is no fear of that, dearest Mary," replied 
 Qucntin, his eyes swimmiug with delight at the in- 
 terest which I thus manifested on his behalf. " As 
 a gentleman he will veil his feelings, whatever they 
 may be, before ray cousin and Lord Harlesdon: nor 
 is there the slightest chance that he would so far 
 forget ail rules of propriety and decency as to make 
 any attempt to provoke me to another duel. Fear 
 nothing then on that account." 
 
 Tuus speaking, Eustace drew me towards him.— 
 strained me iu his aims — and pressed his lips to 
 mine. I have no reason to state that 1 resisted him : 
 on the contrary, as we bad agreed to separate, I felt 
 that there was no harm iu this parting embrace. 
 
 ** Adieu, dearest Mary," he said in a voice of the 
 deepest emotion. 
 
 "Farewell, Mr. Quentin," I answered, equally 
 overpowered by my feelings. 
 
 "No — we shall not separate thus !" he exclaimed. 
 "Let there not be the slightest shade of coldness in 
 our farewell. Call me not then by the formal name 
 of Mr. Quentin : address your last words to me as 
 £ustace—yont own devoted Eustace!"' 
 
 " Fcsrewell, Eustace," said 1 : aud again he pressed 
 me in his arms. 
 
 The next moment I snatched up little Bella from 
 the bank, where I had placed her on the thick shawl 
 in which she was wrapped ; and with one parting 
 glance of tenderness upon Eustace Quentin, I hur- 
 ried away along the lane. Once more did I turn on 
 reaching the bend a little way ahead, and he waved 
 his handkerchief iu token of farewell. I then hur- 
 ried on— and the next moment we were no longer in 
 sight of cachotlier!
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 lis 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 A wife's anguish. 
 
 On regaining the main road, I sped as quickly as I 
 could in the direction of Farmer Johnson's house: 
 but so overpowered was I by the feelings that were 
 excited in my heart by the incidents of the last 
 hour, that I was compelled to seat myself at the 
 foot of a tree and rest a while ere I resumed my walk. 
 It seemed as if that one short hour had produced 
 an event which was to exercise the most important 
 influence over my destinies. At eighteen years of 
 age did I love tenderly, and had every reason to 
 believe that I was loved as fondly in return. But 
 the longer I reflected on the course I had adopted, 
 the more was I satisfied with mj self. I knew that 
 I had done my duty, and whatever might happen 
 hereafter, no blame could be thrown upon me, nor 
 could I have to regret my own actions. This ap- 
 proval of conscience had a great effect in tending to 
 sooth and calm my agitated feelings, rendesing my 
 happiness more real and more serene, and mitigating 
 the pain of separation. 
 
 A long year now lay before me — a year which I 
 could not expect to remain free from much sus- 
 pense, many hop?s, and no doubt as many mis- 
 giviags! I was not of a sanguine disposition: 
 the misfortunes of my life had sobered down the 
 enthusiasm of youthful ardour and clipped the 
 wings of fancy's vivid imaginings. Therefore, 
 though I now loved and felt that I was beloved, 
 yet the ensuing year was not likely to be an un- 
 broken dream of roseate bliss for me : and indeed 
 it seemed repugnant to all the experiences of hu- 
 man nature to say that I should not look forward 
 with much anxiety to the 1st of November, 1829. 
 Yes, that day had now become the goal on which 
 my eyes must remain fixed while traversing the 
 vista of an entire year : it must prove one of those 
 land-marks iu my life's journey which would either 
 have a garden of paradise or a cheerless desert 
 beyond. 
 
 While seated at the foot of the tree and thus 
 giving way to my reflections, I quite forgot every- 
 thing concerning Lord and Lady Harlesdon, Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering, and the menacing aspect which 
 affairs had taken during the ride out in the ba- 
 rouche. But when I resumed my walk towards 
 Farmer Jolmson's, I began to recollect the varioui 
 particulars of that painful scene which has already 
 been described; and the longer I thought upon 
 the subject, the more did I become perplexed to 
 conjecture what would be the end. From the ter- 
 rible malignity which Lord Harlesdon had dis- 
 played, I was apprehensive that his revenge would 
 not be confined to mere sarcasm and taunt, or to 
 the provocation of his wife's jealousy by playing 
 me off against her with Clavering: for tliat such 
 had been his object, especially in ordering me 
 home alone with Sir Aubrey in the carriage, it 
 was but too easy to understand. 
 
 On arriving witliin a hundred yards of Farmer 
 Johnson's, 1 was actually struck with amazenicnt 
 on behoMing Lord and Lady llarlcs ion walking 
 together arm-in-arm on the bank of the Derwent, 
 which rolled its silver tide close by the homestead. 
 They were equally astonished on perceiving me; 
 aad Lady Harlesdon at once exclaimed, " Why 
 
 Mary! what has happened? how is it that you 
 have not returned home ?" 
 
 I looked up at her and perceived that an air of 
 intense anxiety, as if she more than half suspected 
 what had happened, was upon her pale and altered 
 features : for so colourless and changed had her 
 countenance become within the last two or three 
 hours, that one would have thought her ladyship 
 had only just risen from a bed of sickness. A 
 sidelong glance, flung furtively upon Lord Hailrs- 
 don, showed me that he was neitlier restored to 
 his wonted equanimity, nor had he made his peace 
 with her. Indeed, it struck me the moment I 
 thus gazed upon them, that during their ramble 
 the old husband had been prosecuting his revenge 
 upon his young wife after his own fashion and 
 according to his own peculiar way, as described by 
 himself ere now in the carriage. 
 
 " Please your ladyship," I said, in answer to her 
 question, "I have not been home because I deemed 
 it prudent to alight from the barouche." 
 
 " Ho ! ho 1" ejaculated Lord Harlesdon, flinging 
 a bitter look of mocking triumph upon his wife. 
 " I suppose the gallant Clavering " 
 
 "Hush, my lord!" cried Lady Harlesdon, as- 
 suming all her dignity. "You must be careful how 
 you speak in the presence of this young girl. Mary, 
 go on to the farm — Bella will require some food — 
 and you yourself must war.t refreshments.'' 
 
 "Stop, stop a moment!" exclaimed Lord Harles- 
 don, in that commanding voice which showed that 
 he was determined to be obeyed. "Mary, be so 
 kind as to explain why you descended from the 
 carriage." 
 
 " To her ladyship, my lord, when alone with her, 
 will I explain everything," was my answer, given 
 with modest firmness. 
 
 " Hey-dey ! my very servants now are to rebuke 
 me, I suppose I" he exclaimed with more sarcasm 
 
 than anger. "Mary, I insist What, you are 
 
 moving off? Come back this moment, I say — 
 
 come back, I command you !" 
 
 But heedless of his lordship's ejaculations, I 
 hurried onward to the farm-house, where I was 
 shown to a parlour and refeshments were servtd 
 up for myself and Miss Isabella Clementina. In 
 about half an-hour Lady Harlesdon came into the 
 room ; and I must confess that I was considerably 
 relieved on observing that she was not accom- 
 panied by her husband. 
 
 " No— liis lordship is in the garden," she said, at 
 once understanding the hasty look I had flung to- 
 wards the door. " He has granted me a respite 
 till the carriage comes:" — and throwing herself 
 upon a chair, my unhappy mistress burst into aa 
 agony of tears. 
 
 I was deeply moved, but as a matter of course 
 said nothing. 
 
 "Mary," observed her ladyship, after a long 
 pause, during which she wept with exceeding bitter- 
 ness, and from which violent outburst of grief it was 
 not very easy to recover : " tell mc — tell me with- 
 out reserve— wherefore you quitted the carriage." 
 
 "Your ladyship must comprehend how painful- 
 how very, very painful," said I, "it is for mo to 
 have aught to say on such a subject." 
 
 " But you must tell me everything, my dear girl,** 
 exclaimed Lady Harlesdon. " Say, did Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering behave himself unbecomingly toward* 
 you!"
 
 116 
 
 ItAKY riUCE ; OR, THE .AiEJIOIRS OB' A SEKVANT-MAlB, 
 
 "He did, my lady," was my answer, delivered 
 with infinite sorrow : and yet not for worlds could I 
 tell a falsehood. 
 
 "The villain!" she muttered between her teeth: 
 and her looks were now ghastly. 
 
 *' O my dear lady !" I exclaimed, throwing myself 
 on my knees before her, for Bella was asleep on the 
 sofa ; *' it cuts rae to the quick to be thus compelled 
 to enhance the sorrow which you already expe- 
 lience!" 
 
 "Ah! then you have discovered that my soul 
 cherishes a sorrow?" said Lady IlarlesdoB, in a 
 strange tone of mingled wildnessanii raournfulness. 
 " But, of course, you have. Young, inexperienced, 
 and innocent though you are, you nevertheless 
 could not have failed to understand all the bitter 
 malignity, the fearful vindicliveness, and the pointed 
 allusions in which Lord Harlesdon indulged this 
 forenoon. Rise, Mary, from your knees: you have 
 no pardon to ask of me. But you are a good girl 
 i .1 entertaining this sympathy towards your guilty 
 mistress— yet not more guilty than she is un- 
 happy." 
 
 I rose up accordingly, and stood before her, gazing 
 with profound sorrow upon that beauteous creature, 
 whose loveliness I saw full well would soon be as com- 
 plete a wreck as ber virtue long had been, and as 
 her reputation in the great world would no doubt 
 become; and the tears rolled down my cheeks as 
 ny heart was smitten with the direst woe on her 
 account. 
 
 "Yes, Mary," she resumed, after another long 
 pause, "I have been guilty; but I am unhappy — 
 God knows how unhappy ! You must be aware 
 how deeply, fondly, devotedly I have loved Cla- 
 vering to have risked so much on his account ; and 
 now, how does he repay me ? At the very moment 
 when he perceives that Lord Harlesdon, by some 
 unaccountable means or another, has obtained an 
 insight into all — yes, all — and when my heart is 
 enduring ineffable excruciations after being lashed 
 with the scourges of a husband's tremendous satire, 
 —at such a time is it that Clavering forgets me and 
 dares to offer his homage to another! Mary, dear 
 Mary, not for an instant do I blame you. I am not 
 angry with you — I am well assured that from you 
 lie would receive naught but repulse and reproach. 
 But that he should have behaved thus, cuts me to 
 the very quick ! Heaven only knows what will be 
 the end of all this. I cannot see where or how my 
 husband's vengeance is to terminate." 
 
 She paused— wrung her hands bitterly— and then 
 rising from her chair, began pacing the room in an 
 awful state of fevered excitement. In a few minutes 
 she grew more composed ; and when she resumed 
 her seat, I observed " that the Hou. Eustace Quentin 
 had ridden on to the Park." 
 
 " Ah 1 Eustace has arrived ?" she exclaimed, sud- 
 denly looking very hard at me ; and I felt myself 
 blushing deeply. "Did you see him? or did you 
 merely hear of it ?" 
 
 " I saw him, my lady," was my answer : and still 
 I continued blushing — for love has its shame, al- 
 though pure and innocent. 
 
 " Then he doubtless stopped and spoke to you ?" 
 said Lady Harlesdon: and when I had replied in 
 the afiirmative, she observed, "Perhaps you are 
 aware that it was through his indirect instrumentality 
 you entered my service ? Ah ! I see by your man- 
 gier, Mary," ahe continued with a faint and pickly 
 
 smile, " that you are acquainted with that little 
 secret. But for heaven's sake, my dear girl, do not 
 give way to ridiculous hopes or vain delusions I 
 You are so good, so amiable, and so kind-hearted, 
 that it would grieve me sadly to think that you in- 
 curred the chance of experiencing blighted hopes or 
 ruined expectations. I am sure EusUce would en- 
 courage none, because he himself is the very soul of 
 honour ; and it was through the purest and sincerest 
 motives of friendship that he interested himself on 
 your behalf. You see, my dear Mary, that even 
 amidst my own bitter, bitter afflictions I can atTord 
 a thought for you, because I love you. And ah! 
 these afflictious of mine— they are indeed most 
 grave, most terrible!" she added, her thoughts again 
 reverting to her own circumstances. 
 
 I walked to the window, and looked out, in 
 reality to conceal the confusion which I experi- 
 enced on acccunt of Lady Harlesdon's remarks; 
 and now it struck me, ihat after all that had oc- 
 curred I stood in a very difiFerent light with regard 
 to the incident of the arbour. It was no doubt 
 of the utmost consequence to Lady Harlesdon to 
 know who ber secret enemy was, and to ascertain 
 exactly to what extent she was compromised with 
 her husband. She manifested so much kindness, 
 gentleness, and consideration towards me, even in 
 the turmoil of her own dire afflictions, that I felt I 
 no longer ought to conceal so important a secret 
 from her ladyship. My mind was speedily made 
 up ; and advancing towards her, I said, " My lady, 
 1 have something of the utmost consequence to tell 
 you." She suddenly looked up at me in astonish- 
 ment ; and I immediately added, " Yes, somsthing 
 that will afford a key to the reading of much that 
 must at present be involved in the deepest mystery 
 to your vision." 
 
 "In heaven's name what mean yon?" she ex- 
 claimed ; then t iking my hand, and making me 
 sit down beside her, she said, " Now speak frankly 
 and without reserve, as you ever do." 
 
 I thereupon proceeded to tell her ladyship 
 everything connected with the arbour, not even 
 excepting the proposals which John Morley had 
 made to me relative to "comparing notes, pulling 
 together, and rowing in the same boat." Her 
 ladyship listened, from first to last, without speak- 
 ing a single word — almost without a gesture, but 
 with consternation and dismay in her looks. For 
 some minutes after I had finished she still re- 
 mained motionless as a statue, gazing upon me 
 with a sort of wonderment, as if she were coa- 
 founded. 
 
 " Then I am lost— utterly, utterly lost!" she at 
 length said, in a voice so low, so deep, so altered 
 by despair, that it seemed iuiposiible to come from 
 that throat which was wont to pour forth the most 
 fluid tones. " Yes, all is intelligible now I Cla- 
 vering's groom is a traitor — the hired spy of Lord 
 Harlesdon. It was be, no doubt, who told his 
 lordship everything concerning yourself — the 
 
 duel Oh, I am lost— I am lost!" — and she 
 
 covered her fice with her bauds, sobbing and 
 gasping convulsively, but shedding no tears. 
 
 I almost began to repent of having revealed 
 this secret to her ladyship ; and I was debatini; 
 within myself whether I had acted wisely and pru- 
 dently or not; when, slowing removing her hands, 
 she fixed upon me her hagi^ard looks, saying, 
 I •< Mary, I do not for a moment blame you for your
 
 MARY PKICE: OB, THE AiejIOIUS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 117 
 
 conduct of last night. I am well persuaded that 
 you, in the first instance, became an unwilling 
 listener, and that once there, in the arbour, you 
 had no alternative but to remain. Oh! having 
 learnt, then, all my sad history of love, and guilt, 
 and hypocrisy, you can but too well enter into the 
 goading agonies that I experienced throughout 
 the scene in the barouche this morning ! But too 
 truly did my husband affirm that there was a re- 
 venge which an outraged husband might take 
 more keen and bitter than that of duels and law- 
 suits ; and this revenge is he taking with me in all 
 the intensity of its keenness, and all tlio malice of 
 its bitterness ! Yes, he means to break my heart 
 by slow degrees — to conduct me by an incessant, 
 though gradient, series of tortures, to an early 
 tomb ! "Would you believe, Mary, that so soon as 
 I was recovered ere now, he proposed a walk along 
 the bank of the river, that the breeze might re- 
 fresh me ; and all the time was his discourse made 
 up of malignant sarcasm, cutting allusion, bitter 
 taunt, and searching irony ? Heavens ! to live 
 such a life as this for weeks and months — perhaps 
 for years !" — and as Lady Harlesdon spoke, she 
 trembled all over vfith a cold shuddering. 
 
 The barouche now drove up to the door ; and 
 Lord Hirlesdon, entering the room, announced 
 that it was ready. He then escorted forth his 
 wife with every appearance of fond courtesy, so 
 that the inhabitants of the farm should not suspect 
 there was anything wrong between them. I, of 
 course, took my seat inside the vehicle, with Bella 
 upon my lap ; and I felt just as if I were entering 
 into a torture-chamber with the horrors of which 
 I already had the bitterest experience. The 
 equipage drove away ; and during the hour occu- 
 pied in the ride back to Harlesdon Park, his lord- 
 ship continued to discourse in pretty well the same 
 taunting, sneering, and sarcastic strain as in the 
 forenoon. But the string he now chiefly harped 
 upon was my having alighted from the car- 
 riage to avoid Clavering, which of course he full 
 well suspected, although that reason had not been 
 given in his presence. It was quite clear that he 
 endeavoured to madden his wife with jealousy in 
 respect to the Baronet and myself. I was so bit- 
 terly annoyed ami felt so truly wretched, that I 
 would not speak a word. He put many questions 
 to me relative to Clavering — at one time com- 
 manding, at anotluT endeavouring to cajole me to 
 answer: but I would not. When he addressed 
 himself to Lady Harlesdon, she did reply, and in a 
 manner showing that she did her best to seem not 
 to comprehend the drift of all his taunts and al- 
 lusions — though heaven knows, poor creature! she 
 understood them all but loo well, and writhed 
 uniJcr tiiem but too agonizingly. 
 
 Never was so great a relief experienced by any 
 mortal as by me wlipn we reached Harlesdon Park 
 once mure ; and I at once llitted up stairs to the 
 nursery, delighted to be emancipated from the 
 torture of that scene with Lord Harlesdon. I 
 learnt from Jemima that the Hon. Eustace Quen- 
 tin had arrived; and the reader will perhaps think 
 it unnecessary for me to say that I experienced a 
 deep-felt secret pleasure at the thouj^lit of being 
 beneath the same roof as himself But on the 
 following morning, true to his promise, he took his 
 departure at an early hour ; and I learnt at break- 
 fast time that Sir Aubrey Clavering was likcwi-se 
 
 about to leave in the course of the forenoon. This 
 he did ; and I was truly rejoiced when the Baronet 
 and his insolent domestic John Morley were no 
 longer inmates of the mansion. 
 
 In the evening Lady Harlesdon came up into the 
 nursery; and sending Jemima down stairs on some 
 pretence, she took the opportunity of saying a few 
 words to me. 
 
 " My dear Mary," she began, " I have no doubt 
 you are anxious enough to hear whether anything 
 new has taken place in my now wretched, wretched 
 existence ; and it is likewise a source of comfort 
 and solace to me to be enabled to make a confidant 
 of you. At dinner-time yesterday his lord^^hip 
 behaved just as if nothing had happened: but then 
 my cousin Eustace and Dr. Vincent dined with us, 
 and my lord is not only too well-bred but has also 
 too much regard for his own pride and dignity to 
 display his feelings before those who are not 
 actually mixed up in his plan of revenge. "With 
 regard to Clavering," continued her ladyship, her 
 voice becoming tremulous and the tears trickling 
 down her cheeks, " I found an opportunity of just 
 two minutes to breathe a word in his ears." 
 
 Her ladyship stopped short, and became con- 
 vulsed with grief: then she rose — advanced towards 
 the bed where her two boys were sleeping — and 
 bending over them, gazed with an anguished ten- 
 derness upon their countenances. Next she pro- 
 ceeded, or rather staggered — for she was well nigh 
 overpowered with her feelings— to the cradle where 
 Isabella Clementina slept; and on the child's sweet 
 cherub face did she likewise gaze long and ten- 
 derly. Indeed there was a surpassing eloquence 
 in her looks — the eloquence of a mother's fond but 
 melancholy love for the offspring whose fattier she 
 no longer considered to be worthy of lier affec- 
 tion I 
 
 "Mary," she resumed, returning to her seat, 
 " everything is at an end between Clavering and 
 me. With a breaking heart, but with a determined 
 tone, did I tell him this much last night. He said 
 to me, 'Then Mary has told you all !' — I replied, 
 ' Yes, she has revealed to me all your insulting 
 treatment.' — ' But did she tell you no more ?' he 
 asked. — I gazed upon him in surprise, wondering 
 ivlnt more there could have been to tell : wlien 
 he said, ' Since you Iiave decided, Clementina, that 
 everything should be at an end between us, 1 
 should nut like to leave you with the impression 
 that I am altogether a dishonourable scoundrel 
 towards Mary. 1 offered her my hand : yes, by 
 heaven !' he added emphatically, 'I offered her my 
 hand, but she refused me'.'— Having thus spoken, 
 Clavering walked away and I saw him no ni.)rc 
 list night. This morning, after breakfast, as ho 
 bade mo good bye, I seized the opportunity to whis- 
 per in his ear, ' Beware of John Morley : he is a 
 traitor. It is he Avho has watched and betrayed 
 us.' — I saw that this announcement struck him 
 like a thunder-clap : but instantaneously recover- 
 ing himself, as Dr. Vincent was in the room, he 
 gave me a look which implied significantly enough 
 that he would know how to deal with his trea- 
 cherous foiv.iTit. Then, as I gave him my hand 
 and said ' F.irewell.' I added in a low voice, 'for 
 evcrT He wrung my hand with wiiat I may term j 
 the fierceness of powerfully e.vcitcd emotions, and ! 
 took his departure." ! 
 
 Having given me this interesting narrative, not /
 
 118 
 
 MARY PUICE; or, THE JfEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 quite however in so collected a form as I liave re- 
 corded it, but with several self-iuterruptions of 
 mournful exclamation and touching lament, Lady 
 Harlesdon fell into a reverie of profound sorrow. 
 She seemed to forget that any one was present, 
 or that she was observed ; and like a benutiful 
 statue— tlie chiselled eflSi^y of despair — did she 
 tlrtn appear. I never saw her look so touchingly, 
 so interestingly beautiful : tlie spirit of sorrow's 
 pathos seemed to shine throu^!;h her, and her look 
 was like that ol a youthful Jlagdalen, dying^ and 
 broken-hearted ! 
 
 "My dear girl," at length she said, slowly 
 awakening from this profound reverie, " tho pro- 
 ceedings of yesterday, in most senses so frightfully 
 distressing for me, were at least relieved by one 
 sunshine gleam; and tiiat was your own kind sym- 
 pathy. 1 saw then how deeply you felt for nie — 
 how much you pitied me: but after what Sir 
 Aubrey Ciavering told me last night, my admira- 
 tion and esteem are more than ever excited with 
 regard to you. Brilliant as the propo^^al wa'J, and 
 eagerly as it would h:ive been caught at by any 
 other young person in your situation — yet you, 
 Mary, would not bestow your hand where you 
 could not give your heart. Oh! I comprehend 
 all the purity and excellence of your suul. Would 
 to God that I were like you. But by having dared 
 to make a mockery and a profanity of the holy 
 rito of marriage, I have scaled my ov/n unhappi- 
 rcss. Alas, alas ! life will henceforth be a blank 
 for me ; and were it not for those dear children 
 there, I would put an end to such a wretched, 
 wretched existence V 
 
 " Oh ! for heaven's sake, my dear lady," I ex- 
 claimed, •' do not talk in this manner:" and taking 
 her hand I pressed it to my lips. 
 
 " Do you not know how vile and wicked a crea- 
 ture it is on whom you thus bestow your generous 
 sympathy?' she cried, as if in a sudden access of 
 frenzy: tiien all in a moment becoming calm 
 — uana'.urally calm — again, she said, "But no 
 matter I I must fulfil my destiny ; and the rest of 
 my life must continue a falsehood and a deceit as 
 the last few years of existence have been — with 
 this difference however, that hitherto the veil of 
 hypocrisy has been worn over the sweetest and 
 teudercst love that ever bloomed as the choicest 
 flower of the soul; and henceforth it must serve to 
 conceal tiie bitterness of grief and tho anguish of a 
 remorse that will gnaw at my heart's core until 
 the end. In a few days the house will be thronged 
 with company : numerous visitors have been invited 
 — and I presume that Lord Harlesdon will not write 
 to put them off on any pretext. Secretly and insi- 
 diously will he prosecute his vengeance against me, 
 while openly and ostensibly maintaining all the 
 wonted appearances becoming our rank and position. 
 But conceive, Mary— Oh! conceive what a torture 
 will it be for me to have to do the honours of this 
 mansion to a gay and a brilliant circle— to be com- 
 pelled to assume smiles of welcome, to wear flowers 
 upon the brow and diamonds upon the hair, while 
 the heart is in utter, utter mourning!" 
 
 1 endeavoured to console my poor mistress ; and 
 ere she left the nursery on this occasion, she em- 
 braced me with as much afTsctionate tenderness as if 
 I were her sister. 
 
 CHAPTEft XXVI. 
 
 THE GUESTS AT HARLESDON PARK. 
 
 A WF.EK elapsed; and at the expiration of this in- 
 terval Hiirlesdon Park was throiiged with viiitors. 
 There was the Dowager-Countess of Bagshof, who 
 came from an atljacent country -.seat, attended by 
 her two lady's-maids, her two fat footmen with her 
 travelliiig-carriage, and a companion or "toady," 
 named Miss Dossiter, whose duty it was to be always 
 in the best possible spirits and to approve of every- 
 thing that the Dowager might say. There were 
 Lady Davenpoit and her two marriageable danghtere, 
 who wore very long ringlets and were particularly 
 insipid in looks and "missish" in behaviour. But 
 their mother, who had once been a very handsome 
 woman, and who was now given to cards and scandal, 
 was said to be resolved to get at least one of her 
 daughters off during the present round of country 
 visits ; and she had now brought them to market at 
 Harlesdon Park, where a number of suitable 
 "matches" were sure tu be found among the guests. 
 Then there was the Hon. Miss Mardyn, an old 
 maid of sixty, who never travelled without a tire- 
 woman and three French poodles inside the carriage 
 with her, a very fat page and a tall thin footman in 
 the rumble behind, and an old coachman so stout, 
 asthmatic, and wheezy that he always mounted the 
 box by means of a short ladder or glazier's steps, or 
 else had to be hoisted up by any willing hands that 
 were near at the time. As for Miss Mardyn herself, 
 I was informed that she had twelve hundred a-year, 
 and that as her equipage, dress, and house-rent ab- 
 sorbed eleven hundred, leaving one hundred for 
 pocket-money and nothing for eating and drinking, 
 she lived the whole year round on her friends. Her 
 time was divided between the card-table and her 
 poodles, the excitement of the former being varied 
 by chit-chat involving all matters of scandal. Sbe 
 never in her life was seen to take up a needle or a 
 book ; but sometimes made her tire-woman skim 
 over a novel to her. She could not bear to be alone, 
 not having the faintest shadow of a resource in her- 
 self; and yet it was a wonder how she could be 
 happy in society, for never even by an accident had 
 she a good word to say relative to any human bein^. 
 As a matter of course she was so barbarously ig- 
 norant that a teacher at a charity-school was better 
 acquainted with the rudiments of education ; and 
 yet she was not only tolerated but even actually 
 souijht after, for no other earthly reason than because 
 she made a useful hand at the whist-table. 
 
 Then there was Lord Miltown — a tall, well-built, 
 florid-complexioned man of sixty-five, who wore 
 tops and cords in the morning and knee-breeches 
 and silk stockings in the eveninsf. Ilis whole con- 
 versation turned upon horses anci digs : for be was 
 the greatest sportsman in the Midland Counties. 
 He was a special favourite in the highest circles, and 
 it was considered a great thing to get Lord Miltown 
 to stay a week or ten days amoni:;st "a select re-, 
 union of fashionables," as the Morning Pott and 
 Court Journal phrase it. Doubtless iiis qua'ifi- ' 
 cations were highly recommendatory: for his lord- 
 ship sat over t!;e bottle every niijht until twelve, and 
 was up at eight in the morning to get on horseback. 
 He boasted that he had not gone to bed sober for 
 the last thirty years, and bad never bad a day's ill- 

 
 MAKY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 119 
 
 ness; lie declared that at sixty-five he was as keen 
 a sportsman as ever, and was always in at " the 
 death." His time was invariably divided in tliis 
 way — eiglu hours on horseback, eight hours at table, 
 and eight hours in bed. This was for the six work- 
 days of the week, but on the seventh he lay in bed 
 nearly ali day, or played billiards for two or three 
 hours till dinner-time. Such was the routine of this 
 nobleman's life ; and doubtless he was considered a 
 very useful member of society — although it would 
 be certainly difficult to imagine what advantage 
 the world could gain from a man who was drunk or 
 asleep two-tuirds of his time and on horseback the 
 other. 
 
 I have already spoken of a certain Dr. Vincent. 
 He waa the rector of the principal parish on Lord 
 Harlesdon's estate — was a short, stout, puffy man, 
 with a very red face, an enormous double chiu over- 
 hanging his white cravat, and eyes like boiled 
 gooseberries. Sententious, dogmatic, auci impor- 
 tant to his equals, but marvellously obsequious and 
 cringing to his superiors, he was proportioniitely 
 stern, haughty, and tyrannical towards the poor. 
 If he did not dare say his soul was his own ia the 
 presence of Lord Harlesdon, he certamly would 
 not allow his inferiors to look as if tJiey thought 
 their souls were their own in his presence. In the 
 pulpit he was pompous to a degree, but wonderfully 
 prosy ; and as he himself invariably dozed in his 
 own pew while his curate was reading the prayers, 
 he had no great reason to complaia if the said 
 curate, together with tlie clerk and three-fourths 
 of the congregation, slept iu their turn while he 
 was preaching his sermon. He was a Justice of 
 the Peace ; aud inasmuch as he carried on a perfect 
 crusade, amounting indeed to a war of extermina- 
 tion, against all poaclier^s, he was a most especial 
 favourite with Lord Miltown, who, being so keen a 
 sportsman, naturally hated poachers as much as 
 •'any other vermin," to use his own phrase. 
 
 Amongst the visitors at Harlesdon Park, I must 
 also mention the Hon. Captain Lavender and En- 
 sign Bergamot of the Guards, — these two Ex- 
 quisites having, as they expressed it, "tooled" 
 themselves all the way down from London in a 
 *' drag," having previously arranged for relays of 
 horses, so that they did thirteen milts an hour the 
 whole distance, winning two thousand guineas from 
 Lord Verrigreen on the aciiievement. Tiieir grooms 
 had accompanied them, aud their valets had come 
 round by the coach with their trunks; aud iieavea 
 knows that to see the piles of luggage which the 
 said valets brought down for the use of those two 
 young gentlemen, one would fancy th it they must 
 each have been blessed with a wife and ten chil- 
 dren to need such a quantity of trunks, boxes, and 
 carpet-bags. 
 
 There was also a great literary character 
 amongst the visitors— Mr. Charles Wiggins ; who 
 from having been a penny-a-liner on the 31ornb>g 
 Chronicle, liad by dishing up all kinds of absurdi- 
 ties which he called "humour," and throwing 
 into the hodge-podge a dash of maudlin scntimen- 
 talism or sickly extravagance which he called 
 "pathos," hail managed to establish his renown as 
 a popular author— that is to say, amongst a certain 
 class. Dreadfully conceited— somewhat affected, 
 impudent, and presuming — dressing rather gaudily 
 than well — aud courtitig observation even from the 
 Btable-boys, Mr. Charles Wig;;! us was nevertheless 
 
 a very requisite ornament to the circle I am de- 
 scribing: because it was absolutely necessary to 
 iiave a literary man in order that tiie party should 
 be complete; and the one thus selected was of a 
 mental calibre just suited to the average intel- 
 lectual standard of Harlesdon Park. But iu addi- 
 tion to the literary gentleman there was an anti- 
 quary— a Mr. Lumberton ; a dull man of deep 
 readmg aud profound ignorance, heavy in looks 
 and discourse, but a marvellously bright star in the 
 sphere of the Archojological Society. I read in 
 the newspaper that on his health being drunk at a 
 recent dinner of iliat learned body iu London, just 
 before he came down to Harlesdon Park, he re- 
 turned thanks in " a neat and appropriate speech" 
 of three hours aud a half, during which he demon- 
 strated the origin of the Pyramids, explained the 
 hieroglyphics, and proved to the sitisfaetion of all 
 present that Rome was founded two years and 
 seven diiys before the dats usually assigned to that 
 event. From this fact the reader may suppose 
 that Mr. Lumberton must be a very agreeable ad- 
 diiioa to tiie compatiy at Harlesdon Park : but my 
 lord was fond of having the reputation of patron- 
 izing literary merit and learning, aud Mr. Lum- 
 berton was quite williug to be patronized for tiie 
 sake of good " feeding," between which aud his 
 old musty folios he fairly divided his lime. Be- 
 sides, lie had written an able pamplilet of three 
 hundred and sixty-seven closely printed pages, 
 upon the illegible inscription of a newly discovered 
 tomb-stone in the parish-church, satisfactorily 
 proving that the vault beiieatli contained an ances- 
 tor of ihe Harlesdon family who must have been 
 buried there in the time of William Rufus. It 
 would therefore have been impossible to omit such 
 a gentleman from tlte circle of gaiety aud fashion, 
 high life and talent, assembled at ilarlesdou Park 
 ou the present occasion. 
 
 Altogether, there were about thirty visitors at 
 the mansion— forming, as the newspapers said, 
 "the brilliant and select circle of fashionables 
 which Lord and Lady Harlesdon were entertaining 
 at their splendid aud hospitable seat in Derby- 
 shire." Tills paragraph, I sliould observe, was 
 duly forwarded by my lord's "gentleman" to the 
 Morning Herald and Morning Post, each letter 
 coutainiiig a Bank-note lor twenty pounds. Most 
 of the visitors had brought some servants with 
 them ; and therefore the mansion was packed from 
 fliior to roof. 
 
 As the reader is already aware, my avocations 
 were completely confined to tlie nursery ; and 
 therefore very seldom indeed was it that 1 had to 
 descend to the servants' hall or into the kitchen. 
 Nevertheless, there were times when I had to visit 
 tliose regions for the purpose of fetciiing things 
 that were wanted in the nursery ; and 1 could not 
 help over-hearing on several cccasioua the remarks 
 which some of the valet", footmen, aud (frooms 
 were wont to make relative to their masters and 
 mistresses. Tiioladies'-maids too, when happening 
 to bo iu the servants' iiall, would join in tlie same 
 kind of discourse ; and the freest commonts were 
 tlius made upon the characters, foibles, aud follies 
 of the various guests. But how could noble or 
 fashionable masters and mistresses be surprised at 
 their servants thus Indulging In scandal, when they 
 tiiomsclvps were wont to set such au example in 
 that way ?
 
 120 
 
 MARV nilCE; OR, THE MEJIOIKS OF A 8EUVANT-MAID. 
 
 •• I say, Richard," said one of the mala vrorthios 
 addressing another in the servants' hall, " I think 
 your master, young Bergamot, is very ssveet upon 
 one of old Lady Davenport's daughters?" 
 
 " Well, and if she manages to hook him," re- 
 plied Mr. Bergamol's valet, "a nice conceited 
 young jackanapes of a coxcomb she will get. But 
 she herself looks like a wax-doll with the colouc 
 washed off the cheeks. Now I will just give you 
 an idea of how my young master goes on ; and if 
 you don't agree that he's the most affected fool 
 in all England, I will undertake to eat my own 
 head." 
 
 Tiiereupon Mr. Bergamot's valet seated him- 
 self in a chair, threw himself back with an air 
 of fashionable lassitude, ran his fingers leisurely 
 through his hair, and imitating the cracked af- 
 fected tone of his master, spake thus : — 
 
 " I say, Richard, mind yuu wake me at six 
 o'clock to-morrow morning, or I shall be too late 
 for Guard ; and I say, fetch home that new regi- 
 mental jacket from Bicknell's, and see t!>at it's 
 well padded in the breast and on the shoulJers, 
 so as to fid me out; and I say, see that Hoby has 
 sent me home those new boots witli the fixtures to 
 the heels; and take care that the heels are an 
 inch and three-quarters high, for it won't do to 
 look short in the Guards; and I say, putouttliose 
 trousers with the widest gold lace stripe and that 
 fit so well over the boot ; and I say, get me a strap 
 to fasten round the waist, so as to pinch me in, or 
 else I shall never get that jacket that Bicknell 
 is making me to meet; and I say, go to Storr 
 and Mortimer's and get me another gold snuff- 
 box: I don't like the one that's embossed, and the 
 engine-turned one I have given to Lavender, and 
 the gold one with the picture in the lid I gave to 
 Verrigreen, and I can't take either of the three or 
 four lying about the room here, because if any 
 one comes in they must see a lot of such nick- 
 nacks tossing on the mantles and tables as if no 
 one cared for them: and 1 say, mind you get some 
 Prince's mixture as you come along — not the 
 Prince's own receipt, nor yet Lord Plymouth's re- 
 ceipt, nor yet Trevelyan's receipt — but Lord Mor- 
 daunt's receipt — that's the best of the lot and Is 
 all the go now : and I say, look me out that new 
 gold cliain I brougiit home from Storr's to-day; 
 and I say, just run down lo the Club and see if 
 Lavender is there, and ask him whether he will 
 come up for an hour before I go to be 1 ; and I 
 say, have everything all in readiness in the morn- 
 ing, because it will never do to be late for Guard. 
 Now you uuderstand, Richard, and will remember 
 all this ?" 
 
 Such was the imitation which the valet gave of 
 his master ; and I must confess that it amused me, 
 for it was perfect as tlie couuterpart of the af- 
 fected manner, cracked voice, and conceited air 
 of that young Exquisite. But this was not all. 
 When the peals of laughter which the valet had 
 excited, ceased, be said that he would show how 
 his master comported himself when getting up at 
 six in the morning according to the previous 
 night's intimation. 
 
 " Hallo, Richard— is that you ? You don't mean 
 to say it's six o'clock already ? By Jove, I never 
 shall be able to get up : I wasn't in bed till near 
 four, and then was so blazing drunk I couldn't 
 see. I say, Richard, dou't I look very bad? 
 
 What a thundering head-ache I Give me some 
 hock and soda-water. That's right. Now I feel 
 refreshed. But I say, Richard, you wouldn't be- 
 lieve what a fatiguing night I have had of it! 
 First however let me observe th »t I was out rather 
 earlier than usual yesterday. Let me see? drove 
 down to Tattersall's at three— won five hundred of 
 Lord "Verrigreen, but lost a thousand to Sir 
 Sharply Chaunter-— then drove to Bond Street, 
 sent liome the cab, and lounged in at Storr and 
 Mortimer's— chos3 that gold chain— walked down 
 to Grange's and eat three ices — then drank two 
 glasses of cura^oa, went to the billiard-rooms, lost 
 some money — my hand trembled so I could nut 
 hold the cue — drank three glasses of cherry - 
 brandy to steaJy it— walked down Regent Street, 
 and hung on for twenty minutes to Lady Harles- 
 don's carriage at Howell and J jmes's— walked up 
 the street again, bowei to tvrenty-nine ladies of 
 title in their carriages, and so got a dreadful stiff 
 neck— looked in at the Club and read the Racing 
 Calendar — booked tliree bets with Verrigreen— 
 then called upon Lavender at his lodgings, found 
 a biiliff sneaking up the stairs, kicked him down 
 with so little mercy that I nearly broke his back- 
 had to give him a ten pound note to hu^h it up, 
 went and dined with Lavender at Lung's — tdrtle 
 so-so, ice-punch in perfection, venison prime- got 
 half•sea^ over, and went with Laven Icr to Crock- 
 ford's — managed to drop three huu ired at the 
 table, but came off' all right by winui;:;,' abet of 
 Verrigreen about spelling pony and Imjicindoic — 
 then came home and gave you orders about this 
 morning's arrangements — then se;it for Lavender 
 again, went out with him, made a regular round, 
 got bkizing drunk, and home to bed a little before 
 four." 
 
 This second caricature-display of his master 
 was greeted with enthusiastic applause : and Mr. 
 Richard evidently felt quite satisfied with having 
 taken Bergamot off in his best style. 
 
 "I mean to resign directly after Christmas," 
 said a tall foutman in a livery that was not exactly 
 new and might have even been termed shabby. 
 " Old missus is the great :st skm flint I ever knew; 
 but I shall haug on till the beginning of the New 
 Year for the sake of the Christinas boxes." 
 
 "Christmas boxes indeed!" exclaimed another 
 tall lacquey, very radiantly apparelled in blue and 
 red anl yellow: "you will have very little of 
 that at your place, I can tell you. 1 once lived 
 with your old master and missus, ; and very glad 
 I was to get out of the house again. I only staid 
 there two mouths, and never had an instant fur 
 myself. The oli woman used to keep me hard to 
 work. It was always 'Now, Jos pli, what are yon . 
 idling for? there are your parlour-windows to 
 clean— and there's the breakfast parlour furuitare 
 to dust: to-morrow is beeswaxing day, remember 
 — a-.id here j'ou are dawdliug about as if there was 
 no work to do. Besides, there's all the books in 
 the library to bo taken down and dusted and put 
 up iu their places again ; and to-morrow morning 
 you will have to get up at six to beeswax the fur- 
 niture, and the murniug after at five to help the 
 butler with the plate.' — And so she would go on 
 working you to death, but making you eat cold 
 meat, and grudging you anything but bread and 
 cheese forsupptr. 1 was sick aad tired of it, and 
 so ^ut iu The old man was all very well in hU.
 
 way — a {food-natured fool enough, precious owlish, 
 deaf and drunken, snuffy, but never out of hu- 
 mour." 
 
 " You Itnow there's a regular smaah-up at Tre- 
 velyan'ain town ?" said another of the yellow-pluah 
 gentry. " Well, I was with him once; and a pre- 
 cious good fellow he was too — never had a cross 
 word. I was a groom then — his head-^room, and 
 had all the man.igement of his stud. He would 
 come to me in the stable of a morning and begin, 
 — 'I say, David, you must get rid of this cream- 
 coloured cob here: he won't do at any price. Send 
 him down to Tattersall'a — nobody knows he's mine 
 — and i will be there when he's brout;ht out. I'll 
 puff him up to the skies and pretend for all the 
 world aK if I had never seen him before in my life. 
 So take him down as Mr. John Smith's, and the 
 deuce is iu it if he can't be got off for forty : and I 
 only gave fifteen for him. But I say, David, of 
 course you won't go down in my livery, you know : 
 NO. 16b 
 
 you will put on only your stable-jacket and over- 
 alls. And I say, David, get up the bay colt from 
 the straw- yard, make him up and sell him also: 
 he's got a touch of spavin, which will be worse in 
 six months, and so we had better get him off at 
 once. As for that brown filly there, I must say 
 you have got her up uncommon well : her coat's 
 like a looking-slass : and now she will fetch a good 
 long price. Recommend her as a lady's horse — 
 quite quiet — and as gentle as a lamb : though, by 
 jingo ! she is as full of vice as she can be, and very 
 near broke my neck yesterday. By the bye, you 
 must make the grey mare in that last stall yonder 
 fetch two hundred: I know you can — thou<;h she 
 is not worth a rap. Slie is twenty-two years' old 
 and won't last three months longer. You can pass 
 her off for twelve or thirteen : the teeth won't nhow 
 anything; now, and she will be snatched up tjreciiily 
 as a lady's horse to drive. But won't she come 
 bang down the first lime they trundle her down a
 
 192 
 
 MARY trice; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A 8EUV ANT-MAID. 
 
 hill ! And I say, David, I have agreed to se;! ilie 
 four-year-old yonder to Lord Vcrrigreen for three 
 hundred : you know it didn't cost rne twenty, and 
 never has been worth a, fig, so I don't think it is a 
 bad day's barpfain.'— In this style would Trevelyan 
 go on, and it quite did one's heart good to hear 
 him. Ah ! he was a judge of horse-flesh, to be 
 aure! Poor fellow, I am sorry he is gone : he was 
 a rrgular gentleman, he was !" 
 
 Others who were present, and who had likewise 
 known Mr. Trevelyan, or had heard of him, all cor- 
 roborated the high panegyric thus passed upon 
 him— though for ray part, from all I had just 
 heard, he appeared to me to combine the varied 
 qualities of villany which conslitulo the horse- 
 chaunter, the swindler, and the cheat. 
 
 "Ah: mine is the master for being the very 
 prince of coxcomba and affected fools," exclaimed 
 the Hon. Captain Lavender's valet, addressing 
 himself especially to Mr. IJergamot's domestic: 
 "your's is not a bit worse than mine, nor yet so 
 bad— though we shouldn't criticise their extrava- 
 gances, since wo profit by thorn. Now 1 wiil just 
 tell you what Captain Lavender aald to mo the 
 other day. 'Jenkinson,' sayM ho—for he always 
 calls me by my surname—' Ji nkinsoit, wo are goinfj 
 to stay at the MarlesJons for a week or ao, and I 
 must go down in good form. Bergamot will go 
 with me, and his man will accompaDy you. You 
 two will come round by tlic coach and bring the 
 heavy baggage with you ; so you must start the 
 nighi before by the Derby Dilly. and at Derby you 
 will get a ran lor Belper, and from Be'per a fly to 
 the Park. But mind and look after my wardrobe. 
 I see lam alarmingly short of plain clothes— quite 
 alarmingly so : in fact my wardrobe never was at 
 such a low ebb. Only fifteen pair of trousers, 
 thirty-seven waistcoats, eleven frock-coats, and 
 six dress coats. I counted them all this morning, 
 Jenkinson, and was horror-struck. Then as for 
 boots, why, I could only see twenty-two pair. What 
 in heaven's name has become of all the rest? By 
 the bye, I dare say you have heard a report that I 
 am queer; and so 1 am— as queer as blazes: but 
 when 1 have been to the Harlesdous, I shall just 
 drop over and see my old fool of an uncle Lord 
 Pomperton, and am suro to get five thousand out 
 of him. That will put me to rights for the present 
 — at least for six months ; aad in the mean time I 
 shall pick up a girl with money. But I say, Jen- 
 kinson, you must mind and put me up those six- 
 teen dozen new cambric-handkerchiefs that came 
 home the day beforeyesterday. By the bye, have the 
 sixduzeu new shirts with the worked fronts come 
 yet? Oil ! very good— to-night, eh? Well, mind 
 they are sent, and don't forget to put in at least 
 six dozen pair of silk stockings. You know how 
 soon I wear thera out; and one must not stand the 
 chanco of running short wlieii on a visit. And 
 Jenkinson, pray don't forget to put in at least six 
 dozen pair of kid gloves— three dozen white for 
 evening, three dozen lemoa-coloured for day-time. 
 And Jenkinson, I must havo a good supply of 
 Eau de Cologne, and five or six other different es- 
 seuct's. Go to Atkinson's in Bond Street and tell 
 them to sond in twenty guineas' worth : they will 
 put us up the right sorts, with variety enough. 
 And pray don't forget oils and pomatums. And I 
 say, Jenkinson, just think of seeing Lord Pem- 
 broke's valct presently and g(>t his receipt for 
 
 blacking : it is made with brandy and cara^oaand 
 maraschino, and only costs after all about five I 
 guineas for a wine-bottle full — tiiai's not dear, you 
 know, Jenkinson, for good blacking. And I say, 
 Jenkinson, mind you put in my flageolet and my 
 flute; and bring my violoncello: and also let me 
 have my musical snuff-box and any other nick- 
 nacks you cm think of. But pray don't forget ' 
 quantities of pear! tooth-powder; and I must have 
 some of that soap a guinea the cake and which only 
 lasts for two washings; for it does make the iiands 
 so beautifully whita. And Jenkinson, get me some 
 musk and some myrrh. I am very fond of myrrh; i 
 there is something classic in it, because it was used ^ 
 in heathen sacrifiaes. And I say, Jenkinson, put 
 me in too suits of regimentals in case I should like ■ 
 to appear in them by way of a change. And Jen- 
 kinson, you must see that there is champngne, and 
 hock, and soda-water, and half-a-dozen sorts of 
 Khenitih wiuo, put into the drag ; and if I think of 
 any thing more I will let you know presently.'" 
 
 "Ah, well! my master is not only a coxcomb, 
 an L'Xqiu&ite, and a fool," exclauned another of the 
 valet-tribe, " iiut also a precious rogue into the bar- 
 gain. It's Octavius Lapwing I am talking of — 
 the nephew of that old mass of counterfeits and 
 falsities. Lady Bagshot. A nreoious string of orders 
 he gave me t'other day ! ' Edward,' said he, ' I am 
 going down to stay with the Ilarlesdons, and you 
 will go with me. 1 shouldn't think of going near 
 the place, for I hate old Ilarlesdon and think her 
 laiiyship a leetle too sentimental ; but :ny precious 
 old frump of an aunt is to be there, and I mean to 
 get on the wrong side of her when she is lucky at 
 cards, and make her fork out all her earnings. Oh! 
 she is a precious old chouse at cards, I can tell you. 
 .She m ver hides a trump under her cambric hand- 
 kerchief — oil no, not at all! If I dou't fleece her . 
 pretty handsouie, she won't try her best to get me a 
 post in a foreign embassy : so I must make myself 
 3S obnoxious as I can to the old harridan, that she 
 may procure me an appointment so as to get rid of 
 me; for by jingo! I must get out of the country 
 soon, or it will be a deuced sight too hot to hold me. 
 I can't keep on much longer — a hundred thousand 
 pounds of debt and eighteen pence to pay it with: 
 that's about my condition. But 1 say, Edward, you 
 must stay behind me forty-eight hours, so as just to 
 tranquillise things a bit and prevent any one sending 
 or coming down to Harlesdon Park to bother me. 
 Go to Langhams' the jewellers, swagger in as impu- 
 dent as you please, and tell them you have come 
 for my bill, and that as I have heird they have been 
 speaking about it, I never mean to deal with them 
 again. They will open their eyes ; and you can just 
 look knowing and drop a hint that an old uncle has 
 suddenly died and left me a quarter of a million. 
 They will be ready to eat their heads oflT for ever 
 having bothered me, and will request you to say a 
 good word for them. You can tell them that they 
 may perhaps send round some watches and snufT- 
 boxes, some chains and rings, and studf, with a few 
 triidcets that will suit ladie.^, or what not ; and they 
 will be sure to nibble at the bait. So if they do, 
 you can take the whole lot of things to the pawn- 
 shop, and bring down the money to me into Derby- 
 shire. Or stay — you will have to use some of 
 it as I am going to tell you; because (here's 
 a cool two hundred I owe to Lord Miltuwn, and 
 a.s that's a debt of homour, it must be settled at
 
 MARY TRICE ; OK, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 123 
 
 once. And so you must pay it into bis bankers', 
 because he will be down in Derbyshire and would 
 blow on me if I didn't pay. And then, too, you 
 must pay three hundred to that raofamuffin of a 
 jeweller in Piccadilly who swears I got his things 
 under false pretences and that he will have me up 
 for swindling. But don't think of paying the 
 Kegent Street tailor, although that case is really 
 very bad : for I got him to cash me a cheque when 
 I knew I had not a farthing at my bankers'. That 
 is swindling, if you like : but then as he's a good- 
 natured, easy, soft-pated old fool and doesn't con- 
 descend to such low talk as about magistrates, and 
 constables, and giving into custody, and so ou, we 
 need not bother ourselves about him. You may 
 manage to get the trunks out of the lodgings here 
 without paying ; and by the bye, what a tremendous 
 bill it is they have run mo up ! Eight guineas 
 a-weekfor apartments — half a guinea for breakfast 
 every morning — it's true I have plovers' eggs and 
 cold pheasant— dinners and wine, coals, candles — 
 heavens! I never saw such a bill. Seventy-six 
 guineas in a month — infamous ! But thank God 
 it will never be paid. They deserve to be pun- 
 ished as regular swindlers. And I say, Edward, 
 that girl Jane Harris will be calling. I told her to 
 come the day after to-morrow on purpose, because 
 I shall be off to-morrow: so you can tell her that 
 I am gone to Paris, and she is sure to go there in 
 search of me. Of course she has got no money: 
 in fact it's for money she is coming to-morrow : 
 but she will pawn and pledge every rag she has to 
 come after me and drag the child along with her. 
 What a bore it is to be so loved by a girl that one's 
 tired of! However, put her on the wrong scent, 
 let her be off to Paris, and as she must of necesity 
 arrive there destitute, I will be hanged if she will 
 very easily get back again !' " 
 
 Mr. Octavius Lapwing's valet went on for a 
 considerable time in the same strain, and with 
 similar volubility, making out his master to be one 
 of the most accomplished scoundrels that ever 
 basked in the roseate light of a drawing-room 
 instead of herding with the felonry of New South 
 Wales. Indeed, to listen half-an-hour to the 
 gossip of the valets, footmen, and grooms assem- 
 bled in the servants' hall — to hear them, with the 
 utmost boldness and the coolest audacity imagin- 
 able, parade the most secret affairs of the house- 
 holds to which they belonged— and to observe 
 them take off their masters with the most life-like 
 mimicry and the most admirable caricature,— all 
 this served to open the eyes and enlarge one's 
 experiences amazingly relative to the follies, the 
 foibles, the vanities, the vices, and the villanies of 
 fashionable life. But who can blame tho^e valets, 
 thosn footmen, and those grooms for thus mcrci- 
 cilessly laying bare the characters and lacerating 
 the reputations of their masters and mistresses, 
 when it is remembered tliat these menials are 
 in every way spoilt by the examples of their .supe- 
 riois? How can servants have any regard for 
 matters which ought to be kept secret, when mas- 
 ters and mistresses aro constantly feasting them- 
 selves with scandal relative to their neighbours? 
 How can a valet, if he entertain true manly feel- 
 ings, be otherwise than disgusted with the effemi- 
 nate coxcombries and fionikin conceits of such 
 beings as Lavender and Bergamot? How could 
 any depf>Qdant be supposed to entertain regp«ot 
 
 V, ■• , . ,-.,i, ^ r .J„|J :. . , 
 
 or love for such a consummate scoundrel as Octa- 
 vius Lapwing ? How could such a servant remain 
 honest and truthful while aiding and abetting in 
 his master's rogueries ? 
 
 But I will not dwell any longer upon this sub- j 
 ject. Suffice it to say that all my experience, not ' 
 a tithe of which is l)owever yet recorded, goes to 
 prove that what servants are, such they have been i 
 made by their masters and mistresses, and that 
 all the faults which characterise the former have ■ 
 sprung from the example or treatment of the i 
 latter. I 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 LEONARD AND ELLEN, 
 
 Harlesdon Park continued to be thronged with 
 guests until the commencement of Christmas week; 
 and then they all departed, either to their own 
 homes, or to the dwellings of those relatives with 
 whom they were accustomed to pass that festive 
 season. The mansion became comparatively quiel 
 again : but just at this period an incident occurred 
 which filled both Lady Harlesdon and myself with 
 a considerable amount of apprehension. This was 
 the sudden appearance of John Morley, Sir Au- 
 brey Clavering's groom, at the Park, and his 
 being closetted for nearly an hour with Lord 
 Harlesdon. But greater still was her ladyship's 
 dismay, and in which I partook, on learning that 
 Morley had just been received into his lordship's 
 service as head groom, and that he had forthwith 
 entered upon the duties of his oflBce. 
 
 During the few weeks which had elapsed since 
 the memorable scenes of the arbour, the barouche, 
 and Farmer Johnson's, there had been an incessant 
 whirl of gaiety at the Park— so that Lord Harles- 
 don had not found very many opportunities of 
 secretly planting fresh daggers in the heart of his 
 wife. Nevertheless he had from time to time given 
 her ladyship to understand that he was still bent 
 upon an implacable vengeance, and that he merely 
 tolerated hsr beneath his roof, or avoided ex- 
 posure, because his pride would not allow him to 
 stand before the world as the duped and deluded 
 husband. For, somehow or another, in high life 
 the artfulness of the female sex has managed to 
 invest the character of a betrayed husband with a 
 certain amount of ridicule, so as to lessen the 
 enormity of the wrong and induce timid and weak- 
 minded men, who tremble at the world's scorn, t* 
 think twice ere tiiey publish their own dishonour 
 by proclaiming their wives' shame. 
 
 During the few weeks of gaiety, therefore. Lady 
 Harlesdon had experienced at all events a partial 
 respite: but now the sudden appearance of John 
 Morley at the Park seemed to threaten a com- 
 mencement of a new phase in Lord Ilarlesdon's 
 revenge. Whether his malignity in any way ex- 
 tended to nic, was not quite certain. That ho 
 had played me off with Clavering against his wife 
 so as to madden her with joalousy, was no proof 
 that he entertained any ill-feeling towards me: 
 indeed it was probable that I was altogether too 
 insignificAnt to engage his .iitrntion. Such was 
 my belief: and therefore when I said jujt now that 
 Morley'a presence was a source of apprehousio* 
 to me aa well as to Lady Harlesdon, I did aot
 
 12i 
 
 MARr pnicE; or, the memoirs of a servast-mauj. 
 
 mean personally on my own account, but for the 
 Bake of my noble mistress. The circumstance was 
 alike annoying and perplexing to u-i botli : for she 
 made a complete coniidant of me and breathed 
 all her secret thoughts to my ears. 
 
 " What can possibly be the meaning of this 
 man's presence here?" she asked over and over again, 
 while seated with me in the nursery. " Has he been 
 taken into my lord'.s service as a recompense for 
 betraying me? or is he introduced into the house- 
 hold so that whichever way I turn I may stand 
 the cliance of running against a man whose eye I 
 can never meet without blushing? or is some 
 deeper purpose involved and some darker plan of 
 vengeance chalked out, wherein this hireling 
 wretch is to play a part?" 
 
 Vainly did I endeavour to conceal my own un- 
 easiness and inspire lier ladyship with confidence : 
 she could not shake off the misgivings that had 
 fastened upon her, and which were the more pain- 
 ful because so vague and indefinite. 
 
 •' However," she suddenly exclaimed, with the 
 firmness of one whose mind is all in a moment 
 made up, " if my position becomes less tolerable 
 than it is — or if circumstances transpire to con- 
 vince me that deeper evils are brooding — 1 will fly, 
 Mary, with the children, and you must come with 
 me. For their sake have I vowed to endure as 
 much as it is possible for human patience to sup- 
 port : and moreover I know that I deserve all the 
 punishment that can be inflicted upon me. Indeed, 
 I would make any sacrifice of which my courage or 
 my energies are susceptible, in order to maintain 
 my position and still appear as an honoured wife 
 in the presence of the world. Yes — such has been 
 my resolve, in order to save my children from the 
 stigma which the publicity of their mother's shame 
 would affix upon them. But there is a point at 
 which human endurance stops — or rather at which 
 the most servile patience may be goaded to frenzy. 
 If I should be put to such a test, I will then leave 
 —I will fly— I will dare all— risk all— exposure, 
 shame, everything !" 
 
 My mistress had worked herself up to a pitch 
 of desperation which constituted indeed for the 
 moment an unnatural calmness : and without wait- 
 ing for any reply which I might offer to her re- 
 mark-;, she rose and quitted the room. 
 
 It was about eleven in the forenoon, three or 
 four days before Christmas, when the little inci- 
 dent just recorded took place. The weather was 
 fine and seasonable : the atmospliere, though iu- 
 tensely cold, had a certain crispness in it, most 
 friendly for vigorous health : and there was no 
 «now upon the groimd, which the frost had ren- 
 dered hard as marble. Little Bella had a severe cold 
 and could not go out: Jemima, who did not much 
 relish the chill weather, volunteered to remain at 
 home with her; and I accordingly took Master 
 Alexander Adolphus and Master Albert Henry for 
 a walk. These liitle boys were respectively three 
 and five years old, and were nice children. Indeed 
 the prattle of the elder always delighted me : I 
 could sit and listen to him for a long time without 
 the slightest sensition of weariness, in the same 
 way that one may listen to the gushing melody of a 
 bird. For to me there has ever been a sweet music 
 in children'svoices, when the little ones themselves 
 have been amiable and good ; and throughout all 
 my experience in the nursery and with those inao- 
 
 cent beicgs, I have invariably remarked that there 
 was something sinister or wrong in the character 
 of either man or woman who did not love ehil- 
 dren. 
 
 Well, with my two little charges — one hanging to 
 eaoh hand, and both wrapped up ia the warmest 
 clothing— I sallied forth for a ramble. Emerging 
 from the Park, we had walked about half-a-mile 
 along the road when one of the children com- 
 plained of being thirsty; and observing a cottage 
 at a short distance, I resolved upon repairing 
 thither to procure some milk for the little one*. 
 We had to pass out of the road and traverse a 
 couple of fields : but as the ground was so bard 
 and there was a good pathway, it was no disagree- 
 able walking. As we approached the gate leading 
 into the second field, 1 observed a m%a drawing 
 near; and with much civility he ran forward to 
 open the gate for me and the children to pass 
 througi). As I turned my bead to thank him, I 
 could not help noticing that although he was 
 dressed in the humblest attire of a rustic, yet 
 that he had altogether a superior look. He was a 
 young man, not above three or four-and-twenty — 
 tall and well-made, and with nothing of the ua- 
 gainliness or awkwardness which so frequently 
 characterize agricultural labourers. There was 
 likewise a neatness in his appearance and an intel- 
 ligence in his looks still more calculated to attract 
 the notice of a passer-by; and it at once struck 
 me that his rearing must have been superior to his 
 present condition. He received with a graceful 
 bow my acknowledgment of thanks for his civility, 
 and observed " that it was a fine morning." I an- 
 swered in the affirmative ; and as I passed on with 
 my two little charges, he closed the gate. But 
 almost at the same minute two horsemen, who 
 were scampering across the field, galloped up to 
 the spot; and I immediately recognized Lord 
 Miltown and Dr. Vincent. 
 
 " Hallo, you fellow ! open the gate there !" ex- 
 claimed bis lordship it^ a loud imperious tone. 
 " Why, what the deuce does the scoundrel mean? 
 Do you hear me, sirrah ? Open that gate, 1 say— 
 or by Jove ! I will come and horsewhip you wiUiin 
 an inch of your life." 
 
 " If your lordship dares to lay a finger upon me, 
 or touch me with that ridiug-whip, I will not an- 
 swer for the consequences," was the response given 
 by the young man. 
 
 "Ah! what? Leonard Percival?" exclaimed 
 Lonl Miltown. "Is it you?" 
 
 " Conic, Leonard, don't stand looking thus impa- 
 dcntly at us," said Dr. Vincent in a pompous tone 
 of mitjestic remonstrance; "but open the gate. 
 You should know how to behave to your bet- 
 ters——" 
 
 " Betters indeed 1" echoed the young man, 
 whose name I had now learnt to be PercivaL 
 "Think you that I regard a bloated p.irson or • 
 heartless aristocrat as my betters? Bctlers j^eX' 
 haps in the worldly sense of the term I - betitrs 
 so f.ir as broad cloth on the back and gold m the 
 pocket are coacemeiil— betters bkewise in all that 
 regards gluttonous living aud copous wine-bib- 
 bing ! — but not my betUn iu those attributes of 
 man to which nature i{ivcs its own inimitable 
 stamp of nobility ! And if I at tills moment am 
 not dressed as well as ye, whose fault is it? — who 
 helped to precipitate the ruiu of my pour thought-
 
 MABT PBICE ; OR, THE MEMOTBS OP A. SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 125 
 
 leSS'.eitiravaf'ant father?— who, while pursuing a 
 wretched hare, trampled down his corn-fields and 
 then involved him in expensive litigation when he 
 demanded recompense? It was you, Lord Mil- 
 town ! Who distrained for his tithes and caused 
 the very bed to be sold from under him ? It was 
 you, Dr. Vincent ! Think you, then, that I am 
 base, grovelling, and servile enough to stand and 
 open the gate for such as you? No — I would 
 perish sooner !" 
 
 The suddenness with which this strange alter- 
 cation sprang up caused me to halt and turn round 
 to survey the parties in their quarrel. It was evi- 
 dent enough that when Lord Miltown first com- 
 manded the rnstic to open the gate, his lordship 
 did not recognize who he was; but tli;it wl'.en the 
 young man turned to fling the defiance u( a refusal 
 in the teeth of the nobleman, the latter was not 
 over well pleased on discovering who he was. I 
 was strnefc by the dignified manner with which 
 Leonard Percival drew himself up tij h'.s full 
 heiglit and addressed the nobleman and the cler- 
 gyman in the words of cutting reproach. They 
 did not interrupt him : I could even see that for 
 the moment they were so overwhelmed with guilty 
 confusion as not even to know how to put a good 
 face upon the matter;— and as I beheld Leonard 
 Percival thus chastising those proud ones with the 
 unadorned eloquence of truth, while his dark eyes 
 flashed fire and his whole form seemed to dilate 
 with the grandeur of his indignation, I could not 
 help contrasting the lofty and imposing appearance 
 of nature's nobility with the world's artificial aris- 
 tocracies of rank and wealth as personified in the 
 fbx-hunting lord and the corpulent red-faced cler- 
 gyman. 
 
 •' All this insolence," exclaimed Lord Miltown, 
 now recovering his presence of mind, and therewith 
 his characteristic arrogance, "is very fine, Master 
 Percival; but take care you don't get the worst 
 of it." 
 
 " As sure as there's a county gaol, and that county 
 gaol has got a treadmill in it," said Dr. Vincent, his 
 rubicund countenance now actually purple with rage, 
 " you shall have a taste——" 
 
 "Ah ! if you dare associate my name with that of 
 infamous punishments," cried Leonard, his own 
 countenance flushiU:? with a renewed access of in- 
 dignation, "I will tear you from your horse, all par- 
 son though you are!" 
 
 "Here, Jacob! Jacob !" vociferated Dr. Vincent, 
 as he suddenly descried a man who had just entered 
 the field through an opening in the hedge, about a 
 hundred yards from the spot where this scene was 
 taking place. 
 
 The individual thus summoned was one of Lord 
 Harlesdon's gamekeepers. He was a middle-aged 
 man, with a dark sinister countenance — a cringing 
 manner towards his superiors, but capable of all 
 kinds of tyranny towards those whom he had it in his 
 power to molest. No one liked him, unless indeed 
 it were such persons as his master, or Lord Miltown, 
 or Dr. Vincent ; and these no doubt had a special 
 liking for Jacob Harper, because he was an inveterate 
 enemy of poachers, and furnished more employ- 
 ment for the justices of the peace and consequently 
 for the county treadmill, than any other game- 
 keeper in the whole district. 
 
 Upon being thus loudly summoned by Dr. Vin- 
 cent, Jacob Harper, who had his gun in his hand 
 
 and was followed by a couple of dogs, hastened up 
 to the spot; and instantaneously perceiving from 
 the looks of the three actors in the scene that some- 
 thing was wrong, he had no great difficulty in guess- 
 ing the truth. 
 
 " Your most obedient, my lord," he said, taking 
 off his cap. " A fine morning, reverend sir :" — then 
 turning sharply round towards Percival, he ex- 
 claimed with a sudden alteration of tone, " What 
 the deuce are you doing there, standing with your 
 arms folded like that, instead of opening the gate to 
 let his lordship and the rector through?" 
 
 But without deigning any reply, Leonard Percivai 
 merely gave a scornful curl of the lip, and turning 
 round, began to walk slowly away. 
 
 " The insolent scoundrel refused to open the gate 
 for us," said Lord Miltown: "and he has been abus- 
 ing me and my esteemed friend Dr. Vincent in a 
 scandalous manner." 
 
 " Indeed, my lord ?" said Jacob Harper. " Shall 
 I take the fellow into custody and lodge him in tho 
 cage? I have had an eye on him for some time 
 past " 
 
 " Oh ! I have no doubt he is a poacher," exclaimedt 
 Lord Miltown. 
 
 "Doubt!" ejaculated Dr. Vincent: "there can 
 be none. I am sure of it. He must have three 
 months of the treadmill as a rogue and vagabond." 
 
 Instigated by the viniiictive hints thus thrown 
 out, and anxious to show his zeal to such patrons, 
 Jacob Harper sprang over the gate and hastened 
 after Leonard Percival. It did not strike me that 
 perhaps it was somewhat indiscreet on my part tj re- 
 main a spectatress of this scene : but the proceed- 
 ings had rapidly assumed a degree of interest so 
 strong as to rivet, me to the spot ; and I still stood 
 gazing as Jacob Harper rushed in pursuit of 
 Leonard Percival. The latter walked on without 
 either quickening his pace or turning his head- 
 though of course he must have heard the footsteps 
 behind him. And now Harper overtook him, and 
 seized him by the collar. What followed occiKred 
 with the celerity of lightning. A sudden blow was 
 dealt by Leonard's powerful arm ; and the game- 
 keeper was levelled to the ground as if he had 
 been shot. His gun, falling with him, went . S, 
 and its contents lod;^ed in one of the dugs, killing 
 the animal upon the spot. 
 
 Leonard walked on as unconcernedly as if nothing 
 had happened: while Jacob Harper begnn slowly 
 and with evident pain to raise him-elt from the 
 ground. He was very far from manifest' ng any 
 inclination to renew the attack; and I hewrd a 
 bitt r imprecation fall from Lord Mil town's I ps, 
 while Dr. Vincent exclaimed with an nucnnsti.in- 
 like ferocity, " By heaven, Leouard Percival shall 
 smart for this !" 
 
 The little boys, frightened by the discharge 6i 
 the gun, were clinging to me in their alarm ; .nnJ 
 the youngest began to cry. 1 accordingly turned 
 hastily away and led them on across the field 
 towards the cottage in the direction of which we 
 were bending our steps at the time t>ns little epi- 
 sode occurred. While proceeding thither, I re- 
 flected upon what had thus taken place. It seemed 
 to me that an entire narrative of oppression o\\ 
 the one siiie and of deep wrong on the other had 
 been laid bare in a few moments to my compre- 
 hension ; and the char.icters of the nobleman and 
 the parson together stood out in odious contrast
 
 126 
 
 mauvpkiuk; oh, thi: memoirs or a sbrvaut-maiu. 
 
 with the lofty disposition and independent mind of 
 Leonard Percival. 
 
 On gaining the cottage, I knocked at the door, 
 which was immediately opened by an old woman 
 whose appearance was not only neat with regard 
 to apparel, ^but also most prepossessing in looks. 
 She seemed to be a homely, simple-minded, good- 
 tempered dame that had never done an injury to 
 a human being and would not do one for all the 
 world, but who in her own humble way was an 
 estimable member of society. She had seen me 
 pass that way before with the children on two or 
 three occasions, and, living so near the Park, of 
 course knew full well whoso children they were. 
 She therefore at once invited us to walk in, — 
 placing seats for us, and not only giving the chil- 
 dren milk, but insisting upon offering them, as 
 well as myself, such other refreshments as she had 
 in her cupboard. These however were gratefully 
 declined: but I remained to converse a little 
 while with the good-natured old creature. 
 
 "Do you know," I inquired, "any one of the 
 name of Leonard Percival?" 
 
 " Leonard Percival !" echoed the dame : and me- 
 thought that a smile of mingled satisfaction and 
 sadness instantaneously appeared upon her coun- 
 tenance. " Oh ! I have known him since he was 
 a child; and a finer young man both iu person 
 and in disposition exists not in tho whole county. 
 Ah ! poor fellow, he has had his misfortunes. 
 Know him indeed? aye, well do I know him. 
 Why, he is engaged to be married to my grand- 
 daughter whenever things shall mend a bit," she 
 added, a shade of sadness now suddenly deepening 
 on her countenance : then after a brief pause she 
 said, " But why, my dear, did you ask me about 
 him ?" 
 
 I then frankly told the good dame everything 
 that I had so recently seen at the gate ; and as I 
 spoke I could observe that her looks became more 
 and more sorrowful still: but it was with a sudden 
 start and an ominous shaking of the head that 
 she received the name of Jacob Harper the mo- 
 ment 1 mentioned it. 
 
 "Alas! lam sorry that all this has occurred," 
 she said when I had done speaking. " Not that 
 %. 7)0\i\(l have Leonard act otherwise than he did : 
 no, nut for the world. But at the same time I 
 regret that he should have come to an open rup- 
 ture with persons who have it iu their power to 
 injure him. Perhaps however, my dear, as you 
 are iu the service of Lord Ilarlesdon, I am doing 
 wrong to say a word against Lord Miltown or 
 Dr. Vincent, who are your master's friends — and 
 Jacob Harper, who is my lord's gamekeeper " 
 
 " So far from doing wrong," I immediately re- 
 plied, " methought you would have discerned from 
 tho way that I told my narrative how much I 
 deprecated the conduct of these persons towards 
 a young man evidently so civil, courteous, and 
 good-natured as Mr. Leonard Percival." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear child," said the dame, " it does 
 me good to hear you talk thus. But if you are not 
 in a hurry for a few minutes— and while, too, my 
 Nelly is absent— 1 will just tell you Leonard Perci- 
 val's little history. You must know, then, that 
 Leonard's father occupied a farm which lies bstwcen 
 Lord llarlesdon's and Lord Millown's estates. This 
 farm does not belong to either estate, but is tho pro- 
 perty of some gentlemaQ at Derby. It's aboa,t M^ee 
 
 miles from here — just beyond that great hill which 
 rises on tiie other side of the wood over there :"— 
 and she pointed in the direction of which she spoke. 
 " Farmer Percival was certainly an extravagant and 
 very thoughtless man. He was nevertheless a good 
 husband and a kind father: his wife was a superior 
 sort of woman — and Leonard was their only child. 
 It was not in any improper excesses that Farmer 
 Percival squandered his money ; but he was fond of 
 having his house not only handsomely furnished, 
 but also well filled with guests; and as he never 
 sought pleasure away from home, his wife ccfald not 
 find it in her heart to remonstrate with him against 
 the frequency of the convivialities which took place 
 beneath their own roof. Then he was also fond of 
 making experiments in farming — I mean with liis 
 land, and cattle, and crops, and so on. I don't much 
 understand those things myself; but I am well 
 assured that Farmer Percival was led to fool away a 
 deal of money in these experiments— so that at last 
 his affairs grew hampered and he bad to borrow 
 money. This he did not expend judiciously ; and 
 things got rather worse. Misfortunes never come 
 alone. You know that Lord Jliltown is such a keeo 
 sportsman that when in pursuit of a hare or in chase 
 of a fox, he would not stop to rescue his own brother, 
 if he had one, from drowning, or swerve out of his 
 way to avoid riding over a human being. What 
 then were a few paltry corn-fields to such a man t 
 Nothing at all : and accordingly, his lordship never 
 hesitated to gallop at the head of his entire hunting- 
 pany across Farmer Percival's land, trampling down 
 the standing corn and doing a world of mischiefl 
 Moreover his lordship has got a warren and also 
 large preserves close by the farm of which I am 
 speaking; so that the rabbits and the birds did as 
 much damage to that farm as if an array bad 
 marched over it. Farmer Percival was a generous- 
 hearted, good, easy man, and put up with all this 
 from his noble neighbour for some years: but when 
 his circumstances got straitened and he was forced 
 to look closer after the shillings and pence, he re- 
 monstrated with Lord Miltown. But in return be 
 only got abuse; and I believe his lordship actually 
 threatened to horsewhip the old man. Well, still 
 Farmer Percival put up with it ail : but as his lord- 
 ship still made no scruple to gallop over the corn» 
 fields and at one season did more than tifty pounds' 
 worth of damage, Farmer Percival went to Derby to 
 talk to his lawyer about it. The lawyer put his pen 
 behind his ear, listened very attentively, and then 
 told Farmer Percival that it was a clear case for 
 damages. So to law did Mr. Percival and Lord 
 Miltown go; and I have heard that his lordship 
 swore that even if he was beaten iu the suit he 
 would nevertheless make it come so heavy for 
 Farmer Percival that it should ruin him with the 
 costs. And sure enough it did. Lord Miltown kept 
 his word; and that business cost Farmer Percival 
 many hundred pounds. There was such feeing of 
 lawyers, and bringing up of witnesses to court, and 
 such lots of land-surveyors employed to estimate 
 the damage, that Farmer Percival had lo tell out his 
 gold in a fearful m.iuuer. Then there was a new 
 trial moved for ; at:d the whole alTair was taken up 
 to London, where it was beard all over again at 
 Westminster before the very same judge who at the 
 Aps^avis tried it at Derby — which seems tome rather 
 strange ; but 1 dare say it's all right enough— for of 
 C9]^^i^e,a f 99j:,ig!iorant bod; like me doei not know
 
 MARY price; or, THE 1IEJI0IR3 OF A SERVANT-MAID, 
 
 127 
 
 anything about law. Well, Farmer PercLval gained 
 his suit, but lost so much by it that it pretty nearly 
 ruined him. His wife died of a broken heart ; and 
 he himself was thrown on a sick bsd. Dr. Vincent, 
 who holds the three livings, as you are of course 
 aware, is very particular in getting in his tithes: 
 Farmer Percival had fallen into arrears, and as the 
 Doctor is a great friend of Lord Miltown, it was not 
 to be expected that he would show Mr. Percival much 
 mercy. And he did njt ; but put in a seizure while 
 the old man was lying in bed. A sale took place ; 
 and Farmer Percival, though he got better in health, 
 never held up his head afterwards. His spirit was 
 altogether broken: he had to give up the farm, and 
 soon after died of grief. This happsned six years 
 ago, when Leonard was about eighteen ; and so the 
 poor young man, who had been decently ediicateri 
 and well brought up, found himself all of a suddeH 
 homeless and friendless on the face of the earth. 
 Why 1 SAy friendless, is because those persons who 
 had once been his father's boon companions and 
 who perhaps really iiad the inclination to befriend 
 the young man, dared not do; o for fear of incurring 
 the anger of Lord Jiiltown or Dr. Vincent: for I 
 need scarcely tell yon, Misf,hovv much those great 
 personages have it in thei', power to injure tenant- 
 farmers, particularly the jmall ones. Ah! it seems 
 to me that there's sonifihing wrong, and not much 
 like Christianity in a'/ this." 
 
 The good dame paused and shook her head, 
 while a tear trickled down her wrinkled cheek : but 
 brushing it away, she hastened to make an end of 
 her story. 
 
 "In this manner was it that poor Leonard was 
 thrown altogotlier upon liis own resources ; and lie 
 was obliged to become a labourer to a poor farmer 
 two or three miles from here. With him he has 
 been ever since ; and his conduct is most admir- 
 able. In fact a nicer, steadier, more hard-working 
 young man than Leonard does not exist. The 
 death of my daughter, who waa a widow at Derbj', 
 three years ago, threw her Nelly upon my hands. 
 Not but what the dear girl was welcome enough at 
 my humble cottage, heaven knows ! for she is a 
 sweet affectionate creature, and as lovely as she is 
 warm-hearted. Leonard and she really seemed to 
 have been made for each ot.ler; and it is Quite 
 beautiful to see them together — to hear them talk 
 —and to observe how rationally but at the same 
 time how tenderly they carry on tlieir courting. 
 There is no love-sick nonsense — no petty jealousies 
 —no silly squabbliugs, but a true manly affection 
 on his part, and all a maiJen's earnest love on her's. 
 Some little business brought him this way just 
 now, and ho stepped in to see if Nelly was at home. 
 IJat she has gone with butter and eggs to the vil- 
 lage — though I dare say she won't be long now be- 
 fore she is back: and 1 should like her to come in 
 while you are here, Miss, because I have already 
 seen enough of you to make me know that you 
 and Nelly would bo very well pleased with each 
 other." 
 
 I expressed myself in suitable terras of ac- 
 knowledgment for the flattering opinion which 
 the worthy dame had volunteered concerning me, 
 and readily promised to wait a little while in tiio 
 hope of her grand-daughter's return. Indeed 1 
 felt much interested in the day's adventure, and 
 longed to sie the young damsel who had boon 
 deemed worthy the love of so Buperior a man as 
 
 Leonard Percival. I say superior, because I use 
 the term in comparison with what he himself had 
 been, and also because the aspect of the cottage 
 plainly showed that she whom he loved must ba as 
 poor as himself. For though everything exhibited 
 that neatness and precision which bespoke thrifty 
 habits, and a dedicate taste permeating the dark 
 mist of penary, yet was it but too clear t'nat tlio 
 worthy dame and her grand-daughter were in the 
 humblest circumstances so far as their worldly po- 
 sition was concerned. But the dama evinced an 
 intelligence and had a certain look which seemed 
 to speak of better days— an opinion strengthened 
 by the accuracy of her language and the absence 
 of any vulgarity in her manner. Indeed, she her- 
 self presently went on to inform me that she was 
 the daughter of a large farmer and had been de- 
 cently educated ; but that at his death, many long 
 years ago, she was left poor and had been com- 
 pelled to marry in a lower situation of life. Her 
 husband's death threw her entirely on her own re- 
 sources; but she had managed to educate her 
 daughter. This daughter had married, when 
 young, a tradesman of Derby; but he had failed, 
 and his life was afterwards a constant struggle 
 with difficuiiic's, till he at last sank under them. 
 The widow £oon afterwards followed him to the 
 tomb; and their off-pring, the interesting Ellen, 
 was thereupon thrown entirely on the scanty re- 
 sources of the grandmottier. This worthy dame's 
 means of living depended upon a couple of cows 
 and some fowls, besides a little garden producing 
 vegetables ; and it was to dispose of some of their 
 butter and eggs that Ellen had gone to the nearest 
 village. 
 
 The reader is now tolerably well acquainted with 
 the circumstances of old Mrs. Baker and her grand- 
 daughter, Ellen Kiikland; and by the time the 
 dame had given me the particulars which I have 
 just placed on record, the young damsel returned 
 from the village. I was not at all astonislied that 
 Mrs. Baker should have spoken in such high terms 
 of Ellen's beauty : but I was much struck with this 
 beauty itself. She was of a tall figure, slightly and 
 symmetrically made, but perfectly upright ; and her 
 style of loveliness was somewhat delicate, and there- 
 fore all the more interesting. There was littla of 
 the rustic in her appearance — naught indeed in her 
 countenance, unless it were the bloom on her cheeks, 
 somewhat heightened by fresh air and exercise above 
 that of a dweller in a city or town. But her look 
 was rather pensive, and fraught with a kind of intel- 
 lectual melancholy— as if while she bent resignedly 
 to the decrees of destiny, she nevertheless felt that 
 her lot in the world was not exactly what it ought to 
 be. No doubt, too, the misfortunes of her parents 
 and their premature death had left a shade upon 
 the damsel's soul ; and pushing conjecture a little 
 farther, it was also natural to conclude that, de- 
 votedly attached to Leonard Percival as she w.i8, 
 she felt that his destiny was likewise one of unde- 
 served hardship. 
 
 Very beautiful was Ellen Kirkland— and with 
 that interesting sadness of her's, full well calculated 
 to make an immediate impression in her favour. 
 She had light brown hair — large blue eyes — red 
 lips— and a magm'ficent set of teeth. Her com- 
 plexion, natnrallj' very f;iir, was nevertheless s!i.L;iilly, 
 but very slightly, browned with out-of-door occu- 
 pations. Yet, had her plain and simple garments i
 
 128 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 been exchanged for silk or satin — had diamonds 
 shone above the lofty open brow, and pearls en- 
 circled that finely arching neck— Ellen Kirkland 
 might have taken her seat amidst the brilliant throng 
 of a drawing-room without standing the chance of 
 being singled forth as the one who from her plebeian 
 origin had no right there. 
 
 When she had deposited her empty basket upon 
 the table — having,' disposed of all its contents at 
 the village— she threw ofiF her straw-hat and was 
 duly introduced to me. We immediately shook 
 hands, and with much genuine cordiality too : for as 
 the old womiu had predicted, we took an immediate 
 fancy to each other. Mrs. Baker proceeded, in as 
 delicate and as cautious a manner as possible, to 
 describe to £l!en the scene which I had witnessed 
 at the gate in tlie field, and which I had already 
 narrated to the old woman. Ellen listened with a 
 deepening gravity: the colour perceptibly left her 
 cheeks : it was evident enough that sore misgivings 
 were taking possession of her heart. But I observed 
 too that she also gave a quick start of in<iii;natiou, 
 and there vras at the moment a sudden mantlinj^ of 
 a deeper crimson than even the hue of healthful 
 pxeicise on her cheeks, as the name of Jacob 
 Harper struck her ear. 
 
 "Alas!" said Ellen, when her grandmother had 
 finisiied the narrative, " I feel a >trange presenti- 
 ment of coming evil. It is not that I fe-ir so much 
 for aught Lord Miltown or Dr. Vincent may do of 
 their own accord. It is to be hoped that they 
 will toTnet the circumstance in the avocatiotis, 
 pleasures, and pursuits wherein their life is pased. 
 But I do entertain the worst fears from the malig- 
 nity of that man Jacob Harper." 
 
 " Wherefore, Ellen," asked I, "do you dread so 
 much on his account ?" 
 
 "Because," she answered, a blush appearing 
 upon her countenance, " he endeavoured to render 
 me faitliless to Leonard ; and because I refused 
 to become his wife, has he from time to time 
 threatened me with his vengeabce. I know very 
 little of him : but I feci persuaded that he is ca- 
 pab'e of any villany. That he hates Leonard Per- 
 cival is beyond all doubt; and that he will en- 
 deavour to lay some snare to enmesh him, is to be 
 apprehended." 
 
 "Do not thus give way to your fears," said I. 
 "If Mr. Percival be prudent and cautious, as I 
 have no doubt that he is, how is it possible fur him 
 to be caught in the toils which this wicked man 
 may set ?" 
 
 "Ah! you know not how justice is perverted — 
 or rather how the law is tortured into an engine 
 of tyranny and oppression against the poor in this 
 district!" exclaimed Ellen Kirklaml, with a visible 
 tremor, as if of presagint; apprehension. " What- 
 ever Jacob Harper might swear as an accuser, 
 such a Justice of the Peace as Dr. Vincent would ] 
 believe ; and then follows a summary conviction — 
 two months perhaps to prison Oh ! it is dread- 
 ful to think of the way in which the poor are kept 
 at the mercy of the rich ! Grandmother here can 
 tell you whether it is not so." 
 
 "It is," said the old woman. "Alas! what 
 Ellen has told you is but too true." 
 
 " But stop," I exclaimed, a sudden idea striking 
 me ; and its hopefulness was reflected in my coun- 
 tenance. "Jacob Harper is one of Lord Hnrles- 
 (lon'8 gauuitcrjicia I will hasten back to the 
 
 Park and mention to her ladyship sufficient par- 
 ticulars concerning you to interest her in your 
 behalf. She may perhaps be enabled to disarm 
 the gamekeeper of his malignant resentment, or 
 at all events devise sometiiing to relieve you of 
 fear." 
 
 Both the old dame and my new friend Ellen 
 expressed their gratitude iu the liveliest manner 
 for this promise, and on taking leave of them I said 
 I would return on the following day. Ellen em- 
 braced me atlectionately ; and as I sped homeward 
 across the fields with my two little charges, I said to 
 myself, "Two hours ago, and I was ignorant that 
 the earth contained any such person as Ellen Kirk- 
 land. Now I am as deeply interested iu bet behalf 
 as if I had known her all my life. Much as I de- 
 plore at any time to hear of misfortune overtaking 
 any human creature, it would be a source of special 
 grief— I may say of the profoundest nfflction — for 
 me to learn that this innocent, amiable, and lovely 
 girl or hernol)le-hearted lover Leonard Percival sus- 
 tained any sorrow or wrong." 
 
 Thus musing, I traversed the fields with little 
 Alexander and Albert: but on emerging into the 
 main road again, I was suddenly struck by a painful 
 feeling — almost with a shock — on beholding Jacob 
 Harper and John .Morley conversing together. I 
 know not how it was, or why I should in any way 
 have associated the fact of these two men being 
 together with the other incidents of the morning: 
 but it certainly did fill me with an evil presentiment 
 thus to perceive these birds of ill omea ia each 
 other's company. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 THE EXAHINATIOIf. 
 
 At about five o'clock in the evening Lady Harles- 
 don came up into the nursery ; and as Jemima 
 was there, I did not choose to explain to her lady- 
 ship all that I meant to say relative to the a£fairs 
 of Leonard Percival and Ellen Kirkland. I how- 
 ever took an opportunity to whisper hastily in her 
 ear that if she would afford me five minutes in her 
 own chamber I should be oblitred, as I had some- 
 thing to comi*unicate. Accordingly, wheu she 
 rose to leave the nursery in a few moments, she 
 bade me follow her,— observing, •' I wish yon to do 
 something for me, Mary, down stairs." 
 
 When we were alone together in her bed-cham« 
 her,— for she and Lord Harlesdou bad had separ- 
 ate rooms ever since the memorable day of the 
 barouche adventures,— I told her what had taken 
 place in the moroiog, and besought her sympathy 
 on behalf of Leonard and Ellen. Her ladyship at 
 once intimated her readiness to do whatever I 
 might suggest, either to forward their views by 
 helping them on in the world aud enabling them to 
 marry, or by seeking to protect them against the 
 malevolence of Jacob Harper. 
 
 "I know not exactly what to advise, my lady," 
 said I; "unless it be to beseech your ladyship's 
 generosity to present them with a sum of money 
 sufficient to enable them to leave this part of the 
 country, where it is evident they have some enemies 
 strong enough to ruin them." 
 
 "That will I do cheerfully, my dear Mary," ro» 
 l)lied .^ady Uarlosdon, " You possess an excelleul
 
 MAUY pkice; or, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 12:) 
 
 heart, and deserve to have a fortlnft at your own 
 disposal to dispense in chanty. But tell me, will a 
 hundred guineas ensure the happiness of that 
 couple ? If so, for your sake, my dear Mary, that 
 amount shall he cheerfully at their disposal."' 
 
 "Oil! my d(!ur lady," I exclaimed, my heart 
 bounding with joy, "you will confer so much hap- 
 piness that you can have no idea of its immensity ! 
 But the most fervid gratitude which the human 
 heait can feel, will be your's on the part of Leo- 
 nard and Ellen !" 
 
 While we were thus conversing, the sounds of 
 loud voices, speaking quickly and in great excite- 
 ment, met our e.irs. We hastened to the window, 
 to listen rather than to look out, it being quite 
 dark at that hour and that season of the jear. 
 But the vivid flame of the lamp burning over tlie 
 front door threw a strong ligla iiround ; and we 
 could see the ligures of four or five men ascend- 
 ing the stops. One appeared to be in custody of 
 No. 17, 
 
 the rest ; and as the lamp-li;;ht fell on his countc. 
 nance, 1 instantaneously recognized Leonard Per- 
 cival. 
 
 This fact I at onco communicated to Lady 
 Harlesdon, pointing out to her tlic tall form if 
 the young man as it rose half a head higher than 
 tho persons who had him in tlicir lieepin,' ; and as 
 they passed into the mansion \wth their prisoner, 
 we were enabled to otjserve that the liiudermost 
 was the gamekeeper Jacob Harper. 
 
 "Now, my lady," .said I, deeply distressed at 
 what 1 had just seen, " it is clear that the ruin of 
 poor Percival is rtsolvod upon. Some base charge 
 has no doubt been devised by Harper; anl if 
 evil sh'mld happen to this young ram, G;!d only 
 l<now8 what will become of poor Ellen. Ah, dear 
 lady ! if you had but seen that sweet interesting 
 creature, aa 1 beheld her this morninar, you would 
 indeed tako up her cause with the moat generous 
 warmth l"
 
 130 
 
 MARV PRIOE ; OR, THE MEM0IB3 OF A SEnVANT-MAID. 
 
 " And so I will now, dear Mary," answered her 
 ladyship, •' without havinn^ seen your new friend 
 ■ at all. But you have said quite enough to interest 
 ' me in her behalf; and moreover it is sufficient that 
 I you wish to serve her to enlist me iu the cause. 
 I But we must not remain in idle discourse here. 
 ' Hasten you down stairs to the library, where Lord 
 llarlesdoQ always examiuts jirisoiiers who are 
 brought before him. The proceedings are not 
 private : you will find, on the contrary, that most 
 : of the servants will be there to listen, aud so it 
 will not seem strange that you should be present." 
 I at once saw the importance of following her 
 ladyship's suggestion, in order that we rai^ht 
 ascertain the precise nature of the charge aK'iiinst 
 Leonard Percival — watch the course aJopted by 
 Lord Harlesdon in his magisterial capacity — and 
 then take counsel together according as circum- 
 stances should direct. Descending from her lady- 
 ship's chamber, I found on reac!;ing the hall 
 several of the servant?, both male and female, 
 passing into the library ; and rainglinsj amongst 
 them, I eatcred in their company. We all re- 
 mained standidg at the eitremity of the room 
 near the door; and although it was spaciou?, and 
 the prisoner With his captors was at the other 
 end, I nevertheless could obtain a perfect view of 
 Leonard's countenance. It was pale, but with th^ 
 ilignity of conscious innocence expressed in every 
 lineament; and there was even a partial curl of 
 the upper lip, as if his lofty nature could not alto- 
 gether subdue a feeling of scornful deflaoce for 
 the detestable machinations of his enemies. With 
 my heirt so completely, so undividedly devoted to 
 another — and that ohsr so perfect a model of 
 masculine boanty — I may be permitted to obsefVc 
 that Leonard Percival was indeed a young man of 
 a form, a bearing, and a mien full well calculated 
 to win the heart and also to deserve the love of an 
 amiable, innocent, and beauteous creature such as 
 Ellen KirUland. Nor shall I incur the risk of 
 being reproached with a sickly seutimentalism or 
 a mauiilin aiTect'ition, if I declare that I felt at 
 the lime as profound an affliction on beholding 
 Ellen's lover enmeslied iu the toils of his enemies, 
 as it was possible to feel for the misfortune of 
 another. 
 
 In what remarkable contrast, too, did his own 
 frank, open-hearted, and manly countenance ap- 
 pear 'uy tiie .side of the sinister faces of his captor.-. 
 There stood Jacob Harper, leaning on his gun, and 
 with dogged looks of subdued ferocity, his eyes 
 (jleamiiig with a reptile-light beneath Lis over- 
 hanging biov.s. Although the man evidently did 
 his best to ;^s^ume the look of ouo who was merely 
 ptrformiiig a duty without any persjual feeling in 
 the matt'rr, yet was it impossible for him to ctn- 
 ceal or for a spectator to help observing the gleam 
 of maligi.aut satisfaction which played amidst the 
 sinister gloom of that bad man's looks. His four 
 men, who were armed with cutlasses and [listol;!, 
 were of equally vile appearance, and positively 
 seemed to me as if any one of them was quite 
 capable of swearing an innocent person's life away. 
 Sinai! chance, then, had the unfoitunate being 
 who fell into the power ot this cohort of scouu- 
 drcis I 
 
 I had time to make these reflections ere Lord 
 llarlesJon entered the room. The reader will, of 
 cuurse, understand that his lordship was in the 
 
 Commis^iion of the Peace for Derbyshire ; and it 
 was, therefore, as a magistrate tlut he was now 
 about to take cognizance of the matter thus 
 brought before liim. As he passed en to the far- 
 ther extremity of the library and took hi^ seat in 
 a large arm-chair at the head of a wTiting-table, I 
 watched his looks to ascertain, if possible, whether 
 he himself had any personal feeling in the matter: 
 but that cold, severe, inscrutable countenance af- 
 forded no indication of the kind. Indeed, it ap- 
 peared as if his lordship entered upon the business 
 with a complete offieiil indifference; although it 
 certainly struck me as being somewhat contrary to 
 every idea of justice, however consonant it might 
 be with law, for him to sit as judge in a matter 
 where his own servants were concerned. 
 
 Lord HarlcsdoM was followed into the room by 
 his " geLtleraan," who tojk a scat on one side of 
 the tible and prepared to write down notes of the 
 proceedings. Ail this while a solemn lilence pre- 
 vailed in the library; but just as the examina- 
 tion Was about t> open, I felt some one press 
 father more closely agniust me than there seemed 
 to be any need for, and at the same instant a voice 
 whispered in my ear, •• Ah, pretty ilary, display- 
 ing all the curiosity of your sex againT' 
 
 I flung round an indignant glmce npon John 
 Morley — for he it was who thus tauntingly, or else 
 with a vulgar jocularity, remimled me of the 
 ari.'onr scene ; aud in order to escape from h s 
 contiguity I edged off to the extremity of the 
 rank of domestic servants, about a dozen of whom 
 were present — so that 1 was now close by a window 
 the curtains of which were closed. Ilowtver, Mor- 
 ley had not attempted to follow me to that point ; 
 aiid I speedily forgot his presence there, in the 
 more absorbing interest of the proceedings whisii 
 now took place. 
 
 " Who is tills man ?" a^ked Lord HiriesdoD, 
 fixing hisloolts upon the prisoner. 
 
 " His name, my lord, is Leonard Percival," re- 
 plied the gamekeeper. "He wa« much better 
 brought up than he now teems to be ; and 1 sup- 
 pose his bad conduct has brought him down to 
 what he is." 
 
 " Were it not for these bonds," said the young 
 man — and I now perceived for the first time that 
 his wrists were coLfined Witli cords — "I would 
 strike you down at my feet ; and not even the re- 
 spect due to his lordship as a magistrate should 
 prevent me." 
 
 "Silei-ce, siletice!" exclaimed my lord's gentle- 
 man. " Such language as this will do yua no 
 good." 
 
 " But if I am to receive justice, it should do no 
 harm," answered Leonard haughtily : and it was a 
 strange thing to behold that individual in the 
 homely rustic garb, wearing a demeanour more 
 truly dignified, and a look more naturally noble 
 than the proudest peer could have put on. 
 
 "Swear the witnesses," said Lord Hirlesdon 
 sharply, as if to put an end to farther bandying ol 
 words. 
 
 Jacob Harper and iiis assi^t3nt gamekeepers 
 were accordingly sworn by the "gt-ntlemau;" and 
 this ceremony being pcrfoimcd, the first-named 
 individual proceeded to give his evideiice in the 
 fullowiug manner : — 
 
 " Please your lordship, as I was coming oror tlie 
 two tcu-acro fields this moruiug, shortly after
 
 jfARY rnicE ; on, the memoies of a servxsl-maid. 
 
 131 
 
 eleven o'clock, I saw the prisoner larking about in 
 a suspicious manner under the hedges aiii creop- 
 in? up to the plautations beyond. Knowinfj him 
 to bn a suspicious character, I watched him; and 
 I tlioufjht his movements were lilte those of a man 
 that's setting traps to snare game. I3ut the place 
 was too open for me to get very near him. Pre- 
 sently he came back again into the pathway 
 through the fields ; and ju3t at the same mompnt 
 Lord Miltown and Dr. Vincent rode up. So, with- 
 out the least provocation, the prisoner began abus- 
 ing his lordship and the rector in the most shock- 
 ing manner. I never did hear such language in all 
 my life : it quite made my blood run cold. The 
 rector ordered me to take him into custody ; but 
 when I approached him and recommended him 
 civilly to make an apology to his lordship and Dr. 
 Vincent as I didn't want to hurt him, he snatched 
 my gun out of my hand, knocked mc down with the 
 butt of it, and then out of sheer malignity took an 
 aim at one of the poor pointers and shot bim on 
 the spot. He then bolted off as quick as ever he 
 could cut." 
 
 The reader may suppose mH\ what feelings of 
 mingled astonishment and ind giiation I heard this 
 artfully contrived tale, for the special colouring of 
 wltich every fact was either infamously distorted 
 or shamelessly exaggerated. Leonard uttered not 
 a word ; but although he listened in silence to the 
 accusations made against him, I could see by his 
 wreathing lip and flashing eye how strong were the 
 feelings which had possession of him at the time. 
 As for myself, I resolved that the real truth shouW 
 be presently told, so far as I had been an eye-wit- 
 ness of the proceedings in the field. 
 
 " Your lordship will be pleased to understand," 
 continued Jacob Harper, " that though I made 
 my appearance at the time Percival was so grossly 
 insulting Lord Miltown and Dr. Vincent, yet I was 
 very sure he had not seen me watching hitn when he 
 was moving so suspiciously about along the hedges 
 nnd up by the plantations. So, when it was du^Ir, 
 just after four o'clock, I and the men here laid wait 
 near tiie plantations ; and sure enough iu a short 
 time we heard somebody come creeping along, 
 feeling for the places where he had set his snares. 
 At last he fell right into the ambush we were lay- 
 ing for him ; and afier a desperate resistance wo 
 made him our prisoner." 
 
 For a minute I was staggered at this latter part 
 of the gamekeeper's depositions : but when I again 
 turned my eyes upon Leonaril Percival, and beheld 
 the *ame dignified air of conscious innocence upon 
 his countenance, I felt that I had done him an in- 
 jury even by a transitory suspicion of the possibi- 
 lity of his being guilty of setting the snares. 
 
 " Will you cross-examine this witness ?" asked 
 Lord HarlesdoD, addressing the prisoner. 
 
 " No, my lord," was the calm reply. *' A man 
 who has already so grossly perjured himself, has 
 got his tale too well arranged not to be prepared 
 to support every detail with fresh falsehoods." 
 
 " You have no business, prisoner," said Lord 
 Harlesdon sternly, " to make so grave aud serious 
 a charge against the witness." 
 
 " Good heavens, my lord I look at the charge he 
 baa made against me!" exclaimed Percival, now 
 unable to control an outburst of indignation. 
 
 " Silence t" said Lord Harlesdon. " Call the next 
 ttUuess," 
 
 Thrsreupon the four assistant gnraekecpers one 
 after another corroborated every syl'able tluit 
 Jacob Harper had given utterance to; aiiu I could 
 hear by the whispered rcmavUs of the valets and 
 footmen and other servants in my immediate 
 vicinity, that they considered the caie to be very 
 black against Leonard Percival. 
 
 " Now prisoner," said Lord Harlesdon, " what 
 have you to urge in your defence ?" 
 
 " I have heard, my lord, the various stntnmsnts 
 made against me, with an indignation which has 
 only been subdued by the feelings of scorn and 
 loathing which I experience for this horde of per- 
 jurers." 
 
 " Prisoner, I cannot allow you to speak in this 
 strain," interrupted Lord Harlusdon. *• Give your 
 own account of what has occurred; but throw no 
 aspersions on the characters of tlie witnesses." 
 
 "But such men, my lord, would swear away a 
 person's life !" exclaimed Leonard, his voice spell- 
 ing with indignation. 
 
 " Again I order you to be caution?," said Lord 
 Harlesdon imperiously. "Deal with the facts, 
 sir— or I shall at once commit you." 
 
 "Tlien will I tell my tale with the precise truth- 
 fulness in which I was reared from my birth," 
 said Percival, "and from which I have never in 
 ray life deviated." 
 
 "Proceed, sir, without these bombastic flour- 
 ishes," interrupted Lord Harlesdon, more stornly 
 still than before. 
 
 " First, my lord, with regard to the proceedings 
 of the moruing. I work for a farmer living two 
 miles Iience ; aid he eent me to the village on some 
 
 business of his own " 
 
 " Then why did you not proceed by the main 
 road ?" demanded Lord Harlesdon. " It is the 
 nearest way." 
 
 " Because, my lord, I wished to call at the cot- 
 tage at the end of the ten-acre fields ; and I there- 
 fore came in that direction. Having c.illed at 
 the c tttage," continued Leonard, "and not fi;iding 
 the person wiioai I wished to see, I pursued my 
 way across the field ; but on reaching tlie gate, 
 rested a little while in the hope of seeing the 
 person I sought returning to tlie cottage, in which 
 case I should have hastened back. It was while 
 I was thus pausing at the gate, that Lord Miltown 
 and Dr. Vine jnt rode up. And here, before I 
 proceed any farther, let me solemnly and sncredly 
 declare that I never once deviated from the path- 
 way — never crept along the hedges — never went 
 near the plantations. On Lord iNIiltown and the 
 rector approaching the gate——" 
 
 " Well, but we don't want any of these par- 
 ticulars," interrupted Lord Harlesdon. "You do 
 not charge the assault— do you, Harper? It would 
 be inconvenient, as it might necessitate the calling 
 of Lord Miltown and Dr. Vincent as witnesses; iu 
 which case I should have to remand the prisoner: 
 whereas if you only press the poaching chari^e— — "* 
 "Very weil, my lord," said Jacob Harper, as a 
 matter of course following instantaneously his mas- 
 ter's suggestion : " then I only press the charge of 
 laying snares for scouring game and lurking about 
 for an ilkgal purpose." 
 
 " Now then, prisoner, you have heard what has 
 been said," exclaimed Lord Harlesdon. "What 
 have you to urge against the charge?" 
 " But, my lord," exclaimed I^eonard, " it is abso'
 
 132 
 
 MAUV PEICE; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 lately necessary I should continue my defence in 
 tlie proper order. I wish first to refute many mis- 
 statements made by Harper relative to the scene 
 at tlie gate." 
 " But I cannot hear you on that subject." 
 " Nevertlieless, my lord, you heard my accuser." 
 " Yes : but that charge is withdrawn. Proceed." 
 " My lord, I crave your patience," said Percival. 
 " I have a witness to call— a young female whom I 
 recognised as being in your lordship's service——'' 
 At this moment I was about to step forward and 
 proffer my testimony — to do which I felt myself 
 armed with all the requisite courage. 
 
 " 1 tell you, sirrah," now thundered forth Lord 
 Harles'lon, striking tlie table furiously with his 
 clenched fist, "that I will hear no witnesses with 
 regard to that part of the business. The charge of 
 assault is withdrawn : I have nothing to do with it; 
 and it will not weigh with me in any decision which 
 I may presently give." 
 
 I shrank back, so suddenly confounded and 
 abashed, that I felt as if I should sink upon the 
 ilnor. It was one of those abrupt revulsions of 
 feeling which prostrate all one's energies in a mo- 
 ment. I fancied that every eye was fixed upon me; 
 though such could not have been the case, for 
 Leonard Percival had mentioned no name, and my 
 fttlluvv-servants could not therefore for an instant 
 suspect who the young female alluded to might be. 
 But this did not strike me in the confusion and dis- 
 may which had so suddenly seized upon rae ; and 
 shrinking half-way behind the window-curtains, I 
 sank upon a chair that was in the recess. Almost 
 immediately afterwards I was recalled, as it were, 
 to the full possession of my senses again, by hearing 
 the voice of Leonard Percival in vehement and dig- 
 nified remonstrance against his lordship's mode of 
 procedure: and not liking to attract observation by 
 emerging again from behind the curtain, I remained 
 where I was. 
 
 " Silence, prisoner," exclaimed Lord Harlesdon, 
 still in a towering passion. " I have already tole- 
 rated more impudence from you than from any 
 fellow tliat was ever brought before me; and this I 
 have done simply because your accusers are persons 
 in my service and the alleged offence is committed 
 on my estate. Therefore, to do you the fullest jus- 
 tice, I have allowed you considerable license. Now, 
 for the last time, I order you to address yourself 
 only to the subject of the charge which is before 
 me; and if you attempt to touch upon another sub- 
 ject, I shall at once commit you to the county 
 gaol." 
 
 " My lord," resumed Leonard Percival, after a 
 long pause, during which he had no doubt expe- 
 rienced the utmost difficulty in mastering his emo- 
 tions ; "in respect to this charge whereof your 
 lordship spe.iks, I solemnly protest my innocence. 
 I take the Almighty to witness my declaration, that 
 I am thus innocent 1 I was returning across the 
 tialds, shortly alter four o'clock, with the intention 
 of calling at Dame Baker's cottage on my way 
 liome, when I was suddenly seized upon by these 
 perjured wretches — bound with cords — and hurried 
 hither. Vainly did I protest against this scandalous 
 outrage. Even at the very door of your lordship's 
 mansion did I renew the protest ; when I was as- 
 sailed with every kind of abusive epithet by Jacob 
 Harper and his men, as your lordship's own hall- 
 porter can testify. My lord, I do solemnly adjure 
 
 you, as you yourself may some day stand before 
 another tribunal — a much higher one than any 
 earthly court of justice or magisterial judgment- 
 seat— to take heed how you put faith in the tales 
 of these false-swearers who are leagued to ruin 
 me." 
 
 " Enough 1 " exclaimed Lord Harlesdon arbiuptly : 
 then speaking in a quick harsh voic«, evidently to 
 dispose of the aflfair without further parley — for it 
 was now his dinner-hour, — he said, " Prisoner, I 
 consider the charge fully proved against you; and 
 you stand committed to the House of Correction 
 for two months as a rogue and vagabond. Away 
 with him !" 
 
 "My lord, it is impossible," exclaimed the unfor- 
 tunate young man, in a voice of ineffable anguish, 
 " that you will allow this outrage to be consum- 
 mated !" 
 
 I heard no more. The image of poor Ellen all 
 in an instant rose up to my imagination — I beheld 
 the beauteous creature pale and in despair — I was 
 stricken with a horror and with an affliction as over- 
 powering as if I were she. Indeed, at the moment, 
 I completely identified myself with her, so strangely 
 were my feelings wrought up. The effect was that 
 my senses abandoned me, and I fell back in the 
 recess in a profound swoon. The position of the 
 chair in the angle of that recess prevented me from 
 falling sideways; and as, I presume, no sound 
 escaped my lips, and as moreover I was entirely 
 shrouded by the curtain, my presence there was not 
 observed by a single soul. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 BEniNI) THE CURTAIN. 
 
 When I returned to consciousness, the sounds of 
 voices seemed to be mingling, as it were, with 
 the thoughts that began to settle themselves in 
 my brain; and it appeared to me as if I were 
 awaking from a dream. But in a very few mo- 
 ments I became aware, not only of the reality of 
 my present position, but likewise of the voices 
 which I heard; and I therefore remained per- 
 fectly still. 
 
 •' Now then, we thoroughly understand each 
 other," said Lord Harlesdon ; " and I will at once 
 give you the reward for your services. But one 
 thing is to be considered. You have arranged, 
 Morley, that the post-chaise shall come from Bel- 
 per, so as to be ia the neighbourhood exactly at 
 midnight. But how do you mean to entice the 
 girl to the spot ?" 
 
 "Oh! leave that to me, my lord," at once re- 
 plied the groom. '■' I have got my plan ail cut and 
 dry." 
 
 "Well, well," said hU lordship; "I kuowyoa 
 arc a very sharp fellow, and I will therefore trust 
 the whole matter to you.' 
 
 "I am glad your lordship has such a good 
 opinion cf me," said John Morley : " for I shall 
 always endeavour to deserve it. 1 knew very well 
 when firit I desired my friend Jacob Harper here 
 to hint to your lordship that I coulJ reveal a 
 startling secret if I chose and put your lordship 
 up to some strange things that were going on — I 
 knew very well, I say, that I should be able to keep 
 my word."
 
 MARY PIUCE ; OB, THE MEMOIKS OF A SEUVANT-JIAID. 
 
 IW 
 
 "Yes, yes," observed Lord Harlesdon, somewhat 
 impatiently, as if he did not exactly like the topic : 
 " you have indeed, you have indeed ! But tell me 
 truly, John — and you also, Jacob Harper — have 
 you both observed my solemn injunctions, and 
 maintained a profound secrecy relative to this la- 
 mentable affair which so deeply concerns my 
 honour ?" 
 
 " I can assure your lordship," answered Morley, 
 "that I have never breathed a syllable to a soul 
 except my friend Harper here, to whom, as your 
 lordship is aware, I in the first instance communi- 
 cated all that was going on." 
 
 "Well, and j/om, Harper," exclaimed the noble- 
 man : " have you also kept the secret to your- 
 self?'' 
 
 "I have, my lord, most sacredly," returned the 
 gamekeeper. "Setting aside the respect I have 
 for your lordship, it was not my interest to do any- 
 thing contrary to your lordship's instructions." 
 
 " No, certainly not," remarked the nobleman : 
 "for I promised you both that your reward should 
 be handsome. Indeed, have I not shown you this 
 evening, Harper, that I am desirous to serve you to 
 the very utmost ? You hinted to me that this Per- 
 cival stood in the way of your love-suit ; and 1 
 have removed him from your path for at least the 
 next two months to come— and ia that interval it 
 will be your own fault, I suppose, if you do not in- 
 duce the girl to become yours ?" 
 
 " I think I shall, my lord," answered the game^ 
 keeper, with a tone of insolent assurance ; " and 
 I am very much obliged to your lordship for 
 having given that scoundrel Leonard Percival a 
 couple of months. He fully deserves it : for I 
 have often heard him speak disrespectful of your 
 lordship" 
 
 " So you told me the other daj'," observed 
 Lord Harlesdon, " when you first hinted that it 
 was likely young Percival would be brought 
 before me and that you were on the look-out for 
 him. But I hope, Jacob, that there was at least 
 some foundation for the accusations you made 
 against him? because anxious though I am to 
 do you a service, yet I should be sorry to have 
 punished an innocent person." 
 
 " Oh, my lord ! I can assure you it is all true, and 
 Leonard is a most disreputable character. In 
 fact, Dr. Vincent himself," added the gamekeeper, 
 " said this morning that he knew him to be a des- 
 perate poacher ; and Lord Miltown was scarcely 
 less positive on the '5ame point." 
 
 " Oh, well ! if that is the case, I am glad I gave 
 him two months," exclaimed Lord Harlesdon. " I 
 had never seen the fellow before this evening — at 
 least not to my knowledge — and I was instanta- 
 neously set against him by his impudent look. I 
 don't like these beggarly wretches who display 
 what I suppose they call an independent spirit. 
 Besides, his whole conduct just now showed what 
 an impudent rascal he is ; and when I come to 
 consider the way in which he insulted Miltown and 
 Vincent this morning, I cannot possibly regret the 
 course I have taken. But where did you order 
 your men to lodge him till to-morrow morning, 
 Jacob ?" 
 
 " He ia put up in the hay-loft over the stable, 
 my lord," replied the gamekeeper ; " and of course 
 the tra])-door leading up into it is locked fast ; 
 and as there is uo window he cau't possibly 
 
 get out. To-morrow morning me and two or 
 three of the men Avill take him over in a cart to 
 Derby, and lodge him in gaol in pursuance of your 
 lordship's mittimus." 
 
 " And you think that he is quite safe up in the 
 loft?" asked Lord Harlesdon. 
 
 " I am convinced of it, my lord," replied the 
 gamekeeper: "or else I should not for a minute 
 have told the men to take him up there. Besides, 
 he is bound fast with cords." 
 
 •'By the bye," said Lord Harlesdon, "to whom 
 did he allude when he observed that a young wo- 
 man belonging to the household had witnessed the 
 scene in the fields ?" 
 
 " IMary Price," answered the gamekeeper, 
 
 *' Ah, Mary Price ! always Mary Price 1" ex- 
 claimed the nobleman. " She seems to be mixing 
 
 herself up in everything. But however " and 
 
 here his lordship lowered his voice to so subdued 
 a tone that I could not catch another syllable of 
 the sentence. "But now," he exclaimed, once 
 more speaking in a manner quite audible to my- 
 self, " let me give you both a proof of my appro- 
 bation for the manner in which you have kept the 
 secret of Lady Harlesdon's conduct. First of all, 
 however, here are twenty sovereigns in gold for 
 the expenses of to-night's work — post-chaise, and 
 so forth : and now I shall give you fifcy guineas 
 a-piece as your reward. But, ah! I have no small 
 notes — nothing less than one for a hundred 
 pounds." 
 
 " I have got fifty pounds at home of my own 
 savings, my lord," observed the gamekeeper; 
 " and so if your lordship will give me that hundred 
 pound note, I can fetch my fifty presently and 
 hand them over to Morley." 
 
 " Well, be it so," said Lord Harlesdon. 
 
 At this moment the door of the library opened, 
 and a domestic entered to announce that dinner 
 was served up. 
 
 " Very good — I will come ia a moment," ex- 
 claimed his lordship ; " so soon as I have finished 
 giving certain instructions to the gamekeeper and 
 groom here :" — then, the footman having retired, 
 he asked, in a quick tone of apprehension, " You 
 don't think that he saw me hand you the bank- 
 note ?" 
 
 " No, my lord," replied the gamekeeper. " I 
 crumpled it up in my hand the instant the door 
 opened." 
 
 "That is all right, then," rejoined the noble- 
 man : " for it would not have been well for him to 
 have seen money passing between us. And now 
 I must once more enjoin you, John, to be careful 
 how you " 
 
 But I lost the remainder of the sentence, his 
 lordship suddenly lowering his voice to a tone 
 inaudible to me. He and the two men continued 
 whispering fur upwards of a minute ; and though 
 I caught a few words, yet I could not gather the 
 sense of what they were saying. I however heard 
 the name of Ellen Kirkland mentioned, I think by 
 the gamekeeper — also that of Sir Aubrey Claver- 
 ing by John Morley— and I was almost sure, but 
 not quite certain, that I heard my own name 
 whispered by Lord Harlesdon. His lordship then 
 liaatcncd away from the library; but Morley and 
 Harper remained behind for another minute or 
 two. Tliey continued to discourse with each 
 other in a voice too low for mo to understand
 
 134 
 
 MARV price; OB, TUB MEMOIIiS OF A .SEHV ANT-MAID. 
 
 what they were flfiyin? : nevertheIo3!», I just cau;jht 
 enoui^h to make uie aware that they were speaic- 
 ing of money, and arranging si>me appointnaent — 
 but for when, where, or for what purpose, I could 
 not ascertain. However, it would appear that 
 they settled the matter to their own satisfaction : 
 f )r I heard the gamekeeper say, " Well then, 
 that's arranged, and I will be punclual." There- 
 upon they both issued forth frjin the library, 
 closing the door behind them. 
 
 All was now silent there; and I ventured to 
 peep from behind the curtain. No human 
 being mot my eyes: the candles were burning 
 upon the table — and I w.is the only occupant of 
 the library. I waited a few minutes b^'fore I stole 
 forth, lest by any accident Morley and the gamo- 
 Ueeper should l>ave paused in the hall; as of 
 course it would not do for me to be seen coming 
 out of the library. At length I went f n-th — tra- 
 versed the hall without being perceived by any one 
 —and ascending the stairs, gained the nursery. 
 
 "Why, where on earth have you been, Mary?'' 
 asked Jemimathe mom nit I made my appearance. 
 "I saw you amongst the rest during the ex'.mina- 
 tion down in the library : fori got Jane " — alluding 
 to one of the housemaids— "to mind the chil- 
 dren while I ran downjust to hear what was going 
 on;" — then without waiting for an answer to the 
 question she had put to me, Jemima went on to 
 exclaim, " What a pity that such a nice young 
 man should have got himself into such trouble. 
 Did you observe how proud and indignant he 
 looked? I really thought at one time lie was 
 innocent, and that J,:cob Harper was trumping 
 up a story aj;ain-t him: but whan all the uuder- 
 gamekeepers spoke as they did, my confidence 
 g;ive way. After ail, supposing he is guilty, I 
 can't sec what harm tliere is iu taking a hare which 
 runs wild and may be said to belong to nobody. 
 But how very serious you look, Mary — and pale 
 too — paler t!:an usual. Has anything happened 
 to annoy you?' 
 
 1 was about to make some reply when little Miss 
 Isabella Ciemeuthia, who was running about the 
 room, fell down and hurt !;erseif with a dull ; and 
 all at'.eution was for a few moments absorbed in 
 pacifying and consoling her. 
 
 " But what did become of you, Mary, after it was 
 all over ? It's a good hour since the proceedings 
 terminated," continued Jemima ; '' and here have I 
 been wondering all the while why you didn't come up. 
 I missed you, too, all of a sudden. But I suppose 
 you went to her ladyship ?" she added, answering 
 the question for me by means of a conjecture of 
 her own. " Well, I declare, I am dying with 
 thirst ; and Jane doesn't bring up the urn for our 
 tea. I will just run down and see to it." 
 
 With these words Jemima hastened from the 
 nursery ; and as soon as she was gone I begin to 
 think very seriously aud gravely upon all that 
 had taken place. 1 had said nothing in answer 
 to Jemima's questions, because I did not choose to 
 admit that I had been concealed behind the cur- 
 tain in the library, listening to a discourse ttiat 
 was going on there, as I was fearful of incurring 
 the suspicion of being a wilful eaves-droppcr. 
 From what Jemima had just said an entire hour 
 had chipped since the procccUngs terminated ; and 
 yet the conversation I had overheard certainly had 
 not lasted much more than half-au- hour. To say the 
 
 least, then, I must have been twenty minutes in a 
 state of unconsciousness behind the curtain. 
 " Ah," thought I to myself, " if I had ouly been 
 possessed of my senses the whole time, what plot- 
 tings aud plannings might I not have overheard." 
 But as it was, I had only the vaguest and the most 
 uncertain ideas relative to the conspiracy that 
 was in progress. For that there was some dark 
 scheme in embryo, was appirent enough. That 
 post-chaise which was to be in readi-noss — and that 
 <rirl who was to be enticed away — what could these 
 things mean? Most naturally did I conclude, 
 judging from the other observ-itions I bad over- 
 iieard, that it was poor Elien Kirklind who was to be 
 carried off. But wheiefore should Lord Ilarlesdon 
 mix himself up in such abase and infiaio:is plot? 
 wl'.y should a proud and haughty noble c mdesscnd 
 to become an adviser or accomplice in the atrocious 
 treacheries of a miserable gamekeeper ? I knew n it : 
 but I thought to myself that if I had n it fainted 
 a.vay in the window-recess, but had overiiearJ the 
 whole conversation instead of a portion of it, I 
 should probably have become acquainted with the 
 entire plot, its motives as well as its ramifications ! 
 
 What was to be done? Leonard Percival was 
 innocent — and I was resolved to adopt some coarse 
 to prove him so. Nor less was 1 determined to 
 wai n EUeu Kirkland agiinst tlie p'ot which I be- 
 lieved was hatching against her. But .as Lady 
 Hariesdon had promised to interest herfe'f on 
 beiialf of the lovers, I thought it prudent to do 
 nothing until I had consulted her. It was now 
 eight o'clock : at nine her ladysiiip would be sure 
 to quit the dinner-table and ascend to the draw- 
 ing-room, or most probably seek her own chamber. 
 For slie and her husband had to diue tete-d-teie, 
 there not being a single guest at the Park at the 
 time ; and altiiough they went through tiiis ordeal 
 to screen from the observation of the household 
 the fact that there was a complete rupture between 
 them, yet they did not remain in each other's com- 
 pany longer than was absolutely necessary. 
 
 1 resolved therefore to wait until I could have 
 an opportunity of consulting with Lady H jrle.sdon ; 
 and I composed my countenance and the flutter of 
 my feelings as well as I was able by the time 
 Jemima re-appeared with the urn for tea. She 
 talked the whole time about Leonard Percival ; 
 and from her remarks it was plain enough that 
 she had ere now learnt in the servants' hall ihat 
 the general opinion was agaiust the young man. 
 Nor was this to be wondered at, considering the 
 manner in which Jacob Harper's averments had 
 been backed up by the evidence of bis subordi- 
 nates. 
 
 " But by the bye," exclaimed Jemima, an idea 
 striking her, "they sny down stair?, Mary, that it 
 must have been you who saw a portion of the pro- 
 ceedings in the field : for every other female in 
 the household says it was not her to whom Leonard 
 alluded." 
 
 " Yes— I did observe a great deal of what took 
 pl.'ice at the gate," said I: "aud I can assure 
 you " 
 
 At this moment a message was brought up to 
 the t'ffoct that Lady Ilarlesdon wished to see mo 
 in her own chamber ; and I accordingly hastened 
 thither, Jemima enjoining me to come back as 
 soon as possib'e and finish tlic explanations I had 
 just commenced. On reat.hing her ladyshiii's
 
 MAIIY price; or, the :>IKArOinS op a SERVANT-MAfO. 
 
 13c 
 
 I room I found her seat<!d upon a sofa ia fi'ont of 
 the cheerful fire that was burnings in the grate. 
 I She bade me place myself next to her, and then 
 said, "Well, Mary, circumstances iiave taken a 
 most uufortunate turn for that young man in 
 whom you so generously interested yourself. It 
 is just as well, however, that your eyes should 
 have been opened at ouce relative to his true 
 character." 
 
 " Is it possib'e," I exclaimed, " that your lady- 
 ship believes him guilty ?'' 
 
 " PossilJle, my dear Mai'y !" she answered. " How 
 can I come to any other conclusion? Listen. 
 You know very well that Lord Marlesdon and I 
 go through the ceremony of uiaiag together, for 
 the simple reason that if we were each to have our 
 separate table as well as our separate chambers, 
 the whole scandal would be exposed at once. Well 
 then, we sit down together— we go through the 
 cold chill ceremony of all the courses— soup, fish, 
 meat, game, sweets, dessert, and so on ; and to 
 sustain the mockery it is requisite that we should 
 converse, because for two-thirds of the whole time 
 there are sveral domestics present. Well, you may 
 therefore suppose that under such ungenial cir- 
 cumstances it was quite a godsend to his lordship 
 to have a topic ready at hand to discourse upon, 
 instead of being compel'ed to search after subjects 
 that might answer the purpose, as the French say, 
 pour /aire lesfrais dt. la conversation. So just now, 
 as I was observing, his lordsliip gave me a verbose 
 and elaborate detail of the examination of Leonard 
 Percival."' 
 
 "And the conclusion to which he drew your 
 ladyship," said I, quivering with impatience to un- 
 deceive her, " was hostile to the j'oung man ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly," returned my noble mistress. 
 
 "Then, my lady," said I, "you are wrong. Leo- 
 nard Percival is innocent! The foulest perjury 
 has been brought to bear against him. Lord Har- 
 lesdon himself is so far deceived ; and yet, on the 
 other hand, by a strange sort of inconsistency 
 which I cannot rightly understand, he has lent 
 himself to a plot for carrying off poor Ellen Kirk- 
 land, no doubt that she may be forced into a mar- 
 riage with that odious Jacob Harper." 
 
 "JIary, what mean you.'" asked her ladyship, 
 with more seriousness than amazement. " I know 
 very well that you have too much good sense to be 
 carried away with flighty ideas ; and I feci per- 
 suaded that you must have some deeper i-eason 
 than mere conjecture for the grave assertions you 
 have just made." 
 
 I forthwith proceeded to acquaint her ladyship 
 with all that had occurred — how I had swooned 
 behind the curtain, and how when I came to my-self 
 I was necessitated to remain a listener there. She 
 licard me to the end with ait uttering a word; 
 and when I had done speaking sue reflected pro- 
 foundly for some minutes. " What you have told 
 me," she at length said, " throws a new li^ht upon 
 circumstances vhich bear on my own case. It 
 is clear that John Jlorley did not, in the first 
 instance, communicate direct with his lordship in 
 respect to my unhappy connexion with Clavering : 
 but he betrayed the secret first of nil to Jacob 
 Harper. Then was it that Jacob Harper must 
 have spoken to Lord Harlesdon, and his lordship 
 must have employed Morley to keep Avatch upon 
 Clavering himself. Hence the aflPhir of the arbuur. 
 
 And now, Mary, as Lord Harlesdon hugs the 
 secret of his dishonour — will not sutfor it to be 
 blazoned forth throughout the world— but never- 
 theless means to wreak some hidden, yet not the 
 less cruel vengeance upon me -he is compelled to 
 bribe these wretches to keep the secret which 
 they themselves were the very first to impart to 
 him. Alas! that his lordship is spreading some 
 pitfall at my feet, I do indeed fear : for during the 
 last few days, since all our guests toolc their leave, 
 he has suddenly ceased to hurl at me those fre- 
 quent darts of bitter sarcasm and withering satire 
 which, though disguised in words, pierced with a 
 pang as lancinating as barbed arrows. Depend 
 upon it, then, his vengeance is taking another 
 com'se — his tactics ai'C changed!" 
 
 " Oh, dear lady !" do not terrify yourself with 
 these forebo'lings," I exclaimed. "Nothing in the 
 plot which is now going on can possibly regard you. 
 It is for the carrying off of Ellen Kirkland that 
 the chaise is to be in readiness ; and she is the 
 girl to be enticed to the spot." 
 
 " No doubt," said Lady Harlesdon. " But much 
 that you have been telling me so far regarded 
 myself as to fix my thoughts upon my own unhappy 
 fate. However," she exclaimed, as if suddenly 
 throwing off her own despondency in order tc 
 think energetically how she could be of service to 
 others, "there is work to be done to-night, JMary 
 — and that too as soon as circumstances will per- 
 mit. From all you have said it is clear that 
 Leonard Percival is indeed innocent, and that a 
 plot is in existence to immolate poor Ellen to tlie 
 passion of that bad man Jacob Harper. Now, it 
 will be useless to make any appeal to his lordship 
 on behalf of justice and of mercy. I am not in a 
 position to ask a favour at his hands ; nor indeed 
 can the subject be mentioned at all without the 
 avowal that you overheard the conversation in the 
 library." 
 
 " Then what is to be done, my lady ?" I asked. 
 
 " Does not your ingenuity suggest anything, 
 Mary ?" 
 
 "Ah!" I exclaimed, "if we could but afford 
 Leonard the means of escaping from the persecu- 
 tion of his enemies who have sworn to ruin him, 
 he might hasten away with his betrothed to some 
 far-off part of the country, where their hands 
 could be joined i;i matrimony and he would acquire 
 a legal right to protect her !' 
 
 "This is precisely the course which I should 
 have suggested," said LaJy Harlesdon. " I volun- 
 teered one hundred guineas before dinner to ac- 
 complish iheir happiness. The amount is now at 
 your disposal. Fetch me my writing-desk from 
 yonder table." 
 
 I did so : and when her ladyship opened the desk, 
 die first took out a large package of letters, the very 
 sight of which suddenly convulsed htr bosom with 
 a profound sigh. I guessed fuU wuU the cause of 
 her emotion: these letters were from Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering! She said not a word, but drew forth a 
 quantity of gold and several bank-notes which were 
 lying loose inside the desk, tossing about with true 
 aristocratic negligence. 
 
 " Here are sixty pounds in bank«noteB and forty 
 in gold," she said. " Wrap it up, Mary, in a sheet 
 of paper, so as to keep it secure ; and now lot lit 
 think of how Leonard Percival's escape ia to be ao- 
 complished."
 
 136 
 
 MARY price; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 "Ah," said I, as I carefully enveloped the money 
 and placed it by my side on the sofa, " that is indeed 
 the difficulty! Nevertheless, I not only undertake 
 the enterprise, but do not despair of being enabled 
 to accomplish it. It cannot however he attempted 
 until a later hour — perhaps not until the house is 
 quiet and the srarvants have retired to rest But we 
 shall see. I do not believe that any one will be set 
 to keep a watch in the vicinage of the stable, as 
 Jaci)b Harper seems to entertain the fullest reliance 
 in the security of the loft as a prison. The question 
 will be how I am to procure the keys of the stable: 
 for I dare say the key of the loft is on the same 
 bunch." 
 
 "I happen to know that such is thefact," observed 
 Lady Harlesdon ; " because all the keys of the out- 
 houses are invariably entrusted to the head-groom, 
 with as much formal precision as the seals of office 
 to a Minister of State." 
 
 " And that head-groom is now John Morley," 
 said I. 
 
 " To whom," added her ladyship inquiringly, 
 "you have such a repugnance that you could devise 
 no plan to get into conversation with him and en- 
 deavour to ascertain where he keeps the keys ?" 
 
 "I scarcely think that will be possible," said I, 
 "But I will go down into the servauts'-hall pre- 
 sently and trust to the chapter of accidents. Morley 
 has his plot in hand, whatever it may be ; and he 
 may not perhaps be in the way. But, Ah ! my 
 dear lady," I exclaimed, " you must permit ine to 
 go at once and warn poor Ellen Kirkland of the 
 danger which menaces her. Besides, if she have 
 already heard of her lover's arrest it would be cruel 
 not to impart solace to her soul as speedily as pos- 
 sible; and that solace it is in my power to give 
 through your ladyship's kindness." 
 
 "But it is pitch dark, Mary," urged ray noble 
 mistress. " Are you not afraid to venture across 
 the fields at such an hour and in such complete 
 loneliness ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, dear lady !" I cried, seeing that the per- 
 mission was already accorded if I chose to accept 
 it. " Besides, for such a purpose I would face any 
 danger." 
 
 "After daring the horrors of St. Giles's vilest 
 dens," said Lady Harlesdon, patting me kindly on 
 the face as she thought of the recovery of her child, 
 "you are not indeed likely, my dear Mary, to be 
 daunted by the phantom-dangers of darkness and 
 loneliness." 
 
 "Then I shall go!" was my exclamation, as I 
 started from the sofa. " It is now half-past nine. 
 In an hour I shall be back again. It will then be 
 half-past ten — plenty of time to peer about in search 
 of the keys down below." 
 
 I was hurrying from the room when Lady Har- 
 leidon, catching sight of the money upon the sofa, 
 exclaimed, " Will you not take this with you ? " 
 
 "Yes:" then as a sudden thought struck me, I 
 said, " No — it will be better that I should not take 
 80 large a sum with me at such an hour. ludeed it 
 will be safer to give it to Leonard Percival, whose 
 escape I am resolved to efiect. I shall leave the 
 money here until my return:" — and I placed it 
 under the cushion of the sofa. 
 
 I then q\iitted her ladyship's chamber and as- 
 cended to my own room, which had two doors, one 
 opening from the nursery and the other from the 
 passajje, ao that I could enter it without being ob- 
 
 served by Jemima, the nursery-door of communi- 
 cation being fortunately closed at the time. To 
 envelop myself in my bonnet and cloak was but the 
 work of a moment; and stealing forth again, I de- 
 scended the back staircase and got unperceived out 
 of the house. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 MY EFFORTS ON BEHALF OF THE LOVERS. 
 
 The night was indeed pitch dark ; for the moon had 
 not yet risen. It was however still a hard frost, and 
 the ground was like marble as in the morning. 
 Light as my steps were, their tread nevertheless 
 sounded sufficiently on the beaten pathway through 
 the park to make me pause more than once with the 
 apprehension that I was being followed: but when 
 at length I convinced myself that this was mere 
 fancy on my part, I sped onward without halting, 
 and in a very short time reached Mrs, Baker's 
 cottage. 
 
 The shutters were closed, and a light glimmered 
 feebly through the crevices. I knocked at the door, 
 which was soon opened by the old dame; and the 
 first glimpse that I cauglit of her countenance by 
 the candle which she carried in her hand, showed 
 me that grief was already an inmate of that humble 
 abode. Indeed so woe-begone were ^Irs. Baker's 
 looks, that even the expression of amazement which 
 rose thereon on beholding me was comparatively 
 faint; and I thought at once that the very worst 
 was most probably known. She was about to open 
 the door of her little room to give me admittance, 
 when I checked her ; and catching her by the hand, 
 detained her in the passage for a moment, while I 
 asked iu a low whisper, " Does Ellen know all ? ' 
 
 "Yes — all!" returned the dame, likewise in a 
 very subdued voice. 
 
 •' But how ?' I asked. 
 
 " One of the gamekeeper's men called here as 
 he went home an hour ago, and told me what 
 had happened," rejoined Mrs. Baker. 
 
 "What! one of the villains who perjured them- 
 selves ? " I said indignantly ; for my blood boiled 
 at the idea that an accomplice in Jacob Harper's 
 black wickedness should be the very first to come 
 and plant a poignant dagger in the hearts of those 
 on whom the blow was to rebound. "But where 
 is Ellen?" I asked. 
 
 The dame forthwith opened the door of her 
 little room ; and there, seated near the fire, with 
 her elbows on her knees and her hands supporting 
 her face — her long brown hair hanging down all 
 dishevelled — sat Ellen Kirkland. She did not 
 move as I entered ; she diJ not indeed teem to bs 
 aware that her grandmother had quitted the chair 
 opposite, or that a visitress had come. All her 
 faculties, all her senses, all her ideas seemed ab- 
 sorbed in the tremeudous grief that filled her soul. 
 I felt a sad, sad tighteuiag at the heart as I be- 
 held this spectacle of utter woe; and the tears 
 started forth upon my eye-laslies. 
 
 " Nelly dear," said the dame, in a low plaintive 
 tone, as she placed her hand gently upon her 
 granddaughter's shoulder; "here is your new 
 friend come to see jou— Mary Price, to whom yoo 
 took such a liking." 
 
 ;«A,hI some one from the Park?" pjaculat«4
 
 JIAl^Y PHICE OK, THK SJRSVOinS OF A SEBVANT-MAID. 
 
 Lllen, witJi a staitlinqp abruptness : then liftinof 
 lier lioad and pushing back the cloud of her hair, 
 she loolieJ up at rao— bu; heave;i3 ! wit!i a coun- 
 tenance BO wan— oh ! so wan, so pale, so woe- 
 begone, that its very aspect SLtuck rao as with a 
 sudden shock. 
 
 " Good God, Ellen !'' I exclaimed, " how you 
 have suffered!" — and throwin^i' my arms round 
 lier neck, I embraced her again and a;>ain. " But 
 cheer upl You have friends — there is hope — 
 everything m^iy yet be well!" 
 
 " Oh I you are an angel, Mary, sent to console 
 me I" cried th3 poor creature, with a sudden thrill, 
 as if t!ie revulsion of feeling which brought back 
 hope to her breast was electrifying to a degree : 
 then tears came to her relief, and aho began to 
 weep plentifully. 
 
 " Ltt her tea's flow, my dear girl," said the 
 dume, geiity dia'Ting me back; and I at once 
 understood that tho proceeding was prudent, and 
 NO. 18. 
 
 that immense would bo the relief afforded to thnt 
 poor suffering heart by this flood of weeping. 
 
 " Yes, dear Ellen — Lady Ilarlesdoii herself is 
 your frioiid," said I, when after the expiration of 
 two or three minutes I judged that tiiere was no 
 longer need to wait: and I then proceeded to cx- 
 [ilain enough to make her understand that every- 
 thing would be done with a view to accomplish 
 her lover's escape and enable him to join her with 
 a sum of money which Lady llarleadon's bounty 
 had already provided. I also told her that tliore 
 was a plot against herself, to entice her to some 
 place wiiere a chaise would be in waiting at mid- 
 night, and to carry her o(T with a view to her nl- 1 
 timalc compulsion into marriage with Jacob Har- 
 per. 
 
 I did not however give all these explanat ons 
 without many interruplioiis that were natural 
 enough on tho part of the excited and injpAtient 
 Ellen. She wished to know why, if 1 had pro^Ai
 
 13S 
 
 MARY price; on, TUB MK\rOinS OF A SEHVANT-MAID. 
 
 of Harper's perjury and Leomrd's irinoccDCO, 
 they were not a Iduced at ilic cximinatioa — why 
 Lady llnrlesdon did not use her influence with 
 her lord to procure Leonard'a relca.sc, instead of 
 devising a secret means for his escape — and how 
 it had been found out that there was this dark 
 plot to carry herself oflP? To all these questions 
 I was obliged to give such answers which, without 
 disclosing the entire facts (as they would have in- 
 volved Lady Harlesdoii's honour) proved satis- 
 factory to Ellen ; and in a short time she regained 
 both hope and confidence. Not that she had for 
 a moment mistrusted me in anything that I said 
 or promised : but the cruel weight of calamity and 
 the evidences of so much black treachery had 
 rendered her mistrustful of destiny itself, and 
 made her doubt whether it were possible thi^t for- 
 tune could ever smile again for her. 
 j "Ah! my dear Mary," she said, when at length 
 ! re-assured and full of hope, ''you knovi wit wliat 
 I an hour of unutterable miiery I have passed since 
 [ the distracting tidings were brought to our door. 
 I I thought 1 should go mad ! It seemed to me 
 i impossible that 1 could endure such a misfortune 
 without being utterly ciushed beaeatli its weight. 
 At first I felt myself impelled to rush to the Park 
 and demand that my Leonard should be set free— 
 or at least that I might be permitted to see him, 
 console him, and assure him of my unalterable 
 
 love ! But " 
 
 " It was I who restrained her," suid the grand- 
 mother, taking up the thread of Ellen's distressing 
 narrative. "I told her that she would not be per- 
 mitted to see Lsonard— lliat slie would only meet 
 with insult from the very wretches who had sworn 
 away his liberty, and whom she would be certain 
 to meet tither at the juansiou or on her way thi- 
 ther. In a word, I implored her not to go forth 
 this night. I had a presentiment of dan^'er. I 
 knew full well that this blow was not struck to get 
 lid of Leonard only, but to enable the villain Har- 
 per to carry out his designs in respect to her. 
 But it was with the utmost difficulty I could pre- 
 vent poor Nell from flying in frenzy and d strac- 
 tion to the Park." 
 
 " Oh ! I should have been wrong— I should have 
 been ungrateful, not to have followed your advice 1" 
 exclaimed Ellen, addrcs-ing her aged relative in 
 the most affectionate manner. "But my mind 
 was made up, Mary," she continued, turning 
 towards me, " to have started off at four o'clock in 
 the morning to walk to Derby, so as to be at the 
 prison-gate in time to behold him enter the dread- 
 ful place, that at least I might have had the 
 mournful satisfaction of giviug him that proof ot 
 my affection 1" 
 
 Again she melted into tears ; and my own flowed 
 freely. But I assured her that she would not have 
 to walk to Derby gaol — that she would be spared 
 that sainted pilgrimage of love — for that ^ was 
 resolved to effect Leonard's escape, come wluit 
 might. She embraced me with enthusiasm- 
 poured forth her gratitude in the most touching 
 and fervid manner — and besought me to express 
 the same on her account to Lady Harlcsdon. 
 
 " Yes, my doar friend, I will do so," said I. 
 "But 1 must now hasten away. Recollect that 
 some treachery is to be practised in order to entice 
 you out of this but to-night. Be upon your guard ! 
 Let Mrs. Baker answer the door if any one should 
 
 come, and say that you are gone away. Indeed I 
 am not sure but that it will be better for you to 
 leave at once, in case force should be used to 
 carry you oft'. Tell me, what is your own opinion — 
 which do you prefer? I presume that whitherso- 
 ever you go, your good grandmother will accom- 
 pany you and .Mr. Percival ?" 
 
 " Yes — not for worlds would I be separated from 
 her who has supplied to me the place of a mother !" 
 cried Ellen, throwing her arms about the dame's 
 neck ; then after a few moments' reflection, she 
 said, " Yes, it will be better that we leave at once : 
 for, Oh ! if force should be used to carry me away, 
 what would poor Leonard do when on escap:ng 
 and coming in the hope of embracing his Eden, he 
 found her gone? Oh, it would drive him mad !" 
 
 "Make ready then your little bundle of neces- 
 saries, both of you," said I; " and be off at once. 
 Only tell rac where Mr. Leonard is to join you." 
 
 "There is a worthy couple's cottage a mile and 
 a half hence," said Mrs. B^ker : " the Morrisons' 
 I mean, Nelly," she added, filing to ber grand* 
 daughter. 
 
 "Yes, yes — we shall be welcome there,'' ex- 
 claimed Ellen : "we will proceed thither without 
 delay. Mary, my dear frienJ, tell Leonard to join 
 us at the Morrisons'. He will know where : and 
 may heaven give you success in your kini, your 
 generous purpose! Dearest girl— my more than 
 sister — I have not words wherewith to express 
 how much I feel — how much I love you 1" 
 
 The affectionate Ellen embraced me tenderly, 
 as did also her worthy relative ; and the next 
 moment I flitted across the threshold and began 
 to retrace my way to the Pai-k. A terrible sense 
 of loneliness seized up u me on thus quitting the 
 inmates of the cottage and finding myself in the 
 fields again: but shaLing off the dispiriting in- 
 fluenpe, I sought a source of self- congratulation in 
 having accomplished my journey to the cottag* 
 unmolested, and in having effected an arrange- 
 ment which I had no doubt would place Ellen 
 beyond the reach of danger and enable Leonard 
 to make sure of flading her at the Morriscus 
 hoose. 
 
 The reader will perceive that I had made np m> 
 mind to effect the young man's release, and that 
 I all along treated it as something certain to be 
 accomplished. This I did, not only because I wa.« 
 resolved to leave no stone unturned in order tJ 
 achieve my purpose, but likewise perhaps because 
 I did not choose to admit to myself that there was 
 any chance of failure. I remembered how cheer- 
 ingly I had been sustained by a similar degree of 
 confidence on the memorable night when I pene- 
 trated with Mad Tommy into the lion's den in 
 St. Giles's; and though not naturally of a san- 
 guine temperament, I now buoyed myself np with 
 a similar degree of confidence. Yet by a strange 
 inconsistency 1 was occupied during the entire 
 walk— or I might almost call it run — back from 
 the cottage to the Park, an interval of nearly a 
 quarter of an hour, in wondering what aids the 
 chapter of accidents would throw up in my be- 
 half. 
 
 On reaching the mansion I contrived to re- 
 enter at unpercoived as I had sallied forth, and 
 proceeded straif^ht up to Lady Harlesdon's cham- 
 ber. There I threw «. IV my bonnet and cloak, and 
 told my kind mistress all that had taken place a»
 
 JURY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEHVANT-MAI6. 
 
 133 
 
 the cottage. She was much pleased to hear that 
 Ellen aad her grandmother had quitted the hut 
 and proceeded elsewhere : for, as her ladyship 
 observed, if it were resolved to carry her off, force 
 would be adopted should treachery fail. 
 
 I was detained at the cottage longer than I had 
 calculated; and it was now nearly eleven o'clock. 
 The time was come to mauceuvre for the accom- 
 plishment of Leonard Percival's deliverance. Her 
 ladyship declared that she should not retire to 
 rest until she had seen the result; and I therefore 
 promised to return to her presently. Being in 
 liaste to enter upon my undertaking, I quite forgot 
 to take the money with me, and left it where it 
 was underneath the cushion of the sofa. Descend- 
 injf to the servants' ha!I, I found that as it was 
 Christmas season, they were sitting round the 
 fire drinking mulled wine and spiced ale; and I 
 was of course asked to join the party — for I must 
 say without vanity that they all liked me, notwith- 
 standing I was ao very little down stairs amongst 
 them, and on the other hand was so much with 
 her ladyship. But then they knew that I was 
 no spy upon their actions, as a favourite servant 
 too often is; and that I was always willing to 
 speak a good word to Lady Harlesdoa in favour of 
 any one. 
 
 The first glance tiiat I threw around was to 
 ascertain whether John Morley was present ; and 
 sure enough, there he was amongst the men- 
 servants with a large tumbler of ale iu his hand. 
 He spoke to me in a civil and proper manner ; 
 and I answered him with just as mucli civility in 
 return as was necessary to avoid showing that I 
 entertained such a deeply-rooted aversion towards 
 him. 
 
 The servants were all talking of Leonard Per- 
 cival >rlien I thus joined them ; and the same topic 
 was continued. It is not requisite to chronicle 
 the opinions which were uttered upon the subject : 
 suffice it to say that they were not favourable to 
 the prisoner, although I could not discover th^tt a 
 single one spoke a word eulogistic of Jacob Harper. 
 As for John Morley, he said very little indeed ; 
 amil methought once or twice that he appeared the 
 least thing fidgetty, as if the topic were not al- 
 together agreeable to him— or as if he did not 
 quite like my presence in the servants' hall. Pre- 
 sentlj', when he had drained his glass of ale, he 
 rose and said, " Well, it's rather a nuisance to 
 have to turn out such a cold night as this." 
 
 *' Why, where are you going to, Juhn, at this 
 hour?" asked one of the servants. "It's past 
 eleven." 
 
 •'lam going over to sleep at Farmer Jones's 
 to-night," answered Morloy in a careless manner, 
 which I knjw full well to be assumed : " because 
 he's got to send in a lot of hay and straw the first 
 thing to-morrow morning, and his lordship 
 thought it best that I should go and sec it first, 
 as F.irmer Jones has got two sorts and he might 
 send in the worst." 
 
 " Well, take another drop to keep the cold 
 out." 
 
 " So I will. Here's a health to you all :"— then 
 having drained the tumbler which tho under-butler 
 had filled for him Morley saiil, " By the by, the 
 icoys of the outhouses are in my stable-jacket 
 hanging up in the passage ; and as Jacob Harper 
 may perhaps come iu the morning before I am 
 
 back, to take Leonard Percival over to Derby, you 
 will know where the keys are." 
 
 " All right," said the under-butler, to whom this 
 information was addressed. 
 
 John Morley then put on his great coat, his 
 hat, and a pair of thick gloves— lighted a cigar— 
 and sallied forth. 
 
 I sat in a quiver of agitation during the brief 
 but important colloquy which had just taken place, 
 but to which I pretended to be paying not the 
 slightest attention. I was heartily glad when 
 Morley had taken his departure : for it was now 
 comparatively plain sailing with me in the execu- 
 tion of my plans. I allowed abaut ten minutes to 
 elapse ere I moved from my seat : then allegin;,' 
 some excuse for my temporary absence, I quitted 
 the servants' hall, taking care to shut the door 
 behind me. A light burnt in the passage which 
 separated the room I had just left from the 
 kitchen; and to a long row of pegs were sus- 
 pended various garments belonging to the male 
 domestics. Morley's stable-jacket was amongst 
 them ; and in one of the pockets I found the 
 bunch of keys. Another moment, and 1 was 
 passing out of a back door into the yard. This I 
 traversed light as the fawn, and gained the sta- 
 bles. None of the underlings were about— all was 
 daik— and without interruption or hindrance dii 
 I open the door. Passing into the stable, I took 
 the kevs with me, closing the door. To grope my 
 way to the ladder leading up into the lolt was the 
 work of a few moments ; and having found it, 1 
 ascended with some degree of caution: for a 
 pitchy darkness enveloped mo— and for obvious 
 reasons I had not dared bring a light. I felt the 
 tvap-door which closed the aperture at the head 
 of the ladder, and groped for the padlock. This 
 I found ; and after trying three or four of the 
 smaller keys, at length found one to fit. 1 lifted 
 the trap-door, and said, " Mr. Percival, are you 
 here?" 
 
 " Ah ! who calls ? and a female voice too !" he 
 responded, in the hushed tone of sudden curiosity 
 and suspense. 
 
 " It is a friend," was my answer ; " one who has 
 pome to deliver you." 
 
 "I knew it was a kind voice that spoke," he 
 joyfully replied. " But " 
 
 "We have not a moment to spare," I inter- 
 rupted. •' You remember the nur.^e-maid for 
 whom you so civilly opened the gate iu tiie field 
 this morning?" 
 
 " Yes— and it is you I I recognise your voice 
 now." 
 
 •' Well, I know all— I have seen your El- 
 len " 
 
 " O heavens 1" he exclaimed ; and I heard him 
 start convulsively. " Has she learnt this dreadful 
 calamity ?" 
 
 " She has heard it— but she is reassured. Of 
 coiffse she knows your iuuoceuce, as I do— and 
 as Lady Ilarlesdon does." 
 
 " Lady IlarlcsJon ?" 
 
 •• Pray do not interrupt me. Your enemies are 
 resolved to ruin you. There was even a plan de- 
 vised to carry off your I'llen " 
 
 " Ah, that villain Harprr 1" ejaculated Leo- 
 nard. 
 
 « Yes— but all is frustrated," I hastened to re- 
 ply. •• Mrs. Baker and Ellen have left the cot-
 
 uo 
 
 H.vKV I'lIICli ; OK, TUtJ MLMe'IBS OF A 6i:riVA:HT-MAijy. 
 
 tage aiid goue to the Morrisons, where you are to 
 join tlicin." 
 
 " Oil ! yon are au angel of goodness," cried 
 Leonard. "But my ch.iractcr?'' he immediately 
 added in a mournlul vuico. •' I dare not lly — it 
 
 would stamp my guilt O heaven ! what am I 
 
 to do r 
 
 " You will do no good by remaining here,'" was 
 my prompt rejoinder. " To-morrow morning, be- 
 fore daybreal: a cart will come to take you to 
 prison. Then indeed will you be branded with 
 infamy : and who knows what will become of your 
 Ellen? She may be driven to dc-ipair — her heart 
 may be broken !" 
 
 " Poor Ellen ! But if you are assured of my 
 innocence, can you not prove it? You beheld 
 all that took place at the gate in the field. Oh, 
 Miss Price — for I know your name — do consider 
 how dear to me is n)y character !" 
 
 "Everything is risked by this delay, Mr. Per- 
 cival," said I, with tlie impatience of growing 
 terror. "At any momput some one may come — 
 I may be missed — inquired for! Will you believe 
 me if, without pausing to enter into explanations, 
 I assure you the plans of your encuiiea are so well 
 laid that no evi'lonce I can give could possibly 
 lielp you? You must escape — you must fly a.vay 
 to some distant part, and obtahi a legal right 
 to protect your Elieu from that bad man Harper. 
 Some day or another your innocence will be made 
 apparent." 
 
 " Yes, yes," inten upted Leonard, with the ex- 
 cited suddeimcss of a mati adopting the only alter- 
 native suitLible to a desperate position. '' I will 
 follow your advise — I will fly ! But I am bound 
 hand and foot, and cannot move." 
 j "Ah!" I ixelainijd, frightened by this announce- 
 ment, wliich seemed to threaten more delay and 
 fresh difficulty : " I had forgotten. Have you no 
 iciiirc about you?" 
 
 "No — my pockets were rifled by the garae- 
 ki;cpers. Tlicro is sure to be one in the stable, if 
 you knew where to Eeaveh for it." 
 
 •• Stay ! I know where the groom's cupboard is :" 
 — for I had been in the stables once before to show 
 the children the ho;ses when we first arrived at 
 the Park. 1 accordingly descended the ladder — 
 groped my way to the cupboard — succeeded in 
 finding it— and felt amongst its contents for uhat 
 I wanted. Fortunately, my search was not in vain: 
 I found a knitV, and ['.listened up the ladder again 
 into the loft, Guidv>d by Percival's voice, I ap- 
 proached him and at once began carefully to cut 
 the cord whicii bound his wrists. Bat as it was 
 pitch dark, and I w,is nervous and trembling with 
 alarm lest some one should cuter and discover 
 wlc.it was going on, I iullietcd a iiash upon my 
 thumb, the sudden pain of which made me cry 
 out. 
 
 "What in heaven's name is the matter?" he 
 askcJ. 
 
 " Oh, nothing ! 1 think I have cut myself with 
 the knife : but it may ba only fancy. It does not 
 hurt now:"— and I continued my tisk. 
 
 " Miss Price, if you have really hurt yourself I 
 shall be deeply, deeply cuneerncd," he said. 
 
 " Oh I 1 can assure you it is uotliing," I rt joined. 
 " There now ! You can do the rest." 
 
 I had sevrrod the cords which fastened his arms, 
 and I gave hiw the knife, that ho might cut away 
 
 the rope from his ankles. While ho wai thus i 
 employed, I descended from the lofi; and during 
 the few moments that elapsed ere he joined me ia I 
 the f.table beiov, I bound my haudkerchief round 
 my ihumb which was smarting very much ; and 
 though I could see nothing, 1 felt that I had cut it 
 severely. ; 
 
 '= Now, are you ready?" eaid I, as Leonard stood ; 
 by my side : tlien, a sudden tiiought striking me, 
 I exclaimed, "But, good heavens! I have for- 
 gotten your money." 
 
 "My money?" ho cried in a tone of astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes. Have I not told you that Lady ilarlcs- 
 don is your friend? She has placed a hundred 
 pounds at your dispysal " 
 
 " Oh, what generosity !" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Her ladyship does not do things by halve," I 
 immediately answered: "and she is doing her 
 best to atone for his lordship's injuiticc towards 
 you. You cannot get on without money: Eilen 
 and her grandmother could not travel on foot. 
 But what is to be done? It will take me five 
 minutes to run and fetch the money — besides the 
 chance of being detained by any unforeseen cir- 
 cumstance. " 
 
 " Oh I I will fly without it," saidPercival. "You 
 have already done so much for me " 
 
 " Yes— but I must not leave my work incom- 
 plete. Now listen," I continued iu a quick tone. 
 " It is dangerous for you to remain here on the 
 premises: you must liasten away at once. But 
 you knovf the stile iu the road leading into that 
 very field where you opened the gate for me this 
 morning ? Well, you must go and wait for me 
 there. I will be as quick as I can : but if I shou' J 
 be a minute or two ioiigcr than it might seem I 
 ough;-, do you wait — hi sure to wait!" 
 
 " Miss Piii'e, this kindnes-j on your part " 
 
 "Not another word, I beseech you 1 And now 
 pray depart. In a quarter of an hour I wiil be at 
 the stile." 
 
 With these words I made him issue forth from 
 the stable ; and while he was gliding away into the 
 surroumiing darkness, I took the precaution to 
 lock the trap-door of the lofc again, and also the 
 stable-door, so that if any of the underlings should 
 by chanca happen to have occasion to enter the 
 stiible that night, there would be little chance of 
 Leonard's escape being discovered. This pre- 
 caution I took, inasmucli as it was desirable for 
 him to have as many hours as possible to getclcij* 
 out of the ncighbouriiood of II irlesdon Park. 
 
 Elate with the success which had thus far at- 
 tended my proceedings, the most important inci- 
 dent of which was cDusummated, I returned iuta 
 the house. Having replaced the keys in the stible- 
 j icket, I hastened up to Lady Harlesdon's cham- 
 ber again, and in a few brief words told her ail 
 that I done. 
 
 " I am truly doliglited, my dear Mary," she salJ. 
 "But wiiat \i the matter wish your laud?" 
 
 "Ah, I remember!" said I: for in the hurry and 
 excitement of my feelings I had quite forgotten 
 the cut inflicted by the knife. 
 
 I now took (If the handkerchief— for it *-as 
 deeply tinged with blood : and I fv)und, as I had 
 suspected, that I had cut my thumb somewhat se- 
 verely. Lady Harlesdou, with characteristic kind- 
 ness, hastily bound her own cambric handkerc'iiaf
 
 MAuy rnicE; ou, tub mejioiiis of a seuvant-jiaid. 
 
 141 
 
 tightly over the wound ; anrl slipping ou luy bon- 
 net and cloak, which, as the reader wil rcmembor, 
 1 had left in her ladyship's room, I secured the 
 money about my person aad ouco more sallied 
 forth from the niausion, 
 
 Sa quick wiis the rate at which I sped towards 
 the pl;-.co oF appDintraeuf, that 1 ha i uo leisure fur 
 mucii reflection. The moon was now shining 
 brightly— the weather had altogether chr.nged— 
 and it was a clear bat ice co'd night. The pre- 
 sence of tlie silver p'anct aided the celerity of ray 
 pace; and I soon reached the stile. LoonMrd v^us 
 there. EMou/^h hns already been said of his gener- 
 ous charactc;' snd good disposition to enable the 
 reader to imiigine how ferveut was the gratitude 
 which he poured forth for all that I bad djne aad 
 for Lady llarlesdon's kimlaess. 
 
 "JLss Price," he said, taking my hand and 
 pressing it with honest warmth, " if ever I can 
 teach my tongue to breathe to heaven one prayer 
 more ean;esl and heartfelt than anotlier, it will be 
 on your bvhalf. Jlay God Aim ghty bless you ! — 
 and if ever the day should come and occ:i'-ion 
 
 should S3rve that I may testify my gratitude 
 
 Ah ! my feelings overpov/er me !" 
 
 " Mr. Pereival," said I, weepin;^ also ; for I be- 
 held the tears glistening ia the n)oonliglit upon his 
 manly cheeks; "I know all that you would say. 
 That you may be ijappy with your Ellen, is my 
 fervid wish. Tell her that I hope to see her 
 agiiin." 
 
 "And she will embrnco you, when nest you meet, 
 as if you were the deirest of sisters. Goodbye. 
 Oi.'ca moi e, God bless you 1" 
 
 " Good bye, Mr. Pereival." 
 
 Aff.iy he sped across the fields; and I hastened 
 to retrace my steps up the road towards another 
 stile leading into the park. But I had not ad- 
 Vfinccd many y.irds when I heard footsteps ap- 
 proaching down the road; and I ran forward in 
 the hope of reaching the stile and getting into the 
 paik before encountering the persons advancing, 
 whoever they might be. For that there was more 
 than one I could not only judge by the trampling 
 of the stops on the hard ground, but also by hear- 
 ing voices speak — though 1 could not distinguish 
 what wa? said, nor did 1 particularly note the tones 
 themselves. The two men, hovrerer— fur two there 
 were— reached tiie stile at the same instant ai my- 
 self; and then, as the moonbeams shone full upon 
 their countenances, to my indescribable annoyance 
 I rccoijnized one to be that of John Morley. The 
 other m:in was a perfect stranger to me, and looked 
 like a low kind of Isostler. 
 
 1 say iliRt I experier.ccd annoyance ; and this 
 was natural at being thus encountered, away from 
 home, in such a place, and at such an hour of the 
 night. But with that feeling there was blended 
 very little alarm : for 1 did not apprehend any- 
 thing on my own account. It instantaneously 
 struck me that IMorlcy was waiting in the hope of 
 being able to carry olf Ellen Kiikland— for it was 
 now just midnight, and 1 had not forgotten what I 
 had heard in the library relative to the post chaise 
 being in readiness, and enticing the girl to the spot. 
 Recollecting all this, 1 experienced, apart from my 
 feeling of annoyance, a sudden thrill of satisfaction 
 to think that Ellen was safely removed from the 
 clutches of her enemies : but at the same time I 
 ffoudered why it was that Jacob Harper himself 
 
 was not now with John Morley to help him, as it 
 was f jr his special behoof that E leu was to be car- 
 ried off. 
 
 Such were the feelings and thoughts which 
 seized upon me during the first momssits tiiat 
 I thus Ibuad iriyselfatthe stile face to face wiih 
 John P.Ioi-Icy and the hostler-looking person : hut 
 the reader m vy judge of my surprise, and also 
 of the sadden misgiving which struck mo with a 
 bewil Icrment, as Morley said, "Well, young Miss, 
 so you have come to the appointment? But it 
 isn't me you expected to meet! " 
 
 "Appointment I — yuu!" I ejaculated: and my 
 heart turned hick with augmcnliog terror, 
 
 "Aye, me!" answered Tilorley, with a leering 
 grin. " Now then. Bill," he immediately added 
 in a significant manner to his companion. 
 
 Thereupon they seized me so suddenly that I 
 had not an opportuni'.y of even attempting to 
 escape; and in the cruel revulsion of feeling wliich 
 took p'aco at this terrible Cilamity — f jr a portion 
 of the tru'.h ha i flashed to my comprehension — 
 I fainted. 
 
 When I carao to my senses I was inside a post- 
 chiisL', the win lows of wliich were drawn up : but 
 through tiie glass the moonlight shone clearly 
 enough to show mo th:it I l;ad a companion — au 1 
 this companion was John Morley I 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE POST-CHAISE. 
 
 Yes— the truth had indeed flashed to my mind 
 at the very instant that the death-sickucss of the 
 pwoon came over me: and now it via? all con- 
 firmed ! Most naturally had I fancied ih;.t tlie 
 plot of which I had caught an inkling, was to 
 carry off Ellen Kirlvlaod. That the postchaitc 
 was intended for her; and that she was the girl to 
 be enticed to the spot, 1 had all aloi>g felt con- 
 vinced. Never once lOr a Bingle moment had even 
 the faintest glimmering of a suspicion struck mc 
 that I was the object or t'.iis vile conspiracy : no, 
 not until, on eiicountering Morley and the hostler 
 at the stile, the former had addressed me in those 
 words about " coming t^au appointment but not 
 expecting to meet him" — words which had m- 
 stanfiiicoui-ly opened my eyes to the astounding 
 fact that aitcr all / my.-;clf waa "the girl to be 
 enticed to the spot ! " 
 
 " Well, Jliss Price," said Morley, when he found 
 th.at I had regained my consciousncsa : "so you 
 have been outwitted?" 
 
 "Tell me what is the meaning of this?" jaid I 
 iu feverish anxiety. 
 
 " You will know all in good time," he responded. 
 "It's better that I should not answer too many 
 questions." 
 
 "Too many!" I repoa'cd bitterly, "I liav.: 
 only asked yuu one. Do for hcavcu'a salcc givo 
 me a rejily." 
 
 "I can't. All I can say is that no harm will 
 befall you." 
 
 "No -I do not fear that yon would murder 
 mo " 
 
 " Murder !" he repcati'd quickly, and mothoaght 
 with so sudden a start that I was instantaneously 
 
 f^
 
 142 
 
 MAnv i'kice; ok, the memoius op a servant-maid. 
 
 seized with a mortal terror — and tlic fear wliich 
 tlie inomeut before I liad declared I did iiot ex- 
 perience, novr held me in its hideous grasp. 
 
 I endeavoured to spoak but could not : for this 
 terror whicli had seized upon me was horribly con- 
 firmed, as I beheld the strange and ghastly expres- 
 sion which Motley's countenance at the instant 
 wore. 
 
 " Who the deuce thinks of murdeiing yoa, you 
 little tool?" he said in a singularly altered tone, half 
 growling, half grnffly impatient : then with a sudden 
 laugh, which seemed to me unnaturally forced, he 
 added, " Don't get such stupid things into your head. 
 If I meant what you have hinted at, I shouldn't be 
 carrying you away in a post-chaise." 
 
 This remark reassured me, notwithstanding the 
 suspicious strangeness of Moriey 's look and manner ; 
 and as I felt tiie blood begin to flow once more after 
 an ice-like stagnation in my veins, I flung a quick 
 glance through the window on each side to see what 
 road the chaise was pursuing. Had there been a 
 iiouse near, I should have dashed my hand through 
 the pane of glass and shrieked for succour. But 
 the road was utterly lonely ; and I could not distin- 
 guish a single feature of the scenery in the moon- 
 light, that was at all familiar to me. 
 
 " You must not think of escaping," said Moriey, 
 evidently penetrating my thoughts. " If we pass by 
 a house, or through a village, you may depend upon 
 it I should hold your hands to prevent you from 
 lowering or breaking the windows ; and if any per- 
 sons journeying along were attracted by a scream or 
 cry from your lips, and were to stop the chaise, I 
 should have a tale ready to salisfy them." 
 " A tale ?" I mechanically echoed. 
 "Yes — to be sure," was his immediate rejoinder. 
 •' You don't think I am going to let you slip through 
 my fingers after all the trouble I have taken to get 
 hold of you? Suppose any one interfered in your 
 behalf, what is easier tiian for me to swear you are 
 my wife or sister, that I caught eloping with some 
 fellow? or else that you are a poor crazed creature 
 that I am taking off to a lunatic asylum 1" 
 
 " Heaven help me I" I murmured, struck by the 
 conviction that every species of artifice would be 
 had recourse to in order to consummate the vil- 
 lauous treachery of which I was now the victim. 
 
 "Ah I it was a precious clever stratagem of mine 
 ' — wasn't it?" he continued, with a subdued chuckle: 
 "and you nibbled greedy enough at the bait. Only 
 let a young gal know that her lover is waiting lor 
 her, and off she goes to meet him without con- 
 sidering for a moment the unseemliness of the hour 
 ——But why do you look at me iu such a wild as- 
 tonished manner?'' 
 
 "Because you are speaking in enigmas," I au- 
 Bwered. "What stratagem do you allude to?" I 
 asked, my curiosity painfully excited, inasmuch as 
 1 saw full well that some cruel trick had been 
 played, but of which I was altogether unconscious. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that you didn't come 
 down to the stile in the road just now in conse- 
 quence of the note you got V — and he looked me 
 fixedly in the face. 
 " I received no note," was my response. 
 " Come, this is liddltstick nonsense," he exclaimed 
 rngrily. '-Vou can't make me believe 1 am quite 
 a fool: but I certainly did not think that you were 
 
 Buch a deceptive puss as you are For if you 
 
 didn't get the note what the deuce was it that brought 
 
 you out at such an hour, and at the very place 
 named for the appointment?" 
 
 I made no answer. Indeed I felt that my conduct 
 would be liable to some evil construction if I per- 
 sisted in declaring that I was not abroad at such an 
 hour in consequence of the trick which had evidently 
 formed a part of John Morley'a treacherous pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 " There !— you see," he continued, in a sort of 
 triumph, "you can't look me any longer in the face 
 and tell me that you didn't nibble at the bait so 
 adroitly thrown out. The note was written in a 
 very nice hand — in fact, by one quite as able to 
 write such a note as Eustace Queutin himself." 
 I started involuntarily. 
 
 "Ah ! young ]Miss, that name was like an electric 
 shock, wasn't it ? AVhy, of course I knew very well 
 you would fall into the snare. That hostler fellow 
 you saw with me in the road just now, took the 
 note himself up to the Park, and gave the hall- 
 porter a guinea to slip it into your hand unknown 
 to any one else. That must have been at about 
 half-past eleven, or twenty minutes to twelve ; and 
 very soon after the hostler came back and joined me 
 in the road again, you met us at the stile." 
 
 I said not a word. Crushed and almost broken- 
 hearted at the ramification of treacheries whereof I 
 found myself the victim, I could not command my 
 feelings sufficiently for deliberate reflection. My 
 brain seemed to be in a whirl ; and thus did several 
 minutes elapse, during which silence prevailed. 
 
 " When 1 saw you come down into the servants' 
 hall this evening," resumed Moriey, at length break- 
 ing this silence, " I began to be half afraid that you 
 suspected something, and wanted to let me see that 
 you v^ere not to be duped : because it was sucii an 
 unusual thing for you to come amongst the servants 
 and sit down so familiarly with them. I suppose 
 you know they call you ' lady-like Miss Price ;' and 
 yet I must say they all speak very well of you. 
 However, I soon saw by your manner that you really 
 only came amongst them for a little chat; and as 
 you did not even seem to notice when I went out, I 
 fell certain you suspected nothing." 
 
 Again he paused ; and my ideas began to grow 
 more collected, and my feelings more composed 
 For I could not help remarking that though Moriey 
 spoke with a certain impudent flippancy, which 
 indeed was his general manner, yet that he did not 
 attempt the slightest rudeness towards me. The 
 post-chaise had but one seat ; and he was therefore 
 placed next to me: but while I drew myself as mucli 
 into my own corner as I possibly could, so as to 
 avoid contact with an individual whom I alike feared 
 and loathed, he made no unbecomiag approach 
 towards me; and up to this moment at least his 
 conduct ofll-red a kind of guarantee against insult. 
 Then, it was not on his own account that he was 
 carrying me ofT? Could it bo for the purpose of 
 consummatmg some new phase in the vengeance 
 which Lord Harlesdon was wreaking upon his wifef 
 or was I now included in that plan of vengeance T 
 For a moment it struck me that Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vering was at the bottom of this outrage. But the 
 idea scarcely seemed probable: for Lady Harlesdon 
 had warned Sir Aubrey of Morley's traitorous con- 
 duct in betraying them to his lonlship, and it ap- 
 peared most likely that it was in consequence of 
 being discharged by Clavering that Moriey had been 
 taken into the service of Lord Harlesdon. And yet
 
 MAEY price; or, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 143 
 
 from the time tliat her ladyship had given Clavering 
 that warning until the moment when Morley came 
 to enter his lordship's service, several weehu had 
 elapsed ; and in the interval what had Morley been 
 doing? Had he made his peace with the Baronet, 
 and remained wilh him during that time ? — and bad 
 he only entered Lord Harlesdon's service in order 
 the more effectually to consummate new treacheries? 
 If so, might he not still be acting in respect to me 
 , on behalf of the Baronet, and with the full conni- 
 j vance and approval of Lord Harlesdon ? 
 • All these queries did my imagination suggest : but 
 I knew not how to settle my thoughts upon any par- 
 ticular hypothesis, so as to account for the present 
 proceeding. At length, summoning up my courage, 
 and considerably reassured by Morley's forbearing 
 conduct towards me, I said, '• Will you not relieve 
 me of suspense and tell me what is my present des- 
 tination?" 
 
 "You see," answered Morley, "I am of course 
 deuced well paid for what I am doing, and have 
 therefore every inducement to act in strict accord- 
 ance with my instructions. A part of these instruc- 
 tions was that you were not to know where you were 
 being taken, or for what purpose, or anything about 
 it. But there is perhaps one little condition upon 
 which I might venture to break through these in- 
 structions." 
 
 He paused as if for a reply; but the sudden 
 change which had taken place in his tone and man- 
 ner as he gave utterance to these last words, made 
 ine suspect that his meaning was not altogether such 
 as would prove agreeable to myself. 
 
 " You don't answer me," he continued; "and so I 
 suppose I must explain myself fully. You recollect, 
 perhaps, something that I said to you in the arbour 
 that night — about two months ago " 
 
 " Enough I" I ejaculated. " I will not ask any 
 favour at your hands, and therefore you need not 
 stipulate any conditions;" — and again I glanced 
 through the windows to see whether house or hamlet 
 were near ; for at any risk I resolved to cry for help 
 when opportunity should serve. But the chaise was 
 still rolling rapidly along a lonely road, and I had 
 not the slightest idea of the direction it was taking. 
 
 " Now, I do not want to treat you with anything 
 but respect," resumed Morley, though in a some- 
 what hesitating manner : " but if you would only 
 listen to what I have to say, it's just probable you 
 might alter your mind a bit with regard to me. 
 Suppose I make you an hononrable oflfer, and you 
 agree— of course I would tell you everything at 
 once. Well, as you are still silent, I suppose I am 
 to goon? You must know that I am to have a 
 certain sum of money if I take you safe and sound, 
 treating you with becoming respect, to a certain 
 l)lace. Suppose, then, that you are taken there, and 
 I receive the money ? it won't prevent me from help- 
 ing you to escape again as soon afterwards as pos- 
 sible; and if you will agree that on assisting you to 
 escape in such a manner you will go right ofl' to 
 church with me and become plain and honest Mrs. 
 IMorley at once— why, in that case we can come to 
 a full understanding at the present moment and 
 ratify our bargain with a kiss." 
 
 •' You were enjoined," said I, controlling my in- 
 dignation, " to treat me with becoming respect. Did 
 you not say so ?" 
 
 '• 1 did," he answered, not knowing exactly what 
 to think of my tone and manner. 
 
 " Then you will be so good as to follow out your 
 instructions to the very letter," said I ; " and I would 
 sooner — ten thousand times sooner — sufier all the 
 torture of suspense relative to ray present destina- 
 tion and the fate that may be in store for me, than 
 purchase that knowledge by any compromise with 
 you." 
 
 Morley made no answer ; but I saw that he bit his 
 lip with vexation. He then folded his arms over his 
 breast, and looking downward, continued silent. The 
 moon was still shining brightly ; and onward the 
 chaise rolled, the road continuing as lonely as ever. 
 It evidently was not a highway, but some bye-road 
 — though in what direction it led, whether north, 
 east, south, or west, I could form no idea. An hour 
 at least had elapsed since I awoke to consciousness 
 inside this vehicle; and I now began to think that if 
 our journey were to continue much farther, it would 
 be necessary to change horses. In this case I 
 imagined that I should have an opportunity of im- 
 ploring assistance : and I was settling in my mind 
 what I should say — howl should enforce my appeal 
 — and likewise how disprove any of the allegations 
 which Morley had threatened to make if I did 
 clamour for help, when all of a sudden the chaise 
 turned into a narrow lane, and in a couple of minutes 
 stopped in front of a small ho'J£e standing about 
 fifty yards back. 
 
 It was a white house, having a garden filled wilh 
 evergreens in front. Lights were shining through 
 the windows ; and the moment the post-chaise 
 stopped the front door opened ; and two females, 
 issuing forth, came hurrying down to the garden- 
 gate. 
 
 " Now," said Morley, as he put down the windorv 
 on that side, and, tbrustin^^ forth his arm, opened 
 the chaise-duor : "you have arrived." 
 
 The next instant the two females — one of whom 
 was an elderly woman, looking like a housekeeper, 
 and the other a younger person of about fivc-and- 
 twenty and having the appearance of a servant — 
 came up to the door of the post-cha'se and in 
 respectful terms begged me to alight. 
 
 For a moment I iiesiiated what course to pursue : 
 but the next instant I stepped forth, and at once 
 addressing myself to the postilion, exclaimed, " I 
 demand and implore your protection. I am car- 
 ried ofl: against my will. Tbis outrage " 
 
 "It's no use. Miss, talking to him," interrupted 
 Morley : "he is too well paid to interfere." 
 
 I felt that this was evidently the case; and 
 turning my looks upon the two women, I Siid with 
 tears in my eyes, " You at ail events do not seem 
 to be capable of the grossest wrong towards one 
 who never injured you ! ' For they were of respect- 
 able appearance and there was nothing iu their 
 looks to cause alarm or misgivi:ig. 
 
 " My dear young lady," said the elder female, 
 "y^e have but unc course to pursue, and that u to 
 obey the instructions which we have received. 
 Will you have the kindness to walk iu ?" 
 
 These last words wero uttered not exactly witli 
 rudeness or brutality, but iu a voice which showed 
 rcry plainly that the command must bu obeyed. 
 I accordingly perceived that further remonstrance 
 was vain, and proceeded up the little gravel-w.ilk 
 loailiiig to the homo. The women kept close to 
 mo, and iMurhy followed bt hind : but the fi'm.iles 
 alonu entered the hou4u wilh mo; and merely 
 saying "' Good night " to Morley, tliey cloied tUo
 
 144 
 
 MAnr price; on, the JiEJioins of a seuv ant-maid. 
 
 fiont door. They then conducted me into a neatly 
 furnished parlour, where cand'es were burnin;yanil 
 a table was spread with refreshments; and iinms- 
 diately afterwards I heard the retreating sounds 
 of the post-chaise as it whirled rapidly away. 
 
 Tlie younTfor woman, whom I had already ac- 
 curately conjectured to be tlio servant, now pro- 
 ceeded to divest me of my bonnet and cloak, treat- 
 ing me however wiiii as nmoh respect as if I v.cio 
 a lady. She then withdrew; and the eldtr female, 
 speaking in a kind tone, said, " Now, Miss Price, 
 pray sit down and take some refreshnirii s. Draw 
 near the fire — ycu look cold: indeed it is a bitter 
 cold night. Will you take a glass of wine i;ure ? 
 or shall I mix you a little uegus? See, the kettle 
 is boiling." 
 
 I sat down near the fire ; for I was indeed trem- 
 bling all over— not with cM alone, but also with 
 the wretchedness of my own feelings. I made no 
 reply to the words which the woman had addressed 
 to me : I could not do otherwise than regard her 
 as an enemy, and dislilce her accordingly. Indeed, 
 I should perhaps have been better pleised had she 
 spoken with less kindness ; because I knew very 
 well that this matronly v,'armth of manner could 
 only be a mask assumed to cover the part of female 
 gaoler which she was in reality acting. 
 
 " Why do you not speak to me. Miss Price ?" 
 she asked. " You see that I know your name. 
 You can call mo Mrs. Ferguson ; and t:ie servant's 
 name is Anne. There is nobody else ia the housa ; 
 and so now you arc acquainted with all its in- 
 mates." 
 
 "Ah! there is nobody else in tha house?" said 
 I, instantaneously understandiog that the remark 
 was made to re-assure and cheer me, tkough I did 
 not altogether believe the statement to ha true. 
 " Then, would you have mo suppose toat it is you, 
 Mrs. Ferguson, who have had me carried off?" 
 
 " You cannot be so childish as to think that, my 
 dear," she answered. "But I can give you uo ex- 
 planations; and therefore it will be uscdess for you 
 to vex your.ielf by putting questions whicli cannot 
 be answered. Suffice it for you to know for the 
 present that you are mistress of this house— that I 
 am your housekeeper, and your companion if you 
 elioose — and that Anne is your servant." 
 
 " Well, then," I exclaimed, rising from my seat, 
 
 " if I am the mistre:s, of coursa I am to be 
 
 obeyed :" — and I rang the bell violently. 
 
 Anue almost immediately made her appearance. 
 
 "Fetch me my bonnet and cloak again," said 1 
 
 in a voice of command. 
 
 " For what purpose, my dear girl ?" asked Mr.?. 
 Ferguson, while Anne stood near the door, showing 
 m intention to obey my orders. 
 
 "What for?" lexciaimcd: " to leave this house, 
 to be sure !' 
 
 " Tliat cannot be," rejoined Mrs. Ferguson^ 
 " You must understand to what extent you arc 
 
 mistress here " 
 
 "Yes— a prisoner— a captive!" I cried bit- 
 terly. "Let me be conducted to a bod- chamber." 
 ♦•J3ut will you uot take some rcfrcslunent ?" 
 asked Mrs. Ferguson entreatingly. 
 
 " No— nothing," was my abrupt response ; and 
 as Anno had just lighted a chamber-candle, I fol- 
 lowed her from the room without taking any far- 
 ther notice of Mrs. Ferguson. 
 TUe young wona?m eoaductod nje up a mxrovf 
 
 but neatly-caoitted st.ircas^, to a bed-chamber 
 on the first floor. The room was nicely fornisi-ed 
 in the cctfa:^e style ; the hangings of the window 
 aad the bed curtains being of sa.-w-white dimity. 
 A fire burnt in the grate ; and thus there was 
 nothing cold in thj a.?pect of the chamber. I eb- 
 served that there was a second bed, placed at the 
 foot of the one with the white curtains ; and as my 
 eyes rested upon it, Acne saiJ, " I am to sler p 
 here with you. Miss." 
 
 This aunouKCtmeut suddenly cliotred and grati- 
 fied me, althoi'.gh I at once comprehended that 
 the presence oi t!io young woman was Jo prevent 
 my escape from the house : but on tiic oti\ r li.ind 
 it convinced me that no foul treachery was medi- 
 tated, at least for the present, by the real author 
 of tills outrage, v/^ioever he mi^ht b?. 
 
 I noticed that Anne locked the door and took 
 out the key ; though where she deposited it I was 
 not able to discover, as sh:- bustled about the room 
 for a minute or two afterwards — :!0 doubt to pre- 
 vent me trom observing where she did secrete it. 
 S:;e then offered to a-sist me in undressing; but 
 I had not become a tinn lady a'.! in a momeur, and 
 therefore dispensed with her a.Tviees. Sue made 
 uo endeavour to draw ms into di-.c ourse ; and I 
 I'.ad no inclination to encourage it. IndeeJ, 1 was 
 exhausted and wi.rn out alike in nii;id aiid body; 
 though when I lay down 1 was very far from fancy- 
 ing that sleep would soon visit my eyelids. It wa i 
 however otherwise: for scarcely had my head 
 touched the pillow, when, no doubt ihroug'i gteat 
 wciiricess, I fell iato a deep slumber. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 iiv CAPiiviir. 
 
 I DID not awake till a Lite hour in the d*y ; ruid 
 when I opened my eyes I fancied for an instant 
 that I had bceu whirled tlirough the mysteriom 
 mazes of a troubled dream. But on beholdiMg tlie 
 white dimity curtains, and embr.iciug at a glance 
 all the features of the chamber, I saw full wed that 
 I was not in my own room at Ilarlesdoa Parle. 
 A prolonged sigh escaped me: but I i\lt so much 
 refreshed with the deep slumber I had enjoyed, 
 that I was uot altogether cast down nor devoid of 
 iiope. There were no bars to the windows ; and I 
 thought to myself that it would be indeed a very 
 Btraoge thing if 1 could not manage to elude the 
 vigilance and escape irom the power of the two 
 Women, supposing that they indeed were the o::ly 
 inmates of tiie house besides myself. 
 
 When 1 thus awoke, I was aloiia in the bed- 
 chamber. Anne hid risen, and had loft me to 
 slumber on. I rose, and drawi.ig aside the bliu 1, 
 looked out of the window. There had bcea a fail 
 of snow within the last few hours : indeed, the. 
 fleecy flakes were still desceudicg thickly; and the 
 face of u iture, as far as the eye could reach, was 
 of dazzling whiteness. Tiiere w;u not another 
 house to be seen ; and yet my eyes could embrace 
 a sweep of some miles of wintry landscape. lu 
 what secluded place was I imprisoned? to what 
 lonely spot ha i I thus been borne a captive ? 
 Vainly did I ask ms self these questions. Nor in- 
 deed, could 1 conjecture wheth.er 1 was twelve^ 
 lifteei\t or twenty miles froio HarlesUon Fark ; be*
 
 MARY r-BICE OU, THR VEKOinS OF A SEUVAXT-MAID. 
 
 c;iu3e I knew not how long the chaise had been 
 rolling onward while I was still in a swoon, or what 
 distance it might have accomplished ere I re- 
 gained my senses. 
 
 There was something indescribably cheerless 
 and dispiriting in the prospect which met my view 
 from the chamber-window; and closing the cur- 
 tain again, I rang the ball. Anne almost imme- 
 diately made her appearance, unlocking the door : 
 for be it understood that it was securely fastened. 
 She came with hut water and fuul to light the fire ; 
 . and this I suffered her to do, for I felt really cold 
 and wretched to a degree. I missed the prattle 
 of the children, Jemima's cheerful voice, and the 
 gay aspect of the nursery-chambers at Uarlesdon 
 Park : I likewise ftlt as if in being separ.ited from 
 my mistress, 1 had been torn from the protection 
 of a sincere friend. JNIy heart swelled almost to 
 bursting ; and sitting duwu uear the Qrc which 
 NO. 19. 
 
 Anne had just lighted, I gave vent to my grief in a 
 copious flood of tears. 
 
 " Don't take on so. Miss," said the servant-wo- 
 man in a kinder tone than I thoni,'!it she was 
 capable of using. " Everything will be done to 
 make you comfortable." 
 
 " How long am I to remain here ?" I asked, in 
 the sudden hope of drawing her into a conversa- 
 tion that would throw some light upou the destiny 
 reserved for me. 
 
 She shook her head, and then observed in a slow 
 voice, " I do hope that you will not put any had- 
 ing questions to me ; for if you do, it wid only 
 make me dread to come into your presence." 
 
 "And yet, if you could only place yourself for 
 a moment in my position," s:iid I,entreiitii;;;ly, "do 
 you nut think that you would be devoured by IIk' 
 same uncertainty, exporienci; the tortures tf tin 
 same suspense, aud be goaded as it were, to put
 
 14G 
 
 MARY price; OB, TUB MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 the same questions ? Ah ! and if I were in your 
 position, at any risk and at all peril would I ap- 
 pease the sutterings of a fellow-creature !" 
 
 " All this is very fine, Mis-"," returned Anne, 
 her look becoming vulgarly contemptuous and her 
 voice coarsely rude : " but it is a dodge that doesn't 
 do with me. If you can pay me better for re- 
 vealing secrets than somebody else does for keep- 
 ing them, I might perhaps think over the matter. 
 When you have done dressing, please to ring the 
 bell." 
 
 Having thus spoken, she quitted the room, 
 fastening the door behind her; and I sat for a few 
 minutes in a sort of stupor of amazement at this 
 sudden throwing ofif of the mask on the part of 
 that woman. What ! the kindness of tone which 
 she had fir:Jt assumed, and the calm respectability 
 of her manner, were a'l a delusion and an hypo- 
 crisy? She was an ahject, selfish wretch, who 
 would sell her soul to the highest bidder, or even 
 betray the interests of one paymaster if another 
 offered a larger fee. Perhaps, theiv, Mrs. Fer- 
 guson was the same ? No doubt of it. Into what 
 society had I then fallen? To what detestable 
 company had I been consigned? Alas! I dared 
 not yield any farther to the anguish of my 
 thoughts: they wore maddening me. 
 
 In a strange state of feverishness did I dress 
 myself. All the requisites for the toilet were 
 there — new brushes for the hair, teeth, and hands 
 — scented soaps — oils, pomalums, dentrinces, and 
 fragrant waters sufficient for the dressiig-room of 
 a duchess. Wlien my toilet was accomplished, I 
 sat down to compose my feelings ere I descended 
 the stairs. As a matter of course the idea of 
 escape was uppermost in my mind : but I made no 
 doubt that just in proportion as my design should 
 be suspected, would the vigilance of the two 
 women be. To tlirow tlieiu off their guard, or to 
 lull their suspicions a-It^ep, I must appear to be- 
 come reconciled to u.y fate, whatever it might be ; 
 and by this little piece of duplicity did it strike 
 me that I could alone hope to accomplish i»y flight 
 from this lonely prison-house. 
 
 I accordingly resolved to assume as tranquil ao 
 aspect as possible ; an.l havirg composed my feel- 
 ings to the utmost of my power, I rang the bell. 
 Anne re-appe;ired, her countenance— wliioh, by 
 the by, was sonicwiiat good-louking— having set- 
 tled down a};aiu into an expression too well calcu- 
 lated to veil the hardness and blackness of her 
 heart. In short, she had tlie air of a quiet, respect- 
 able, civil, and good-tempered womiu. 
 
 I descended to the same parlour where I had 
 been escorted on my arrival ; and there I found 
 Mrs. Ferguson seated near the fire, occupied with 
 her knitting. The breakfast things were spread 
 npcn the table: there were cold ham, fowl, and 
 tongue; and the servant speedily brought up tea, 
 coffee, egijs, and toast. 
 
 " Good morning, my dear Miss Price," said Mrs. 
 Ferguson, half rising from her scat in a respect- 
 ful manner, but with matronly kindness of tone and 
 look. "I am glad to find that you slept so well. 
 You are rather pale this morning, but not looking 
 much the worse for the little excitement you 
 passed through. Sit down and get your breakfast: 
 I am sure you must want it. It quit? pained ma to 
 think that you went to bed without taking a mor- 
 sel of food or a drop yf wine. Now, my dear girl, 
 
 will you permit me to help you? or will you help 
 yourself?" 
 
 " Thank you," said I, speaking civilly, in accord- 
 ance with the resolve I had just formed as to my 
 future demeanour in the presence of my female 
 gaolers: "I will help myself. What o'clock 
 is it?" 
 
 " Close upon mid-day," answered Mrs. Fergu- 
 son. "Usually, I have no doubt, you will break- 
 fast at eight or i iiio, and perhaps take your dinner 
 at three— have tea at seven — and to bed soon after 
 ten? Such is the routine I have chalked out for 
 you, provided you are agreeable : but as 1 to'd 
 you on your arrival, you are the mistress here, with 
 but a single restriction." 
 
 "And that restriction," said I, as I poured cut 
 my tea, "is in respect ta my liberty?" 
 
 "Exactly 30. Ot course you can go out for a 
 walk at reasonable hours, and whea the weather 
 permits." 
 
 "That wit; at all events be an alleviation of my 
 captivity," said I ; and hope grew stronger within 
 me : for it struck me that when walking out, even 
 if both the women were to accompany me, it would 
 be strange indeed if I did not manage to eseape. 
 " But arc there nice wa ki about here?" 
 
 "This is wintci-time, and no walks can be 
 termed agreeuble now," answered the woman. 
 
 " Yes— it does indeed seem a lonely part of the 
 country," I observed. "But there are plenty uf 
 trees through whose skeleton branches the Decem- 
 ber wind may moan, or whistle, or rave.'' 
 
 " Yes — it is gloomy now ; but in the summer it is 
 very beau;iful— all one mass of green; because, as 
 you hinted ju^t now, it is, a lonely spot and there 
 are no houses very near. Indeed thu nearest vil« 
 la.^e " 
 
 But Mrs. Fergu-on suddenly stopped short, as if 
 about to tread ou forbidden ground and afford me 
 some alight clue to my whereabouts. 
 
 " Have you lived here long ?" I asked : and as I 
 spoke I could not help looking round the room, 
 which, as well as all the other parts of the house I 
 had seen, wore the appearance of having only re- 
 cently been done up. 
 
 "No— I only came hither a few days ago," an- 
 swered Mrs. Ferguson : "but all this part of ih.^ 
 country is f imiliar to me. The house, in plain 
 terms — for on this point 1 need use no disguise — 
 was taken and fitted up on purpose for you." 
 
 " Ou purpose for me!" I echoed with unfeigned 
 surprise: for this revelation had suddenly made 
 me awaro that the conspiracy of which I was a 
 victim had been iu prcparatiou for some time 
 past. 
 
 "Yes — and it m.ay become your own propert}', 
 too, I have no doult, if you like. But that depends 
 entirely upon yourself. Of course, if you are wise 
 and prudent But however," said Mrs. Fer- 
 guson, aijain interrupting herself, " there's plenty 
 of time to talk upon that. Why, you are eating 
 nothing but bread-and-butter, I declare. No 
 ham— not even so much as an egg " 
 
 "Thank you: I never eat anything but plain 
 brcad-and butter for breakfast. You were how- 
 ever observing somelhmg about my own prudence 
 and wisdom ?" 
 
 "Yes— but I meant in a worldly point of v'oir, 
 you know," answered Mrs. Ferguson. "Another 
 time I will explain myself more fully. As yet I am
 
 MARr PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 147 
 
 a perfect stranger to you ; and perhaps the im- 
 pression you liave formed of me is not very favour- 
 able. Indeed, this is but natural, considering the 
 circumstances under which we have met." 
 
 "If you will really he kind and good to me, and 
 give nie proper advice," I began : but I stopped 
 short — the words stuck in my thro it — I felt 
 aihamed of myself for carrying hypocrisy to such 
 an extent as even to pretend to believe that any 
 thing good could possibly come from a woman 
 who bad accepted such an office as her's. 
 
 " Well, my dear, we sinll see, we shall sec," she 
 said. " And now what will you do to amuse your- 
 self? It will be impossible to go out to-day. Did 
 you look in the cupboard in your room? or did 
 Aime forget to direct your attentiou thereto ?' 
 
 •' I did not look in the cupboard at all," was my 
 answer. 
 
 " Tnen pray do— you will find several kinds of 
 stuff-s as well as some beautiful silks, to make up 
 into winter-dresses; and as I am somewhat pro- 
 ficient in tlie dressmaker's art, if you will give me 
 leave I will set to work along with you in making 
 you up a suitable wardrobe." 
 
 1 was about to give an indignant refusal to the 
 proposition and scorn the bare idea of accepting 
 anyihir.g more than the mere necessaries of life at 
 the liaads of any one who had been instrumental 
 in my captivity: but I suddenly remembered that 
 such a course would be at variance with the deter- 
 mination 1 had formed to assume as contented a 
 demeanour as possible. 
 
 " Well," said I, "let us go and inspect the cup- 
 boani." 
 
 I could see that Mrs. Ferguson looked hard at 
 me fi'om under her brows for a moment, as if to 
 ascertain whether I was sincere or playing a part ; 
 and 1 felt a sudden Mush mauile upon my cheeks 
 as I averted my head. 
 
 " Come then, Miss Price," she said, and me- 
 thought in a sliglitly altered tone ; "let us go and 
 look at the cupboard.'' 
 
 Upstairs we accordingly went, to the room 
 where I had slept; and the moment the woman 
 opened the cupboard-door, I observed that the 
 shelves were laden with the costliest articles 
 that could possibly gratify a woman's vanity. 
 Tiicre were stuffs for morninj and walking 
 dresses — the finest cloth for a wint r pelisse — 
 silks and satins— two complete sets of furs, one 
 for common wear and the other for full dress — 
 sliawla of five or six descriptions— several hand- 
 some bonnets, as well as neat straw ones — veils, 
 shoes and boots, and all kinds of articles necessary 
 fur the wardrobe of a lady of the highest fashion. 
 
 " But let us see what we have here," said Jlrs. 
 Ff^rgu-on, opening a large morocco cover box. 
 " Tlure ! these are yours also," she exclaimed : — 
 and then I fidl that her keen eyes were fixed upon 
 me tor.^ad my innermost thoughts. 
 
 "Ve y beautiful indeed," said I, contemplating 
 the truly dazzlingand brilliant contents of that box : 
 for there were pearls and diamonds, two elegant 
 watches, three or four splendid gold chains, 
 rings, and jewels of every d.scription for the 
 feminine toilet. 
 
 "All these are yours — everything that is here," 
 repeated the woman, still watching my counte- 
 nance to mark the effect of her words. 
 
 " They aro very handsome," 1 said : but in 
 
 reality, so far from being dazzled' or flattered by 
 the costly gifts, I inwardly loathed them, and felt 
 a bitter shame and a burning indignation that 
 any one should have so misjudged my character 
 as to believe that I was to be conciliated or lured 
 into wickedness by such temptations. 
 
 "Shall we begin to make up these dresses?" 
 asked Mrs. Ferguson : "for remember, you have 
 got nothing to put on but what you stand upright 
 in." 
 
 'Tea— we will try our joint ingenuity upon 
 this," said I, taking forth one of the stuff 
 dresses. 
 
 " The very pla'nest and commonest of the whole 
 lot !" exclaimed Mrs. Ferguson. 
 
 "Yes — but it is for ordinary wear," said I; 
 " an i besides, I have taken a fancy to it :" — but 
 in my own heart I was resolutely determined that 
 not another one of the dresses upon that shelf 
 should ever be touched by scissors or needle on my 
 account. 
 
 Mrs, Ferguson locked the cupboard, and gave 
 me the key, saying, "There— keep it: it is all 
 your property." 
 
 "But," said I, "do you not think it dangeros* 
 to keep such quantities of valuables in so lonely 
 a house tenanted only by three females ?"' 
 
 "Who would suspect, that there were such 
 things within these waUs?" asksd Mrs. Ferguson. 
 "Besides, my dear girl," she added with a signi- 
 ficant look, "it will much depend upon yourself 
 how long you remain here." 
 
 "It is apparent enough," said I, "that these 
 gifts could not have been intended to wear in such 
 a lonely place. I could not walk out in silks and 
 satins over these fields, nor put on all that fine 
 jowellcry to be stared at by the rustics whom I 
 mi;ilit meet in my walks." 
 
 "True," observed Mrs. Ferguson: "and there- 
 fore you must look forward to the day when you 
 can be transferred from this lonely house in a 
 neighbourhood almost uninhabited, to some splen- 
 did mansion '' 
 
 But here the woman stopped short: for a 
 blush once more rose to my cheeks, and she no 
 doubt fancied she was going a little too fan and 
 a little too far. And I can assure yon, reader, 
 that the blush which her wods had suddenly con- 
 jured up, did but feebly express the indignation 
 that had again boiled up withiu mo ; and it was 
 only with a strong and almost preterhuman effort 
 that I kept down a full cbullitiou of my goaded 
 feelings. For could there now be any mistake as 
 to tlie mot ve of my captivity and the object 
 with which all that wealth of rich dre:jse3 and 
 glittering gems hal been placed in ray way ? or 
 was it possible to doubt the true meaning of the 
 additional lure thrown out in the woman's hint 
 that I should sooner or later remove from this 
 lonely cottage to a splendid mansion? 
 
 Turning hastily away from her searching 
 glance, I said, " Let us go down aud bep in the 
 dress." 
 
 We accordingly descended once more to the par- 
 lour; and Mrs. Ferguson began to cut out the dress. 
 She went to work in so artistic a manner that I was 
 soon convinced Hhe must have had moic acquaint- 
 ance with the drcss-muking business than she lisd 
 chosen to admit. I assisted her in the rcwing; and 
 iu this manner several hours passed away. As I had
 
 us 
 
 MAnr price; or, the MEsroiRS op a servaxt-maip. 
 
 breakfasted so lale, (iinner was not served till near 
 five o'clock. A h'andsome repast was then placed 
 upon the table: wine and dessert followed. Mrs. 
 Ferguson paid her respects to all these good things 
 in a manner which would have fitted her for the 
 wife of an alderman ; and she was much astonished 
 as well as amazed, to find that I selected the plain- 
 est food and could be persuaded to drink nothing 
 but water. After dinner we worked again till tea- 
 time; and as this latter repast was served up very 
 late, we retired to our chambers soon afterwards. 
 
 Anne was in attendance upon me. Again did she 
 lock the chamber door, and then bustle about under 
 pretence of arranging different things in the room — 
 but no doubt to hide the key somewhere. Few were 
 the words that passed between us: she was evidently 
 inclined to be taciturn— and I, from her manner in 
 the morning, had conceived too strong an aversion 
 for her to be able to force myself into familiarity. 
 Indeed I disliked her much more than Mrs. Fer- 
 guson, although I had no doubt in my own mind 
 that they were equally mercenary, cruel, and un- 
 principled. 
 
 '•You seem to be getting reconciled to your new 
 home. Miss," said Anne, when we were each in our 
 bed and the light was put out. 
 
 « Yes — a little," I answered. " It is no use break- 
 ing one's heart." 
 
 '■Not a bit," she exclaimed. "There you are 
 right enough : and I am sure if I was you, what 
 \vi;h a nice house like this for the present, and a 
 fine mansion somewhere else at a future time — with 
 all those jewels and elegant dresses too in the cup- 
 board — I should be as happy as the day was long." 
 
 "Then you are fond of jewels and fine dresses, 
 Anne ?" said I. 
 
 " Yes, Miss," she answered. 
 
 " Why do you call me Miss ?" I inquired, " Surely 
 you must know that I am but a servant-maid like 
 yourself?" 
 
 " Ah ! but you are not a servant-maid any longer," 
 responded Anne. "Besides, here you are a young 
 lady at all events ; and I am bound to treat you so. 
 Good night, Miss." 
 
 " Good night, Anne." 
 
 But I could not go to sleep so easily as when I 
 before lay down in this self-same couch. I was 
 not overcome with the same weariness, nor pros- 
 trated with the same exhaustion. It was therefore 
 natural that my brain should be more busy : and it 
 was so. That I was the object of dishonourable in- 
 tentions on the part of some individual, was but too 
 evident. But who could he be? or rather who else 
 could it be save Clavering ? Had he not vowed the 
 most implacable vengeance against me? and would 
 it not be wreaked by the accomplishment of my 
 luin ? Ah ! if it were indeed Clavering, I thought, 
 who was thus surrounding me with temptations, 
 how little did he know of my heart ! Then, as the 
 contents of the cupboard were forcibly brought 
 back to my memory, I again reflected upon the 
 danger of having so much wealth in such a lonely 
 plare. This strain of meditation led me on to pon- 
 der upon tlie brief dialogue which had ere now taken 
 place between Anne and myself. She was evidently 
 seifisii and mercenary to a degree : she had ad- 
 milted her fondness for rich dresses and jewellery. 
 ■\Vhat if I were to oder her the entire contents of 
 that cupboard to sufl'<;r me to escape? The things 
 Vfere all my own— Mrs. Ferguson had said so: 1 
 
 could tiierefore do «ith them as I liked. And then 
 I remembered how Anne had declared her readi- 
 ness to betray one paymaster if she could find 
 another who could pay her better. 
 
 •' Yes," thought I to myself, " I will endeavour 
 to bribe her to my interest :" and I was almost 
 inclined to renew the conversation at the moment. 
 But prudence whispered a caution to reflect well 
 upon the course which I might pursue ; and the 
 question, " Why could not Anne have stolen the 
 jewels and dresses if she had chosen, before I 
 came?'' started up in my mind. The bare idea 
 made me shudder at first: for I thought how 
 easily she could murder mo in my sleep in order to 
 possess herself of the property. But the next in- 
 stant I felt ashamed of my fears, because it was 
 evidently not necessary to kill me in order to 
 appropriate the dresses and jewellery unto herself. 
 She had only to propose my escape in order to 
 leave herself mistress of the field and decamp 
 while Mrs. Ferguson slept. 
 
 This train of reflection na'urally led me to the 
 conclusion that the reward which Anne was to 
 have for serving' as custodian over me, must be 
 even greater than the value of the jewels and the 
 dresses; and therefore I was well pleased on ma- 
 ture consideration at not having proposed to her 
 a bribe which, according to this surmise of mine, 
 she was not likely to accept. Finally I fell as'ecp, 
 while pondering upon these and other matters 
 deeply interesting^ to myself; and when I awoke 
 in the morning the grey light of the wintry day 
 was just glimmering in through the opening in 
 the curtains. Anne was already up and had gone 
 down stairs : 1 therefore rose at once, dressed my- 
 self, and descended to the parlour. 
 
 This day and the next passed without any inci- 
 dent worthy of mention : the one following was 
 Christmas Day. More forcibly than ever was now 
 brought back to my mind the recollection of many 
 things too well calculated to arouse the deepest 
 feelings of my soul. Not merely did 1 regret the 
 loss of the friendly companionship of my dear 
 mistress, Lady Harlesdon— the good-tempered 
 Jemima— and the little prattling children : but I 
 also thouglit of my brothers and sisters— espe- 
 cially too of the unhappy Robert I I wondered 
 what he was doing — whether still following a 
 career of vice, or whether by some providential 
 interference rescued from those evil ways. Alas I 
 I dared not hope that such was the case ; and I 
 wept— oh, how bitterly, bitterly I wept— in the 
 solitude of my own chamber that day, as I thought 
 of Robert! 
 
 Nor less did I wonder how it had fared with 
 Leonard Percival and Ellen Kirkland— whether 
 they had succeeded in accomplishini their escape 
 from the vicinage of Harlesdon Park? That 
 they had done so, I felt pretty well assured ; in- 
 asmuch as it was evident, after all, that there had 
 really been no intention on the part of their ene- 
 mies to caiTy ofl" Ellen : — and moreover, had I not 
 seen Leonard in safety and security a few minutes 
 before I mysc'f was so cruelly ensnared ? 
 
 But I will not pause to weary the reader with 
 the reflections that occupied me or the painful 
 thoughts I experienced on that Christmas Day 
 which I passed at the White Cottage— for such 
 appeared to be the name of the h.ibitation. Suf- 
 fice it to say thej. U was indeed a wretched. 
 
 ■>'*■ "
 
 MARV TKICE; OU, the memoirs Oi!" A SERVANT-JIAID. 
 
 149 
 
 wretched Christmas day, forming one of the darkest 
 dates in the history of my eventful Hfe. 
 
 Ten days passed, during which the weather con- 
 tinued most inclement ; and thus for a whole fort- 
 night I was unable to stir out of the cottage. My 
 raihd was frequently too unsettled to allow me to 
 adhere very closely to the occupation of needle- 
 work ; and during those intervals of restlessness, 
 I would wander from room to room to seek relief 
 in even such little change of scene as thi=. I have 
 before stated that the house stood a little way 
 back from the lane, having a small garden in front : 
 behind the habitation there was a much larger 
 garden, but in a very neglected condition, there 
 being no one to take care of it. A large outhouse, 
 with two windows and a chimney, seemed however 
 evidently intended for the dwelling of a gardener : 
 but tlie shutters were always up at those windows, 
 and no smoke ever came out of the chimney. To 
 all appearances, therefore, that outhouse was un- 
 tenanted; and yet I know not how it was, but 
 sometimes as I stood at the landing window, which 
 looked on t'.e back part of the premises, I would 
 keep my eyes fixed upon the outhouse wich a sort 
 of instinctive feeling that there was really some 
 one there. This idea, although at first without 
 the slightest ground for it beyond my own fancy, 
 was strengthened in my mind by a little circum- 
 stance which occurred on the sixth or seventh 
 day of my captivity. It was tliis : — I was standing 
 at the landing window, when I observed Anne 
 huriying forth from the back door with something 
 in her hands, but which was covered up with her 
 apron. She was evidently bending her steps to- 
 wards the outhouse ; and I stood aside in such a 
 way that if she were to look up she could not 
 observe my countenance at the window, though I 
 could still continue to watch her motions. And 
 sl:c did look up at the back windows, — sweeping 
 her glance over them, as it were, in a rapid but 
 scrutinizing manner :— then evidently satisfied that 
 she was unobserved by me (for it could only be 
 my notice that slie was thus fearful of attracting), 
 she hurried on to the outhouse. The door thereof 
 was not locked ; for she at once entered it ; and 
 after remaining there for about two minutes, issued 
 forth again — but without the object, whatever it 
 were, that she had carried in under her apron. 
 
 At t!us moment Mrs. Ferguson, who never let 
 me be absent from the parlour many minutes, 
 unless watched by herself or Anne, called out, 
 "Miss Price, where are you?' — and I accordingly 
 liurried down stairs. 
 
 Tiie little incident which I have just related, 
 served to strengthen, though not absolutely con- 
 firm, the suspicion tiiat the outhouse had an in- 
 mate : for it naturally struck rae that Anne's visit 
 tlii'lur had been to convey some food. Tlie cir- 
 cumstance troubled me considerably, although I 
 concealed this fresh source of annoyance as well 
 as I was able. But it troubled me, because, if my 
 suspicion were correct, it was evident that the 
 individual, whoever he were, must be concealed 
 there fi.r some purpose ; and for what purpose 
 could this be, unless to keep watch upon the house 
 and prevent any attempt at escape on my p.art? 
 I tlurcforc began to fear that all the little dissi- 
 mulation I practised to put the two women off 
 their guard and make thci.< fancy that I was be- 
 coming reconciled to my position, would be thrown 
 
 away and avail me not in my hope of escape from 
 the White Cottage. 
 
 I have already said that a fortnight had p'lssed 
 without my being enabled to stir out, of the house. 
 At length a bright frosty day, witli the sky all 
 azure purity above, and the ground hard as marble 
 below, afforded me an opportunity of testing the 
 sincerity of Mrs. Ferguson's words when she an- 
 nounced to me on my arrival that I should be 
 allowed to walk forth in favourable weather. Ac- 
 cordingly, so soon as breakfast was over, I said to 
 Mr?. Ferguson, "You will permit me to take a 
 walk ? for I am literally pining for fresh air." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear," she answered, assuming 
 her blandest and most cheerful demeanour. " Put 
 on your things, and we will sally forth at once." 
 
 With a certain lia;htnes3 of the heart such as I 
 had not experienced since the first moment of my 
 captivity, I ascended to my chamber, Anne offi- 
 ciously following to help me with my toilet, but 
 in reality, as a mitter of course, to watch ray 
 movements : for as I have before ohaerved, I was 
 scarcely pernaitted to go even from one room to 
 another without having either Mrs. Ferguson or 
 the servant at my heels. 
 
 To be brief, having put on my bonnet and cloak, 
 I descended the stairs again, and found Mrs. 
 Ferguson ready equipped for the walk. At first 
 I imagined that Anne would likewise accompany 
 us, so as to be an additional guard upon my move- 
 ments. But this w.is not the case. Mrs. Fergus jn 
 and I went forth alone. She however took my 
 arm — not allowing me to take hers, nor yet to 
 walk singly; and she kept a sort of hold ii^on me 
 which plainly enough evinced her readiuess as well 
 as her determination to anticipate any attempt at 
 flight on my part. 
 
 We did not proceed many paces down the lano 
 in which the cottage was situated, ere we entered 
 the fields by means of a gate, Jlrs. Ferguson act- 
 ing as the guide, and still keeping light hold of mo 
 even as we passed through that gate. I began to 
 reflect within myself whether 1 should make a 
 desperate effort to escape, or trust to a future oc- 
 casion aud to the chapter of accident?. Sirs. Fer- 
 guson was a powerful woman, and could coerce 
 me so long as she held me in her grasp : but on the 
 other hand, I knew very well that if I could only 
 manage to break away fi om her, I c ;uld not possi- 
 bly fail to outstip her in speed. I had almost re- 
 solved to make the attempt, when it suddenly 
 struck me that there might be somebody else fol- 
 lowing: for I couU scarcely conceive it possible 
 that Mrs. Ferguson would thus trust herself out 
 with rae alone. I was about to look round ; but the 
 idea likewise flashed to my mind that such a move- 
 ment on my part would at once excite her sus- 
 picion of my obj-^ct. I accordingly dropped my 
 handkerchief as a pretext; iui 1 while I stooped to 
 pick it up, I was enab:cd to glance back. There, 
 i-wc enough, was a man f jllowing at a distance of 
 about fifty yards. lie teamed to be dressed in the 
 attire of a labourer; but the liurried view which I 
 had of him, totally prevented mo from taking any 
 further note of his appearance. 
 
 iMrs. Fergu on dil nut appear to fancy that the 
 dr >pping of the liaiidlccrchiof was a more pretext 
 on my part: or if she did, she neither mentioned 
 her suspicion in words, nor betrayed it in hot 
 looks.
 
 150 
 
 MARY PKICE; on, THE MEMOIIW OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 " Well, my dear child," she said, as we wallced 
 on together, " it seems to mc that you have ceased 
 to fret on account of your captivity. If this is 
 really the case, you ate .icting a wise part. What 
 is the use of making yourself miserable ? A pretty 
 creature like you should abandon such low ideas as 
 to tliink of remaininfj a servant-maid all your 
 life. You are as good as a lady now, and miy be- 
 come cne altogether if you choose." 
 
 I was about to give a very indignant reply, when 
 recullcotiu.ij the cautious part which 1 had been 
 pliyinpj from the commencement of my captivity, 
 and which, from the observations the woman had 
 just ujad'3, seemed to have produced the dtsired 
 effect, Icontrolledmy anger— but kept silent: fori 
 could not possibly play the hypocrite so far as even 
 to appear to enter into the spirit of her remarks. 
 
 " Ah ! no doubt," shj continued, "you will grow 
 wiser the more you reflect upon what is your real 
 interest. We must all push our way in the world. 
 Some persons are born with fortunes ready raada, 
 and they have generally ugly faces : others are 
 born without any fortunes at all; but they very 
 often have pretty faces — and a pretty face is as 
 good as a fortune." 
 
 Heie jMis. Ferjjuson paused, and looked at me 
 very hard — doubtless to see the effect which her 
 words produced. But 1 bout my eyes dovrn, and 
 still remained silent. 
 
 "As a nialter of course,'" she continued, "you 
 must understand that you are t!ie object of tender 
 r(';;ard with a certain personajje who has conceived 
 a violent attaclimeut for you. Look at all the 
 hnridsume things lie has bought for your use : 
 and I am empowered to promise a great deal more, 
 
 " Do not talk to me any farther on this subject," 
 I fxclaimed, my indignation now suddenly mas- 
 tering all ideas of precaution and all power of 
 dissimulation. At the same time, by a sudden 
 and desperate exertion, I tore away from Mrs. 
 i'trguson, and with a speed which even astonished 
 myself, bounded across the field, hope and terror 
 alike giving wings to my feet. 
 
 " Ah ! vile treacherous girl 1" screamed forth 
 the woman : but she did not attempt to run after 
 uie— for the labourer, who had been following at 
 a distance, was very soon at ray heels. 
 
 I ran — 1 1'an, as if life ordeith were alternating 
 in the scales: and thus for about five minutes did 
 the chase continue. But at the end of the long 
 field ovcr which I was thus .'Speeding, a gate barred 
 my way ; and while I was compelled to stop to 
 open it, I was overtaken by the individual in the 
 gaib of a labourer. Bit wiiat words can depict 
 my mingled amazement and terror, when a glance 
 ai this individual's countenance showed ma the 
 well-known features of Nick Sawbridge? 
 
 " Ah ! I have got yon, have 1 ?" he exclaimed, 
 i;:i he caught me by the waist. 
 
 I was sinking down at the moment, in mingled 
 exhaustion and anguish, against the gate, when 
 tlie mere touch of the man mad(? me spring up as 
 if from the contact of a venomous reptile ; and 
 disengaging myself from his grasp, I shrieked 
 forth, "Unhand me, and I will go quietly back 
 with you 1 " 
 
 '' Well, I don't want to use m violence, or yet 
 vex you in any way," observed Sawbridge, now 
 assuming a somewhat more respectful demeanour. 
 
 " My orders is to watch yon narrowly, but to treat 
 you as gentle as a lamb. Come now, Miss Price, 
 you was wrong to bolt away like that — cause why 
 you must know that it wouldn't do." 
 
 While he was thus spcakin», I glanced across 
 the field, and observed that Mrs. Ferguson, 
 though advancing somewhat rapidly towards us, 
 was still at a distance and far beyond ear-shot. 
 An idea had entered my head. I knew the ua- 
 principled character of the villain Sawbridge too 
 well not to be aware that it must be very indiffer- 
 ent to him whom he served so long as he was 
 liberally paid, and that the only question with him 
 would be who was the best paymaster. 
 
 " One word !" I said in an hurried tone. " What 
 if I were to remunerate you very handsomely? — 
 would you connive at my escape?" 
 
 " It all depends upon the reward," he at once 
 answered. " Show me that yon can make it better 
 worth my while to serve you than my preseut em- 
 ployer, and I shan't hesita'.e long." 
 
 "I have, in my room at the cottage," was my 
 hurried rejoinder, "property to an immense valae 
 — ^jewels of every description, silks and satins, and 
 splendid shawls, all worth I cannot say how much, 
 but certaiuly many hundred pounds. It is all 
 mine— and it shall bo all your's if you will help me 
 to escape." 
 
 "Ah ! but is this really true ?" asked Sawbridge, 
 his eyes glistening with delight; and yet there 
 was a certain increduUty in his looks. 
 
 "I never tell a falsehood," was my answer. "Bat 
 haste— speak — tell me your decision ! Mrs. Fergu- 
 son 13 approaching " 
 
 "Yes," lie at once replied. "But not another 
 word now ! Don't let it appear we have been talk- 
 ing together. I'll find an opportunity of speaking 
 to you again. I live on the premises yonder " 
 
 "Ah!" I ejaculated, all ray suspicious relative to 
 the outhouse confirmed in a moment, 
 
 " Hush I she will see that there is something be- 
 tween us," interjected Sawbridge impatiently ; " and 
 that will spoil all— for she is as sharp as a knife, 
 mind that I Now don't appear to be listening. The 
 fact is, I live in the outhouse where I have been 
 concealed all the time siuce you have been at the 
 cottage; and I am there on purpose to watch you." 
 
 "One word more!' I said in a hurried voice. "Tell 
 me— do you know what has become of my brother 
 Robert ? " 
 
 " I hav'n't seen him for a long time," answered 
 Sawbridge. "And now, not another word. But 
 come back with me and meet the old woman." 
 
 Inwardly ciieered by the hope of escape through 
 this man's intervention, I at once began to retrace 
 my way towards Mrs. Ferguson, who was now 
 scarcely fifty yards distant. Sawbridge walked close 
 behind nie; and of course we spoke not another 
 word to each other. 
 
 " A pretty trick you tried to play me, Miss Price!" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Ferguson, raising her voice as we 
 approached each other. " But you see you gained 
 nothing by the movement. I could scarcely believe 
 that you was such a deceitful girl— although I have 
 more than once suspected that when you pretended 
 to be cheerful you were o!ily playing a part. Now 
 I know you thoroughly " 
 
 "Mrs. Ferguson," I interrupted, feeling that my 
 countenance was becoming crimson with indig- 
 nation, " I desire that you will not address me iu
 
 MARY PBICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVAN'T-MAID. 
 
 151 
 
 this manner. That I should have attempted to 
 
 luuke my escape was natural enough " 
 
 But here a suddeu revulsion of feeling took place 
 withiu me ; and I bur&t into tears. 
 
 "Come, come, don't make yourself unhappy," 
 said the woman, now adopting a soothing tone. " I 
 must not have you pine or whine, and so make your- 
 self look thiu and pale :" — and as she thus spoke 
 she took my arm once more, at the same time 
 beckoning to Sawbridge to fall back to a distance. 
 
 While we retraced our way to the White Cottage, 
 little more was said. Mrs. Ferguson endeavoured 
 to cheer my spirits : but I paid no attention to her 
 remarks ; and on reaching the house, I hastened up- 
 stairs to my chamber, where I again gave vent to 
 my tears. But as the hurried colloquy which had 
 taken place with Sawbridge came back to my mind, 
 I felt that hope was once more awakening within 
 me ; and drying my tears, I began to reflect how it 
 was likely he would further ray views, and when he 
 would put into execution any plan which he might 
 conceive to fulfil bis promise and accomplish my 
 escape? When I descended to the parlour again, I 
 found Mrs. Ferguson very busy in writing a letter, 
 over which she threw the blotting-paper the moment 
 I made my appearance. But at once to assure her 
 that I scorned the idea of using my good eye-sight 
 in the attempt to read her letter from the place 
 which I usually occupied on the opposite side of the 
 table, I advanced to the window and looked out. 
 
 I had not been many minutes at the casement, 
 when I observed a tall female form, enveloped from 
 head to foot in a dark cloak, the hood of which was 
 drawn far over her head, come down the lane — 
 pause at a little distance from the cottage — and sur- 
 vey it with the air of one who had some motive for 
 the scrutiny. While she was thus stopping short, a 
 sudden gust of wind, sweeping up the lane, blew 
 back her hood, and revealed to me a countenance 
 which was too remaikable, when once seen, to be 
 easily forgotten. Indeed, I immediately recognised 
 the handsome features of the Gipsy Queen, from 
 whose arms I had received little Isabella Clemeuiina 
 at the low public-house in St. Giles's. 
 
 It was only by a suddeu exercise of my presence 
 of mind that I avoided giving vent to au ejacu- 
 lation of astonishment ou thus beholding the gipsy ; 
 for it at once flashed to my brain that her presence 
 in this vicinage was somehow or another connected 
 with myself. Tiie woman not only caught sight 
 of nie at the window, but also perceived (hat I 
 had recognised her; and she instantaneously made 
 a sign of intelligence and placed her finger upon 
 her lip. She then drew her hood over her coun- 
 tenance once more, turned abruptly round, and 
 retracing her way up the lane, disappeared from 
 roy view. 
 
 What could this mean? Was she iu the neigh- 
 bourhood as an enemy or as a friend to me ? 
 ; Scarcely an hour had elapsed since the occurrence 
 I iu the field; and if Sawbridge were leagued with 
 the woman, and meant to aVail himself of her 
 assistance to further my views of escape, had there 
 I been time for him during that brief interval to 
 ! communicate with her on that point? It cer- 
 tainly struck me that she had come to reconnoitre 
 j the premises. But might it not bo with some 
 hostile intent as regarded myself? Yet if so, wliy 
 that sign of intelligence, as much as to enjoin 
 secrecy in respect to the circumstance of my per- 
 
 ceiving her? I knew not what to think : and Oh ! 
 how fervently I prayed in the depths of my soul 
 that all these mysterious proceedings and bewil- 
 dering circumstances, all these commingling hopes 
 and fears, anticipations and misgivings, would 
 speedily come to a conclusion I 
 
 As I turned away from the window, I observed 
 that Mrs. Ferguson had just finished the letter which 
 she had been writing. She now folded it up, and 
 was addressing it; having done which, she imme- 
 diately placed the blotting-paper upon it so as to dry 
 the ink; and rising from her seat, quitted the room 
 with the letter — no doubt to despatch it to its place 
 of destination. Without any ulterior intention I 
 approached the table — took my usual seat — and was 
 about to resume my needlework, when my eye hap- 
 pened to catch the blotting-paper which Mrs. Fer- 
 guson had hurriedly thrown aside after last using it. 
 There I beheld a perfect impression of the address, 
 but of course reading backwards, as it would do in 
 such a case. I could not help reading the lines 
 that had thus been transferred to the blotting-paper ; 
 and to my surprise I found that the letter had been 
 addressed to " Lord Harlesdon, Harlesdon Park," 
 and had " SlricUy Private " in the corner. I say 
 that I was surprised, because I wondered for what 
 reason Mrs. Ferguson could be in correspondence 
 with the nobleman. That he had been privy to the 
 entire stratagem for forcibly carrying me offthrough 
 the agency of John Morley, was already clear 
 enough : but was I now to think that his lordship 
 was the individual who had purchased all those rich 
 dresses and fine jewels wherewith it was hoped to 
 dazzle me? was it he to whom Mrs. Ferguson had 
 alluded in a way that had provoked my indignation ? 
 Was it Lord Harlesdon, in short, who entertained 
 the most dishonourable views with regard to me ? I 
 began to think that such indeed must be the case, 
 and that after all, Sir Aubrey Clavering bad really 
 nothing to do with the matter. 
 
 Such were the hurried thoughts that swept through 
 my brain during' the couple of minutes of Mrs. Fer- 
 guson's absence from the room. When she returned, 
 she hastily put her writing-materials together— it 
 being now dinner-time — and did not therefore notice 
 the circumstance of the visible impression upon the 
 blotting-paper. Anne came in to lay the cloth- 
 dinner was served up — and the remainder of the day 
 passed without any other incident worthy of men- 
 tion. When I lay down to rest that night, it was a 
 long while before I could get to sleep: for thia day 
 had been fraught with occurrences full well calcu- 
 lated to engross my thoughts and inspire them with 
 activity. The promise of succour received from 
 Sawbridge — the presence of the Gipsy Queen in 
 that neighbourhood, so many miles from her usual 
 haunts in the suburbs of London — and the discovery 
 that Mrs. Ferguson was in correspondence with Lord 
 Hailesdon, all combined to fill me with mingled 
 hopes and fears. At length however I fell asleep; 
 and uheii I awoke iu the morning, I found that the 
 weather was still as frostj', clear, and beautiful as on 
 the preceding day. 
 
 On descending to the parlour, I found Mrs. Fer- 
 guson occupied in reading a letter, which she how- 
 ever immediately consigned to her pockc t as I ap- 
 proached the table. I sat down, thinking to myself 
 that this letter was very probably an answer to the 
 one she had despatched on tho previous day ; and it 
 struck me that Sawbridge had most probably served
 
 152 
 
 MARY rnicE ; ob, the memoirs of a seuvakt-maid. 
 
 as the means of communication between the White 
 Cottage and Harlesdon Park: for I had never once 
 seen a postman come near the secluded spot in 
 whic!' I was held captive. When breakfast was 
 over, I was about to propose another walk : but 
 Mrs. Ferguson herself said, with a smile which she 
 endeavoured to render as remonstratingly good- 
 humoured as possible, " Come, Miss Price— if you 
 will promise me not to renew your attempt of yes- 
 terday, we will take a little stroll : for the weather is 
 really charming." 
 
 I made no reply ; because I was determined not to 
 give any pledge against future attempts at escape — 
 my resolve being to lose no epportunity, with or 
 without Sawbridge's connivance, of flying from a 
 detested captivity. Hastening up-stairs — followed 
 as usual by Anne— I put on my walking apparel ; 
 and as I descended from my chamber again, I me- 
 chanically looked forth from the back window. To 
 Hiy surprise I perceived Sawbridge at the extremity 
 of the garden, talking to a gentleman on horseback, 
 who was on the other side of the hedge ; and although 
 be was too far oft' for me to obtain an accurate view 
 of him, yet by the tall slender lig-ure and the mous- 
 tache, as well as by the semi-military apparel of 
 closely-buttoned frock-coat and a gold lace stripe 
 down tbe trousers, I felt convinced he was none 
 other than Sir Aubrey Clavering. 
 
 An exclamation fell from my lips ; and I stood 
 nailed as it were at the window. But in a few 
 moments the horseman galloped away across the 
 fields; and Nick Sawbridge huiried back towards 
 the outhouse. Anne, who was close behind me on 
 the landing, uttered some expression of vexation and 
 annoyance, about "loitering on the stairs and gaping 
 out of windows." I turned round and looked fixedly 
 at the servant, saying in an indignant tone, " What 
 do you mean 1 am I not even to look out of a win- 
 dow? Ah! I recognised that individual : but I will 
 Booner perish " 
 
 And then I suddenly stopped short : for I saw 
 that a kind of contemptuous, if not ironical, sneer 
 was gathering on the woman's countenance; and I 
 was angry with myself for having even taken notice 
 of the expressions to which she had given utterance. 
 Descending to the parlour, I found Mrs. Ferguson 
 ready dressed in her walking attire, and waiting tor 
 me: but I hesitated whether to accompany her 
 forth, as I felt convinced that Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 was in the neighbourhood. A second thought how- 
 ever told me that if he meditated any treachery, he 
 could as easily cotne to the house and renew his per- 
 secutions towards me there, as waylay me in the 
 open country for that purpose ; and moreover, as he 
 had galloped so abruptly away, it struck me that he 
 was gone for good — at least for the present. I ac- 
 cordingly sallied forth with Mrs. Ferguson. Again 
 did she take my arm— again did we turn into the 
 fields— and again, in a few minute?, did I catch a 
 glimpse of Sawbridge following in the rear. 
 
 "As I descended the stairs just no.v," I observed, 
 looking very hard in Mrs. Fergusou's face, " I saw 
 a gentleman on horseback talking at the bottom of 
 the garden to that man who is now following us." 
 
 " Ah ! you saw a gentleman, did you, my dear ?" 
 exclaimed Mrs, Ferguson, and, as I thought, with a 
 vtry peculiar look which I could not at all under- 
 stand : and now she in her turn stared hard atmc. 
 
 " Yes — I saw him," was my response ; "and if I 
 miatakQ not, he was Sir Aubrey Clavering." 
 
 " Indeed you are very much mistaken — for I am 
 certain it was not him," she immediately an- 
 swered, with the moat unblushing efifrontery. 
 
 "Then I never was more in error in my life!" 
 I exclaimed. '• But I think you will permit me to 
 believe my own eyes in preference to your bare 
 denial." 
 
 She made no answer; and we walked on in 
 silence. I really knew not what to think. Mrs. 
 Ferguson's word, on ordinary occasions, I should 
 not have valued in the least — because a woman 
 who could have undertaken such an office as her'?, 
 was not to be supposed to hesitate at a falsehood : 
 but her denial had been given with such an apparent 
 air of triumphant cc rtainty, that it almost seemed as 
 much as to say, " if it were Sir Aubrey, I should 
 not mind t-llingyou so at once : but it was not." 
 
 She was the first presently to break the silence 
 which had lasted about five minutes : but she 
 began to talk upon a variety of indifferent and 
 trivial things, to which I merely answered " Yes " 
 or " No," without much noticing whether I even 
 gave the afiirmatives or negatives in their right 
 place : for I was engrossed with bewildering 
 thought", — every freili incident which occurred 
 appearing to be marked with so much mystery 
 that I felt as if the meshes of some deeply devised 
 and extensively ramified conspiracy were one after 
 the other gradually displaying tbemselres as they 
 closed in around me. 
 
 We had been walking half-an-hour, and had 
 advanced much farther than the gate where Saw- 
 bridge overtook me on th.e preceding day, when 
 on reaching a stile I looiced back as I crossed it, 
 and observed that the individual whom I have just 
 named was making rai)id signs to me. lie had 
 approached >Yiihiii a distance of about thir y 
 yards ; and I could therefore plainly note his ges- 
 tures, which Mrs. Ferguson herself did not per- 
 ceive, her back bciasj turned towards him. IIo 
 was evidently signalling me to escape and fly. 
 This moaning he conveyed with uumiitakable 
 signs : then pointing to himself, he shook his head, 
 as much as to infer that he would not pursue me. 
 My heart bounded with lupe: but the next in- 
 stant I felt an evil presentiment stealing in onto my 
 soul. The man had not as yet received anything 
 in the shape of reward from me ; and how was he 
 to obtain the promised recompense of the treasures 
 in the cupboard at the cottage, unless from my 
 hand? By urging me to escape, would he not be 
 actually cutting himself out of this recompense ? 
 and was he likely to do me a service unless amply 
 remunerated for the same ? 
 
 All these reflections swept through my mind, 
 filling it with misgiving. I accordingly made no 
 attempt at escape at that moment ; but still walk- 
 ing onward with Mrs. Ferguson, racked my brain 
 for some means to pat Sawbridge's sincerity to 
 tho test. Accident very speedily seconded my 
 views. A silk kerchief, which Mrs. Ferguson had 
 tied round her neck above her fur cape, became 
 detached and blew to a distance. In a moment 
 Sawbridge wns seen hurrying after it ; and I, as if 
 with a good-natured intent, suddenly broke away 
 from Jlrs. Ferguson (who was not holding me very 
 tight at the time) and likemse sped after the 
 kerchief. .She could not think that I meant to 
 escape on this occasion ; because I was actually 
 throffing myself in Sawbridge's way— and tliero.
 
 fore she did not call after me to stop, nor exhibit 
 any alarm as to my proceedinsr. Sawbridge and I 
 ovrrtouk the kercliief at tlie same moment ; and 
 as he gave it to me, he said in a low rapid whisper, 
 "Fly! I will not pursue you ! I want to do you 
 a service, to atone for that Shakspearc's Cliff 
 aflfair." 
 
 "Thanks!" I answered: and with tho kerchief 
 in my hand, hastened to rejoin Mrs. Ferguson, 
 while Sawbridge again fell considerably into the 
 rear. 
 
 My heart was now elate with hope. Could I 
 possibly doubt the sincerity of the man's intention 
 to serve me? No: and my thoughts, previously 
 wildered with doubt and misgiving, were now 
 reeling and whirling with joy. I beheld another 
 stile, at the end of the field which we wore at the 
 moment traversing; and I resolved to make the 
 attempt on reaching that spot. Whither I was to 
 go— in wliat direction I was to speed — or what 
 NO. 20 
 
 would become of me in a diitrict whero I wa-; an 
 utter stranger, — all these tilings entcrrd not my 
 braiu for a single moment. It was suflfieient that 
 the chance of escape was afforded mo— and I was 
 too miserable in my captivity not to resoire upon 
 availing myself of it. 
 
 Accordinglj', when we reached the stile, 1 throw 
 one glance behind ; and perceiving that Sawbridjjo 
 was at a very considerable distance, I had not the 
 slightest doubt as to his good faith : so that the 
 instant I crossed the barriur, away I ran at Iho 
 very height of my speed. Wiietlier Mrs. Fer({uson 
 said anything or not, I do not remtmber : for I 
 was too excited to observe anything at the mo- 
 ment. 
 
 On I went. The extremity of the field which I 
 thus speedily traverjed, was reached; and on 
 looking back, a glance showed me that I was safe 
 from pursuit. Mrs. Ferguson was still standing at 
 the alilc whore I had quitted her; and Sawbridge
 
 154 
 
 MABV pbice; on, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 was now no longer to be 'seen. "With such an 
 exiiltation of spirits as I had scarcely ever known 
 before, I continued my rapid lii!,'ht: two more 
 fields were crossed ; and now I found myself in a 
 lane whicli lay very low and had a high hedge on 
 eiiiier side. For an instant I stopped short to 
 eather brfath ; and as I was about to pursue my 
 way alon;j tlie lane, the sanndj of a horse's hoofs 
 re.iched my ears. All iu a moment the idea of 
 encountering Sir Aubrey Clavcrinar flashed to my 
 mind; and the tlionght threw me into a complete 
 bewilderment. If I continued ia the lane 1 must 
 be seen by the horseman, whom I dreaded to be 
 the Baronet: and if I retraced my way over the 
 fields, I must fall into the power of Mrs. Ferguson 
 again. But while I thus deliberated t'le iiorseman 
 gallopped lip to the spot; and a faint sliriek fell 
 from ray lips as at the first glance my suspicion 
 seemed confirmed. 
 
 " Fear nothing ! ' said the traveller : and a voice 
 which was not that of Claverin;?, made mo look up 
 earnestly iuto the face of the speaker. 
 
 Good heavens! was it possible P—tlue Gipsy 
 Queen, disguised in male attire— dressed so as to 
 make ncr resemble the Baronet, and with a false 
 moustache aiding to complete the illusion ! 
 
 " M'juot, my dear girl !" she exclaimed, a smile 
 i showing her brilliaut teeth. "lam your friend— 
 Sawbridge has managed all this— delay not!" 
 
 Thus speaking, she helped me to mouut behind 
 her upon the horse's back ; and bidding me wind 
 iny arms around her so as to retain my seat firmly, 
 she put spurs to her steed, and away the spirited 
 animal galloped along the lane. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXllI. 
 
 TQE OIPST QUEEN. 
 
 The reader is doubtless as much surprised at this 
 inciiicut as I myself was at the time — and perhaps 
 even more so : f jr my feelings consisted not alto- 
 gether of amazement; there was blended with 
 them an exultant joy at this unexpected diversion 
 in ray favour. For instead of having fallen iuto 
 the hands of Clavering, it appeared that heaven 
 had sent me a friend, though under the most extra- 
 ordinary and incomprehensible circumstances. 
 
 For ten minutes did we proceed onward without 
 a word being exchanged. At length the Gipsy 
 Queeu reined in the steed, which by the bye she 
 managed as admirably as Sir Aubrey Clavering or 
 any other accomplished horseman could have done; 
 and we emerged from the lane upon the high road 
 at a geutle trot. 
 
 " You did not expect that your adventure would 
 take such a turn as this ?" said the Gipsy Queen. 
 
 •' Assuredly I did not," was my answer. " But 
 you must now permit me to express my deep grati- 
 ' tude " 
 
 " We will talk of that presently, my dear," in- 
 terrupted the woman. " Of coursa you know who 
 I am? for I on my part know you well enough. 
 It has ceased for some time past to bo a secret 
 who the nee;ro-girl and lad were that accomplished 
 the exploit ill St. Giles's." 
 
 " Ah 1" I f j iculated : " the truth of that oironm- 
 atance is known, then ?' 
 
 •• To be Dure," rejoined the Gipsy Queen, with a 
 
 laugh, which was however full of ^ood-humour. 
 "Lord Harlesdon's servanti gossippcd aboit it 
 after a time; and on telling the fortune vf oue of 
 them I managed to elicit all the facts. It was very 
 well done of you. Miss Price; and I can't help ad- 
 miring your brave conduct on the occasion." 
 
 " You experience no animosity totrards me on 
 that account?" I asked, somewhat diffidently. 
 
 "Not the slightest," was the quick response. "1 
 was glad to be relieved of the necessity of attend- 
 ing on the child; and having performed my part 
 of the business towards those men who employed 
 me, I did not care one farthing what fallowed." 
 
 "But do thosa men themselves know," i in- 
 quired, " that it was I who, disguised aa a negro- 
 girl on that occasion, rescued the child?" 
 
 "I really cannot say whether they do or not," 
 she answered: "nor does it matter now. The 
 thing is past and over ; aud st all events that man 
 Sawbridge has befriended yoa this morning — has 
 he not?" 
 
 "Most assuredly he has," I replied; "and what 
 he has done for me must be held as a complete 
 atonement for any by-gone evil which I have suf- 
 fered at his hands." 
 
 " What do you think of my disguise?" asked the 
 Gipsy Queen. "But by the bye, when I was talk- 
 ing to Sawbridge just now over the hedge at the 
 bottom of tlie garden, did I not obscrre yoo at 
 one of the back wiudows ?" 
 
 "Yes— I was there; and it struck me that yoa 
 were Sir Aubrey Clavering." 
 
 "Ah! then I do indeed look like Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering ?" 
 
 " Until seen close, it would be impossible to en- 
 tertain any other impression," was my answer. 
 " But wherefore have you adopted this disguise .-' 
 
 I cannot see the necessity of it " 
 
 " Oh ! you shall understand all about it pre- 
 sently," rejoined the Gip^^y Queen. " But you do 
 not sit comfortably behind me : and moreover as 
 this horse is very spirited, and indeed apt to sliy, 
 you might be thrown off and experience a very 
 severe fall. "We have yet some distance to go 
 before I can place you in safety. Y'ou had thei e- 
 fore better sit before me : so that instead of your 
 clinging in this manner to m?, I shall bo enabled 
 to hold you secure on the front part of the saddle." 
 " Ju^t as you please," I answered : and the 
 Gipsy Queen accordingly made the horse stop. 
 I then, by her aid, shifted my position, and was 
 now seated before her. Holding the reins in her 
 left hand, she wound her right arm about my 
 waist; so that I half reclined as it were in her 
 cmbraoe. Tiiis arrang:oment being accomplished, 
 ske put spurs to her horse, and onward we sped 
 again. 
 
 From the position in which I was now placed I 
 was enabled to observe her with more attention 
 than hitherto. Her disguise was certainly excel- 
 lent. In an earlier chapter the reader hivs been 
 informed that she was of a tall and commanding 
 st;iture ; and thus, when apparelled in male attire, 
 she was not rendered too diminutive to play the 
 part of Sir Aubrey Clavering. The hat that she 
 wore was of the very shape which invariably cha- 
 racterized his own ; and hor dark hair was gathered 
 up in such a manner that when seen at n litt'e 
 distance, it produced precisely the same elTect as 
 Clavering's hair, which ho wore rather long. The
 
 MARY price; or, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 155 
 
 bold outline of her features, aided by the olive 
 tint of her complexion, gave her a masculine look, 
 which viras enhanced by the false moustache most 
 artistically fixed upon the upper lip. The frock- 
 coat, buttoning; close up to the chin and setting 
 tight to her figure, actually appeared to be one 
 lent her for the purpose by Sir Aubrey Clavering ; 
 and the same might be said of the trousers with 
 the gold stripe down each leg. Tiie polished boots 
 were provided with silver spurs of the kind called 
 " fixtures ;" and thus, altogether, her apparel was 
 the precise counterpart of the Baronet's ordinary 
 attire. 
 
 While I was deliberating upon this disguise, aud 
 bewildering myself with conjectures to discover 
 what on earth could be its motive, I was gradually 
 led to survey the horse itself with increasing at- 
 tention ; and the idea insensibly grew up in my 
 mind that it was Sir Aubrey Clavering"s own fa- 
 vourite steed which now bore the Gipsy Queen and 
 myself along. This thought began to trouble me. 
 I did not like the mystery of the proceeding ; and 
 looking up into the woman's face, I said, " Is not 
 this the Baronet's o^vn horse ?" 
 
 " Yes— and every article of clothing which I 
 have on, is likewise his o^tu," she at once re- 
 sponded, but without the slightest confusion in her 
 looks or manner. "It was only by cheating /i/zn 
 lli^it I could serve you. Presently I will explain 
 everything. But if you have any suspicion of my 
 sincerity " 
 
 "No, no," I exclaimed: "it would bo most un- 
 handsome, most ungenerous, in me to suspect 
 yoa," I at once answei'ed. " Nevertheless, you 
 must admit that the mystery of this proceeding is 
 quite sufficient to bewilder me, especially if you 
 on'y knew how much duplicity has been practised 
 towards me and of what deeply laid intrigues I 
 have been made the victim." 
 
 " Poor girl !" said the Gipsy Queen, in a voice 
 that seemed full of the sincerest, deepest sym- 
 pathy : aud bending her head, she kissed my fore- 
 head. 
 
 At this moment the sounds of an approaching 
 vehicle met our ears; and it now suddenly struck 
 me that if I were seen by any one who might 
 happen to know me, in this position with the dis- 
 guised Gipsy Queen, my reputation would be lost 
 for ever. By the sudden start that I gave the 
 W(jraan doubtless comprehended what was paasing 
 ill my mind: for she immediately s;iid in the 
 kindest possible tone, " You have nothing to fear. 
 Miss Price : there is nut the slightest chance of 
 your encountering any one who knows you in these 
 parts." 
 
 Nevertheless I much regretted at the instant 
 that Thad not a veil to my bonnet. But as I was 
 about to shift my position somewhat, so as to have 
 less the air of half-reclining in the Gipsy Queen's 
 embrace, the hoi-sc suddenly shied ; and she ex- 
 claimed, "For heaven's sake remain quiet— or wo 
 siiall bjth be thrown !" 
 
 Terrified by the animal's swerving movement, 
 and by the quick injunction which followed it, I did 
 remain altogether quiet in the same position as 
 Iioforc. But in order to understand what is about 
 to follow, the reader must be informed that tha 
 circumstance of the hoi-so thus shying had made 
 tlio animal shift from tlio left hand side of the road 
 to the light hand; and there the Gipsy Queen 
 
 reined him in to a full stop, observing " Poor fellow, 
 he is restive ! We must let him stand till this 
 vehicle has passed." 
 
 Now, by the circumstance of the horse being on 
 the right hand side of the road, I lay in the arms 
 of the Gipsy Queen in such a manner that my fpce 
 was towards the carriage that was approaching. 
 It advanced with the leisurely manner of an equi- 
 page that is merely taking its occupants out Sor an 
 airing. But as it drew near, what words can 
 explain the crushing amazement — and I might 
 almost say horror— that seized upon me, on recog- 
 niziog Lord and Lady Harlesdon inside the vehicle! 
 The nearest window was down ; and the nobleman, 
 leaning forward, exclaimed, " Ah ! Clavering, my 
 dear fellow, how are you? But O fie! you have 
 got pretty Mary Price as your companion !" 
 
 I heard the ejaculation of amazement, mingled 
 perhaps with some deeper feeling, that burst from 
 Lady Harlesdon's lips : but the next instant a diz- 
 ziness seized upon me— everything disappeared 
 from my view — and 1 became insensible, thus 
 swooning in the arms of the Gipsy Queen. 
 
 How long I remained in a state of unconscious- 
 ness, I cannot tell ; but I was aroused from that 
 death-like stupor by feeling myself being lifted 
 down from the horse. Then, on opening my eyes, 
 I glanced wildly around ; and a piercing shriek 
 thrilled from my lips as I instantaneously caught 
 sight of the most unwelcome countenances of Mrs. 
 Ferguson and Anne— while Nick Sawbridge was 
 standing at a little distance, with a malicious leer 
 upon liis repulsive features. 
 
 It was at the garden gate of the White Cottage 
 that I was thus being handed over again to the 
 power of my custodians. Looking up to the 
 countenance of the Gipsy Queen, who remained 
 seated on horseback, I at once saw by the mock- 
 ing and ironical expression which was upon her 
 really handsome features, that she indeed had 
 all along been a willing and most hypocritical 
 accomplice in this new treachery, as vile as it was 
 cunning, whereof I had been made the victim. 
 Bursting out into a torrent of tears, I resigned 
 myself without another effort to escape (of what 
 use would it have been ?) to the charge of my 
 enemies ; and with convulsive sobs swelling in my 
 bosom and well nigh suffocating me, I was con- 
 ducted back into the cottage; while the Gipsy 
 Queen tarried to exchange a few brief words aside 
 with Mrs. Ferguson. She then galloped away. 
 
 When once again in the parlour of that habi- 
 tation which now appeared more cheerless, more 
 odious, more prison-like than ever, I suffered the 
 Bervant-woman to remove my bonnet and cloak : 
 for I had not the heart to do anything for myself, 
 nor to give utterance to a word. I was abandon- 
 ing myself to despair ; it seemed as if all my 
 energies had now utterly Riven way. The full 
 extent of this last phase in the odious conspiracy, 
 was lucidly comprehensive to my mind. Tlie truth 
 shone with the glare of a frightful light in unto 
 my soul. Until this day I w.as merely wretched and 
 miserable in my captivity : but now I felt crushed 
 and home down beneath a load of slnme. For 
 had not the cruellest, the most horrible dovicM 
 been practised in order to imjiress Lady flarlosdoii 
 witli tho conviction tlmt I wa.s not merely ihe 
 mistress of Sir Aubrey Clavering, but that with a 
 most open defiance of all decency I hud ridden
 
 156 
 
 MARV PRICK ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 fortli on horseback reclining wantonly in his arras ? 
 
 God! ttiat my dear kind mistress— she who had 
 loved me so well, and who, notwithstanding a'l her 
 faults, had at least treated me so kindly— Oh! 
 that she should have been led to conceive such a 
 shoclcinjj idea concerniiig me, was enough to break 
 my heart ! 
 
 When Mrs. Fergfuson returned to the room after 
 her brief colloquy with the disguised Gipsy Queen, 
 she saw the distressed condition into whicii I was 
 plunged ; and growing alarmed, poured out a glass 
 of wine and placed it to my lips. But in a sudden 
 paroxysm qf'hyaterical rage, I dashed the glass 
 from her hands ; and in the wilderment of my feelings 
 rushed towards the door with the desperate resolve 
 of making another and last effort to escape. But 
 the front door was locked — Anne was in the pas- 
 sage — and perceiving that every avenue was 
 barred, I staggered back into the parlour and 
 sank down exhausted on the sofa. Again did my 
 grief find vent in a torrent of tears ; and when 
 this outburst of anguish had somewhat subsided, 
 Mrs. Ferguson said, " It is utterly useless for you 
 to give way to your feelings in this manner. Be a 
 sensible girl — make the best of it — battle no 
 longer against what may be regarded as your des- 
 tiny—and I'll be bound that you will soon be 
 happy enough." 1 
 
 "Infamous woman!" I exclaimed, maUing not I 
 the slightest attempt to subdue my indignation : | 
 " how dare you address me in these terms ?"— and 
 
 1 staitod from the sofa. 
 
 " My dear girl," she at once responded, with a 
 sort of cool resoluteness of look and manner, as 
 if she felt herself entrenched in the security and 
 confidence of a position which not only defied all 
 attack but which must inevitably subdue me at last, 
 — " my dear girl, I tell you again and again that all 
 this childishness on your part will do no good. 
 Come, sit down quietly, and let me explain exactly 
 how you are situated : for the time is now come 
 when there is not the slightest necessity to keep 
 you in the dark any longer." 
 
 X ciccordingly sat down, thinking that even in 
 the immeasurable bitterness of my woe it might 
 be some slight shade of relief to get rid of any 
 remaining cause for suspense and learn the worst. 
 
 "Your captivity in this place," resumed Mrs. 
 Ferguson, "is the result of a thorough under- 
 derstandiog between Lord IlarlesJon and Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering, carried into effect by the agency 
 of John Morley, who is neither more nor less than 
 
 my son " 
 
 "Your son?" I exclaimed, in astonishment. 
 " Yes," she responded coolly : " is it at all won- 
 derful that I should have a son? Well then, John 
 Morley is this son : but I choose to be called by 
 the name of Ferguson. Of that however no mat- 
 ter : it has nothing to do with our present bu-iness. 
 I dare say you know well enough— for you were 
 deep in Lady Harlesdon's secrets— that Sir Aubrey 
 ClaveriMg heard how John Morley betrayed his 
 iimour with LaJy Harlesdon to his lordship ; but 
 Sir Aubrey forgave him on condition that he would 
 enter iuto a plot fer carrying you off. It is not 
 Lord Harlesdon who loves you : on the contrary, 
 he liates yoU'v because he looks upon you as the 
 contidiinte of her ladyship. It is Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering who loves you — aye, and loves you to 
 desperation ! But the agreement between Lord 
 
 Harlesdon and the Baronet was to the effect that 
 you must first be made to serve the vengeance of 
 the former before becomiug the love-companion 
 of the latter." 
 
 I started up, resolved to hear no more: but in- 
 stantaneously reflecting that for my own sake I 
 had better hear all, I sat down again. 
 
 " You see, ray dear girl," continued the infamous 
 wouian, " what an important little personage you 
 have become, that a nobleman requires you for his 
 vengeance and a baronet for his love ; and that 
 between them they have taken no end of trouble- 
 spared no expense — and enlisted ever so many 
 per^ions in the business. Joha Morley ferreted 
 out Sawbridge and brought him down here to keep 
 watch: for you could not possibly suppose that I 
 and Anne should leave ourselves altogether alone 
 with you under existing circumstances. Then, as 
 it was necessary to find some woman to personate 
 Clavering, Sawbridge thoughtof the Gipsy Queen ; 
 and she, being duly sent for, arrived in this neigh- 
 bourhood yesterday. You can guess why her 
 services were necessary : the incident of the last 
 two hours must have opened your eyes to that part 
 of the business: for had Clavering himself met 
 you, my dear, you would not have lain so tran- 
 quilly in his arms as you did in those of one of 
 your own sex. As a matter of course Sawbridge 
 told me yesterday that lie had promised t» help 
 your escape; and when we walked out just now, I 
 let my neckerchief fly on purpose, thinking that 
 you would seize the opportunity to exchange a few 
 words with Sawbridge. So you perceive that 
 on this occasion I did meaa you to have an op- 
 portunity of escaping from me, the Gipsy Queen 
 having already received her cue and being iu 
 readiness in the lane to play her part. Tiie letter 
 you saw me write yesterday was to Lord Harles- 
 don, bidding him take her ladyship for a drive 
 along a certain road and at a certain hour to-da}-, 
 so that the little piece of comedy might be plajed 
 off upon her ladyship. Thus you see, my dear, 
 Lady Harlesdon now believes you to be Clavering's 
 mistress ; and by creating that impression iu her 
 mind, her noble husband has consummated another 
 Btep iu hid vengeance. Lastly, to be very plain 
 with you, your character is gone — every one who 
 knows anything about you will soon be informed 
 that you are the mistress of Sir Aubrey Clavering ; 
 and therefore you may as well reap all the advan- 
 tages of a posiiioQ which the world already assigns 
 you," 
 
 As aU the latter portion of the hideous con- 
 spiracy developed itself, I felt the stupor of con- 
 sternation come over me; and if I still remained 
 sitting upon the s ifa it was because my limbs were 
 paralyzed and I had not energy enough to move. 
 " 1 am speaking thus framdy to you, my dear 
 child," continued Mrs. Ferguson, "and am telling 
 you all these things, because I wish you to under- 
 stand how fixed is the resolve of Sir Aubrey CI »- 
 vering to carry his point ; and likewise how foolish 
 it will be of you to refuse the realities of that bril- 
 liant position which your best friend, Lady Har- 
 lesdon, now believes that you have a'ready .assumed. 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering entered into all this plot 
 witli Lord Harlesdon for several reasons. In the 
 first place yon scorned and rejected him when he 
 offered you liis hand; and he vowed vengeance, 
 not only ujion yourself, but likewise on the baby-
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVAST-MAIO. 
 
 157 
 
 faced boy, Euslace QuGiitin, whom you preferred 
 to liiin. Secondly, altiiou^li pantia» for revenge, 
 he loves you to distraction; and these sceming^ly 
 opposite feelings are uatui'al enougli in certain 
 heirts. Thirdly, Sir Aubrey Clavering felt con- 
 vinced that the only way to make you accept his 
 overtures, was by rendering you iudiil'erent to your 
 reputation— in plain terms, to destroy it : and this 
 h;is been done to-day. Now, JMiss Price, after the 
 frank and candid style in which I have spoken, 
 you would do well as a sensible girl to accept your 
 destiny with a good grace— for Sir Aubrey Claver- 
 ing will be here to-morrow." 
 
 During the last speech of the infamous woman, 
 the feehng of consternation and dismay had gra- 
 dually left me : my ideas grew strcngtbened— ray 
 mind acquired a strange clearness, horrible though 
 it were — and my energies appeared to be rising in 
 proportion to the emergencies of the position in 
 which I was placed, i waited until Mrs. Ferguson 
 had concluded her remarks ; I even waited for 
 up^vards of a minute when she had done, in order 
 to nerve myself with all my presence of mind ; — 
 and feeling that I was now armed with the courage 
 of desperation, I rose slowly from my seat and 
 began to address her. 
 
 /'Fiend in woman's shape," I said— and ray 
 voice sounded with an awful sepulchral hollowness 
 even to my own ears, — "you have now told me 
 everything— the very worst; and however badly 
 I might before have thought of you, no words are 
 powerful enough to express the immensity of that 
 loathing with which I now regard you. I could 
 liave scarcely believed it possible that a woman 
 could thus deliberately and calmly reveal the utter 
 blackness of her own heart. Rest assured that 
 though, for the time being, you may with impunity 
 persecute a poor helpless unoffending girl — au 
 orphan, who has never injured you — yet that there 
 is One above who sooner or later will visit all this 
 dire wickedness with a terrible retribution upon 
 your head. Alas! I do indeed perceive that the 
 web of a hideous treachery has been most in- 
 sidiously woven around me, and that its meshes 
 appear to be rapidly closing in upon me. But I 
 cannot forget that when the mighty ship with a 
 thousand souls on board founders or burns at sea, 
 yet if heaven wills that only one single individual 
 of that multitude shall be saved, a spar to which 
 tliis one may cling will be wafted by the divine 
 h^nd to the shore of security. Nor can I forget 
 that when Vesuvius vomits forth its lava-stream, 
 though every village, and hamlet, and town upon 
 its slopes may be overwhelmed in a common ruin, 
 yet that the hut of the holy anchorite, though 
 apparently placed on the most perilous heiglit, 
 may nevertlielcss escape the otherwise universal 
 desoliition. Think you, then, that with these and 
 a thousand other similar facts before my eyes, I 
 shall not put faith in Ilim who, if he wills it, can 
 save me ? All the miserable sophistry by which 
 you have sought to lure me away from the path 
 of virtue, I despise and scorn. No— my reputa- 
 tion is not ruined! It may suffer for a tune: but 
 think you that when the day of ray deliverance 
 comes, my tale of artlessness and truth will not be 
 believed? Yes— and all these wicked proceedings 
 which Lord Harlesdon and Sir Aubrey Claveting 
 have devised against me, shall redound upon their 
 own heads!" 
 
 Having thus spoken, I quitted the parlour, 
 leaving Mrs. Ferguson evideuily stupified with 
 astonishment. Being so bad a woman herself, she 
 doubtless had no very good opinion of female rec- 
 titude in general ; and she was therefore aston> 
 ished to find that instead of succumbing beneath 
 the weight of treachery, persecution, and crueltj', 
 I had suddenly risen as it were above all the 
 dangers of my position and was resolved to battle 
 with my enemies until tho very last. 
 
 Ascending to my bed-chamber, I lighted the 
 fire, which was already laid in the grate ; and 
 scarcely had I done this when AiJne made her 
 appear.iuce. 
 
 "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," she 
 said : but I made no answer. " Will you not come 
 down, Miss ?" she then asked. 
 
 " I have resolved," was now my reply, " never 
 voluntarily to become the companion of Mrs. Fer- 
 guson again. Not for worlds would I of my own 
 accord sit down to table with her. If she force 
 herself upun me, I cannot help it: but the mo- 
 ment she enters this room I shall go down stairs 
 again ; and if she follow me down stairs, I shall in 
 that case return hither. It therefore remains for 
 her to decide to what extent she is prepared to 
 carry her persecution." 
 
 Anne looked perplexed as I thus spoke in a 
 firm aud decisive tone. She also, as well as her 
 mistress, was evidently amazed at the spirit I dis- 
 played. She had not thought me capable of it — 
 or at least she had believed that the misfortune 
 of the foreuoon would have bi'ok«a that spirit 
 altogether, 
 
 " But if you persist in remaining here, Miss,' 
 she at length said, " I shall be compelled to keep 
 you company.' 
 
 " I do not ask you to stay." 
 
 " No — but you cannot be left alone.'' 
 
 "Then you must remain," was ray answer. 
 " Better you than Mrs. Ferguson. The part you 
 are playing in this infamous conspiracy is com- 
 paratively a passive one, viewed in regard to tne 
 active mischief of that vile woman; aud therefore, 
 much as I hate you both, the presence of yourself 
 is a trifle less intolerable than that of Mrs. Fer- 
 guson." 
 
 "You speak out plainly now, at all events," ob- 
 served Anne with brutal coarseness. 
 
 " Those who perform infamous deeds," was my 
 rejoinder, "must expect to be told of their ia< 
 famy." 
 
 " Ah, well," ejaculated Anne, with an impudent 
 toss of her head, "we shall yet see you brought 
 down a peg or two," 
 
 I did not condescend to give any answer, but 
 took up a book and affected to be reading it — 
 although, to speak the truth, 1 was very far from 
 being in a humour for any such tranquil occupa- 
 tion. Still Anne lingered near the door, evidently 
 perplexed how to act. At last she said — her voice 
 now completely changed into a cuaxing toue — 
 " Do pray go down and sit with Mrs. Ferguson. 
 You need not talk to her unless you like. For it 
 will be very hard to make me stick up here for 
 so many long hours with you." 
 
 Still I gave no answer, but kept my eyes fixed 
 on the book, as I sat in front of the fire. Th« 
 servant, after lingering for nearly a minute longer 
 decided upon quitting the room — duubtlesn for
 
 158 
 
 IFAHr PKIOE ; OB, THE MEMOIIiS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 the purpose of consulting Mrs. Fer;?u-on. In a 
 short time she returned, sayiDp, " Well, Mis?, if 
 ' you are resolvnd to stay liera by yourself, you 
 must be locked in; and don't think of trying to 
 j escape by tho window, for a sharp look-out will 
 be kept. I suppose you mean mc to briu(j your 
 dinner up?" 
 
 "Nothing but some bread and some water," 
 was my answer. 
 
 "What! d'j you think wc should put poison in 
 your victuals ?" 
 
 "I am justified in auMpecting any treachery." 
 
 I heard some subdued expression of bittsr an- 
 noyance, like a rage that was crushed at the very 
 instant ^vhcn about to burst furth : aud then the 
 door was slammed violently, the key immediately 
 turning in the lock. Shortly afterwards the ser- 
 vant-woman re-appeared, bringing a tray cantain- 
 ing two '?r three dishes— some wino— a loaf of 
 bread, aud a jug ofVater. 
 
 "Take everything away," said I, "except the 
 bread and the water." 
 
 "Mrs. Ferguson declares that you must have 
 your proper meals. Miss," answered Anne. 
 
 "Do as I tell you," I exclaimed, in a peremptory 
 tone. "Tako those dishes away, or I will fling 
 them out of the window." 
 
 "Da you mean that?" she asked, looking very 
 hard at me. 
 
 ^' I do," was my response. 
 
 " 1 don't think it," she observed, with impudent 
 coolness, and quitted the room. 
 
 " Now," thought I, " it is time I should convince 
 these pc-ople that so far from breaking my spirit, 
 tliey will only excite it to the fullest extent of its 
 power and vitality. If I yield I am lost. If I 
 rebel against them iu every way and manifest ray 
 own will as often as possible, they will grow tired 
 of thwarting me ; perhaps they will even become 
 intimidated and overawed, so that when they make 
 their report to Sir Aubrey Claveriug, he may find 
 his own infamous purpose weakened in proportion 
 as he sees that mine grows stronger ?" 
 
 Having made these reflections, I opened th.e 
 window and tossed forth everything that the tray 
 contained, except the loaf of bread and the pitcher 
 of water. With these I sat down and was com- 
 mencing my frugal meal, when I heard the heavy 
 footsteps of Mrs. Ferguson rushing up the stairs; 
 and bursting into the room, she exclaimed, "You 
 wicked wilful girl, what is tho meaning of this ?" 
 
 " I desired the servant to remove certain tilings," 
 was my calm and resolute reply, " and she refused 
 to do so. I have therefore disposed of them as 1 
 threatened." 
 
 "Your conduct is most ridiculous — you cannot 
 possibly do yourself any good by such proceed- 
 ings. But where are you going?" she demanded, 
 as I endeavoured to pass her by. 
 
 " If you intend to remain in this room," I 
 replied, "it is my intention to go down to the 
 jjarlour." 
 
 "*■■ Come, Mary, my dear," said Jlra. Ferguson, 
 suddenly adoptmg her moat soothing tone, and 
 endeavouring to catch mo by tho hand, — " don't 
 go en like this " 
 
 " Do not touch me, wretch !" I cried, snatching 
 back ray hand as if from the contact of a viper. 
 
 She grew purple in tho face, and was evidently 
 on the point of blurting forth the expressions of 
 
 her wrath, when suddenly curbing her indigna. 
 tion, she said, "Well, remain in your own room 
 then, if you like. I will not intrude myself on you 
 any more." 
 
 Having thus spoken, she turned away; and I 
 went back to my seat. The door was closed— I 
 heard the key turn in the lock— and then Mrs. 
 Ferguson descended the stairs, but evidently with 
 the slow pace of one deliberating profoundly as she 
 proceeded. I could not help feeling that I had 
 already g lined a vict<jry : I had secured the en- 
 joyment of iny own chamber to myself. For soli- 
 tude was indeed now an indescribable relief, when 
 the alternative must be the companionship of 
 either of the two bad women who acted as my 
 gaolers. What to me was the circumstance of the 
 door being locked? For sixteen diys had the 
 house been a prison ; and now at least I enjoyed 
 the luxury of communing with myself unobserved 
 in my own cell. 
 
 The lime passed very slowly away ; for I could 
 not read, and I could not work. For about two 
 hours after ray dinner of bread and wnter, I stood 
 at the window in the hope that some stranger 
 might pass by ; ia which case I was resolved to 
 implore assistance. Bat when a living being did 
 presently come in sight, and my heart bepan to 
 flutter Avith expectation, it proved to be only the 
 treacherous villain Sawbridge, who was lurking 
 about. Him in this manner I beheld several times; 
 but no other human soul met my eye. It was soon 
 dark at that season of the year; and closing the 
 curtains, I lighted a candle. At tea-time Anne came 
 up and asked me what I would have. I replied 
 that I would take some tea if I were permitted to 
 make it myself; but otherwise I should drink 
 water. She looked very bitter, but ppoke not an- 
 other word ; and when she quitted the room, I 
 thought to myself, " Thus far they are vanquished. 
 They have evidently agreed between them to yield 
 to my will as far as they are able." 
 
 Anne brought up a tray containing the tea- 
 equipage, and also a kettle of hot water, which she 
 placed upon the fire. She then withdrew. I care- 
 fully rinsed out the teapot ; for I was really afraid 
 of some narcotic being mixed with my food, so as 
 to throw me powerless into the hands of my arch- 
 perseoutor Sir Aubrey Clavering: for what guaran- 
 tee had I that he was not concealed somewhere 
 about the premises or iu the neighbourhood 7 
 After tea I felt somewhat refreshed by the stimu- 
 lating beverage ; aud giving way to my reflections, 
 I experienced no small amount of consolation and 
 courage while meditating upon the extraordinary 
 interposition of Providence at various times to 
 rescue persons from those perils whence by mortal 
 agency alone there seemed no possible issue. 
 
 When bed-time arrived, Anne made her appear- 
 ance with her countenance smoothed down into 
 her wonted aspect of honest and well-meaning re- 
 spectfulness : for, as I have before said, her fea- 
 tures habitually had a look but too well calculated 
 to servo as a mask for the blackness of her heart. 
 Slie spoke not a word ; and I remained profoundly 
 si ent. When wo were each in our bod and she 
 wished me " Good nighf," I did not answer her. 
 Tho words " Good night" convey a blessing, no 
 matter in how meaningless a way the phrase is often 
 uttered ; and I could not be guilty of such an hy- 
 pocrisy as to allow my lips to breathe a blessing 
 
 t
 
 MARY PKICE ; OB, THE MEM0IB8 OF A SEBVAKT-MAID. 
 
 159 
 
 towards one who was leagued with others to accom- 
 plish my ruin. 
 
 "When I arose in the morning I persisted in 
 keeping my chamber; and when I desired the 
 breakfast-thing:! to be brought up to me, the winh 
 was obeyed without a moment's hesitation, mucli 
 less a murmur. I was not even asked to descend 
 and take my meal with M-i°8. Ferguson : nor did 
 that woman herself come near me. After break- 
 fast I drew near the window and endeavoured to 
 do some iieedle-work. Although the day was 
 splendidly tine, I knew very well that if I asked to 
 go out, it could only be accompauied aud fol- 
 lowed by individuals whose very sight was loath- 
 some; aud tlierefore, when Anue came to take 
 away the breaUfast-thiugs, I said nothing upon the 
 subject. But I could not work. Though still 
 armed with a courage and a resolution the extent 
 of which even surprised myself, I could not settle 
 my attention upon any particular occupation. For 
 I knew that a terrible ordeal was before me. Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering, according to what Mrs. Fergu- 
 son had said, was to visit the White Cottage this 
 day! 
 
 It was about noon when I heard the sounds of 
 a horse's feet trampling over the hard ground; 
 and, for an instant, not colder was the ice-chill 
 without than that which shot through my h-sart. 
 But I braced myself as it were with all my ener- 
 gies ; and when I beheld him whom I consiJered 
 my mortal enemy ride up to the gate, 1 felt fully 
 prepared to meet him and reason with him upon 
 the atrocity of his conduct towards me. lie passed 
 rouud through the field to the back part of the 
 house, where I had no doubt that Sawbridgo was 
 to act as his groom : for ta all appearances he had 
 come unattended by any servant of his own. 
 
 Five minutes elapsed — aud I cannot say that 
 this interval was altogether free from painful sus- 
 pense. At length 1 heard bis footsteps in the 
 passage below — Mrs. Ferguson's voice greeliug 
 him — and then the parlour door closing. Ten 
 minutes more elapsed. "Ah," thought I, "Mrs. 
 Ferguson is telling hirn all that has taken place, 
 and how I have shown my spirit. Some one now 
 comes up-9tairs !" 
 
 Aud I recognized Anne's footsteps. In a few 
 moments she entered the chamber, sayiog, " Miss, 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering requests your presence in the 
 parlour." 
 
 Then, to the evident surprise of the woman, who 
 had no doubt expected another " scene " and a 
 farther display of my spirit, I at once issued from 
 the chamber, and descending the stairs, proceeded 
 with firm Btep to the parlour. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 MT FSnSECUTOIl. 
 
 I FELT a strange courage in my heart — but yet 1 
 knew that I was very pale, and that my lips even 
 quivered — as I entered the room. Tko first 
 glance showed me that Mrs. Ferguson had left it ; 
 and I was therefore alone with Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vering. lie was filamling before the fire — evi- 
 dently with a ccrlain agitation of manner, ulthough 
 he essayed to carry it off with an air of sclf- 
 BuificifcHcy aud confidence. I closed the door 
 
 behind me, and advanced towards the table, so as 
 to place it between him and me. I then stood 
 still, with my eyes not exactly cast duwn, but yet 
 not fixed on his countenance. I wished to show a 
 strength of moral courage, without the admixture 
 of overweening boldness. 
 
 " M^ry," he began, *' will you sit down and talk 
 to me quiet'y ?" 
 
 " That is exactly what I desire," was my answer, 
 as I took a chair. "I wished to converse calmly 
 with you for a few minutes ; because I think that 
 you must have formed some very erroneous idea 
 of my character in order to act as you have 
 done." 
 
 " It is precisely because I understand your cha- 
 racter so well," he replied, sitting down near tha 
 fire, " that I have acted in this muuner." 
 
 "But are you not aware. Sir Aubrey Clavering," 
 1 demanded, "that you have violated the law 
 towards me, and have rendered yourself amenable 
 to a court of justice ? Besides, I am not so igno- 
 rant of the world as to imagine that if tho proper 
 authorities were applied to, you would be per- 
 mitted to continue as an officer in a regiment." 
 
 " All these things," replied the Baronet, with the 
 utmost coolness, " I have well weighed and con- 
 sidered, and have made up my mind to risk the 
 result. Perhaps you will listen palieutly to me for 
 a minute or two. I am a rich man — well-connected 
 —and having powerful friends. These advantages 
 you do not possess. Were a warfare to commence 
 between us, who would be the gainer — you or I ? I 
 know full well that silly or ignorant people, when 
 they are aggrieved, ever talk most glibly of invoking 
 the law: but they should reflect that the law is a 
 coquttte to be wooed only by a well-lined purse. 
 Rich people, my dear girl, can do exactly what they 
 choose, short of murder or anything downright 
 heinous ; and even in those cases will money, rank, 
 and station, go a very great way towards helping them 
 through the difficulty. Do you want proofs of all this? 
 A corroboration is to be found in the fact that thou- 
 sands and thousands of poor girls — I mean poor in 
 pocket, understand — annually fall into the power of 
 rich men ; and of these innumerable cases, how 
 many ever attract public notice or are brought before 
 a court of justice? Nut one in five hundred ! And 
 why ? Because money is all-powerful in this country, 
 and can hush up anything. Now then, my dear 
 Mary, think you that I am to be terrified by threats 
 of an appeal to the law ?" 
 
 " Granting then, sir," I said, "that all you have 
 put forward is exactly the truth, do you not think 
 that you are playing a cowardly, mean, and un^en- 
 tlemanly part to avail yourself of tho immnnhies of 
 rank and wealth to persecute me whom you have 
 admitted to be » poor, friendless, humble girl?" 
 
 " We will not discuss the morality of the thing," 
 observed Sir Aubrey, with an ironical smile. " Men 
 in my position are not accustomed to stand on such 
 punctilios; and I do not mean to constitute nn 
 exception to the general rule. It is sufficient that 
 my wealth and my station afford me the power of 
 ministering to all my pleasures j and while 1 live I 
 shall not fail to use these advantages." 
 
 I was about to warn him once more not to be too 
 cnfitUnt in the boasted impunity with which he 
 alleged that rich men might perpetrate any wickcJ- 
 „ess,— wliun a sickening sensation was carried to loy 
 h«art by the sudden recollection of how Lord Ha« If s-
 
 160 
 
 MAKY FBICE ) OH, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 don had been able, for a moment, to trample upon 
 Leonard Percival, who indeed would have been 
 altogether crushed except through my intervention; 
 and J beheld in all that proceeding a terrible illus- 
 tration of the truth of what Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 bad been saying. The words, therefore, which I 
 was about to utter, died upon my lips; and I sat 
 silent and unhappy. 
 
 " I have already told you, Mary," continued Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering, "that I love you. Was I not 
 explicit enough upon this head some weeks ago, 
 when I ofiered you my hand, and you rejected me ? 
 Ah 1 think you that I have forgotten the scene 
 which took place on that occasion ? think you 
 I cease to remember how I lel't you in the 
 lane with my rival in your afiections? and could 
 you now ask if I have anything to resent — any- 
 thing to revenge? Mary, there have been mo- 
 ments when I have loved and hated you at the same 
 time ; but never moments when I have ceased to love 
 you altogether! No — for I do love you— and pas- 
 sionately, devotedly — at times with a sort of frenzy 
 which is utterly beyond my control. Even there- 
 fore if I dreaded the law, I would not desist from 
 the course which I am pursuing towards you. No— I 
 will persevere in it, though the very scaffold itself 
 loomed in the perspective!" 
 
 While giving utterance to the latter portion of 
 his speech, the Baronet's voice swelled into an 
 im|)assioned excitement — his countenance grew 
 flushed — and his eyes seemed to flash forth tire. 
 He rose from his seat, but did not advance towards 
 me. I also started from my chair, and stood with 
 vanishing courage — pale and trembling— in his 
 presence. I felt that 1 had to do with a man des- 
 perate in his wickedness. 
 
 " Mrs. Furgusou has told me," he continued, 
 "how, siuce yesterday, you have shown a strange 
 spirit " 
 
 "Sir," I suddenly exclaimed, my indignation 
 fired by the mention of that infamous woman's 
 name; ''how is it possible that you — a gentleman 
 — could have allowed yourself to make use of such 
 vile instruments as these women who are acting as 
 my gaolers? Think you that I have no modesty 
 to be shocked — no sense of shame to be outraged 
 —by the contact of such wretches? And more 
 than this, you have placed as a spy upon mj' move- 
 ments whi n I walk abroad, a man of the most 
 infamous character — a man who once endeavoured 
 to make away with me— yes, to murder mo at 
 Dover " 
 
 " Ah ! is this possible ?" ejaculated Sir Aubrey, 
 stai tied by the announceoient. 
 
 "It is true, I solemnly declare it! But more 
 than that," 1 continued; "lie is one of the gang 
 who caused little innocent Bella to be carried off; 
 and that very gipsy woman whom you have like- 
 wise taken into your service, was the one who, 
 aided by her mother, robbed the child from 
 Jemima!'' 
 
 •' 1 was not awaro of all this," observed the 
 Baronet, evidently astonished as well as deeply 
 vexed by these revealings. " Morley conducted it 
 all," he added in a musing tone; " he ferreted out 
 
 the persons necessary for my purpose but ho 
 
 should have been more careful " 
 
 "Ah, Sir Aubrey Clavering !" I said, thinking 
 and hoping that I had led him into a train of re- 
 flection which might possibly tend to the softening 
 
 of his heart; "I am about to make an allusion 
 which, heaven knows, I would not even whisper for 
 worlds, were it not for the purpose of appealing to 
 the best feelings of your nature. For it is impos- 
 sible you can be without such feelings ! O sir, if 
 you do indeed possess them, I adjure you thereby 
 to remember that it was I who rescued the child 
 
 your child from those wretches of whom I 
 
 have been speaking !" 
 
 " Mary," Sir Aubrey suddenly exclaimed, " if 
 you had saved my life— if yon had delivered me 
 from the most horrible of tortures — in short, if yon 
 had done me the greatest possible service which 
 one human being can render to another, — still I 
 would not renounce that hope which my heart now 
 cherishes I No— for I am not master of myself. 
 In every other circumstance that engages my at- 
 tention, I can be cool, calm, and collected. But 
 when I think of you — wheu your image rises up to 
 
 my mind and it is almost ever there 1 grow 
 
 excited, bewildered, maddened! Oh, as I behold 
 you now, pale and trembling as you are— yet beau- 
 tiful — oh ! so beautiful — and with something about 
 you which I cannot find words to express, but 
 wiiich is infinitely more ravishing than even your 
 loveliness— I feel that I could sell my soul to 
 Satan in order to make you mine !" 
 
 " Good heavens I" I exclaimed, shuddering to 
 the deepest confiues of my being: "how can you 
 talk of experiencing any regard for one whom you 
 persecute thus bitterly ? Sir Aubrey Clavering, I 
 do implore and beseech you to let me depart 
 hence. If you do, I swear most solemnly that I wili, 
 to the best of my ability, fliug a veil over ail these 
 proceedings on your part. Oh! bethink you, it is 
 the poor friendless orphan who offers up this 
 prayer to you, a po>verful rich man ! Depend upon 
 it that if you grant my prayer, the day will come — 
 yes it must come — when you will rejoice in having 
 behaved with mercy and forbearance. Do, Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering— do, I beseech you, hear my 
 prayer!"— and I clasped my hands, while the tears 
 streamed down my face. 
 
 " But why can you not love me ? why tcill you 
 not love me ?" he demanded, with an increasing 
 excitement of voice and manner. " Have ] not 
 already afforded you sufficient indications of my 
 desire to minister unto your happiness? When 
 you arrived at this cottage, you were shown rich 
 dresses and splendid jewels, all of which I pur- 
 chased for you : but they are nothing in com- 
 parison with the wealth and the riches that I will 
 shower upon you. Consent to love me — seal my 
 happiness here, beneath this roof — and to-morrow 
 1 will bear jou away in a carriHge to whatsoever 
 part of the country you may choose — to London i; 
 you like— and there you shall hivo a mansion, 
 
 equipages, servants But heavens ! what is the 
 
 matter?" 
 
 I had sunk down upon my chair, and was falling 
 back with a sensation of faiutuess, as these 
 proffers — so outrageous to my feelings— instead of 
 coming like golden temptations upon my soul, 
 struck upon my brain as if with successive blows 
 of a hammer. 
 
 "No, no— come not near mel" I cried, hys- 
 terically starting up from the swoon into whicii a 
 moment before I had been sinking. " Hear me. 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering — hear me once for all I I 
 do not love you— I cannot love you— nut ~r worlds
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID, 
 
 could I lore you I The very name of love seems 
 to be polluted when uttered by your lips. I see 
 that I was wrong to appeal to you, eveu by the 
 recoUectiou of that sweet inaocent child whom at 
 the peril of my life I rescued from a gang ot mis- 
 creants:— I see also that you are inaccessible to 
 every sentimeat of humanity, generosity, and good- 
 ness " 
 
 " Yes, yea— I am where you are concerned I" he 
 exclaimed, with frenzied excitement. 
 
 " Then hear mel" I cried. " If you dare menace 
 me farther, I will resist you to the utmost. Nay, 
 I will possess myself of a knife ; and without hesi- 
 tation will I plunge it into your heart !" 
 "Mary, you rave— you are mad! ' 
 "No — I am resolved and determined." 
 "But all this is childish — ridiculous!" 
 "It is fraught with terrible solemnity for us 
 both," I exclaimed. " Sooner than go forth into 
 tUe world and b« oomp»tlud to blush whca looking 
 310. 21. 
 
 in the face of those who know me, I will even put 
 an end to my own existence, () God, forgive me," 
 I exclaimed, in a wild tone, " U>r being forced to 
 utter so dreadful a threat : but I swear tliat I will 
 perish— yes, perish by my own hand— rather than 
 become degraded and disgraced !" 
 
 With these words I moved towards the door : 
 but Sir Aubrey Clavering sprang after me ; and 
 catching me by the arm, he said in a voics that 
 was hoarse but terrililo with mingled rage and 
 passion, " Mary, tiiiiik not to escape me thus. I 
 swear by heaven that you shall be mine !" 
 
 " Never!" I cried, with a feeling as if my senses 
 were leaving me. 
 
 " I give you twenty-four hours to reflect——" 
 
 " I do not need a moment !" 
 
 " Rash and insensate girl ! You are a feather 
 contending with a whirlwind 1" retorted the Bai'O' 
 net. "Four-and-twonty hours do I give you: and 
 tiioa— <You understand met Mow go to youi
 
 162 
 
 MAHY prick; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEKVANT-M\ID. 
 
 chamber, if you will :" — and abruptly releasirii,' my 
 arm, which for half a minute he had held with a 
 force a^ if it were iu an iroa vice, he walked hur- 
 riedly back to the fire-place. 
 
 Quitting the room, I ascended to my own cham- 
 ber; where I sat down in a sort of bewilderment, 
 woiideriog whether all that had just taker, place 
 were a reality, or only a hideous draam. But in a 
 few minutes Anne made her appearance to ask 
 whether I would have dinner brought up— for it 
 was now one o'clock. Then all the frightful truth- 
 fulness of my position flaming up as it were in my 
 mind, I started with hysterical wildness from my 
 chair, exclaiming, " No — I will take nothing— I 
 require no food of any sort. Leave ms." 
 
 She accordingly turned away witliout speaking 
 a word, and left the rooni,loci<i;)g the door behind 
 her. A flood of tears partially relieved me ; and 
 when the extreme bitlerness of my anguish had 
 thus found vent, I dried my eyes and sat down to 
 revolve the plans of escape which began to crowd 
 thick in upon my mind. But alas 1 they were no- 
 thing more than the same thivt I had often thought 
 of before, during my captivity at tlic White Cot- 
 tage ; and none seemed feasible. So desperate, 
 however, was my position that it was no wonder if, 
 like a drowning person in death's struggles, 1 
 clutched at every pp.ssing straw. Should I esc:ipe 
 by the window? No: for instantaneous recapture 
 must follow. Should I affect a yielding disposition 
 towards the Baronet and thus throw him off his 
 guard? No: that scheme had already failed with 
 the two women ; and moreover it shocked ray deli- 
 cacy to think of simulating any sentiment of a 
 favourable character towards my arch-persecutor. 
 Should I endeavour to pick the lock of the door 
 and steal dowu stairs on the chance of being able 
 to fly from the house ? No : detection would be 
 inevitable. Should I endeavour to eludo Anne's 
 vigilance during the night? Alas! wliat hope was 
 there of success therein? for never once during 
 the sixteen days of my captivity, had I failed, wlien 
 awaking in the night, to find that she was awake 
 also. What then was to bb done? I kucw 
 not. 
 
 The hours pass away— darkness had set in — 
 I had closed the curtains — the candle was lighted 
 upon the table. I felt faint and exhausted for 
 want of food. Very little had I eaten on the pre- 
 vious daj' — nothing with my breakfast on the morn- 
 ing of this one — and I had taken no dinner. There- 
 fore when Anne came up at the regular hour and 
 asked if I would have tea, I replied in the affirmative, 
 on condition that I might make it for myself. The 
 tray was accordingly brought up ; and 1 partook 
 of a cup of tea and a slice of bread. When my 
 repast was over, I again abandoned myself to my 
 reflections,— conjuring up the wildest scliemes for 
 effecting an escape, but constrained to abandon 
 each one as impracticable. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock when I suddenly heard 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering's voice in the passage below, 
 talking loud and angrily. 
 
 " What the deuce more can the fellow want ?" he 
 exclaimed. "I have sent him ten guineas beyond 
 the stipulated sum; and you say he is not satis- 
 fied?" 
 
 A voice which I recognised to be that of Anne, 
 made some answer ; but the words did not reach my 
 ears. 
 
 " Oh !" ejaculated Claveriug, who rippeared to be 
 verj aiigry indeed: " he says that he has been here 
 loiigdv than at first agreed upon — eh? V/el!, the j 
 ten (guineas are ample ren.uneratiou for his over- ' 
 timfc. The fact is, if I had known that he was such 
 a thrtrough-paced rascal as he is, he never should 
 hav» come here at all. Mary Price told me terrible 
 things about him this mojuing. However, I uou't 
 
 want to quarrel with the scoundrel ^" 
 
 h«re Anne said something again ; and Mrs. Fer- 
 guson's voice likewise mingled in the colloquy: 
 but i could not catch what either of them said. 
 
 "Oh well," continued Clavering, "if you don't 
 like to talk to the fellow any more about the matter, 
 tell him to come to me. I don't miud giving Lim 
 ano'her five guineas, since you suggest its prudence. 
 Mother Ferguson : hut I can't say that I like lo 
 submit to such bare-faced eztortioni." 
 
 I then heard, by the sounds of the Barooei's foot- 
 steps, that he |:e-eii'ered the parlour — doubtless to 
 await the coming of Safbrid^e from the outii'jUBt-: 
 for that Sir Au'.rsy's anger had been excited by the 
 avarice of that individual, was clear enJUj^h. A 
 gleam of hope gradually stole into my mind. There 
 was evidently a dispute between the employer aui 
 the employed: might it pot turn tp my advantage 1 
 I knew enough of Siwbridge's character to be well 
 aware that he was capstble of anything: would he, 
 then, hesitate to turn rpunJ upon the Qaronet cithti- 
 through revenge or any other motive? The longri 
 I thought upon all this, the more interested diu I 
 become iu the issue of that dispute a pottiou of i 
 whose commencement I had overhesrd. j 
 
 In a few minutes the sounds of a man's heavy 
 feet in the passage below reached my ears; and | 
 approaching the chamber-door, I iisteneiied witli 
 breathless suspense at the keyhole. B'K this time I 
 the conversation did not take place in the p.<ssage :. I 
 Sawbridge was evidently introduced to the parlour; 
 and therefore, though the door of that room remained j 
 open, I could hear nothing beyond the murmur of 
 voices. For five minutes did the conversation, 
 whatever it were about, last iu the parlour ; auri ihcn 
 I heard persons come forth iuto the passage. The 
 f. 'nt door opened ; and Sawbridge said, " Well, Sir 
 Aubrey, I hope you won't think none the worse of 
 me for trying to get as much as I could—" 
 
 "Let no more be said upon the subject," rejoineu 
 the Baronet's voice. "You have got what you 
 asked ; and now that your services are no longer 
 required here, you can go and revel in yo;ir gains." 
 "And so I will, sir," answered Sawbridge; 
 "although I have got a deceutish waik of six mile.s 
 before 1 reach " 
 
 "Hush — don't speak so loud!" interposed Mrs, 
 Ferguson. 
 
 " I have told you," said the Baronet, " tha? if you 
 choose to remain in your o'.d quarters until n). 
 morrow, you .nre perfectly welcome: but as I luy 
 now come here to stay for the present, auii ilie^r is 
 no necessity for you to be about the premi>ts a:iy 
 longer, I thought you would like to get cti wiihoul 
 delay." 
 
 " And so I do, sir," responded Sawbridge. " That 
 outhouse was precious lonesome, and I shan't be 
 sorry to bid it good bye." 
 
 " Well, away with you then," cried the Baronet, 
 as if somewhat impatient of this colloquy. 
 
 "Good night, Sir Aubrey. Good night, Mrs 
 Ferguson. Good bye, Auue :" — and away went
 
 MARY PBIOE; OB, THE MEM01E3 OP A SERVANT-JIAID. 
 
 163 
 
 Nick Sawbridgc, the front door closing behind 
 him. 
 
 I returned to my seat with all my temporarily 
 awakened hops utterly prostratad : for it was evi- 
 dent that Sawbrid^jfe and the Baronet had parted 
 on good terms ; and I said to myself in mournful 
 soliloquy, " The dispute is made up : nothing will 
 arise from it !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A CHANar.. 
 
 Soon after ten o'clock Anne came up-stairs as 
 usual, to go to be'1. She locked the door, and be- 
 gan bustling about the room according to her in- 
 variable habit, so that she might have an oppor- 
 tunity of concealing the key— a precaution which, 
 in consequence of her ever vigilant watchfulness 
 and easy wakefulness, appeared very unnecessary. 
 But perceiving that I made not the slightest pre- 
 paration for retiring to rest, she asked, " Shall I 
 assist you, Miss, to take off your things?" 
 
 " No," was my answer : an 1 1 kept my seat near 
 the fire. 
 
 " Do you not mean to go to bed yet ?" she in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Neither yet, nor all night,"! rejoined. 
 
 She stared at me with some degree of astonish- 
 ment, and at length observed, " You need not be 
 afraid of anything. Didn't you see me lock the 
 door?" 
 
 '* Yes— and also hide the key," was my response. 
 " But those who hide can find ; and those who lock 
 can unlock. In the same way that I have taken 
 precautions against eating drugged food, will I en- 
 deavour to gaard against any outrage that may 
 be contemplated during the night." 
 
 " On my soul. Miss Price, you are wrong !" ex- 
 claimed Anne vehemently. 
 
 " Do you suppose that I should take your word 
 for anything?" I asked. "And now have the good- 
 ness to coase addressing your observations to me." 
 
 Tlie v.omau gave a sort of sullen grunt, and 
 slowly proceeded to disapparel herself. She doubt- 
 less thought 1 was merely giving myself airs or 
 showing off my spirit, but that I should presently 
 ) ield to sleepiness and ba glad to lie down. But I 
 sat quietly in ray chair, looking at the fire and giv- 
 ing way to my reflections: for I had firmly re- 
 solved to sit up all uighf . The servant-woman lin- 
 ijtrod a very long time over her own preparations 
 I'orKoiii;; to bed; and when at hst she was ready, 
 but I still gave no sign of following hor example, 
 she said, "You had better think twice of it; for 
 you will be regularly worn out by morning." 
 
 I mad? no answer ; and she stepped into her own 
 bed, t'ongh evidently with some degree of reluct- 
 ance. No doubt she thought that my object was 
 to weary her out, watch till she ?vas asleep, and 
 then n\ iko an attempt at 9i;<ht; so she lay :;v, aki', 
 every now and then giving me an intimafion by a 
 short cuugh that she was not asleep. 
 
 !!\I lie than an hour had thus passed —Anne was 
 still wide awake — and I remained seated in my 
 chair without the slightest sensation of wearine3;<. 
 Sh-^ was now desperately angry; and starting sud- 
 denly lip in her bed, exclaimed, " I teil you what it 
 is I — this is the height of folly 1 You only do it to 
 
 vex and annoy me, because you know I am tired 
 after a hard day's work. If you don't go to bed 
 I will jump up and blow out the candle." 
 
 " I will save you the trouble," said I, at once es- 
 tinguishing it 
 
 " Provoking puss that you are !" said the woman 
 bitterly. " But if you don't go to bed I will come 
 and throw a pitcher of water over the fire." 
 
 "That you assuredly sliall not do," I replied: 
 " and if you dure attempt it, I will beat you away 
 from the fire-place with the poker. You shall not 
 trample me under foot." 
 
 Another sullen gruut — aud the woman lay down. 
 Slowly passed the time, and still did she continue 
 awake : but gradually on my part did a sensation 
 of drowsiness steal upon me. Tu'o or three times 
 I started up in my chair to shake it off : but return 
 it would— till at length my ideas fell into confu- 
 sion ; and if I were not actually asleep, at all events 
 I was in a state of what may be termed dreamy 
 repose. I cannot say how long this lasted : but I 
 was suddenly startled by hearing a loud cry of 
 " Help ! murder 1 thieves !" ringing all through the 
 house. 
 
 It was Clavering's voice, sounding from an adja- 
 cent apartment. I started up, feeling as if awaken- 
 ing from a hideous dream. 
 
 "Good God, what is that?" exclaimed Anne, 
 springing from her bed. 
 
 " Help ! murder ! thieves !" still rang through 
 the house, now accompanied by the unmistakable 
 sounds of a fierce stru;?gle in the adjoining room. 
 Then the door of Mrs. Ferguson's chamber, which 
 was exactly opposite mine, opened suddenly ; and 
 her voice was heard shrieking out, '* What in hea- 
 ven's name is the matter ?" 
 
 " Silence, you old beldame — or we will do for 
 you!" thundered forth a fearful voice, which I in- 
 stantaneously recognized to be that of Ben Bull- 
 dog. 
 
 Anne fell upon her knees, breaking out into the 
 bitterest lamentations ; and I myself was so terri- 
 fied that I knew not whether to hope or dread the 
 most from what was now going on. The truth 
 however had already flashed to my mind: Saw- 
 bridge was no doubt at the bottom of the burglary 
 which was being perpetrated ! 
 
 "Don't hurt her, Ben," exclaimed another voice 
 on the landing, accompanied by the tread of heavy 
 footsteps: and this voice I also recognized: it 
 was that of Long Joe, the man whom I had seen 
 at the Trampers' Arms in St. Giles's, " There, 
 that's right— throw a cord about her— tie her old 
 hands and feet. The Baronet's safe enough— he 
 is bound in every limb, and Sawbridge is fastening 
 the cord to the bed-post." 
 
 While Long Joe was thus speaking, there was a 
 great struggling on the landing, accompanied by 
 fnquent outbursts of screaming on the part of 
 Mr.s. Ferguson, to;;ether with certain brief but ex- 
 pressive ejaculations on that of the Bulldog— such 
 iis, " Come, keep quiet— lie still now— hold your 
 jaw, you old wretch 1" — and the like. 
 
 All that had hitherto occurred scarcely occupied 
 three minutes, though it has taken much longer to 
 describe : and now there Wiis a thundering knock 
 at my chamber-door, with peremptory commands 
 to open it, from tiie united voices of the Bulldog, 
 Sawbridge, and Long Joe. 
 
 " You imsl open it," s^id I to Anne. " Wlwre
 
 164 
 
 MARY price; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAtD. 
 
 is the key? For heaven's saUe do not irritate 
 them ! Besides, tliey will burst it in !" 
 
 "There, there, Miss!" said the terrified woman, 
 drawing forth the key from underneath her own 
 pillow. 
 
 " Give it to me," I said, perceiving that her 
 hand trembled so she could not have put it into 
 the lock. "Now throw a shawl over your shoul- 
 ders while I let them in." 
 
 Thus speaking-, I at once opened the door with 
 a presence of n.ind which arose from the certainty 
 I had acquired that murder was not being done, 
 but that the villains had contented themselves 
 wilh merely securing the Baronet and Mrs. Fer- 
 guson by means of cords. I was not therefore 
 apprehensive of being more severely dealt with by 
 them : and perhaps I had a rapid presentiment 
 that the result would be advantageous to myself. 
 At all events my position at the cottage just pre- 
 vious to tlieir arrival Avas so dreadful that it could 
 scarcely bo made worse ; and even death at their 
 hands were preferable to dishonour at those of Sir 
 Aubrey Claveriug. 
 
 The door was opened — and in burst the three 
 men. The light from the fire showed me their 
 wcll-kuowri countenances, as it likewise revealed 
 to them both myself and Anne. The Bulldog 
 came first — Long Joe was second — Saw bridge 
 brou(^ht up the rear. 
 
 "Now then, young Miss," said the ferocious 
 Bulldog, who as a matter of course at once recog- 
 nized me, " where are all these pretty things that 
 you told SawbriJge about? If we fiud them it 
 will ba well for you. If we don't " 
 
 "Well, Ben," interrupted Sawbridge, "it's no 
 use bullying the gal. Let's look in the cup- 
 boards." 
 
 " Aye, that's it," said Long Joe : and shutting 
 the door, he leant his back against it. 
 
 The Bulldog and Sawbridge lighted a caudle, 
 opened the cupboard, and found the objects of 
 their cupidity. A brutal smile expanded upun the 
 almost noseless countenance of the former, and a 
 reptile-like satisfaction gleamed from the eyes of 
 the la'ter, as they dragged forth all the rich silks 
 and satins, together with the jewel-box. 
 
 "By jingo!" exclaimed Long Joe, advancing 
 from tlie door to the table where all those Ihitigs 
 were now displayed; " this was well worth coming 
 for !" — then turning to me, he observed, " I ought 
 to owe you a grudge, INliss Price, for playing Miss 
 Tinibuutoo over us at tho Travipers' A7-ms ; for we 
 have found it all out since : but as it's through you 
 we have got such a good haul here, 1 can't find it 
 iu my heart to do you a mischief. You looked 
 prijtty enough as Miss Ebony, but a deuced deal 
 prettier as you are now." 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Miss Mary," said the Bull- 
 dog, now fi.'cing his eyes on me; •' although you 
 did play us that precious scurvy trick that Long 
 Joe lias been talking of, yet as you didn't set the 
 traps upon us for either that or ihc little business 
 at Dover, we don't want to be hard upon you. So 
 put on your things and tramp ofl' at once." 
 
 Reader, it \Yould be impossible to conceive the 
 joy which .?ud Jrnly sprang up in my heart at these 
 words : nor as he uttered them did the Bulldog 
 seem at the moment the horrible hideous monster 
 that he really was. Need 1 say that I was not 
 very long ia availing myself of tho permission thus 
 
 granted ? Throwing on ray bonnet and cloak, but 
 forgettin;; to take my purse which lay upon the | 
 chest of drawers, 1 turned to speed from the 
 chamber. 
 
 " MissPrice.for God's sake speak a good word for 
 me !" exclaimed Anne, who was cowering down in 
 awful tribulation in the remotest corner of theroom. 
 
 "You won't be hurt if you hold your tongne," 
 exclaimed Sawbridge, addressing the servant. 
 " And now be off, Miss Price." 
 
 I opened the door, and the next moment w.ns in 
 the landing, where Mrs. Ferguson lay bound with 
 cords and groaning bitterly. I really pitied her 
 notwithstanfling all she had done ag^.inst me : but 
 I dared not offer to assist her— nor was I in a 
 humour to pause, now that the avenue of flight 
 was open to me. She said something in an im- 
 ploring tone : but I did not answer her. I knew 
 her life was safe, as the burglars evidently did not 
 mean to push matters to unnecessary extremities; 
 and I had therefore the less compunction in leav- 
 ing her as she was. As I passed the open door of the 
 room where Sir Aubrey Clavering lay, I heard 
 him give vent to a bitter imprecation: but preci- 
 pating myself down stairs, I quickly drew back the 
 bolts of the front door. It was however locked, 
 and the key had been taken away, most lilieiy by 
 Mrs. Ferguson or the Baronet himself on retiring 
 to rest. Nothing discouraged, I sped to the back 
 door, and found it wide open, thus disclosing the 
 means whereby the burglars had entered. Another 
 instant and 1 was in the open air. As if wings 
 were fastened to my feet, I traversed the garden 
 and entered the fields ; and then I went rushing on 
 through the clear moonlight, impelled by one only 
 remaining terror, which was that the burglars 
 might repent of having suffered mc to escape and 
 come in pursuit. But this alarm proved totally 
 unfounded; and having run till I was altogcthtr 
 breathless, I slackened my pace. Still I walked as 
 quickly as I could, not caring which direction 1 
 took so long as every fresh step lengthened tlie 
 distance between my?clf and the White Cottage. 
 
 Indeed, 1 pursued my way at random, — being, as 
 the reader is already aware, utterly ignoi aut of uiy 
 whereabouts. I knew not in what part of the 
 country I was, nor which path to take in order to 
 reach the nearest town. But for the first lumr of 
 my escape this ignorance on my part troubled me 
 not : I was so unfeignedly rejoiced at my deliver- 
 ance tiiat the elevation of my spirits would not 
 allow of any misgiving. At last 1 felt so tired that 
 I was compelled to sit down upon tho step of a 
 stile which I reached. Here, in the depths of my 
 soul, I returned thanks to the all-seeing One for 
 this sudden change in my fortune^ : and then, so 
 overcome was I by my feelings, that I wept plcute- 
 ously. I remembered all that I had said on the 
 previous day to Mrs. Ferguson relative to the 
 power of Him to rescue one amongst a thousHud 
 mariners on board a foundering or burning vessel, 
 as well as to save the humble grotto of the an- 
 chorite «ven near the crater's verge when the 
 burning mount vomits forth the lava-llood that 
 overwhelms villages, towns, and cities. Yes, of all 
 this I thought as I poured forth my thanksgiving 
 to hraven, and wept copious tears of gratitude in 
 the utter loneliness, the silence, and the moonlight 
 of tlie scene. 
 
 After resting a short space, I rose and continuetl
 
 MABy PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 1«.5 
 
 my way across the fields. Every now and then I 
 stood still to look around and see if I could catch 
 any glimmering light to indicate a human habi- 
 tation. But in vain. Doubtless amidst the trees 
 there must have been an occasional hut or cottage — 
 perhaps even a mansion : but if so, they were too much 
 blended with the darkuess of the scenery to catch 
 my eye. For though the moon was shining, yet all 
 objects at a little distance were confused and dark. 
 Besides, at that hour, which I judged to be near two 
 in the morning, it was not at all probable that any 
 light would be gleaming from the windows of 
 dwellings. 
 
 The air was very chill : it pierced through my 
 thick cloak, to the very marrow of my bones. For 
 the first hour of my escape I was in a fever- heat 
 from excitement of spirits and from speed of pace : 
 but that rest at the stile had chilled me— and as I 
 was now thoroughly wearied, I could not drag 
 myself along quickly enough to sustain a proper 
 degree of warmth in ray body. My teeth chattered 
 —ray blood seemed gradually stagnating in my 
 veins : I moreover fel-t rery hungry — for the reader 
 will remember how little I had been able to eat for 
 the last two days. Cold, want, and weariness rapidly 
 produced a depression of spirits. Vainly did I en- 
 dea-vour to cheer myself with the circumstance of 
 my escape. The exciting joy and exultant triumph 
 of that occurrence were yielding to a rapidly in- 
 creasing sense of exhaustion— until I began to feel 
 downright miserable. I dared not stop and sit again : 
 1 was afraid of actually perishing with the cold. I 
 felt that if I allowed my limbs to become altogether 
 stiflened wiih the ice-chill of the air, I might be 
 unable to rise up again: and therefore did I con- 
 tinue to drag myself onward. 
 
 Presently, at the extremity of a long range of 
 fields, I observed an object a-head which seemed to 
 be a dwelling; and quickening my pace as well as 
 1 could, I advanced towards it. To my joy I per- 
 ceived that it gradually broke from obscure shape- 
 lessness into the outlines of a large mansion, with 
 tall chimneys, antique gables, a portico in front, 
 and outhouses at the sides. On approaching a little 
 nearer, I saw that it stood in the midst of a small 
 park, or paddock, with a high railing all round and 
 a great gate at the entrance of the carriage-way : 
 and on issuing from the field, I found myself in a 
 lane skirting the enclosure. With the resolution of 
 ringing the bell and craving admission, if only to 
 sleep in a barn or a shed, 1 approached the gate: 
 but just as my hand grasped the handle of the bell- 
 wire which was fixed in the gate-post, a hideous 
 barking of dogs arose- and down the carriage-way 
 inside the paddock rushed three or four of those 
 animals as if to tear me to pieces. With a scream 
 of affiright I darted away from the spot, and sped 
 along the lane for several minutes, as if no such 
 feeling as that of weariness had ever been expe- 
 rienced by me at all. Indeed, it was a mortal terror 
 that thus impelled me on ; and as the dogs con- 
 tinued barking, J at first fancied that they were in 
 full pursuit. But I suppose they could not gel 
 through the gale, the bars being too close together. 
 When the panic which thus inspired rae had sub- 
 sided and I knew that I was safe from any pursuit 
 on the part of those ferocious animals, all my 
 weariness returned— with a more crushing power 
 too than before ; and 1 was compelled to sit down on 
 a bank under a hedge. 
 
 I felt the tears trickling down my cheeks. Oh ! 
 if the inmates of the mansion I had just passed 
 knew that while they were slumbering^ in their 
 comfortable warm beds, a fellow-creature- and 
 that fellow-creature a poor helpless girl— had been 
 driven away by savage dogs from their gate, could 
 they have slept on iu pcaco ? Alas, alas ! the idea 
 struck me that many and many a houseless wan- 
 derer, as I then was, thus often passes by the 
 dwellings of his fellow-creatures by night, only to 
 feel his own misery with the greater poignancy, 
 because reminded of the luxurious repose in which 
 the others are pillowed ! 
 
 Wining away ray tears, and again warned by the 
 stiffening of my limbs that to linger on that dewy 
 bank was to court death, I rose from my seat and 
 dragged myself painfully along the lane. But I 
 began to reflect that such a fine mansion as the 
 one I had just passed was not likely to be alto- 
 gether isolated, and that there would perhaps be 
 the humbler habitations of farm-labourers in the 
 neighbourhood. Perhaps a hamlet or village? So 
 I went on, cheered by the hopefulness of these re- 
 flections. And sure enough, at the end of the 
 lane, about halt a mile from the mansion, there 
 was a neat little cottage-like residence. Approach- 
 ing the door, I knocked — but with great timidity. 
 For two or three minutes I waited: my summons 
 remained unanswered : no sound of any one mov- 
 ing within reached my ears — no light appeared at 
 any of the windows. I knocked again — a little 
 louder this time. In about a minute one of the 
 upper windows was opened, and a head with a 
 white cotton night-cap was thrust forth. 
 
 " Who's there ?" demanded iu a gruff voice the 
 man whom I had thus aroused from his slumber-i. 
 "For heaven's sake," I said in a piteous tone, 
 which W.1S very far from being assumed, "let me 
 come in and rest a little while ; and give mc a 
 mouthful of food— for I am perishing with cold and 
 hunger!" 
 
 " No, no — we don't take in trampers," was the 
 brutal response : and before I could give utterance 
 to another word, the head popped in— the window 
 was banged down — and all was silence again. 
 
 Though my whole form was so icy cold, yet did I 
 weep scalding tears as I dragged myself away from 
 that inhospitable dwelling. Heavens I what would 
 become of me ? I dared not sit down again : and 
 I was wearied — Oh! so wearied — that I felt as if 
 1 must drop in the road, crushed by the weight of 
 fitigue. Yet I continued to drag myself along : 
 but more intense became the chill— for it was now, 
 as well as I could guess, near three o'clock on that 
 wintry morning. If I could but roach some villagu 
 or hamlet where there was a tavern or public- 
 house, I might obtain a bed. But, ahl as this 
 hope— for an instant fraught with a cheering effect 
 — arose in my mind, it was accompanied by a ter- 
 rible misgiving. I thrust my hand iuto my pocket : 
 my purse was not there ! I felt upou my finger 
 through my gloves: and ahis ! the ring which, as 
 the reader will remember, was the gift of Lady 
 llarlesdon, had likewise been left behind me ! 1 
 wai penniless — and without anything of value 
 about mo that could be converted into money or 
 offered as a security for payment. 
 
 Now indeed was I utterly downcast : my posi- 
 tion appeared positively appalling: — and stopping 
 ' short iu the middle of the road, I liternlly wrung
 
 166 
 
 MAuy pbioe; ob, the mkmoibs of a sebvant-maid. 
 
 my hands in despair. But after a few moments' 
 pause I continued to di-aj myself od again. In this 
 manner I advanced about a mile along tlie road, 
 without seeing another liabitation. At length I 
 observed what appeared to ha ;i hrg<i barn, stand- 
 ing a little way back in a field. I at onco repaired 
 towards it, and to my joy found Uiat one of the 
 great foliling-doors was partially opyn, emitting tiie 
 fragrance of hay. I crept in, feeling ray way very 
 cautiously— for it was as dark as pit'.h : but I soon 
 found that I was treading on a sofi .sub<tance — and 
 stooping down, I felt it. It wns, as 1 had antici- 
 pated, hay scattered about. Then I sto'>d still and 
 listened, lest I might be intruding in a place where 
 there were other occupants : but all was still. So 
 1 lay down, thanking heaven for thus at last guid- 
 ing me to a place of refuge — and soon fell asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE VILLAGE. 
 
 When I awoke I heard voices talking : but it was 
 still pitch dark — and several instants elapsed ere 
 I couM so far collect my ideas as to remember 
 where 1 was. But when all the circumstances of 
 my position came back to my mind, a mortal terror 
 stole upon me as I felt that I was an intruder in 
 some place where it was possible I might meet with 
 ill-treatment. I lay as still as death — for the voices 
 went on talking ; and the instant I comprehended 
 the subj.ect of the discourse which I thus over- 
 heard in the dark, it assumed such a fearful in- 
 terest as to engross all my faculties. The voices 
 wore those of men evidently in a very low condi- 
 tion of life : and I speedily discovered that they 
 were three in number. 
 
 " And so you knowed the prisoner, did yer?" 
 asked one. 
 
 " To bo sure I did," was the response. " I seed 
 him often enow when I worked up yonder last har- 
 vest-time. But I never should have thought he 
 wor a chap as would iiave done this ore job." 
 
 " But bo it worry sure that it wor him artcr all ?" 
 mquired the third individual. 
 
 " Vy, the crowner's quest brought in a werdick 
 of wilful murder agin him, and so I Vpose it wor 
 all right enow. The crowner is a Icary chap, and 
 not likely to get the wrong pig by the ear." 
 
 •' How wor it done ?" 
 
 " Oh 1 with a sharp knife, or summut of that ere 
 kind, I heerd say. The poor devil wor st'cked 
 right through the heart, and seemed all a gore of 
 blood. That wor the pickle they fjund him in. 
 It's made what they calls a sensation all in them 
 parts." 
 
 " I des say," observed one of the questioner-' ; 
 " like enow. So I 'spose there'll be a bit of hang- 
 ing done when the trial's over?" 
 
 " Aye, that there will," responded the informant. 
 " It's a good bit o' time since there wor any hang- 
 ing down in yon parts : and that wor a chap as 
 murdered his sweetheart. But I say, mates, don't 
 yer think it's time for us to be jogging ? We have 
 had a pretty good spell o' sleep since nine o'clock 
 last night, and this is a cosy barn, where we've 
 been warm and snug enow." 
 
 " Aye, let's bo off," said another. *' I can tell 
 by what my feelings is that I've had p'outy o' sleep ; 
 
 and though it's as dark as a coal- pit I'm pretty 
 sure it's getting latish in the morning." 
 
 " Lor bloss yer, I cm tell as well as possible," 
 said the third, "that it's just u^on six o'clock- 
 cos why, we have been awake about lialf-anhour, 
 and I always awakes regular at half-past five, no 
 matter -.vhere I sloops. So let's be trudging." 
 
 I heard the three men rise up from the spot 
 where they had been sleeping at the farther ex- 
 tremity of the barn ; and infinite was my relief 
 when they issued forth without discovering me. A 
 cold perspiration had started out from every pore 
 as I gleaned the dim outline of the fearful topic of 
 their discourse : for it was horrible indeed, in the 
 darkness of that place and in the unprotected 
 loneliness of my position, to hear murder thus 
 spoken of. But when once the men were gone I 
 took courage. Not that they, poor creatures ! 
 were likely to have done me any harm, even if 
 they had discovered me; forjudging by their dis- 
 course, they were trampers in search of work, aud 
 whom dire poverty had constrained to seek a restin;j- 
 place in the same barn that afforded me an asylum. 
 But still, as I have above said, it was a relief to 
 find myself rid of such companionship ; and I 
 endeavoured to compose myself to sleep once 
 more. 
 
 But though slumber did again revisit my eyes, 
 it was feverish and unrefreshing. The pangs of 
 hunger tormented me even in that sleep : I felt a 
 horrible gnawing at the stomach;— and at the 
 same time Murder, personified in the phantom- 
 shape of a hideous night-hag, seemed to sit upon 
 my breast. Two or three times I awoke in affright 
 and even screamed out : but so great was the ex- 
 haustion I experienced, and such was my fear of 
 venturing out into the dangers of darkness, that I 
 on each occasion composed myself to sleep again. 
 Thus in restless, fitful slumbers did I pass away the 
 time until it was broad driylight. 
 
 I now arose from my hay-couch and issued forth 
 froqj the barn. The vveaiher was still beautlfal, 
 but frosty and cold as during the few previous 
 days. Half famished as I was, I felt the nipping 
 air bitterly; and wretched indeed were my sensa- 
 tions altogether as I continued my way. At tbe 
 end of the lane there was a finger post marking 
 the directions of two places : but their names 
 being utterly unknown to me, afforded no ind ca- 
 tion of where I was. I looked around and beheld 
 two or three country-seats and a few smaller 
 habitations dotting the circumjacent landscape at 
 considerable intervals of distance : but I resolved 
 to pursue the road, as it must lead me sooner or 
 later to one of the places indicated by the finger- 
 post. 
 
 Having walked for about a couple of miles with- 
 out observing a single habitation by the road side 
 where I might st.-'p and test the hospitality of the 
 inmates, I porceived a village at the bottom of a 
 gentle hill which I w.is now descending. The 
 sight cheered me : I felt assured that there must 
 be some one there who would give me a mouthflil 
 of bread. I <iuickcncd my pace, and in a quarter 
 of an htur entered the village, which was of very 
 poor appearance, tho lai-gest house in the place 
 being near the church — and therefore, as I con- 
 cludc<l, the residence of the c'crgj-man. In a very 
 phort time i perceived a small chandlery-shop, 
 where bread was dispkijed in the window amongst
 
 MAET price; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 167 
 
 a miscellaneous assortment of go'tds — such as 
 bottles of blacking, pieces of cheese, matches, 
 candles, balls of twine, red herrinois, bladders of 
 lard, pieces of bacon, su^ar, &c. I paused at the 
 little v/indow and looked wistfully through the 
 dingy pines to see what sort of a person it was 
 B'31'ving behind the counter. A. raildle-aged wo- 
 man, with not a very inviting aspect, tiius met my 
 eyes — and my heart sank within me; for she 
 pssuredly was not one of those beings whose 
 appearance could give any encouragement to a 
 person in ray forlorn and indeed mendicant posi- 
 tion. But tlie sight of the bread sharpened the 
 pangs of hunger to a degree that was intolerable; 
 and mustering up all my courage I entered the 
 shop. The woman stared at me with all her eyes, 
 as the common phrase is : for in that retired out- 
 of-the-way place it was evident slie was unaccus- 
 tomed to behold strange faces. I felt abashed — 
 wished myself fairly out of the shop — and could 
 not immediately speak. At length, as if suddenly 
 recollecting that she was regarding me rudely, the 
 woman put on a civil aspect, and said, "Well, Miss, 
 what can I serve you with?" 
 
 " Will you hear me for a moment ?" I asked in 
 an appealing tone. "I have had the misfortune 
 to leave my purse behind me, and I am famishing 
 for want " 
 
 " Then you have run away from home, I sup- 
 pose ?" exclaimed the woman, her manner chang- 
 ing all in a moment: and she eyed me with 
 mingled impudence and suspicion. 
 
 "I have escaped from the hands of individuals 
 who were my bitterest persecutors," was my an- 
 swer. "I walked a considerable portion of the 
 night and slept in a barn——" 
 
 " Oh ! it's all very well," interrupted the woman 
 sharply; "but if you have no money you can have 
 nothing here :" — and locking up her little till, slie 
 placed her hands upon the counter as if she actu- 
 ally thought that I might make an attempt to rub 
 her. 
 
 "All I ask is a piece of bread," said I, the tears 
 trickling down my cheeks, and a deep sob almost 
 choking my utterance. " If you will trust me a 
 few pence only — even a single penny — the price of 
 a roll — I will send you silver instead, the moment 
 I get amongst friends again." 
 
 " There's enough of it," interrupted the woman : 
 " I never give trust." 
 
 Feeling no longer hungry, but crushed down by 
 the bitterest sense of humiliation I turuci] av.ay 
 and issued slowly from the shop. Slowly too did I 
 pass on through the village. There svas not, 
 another shop where bread was sold: nor of the 
 several countenances w^ich peeped forth from 
 windows or doors to look at me as I passed — for I 
 was stared at with a sort of vacant curiosity — was 
 there one that gavii luo encouragement enougli t" 
 stop and ask for a moruel of bread or a cup if 
 milk. 1 felt as if my heart were breaking. AVliat 
 on earth would become of me ? 
 
 Such was the question I put to myself a< I 
 readied the extremity of the hamlet. A lane kJ 
 down to tlie churchyard; and I bethought me of 
 applying to the clergyman and making my ca t; 
 l:n:jwn. Surely 1 .^:li(juld experience no rebufl 
 there ? I acccrdii'g p li.sod down the lane and en- 
 tered the charchyiiTii. Oh [ I almost wished that 
 I was one of the siioul 1 sIuinlnM-TS -^^h) s'cpt 
 
 the silent sleep of death in their narrow beds be 
 neath those mounds which marked their graves : 
 But the thought sent an icier chill to my heart; 
 and shuddering all over, I quickened my pace to 
 fly away as it were from that idea. Having tra- 
 versed the churchyard and passed by the little 
 temple of worship itself, with its sombre walls of 
 rough stone and its ivy-covered tower, I reached 
 tlie door of the house which I presumed to be 
 the clergyman's residence. Timid was the knock 
 which I gave: but my heart expanded somewhat 
 when the summons was answered by a good- 
 natured matronly woman, whom I immediately set 
 down as the minister's housekeeper. 
 
 " Is this the clergyman's abode, if you please ?" 
 I asked in a tremulous voice. 
 
 "Yes, Miss," was the reply : and the dame sur- 
 veyed me with increasing atteution and curiosjf.y. 
 " Could I bo allowed to speak to him ?" wia my 
 next question. 
 
 But before it was answered a door opened in the 
 neat little hall, and an elderly gentleman, dressed 
 in black, and who was evidently the clergyman 
 himself, came forth. He had a somewiiai severe 
 look — sharp angular features— a pale face— and a 
 cold grey eye. Again my heart sank within me, 
 for I beheld nothing encouraging tjiere ! 
 
 "What is it, young woman?" he asked: for 
 tiiough his housekeeper hal called me Miss, yet 
 he himself, observing my timid trembling manner, 
 doubtless suspected that I bad no right to be 
 saluted as a lady. 
 
 "I have taken the liberty to call and beseech 
 some food," was ray answer to his question : "for I 
 am famishing '." — and I burst iuto tears. 
 
 "This is extraordinary —scarcely credible!" 
 said the clergyman, his severe looks l)ecomin^ full 
 of suspicion. " Before I cm give you any succour, 
 you must convince me that you are not an im- 
 poatress." 
 
 " Oh, sir !" I exclaimed in an appealing tone, 
 " I can take heaven to witness that I have never 
 done a deed nor harboured a thought of which I 
 am ashamed !" 
 
 The old housekeeper looked in a compassionat- 
 ing manner, and the clergyman seemed somewhat 
 to be touched: but still eyeing me with an earnest 
 scrutiny, he asked, " How is it possible that a 
 young woman of your respectable appearance can 
 be in such a state? I cannot utiderstand it— and 
 you must explain : for I have enough to do for the 
 poor of my own parish — and thuy are poor indeed 
 — without incurring the chance of giving to 
 strangors who may be undeserving of my assist- 
 ance." 
 
 " Reverend air," I answered, wiping away my 
 tears and speaking in a firmer tone tlian at first, 
 " I have boei compelled to escape from the perse- 
 cutions of one who has harbuuruJ the worst inten- 
 tions towards me " 
 
 " And who is that person to whom you allude ?" 
 inquired the clergyman. 
 
 "lie is a gentleman of rank and fortune," was 
 my response, "and in every way should iiave 
 known much better. Uia name is Sir Aubrey 
 Cl-ivering." 
 
 "Eh — what— Clavcringl" pjaculatod a voice 
 from inside the parlour, the door of which iiad re- 
 mained open: aud that voice at once uoundt'il 
 fimiliar to uiy eara. Tlio noit instiiu the speaker
 
 168 
 
 MARY PKICE; or, THE MEMOIRS OF A FERV ANT-MAID. 
 
 canoe forth hurriedly into the hall — anl I at once 
 recuguized Dr. Viuceut. "Ah, Mary Price!" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Do you know her, then?" asked the village 
 cleigyman. 
 
 "Know her, my dear Palmer!" echoed Di. Vin- 
 cent. " Of course I do. She was ia Lord Harles- 
 dou's service; and she ran away a fortnight or 
 three weelo back. She is the mistress of that 
 very Clavering whom she has named. Lord aud 
 Lady Harlesdon saw her in his arms in a most 
 shameless manner. His lordship told me so yester- 
 day in Lady Harlesdon's presence." 
 
 I felt such a sudden faintneas come over me as 
 this terrible accusation met my cars, that I could 
 not immediately give utterance to a word— much 
 less proclaim an indignant denial; and my manner 
 was no doubt but too well calculated to confirm in 
 the opinion of Mr. Palmer aud his housekeeper 
 the statement made by Dr. Vincent. 
 
 " Then, after all, she is a wicked irapostross?" 
 said the village cleigyman in a cold stern voice. 
 
 "Ah! the dectittul liusy!" cried the house- 
 keeper with a toas of her head : " aud I took licr 
 for a lady and called her 3Iijs ! " 
 
 " Hear me, I beseech you !" was now my agoniz- 
 ing prayer. " I am innocent — I am starving " 
 
 But the door was slammed in my face; and 
 almost blinded by the tears that gushed forth in a 
 torrent from my eyes, I slowly dragged myself 
 away into the churchyard again. There, when 
 an angle of the sacred edifice screened me from 
 tlie view of the parsonage-windows, I sat down 
 upon a lilt tombstone and gave unrestrained vent 
 to the wild bitterness of my grief. And now as I 
 looked ouce more upon the graves around me, I 
 did wish that death would come to relieve me of 
 all my troubles, and consign me to those deep 
 wormy solitudes where the harsh stern voice of ihe 
 cruel world is heard not, and whither the breath 
 of calumny cannot penetrate to rend the heart or 
 call up a blush to the cheek ! 
 
 While thus plunged in my wretched meditations, 
 I heard the rustling of a silk dress, and looking 
 up, beheld au old lady advancing towards me. 
 She was nicely dressed — had a very benevolent 
 look— and was surveying me with much sympa- 
 thising attention. 
 
 •'Poor girl!" she snid. "I presume you have 
 some dear relative buriel ivithiu these precincts?"' 
 
 " No, ma'am," I ansivcrud : " I never was here 
 before in my life. But I am very, very miserable 
 
 — houseless — friendless — penniless— starving 
 
 and yet through no fault of mine, I solemnly de- 
 clare !" 
 
 The worthy lady looked at me very hard for 
 nearly a minute: but her looks displayed a deep- 
 ening sympathy and not a gathering suspicion. 
 Tlie tears were pouring down my cheeks, and my 
 heart was convulsed with sobs. Heaven knows 
 there was not any affectation in that grief so 
 exquisite, so intense* and the lady was deeply 
 moved as she thus surveyed me. 
 
 " Come with me," she said, taking my lund ; 
 and her voice trembled as she spoke. *' I will 
 give you what you require tirst, and you shall 
 tell me your history afterwards. Come, my dear 
 girl." 
 
 It would be impossible to convey an idea of the 
 sudden revuliion of feeling which took pluco withiu 
 
 me: it was as if soitifi blessed balm from paradise 
 itself had been poured down into the gaping 
 wounds of my lacerated heart, mitigating in a 
 moment all the intensity of their anguish, if not 
 healing them completely. I endeavoured to mur- 
 mur a few syllables of gratitude, but could not : 
 my voice was choked with emotions of an ineffable 
 nature; — and rising from my seat on the cold 
 gravestone, I accompanied my benefactress from 
 the churchyard. She led me to a neat little 
 cottage surrounded by a perfect shrubbery of 
 evergreens, and situated at a short distance from 
 the hamlet's extremity, A young country- looking 
 servaut-glrl, with cheeks as red as cherries and 
 good-humour dancing in her blue eyes like sun- 
 light in the depths of a lake, opened the door ; 
 and the old lady immediately said, "Bring in the 
 breakfiist things again, Lucy — make some fresh 
 tea — boil a couple of eggs— and be quick." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," responded the girl : and away 
 she tripped to the back part of the house, while 
 the old lady conducted me into a neat little par- 
 lour, where everything was in the most exquisite 
 order, bespeaking that neatness, cleanliness, and 
 comfort which were consistent with the taste of a 
 gcnt'ewomau. A large bible lay open upon a side- 
 table; two or three portraits of ancient-looking 
 personages were suspended to the walls ; aud some 
 curious china-ornamcati were ranged upon the 
 mantel. 
 
 The lady made me sit down close by the cheer- 
 ful 111 e ; and with her own hands she helped to 
 take off my bonnet and cloak. She looked kindly 
 upon me, said some cheering words, and patted 
 my face — but asked me no questions. Doubtless 
 she thougkt it more consistent with a truly charit- 
 able hospitality to suffer me to recruit my strength 
 with warmth and food first, ere I was required to 
 enter upon any explanations. The active, bustling 
 Lucy soon made her appearance with the breakfast- 
 things; and I partook with avidity of some tea 
 and dry toast. I tried to eat an egg — but my 
 heart heaved against it. I had gone so long with- 
 out food that my stomach was delicate to a de- 
 gree : but I felt considerably refreshed by what I 
 was enabled to eat aud drink, 
 
 " I cannot express, ma'am," I saiJ, when the 
 repast was over, "the immensity of the gratitude 
 I feel for your kindness. "Without your benevolent 
 aid I should have perished. 1 have nut slept in a 
 bed all niglil, but passed a few hours in a barn " 
 
 " Good heavens, poor child !" exclaimed my 
 benefactress, again deeply moved: for I had 
 stopped suddenly short and burst into tears. 
 "You shall go to bed at once if you like." 
 
 "No, ma'am, I thank you," was my answer; "I 
 feel no inclination to sleep :" — then after a little 
 hesitation, for I was fearful of giving trouble — 
 poverty aud destitution being the pai-ents of 
 timidity aud diffidence — I said, " But if you would 
 permit me to retire t.' a chamber for a few mi- 
 nutes " 
 
 "To be sure, poor girl!" cried my benefactress: 
 then summ'-ning Lucy, slio ba le her show me up- 
 stairs and tiikc up a pitcher of hot watei. 
 
 I was accordingly conducted to a ueat little 
 bed-room, where the good-hearted Lucy indicated 
 all the requisites for the toilet. She even, with a 
 dolioate thoughtfulncss rarely to be met with in 
 unpolished country-girls, took out a new tooth-
 
 MARY VUItr.; Oil THE MHIIOIRS OF A SERVA N T • M A I r 
 
 .lusii from a cuplio.inl, ami pl.n'.pd it on tie loiiet- 
 lablc, -sayins: witli a (food humoured smile, '• You 
 liave suL'h pretty teeth, Miss, tliat I am sure jou 
 muHt like to tako c:ic:it cai e of them." 
 
 That smile which slic {jave showed tliat she also 
 possessed a brilliaut set of teeth; which circum- 
 jtance it was, no doubt, that made her so con- 
 siderate ou my account. 1 tlianked her warmly 
 f.ir her kind utteiitioDS : aud she left mc, without 
 liiil^orinif or loitering to lead ui9 into a convcrsa- 
 tiim that mijjht gratify any curiosity which she 
 must ualurally have experienced conccruintj me. 
 
 The reader may well iuiai^iue how rcfrcBliin;;' it 
 ivaa to be enabled to perform tlie duiieu of the 
 toilet after the wretelied night I had passed ; and 
 when I desocndcd a;,'aiii to the little piirlour, the 
 good old lady took mc by tlie hand, tayinjf, " You 
 :ire far too intcrcstinyf a younj; creature to be 
 tossod amiilit till) trouiiK:t> and lunuoils of the 
 •\oi-\i\. Sit di)wu— aud when you feci iiuili; stroug 
 No. 29. 
 
 enough and quite disposed for conversation, you 
 shall tell mc what mischaiica haa placed you in 
 such a position." 
 
 I was about to commenco my history, when a 
 knock waa heard at the front <loor. The aunnuons 
 was immediately answered by Lucy; and the 
 visitor asked "whether Mrs. Hilton was at home?" 
 IJut tiiat voice— Oh ! it sounded like the knell of 
 death upon my ears ; and 1 fell back ghastly aud 
 trembling in my chair. 
 
 "Heavens! what ia the matter?" iiiquiroJ the 
 old lady, startiuif up and approaching we ia dis- 
 m;iy. 
 
 ]{ut ore I had time to answer the question, the 
 pailour-door opened aud Dr. Vmccnt (whoso voice 
 I had too well recognized) made his appearance. 
 
 "GomI morning, my dear nifttium," ho began 
 
 "lint hey-day!" ho suddenly ejaculaled on cnleli- 
 iii^i sijiht of me ; " what is this (jiil doiiiK here I" 
 
 Seized with a nuddeiiing stnsaiion, 1 sprang u^i,
 
 170 
 
 MARiT price; or, THE MBMOIR", OP A SEHV ANT MAID. 
 
 and clasping my hands with imploriug inannor, 
 cried in a tone that was so piercing as even to ring 
 through my own brain, " For heaven's sake, Dr. 
 Vincent, do not— Oli ! do r.ot, I beseech you— re- 
 peat the odious calumny which you have uttered 
 elsewhere!— do not deprive me of the sympathy of 
 this good kind lady who has saved me from perish- 
 ing with want and cold ! " 
 
 "Young woman," said Dr. Vincent, drawing him- 
 selt up pompously and speaking with a stern voice, 
 "I cannot allow charity to be imposed upon or 
 kindness to be outraged " 
 
 "But hear me, hear me!" I screamed forth, 
 almost frenzied with utter despair : theu turning 
 quickly round towards Mrs, Hilton, who was ioo!;ing 
 on in speechless amazement, I exclaimed, " Madam, 
 judge me not harshly— condemn me not unheard, 
 I implore and beseecti you !" 
 
 "Dr. Vincent, pray explain th« meaning of all 
 this," said my benefactress, her look now becoming 
 grave and mournfully siispicious. 
 
 " It is my duty — I will even say my painful duty," 
 returned the rector, in a tone the sevciiiy of which 
 belied his assurance of painful i'.eling, " Lo inform 
 you, my dear Mrs. Hilton, that this young woman, 
 whose name is Mary Price, absconded from Harles- 
 don Park where she was in smvice, aad becHrae the 
 mistress of a certain Sir Aubrey Clavering " 
 
 "It is false — utterly, totally false!" I exclaimed, 
 indignation now somewliat triumphing over my pre- 
 vious sense of wretchedness. " I was carried for- 
 cibly away — I have been bitterly, bitterly persecuted 
 by Sir Aubrey Clavering—— 
 
 "Young woman," interrupted Dr. "acent, with a 
 sternness that appeared to crush me benea b the 
 weight of its terrible heartlessness, — " add not th* 
 crime of deliberate, wilful, unblushing falsehood to 
 the catalogue of your ingratitudes, duplicities, and 
 frailties." 
 
 "O heaven!" I excUimed, »ringiug tny hands 
 bitterly, " may I not be heard ! shall I not be suf- 
 fered to explain i " 
 
 "Yes — let her defend herself," said Mrs. Hilton, 
 her look showing that she was scarcely able to 
 believe that my anguish was uauglii but a vile 
 hypocrisy. 
 
 " No explanation is necessary," Dr. Vincent 
 hastened to rejoin with an implacability that even 
 DOW as I write makes my blood run cold when I 
 think of it as associated with his calling as a nuiiister 
 of the gospel. " This young woman," he continued, 
 addressing himself to Mrs. Hilton, "was seen by 
 both Lord and Lady Harlesdon actually clasped 
 in the arms of her paramour Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vering " 
 
 "No, nol" I shrieked out hysterically: "it was 
 all an infamous conspiracy — a vile trick — a terrible, 
 terrible fraud ! A woman, disguised in male attire 
 BO as to personate Sir Aubrey Clavering " 
 
 "Silence, wicked and deceitful girl!" exclaimed 
 Dr. Vincent: "this is too ridiculous, too absurd! 
 Benevolent and full of confidence as Mrs. Hilton is, 
 she cannot be deluded by such a wretched invention 1 
 Alas, my dear ma'am," iie contiimed, addressing the 
 old lady, " I fear tl;at this is one of those cases 
 whose history is summed up in a very few words — 
 seduction and abandonmtiit by the seducer! " 
 
 " If you possess a dHiij-hier, Dr. Vincent, of whose 
 innocence you are aNsuieJ, bliu is not more innocent 
 than 11"— and as I thn< spoke I felt that indignation 
 
 was colouring my cheeks and flashing from my j 
 eyes. | 
 
 "You see, my worthy friend," said the cruel 
 clergyman, shaking his head in that ominously 
 knov»in» manner which is ten thousand times more 
 powerful than words to throw distrust upon even 
 an angel's ]iurity itself; "this is a cunfirmtd 
 case of profoundest hypocrisy aad brazen impu- 
 dence." 
 
 " 1 can no longer doubt it," answered Mrs. 
 Hilton, nov/ very grave, very serious, and also 
 severe. "Young woman, I d) nut regret haviiijj 
 given you food — for >oa evidently wanted it; .ind 
 whatever your offences have been, you canniit be 
 allowed to starve in a Ciiristian country. But you 
 nmst now take jour departure; and may God fi.l 
 yuur soul with penitence lor your wickedness 1 It 
 is really distressing to think that so young and 
 innocent-looking a creature should possess so bad 
 a heart." 
 
 "Oh, my kind benef jctress !" 1 exclaimed, fall- 
 ing upon my kuees at her feet, " I do not a'^k you 
 to extend your bounty any far>.acr towards me : 
 but for heaven's sake do not force me to go away 
 until I have proved that you have not harboured 
 a worthless and undeserving girl 1" 
 
 •'Rise, young woman," said Mrs. Hilton, drawing 
 back a^ I attempted to take her hand ; " and let 
 this paiuiul scene have an ending at once." 
 
 I did rise as she bado me : but speeding to the 
 table on which the open bible lay, I placed my 
 hand upon the book, exclaiming, " As sincerely 
 aud solemidy as I believe in the contents of this 
 saored volume, do I proc aim my innocence 1" — 
 then overcome by grief', I sank upon a chair and 
 barst forth iuto a fresh flood of tears, clasping my 
 bands convulsively. 
 
 But no soothing nor encouraging word fell from 
 Mrs. liiituu's lips. She remained silent: aud when 
 1 looked up towards her through the dimness oi 
 my tears, I observed that her eyes were fixed upon 
 me with grave mcurnfulness. 
 
 "Will you not — O ! will you not, for the last 
 time," I exclaimed, "hear me in my defence ? 1 
 cau explain everything——" 
 
 " It is useless to let her go on like this," said 
 Dr. Vincent. "Both Lord and Lady Uarlesdou 
 are positive as to the facts. Say no more therefore, 
 JIary Price," he added, turning to me ; " but depart 
 at once." 
 
 '• God will yet, in his own good time, make my 
 innocence apparent!" said I, rising slowly from the 
 chair: " and now in God is my only trust !" 
 
 I put on my bonnet and cloak ; and as I turned 
 to leave the room, I said, •' Mrs. Hilton, — for I 
 have learnt your name, and notwithstanding all 
 that now occurs, it will ever be cherished with the 
 deepest gratitude iu my memory, — accept my fer- 
 vent thanks for what you have done. Some day 
 perhaps " 
 
 1 could say no more— my voice was choked with 
 the sobs that suddenly convulsed mc ; and I was 
 opening the door to depart, when Mrs. Hilton 
 sprang forward and caught me by the arm, saying 
 iu a hurried voice which was ti emulous with emo 
 tion, " I do not believe you — I caunot believe yon 
 in defiance of all I have heard! But I will not 
 suffer you to d;'part penniless. Here is a little 
 silver " 
 
 "Nol" I exclaimed: "if you think me guilty, I
 
 MABY PEIOE; OB, THB MBM0IB8 OF A SEBVANT-MAID. 
 
 171 
 
 caa receive no more bounties from your hand. 
 But depoixi upon it the day must come when you 
 will rcjjtct having thus misjudged me:" — and I 
 iiurried from the room. I do believe that Mrs. 
 Hilton, probably staggered by my manner, was 
 still inclined to rush after me— for it seemed that 
 my ear caught a movement indicative of such an 
 attempt on her part: but most probably Dr. Vin- 
 cent held her back ; for I heard him say in a quick 
 voice, " Let her go, let her go !" 
 
 The next instant I was outside the front'door of 
 the cottage — once more a friendless, houseless, pen- 
 niless wanderer on t'ne face of the earth. I did not 
 look back at the little dwellinsj which for an hoar 
 had afforded me an asylum : I had uot courage to 
 revert my glauce upon the comfortable abode 
 where no doubt I could have remained longer had 
 it not been for the appearance (if D;*. Vincent. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 RENEWED WANDE3INOS. 
 
 Sloww, and with thoughts of the most moarnful 
 contexture, did I proceed along the road leading 
 away from the village. What course was I to 
 adopt? what would become of me? Again was I 
 asking myself these terrible questions which I had 
 so often uttered in my heart's deep despondency 
 previously to falling in with Mrs. Hilton. Sud- 
 denly an idea flashed to my mind, prompting me 
 how to act in accordance with the duty which I 
 owed to myself and to others. I would proceed as 
 direct as circumstances might permit to Harlesdon 
 Park ! That it could not be very far distant I felt 
 assured fir several reasi>n<. In the first place the 
 White Cottage itself could not have been more at 
 the outside than twelve or fifteen miles away from 
 the Park, because tlie post-chaise iliat liad borne 
 me thither on the night I was carried off, did not 
 change horses. Moreover, Lord and Lady Harles- 
 don were riding in tlieir own barouche, drawn by 
 their own horses, and not in a travelling-carriage 
 nor with posters, when they had met me in com- 
 pany with the Gipsy Queen. Then again, Dr. Vin- 
 cent had mentioned that he had seen Lord and 
 Lady Harlesdon on the preceding day; and there- 
 fore the village where I had just so unfortunately 
 encountered him, could not be at any extraordinary 
 distance. 
 
 At all events my miud was made up to repair to 
 the Park, seek an interview with her ladyship, and 
 inform her of everything that had Iiappened to me. 
 I therefore resolved to make inquiries, relative to 
 the whereabouts of the Park, of tlie very first 
 person I should meet : but I walited very slowly, 
 fearful lest I might be travelling away from that 
 point which was now my fixed destination. 
 
 Perhaps some of my rea lers may be curious to 
 know whether amidst the turmoil and agitation of 
 my thoughts, from the moment of my escape from 
 the White CoLtage, the image of Eustace Quentin 
 had risen up in my mind. But, ah ! those who 
 have truly and fondiy loved, will scarcely a>k such 
 a question: for they mu-.t know that this image 
 could scarcely have ever been absent from my 
 thoughts, but that it was mixed up with them ever 
 and inseparably, like a permeating essence or an 
 all-pervasive principle. And Ohl a thousand. 
 
 thousand times had I felt myself shuddering, down 
 to the very depths of my being, at the bare idea 
 that the horrible calumny relative to Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering might reach the ears of Eustace before 
 I could give it an indignant refutation, and prove 
 its falsity to those whose lips or whose pens might 
 convey the foul aspersion to his knowledge. I of 
 course knew that Lady Harlesdon, devotedly 
 attached as she had been, and perhaps still was, to 
 Clavering, would re,'ard me as the most deceitful 
 and ungrateful of human beings, apart from the 
 shocking immorality of ray supposed connexion 
 with tlu; Biironct. Slie, thi^n, would not fail to 
 mention to her cousin Eustace all that she had 
 been led to believe conc:;ruing me; and thus in 
 every way and lor a thousand reasons, did it be- 
 come my paramount duty to <lrag myself, no matter 
 amidst what wearhiesses, fatigues, and privations, 
 to Harlesdon Park, in order at once to set myself 
 right with her ladyship. 
 
 While I w;is thus giving way to my reflections, 
 I heard the sounds of wheels approaching ; and 
 presently perceived an old couple looking like a 
 small farmer and his wife, jogging along in a 
 spring-cart. They were advancing sc slowly that 
 I had ample ooportuaily to survey their counte- 
 nances ere I ventured to stop them; and ob- 
 serving that they seemed very good-tempered— 
 the old man, espcci;i!ly, liaving a blithe jovial air 
 — I made a sign to in(lic:»te I wished to speak to 
 them. Tlie horse was at once pulled in — the cart 
 stopped— and the old couple prepared to listen in 
 a respectful manner, for they evidently took mo 
 for a lady. 
 
 "Can you tell me, if yon please," I inquired, 
 " how far I am from Harlesdon Park ?" 
 
 " Oh, aye," exclaimed the old man : " I know 
 it well enow. It be a good eighteen mile from 
 here." 
 
 " Thank you," I answered. " But in which di- 
 rection ?" 
 
 *' Straight for'ard the way you are going," was 
 the response. "You can't miss it if you keep 
 asking the way every now and then. But surely 
 you don't mean to walk all that there distance ?" 
 
 " Yes — I must walk," I replied quickly : then 
 anxious to escape any questioning from those 
 whom I myself had stopped to interrogate, I 
 again thanked them fur their kindness and hurried 
 along. 
 
 But eighteen miles ! it was a great distance after 
 all. Could I possibly achieve it during that day ? 
 I feared not—even if I were sure of obtaining re- 
 freshments on the road. But of this there was no 
 certainty : for, as the reader ij avvarc, I was pen- 
 niless, and the rebuff-i I had already experienced 
 made me recoil with loathing from the idea of 
 having to ask charity again. Nevertheless, I did 
 all I could to keep my spirits from giving way 
 entirely. Indeed, I strove to buoy myself up with 
 hope as much as possible. 
 
 " How pleasant it will bo," I said to myself, *' to 
 bo restored to Lady Ilarlesdon's confidence — to 
 wipe away the dreadful impression that has been 
 made upon her mind — and to enter again on the 
 perfurmiincc of my duucs in lier service. Ohl how 
 1 long to kiss dear little Bella, and listen again to 
 the artless prattle of the two boys! And wiiat a 
 change, to sit once more by the cheerful nursery- 
 fire, taking my tea with Jemima, after all the
 
 172 
 
 MABY raiCE; or, the memoirs of a SEBVANT-MAID. 
 
 dreadful privations I have endure J I Then too, I 
 will write to Mr;". Hilton— explain in a letter what 
 I had no opportunity just now of telling in words 
 —and while renewing my thanks for the hour's 
 liospitality I received at her hands, convince her 
 that after all I waa not unworthy of it. Yes — 
 and I will beseech her to call upon the viilage- 
 clergyuiau, Mr. Palmer, and show him my letter, 
 that he lilcewise may be disabused of his prejudice 
 concerning me : for wherever the hideous calumny 
 has been ckculated, thither must the coutradic- 
 tion go." 
 
 Cheered by these reflections, I felt that they 
 imparted energy to my frame as well as strength 
 to my mind. As I walked on with a quicker pace, 
 it suddenly struck me that I was unacquainted 
 with the name of the village through which I had 
 so recently passed, and where Mrs. Hilton resided. 
 But was it not one of the places indicated by the 
 finger- post, aud which I did remember ? Perh ips 
 it was however better to make sure. A country- 
 man, with a bundle slung upou a stick over his 
 shoulder, was approaching at the moment. I 
 stopped him, and aeked the name of the village 
 that lay behind and was still in siglit. He told 
 me : and I theu perceived that it was, after all, 
 one of the names I had seen upon tlie finger-pust 
 at an earlier hour in the morning. Thanking tlie 
 rustic for his information, I continued my way : 
 but he stopped and stared after me for" two or 
 Uiree minutes, doubtless surprised to see a re- 
 spectably dressed young person travellinjc alone 
 on foot and evidently a total stranger in those 
 parts. 
 
 I walked on, and in about an hour reached 
 another village. Accosting a labourer whom I met 
 on the outskirt, I inquired honr far it was to Harles- 
 don Park : but he said that he was quite strange iu 
 the neighbourhooJ, and liad never heard of it 
 Entering the village, I saw a woman standing at 
 the door of a little shop with a child in her arms. 
 She was evidently its mother, and I thought by the 
 fond way she was talking to it, must be good-natured. 
 I therefore accosted her, and repeated the question 
 which I had put to the labourer, — my object being 
 to assure myself that I was still in the right road. 
 
 "It's near upon sixteen mile to the Park, Miss," 
 responded the woman; and though she spoke civilly, 
 she nevertheless eyed me with mingled suspicion 
 and surprise. 
 
 I thanked her and was turning away, when she 
 said, "Perhaps you would like to sit down, Miss, 
 and rest yourself: for, excuse me, but I don't think 
 you are accustomed to travel a great distauce on 
 foot." 
 
 I cheerfully accepted her kind ofler, and walked 
 into the little shop. The stock in trade consisted of 
 a few toys, half-a-dozen glass bottles containing 
 sweetstuff, some nuts, and cakes of gingerbread— 
 the whole of which might have been purchased for 
 about tea shillings. A couple of little children were 
 playing in the corner; and the woman placed the 
 one she had in her arms do!vn beside them, evidently 
 that 9i;e might talk more at her ease with me. 1 
 now began to suspect it was rather to gratify her 
 curiosity than through any really compassionate 
 feeling that she had invited me to enter; and if 1 
 had not begun to feel wearied again and therefore 
 coveted this rest, I should have got up and gone 
 away. 
 
 " Have you been walking far to-day," she asked 
 •' that you seem tired I" 
 
 "Yes— a long distance," I responded. 
 
 " And where may you come from ?" 
 
 " I am going to Harlesdon Park." 
 
 "Aye— so you said. Are you strange there? or 
 have you been there afore?" 
 
 " I have been tiiere before : I have lived there." 
 
 "Oh! then may be you can tell us all about that 
 there sad Job of which ws've heerd summut ?" said 
 the woman, her eyes twinkling with an eager 
 curiosity. 
 
 "To what do yon allude?" I asked quickly, and 
 with much amazement: for I could not possibly 
 conjecture what it was that had reached the woman's 
 ears, and I was at once struck with apprehension lest 
 something had happened to my mistress. 
 
 " How ? hav'n't you heerd of the murder, then ? " 
 she asked with a sort of mysterious surprise. 
 
 "The murder I" I repeated, horror-stricken. 
 "Good heavens! what do you say? Speak — tell 
 me?" 
 
 " Why, it was more than a fortnight— near three 
 weeks ago," continued the woman, "that it hap- 
 pened." 
 
 " But where? who has been murdered ?" 
 
 "I think lie was the gamekeeper." 
 
 "Ah!" I ejaculated, a presentiment of the truth 
 flashing to my mind. " But bis name — his name?" 
 
 "Harper — Jacob Harper." 
 
 " Good heavens ! and he is murdered ?" I cried. 
 " But who was the assassin ? is he discovered ?" 
 
 "Ob, ah — to be sure," rejoined the woinau, "and 
 will be tried in a few days at Derby, they say. Ttie 
 winter 'sizes is on " 
 
 " But the murderer — w'no is he?" 
 
 " A man named Purcival " 
 
 "What? no! it is impossible;" I exclaimed, 
 starling up from my scat ii a positive frenzy of 
 excitement, which caused the woraau to f.ill bick 
 in dismay. " But his other name ? his CurLiUau 
 name? Speak! quick — quick!" 
 
 " Oh ! it's well knowed," she answered : " Leonard 
 —that's the name." 
 
 I sank down again in the chair as if struck upon 
 the forehead by the hand of an invisible giant. 
 The blended bewilderment and stupor of a horrible 
 consternation seized upon me ; aud my sensations 
 were as if some tremendous calamity had occurred 
 to myself. But as the first astounding effect of 
 this intelligence began to subside, the conversa- 
 tion I had overheard amongst the trampcrs in the 
 barn came back to my memory ; and I now recog- 
 nised what was the topic of their discourse which 
 had inspired me with so appalling an interest at 
 the time. Raising my eyes towards the woman, I 
 saw tliat she was regarding me in a strange man- 
 ner— perhaps with something of suspicion in her 
 looks: and indeed the excitement I had shown 
 on receiving the terrible aunouucement, was full 
 well calculated to amaze aud puzzle, if not actually 
 alarm her. 
 
 " You say that you hare lived at Harlesdon 
 Park — tliat you are going there now," she observed, 
 still fixing her keen eyes upon me ; " and yet yon 
 hav'nt heerd of this sad job — leastways not until I 
 told you?" 
 
 " I had not indeed heard of it," was mj answer; 
 " or you would not have seen me so calm as 1 was 
 at the moment when I entered your house."
 
 MABY PRIOE; on, THE MEM0IE8 OP A SEUV ANT-MAID. 
 
 « Then mayhap Jacob Harper, the man what's 
 dea;!, is a i-elation of your'u ?" 
 
 "No, no— uothinji: of the kind. But I know 
 Leonard Percival, and cannot bring' myself to be- 
 lieve him guilty of this dreadful act. Yet if," I 
 continued, musing aloud, " he has indeed been pro- 
 voked to so terrible a retaliation, by some deeper 
 outrage than he had previously experienced, he 
 will perish iguominiously ; and then what will be- 
 come of his Ellen — what will become of her?" — 
 and I wrung my hands in despair at the thouglit. 
 
 "May-be you are his Ellen, then ?" said the wo- 
 man, in a half-commigerating tone. 
 
 " No, no — I am not : but I know her well." 
 
 " When I come to think on't, you can't be 
 arter all," continued the woman : " for I heerd say 
 that he was running off witli some young gal of the 
 neighbourhood and her old grandmother, when he 
 was caught with all the money upon him " 
 
 " What money ?" I demanded quickly. 
 
 " Why, what he robbed the gamekeeper of, to 
 be sure," was the response. " It was knowed that 
 the murdered man had a hundred pounds about 
 him at the time " 
 
 " Yes — a hundred pounds," I repeated mechani- 
 cally. " But pray give me some particulars — pray 
 tell me all that you know— what you have heard 
 upon the subject." 
 
 " On'y this," replied the woman, "that one even- 
 ing, it seems, Leonard Percival the murderer " 
 
 " Don't call him the murderer," I interrupted, 
 with a strong shudder that must have been plainly 
 visible. "Every one is to be held innocent till 
 proved guilty. But go on — pray go on." 
 
 " Well," continued the woman, "as I was saying, 
 it was one evening, three or four' days afore 
 Christmas, this Leonard Percival was had up 
 charged with poaching, aud committed for some 
 weeks. You see this took place at ILirlcsdon 
 Park, and Percival was locked up in a stable till 
 morning. Of course you know the stable, since 
 you have lived at the Park? Well, he got out 
 somehow or another — cut and run. Next morn- 
 ing the gamekeeper, wot had appeared against 
 him, was found murdered in a field near the Park. 
 He had been stabbed with a knife and robbed of 
 everything lie had about him. Tiiere was a hue 
 and cry: and this Percival was taken, along with 
 two women — his gal and her grandmother — at 
 some place about tw6nty mile off. He had a hun- 
 dred pound in his pocket; and his clothes was 
 stained with blood. When look afore the magis- 
 trate, he was sent to prison, and thetwo woincn was 
 let go, as it was proved that they hadn't nothing to 
 do with the murder. Then tiicre was a ci owner's 
 quest, which went against Leonard: and that's all 
 1 know." 
 
 " And you say that Percival has been sent to 
 prison at Derby ?" I asked, rising from my seat. 
 
 "Yes— that's just it." 
 
 " And the trial c»me9 on in two or three days ?" 
 
 "So we've heerd." 
 
 " How far is it from this place to Derby ? Which 
 is nearer, Ilarlesdon Park or Derby ?" 
 
 "Both pretty well alike. The Park is about 
 sixteen mile over that way ; and Derby a matter 
 of seventeen mile over that way." 
 
 " Thank you," was my response ; and I wns 
 hurrying away when the woman begged mc to 
 stop a little longer, as she had doubtless her own 
 
 curiosity to gratify concerning me. I however 
 refused, and sped from the little shop, all my 
 thoughts so completely absorbed in the frightful 
 intelligence I had just received that I had no room 
 to reflect upon, much less to care for, the im- 
 pression that my somewhat extraordinary conduct 
 might have made upon the woman. 
 
 As I rapidly passed through the village I de- 
 liberated with myself whether I should, on gaining 
 the outskirt, continue the road leading to Harles- 
 don Park, or take that which led to Derby. I 
 experienced a feverish, burning haste to sea 
 Leonard : for during the woman's recital of the 
 circumstances of the case many important things 
 had recurred to my memory, and which it was 
 absolutely necessary should be made known to 
 the prisoner as speedily as possible. My anxiety 
 to clear up my character with Lady Harlcsdon, 
 from having half-an-hour back been uppermost in 
 my mind, had now become quite a secondary con- 
 sideration after all that I had heard relative to 
 Percival. My determination as to the route to be 
 pursued, was therefore soon taken; and on reach- 
 ing the point where the two roads branched off, I 
 left that to Harlesdon Park on my right and took 
 the one which a finger post indicated as leading to 
 Derby. 
 
 But now, the reader will ask, was not Eustace 
 Qucutin with his regiment at Derby ? and was I 
 not proceeding, therefore, to the very spot where 
 I stood a chance of encountering him, in violation 
 of my resolve to avoid such meeting for a whole 
 year ? Yes — this is true enough : though whether 
 Eustace was still at Derby, or elsewhere, I knew 
 not. But the reader will believe mc when 1 so- 
 leumly declare that no such seitish hope nor aim 
 for an instant — no, not even for a single instant- 
 swayed my decision in takin;; tiie road to Derby. 
 God forbid ! It was .•» sacred duty which 1 was 
 
 now performing the reader may guess huto 
 
 sucredi when even the anxiety to see Lady Harlcs- 
 don and clear up my character had become a 
 secondary consideration to that wiiich was now 
 urging me on towards Derby. 
 
 For about three hours I continued walking with- 
 out any very painful sense of fatigue ; the activity 
 of my thoughts seemed to impart some of their 
 exciting spirit to my frame, at tiie same time that 
 their subject was so allengrossing as to shut out 
 as it were the consciousness that 1 was becoming 
 wearied. It was now past two o'clock in the afur- 
 noon, and the gnawings of hung.^r began to make 
 themselves felt along with the inlluonce of weari- 
 ness. During the last three hours 1 had only 
 managed to walk eight miles: it therefore still 
 wanted nine to be completed ere I should enter 
 Derby. Beholding a pretty little cottage at a short 
 distance along the road, 1 quickened my pace to 
 reach it,— determined to knock at the door and 
 request a morsel of food. The idea of begging — 
 for such it really was— shocked me to the very 
 innermost depths of my soul, especially after the 
 rebuffs I had already experienced. But I was 
 ruled by an iiiTperious necessity : nine miles of 
 travel lay before me, and without some nourish- 
 ment 1 could not hope to accomplish that distance 
 during the present day ;— and to risk the chance 
 of wanJering about for auothcr night in the open 
 country, without perhaps the good fortune of find- 
 ing a friendly barn as on the preceding night, -
 
 174 
 
 JI.VRT PHICE; OB, THE MEMOinS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 the bare thonght fi'led me with ineffable horror ! 
 It U'.ewise inspire] me with the rfquisit'^ courage 
 to knock at tlio do' r of the pretty little cottage 
 which I have mentioned; and my summons was 
 immediately answered by a great stout man with 
 a very ferocious countenance, and who was smoking 
 a pipe. 
 
 I had pictured to myself some quiet charitable 
 family dwelling in that retirement, which was pretty 
 and even picturesque, though in the depth of winter: 
 so that I was completely staggered at this sudden 
 dispelling of all my poetic dreams by the apparitiou 
 of such an uncoutii forbidding personage. 
 
 "Well, young 'oonnn, what is it?" he demanded 
 in a great roue^h voice. "Come, can't you speak ? 
 Who be you ? Your face is strange in these parts." 
 
 "I have walked a considerable distance today," 
 was my answer, given tremulously and with down- 
 cast looks ; " and I am very hungry. Having left 
 my purse behind me where I come from " 
 
 "Oh, my eye, what a lark!" shouted the man 
 with a coarse guffaw. " Wiiy, what o'clock do you 
 get up in the morning, that you think you can take 
 in a leary cove like me with sucii a precious stale 
 dodge as that? I say, Harry, do come here a bit." 
 
 A faintness came over me, and I could not for tiie 
 moment fly from the spot. My instincts prompted 
 me to speed onward from the presence of insult; 
 but my limbs had become heavy as lead — and all 
 that sense of utter wretchedness which I had before 
 experienced during my painful wanderings, came 
 back with an overpowering effect. While I was 
 thus rivetted to the spot, another man, whose thin 
 and emaciated appearance was in striking contrast 
 with that of his comrade who had called bim forth, 
 came out of the house to stare at me. 
 
 "Well, I never did see sucli a precious sancti- 
 monious-looking be^lr as this is," exclaimed the 
 latter individual, who was also smoking a pipe. 
 "I tell you what it is, Charley, she's on what's 
 called the genteel dodge — togged out so as to look 
 like a distressed young lady — a governess, or upper- 
 class maid, or something of that sort. But let's ask 
 her in to have a drop with us. She's uncommon 
 pretty, 'pon my soul !" 
 
 "So we will," cried the stout man: and the two 
 fellows rushed towards me. 
 
 Galvanized with tlie suddenness of frenzied terror, 
 I fled precipitately. The two men pursued me along 
 the road ; but the stout one very speedily abandoned 
 the chase, which his emaciated companion however 
 maintained for several minutes. The wildness of 
 my affright lent wings to my feet: and I felt that I 
 was literally flying over the ground. At length the 
 glance which I flung over my shoulder, gave me 
 the pleasing assuram' '• i' the pursuit was now re- 
 nounced altogether; ami overcome with exhaustion, 
 I sank down upon a bank by the side of the road. 
 There I gave vent to my feelings in tears— Oh ! how 
 many, many tears had I shed since my flight from 
 the White Cottage! 
 
 It was nearly half-an-hour before I could regain 
 either strength or spirits sufficient to enable me to 
 pursue my journey ; and even then I did so with a 
 weary foot and a heavy heart. Good heaven! what 
 rebuffs, what terrors, what false accusations, what 
 intervals of excitement, and what insults, had I un- 
 dergone from the time of my escape on the previous 
 uight down to the present moment ! Was it not 
 enough to disheirteti me thoroughly — to prostrate 
 
 nee altogether? was it not e;en sufficient to make 
 me lie down and welcome the approach of death, no 
 matter if it came i:i the sliape of starvation alike 
 with cold and hunger ? But no : I had still some- 
 thing—aye, much to live for : I had to reach Derby 
 for one thing, and then to clear up my character for 
 another — and these must be accomplished! There- 
 fore did 1 struggle against despair, battle against 
 hopelessness, and strive to compel my limbs to bear 
 me onward, and my feelings to become as callous at 
 possible to the cravings of hunger. 
 
 The days arc short in the middle of January; 
 and soon after three o'clock darkness begins to 
 draw its veil upon the earth. The gloom was 
 gathering around me, and the chill bcca;ne more 
 intense. As the obscurity deepened, I began to 
 fear lest I should miss the road, or that it might 
 haply become too dark for me to proceed with 
 safety. Then what would become of me ? It was 
 impossible to pass the night in the open air: I 
 should inevitably perish with cold. Oh ! if on 
 reaching the next hamlet or village, I were to call 
 upon the clergyman and explain to him on what 
 sacred duty I was bound, would he not furnish me 
 with the means to procure some vehicle, or pay 
 my place by some coach to Derby? It was impos- 
 sible he could refuse ! Ami yet it seemed as if the 
 tide of misfortune had set in so completely against 
 me, that even if lor a moment I found a friend, 
 some accident would speedily intervene to alienate 
 the good feeling ai;d send me forth a wanderer 
 again. But ahl while I was thus giving way to 
 my reflections, I observed lights twinkling ahead 
 — dimly seen through the gathering gloom ; and I 
 felt assured it must be some assemblage of habita- 
 tions, and not merely one isolated dwelling. On- 
 ward I went as quickly as my limbs would carry 
 me : the lights grew more numerous and more dis- 
 tinct—and in about a quarter of an hour I entered 
 what appeared to be a long straggling village. 
 
 Almost at t!ie very commencement of the single 
 street which constituted the place, there was a 
 tavern with the door standing open, and wlienee 
 the light streamed forth ; while through the window 
 of a grounJ-fluor room the blaze of a cheerful fire 
 might be seen playing in its ruddy glow. I went 
 up to the door and looked in, A man and a wo- 
 man—evidently the landlord and landlady — were 
 standing behind the bar ; and they had both such 
 a good-tempered look that I was almost at once 
 prompted to enter and make kn;)wn my v>an!s-a 
 little food and a vehicle to take me to Derby— for 
 all of which I would faithfully remit them the 
 money so soon as I could either coiumunicate with 
 Lady Harlesdon or return to her at the Park. 
 
 I did enter— and I did make known my wants 
 in the precise terms which I had pre-arranged. I 
 will uot^ weary the reader's patience by detailing 
 all the conversation that passed: suflSee it to say I 
 was listened to with attention by tlie landlord 
 and with benevolent sympathy by the landlady. 
 But tliey put a gie it many searching questions to 
 me, alleging as their excuse that they were so 
 liable to be imposed upon by designing persons. 
 Nevertheless, their manner encouraged me ; and 
 as the conversation progressed, I felt hope gra- 
 dually rising up within my breast. But still they 
 did not (seera fully and completely satisfied ; and 
 after whi-!pcring together, they looked very hard 
 at me, and put farther questions. Where had I
 
 MABV price; ok, the WEM0IB3 OF A SEKVAKT-MAID. 
 
 176 
 
 cumo from? I said that I had been carried off 
 and kept a prisoner under very peculiar circum- 
 stances, but that I really could not cuter iut j full 
 particulars. If they would t:ust to my word they 
 would find that I not only spoke trulj', but should 
 know how to be grateful. Tius was all very well, 
 they said ; but why was i so aaxiou* to see the 
 persDa accused of murder— namely, Leonard Per- 
 cival? I answered that I had nutters of the 
 greatest impurtaace to mention t j him, but which 
 I could scarcely now explain witiiout entering into 
 a series of lengthy particulars. T.ie landlord 
 looked serious —the landlady was evidently inclined 
 to believe me. She whispered a fov woiJs to her 
 huaband, the import of which I could guess: for I 
 f«lieard her say, "After all, who kuotrs? it may he 
 true. She does not look like a cheat. la any case 
 let us risk it." 
 
 The good woman's advice accordingly prevailed; 
 and to my ineffable joy 1 was invited into the bar- 
 parlour, where there was a cheerful fire. Pro- 
 visions were set before me, and the landlady 
 pressed me to do justice to them— while her hus- 
 band went to put the horse into the covered 
 cliaise-cart, as he himself would drive me over to 
 Derby. Infinite was the relief which I thus expe- 
 rienced ; and it seemed as if I h id been suddenly 
 elevated from the bottomless pit of despair to the 
 shining regions of hope. 
 
 I had fiiiislied my meal and was answering 
 sosne questions the landlady put to me concerning 
 Uarliisdon Park and the "great folks," as she 
 called them, who dwelt there, when her husband 
 returned into the pirlour ready equipped for the 
 jouruoy. lie had g,)t oU his great coit — a thick 
 pair of gloves— a huge shawl neckcloth, coming up 
 to his nose— and a very broad-brimmed hat; and 
 he said the hostler was juat bringing round the 
 chaise-cart to the door. I was already in the 
 
 me— although I averted my countenance as m.uch 
 as possible — I felt instinctively that all was over 
 that again was my evil star dominant, and tliat 
 all my new formed hopes were destined to destruc- 
 tion. My worst fear was confirmed by that cruel 
 mocking laugh, which pierced like a barbed arrow 
 through my very brain. 
 
 As a matter of course both the landlord and 
 landlady turned their eyes upon me : for they wer* 
 naturally at a loss to understand what to thiuk 
 from his lordship's conduct. But he very soon 
 enlightened them. 
 
 "Yes— it is pretty Mary Price," he exclaimed, 
 leaning over the bar and staring at mo in the 
 rudest possible manner— although, as an old man, 
 he ought to have taken compassion upon a poor 
 helpless young girl, even if he really believed 
 (whicli he no doubt did at the time) the rumour 
 that had reached his ears concerning me. " Wliy, 
 you sly naughty puss, you! to have all along 
 looked so demure, and then to have run off with 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering at last!" 
 
 " My lord," I exclaimed, "it is a foul calumny I 
 Do not, for heaven's sake, repeat it! You know 
 not the inc ilculable mischief you will do me :"— 
 and I spoke in the most earnestly appealing 
 manner. 
 
 "Calumny!" he exclaimed. " What the deuce 
 do you mean? At all events it is no calumny to 
 say that you were seen in Claverini;'s arms: for 
 both Lord and Lady Harlesdon told me so this 
 very morning." 
 
 " It is fal ie, my lord !" I cried vehemently : " and 
 if you will permit me to explain——" 
 
 " It's n'; very well for you to tell me that I am 
 utterit! ,■ a falsehood, young woman," interrupted 
 Lord ililtown sternly; "but " 
 
 " I (lid not mean that your lordship told a falsC'- 
 'ujou," I hastened to observe; "but that the im- 
 
 rniddle of taking loave of the landlady, and was I pres-iiou was false. Good heavens ! is my character 
 expressing my yratitude for the kindness shnwii tli'Jj to be lightly tos.sed to the winds?"— aud I 
 
 mi', when two persons on horseback galloped up 
 to the door; and while one of them alighted, 
 the other (who proved to be his servant) held the 
 liorses. 
 
 "Now, landlord!" exclaimed the indivi '.ual, who, 
 having sprung off his steed at the duor, entertd 
 the tavern and hurried up to the bar; "a glass of 
 hot brandy-and-water, and send out another to 
 my groom." 
 
 " Yes, my lord," replied the master of the esta- 
 blishment. "Now, my dear," he cried, beckoning 
 his wife to come furth from the parlour; "look 
 sharp — brandy fur Loi'd Miltowu Your lord- 
 ship likes it strong, I believe?" 
 
 •' You rogue, you," answered the nobleman, 
 laughing, "you know I do ! What a bitter chill ! 
 but as an old sportsman I do not hesitate to face 
 it. Ah I holloa! who have you got there? I 
 ought to know that face I Why, by Jupiter ! it's 
 Mary Price!"— and his lordship gave a sort of 
 mocking ironical laugh. 
 
 At the very first moment I had recognized the 
 nobleman : for I was standing in such a way, close 
 by the threshold of the bar-parlour, that I onll 
 not help seeing any one who entered the estir 
 blishment. An instantaneous misgiving had struolc 
 cold to my lieart : but I did not daio step back 
 and conceal myself, for that would at once have 
 looked suspicious. When, however, he recognized 
 
 wrung my hands bitterly. 
 
 " Well, at all events," added Lord Miltown, who 
 hail just finished Lis brandy-and-water, "you 
 will find it rather difficult to make my friends, the 
 Harlesdons, believe you innocent; and I don't 
 think you will be in a great hurry to show your 
 face again at the Park." 
 
 With these words his lordship fl'ing down tlie 
 money for the two glasses of liquor, a slipshod boy 
 having taken one out to his groom; and wishing 
 the landlord " Good evening," hurried out of tlie 
 place. The next instant the two steeds were 
 hoard galloping away. 
 
 No words can express the miserable stale of 
 oiiiid into which I was again plunged. For nearly 
 a minute I stood what is called aghast— utterly 
 bewildered what to say or do : for the fright- 
 ful experiences of the morning had rendered me 
 only too painfully aware that when charges are so 
 boldly made, the defence of the accused avails no- 
 thing, even if it be listened to at all. Yet I felt that 
 I must say aoniething : for immediately after his 
 lordship had hurried away, botli the landlord and 
 landlady began to assail me with the most cutting 
 reproaches — even threatening to call the constable 
 and »,'ivi' me into charge as an impostrcss. Never, 
 never shall I forget the bitterness of that moment. 
 The idea of a gaol well nigh drove mc to frenzy. I 
 threw mystilf upon my knees— extended my clasped
 
 176 
 
 MARY price; OB, THE MKJIOIUS OF A SEKVANT-MAID 
 
 hands up towar<ls the landlord and landlady — pro- 
 tested my iiiii!)cy;ice— and be<ought thein to hear 
 uio. But ^oiid-nutured as they had pn.viously 
 been, inexorable were tliey now. Tliey Ihou^^lit 
 they had been imposed upon by an ijiipudtnt 
 cheat; and the landlord felt assured that Kit had 
 not been for what lie considered the fortuua:e 
 visit of Lord Miltawn, ho should have been made 
 u still greater fool of by driviufj me over to Derby. 
 I Siich being his iinpresi^ion — and in which his wife 
 I xhared— it is scarcely to bo \Y0udered at if they 
 I thrust me ignominiously, and even violently, forth 
 from their estab'isliinent. 
 
 And such they did. Header, you have already 
 seen that I had endured much — that I ha-I 
 I fiiiffered many, many miseries — much poijinimt 
 ; cruelty and many bitter persecntions, since my 
 escape from the White Cultage : but all that I haJ 
 previously undergone was not to be compared with 
 this. It seemed as if my heart were rent in twain ; 
 and drap^ging myself to a little distance from the 
 tavern into some dark nook, whither the li^htfrom 
 the windows could not penetrate, I leant against a 
 Will and wept with an anguish such as, even if I 
 were vindictive, I could not wish my most mortal 
 enemy to know. It positively appeared as if God 
 himself had deserted me. I cared not now what 
 became of me. I was not actually desperate, be- 
 cause desperation prompts one to do something, 
 uo matter how perilous or terrible, in order to 
 chance a change of position. But I had no energy 
 Itft for aiiytliing: mine was an utter hopelessness 
 even beyond despair, if the reader can understand 
 what I mean. The only resoui cc left was to lay me 
 down and die ! 
 
 But iu a few minutes the founds of men's voices, 
 laughing rudely and coarsely, a)'pra:\ched up the 
 alley, or yard, whatever it was, where I was stand- 
 ing; and the foar of fresh insult made me turn 
 away. Through the villay:e I p isicd, slowly and 
 wearily. The lights streamed (Voui the windows — 
 1 caught glimpses of c.ieerful fiiCd in comfortable 
 rooms: I heard laugliter — hcaid Jilso moHios 
 talUiijg fondly to their children. But there was 
 no cheerfulness now, no soothing voice for me : 1 
 felt an outcast — a mendicant— a beggar, iu the 
 wide world. Ohl the deep, deep humiliation, the 
 goading anguish of such feelings as these ! Tne 
 scaifold has seen no agony, the churchyard has 
 knowu uo auguisli, more terrible than what I then 
 endured. The tears were raining down my cheeks 
 as I dragged myself through the, village: if I had 
 felt the hand of death upon me, I should not have 
 had the courage to knock at a single door or be- 
 seech succour of a single soul. It seemed as if my 
 very f.iith iu humanity was gone. On leaving the 
 village behind and getting beyond the sphere of its 
 twinkling lights, deep was the obscurity through 
 which I walked on : but Ohl how transcendent far 
 was the darkness that enveloped my soul ! 
 
 Ever, as I write now, I drop bitter burning tears 
 as 1 Ihiidc of the miseries which I then en lured, 
 and glad should I be to hurry over these details and 
 dispone o^ the incidents of m.iiiy hours in a few 
 brief lines, but that it is requisite to Jesciibe all that 
 I siilfered, so that my niriaiive iiny be faithful and 
 complete. And, lh;iiik heaven ! this sad chapter iu 
 my life is speedily drawing to a close. 
 
 Wretchedly did I drug myself along — proceciiing 
 oiechanically as it were, laiher than in consequence 
 
 of a settled purpose. For my thoughts were gra- 
 dually falling into confusion, while my limbs were 
 simultaneously failing me. I remember saying to 
 myself, "I shall not be abli to go much further:" 
 and yet I kept on, with the growing convictiou how- 
 ever thai I must very soon drop down, heaven only 
 knew whether to rise up alive again! I likewise 
 re.-Tiein'er that as I thus persevered in walking on- 
 ward, I frequently staggered and slurnblei!, sj as to 
 be very near falling, but that recovering my balance 
 I went on again. Presently the sounds of wheels 
 and horses' feet met my ears; and a coach, with its 
 two blight lamps flinging a glare upon the four 
 steaming animals, swept meteor-like by. It passed 
 on in;o darkness, having illuminated my path for 
 an instant — like the hope which ere now I had 
 cherished and which, had ao suddenly flitted away. 
 
 On I went : but the reader must not fancy that I 
 was proceeding quickly. No — it was with a slow 
 and dying pace that I advanced, as if the infirmity 
 of old age had seized upon my limbs. My shoes 
 were worn completely through — my feet were cut — 
 and I had au idea tiiat they were bleeding. But I 
 had not heart or scarcely sense enough left to think 
 much of the matter: and still I dragged myself 
 onward, like a jaded steed that has just sufficient 
 mettle left to pursue its course until the end, in- 
 stinctively aware that to halt is to drop dowu and 
 die. 
 
 Presently, as my thoughts became more and mora 
 confused, I fancied that strange sounds were ringing 
 in my ears — strange voices talking near me — and 
 strange footsteps keeping pace with my own. My 
 name was mentioned, as if in the hollow tones cf 
 the grave. It even struck me that a band was laid 
 upon my shoulder — a hand that sent through my 
 cloak an ice-chill penelraliug all my flesh, bone, and 
 marrow, and going deep down into my heart l.ke the 
 ice-chill of death. Of course all this was mere 
 fancy on my part : my brain was beginning to 
 wander. But the abrupt appearance of a light 
 glimmering a-head, recalled me somewhat to my- 
 self; and then all those illusions quickly vanished. 
 But what to me was that hglr. { If it shone from a 
 village, sh.ould 1 not avoid it? — if it gleamed forth 
 fiom the v;indow of au isolated bouse, should I dare 
 pause and knock at the door? Had I not been 
 taunted, rebuked, persecuted, and humbled enough 
 already ? — or did I seek farther humiliations I I 
 know uot. My thoughts, though somewhat more 
 lucid than they were a few minutes back, were still 
 too confused to permit me to develop my own ia- 
 tenlious clearly to myself; and therelbre I suppose 
 that I instinctively regarded that light as the point 
 which mubt niaik the climax of my miseries — the 
 spot which I must make a last eflurt to reach, but 
 beyond which I could not go. 
 
 As I advanced, the diiu outline of a mansion gra- 
 dually stood out from the darkness; and the light 
 grew stronger. A little nearer, and I perceived that 
 the house was situated in the midst of a garden, 
 wil^ iron railiu^s fencing it on the road-side. I 
 reached the gate of those railings— I felt for the 
 latch — but the gate would not open : it was evidently 
 locked. D.\red I give a servaut the trouble to come 
 forth and hear what I had to say 1 No : and I was 
 proceeding onward, in tiie deepest, deepest despon- 
 dency, when my foot tripped aj^aiost a stone — and I 
 fell. Consciousness did not immediately abandon 
 me : for I remember that I endeavoured to raise
 
 MABY PniOE OR, THE MI5M0IRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 myself up again, but could not — then that I mur- 
 mured lowly, " O God, I am dying !" — then that I 
 instinctively grasped the bell-puU— — and the next 
 iDBtantfell back senseles.''. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ANOTHER CHANGE IN MT POSITION. 
 
 When I awoke to cousciousness again, I was lyin^ 
 in a bed in a well-furnished chamber, the features 
 of which I could not altogether distinguish at 
 first, because though it was broad daylight, the 
 windows were darkened by the closely-drawn 
 curtains. A cheerful fire was burning in the 
 grate, by the side of which sat an old woman, 
 whom by her appearance I guessed to be a nurse. 
 Several bottles of medioioe w«re utaadiiig^ upou 
 
 the mantel; and the entire aspect of the place was 
 that of a sick-room. 
 
 As my mental faculties thus slowly struggled 
 into life again and gradually acquired the power 
 of thought and reflection, I lay perfectly still, al- 
 lowing each new impression to settle itself in my 
 mind : for I was by no means certain but that I 
 was still in the midst of a dream. So I fixed my 
 eyes upon two or three objects in succession— such 
 as the window-curtains, the fire, and the old woman 
 who sat near it — in order to convince myself that 
 I was really awake. Imperceptibly the knowledge 
 grew on me that I must have been very ill; and 
 iny feelings gradually merged into a sensation of 
 awe, as I reflected upon this circumstance and bo- 
 held one after another all the evidences of ihe 
 sick-room in their complete reality, beyond the 
 possibility of a dream. S^^ddenly an inipulso was 
 given to the spriugs of my memory ; and all those
 
 178 
 
 icABY price; oe, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 circumstances which have been detailed in the last 
 few chapters, surged upwards with a tide that was 
 well nigh overwhelminff. AVhat 1 had suffered at 
 the White Cottage— my escape-the insenes I had 
 gone through during my wretched wandermgs- 
 the tale I had heard relative to Leonard Perciva 
 —the ohject on which I was bound to Derby—and 
 then the sudden blank which had occurred, from 
 the moment of my fainting at tlie gate of a road- 
 side mansion until I awoke again to life and fourd 
 myself pillowed in tliat sick-bed,-thi8 was the 
 summary of my reviviig recollections; and at the 
 end of the rapid whirl of tliouglits through my 
 brail), I asked aloud in feverish anxiety, " Where 
 am 1? and how long have I been here?" 
 
 I s^iy that I spoke aloud: I mean that I spoke 
 audibly— for my voice had really no strength ; and 
 as the effort of speaking made me aware of its 
 weakness, the circumstance carried a fresh con 
 viction to my soul that I had been very, very ill. 
 
 " Poor thing, she is raving again!' I heard the 
 old nurse say: and rising from her chair, she 
 approached the couch quickly: but she looked 
 pleased as her eyes fell upon me— for she doubtless 
 saw that I now appeared rational and collected, 
 though labouring under the torturing excitement 
 of suspense. 
 
 "Tell me— for heaven's sake tell me," I asked, 
 "how long I have been here?" 
 " Now don't fret yourself, my dear child," said 
 
 the old nurse in a soothing tone : " but " 
 
 « I adjure you," was ray almost frenzied inter- 
 ruption, "if you would spare me fresh ravings— for 
 you have alluded to them— do tell me how long I 
 have been hero ?" 
 
 "Let me see?" she said. " Thursday night- 
 yes, it was Thursday night- and this is " 
 
 " What, what ? Do speak, for heaven's sake !" 
 " Well, then, it's Tuesday morning." 
 "Ah! it perhaps is not too late," I ejaculated, 
 as the idea struck me that even if Leonard Per- 
 cival's trial was over anU that the result had gone 
 against him, the fearful sentence of the law could 
 not yet have been carried into execution. 
 
 As my lips sent forth that exclamation, I felt a 
 sudden giving way of the energy which had for a 
 few moments inspired me during the above brief 
 colloquy; and closing my eyes, I experienced a 
 sort of necessity of lying perfectly still, so as to 
 allow nature to compose herself again. 
 
 "Poor girl, she has fainted!" said the nurse, 
 who evidently had the habit of soliloquising aloud : 
 and the next instant I felt the effect of salts ap- 
 plied to my nostrils. 
 
 « Thank you," I said in a feeble voice as I opened 
 my eyes again : " I was merely resting myself after 
 the exertion of speaking." 
 
 "Then pray dont speak, my dear," said the 
 nurse : " but lie quiet, and I will at once make you 
 
 some nice gruol " 
 
 "My kind friend," I interrupted her, "pray 
 listen to mo a few moments :"— and I looked ear- 
 nestly up into her countenance, which was benevo- 
 lent and full of an encoura'^ing cheerfulness. 
 
 " Well, my dear," she answered, " I know that 
 it's sometimes best to Imniour invalids : it allays 
 excitement : and so you had better speak out at 
 once, whatever you haMe got to say." 
 
 " I myself have for the present but little to say," 
 was my response. " I wish to learn from you 
 
 where I am— to whom I am indebted for a kind- 
 ness which I feel has rescued me from death— and. 
 in a word, all the circumstances of my positio 
 beneath t'nis roof?" 
 
 "Well, my dear cl iM,' answered the nurse, 
 " this is called Merton House, and belongs to Cap- 
 tain Calder — an old retired Navy ofiicer— very 
 rich and very good-natured. Last Thursday even- 
 ing, at about five o'clock, as I was told,— for I 
 don't live in the house altogether,— a ring at ths 
 bell was heard— the footman went out and found 
 you stretched at the gate. He gave an alarm— you 
 was brought in, and put to bed, good kind 51i-3. 
 Calder doing all she could for you. Dr. Scott, 
 who lives at the village up yonder, was sent fur at i 
 once, and said you was very ill, Viorn out with cold j 
 and fatigue— perhaps with hunger too. No letters < 
 or anything were found about you, to show who j 
 you was ; and so your friends could not be written ! 
 to. Mrs. Calder asked what was to be done ? 
 Captain Calder swore with a great big oath, that j 
 you should be taken as much care of as if you j 
 was a Duke's daughter; and young Master Edward j 
 — that's the Captain's son, who, by the bye, hclpe 1 
 the footman to bring you in from the gate— de- 
 clared that it would be a shame not to treat you i 
 with all possible kindness. So here you was kept, | 
 and I was sent for from the village to take care of j 
 
 you— because, you see, my calling is a nurse's " : 
 
 " And have I been so very ill ?" I asked. | 
 
 " My dear child, you have been delirious and ! 
 have said many strange things. But all that's 
 nothing : you have not said any harm of yourself 
 — and people in their ravings, when they have 
 done wrong, 'are pretty sure to let it out. I can 
 tell you that Mrs. Calder has already taken a great 
 fancy to you ; and I am sure, my poor girl, I am 
 as happy to see that the fever has left you as if 
 anybody had given me a fifty pound note." 
 
 I expressed all I fe't at having thus fallen in 
 with such kind ii-iends, and after a brief pause, 
 said, " Now, my dear nurse, I am going to aslc i 
 you a very sti-ange question : but pray answer me | 
 at once and in as direct a manner as possible. Do : 
 you know whether a person named Leonard Per- ' 
 
 cival " ' 
 
 " Ah ! you have mentioned him a hundred times 
 in your ravings," exclaimed the nurse. " You are 
 interested in him? — perhaps you know him ?— per- 
 haps you are related to him?— perhaps, poor girl, 
 you were travelling to Derby to see liim when you 
 sank down in weariness at the gat« of Merton 
 
 House ?— or perhaps " 
 
 I know not how many more times the good old 
 creature would have gone on with her " perhaps,'' 
 had I not interrupted her by saying, " You have 
 not SBswercd my question, nor even allowed me 
 to put it. Pray tell me, is he tried yet ?" 
 
 " Well, if I must speak out, 1 must," said the 
 dame: "and so the truth is, as I hare been told, 
 the trial is on to-day." 
 
 " To-day !" I echoed. " Then there is no time 
 to lose :" — and with a sudden access of energy, 
 blended with a deep resolute calmness which eveu 
 surprised myself, I sat up iu the couch aud said in 
 a grave tone, "Now, my good friend, let me tell you 
 that Leonard Percival's life or death are in my 
 hands." 
 
 The damo shook her head sorrowfully : she evi- 
 dently thought the delirium of fever was oomiug:
 
 MARY Price; on, the memoirs op a servant-maid. 
 
 179 
 
 back— and I understood full well v^hat was thus 
 passing in her mind. 
 
 •' No," I continued, " I am not raving now. It is 
 with a solemn caimnsss that I am addressing you ; 
 and God is inspiring me with strength that I may 
 fuliil my mission. Will you be kind enough to go 
 and tell Mrs. Calder that I beseech an immediate 
 interview with her?" 
 
 . The old nurse looked at me very steadily and 
 very earnestly for upwards of a minute — doubtless 
 to assure herself that I was in my right state of 
 mind and not speaking in delirium. As steadily 
 and as earnestly did I meet her gaze ; aud she said, 
 " Well, my dear, I will do as you ask me. But you 
 must lie down aud promise to remriin quite quiet 
 for a minute, while I go and fetch Mrs. Calder," 
 
 " But one more word [" I exclaimed. " The trial 
 is on to-day, you tell me? What o'clock is it 
 now ?" — and I awaited tho response with a fevered 
 su-pcnse. 
 
 " Well, it must be just upon eleven o'clock in 
 the forenoon," was the answer so anxiously ex- 
 pected. 
 
 "Now then," said I, sinking down upon my pil- 
 low, "go and fetch Mrs. Colder; and I promise 
 to remain as quiet as possible until you come 
 back." 
 
 The worst of it is that the best-intentioned peo- 
 ple in the world never can do things, under such 
 ciicumstanccs as these, with a haste suitable to the 
 patience of the invalid or the individual who en- 
 dures the suspense. Thus was it with the old nurse. 
 She would remain a minute to smooth the pillow — 
 to arrange the bed-clothes — to ask me two or three 
 times whether I was sure I felt better — then to 
 poke the fire and put coals on— then to set three 
 or four things to rights and " tidy up the room," 
 as she called it;— and then, even when she did 
 reach the door, she lingered at it for nearly an- 
 otlier minute while she looked around to assure 
 herself, in her own words, " that the place was fit 
 to be seen." Poor old creature! she meant well, 
 and what she did was done kindly : but Oh I it she 
 only knew what suspense I endured while she was 
 thus delaying and loitering ! However, away she 
 went at lust ; and during the three or four minutes 
 of her absence, I arranged in my mind to what ex- 
 tent it was necessary to enter upon explanations 
 with Mrs. Calder. But the reader may be assured 
 that I was resolved to be as explicit as possible, 
 and tell her everything that was necessary, with- 
 out being compelled to touch upon those particu- 
 lars that would compromise Lady Harlesdou's 
 honour. I therefore saw the necessity of sup- 
 pressing the incident relative to the Gipsy Queen 
 in her disguise of Sir Aubrey Clavering : for how 
 could I account for it, if mentioned, otherwise than 
 by stating the real fact— namely, that it was done 
 as a vile contrivance on the part of Lord Harlea- 
 doii to plant a dagger in bis wife's heart by making 
 her believe that he whom she loved had taken her 
 own nurse maid as his mistress ? Yes — I came to 
 the conclusion that it was absolutely necessary to 
 suppress this fact; because I could not give any 
 explanation fur it without stiHing the real truth 
 and drawing upou my imagination — and I would 
 not toll a falsehood. 
 
 In three or four minutes Mrs. Calder made her 
 jippeirance, followed by the nurse. The lady was 
 .ib^ut forty-live years old— not very tall, but stout, 
 
 and possessing the remains of beauty. What was 
 much better, however, than her still handsome pro- 
 file and fine eyes, was the unmistakable benevo- 
 lence that beamed upou those features and shone 
 in those eyes. It was impossible to conceive her 
 capable of a harsh word unnecessarily spoken, or 
 an unkind action deliberately done. She seemed 
 one of those excellent beings whose existence in 
 the world must be taken as a set-oflf against the 
 cruelty and uncharitableness of others, and whoso 
 lives are oases in the great desert of humanity. 
 
 With a smiling, but also a wondering counte- 
 nance, she approached the bed ; so that while I at 
 once felt assured that in her I should find a friend, 
 I likewise saw that the old nurse had already ex- 
 cited her curiosity by recounting what I had said. 
 She took my hand — bent over the couch— and 
 kissed me with a real affection which made my 
 heart yearn towards her : for Oh ! I did so feel the 
 want of some one to be kind and good to me after 
 all that I had suffered and all the bitter experience 
 I had recently obtained of the villany and the 
 heartlessness of the world ! I flung my arms 
 around her neck and strained her head to my 
 bosom while tears flowed from my eyes— but tears 
 rather of joy than of sorrow ! It was a melting mo- 
 ment, ineffably delicious for me : yes, for me who 
 had so recently known all the anguish and the bit- 
 ter woe of the forlorn outcast's fate. 
 
 Mrs. Calder was deeply affected by my conduct; 
 and being thoroughly sincere and well-meaning 
 herself, she evidently entertained not the slightest 
 doubt of my sincerity. Indeed, she gave me this as- 
 surance. For as she kissed me again, she said, 
 " Poor child ! purity and candour sit upon your 
 brow, and innocence is in your looks. But even if 
 you have erred, God knows you must have suf- 
 fered deeply, deeply — and I would rather pour 
 balm into your wounds than tear them open 
 afresh." 
 
 " O dear kind lady I" I murmured, in a Toice 
 trembling with emotions profoundly stirred, " my 
 heart has indeed been severely lacerated— but 
 through no guilt of mine. No, no — I can look you 
 in the face, my benefactress, and tell you in all 
 confidence, and with an attesting heaven to hear, 
 that I have suffered because I have preferred vir- 
 tue to infamy !" 
 
 " I am sure that you are speaking the truth, my 
 dear child," returned Mrs. Calder : " for your looks 
 are even far more impressive than your words. 
 But the nurse tells me that you wish to speak upon 
 urgent matters. Shall it be in her presence ? or 
 will you have her quit the room ?" 
 
 " Oh ! in her presence, by all means 1" I an- 
 swered: " for I have seen enough of her not merely 
 to be convinced of her worthiness, bat likewise to 
 be imbued with th« sincerest gratitude towards 
 her." 
 
 "Well, my dear, she shall stay then. Go back 
 to your arm-chair, nurse : I will sit down here by 
 the side of the bed. But really," added Mrs. Cal- 
 der, in a more serious tone, " I do not know what 
 Dr. Scott will say when he hears that his patient 
 has been allowtd to talk so much." 
 
 "It would do me far more harm were I oon- 
 strainod to hold my peace altogether : for I have 
 very grave and weighty matters to communicate. 
 Besides," I continued, " not only have I muoh to 
 say, but likewise much to do— and that promptly 
 
 ■ ' H I II ^■ ^w^^l^»^l»p^^|^^i>»■^^^BJl^>lnl^^^^— »«»»^fw>^^^^
 
 T30 
 
 MABy PBICE ; OE, THE ME1I0IR3 Of A SCnVAXT-MAlD. 
 
 also. However, without waate of time I will enter 
 upon those explanations for which, dear lady, I 
 crave your patience." 
 
 Thereupon I commenced my narrative by telling 
 Mrs. Calder who I was, and giving a rapid sketch 
 of those incidents connected with my family that 
 are already known to the reader. I was well 
 pleased to observe that the mention of my name 
 produced no disagreeable effect upon the lady; so 
 that I at once concluded she was personally unac- 
 quainted with the Harlesdons, and that the odious 
 calumny respecting myself and Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vering had not been wafted to Merton House. I 
 went on to state that I had been in service at 
 Twisden Lodge and at a grocer's in Dover, and 
 that I had then entered Lady Harlesdon's house- 
 hold. I glanced at the adventure concerning the 
 stealing of little Isabella, and thereby accounted 
 for tiie affectionate friendship which her ladyship 
 had formed for me. I spoke of the persecutions I 
 had experienced from Sir Aubrey Clavering pre- 
 vious to my forcible abduction to the White Cot- 
 tage. I expl lined at length everything connected 
 with Leonard Percival, Ellen Kirkland, and Jacob 
 Harper. It was likewise necessary — most neces- 
 sary indeed — that I should mention the name of 
 John Morley. I described how I had been car- 
 ried off— how I was detained for eighteen days at 
 the White Cottage— how I had escaped— the pri- 
 vations I had endured— and how I first heard of 
 the arrest and committal of Leonard Percival on a 
 charge of murdering and robbing Jacob Harper. 
 Finally, I made Mrs. Calder thoroughly understand 
 the motives of my anxiety to reach Derby as soon 
 as possible, and how it was of paramount import- 
 ance that I should, even at any risk, rise at once 
 from my sick bed and proceed thither without 
 delay. 
 
 An hour had elapsed during all these explana- 
 tions and the discourse which followed: it was now 
 therefore twelve o'clock. Mrs. Calder hastened 
 down stairs to give her husband and son a rapid 
 outline of all I had told her ; and fortunately, at 
 the same moment, as I presently heard. Dr. Scott 
 made his appearance. This saved the telling of 
 the story twice over ; and in a short time Mrs. 
 Calder returned to my chamber, accompanied 
 by the medical man. He was an elderlj', kind- 
 looking, and mild-spealJing person, and evidently 
 felt deeply interested in all he had just heard. He 
 asked me many questions relative to the state of 
 my feelings in a physical sense, his object being to 
 ascertain whether I could possibly bear the fatigue 
 of a jouraey and the excitement of appearing in a 
 court of justice without danger to my life. 
 
 " Is it practicable, doctor ?' asked Mrs. Calder. 
 
 •' I hardly know what to say," was the reply, de- 
 livered in a grave and measured tone. " Were it 
 for any purpose of lesser importance than the one 
 in view, I should positively forbid my young pa- 
 tient's removal : but when we consider that the 
 life of a fellow-creature is at stake — and what per- 
 haps he even values more than life, namely his 
 character — I dare not assert the physician's power 
 and say no. Besides, if a negative were put upon 
 Mary Price's w'sh, the excitement she would ex- 
 perience might prove fatal. Therefore, all things 
 considered," added the doctor after a pause, ** she 
 must go." 
 
 "Uest assured sir," 1 cried, overjoyed at this 
 
 permission, " that God will give me strength to 
 sustain myself amidst the fatigues to be endured." 
 
 "But those fatigues, my dear child," Mrs. Calder 
 hastened to observe, " shall be mitigated as much 
 as possible. You shall be well wrapped up in 
 warm clothing, and shall recline on pillows inside 
 the carriage. I will accompany you, and Dr. 
 Scott must also go with us. Will you not, doc- 
 tor ?- 
 
 " Without doubt," was the reply. " Now, nurse, 
 let her have some gruel or broth, and then see 
 about dressing her. In an hour we must depart 
 There will be plenty of time : for a trial of this 
 nature is sure to last the best portion of the day, 
 and it is but seven miles to Derby." 
 
 The doctor now quitted the room ; the nurse 
 prepared me some refreshment ; and Mrs. Calder 
 sat down to converse with me while I partook of 
 it. She and the nurse then assisted me to rise 
 and perform the task of the toilet. 1 was stronger 
 than they fancied I should have been : that is to 
 say, I could stand without assistance ; though of 
 course still very weak and feeble. But it was 
 doubtless the excitement of my feelings that thus 
 nerved me with an unnatural power, slight though 
 it were. When I looked at myself in the glass I 
 was shocked to observe how deadly pale I was, 
 and how sunken my cheeks had become : but Mrs. 
 Calder, who witnessed my emotion, hastened to re- 
 assure me by exclaiming, " You will soon get your 
 good looks again, my dear girl : for when once 
 this business at Derby is over, yoa shall come 
 back to be taken the best possible care of, and we 
 will see if we cannot soon set you to rights again." 
 
 To be brief, I was dressed in due course, and 
 sat down near the fire to rest a little until the 
 carriage was ready. Meanwhile Mrs. Calder went 
 to put on her own things ; and when she came 
 back it was to escort me down stairs. On being 
 introduced into a handsomely-furnished sitting- 
 room, 1 was presented to Captain Calder and Mr. 
 Edward. The father was a tall stout gentleman, 
 with a red face, light blue eyes full of merriment 
 and good humour, and a mien which at once de- 
 noted the frank honest hearted and gallant vete- 
 ran. He wore a blue coat with anchor-button*, a 
 black neck-cloth, a buff waistcoat, and hessian 
 boots. His son, Mr. Edward Calder, was a slender, 
 tall, handsome young gentleman, of about three- 
 and-twenty. He had chesnut hair and fine blue 
 eyes— a very amiable expression of countenance 
 —and the same candour of look and manner which 
 characterized his parents. 
 
 Captain Calder grasped me by the hand and 
 shook it with a degree of warmth that was more 
 creditable to his own kind feeling than suitable to 
 my invalid condition; and he exclaimed in a I 
 hearty tone, " Why, you are a perfect heroine — a 
 sort of modern female knight-errant ! But I am 
 truly glad to see that you are able to get about 
 again ; and depend upon it, my girl, yoa shall not 
 want friends so long as there are people bearing 
 the honest name of Calder in existence." 
 
 I thanked him with tearful eyes for his good- 
 ness. Mr. Edward then took my hand, saying, 
 as he regarded me with evident sympathy, " And 
 I also congratulate you upon your recovery." 
 
 Those good people did not treat me as a servant- 
 maid, although they know that I had been one ; 
 and if anything were now wanting to cheer mj
 
 MARY price; or, THE MEMOIRS OF. A BEBVANT-MUid. 
 
 181 
 
 mind and inspire me with courage to go through 
 what I had this day undertaken, their generosity 
 and open-heartedness would have accomplished 
 that result. 
 
 The carriage drove close up to the door, and I 
 was conveyed into it, — pillows having been already 
 placed for my accommodation. Mrs. Calder and 
 the doctor accompanied me inside; and Mr. 
 Edward, well wrapped up in Lis great coat, 
 mounted the box by the side of the coachman. 
 The Captain was expecting a visit on business of 
 importance, or he would have gone likewise. All 
 the arrangements being completed, the equipage 
 drove away. 
 
 During my illness the weather had conDidcrably 
 changed. It will be recollected that it was frosty 
 and bitterly chill when I was wandering about 
 houseless and friendless, wretched and starving : 
 it was now strangely warm for the season of the 
 year — the month of January. Not a breath of 
 wind stirred the skeleton boughs of the trees; 
 and there was that kind of awful stillness in the 
 atmosphere which usually precedes a storm. The 
 aspect of the heavens too was similarly ominous; 
 for masses of black clouds were piling themselves 
 up on the empyrean vault, and they looked as if 
 cradling the lightning and charged with the 
 thunder. 
 
 But here I must interrupt the regular thread of 
 my narrative in order to give certain details, as 1 
 subsequently gleaned them from a report of the 
 trial which appeared in a Derby newspaper. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE TBIAI.. 
 
 At about ten o'clock in the forenoon, on the day 
 of which I am writing, Leonard Percival was placed 
 in the dock to take his trial before Judge Baily 
 on a charge of having feloniously slain and killed 
 Jacob Harper, a gamekeeper in the service of Lord 
 Harlesdon. 
 
 Ajury had been duly empannelied; and it was 
 easy to perceive (as the newspaper report stateil) 
 by their countenances, that they were awfully im- 
 pressed with the solemnity of the occasion and 
 purpose for which they were summoned. Tlie 
 court was crowded to excess, the case having ex- 
 cited an immense sensation throughout the entire 
 county. Lord Harlesdon, whose presence was 
 needed as a witness, was accommodated with a 
 seat upon the bench : for aristocratic rank is in- 
 variably a passport to such favour in this country. 
 As it subsequently appeared, Ellen Kirkland aud 
 Mrs. Baker had been earnestly enjoined by Leo- 
 nard not to be in the court during the trial : for 
 the prisoner feared lest the presence of her whom 
 he loved so tenderly and who was profoundly af- 
 flicted on his acceuut, should unman him. There 
 were several witnesses in attendance besides Lord 
 Harlesdon ; and amongst them was John Morley. 
 Througli the kindness of the Sheriffs, counsel was 
 provided fur Leonard Percival, he liaving had no 
 means of providing for his defence, all tlie money 
 he had in his possession at the time of his capture 
 being taken away from him. 
 
 Leonard Percival entered the dock with a firm 
 step ; and having bowed respectfully to the Judge, 
 
 remained standing with his arras folded across his 
 chest. There was nothing insolent nor presump- 
 tuous in his manner; but his look was calm and 
 collected ; and many persons in the crowd whis- 
 pered to each other that if he were really guilty he 
 must be a man of no ordinary courage to be able 
 to assume such a demeaaour. 
 
 The trial began in trie nsnat manner, the coun- 
 sel for the prosecution stating the case. "With the 
 outline of this the reader is already acquainted : 
 it will therefore be unnecessary to recapitulate the 
 particulars of it. Any deficiency in that sketch 
 will be supplied by the evidence given on the oc- 
 casion. The first witness called was one of the 
 under-gamekeepers. He deposed that as he and 
 two of his comrades were crossing a field in the 
 immediate neighbourhood of Harlesdon Park, at 
 an early hour on the morning of the 22nd of De- 
 cember, they beheld something dark lying in the 
 pathway, and could not immediately distinguish 
 wliat it WAS, the dawn being yet far off. On ap- 
 proaching the object, they discovered that it was a 
 corpse ; and to their horror recognized the head- 
 gamekeeper, Jacob Harper. He was quite cold, 
 and had evidently been dead some hours. The 
 mortal wound had been inflicted with a clasp-knife, 
 having a long blade pointed like a dagger ; and it 
 was lying near, having been evidently tossed away 
 by the murderer's hand after the death-blow was 
 given. The pockets had been rifled of everything 
 they containeJ, and had even been turned inside 
 out. The corpae was removed to Harlesdon Park ; 
 and at about the same time it was discovered that 
 Leonard Percival had escaped from the stable 
 where he had been confined. That he was the 
 perpetrator of the deed was immediately sus- 
 pected, and numerous persons were despatched in 
 all directions in pursuit of him. 
 
 A surgeon deposed to having been sent for to 
 Harlesdon Park from the nearest Till.ige, at about 
 seven in the morning of the day referred to by the 
 former witness. He had examined the corpse, 
 and was of opinion that tiie deceased must have 
 been dead several hours. The wound was inflicted 
 by the clasp-knife, and the- blow was evidently 
 given by a resolute and determined hand. Death 
 must have been instantaneous. 
 
 Lord Harlesdon was the third witness examined. 
 He stated that on the evening of the 21st of De- 
 cember, he had passed a sentence of imprisonment 
 upon Leonard Percival for a charge of poaching. 
 During the examination Percival had conducted 
 himself in a most unbecoming manner,.and had cer- 
 tainly manifested a particular dislike towards the 
 deceased Jacob Harper. It was the deceased who 
 had arrested Percival and prosecuted the charge on 
 that occasion. Percival was lodged in a loft over the 
 stables for the night ; but he had escaped, although 
 at what hour of that night it was impossible to 
 say. Lord Harlesdon concluded by stating that on 
 the same evening of which he had been speaking, 
 he had occasion to give the deceased Jacob Harper 
 a 100/. note, half of which amount was to bo 
 handed over to his lordship's groom John Morley. 
 It was Harper who took charge of the note for the 
 puri)OSC of changing it. 
 
 John Morley was next exauiined. He stated 
 thit on the night in question he had t ) go to sleep 
 at Farmer Jones's, of whom he was going to buy a 
 tot of hay and straw for his lordship, ilc wanted
 
 182 
 
 MARY PKICE; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 K portion of tho money which had been g-ivcn to 
 Harper for the purpose of payinji for the hay and 
 Btraw. Harper, who lived at the gamekeeper's 
 lodge at a short distance from the Park, had told 
 Morlcy that he had plenty of small notes and 
 gold at home, and would therefore give change 
 for the 100.'. note which Lord Harlesdon had 
 placed in his hands. Morley accordingly asked 
 him to step across to the Park with the money, 
 which Jacob Harper promised to do. But he did 
 not come ; and therefore Morley went ofit at about 
 eleven o'clock without waiting any longer for him, 
 and passed the night at Farmer Jones's. When 
 he returned to the Park in the morning he was hor- 
 rified at hearing what had happened, the terrible 
 deed but too well accounting for why the unfor- 
 tunate Jacob Harper had not kept his appoint- 
 ment. 
 
 A labouring man of the name of Morrison was 
 now examined; but ho gave his evidence with 
 great reluctance as well as emotion,— he being 
 well inclined towards the prisoner and having 
 known him for many years. Morrison deposed to 
 the eflfect that Jlrs. Baker and Ellen Kirkland 
 came to his cottage, which was about two miles 
 from the Park, between eleven and twelve o'clock 
 on the night alluded to by the preceding witnesses. 
 Morrison and his wife were in bed ; but they went 
 down and let airs. Baker and Ellen in. The two 
 women were much agitated. They told him about 
 Leonard's arrest, but said they had good reason to 
 believe he would be able to escape and join them 
 there ; in which case they would all three fly to 
 some distant part of the country. It must have 
 been past twelve— perhaps near one in the morn- 
 ing—when Leonard came. He had escaped : but 
 he did not tell the witness how. He was full of 
 spirits, and showed a quantity of notes and gold, 
 saying that a land friend hadgiven him the amount. 
 He stated it to be a hundred pounds. He offered 
 the witness a handful of guineas for his kindness 
 and for old friendship's sake : but Morrison some- 
 how or another did not like the aspect of the aflFau- 
 — there seemed so much mystery in it. His sus- 
 picions were also exdted by observing blood upon 
 Leonard's hand; and he pointed it out to him. 
 Leonard looked sorrowful, and then suddenly said 
 that it was the blood of the angel who had libe- 
 rated him, and who had cut her linger in so doing. 
 As he spoke these words Leonard had looked sig- 
 nificantly at Mrs. Baker and Ellen; and they 
 seemed to understand him. Morrison therefore 
 thought it was all right, and his suspicions were 
 tranquillized : but he would take none of the 
 money, and Leonard Percival went away almost 
 immediately with Mrs. Baker and Ellen. 
 
 The next witness examined was a constable be- 
 lon<,'ing to the village near Harlesdon Park. Acting 
 upon certain instcuctious received from Lord 
 Harlesdon, he had set off on horseback armed 
 with a warrant for the apprehension of Leonard 
 Percival. He succeeded in tracing him, and took 
 iiim into custody iu the forenoon of the 22nd, at a 
 distance of about twenty miles from the Park. 
 Mrs. Baker and Ellen Kirldnnd were with him ; 
 and the constable arrested them all throe, just as 
 they were on the point of entering a stage-coach 
 in which they had taken three places. Leumrd 
 Percival protested his innooonco; and the women, 
 who were terribly afflicted, did the same. There 
 
 were marks of blood np^n tho sleeves of Percivaf* 
 coat, and one of his shirt-cuffs was likewise stiiined 
 with blooJ. This was the cuff on the right wrist. 
 The constable concluded by suting that when he 
 searched the person of Leonard, he found about 
 him notes and gold to the value of close upon a 
 hundred pounds, the difference being what might 
 have been spent on refreshments or such maiters. 
 Here it was mentioned to the Judge and jury 
 that at the Coroner's inquest, and also before the 
 examining magistrate, it was conceived that there 
 was no evidence against the two women, and they 
 were accordingly discharged from custody -, bat 
 that Leonard Percival had been committed for 
 trial alike by the magistrate and the Coroner's 
 warrant. 
 
 The examination of several witnesses was now 
 proceeded with, in order to prove that Leonard 
 Percival had frequently been heard speaking ia 
 disparaging terms of Jacob Harper; also with a 
 view to show that he was jealous of him on account 
 of Ellen Kirkland. The depositions which were 
 taken on the occasion of Leonard's examination at 
 Harlesdon Park, were then produced ; and the 
 version which Jacob Harper had on that evenin|f 
 given of his quarrel with Leonard in the field on 
 account of not opening the gate for Dr. Vincent 
 and Lord Miltown, was thus brought before the 
 court. The reader will remember that Harper had 
 deposed to the effect that Leonard had snatched 
 the gun out of his hand, knocked him down with 
 the butt-end of it, and then out of sheer malignity 
 taken an aim at one of the dogs and killed him on 
 the spot. As a matter of course the reading of 
 these depositions produced a very strong sensation 
 in the court, and prejudiced every mind against 
 the prisoner. 
 
 The counsel for the prosecnticn did not fail to 
 make the best of the case in his hands : nor indeed 
 was it difficult to render it excessively black 
 against the unfortunate Leonard Percival. It was 
 shown that he had a long-cherished hatred against 
 Jacob Harper, and that they had had a serious 
 quarrel within a few hours of the murder: while 
 the circumstance of wiifully shooting the dog, as 
 alleged, seemed to stamp the prisoner as a malig- 
 nant and evil-disposed person. His condemnation 
 to imprisonment so soon after that quairel, could 
 not have been calculated to mitigate his aidmosity 
 againht the deceased gamekeeper, by whom the 
 charge of poaching was preferred. What followed, 
 as the learned counsel went on to state, seemed 
 clear and intelligible enough ; and he begg(?d the 
 Judge and jury to observe that by the complete- 
 ness of the evidence the prisoner might be fol- 
 lowed step by step, as it were, to the perpetration 
 of his crime. Not a link, the barrister alfirraed, 
 was wanting to complete ^he chain of evidence. 
 Leonard Percival had escaped from the loft over 
 the stable at Harlesdon Park ; and the time when 
 he thus escaped could be pretty well conjectured 
 through the statement of Morrison, who described 
 the hour at which he reached his (Morrison's) cot- 
 tage. Now, in proceeding from Harlesdon Park 
 to that cottage, Leonard Perciv.tl would cross the 
 very field where the corpse was found ; and it was 
 shown by the evidence of John ^[orley that tho 
 deceased Jacob Harper mu*t have been on his way 
 to the Park nith the cimnge for the hundred 
 pouiid note iv. his posket at that very time. TU«
 
 MAEV PJUCE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 183 
 
 cise was as clear as possible. Leonard Percival, 
 iu escaping, encountered him wiiom he regarded 
 as his mortal enemy, and had murdered him. 
 Having committed this crime, the traces of which 
 remained in blood-marlcs upon his person, ho 
 plundered his victim of all that was about him. 
 His confusion at Morrison's house, when the blood- 
 stains were pointed out, was another evidence of 
 guilt. But if any farther proof were wanting, was 
 it not afforded by the fact that the sura found upon 
 the person of the prisoner when captured by the 
 constable, was within a few shillings of that which 
 the gamekeeper must have had about his person at 
 the time of the murder? The learned counsel for 
 the prosecution went on to declare that to his 
 mind no case was ever more complete, no ac- 
 cusation ever more fully borne out ; and he 
 concluded a long and eloquent address amidst 
 a breathless silence on the part of every lis- 
 tener. 
 
 The counsel whom the SherifTs employed on the 
 part of Leonard Percival, had throughout the trial 
 done the best he could for his client. But bow was 
 it possible to struggle against evidence so complete 
 as that which circumstances had combined to over- 
 whelm the prisoner in the dock? The statement 
 for the defence certainly wore not the aspect of 
 truth. It was contended that Leonard Percival had 
 no animosity against Jacob Harper, but merely 
 experienced a natural indignation at having been 
 unjustly accused of laying snares and poaching. 
 The real version of the scene in the field when 
 the gun went oft' and killed the pointer, was given : 
 but it looked like a lame palliation. Then as to 
 the rest, it was declared by the counsel for the de- 
 fence that a nursery-raaid who was in the service of 
 Lord Harlesdon at the time, and whose name was 
 Mary Price, had taken compassion on Leonard Per- 
 cival — had assisted hiia to escape— and had cut her 
 hand while so doing ; thus accounting for the blood 
 upon his garments. The money found upon him 
 be had likewise received from Mary Price, who had 
 told him at the time from whom it came : but a 
 sense of honour induced the prisoner to suppress 
 any revelation on that head. It was likewise de- 
 clared that although, in escaping, the prisoner ad- 
 mitted having passed through the field where tiie 
 corpse was discovered, yet he had not gone by the 
 pathw.iy, but had traversed it diagonally as a nearer 
 cut towards Morrison's cottage. It was moreover 
 stated that every endeavour had been made to pro- 
 cure the attendance of Mary Price for the trial, but 
 that she had disappeared on the very same night 
 when the murder was perpetrated. The counsel 
 for the defence frankly admitted that circumstantial 
 evidence had combined m a very extraordinary 
 manner against the prisoners but he warned the 
 i jury against being led away by impressions which 
 I might after all prove erroneous: and ne quoted se- 
 veral remarkable cases to show how lives had been 
 sacrificed under circumstances which had for the 
 I moment told most strongly against the accused, but 
 I which at a later period were explained in quite a 
 I diflerent sense, establishing innocence where guilt 
 ! had formerly seemed undoubted. 
 j It was now three o'clock in the afternoon, and the 
 i sky had become so overcast that it was necessary to 
 I light the candles in the court. The inelficiency of 
 I these lights, by leaving the spacious hall in a state 
 I of little more than semi-obacurity, added to the 
 
 solemn awfulness of the scene : but still, as through* 
 out all the former part of the proceedings, the de- 
 portment of the prisoner was firm and manly — his 
 look calm and resolute, yet respectful. Indeed, a 
 kind of martyrized expression had been growing 
 upon his features, as he gradually perceived that the 
 evidence was telling more and more against him : 
 but little sympathy was felt for Leonard Percival 
 now — every one was convinced of his guilt. 
 
 Judge Baily summed up with clearness, pre- 
 cision, and impartiality. He was a most venerable- 
 looking man — his voice was deep and solemn — his 
 manner mournfully impressive. At length, at about 
 half- past three o'clock, the case was left entirely in 
 the hands of the jury. They did not even quit the 
 box; but merely stood up, grouped themselves 
 together, and spoke in low whispers for a few mi- 
 nutes. Save and except the subdued rustling of 
 those voices, there was not a sound to be heard 
 throughout the hall : the very breath of the audience 
 appeared to be suspended. For though none doubted 
 what the verdict would be, there was nevertheless 
 something awful in those few moments v/hich pre- 
 ceded the going forth of the one word that was to 
 declare the prisoner's doom. 
 
 Standing up in the dock, with arms folded, pale 
 cheeks, and compressed lips, Leonard Percival was 
 now evidently suffering deep inward emotion. Ho 
 could not blind himself to the awful horror of his 
 position; and how could he shut out from his mind 
 the image of that beauteous and well-beloved girl 
 whose heart would be broken by the same decree 
 that condemned him to death ? 
 
 At the expiration of the few minutes mentioned, 
 the jury turned round towards the Judge again, 
 and took their seats : then, their whispering having* 
 ceased, awful was the stillness that prevailed iu 
 the court. A pin might have been heard, had it 
 dropped. Before the verdict was pronounced, it was 
 read upon the faces of the jurymen. Those coun- 
 tenances wore a solemn mounifulness, showing 
 that although they were prepared to do their duty 
 and decide according to their consciences, yet that 
 they did not the less feel the awful responsibility 
 of their position. And now that profound stillness 
 was broken by the loud voice of the Clerk of Ar- 
 raigns, demanding what verdict was to be recorded ? 
 The foreman pronounced it in atone which seemed 
 to fall like a blow upon every brain— so tremen- 
 dous is it to hear that word Guilty, when uttered 
 under circumstances that must eeud a human be- 
 ing to the scaffold ! A ghastly pallor swept over 
 the features of Leonard Percival— and he stag- 
 gered back a pace : then instantly recovering his 
 firmness of limb, he compressed his lips tightly to 
 still their quivering; but he seemed unconscious 
 of the two tears that were trickling down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 The Judge put on the black cap— Oh, ominous 
 and tremendous emblem !— and iu the deepest so- 
 lemnity of his voice, asked the prisoner the usual 
 question— what he had to nay why sentence of 
 death should not be passed upon him? 
 
 "My lord," replied Leonard Percival in a voice 
 that was low and slightly tremulous, " I declare in 
 the presence of the Almighty that I am innocent 
 of this duod of blood. If it were possible for 
 human eyes to plunge their looks deep down into 
 the recesses of my heart, it would bo soon how ut- 
 terly incapable I am of such a crime. But, truth-
 
 184 
 
 MARY price; or, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 fully speaking I cannot be astonished at the ver- 
 dict which the jury have returned ; and if ever the 
 day should come— as I trust and believe it will, for 
 1 have faith in God— that my innocence fhiU be 
 made apparent, when I may be inoulderinjj in my 
 premature grave, — I do not think that they will 
 have reason to blame themselves for the decision 
 to which they have this day come. I feel, my lord, 
 that if I were seated in that jury-box, and under 
 similar circumstances, I should have arrived at the 
 same conclusion. For, as my counsel has de- 
 clared, a frightful amount of circumstantial evi- 
 dence has combined against me. For myself, 
 though inwardly conscious of my innocence, I con- 
 fess that I am bewildered and perplexed when en- 
 deavouring to seek a solution of the terrible mys- 
 tery. I know, I say, that I am innocent; but I can 
 not conjecture who may have been the guilty one. 
 Nevertheless, my lord, if it were possible to prove 
 that I at least am innocent, it would not be requi- 
 site to sliow who is culpable. And there is one per- 
 son who, if she could have been found, would have 
 proved mine innocence. It was to her — to Mary 
 Price — whom I alluded at Morrison's couage, when 
 I said that it was an angel's blood wliiuh d\ e 1 
 my hand. Alas! I fear that Mary Price lierself 
 must have sustained some calamity — some foul 
 play : for I know the goodness of her heart too 
 well not to be assured that if she were alive or at 
 liberty, she would Hy hither to proclaim the words 
 that might save me. Alas ! everything liaj gone 
 against me — the evidence of circumstances has 
 been overwhelming — her absence has proved fatal. 
 Oh ! my lord," exclaimed the unhappyyouiig man, 
 his voice now swelling with the sudden excittnient 
 |of his highly wrought feelings, " the doom you ure 
 about to pronounce is not death for one alone — it 
 ia death for two ! It will kill me — and kill her who 
 loves me too well to live when I shall be no more ! 
 My lord, it is terrible to stand here an innocent 
 man, yet to be branded with infamous crimes and 
 adjudged to receive the felon's fate. But even at 
 the last moment God may save me — heaven m;iy 
 help me yet I O Mary Price, if you be alive, come 
 —come — I beseech you !" exclaimed the unhappy 
 prisoner, his voice now thrilling with ineffable 
 anguish, so that there was scarcely an unmois- 
 tened eye ia the court. " If you be alive, I say, 
 come to save me!— but though you should be 
 dead, I adjure you to rise up even from the tomb 
 itself, and proclaim mine innocence !" 
 
 "I come — I come!" a voice was heard to cry in 
 sudden response to that wild appeal. That voice 
 was mine : for I had that very instant entered the 
 court, supported between Mrs. Calder and Mr. Ed- 
 ward. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the effect 
 produced by this strange occurrence. The un- 
 snuffed candles were burning with an ominous 
 dimness — the countenances of jury, judge, barris- 
 ters, and audience, looked ghastly in the uncertain 
 light. A sort of consternation fell upon all present, 
 as my voice sounded in response to that solemn 
 adjuration which had demanded my presence even 
 from the very tomb. For nearly a minute a pro- 
 found silence— a silence like that of death— had fol- 
 lowed the answer I gave : but all eyes were fixed 
 upon me— and the crowd reverentially made way, 
 with mechanical instinct, as I advanced leaning 
 upoa the arms of my friends, the doctor closely 
 
 following behind. Having but just risen from a 
 sick bed, I looked pale as death, and as ghastly 
 also! No wonder, then, that all the eyes which 
 concentrated their loolcs upon my counteiauce, 
 surveyed me with awe and doubt, as if scarcely 
 knowing whether it were indeed a living creature 
 or a corpse from the grave that hid thus answered 
 the prisoner's wild and impassioned adjuration. 
 Altogether it was a scene so solemnly impressive, 
 so deeply awe-inspiring, that even as I write of it 
 now, it is as fresh to my memory as if it had 
 occurred but yesterday. 
 
 Suddenly a change came over the aspect of all 
 present. 
 
 "It is she! it is shel" were the words that 
 thrilled from the lips of Leonard Percival; and 
 fa'liog upon his knees in the dock, he extended 
 his arms upward, exclaiming, " I thank thee, O 
 Lord— I bless thee, my God— for this wonderful 
 proof of thy mercy !" — then covering his face with 
 his hands, he burst into a passionate fit of weeping 
 the strong man cried like a child! 
 
 Indescribable was the sensation produced upon 
 a'l present. The judge himself was affected — some 
 of the jury burst into tears— and I heard people 
 near me sob aloud. The counsel for the prisoner 
 advanced to meet me, and Mr. Edward whispered 
 a few explanatory wor Is in his ear. The counsel 
 looked astounded for a moment — then hastened to 
 whisper something in his mm to the Judge; and 
 his lordship exclaimed in a loud voice, " Usher of 
 the court, keep the doors — let no one go forth ! ' 
 There was a pause — a solemn pause of profoundest 
 silence once more ; and then the Judge spoke 
 again, saying, " Let Jol'.n Morley be placed under 
 arrest !" 
 
 An immense sensation now pervaded the court. 
 Lord Harlesdon gave vent to an audible ejacula- 
 tion of mingled astonishment and horror; and 
 Leonard Percival, starting up from his knees, 
 echoed the n ime of John Morley, adding, •' Is it 
 possible? Harper's friend !" 
 
 Meanwhile some of the Sheriff's javelin men had 
 seized upon Morley, towards whom all eyes were 
 now turned. I had taken a seat, in company with 
 my friends, at the barristers' table ; and the coun- 
 sel for the defence, rising again, said, " My lord, 
 the young woman, Mary Price, who is now iu 
 court, has just risen from a bed of sickness. Im- 
 pelled by a sense of duty which, though it w a 
 duty, is nevertheless most generously performed 
 in this instance, because it is at the risk of her life, 
 —she has come hither to state what she knows. 
 I have to request your lordship that she may be 
 examined while seated." 
 
 This request was at once acceded to by Judge 
 Baily ; and I retained ray place at the barristers' 
 table, where, as the reader may suppose, I was the 
 object of universal attention and interest 
 
 " Although I am pretty well acquainted," the 
 counsel for the defence then said, " with the lead- 
 ing points of the evidence which Miss Price can 
 give, inasmuch as I described them in my speech, 
 yet under the very peculiar circumstances of the 
 present case, your lordship may probably deem it 
 advisable to allow her to tell her story iu her own 
 way? " 
 
 Again the Judge consented. I was then duly 
 sworn ; and iu a stronger voice than I had even 
 hoped to be able to fmd for the occasiou— with
 
 MAKY PKICE: or. THE MEMOTRS OP SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 185 
 
 -i'irf!^f a^,';;:.:i":i:!iMimtiniln||iili |' 
 
 ll,n i ; i hm ; iHii|ll|lil l llini l||l|ljliui]u ill'l7TIT 
 
 greater nerve too than I had fancied myself capable 
 of exerting;' — I spoke in the followinfj manner ; — 
 
 "My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, it is in my 
 power to throw much light upon the unhappy sub- 
 ject of this day's solemn investigation. First of 
 all let me state that I was a witness of the whole 
 transaction that took place between Leonard Per- 
 cival and Jacob Harper in the earlier part of that 
 day which was destined to be marked with so many 
 important incidents. Jacob Harper was altogether 
 the aggressor. It is sad to be compelled to speak 
 evil of the dead : but the truth must be told." 
 
 I then gave a brief outline of what really took 
 place on that occasion,— how Harper was over 
 anxious to manifest his zeal on behalf of Dr. Vin- 
 cent and Lord Miltown — how he seized upon 
 Leonard Percival — how the gun fell and went off, 
 thus by accident killing the dog. 
 
 " Of the examination which took place before 
 Lord Harlesdon I was a witness," 1 went on to say ; 
 KO. 24 
 
 "and I am bound to stite that Jacob Hirper com- 
 mitted perjury to a degree that made my blood 
 run cold. Leonard Percival desired to c.\ll me as 
 a witness ; but Lord Harlesdon would not permit 
 him." 
 
 I then proceeded to explain how I had fainted 
 behind the curtain in the library at Harlesdon 
 Park; and without enterine: into much detail re- 
 specting the conversation I had there overheard, 
 I stated that Lord Harlesdon gave the game- 
 keeper a hundred pound note of which amount 
 fifty pounds were to go to Morley— and that sub- 
 sequently, after Lord Hirlesdoii had quitted the 
 library, I had heard Harper and Morley make 
 some appointment for the purpose of dividing the 
 money, but for when or where I did not at th* 
 time catch. I then went on to state that I had 
 besought and implored Lidy Harlesdon to interest 
 herself on behalf of Percival, whom I knew to b« 
 innocent of the offence of poaching; and that
 
 186 
 
 MABY PBICE ; OB, THE MEMOIBS OF A 8EBVANT-MAID. 
 
 her ladyship had generously given me a hundred 
 pounds to present to him. I even specified the 
 nature of the mouey— sixty pounds in bauk-notes, 
 and forty pounds in gold. 
 
 Here the counsel for the defence, hastily re- 
 ferring to his brief, said, " My lord, this exactly 
 corresponds with the nature of tlie money founJ 
 about the person of Leonard Percival :"— and the 
 annouuccment produced a gfreat seusatioa in the 
 court. 
 
 I now resumed my address, and went on to state 
 that it was really I myself who effected Leonard 
 Percival's deliverance, and that 1 cat my hand 
 with a knife while severing the cords that bound 
 his m-ists. I described how I had forgotten to 
 talic the msiney with me to the stable, but how I 
 subsequently met Percival at the stile leading into 
 the fields and gave liim the money then and there. 
 1 likewise explained how it was in consequence of 
 certain information whicli I gave him, that h3 sped 
 to rejoin Mrs. Baker and Ellen Kirkland at the 
 Morrisons' cottage. 
 
 Having partaken of a glass of water— for I was 
 growing faint — I went on to say that immediately 
 after i parted from Leonard Percival, I met John 
 Morley and a hostler, by whom i was borne oif 
 and thrust into a post-chaise ; and I then described 
 that strange and awful terror into which I was 
 thrown by Morley's manner when, awakening to 
 consciousness in the vehicle, I happened to say 
 " that I had no fear of his murdering me." 
 
 At this stage of the proceedings a voice exclaimed 
 in a tone of wild anguish, " I confess it all, my lord! 
 1 confess it all ! Heaven itself has sent Mary Price 
 to appear against me !" — and John Morley, bursting 
 away from those who held him in their grasp, rushed 
 into the middle of the open space in the centre of 
 the court near the barristers' table, and fell down 
 upon his knees, extending bis arms in a frantic man- 
 ner towards the Judge. 
 
 I beheld this scene, at onee so awful and so ex- 
 citing : but I beheld no more. A sudden dizziness 
 seized upon me — the countenances of Judge, jury, 
 barristers, and spectators faded from my view — the 
 whole tribunal disappeared as if in a phontasma- 
 goiian mist, and consciousness abandoned me. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 AFTER THE TIIIAL. 
 
 Whek I returned to ray senses I found myself lying 
 upon a sofa in an apartment belonging to the court, 
 and which I afterwards learnt to be the Judge's 
 robing-room. Familiar faces surrounded me. Dr. 
 Scott was holding one of my hands, with his fingers 
 upon my wrist, evidently feeling my pulse — kind- 
 hearted Mrs. Calder was close by his side, with a 
 bason containing vinegar and water — and imme- 
 diately behind her, was her son Edward, looking on 
 with a countenance expressive of the deepest in- 
 terest. Such was the little group on my left hand. 
 On my right — for the sofa was drawn away from the 
 wall, thus permitting persons to stand on either side 
 — Ellen Kirklaud was on her knees, pressing my 
 hand to her lips and bathing it with tears of joy : by 
 her side knelt Leonard Percival, now at liberty once 
 again;— and leaning upon his shoulder was worthy 
 Mrs. Baker, pouring forth audible prayers on" mv 
 hd\M 
 
 Never shall I forget how solemnly yet sweetly in- 
 teresting was this scene to which I awoke; and 
 methinks I feel now in my heart the vibration of 
 those ineffable emotions which the spectacle conjured 
 up. Ellen Kirkland threw her arms round my neck, 
 embracing me with an affectionate tenderness which 
 could not be exceeded if shown by a sister ; and my 
 heart swelled as in thus receiving the proofs of her 
 gratitude and joy, I was amply rewarded for all I 
 had done. Then Mrs. Baker embraced me also ; 
 and Leonard Percival, still on his kates by ray side, 
 addressed me in a manner the tones and words of 
 which I never can forget. 
 
 "Mary Price," he said, — "for in that familiar 
 way will you permit me to speak, as now and hence- 
 forth, until the day of my death, must I consider you 
 as a sister, — you have proved a guardian angel to 
 me! Language has m power to convey all I feel 
 towards you; and the world has never known a 
 sacrifice that I would not be prepared to maka to 
 testify my gratitude. Were it needful I would lay 
 down my life to serve yoo. Beyond this I can say 
 nothing unless it ba to invoke heaven's choicest 
 blessings upon your head— and to this effect will 
 two devoted hearts ever pray !'* 
 
 He glanced towards Ellen Kirkland as he thus 
 spoke ; and she immediately added in a low voice 
 tremulous with emotions, " Never, dear Mary, shall 
 there go up from my lips, night or morning, a prayer 
 to heaven in which your name will not be included. 
 You are the saviour of him I love: in delivering 
 Leonard you have rescued me also from death !" 
 
 There was not an unmoistened eye around the 
 sofa on which I la> ; and my own tears Bowed 
 plenteously. In a few minutes a message was 
 brought by one of the ushers of the court to the 
 effect that Judge Baiiy would be pleased to say a 
 word to me ere I took my departure. A suitable 
 response was sent back; and feeling now much 
 stronger, I sat up on the sofa to receive bis ioid<t:ip. 
 The Judge entered the room in his official costume, 
 iust as he had desceudei from the bench ; and as he 
 advanced towards me, I endeavoured to rise in tokea 
 of respect. But with benevolent look and manner, 
 he bade me remain seated ; and taking my hand, 
 said with much feeling, " Young woman, it must 
 have been not merely the strictest sense of duty, but 
 also the noblest generosity of heart, that could have 
 prompted you to risk your life by leaving a sick 
 couch, ill as you are, to rescue a fellow«creature 
 from the overwhelming weight of circumstantial 
 evidence. It is one of the most extraordinary as well 
 as the most touching incidents on record. Heaven 
 will bless you for your goodness; and the world 
 cannot fail to esteem you." Then turning towards 
 Leonard Percival, the Judge said, " Younj; man, I 
 repeat here the congratulations which I just now 
 oflijred when discharging you from custody. Most 
 unfeignedly do I rejoice at this signal manifestation 
 of your innocence. I have ordered that the money 
 tnken from you at the time of your arrest, and 
 which is proved to have been the gift of Lady 
 Harlesdon, shall be restored. Permit me to add a 
 like sum from my own purse: it will help you to 
 commence the world anew. My clerk has already 
 received instructions to this effecL" 
 
 The Judge then turned hastily away to avoid the 
 acknowledgment of Leonard Percival's gratitude, 
 and passed into an a(1jao?nt room. 
 
 Soou afterwards it was announced Jhnt the car-
 
 MARr PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOiaS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 187 
 
 riage was ready at the private entrance of the court; 
 and I bade farewell to Leonard, Ellen Kirklaud, and 
 Mrs. Baker. But we did not separate viithout a 
 cordial invitation being given by Mrs. Calder for 
 them to visit me as often as they pleased at Merton 
 House,— the good lady adding with a smile, "For 
 it is my iutentiou to keep our dear Mary with me 
 as long as she caa make herself happy bcaeath my 
 roof." 
 
 I was now conducted forth to the carriage, which 
 speedily drove away ami'lst the cheers of the 
 crowd that had assembled to witness the departure. 
 Immediately upon our arrival at Mertou House 
 again, 1 had to betake myself to bed and to the 
 care of the kind-hearted old nurse, who was im- 
 mensely delighted oa hearing of the successful 
 isius of my adventure at Derby. It was must 
 probably the happiness which resulted tlierefrom 
 that prevented me from experiencing a severe ill- 
 ness from the extraordinary fatigue and exhaus- 
 tion I had endured: but the state of the mind 
 invariably exercises a strong influence, either for 
 good or for evil, over the body— and in this case 
 it was fortunately in the favourable sense. Two 
 or three days elapsed, however, before Dr. Scott 
 or Mrs. Calder would suffer me to encounter any 
 nc;w source of excitement by devoting attention to 
 the other affairs which had now resumed a para- 
 mount importance in my estimation. But as I 
 recovered— rapidly regaining strength as well as 
 good spirits— it was not long ere Dr. Scott gave 
 me permission to occupy myself with those con- 
 cerns to which I have alluded. Therefore, so soon 
 as I was able to rise from my couch an 1 sit up in 
 an easy-chair by the fire, I obtained writing mate- 
 rials and penned a letter to Lady Harlesdon. 
 Without entering into fu'l details, I gave a rapid 
 outline of all I had suffered— all the persecutions 
 I had endured — and all the treaclieries that had 
 been practised against me; and I concluded by 
 beseeching her ladyship to come and see me that 
 I might give fuller explanations, as I should not 
 feel easy till such an interview had taken place, 
 and the doctor had declared that I must not think 
 of leaving the house for the next week or ten days. 
 This letter I sealed and address'ed to Lady Harles- 
 don, Mrs. Calder kindly undertaking to send it 
 by one of her men-servants to the Parlr, so that 
 its delivery might be sure. With much anxiety 
 an 1 suspense did I await the return of the mes- 
 senger; for I was fearful not only that the epistle 
 might be intercepted by Lord Harlesdon, but also 
 that the servant might hear things prejudicial to 
 me at the Park. 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock in the forenoon when 
 the servant was sent off: it was between two and 
 three when he returned— and then Mrs. Calder 
 came herself up to my chamber to tell me the result. 
 She held my letter in her hand ; and I at once saw 
 that the seal was unbroken. Had it then been 
 returned with disdain and contempt? Such was 
 my first thought; and the anguish it produced 
 was accompanied by the most painful suspense. 
 
 •' Mary my dear child," said Mrs. Calderj " you 
 must prepare for a disappointment. Lord and 
 Lady Harlesdon have quitted the Park. They left 
 it with their children and n>arly all the sirvants 
 the day before yesterday, with the intention of 
 taking their <lc[)artn'C immediately from England 
 aud proceeding to Italy." 
 
 "Oh, how unfortunate!" I exclaimed. "But 
 this letter can be sent on to their town oiau- 
 sion— ~" 
 
 " It will not reach them," interrupted Mrs. 
 Calder. " They left the Park with the intention 
 of proceeding aa rapidly as might be to Dover— 
 thence to embark for the Continent. There can 
 be no doubt that the sudden turn which Leonard 
 Percival's trial took at Derby, and the remorseful 
 confession of John Morley, terrified Lord H irles- 
 don lest the share he had in persecuting you should 
 be brought to light and bring down public exe^ 
 oration upon him. This is the only way to ac- 
 count for his abrupt, aad indeed precipitate de- 
 parture from England." 
 
 " My dear madam," I said, after a long pause, 
 during which I deliberated profoundly, "it now 
 becomes imperatively necessary that I should ex- 
 plain to you a certain circumstance which I have 
 not as yet revealed. An odious calumny has been 
 
 circulated concerning me " 
 
 "It has already reached my ears," answered 
 Mrs. Calder; "and I did not believe it. At ail 
 events I knew full well that you would be enabled 
 to explain it ; and it was not my intention to men- 
 tion the circumstance in your hearing until you 
 were fully aud completely restored to health." 
 
 "Oh, my kind benefactress T' 1 exclaimed: 
 "how different have you behaved from all others 
 whose ears t'latsame calumny reached!" 
 
 " Mary," answered Mrs. Calder, taking my hand 
 and pressing it cor.lially, "I was too well con- 
 vinced of your candour aud your frankness not to 
 have faith also in your innocence and purity. Be- 
 sides, a young woman who would so nobly and 
 so generously risk her life, as you did, in the per- 
 formance of a duty towards a fellow- creature, was 
 by no means likely to be the depraved and immor;il 
 girl that calumny represented. No, Sliry— not 
 for a single instant did I believe that tale : nor 
 does a single individual beneath this roof.'' 
 
 "Thanks, ten thousand thanks, for this assur- 
 ance!" I exclaimed, the tears of gratitude and 
 joy raining down my cheeks. " But tell me, dear 
 lady, when and how this calumny reached your 
 ears." 
 
 " The day after the trial Captain Calder hap- 
 pened to meet Lord Miltown, with whom ho is 
 slightly acquainted; and in the courso of conversa- 
 tii)n your name was mentioned. His lordship 
 thereupon stated what he hid heard. Tne Cap- 
 tain, who can swear a little when excited or 
 annoyed, rapped out a tremendous oath, it ap- 
 pears, and declared that so far from believing i( 
 lie only wished he had the originators of the 
 c.ilumny on the quarter-deck of a man-of-war, 
 and he would give them each three dozen of a 
 good rope's-end. I mu-t further observe, my dear 
 child, that the servant who just now took your 
 letter over to Harlesdon Park, heard you most 
 favourably — indeed kindly and enthusiastically 
 spoken of by the domestics remaining in ciiargc o*" 
 the mansion ; and they, it appears, do not for i 
 moment believe that you rau away of your own 
 accord, but have all along felt convinced you had 
 been carried off. It nmsl be thersfora satisfactory 
 for you to know that those persons who arc best 
 acquainted with you, spontaneously stand forward 
 in your defence." 
 
 "Again I thank you, my kind bcnefactrosg, ioT
 
 188 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEB01R3 OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 telling me all this," said I. " But it is not suffi- 
 cient that my character should rest upon your own 
 generous confidence, or upon the good opinion 
 which my fellow-servants at Harlesdon Park have 
 formed of me. Your treatment ■of the poor friend- 
 less orphan whom chance in her weary wanderings 
 flung down at your gate, has been so Christian- 
 like, 60 humane — I might even say so maternal — • 
 that it would be the basest ingratitude on my part 
 to keep anything secret from you. I therefore 
 now beg and beseech that you will read this letter 
 which I had penned to Lady Harlesdon, but which 
 has been brought back. I did not show it to you 
 before it was despatched, because I was in hopes 
 that it woidd have found Lady Harlesdon and 
 brought her hither, and that after an interview 
 with mc she would of her own accord have assured 
 you that my character is stainless and pure. In 
 that case it would have been unnecessary for mc 
 to enter into any explanations relative to that one 
 incident which has proved the origin of so much 
 terrible calumny against me. But Lady Harlesdon 
 has gone — the letter has not reached her — and I 
 have no alternative but to request you to read it 
 for my own complete vindication." 1 
 
 "If it contain a secret, my dear child, at al- 
 affecting yom* late noble mistress," said Mrs. Cal 
 der, " I do not for a moment wish to pry into it, — 
 and that it does contain some secret of this natiu-e, 
 I more than half suspect. Indeed, I can partially 
 guess it " 
 
 " You, madam F" I exclaimed in astonishment. 
 
 " Yes," responded IMi-s. Calder : " for rumour has 
 for a considerable time whisperingly coupled the 
 names of Lady Harlesdon and Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vering." 
 
 " Ah ! then hesitate no longer," said I, " to read 
 my letter." 
 
 IVIrs. Calder now proceeded to comply with my 
 request ; and the follo\\-ing paragi-agh in the epistle 
 which I had pcimed to Lady Harlesdon, conveyed 
 a full explanation of the origin of the calumny 
 levelled against mc : — 
 
 " That your ladyship was grossly and scandalously im- 
 posed upon w-ith regard to me, I do solemnly declare. It 
 was not in the arms of Sir Aubrey Claveriug that you saw 
 me half-recliuing on that memorable day. No, dear lady ; 
 it was none other than the Gipsy Queen — the woman that 
 stole your chOd in London — wlio ^^as dressed up to per- 
 sonate Sir Aubrey upon the occasion. His owu apparel, 
 his very horse, were lent for the purjjose ; and all this 
 terrible treachery was a part of the understanding to 
 which he had previously come with Lord Harlesdon con- 
 cerning me. Can you not understand the motive ? Alas, 
 dear lady ! it was another phase in that vengeance which 
 his lordship has for months past been wreaking upon you 
 and all the details of wliich arc so painfully known to me. 
 Good heavens ! did not your ladyship know me liotter than 
 to suppose even for an instant that I was capable of such 
 brazen immorality ?" 
 
 Mrs. Calder was pwfeetly astouiuled on thus 
 finding the key to the reading of that enigma 
 whence the calumny concerning me had arisen ; 
 and she exclaimed, " Well indeed may Lord 
 Harlesdon have deemed it prudent to Hy precipi- 
 tately from England and avoid the public execra- 
 tion that would follow an exposure of the vile 
 conspii-acies in which he has been a participator 
 with regard to you ! Without entering into any 
 explanations relative to this secret of which you 
 have just matte mc acquainted, I shall neverthe- 
 
 less be enabled to assure my husband, my son, and 
 all who arc interested in your welfare, that I have 
 received the most positive and convincing proofs 
 of the base falsehood of the calumny propagated 
 concerning you." 
 
 " And will you do me another favour, ilrs. Cal- 
 der ?" I asked : " will you request your kind hus- 
 band to write to Lord Miltown and to Dr. Vincent 
 to the same purpose? and wi'l you yourself write 
 to Mrs. Hilton at the village which I have before 
 named, assuring her of my innocence and request- 
 ing her to show your communication to Mr. 
 Palmer, the clergyman of that place ? — for I have 
 already vowed that wherever the calumny has 
 been circulated, thither must the contradiction be 
 Sent." 
 
 All that I asked was willingly done. The Captain 
 wrote, as desired, to Lord Miltown and Dr. Vin- 
 cent : but his letters remained without reply. 
 Mrs. Caldcr's epistle to Mrs. Hilton was on the 
 contrary answered by return of post — that lady 
 declaring herself completely satisfied, and express- 
 ing her fervid regret at having been so misled 
 with regard to me. She desired to be affectionately 
 remembered to me, and promised to place Mrs. 
 Calder's letter in the hands of the vill^e clergy- 
 man, 
 
 I must now avaU myself of this opportunity to 
 observe that in the course of conversation a day 
 or two after the trial scene at Derby, I hail in- 
 qmred whether the th regiment was stUl quar- 
 tered there : for the reader will scarcely require to 
 bo informed that I was naturally anxious to know 
 whether Eustace Quentin was near enough to 
 Harlesdon Park to have been easUy accessible to 
 the odious calumny to which such frequent allu- 
 sion has been made. To my joy I learnt that the 
 regiment had suddenly been ordered away from 
 Derby a fortnight back to some place in the north 
 of Ireland ; and thus I hoped that the evil report 
 had not reached Mr. Quentin's knowledge. But 
 then, might not Lady Harlesdon have \vritten to 
 him on the subject ? Such had been my fear when 
 during my wanderings I was tormented by all 
 kiiids of wretched thoughts: but now that my 
 mind had assumed a healthier tone, my opinion 
 changed on that point. For in the fijst place 
 Lady Harlesdon was ignorant of the engagement 
 subsisting between us, and therefore suspected not 
 to what extent her cousin Eustace might be inter- 
 ested in me or my proceedings : and in the second 
 place I knew that she was not of a malignant or 
 vindictive character. Therefore, all things con- 
 sidered, I deemed it best to refrain from volim- 
 teering to Eustace any written explanation of * 
 calumny which I now considered uidikely to have 
 reached his ears at all. I was so fearful that were 
 I to wTite (o him on that or any other subject, it 
 would seem like an overture on my part to break 
 the 'compact wliich I myself had so earnestly stipu- 
 lated, and which was so solemnly ratified between 
 us. 
 
 Having recorded all these necessary little ex- 
 planations, I must now return to the solemn sub- 
 ject of Jolm Morley's fearfid crime, of which he 
 gave n full narrative to the Sheriff, in the presence 
 of the Governor and Chaplain of the prison, on the 
 day following his confession in the court of jus- 
 tice. The reader will recollect that on the me- 
 morable evening of Leonard rerciv.al's esamina«
 
 MAUY price; oh, the JIEMOIRS op A SERVANT-MAID 
 
 tion before Lord Harlesdon, I overheard, when 
 concealed behind the curtains in the library, Jacob 
 Harper and Jolin Morley making some appoint- 
 ment, but that I could not catch the when and the 
 where. It now appeared that it was for half-past 
 eleven that night in the field adjoining the lane 
 where the po3t-chaiso was to be in waiting for 
 twelve. Morley, after drinldng ale in the servants' 
 hall, issued forth to meet the gamekeeper ; and on 
 arriving at the p'sce of appointment, he found 
 him already there. What then occurred must be 
 described in Morley's own words : — 
 
 " On meeting Harper I asked him if he had got 
 the money : namely, the fifty pounds which was to 
 be my share of the hundred pound note given by 
 Lord Harlesdon. He said that he had brought 
 full change for the note, in small notes and in gold, 
 in order that I might make my choice as to the 
 kind of money I would have. He produced a can- 
 vass bag containing the notes and gold ; and at 
 that instant the moon burst forth in all its bril- 
 liancy—for it W!i3 previously very dark. I at once 
 observed that as he turned the notes over in his 
 hand, the hundred pound one given by Lord 
 Harlesdon was along wilh all the others. I said, 
 • "What a lot of money you have got, Jacob.'— He 
 replied, • And what a scurvy fellov you must be 
 not to have waited till to- morrow for your fifty 
 pounds. Did you think I should cheat you out 
 of it?'— I answered that I did not suppose he 
 would, but that as on a former occasion we had 
 had some quarrelling about money matters, I 
 thought it best to have a short reckoning now, 
 that we might be the better friends. 'Besides,' I 
 added, < as I had to be in the lane and you had to 
 go your rounds before you went to bed, there is 
 no harm done in my wishing to have my money 
 to-night.' — * Well, I was only joking,' returned 
 Harper : * I myself look pretty sharp after money 
 matters, and if I had been cross at your conduct 
 1 should not have brought my bag to offer you 
 choice of the change.' — While this conversation 
 was going on, the devil was whispering in my ear. 
 Fifty pounds only of what the bag contained was 
 due t'j me, and the entire contents were over two 
 hundred pounds. The temptation was greater 
 than I could resist : I felt in my pocket, and my 
 knife was there. I opened it inside the pocket, 
 and suddenly drawing it forth, sent it deep down 
 into the gamekeeper's heart. It was but a faint 
 cry that came from his lips; but he sprang high 
 up into the air, and dropped stone dead. I took 
 from him everything of value he had about his 
 person, and then rushed away from the scene of 
 my crime. Leaping over the stile into the lane, I 
 hurried along till I met the post-chaise for which I 
 was waiting. An extraordinary degree of coolness 
 now took possession of me : I felt a kind of des- 
 peration, amounting indeed to perfect indifference. 
 I suppose 1 was thoroughly hardened. I walked 
 down the lane with the hostler who had come with 
 the post-chaise; and we captured Mary Price. 
 She fainted ; and when she came to herself again, 
 she and I were in the carriage together. She 
 made some observation about murder; and never 
 shall 1 forget the shocking feelings that rose up 
 within me. It seemed as if she read in my face 
 the secret of my soul. That was indeed a terrible 
 moment for me ! I took her in the chaise to the 
 place of deatiuatiou, about twelve or thirteen miles 
 
 180 
 
 from the Park ;* and having left her there, has- 
 tened back by the same conveyance to the lane 
 whence we had started. There I dismissed the 
 chaise, and went as quickly as possible to Farmer 
 Jones's. It was then three o'clock in the morning, 
 and I made some excuse for knocking the house 
 up at such an hour. 1 have now no more to say — 
 except that I do sincerely hope Leonard Pcrcival 
 will forgive me for having suffered him, though 
 innocent, to bear the weight of this foul crime; 
 and I declare that I do not for a moment repent 
 having admitted that I am the real author of it, 
 inasmuch as the evidence of Mary Price must 
 have inevitably brought it home to me," 
 
 As a matter of course, while making his con- 
 fession, Morley was compelled to mix up tlip names 
 of Lord Harlesdon and Sir Aubrey Clavering with 
 the details of each progressive step that had led him 
 to the fatal deed ; but those to whom the confession 
 was made — with the usual official regard for the 
 reputation of aristocratic or wealthy personages — 
 suppressed as much as they could of these parts of 
 Morley's revelations, so that the bare history of the 
 murder itself was all that found its way into the 
 newspapers. 
 
 On being formally placed upon bis trial before 
 Judge Baily, in the same dock where Leonard Per- 
 cival had stood three days previously, John Morley 
 pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to death in due 
 form. On being conveyed back to his dungeon, he 
 was visited by his motlier — Mrs. Ferguson, as sho 
 chose to call herself; and from the statement which 
 appeared in the public journals, the unfortunate 
 woman was well nigh distracted during the inter- 
 view. Ah! little did she think when so pitilessly 
 lending herself to the designs of those who medi- 
 tated my ruin, — little did she think, I say, when 
 presiding over my destinies at the White Cottage,— 
 that such a horrible scene of misery was already in 
 embryo for herself! But notwithstanding all she 
 bad done to me, I could not help pitying her from 
 the very depths of my soul, as I read in the news- 
 papers the account of that distressing interview 
 which she had with her doomed son. 
 
 But let me hasten and bring to a conclusion thii 
 melancholy episode in my history. Leonard Per- 
 cival visited John Morley in prison, and unfeignedly 
 assured him of his forgiveness. The condemned 
 man was no doubt deeply penitent: the scene in the 
 court, which had moved him with so powerful an 
 impulse to confess his guilt, had wrought a com- 
 plete change in him; and from that instant when he 
 fell upon his knees before the Judge to confess his 
 guilt, until the final moment when he stood upon 
 the drop with the halter round his neck, his conduct 
 was most seemly and repentant. lu this frame of 
 mind was he launched into eternity, in the presence 
 of an immense concourse of people, assembled to 
 witness that awful deed of public strangulation. 
 
 A month after the trial Leonard Percival became 
 the husband of Ellen Kirkland. The young couple 
 had three hundred pounds to be(;in the world with — 
 one hundred received from Lady Harlesdon, another 
 
 • Tho roailcr will thoreforo perceive that on my e«cap» 
 from the White Gottiigo, I had at first wamlored several 
 miles in tlic wrong dlreclioii, and had afterwards got by 
 some clrcuituus route into tho road leading in tho dl- 
 rcctlon of Harlesdon Park and whence thcro was a branch 
 that turned oft towards Derby.
 
 190 
 
 MARy price; or, the memoirs op a 8KRVANT->IA1D. 
 
 hunilred so generously presented by the Judge, and 
 a third hundred bestowed with equal kindness by 
 the warm-hearted Captain Calder. This was not 
 all the good fortune which now attended Mr. Per- 
 cival. The old proverb says tliat " it never rains 
 but it pours ;" and as he had experienced a shower 
 of misfortunes so he was now destined to receive a 
 torrent of bounties. The reader will remember that 
 the farm which his deceased father had been com- 
 pelled to give up, belonged to a gentleman at Derby ; 
 and it happened to be unlet at the very period of 
 which I am now writing, — the tenant who had suc- 
 ceeded old Mr. Percival, having recently died. The 
 gentleman who was the owner of the farm, was much 
 interested by the narrative of Leonard's misfor- 
 tunes as well as by the romantic circumstances 
 attending the development of his innocence. He 
 sent for the young man and oiTercd him the farm. 
 Leonard was at first overjoyed : but on reflection 
 he found that three hundred pounds were not suf- 
 ficient capital to enable him to take it. The libe- 
 rality of the owner was however displayed in tfie 
 kindest manner; and immediately after their mar- 
 riage, Leonard and Ellen were enabled to enter 
 upon the occupation of the land. The reader may 
 rest assured that old Mrs. Baker did not separate 
 from them when they were installed in the com- 
 fortable homestead to which the farm was at- 
 tached. 
 
 CHAPTER XLL. 
 
 MY FOURTH PLACE. 
 
 I HAD remained five weeks at Merton Housp, 
 and it was now the close of February. On the 
 sompleto restoration of my health— when the good 
 old nurse was dismissed and Dr, Scott's profes- 
 sional visits were no lon^'er necessiiry — I was as- 
 signed to the care of the housekeeper, a kind- 
 hearted woman named Hutchinson; and I took 
 my meals with her in her own room. Ou several 
 oceaisions I represented to her that I should look 
 out for a new situation as nursery-maid : bat Mrs. 
 Hutchinson invariably said, " Do not bo in a hurry, 
 my dear Mary: wo all like you too well to part 
 with you ; and Mrs. Calder would be quite grieved 
 if you were to mention such a thing." 
 
 At length I assured Mrs, Hutchinson that I 
 could not possibly live in idleness upon the bounty 
 cf this amiable family, as it would not only be 
 wrong-, but also totally inconsistent with my ideas 
 cf propriety. 
 
 " Well, Mary," Mrs. Hutchinson replied, " leavo 
 the matter in my hands, and I will see what Mrs. 
 Calder's views are concerning you. Remember, 
 you ■cannot do altogether just as you please, but 
 are bound to consult your friends and those who 
 wiih you well as to your future proceedings. 
 Therefore, let the affair rest for the moment, and 
 I will see about it in due course." 
 
 "Pray do, my dear Mrs. Hutchinson," was my 
 answer on this occasion : but several more days 
 passed, and the worthy housekeeper omitted to 
 Bpeak to Mrs. Calder ou tho subject. 
 
 I must her« observe that when Leonard and 
 Ellen were married and established at the farm, 
 tliey offered nic a home bencatli their roof: they 
 even begg;cd and implored that if I left Mcrtou 
 
 House I would go and live with ihem, — ;.t3urii)g 
 me that I should be treated as a very dear sister. 
 But this was an offer I could not possibly aocepti 
 I knew full well they would not permit me to assist 
 in any menial capacity in their household ; aud not 
 for worlds would I have become a burden to them. 
 Besides, I was resolved not to eat the bread of in- 
 dolence; aud if I were impatient of my position 
 beneath the roof of a rich family's mansion, much 
 more diBsatisficd should I have been with myself, 
 if encroaching upon the narrow means of those 
 who had just commeaccd the career of married 
 life. 
 
 It was six weeks after my arrival at Merton 
 House that I one dny had an opportunity of 
 speaking to Mrs. Calder upon the topic which I 
 siw very plainly Mrs. Hutchinson would not broach 
 for me. 
 
 " I admire your spirit, my dear girl," answered 
 the worthy lady, "in not choosing to eat the bread 
 of dependence; and I should be wrong to discour- 
 age a feeling so highly creditable to yourself. At 
 the same time I am by no means prepared to part 
 with you — nor is there any necessity that I can see 
 fer you to leave ?iIerton House. We all like you 
 here ; and we all wish to keep you. Now, the fact 
 is that poor old Mrs. Hutchinson has got a great 
 deal to do— more than she can manage ; and 1 have 
 for some time past — before you came here indeed 
 —thought of giving her an assistant. What say 
 you ?" 
 
 "Mrs. Calder," I answered, "I never can find 
 terms strong enough to express the feeling of gra- 
 titude which I experience for all you have doue for 
 me; aud therefore, believe me that 1 do not mean 
 to be ungrateful when I say that you have really 
 no situation at all to offer me beneath your roof. 
 Mrs. Hutchinson does not need any assistance. I 
 have often endeavoured to take some of her duties 
 off her hands; but she would not permit me. Ah ! 
 dear lady, I know full well that, with char icteristio 
 generosity, you are devising a plan to overcome my 
 scruples by inventing the situation for me to fil ; 
 but I should not be worthy of your good opinion if 
 I took advantage of your exceeding benevolence. 
 Do, dear lady, suffer me to look out for a situa- 
 tion: it shall be somewhere in the neighbourhood 
 that I miiy have the pleasure of paying you my re- 
 spects from time to time— for it would grieve me 
 indeed to separate from you altogether." 
 
 "You are agood and an excellent girl," answered 
 Mrs. Calder, affectionately tappinij my cheek; 
 "and it would be a sin in me to assert my own 
 selfish desire over your honest purpose. It is true, 
 Mary, that what I just now said was a device to 
 keep you: but, as 1 also observed, every oue likes 
 you here. The Captain will be in a dreadful rage 
 when he learns that you intend to leave us; and 
 Edward, who is a generous-hearted youth — though 
 I should scarcely say so of my own sou — has con- 
 ceived the greatest interest in your behalf. But if 
 your mind is made up I shall not urge any farther 
 remoustrance, but will even assist you to prooura 
 a comfortable place. Aud mind, there is one thing 
 1 must insist upon— that you do not leave us until 
 you enter upon a situation where you are oertaiu 
 to be oomfortablo." 
 
 Here the conversation ended; and on the fol- 
 lowing day, while lookiug over the columns of a 
 Derby paper, I was struck by this advertiseutent: —
 
 HART PBIOE; on, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 191 
 
 WANTED, at a ladies' school, a young person as neodlo- 
 ■woman, to take charge of the younger boarders' clolUes, 
 mend and keep them in repair, and make herself geaeraUy 
 useful. She must be of good manners, genteel appearauee, 
 ef Church of England principles, and not more than twenty 
 or twenty-one ; accustomed to children, and with iraex- 
 I ceptionable references. Apply at Miss Nibhins' Esta- 
 ] blishmentj Montpellicr House, Derby. 
 j This advertisement seemed to offer a situation 
 I eligible enough for me. I showed it to Mrs. Cal- 
 der: but all she knew of Miss Nibkins was that 
 j siie had a very large school and was considered to 
 I be a respectable person. The worthy laiy, how- 
 I ever, questioned whether I should like tlie mani- 
 I fold and laborious duties of a seminary : but I ex- 
 I pressed my desire to louk after the place, and she 
 I offered no farther objection. The reader may pos- 
 I sibly fancy that I was somewhat in a hurry to quit 
 I Merton House; and to tell the truth, I vyas so — 
 I not only because I was anxious to eat the bread 
 of industry once more, but likewise because it was 
 impossible for me to close my eyes to the fact that 
 1 had become the object of increasing attention 
 I and interest on the part of Mr. Edward Calder. 
 This young gentleman, as I have previously stated, 
 was about thi-ee-and-tweuty years of age, and 
 was considered to be (as he certainly was) very 
 good-looking. He had chesnut hair, blue eyes, a. 
 rather pale countenance, a slender figure, and a 
 very genteel appearance. He was both intelligent 
 and amiable : the expression of his features indi- 
 cated high mental qualifications, together with 
 frankness, candour, and generosity of disposition. 
 His health having been delicate until within the 
 last few years, he had been brought up to Jio pro- 
 fession; but had resided at home altogether, after 
 leaving Rugby School, where he was educated. 
 His health had latterly become re-established, and 
 had ceased to give his parents any uneasiness : but 
 as he was their only child, and they were very well 
 off, so that they would be enabled to leave him a 
 fortune, they still kept him at home; — and affec- 
 tionate as they were towards him, equally dutiful 
 was he in return. 
 
 After my convalescence, Mr. and Mrs. Calder 
 would frequently have ma tor an hour or two in 
 the parlour with them of an evening ; and I soon 
 perceived that Mr. Edward regarded me with an 
 interest which gradually filled me with uneasiness 
 and gave me pain. Often, too, would he come up 
 into Mrs. Hutchinson's sitting-room and remain 
 there to converse — a proceeding which he might 
 adopt without impropriety, as she had been in the 
 family ever since he was a child. On those occa- 
 sions he treated me with a kindness almost amount- 
 ing to a display of affection : and yet his manner 
 was ever so perfectly respectful and gentlemanly 
 thit it was impossible even for a single moment to 
 believe that he entertained any dishonourable in- 
 t^^ntions. At length his demeanour towards me 
 grew more marked and unmistakeable— especially 
 if ever we happened to be left alijue together for a 
 fow minutes, as was sometimes the case both in the 
 parlour down stairs and in the housekeeper's room. 
 On several occasions, when the weather was very 
 fine, I liad walked in the garden in the rear of the 
 house; and he had sometimes joined me. It is 
 true that he nuiroly stopped and held me in con- 
 versation fir a lew minutes ; but by his look and 
 hia manner I could not help perceiving that he cx- 
 perienced tuwanls me a feeling more tender thuu 
 
 mere friend^liip. I was pained and uucasy, there- 
 fore, on his account; because, unless of his own 
 accord he afforded me an opportunity for explana- 
 tion, I could not possibly give him to understand 
 that my own affections were elsewhere engaged. 
 The reader can now comprehend why I was so ex- 
 ceedingly anxious to quit Merton House with as 
 little delay as possible, and why I caugnt at the 
 very first opportunity which seemed to present it- 
 self for obtaining a situation. 
 
 Having made up my mind to apply .it Montnel- 
 iier House, I took a place in the coacli v/Uich 
 passed by every diy at noon for Derby, and soon 
 after one o'clock entered that town. I had no diffi- 
 culty in obtaining a guide from tiie coach-office to 
 Miss Nibkins' establishment, which was situated 
 on the outskirts, Tae house itself was very exten- 
 sive — built with dingy red brick — straggling -and 
 somewhat monastic in appearance. There was a 
 garden in front, and a large play-ground in the 
 rear; and in the summer time I had no doubt 
 that the situation would be plea-saut and agreeable 
 enough. On ringing at the bell of the iron gate in 
 the railings fencing the front garden, a young wo- 
 man of somewhat slovenly appearance hurried 
 forth from the front-door ; and tripping along the 
 gravel- walic, came with a key to open the gate. I 
 asked if Miss Nibkins were at home; and the 
 young woman, who hai the appearance of being 
 the housemaid, answered in the affirmative : then, 
 with a sudden peculiarity of look and manner, she 
 said in a quick voice, " Are you come about the 
 place ? ' 
 " Yes," was my reply. 
 
 "Oh!'' she answered very drily, "I hope you 
 will like it then." 
 
 I made no observation to encourage her to pro- 
 ceed : for I saw at a glance that she had a whole 
 budget of tittle-tattle pent up and to which she was 
 longing to give utterance : but I never was prone 
 to gossiping myself, and therefore was not likely to 
 provoke it in others. 
 
 " Well, I should advise you to think twice before 
 you come here," continued the young woman, 
 fumbling with the key in the gate as if it would not 
 immediately open. " The place is horrid. Mi;3 
 Nibkins is a skinflint — as mean as a miser — and 
 everybody is half-starved. 1 hope you ha'vnt got 
 a very good appetite, for your own sake— that's 
 all !" 
 
 " I will see Misi Nibkins in any case, if you 
 please," was my answer, given civilly of course, but 
 in a way to show that I would rather judge for 
 myself from the lady's appearance and so forth, 
 than yield to prejudice at the outset. 
 
 Tiie young woman gave a toss of the head, as 
 much as to imply that I was a fool for not taking 
 her advice and that she was a fool also for having 
 thrown it away. She however opened the gate, and 
 I was conducted into Montpellier House, where I 
 was told to sit down in a dirty-looking hall while 
 the servant went to inform Miss Nibkins that a 
 young person had come after the place. In a few 
 minutes a tall thin lady, in a soiled silk gown and a 
 somewhat dingy cap, slowly descended the stairs 
 and bade me follow her into a room which she en- 
 tered on the ground-floor. Thii; was a ])arlour tole- 
 lably well furnished, but looking very much as if it 
 would be bancfiUdd by anioru intimate acquaintance 
 with a carp«lbrooi» rR'd aees-way. but I nccnpied
 
 192 
 
 MAUY pkice; ou, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 myself much less with the appearance of the place, 
 than with that of Miss Nibkins herself; and this 
 latter I shall endeavour to describe to the best of 
 my ability. 
 
 I have already said that she was tall and thin: to 
 descend more to particulars, I may observe that she 
 was absolutely scraggy. She walked as upright as 
 a dart, and sat equally upright in her chair ; so that 
 if her personal appearance were more imposing, 
 there would have been something stalely in her de- 
 meanour and her gait: but as it was, this stifl'ness 
 and starcbuess on her part, associated with her lung 
 scraggy neck, thin wrinkled countenance, and sharp 
 angular features, could only be described as old 
 maidish primness. Then, with her cold look and 
 her thin lips which scarcely moved as she spoke, 
 she gave one the idea of an animated mummy. 
 Her age was not very easy to guess at— for she wore 
 a false front: but I calculated it at about forty. 
 Her look was not merely prim, but also sanctimo- 
 niously demure; and it immediately struck me that 
 she was one of those persons who make religious 
 observances a source of self-mortification. Indeed, 
 as I gazed upon her, I wondered within myself 
 whether this serious and even severe-looking lady 
 could possibly smile. I was agreeably surprised, 
 however, when in a very mild voice that was most 
 melancholy in its cadence, she began tu question 
 me. 
 
 " So you are come after the place which you have 
 seen advertised in the Derby newspaper ?" 
 
 I answered that I had. Slie then inquired my 
 age ; and I told her that I was a little past eighteen. 
 
 "Where did you live last? or where are you 
 living now i" she inquired. 
 
 "I last lived as a servant at Lady Harlesdon's," 
 was my response; and 1 immediutely beheld a sott 
 of brighteniug-up on that rigid parchment-like 
 countenance, as if the mere mention of an aristo- 
 cratic name at once shed a benign influence upon 
 Miss Nibkins' soul. ''But I am now staying at 
 Merton House. Perhaps you know it, ma'am — 
 Mrs. Calder's." 
 
 " Then what is your name?" she csked somewhat 
 hastily, a suspicion of who I was having evidently 
 struck her. 
 
 1 gave the proper answer, and somewhat anxiously 
 awaited its effect. 
 
 " I thought so the instant you mentioned Merton 
 House. And you are indeed the young creature 
 who behaved so well some six weeks back ou the 
 occasion of that poor man's trial ?" 
 
 I answered that I was the person alluded to ; 
 and Miss Nibkins very deliberately took out a pair 
 of lari^e horn spectacles, wliich with au equally 
 measured precision she adjusted on her thin nose ; 
 — and tlieu through tlie large circular glasses she 
 surveyed me with a fixed attention. 
 
 "I suppose, then, that Lady Harles Ion and 
 Mrs. Calder will both give you a character?" she 
 at length said, taking off her spectacles, returning 
 them to the case, and then putting the case itself 
 back into her reticule; whence she now drew forth 
 a pair of worsted mittens which she drew over her 
 long lanky hands. 
 
 " Her ladyship has gone abroad," was my an- 
 swer; "but Mrs. Calder will cheerfully give you 
 every requisite information concerning me." 
 
 "Then 1 will write to I\Irs. Calder in the course 
 of the day," rejoined Miss Nibkins. •' You uader- 
 
 stand from the) advertisement tha duties you wil 
 have to undertake? They may be made lij.'li 
 
 ill 
 They may be made lit.'ht 
 and agreeable enough in the hinds of a willing 
 person : but unfortuaately, in this world of sorrow 
 and of sin, there 'a so much discontent that the 
 easiest avocations become changed by our own 
 perverse natures into the heaviest." 
 
 I assured Miss Nibkins that, according to the 
 specifications of her advertisement, I did not fear 
 the duties of the place, but hoped I should be 
 enabled to give satisfaction. 
 
 " You speak both modestly and sensibly," ob- 
 served the lady; "and this is already a recom- 
 mendation in your favour, after the sad experiences 
 of servants' waywardness which I have known. 
 Modesty in this world is near akin to humility ; 
 and humility teaches us to set but a small value 
 upon our own qualifications. Is this your dis- 
 position, young woman?" 
 
 I answered that I hoped and trusted it was. 
 
 " Then, in that case," rejoined Miss Nibkins, 
 " I presume that six pounds a year will suffice ?' 
 
 The pecuniary criais to which the lady's moral 
 homily had led her, was so unexpected by me, 
 and also struck me as having an effect so ridiculous 
 at the moment, that I coujd scarcely help laugh- 
 ing; and Miss Nibkins once more drew forth her 
 great burn spectacles, adjusted them upon her 
 nose, and looked at me veiy hard, as if she had 
 seen my risible muscles moving. I however has- 
 tened to assufe her that I was satisfied with her 
 offer: for I did not mean to allow any pecuniary 
 consideration to stand in the way of au arrange- 
 ment, — my anxiety to obtain the place iiume 
 diaiely, being already explained to the reader. 
 
 " 1 am glad to see, young woman," said Miss 
 NibUins, again taking off her spectacles and 
 restoring them to her reticule, " that you are of a 
 contented disposition. For my part, whatever 
 worldly goods I possess, and whatever emoluments 
 I derive from my industry, are not merely viewed 
 by me with profound thankfulness, but at the 
 same time fill me with the melancholy thought 
 that they are far more than I deserve. Of course 
 you are of Church of England principles ?" 
 
 I answered that I had been so brought op ; and 
 Miss Nibkins expressed her satisfaction, — at the 
 same time giving me the very liberal assurance that 
 if 1 had not been she could not for a moment have 
 thought of receiving me into her service. I then 
 moved towards the door; and as 1 was about to 
 quit the room she called me back, saying, " The 
 servant who let you in is about to leave. She is a 
 very deceitful, artful, stiff-necked, and designing 
 young woman — without thankfulness and without 
 principle — neglecting her devotions, and making 
 away with the broken victuals. I hope therefore 
 that you will not encourage her to gossip as you 
 leave the house." 
 
 I gave what I considered to be a proper answer, 
 and went away. The dirty-looking housemaid who 
 had been thus denounced by her mistress, accom- 
 panied me as far as the gate; and I noticed as I 
 turned to wish her "good morning," the tall prim 
 form of Miss Nibkins standing at the parlour- 
 window, evidently to watch our proceedings. It even 
 struck me that I could distinguish her great born 
 spectacles upon her nose. But she assuredly had 
 no reason to think that I gossipped with her ser- 
 vant: for I at once hurried away. Proceeding to
 
 MARY PRICE OK, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 193 
 
 the coach-office, I found that a vehicle was about to 
 leave that would pass by Merton House; and I 
 accordingly returned thither without delay. I told 
 Mrs. Calder ttiat I had arranged with Miss Nibkins, 
 who wovild write to her for my character ; and the 
 worthy lady assured mc that since I was satisfied 
 with the place it should not be her fault if I did not 
 obtain it. 
 
 On the following day I was walking in the 
 garden at the back of the house, when on entering 
 a shrubbery formed of dense evergreens at the 
 bottom of the enclosure, I found myself face to 
 face with Mr. Edward Calder. Ho looked pale and 
 agitated ; and I could not help at once being struck 
 by the peculiarity of his manner. 
 
 " Miss Price," he said — for thus had ho always 
 been accustomed to address me, — " I wish to speak 
 to you. I have purposely sought you hero. Pray 
 do not be frightened ! You know I am incapable of 
 txealiag you vnih disrespect : but do give me a 
 9TO. 2«. 
 
 I understand you are about to leave — that 
 
 you are going back to meuiid service Heavens, 
 
 how unfit is this for you .'" 
 
 The sudden appearance of Mr. Edward, followed 
 so immediately by these rapidly-uttered and excited 
 words, threw me into such bewilderment and confu- 
 sion that I knew not what to do or how to answer : 
 but he saw that I was both alarmed and chagrined — 
 and hence his endeavour to tranquillize me. 
 
 " Hear me, I say," he continued ; " and be not 
 afraid. Not for worlds would I injure you ! — and of 
 the sincerity of the regard which I entertain towards 
 you I am about to give the best, the only proof that 
 one in my situation can. Miss Price, my parents 
 love me too wcU to thwart my inclinations or stiunp 
 my unhappincss. They aro moreover much pre- 
 possessed in your favour, and consider you to bo in 
 manners ami fecluig superior to your birth. For my 
 pai't, I cannot bear the idea of your leaving us : the 
 thought has made mc understand all that I experi*
 
 194 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 ence towards you. Say, then, will you accept my 
 hand ? — and this moment will I go to my parents — 
 tell them what I have said — what I have done — and 
 demand theu* assent !" 
 
 " Mr. Calder," I answered, all my self-possession 
 now returning, " to the end of my^layg shall I re- 
 member with infinite gratitude the kiudness I have 
 experienced at Merton House ; and it were ridicu- 
 lous afifectation on my part to declare that I am not 
 flattered by the honour you have done me in this 
 generous proposal. But I am engaged to another !" 
 The yount; man staggered back pale as death; 
 and a sound like amoau of bitter ajiguish came fi-oiu 
 his lips. I pitied him — deeply, siocex-ely pitied him ; 
 and it rent my heart to witness that unmistakable 
 evidence of a bitter disappointment. He leant 
 against a tree for a few moments, and gazed upon 
 me in speechless despair. I could not endui'e the 
 sight ; and with t^ara trickling down my checks, I 
 said, " For heaven's sake, exercise a proper com- 
 mand over your feelings, Mi'. Calder. \nd now for- 
 give me if I leave you abruptly !" 
 
 " One moment, Mary — Miss Price !" he exclaimed, 
 springing after me as I was tui-ning away : " but 
 one word, I implore you !"-^and he caught me by 
 the hand. 
 
 " Eemember what I have told you, Mr. CaldOT," 
 said I, gently but firmly disengaging that hand : "I 
 am pledged to another !" 
 
 " Oh ! pardon me — I beseech you to forgive me 
 if I dared touch the hand which is to be bestowed 
 upon that other!" — and there was something like 
 bitterness iu his voice : but the next instant, evi- 
 dently perceiving that he had given vent to a feeling 
 which was imworthy of him, and totally immerited 
 by myself, he said with a look and tone of melan- 
 choly contrition, "Yes, I ask your pardon — I beseech 
 you to forgive me. But tell me — and be not of- 
 fended that I ask the question — for you know not 
 how immensely all my life's whole happiness is 
 threatened by what is now passing — tell me, I 
 say, is your heart given where yoyr troth is also 
 pledged?" 
 
 " It is, sir," I answered — and then hurried away : 
 but at the moment I was issuing fi-om the shi-ub- 
 bery a sound which was evidently that of an 
 anguished sob reached my eai-s. I sped up to my 
 own chamber; and sitting down, gave way to the 
 sorrowful reflections which this scene was but too 
 well calculated to excite : for I could not help pitj'- 
 ing that young gentleman who from the very fii-st 
 instant I entered the house had shown me so much 
 amiable sympathy, and who had all along treated me, 
 not as a pauper-interloper, but with a most respect- 
 ful demeanom-. Nevertheless, while I thus pitied 
 him, I did not for a single moment prove faithless 
 to the memoiy of Eustace Quentin. No — that was 
 impossible ! 
 
 Thi-ee days elapsed ere I removed from Merton 
 House to Miss Nibkins' establishment ; and dm-ing 
 this interval I did not once sec Edward Calder. I 
 principally kept my own room; but when imdted 
 do\ra stau's to the parlour, found that he had gone 
 out on some pretext. How difieront was his delicate 
 and honoiu-able behaviour from what that of Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering had been! On the morning of 
 my departm-e he was with his father and mother 
 when I entered the parloxu- to bid farewell and ex- 
 press all I felt for the generous kindness I had 
 
 happy young man evidently struggled hard to subdue 
 his feeling8,Jyet I could not help reading in his looks 
 how much he sufiered. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 MISS JflBKINS" ESTABIISHMENT. 
 
 I MUST candidly confess it was not without some 
 misgivings that I entered my new place : for as the 
 reader may suppose, I had not been particularly 
 prepossessed in Miss Nibkiua' favour ; and aa sho 
 had appeared alarmed lest I should gossip with 
 her housemaid, it struck me that the latter might 
 have spoken but too ti-uly whea giving me her 
 opinion at the gate. However, it was imperative 
 that I should leave Merton House ; and under such 
 cii-cumstances I should have accepted even a less 
 attractive place than that aiforded lae at Mia^ Nib- 
 kins' establishment. 
 
 I have aheady said that MontpeUier House was a 
 spacious one ; and so it wcU needed to be — for it 
 had to contain sixty boarders, five teachers, and six 
 servants. It was divided, so for as the boarders 
 were concerned, into two departments, ostentfttiously 
 denominated the Upper Division and the Lower 
 Division; and between the two the number of 
 scholars was pretty evenly divided. The Upper 
 Division consisted of young ladies of above ten years 
 old, — some of whom were even sixteen or seventeen: 
 while the Lower Division consisted of children whose 
 ages averaged fi-om six to ten. There were two 
 school-rooms — one for each division; and the two 
 wings of MontpeUier House were similarly allotted 
 as dormitories. The advertisement had given we a 
 tolerably fair insight into the nature of the duties 
 which I was expected to perform : but it assuredlv 
 had not enlightened me with equal clearness as to 
 the extent of those duties. For though taking 
 charge of the boarders' clothes, as w^eU as mending 
 and keeping the youngest girls' garments in repair, 
 were terms espUcit enough, I found that the addi- 
 tional clause of "making myself generally useful " 
 was to comprehend services so multifarious that it 
 would scarcely be possible to euiunerate them. 
 
 Yet I win endeavour to give a succinct outline of 
 the principal duties entrusted to me. I had to take 
 charge of the clothes of the thii-ty little children 
 formmg the Lower Di^'ision — to dam stockiuofs, 
 mend holes, sew on buttons and strings, and even to 
 patch up veritable rags into wearable garments. For 
 be it imdcrstood that though Miss Nibkins' was not 
 a cheap school, she nevertheless gratuitously volun- 
 teered to practise the utmost economy in respect to 
 the pupils' wearing apparel. The contents of many 
 of the little diikhcn's boxes were positively dis- 
 graceful ; and articles of clothing which should have 
 been consigned to the rag-bag. were actually made 
 to serve as their Sunday's drosses. The reader may 
 therefore guess what their cvery-day things were. I 
 soon foiuid that to keep such a mass of tatters in 
 proper repair would not only consume a great deal 
 of time, but likewise absorb coimtless yards of tape, 
 papers of buttons, and pieces of linen and calico ; 
 so that when I sat down to work I could not lielp 
 thinking of the Magician in the Ai-abian tale who 
 went about crying "New lamps for old;" and I 
 wished that some equally eccentric necromancer 
 
 ,.^„i, .... ^ Av.u iui luu m.'ULiouH Kinoness i. naa wisufii luut svuu: cqu;iuy eivcuvrjv uct. it>iiiuuit 
 
 received beneath their roof; and though the im- ' woidd pass by Miss Nibkins' establishment oft'oriiv
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 195 
 
 ko excliange new garments for old. But the needle- 
 work would not have vexed me if I had been pro- 
 perly supplied with the adequate materials to keep 
 the children's clothes inrcpau*. Miss Nibkins, how- 
 ever, seemed to fancy that something coidd be made 
 out of nothing : for when I applied to her for tapes, 
 buttons, and pieces to patch with, I had these arti- 
 cles doled out with a niggardness that in its sordid 
 meanness corresponded but too well with the object 
 for which the things were required. 
 
 Every morning I had to wash and dress these 
 thu'ty children : every afternoon, at one o'clock, I 
 had to pass the whole tribe in review again, so that 
 they might sit down to dinner with clean faces and 
 hands ; — and every evening at seven o'clock I had 
 to undress and put them all to bed. Of a Satm-day 
 night there was a " grand wash" of the whole thu-ty 
 in the laundry : but Miss Nibkuis made it a rule to 
 enter every five minutes in order to assure herself 
 that I was not extravagant with the mottled soap. 
 If any of these little darlings were ill, I had to at- 
 tend upon them, give them their medicine, force 
 gruel down theu' thi'oats, and perform the duties of 
 nurse as well as of needlewoman and laimdry-maid. 
 Then I had to cut all thou- bread-and-butter for 
 breakfast and tea, and hkewise to make their milk- 
 and-water. But it was a very difficidt thing to make 
 about half-a-pound of butter cover sixty slices of 
 bread at a meal, each gu-1 being allowed two slices ; 
 and notwithstanding all the scraping, and all the re- 
 seraping from the fost sUces that were prepared in 
 order to obtain enough butter for the last fifteen or 
 twenty, it would have been a task to defy a Hercules 
 or puzzle a Conjm'or. However, the rule of Miss 
 Nibkins' establishment was " So much butter to so 
 much bread ;" and I was compelled to do my best. 
 Then, as for the milk-and-water, it was equally diffi- 
 cult to make one quart of milk give anything like a 
 respectable colom'ing to two gallons of hot water — 
 especially as the milk was supplied by contract at 
 twopence a quart, and therefore was well watered by 
 the dairyman before delivered at the school. As for 
 BBgar, that was a luxury imknown in the school- 
 room. But the preparation of the breakfast and tea 
 with such scanty materials, was not my only diffi- 
 culty : the wirst of it was I was bound to make the 
 
 httle gu'ls contented with what they had for Miss 
 
 Nibkins held me answerable for what she called 
 "the discipline of the table" on those occasions. 
 That is to say, if she heaxA any of the children ci-y, 
 it was to be considered my fault. But heavens ! how 
 could the poor little things help crying, when few of 
 them nad enough to eat, and most of them were too 
 young to understand why they were not allowed 
 more ? It was very painful to me : ond often and 
 often did I go without my own meals in order to 
 give them my share. For when I say my share, I 
 must observe that as I took my breakfast and tea in 
 the school-room of the Lower Division, I was limited 
 in quantity (both of " sky-blue," as the mi'k-and- 
 water was called, and " bread-and-scrape," as the 
 bread-and-butter was denominated) as well as those 
 over whom I presided. 
 
 In addition to the duties already enumerated, I 
 had to kf^cp the thirty girls' hair properly trimmed, 
 and thcu- nails cut ; and I quite dreaded those morn- 
 ings when these ceremonies were to bo performed. 
 Everybody who knows anything at all about children, 
 is well aware what an awful aversion the Uttle crea- 
 tures have to these terrific ordeals. I may here 
 
 observe that it was Miss Nibkins' positive orders 
 they should always be washed in cold water (save on 
 the Saturday-nights) and with common mottled 
 soap. The reader will recollect it was still winter, 
 being only the beginning of March, and the weather 
 was terribly cold : therefore the process of washing 
 thirty childi'en, with blue faces and purple hands 
 and arms, in the ice-chill water was anything but 
 agreeable. It was in fact thirty consecutive varia- 
 tions of crying; and if by accident any of the 
 mottled soap got into their eyes the equalling was 
 perfectly horrific. 
 
 Thank heaven, I had nothing to do with the 
 dinner arrangements, either in preparing the meal or 
 presiding at it : the cook did the former, and one of the 
 teachers occupied the head of the table in the Lower 
 Division school-room. But I saw enough of those 
 cuhnary preparations to fill me with disgust. By 
 Miss JNibkins' especial orders the meat was always 
 sent up in a half raw state, whether boiled or roasted, 
 so that the children might not eat too much — or 
 rather, in plainer English, that their little stomachs 
 might be tm'ned against it. It was perfectly loath- 
 some to see, for instance, a great leg of salt pork, 
 weighing x^erhaps twenty pounds, so under- done that 
 the gravy looked like blood : and no wonder was it 
 that such a joiat, although served up for thirty 
 children and the teacher, would sometimes last three 
 or fom* days, imtil at length in very shame it was put 
 into the oven and warmed up ere doing duty for the 
 final occasion. The only puddings allowed were 
 bread, suet, treacle, and peas-pudding. The bread 
 puddings were a compound sufficient to make a 
 workhouse pauper tm-n sick. All the du-ty stale 
 nibbled bits of bread were carefidly collected after 
 every meal, and put into a large earthenware pan in 
 the pantry, vmtil there was a sufficiency to form a 
 pudchng ; and this treat was regularly supphed once 
 a week. When the school-rooms had been swept I 
 have actually seen Miss Nibkins put on her great 
 horn spectacles and look over the contents of the 
 dust-pans to ascertain whether there were any pieces 
 of bread amongst the du't ; and when she was for- 
 timatc enough to detect any, she invariable found 
 a salve for her conscience and an excuse for her 
 economy, in the maxim that "wilful waste makes 
 woful want." Then, as for the suet-puddings, a si- 
 milar process was adopted, — a pan being kept in 
 which all the morsels of fat left from the dift'erent 
 joints- -no matter whether of mutton, beet^ or boiled 
 pork — were duly collected; and being coarsely cut 
 up — not chopped — these racy bits served to enrich 
 the cannon-ball kiud of substance by courtesy de- 
 nominated "suet-pudding." Now and then, when 
 Miss Nibkins was in a generous mood, or on some 
 favoured gh-l's birthday, it was ostentatiously an- 
 nounced that the young laches in both school-rooms 
 would bo regaled vfith. a treat; and this splendid 
 treat consisted of a few currants sprinkled at la- 
 mentably wide inter"al3 thi'oughout the suet- 
 puddings. As a general ru»e, the cook was ordered 
 never to let the pudduigs bo» too much, for fear the 
 girls shoidd have thcu" appetite s too easily satisfied— 
 because the more undor-dono tho pudding, the 
 heavier it lay upon the stomach and the farther in 
 consequence did it go. Besides, it was cheaper to 
 make a jorum of salts and senna, and give the girh 
 a dose roimd once a week so as to keep them it 
 health, than to allow them good wholesome food 
 •very day. But while I am spcaku of the dinner^
 
 190 
 
 xrAnv price; on, the ^TEMOini? of a betivast-maid. 
 
 I must not forget to observe that Friday was. called 
 "meat-pie day" and Saturday " hashed-mutton day." 
 The leavings of the week were collected from all the 
 plates and dishes, and half of this aggregated gar- 
 bage waa made into pies for the Friday, and the 
 other portion served up in the shape of a hash for 
 the Saturday. These messes were the most loath- 
 some and disgusting it is possible to conceive ; and 
 hungry — indeed, half-fami-shed as the children were 
 — tlioir little hearts would heave against the filth 
 thus served up. 
 
 The descriptions which I h&ve given apply not 
 only to the Junior Division, of which I had the care, 
 but also to the Upper Division; but whereas the 
 thirty little girls in the former had water to di-ink at 
 dinner-time, the thirty senior girls of the higher de- 
 partment were allowed table-beer. This table-beer 
 was the same that the servants had to drink; and 
 euch stuff as it was ! — tasting as sour as vinegar- 
 and-water, and looking as if mixed up with a thick 
 mud ! Nevertheless Miss Nibkins was so fearfiU 
 lest the beer should go too quick that she kept the 
 key of the tap herself, and always superintended the 
 drawing of it. She however took very good care not 
 to drink it herself: she always had a beverage which 
 she made for her own special use, and which for a 
 long time I imderstood to be toast-and-water, imtil 
 one day the jug containing it got upset, when the 
 odour of brandy proved too unmistakable not to be 
 at once recognized. 
 
 Miss Nibkins presided in person, M-ith her great 
 horn spectacles on her nose, at the table of the 
 young ladies of the Upper Division ; and there also 
 the four principal teachers took their meals. But 
 there was no extra dish for their use : they all had 
 to eat of the same dishes that were served out 
 around the board. Miss Nibkins however always 
 complained of a weak stomach, and vowed " that 
 she could only pick a bit," — for the very excellent 
 reason that at noon she had a nice mutton-chop 
 served up in her private parlour for her own special 
 behoof; and in the evening when the young ladies 
 and teachers were all in bed, she would have some 
 little luxm-y for her supper. 
 
 But how was it that Miss Nibkins could get any 
 teachers to stay with her at all ? Because she got 
 hold of poor friendless creatures who were glad to 
 obtain an asylum and a mouthful of food. Their 
 salaries were scarcely better than those of the 
 household-servants : nor were they treated with any 
 higher distinction by Miss Nibkins. Without any 
 positively overt demonstration of cruelty, she prac- 
 ticed towards them a myriad little tyrannies which 
 not only kept them incessantly alive to the depen- 
 dence of their positions, Ijut must have been a 
 process killing them by inches. It was the differ- 
 ence between pricking a victim with a thousand 
 needles day after day, and giving one mortal stab in 
 the heart at once. I have seen those poor teachers 
 crying bitterly when they fancied themselves unob- 
 served: imintentionally I have siu-prised them at 
 times sobbing as if their hearts would break. I do 
 not even know that I ever saw the famished lit lie 
 children weeping more poignantly for hunger, than 
 those grown-up women for the cruelty of then- em- 
 ployer. Worked like slaves, and yet expected always 
 to be in good health and cheerful— paid like patipers, 
 and yet bomid to maintain a respect ;ible exterior — 
 subjected to an incessant series of the most goading 
 liumijliations, and yot always supposed to have their 
 
 minds clear for the duties of instruction, — these poor 
 unhappy creatures led an e3dstence which makes me 
 shudder when I look back upon it. Oh ! the fearful 
 tj-rannies which are perpetrated in too many of 
 those seminaries which are paraded to the world as 
 respectable establishments — aye, and which main- 
 tain their character aa such! 
 
 But before I resume the thread of my story, let 
 me give the reader a little farther insight into the 
 character of Miss Nibkins. She was what the world 
 caUs a pious woman : but her religion was nothing 
 more than a demure sanctimoniousness, outwardly 
 assumed, and serving as a mask for the naturally 
 cold calculating selfishness of her disposition. One 
 would think that she must have been a disappointed 
 old maid : for she seemed to have an austere dislike 
 to everything savouring of mirth on the part of 
 grown-up people ; and it was even with a jaundiced 
 eye that she gazed upon the sports of the little 
 children in the play-ground. I never knew a person 
 who had so completely the knack of making joyful 
 things the means of sadness. If she now and then 
 gave the children an extra half-hoUday, it was upon 
 the condition that they would devote at least an 
 hour of it to learn a collect or a few verses of a 
 psalm. She said grace at table, not in a tone of 
 thankfidness, but -with the awful look and lugubri- 
 ous voice of deep lamentation : but I must confess 
 that there was really little in the meals served up to 
 be thankful for. Her piety was entirely of her own 
 invention: for every painful or impleasant little 
 incident that might occur to herself or others, she 
 expatiated upon as a punishment for sins committed 
 — and anything that was agreeable or pleasant, set 
 her grieving at the thought that it was more than 
 she deserved. She beheld everything through a 
 glass darkly, — seeing naught but the weeds of the 
 earth and none of the flowers, and always represent- 
 ing the world as one of sin and sorrow. 
 
 Such was the character of Miss Nibkins ; and the 
 reader •nill not require to be informed that she was 
 not the most agreeable person in the world to have 
 as a mistress. I have already said that in speech 
 she was mild and melancholy ; and I must now add 
 that in the presence of the parents or the relations 
 of any of her pupUs, she could become marvellously 
 affable, kind, and indulgent. I wUl give an example 
 of this pliability of himiour on her part. One day 
 the parloui'-beU rang twice — which was a signal that 
 I was wanted. I accordingly hastened in obedience 
 to the siunmons ; and on entering the parlour found 
 Miss Nibkins seated with two ladies. One was very 
 old, with a shriveUed-up face, and a mouth that had 
 all fallen in thi-ough the total loss of the teeth. The 
 other was about thirty, displaying a roimd fat face 
 — a long nose crimson with the cold or with some- 
 thing else — and great thick Ups of a purply colour. 
 She was dressed out in a most extravagant fashion; 
 and though she had the air of a washerwoman 
 bedizened in borrowed raiment, she nevertheless was 
 full of affectations, and was most lack-a-daisical in 
 her demeanour, her attitudes, and her speech. This 
 lady was a Mrs. Nubley — the wife of a cheesemonger 
 in Derby ; and the old lady was her mother. She 
 had now come to see her two daughters. Miss 
 I'aiiiola and iliss Arabella Nublev, who were pur- 
 suing their education in the Lower Division of !Miss 
 Nibkins' cstablislunent. It was mid-day wlien t he 
 two ladies thus called; and a decanter of ■wine (it 
 was Cape Madeira at one shilling ond threepence
 
 WART PRICB; OB, T&t; MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-JtAID. 
 
 197 
 
 tlie bottle) with a plate of cakes had been broiij:jht 
 up on a tray. 
 
 " Mary," said Miss Nibkins, in the mildest tone 
 possible, as if she were asking me a great favour 
 instead of issuinjj an order, " go and fetch in those 
 dear girls Pamela and Arabella. But Mary, don't 
 tell them that their mamma and grandmamma are 
 come to see them : it will give them such a surprise, 
 the dear sweet creatures!" then as I was about to 
 leave the room, Miss Nibkins suddenly darted to 
 the door with a velocity that was surprising for a 
 lady of her prim demeanour and staid walk ; and 
 clutching me by the shoulder as I crossed the 
 threshold, she said in a hurried whisper, " Wash 
 their faces and put them on clean pinafores." 
 
 I accordingly hastened to the school-room, where I 
 found Miss Pamela (the elder of the two " dear 
 sweet little creatures") amusing herself by drawing 
 horrible faces with the ink on her hands and arms ; 
 and Miss Arabella (the yoimger) fighting a battle 
 with another little girl of about her own age. I 
 however hurried the two Misses Nubley, whose ages 
 were respectively seven and nine, up-stairs to the 
 dormitory ; and what with the unsparing use of the 
 mottled soap, the appliance of the hau--brush and 
 comb, and the adjuncts of a couple of clean pinafores, 
 I made them quite presentable. Then I conducted 
 them down stairs to the parlour, and was rewarded 
 with an approving look from Miss Nibkins for the 
 manner in which I had polished them up for the 
 occasion. 
 
 I was turning to leave the room when Mrs. Nubley 
 exclaimed, " And so, my dear, you are the Mary Price 
 which made such a himmense sensation some weeks 
 ago in Darby ? Your kind missus has been telling 
 us everythink about you " 
 
 "Eh, what.?" said the grandmother, who it ap- 
 peared was very deaf : " what's the matter ? any- 
 thing \vrong? has the gals got the mizzles ?" 
 
 " Lauk no, mother," shouted Mrs. Nubley in her 
 venerable parent's ears : " I was only a-telling Mary 
 Price that we had been talking about her. Now 
 don't be rude, Pamela," exclaimed the lady, as her 
 elder daughter seized upon one of the wine-cakes — 
 an example which was immediately followed by 
 Arabella. " There now ! you make your sister as 
 perwerse and naughty as yourself!" 
 
 " Oh, poor little dears, do let them enjoy them- 
 selves," said Miss Nibkins, patting their cheeks 
 caressingly : " I like to see them happy, and with a 
 due sense of thankfulness for what heaven is pleased 
 to give them : not but what it is more than any of 
 us deserve in this world of sorrow and of sin," she 
 added, putting on her great horn spectacles. 
 
 "Eh, what?" said the old grandmother: "the 
 chimbley a-fire ?" 
 
 " Miss Nibkins," again bellowed out Mrs. Nubley, 
 " says it's a world of sorrow and of sin." 
 
 " Ah ! so it is, so it is," rejoined the venerable 
 dame, shaking her head: and then she drank an- 
 other glass of the Capo Madeira. " A very bad 
 world, and with many a pickpockets in it." 
 
 "Don't go yet, Mary J'ricc," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Nubley, as I was about to leave the room. " I han't 
 half done talking to you; for you're quite a heroine 
 in Darl)y. Pray do tell me, wasn't you seized all 
 over no-how with a sort of flummox when you went 
 into the court before the great judge in his gown 
 and wig. I'm sure if it had been me I should have 
 swooned away :" — and Mrs. Nubley fanned herself 
 
 with her handkerchief as if well-nigh about to faint 
 at the bare idea. 
 
 " Eh, what ?" cried the old grandmother, looking 
 alarmed : " got the cholera morbus ?" 
 
 " Dear me, mother, no ! — how silly you be !" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Nubley, who always seemed to forget 
 her lack-a-daisical airs when it was necessary to bawl 
 out to her venerable parent. " We was talking about 
 Mary Price going up afore the big-wig " 
 
 " Eh, what ? Mary Price wear a wig ? Poor gal, 
 how came she to lose her own hair ? Was it fever 
 with delirium trimmings ?" 
 
 " The old fool 1" said Mrs. Nubley, not quite in an 
 under-tone. 
 
 " Eh, what P" demanded the old woman, peevishly. 
 
 "Mother says you're an old fool, gram' ma," cried 
 Pamela in a shi-iU voice. 
 
 The old lady pinched her lips, and looked thunder 
 at her daughter, who on her part boxed Pamela's 
 ear. The child set up a loud squall; and grand- 
 mamma gave her some lollipops which she had 
 brought with her, and which proved effectual in 
 silencing her cries. Arabella received her share; 
 and when I saw that the transient storm had passed, 
 I was about to make another attempt to leave the 
 room, wlien Mrs. Nubley stopped me again, saying, 
 "Well, Mary, but you han't told me what feelin's 
 stirred in your buzzim when you went up before the 
 big-wig." 
 
 "Ell, what?" cried the old lady; but this time 
 Mrs. Nubley took no trouble to satisfy her mother's 
 cm'iosity. 
 
 "I have no doubt," interposed Miss Nibkins, 
 re-adjusting her horn spectacles upon her nose, and 
 assuming a benevolent look and patronizing gentle- 
 ness of tone, " that Mary conducted herself with 
 great fortitude : for she is natm'ally a strong-minded 
 young person, and I must do her the justice to say 
 she is very well-behaved and gives me the utmost 
 satisfaction. You are very fond of Mary Price, my 
 dears — are you not ?" asked Miss Nibkins, address- 
 ing the query to Pamela and Arabella, whose cheeks 
 were swollen out with the lollipops they were 
 sucking. 
 
 "Yes, I Hke her very much," returned Pamela, 
 " because she gives us her bread-and-butter when we 
 have not enough to eat." 
 
 " And I never do have enough to eat," immediately 
 added little Arabella. 
 
 Miss Nibkins for a moment looked confounded, and 
 then deUberately taking off her horn spectacles, wiped 
 the glasses, and returned them to her reticule in 
 solemn silence : wlulc the old grandmother exclaimed, 
 " Eh, what ?" with more querulous impatience than 
 before. 
 
 "Don't go, Mary Price," onco more said Mrs. 
 Nubley, as I was again about to quit the room : then 
 addressing the old hidy she bawled out, " The chil- 
 dren says as how they hav'n't enough wittlcs." 
 
 " Eh, what ?" repeated the granchnother, turning 
 with a severe look rouud upon Miss Nibkins: " the 
 chikben is allowed (o play at skittles ?" 
 
 " My dear madam," the schoolmistress hastened 
 to observe in the blandest tone that it was possible 
 for any living being to assume, — "you as a mother," 
 ■ — for she was addressing herself to Mrs. Nubley — 
 "must know how very unwhi.lesomt! it is to let 
 eliildren stuff and cram as much as they fancy " 
 
 " But when I look again at these dear children," 
 ijiterruptcd Mrs. Nubley, " it docs strike m o ■ * *
 
 198 
 
 MARY price; ok, THE MEMOIRS OF A 8EBV ANT-MAID. 
 
 "Dear children indeed!" said Miss Kibkias, 
 almost melting into tears : " let me give tliem each, 
 a drop of wine. After all those biscuits it will be as 
 good as a dietetic." 
 
 "Eh, what?" said the old grandmother. "WTiat 
 re Jliss Nibkins going to do ? give the children an 
 emetic ?" 
 
 " Lawts no, mother ! — you get wuss and wuss !" 
 bawled out Mrs. Nubley. " Dearey me, what a pity 
 it is to be so hard of hearing ! IVIiss Nibkins says, 
 about the children's eating, that too much is un- 
 wholesome ; so she doesn't let 'cm stuff and cram." 
 
 " Oh ! going to give 'em puff and jam, eh ?" said 
 the old lady. " Well, it's very kind of her — very 
 kind indeed." 
 
 " Nonsense !" cried Mrs. Nubley, impatiently. 
 
 "You may go now, Mary," said Miss Nibkins, 
 darting a look at me, which was as much as to enjoin 
 me to withdraw at once, no matter whether ISIi's. 
 Nubley should endsavour to keep me or not. 
 
 I accordingly hastened away, truly glad to escape 
 from a scene which every moment was becoming 
 more and more impleasant : for I was very much 
 afraid lest I should be appealed to in respect to the 
 quantity of food the children had to eat — in which 
 cuse I should most certainly have told the truth. 
 
 Half-an-hour afterwards Mrs. Nubley and her 
 mother took their departure; and I suppose that 
 Miss Nibkins succeeded in persuading them that 
 the children had really nothing to complain of — for 
 as I happened to be descending the stairs at the 
 moment the two ladies were taking their leave, I 
 overheard them speak in the most friendly manner 
 to the schoobnistTess. But immediately they were 
 gone Miss Nibkins rang the parlom'-beU violently 
 for me ; and as I entered the room in obedience to 
 the summons, I heard the two children crying bit- 
 terly, and also caught the distinct sounds of a 
 couple of boxes on the ear most mercilessly be- 
 stowed. 
 
 "Mary," said Miss Nibkins, "you will put these 
 cluldren upon bread-aud-water diet during the rest 
 of the day. They are naughty, wicked, deceitfid 
 girls to tell their mother that they have not enough 
 to eat. But it appears that you, Mary, encourage 
 them in then" nonsensical whims, by gi\ing them 
 your o^vn food. If I have any more of this, you and 
 I shall part. So mind what I say. ' And now be 
 off, you httle plagues !" — and Miss Nibkins, who was 
 quite savage, pushed the fr^vo childi'cn roughly to- 
 wards me. 
 
 I hmrried them away from the parlour. They 
 were crying bitterly : but I did aU I could to con- 
 sole them, and slipped out in the com-se of the after- 
 noon to buy them each a large bun as a consolation 
 for the bread-and- water diet upon which they were 
 put. 
 
 CHAPTER XLin. 
 
 CAPTAIN AND MRS. CAI.DEB. 
 
 I HAD been two mouths at Miss Nibkins' establish- 
 ment, and it was now the beginning of May. 
 During this interval I had received letters from 
 Ashford, whore everything was going on as hereto- 
 fore in respect to my dear brother William and my 
 two sisters : but of Eobert nothing had been heard 
 — and they, as well as I, were at a cruel loss to con- 
 
 jecture what could possibly have become of him 
 Leonard and Ellen had been to call upon m« two or 
 three times ; and they would have come much 
 oftener, were it not that Miss Nibkins disliked her 
 servants to receive visits. Mrs. Calder had likewise 
 been to see me on several occasions ; and each lime 
 she brought me some little present. Thus did the 
 two months pass away; and at the expiration of 
 this interval an occurrence took place which must 
 be here related. 
 
 One afternoon, as I was seated at a window of the 
 dormitory, occupied in transforming two wretchedly 
 tattered little cotton frocks into one perfect dress, I 
 heard the rattling of wheek, and beheld the Calders' 
 carriage drive up to the gate of Montpellier House. 
 The Captain alighted first ; and having assisted his 
 kind-hearted lady to descend, they entered the 
 estabUshment together. A few minutes afterwards 
 I was summoned down to the parlour, where they 
 were waiting to see me. On entering the room I 
 was immediately struck by the seriousness of their 
 looks. The good old Captain, in his blue coat and 
 anchor -buttons, his buff waistcoat, and his hessiaa 
 boots with black tassels, had the same sterling, 
 John BuU, saUor-like appearance as ever .- but his 
 ruddy countenance had a care-worn and desponding 
 expression, so that it was evident something weighed 
 heavily on his mind. Mrs. Calder seemed still more 
 depressed ; and hey eyes were slightly inflamed as 
 if with recent weeping. She embraced me, however, 
 with more affectionate warmth than ever ; and Cap- 
 tain Calder, whom I had not seen since I left 
 Merton House, wrung my hand cordially, as he 
 exclaimed, " God bless you, my dear gjirl : it does 
 my heart good to see you again !" 
 
 I felt the tears triekUng down my cheeks at these 
 testimonials of kind feeling on the part of this ex- 
 cellent couple — and also because I was deeply pained 
 at observing their evident despondency. But there 
 was a suspicion of the real truth in my mind ; and 
 although I thus conjectured the cause, 1 was very 
 far fr-om being prepared for the serious aspect which 
 the affair was about to take. 
 
 Miss Nibkins was not present at the interview 
 between myself and my two kind friends : they were 
 thus enabled to speak \Nithout restraint. Making 
 me sit down between them, they gazed upon me in 
 silence for nearly a minute; and then the Captain, 
 suddenly slapping his hand upon his thigh, exclaimed 
 with vehement bluntness, "By Jove, she's well 
 worthy of it 1" 
 
 I was startled by his ejaculation, the precise 
 meaning of which I could not conjecture, although 
 I saw full well that it must bear upon the subject to 
 which my suspicions had been already directed. 
 
 " My dear Mary," said Mrs. Calder, now begin- 
 ning to explain the real object of their visit, " the 
 Captain and I have come to see you upon a matter 
 which I may describe as being of painful import- 
 ance. Our son,^-our poor boy Edward, — has told 
 us everything — that his heart is devoted to you — 
 that he declared his love some time back — but tJiat 
 you are engaged to another." 
 
 I was naturally much confused at these words, al- 
 though previously prepared by my own conjectures 
 for something of the sort. 
 
 " Every fresh trait in your charactei-," continued 
 Mrs. Calder, with tearfid eyes and tremxilous voice, 
 " proves how excellent is your disposition — ho\» 
 good your principles — how noble your uiiud. W»
 
 MARY price; or, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID, 
 
 199 
 
 are no longer at a loss to understand why you were 
 in sueli haste to quit Merton House, and why you 
 eagerly accepted the first situation that presented 
 itself— a situation, too, which from certain things 
 that have lately reached our ears, we do not conceive 
 very well suited for you." 
 
 " Ever since you left," said Captain Calder, taking 
 up the thread of the explanations, " poor Edward 
 has gone mopiag about in a manner most alarming 
 as well as afflicting to all who know him. At first 
 we fancied that a change was taking place for the 
 worse in his health ; and so indeed it has — but this 
 is rather the effect than the cause of the secret 
 sorrow that has been devoiu-ing him. "When ques- 
 tioned by his mother or me, he evaded any explana- 
 tion ; and so things have been going on for the last 
 two months. Ah, Mary ! if you saw him you woiUd 
 scarcely know him — he is so pale, so thin, and looks 
 so desponding and careworn ! When he smiles, — as 
 he often endeavours to do, to cheer his mother and 
 me, — it is such a sickly snule that it makes the heart 
 sad — very sad indeed, to behold it. It would be 
 better to see him bm-st out into a good fit of crying 
 at once." 
 
 Here Captain Calder's voice was choked with the 
 sobs that he vainly endeavoui-ed to keep down ; and 
 I could not help weeping bitterly. 
 
 " Ah, my dear child," exclaimed Sirs. Calder, 
 taking my hand and looking at me in a sort of 
 earnest appealing manner, "you no doubt under- 
 stand full well aU that the Captain and I want to say 
 to you : for to speak plainly, om* own happiness — 
 indeed, the very life of our boy — appears to be in 
 your hands. Yesterday his father and I entreated 
 him to tell us the cause of that grief the existence 
 of which could no longer be concealed from us. Oh ! 
 then you shoidd have seen hiin — that dear, dear 
 Edward — as he fell upon his knees at our feet and 
 in passionate language proclaimed his love for you ! 
 He told us that you were no stranger to this feeling 
 on his part — that you had treated him, when he re- 
 vealed it, with a modesty and a kindness that only 
 endeared you the more completely to his heart — but 
 that you had given him the fatal answer which had 
 annihilated all hope in his breast and reduced him 
 to despondency and despair." 
 
 Here the poor lady bm-st out into a perfect, 
 agony of grief; and for some minutes I myself was 
 too deeply affected to be able to give utterance to a 
 word. At length I threw my arms around her neck, 
 beseeching her to compose her feelings, and in 
 broken sentences saying all I could to console her. 
 
 " My dear Mary," she resumed at last, " I wU 
 tell you why the Captain and myself decided upon 
 visiting you to-day. We know enough of you to 
 entertain the liighest esteem for your character, and 
 also to experience a sincere admiration of yom* merits. 
 Besides, it js no comphmcnt — or at all events, no 
 flattery — to say, that though of humble bii'th, you 
 are genteel in manners, intelligent, and wcU- 
 informed. Therefore we could hav(; no reason to 
 blush in asking you to become our daughter — the 
 iv'ifo of our Edward. Wo have entertained tlie 
 hope that perhaps the answer you gave to Edward, 
 alleging that your affections were bestowed upon 
 another, might only be a well-meant and generously- 
 devised excuse for freeing yom-self from his over- 
 tures. Perhaps you imagined, with the delicacy 
 which is characteristic of you, that it would sa^ our 
 of iQ^atitude towards the Captaia and me even to 
 
 listen to the words which Edward uttered at the time. 
 And that such might bo the case, I was the more 
 inclined to think and hope, because on no occasion, 
 when confidentially conversing with me, did you 
 even hint that you were imder an engagement of 
 marriage. To assure ourselves, therefore, of the 
 actual state of your feelings — but without for a 
 moment wishing to pry into those secrets that your 
 heart for its own reasons may cherish in its con- 
 cealed depths — have the Captain and I come hither 
 now. Speak, then, Mary — speak — say but the j 
 word — is there any hope for our dear boy ? wiU you 
 consent to become our daughter ? wiU you go back 
 with us to Merton House at once, to leave us no 
 more ?" 
 
 "Mary, before you answer," said the good old 
 Captain, taking my hand and pressing it in his own, 
 " recollect that in us you wUl find the fondest 
 parents to replace those whom you have lost : for I 
 do love you, my gud — I do love you, my dear child 
 — ^more than ever I yet loved any one save my wife 
 and son !" 
 
 Neither Mi's. Calder nor the Captain woxdd have 
 been suffered by me to say so much, had I been able 
 to cut short then* suspense by the promptitude of a 
 frank reply. But I was not able to give it: the 
 sobs that were rising in my thi-oat weU nigh suf- 
 focated me, choking my utterance. I was pro- 
 foundly affected, not only at the grief, but also by 
 the kindness of this excellent couple ; and without 
 unfaithfulness to my pure and devoted love for 
 Eustace Quentin, I may add that I experienced 
 the deepest sympathy for poor Edward Calder. 
 But at length I was enabled so far to subdue 
 my emotions as to give the rcqiusite explana- 
 tions. TJien I related to Captain and Jlrs. Calder 
 all that had ever occurred between myself and 
 Eustace Quentin, concluding with a frank descrip- 
 tion of the understanding that had been come to 
 on the day when he avowed his love, and how all 
 intercourse and correspondence of every kind was to 
 cease between us until the 1st of November of the 
 year then current. 
 
 The Captain and Mi-s. Calder listened to me with 
 an affectionate interest, blended however with a 
 deepening despondency, aa I went on ; and when I 
 concluded my narrative, they exchanged a sad and 
 moiu'nful look, 's^hich eloquently said, " There is no 
 hope, then, for our poor boy !" 
 
 I will not however dwell at greater length upon 
 this sorrowfid scene. Suflico it to say that although 
 the interview resulted in the deepest disappointment 
 for that kiud-hearted couple, yet that from all I had 
 told them I had risen higher in then* estimation 
 than ever, and they experienced towards mo a more 
 friendly and even more affectionate feeling than 
 before. WTicn they were gone I hurried up to my 
 own chamber, and wept again as I reviewed aU that 
 had taken place. The incident however confirmed 
 me in a design which I had recently been thinking 
 most serioiisly of; and thia was to leave Derby and 
 obtain a situation in some othor part of the country 
 — at Ashi'ord or in its neighbourhood, if possible, so 
 that I might be enabled to see my dear brother 
 William and my two sisters as frequently as my 
 heart (Uctated. I detested Miss Nibkins' estabhsh- 
 racnt and longed to flee away from the spectacle of 
 ill-used teachers, famishing cliildren, and half- 
 slurved servants, wliiuh MoutpeUier House daily, 
 and houidy, and momentarily presented to my view ;
 
 200 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A BERV ANT-MAID. 
 
 and I felt likewise that it was my duty to avoid the 
 chance of meeting Mr. Edward Calder. My reso- 
 lution to leave Miss Nibkins was therefore finally 
 adopted ; and as it happened that the following day 
 completed my second month in her service, I deter- 
 mined to seize the opportunity of giving the requi- 
 site notice. 
 
 After breakfast next morning, the parlour-bell 
 rang twice ; and I proceeded thither. Miss Nibkins, 
 with her great horn spectacles on her nose, was 
 counting out some shillings and sixpences from her 
 purse ; and having piled up the little amount of ten 
 shillings, which formed the pittance of my month's 
 earnings, she pointed to it with her long thin sharp 
 finger, sa3ang, " Mary, your wages are due to-day ; 
 and therefore it should be a period of thankfulness 
 for you. Kevertheless, your gratitude in receiving 
 this sum — a large sum too, considering the badness 
 of the times — should be tempered with the chasten- 
 ing reflection that heaven gives us far more than, in 
 consequence of our manifold sins, we can possibly 
 deserve." 
 
 Now I really did think that the duty of attending 
 to thirty children from about six o'clock in the 
 morning imtil eleven at night, was well worth ten 
 shillings a month ; and therefore I could not pos- 
 sibly take the same view of the case as did Miss 
 Nibkins. But of course I made no comment upon 
 the subject, and having gathered up my money, 
 thaidied her, and then said, " If you please, ma'am, 
 I should like to leave you at the end of another 
 month." 
 
 Miss Nibkins did not immediately utter a word : 
 but taking off' her spectacles, she wiped them, and re- 
 turned them to her reticule, looking at me very hard 
 ill the face the whole time as if to assure herself 
 either that I was serious or that she had heard mc 
 aright. 
 
 "And so you wish to leave mo, do you?" she said 
 at length, but in a voice that I thought was cold and 
 implacable : so it immediately struck me I was about 
 to be enlightened as to a new phase in her character. 
 " Well, I have experienced much ingratitude in this 
 world, and have no doubt it is a punishment for the 
 sins of omission whereof I have been guilty : for, 
 heaven be thanked ! in respect to sins of commission, 
 my conscience has no self-accusings. But though I 
 am punished by the ingratitude of others, it does 
 not diminish the crime of such ingratitude on the 
 part of those who demonstrate it." 
 
 " I hope, ma'am," was my answer, " that you do 
 not accuse me of ingratitude for the simple reason 
 that I wish to better my condition, and also to re- 
 move back again into my native county, so as to be 
 near my brothers and sisters ?" 
 
 " Stuff" and nonsense !" ejaculated Miss Nibkins, 
 with such a sudden manifestation of angry excite- 
 ment that it seemed as if she were throwing off the 
 mask of demureness and primness, without caring 
 how she revealed herself in her true colours. " Idle 
 good-for-nothing hussies always want to better their 
 condition : and as for going back into Kent to see 
 your brothers and sisters, that's only an excuse. 
 People in your class of life have none of those kind 
 of feelings." 
 
 I was at first startled by the abruptness of this dis- 
 play of excitement: but as the foul abuse poured 
 upon my oars, I fslt my cheeks becoming crimson 
 with indignation and the blood tingling oven to the 
 very tips of my ears. Still restraining my anger 
 
 however, I moved towards the door for the purpose 
 of quitting the room. 
 
 " Stop, young woman !" exclaimed Miss Nibkina : 
 "I have not done speaking yet. Though you have 
 been the heroine of a very pretty drama indeed at 
 the Assize Court, and were even complimented by 
 the Judge, it is no reason why you should give your- 
 self airs here. What are you, after all ? Nothing 
 but a common low servant-girl — a mean drudge — a 
 dependent slave 1" 
 
 "Yes, heaven knows," I exclaimed vehemently, 
 " you have made mc all this ! But I do not merit 
 your taunts, ma'am:" — and the next moment, with 
 a sudden revulsion of feeling, I burst into tears. 
 
 " How dare you come and give me warning in 
 this insolent way?" asked Miss Nibkins. "You 
 ought to be thankful you have got such a good place : 
 but it's always the way with you giddy girls — you no 
 sooner get into a decent, respectable, comfortable 
 situation than you want to better yourselves — which 
 means more wages and less work. But for my part, 
 I am not going to encourage such proceedings. You 
 servants are the pest and torment of society. How- 
 ever, it's a rule of my house never to give a 
 character to any servant who has not been with me 
 six months. So now you know : and if you like to 
 withdraw yom' warning and make an apology for 
 your impudence, I don't mind keeping you." 
 
 " I can assure you, ma'am," was my answer, de- 
 livered firmly but respectfully, " that I am incapable 
 of showing you any insolence ; and if I sattb|Kne- 
 thing sharply just now, it was because you praP^ced 
 me. I know I am only a servant : but I beg TO sub- 
 mit that servants have their feelings as well as mas- 
 ters or mistresses — and you unnecessarily wounded 
 mine." 
 
 " All this is very pretty indeed," exclaimed Miss 
 Nibkins, with a savage look and a cutting irony of 
 tone ; " but I don't receive moral lectures from ser- 
 vants. You win perhaps think twice of it : tor 
 mind, if you leave me before the six months, you 
 will have no character from me, and I shall take 
 very good care that your friends — the Calders," she 
 added contemptuously, " are made acquainted with 
 the fact that you are as impudent, deceitful, lazy, 
 and good-for-nothing a girl as ever was." 
 
 I left the room without making any answer ; for 
 Miss Nibkins' threats did not at all terrify me. I 
 knew very well that Captain and Mrs. Calder would 
 not be misled concerning me by any malicious re- 
 presentation which Miss Nibkins might make ; but 
 that on the contraiy, they would cheerfully give mo 
 a character to enable me to obtain a fresh place. 
 
 A week elapsed, during which period Miss Nib- 
 kins had resumed her wonted demeanour towards 
 me — that is to say, appeai-ing prim and demure in 
 her looks, mild and melancholy in her voice, but 
 particular as over in watching over the performance 
 of my duties. She did not however treat me with 
 any increased harshness — doubtless fancying that I 
 should think better of the notice I had given and 
 remain in her service: for, as I learnt firom the 
 other domestics, she never had a yoimg person who 
 did so much work for so small a stipend as I. But 
 setting aside the reason in respect to Mr. Edward 
 Calder, which was prompting me to remove else- 
 whoro, I d;uly and hourly experienced an increas- 
 ing aversion for Miss Nibldns' establishment. It 
 was impossible to eat the food supphed for dinner ; 
 and I tiiercfore either had to go without my regular
 
 MARY PUICE: OB. THE MEMOIBS OF «ERVANT-MATD. 
 
 201 
 
 meals, or else purchase food with my own wages. It 
 was the same wth the other servants ; and as the 
 wi-etched pittances which they received for their 
 drudgery and hard work actually went in buying 
 ■victuals, they scarcely had anything left to lay out 
 in clothes. In respect to dress, therefore, they were 
 a positive disgrace to the establishment — supposing 
 it could be disgraced in any such manner. 
 
 Moreover, the dirty tricks and mean artifices 
 which Miss Nibkins practised in a variety of ways 
 to increase her gains, and which by degrees came to 
 my knowledge, gave me a perfect loathing for a cha- 
 racter that sought to conceal its utter baseness be- 
 neath the veil of canting language and hypocritical 
 demureness of look. For instance, if a single win- 
 dow were broken by accident and the repair cost 
 half-a-crown, she would put dovni three-and-sixpence 
 in the bill of every girl in the school — thus charging 
 sixty three-and-sixpcnces for ©no half-cro-wn win- 
 dow. When a charity sermon was preached at tho 
 NO. 26 
 
 church, every girl in the Lower D'n ision had a penny 
 given her to put in the plate; but sixpence was 
 charged for that object in every biU. In the Upper 
 Division the sum really given to the girls for the 
 plate was two-pence, — a shilling being marked in 
 each quarterly account. All the young ladies in the 
 Upper Division learnt dancing ; and at the com- 
 mencement of each quarter Miss Nibkins ordered in 
 thirty pairs of shoes, all of tho same size, for which 
 she paid three shillings each pair : these had to bo 
 worn by gMs of all sizes, from ten years old to 
 seventeen, just in the same way as the coats ore dis- 
 tributed, witliout (liscriininatii)ii as (d size or stature, 
 to the General and Twopenny I'ostmen on the royal 
 birthday. IJcspccting the shoos, the conseqiK-iitc 
 was that while some were twice too large for tho 
 girls, others were proportionately too small, and 
 they either tumbled off tho feet as they tried to 
 Ehuflle tlu-ough the st«ps with them, or else pinched 
 tho foot to a degree of perfect martyrdom. Each
 
 202 
 
 MARY price; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A REBVAKT-MAID. 
 
 pail- of shoes was charged five shillings and sixpence 
 ill the qu/ivterly account. The same course was 
 adopted vjvio. the gloves, — a quantity being ordered 
 of & me^Qiun size ; so that half were too large and 
 half too small for the wearers. Miss Nibkins paid 
 two shillings a pair, and charged thrcc-and-sixpence 
 in the biUs. In addition to all these sources of 
 revenue, Miss Nibkins levied a discount upon the 
 bills of the dancing and drawing masters who 
 attended at the school, and encouraged the latter to 
 run up his accounts as much as possible, by charging 
 for double the quantity of pencils, paints, card-board, 
 and camel-hau" brushes, than were really supplied to 
 the pupUs. 
 
 But these were only a few of the artifices practised 
 to swell the quarterly bills and put money into Miss 
 Nibkins' pocket. I must specify a few more of her 
 disgraceful mearmesses. With regard to school- 
 books — the old ones, which girls who had gone 
 away had forgottea to take with them, were sup- 
 pUed to new pupils ; and the coolness with which 
 those old torn dog's-eared volumes were charged in 
 the biUs the full price of new ones, showed with 
 what flagrant impudence these petty robberies were 
 accomplished. Then Miss Nibkins always kept in 
 her desk a large supply of elate-pcncLls, which she 
 purchased wholesale for a ridiculously small trifle ; 
 but the pupils were compelled to buy these slate- 
 pencils of har out of their own pocket-money at a 
 half-penny per stick ; and as few of the poor girls 
 were allowed more than two-penc« a-week pocket- 
 money — aome indeed only a penny — even this little 
 compulsory tax upon them was felt as a heavy priva- 
 tion, especially as they were constantly hungrj' and 
 wanted all their little means to buy cakes or rolls of 
 bread. Again, when a piece of new music was intro- 
 duced into the school, two or three copies only were 
 supplied; but in every quarterly bill the price was 
 duly charged. 
 
 But there was a certain custom which Miss Nib- 
 kins had artfully introduced into her establishment 
 as another means of emolument to herself. This 
 was the habit of making her presents on the part of 
 the school-gu'ls. Amongst the teachers there was 
 always sure to be one who would play the sycophant 
 and parasite towards Miss Nibkins, in order to 
 obtain any such little indulgence as this lady might 
 think an adequate reward for the servility shown 
 her. To this favoured teacher woidd Miss Nibkins 
 from time to time drop a certain hint; and the 
 teacher, as if acting entii-cly from her O'mi sponta- 
 neous good feeling, would suggest to the elder 
 school-gu'ls the propriety of making Miss Nibkins a 
 present on her bii-thday — or to celebrate the anni- 
 versary of tlie school's foundation — or any other 
 pretext which the fertile brain of the teacher could 
 suggest. Then, as Miss Nibkins knew pretty well 
 which of the girls had parents who were likely to 
 give their daughters money for this pm-pose, letters 
 were wi-itten under the teacher's euperintendoucv to 
 those parents, and the results were gcnerall v success- 
 ful : but on the other hand, those girls whoso parents 
 were known to be either too mean or too poor to 
 give anything at all to the subscription list, were 
 recommended by the artful teacher to save up a 
 month's or six weeks' pocket money so as to make 
 their contribution. Then out of thcii* meagi-e sala- 
 ries the teachers themselves were expected to give 
 something : indeed, they could not possibly refuse ; 
 — and thus tliree or four pounds (somelimos more) 
 
 were collected for the purchase of a present — such 
 as a gold pencil-case, a silver cream-jug, a rose-wood 
 writing-desk, or some ornaments for the parlour 
 mantel. Then, on the day fixed for presenting the 
 gift, Miss Nibkins — though duly prepared by the 
 teacher who was her secret agent in getting up the 
 whole affair — would enter the school-room as if per- 
 fectly innocent of what was going to take place, and 
 on beholding the gift standing upon her desk, with 
 a beautifully -wTitten note expressing whence it 
 came, she would put on her great horn spectacles 
 and affect to be quite overpowered with surprise. 
 The elegantly written note would announce the gift 
 as " a testimonial of love and atfection to Miss Nib- 
 kins from her dutiful pupils," — every one of whom, 
 by the bye, hated her most cordially. But in these 
 moments — with the natural generosity of the youth- 
 ful heart whose freshness of feeling is not yet marred 
 by contact with the world — the poor girls would 
 forget their dislike and really experience a sen=e of 
 gratification at bestowing the jMresent. Poor things I 
 they little thought that the whole was a deeply-laid 
 trick on the part of a mercenary schoolmistress for 
 her own special advantage — and that the teacher 
 had all along been a mere servile tool, and not the 
 spontaneous mover in the proceeding. 
 
 There are many other circumstances which I 
 could adduce as illustrative of these despicable phases 
 in Miss Nibkins' character ; but I think I have said 
 enough to show her in her true colours. The reader 
 cannot therefore be astonished if I were anxioui to 
 get away from siuih a mistress. But a circumstance 
 occurred which compelled me somewhat to change, 
 or rather modify my resolution in this respect. It 
 was three weeks after the scene with Captain and 
 Mrs. Calder— and therefore only one week to the 
 expiration of the month's notice which I had 
 given to leave Montpellier House — when I received 
 the following letter : — ■ 
 
 " Merton Ht>iis«, 
 
 «'Ma)-26lb, lf20. 
 " My dear Mary, 
 " W« leave thU day for the purpose of proceeding to 
 the Continent. My son's health is lo much impaired 
 that Dr. Scott has ordered an immediate removal to a 
 southern climate. M'e therefore intend to visit the 
 South of France, and perhaps repair to Italy. Kest as- 
 sured, my dear girl, that if the C iptain and I do not 
 come personally to bid you farewell, it is not that our 
 friendship for you has suffered any diminution, but 
 because it would be scarcely possible to avoid touching 
 upon a topic which must be painful to us all. We shall 
 never forget you, and from time to time shall write to 
 let you know where we are, so that you may answer us 
 and tell us in return how you are getting on. I shall 
 write to you at the Post Office, Derby ; so that if you 
 leave your present situation and go to any other part of 
 the country, you can forward your nest address to the 
 Post Office that any letters may duly follow you. The 
 Captain hopes that you will not be cffended by his enclos- 
 ing you a small testimonial of the esteem he experiences 
 for your character ; and he has sent it in a pecuniary 
 shape, because it may be serviceable in any emergency f 
 that may arise : for it would grieve us sorely to leave 
 k^nxlAnd with the apprehension that by being any length 
 of time out of service you were subjected to privations. 
 '* The carriage is now at the door, and we are about to 
 le«ve — heaven only knows when to return ! God bless 
 you, Mary ; and may rou experience all the happineM 
 which the world can possibly give, and which you so 
 fuUy deterrs. 
 
 " Your's affectionately, 
 
 " Emma C^DKR." 
 
 I shed tears over this kind letter 5 and 1 was pro-
 
 MAEY price; OB, THE ME3IOIR3 OF A SEUVANT-JIAID. 
 
 203 
 
 foundly grieved to think that I, though so inno- 
 cently, was the cause of that failing health on the 
 part of Mr. Edward which compelled such worthy 
 friends to abandon then* home and seek a foreign 
 clime. The letter contained a banli-note for twenty 
 pounds, and I locked it up in my trimk, regarding 
 it as a memorial of friendship, not to be changed 
 unless in case of emergency. 
 
 But I now suddenly found myself placed ia a 
 somewhat awkward situation, I had intended, ere 
 leaving Derby, to procure a written recommenda- 
 tion from Mrs. Calder; but it was now too late. 
 Miss Nibkins had positively refused to give me a 
 character imless I remained with her six months : 
 and how was I to obtain another place without one ? 
 Even if I returned to Ashford, where I was known, 
 I should find it difficult to enter any family with- 
 out proper and explicit references, not merely as 
 to the integrity of my recent career since I had 
 been absent from my native place, but also with 
 regard to my capacity for the duties of a situation. 
 It is true Mrs. Calder's kind letter was in itself an 
 excellent testimonial ; but families are so suspicious 
 they might think it forged, or that Mrs. Calder 
 herself could not be a real lady to have written so 
 familiarly to a servant-maid. Besides, the letter 
 itself must bo regarded in the light of a confidential 
 communication, aUuding as it did to a painful topic 
 eoueerning which I was in honour bound to give no 
 explanation, if questioned. To be brief, my position 
 was exactly this — that if I left Miss Nibkins at 
 present I could offer no reference as to character, 
 and I did not dare risk the chance of remaining 
 ^^^thout a situation for want of such a reference. I 
 knew not how to act : a certain sentiment of pride 
 prevented me from asking Miss Nibkins to allow me 
 to stop; and thus day after day passed until my 
 notice had expired and the hour for my departm-e 
 came. 
 
 I went into the parlour to receive my wages, and 
 having made up my mind to trust to the chapter of 
 accidents as to the course I should pursue. But 
 Miss Nibkins herself relieved me of my embarrass- 
 ment by taking the initiative in what might be 
 termed amicable proposals. She represented to me 
 that the holidays were close at hand — that it would 
 be very awkward for her to change servants just at 
 this period — and that if I would only remain another 
 month she wovUd give me a character on leaving. 
 I cheerfully assented to her proposal, and agreed to 
 remain four weeks longer at Montpellier House, — 
 deeply rejoiced to think that I should gain my 
 object without having to stay the whole six months. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE HOIIDATS. 
 
 The wonted preliminaries of breaking - up had 
 akeady commenced in the form of the usual holiday- 
 letter, which Miss Nibkins drew up with the utmost 
 care, and which was duly copied by every girl 
 throughout the establishment. The one for the 
 present ^alf-^fear's vacation ran as I'oUows : — 
 
 " Montpellier House, Derby, 
 " Juno 1, 1829. 
 " My dear Parents, 
 "I am happy to inform you that the suspension of 
 studies at Misu Nibkins' establishment will commence on 
 
 the 22nd of this month ; and although I am trul; 
 rejoiced at the prospect of returning home, my delight 
 is tempered with a regret at leaving those studies wbicli 
 your bounty enables me to pursue, as well as the kind 
 preceptress under whose fostering care they are thu3 
 pursued. 
 
 *' I hope that you will find me improved, not only in 
 the various branches of education in which I am in- 
 structed, but also in my manners, my general deport- 
 ment, and the religious tone of my mind; so that I raiiv 
 prove a comfort to you, as well as a credit to my kinl 
 preceptress. 
 
 " Give my love to my brothers and sisters, and all re- 
 latives and friends, and accept the same, 
 
 " iVly dear Parents, 
 " From your affectionate and dutiful 
 "Daughter, 
 
 Such was the holiday -letter : but a little incident 
 which I must mention, occurred at the time those 
 general cu-culars were being sent off. One of ths 
 elder girls privately penned another letter to her 
 parents, and sUpping it into the hands of the house- 
 maid just as she was going to the post, asked her to 
 put it into the bos along with all the rest. The 
 housemaid consented, but accidently dropped it in the 
 haU. Miss Nibkins picked it up — unceremoniously 
 opened it — and the reader may guess with what 
 amount of dismay she perused the following lines :— 
 
 , "June 1,1829. 
 "Dear Pa and JIa, 
 "We have just been writing the hollyday letters, and 
 for fear you should think I rely ment all that's said 
 in the coppy you will reseave, I sitt down to smuggle 
 over these fu lines, because if I was caught writing 
 privett 1 should get into a most orkard scrape. When 
 I am maid to say that I regret leving my studdies, I was 
 maid to tel a iibb, because I don't considder them 
 studdies at all which one has to lern by art and don't 
 know the raoning of, which is the case with the freneh, 
 and the english exersizes, and the jeographical defini- 
 shuns, besides other things too tcjus to mention now. 
 As for my writing and speling, 1 know that I am per- 
 fishent in those and so could just as well studdy all tlio 
 rest at home as at Miss nibkins's. Dear pa and ma, prey 
 don't lelt me come back after the boUydays because its 
 of no use and we are treted horrid, not having half 
 enough to eat and sour here to drink which is very nasty 
 and gives us all the stommack .ike. Miss nibkins is a re- 
 gular hippocrit, and when she makes me say in my letter 
 that she's kind its all nonsince, for there's no kindness in 
 her except to herself when she drinks her tost and water 
 which is all brandy. As for my manners I know they 
 can't be improved here while one of the teachers eatj 
 with her knife and another is left-anded, and dear pa and 
 ma, I am obliged to sit next to a chesemongei's daugliter 
 at table on my rite hand and a taylor's daughter on my 
 left, which is very hard considering that you dear pa are 
 a gentleman and ma is a lady bread and born. So, I do 
 hopp you will take me away these hoUydays, and ask 
 grandma if she don't think it will be best as all the meat 
 wo have is raw and all the puddings so nasty they won't 
 agree with any stommack, and I am sure uncle John 
 wouldn'tgive them to his piggs. So no more at present 
 from your affectionate daughter, dear pa and ma, 
 
 " Sarah Bmaas." 
 
 It was through one of the teachers I heard of this 
 letter being wiiltcn, and by some means or another 
 she procured me a sight of it ; on which occasion I 
 took a copy exactly as it was penned. It is but 
 fair, however, towartls Miss Nibkins' establishment, 
 to state that Sai-ah Briggs was certainly one of (he 
 idlest and most backward girls in the Upper Do 
 partmcnt, and that though she was thirteen years 
 old, there wore many young ladies of eight or mao 
 in the Lower Division who were far more advai;' 
 
 jars 
 uao I
 
 '204: 
 
 MAKY rnicE ; ob, the mekoitis op a SEnv ant-maid. 
 
 •a their studies. With regard to the incident of the 
 fitter itself, Miss Sarah Briggs was put upon bread- 
 and- water for three days as a punishment, and made 
 to practice nothing but spelling during the rest of 
 the time that intervened to the holidays. 
 
 And now indeed the grand preparations for 
 breaking-up commenced in right good earnest. 
 Then what a bustle was there in getting ready the 
 boxes for the pupils who w^-'re to return home. Miss 
 Nibkins, in order to please the parents, made it a 
 rule to send back the children's clothes in as good a 
 condition as was possible ; and I had therefore so 
 much needlework to do that I had to rise soon after 
 day-hght in order to commence my task. Holiday- 
 day came, and happiness now appeared upon coun- 
 tenances that for months had been languid, care- 
 worn, and full of despondency. It is astonishing 
 how soon children recover their spu-its, and also 
 what an effect good spirits have upon their outward 
 appearance; — and it did my heart good to think 
 that for those poor innocent ill-treated and half- 
 famished beings, there was at least the periodical 
 return of seasons of happiness gi-eat enough to serve 
 as a recompense for a large amount of sufferiug ! 
 
 But if my own spirits were temporarily excited by 
 the spectacle of the many happy faces which holiday- 
 day presented to my view, they were soon damped 
 again by the contemplation of the bitter grief ex- 
 perienced by a few poor gii-ls who remained at school 
 during the vacation. Of these there were six, — four 
 in the Lower Division, and two, who were sisters, in 
 the Upper Department. The four Uttle ones were 
 in no way related to each other, and belonged to 
 different parents, who had their own reasons for 
 leaving the poor chllch-en at school during the holi- 
 days. The two girls who were sisters were orphans, 
 dependent entirely upon an uncle who cared nothing 
 about them, and thought that he was doing a great 
 deal by even paying for their education and board at 
 all. Never shall I forget the morning of what was 
 called " Breaking-up Day." All the girls who were 
 going home were, as I have already said, elated with 
 joy. Those whose parents lived in the town were 
 waiting to be fetched : those whose homes were at a 
 distance, waited for the coaches, post-chaises, or 
 other vehicles that were to bear them to their parents' 
 arms. All these were chattering gaily of what they 
 should do in the holidays — what amusements they 
 should have — what nice Ihiugs they should be treated 
 with. — and what pleasant days they should spend 
 with fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and fond 
 relatives. But apart from tlicse merry, joyous groups 
 who were waiting ready dressed for the moment of 
 departure, sat the poor girls who were to remain 
 behind. The four little ones, whose ages ranged 
 from six to nine, sat together in one corner, crying 
 as if their hearts would break. Poor creatures! 
 young as they were, the iron of affliction was already 
 entering deep into thcu- souls — wouncUng them too 
 in the most sensitive part : for it is cruel — Oh ! it is 
 cruel, for a child of tender age to have the dreary 
 desolating conviction forced upon its mind that it 
 has no home ! As for the two sisters, whose ages 
 were fourteen and sixteen, they sat together clasping 
 each other's hands — gazin~ on each other's pale, 
 melancholy, and care-wov!i countenances — and en- 
 deavouring for each otlipr's sake to keep down those 
 fiobs and all that pent-uji gi-iof which sui'ged up into 
 thou- throats, violently ticeking to bm-st forth. And 
 they, poor girls, also felt that they had no home ! ' 
 
 By eleven o'clock on breaking-up day all those 
 who were to depart Iiad gone ; and I happened to be 
 in the school-room when the la.st two or three were 
 fetched away. Would to heaven I had not been 
 there at such a moment ! — for never shall I forget 
 the intenseness of that anguish with which the two 
 Bisters, now no longer able to restrain themselves, 
 suddenly threw themselves into each other's arma 
 and gave vent to the full tide of their feelings. 
 They were sweet pretty girls too, — delicate-looking, 
 lady-like, and well-behaved young creatures, who 
 might have made their parents' pride had heaven 
 spared those parents for them. I did not imme- 
 diately approach them — not merely because there 
 eeemed to be something too sacred in such grief as 
 their's to be precipitately intruded on, but also be- 
 cause I myself was so profoundly affected as to be 
 compelled to turn away and veil my tears. But 
 presently, when I noticed that the first paroxysm of 
 anguish had passed, I did accost those sisters, and 
 spoke as cheeringly to them as I could. Nor did I 
 neglect the four younger girls, but endeavoured to 
 console them also. I remember that I went out, 
 and proceeding to the nearest pastry-cook, spent 
 several shillings in purchasing all kinds of nice 
 things, with which I sped back to those whose really 
 desolate and forlorn condition had so deeply enlisted 
 my sympathies. The two sisters thanked me with 
 heartfelt gratitude, and even threw their arms 
 around my neck and embraced me for what thej 
 were pleased to term my well-meant kindness : but 
 their grief was too profound, and moreover they 
 were too old, to be solaced in such a manner. Never- 
 theless, I had the satisfaction of observing that for 
 the time being the four little things partially forgot 
 their sorrows as they sat down to the feast I thus 
 prepared for them. 
 
 It happened that on the following day Mrs. 
 Baker and Ellen came to visit me ; and the hoUdays 
 having begun, they invited me to pass a day with 
 tliem at the farm. It immediately struck me that, 
 ■without much inconvenience to my worthy friends, 
 I might procure a day's pleasure for the poor g^ls 
 who had been left at school during the vacation; and 
 on mentioning the case, both Mrs. Baker and Ellen 
 were quite enthusiastic in the hope that Mliss Nib- 
 kins would give her consent. I accordingly pro- 
 ceeded to the parlour, and made the inquiry. Miss 
 Nibkins put on her horn spectacles, as she always 
 did when any matter of importance was submitted 
 to her ; and for nearly a minute she meditated in 
 silence. I have not the slightest doubt she was 
 weighing in her miud to what extent she woidd be 
 a gainer by saving a day's provisions in respect to 
 myself and the six girls — or whether it would be 
 more to her advantage to make me stick close to 
 needlework at Montpellier House. However, she 
 decided in the favourable sense : and when I com- 
 municated the proposed jaunt to the two sisters and 
 the four little girls, pleasure beamed in their eyes. 
 
 Very early on the following morning 5Ir. Pcrcival 
 himself came to feteh us in a chaise which, with the 
 most delicate kindness, he had hired for the occa- 
 sion ; and we arrived at his farm to breakfast. It 
 was a treat to me as well as to the poor girls to get 
 into the open country, and breathe the fresh air of 
 the hills of Derbyshire. Mrs. Baker and Ellon gave 
 us a most cordial reception ; and such a broakl'ast as 
 was served up, the poor girls had not seen for many 
 a long day ! Cold fowls, ham, tongue, new-laid cg'^9,
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 20.1 
 
 home-made bread, tea and coffee, tlie freshest butter, 
 and milk warm from the cow, appeared upon the 
 hospitable board. The ride had given us an appe- 
 tite ; and moreover we were all in goods spirits to do 
 justice to the excellent fare. We then set out for a 
 ramble aU over the farm ; and I was rejoiced to hear 
 from both Leonard and Ellen that their prospects 
 were of the brightest character. We got back to 
 dinner at one o'clock ; and afterwards amused our- 
 selves in the fowl-yard, the dairy, and the gar- 
 den, tUl tea-time. After tea we sat in a beautiful 
 summer-house in the garden, conversing until it was 
 time to leave ; and then Leonard took us back agaia 
 to Derby in the chaise which he had hired for our ac- 
 commodation. A large cake and a variety of little 
 delicacies had been put up in a hamper for the school- 
 girls ; and thus I had the satisfaction of being the 
 means of theu* spending at least one happy day dur- 
 ing the vacation that they had to remain at school. 
 
 I was seated at work in my own chamber on the 
 following day, when at about eleven o'clock in the 
 forenoon the housemaid came up, saying, " Two gen- 
 tlemen wish to speak to you, Mary, down stairs. Miss 
 Nibkins is out ; so I showed them into the parloiur 
 and you can go down there to them. They have 
 sent up their cards." 
 
 I took the cards and glanced at the names. One 
 was Mr. Fitzherbert Eeginald Tomluison : the other 
 was Mr. Horatio Mortimer Stanley. Both these 
 names were utterly unknown to me — I had never 
 heard them before — and therefore, at once conclud- 
 ing there must be some mistake, asked the house- 
 maid to give me a description of their appearance. 
 
 " Oh ! they are quite gentlemen, I can assure you," 
 she repUed. " One is a tall, stout, portly man, who 
 looks and walks quite as grand as a lord, and speaks 
 in such a tone of command as if he had at least a 
 dozen servants at home whom he is accustomed to 
 order about. The other is quite young, not above 
 twenty or one-and-twenty, I should say — with dark 
 
 hair and eyes And now that I think of it, he is 
 
 something like you. He has quite a genteel air, and 
 also speaks as if he w^s some great personage. In- 
 deed, to tell you the truth, I think they must be at 
 least lords in disguise — if not princes : for they have 
 got loads of jewellery about them." 
 
 A suspicion that had suddenly entered my head in 
 consequence of one remark which fell from the 
 housemaid's lips, caused me to lose no time in going 
 down stairs: but just as my fingers touched the 
 handle of the parlour-door, I heard a strange din, 
 or rather quick succession of metallic sounds, inside 
 the room, like the clashing together of the fire-irons, 
 and then a deep sonorous voice exclaimed, " Traitor, 
 thou shalt die ! Thine hour is come. Ah! thinkest 
 thou that any longer this earth shall be desecrated 
 by thy presence? I defy thee and thy taimts. Thou 
 who hast deprived me of my kingly rank, and 
 usurped my golden sceptre and my gem-bedecked 
 diadem, shalt now meet the usm'per's doom. Be- 
 hold ! that thrust has avenged me ! Perish, vile 
 traitor : thy career of crime is ended ! What ho, 
 guards ! come hither ! the usurper is slain — and in 
 me thou sccst thy rightful Sovereign !" 
 
 The stupefaction of mingled terror and astonish- 
 ment had transfixed me to the spot as my ears 
 caught the first words of this address : but when I 
 could no longer doubt that it was merely the recita- 
 tion of some dramatic part, I still lingered for a few 
 moments outside the parlour-door to recover the 
 
 presence of mind which liad received bo cruel a 
 shock by the apparently awful import of the opm- 
 Ing words. The moment the harangue was con- 
 cluded, it was followed by a burst of laughter on the 
 part of the two individuals in the room ; and at the 
 same time I heard the fire-irons flung down again 
 into the fender. Hesitating no longer to enter, I 
 at once perceived that the suspicion I had enter- 
 tained from what the housemaid told me, was cor- 
 rect. In short, one of the visitors was none other 
 than my brother Robert. 
 
 I flew into his arms, and embraced him with aU 
 the tenderness that my heart experienced towards 
 him. But he seemed rather to permit me thus to 
 caress him, than to return my fond embrace ; and at 
 length disengaging himself from my arms, he cried, 
 " Well Mary, what a fine tall girl you have grown, 
 to be sure ! But aUow me to introduce you to my 
 friend Mr. Fitzherbert Reginald Tomlinson." 
 
 I tiu-ncd and made the proper salutation to the 
 tall, stovit, portly individual whom the housemaid 
 had described : and I observed that he was survey- 
 ing me with a fixed and earnest attention. Had the 
 housemaid regarded both him and my brother with 
 more than a cm'sory notice, she would have seen 
 that though they were flashily dressed, yet it was 
 only in what is termed a shabby-genteel style. 
 Their coats were somewhat threadbare : their gaudy 
 patterned waistcoats were soiled and faded: the 
 jewellery they wore was mere stage-trumpery: their 
 linen was not exactly of the cleanest; and their 
 hats had evidently seen much service. In respect 
 to both I am bound to say — though it is with pain I 
 am compelled to record matters of a disparaging 
 nature concerning my brother — there was a certain 
 swaggering an* of jaunty impudence mingled with 
 the unequivocal signs of dissipated habits, — a third- 
 class kind of rakishness, cm.ulating the look of 
 fashionable depravity worn by ronh of the higher 
 sphere. My brother had grown much taller ; but 
 his personal appearance had deteriorated, — his eyes 
 being somewhat sunken, his cheeks haggard, and 
 the frcslmess of youth altogether marred by the un- 
 mistakable effects of debauchery. As for his friend 
 Mr. Fitzherbert Reginald Tomlinson, he was about 
 six-and-thirty years of age, woi-e his whiskera 
 closely shaved, and had his cheeks plastered with 
 rouge in a manner that could not deceive the most 
 superficial observer. As he stood surveying me, 
 with one hand carelessly thrust into the bosom of 
 his waistcoat, and the other jauntily placed upon his 
 hip, he had the perfect air of a theatrical kuig eon- 
 templating with a half-patronizing, half-admiring 
 self-sufficiency, some iadividual who was performing 
 a minor character. 
 
 "I say, Mary," exclaimed my brother Eobort, 
 flinging himself into Miss Nibkins* easy-chair, 
 stretching out his legs, and laughing loudly, " weren't 
 you surprised when our cards were put into your 
 hand ? I dare say you couldn't fancy who the deuce 
 Mr. Fitzherbert Eeginald Tomlinson or Mr. Horatio 
 Mortimer Stanley could possibly be ? But now you 
 know. I told my friend here that we should surprise 
 you — and so we have. I say, Tomlinson, what a lark 
 — isn't it ?" 
 
 " That is a vulgar term, Mr. Stanley," pompously 
 answered Mr. Tomlinson, with a tone and look of 
 perfectly regal rebuke. " Miss Price," he coittinued, 
 " I am charmed to have the honour of making your 
 acquaintance — for you have been the herouio of a
 
 20i3 
 
 SIARV PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIBS OF A 8EBV ANT-MAID. 
 
 great and a mighty drama, with the whole nation for 
 tlie moment as your delighted auditory. Permit me 
 to annoxmce myself rs the manager of that com- 
 pany of artistes to which your brother belongs, and 
 in which he, to his high credit and wdde-spread 
 renown, takes the hero's part. At this present 
 moment, as the bills anuoimce, I am Sole Lessee, 
 for six nights only, of the Theatre Eoyal, Derby. 
 Boxes thi'ee shillings— pit two shillings— gallery a 
 shilling: doors open at half -past seven — perform- 
 ance to commence at eight precisely." 
 
 '•What the deuce are you doing, Toralinson?" 
 exclaimed Eobert, bm'sting out into a louder laugh 
 than before. " Keciting the last lines of the play- 
 bill, I declare !" 
 
 " True ! my thoughts were wandering, friend," 
 was the Sole Lessee's grave and solemn reply. 
 '■ IMiss Price, everything connected with the sublime 
 art of which I am a disciple, has become as it were 
 a portion of my nature, interweaving itself with all 
 my thoughts, regulating all my habits ! The drama 
 is to me life and existence, as well as board, lodging, 
 clothes, washing, meat——" 
 
 " And gin also," added Eobert, with another 
 laugh. 
 
 "Aye, young man — and gin also, if thou wUt," 
 rejoined Mr. Tomlinson with stern solemnity : " that 
 is to say, when I can get it. But you see. Miss 
 Price," ho continued, again addressing himself to 
 me, '• habit is second natm-e ; and the drama, with 
 all its pageantry and appm'tenances, its business and 
 its bustle, its activity and its life, is everything to 
 me. Even while tarrying a few minutes ere now, 
 until you did make yom- most gracious appearance, 
 I could not waste my time in idle thought, but was 
 fain to rehearse a part. So I with poker armed, and 
 your valiant brother grasping the murderous tongs, 
 we rehearsed a portion of the splendid drama in 
 which we shall appear to-night. Behold the play- 
 bill. The first piece is the Rightful King and the 
 Vt'rongful Usurper. Now mark the characters ! 
 K^^'G, ilr. Fitzherberfc Eeginald Tomlinson. 
 UsuEPEE, Mr. Horatio Mortimer Stanley." 
 
 '• Oh ! don't bother my sister with all that now," 
 exclaimed Eobert, springing up from the easy chair 
 and snatching from Mr. Tomlinson's hand the long 
 play-bUl which he had just unfolded and was sen- 
 tentiously describing : " but let's come to the point 
 at once." 
 
 " Then do you, as my faithful lieutenant, with the 
 trumpet-tongue of a herald, annoimce the grave 
 import of the business that hath brought us hither:" 
 — and thus speaking, with immense pomposity, the 
 Sole Lessee of the Derby theatre seated himself on 
 a sofa. 
 
 Although there was much of the ludicrous in this 
 Ecene, yet it was too painful in its influence upon 
 me t-o do otherwise than excite mournful I'eHections : 
 for I could not possibly think that the profession of 
 a strolling player, which my bi'Othcr had adopted, 
 was at all calculated to improve his morals or en- 
 courage him in steadiness of habits. 
 
 ""Well, Mary, then I will come to the point at 
 once," said he, having resumed his seat in Miss 
 Nibkins' eaay-chair. " It was not altogether an 
 accidental thing our troop coming to Derby ; but I 
 thought it very likely, from all I read in the papers 
 some months back, you were either here or in the 
 neighbourhood ; and I told my friend Tomlinson 
 that if he did come into these parts I woidd try and 
 
 tin d you out. We only arrived here the day b ore 
 yesterday; and as you see by the play-bill, 3Ir. 
 Tomlinson has taken the theatre for six nights ; but 
 when it says for six nights only, that's all gammon. 
 If our troop draws, we shall stay here some weeks. 
 I made inquiries all day yesterday, and couldn't 
 hear of you till late last night, when I found out 
 where you were. So here we are, to see you : and if 
 any arrangement can be made, I have no doubt it 
 will be a deuced good thing for the troop as well u 
 for you." 
 
 I stared at my brother with unfeigned astonish- 
 ment, thinking that I had caught some idea of his 
 meaning, and yet more than half doubting whether 
 my conjecture could be possibly correct. 
 
 " You are going much too fast, youiig officer of 
 mine," said the Manager, now br(>aking silence once 
 more. " Tour sister comprehends you not." 
 
 "Ah ! I had forgotten that I hadn't broached the 
 subject thoroughly," exclaimed Eobert : "but I will 
 soon do so. The fact is, Mary, I don't like the idea 
 of your continuing in service : ifs too low for a 
 gent<>el and pretty g^l like you. Actresses have 
 married lords — hav'n't they, fiiend Tomlinson ?" 
 
 " I' faith ! the stage hath furnished forth peeresses 
 to shine in the brilliant sphere of aristocracy," was 
 the Manager's pompous reply, 
 
 "And so," pursued Eobert, "I have been think- 
 ing, Mary, that it would be best for you to cut ser- 
 vice altogether and come and join us." 
 
 "' Eobert !" I exclaimed, shocked and afflicted at 
 the proposal; "how can you address me in these 
 terms ?" 
 
 " And why not ?" he answered carelessly, at the 
 same time running his lingers, which were studded 
 with theatrical lings of gilt copper and glass bril- 
 liants, through his well-oUcd hair. " !Mr. Tomlinson 
 win teU you that if you would only consent to try 
 your fortune on the boards, your success could not 
 fail to be splendid. "^Miat a debut you would have, 
 to be sure! Tomlinson •niU have a piece written 
 expressly for you. Only fancy — the Miirderc! 
 Gamekeeper, or the Heroine of the Cowl of Jus- 
 tice .'" 
 
 "Heeoike, Miss Mary Price," incidentally 
 observed the Manager, as if quoting from a visionar-.- 
 play-bUl in which he beheld all the attractions vi 
 the suggested drama, with me as the princip>i' 
 character, duly set forth in all the boldness and 
 variety of type. 
 
 " Enough of this, Eobert !" I exclaimed. " I will 
 not — I dare not — think that you are serious in 
 making me such proposals." 
 
 " Never more seriovis in my life, Mary," returned 
 my brother. " Was I, Tomlinson y 
 
 "Never, young man," rephcd the Sole Lessee. 
 " Miss Price, I do sincerely hope that for your own 
 interests and those of the drama generally, you will 
 think seriously of this ofl'er. Depend upon it that 
 your success would be brilliant. A domestic tragedy, 
 founded on fact, and with the real Mary Price taking 
 the principal pai't, would be a tremendous hit." 
 
 " Mr. Tomlinson," I said, somewhat indignantly, 
 " you at least cannot put forward the claim of rela- 
 tionship as an excuse for insulting me. Once for all, 
 therefore, I request that nothing more may be said 
 upon this subject :" — then turning to my brother, I 
 added, " Eobert, can I speak to you alone f " 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! Let me not be a barrier in the 
 way," exclaimed Mr. Fitzherbert Eeginald Tomlin-
 
 MARY price; or, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANl-MAID. 
 
 207 
 
 ton : and rising mth stage majesty from liis seat, lie 
 said, " Maiden, I bid thee farewell, leaving thee with 
 this brother of thine ; and may his persuasiTe tongue 
 find words to touch thine adamantine heart, and 
 move it to feel tender sympathy for the aU-engrossing 
 interests of England's di-ama !" 
 
 With these words Mr. Tomhason waved his ai'm 
 majestically and stalked out of the room. The next 
 moment I heard the front door open and shut, and 
 then beheld his portly form proc^cduig ^-ith stately 
 grandeur down the garden to the ii'on gate. 
 
 " Eobert — my dear Eobert," I now saixi, approach- 
 ing my brother and taking his hand, — "what have 
 you been doing with yourself for this long, long 
 time P why have you not communicated with me or 
 WiUiam ? why have you made us endm-e the tor- 
 tures of suspense as to what had become of you, so 
 that we knew not whether you were even stUl 
 living ?" 
 
 "Oh! I don't suppose you particularly cared," 
 he answered, almost savagely. " You see when I do 
 come to you and propose something for your good, 
 you reject it as if I was actually asking you to dis- 
 grace yourself. Why — don't you think it's more re- 
 spectable to be a popular actress than a poor wretched 
 drudge of a servant maid ?" 
 
 " I will not discuss the point with you, Robert," 
 was my answer. " Heaven forbid that I should 
 ftttempt to depreciate the merits or the character of 
 any persons who endeavour to obtain their Hving 
 honestly; and there are no doubt many excellent 
 people in the profession which you appear to have 
 adopted. But at all events it has no attractions for 
 me; and certainly the way in which the proposal 
 was just now made, was somewhat calculated to 
 annoy and disgust me. But let that pass. I am 
 truly rejoiced to see you : it is a relief to my mind 
 that we have met again. Tell me, however, dear 
 Eobert, are you happy? are you comfortable and 
 contented in j'our new position ?" 
 
 "As happy as the day is long," he exclaimed. 
 " You can judge for yourself whether TomUuson 
 isn't a first-rat* fellow ; and he and I are thick as 
 possible together." 
 
 "But why have you changed your name?" I 
 asked, in my ignorance of stage customs. 
 
 "Why? — because everybody who has got a queer 
 name, does it," answered Eobert. " There's some- 
 thing precious low and vulgar in the name of Price. 
 Only fancy reading in the playbills, ' This night will 
 be performed Shakspeare's immortal play of Hamlet. 
 Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Mr. Price.' — That 
 wouldn't do at all. But when you come to read, 
 'Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Me. Horatio 
 Mortimer Stanley,' it sounds uncommonly fine. 
 Why, what do you think Tomlinson's real name is P 
 You would never guess. Sniffkins ! Now only 
 fancy reading in a playbill, ' This night will be per- 
 formed Shakspeare's immortal piety of Hamlet;'' 
 and amongst the characters, 'Ghost, Mr. Snift'kins.' 
 It would never do : the audience would laugh ready 
 to split their sides when he made his appearance. 
 But when the playbill annoimces, * Ghost, IMr. 
 Fitzherbert Reginald Tomlinaon,' there is nothing 
 at all to laugh at : it both looks and sounds well." 
 
 "And how long have you been with his troop?*' 1 
 inquired. 
 
 "Oh! for the last six months," returned Robert. 
 " The fact is, I got tired of the life I led with " 
 
 Here he stopped short, and then said something | 
 
 by way of turning the conversation into another 
 channel. 
 
 " You meant to allude to those two dreadfid men," 
 said I, "whose comi^any I implored you to leave 
 when I saw you at the public-lxouse at Ashford. 
 Ah, Eobert ! do you know the full extent of those 
 men's fearful character ? do you know that they 
 endeavoured to mm'der me^^yes, murder me at 
 Dover " 
 
 " I cUd hear Sawbridge and the Bulldog talking 
 about it one day in London, when they didn't think 
 I was listening," repUed my brother, evidently con- 
 fused and ashamed at having ever been associated 
 with those villains who had attempted the life of 
 his sister : " and that was the reason I parted from 
 them." 
 
 " Thank God you did !" I exclaimed, claspiuf 
 my hands fervently. " Oh, Eobert ! you know not 
 how many scalding tears I have shed on your behalf 
 — how many sleepless nights I have passed when 
 t hinkin g of you — and how much horrible apprehen- 
 sion I have entertained when wondering what would 
 become of you ! For I have long known the fearful 
 use those di-eadfol characters were making of 
 you " 
 
 It was on the tip of my tongue to state that I 
 was no stranger to the circumstance of Eobert 
 having been led into the burglarious attempt made 
 at Twisdeu Lodge, when I was in service there : but 
 I stopped short ere giving utterance to the dread 
 words which should brand my own brother as a 
 criminal. He saw however what was passmg ia 
 my mind — he read my thoughts — and his brow 
 grew dark as night, while his manner became fiUed 
 with confusion. " Thank God I" I thought to my- 
 self, "remorse has touched him, and ho is penitent!" 
 But the next moment he bui'st into a loud laugh, as 
 if to take refuge from his confusion in the hardi- 
 hood of coarse merriment ; and rising up from his 
 seat, exclaimed, " My eye ! what a precious lark it 
 was that night ! — and I took refuge in yoiu" room 
 until the storm had blown over !" 
 
 "O heavens!" I cried, bm'sting into tears, "is it 
 possible, Eobert, that you can make a jest of so 
 dreadful a circumstance ? Eobert, my dear bi-other 
 Eobert, I beseech — I implore you to repent of yom* 
 past misdeeds — to look back upon them with con- 
 trition and regret ■" 
 
 " Oh ! bother all sermons, Mary !" was the quick 
 and sharp interruption : "if you're going to harangue 
 me in that way, the sooner I am off the better. But 
 by jingo ! how capital you would be in tragedy. 
 Depend upon it you have mistaken yom* avocation 
 ki devoting yourself to brats and bantlings : so once 
 more I recommend you to come and join us. You 
 
 would beat Miss Ai-aminta Eosina Flummei-y 
 
 that's our principal actress all to shivers. But 
 
 what the deuce are you crying now for? Why, 
 what a fool of a girl you are ! You don't know tlie 
 pleasures of a strolling life. There we are, the whole 
 troop of us, at a very comfortable inn — the Shoitldir 
 of Mutton — that's the sign — and if you'll come and 
 sup wth us to-night at twelve o'clock, when the 
 performance is over, you will find yourself as com- 
 fortable as boiled tripe and hot gin-and-water can 
 possibly make you. Come — what do you say ? I'll 
 be bound you can sneak out of the house if you liLr: 
 and yo\ir precious Miss Dibktns, or Fibkins, or whtu- 
 evcr her old name is, won't be a bit the wiser." 
 
 "Eobert, Eobert," I cried, almost hysterically,
 
 208 
 
 UAUY PBICE ; OB, THE HEMOIRS OF" A SEHVAKT-MAID. 
 
 ''do for heaven's sake give up this kind of talk. 
 There is something di-eadfully flippant in it all! 
 Oh, my dear brother " 
 
 '• Well, if you are going into the dismals again, 
 tlio sooner I cut my stick the better. So bye bye, 
 Mary :" — and without offering to embrace me, or 
 oren to shake me by the hand, he stuck his hat on 
 one side of his head and was moving towards the 
 door. 
 
 "Eobert," I said, springing forward and catch- 
 ing him by the arm, " do not leave me for a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " But I must go to rehearsal," he answered. 
 " Tomlinson is sure to stand pots of porter, and 
 they'll drink it all up if I don't make haste — they 
 ore all such beggars to lush ; and Miss Araminta 
 Kosina Flummery wiU toss off a pot of porter before 
 you coidd say Jack Eobinson." 
 
 " Eobert," I said, — and I knew that I was speak- 
 ing in a deeply dismal tone, for I felt very wretched 
 mdeed, — " I am going to leave Derby in a day or 
 two, and perhaps we shall not see each other for 
 
 some time again Unless indeed yo'i ■will leave 
 
 these people whom you are now with, ;ind vnH ac- 
 company me back into Kent ? If so, I can pay 
 your fare by the coach : and, Oh ! if yoij would only 
 seek some respectable situation again——" 
 
 "Eespectablc !" he ejaculaied, with a wrathful 
 look : "do you mean to insinuate that [ am not in 
 a respectable situation as it is ? Look here, Mary," 
 he added with a knowing wink ; " Tomlinson assures 
 me I have got the talent — and one of these days you 
 will just see me ecUpsing Kean or Kemble. So look 
 out — that's ail ! And now I am off." ! 
 
 He was turning away, and I had not the courage 
 to detain him any longer. I felt sick at heart : the 
 rakishness of Ids look, the flippancy of his discourse, 
 and the imuer-current of heartlessness which (Oh, 
 that I shoidd have to say it ! ) was perceptible 
 beneath all he said or did, filled me with sensations 
 indescribably ^vretched. Then suddenly came the 
 thought that if our dear mother were ahve and 
 co'ild see him thus, how heart-broken she would be ; 
 '-and sinking upon a seat, I again burst into a pas- 
 sionate torrent of weeping. 
 
 " By the bye, Mary dear," he said, turning sud- 
 denly back from the door " But by jingo ! what 
 
 a silly girl you are ! You are always crying. Such 
 tears are enough to put out the brightest eyes in the 
 world. Come, come, cheer up, girl," he went on to 
 say in a coaxing tone. " You were talking about 
 paying my fare back into Kent. Why, that would 
 be a matter of at least three pounds, outside the 
 coach : and as I don't want to go just yet, if you 
 coxdd only lend me the three pounds I will let you 
 
 have them again when I take my bespeak that's 
 
 my benefit, you know." 
 
 I drew forth my purse, which contained about 
 four pounds, and at once tendered it to my brother. 
 Ke lost no time in emptying the contents into the 
 palm of his hand ; and his countenance brightened 
 up as he ehiiiked the miugled gold and silver. But 
 it was a brightening of the features that did me 
 harm to see : for the thought was irresistibly forced 
 upon my mind that he only regarded that money as 
 the means of procuring dissipated pleasures. 
 
 " You are a good girl, Mary," he said, tossing me 
 back the empty purse ; and then bending down, he 
 kissed my cheek in a careless indifferent way, and 
 jei»urely sauntered out of the room. 
 
 I hurried up to my chamber and for a long timo 
 was convulsed with grief. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVI. 
 
 THE DBAMAIIC COXPANT. 
 
 I NOW pass on to the day previous to my depar- 
 ture from Derby; and about three o'clock in the 
 afternoon I found myself entering the street where, 
 as I had previously ascertained, the tavern at which 
 the strolling company lodged, was situated. It was 
 in one sense with much repugnance that I was about 
 to visit that place ; for the estimate I had formed of 
 my brother's companions — particularly firom the few 
 remarks he had himself made concerning them — was 
 by no means a high one ; and I did not relish the 
 idea of encountering them. But on the other hand, 
 I did not think it right — nor indeed would my feel- 
 ings permit me — to leave that part of the country 
 without bidding my brother farewell ; and perhaps I 
 still entertained a slight hope of being enabled to 
 induce him to accompany me. For from what I 
 had read in the Derby paper, the dramatic specula- 
 tion of Mr. Tomlinson's troop ■fras a most miserable 
 failure : they had been playing to empty houses ; 
 and the ciitical notice in the journal alluded to, was 
 of a very disparaging character. I therefore fancied 
 it not altogether impossible that my brother might 
 choose to separate himself from this luckless com- 
 pany. 
 
 But in case his infatuation should still lead him to 
 abide by the fortunes of his associates, I resolved not 
 to leave him without such pecuniary assistance as 1 
 was enabled to afford. I should observe that when 
 my box had been fetched by Captain Calder's ser- 
 vant from Harlesdon Park, it had some httle money 
 of mine in it — the fruit of my savings in her lady- 
 ship's service : but all that remained to me on the 
 day when my brother called (save and except Cap- 
 tain Calder's twenty pound note) was in the pm'se 
 the contents of which he had self-appropriated. The 
 reader will remember that I had made up my mind 
 not to change the note, except in circumstances of 
 emergency. Tiiis emergency was now present ; in- 
 asmuch as the wages received from Miss 2^ibkins 
 being laid out in clothes, I wanted money lor my 
 travelling expenses back into Kent, and I also re- 
 solved to make Eobert a present of five pounds. 
 Alas ! I feared that the money would not be well or 
 wisely spent by Vihn : but on the other hand, if he 
 were left without money altogether, might he not 
 have recourse to some evil means to obtain it ? 
 
 It was with a feeling of despondency that I 
 changed the twenty poimd note, which I regarded 
 rather as the memorial of a generous friendship than 
 in the vulgar light of the world's lucre : but having 
 done so, I continued my way towards the tavern at 
 which the dramatic company was located. A sign- 
 board, with a most unshapely object daubed in dingy 
 white and brick -red upon a blue ground, but doubt- 
 less intended to represent a shoulder of mutton, was 
 suspended in front of a pubUc-house of mean ap- 
 pearance; and on reaching the threshold, the in- 
 terior looked so dirty, and I was assailed with such 
 an unpleasant odour of spirituous liquors, onions, 
 and tobacco, that I recoiled in loathing and disgust. 
 However, making up my mind to proceed, I ent-ered 
 the pubUc-house, and inquired at the bar for mj
 
 brother by bis tbeatrical name. A slovenly-looking 
 woman, who, it appeared, was the landlatly of the 
 place, eyed me with a leor half impudently familiar 
 and half angry : then raising her voice, she cried, 
 " I say, Tibby, here's a young woman as wants one 
 of them players up-staLrs which can't settle their 
 reckoning. Go and show her up." 
 
 " Aye, aye," growled the savage voice of a man : 
 and the speaker slowly made his appearance from a 
 little room behind tbe bar. A glance showed mo 
 that he was the landlord of the place : for he had on 
 a dh'ty apron and a sealskin cap, and his appear- 
 ance was altogether sordid and sottish. 
 
 " And I say, Tibby," exclaimed his wife, " you 
 may as well put it to them people again whether 
 they moans to settle their score or no ; for not so 
 much as a bit of brcad-and-cheesc or a drop of beer 
 shall go u)) to their room till they cornea down with 
 the ready." 
 Mo. 27 
 
 "Ayo, aye," responded the landlord. "I'll tackle 
 'em. This way. Miss." 
 
 He conducted me up a staircase without any car- 
 pet, and the boards of which were as black as if the 
 cliimney-sweeps had been up and down all the 
 morning ; and on reaching the first landing, he un- 
 ceremoniously thi'ew open a door — when the follow- 
 ing scene met my view. 
 
 Picture to yourself, reader, some twelve or faup- 
 teon men and women, all huddled together as it 
 were in a small sitting-room fdlcd with tobacco- 
 smoke — for several of the male members of the troop 
 were puiSng away at clay pipes : then conceive 
 these persons for the most part apparelled in a 
 poverty-stricken and indeed wretched manner — the 
 men nevertheless with a certain flashinoss about 
 them, and the women with a faded tawdry, all <^f 
 wliic'h oidy made the shabbiness of tlieir raiment tbe 
 more ludicrously painful to coutcmplato ;— and as>
 
 210 
 
 MART PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 sociated with these evidences ol' wovn-oiit Huery, 
 pictiu-e to yourself female checks wan and ghastly, 
 without their rouge— looks bold and brazen— and a 
 certain air of careworn wretchedness and dissipation 
 pervading all,— and you may form a tolerably correct 
 idea of the scene wliich thus met my view when the 
 door was thi'own open. 
 
 "Mary, by Jove!" ejaculated Robert, who, with 
 a long clay pipe in his mouth, was sitting, or rather 
 lounging, next to a young woman round v.'hose neck 
 his arm was carelessly thrown. She had no doubt 
 once been pretty : but her good looks had well nigh 
 faded away, andi though she was not perhaps more 
 than three-aud-twenty, yet at the first glance she 
 seemed at least ten yeai-s older, so hollow -wero her 
 checks and sunken her eyes. 
 
 I stepped back a pace or two, recoiling instinc- 
 tively from the entire scene — while the landlord, 
 massing into the room, said in his gruff savage voice, 
 " Come, I say, Mr. Manager, how's my bill to be 
 paid? Miad you, I don't keep a house for tramps 
 — and I'm blowed if you arc much better." 
 
 "My dear Mr. Tibby," responded a voice which I 
 at once recognized to be Mr. llcgbiald Fitzherbert 
 Tomlinson's, although he how spoke in a himablo 
 tone, very different from his grandiloquence when he 
 called at Montpellier House, — "don't be too peremp- 
 tory with us, and we shall make tilings all right at 
 last. We are holding a considtation no\r ; and if to- 
 night's performance don't tiu-n up a trimip cai'd, as 
 we hope and trust it will — wirf, then wc must put 
 some of the theatrical properties up the spout and 
 settle yom- little chalk for you." 
 
 "Properties indeed !" growled Mr. Tibby the land- 
 lord: "d'ye call aU them tinsel and glass things 
 that you have got with you, properties ? Why, 
 there isn't a pawnbroker in the town that will ad- 
 vance a diunp upon them." 
 
 "Hush, most worthy landlord!" said my brother: 
 " do not betray the nakedness of the land. That's 
 my sister come to see me ; and when I think of it, I 
 shoiddn't at all wonder if she could help us out of 
 this precious scrape — ^for she's a good saving gii-1, 
 she is." 
 
 '■' Well, well," said the landlord, evidently some- 
 what appeased by the hope thus flung out, "if she's 
 yom* sister, so much the better — for she does look a 
 respectable young person :" — then tiu-ning towards 
 me as I stood back on the lauding, he cried, 
 "Come, won't you walk iu, MissP Youi- brother's 
 here." 
 
 "Come along, Mary — it's all right," exclaimed 
 Robert. "You will be welcome, and I shall bo 
 proud to introduce you to my sweetheart Miss 
 Araminta Rosiua Flummery." 
 
 " Can I have a private i"oom for a few minutes to 
 see my brother in ?" said I in a low and hurried 
 voice to the landlord. "I will pay you for it." 
 
 "To be sure, Miss," he answered quickly, his 
 sottish countenance brightening up : and throwing 
 open another door upon the same landing, he said, 
 " Walk in here, please." 
 
 I hastened to enter the little sitting-room thus 
 placed at my disposal ; and it was quite a relief to 
 get away from the view which the interior of the 
 adjacent apartment presented. Almost immediately 
 after, Robert joined mo there : but he came in 
 smoking his pipe — so that, without any affectation, 
 my heart heaved at the nauseous smell of the to- 
 bacco. Shutting the door behind him, ho sat do'wu, 
 
 saying, "Why the deuce wouldn't you come in 
 amongst us ? They'll set it down as pride." 
 
 "Robert," I said, "do put away that pipe — ^it 
 makes mo sick. Besides, I wish to speak to you 
 very seriously." 
 
 " Seriously — botheration ! you are always serious 1" 
 he exclaimed, petulantly. " If you was a man, one 
 would think you did nothing but play the part of 
 mute at funerab. But tell me, have you got any 
 money, Mary?" 
 
 " I hare come on purpose to bring yon some." 
 
 "Then, by jingo ! I won't be disagreeable : there- 
 fore here goes !" — and he flung the pipe across the 
 room, so that hitting against the opposite wall, it 
 broke into a dozen pieces. " Now, Mary dear, how 
 much money have you brought me r" 
 
 " I am going to leave Derby to-morrow, Robert," 
 I said, not immediately answering his question ; for 
 I felt both hurt and grieved at the heartless selfish- 
 ness v.hich he exhibited in his greed to obtain pos- 
 session of the money I had brought. "' Will you 
 accompany mc ? I know that you and your com- 
 panions have experienced little success — I have read 
 that in the paper " 
 
 " Ah ! but it's through no faxilfc of ours," inter- 
 rupted my brother, colom-ing up. " We have the 
 talent, but it's the Derby people that hav'n't the 
 taste:" — and he broke out into a voUey of oaths 
 that shocked and terrified me. "' Why, what a little 
 fool you are !" he cried, as I besought him not to 
 use such dreadfid language : "' everything one does 
 is wrong in your opinion. But come, don't keep me 
 in suspense — w^hat about the money ?" 
 
 "How much do you require to pay the bill of 
 which I heard the landlord speaking?" I asked. 
 
 "■ Why, a beggarly two pound seventeen and ten- 
 pence. We have paid as far as we were able : but 
 just because ho knows we have had bad houses, he 
 rides rusty. Yet if he had only waited till to-night, 
 he would h?ivc no doubt been all right : for I am 
 coming out as Hamlet; and if I don"t astonish 
 
 the natives But never mind. Have you got as 
 
 much money about vou as ^viU pay this wretched 
 bai?" 
 
 " I have," was my answer. " But Robert, dear 
 Robert, do for heaven's sake, I conjure you, abandon 
 this life and come vrith me ! You see how wretchedly 
 precarious it is ; and what has occurred to-day may 
 happen again next week — when you will have no 
 sister near you," I added with, tears in my eyes, " to 
 afford you such little succom- as lies in her power." 
 
 " Oh, bother take to-morrow — let us only think of 
 to-day ! Come, Mary dear, you are doing away 
 with half the kindness of your couduct by keeping 
 me here iu suspense. Besides, Araminta I know is 
 dying with anxiety to learn whether you have 
 brought any money or not." 
 
 " Robert," I said, with heritating manner, for I 
 felt .isharaed even to touch upon the subject which 
 his words had just recalled to my thoughts; "vou 
 epoke ere now of that young woman as if — .is if 
 you — ^you — were engaged to marry her ? I hope 
 do not mean to — to " 
 
 " Marry her be hanged I"' he ejaculated, bursting 
 out into a coarse laugh. " We are already married 
 as much as we ever shall be." 
 
 I could not help comprehending what he meant ; 
 and the pain which this new revelatiou of his de- 
 praved conduct caused me, was )ioignant beyond 
 description. I however said no more upon that
 
 MAUY fiiiuE; (iK, XHt; MjsjiuiKS Of A .■.hiiv.\:\i-:,i 
 
 211 
 
 Eubjec):, — for it was one which I dared not suffer my 
 thoughts to luiger upon : and in order to change the 
 topic at once, I said, " Here are five pounds, Eobert : 
 pray do use them economically — make them last 
 
 you " 
 
 " Five pounds !" he exclaimed, springing from his 
 seat with the most exuberant joy : then snatching 
 up the money which I liad jiist laid upon the table, 
 he darted from the room and rushed into the ad- 
 jacent one, leaving Ijoth the doors wide open, so 
 that I could not help hearing all that now took 
 place. '•' Hooray, hooray, my hearties !" he shouted, 
 as if mad with dehght : " the bill shall be paid, 
 and we will have beefsteaks and fi-ied onions for 
 dinner !" 
 
 "K'o, really though?" ejaculated a female voice, 
 also in accents of joy. 
 
 " Yes — really though, my most adorable and best 
 beloved Araminta !" answered Eobert : then assum- 
 ing a theatrical tone, he said, "Thou, as the ini- 
 mitable Queen of Tjigedy, shalt dine to thy heart's 
 contents on fried steaks and onions I" 
 
 " With mustard, boy ! — and the steaming dishes, 
 too, flanked with foaming pots of heavy wet 1" was 
 the majestic addition made by Mr. Keginald Fitz- 
 herbert Tomlinson. 
 
 " For my part, I can't a-bear ingims," squeaked 
 forth a shrill female voice : " so heggs and bacon for 
 me." 
 
 "What! did I hear such ignoble terms come 
 from the coral lips of Miss Euphemia Belinda Gran- 
 ville f " again spoke the sounding voice of the Sole 
 Lessee. " Know you not, yoimg lady, that fried 
 steaks and onions constitute the sublime in the 
 poetry of the kitchen? and therefore it is a most 
 impardonable bathos to sink to the ignominious 
 ridicule of eggs and bacon." 
 
 " Sheep's heads for me !" now spoke a deep sono- 
 rous voice, as if coming from the depths of a sub- 
 terranean cave. 
 
 " This is intolerable !" exclaimed the Manager. 
 " What ? thou, the renowned Herbert Godfrey Wil- 
 mington, who playest the parts of noble fathers and 
 naboj) uncles in domestic dramas, to concentrate 
 thine ideas upon the baseness of a sheep's head ! 
 Out upon thee ! Say but that same thing again, 
 and never more shiilt thou be officer of mine 1" 
 
 "Put it to the vote, Mr. Tomlinson!" cried 
 numerous voices, male and female. 
 
 " Yes — wote, wote !" Miss Euphemia Belinda 
 Granville continued to squeal forth when the gene- 
 ral chorus had ceased. 
 
 " Be it as ye say," was the Sole Lessee's pompous 
 exclamation. "I wiU put the amendments first. 
 Ail those who are in favom* of eggs and bacon, 
 hold up one hand ! i\jid now against ?" — then 
 after a brief pause, Mr. Tomlinson annoimced that 
 the amendment was lost : after which lie proceeded 
 to say, "I do not think, ladies and gentlemen, 
 there can be any necessity to go to a division upon 
 the sheep's heads. I do hope my honom-ablc friend 
 Mr. Herbert Godfrey Wilmington will not waste 
 our valuable time by this factious opposition. There- 
 fore I now proceed to put the fried steaks and 
 onions to the vote." 
 
 Here the sonorous voice of Mr. Wilmington sent 
 forth the cavern-like sound of " Shame I shame !" — 
 and some other gentlemen of the troop jimiped up 
 and denounced the Manager's conduct as most im- 
 parliamentary. Great confusion seemed to ensue. 
 
 in the midst of which Miss Euphemia Belinda 
 GranvUlo, iu revenge for her disappointment re- 
 specting the eggs and bacon, thought fit to go into 
 hysterics; and Miss lU-aminta Eosina Flummery 
 empnatically declared {I regret to say with an oath) 
 that the Sole Lessee's conduct was shameful. She 
 also fearlessly expressed her opinion that Mr. Stan- 
 Icy (meaning ray brother) would not be doing his 
 duty unless he knocked the Manager down. The 
 quarrel became general; and great was the dis- 
 tm-bance made — in the middle of which tlie land- 
 lord rushed up-stahs, threatening to call iu the con- 
 stables. This menace had the effect of restoring 
 order ; and Mr. Tibby was speedily put into very 
 excellent humour by the prompt payment of his 
 bUl. The fried steaks and onions were now ordered 
 without any farther dissent ; and in a few minutes 
 my brother returned to me in the adjacent room. 
 
 Closing the door behind him, he threw himself 
 upon a chair, and bursting out into a hearty laugh, 
 exclaimed, " So you were listening all the time, 
 Mary ? Wasn't it a rum go ?" 
 
 " I could not help overhearing what took place," 
 was my answer; ''although I would gladly have 
 been spared the mortification of this additional 
 proof of the strange character of your companions." 
 
 "Don't be sdly, Mary," replied Eobert, his laugh 
 suddenly ceasing, and something Uke anger appear- 
 ing in his tone and looks. " It was all in fun, you 
 know ; and even if I had punched the Manager's 
 head, as Aiaminta wanted me to do, it would only 
 have been by way of a lark. But come, you must 
 have dinner with us : they are all dyiug to know 
 you." 
 
 "Eobert," I rejoined, '"'my stay within these 
 walls will not exceed two minutes longer; and 
 therefore, even if I had the inclination, I have not 
 the time to be better acquainted with your fi-icnds. 
 Once more I ask, will you return -svith me iuto 
 Kent ?" 
 
 " But how can you pay my fare now after giving 
 me that money?" he at once demanded. 
 
 " I will pay your fare, if you will come," was my 
 response. 
 
 " Well, hand me over the cash, and tell me when 
 I am to meet you at the coach-ofiice." 
 
 " No, Eobert — I will not do this. If you cheese 
 to accompany mo, I wiU pay your fare at the same 
 time that I pay my own." 
 
 " Ah, I understand !" he exclaimed, savagely. 
 " You might just as well tell me your meaning at 
 once: you won't trust me with the money — isn't 
 tliat it, ch ?" 
 
 " Do not force me to use language repugnant to 
 my own feelings .and humiliating to tout's. Onco 
 more, Eobert," I asked steadily and firmly, "will 
 you leave these people and accompany mo ?" 
 
 "Well then, I won't — and so that's flat," he an- 
 swered brutally. 
 
 "Jly dear brotlici', I must now take leave of 
 you," said I, with ciijlli'idty kci-ping back the tears 
 that I felt gusliing up fi-om the foimtains of my 
 heart. " Do not lot us part in anger : we do not 
 know whou we may meet again." 
 
 " AVell, I am sure I don't want to quarrel with 
 you,"' he said, f n-fing himself iuto a sort of good- 
 humour, which however still had a tinge of sullen- 
 ness in it. " So if you are determined to cut away 
 at once, good bye." 
 
 "Good bye, Eobert:" — and having embraced 
 
 !J
 
 212 
 
 MARY price; ©B, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVAN'T-MAID, 
 
 him, I was about to take my departure, when I 
 could not help lingering to beg and implore that he 
 would lead as steady a life as possible : but he cut 
 mc short somewhat impatiently, and we parted. 
 
 It was with no pleasurable feelings that I left 
 him in that low pot-house and in such company : 
 but I had done my best to get him away with me ; 
 and though voy efforts had proved so imavailing, I 
 at least had the consolation of having performed my 
 duty. On returning to Montpellier House, I busied 
 myself with packing up my clothes ready for my 
 journey next day ; and in that occupation sought as 
 well as I was able to distract my mind from the 
 unpleasant reflections which the position of my 
 Iirother had conjured up. Presently Mr. and Mrs. 
 Percival, who knew that I was tf- leave next day, 
 came to see me, and brought me some presents. 
 Ellen likewise seized an opi)ortunity to speak to 
 me alone ; and in as delicate a manner as possible, 
 she offered me pecuniary assistance. This however 
 I did not want, and therefore resolutely refused — at 
 (he same time expressing my gratitude for my dear 
 friend's kindness. She and her husband both be- 
 sought me to write to them often, declaring that all 
 they had in the world was at my disposal, and that 
 they never could forget how much they owed me. 
 I assured them that I should ever value their friend- 
 ship, and would not hesitate to avail myself of it in 
 case of emergency. Wc- then parted — Ellen em- 
 bracing me affectionately, and Leonard shedding 
 tears as he wrung my hand with cordial warmth. 
 
 Early next morning I took my leave of the poor 
 school-girls whom I have already mentioned as re- 
 maining at Montpellier House during the holidays ; 
 and then I went to the parlom- to pay my respects 
 to Miss Nibkins. Putting on her great horn spec- 
 tacles, she looked at me with grave seriousness; 
 and at length said, " Well, I do not think after all 
 that you are an ill-disposed yoimg woman. You 
 certainly hava kept the children's garments in ex- 
 cellent order, and have had the grace of God in 
 your heart. These are great recommendations in 
 your favour ; and so I am bound to give you a good 
 character. Here is a written one," she continued, 
 placing a folded note in my hands ; " and if any 
 farther refei'ence to me be required, I shall not 
 hesitate to give it. Here arc your month's wages, 
 from which however I have deducted half-a-crown 
 for a bason you broke up in the children's dormi- 
 tory. I hope that you will receive the rest of the 
 money in a spirit of thankfulness — not with an 
 overweening pride to think tliat you arc worthy of 
 Such remuneration, but rather with the humiUating 
 conviction that, like all benefits which heaven sends 
 us po(jr sinners, it is more than you deserve." 
 
 I ofl'ered no remonstrance against the deduction 
 which Miss Nibkins had made; and it struck me at 
 the moment, by her looks, that my silence on that 
 score was the best reproof that could possibly be 
 offered to her meanness. I then took my leave and 
 proceeded to the coach-ollicc, whence a porter had 
 already come to fetch away my boxes. At nine 
 o'clock I was seated inside the vehicle, which at that 
 horn' set oflf on its journey to London. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 SAD TIDINGS PKOM ABROAD. 
 
 It was past eleven o'clock at night when the coach 
 entered the great mctropoHs, and proceeded to the 
 George and Blue Boar, Holbom ; and being much 
 wearied with the long tedious journey, I was glad 
 to retire to bed at once. Besides, I had to rise early 
 on the following morning for the Canterbury coach. 
 I slept soundly till a little past seven, when I was 
 called, and immediately got up ; but while I was 
 taking my breakfast — which was brought up to 
 me in my own room — I felt an irresistible inclina- 
 tion to avaU myself of tliis opportunity of being in 
 London to call at Harlesdon House in Grosvenor 
 Square and ascertain if the family were in town. I 
 did not think it at all likely that they had yet come 
 back from the Continent : but I felt it to be almost 
 an imperious duty to make an inquiry upon the 
 point, as it was so necessary to my character to have 
 an explanation with Lady Harlesdon. I accordingly 
 made further inquiries relative to the Canterbury 
 coaches, and to my joy learnt that there was one 
 called the Tally-So which left London at three 
 o'clock in the afternoon, arriving in the Kentish 
 capital at nine: so I determined to wait for that 
 conveyance, and in the meantime call at Harlesdon 
 House. 
 
 I proceeded to Grosvenor Square : but as soon as 
 I came ^-ithin sight of the weU-known mansion, the 
 closed shutters in the lower rooms and the blinds 
 drawn down in the upper ones, convinced me that 
 the family was still absent, I therefore hesitated to 
 call at the house ; but a second thought prompted 
 mo to do so : for it struck me that if Lord and Lady 
 Harlesdon were still absent, at all events the ser- 
 vants might know when they were expected to 
 retixrn, and thus I should be informed when it would 
 be advisable for me to write a letter of explanations 
 to her ladyship. 
 
 I accordingly rang at the front door ; and the 
 hall-porter presently answered the summons. He 
 was both siu-prised and pleased at seeing me; and 
 by his manner I at once saw that neither at the 
 town mansion, any more than at Harlesdon Park, 
 was there the slightest prejudice existing against 
 me among the domestics. 
 
 "Well, Mary, how are you after this long time? 
 I am really delighted to sec you. And you are 
 looking so well, and have grown such a flrje girl 
 
 too ! As an old man, I may say this : for I always 
 
 liked you — and there isn't one of us who entertains 
 a different feeling. But come, walk into the parlour 
 here : there's none of the family at home. And by 
 the bye, you have been quite a heroine again down 
 in the country about the Percival aflair, as you was 
 here in London when poor little Bella was stolen.* 
 
 Thus chattering, the hall-porter conducted me 
 into the breakfast-parlour, where all the furnitiure 
 was covered up in the usual way at great mansions 
 when the families are out of town. We sat down ; 
 and he asked me a great number of questions about 
 the transactions in Derbyshire to which he had 
 already alluded. When I had satisfied him — for he 
 was a worthy kind-hearted man — I thought it my 
 turn to become the querist ; and accordingly said, 
 " Now tell me where ray lord and lady arc — when 
 they arc coming back — and all you know abt>ut 
 them."
 
 MART FRICE; or, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 213 
 
 " His lordship's ' gentleman ' wrote a letter very 
 recently to the steward here, telling him that the 
 family meant to winter in Italy. The letter wa8 
 dated from Florence : it was very short, and made 
 no farther allusion to her ladyship and the children 
 than that they were all well. But " 
 
 " The family, then, is staying at Florence ?" said I. 
 
 " Yes, for the present. The steward had orders 
 to write to his lordship there." 
 
 " Then you thmk that if I were to address a letter 
 to her ladyship at Florence, it would reach her ?" 
 
 " No doubt of it," rctm'ncd the hall-porter : then 
 after a little hesitation, he added with a sort of 
 mystery in his tone and look, " The upper house- 
 maid here received a few days back a letter from 
 Jemima You recollect Jemima r" 
 
 " How cfeuld I forget her ? But pray proceed." 
 
 "Well, Jemima wrote to the upper housemaid, 
 and I saw the letter," continued the old man, with 
 a deepening sadness upon his countenance. "It 
 appears that her ladyship is very, very unhappy — so 
 changed, so altered, that Jemima says we should 
 hardly know her. For recollect, it is eight or nine 
 months since any of us here at the town-mansion 
 have seen her : because when the family left Harles- 
 don Park so suddenly, they travelled day and night, 
 passing right through London without stopping, and 
 so going on straight to Dover. That was sharp 
 work — eh ?" 
 
 "But about her ladyship?" I exclaimed. "Do 
 tell me about my dear mistress, as I must still call 
 her." 
 
 "I am sorry to say," continued the old porter, 
 "that Jemima's letter gives very sad accounts. 
 She says that her ladyship appears to bo dying 
 slowly but surely, with a breaking heart." 
 
 "Dying! — O heavens!" I ejaculated, the tears 
 starting from my eyes. 
 
 " It is but too true, from what Jemima says in 
 her letter : and the worst of it is that his lordship 
 does not treat her as he ought to do. But then there 
 may be a cause — there may be a cause," added the 
 old mail, shaking his head mournfully. " Of course, 
 Mary, you know what I mean; and if the old lord 
 has really discovered everything, one can scarcely be 
 astonished at his conduct. At tho same time, for 
 my part, I don't think it is fair for him to keep on 
 living with his young wife only to tcazc and torment 
 her day after day, as he seems to be doing, and thus 
 killing her by slow agonies. If he has positive 
 proof of her infidelity in respect to Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vering, he ought to separate from her. However, 
 these arc matters on which it little becomes an old 
 man like me to speak to a good and well-prmcipled 
 young girl as you arc : but I know that you are 
 deeply interested in our poor mistress, and it's 
 enough to make one's heart bleed to read the shock- 
 ing accounts that Jemima givci in her letter. I 
 wish tho upper housemaid hadn't gone away for a 
 week's holiday : for I would make her show you the 
 letter. But if you arc going to stay in London and 
 would call again in a few days " 
 
 " I am compelled to leave this afternoon," was my 
 answer : " for I have nothing to keep me in London, 
 and feel lonely and unprotected at tho hotel. But 
 you can tell mo all that .Temima says." 
 
 " Oh ! she goes into a gi'cat quantity of details," 
 continued tho porter. " It appears that Lord Harles- 
 don's conduct is not downright rough and brutal : 
 he is too polished a gentleman for that : but there 
 
 are a thousand little ways in which a husband can 
 vent his spite upon his wife — and all this he does. 
 Jemima has sometimes listened to their conversa- 
 tion when they have thought themselves unheard ; 
 and on those occasions, as she says, it hn« made her 
 bloofl run cold to hear the bitter sarcasms that his 
 lordship levels at our poor mistress, while she on her 
 part prays and beseeches him to spare her. Jemima 
 overheard her say on one occasion, ' Your lordship 
 need not endeavom- to hasten my death by this cruel 
 treatment. I feel that I am dymg; I know that I 
 am not long for this world : and even though your 
 lordship hates me, as I know you do, and 1 am sure 
 you must, yet it would be merciful to sutler me to 
 die as peacefully as I may.' — But it does not appear 
 from what .Temima says that this affecting speech 
 did any good with his lordship ; but he answered 
 with bitter taunts and seemed to piu-sue his unhappy 
 wife with a sort ot fiendish malignity. I am sorry 
 to make you cry, Mary, with these statements," 
 added the hall-porter, himself profoimdly moved; 
 " but you asked me for the particulars, and I have 
 accordingly given them." 
 
 I was crying — and bitterly too : for the memora- 
 ble scene in the carriage coming vividly back to my 
 recollection, reminded me but too well how perfect an 
 adept Lord Harlesdon was in thus inflicting the bit- 
 terest torments upon liis wife. 
 
 '•' Jemima says that she is so unhappy," continued 
 the hall-porter, " she would leave her situation, were 
 it not that Lady Harlesdon asks her to stay, and 
 she has not the heart to disobUge our poor mistress. 
 What will be the end of it I don't know; but 
 Jemima says that she sometimes thinks Lady 
 Harlesdon will be goaded to despair and will do her- 
 self a mischief. She tells the housemaid in her letter, 
 that one day, having occasion to make some inquiry 
 of Lady Harlesdon relative to matters regarding tho 
 children, she went to her ladyship's chamber, and 
 entering perhaps somewhat more abruptly than she 
 ought, beheld her iinhappy mistress on her knees 
 giving vent to the wofullest lamentations. And 
 when I think of what Jemima goes on to say," con- 
 tinued the hall-porter, " I remember that she heard 
 her ladyship on that occasion mentioning your 
 name " 
 
 " My name?" I ejaculated, with a start caused by 
 a sudden pang; 
 
 " Yes— and to tell you tho truth, Mary," added 
 the hall-porter, " from what Jemima says, Lady 
 Harlesdon fancies that it was not altogether against 
 your own consent that you was carried ofi" when at 
 the Park." 
 
 "Ah! this is indeed what I feared— or rather 
 what I knew to bo the case !" I exclaimed, much 
 hm-t and deeply allectcd. " But you " 
 
 " Oh ! none of us here believe any harm against 
 you," at once replied the hall-porter, anticipating 
 my question. " We know you too well for that : 
 and if I thought you was a bad gu-1, you and I 
 should not be talking in so friendly a manner at this 
 moment. Jemima too tells tho housemaid in her 
 letter that she has said as much as she could and 
 gone as far as she dared, to convince her ladyship 
 that you arc all that you seem: but it appears that 
 her ladyship invariably cuts short the conversation 
 if ever Jemima mentions your nivme." 
 
 " Poor Jemima ! I always knew that she pos- 
 sessed a good heart. I will \n-ite to her such a letter 
 that she can show to Lady Harlesdon and which will
 
 M4 
 
 MAnv price; ob, thb .memoirs op a srbvant-maid. 
 
 explain anything in my conduct that may seem cal- 
 culated to prejudice her ladyship against me." 
 
 " Do so, Mary : I am glad to hear that such is 
 your intention. And now, will you walk down to 
 ithe servants' hall and sec your late fellow-servants 
 there ? They will be delighted to shake you by the 
 hand." 
 
 I accordingly passed half-au-hour with the do- 
 mestics in the servants' hall, and at the expiration 
 of that interval had much trouble in getting away 
 from them, ."o kind and pressing were their in- 
 vitations to stop and pass the remainder of the day 
 with them. But I wished to get back to the tavern, 
 so as to employ the rest of the time until the de- 
 pai'tui-e of the coach in ■RTiting a long letter to 
 Jemima. Taking my leave, therefore, of the ser- 
 vants at Harlesdon House, I began to retrace my 
 way to Holborn ; and had reached St. Giles's Chui-ch, 
 when I suddenly beheld a well-known female figure 
 walking rapidly on in front. This was the Gipsy 
 Queen — the cause of all the calumny that had been 
 levelled against me in respect to Su* Aubrey Claver- 
 ing, and to wipe the impression of which away from 
 Lady Harlesdon's mind I was hastening back to 
 the tavern to pen a long letter to Jemima in Flo- 
 rence. 
 
 She was dressed in a dark stuff gown, with a 
 handkerchief upon her head ; and her fine figure 
 moved on, majestic and stately as if she felt all the 
 consciousness of a real queenly rank. Her sudden 
 appearance struck me as something providential. 
 It was in her power so ctfectually to clear up the 
 origin of the calumny that not even the most pre- 
 judiced mind could refuse to yield to the conviction 
 which her testimony might estabUsh ; and obeying 
 the sudden impulse of ray thoughts, I bounded 
 after her and caught her by the arm. 
 
 " Ah !" she ejaculated on instantaneously recog- 
 nizing my coimtenancc. "You wish to speak to 
 me? I see that you do: and I can guess for 
 what." 
 
 " Yes— ifc is most important," was my rapid re- 
 sponse. " You can make atonement for all the ill 
 you have done me." 
 
 " I will then," she at once replied ; and there was 
 an expression of sincerity in her large black eyes. 
 " To-night at nine o'clock meet me here." 
 
 "I cannot. I am to start lor Canterbury at 
 three " 
 
 " Then we shall not meet at all. I cannot make 
 my time your's. You must mako year's mine :" — 
 and with this peremptory answer^ she was walking 
 rapidly away. 
 
 I hesitated for a moment what course to adopt. 
 Why not wait a few hours longer than I had 
 originally intended in London, for the purpose of 
 achieving so important an end? My hesitation 
 vanished : I was decided how to act. Agam speed- 
 ing after the Gipsy Queen, I caught her by the 
 arm, saying, "I vn\l meet you, then, in front of 
 St. Giles's Church at nine this evening." 
 
 " Good !" sho calmly observed without even tum- 
 ■ mg round or stopping; and immediately crossing 
 i the street, she disappeared in one of those wretched 
 1 lanes which at that period constituted the rookery 
 » of St. GUes's. 
 
 I hastened on to the George and. Blue Boar ; 
 and speedins^ up to tiiv bed-chamber, sat down and 
 commenced .v letter to Jemima. But 1 ha<l not 
 written many lines when it struck mo that if I 
 
 addi'csscd my explanations to Jemima — especiailj- 
 with regard to the scene on horseback with the 
 Gipsy Queen, when she was disguised as Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering — it would be positively revealing to 
 Jemima her ladyship's amour with the Baronet, 
 because it would show that the whole had been a 
 plot to madden her ladyship with jealousy: and 
 although it was clear that this amour was even 
 more than suspected by the dependants of the 
 family, it would be altogether unjustifiable of me to 
 say anything which might confirm that suspicion. 
 I therefore resolved to address my letter to Lady 
 Harlesdon, but to enclose it in one to Jemima, so 
 as to make sure that it would not be intercepted by 
 his lordship. Then I recollected that I had still in 
 my box the letter which I had ^Titten to her lady- 
 ship when I was at Captain Calder'^, and which 
 had been brought back from Harlesdon Park by the 
 messenger who had taken it thither at the time. 
 So I had now merely to write a letter to Jemima, 
 stating how I had learnt that the family was in 
 Florence, and begging her to deliver secretly to her 
 ladyship the packet which was to be enclosed in her 
 o%vn. But I did not seal either letters, as I hoped 
 that my interview with the Gipsy Queen would 
 enable me to add something of importance to the 
 explanations already addressed to Lady Harles- 
 don. 
 
 Having taken some dinner in the afternoon, I 
 borrowed a newspaper to while away the time until 
 the hour of my appointment, as I did not choose to 
 walk about London by myself ; and having read all 
 that seemed interesting, I was about to fling the 
 paper aside, when my eye suddenly caught a name 
 which made me start in consequence of the place 
 where it occurred. The reader may beheve how sin- 
 cere was my grief when under the head of BA2f K- 
 EUPTS, I read the following announcement : — 
 
 John Obatliah Messiter, Dover, Grocer and Tea-Dealer; 
 to surrender Jnly 16th and August 19th, at one o'clock, 
 at the Bankruptcy Coiu-t. Solicitor, Mr. Kigden, Dover; 
 Official Assignee, Mr. Jackson, Clementa Lane, London. 
 
 Poor Sirs. Messiter ! liow deeply, deeply did I 
 feel for her ; — and as I remembered that I had not 
 written to her for a long time, I was struck with a 
 species of remorse at this appai-ent neglect. But 
 the reader, who knows how continuously I was 
 occupied at Monfpclher House, wUl not blame me 
 for an omission which had really arisen from down- 
 right want of time, and not from wilful negligence. 
 However, to remove as much as possible all cause 
 for self-reproach, I at once took up my pen and 
 wrote her an atfoctionate letter, wherein, without 
 absolutely alluding to what I had just read in the 
 newspaper, I sufl'ered her to perceive that I had 
 learnt her misfortime and profoundly sympathised 
 ^^ ith her. Oh ! if I had possessed a few hundred 
 pounds at that moment I should have lost no time 
 in transmitt ing them to the poor woman : but it was 
 useless to wish for what there seemed no earthly 
 chance of obtaining ; and therefore I had naught 
 but commiseration to offer. I stated in my letter 
 that I should very soon be at Ashford, and hoped to 
 find an answer lying for me at the Post Ollice there. 
 
 Having despatched this letter to the post, I took 
 my tea. and amused myself with one of the few 
 books I possessed mitil it was near nine o'clock. I 
 then went forth, and with a beating heai-t bent mv 
 way towards the vicinage of St. Giles's Church. I
 
 MAB7 PRICE ; OR, THE MKMOIHS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 215 
 
 was much too soon ; and not to attract attention by 
 standing still in the street, I retraced my way a 
 little. The blaze of light in a jeweller's shop at- 
 tracted my gaze ; and with the listless manner of 
 one who seeks to kiU time when waiting an appoiat- 
 mcnt, I stopped and looked in at the window. To 
 my astonishment, one of the very first articles which 
 rivctted my gaze was the ring which I had received 
 as a present from Lady Harlesdon I 
 
 The reader will remember that I had left it upon 
 the chest of di-awers or the toUct-tablc, in my cham- 
 ber at the White Cottage, on that memorable night 
 when the bm-glarious entrance of the Bulldog and 
 his companions had effected my deUverauce. I had 
 often regretted the loss of that ring ; and the mo- 
 ment I was convinced, by a closer scrutiny, that the 
 one I now saw exposed for sale, toas the identical 
 gift of Lady Harlesdon, I entered the shop. On 
 inquiring the price, I was told by the master serving 
 behind the counter, that it was tlu'eo guineas. This 
 was a largo siun for me to part with ; and seeing 
 that I hesitated, he at once said that I might have 
 it for two guineas. The idea struck me that he 
 himself could not have come very honestly by it — 
 or, in plain terms, that he must have bought it very 
 cheap, kno-\viag it to have been stolen — thus to bo 
 enabled to diminish his price so abruptly. As this 
 thought entered my mind, my looks were suddenly 
 rivetted by other objects : for there, in a glass case, 
 and amidst an immense quantity of beautiful things, 
 were some, if not all of the very articles, of jewellery 
 which I had seen in the cupboard at the White Cot- 
 tage, and which Sir Aubrey Claveriug had pur- 
 chased for my use. The shopkeeper could have 
 seen by my manner that I was amazed on observing 
 those articles there ,• and as I raised my looks, 
 which must have been full of suspicion, to his coun- 
 tenance, he seemed to grow troubled. 
 
 " Beautiful things. Miss — very beautiful things," 
 he said, endeavouring to veil his confusion under the 
 appearance of tradesman-Uke m'banity and bustle. 
 " Can I tempt you with anything in addition to the 
 ring, Miss ?" 
 
 " The ring is my own," I answered quietly ; "and 
 here, if you look inside the hoop, you will see the 
 name of Mary Frice. That is my name — as I can 
 shortly prove, if necessary." 
 
 "Very likely, IVIiss — very likely," said the jeweller, 
 with evident uneasiness. " But I bought it in the 
 regular way of business." 
 
 " At all events," said I, " you will let mo have it 
 for exactly what you gave." 
 
 " Well, Miss, I won't be hard upon you, since j'ou 
 
 say it is yoiur own Put , was it stolen from 
 
 you?" 
 
 "Not exactly stolen fi-om me, because I left it 
 behind me somewhere under chcumstances of great 
 haste : but it has evidently been self-appropriated 
 by those who had no right to it." 
 
 "Well, Miss, I don't doubt your word. We 
 tradesmen, you know, who buy as well as sell, are 
 liable to these sort of things. Let mo see," he added, 
 pretending to reflect, though I saw that he was cycmg 
 me askance the whole time ; " I think I gave thirty 
 shillings for the ring : you can't object to give me 
 the same ?" 
 
 Nor did I : but at once taking out my purse, paid 
 the sum thus asked, and with much satisfaction 
 regained possession of my ring. 
 
 " I can't tejppt you then with any of these beau- 
 
 tiful articles?" said the jeweller, looking down upon 
 the glass case. 
 
 " I have seen them all before," was my response : 
 and now I observed that the shopkeeper grew very 
 pale. 
 
 I was tm-ning to quit the place when he said, 
 '■' But, Miss, one word if you please. You were not 
 robbed also — that is to say, you didn't leave behind 
 you any other tilings at the same time as that ring? 
 Because if you did, sooner than have any bother or 
 trouble about it, I — I — would rather put up with a 
 loss — and — and " 
 
 '•■ No — those things never belonged to me," I an- 
 swered ; " although I have seen them before : and 
 that they were stolen from the place where I thus 
 saw them, I do happen to know." 
 
 Thereupon I quitted the shoj) ; and as I retraced 
 my way towards the front of St. Giles's church, I 
 thought to myself, " There is a man who evidently 
 deals in stolen goods, iijid yet ho doubtless caUs 
 himself a respectable tradesman, and is lookea upon 
 as such by his neighboiurs. Perhaps he can hold 
 his head as high as any of them, and walks to 
 church on a Sunday with as complacent a mien as 
 the most honest of the congregation. Oh ! the re- 
 spectable aspects under which vice and vUlany hide 
 themselves!" — and then as I reflected upon this 
 jeweller's evident rascalities, I coiUd not help think- 
 ing of Mr. Messiter's adulterations. The latter had 
 not saved him from the Bankruptcy Coiu-t; yet on 
 the other hand it was far from imlikely that the 
 jeweller whom I had just quitted kept his suburban 
 villa and rode in his carriage. 
 
 By the time I reached the iron gate leading into 
 St. Giles's churchyard, I foimd that the Gipsy Queen 
 was waiting for me ; and in the clear twilight I im- 
 mediately saw that her coimtenance was more than 
 usually grave and serious. 
 
 " Step aside with me for a moment," she said, 
 '•'ere we proceed to the place where wo can talk 
 together :" — then di-awing mo out of the public 
 street into some obscure nook, she observed, " Mary 
 Price, you wish to converse with mo relative to that 
 adventure in which I played a pai't — is it not so r" 
 
 " Yes : I wish you to make me such atonement as 
 lies iu your power." 
 
 " I will," she at once rephed : " I told you so tliis 
 morning. It is for that purpose I am here now. 
 But in the meantime you must render me a little 
 service." 
 
 " What is it ?" I asked, in considerable astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 '■ Put no questions, but do as I bid you. In the 
 fu-st place take this money in your hand and this 
 shp of paper." 
 
 " No," said I, fearful of treachery. " I cannot— 
 I dare not embark ia anything shi'ouded in mys- 
 tery." 
 
 " Foolish ghl ! there is no danger," exclaimed the 
 Gipsy Queen angrily. '■ If you are not willing to 
 serve me, I can do nothing to servo you. Besides, 
 my fimc is precious, and I cannot wait." 
 
 " But what do you require me to do ?" 
 
 " Follow me," was the imperious answer j and the 
 Gipsy Queen passed on in front. 
 
 tluwilluig to renoimco the opportunity of obtain- 
 ing what I required from her, I obeyed her com- 
 mand — for such indeed it was: and in afewminutos 
 she i-iuddenly stopped, thrust a sovereign and the 
 slip of paper into my hand, and pointing to a cha<
 
 21 :> 
 
 MAIiy PRICE ; OR, THE MEM0IB9 OP A 8EEV ANT-MAID. 
 
 mist's shop, said, " Go in tliL-rc. It is merely a 
 doctor's prescription I want to have made up." 
 
 This last incident took place so suddenly that it 
 threw me as it were into a confusion ■which led me 
 to obey mechanically; and I entered the chemist's 
 shop. ' But the moment I crossed the threshold all 
 my presence of mind returned; and the suspicion 
 (lashed to my brain that it was possible I was being 
 made the instrument of purchasing some poison for 
 the most dreadful of uses. I was however in the shop 
 
 the chemist behind the counter was waiting to 
 
 serve me — and it was too late to retreat. So I handed 
 him the paper, saying, " If this prescription is quite 
 harmless, I wish it made up — but not unless." 
 
 " Harmless ?" exclaimed the chemist, in astonish- 
 ment at the singularity of my remark. " What ! 
 do you think a respectable physician, such as the 
 person is who has signed this prescription, would 
 order anything pernicious? But the iuvaUd for 
 whom it is intended, must be very, very ill." 1 
 
 "Please then," said I, now completely reassured, 
 "make up the proscription as soon as possible." 
 
 The chemist, who was evidently a man of few 
 words, proceeded to comply with my request ; and 
 in about five minutes he presented me with a bottle 
 enveloped in paper, and for which he charged tive 
 shillings. I thanked him — took the bottle and the 
 change— and quitting the shop, rejoined the Gipsy 
 Queen, who was waiting for me at a little distance 
 along the street. I gave her the bottle; but she 
 said, " Keep the change : you have got something 
 else to buy." 
 
 She then walked rapidly on, I following close 
 behind. In about five minutes she paused opposite 
 a pastry-cook's shop ; and pointing to a large jelly 
 which was displayed in its mould iu the window, she 
 said, " Go in and pm'chaso that. You can leave a 
 deposit for the mould, which will be retiu-ned in a 
 day or two." 
 
 I saw not the slightest harm in complying with 
 this request, and accordingly entered the shop. The 
 jelly was five shillings, and a deposit of halt-a-crown 
 was rcquu-ed for the copper mould. The female 
 who served behind the counter enveloped the pur- 
 chase carefully in paper, and I issued forth from the 
 shop again. The Gipsy Queen took the parcelj and 
 still bidding me follow her, walked on. 
 
 In a few more minutes she again stopped; and 
 tliis time it was opposite a ready-made linen ware- 
 house. Putting another sovereign into my hand, 
 she hastily enumerated several articles of linen that 
 she required, and which belonged to the male toilet : 
 these she instructed me to enter the shop and pur- 
 chase. Again considering the request to be harm- 
 less, and being willing to oblige hsr in order that 
 she might the more readily serve me in my turn, I 
 entered the shop : but while the assistant who served 
 was looking out the things I asked for, the susi)icl(>n 
 suddenly flashed to my mind that in all these pro- 
 ceedings it was possible I was being modoau instru- 
 ment for passing bad money. I turned pale at the 
 tliought, and at once examined the second sovereign 
 which the Gipsy Queen had placed in my hands. 
 So far as I could judge, it was undoubtedly a good 
 one. Besides, it instantly occurred to me that if 
 such were her ^ile object she would not have suffered 
 me to go and expend at the pastry-cook's seven- 
 and-sixpeuoe of the good money received in change 
 from the clu'inist for the lirst sovereign.'' My fears 
 accorduigly vauiahed on this score; and when (he 
 
 present purchase was concluded and I tendered the 
 sovereign in payment, the assistant as he rang it 
 upon the counter was perfectly satisfied with the 
 coin. The parcel came to fifteen or sixteen sliillings 
 — I forget exactly how much : and I returned to the 
 Gipsy Queon, who was waiting outside, v 
 
 '■ Now," she said, as she received that parcel and 
 likewise all the change I had in my hand out of 
 both sovereigns, '• you have performed everything I 
 retjuirc, and I will do what you want in return. 
 FoUow me." 
 
 We retraced our way towards St. Giles's, firom 
 which we had diverged in visiting the shops where 
 the above-named purchases were made : but I felt 
 rather alarmed when the Gipsy Queen plunged as it 
 were into that horrid maze of lanes, courts, and 
 alleys which on a former occasion I had threaded in 
 company with Mad Tommy. Still I did not choose 
 to show signs of fear — much less refuse to prijcced 
 any farther. The Gipsy Queen went on, I following 
 her accordingl}-. The twihght of the summer even- 
 ing might have perhaps not as yet yielded to obscu- 
 rity in the more open streets ; but here, in this maze, 
 the gloom deepened rapidly, so that in a very few 
 minutes I completely lost all knowledge of the 
 course in which I was being led. In fact, I was 
 now in a labyrinth whence, if left to myself, I should 
 not know the readiest means of issue. Up one 
 alley, d.^wn another — now to the right, then to the 
 left — llien plunging through a com-t fetid -with the 
 close and sultry atmosphere, to emerge at the other 
 extremity into a fresh series of lanes and alleys, — 
 thus did we proceed for a quarter of an hour. At 
 the expiration of that interval the Gipsy Queen 
 stopped suddenly at a house of wTetchcd appear- 
 ance, so far as I could possibly judge in the obscurity 
 of a court where it was situated. Lights gleame<l 
 from the dingy windows, as if seen through a mist ; 
 and the air of the place was stifling with the heat 
 as well as nauseating with sickly odi)urs. 
 
 " Now you are iu the heart of the Holy Land," 
 said the Gipsy Queen: and smiling for the first 
 tune since we had met on this occasion, her bright 
 red lips revealed her two rows of magnificent 
 teeth. 
 '■ The Holy Laud ?" said I inquiringly. 
 '' Yes — that is the flash name for this part of St. 
 Giles's," she answered. ''The Tntinper's Arms, 
 where you and I first met," she addi-d with a signi- 
 ficant look, "is farther on in that direction:" — and 
 she glanced behind ovei her shoulder 
 
 While these few words were being exchanged be- 
 tween us, she had knocked at the door, which was 
 speedily opened by the old Norwood Gipsy, the 
 Queen's mother ; and I was desired to enter the 
 house. For a moment I hesitated. All within the 
 jiassage was dark as pitch: the old woman had 
 brought no light with her — and it was only in the 
 dim obscurity that I had recognized her person. 
 What treachery might not be int'jnded me ? what 
 desperate characters might not that house contain P 
 The Gipsy Queen, doubtless comprehending my fears, 
 made a gesture of impatience, saying, '• Come in 
 or go away again, just as you like : but I swear that 
 no hai'in is intended you." 
 
 I summoned all my fortitude to my aid. and en- 
 teral the house, the old woman at once closing the 
 front door.
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 PiXUISTBT. 
 
 I WAS not detained many moments in the dark : for 
 the old Norwood Gipsy, entering a room on the 
 same floor, promptly reappeared with a candle. 
 Both going in and coming out of that room, she 
 closed the door behind her : but during the few in- 
 stants it opened on each occasion, I heard voices 
 speaking in a strange kind of flash or slang lan- 
 guage, which I could not understand. 
 
 " And 80 you have brought Misa Mary with you — 
 eh ?" said the old woman to her daughter, while she 
 bent a simpering glance upon me. 
 
 "Yes— you see I have," responded the Gipsy 
 Queen. "But how is he nowr" she asked siguiti. 
 cantly, at the same time glancing upward as it in 
 allusion to some one up-stuirs. 
 MO. 28 
 
 "Just the same— just the same," answered the 
 old woman. "But I see you have got all the things. 
 How did you manage?" — and as she put this ques- 
 tion her look grew suddenly grave and serious. 
 
 " Mary Price was kind enough to purchase every- 
 thing for me," answered the Gipsy Queen, " and I 
 will do her a service in return. But lead the way, 
 mother, as you have got the li^ht in your hand." 
 
 The old crone accordingly bustled up a ricketty 
 staircase, the boards and bannisters of which were 
 black with dust, and the walls were of an equally 
 sooty appearance. I followed next ; and the Gipsy 
 Queen brought up the rear. In this manner we 
 ascended two flights ; and on the second storey the 
 old woman took the parcels from her daughter, — 
 the latter now taking possession of the candle, aiul 
 leading mo into aroom whither iho old croue did n.it 
 follow us. I therefore concluded — particularly as I 
 heard another door open and shut on the siiuu- luinl- 
 ing— that ahe had gone to tako the medicine, the
 
 218 
 
 MAiiy price; on, the memoies op a sebvast-maid. 
 
 jelly, and the new linen into a chamber where some 
 invalid was lying- 
 The room into which the Gipsy Queen had intro- 
 I duced me, was not altofjother so miserably famished 
 ! as what I had previously seen of the house might 
 have led me to suppose. There was a good bed, 
 with yellow stuff curtains: a table, with writing- 
 1 materials and a few books, stood upon a piece of car- 
 j pet ill the middle of the chamber: half-a-dozen 
 ! chairs, a chest of drawers, a washing-stand, a box 
 the open lid of which revealed wearing apparel, and 
 a small looking glass over the mantle, completed the 
 appointments of the room. But I must observe that 
 amongst the books upon the table, was a large one 
 nearly of the size of a chui-ch-biblo, which lay open ; 
 and as the Gipsy Queen placed the candle upon the 
 table, my looks mechanically fell upon that volume. 
 It contained no print; but the two pages, which 
 were thus exposed, were filled with written entries, 
 apparently of names ranged in alphabetical order 
 and with annotations or particulars attached to each. 
 The Gipsy Queen smiled as she saw me regard tho 
 volum*; and closing it — but not in a rude manner 
 nor with any degree of abruptness — slio said, " Par- 
 don me, but that is our register, and it is sacred." 
 " It is I who should ask your forgiveness," was 
 
 my observation, " for liaving suifcrcil iny eyes oven ! occasion referred to." 
 
 I said, at once assured by its probability. " And 
 now permit me to remind you that from the first 
 moment we mot to-day I have not shown you 
 the slightest ill-will on account of the dreadful 
 treachery in which you bore a part lait January. 
 Such a demeanour on my side, added to the service 
 which you admit I have rendered you this evening, 
 will probably induce you to make the fullest atone- 
 ment — the only atonement you can make — for the 
 wrong you have done me — especially as I suppose 
 that you have not now any particular interest in 
 serving Sir Aubrey Clavcring." 
 
 "Not at all," answered the Gipsy Queen. "I 
 care no more for him than for any other person 
 who, having required some particular succour at 
 my hand, has received the service and paid me my 
 wage. Now then, tell mc, Mary Price, in what 
 manner I can aid you." 
 
 '• You are aware," said I, " that by personating 
 the character of Sir Aubrey Clavering, you gave 
 rise to the most injurious reports respecting my 
 reputation. I therefore wish that you would pen 
 a few lines upon a jnece of paper, so as to constitute 
 a sort of certificate of my innocence, — admittmg 
 that you yourself, disguised as Sir Aubrey Clavering, 
 were the person that figured on horseback on the 
 
 for an instant to linger upon its contents. Bat I 
 can assure you that I read nothing which dwells in 
 my memory." 
 
 '■■ It is of no consequence," answered the Gipsy 
 Queen. " The volume is, as I told you, a register of 
 thousands of families in or about the metropolis, 
 with such particulars as vre have gleaned concerning 
 them. And perhaps," she added, another smile dis- 
 playing her white teeth, of which she was evidently 
 proud, " I and my sisterhood are at times as much 
 indebted to the contents of this volume, as to oui* 
 power of penetrating the future, when we tell for- 
 tunes. You are a sensible girl, Mary Price ; and 
 therefore I do not mind speaking thus to you." 
 
 " I thank you for this mark of confidence," said 
 I. " And now if you will accord me another, it wiU 
 ease my mind of that misgiving which, though very 
 faint, still lingers vaguely and dimly there." 
 
 "To what do you allude?" she asked, taking 
 
 chair near the one wher 
 myself. 
 
 "I mean, why was it that you just now asked me 
 to purchase all those articles f jr you ?" 
 
 "Because," responded the Gipsy Queen, — and her 
 countenance at once grow grave and solemn, as I 
 had noticed it to be at the moment when I had en- 
 coimtered her opposite St. Giles's Church at nine 
 o'clock, — " because this is the anniversary of a me- 
 morable day with the Gipsy or Zingari tribe. It is 
 a day rendered thus memorable by the death, three 
 hundred years ago, of a king who was the founder 
 of the family to which I belong ; and we arc for- 
 bidden by our customs and om* laws to outer any 
 shop or mart of commerce, transact any business in 
 the shape of buying or selling, or even pm-sue oui' 
 regular avocations of fortime-telling. Now, as you 
 have doubtless ah-oady understood, there is an in- 
 valid beneath this roof, and it became imperiously 
 necessary to procure certain things m the shape of 
 medicine for his restoration, jelly for his sustenance, 
 and linen for his comfort. Under these circum- 
 stances I made use of you." 
 " I am glad you have given me this explanation," 
 
 It was something of this sort that I expected 
 you would require at my hands," answered the 
 Gipsy Queen ; " and I have no objection to do as 
 you suggest — provided that no evil use will be made 
 of the document ?" 
 
 " That I can safely promise. My reputation has 
 long ago been completely cleared up in Derbyshire ; 
 and none whose cars the caliunny reached in that 
 county can beheve it now. But it is to satisfy 
 Lady Harlesdon, who is in riorcnce, that I desire 
 the certificate." 
 
 " You shall have it, with much pleasure on my 
 part," rejoined the Gipsy Queen : then in a tone of 
 sincerity which, whether real or assumed, touched 
 me at the time, she went on to say, " I have often 
 repented of the part I performed in that stratagem : 
 for there is really something admirable and ex- 
 cellent in youi" character, Mary Price. I could not 
 help admiring you for the heroism displayed in the 
 
 had abeady seated | adventure at the Tranipcr's Anns : but still my 
 admiration was not great enough to prevent me 
 from receiving the heavy bribe which Su* Aubrey 
 Clavering offered for the part that I wiis to play 
 down in the country Isvst January. Since then, 
 however, the affair of the trial at Derby took place ; 
 and when I read it all in the newspapers, I said to 
 my mother that I really felt some degree of remorse 
 at having become instrumental in persecuting a 
 young creature of such fine spirit and generous 
 qualities as yourself. Therefore you sec that my 
 disposition towiirds you has been greatly improveil 
 by the iniluence of your own heroism. Not that I 
 ever disliked you — on tlie contrary I rather liked 
 you than otherwise, as I have just now said : but 
 since the Derby affair I have taken a positive liking 
 to you, and would not injure you again for worlds. 
 To conclude a long speech, let mo assure you that 
 it is with pleasure I am about to give you this 
 certificate; and I hope j-ou \^'ill forgive me for the 
 past 'r" 
 
 "Yes — with the utmost sincerity," I replied: 
 "and here is my hand." 
 
 She took it— pressed it with every appea»Mc.e of
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEJtOIRS OF A SEUVANT-iAIAID. 
 
 219 
 
 cordial ■warmth — and then, stiU retaining it, she 
 began to examine the Uncs on the pahn : for I had 
 taken off my glove, thinking that I might have to 
 write out the certificate which she would perhaps 
 sign. "Wlien I saw that she was about to exercise 
 the art of palmistry with me, I endeavoured to 
 draw back ttlj hand : for I need not tell the reader 
 that I was very far from having any faith in fortune- 
 teUing ; and even if I had previously experienced 
 the shghtest tendency that way, my credulity would 
 have been destroyed by the sort of confession which 
 the G-ipsy Queen herself had just now made in 
 respect to the contents of her huge volume. 
 
 " Do not withdraw yom* hand for a moment," she 
 said, grasping my wrist somewhat forcibly so as to 
 retain it : and fearful of offending her, I allowed her 
 to keep possession of my hand. Drawing the candle 
 close to the edge of the table, she continued to exa- 
 mine my pahn with deep, scrutinizing, and earnest 
 looks, — her countenance becoming exceedingly gi-ave 
 and solenm. As she thus bent towards me I could 
 not help admiring the handsome person of this very 
 fine full-grown woman. It has already been said in 
 an earlier chapter that her hau* was of extraordinary 
 blackness ; but it was of tlie blackness which has no 
 gloss ; and like a frame of ebony did it encase the 
 oval of her dusky-complexioned countenance. Her 
 brows were strongly pencilled and majestically arch- 
 ing : her nose was a fine aquiline^her upper lip 
 short and well cut — her chin somewhat large and 
 prominent, thus completing the Eoman outline of 
 her features. Her neck was long and had a graceful 
 curve: her figure was very grandly modelled; 
 and altogether she was an exceedingly handsome 
 woman. Methought, too, that notwithstanding the 
 treacheries in which she had been engaged on the two 
 first occasions of our meeting — ^namely, the stealing 
 of little Bella, and the affah down in the country — 
 that she was not unsusceptible of generous emotions, 
 though these might be triumphed over by the ardent 
 love of gold which beyond all doubt characterized 
 her : but if left to her natural course it struck me 
 that the Gripsy Queen was quite capable of good, 
 humane, and even elevated actions. 
 
 But all the while I was surveying her thus atten- 
 tively, and giving way to these reflections, she con- 
 tinued to study my palm with an interest which, 
 whether real or feigned, appeared to engross her. 
 She took her pen from the table, and with the top of 
 the feather-end slowly traced the com'se of several 
 of the minuter lines, especially where they hap- 
 pened to meet or cross each other. This lasted for 
 two or thi-ee minutes ; and I was getting wearied of 
 what I considered to be a solemn mockery; — but 
 Btill fearmg to offend her, and thus probably defeat 
 the grand object for which I had stayed in London 
 and had suffered myself to bo led to this den, I did 
 not withdi'aw my hand. 
 
 '•■ Your pahn, Mai-y Price," at length spoke the 
 Gipsy Queen, in a serious voice, "is full of intricate 
 lines. As the eye follows them the sight soon 
 becomes entangled as it were in a bewildering maze; 
 and your's is not a destmy easy to read. That there 
 are cross-lines predictive of sorrows and misfortunes 
 there can be no doubt : but on the other hand, it is 
 equally certain that there are lines which indicate 
 happiness and joy. The difficulty, however, is to as- 
 certain how long your evil star may be in the as- 
 cendant, or how soon the tide of good fortune may 
 set in favourably to your career. Ah!" she sud- 
 
 denly ejaculated, "I now decipher sometliing! A 
 day is approacliing — it is not many months distant 
 •^which will decide materially in favour either of 
 your happiness or misery. There are linos here 
 which indicate the month of November ; and judg- 
 ing by your age, wliich I can pretty well guess," 
 she added, raising her eyes, "it must be the No- 
 vember of the present year !" 
 
 "Enough !" I exclaimed, now abruptly withdi'awing 
 my hand ; for I was positively startled by the latter 
 portion of the woman's speech, as the reader will 
 suspect it was indeed true that a particular day in 
 the approaching month of November must exercise, 
 by what it would bring forth, an important influence 
 on the happiness of my after-existence. 
 
 A strange Avhirl of thoughts now rushed through 
 my brain. How could the Gipsy Queen have pos- 
 sibly acquired even the remotest inkling of the un- 
 derstanding to which I had come with Eustace 
 Quentm ? On ray part the only persons in the 
 world to whom I had whispered the cu'cumstance, 
 were Captam and Mrs. Calder ; and they had gone 
 abroad immediately afterwards. Eustace himself 
 was not likely to have mentioned it : how then 
 could it be possibly known to the Gipsy Queen ? 
 No mere random guess on her part could have 
 brought her so near the truth. It was from a toler- 
 ably accurate knowledge, and not from conjectm-e 
 only, that she had spoken. Unless, indeed, there 
 were something more truthful in the alleged science 
 
 of palmistry than I had ever before believed ! 
 
 but to this last hypothesis I could not bring mj'self 
 to incline. 
 
 " You see that the Gipsy's art is not altogether 
 an imposture ?" she observed in a quiet manner, as if 
 merely contemplating a triumph in divination to 
 which she was too much accustomed to be at all 
 elated by it. 
 
 "Tell me, I conjure you," said I, "how you wore 
 enabled to utter the words which you ere now 
 spoke ?" 
 
 "It is useless, Mai-y Price, for you to question 
 me," she responded. " If I tell you that the occult 
 study of palmistry is indeed a science as true, as cer- 
 tain, and as much subject to certain laws as asti\i- 
 nomy or chemistry themselves, you will not believe 
 me : and if I pretend to have derived my informa- 
 tion from other and more vulgar sources, you would 
 feel hurt that I do not explain them. Let us then 
 at once change the conversation : and now for this 
 certificate." 
 
 Thus speaking, the Gipsy Queen opened a port- 
 foHo, and began writing upon a sheet of paper with 
 a fluency, an elegance, and an acciu-acy that, as I 
 followed what she wrote, filled mo with sm-prise. 
 The hand itself was truly ladylike — the orthography 
 was faiiltless — and the language in which she worded 
 the document was exceedingly good. This last point 
 did not astonish me ; inasmuch as on aU occa-sions I 
 had observed t]\at when she spoke her phraseology 
 was unexceptionably correct. To the certificate 
 which slie thus drew up, and which embodied all the 
 particulars that wcxn necessary to elucidate the 
 whole transaction to which it referred, she appended " 
 her name, which I now learnt for the first time. It 
 was Bcirhciv.ld Acefha — the latter being the siu'- 
 name, and, n^ shf casually mentioned to me, of 
 Eg^-ptian origin. 
 
 " Now, ^lary Price," she said, ns she presented me 
 with the certificate, " I have made such atonemen
 
 220 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIHS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 for the past as lies in my power. And you forgive 
 me?" 
 
 " I do," was my reply: " and I thank you sincerely 
 into the bargain." 
 
 " Where are you staying in London ?" she asked, 
 as I rose from my scat. " If it be far from hence, I 
 must send my mother to accompany you : but if it 
 be near, I will go with you myself." 
 
 I told her the tavern at which I was staying, 
 adding that all I required was to be conducted safe 
 out of the labyrinth of incomprehensible lanes and 
 alleys forming this district of St. Giles's ; and she 
 volunteered to accompany me to the outskirts of the 
 Holy Land, 
 
 "It was a strange coincidence which led to your 
 rescue from the White Cottage — was it not ?" she 
 asked, as she drew on a dark cloak. " The villany 
 of Sawbridge and his friends was your salvation, 
 poor girl, upon that occasion." 
 
 "Do you know," I asked, "what has become of 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering ?" 
 
 " I have only seen him once since the transactions 
 of last January," replied the Gipsy Queen; "and 
 that was about two months ago, at Norwood, the 
 habitual home of my mother and myself. He bit- 
 terly deplored having allowed his man Morley to 
 have the conduct of that affair ; inasmuch as such a 
 villain as Sawbridge was thereby brought into it. 
 Ah ! now I remember too," added the Gipsy Queen, 
 " he gave me a printed bill relative to the jewels 
 which were stolen upon the occasion of the burglary. 
 Stop a moment ! I think I can show it you. I re- 
 member seeing it this very morning. Yes — here 
 it is." 
 
 As she thus spoke, the Gipsy Queen took from 
 amongst the papers in her portfolio a handbill 
 offering a reward of three hundred guineas to any 
 one who would give information which might lead 
 to the discovery of where certain jewels, to the 
 value of twelve hundred guineas, had been disposed 
 of; and it was directed, at the foot of the bUl, that 
 all applications upon the subject should be addressed 
 to Mr. Crosby, Sohcitor, Furnival's Inn, London. 
 
 I was about to explain to the Gipsy Queen how I 
 myself had that very evening discovered where the 
 jewels alluded to at that moment where ; but a sud- 
 den idea struck me, and I held my peace. I how- 
 ever marked well the name and address of the soli- 
 citor to whom applications were to be made. 
 
 " 'Now," said I, returning her the handbill which 
 I had just perused, "I will take my departure ; for 
 it must be growing late, and it will not appear 
 eecmly for me to remain away from the tavern " 
 
 But scarcely had I thus spoken, when the sudden 
 and violent opening of a door on the same landing 
 as the room where the present interview was taking 
 place, caused me to start ; and the noise was im- 
 mediately followed by the voice of the old Norwood 
 Gip.sy, eselaiming angrily and impatiently, " Come 
 back, Graham — come back, I say — immediately !" 
 
 " What does all this signify P" ejaculated the 
 Gipsy Queen, hastening towards the door of the 
 chamber. 
 
 But ere she reached it, it was thrown violently 
 open ; and a form, ghastly palo and apparently en- 
 veloped in the white garments of the grave, appeared 
 upon the threshold. Merciful heavens ! could it be 
 possible ? — was it indeed the coimtenauce of my oxen 
 father which I thus beheld ? 
 
 I remember that I gave vent to my fceliags <A 
 
 mingled terror and amazement in a loud scream ; 
 and then all consciousness abandoned us. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVni. 
 
 TRESn BfSi:iE83 IX LOSDOS. 
 
 WnBiT I came to myself again I was Ij'ing in 
 my bed at the George mid Blue Boar Tavern. 
 A light was burning in the room ; and the 
 Gipsy Queen was bending over me. The spectral 
 image which I had seen at the house in St, 
 Giles's instantaneously rose up in my mind ; and I 
 asked with wild and feverish impatience, " Who was 
 the person that terrified me so ?" 
 
 " He is one of our tribe, and his name is Graham," 
 was the Gipsy Queen's answer. 
 
 " I adjure you to tell me truly what I am going t* 
 ask you !" said I. " How long has he been with 
 you ? how long have you knowTi him ?" 
 
 "Ever since I was a child," waa the Gipsy 
 Queen's response. 
 
 I looked at her steadily in the face, its the light of 
 the candle threw its beams upon hei : but there 
 was nothing in her demeanour to justify me in sus- 
 pecting thtt she was telhng an untruth. 
 
 " This is strange — most strange 1" said I, utterly 
 bewildered, and not knowing what to think. 
 
 "What is it that fills you with doubt and mis- 
 giving?" asked the Gipsy Queen. "I can well 
 understand that the hideous appearance of that poor 
 invalid, quitting his couch in the delirium of fever, 
 and bursting in with a sheet wrapped round him, 
 was enough to overwhelm you with terror. But 
 now methinks, by the questions you have put, there 
 must be some strange impression on your mind i'" 
 
 "Tliere is, there is," I answered, still tortured by 
 the cruellest doubts. " Oh ! if you know all " 
 
 "Calm yourself, Mary Price," said the Gipsy 
 Queen. " Whatever questions you choose to put to 
 me, I will faithfully and frankly reply to : for it is 
 clear that there is some strange thought in your 
 imagination relative to that individual. Did ycu 
 think you knew him ? did you take him for anybixly 
 you had ever seen before ?" 
 
 I did not immediately answer the question ; but 
 closing my eyes, gave way to the most serious 
 thoughts. How was it possible that my father 
 could be living ? — were not the circumstances of his 
 death but too well ostabUshed at the time? Th" 
 blood-stains on the river*6 bank — the deep trace m 
 the grass, showing that the body had gone down 
 there into the water, — and then the knife that was 
 picked up, also stained with bkx)d, — had not these 
 evidences but too clearly proved that my unfortunate 
 parent had committed self-destruction? And yet, 
 on the other hand, that countenance which I had 
 seen at the house in St. Gilei>"s, ghastly and dis- 
 figured though it were by sutToring and sickness, 
 bore so striking a resemblance to my father's fea- 
 tures that it was no wonder if the effect of the sud- 
 den apparition had proved so overpowering ! 
 
 Still pursuing my reflections, I thought to myself 
 that if my parent were indeed alive he would not 
 liave .so long deserted the children whom he so 
 dearly loved. Suppose that he had attempted 
 suicide— suppose that he had slid down or dragged 
 himself into the river — and suppose that ho even- 
 tually escaped both from the self-inflicted wound
 
 MARY price; on, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 221 
 
 ivud from a watery grave, — what earthly reason was 
 there to prevent him from returnmg to his children 
 and his home ? No : all things considered, I was 
 compelled to arri^^ at the conclusion that an extra- 
 ordinary resemblance between the invalid Graham 
 and my poor self-destroyed father, must be the real 
 solution of the mystery — and indeed the only ra- 
 tional way to account for it. 
 
 Opening my eyes again, I said to the Gipsy 
 Queen, " Three years have elapsed since my father 
 was believed to perish under cu'cumstances which, 
 if they were not altogether conclusive as to his un- 
 happy fate, could leave but the smallest doubt con- 
 cerning it. Indeed, I never did entertain any doubt 
 at aU. — much less the faintest scintillation of a hope 
 that he could yet be a denizen of this world — until 
 to-night." 
 
 "Ah!" ejaculated the Gipsy Queen. "Poor 
 girl! — and you fancied that man to be your 
 father ?" 
 
 " The likeness is most extraordinary," I answered. 
 " But you tell me — ^you assure me-j-that the man's 
 name is Graham, and that you have known him for 
 many long years ?" 
 
 "Positively and solemnly do I give you these 
 assurances," replied Barbauld Azetha, the Gipsy 
 Queen. " But if you have any farther doubt upon 
 the subject, you can return to-morrow to the house 
 in the Holy Land, and see that individual : then, on 
 a closer scrutiny of his features, you will be con- 
 vinced of the truth of what I tell you. At the same 
 time," she added, drawing herself up in a dignified 
 manner, " when once I have bestowed my friendship 
 upon a fellow-creature as I have upon you, it were 
 impossible for me to use deception towards the object 
 of such a sentiment." 
 
 I was satisfied — and now felt completely assured 
 that the coincidence of an extraordinary likeness 
 had deceived me. 
 
 " No," I said, '•' I will not insult you — I will not 
 wound your feelings — after the demonstrations of 
 good-wiU you have this night shown towards me, — 
 I will not, I say, prove suspicious or mistrustful by 
 visiting that invalid. And now tell me under what 
 circumstances I was brought hither."' 
 
 "When you fell down in a sudden swoon, the 
 invalid became frightened, and sped back to his 
 couch of his own accord : my mother and I were 
 therefore both enabled to devote our attentions to 
 you. But you were in a faint so deep — in a trance 
 so deathlike — that wo became alarmed; and our 
 first thought was to send for a doctor. But it in- 
 stantaneously struck me that it might compromise 
 yoiu* reputation if a medical man were fetched to 
 attend upon you at a house in the very heart of St. 
 Giles's: for such strange things happen in this 
 world, that there could be no saying how he might 
 meet you again in after Ufe. I accordingly resolved 
 to bear you away to the tavern, the name of which 
 you had happened to mention to me in the course 
 of conversation. Still, however, anxious to avoid 
 compromising you to the utmost of my power, I 
 hastily made such alterations in my dress as effec- 
 tually to conceal my gipsy-appearance ; and assum- 
 mg the garb of a respectable middle-class woman, 
 with a veil over my countenance, I helped my 
 mother to carry you to a hackney-coach which we 
 sent for, and which waa brought into a neighbouring 
 street. You still continued in a swoon ; and in this 
 state I brought you to the tavern. A few hasty 
 
 words to the chamber-maid averted anything like 
 unpleasant suspicion. I stated that I was a shop- 
 keeper's ^\Tfe living at no great distance — that you 
 had been to pass the evening with me, along with 
 other friends — but that as you were seized with 
 sudden iUness I thought it best to bring you back 
 to the tavern — adding that you swooned in the 
 hackney-coach. This tale was plausible enough, and 
 of course met with belief." 
 
 " But does it not appear strange," I asked, "that 
 medical aid was not sent for immediately on my 
 being brought hither ?" 
 
 "No — for scarcely were you borne up to this 
 room by the chambermaid and myself, when you 
 gave signs of returning animation; and both the 
 servant and I agreed that it would not be necessary 
 to summon a doctor, as you were evidently re- 
 covering. She then withdrew, leaving you in my 
 charge ; and by the appUcation of simple restora- 
 tives I have brought you back to consciousness. 
 Do you feel better now ?" 
 
 I answered in the affirmative, and inquired what 
 o'clock it was. Barbauld told me it must be about 
 half-past eleven : but she declared that if I wished, 
 she would cheerfully remain with me the whole 
 night. I assured her there was no necessity for 
 this, as I felt every inclination to sleep : for my 
 mind was now entirely eased as to the temporary 
 delusion which at the time had so much affected 
 it, but I felt much exhausted in body on account of 
 the swoon. The Gipsy Queen accordingly prepared 
 to take her departure, and I observed that she put 
 on a plain but decent shawl, a straw bonnet with a 
 veil, and gloves. As I surveyed her tall form thus 
 apparelled, and as the light shone upon her counte- 
 nance before she drew down her veil, I could not 
 help thinking what a pity it was that a female of 
 such striking appearance should disfigure herself 
 by the peculiarities of the gipsy garb: for her 
 bonnet set off her handsome countenance a thousand 
 times more effectually than the flaunting silk hand- 
 kerchief which she habitually wore upon her head. 
 She evidently penetrated my thoughts : for she ob- 
 served with a smile, " You may perhaps suppose. 
 Mary Price, that being in possession of this garb, I 
 should do well to wear it instead of. my usual 
 apparel ? But no : it is merely a disguise which I 
 occasionally assume for special purposes; and in 
 my estimation it is most unbecoming. What is 
 called taste, is merely the particular prejudice in 
 which each individual is brought up- But I will 
 not sermonize : for you want to sleep, and a good 
 night's rest will be of material benefit to you.' 
 When the maid and I imdressed you just now, I 
 took care of the certificate which I gave you. It is 
 here. Place it under your pillow." 
 
 I took the document— thanked her— and disposed 
 of it as she suggested. 
 
 " And now, ere I bid you good night," she added, 
 " do not be surprised if to-morrow morning you are 
 told that a Mrs. Simpson, or Smith, or a person 
 with some such middle-class name, had sent the 
 first thing to inquire how you are. For not only 
 shall I bo really anxious to learn whether you have 
 passed a good night ; but the circumstance of send- 
 ing in that manner will keep up the tale I told the 
 chamber-maid about your having passed the evening 
 with a shopkeeper's wife. And now farewell. It 
 may bo long ero wo meet again : but if ever you 
 should wish to see me, inquire after me at Nor.
 
 222 
 
 VIAUY price; or, the MEMOIUS of a 8ERVAKT-MAID. 
 
 wood. It is not off on that I am in Lonrlon; and 
 I would not like you to call by yourself at that 
 house to wliich I introduced you this evening." 
 
 She gave mc her hand, which I pressed warmly, 
 thanking her for her kind miniaterings dm-ing my 
 temporary indisposition. She then took her de- 
 parture ; and I cndcavoiu-ed to compose myself to 
 sleep. Soon did I fall into a heavy slimiber ; hut 
 then I was visited by strange bewildering dreams, 
 with that ghastly object I had seen up at St. Giles's, 
 prominent amidst the shadowy forms and phantoms 
 which appeared to hover round my bed. I also 
 beheld my mother's covmtenance, seeming to gaze 
 upon me with a singular and mournful aspect : and 
 then, with the eccentricity peculiar to the visions of 
 the night, I suddenly fancied that I was present at 
 a wild bacchanalian orgie, the guests consisting of 
 the troop of actors and actresses with whom my 
 brother liobert had associated himself. Again tlie 
 scene changed, and I found myself in company with 
 Sawbridge and the Bulldog, who were endeavouring 
 to force me to enter that vile den of their's at Ash- 
 ford where they were wont to manufactiu-e the 
 hideous stuff they sold for the adulteration of coffee. 
 By another transition of these visionary fancies, I 
 was ti-ansported to Mr. Messiter's well-remembered 
 front parlour in Snargate Street, Dover ; and there 
 methought that I beheld so sad a scene of an 
 agonizing mother and weeping chilcben, that I 
 cried bitterly in my sleep. In the midst of these 
 teai'S I awoke, and found that my pillow was 
 moistened with them. It was broad daylight j and 
 in a few minutes I heard a clock in the house strike 
 eight, 
 
 I now rose, and began, to dress myself: but I 
 felt imwell, and also depressed m spirits — doubtless 
 from the effect of the unpleasant dreams which had 
 havmted my slumbers. The tea which I took for 
 breakfast, however, refreshed me; and when the 
 chamber-maid came up to remove the tray, she said, 
 "Mi's. Simpson has sent to inquire how you are this 
 morning; and I told her that you were much 
 better." 
 
 Of course I was at no loss to understand who had 
 thus sent : but I saw that the chamber-maid impli- 
 citly believed the tale which the Gipsy Queen had 
 told her, and that my respectability had in no wise 
 suli'cred in the woman's estimation on accoimt of the 
 occmTcnce of the preceding evening. I now put 
 Barbauld Azetha's certificate in the letter to Lady 
 Harlesdon, which was enclosed in the one for Je- 
 mima ; and having duly sealed the packet, prepared 
 to take it myself to the post. 
 
 For reasons that I am about to explain, my de- 
 parture to Canterbury was once more postponed : 
 but I hoped not beyond three o'clock in the after- 
 noon. Ilowever, I had some fresh business in hand, 
 and lost no time in attending to it. Accordingly, 
 I bent my way to Furnival's Inn, having pre- 
 viously ascertained that it was at no great cUs- 
 tanco from the George and Bhic Boar. I did not 
 forget to post my letter as I went along ; and on 
 reaching the Inn,— wliich, for tho benefit of those 
 who are \macquaintod with London, I may as well 
 observe is not a tavern .>r hotel, as might bethought 
 from its name, but merely an assemblage of lawyers' 
 chambers,— I asked a beadle, iill bedizened with 
 gold lace, in which i)art of the establishment Mr. 
 Crosby's offices were situated ; and ho at once an- 
 swered my inquii-j. Crossing on immense court- 
 
 yard, — for Furnival's Inn is built in the form of a 
 square, — I entered one of the numerous door -ways, 
 and asconding a somewhat dirty staircase, beheld 
 Mr. Crosby's name upon a door on tho second land- 
 ing. On knocking, I was desired by a loud voice 
 to walk in ; and found myself in the Clerks' Office. 
 Some live or six of these subordinates were seated 
 at their desks, evidently making preparations for 
 the day's work. One of them, whom I judged to be 
 the head clerk, came forward to inqtiiro my busi- 
 ness ; and on asking for Mr. Crosby, he said, " Well, 
 the governor is not come yet : but "we expect him 
 evci-y minute. Perhaps you will take a seat P' — 
 and he pointed to a chair. 
 
 I sat down, and began revolving in my mind how 
 I should open my business to the lawyer, when a 
 little incident took place which I could not help no- 
 ticing with much moiu*nful attention. A very shabby 
 looking man, who seemed as if his entire apparel 
 would be vei-y dearly purchased at half-a-crown, and 
 whom I had noticed standing outside when I en- 
 tered the offices) shuffled in with a sort of sneaking, 
 shambling gait, as if he fancied that it was just as 
 likely he should he kicked out again as allowed to 
 remain there at all. Advancing up to the clerk who 
 had spoken to me, and turning his battered hat 
 over and over in his hands, he said, " Please, sir, 
 that little instalment is duo to-day :" — and then I 
 heard him heave a profound sigh, amounting almost 
 to a sob. 
 
 " Well, I know it is," answei*ed the clerk gruffly : 
 "and I suppose you have come to pay it. Mr. 
 Jones, hand me over the papers in Gray's case." 
 
 Another clerk at once tossed a dingy parcel of 
 documents, tied round with red tape, over the desk ; 
 and the head clerk was preparing to unfasten the 
 tape, when the shabby-looking individual, after 
 thi'owing a sort of frightened glance around, said 
 in a subdued tone, " It's no use givin'r yourself the 
 trouble, sir: I am not come to pay " 
 
 " Not come to pay !" ejaculated the head clerk, 
 who was a stem-looking middle-aged man — and he 
 spoke very loud and vei-y indignantly : ''not come to 
 pay ! Then what the deuce are you como for P' 
 
 "To — to — ask for a little more time " 
 
 "Time be hanged! you have had enough — too 
 much — already.' ' 
 
 " But — I — really have not tho money. My wife 
 is lying ill ; and my eldest daughter, who used to do 
 a little to support us, has — has — run away — and 
 deserted her poor old ruined father:"' — and as tho 
 wretched man spoke, I saw the tears trickling down 
 his cheeks. But he turned abruptly aside, evidently 
 to conceal his emotion ; and taking .a tattexcd 
 pocket-handkercliief out of his hat, he passed it oyer 
 his coimtenance. 
 
 "Now I tell you what, Mr. Gray," said tho head 
 clerk, putting his hands into his pockets and look- 
 ing very stern, " this nonsense won't do with me. 
 The governor will be here presently ; and one of the 
 first questions he will ask wiU bo ' whether Gray 
 has paid the tliird instalment of costs on that 
 judge's order F' and if I say do, lie will just tell mo 
 to take out judgment and issue execution." 
 
 " For Q«d's sake say a kind word for me I" im- 
 plored the imhappy man. 
 
 " Yos — and get the sack for my pains," retiuned 
 the head clerk sarcastically. " Come, come — that 
 won't do : I know a trick worth two of that. So 
 pay tho instalment, or else Iciok out— that's all."
 
 MAnr PRICE ; or, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 2aft 
 
 "I cau't— I can't — I have not the means," 
 groaned the unhappy man : " you have aheady 
 taken the bed from under me ! My wife is lying ill 
 — perhaps dying — on a heap of old rags ; and my 
 God ! it is no wonder that my poor gui should have 
 run away from such a wretched, wretched home !" 
 — and again the poor man bm'st iato tears. 
 
 " Oh ! if you talk to me in that way," exclaimed 
 the head clerk, now tossing up his head with greater 
 indignation than before, " about taking the bed 
 from under you, when it was aU done in the legiti- 
 mate com'se of business — -judgment, Jl. fa., and so 
 on — the sooner you bundle off, the better. It's a 
 regular aifront to come to a respectable office and 
 charge us people in such a style. So tramp — be 
 off!" 
 
 The poor man threw upon the dlerk a look so 
 thoroughly woe-begono that it might have melted 
 a heart of stone : and then turning away he slowly 
 dragged liimseLf from the office, shutting the door 
 as noiselessly as if he were afraid of giving farther 
 offence by closing" it with the least au* of violence. 
 Never shall I forget that despairing look ! — it bo- 
 spoke whole worlds of trouble, and seemed the 
 reflex of all the agonies experienced by a breaking 
 heart. I felt myself weeping, and turned towards 
 the wall to contemplate an almanack in order to 
 hide my emotion from the clerks, who all burst out 
 into a cruel laugh as the door closed behind poor 
 Mr. Gray. 
 
 " There never was such a jolly old humbug as he 
 is," observed the head clerk, addressing his brethren 
 or the pen. " I'U be bound he will come back pre- 
 sently with the instahncnt." 
 
 " He's been well olf in his time, hasn't he P" in- 
 quhed a young man with bright red hair, a terribly 
 fi'cckled face, and a flaming blue neckcloth. 
 
 " Well off .f — to be sure he has !" ejaculated the 
 head clerk. " Why, he rode in his carriage once. 
 lie was a tip-top merchant in the City, and was 
 making his eight or tea thousand a year." 
 
 "How on earth, then, did he manage to come 
 down in the world like this?" asked the sandy- 
 hahcd young gentleman. 
 
 " By having fifty thousand poimds left him," re- 
 plied the head clerk. 
 
 I started involuntarily at this announcement, 
 which seemed to me perfectly incredible ; and I 
 thought that the individual who thus spoke must be 
 jesting : for it appeared out of the natural order of 
 things that a man should bo ruined by having a for- 
 tune left him. 
 
 " Ah ! that's how he got into Chancery, ch 'i" ob- 
 served the sandy-hau'cd clerk. 
 
 " Yes — ho was tlu-o\vn into coui't quite against his 
 will ; and though he said he would sooner give up 
 all clahn whatsoever to the fifty thousand pounds, it 
 was impossible to do othenviso than make him a 
 party in the proceedings, as there were several 
 others whose battle had to be ibught out in Equity. 
 And a precious expensive law-suit it has been too, — 
 already lasting fifteen years, swallowng up two 
 huncheil thousand pounds, ruining seven or eight 
 people, and not likely to end for the next quarter of 
 a centm-y." 
 
 At this moment the door opened agam ; and an- 
 other shabbily-dressed person made his appearance. 
 But ho was a vulgar repulsive man, with a hi<k'ous 
 countenance and very dissipated air. He look ofl" 
 his hat, and advancing up io the head clerk, in- 
 
 quii'ed " whether there was any thing for birr; this 
 morning i" 
 
 " WeU — been up all night at the Goose and Grid- 
 iron — eh, old fellow r" said the head clerk, in a 
 jocular tone of good-humom-cd banter. " But after 
 all, you are the most punctual process-server I ever 
 knew in my life :" — then taking out of his desk 
 several long sUps of paper, he went over them one 
 by one, giving instructions as he thus successively 
 placed them in the process-server's hands. " Here's 
 a %vTit to serve on the Honom-able Captain Laven- 
 der : you -will find him at Long's Hotel, in Bond 
 Street. Just send in to say that a person with a 
 letter from a lady wants to see him very particularly, 
 and he wiU come out at once. The governor doesn't 
 want to arrest him straight off, because there's an 
 understanding in the matter— a wheel within a 
 wheel. Here's a summons to compute, which you 
 have got to leave at Madame BeUeville's, the great 
 millin er in Regent Street. Now mind you force 
 your way in, no matter who's there, and deliver it 
 to her personally. Here's a writ for seven pound 
 nine and ninepence, which you have got to go and 
 serve on one James Jenkuis : he's only a poor work- 
 mg man, it seems ; and this is for a bill his ^ife has 
 run up unknown to him. I am told he's a steady 
 industrious fellow and will pretty soon come down 
 
 and make arrangements. Here " 
 
 The door again opened, and in a moment all the 
 subordinate clerks, who had hitherto been yawning, 
 and idling, and chattering, began to drive their pens 
 with turious violence over the paper that lay before 
 them, — ^this abrupt fit of industry being produced 
 with a sort of galvanic effect by the entrance of ^ 
 short sharp-lookmg man, dressed in black, and carry. 
 ing a parcel of papers under his arm. 
 
 " This young person is waiting to see you, sir," 
 said the head clerk, advancing to ISIr. Crosby — for 
 he it was. 
 
 " Walk in, walk in," he said in a quick bustling 
 tone, as if all the world's business were upon his 
 shoulders, and he with scarcely time to do a tithe 
 of it. 
 
 I followed him into his private office ; and as he 
 seated himself at a desk, he pointed with a ruler to 
 a chau" : then while he began to open his letters, he 
 said, " You can state youi' business. I am listening 
 to you." 
 
 "I beheve," said I, "that references are to be 
 
 made to you, su', in respect to certain jewels " 
 
 " Ah !" ho ejaculated, now raisuig his head from 
 his correspondence, and fixing his eyes with evident 
 interest upon mc : "is it upon that subject you are 
 come f" 
 
 " It is, sir," was my answer. " I have seen a 
 handbni offering a reward of tlirce hundred guineaa 
 
 to whomsoever " 
 
 " All right — all right !" he interrupted quickly : 
 " the reward has been oflercd, and is forthcoming 
 when positive inlbrmatiou is received as (o tho 
 whereabouts of the jewels." 
 
 "Then 1 can give you that information," was my 
 rejoinder. " But before I do so, I must request you 
 
 to hstcn to mo patiently for a few minutes " 
 
 "Well, a few mmutes, then," said Mi'. Crosby. 
 '•■ And now proceed." 
 
 " Are you at all acquainted, sir, with any pai-ti- 
 culars concerning those jewels, or for what purposo 
 they were bought ?" 
 " I know nothing of all that ; and pardoa me for
 
 MAUV I'llK.lS ; ou, 'IMi: MhMOim OF A SP.UVAMT-MAID. 
 
 saying I do not want to know. It is sufficient for 
 mo if you can give the information requisite. I am 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering's solicitor, but not his con- 
 fidant in private matters." 
 
 " I will not detain you, sir, many minutes : but 
 I cannot and will not como to the point at once 
 before I have given you a few words of explanation 
 relative to my motives in taking any part towards 
 leading you to the recoveryof the jewels." 
 
 Mr. Crosby gave a deep sigh and made an ugly 
 face, as he thi-ow himself back in his chair with the 
 look of one who was resigning himself to an awful 
 penance: so I lost no time in resuming my dis- 
 course. 
 
 The jewels, sir, of which wo are speaking, were 
 
 that's all," retunicd Mr. Crosby. "Perhaps you 
 wUl wait here till my clerk comes back?" 
 
 These last words were addressed to me ; and I 
 readily consented to stay — for I was of course 
 anxious to learn the result of the business. The 
 head clerk disappeared; and Mr. Crosby plunged 
 once more deep into his correspondence, appearing 
 to forg(?t my presence altogether. Not much more 
 than three-quarters of an hour passed, when the 
 head clerk returned wth a parcel in his hand ; and 
 not only by that indication, but likewise by the 
 smile of satisfaction which was upon his counte- 
 nance, did I at once feci assured that his mission 
 had been successful. And so it turned out. The 
 jeweller had at once given up aU the property, de- 
 purchased by Sir Aubrey Clavering as a present to j daring that though he ha<l piu-chased it in a legiti- 
 me : but I scorned tho gift as I shrank from the j mate manner ho would sooner put up with the loss 
 overtures which they were intended to render all the • than have any litigation. 
 
 more dazzling. They were stolen — no matter how. " Litigation ?" exclaimed Mr. Crosby : " why it 
 Yesterday I arrived in London ; and last evening an would have been an Old BaUey affair. Litigation 
 accident revealed to me where they are. It was indeed! — transportation he meant!" 
 also last evening that I read for the first time the j The parcel was opened; and I at once identifici 
 handbill offering the reward. Now, sir, it is not for \ the jewels. Mr. Crosby, referring to a wTitton dt 
 myself that I am seeking this reward : I woidd scription which he had from Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 sooner perish of starvation in the street than touch lound them to be correct ; and evidently much satis- 
 a piece of gold coming from Su- Aubrey Clavering's fied with the result, he assured me that the money 
 pocket. There is however a family who at the : should be duly forwarded by the evening's post in 
 present moment is, I have too much reason to fear, \ pursuance of my instructions, 
 in great distress : in that family, or at least in some j I then took my departiu-e, profoundly rejoiced to 
 portion of it, I am deeply interested ; and it is for think that I should thus be tho means of sending at 
 them that I desire the reward of thi-ee himch'cd least one ray of happiness into the bosom of a family 
 guineas to be sent. Will you undertake to do this ? 
 
 and will you also let Sir Aubrey Clavering know, if 
 you enter into any particulars at aU with him on 
 the subject, in what way the reward was disposed 
 of?" 
 " Have you done, Miss ?" asked Mr. Crosby. 
 " I have, sir." 
 
 " Then I checrfidly agree to what you have pro- 
 posed," he immediately rejoined, evidently much re- 
 lieved on finding that I had no more to say. " Write 
 down upon this piece of paper the name and addi-ess 
 of the person to whom the money is to be sent ; and 
 rely upon my punctuality. But now for the infor- 
 mation which you have to give ?" he said when I 
 had wi'itten a few lines in compUance with Lis 
 request. 
 
 1 mentioned the jeweller's shop near St. Giles's 
 chm-ch; and Mr. Crosby was immediately seized 
 with astonislmient, exclaiming, '• I know him well : 
 he is a highly respectable tradesman ! There must 
 be really some mistake !" — then suddenly starting 
 li'om his chair, he rang the bc>ll. 
 
 The head clerk answered the summons ; and Mr. 
 Ci'osby, bidding him shut the door, communicated 
 to him with a very mysterious air the particulars I 
 had just mentioned : but I noticed that the head clerk 
 did not look at all surprised when tho goldsmith's 
 shop was mentioned. 
 
 " To tell you the truth, sir," he said, '• there's long 
 been a whispering about him in certain quarters : 
 and though he does hold his head very high, I have 
 often thought that he is no bettor tiian he should 
 be." 
 
 " Well, at all events," said Mr. Crosby, " we will 
 
 not make an exposure about it. Take a cab — go up 
 
 tliere as quick us you can — and just try and settle 
 
 the matter quietly at once." - 
 
 " And if not, sir P" 
 
 '•Then you must go straight to Bow Street — 
 
 which I had pictiu"ed to myself as plunged into the 
 deepest distress. Moreover, I reflected upon the 
 strangeness of the manner in which I found myself 
 enabled to confer a benefit upon that family -. the 
 very jewels which were origiuallj' purchased to serve 
 as a temptation to lure me into the path of wicked- 
 ness, had become the soxu-ce of beneficence in another 
 quarter. Such are the inscrutable ways of hearcu! 
 As I was issuing from Furnival's Inn, I beheld 
 poor Mr. Gray, the victim of the Chancery suit, 
 lianging about the gate in a most melancholy man- 
 ner. The sorrowful picture he had drawn of his 
 misfortimc,^, hit off as it were with a few rapid but 
 terribly truth-telling dashes, suddenly sprang up 
 vividlv again into my mind ; and turning aside for an 
 instant, I took out ten shillings from my purse: 
 then hurriedly accosting him, I said; " Forgive the 
 liberty I take !" and thrusting the money into Ids 
 hand, sped away as rapidly as if I had just been do- 
 iii"' an evil action and feared pursuit. Thanks to 
 Captain Calder's generosity, I was thus enabled to 
 bestow a trille upon one whom I felt convinced to be 
 a deserving object. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 MT EKTUBX IS TO CEKT. 
 
 There was nothing now to detain me in Loudon; 
 
 and accordingly, at three o'clock in the aftemoou I 
 took my plnce in tlie TaUy-Ho coach for Canter- 
 bury. It was past nine in the evening when we 
 reached the Hoise Hot,'l in the latter city; and a-; 
 there were no moans of goeting across to Ashford 
 that night, 1 inquired tor a bed. But it was niarkrt- 
 day in Canterbury, and the jffo.sv H<)f<'/ was crowded 
 throughout every chamber : I nci>ordingly wont 
 round t» the Foiiutain, where, as th* reader will re-
 
 MAEY rraoE; ok, tub memoihs of a seevant-maid. 
 
 cnlkvl;, Mr. and Mrs. Twiaclen liad put up on tlic clay 
 of our visit to the Catkcdval city — that day which 
 first made mo acquainted with Sir Aubrey Clavcr- 
 injT. At the Fountain I obtained a bed ; and being 
 much, fatigued, speedily sought it and soon sank 
 inio a profoimd repose. That night no lui pleasant 
 drcaiiw haunted mo ; nor did I again sec the vision 
 of the ghastly object of St. Giles's. 
 
 I awoke early, and rose for the purpose of depart- 
 ing by the eight o'clock coach to Ashford : but the 
 liotel-porter, who went round to the office to secure 
 a place for mc, came back witli the disagreeable in- 
 telligonco that evci'y goat of tho vehicle was alreadj^ 
 taken, ou(,sido as well as in. There was no alternative 
 but to wait for tlin afternoon conveyance, in which 
 I at once sont and engaged a place. Aflcr break- 
 fast I went out to walk in the city, and visited the 
 fine old catheih-al, whore T passed a couple of lioura, 
 inspecting the monuments and admiring tho various 
 architectural beauties and sublimities of tho iuipjs- 
 No. 29 
 
 ing structure. It was about mid-day when I rr- 
 turncd to the Fountain Hotel; and the first object 
 tliat struck me was the well-known carriage belong- 
 ing to Ml-, and Mrs. Twisden ! I hastened up the 
 coui't-yard to inquire of a liostler wliom I saw at tho 
 fartlicr end, whether Mr. and Airs. Twisden were at 
 the hotel at that moment : because it struck me as 
 probable that they might have disjiosed of their car- 
 riage, and that it was therefore in other hands. But 
 as I passed by a parlour-wndow looking into tlio 
 courtyard, and to which there was no blind, conceivo 
 my astonishment on I)eholding Mr. and Mrs. Twis- 
 den themselves, sealed with Sii* Aubrey Claverlng at 
 lunch inside that room ! 
 
 I was rivetted to tho spot, and stood gazing in 
 upon tho scene. It actually appeared to mo that 
 it was still that sanu^ day on which wo had visited 
 Canterbury when Twas in sin'vice at tho Lodge, and 
 tliat I'verytliing wliich had rince transpired was but. 
 a raero troubled drerm through wluwo evcntlul
 
 22C> 
 
 MABY price ; on, the MESIOIUS op a REnVA'ST-MAID. 
 
 mazes I Jiad been whirled. Yes — there was the 
 good old gentleman, looking as mild aad benevolent 
 as ever, but preparing to make a vigorous onslaught 
 upon a meat-pic which 8t<jod before him. There too 
 was Mrs. Twisden, looking a little older and a little 
 stouter, but still with that quick restless kind of 
 manner which is invariably characteristic of the 
 vixenish disposition. And there, too, was Sir Aubrey 
 Clarei-ing, in his imdress military imiform, seated 
 opposite to ?.Irs. Twisden, and apparently listening 
 with much urbane attention to what she was 
 saying. 
 
 Yes — I was indeed rivetted to the spot; and as I 
 thus stood gazing into the room, Mr. Twisden all 
 of a sudden raised his eyes and encountered mine. 
 The recognition was instantaneous; and he must 
 liavc ejaculated my name as I beheld him spring up 
 from his scat, for both Mrs. Twisden and Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering turned their eyes rapidly towards me. I 
 tlid not choose to hurry away ; for I had no reason 
 to be ashamed of meeting Sir Aubrey Clavering, 
 and I hoped none to fear him : whUe on the other 
 hand I was most anxious to pay my respects to that 
 good kind old gentleman who had so often taken my 
 part with paternal interest against his wife. 
 
 Mr. Twisden darted to the window, and beckoned 
 ms to enter. I could not see what v.as tho aspect 
 that Mr?. Twisden wore at this proceeding on his 
 part ; but I at once obeyed the invitation, and 
 passed into the room where they were assembled. 
 
 '•' Well, Mary," exclaimed Mr. Twisden, shaking 
 me by the hand most warmly : " I am quite glad to 
 gee yon again " 
 
 '•■ Eeally, Mr. Twisden," cried his better half, with 
 that acerbity of tone and maimer whicli I remem- 
 bered so well, '•' one would think it was your own 
 daughter you were welcoming. I am sm-e if it was 
 me retiuTiing after a long absence, you would not be 
 so overjoyed." 
 
 '• But my dear," said the old gentleman, with his 
 wonted bland submissiveness, "you should make 
 allowances. Mary was a very good girl when she 
 wa.s with us " 
 
 "Oh! I don't say that she wasn't," interrupted 
 Mrs. Twisden; "except that she used to let the 
 baby cry enough to make it break its little heart, 
 and Gusta\^ls run on the grass in the winter, and 
 Miranda trample over the borders during all 
 seasons." 
 
 " Well, well, if she never did anything worse," 
 remarked Mr. Tmsdcn, " there's no particular harm 
 done." 
 
 " Worse, Mr. Twisden !" exclaimed the lady, evi- 
 dently working herself up to one of her pleasant 
 moods : " how coidd she possibly do anything worse ? 
 And now I think of it, I am sure poor baby has 
 never been well since he used to cry so — and Gus- 
 tavus has always had a nasty little hacking cough 
 since he used to run on the wet grass — and Mi- 
 randa has got a perfect mania for trampling down 
 flowers." 
 
 " Won't you let Mary sit down, my dear, for a 
 few minutes, and tell us how she has been getting 
 on?" asked Mr. Twisden, turning towards his wife 
 and speaking in a tone of submissive appeal. 
 
 " Oh ! to bo sure ! Sit down, Mary — sit down," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Twisden, evidently curbing her ill- 
 humour only because she was aiVtiid of appearing 
 ridiculous or contemptible in the eyes of Sir Aubrey. 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am," eaid I, in a tone which 
 was as much as to Eay that I would rather not 
 intrude any longer upon her Dotice, as I saw that 
 she was not over well pleased to meet me. " But 
 if the children are here, I ehould be happy to see 
 them " 
 
 " No^they are at the Lodge," replied Mrs. Twis- 
 j den : then after a moment's pause she added in a 
 milder tone, " And if you like to come across to the 
 Lodge some Sunday and see them " 
 
 " Aye, they wiU be rejoiced to have a romp with 
 you," exclaimed Mr. Twisden, his cjoimtenance beam- 
 ing with good-humour. 
 
 " Pray go back to your seat, Mr. Twisden, and 
 hold your tongue," said his wife. " How can you 
 possibly talk of romping on a Sunday? I am 
 ashamed of you." 
 
 "I don't see, my dear, that a little innocent 
 sportivencsa with children on a Sunday is any 
 harm," observed Mr. Twisden meekly, as he went 
 back to his chair. 
 
 " Pray spare your comments, "Mr. Twisden : it is 
 no matter what you think :" — then turning to me, 
 the lady, who evidently wished to conciliate me in 
 one sense, said, "Will you take a glass of wine, 
 Mary ?" 
 
 "2vo, thank you, ma'am," I answered, moTing 
 towards the door. 
 
 '■' Just stop one minute," exclaimed Mrs. Twisden. 
 " I don't want you to ran away in such a hurry, 
 since I have not seen you for so long a time " 
 
 '■' With your permission, ma'am, I wiU call shortly 
 at Twisden Lodge to see the children :"— and then 
 with a respectful curtsey I withdrew. 
 
 I was ci'ossing the courtyard to i-each that part of 
 the hotel where the chamber in which I had slept 
 was situated, when I heard hasty steps behind me ; 
 and the voice of Sir Aubrey Clavering immediately 
 said, '■ I bring you a message from Mrs. Twisden." 
 
 I stopped — but bent my eyes downward, not 
 choosing to look that man in the face, but thus give 
 him to understand that his presence was hateiid to 
 me, and that I only paused to listen to him at all 
 through the respect I entertained for my late master 
 and mistress. 
 
 '•' Tou see, Mary," Sir Aubrey Clavering went on 
 to say, " that I have said nothing to the Twisdens of 
 all that occurred in the country, down in Derby- 
 shire; and as they have only just returned from 
 abroad, they know little or nothing about it. Pcr- 
 h?.ps you will be equally silent when you see them 
 again?— as I don't want everybody in this part of 
 Kent to be gossipping about me and my concerns." 
 
 " I am at least glad, sir," was my answer, de- 
 livered coldly but firmly, " to perceive in the first 
 place that you have not dared to calumniate me 
 here, in your native county ; and in the second place 
 that you are evidently ashamed of your past conduct 
 towards me. But now, if you please, the messag« 
 which you have to deliver to me ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Twisden sent me after you to eay that if 
 vou like to come over to the Lodge next Sunday, 
 you ai'e welcome :"— and having thus spoken in a 
 haughty tone, the Baronet turned away, and I pro- 
 ceeded up to my own chamber. 
 
 I may now take the opportunity of observing that 
 during the few mimites I had remained in tho par- 
 loui- where the luncheon was taking place, Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering hod never uttered a word ; bu*
 
 AiARv rKicK. ; on, tub memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 227 
 
 had leant back in his chair, sipping a glass of wine 
 with the apparently listless manner and negligent 
 ease of one who has nothing to do with what is 
 going ou before him. I was now well pleased to 
 thiak that this bad and unprincipled man sought to 
 hide as much as possible Ids infamous proceedings 
 towards me, inasmuch as it seemed to afford a 
 guarantee against the farther propagation of the 
 calumnies to which his conduct had given rise in 
 Derbyshire. But there were other reflections which 
 the interview with my late master and mistress con- 
 jured up in my mind. Indeed, it was with pain I 
 had beheld that Mi\ Tv.isden was, if possible, more 
 completely subject to the tyranny of his wife than 
 ever ; while, on the other hand, she was evidently 
 less scrupulous than she was wont to be of domineer- 
 ing over liim in the presence of a guest. I sincerely 
 pitied the poor old gentleman, and could not help 
 thinking that Mrs. Twisden must naturally possess 
 a heartless disposition thus to behave towards so 
 good and benevolent a man. That she had con- 
 ducted herself, towards the latter part of our inter- 
 view, in a more condescending manner towards me 
 than when I first entered the room, was to be at- 
 tributed most probably to a second thought that 
 had struck her, suggesting the poUcy of such a 
 proceeding so as to prevent me from gossipping in 
 respect to that memorable adventure with Mr. 
 Ti'ips the actor, which had revealed the lady's former 
 condition of life. Ah ! how Uttle did she know me 
 to think that I should ever take delight in pro- 
 pagating unpleasant reports concerning my fellow- 
 creatures. 
 
 Shortly after two o'clock I took my seat in the 
 van, and was now fairly on my way to Ashford ; and 
 in a couple of hours I entered that town. Leaving 
 my boxes at the coach-office, I at once hastened to 
 see WiUiam, and found him in the surgery at JVIi-. 
 Collins's house. He was now a little past sixteen, 
 and had gi-own amazingly since I last saw him, 
 which was upwards of a year and a half. Always 
 tall and good-looking, he had nevertheless improved 
 to an extent which quite dehghted me ; and I felt 
 proud in the possession of such a brother, because I 
 knew that he was as good as he was handsome. He 
 was overjoyed to sec me; but when the first effusion 
 of gladness attendant upon om- meeting was passed, 
 his looks suddenly became profoundly mournful as 
 he told me that Mrs. Whitfield had been seized with 
 a very sudden and alai-ming illness the day before — 
 an attack of paralysis indeed — and was not expected 
 to live. Mr. CoUins had been up with her the 
 ■wfhole of the preceding night, and had passed the 
 greater portion of the day of which I am writing at 
 her bedside. Of course this was evil intelligence for 
 me, as by her death my two sisters would lose a 
 home anil a worthy though very eccentric friend. 
 
 I resolved to repair at once to Mrs. Whitfield's 
 house. William could not accompany me : he was 
 forced to remain in the surgery to help the assistant 
 in making up the medicines. Mr. Collins's house- 
 keeper, as I was going out, welcomed mo with kind- 
 ness back to Ashford, and told me that if I liked to 
 share her chamber for a few days I was perfectly 
 welcome. This proposal I accepted with gratitude ; 
 and she imdertook to send some one up to the coach- 
 office to fetch do\vii my boxes for me. 
 
 I now proceeded to Mrs. ^VhiiQeld'8, and in a few 
 minutes had the pleasure of embracing my two 
 
 sisters. Sarah was naturally cold, and was far from 
 being enthusiastic in the welcome which she gave 
 me : but Jane hugged me again and again and 
 seemed never thed of embracing me. Sarah, who 
 was nearly fifteen, was as tall as myself, and had 
 grown remarkably handsome. Her raven black 
 hah- floated in thick heavy masses over her shoul- 
 ders; and her eyes, dai-k as night, were fidl of a 
 soft lustre, so that while exceedingly bright, they 
 nevertheless had a kind of langiushing look. She 
 seemed at least a couple of years older than she 
 really was, — her figure being full and already ex- 
 panding into the rich contoui-s of womanhood. I 
 have aheady stated in an earher chapter that she 
 possessed, in its most perfect beauty, that Grecian 
 profile which was characteristic of om* family ; and 
 altogether she was certainly one of the most beau- 
 tiful ereatm-os I ever saw — far, far too beautil'ul for 
 her situation in life ! 
 
 Jane, who was now twelve and a half, had hke- 
 v/ise grown much ; but she was still a fat chubby- 
 looking bouncing girl ; and a single glance at her 
 blue eyes, rosy cheeks, cherry hps, and dimpled chia, 
 was sufficient to show that she was as artless, inno- 
 cent, and sweet-tempered a creature as it waa 
 possible to be. They were both very handsomely 
 dressed, and looked quite like ladies. Indeed thero 
 was something especially superior about Sarah ; and 
 if introduced to a stranger as the daughter of a 
 duchess, there was nothing in her appoarauce, her 
 manners, or her bearing, to give the contradiction to 
 such an announcement. 
 
 I sat down with my sisters; and they told mo 
 that Mrs. Whitfield was indeed very ill, paralysed 
 and speechless, and not expected to live. Sarah 
 shed not a single tear as she thus spoke : whereas 
 Jane began to cry bitterly. 
 
 "Don't be such a .siUy girl," exclaimed Sarah, 
 somewhat sharply. •' I dare say if Mi-s. Whitfield 
 should die just now, she will leave us all her pro- 
 perty." 
 
 " Oh ! but shall we not lose a very kind and dear 
 friend?" asked Jane, her voice almost choked with 
 convulsive sobs. 
 
 " Sarah," I observed, looking veiy seriously upon 
 my sister, "you should not have spoken m that 
 maimer — nor should you even allow yoiu'self to 
 th'mk in a way that would suggest such words." 
 
 '• Just as if one could help ouo's thoughts !" ejacu* 
 latcd Sarah, vnih. a sort of disdainful toss of tho 
 head. "You must not think of lecturing mo, 
 Mary, although you are my eldest sister : because I 
 have been educated at a young lady's day-school, and 
 have learnt a great many things that you know no- 
 thing abouti Therefore, though you are four yeara 
 older than I am, you have no ri>:;ht to assumo the 
 superior. It isn't so much ago — it's knowledge and 
 experience that regulate (hoso kuul of things." 
 
 I was both aslonislied anil hurt at being addressed 
 in this manner ; and little Jane, evidently understand- 
 ing what I felt, threw her arms round my neck and 
 kissed me affectionately, — saying, " Don't mind what 
 Sarah says : she often talks to me hi tho same kmd 
 of way, but she doesn't mean any harm." 
 
 Tho tcar.s hatl risen to my eyes ; but hastily 
 brushing them away — for I did not choose to let 
 Sarali ])i'rcoive bow much I felt l\er observations. — I 
 said to her in a lone of gentle remonstrance, '• It is 
 not school knowledge, my dear sister, which gives
 
 228 
 
 MAUY price; ok, the MOIOIRS of a 8EBVANT-iIAID. 
 
 ii-uo experience: and if you kuow all tlirougli which 
 I have passed, you would indeed admit tliat few 
 [iersons of even double iny age can possibly have ■ 
 half ray experience." 
 
 "Oh! wo read in the newspaper all about the' 
 aflair at Derby," answered Sarah; "and I must say | 
 that I envied you, Mary, to bo so much talked about, i 
 and even tpokcu to by a great Judge." .. | 
 
 "Ah! but I cried very much when I thought of 
 all you had gone thi-ough, dear Mary," exclaimed 
 Jane, now kissing my hand, which she pressed be- 
 tween both her own little fat ones. 
 
 At this moment the door opened slowly, and Mr. 
 Collins entered with a very grave countenance — so 
 that I immediately apprehended the worst in respect 
 to Mrs. Whitfield, lie took my hand, and said in 
 a low and subdued tone, " Mary, I am glad to sec 
 you. In one sense you have come back to Ashford 
 at an unhappy time: but in another it is fortunate 
 that you are here at this moment — for you are now 
 the guardian of your two sisters !" 
 
 " Then she has gone, sir ?" I said, immediately 
 understanding that my melancholy presentiment 
 was confirmed. 
 
 " She is no more/"' replied Mr. Collins. 
 
 Little Jane burst forth into a perfect agony of 
 weeping ; and Sarah put her handkerchief to her eyes 
 ■ — heaven forgive me for suspecting that she did not 
 weep very much, if at all! I myself was much 
 aflected — through no selfish considerations on my two 
 sisters' account, but purely and simply for tho loss 
 of one who, though I had known so little of her, 
 was nevertheless entitled to my gratitude and re- 
 spect for having afforded those much-loved sisters a 
 home. 
 
 Ey the advice of the worthy surgeon, Sarah and 
 Jane continued beneath the same roof until the 
 funeral was over ; and during this interval of a week 
 1 slept at Mr. CoUins's abodo with his housekeeper. 
 Passing however the best part of each day in com- 
 pany with my two sisters, I had thus frequent op- 
 portunities of studying tho dispositions of Sarah and 
 Jane; and tho more I was compelled to contrast 
 them, the greater was the pain that this comparison 
 gave me. I could not conceal from myself that 
 Sarah was selfish, vaui, conceited, and overbearing, 
 — impatient of contradiction, conscious of her great 
 personal beauty, and thoroughly convinced that she 
 was destined to become the heroine of some magni- 
 ficent romance tho issue of which would, like that of 
 novels, raise her to an elevated rank. On the other 
 hand, Jane was of the most artless aS'ability, — docile 
 nud tractable, — ever ready to please, prompt to fol- 
 low the advice given her, and proving herself to be 
 of the most aflectionate disposition. It was quite 
 clear that Sarah was not the least grieved by Mrs. 
 Whitfield's death, but all along looked forward with 
 I impatience for the funeral to be over in order that 
 the will (if there were one, as she did not doubt) 
 might be read : while Jane frequently gave way to 
 her sorrow, and sometimes sobbed as if her heart 
 would break. At length, when the obsequies had 
 terminated and the remains of Mrs. Whit field were 
 consigned to a vault in Ashford Church, Mr. Collins, 
 accompanied by a solicitor who lived in the town, 
 proceeded to inspect the deceased lady's writing- 
 desk : but no will was to be found there. Iler 
 drawers, her cupboards, and her boxes were then 
 searched ; and nothing was to be found iu the shape 
 
 of the wished-for document. The solicitor, who had 
 known Mrs. AVhitfield for many years, declared it 
 was his impression that she had not made a will at 
 all, inasmuch as she had never consulted him upon 
 any such topic. It farther appeared that when in 
 her last moments she had recovered her conscious- 
 ness and Mr. Collins had desired her to state whether 
 she had any parting request to make, she had en- 
 deavoured to give utterance to some words, but her 
 powers failing her, she had sunk back and ex- 
 pired. 
 
 Not to dwell longer than is necessary on this part 
 of my narrative, I may at once observe that no will 
 was to be found. Every place, nook, and comer 
 that could be thought of as the possible hiding-place 
 I'or such a document, had been duly searched ; and 
 the most active in this investigation was my sbter 
 Sarah, But aU of no avail ! — not a scrap of paper 
 could bj discovered at all indicative of the manner 
 in which Mrs. Whitfield had purposed to dispose of 
 her property. Neither was there much ready money 
 found on the premises : and thus all the rejwrts 
 which were in circulation for years respecting her 
 miserly habits and hoarding propensities, seemed to 
 be altogether unfounded. At the same time, as it 
 appeared that she had enjoyed an income of four 
 hundred a-year, the dilliculty was to conceive how 
 she could possibly have spent so much money, living 
 in retirement as she did, at such a cheap place as 
 Ashford, and having no rent to pay, the house being 
 her own. However, certain it was that neither 
 testamentary document nor golden hoard could be 
 discovered, notwithstanding the most vigilant search 
 throughout tho premises from cellar to attic. As I 
 have before observed, in a former chapter, she did 
 not appear to have ever been visited by any rela- 
 tions ; and if she possessed any, no clue was to be 
 discovered to their names or their abodes. The only 
 positive point that could be ascertained was that her 
 income had been derived from a sum of ten thou- 
 sand pounds in tho funds; and if no heir-at-law 
 should come forward to assert and prove his title, 
 the wholo of that money would be merged in the 
 general mass of imclaimed stock in the coffers of the 
 IJauk of England. Advertisements were inserted 
 in the newspapers, announcing Mrs. "Whitfield's 
 death, and calling upon her nearest relative, if there 
 were one, to come forward: but these announce- 
 ments remained without ctfoct. 
 
 All the hopes which had been conceived relative 
 to my two sisters inheriting the property of Mrs. 
 Whitfield, were now dashed to the ground ; and the 
 two girls were left as poor and as portionless as I 
 was myself. This was a sad blow to Sarah : and she 
 who had not cried through grief at Mrs. A\Tiit field's 
 death, now cried bitterly through vexation. Under 
 the pecuhar circumstances of the case, it was not 
 competent for anybody to chspose of a single article 
 witliin those walls which death had so lately entered. 
 The house being the deceased lady's own property, 
 all that could be done was to barricade the shutters, 
 close the doors, and leave the furnitm-e to rot and 
 decay if no heir shoidd over step forward to claim it. 
 Mr. Colhus ivsked the solicitor whether it might not 
 be permitted at least to dispose of that furniture 
 for the benefit of my two sisters: but a peremptory 
 negative was retumod, — the lawyer declaring that 
 in c;»se an heir should sooner or later turn up. he 
 might prosecute for robbery all who were engaged
 
 MABV nUOE; OUj THE MEltOIKS OF A SEKVANT-MAID. 
 
 229 
 
 in such a proceeding. la a word, all that it was 
 coasidcred prudent to do was to allow Sarah and 
 Jane to take possession of their boxes of clothes, 
 and to divide between them the few guineas which 
 remamed in the shape of ready money iu the house 
 after all the funeral expenses had been defrayed. 
 The premises were accordmgly shut up, as I have 
 above stated ; and I took a lodgmg in the town, to 
 which my two sisters were removed, and where I 
 now dwelt with them. 
 
 CUAPTER L, 
 
 XHE MES3ITEK8 AGAIN, 
 
 In describing the particulars of Mrs. Whitfield's 
 death, and its immediate results so far as my two 
 sisters were concerned, I have purposely abstained 
 from interrupting the narrative to touch upon 
 matters of an extraneous chai-acter. But I must 
 now pause for a few minutes to mention two or 
 three little circumstances. In the first place, when 
 conversing alone with my brother WilUam, I told 
 him all that had occurred at Derby in respect to 
 Robert ; and though in one sense there was reason 
 for congratulation on account of liis withdrawal 
 from the companionship of the infamous Bulldog 
 and Sawbridge, yet on the other hand William 
 shared in my regrets tliat Robert should have con- 
 nected himself with Mr. Tomlinson and his troop. 
 Relative to my recent adventures iu London, I did 
 not think it prudent to touch upon the incident in 
 St. Giles's, nor in any way unsettle Wilham's mind 
 in respect to our father's fate : for though I still felt 
 convinced that I had been deceived by the mere fact 
 of an extraordinary resemblance, yet still that oc- 
 currence was calculated to throw a mysterious shado 
 of uncertainty over my father's death. In respect 
 to what I had done for the Messiters, I had no 
 reason to keep this circumstance concealed from 
 William ; and he was well pleased to hear that Pro- 
 vidence had empowered me to render so signal- a 
 service in that quarter. As a matter of course, 
 William and I deliberated with great seriousness, 
 after Mrs. Whitfield's funeral, how wo should pro- 
 ceed in respect to Sarah and Jane ; and in these 
 discussions we were assisted by the advice of our 
 kind friend Mr. CoUius. 
 
 The reader is already awaro that my two sisters 
 had received the benefit of an excellent education 
 during the time they were with Mrs. Whitfield, — 
 an education indeed which, in respect to its accom- 
 plishments, was far above then- position in life. Jane 
 was stlUtoo young, being not yet thirteen, to launch 
 forth into the wide world; and at first William and 
 I were sadly perplexed to know what we should do 
 with her. But it was now that the friendship of 
 Mr. t'oUins was most generously displayed; and he 
 aildrcssed us in the foUowing manner : — 
 
 " You know, my young friends, that through mis- 
 fortunes experienced within the last yeai- or two, 1 am 
 by no means rich ; and at an age when I ought to be 
 enabled to enjoy a competency, Ihave yet to maintain 
 a struggle with the world. I am therefore unable to 
 do for you all that my feelings suggest: but I will 
 assist you to the extent of my power. LiUle Jane, 
 therefore, sliall come and reside beneath my roof for 
 the prescmt. The housekeeper will take care of her, 
 
 and she will be happy in the companionship of her 
 brother. I will thus give her a home until she 
 reaches an age when she may think of earning her 
 own bread. As for Sarah, if wo could procure for 
 her the situation of nursery-governess, or even 
 under-governess, in a wealthy family where such a 
 person is required, it will be the best thing we can 
 do.',' 
 
 William and myself not only gave our full acqui- 
 escence to this suggestion in respect to Sarah, but 
 likewise expressed our fervent gratitude for Mr. 
 Collins' goodness with regard to Jane : and it was 
 decided that they should both continue to live with 
 me in our present lodging until we could procure 
 such a situation for Sarah as we thought would suit 
 her. Our plans being thus laid down, advertise- 
 ments setting forth the situation that was wanted 
 and the qualities of the applicant, were duly in- 
 serted in all the Kentish newspapers. 
 
 I had written a brief but respectful letter to Mrs. 
 Twisden, explaining to her the reasons which pre- 
 vented me from calling at the Lodge on the Sunday 
 for which I was invited by the message sent through 
 Sir Aubrey Claverlng; and without making any 
 definite promise, I stated that as soon as circum- 
 stances would permit, I should pay my respects to 
 her. From Mrs. Messiter I had received a letter, 
 directed to me at the Post Office, Ashford, and in 
 which the poor woman poured forth all her gratitude 
 for the great kindness I had done her. Mr. Crosby 
 had duly forwarded to her the three himdred guineas, 
 by the aid of which it was hoped her husband would 
 be enabled to make a compromise with his creditors, 
 so as to supersede his bankruptcy and save his fur- 
 niture and stock from being sold by auction : but 
 still the poor woman Avrote in the utmost affliction, 
 for her eldest boy was lying upon the bed of death, 
 his life dissolving perceptibly away before her eyes 
 beneath the insidious hand of consumption. She 
 said little of her husband, — merely observing that 
 his misfortunes, having preyed upon his mind, had 
 di'ivcn him to seek consolation in a greater indul- 
 gence in the bottle than ho had ever before yielded 
 to; in short, that his habits were now far from 
 being so temperate as formerly. In conclusion, she 
 begged and implored that I would pay them a visit 
 for a day or two, as her dear boy was constantly ex- 
 pressing a wish " to see Mary Price before ho died." 
 
 I wept over this letter; — Indeed I wept plentifully, 
 as I thought of that amiable and pensive-looking 
 child who thus knew that ho was dying, and in the 
 natural goodness of his disposition longed to soo me 
 because I had been kind to him when hi his parents' 
 service. I accordingly resolved to lose no time in 
 fulfilling the wish of the departing boy ; and ar- 
 rangements being made for my brother William to 
 sleep at the lodgings during my temporary absence, 
 I one morning set off for Dover. This was three 
 weeks after Mrs. Whitfield's death, and when all the 
 above-mentioned plans ha<l been duly settled and 
 arranged in respect lo Sarah and Jane. 
 
 It was about five o'clock in the evening when I 
 arrived at Dover, having, as the reader will recollect, 
 to go round by Canterbury ; and on alighting from 
 the ciiach at Mr. Messiter's abode, I found the shop 
 all shut up and the house looking as if death wore 
 already there. An icy chill struck to my very heart : 
 but raising my eyes, I observed tliattho blinds were 
 not drawn do\vn in the upper windows, and was
 
 230 
 
 I.IAP.Y PKICE; CP., THB MIUIOIUS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 i therefore at onco relieved by tlie llioaglit that the 
 
 ! shop was merely closed through the bankruptcy and 
 
 i not because the dcstroyinjj angel had ab:eady bomo 
 
 j away the spirit ot him whom I had specially come 
 
 i to see. While waiting till the front door was opened, 
 
 ' I cast a glance opposite, and perceived that the 
 
 { rival ostabUshment of Mi-. Smithson presented even 
 
 I a far more imposing appearance than when it was 
 
 j lirst opened. The window was literally crammed 
 
 with goods ; and the large panes of plate glass were 
 
 covered with bUls announcing the " reduced prices" 
 
 at which everything was sold, and puffing off the 
 
 various articles in the most extravagant manner. 
 
 Without knowing much of business, but forming 
 
 my ojjinlon fi'om the havoc which competition had 
 
 wrought in the establishment of the astute, money- 
 
 raaking, and unscrupulous Mr. Messiter, I could 
 
 not help thinking that Mr. Smithson's prosperity 
 
 might after aU exist rather in outward show than in 
 
 intrinsic reality. 
 
 The front dooi* was opened by a dirty drab of a 
 servant girl, to whom even Betsy was a miracle of 
 respectability and cleanliness ; and my first question 
 was relative to the dying boy. 
 
 "Well, he ain't no better, and I think he'a vaiss," 
 was the answer, given with the most perfect indif- 
 ference. " The doctor is with him now, and missus 
 has been crying all day. But be? you Miss Price 
 that's expected ?" she asked, observing that I had a 
 small box with me, which the coachman had put 
 down when I ahghted at the door. 
 
 I gave an affii-mative answer ; and hurrying past 
 her. ascended the stairs to the front parlour, — that 
 well-known parlour, which was now in worse order 
 than ever. The furniture seemed to have been ut- 
 terly neglected for some time; and there was a 
 gloom about the place as well as a silence in the 
 house that agaia sh-uck with a chill to my heart. 
 Mrs. Messiter was never what can be called s tidy 
 woraau; and latterly domestic afflictions had no 
 doub 1 prevented her from devoting even the little 
 amount of care and attention which she was at any 
 time wont to bestow upon the interior economy of 
 tho household. A dead silence seemed to prevail 
 throughout the dwelling; and not so much as the 
 voice of any of tho children reached my ears. The 
 eummer-day had been sal try to a degree — the even- 
 fng was warm with a heavy sickly atmojplierc, no 
 freshening breeze coming from the sea — :ind yet I 
 shuddered from head to foot with a sensation of in- 
 tense cold. The gloom and tho silence were awtul, 
 making one feel as if death v.'ero already in the 
 house ! 
 
 " Ah, my dear girl ! you have come at last," said 
 a voice, suddenly breaking that ominous silence; 
 and turn'ng round, I beheld Mrs. Messiter. 
 
 But how altered she was ! The reader will re- 
 member that I first described her as a delicate- 
 looking, pale-faced woman, with a melancholy ex- 
 pression of countenance, — not over-ieatly dressed, 
 and indeed somewhat slovenly : but now she was 
 thin oven to emaciation — ^her cheeks were sunken — 
 her eyes hollow, and the edges red with v/eeping — 
 while her apparel denoted an utter uerjlect of her 
 personal appearance. She embraced rae, and then 
 sank down in a chair, sobbing bitterly and erying, 
 " Oh, my poor boy ! my poor boy ! can nothmijf save 
 ]iim?" 
 These words at least assured me that he was still 
 
 alive ; and I said what I could to console the poor 
 woman. Bat alas! it is so difEcult to find any- 
 thing consolatory under such circumstances. 
 
 "Mary," she said, endeavouring to subdue her 
 grief, '■' I am very, very glad you have come. Your 
 nace is constantly upon the poor child's lips. You 
 know that he possesses an intelligence far beyond his 
 years; and he can therefore appreciate the noble 
 generosity of your conduct ia causing that very 
 large sum of money to be forwarded to us. But I 
 could scarcely bring myscK to accept such unheard- 
 of bounty at your hands : for that sum would baye 
 made you rich." 
 
 " My dear madam," I answered, '•' you give me 
 credit for far more generosity than I really deserve. 
 It was a sum of money which no earthly considera- 
 tion would have induced me to appropriate to my 
 own uses ; and therefore it was merely asking you 
 to accept romething which was not available for 
 me. May I hope that it will have tho effect of 
 reUeving !Mr. Messiter from embarrassment ?" 
 
 '•It wUl, my dear girl," was tho reply. '•'His 
 creditors have already agreed to his terms, and the 
 shop would be opened again, to-morrow, were it 
 not " 
 
 She stopped short, and again burst forth into an 
 agony of weeping. My own tears fell thick and 
 fast: for I understood too weU what she meant. 
 Her poor boy's hour was drawing near ; and tho 
 shutters which Banki'uptcy put up, would stiU be 
 kept closed for awhile by the hand of Death ! 
 
 " May I see him now ?" I asked, taking off my 
 bonnet and shawl. 
 
 She gave no verbal answer — grief was suffocating 
 her : but rising from her chair, she led the way 
 slowly and noiselessly up to the bed-chamber, where 
 her dying son lay. The doctor had just left, and 
 the poor boy appeared to be sleeping when his 
 mother thus conducted me into the room. Wo 
 advanced gently up to the bed, and I gazed upon 
 him through tho dimness of my tears. His eyes 
 were closed, and his countenance \ras already pale 
 as death, save where upon tho cheeks the hectic 
 flush of consumption — that silent cheater of the eye 
 — still lingered. His lips were apart, and his 
 breathing was so very low as to be scarcely audible: 
 still ho did breathe, for the spark of life was not 
 extinguished altogether. He was very thin : but 
 there was an inelfable expression of sweetness upon 
 his featm'es, as it resignation — death's precursor — 
 shed its soft but solemn influence upon liis soul. 
 Thus, in his twelfth year, was that amiable child 
 passing away from a world which is indeed one of 
 care and trouble, and ah^ady hovering upon tho 
 threshold of that sphere wliich though unknown 
 to us upon earth, is yet fraught >rith hope and 
 promise for the sinless and the pm"C. 
 
 Ue opened his eyee slowly ; and as his looks first 
 encomit(>r(Hl his mothers face, he extended his thin 
 wan hand wlh the long waxen fingers, and said Lq 
 a soft clear voice, "Do not weep for me, dear 
 mother : I shaQ be happy now I" — then catching 
 sight of me, he exclaimed, \viih a temporarily reno- 
 vated power of utterance, "■ O Mary, dear Mary ! 
 you arc come to see mo at last I" 
 
 "Yes, my dear boy," I answered; "and I should 
 have been to see you before, had cot iiuper.itive 
 circumstances detained me elsewhere." 
 
 lie throw his arms around mv uotL., drew me
 
 MAKY FRICK ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A KKRVANT-MAID. 
 
 231 
 
 tovrards hira, and kissed me affectionately. I wept 
 with, an unspeakable woe: for it was a sad, sad 
 thing to see that poor child dying thus, while yet 
 but so tender a flower and endowed with so many 
 amiable and excellent qualities to make him be- 
 loved. Besides, — alas ! that my experiences should 
 compel me to say it — the immense garden of 
 humanity, rich as it may be in the gaudiest flowers 
 of aristocracy, and overrun as it also is with the 
 fearfully prolific weeds of demoraUzation and vice, 
 has so few delicate, modest, and interesting plants 
 that it cannot afford to lose them ere theu' time ! 
 
 '■ Mary," said the dying boy, as I took a chair and 
 sat down at his request by the side of the couch, 
 " I have never forgotten you since you were here. 
 The many good things you used to teU me, have 
 dwelt in my thoughts, and have proved a great con- 
 solation to me ever since I knew that I was going 
 to die. For hours have I lain here thinking of every- 
 thing you ever said, and also of the prayers that 
 you taught my little brothers and sisters, — until I 
 have fancied that you must be an angel in human 
 shape sent upon this earth to do good. In my 
 sleep, too, I have dreamt of you, Mary ; and then 
 you have assumed the form of an angel, standing 
 by my bedside and teaching me how to die. AH 
 that you have done for my father aud poor mother 
 is known to me ; and I have cried in joy and thank- 
 fulness to think that v.'hen God chose to be good 
 to them, He should have selected you as the giver of 
 his bounties. Ah! Mary, I should not have been 
 so resigned and even happy now, if I had known 
 that I was to leave my parents and my brothers 
 and sisters in distress and misery. No — I should 
 have been very, very unhappy, and should have 
 clung to life, feeling that it would have been dread- 
 ful to depart from it with tvant staring them in the 
 face ! But through yoiu" goodness, all fear on that 
 head has gone ; and it is you who have smoothed the 
 pillow of my death-bed." 
 
 Mrs. Messiter had turned away while her son was 
 thus speaking; and concealed by the curtain from his 
 view, she had continued to weep with heart-breaking 
 agony, but with suppressed sobs so that he might 
 not hear the outpourings of her poignant affliction. 
 Down my own cheeks the tears rained fast ; and I 
 could not utter a word while the amiable boy was 
 speaking in that low, plaintive, but still clear voice, 
 which penetrated like a sacred and mournful me- 
 lody to the very depths of my soul. The intelli- 
 gence which marked his words — the unstudied 
 pathos which was breathed in his language — the 
 artless sincerity that characterised all he said, in- 
 vested the whole scene with a profound yet deeply 
 touching interest that I never can forget. 
 
 " Have you seen my brothers and sisters ?" he 
 asked, after a short pause. 
 
 " No," I replied. " I came to see you first." 
 
 " Then, if I have felt so much pleasure in meeting 
 you again," he said, with a sweet but melancholy 
 smile, '■' I am sure they vn\\ be glad also. Bo go 
 and see them — those poor little things ! — and then 
 come back to me." 
 
 I did as he requested, and ascended to an upper 
 room where the other children were together, — Mrs. 
 Messiter remaining by the side of the dying boy 
 All but the youngest immediately recollected me' 
 and their looks, spirit-broken and moiu-nful when I 
 entered, instantaneously cheered up as they floe i e 
 
 around me with joy upon then- pale countenances. 
 I sat down amongst them, taking the youngest upon 
 my knees — that one whom as a babe I had carried 
 in my arms, and who with a sort of instinctive 
 fondness, wQlLngly came to me. The two eldest 
 children of the little group (five in all) knew that 
 their brother was dying, and they began to cry as I 
 spoke to them about him ; but the youngest three, 
 not comprehending their brother's danger nor what 
 death was, were happily ignorant of the cause that 
 made the others weep. I could not help noticing 
 that the poor childi-en aU seemed to be cowed and 
 spu'it-broken, afraid of making the slightest noise 
 lest they should be scolded, and with none of the 
 buoyancy of disposition which was proper io their 
 age: but I knew that the influence which thua 
 hung like a dark cloud over the minds of these 
 little ones, emanated from the sternness of the father, 
 and would perhaps have been mora crushing still 
 were it not for such stealthy indulgence as their 
 mother daied show them. 
 
 Having remained with the children for ahout 
 half-an-hour, and distributed amongst them some 
 toys and cakes which I had purposely brought with 
 me from Ashford, I descended to the room where I 
 had left Mrs. Messiter by the side of her dying boy. 
 Mr. Messiter was now there ; and as I entered, I 
 could not help being struck by his appearance. Ho 
 who was wont to be so prim and precise in his 
 apparel, was now slovenly, dirty, and negUgent; 
 and though he had not lost the severity of his looks, 
 yet instead of a false sanctimoniousness, he had an 
 air of dissipation and debauchery. His countenance 
 was flushed, and his eyes had that red and watery 
 appearance which betray the hard-drinker. In a 
 word, it was impossible to mistake the truth — 
 namely, that Mr. Mes^ter had taken to the bottle 
 even more completely than his wife's letter had led 
 me to suspect, and that he was becoming, if he were 
 not ah'cady, a drunkard. Nay, to tell the whole 
 truth, he was not even sober on this occasion, 
 though it was stiU early in the evening (being 
 barely seven o'clock), and though his eldest son lay 
 upon the bed of death. For a moment I felt so 
 shocked that I remained at the door, not daring to 
 advance farther into a room the sacred atmosphere 
 of which seemed to be polluted by the odoiu* of a 
 breath poisoned by strong drink: but almost in- 
 stantaneously catching the look of mingled entreaty 
 and distress which Mrs. Messiter flung upon me, I 
 approached her husband, who held out his hand to 
 give me such greeting as it was in his callous selfish 
 natiu-e to bestow. 
 
 " Well, Mary, so you have oome to see us — eh P* 
 he said, steadying himself as he spoke against ths 
 mantel-piece. " Ah ! there are great changes here. 
 That scoundrel Smithson has done it all .-" 
 
 "No, sir — not all," I answered, in a low lone, 
 but with a significant look towards the bed, — my 
 object being to recall his thoughts from worldly con- 
 cerns to the solemn spectacle of his son's approach- 
 ing death. 
 
 " Mary, come to me," said the dying ohild^ in a, 
 voice which struck mo to be much fainter and with 
 an utterance more painful than ere T had quiltetl 
 the room half-an-hour back. " There — sit down be- 
 side me," he continued, as I api)roachod liini : '' I 
 like to have you near me. Mother, dear mother, 
 don't cry : it doos grieve me go to see you weep thus.
 
 232 
 
 MARY PBICE ; OK, THE MEMOIRS OF A 8EBVANT-MAID. 
 
 Father, come and kiss me : give me your hand — I 
 Want to say something to you." 
 
 Mr. Messiter, who seemed to bo suddenly sobered 
 by this appeal, as if he felt it to be one of death, 
 ipproached the couch — bent down — and kissed his 
 dying son. Then the callous heart of that man was 
 evidently moved; and with low accents, he said, 
 '•' Tell mo what it is, my poor boy. Speak out : don't 
 be afraid— I am listening to you." 
 
 Was it a passing remorseful consciousness of 
 former tyranny that made him thus bid his son 
 speak out freely ? and did he think it necessary to 
 relieve that child, even on his death-bed, from the 
 influence of paternal terrorism in the utterance of 
 his last words ? 
 
 " My dear father," said tho poor boy, speaking 
 with an increasing difficulty, " I have got something 
 that I really wish to say — and yet I scarcely like — 
 for I am so afraid — so vei-y much afraid of angering 
 you — or that you will be displeased." 
 
 " It is impossible, my dear boy," I said, " that 
 your father can bo displeased with anything you 
 may utter now." 
 
 " No, no," said Mr. Messiter : " speak — do not be 
 
 afraid My God ! do speak, my poor boy!" — and 
 
 the stern heart of that man being deeply moved, ho 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " O father ! in one senso I am glad to see you 
 weep :" — and an expression of joy, sweet and ra- 
 diant such as human fancy depicts as appearing upon 
 the countenance of a holy angel, suddenly illumi- 
 nated tho features of the dj-ing boy. " I am sure, 
 my dear father, that you will attend to me now. 
 Ah ! dear Mary," ho added, turning his eyes towards 
 me, " I told you just now that you were an angel, 
 and you see the good that your presence has done." 
 
 I was weeping— and the poor afllicted mother 
 was also weeping, with a vain attempt to subdue 
 the outward appearance of her grief as much as 
 possible. 
 
 " My dear father," continued the poor child, press- 
 ing his parent's large hand between his o^vn thin 
 wasted waxen ones, " I am going to leave you — and 
 my poor mother too — and my dear little brothers 
 and sisters — and my kind friend Mary also ; and in 
 a short time — perhaps within an hour, for I teel that 
 I am sinking — I shall be no longer hero ! Then, 
 my dear father, when you think of me and remem- 
 ber your poor little son who always did his best to 
 please you and bo as dutiful as ho could, you wUl 
 not perhaps forget the last request he made. And 
 think, dear papa, that if when I am in heaven I am 
 allowed to look down upon what is passing on this 
 earth, how happy it will make me to sec you have 
 really borne in mind these dying words which I am 
 uttering. Father," he said, taking his mother's 
 hand, and making it join with that of his siro, " if 
 you understand what I mean I will not say it in 
 words. And yet perhaps it is better — although at 
 this moment it causes mo a great pang to speak 
 
 these words Yet what I mean is this, dear 
 
 father do do be good to my poor mother — 
 
 and my dear little brothers and sisters." 
 
 I know not how Mr. Messiter looked : at (hat 
 moment my tears were blinding me, and I hcai-d 
 Ihe poor mother sobbing convulsively: but I sup- 
 pose that Mr. Messiter gave some indication of 
 assent lo the prayer of his dying child; for after a 
 brief pause the poor boy exi'luimod in a tone of en- 
 
 thusiastic gratitude, " Thank you, my dear papa, I 
 shall now die happy. Mary dear, go and fetch me 
 my brothers and sisters that I may bid tLeaa good 
 bye." 
 
 I hastened from the room, but with noiseless 
 steps : and as I was issuing forth I met the doctor, 
 
 who was returning to pay another visit his last ! 
 
 I stopped for a few moments in the passage to ask 
 him whether there were no hope ? — in my own 
 heart I knew that there was none ; and yet, futilo 
 though tho question were, it was one of those which 
 in such cases is so often put. The doctor shook his 
 head and entered the room, while I ascended the 
 stairs to fetch down the children. I scarcely knew 
 how to act — whether to tell the eldest ones anything 
 that might prepare them, or to leave all to nature's 
 own promptings : and I decided upon the latter 
 course. Subduing my own grief as well as I was 
 able, and drying my tears so as not to afflict the 
 poor cldldron ere they entered the death-chamber, I 
 conducted them down thither. 
 
 Then, one after the other, did the poor dying boy 
 have his brothers and his sisters placed upon the bed 
 in such a manner that he could embrace them. 
 And, Oh ! what kisses did ho lavish upon them ! 
 All the last efforts of life were poured forth in tho 
 fondness of those caresses. The two eldest either 
 understood from their own knowledge, or else were 
 taught by an instinctive prompting what was about 
 to take place ; and they began to cry very bitterly. 
 The three youngest cried because the others did; 
 and altogether the scene was fidl of the deepest but 
 most afflicting interest. The youngest of all, who 
 was still called "the baby," though indeed nearly 
 two years old, had from its birth been tho special 
 darUng of the dying boy ; and he now strained the 
 little being to his breast as if he dared not part from 
 it. It was even while thus retaining the little one 
 there that the ominous sound conunenced in his 
 throat which heralded the presence of death ; and 
 the doctor was compelled gently to take the child 
 away from its dying brother. I then conducted 
 them out of the room ; and consigning them to the 
 care of the servant-gM, returned into the chamber 
 — for I knew it was the wish of the departing boy 
 that I should be near him until tho last. The awful 
 solemnity of the scene helped to subdue the out- 
 ward violence of that grief which I endeavoured to 
 keep do\^^l : but it nearly burst forth with sudden 
 cbulhtion when I beheld that sweet angelic smile of 
 resignation which was playing upon his features as 
 I again approached the couch. Mr. Messiter had 
 his kerchief to his eyes. ^Mrs. Messiter was kneel- 
 ing down \vith her child's right hand pressed to lier 
 lips. The doctor stood by with mournful gravity, 
 contemplating the scene in which his services were 
 of no farther avail. 
 
 In a few minutes all M-as over — the spirit of that 
 amiable child, released from its mortal cl.\v, had lied 
 to heaven ! 
 
 " O God, ho is gone !" moaned the unhappy mo- 
 ther, as she still pressed the now lifeless hand to her 
 hps. 
 
 When tho heart is full almost unto bursting with 
 a woe restrained by a preterhuman effort, it requires 
 but the slightest incident — a single word — to touch 
 the chord that is stretched; and then the vibration, 
 though lasting but for a moment, is fraught with 
 such exquisite pain that nature caa supply but one
 
 MART prior; on, THR MEMOIRS OF A 8KUV/1NT-MA1D. 
 
 i-emedy — and this is tears. So vrcis it witli inc. The 
 worda from the bereaved mother's lips touclicd that 
 ehord in my heart ; and all my pent-up feelings 
 bui'st forth. I wept as bitterly as if that dead boy 
 had been one of my own brothers ! 
 
 But I will not dwell upon tliia passage in my his- 
 tory- Suffice it to say tliat at the earnest entreaty 
 of Mrs. Messiter I agreed to remain with her until 
 after the funeral ; and I wi'ote to my brother Wil- 
 liam to state that such was my intention. Mrs. 
 Messiter experienced an affliction for tlie loss of her 
 child which seemed scarcely to admit of comfort : 
 but I regret to say that her husband made the 
 calamity an excuse for frequent applications to the 
 bottle. The fimeral took place on the sixth day 
 after the deatli ; and then I departed from Dover — 
 but not without having had the satisfaction of see- 
 ing that Mr. Messiter's affairs were completely 
 arranged with his creditors, and that he was in a 
 NO. 30 
 
 position to renew his business — a circumstance 
 which I hoped would prove to some extent mitiga- 
 tory of the afflict iou endm-ed by his wife. 
 
 CHAPTEE LI. 
 
 STHANGE OCCCKBENCKS. 
 
 On my return to Ashford I found that three or four 
 answers had been ah-cady received to the advertise- 
 ments inserted with re.spcct to Sarah ; but none of 
 them appeared exactly suitable. It was therefore 
 resolved to repeat the announcements, and not be 
 in too great a hurry to catch at anytlung that 
 offered itself, but, on the contrary, to exercise the 
 utmost prudence in taking so solemn a step as that 
 of launching my sister out into the world. 
 The reader may bo assured that since my retuni
 
 MART price; oh, THB MEM0IR3 OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 234 
 
 lo Ashford from Derbyshire I had not forgotten to 
 inquire after poor Mad Tommy : but I learnt from 
 WiUiam that he had recently disappeared from 
 the neighbourhood— a circumstance however which 
 caused no uneasiness to those who ^vlshed him weU, 
 as these periodical freaks of absence and wandering 
 about, were in accordance with his habits. As for 
 Nick Sawbridgo and Ben Bulldog, the town of 
 Ashford was still happy in being relieved from their 
 presence. 
 
 The house in which I lived with my sisters, was a 
 small one, kept by a poor widow-woman; and the 
 lodcnntrs which wp occupied consisted of two rooms 
 on the^'fivst floor, not opening into each other, but 
 eomraunieating from the same landing. Jane slept 
 (Villi me in the back chamber; and Sarah had a 
 bed made up for her at night in the front room, 
 and wliieh being cleared away during the day, left 
 (his front apartment free for our use as a sittuig- 
 parlour. One night, about a week after my retm-n 
 from the Messiters at Dover, I lay awake in one 
 of those moods when a variety of conflicting thoughts 
 persist m obtruding themselves upon the mind and 
 chasing away slumber. We had gone to bed as 
 usual at about ten o'clock ; and the ii-on tongue ot 
 tlie great church-tower bad proclaimed eleven some 
 fimo— yet I could not compose myself to sleep. I 
 I bought of that poor boy whom I had seen die so 
 recently,— I thought of the Caldera, wondering 
 where they were, and hoping soon to hear from 
 them,— I "thought of Lady Harlesdon, calculating 
 that as five wrecks had now elapsed since I wTote 
 from London, I ought to have had an answer if her 
 ladvship meant to reply at all,— I thought likewise 
 ul' the I'ercivals, to whom I had despatched a letter 
 Iho day before,— of my brother Eobert, from whom 
 I had heard notldng since wo parted at Derby, — 
 ^nd I thought also of Eustace Quentin, fi-om whom 
 in a few months now I was to receive a letter on 
 the attainment of his majority. Of all these things 
 I thought— and I could not get to sleep. Little 
 Jane was fast locked in the arms of slumber by my 
 5i(Je — the house was entombed in silence — silence 
 also appeared to envelop the sleeping town. 
 
 It must have been about half-past eleven o'clock 
 ivhcn it struck mo that I heard a noise, as of a door 
 opening — the door too of the front room in which 
 Sarah ^ept. I listened with suspended breath and 
 (n some degree of terror; for all kinds of horrible 
 ideas of burglars, robbers, and mm-derers started 
 up in my mind, amongst which images those of the 
 Bulldog and Sawbridge were instantaneously pro- 
 minent. But that noise was as transitory as it was 
 dubious — and I heard no more. Soon after I gradu- 
 ally sank off into a slumber— but my dreams were 
 troubled : that sound of the opening door was heard 
 again in my visions, and I passed thi-ough all the 
 horrors of a nightmare. At length I awoke with a 
 sudden start, and at the very same instant it struck 
 me that I again heard the door of the adjoining room 
 moving— but this time it seemed as if instead of 
 being opened, it was being shut with caution. 
 
 The dawn of mornuig was glimmermg in at the 
 window, and I felt less afraid than when startled in 
 the darkness of the early part of the night. My 
 first impulse was now to leap out of bed and go and 
 see if anything were the mutter : but on approach- 
 ing the door of ray chamber and pausing to listen 
 ere I opened it, I found everything was so silent iii 
 
 the house that I went back to bed, ashamed of my 
 fears. Sleep again visited me — and I slumbiired on 
 peacefully and without any more unpleasant dreams 
 until it was time to get up. I then thought little 
 more of the circumstances which had alarmed me, 
 and did not mention them to my sisters. 
 
 But when night came ^ain and I lay down by 
 the side of Jane, who was already in bed and fast 
 asleep, I regretted having extinguished my candle ; 
 for a sensation of uneasiness crept over me when I 
 recollected the incidents of the precodii^ nio-ht. 
 I endeavoured to banish these vague fears from mv 
 mind: but the longer I thought upon them, the 
 more substantial did they seem to grow — so that for 
 an hour I lay turning from side to side, imable to 
 sleep. At length a sort of drowsiness, or dreamy 
 repose, rather than the more opiatic influence of 
 slumber, came upon me ; and from this state I was 
 suddenly startled by hearing precisely the same 
 sound which had terrified me at about the same 
 hour on the previous night. This was of a door 
 opening very gently — and, as I thought, the door of 
 the front room. Stdl I was not certain — ifc might 
 only be fancy on my part, the reproduction of my 
 waking thoughts in the dreaminess of repose. I 
 accordingly laid still and listened. But in less than 
 a minute I heard another sound, as if the front door 
 of the house had been gently closed by some one 
 going out very cautiously. I now felt seriously 
 alarmed, and getting up, opened the chamber-door 
 to listen. All was still. 1 stepped forth upon the 
 landing, which was quite dark ; and I shuddered as 
 I thought of the possibility of being seized upon by 
 some ruffian hand. I would have hghted the candle, 
 but I had not the materials in the room. Summon- 
 ing all my courage to my aid, I felt for the door of 
 the fi'ont room, but found it shut and locked. I lis- 
 tened for a minute to see whether the noise of trying 
 the handle had disturbed Sarah within: but as she 
 did not speak, I went back to my own chamber, 
 locked the door, and returned once more to bed, 
 fully satisfied that it was altogether a false alarm. I 
 soon fell asleep, and did not awake again until sevea 
 o'clock in the morning, the usual hour for rising. 
 
 So convinced was I that my fears had been ground- 
 less that I still refrained from mentioning the inci- 
 dent either to my sisters or to the mistress of the 
 house, who was the only occupant of it besides our- 
 selves : nor did I think much more of the matter 
 throughout that day. But when the hour for retiring 
 to rest approached, I resolved to have materials in 
 my room for procuring a light in case of necessity. 
 I did not however let cither of my sisters know of 
 this proceeding, for fear of alarming them. On re- 
 tiring to rest I ti-ied to go tc sleep, but could not; 
 and therefore speedily accepted as it were the neces- 
 sity of lying awake. 
 
 " Between eleven and twelve." said I to mvself, 
 "is the time when those sounds are heard — if indeed 
 they are heard at all other\\ise than in the imagina- 
 tion ; and therefore I suppose that I must lie awake 
 until I have satisfied myself respecting their reality 
 or their ideality." 
 
 But sure enough, ot about the same time, as 
 nearly as I could guess, I heard the wonted sound — 
 namely, that of a door opening: : and so convinced 
 was I on this occasion of the reality thereof, that I 
 was seized with a mortal torror. Wliat could it pos- 
 sibly be ? That S;u-ah locked her door of a night as
 
 MAEY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIBS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 235 
 
 a proper precaution, was evident from its being so 
 fastened when I tried it the preceding night ; and it 
 was not at all likely that she would get up and leave 
 her room at such an hoiu" and in so stealthy a 
 manner. Then, what could it be ? It was this hor- 
 rible uncertainty, this terrible suspense, that filled 
 me with consternation; and two or three minutes 
 passed away ere I had power to move. Then all my 
 fortitude seemed to return in an instant ; and spring- 
 ing from my bed, I lighted the candle and went out 
 upon the landing. All was still. I ti-ied the door of 
 the fi-ont room : it was locked fast as on the pre- 
 vious night. I now hesitated what to do ; but at 
 length resolved on knocking gently to ascertain 
 whether Sarah herself had been disturbed. But she 
 did not answer — so I concluded she was fast asleep ; 
 and perceiving nothing to confirm my terrors, I 
 thought it a pity to make her share them by arous- 
 ing Jier. Then it struck me that I would ascend to 
 the next floor and see if the old landlady had heard 
 anything. I did so — entered her room, the door of 
 which she did not lock — and found her in a deep 
 slumber. Her state was therefore a sufficient 
 answer to the question I meant to have put, had I 
 found her awake ; and I crept down again without 
 distm-bing her. Ee-entering my chamber, I extin- 
 guished the light and went to bed again : but it was 
 a long time before I could compose myself to sleep. 
 Then I slept on for hours — and when I opened my 
 eyes again, it was with a start and a tlu'ill of terror, 
 for I caught the sounds of a door closing and a key 
 tm-ning in the lock, but vaguely and dubiously like 
 the end of a dream slipping out of the imagination 
 at the instant when one awakes. 
 
 I sat up in bed and listened. All was still, and it 
 was daylight. What could this mean ? what were 
 these sounds that I had so often heard — this stealthy 
 opening and shutting of doors, as if some one went 
 out at night and came back in the morning ? I felt 
 as if the roots of my hair were actually standing on 
 end with horror, as the conviction was forced upon 
 mo that if it were any one who did this it must be 
 Sarah — my own sister Sarah — and none other. I 
 was shocked at the idea, and endeavoured to put it 
 away from me as if it were some hideous thing that 
 persisted in rising up before my eyes. But I could 
 not. Back would come the thought with fresh 
 power, the more I endeavoured to repel it, till it 
 settled almost mth the firmness ot a conviction in 
 my mind. O heavens ! what dared I think ? that 
 
 one so young- but no, no — it was impossible ! I 
 
 felt that I must not judge hastily, nor even make an 
 accusation too shocking if it should prove untrue. 
 What course, then, was I to adopt ? Still to re- 
 main silent before my sisters as to what I had 
 heard, but to keep watch when night came again. 
 
 Such was the plan I resolved upon ; and the day 
 which I now passed was one of the most wretched 
 of my whole existence. Frequently did I find my- 
 self gazing intently upon Sarah's superbly hand- 
 some countenance, and wondering whether it were 
 possible that she could be capable of a terrible du- 
 plicity — I dared not think of anything worse ! Once 
 or twice slie observed that I thus regarded her ; and 
 methought she became slightly troubled : but if so, 
 she instantaneously regained her composure, and I 
 was com]iclled to conclude that her looks really 
 proved nothing. It was not only one of the most 
 wretched but also ono of tho longest days I ever 
 
 passed; and during all those mortal hovirs which 
 moved onward v/ith such leaden feet, was I tortured 
 with the most harrowing suspense, — maintaining an 
 incessant struggle against apprehensions to which I 
 dared not yield, but which nevertheless kept forcing 
 themselves like grisly phantoms upon my thoughts. 
 How I managed to conceal tho state of my mind 
 throughout that live-long day from my two sisters, 
 is more than I can conceive : but I suppose that I 
 did so, as neither of them noticed that I was at all 
 duO, or dispirited, or restless. 
 
 Night came at length — the church-clock pro- 
 claimed the hour of ten — and I retired -with Jane 
 to the back chamber. I distinctly heard Sarah, lock 
 her own door as usual, immediately after we thus 
 quitted her room. Jane soon disappareUed herself, 
 and was in bed. I made some excuse for not im- 
 mediately imdressmg, and talked to her tiU she 
 went to sleep : then seating myself in a chair close 
 by the door, I listened. I heard the clock strike 
 eleven, and I said to myself, " In another half -hour, 
 if it occiirs at all !" 
 
 As-the moment approached when my fears must 
 be either confirmed or dissipated, the most cruel rest- 
 lessness grew upon me — a feverish excitement 
 amounting to a perfect agony. It seemed as if mil- 
 lions of pins were pricking me all over, so intensely 
 did the blood tingle in my veins. But all of a sudden 
 this dreadful heat was turned into an ice-chUl, as my 
 ear caught the unmistakable soimds of the key 
 tm-ning in the lock of Sarah's door, — turning too 
 with that gradual slowness which indicates extreme 
 caution. StiU I moved not, but continued to listen. 
 The door was opened — the key was taken out — I 
 heard a rustling of garments, and a slight creaking 
 of the boards in the passage beneath gently treading 
 footsteps. Then the door was closed — the key was 
 introduced into the lock on the outside — it turned, 
 and was withdrawn again. Now my worst fears 
 seemed confirmed; and I was about to start up, 
 tear open my own chamber door, and burst forth 
 upon my sister. But at that instant an important 
 consideration restrained me. Were I to do so, it 
 must be accompanied by distm'bance — the landlady 
 would be alarmed — exposure must foUow — and my 
 sister's reputation woidd be ruined beyond redemp- 
 tion. That woidd be horrible ! And yet what was 
 to be done ? An interposing hand must be stretched 
 out to rescue the imhappy girl from whatsoever 
 course she was pursuing ; and at the same time utter 
 secrecy must be observed. 
 
 My resolve was promptly taken. I would follow 
 her ! To put on my bonnet and shawl was tho work 
 of a moment : but as I issued from my chamber, my 
 car caught the sound of tho front door closing 
 gently. Stealthily did I creep down the stairs : and 
 if I had any lingering doubt before as to whether 
 my sister, or at least some ono, had gone forth, it 
 was now totally dispelled, for I found tho bolts of 
 tho front door drawn back, and the key itself was 
 taken way, evidently for the purpose of opening tho 
 door again for re-admittanco at a later hour. I 
 went Ibrth from tho house, closing that door as 
 noiselessly as possible behind me. The night was 
 dark — but not too dark to prevent mo from dis- 
 tinguishing a female figure moving rapidly along 
 the street at a little distance. My first impulse was 
 naturally to overtake Sarah as (juickly as jiossiblc, 
 and thus personally prove to her my knowledge of
 
 236 
 
 MARY PKICE; OB, THE MEJTOIKS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 — and now a dim light gleamed from an open door 
 on the second storey. I rushed into the room — and 
 there I beheld Sarah upon her knees, at the feet of 
 the Bulldog and ilfick Sawbridge I 
 
 '■' Mary, save me, save me 1" shrieked the terrified 
 girl, and springing up, she flew towards me. 
 
 " Well, by jingo, this is the queerest start I ever 
 saw in all my life !" exclaimed the Bulldoo'. " A 
 moment ago young Sarah vowed and protested that 
 
 no one knew she had come here " 
 
 '•' And she told you then," said I, " what she be- 
 lieved to be the truth. But I watched her — I fol- 
 lowed her — and now I will take her away with me '." 
 "Ah! but there's two words to that question 
 though," growled the Bulldog, who held a bludgeon 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Yes— that there is," added Sawbridge, who car- 
 ried a dark lantern and a bunch of objects which no 
 doubt were skeleton-keys and pick-locks. 
 
 '•' O Mary, Mary ! what shall we do ?" cried Sarah, 
 clinging to mo in frantic terror. 
 
 " They will not hurt us," said I, looking steadily at 
 the two men and thus speaking at them also. "JTo 
 — they will not hurt us. Of whaf^ use would it be 
 to them to do an injury to two helpless females, who 
 came not hither to do them harm r" 
 
 " Ah ! but what about the treasure ?" growled the 
 Bulldog : and he looked down upon the floor as he 
 spoke. 
 
 I now observed what appeared to be a long black 
 mark upon the floor, of about four feet in length 
 and eight inches in width, but wliich at a second 
 glance I perceived to be an opening from which a 
 portion of a plank had been lifted. 
 
 '■' I beg^ to understand what you mean," said I. 
 "Mrs. Whitfield's hidden treasure is discovered. 
 For heaven's sake keep it all for yourselves — do 
 with it what you like— but let my sister and me go 
 hence unhm-t !" 
 
 "Yes — and give information to the beaks to- 
 morrow morning," growled the Bulldog, savagely. 
 
 "And so raise a hue and cry arter us," added 
 Sawbridge, likewise with a menacing look. 
 
 "Let us depart," I said, now very seriously 
 frightened, and feeling that my fortitude was aban- 
 doning me ; " and we wiU not give utterance to a 
 word that shall interfere with your plans." 
 
 " WcU, if we was sure of that," observed Saw- 
 bridge, less cruel and bloodthirsty than his com- 
 panion, "we might eh, Ben?" 
 
 "I don't know what to say about it," was the 
 grufi" response ; and the fellow seemed to grasp his 
 bludgeon with a firmer hold. 
 
 "it would not bo the fii'st time," I immediately 
 said in a significant tone, " that I have held my 
 peace respecting your misdeeds." 
 
 "That's true enow!" immediately observed Saw- 
 bridge, as if appealing on our behalf. 
 
 " Well then, if you and your sister both promise 
 to keep quiet," said the Bulldog, " about this hero 
 matter, and not mention it to a soul, me and Nick 
 ■will stand the risk of letting you go scot free." 
 "You can believe me when I give you that 
 account only, for I was at the moment utterly un- ' promise, both for mysolf and sister," said I: and I 
 mindful of myself. Fortunately my hand on- I at once knew by the Bulldogs looks that our lives 
 coimtered the bannisters of the stairs; and flying I were now safe. 
 
 up them, I reached the hall-passage. Guided by j "Well then," ho exclaimed, "you must both stnv 
 the piteous supplications of my sister, which still j here till me and Sawbridge are clean out of the 
 continued, I sped up the next flight— then another place, so that wc may have the start of you." 
 
 I her misconduct : but then it struck me that a girl 
 who could be so consiunmate a hypocrite in the 
 ! management of her evil proceedings, would, when 
 i discovered, be equally bold in defying and resisting 
 a sister's authority. Oh! how bitterly my heart 
 [ was wrung on making this reflection : and it was a 
 most natural one. To reclaim her, I thought, it 
 would be necessary to probe the whole aSair to the 
 ! depth of its terrible mystery; and I accordingly 
 resolved to follow her imperceived. Therefore, keep- 
 ing her in view, I crept stealthily along where the 
 shade of the houses was darkest, so that if she 
 looked back she might not perceive that she was 
 being followed. In a few minutes she turned into 
 the street where Mrs. Whitfield's deserted house was 
 situated ; and suddenly I lost sight of her altogether. 
 I hastened on to the spot where she had thus dis- 
 appeared from my view, and found myself at the 
 entrance of a narrow alley the existence of which I 
 had not at the first moment remembered, but which 
 separated the deserted house from the one next to 
 it and led down to the back gates of both of them. 
 That Sarah had entered the alley I was now certain ; 
 and I crept stealthily along the narrow avenue, 
 which was as dark as pitch. I heard a gate open 
 and shut : so I went on and tried the latch of the 
 gate communicating with the back yard of the 
 deceased Mrs. Whitfield's house. It opened — and 
 just as I entered the yard into which it led, my ears 
 caught the sound of a door closing somewhere about 
 the premises. 
 
 Thus far, then, had I traced my sister I And now 
 I experienced a feeling of relief; for it seemed im- 
 possible that she could have come hither for any 
 purpose such as I had at first naturally supposed to 
 be the one that could alone have enticed her awav 
 from her home in the darkness of the night and in 
 so stealthy a manner. But what on earth could 
 have brought her to the shut-up hoiise ? Ah ! the 
 truth suddenly flashed to my comprehension ; and 
 the relief which I had a minute before experienced, 
 suddenly grew unspeakably great. My sister might 
 be avaricious — covetous — but, thank heaven, she 
 was not criminal in a deeper sense ! Now then, how 
 was I to proceed ? If I were to follow her into the 
 house, might I not cause her the most serious alarm? 
 And yet I had no other alternative : for be it under- 
 stood that I myself was shut out Jrom the lodgings 
 and coi.Ud only regain admittance by means of the 
 key which Sarah had brought awav with her. I 
 was therefore compelled to continue my piu:siut of 
 her at all risks. 
 
 Through the dimness of the night I found my way 
 to a door opening into the back part of the house : 
 it was not fastened, and I therefore concluded it to 
 be the one which I had heard closing as I entered 
 the yard. So I passed very quietly into the build- 
 ing, and was now in utter darkness. I was groping 
 my way onward when I suddenly heard a shriek 
 thrilling from an upper room, and then my sister 
 Sarah's voice speaking with the rapidity and pas- 
 sionate vehemence of earnest entreaty. The widest 
 terror gave wings to my feet — a terror on ker ,
 
 MAitv price; on, the mejioirs of a servant-jiaiu. 
 
 237 
 
 Poor Saraii now at length began to breathe more 
 freely : but still she clung to me, as if in me alone 
 was her safety centred. The Bulldog knelt down, 
 and from the hollow in the floor ladled out with his 
 hands a quantity of gold, which by the size of the 
 heap I should think could not have been less than 
 four or five hundred pounds : and now I heard 
 Sarah heave a deep sigh as the feeling of covetous- 
 ncss returned in proportion as that of terror evapo- 
 rated. The Bulldog wrapped up one portion of the 
 gold in his own handkerchief, and consigned it to 
 his pocket : Sawbridge did the same by the other 
 porliou — and again did Sarah sigh as the treasure 
 disappeared from her view, — that treasure which 
 she had come to seek, but which had thus fallen 
 into the hands of others ! 
 
 Now when I reflect upon that night's scene, and 
 can look calmly back upon all its details, it occurs 
 to me that it must have been one which a painter 
 might have chosen to delineate upon his canvass. 
 There were two lights in the room — one the lantern 
 of the ruffians, the other a candle. The shutters 
 were all barricaded up, and the draperies drawn 
 over the windows. The interior of the chamber 
 itself was in the utmost confusion, every article of 
 furnitiu-e bemg out of its place, and the carpet 
 removed from the floor and thrust up into one 
 corner. The bedding was all bundled ofi" upon the 
 floor — the cupboards stood open, their contents toss- 
 ing about — and the whole appearance of the place 
 showed how completely it had been ransacked. As 
 it was a very old house the walls were of wainscot ; 
 and to such an extent had the search after the 
 treasure been carried, that whole panels were 
 removed. In the midst of all this scene of confu- 
 sion, the light of the lamp and candle threw out the 
 figures of Sawbridge and tlie Bulldog into bold 
 relief, playing upon theu- hideous countenances 
 which now expressed the greedy satisfaction (if suc- 
 cessful covetousness. In the farthest corner, to 
 which we had retreated, were Sarah and myself, — 
 she still clinging to me, but gazing with looks of 
 more disappointment than terror upon the two 
 ruffians as they secured the gold about their per- 
 sons. Altogether, it was a scene well adapted for 
 the canvass of a painter. 
 
 Having self-appropriated the gold in the manner 
 described, Sawbridge and the Bulldog exchanged 
 a few rapid words in a flash language utterly in- 
 comprehensible to us ; and Sarah gazed up with 
 renewed terror into my countenance, dcjubtloss 
 fancying that the ruffians were deliberating whether 
 they should not recant their promise and take our 
 lives. I also was stricken with misgiving : but our 
 suspense was not of long duration; for the Bulldog, 
 turning towards us, said, •' But there's one more 
 condition besides holding j'our tongues, that we 
 must insist upon." 
 
 " Name it," said I : for well knowing the despe- 
 rate characters of those dreadful mtm, I felt it 
 imperiously necessary to yield to almost any terms 
 wliich th(!y might stipulate, so long as consistent 
 witii honour and propriety. 
 
 " Why, you see," rejoined the Bulldog, ''' me and 
 Sawbridge have changed our minds in one respect. 
 We first thought of cutting away from Ashford 
 again without delay, so as to live like gen'lcmen 
 elsewhere upon our fortune:" — and he tapped liis 
 coat pocket, making the gold chink within : — " that 
 
 is to say, as long as it lasts. But now we have 
 made up our minds to stay in Ashford a liltlo bit 
 longer, and ransack this old house thoroughly from 
 top to bottom. What I want to say then is, that 
 wo look upon it as our property ; and so, if either 
 of you gals dare think of coming here any more, 
 you'll get your throats cut ti'om ear to ear — and 
 that's all about it." 
 
 At this horrible tlireat Sarah gave utterance to a 
 subdued shriek, and clung to me with the utmost 
 tenacity. I also was seized with a cold horror ; and 
 if I had wished to make any observation, I should 
 not have been able to give utterance to a word. The 
 Bulldog and Sawbridge now again spoke a few words 
 in their own flash tongue ; and immediately after- 
 wards the former said, as if in continuation of his 
 previous remarks, " So, in consequence of the reso- 
 lution me and Nick have come to, it's not necessary 
 for you two gals to stay here no longer. Mind, 
 Mary Price, you have as good as swore not to blab 
 about this here business ; and if we didn't think you 
 was a young woman of honour we should slit your 
 windpipe to make sure. But beware ! If we hear in 
 the town the least whisper about anybody coming 
 to this old house — or if we even think ourselves 
 watched or dogged — we shall at once set it down to 
 you or your sister ; and by jingo ! even if we was in 
 the hands of the constables, we would get away from 
 them if it was only to make both of you squeak with 
 a knife stuck in your throats for having betrayed us. 
 So now bundle off both of you, and mind what I 
 have said." 
 
 While the wretch was thus speaking, Sarah gazed 
 upon him in speechless horror, her arms encu-cling 
 my waist. My own sensations were those of a sicken- 
 ing faintness, mingled with consternation. It was 
 not merely the language of that man which was so 
 frightful : but there was something so cold-blooded 
 and brutally ferocious in his looks that methought 
 ho even longed to do the deeds which he threatened. 
 When he had done speaking, therefore, neither 
 Sarah nor myself required to be enjoined twice to 
 take our departure ; and even as we hurried down 
 the stairs I dreaded lest the two miscreants, repent- 
 ing of their forbearance, should spring after us — 
 seize upon us — and by taking our lives, fancy that 
 they were making their own position all the more 
 secuie. But we succeeded in emerging from the 
 house in safety ; and never perhaps was the fresh air 
 inhaled with a more exquisite sensation of relief 
 than l:)y Sarah and myself as we found ourselves in 
 the open street again. 
 
 I did not say a word either of reproach or inquiry 
 to my sister as wo proceeded homeward. I thouglil 
 anything in the shape of romoustrance to bo un- 
 necessary for the moment, after the fearful lesson 
 which she had just received ; and moreover I was 
 too unfeignedly rejoiced at our escape to have it in 
 my heart to utter an angrj* word. Nor less was I 
 gratified at the clearing-up of a mystery which had 
 for a time filled mo with such dread approhen.^ions 
 relative to Sarah, but the elucidation of whu'h 
 proved that she had been more foolish than ('ulj/abl.) 
 — and at all events not culpable in a way damagiug 
 to the purity of her reputation. As for inquiry, i 
 resolved to wait until we reached homo for such ex- 
 planations as were still needed to fill up the gaps in 
 the history of her proceedings. On her p.irt, Sarnh 
 remained equally Bilcnt, ashamed no doubt, uot-
 
 2S8 
 
 UABT PBICE; OB, THE MEM0IB3 OF A SEBVAST-MAID. 
 
 witlistanding her self-willed disposition, of tlie whole 
 tenour of her conduct. 
 
 We reached our lodgings, and entered them un- 
 observed, Sai-ah having the key of the house-door 
 with her ; and cautiously thd we ascend the stairs. 
 I could not hear the idea of our thus stealing like 
 midnight thieves into the place: but it could not 
 be helped. On reaching the front room we closed 
 the door end thi-ew oflf our bonnets and shawls. 
 Then w& sat down together in the dark — for I 
 would not light a candle at that time of night : and 
 I said, " 2s ow, Sarah, it" you feel tired and overcome, 
 I will not ask you to sit up and talk to me." 
 
 "jNfo, Mai7," she answered, "I would rather tell 
 you at once aU that I have to say and that you must 
 wish to know, so that when we meet in the morning 
 there may be no unkind looks on your part. Dear 
 Mary, I hope you will forgive me for the cruel 
 anxieties I must have caused you and the terrible 
 dangers into which you have been led." 
 
 As she thus spoke, Sarah threw her arms around 
 my neck and embraced me with greater warmth and 
 fondness than it was usual for her somewhat callous 
 nature to display. So I at once assured her of my 
 forgiveness, at the same time begging and imploring 
 that the adventures of the night might serve as a 
 warning for her not to dare any such perils in futiire. 
 She promised that she would attend to my advice, 
 and assm'ed me that the warning itself was sufficient 
 to make her do so. She then gave me a nai-rative 
 of her proceedings, which I now lay before the 
 reader : — 
 
 "from a variety of circumstances, I all along 
 felt convinced that Mrs. "Whitfield had some secret 
 hoard of money ; and you may perhaps remember 
 how actively I assisted in the search that was made 
 throughout the premises after the funeral. It was 
 while you were at Dover that I seriously thought of 
 paj-ing a secret visit to the house, and instituting a 
 farther search. I knew very well that if I spoke to 
 William upon the subject he would not enter into 
 my views ; and Jane was of course too young either 
 to be made a confidant or assist me in the enter- 
 prise. Equally vain I knew it to be to seek your 
 co-operation, Mary, when you came back from 
 Dover; and gradually the resolve settled in my 
 mind that I wodd dare the adventure alone. Do 
 not misimderstand me, Mary, in the ideas which I 
 entertained upon the subject that thus haunted 
 me. When I determined to penetrate into the shut- 
 up house by night, it was not to appropriate to 
 myself a single article to which I did not feel I was 
 morally entitled — no, not so much as a riband or a 
 bit of lace, or the most trifling nick-nack from any 
 of the rooms, would I have taken. It was the 
 will or else the hidden treasm-e that I sought — or 
 rather both : and as the lawjer and Mr. Collins had 
 given up for our use the little ready money that was 
 left after the funeral expenses, I thought for the 
 same reason that any other sum of money found 
 upon the premises would with equal reason be legi- 
 timately our's. Besides, I also felt assured that 
 Mrs. Whitfield must have made some will; as she 
 certainly never could have treated me and JaneT\-ith 
 80 much kijidness if she had not meant to provide 
 for us. All these considerations led me on to resolve 
 upon a farther search of the house. But I could 
 not commence until you rctui'ued, because I and 
 Jane slept together during your absence, and I 
 
 dared not leave her for several hours at a time, with 
 the chance of her awaking and finding that I was not 
 lying by her side. So I waited till you came back; 
 and then I began to put the scheme into execution. 
 I remembered that the gate leading into the back 
 yard was bolted inside, and that a padlock had been 
 put upon it outside. To pass this door was there- 
 fore the great difficulty : for I had already settled in 
 my mind a means of entering the house if I could 
 once obtain access into the yard. I went and ex- 
 amined that back-gate in the day-time, and soon 
 satisfied myself that the ring in which the 
 bolt of the padlock was fastened, could be un- 
 screwed ■with a Uttle effort. I also examined the wall 
 of the yard, and saw the possibility of climbing 
 over it. Satisfied with my researches, I was mors 
 than ever determined to dare the enterprise. It 
 was on the second night after your return from 
 Dover that I crept stealthily forth at about half- 
 past eleven, and hurried away to the shut-up house, 
 provided with a large stout nail and with materials 
 for striking a light. By means of the nail I un- 
 screwed the ring into which the padlock was fas- 
 tened. Then I attempted to climb the wall : but this 
 was far more difficult than I had previously supposed, 
 and once or tmce I was alarmed by the people be- 
 longing to the next house coming up the alley. At 
 last however I succeeded in getting over into the 
 yard, but not ■Nvithout many contusions, and even at 
 the risk of spraining my ankles seriously, as I lowered 
 myself on the iimer side of the wall. However, I 
 had succeeded thus far, and was encouraged to go 
 on. I have already told you that, once within the 
 enclosure, I knew how to enter the house. By 
 climbing on the water-butt I got on the top of the 
 pantry, which projects from the back of the house. 
 The staircase window, to which there are no shut- 
 ters outside, looks upon the pantry-roof: some 
 boards had been nailed up inside when the house 
 was barricaded ; but I saw the carpenter putting 
 up those boards at the time, and had noticed 
 that they were merely secm-ed with nails and not 
 with screws. Being put up inside the house too, 
 I had calcidated that it would not be difficult to force 
 one of those boards from its place, as I was enabled to 
 push against it from the outside. Opening the 
 window, I did push with all my might, and succeeded 
 by the help of the large nail also, in dislodging one 
 of the planks; and thus I effected an entry. 
 Closing the window again, I replaced the plank in 
 its setting — struck a light — and was now free to 
 commence mj' researches inside the house. So much 
 time had however been lost in accompUshing the 
 entry, that I cUd not on this first occasion remain 
 more than an hour in the building : besides which, 
 I felt afraid in the utter loneliness of that deserted 
 house where death had so lately been. To issue 
 forth again was now a very easy matter. The keys 
 had been left in the locks of all the doors, inside 
 the house, the front one alone excepted. Descend- 
 ing to the kitchen-premises, I unlocked and un- 
 bolted the back door, and thus emerged forth into 
 the vard again. I had only now to lock that door 
 on the outside, and conceal the key in some spot 
 where I could find it again, so as to ensure me 
 prompt cutranco into the house on the occasion of 
 my next visit. I then ilrew back the bolu of the 
 ] yai-d-gate from which I had previously removed the 
 I padlock on the outer side, so that I had no difficult/
 
 MARY price; or, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERTANT-MAID. 
 
 239 
 
 in getting out into flie alley once more. Screwing 
 the ring in again, I left the door to all appearances 
 just as I found it, so that no one passing by in the 
 day-time could possibly suspect that an entry had 
 been achieved. Eegaining the lodgings, I entered 
 ■without being noticed, and went to bed well wearied 
 ■with the woi'k I liad done. On the following night 
 I stole out again, an.l returned to the house. I had 
 now nothing to do but unscrew the ring in order to 
 enter the yard, and to open the back door with the 
 key to obtain admittance into the building. Again did 
 I feel the loneliness of the place ; but overcoming my 
 alarms I recommenced my researches in good ear- 
 nest. In the excitement of my proceedings I soon 
 lost all sense of loneliness, and rather gloried in 
 what I was doing. Every nook, crevice, and corner 
 that I could think of, did I search — taking up all 
 the carpets to examine the floors, tossing all the 
 things out of the cupboards to discover any possible 
 hiding-place where the supposed treasure or wiU 
 might be concealed. Till nearly daylight did I thus 
 pursue my investigations, without the slightest suc- 
 cess. On the following night I went back again 
 tmder the same circumstances as before ; and now I 
 resolved to pursue my search principally in the de- 
 ceased lady's bed-room. Having vainly peered and 
 pryed into every conceivable nook, I resolved upon 
 taking do'svn, if possible, some of the panels ot the 
 wainscot : for I have read in books of the strange 
 places in which miserly persons have been known to 
 deposit their hoards. It was even more easy than I 
 had at first anticipated, to remove the panels : for 
 the wood-work was so completely decayed that in 
 many parts it broke into small pieces and crumbled 
 to dust where I inserted the large naU. The fire- 
 irons assisted me in wrenching out the panels ; and I 
 can assure you that I worked so hard that I was 
 obliged to sit down and rest : but all my laborious 
 endeavours seemed to be thro\\'n away. For each 
 successive night, however, have I renewed my ■visits 
 to that house, no longer feeling the least sensation 
 of terror in remaining for so many hours alone in 
 the gloomy-looking dreary place, but alarmed only 
 lest you, Mary, should by any means discover my 
 proceedings. It was not, however, until to-day 
 that I really apprehended you suspected anything : 
 but when I saw you regard mo in a strange manner 
 several times, I felt very uneasy. Yet I thought 
 to myself that if you did really entertain any sus- 
 picion, you would speak out at once : so I reassured 
 myself by the belief that as I looked pale perhaps, 
 through want of rest at nights, you were struck by 
 my appearance. Accordingly I was not deterred 
 from renewing my visit to the house this night. 
 Entering in the usual manner, I lighted my candle 
 and ascended straight up to Mrs. Whitfield's bed- 
 room : but conceive the terror and dismay with 
 which I was stricken, when on rushing in my eager 
 haste into that chamber, I behold another light and 
 found myself face to face with those two dreadful 
 men Sawbridgo and the Bulldog ! They themselves j 
 were for a moment seized with amazement on re- •. 
 cognizing me: for of course they knew very well j 
 who I was. A glance upon the floor showed me ] 
 that these men had at a singlo search — (for there is i 
 no reason to suppose that they had ever penetrated 
 thither before) — discovered what I had vainly been 
 seeking for night after night. A piece of one of 
 the flooring-planks was removed, and the light of 
 
 the lantern which Sawbridge held in his hand, was 
 reflected in a heap of gold lying at the bottom of 
 the hoUow thus revealed. Scarcely however had I 
 caught a glimpse of the treasure, when the Bulldog 
 lifted his club, as I thought to kill me ; and he 
 began muttering some threats of terrible import. I 
 fell upon my knees, screaming for that help which 
 I little thought would come : but in a few moments 
 you burst in, and perhaps saved my life." 
 
 Such was Sarah's narrative : and when she had 
 concluded it, I said to her, "Before you com- 
 menced your explanations you asked for my forgive- 
 ness, and I promised it to you, so that we may meet 
 with untroubled looks in the morning. I therefore 
 will not postpone, late though it now be, a few re- 
 marks which I think it necessary to make upon aU 
 you have told me. There are, my dear Sarah, but 
 two good qualities which you have manifested 
 throughout those adventures of your's : and tbos3 
 are courage and perseverance. For the future let 
 them be exercised in a better cause and for worthier 
 purposes, in which case they will materially aid you 
 in your journey through life. But on the other 
 hand, your whole conduct develops numerous b?.d 
 featm-es in juxtaposition ■with those two redeeming 
 ones. For instance, the sentiment that first moved 
 YOU was a covetousness of the most reprehensible 
 character. Secondly, it was only by a wretched 
 sophistry on yom* part that you persuaded yourself 
 into the belief that if you found the gold you would 
 have a right to self- appropriate it : lor altho-ugh the 
 la'svyer and Mr. Collins thought there was no harm 
 in devoting to your use the few guineas remaining 
 over after the payment of the funeral expenses, the 
 same argument would not have applied to any im- 
 portant sum, which could no more be rightfully 
 yours than the furniture itself or the money left in 
 the Bank of England. Thirdly, you displayed a 
 very great duplicity in undertaking an enterprise 
 which you knew from the first would not be sanc- 
 tioned by me or William. Fourthly, you were 
 guilty of mingled deceit and imprudence in stealing 
 out of the house at night, thereby acting hypo- 
 critically towards me, and in a manner calculated 
 to peril your own reputation beyond the power of 
 redemption. Fifthly, the various methods by which 
 you entered the shut-up house show a combination 
 of artifices of which it is lamentable to think a girl 
 of yom- age can be capable : and sixthly, you have 
 committed the most serious oficnce against all no- 
 tions of honour and propriety in wilfully destroying 
 even so much as a single panel in the wainscot of 
 a house which does not belong to you, but for which 
 an heir may sooner or later appear. These, Sarah, 
 are my opinions upon all the various details of your 
 conduct ; and if I have spoken with seeming harsh- 
 ness, the severity of my words exists ratiier in their 
 frankness than in the more angry feeling." 
 
 That my remonstrances touched Sarah deeply 
 there cannot bo the slightest doubt ; for she threw 
 her arms round my neck, weeping and gobbing upon 
 my bosom. I embraced her with the warmest ad'ec- 
 tion, beseeching and imploring that for our dear 
 departed mother's sake she would exercise a proper 
 discipline over her conduct in all tilings. She gavo 
 me faithful promises ; and we separated for the re- 
 mainder of the night. I foimd Jane fast asleep; 
 and lying down beside her, endeavoured to woo the 
 presence of slumber also. But a mutter of serious
 
 240 
 
 MARV PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVAN'T-MAID. 
 
 Importance now rose up in my thoughts. Was I to 
 suffer the Bulldog and Sawbridge to continue ran- 
 sacking the deceased Mrs. 'WTiitfield's house without 
 giviug'thc slightest information upon the subject ? 
 It wi^ true that I had made some promises under 
 the influence of terror and when feeling myself and 
 my sister to be utterly at the mercy of those ruf- 
 fians : but it appeared to me even better to break 
 any such promise than to remain a silent accessory 
 to the work of plunder that was going on. I came 
 to the conclusion to consult Mr. Collins in the morn- 
 ing; and having thus settled the matter in my 
 mind, fell asleep. 
 
 Something however occurred during the night 
 which rendered it imnecessary for me to take any 
 farther notice of the matter. It seems that the 
 shutters of the front bed-chamber windows were not 
 so well barricaded, nor the curtains so closely drawn, 
 as to prevent the lights of the lamp and candle 
 from glimmering through the chinks in the wood- 
 work. Several gentlemen, returning home late from 
 a dumcr-party, perceived those lights ; and instan- 
 taneously suspecting that robbers were on the pre- 
 mises, they gallantly resolved to institute a search. 
 The front-door being closed, they went round to the 
 back entrances ; and finding them unfastened, en- 
 tered the building. Sawbridge and the Bulldog 
 hearing persons in the house, put out the lights and 
 remained perfectly quiet, doubtless in the hope of 
 finding an opportvuiity to slip oft". But one of the 
 gentlemen procured a lantern from the next house ; 
 and on joining his companions, they all ascended 
 together to search the premises, arming themselves 
 with such vyeapons as the fire-irons supplied. The 
 Bulldog and Sawbridge were discovered — a despe- 
 rate struggle ensued — bat the two villains were over- 
 powered and their treasure was taken from them. 
 They were theu handed over to the care of con- 
 stables and placed iu the cage for the rest of the 
 night. Next morning they were put into a cart, 
 bound hand and foot, to be conducted to the nearest 
 m.agistrate who lived about a mile and a half from 
 Aslilbrd: but on the way thither they managed to 
 break their bonds, and after a iierce struggle with 
 the const.ables, got clear off. In respect to their 
 entry into Mrs. Whitfield's house, it appeared that 
 they had gained admission by picking the lock of the 
 front door, which was not bolted within, as it was 
 the door by which the persons last issuing from the 
 bouse had come forth at the time the premises were 
 barricaded up. 
 
 The above intelligence respecting the Bulldog and 
 Sawbridge I learnt from the landlady of the lodg- 
 ings as I was upon the point of salljing forth to 
 consult Mr. Collins : but there now was no ueces- 
 sity to do so, as it was pretty evident that the Bull- 
 dog and Sawbridge would not make their appear- 
 ance again in that part of the country for a long 
 time to come. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 MT PIFTn PLACE. 
 
 Amonost the answers which now shortly came to 
 the second insertion of advertisements relative to 
 Sarah, was one that seemed to suit. It was from 
 
 Lady Talbot, who resided at Talbot Abbey, about 
 six miles from Ashford. She represented in her 
 letter that she had three little girls, whose ages were 
 respectively five, seven, and eight, and for whom she 
 requned a young person of the description set forth 
 in the advertisement. Mr. Collins was not per- 
 sonally acquainted with Sir Eiehard and Lady Tal- 
 bot : but he knew them by name and repute, and 
 from what he had heard concerning them, thought 
 that Sarah could not do better than look after the 
 situation. He wrote a letter containing such par- 
 ticulars relative to our family, and especially the 
 circumstances under which Sarah h&rl received a 
 superior education, as he thought might be recom- 
 mendatory ; and provided with this credential, 
 Sarah and I proceeded by a carrier's van to the im- 
 mediate vicinity of Talbot Abbey. As my sister's 
 history will presently have iu some respects to be 
 blended with my own, I shall not now enter into 
 any details respecting cither the Abbey or its owners. 
 Suffice it to say that we had an interview with Lady 
 Talbot — that she was perfectly satisfied with the 
 answers we gave to all her questions— and that 
 Sarah was engaged as nursery-governess at a hand- 
 some salary. 
 
 Two days afterwards, Sarah entered her first 
 place; and I and Jane were now alone at the lodg- 
 ings together. Sarah being thus disposed of, I lost 
 no time iu looking out for a situation for myself, and 
 in the usual manner mentioned the circumstance to 
 the most respectable tradesmen with whom I wa« 
 acquainted in Ashford. As November was now ap- 
 proaching (it being already the middle of August) 
 the reader cannot be siu"prised if I resolved to take 
 a situation either in the town or at no great distance 
 from it ; and in a few days I heard of something 
 that appeared likely to suit me. 
 
 About a mile from Asliford there stands a very 
 pretty house, in the midst of grounds consisting of 
 about eight or ten acre?, beautifully laid out in pad- 
 dock and gardens. This house, after remaining 
 empty for five or six years, had recently been taken 
 by a French Count, who had married an English 
 lady; and the building having been put into 
 thorough repair, quantities of handsome furni- 
 ture came down from London under the super- 
 intendence of a housekeeper, a butler, and two or 
 tlu-ec other servants. It appeared that the lady 
 was a widow at the time the Count de Mont\llle 
 married her some few months previous to the date 
 of which I am writing ; and she had two childi-en 
 by her former marriage. The nursemaid who was 
 to accompany the family from London, had disap- 
 pointed them by taking it into her head to get mar- 
 ried all of a sudden instead of remaining in service ; 
 and as everything was arranged at the time for the 
 departure of the family from the metropolis, they 
 had not chosen to wait to provide themselves with 
 another nm-semaid. They accordingly came down 
 to Ashford without one ; and it was of this place 
 that I now heard. I proceeded to the Willow House, 
 as it was called fron\ the circumstance of having a 
 beautiful piece of water in the middle of the lawn 
 surrounded by weeping willows. The interior of the 
 house was not yet altogether relieved of the con- 
 fusion attendant upon the family's arrival ; and 
 upholsterers were still engaged in finishing their 
 work, puttinij up sjilendid glasses, chandelier?, arid 
 pietiu'os iu the dniwing-rooms, .and completing tlie
 
 ^"maRY price ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A k^lilT iNT-JlAlD. 
 
 decovationg. Tte liall too was ei'OWclcd with pacTtageg, 
 60 that it seemed as if a day or two must yet elapse 
 ere the place could be put altogether to rights. 
 
 It was about noon when I called at the Willow 
 House, and was conducted into the back drawing- 
 room, where all the arrangements were completed. 
 The Coimtess was seated upon a sofa. She was a 
 lady of about thirty, remarkably handsome, with a 
 fine figure, a good complexion, and dark brown 
 hair of exceechng luxuriance. The first glance 
 showed me that though perfectly ladylike, she was 
 Tain, and could be proud almost to liaughtiness. I 
 also discovered, ere I had been many minutes in her 
 presence, that she was somewhat weak-minded, and 
 though still too intelhgent to bo nauseatingly 
 afTected, she nevertheless had adopted all the airs 
 of the aristocratic rank of Countess to which she 
 had risen by marriage. She spoke in a halt'- 
 condcscending, half-patronizing manner, not only 
 to iinprPKs my mind with tlie necessity of paying 
 No. 31 
 
 her all the deferottcc and respect due to her lofty 
 position, but likewise to make mo fool that if thero 
 were kindness in her words I ought to appreciate 
 with gratitude this unbending demeanour on her 
 part. 
 
 The Count de Montville was lounging idly in a 
 chair, caressing a beautiful pointer dog with one 
 hand, and twirling his glossy black moustache with 
 the other. He was apparently about forty years of 
 age, and what is called a very fine man. He was 
 at least six feet in lioight— not very stout, but sym- 
 metrical in his proportions. His hair was black, 
 without the slightest streak of grey, but thin upon 
 the crown of the head, as if with incipient b.aldness; 
 he wore it somewhat long, and it curled naturally 
 over his coat-collar. He was elegantly dressed, and 
 displayed a prolusion of jewellery — mothonght rather 
 loo much for good taste and high breodincr : but 
 then it struck me that tho ideas ol the French 
 nobility might differ from those of the English in
 
 242 
 
 SIAIIY PniCE ; on, the JIEMOmg op a SEnvANT-MAID. 
 
 tliia respect. Besides, he was evidently a perfect 
 I gentleman in bis manners, wliicL miglit imlced be 
 j described as something more than refined and 
 I polished: Ihcy were absolutely fa^cinafing. Ho 
 spoke English exceedingly -n-cll, although a peculiar 
 accentuation and an occasional singularity of idiom 
 showed that it was not his native tongue. His voice 
 was harmonious; and he seemed to know it very 
 ■well, for he modulated its tones so as to give the 
 best effect to thcLr masculine melody. He likewise 
 appeared very proud of a splendid set of teeth, the 
 whiteness of which was set off to still greater ad- 
 vantage by a moustache which any officer in the 
 Life Guards might have emded. But his hands 
 struck me as being somewhat coarse and clumsy, 
 even to ugliness ; — and mmutcly to criticise all the 
 details of his external appearance, this was the only 
 fault that could be found \vitli it. His complexion 
 was dark: his eyes were black and remai-kably 
 bi-illiant, with a quickness in the glances that bor- 
 dered upon restlessness; but when he fixed his 
 look upon my co'intcnance it seemed to pierce me 
 through and through. 
 
 The Countess do Montville, having asked me the 
 usual questions relative to my name, age, qualifica- 
 tions, and former places, iuquii-ed for my references. 
 I placed ^liss Nibkins' wi-ilten character in her 
 hanf!, adduig that I was well known in Ashford, 
 and that several respectable persons would gladly 
 spe.ik in my behalf. The Countess was perfectly 
 satisfied, and of her own accord proposed very liberal 
 wages. 
 
 " I make it a rule," she observed, " to pay all 
 my domestics handsomely; not only because the 
 fortune of his lordship, coupled with my own, enahles 
 VIS to do so, but because we are determined to allow 
 no excuse nor apolo;jy for any of those meannesses 
 and pettinesses to which servants so often have re- 
 course in order to swell then- emoluments. Besides, 
 you must always be very neatly and nicely di-essed ; 
 as it is Ids lordship's resolve as well as my own, that 
 our servants shall be a credit to our cstaUishment^ 
 is it not so, Victor P" 
 
 " To be sure, my deaf — to be sure, my sweet love," 
 replied the Count, with USorious Bauvity of tone 
 and caressing fondness of manner. 
 
 "You see, ^lary," continued the Coimtess, "that 
 his lordship is resolved to have everything consistent 
 with his rank and fortune ; and as we shall be 
 visited by all the nobiUty and gentry of Kent — that 
 is to say, for miles around — it is imperative that our 
 servants should maintain the most creditable ap- 
 pearance is it not so, Victor?" 
 
 " To be sure, my sweet love — to be sure," an- 
 swered the Count, with an extra twirl of his mous- 
 tache. "We shall only keep the very best society." 
 
 " You hear what his lordship says, Mary ?" con- 
 tinued the Countess, again turning towards me. 
 " As for the children, I need not observe that j-ou 
 will pay the strictest attention to them. Perhaps in- 
 deed it may be as well to iaform you, if you have 
 not heard it already, that although his lordship loves 
 them as dearly " 
 
 " The sweet little darlings !" interjected the Count, 
 who seemed most assiduous in thinkmg of anything 
 to say that could please and gratify his wife. 
 
 " Dear Victor," observed the lady aside, in a half- 
 whisper and with a fond dotmg' look, "you are so 
 kind '." 
 
 " Well, well, my dear, it is my nature, I suppose," 
 observed his lordship complacently ; and lolling still 
 farther back in the chair he bestowed the blandest 
 smiles upon his -wife, at the same time continuing to 
 caress the pointer dog. 
 
 " You understand, Mary," resumed the Countess ; 
 " his lordship is the children's step-father : but you 
 must not take it amiss if I tell you that he will main- 
 tain as jealous an eye upon their mode of treatment 
 and their well-being as I shall myself." 
 
 '■■ I can assure you, ma'am," I observed, " that " 
 
 " Stop, young woman 1" said the Countess, now 
 drawing herself up to her fuU height and speakinor 
 with a grave hauteur. " It is not that I am impro- 
 perly proud, but a due regard for that rank which a 
 beloved husband has so recently conferred upon me, 
 renders it necessary that I should correct you in re- 
 spect to yoiu" mode of addressing me. I have 
 noticed during our brief conversation that you have 
 three or four times called me madam — or rather the 
 
 abbreviative m<t'am " 
 
 " I beg your ladyship's pardon," said I, perceiving 
 the error I had committed. " I c&h assure your 
 ladyship it was an inadvertence on my part." 
 
 " So I regarded it — and I am by fio means 
 angry," rejoined the Coimtess, immediately unbend- 
 . ing agaui, and resuming her half-condesceadiug half- 
 I patronizing tone and manner. " But it i^ needfijJ, 
 j for the well-being of society, that every bne should 
 I be addressed according to his or her rank and posi- 
 
 ! tion is it not so, Victor ?" 
 
 I '• To be sure, my love : you speak admirably, my 
 I angel!" responded the gaUant husband. "Young 
 woman," he added, turning tome, " you ought to bo 
 proud of entering the service of a lady of such high 
 intellect and accomplished mind as the Countess. I 
 am sure you will benefit immensely by her lady- 
 ship's example." 
 
 " You are too kind, Victor — you really spoil tft9," 
 said the Countess in another side-whisper, but quite 
 loud enough for me to hear. 
 
 " No, no — you can't be spoilt, my sweet : you tife 
 too good to bo spoilt, my beauty," rejoined the 
 notorious Coitnt : and as if he thought I was not 
 noticing him at the time, he blew his wife a kiss 
 with the tips of his fingers. 
 
 "Now that I think we thoroughly underst.-.nd 
 each other," resumed the Countess, '-'or rather I 
 should say, you thoroughly imderstaud the wishes of 
 his lordship and myself, I have no more to say to 
 you at present. "Wlien can you come ? This even- 
 ing, I hope." 
 
 '■' I should hare liked, if it suited your ladyship," 
 was my answer, " to have One day to pay my respects, 
 according to promise, to Mr. and Mrs. Twisden — 
 with whom, as 1 have already informed your lady- 
 ship, I lived some time." 
 
 " -Vre they first-rate people ? " inquired the 
 Coimtess : " do they live in good style ? and arc they 
 visited by all the best society? In a word, do they 
 keep their carriage :" 
 
 " They arc very wealthy, my lady, and keep their 
 carriage," was my answer. " At the time I was 
 with them, they were visited by the fitst families ia 
 Kent." 
 
 '•' Then they ai-e sure to call upon \i*," observed tho 
 Countess ; " and so you will have an opportunity of 
 paying your respects to them here. And by the 
 bye, now that I f hmk of it, I am very glad you aro
 
 MARY PUICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 243 
 
 BO well acquainted with the names of all the first \ 
 families in the county ; because if any who do 
 not belong to the highest grade should take it into , 
 their heads to call upon us, you can give me a hint 
 as to theu" real standing. For we do not mean to 
 
 know any except carriage-people 1 mean families 
 
 who keep theu* carriage do we, Victor ?" 
 
 "'No, siu-ely, my love — it would be preposterous, 
 my angel," at once replied the Count, as he ca- 
 ressed his moustache. '' In these times when there 
 are so many upstart?, adventurers, and parvemts 
 springiag up in society, like what do you call them ? 
 ■ Ah! mushrooms " 
 
 " A vei'y excellent simile, my dear Victor," ob- 
 served the Countess. '■ Oh, what a brilliant intellect 
 you do possess !" she added aside, in another wiiisper ; 
 and again she fixed a look of doting fondness upon 
 her husband. 
 
 "So long as you are satisfied, my angel, I am 
 happy," rejoined the Count. "But what was I say- 
 ing ? Oh, ah, I recollect — I was talking of the 
 necessity of keeping oneself select, and picking and 
 choosing one's friends and acquaintances. This was 
 always my ride in Paris ; and indeed I never asked 
 a soul to my table who could not prove that his 
 family dated back at least five hundred years." 
 
 " You must have been the ornament and the star 
 of the brilliant circle in which you moved, my dear 
 Victor," said the lady: then in a softer and still 
 more winning tone, she added, " But are you sure 
 that you wiU like this sort of country -life into which 
 we are now settling down ? are you certain that 
 you will not miss the gaieties and pleasures of your 
 own delightful capital P" 
 
 " No, my beauty," replied the Count, running 
 his jewelled but very clumsy fingers tlu'ough his 
 ban": "one gets tired at length of being constantly 
 lionized. It became quite insipid and sickening at 
 last. Not a dinner-party nor a ball was deemed per- 
 fect unless the Count de Montville was there ! If an 
 elegant pic-nic party was formed to visit any of the 
 dehghtful woods or groves about Paris, the question 
 always was, ' Will the Coimt de Montvillc be with 
 us ?' — Even if there was a duel in high life, it was 
 absolutely necessary for the Count de MoutvUle to 
 be one of the seconds; and I perfectly well re- 
 member a young Duke — a splendid fellow, with his 
 hundred thousand pounds sterhng a-ycar, his two 
 town mansions and his seven country-seats — in fact, 
 with everything to render existence delightful and 
 make the world charming in his eyes, — I remember, 
 I say, that when he was shot through the lungs — 
 mortally wounded — and dymg in my arms, his last 
 words were, ' Ah, my dear De Montville ! it is hap- 
 piness to expire thus with you as my second and my 
 friend.'— Poor fellow !" 
 
 " Dear me, how interesting — how romantic !" ex- 
 claimed the Countess : " and yet how shocking !" 
 she added, for a moment applying her cambric hand- 
 kerchief to her eyes. " See what it is to be the pink 
 of fashion— the leading star of high life-— the regent, 
 60 to speak, of the beau inonde. How they must 
 miss you in Paris, my dear Victor !" 
 
 "To be sure they do, mj angel: but they will not 
 get mo amongst them agam," replied the Count, 
 with an air of decision, as if he thought it by no 
 means unlikely that the whole fashionable world of 
 the French capital would come over on a pilgrimage 
 to England to beg, beseech, and implore that ho 
 
 would lighten the darkness in which he had left 
 them. " You see," he continued, "' it was always 
 De Montville — nothing coidd be done without De 
 Montville. Everybody was crying, 'Where is De 
 Montville r' — No tailor dared start a new fashion 
 for a coat or waistcoat without first obtaining the 
 stamp of De Montville's approval. And by the 
 bye," added his lordship, laughing, " this puts me in 
 mind, my love, of rather a singular anecdote. One 
 morning — I remember that I was just stepping into 
 the Duke de Montmorency's carriage to accompany 
 his Grace to Court — a note was put into my hand. 
 On opening it I found it contained a cheque for ten 
 thousand pounds, speaking in Enghsh money, from 
 a fashionable tailor ; and the letter stated that he had 
 taken the hberty of forwarding me that little amount 
 to be disposed of in charitable purposes as I might; 
 think fift, and beggmg that I would condescend to 
 order at his establishment a coat of a new and pccu- 
 Har style which ho had just invented. Don't you 
 see the rogue's drift ? The money was a bribe just; 
 to get me to patronise him. The cunning fellow ! 
 he knew it would be ten thousand pounds very well 
 spent and would make his fortune ! But I sent him 
 back his cheque and his letter in a blank envelope, 
 and told my valet to cane him soundly." 
 
 Both the Count and the Countess laughed vei'y 
 heartily at this anecdote, which, I must say, at once 
 struck me as savom-ing somewhat of that description 
 of discourse which is politely termed " drawing tho 
 longbow." 
 
 " Well, my love, you perceive," the Count went on 
 to observe, " that I was so plied with adulations — so 
 wearied with flatteries — so worn out by boiug kept 
 in a constant routine of dissipation, pleasure, and 
 gaiety— that after having, I may say without vanity, 
 dazzled tho whole Parisian world for some years, I 
 was at lenth glad to escape from such a killing hie." 
 
 " Killing life ! what abcautifid expression ! what 
 a world of thought in that simile !" exclaimed tho 
 Countess, in a tone of raptured approval. " Wdl, 
 my dear Victor, I think j'ou have down wisely to 
 settle down at last in our beautiful EuglaniL" 
 
 " Ah ! my angel," interrupted the Count, holding 
 up his forefinger with afloctionatc archness of re- 
 monstrance: "it was yom* beauty which possessed 
 the talisman to do tliis. Depend upon it, when all 
 my fashionable friends in Paris come to Icaru 
 through whose agency I am kept away from them, 
 they will be mightily angry with you — httio en- 
 chantress that you are !" 
 
 " So long as I possess youi* love," returned the 
 Countess, -with another of those side-whispors which 
 I could not possibly help hearing, " I can put up 
 with all tho wrath of your Parisian friends." 
 
 " And if tho Duke of Montmorency, or tho Prince 
 de Fontaugc^, or the Mwquis of Bouillon, or the 
 Coimt of Chateaubriand, should take it into their 
 heads to come over aud sec what I am doing in this 
 England of youi-'s, you must put on all your 
 sweetest smiles, so as to convince lliem that I am. 
 kept here by attractions which no mortal man with 
 a susceptible heart could possibly resist." 
 
 "When wo oi'c thoroughly settled, my dear Vic- 
 tor," answered the Countess, "you shall write to 
 some of your illustrious friends and invito them to 
 come and sec you. I have suflicient vanity to bc- 
 heve that they will not succeed in taking you awny 
 with them."
 
 2U 
 
 MARY PKIOE ; OB, THE MEMOIBS OF A SEEV ANT-MAID, 
 
 I do not know how long this stylo of conversation 
 would have gone on in my presence, had it not been 
 disturbed by the abrupt opening of the door, which 
 made the Count start as if his nerves were some- 
 what delicate : but when ho saw that it was nobody 
 but the charwoman, ho looked very angry indeed, 
 and exclaimed, " How dare you thus burst into her 
 ladyship's presence r" 
 
 " And into his lordship's too ?" added the Coun- 
 tess, with a haughty sternness of look and voice. 
 
 The charwoman, who had been engaged to wash 
 out (he rooms and help the regular servants in put- 
 ting things to rights, was a stout elderly woman, 
 with a rod nose, watery eyes, and altogether a very 
 giu-driuking look. She had on a dirty night-cap, 
 on the toj) of which an immense black bonnet was 
 airily perched, looking very much like a japanned 
 coal-scuttle turned upside down. She was attired 
 in an old cotton gown, which had been repaired in 
 several places; and as the original colour of the 
 dress was well nigh washed out, the pieces, though 
 of the same material and even the same pattern, had 
 a much fresher look, tlius giving the gown a singu- 
 lar patched appearance. Her apron, which was 
 made of coarse kitchen-towelling, hung .on with 
 great strings that did not go round the waist, but 
 were tied loosely roimd her person lower down. She 
 wore a wintry pair of blue worsted stockings and 
 great clumsy shoes. When at work she trampled 
 about in pattens : but these, as I presently observed, 
 she had left down in the hall ere ascending to the back 
 drawiug-room. As to her general shape and figui-e, 
 a sack of bran tied round the middle with a cord 
 would have been equally gracefiU and elegant. Her 
 arms, ■\\hieh were bare, had the white and leprous ap- 
 pearance which showed they had just come out of 
 the hot sudd. Indeed, the worthy woman had come 
 straight from the process of scrubbing to demand 
 her supply of gin ; and she looked altogether damp 
 and moist, in her slovenly draggle-tail garments. 
 
 " J3eg pardon, eix — beg pardon, mem — for in- 
 trooding," said tho charwoman, as she advanced 
 unconcernedly into tho room; "but that there 
 great fat flunky of yom-'n which calls his-sclf a but- 
 ler, says there bain't no gin in the house ; and when 
 I tells Uim it's altogether unpossible for me to get 
 tiu'ough my work without a drain of sperrit, he told 
 
 uio to go and but I won't mention the word in 
 
 gouteol company, leaatways not afore a lady. What 
 I want to know is whether I bain't to have the 
 reg'lar 'lowances— a pint of beer at eleven, and a 
 glass of gin at twelve, to cari-y me on to dinner 
 at one? Them's tho rules in every respectable 
 house; juid that's what I always bargin for." 
 
 " Leave the room, woman !" exclaimed the Coun- 
 tess, who seemed to have listened to this tii-adc in 
 silence, only because indignation choked her power 
 of utterance. 
 
 "Yes — but mem, if you please, we must come to 
 a undcrstandmg," said tho charwoman, pertiua- 
 ciously adhering to tho assertion of what she con- 
 ceived to be her rights. " I'm quite supplicated by 
 the steam of the biler down in the washus, and it 
 would bo raylher orkard for you, mem, if I was 
 taken ill just at the moment when my services is so 
 wallyablc." 
 
 "Supplicated?" echoed the Countess, almost in 
 dismay. " 'Wniat docs the woman mean ? what on 
 earth can she intend to say?" 
 
 " I suppose she means suffocated, my lady," I 
 ventui-ed to suggest. 
 
 " Well, sufHicatcd, then !" thrilled forth the char- 
 woman, eyeing me very indignantly. " I ain't had 
 no hedification as other folks has, and " 
 
 " This is intolerable 1" exclaimed the Count. " Mr 
 dear 
 
 " Quite intolerable, my love !" cried the Countess. 
 " Mary," she added, turning to me, " ring tho 
 bell." 
 
 I instantaneously did so; and a footman made his 
 appearance. 
 
 "James," said the Countess, "do pray see that 
 this woman does not force herself into his lordship's 
 or my presence again. Here she is, with her dirty 
 shoes treading all over the new carpets " 
 
 "Please your ladyship," repUed the footman, "we 
 have done our best to keep Mrs. Dunkley quiet ; 
 but she insists upon drinking every half-hour " 
 
 " Oh, the owdacious falsehood 1" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Dunkley, the ■ charwoman, throwing up her arms 
 above her coal-scuttle bonnet as if horrified at tho 
 dreadful accusation. " There ain't a more soberer 
 woman in all the town than me, or one which is 
 better respected. I have chared for the fust fami- 
 lies, and can get certitikits of good conduct from 
 every onc^ beginning ^dth the parson and goin' 
 down to the parish beadle his-solf. !Xow who, then, 
 will say black's the vite of my hi ?" 
 
 " For heaven's sake, take her away, James 1" 
 cried the Countess. "Does she not already smell 
 dreadfully of liquor ?" 
 
 " Quite 'orrid, my lady," responded the footman, 
 makmg a hideous face as he drew back from too 
 close a proximity to the charwoman. 
 
 " Then pay her her wages and let her begone," 
 said the Countess, waving her hand imperiously. 
 "Don't you think that is the best, Victor?" 
 
 " To be sure, my love— to be sure ! You do every- 
 thing for the best," was the response. 
 
 IMi's. Dunkley began a tirade of apologies and ex- 
 cuses, which the footman promptly cut short by 
 seizing her arm and fairly dragging her fr-om the 
 j room, whispering however something in her car 
 that satisfied and appeased her. 
 
 " Pah ! she has left a terrible odour of spirits 
 behind her," said the Count, tm'ning up his nose in 
 perfect disgust. " Keally, my love," he added in a 
 tone of gentle^but veiy gentle ivbuke, " you must 
 get rid of these kind of ci-eatures : their presence is 
 perfectly pestilential." 
 
 " In future, my deai- Victor, you shall stand no 
 chance of being thus annoyed," answeral the Coun- 
 tess; then turning to me, she said, "Well, Mary, can 
 you come this evening? for you see the state of con- 
 fusion we arc in, and may therefore judge how un- 
 pleasant it is to be without a nursemaid." 
 
 " Under those circumstances, my lady," I an- 
 swered, "1 shall of com'se attend to yom- ladysliip'a 
 wishes :" — and thereupon I ciu-tsied and quitted the 
 room. 
 
 On regaining the hall, I foimd James the footman 
 and Mrs. Dunkley the charwoman sitting dowTi very 
 comfortably together, and partaking of a glass of 
 gin ; and as the upholsterers were at that very in- 
 stant bringing a large piece of furniture up the front- 
 door stops, I was eompelled to remain standing in 
 the hall until the way was cleared for me to pass 
 out.
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 2-13 
 
 •'Well, but who be they though, Mr. Jeames ?" | him: "for there's a horrible smell of gin in the 
 I heard Mrs. Dunkley ask of the footman ; and I hall." 
 coidd not also help overhearing his reply. " Yes, my lord— horrible !" rejoined James, with 
 
 " Why, you see, I've only been a matter of six I a most marvellous coolness. " But the upholsterers 
 weeks ru theu: service. It appears they passed the [ recommend it on that account, my lord." 
 honeymoon at Brighton; and then the moment they " Oh ! very well, if that's the case we must not m- 
 got back to London, they feU to hiring us servants terfere with them. Why were you sittmg down at 
 and buying aU this here furnitiu-c what was sent ] the moment I entered the haU mstcad of gettmg on 
 down by the vaggia. They staid at a slap-up hotel ' with the work F" 
 
 at the West End all the time they was making I " Why, my lord, I was merely tying my shoe- 
 their arrangements ; for I heerd say that missus ■ string," answered James, 
 had broke up her own estabUshment afore the mar- | " Well, pray look alive," said the Count, " and 
 
 riage took place." 
 
 " She was a widder, warn't she, Mr. Jeames ?" 
 asked Mrs. Dunkley ; and tossing off a glass of gin 
 she gave a deep sigh or rather gasp of pleasure at 
 the effects of the stimulant. 
 
 " Yes, she were a widder," replied the footman. 
 ' Her fii'st husband were a clerk in a Government 
 
 get the place in order. Where's Tom ?" 
 "He's round in the stables, my lord." 
 The doorway being now cleared by the introduc- 
 tion of the massive piece of furniture into the hall, 
 I was enabled to pass out of the mansion ; and as I 
 retraced my way back into the town, I naturally re- 
 flected upon my prospects La my new place. I was 
 
 ofhce, but had a little independency of his own, and | glad that I had overheard the account which James 
 
 missus had some money too 
 
 " Ah ! then there's plenty now on both sides, I 
 s'pose ?" observed Mrs. Dunkley. " In coiu-se, the 
 Count is pretty warm ?" 
 
 "Tidyish, I should think. Leastways, so they 
 say," replied James : " but I hav'n't heerd tell what 
 his income is. Missus however hinted to her maid 
 that it warn't far short of four thousand a-year. 
 His lordship has got two or three castles in France 
 
 the footman gave of his master and mistress, prov- 
 ing as it did that they were kind and indulgent to 
 their servants, notwithstanding the evident faults 
 and foibles which marked their characters. That 
 the Countess had been dazzled by the rank as much 
 as she had been captivated by the handsome person 
 of the French nobleman, there seemed no doubt ; 
 and that though intelligent in one sense, she was 
 weak-minded in another — easy to be flattered and 
 
 — shay-tocs they call 'em*— and I have heerd that j cajoled— was likewise apparent. From what I had 
 he is going to sell 'em all off and rotvu-n never no seen of her I had Uttle doubt she would prove a kind 
 more to his native country. He's desperate fond [ mistress so long as the exactions which her newly ac- 
 
 of missus : and she's desperate fond of him too. As 
 for us servants, we like 'em both well enough ; for 
 if they give theirselves a few hans it's only what 
 rich folks often does ; and they don't stint us in our 
 meals, nor nothiok of that sort. Besides, they gives 
 us good wages, and seems the right sort of people 
 for behaving generous. Come, old woman, we'll 
 have another glass of gin ; and then you must get 
 back to your scrubbing, while I go and give thom 
 upholstery chaps a helping hand in getting things 
 to rights." 
 
 quned rank seemed to demand, were fully complied 
 with, As for the Count himself, I had ah-eady seen 
 enough to convince me that he was fond of boasting 
 of his fashionable acquaintances and friends in 
 Paris, and that in so doing he did not adhere very 
 strictly to the truth, but drew somewhat on his im- 
 agination for the anecdotes wherewith he geaaoned 
 his discourse. 
 
 The preparations I had to make before entering 
 my new place, were speedily accomplished. As pre- 
 viously arranged, my sister Jane was consigned to 
 
 James and Mrs. Dunkley accordingly partook of j the care of Mr. Collins's housekeeper ; and it was a 
 another dram, di-inking by turns out of the same ' great consolation to me to think that she was so 
 glass, which had the stand broken off: but scarcely j weU disposed of, and likewise enjoyed the com- 
 had the footman tossed his quantum down liis throat, panionship of her brother WiUiam. I passed the 
 when the Coimt de Montviilo made his appearance [ remainder of that day at Mr. Collins's abode ; and 
 in the hall with the pointer dog at his heels. in the evening repaired to the Willow House, a 
 
 " James !" he cried. " Oh, there you are !" porter following me with my boxes. Thus was I 
 
 "Yes, my lord:" — and the footman, quickly hand- ' duly installed in my fifth place, 
 ing the glass to the charwoman, was on his legs in a 
 moment. 
 
 " Why, I do believe that you have been di'inking, 
 James, at this hour of the day ?" exclaimed the 
 Coimt somewhat angrily, 
 
 " No, my lord — not for the world, my lord," re- 
 plied the footman with, unblushing effrontery. 
 
 " Wasn't that a glass 1 saw you suddenly thrust 
 into the old woman's hands P" 
 
 " A glass, my lord ? — no, my lord ?" 
 
 " Tlicn what was it ?" 
 
 " What was it, my lord ? A-^— a— -pot of bees- 
 was, my lord, that I've been using for the furni- 
 ture." 
 
 CHAPTEB LIII. 
 
 THE WILLOW nOl'SE. 
 
 In a few days the mansion was cn(irely put to 
 rights ; and very splendidly furnished it was. 
 Everything that had been sent down fi'om London 
 was quite new, and of tho handsomest description. 
 Not only wore the apartments themselves thus 
 sumptuously and elegantly decorated, but all the 
 other appointments and circumstances of the esta- 
 blislimeut seemed fully to match. The services of 
 
 " Then there seems to be a great deal of spirit in ' plate were all new, massive, and costly ; the china 
 the beeswax," observed the Count, sniflmg aroimd was as handsome as any I had seen at Lord Uarles- 
 . I don's; the cellar was well stocked with the choicest 
 
 • Mr. J.-imc3 the footman no doubt meant chalcaux. I wines ; and the fare provided for the table of the
 
 24G 
 
 MAKY PRICE ; OB, TUE IIEJIOIBS Oli" A SERVANT-UAID. 
 
 Count and Countess was always of the daintiest 
 dosci-iption. 
 
 In tlic kitchen the provender was proportionately 
 good ; and there was uotliing in the shape of mean 
 interl'tfreiico with the comforts of the domestics. 
 The coaoh-lioiise contained a splendid shut-up car- 
 riage, and an elegant open phaeton, with the 
 Count's anus emblazoned on the panels. In the 
 stable theve were four horses, which, as I overheard 
 the servants saying, were splendid animals, and 
 must have cost a large suui of money. The foot- 
 man, coachman, and the grooms were furnished 
 with magnilicent liveries — a trifle too much be- 
 dizened \rith gold lace, aud therefore having a little 
 smack of the parvenu style about them. But then 
 this c::treme richness in the decoration of the 
 liveries might be the fashion in Franco ; and after 
 all, who could dispute the taste of a nobleman who 
 had been for so many years the reigning star of the 
 beau, monde in the French capital P To be brief, the 
 estabhshment displayed every evidence of gi-eat 
 M'ealth; and the cu-cumstance that thi-ee or Ibui- 
 thousand pounds had been at once paid into the 
 Ashford bank to the account of Monseigneur de 
 Montville, had not failed to get whispered abroad, 
 thus establisliing the high respectability and opu- 
 lence of my new master and mistress. 
 
 Why do I say that this circumstance established 
 their respectability ? Because it is so in the great 
 world. Let a man only be able to produce his 
 banker's book and show a good balance in his 
 favour there, and is not that a sullicient guarantee 
 for the excellence of his reputation ? AVhen the 
 newspapers speak of "a person of the highest re- 
 spectabihty," does it mean that every iuquu-y has 
 been made relative to his private morals, and that 
 the result has shown him to be a good husband, an 
 alfectionate father, a sincere friend, and a worthy 
 associate ? — does it mean that he has been weighed 
 in t!i3 balances and foimd scrupulously upright, 
 sternly honest, never having wronged a soid, and 
 able to hold his head erect and dare the world to 
 point out a single action of his at which he need 
 blush? JN'o — it means nothing of the sort: it 
 means simply that a man of the highest respect- 
 ability is one who has got plenty of worldly 
 substance. Money, therefore, in this ilammou- 
 worsliipping age and country, is considered to be a 
 sufficient test of respectabihty — indeed, the onlj/ 
 test needed. So long as no flagrant crimes can be 
 positively and actually laid to the door of an indi- 
 vidual, his countless small vices go for nothing at 
 fill, if he have money. Provided he pay his way, 
 have no debts, and can show a balance at his 
 banker's, he is " a highly respectable man." He 
 may beat his wife — cruelly ill-use his chUdi-en — be 
 the vilest of tyrants to his clerks, his shopmen, or 
 his servants — grind down the poor to the very dust 
 — lend money out at usm'ious interest — sell the bed 
 from under tlic widow aud the orphan " in the way 
 of business" — be even a drimkard, a swearer, a 
 Beducer of innocence, and a secret frequenter of the 
 lowest haimts of vice, — all this he may be, and all 
 these things he may do, but still he loses not his 
 distinction of ''a respectable man" so long as he has 
 wealth. Let him pay his money-debts, and the 
 world bothers not itself about the debts whicli ho 
 owes to morality. All his vices, if regai-ded in their 
 aggregate, may make up a perfect mountain of 
 
 enormity: but so long as his wealth can gild it over, 
 it only sends forth rays to dazzle the world's cyea 
 and command admiration and flattery. 
 
 Pardon this digression, reader; but while speak- 
 ing of the Count de ilontville's circumstances, I 
 would not have you think that I myself juigcd his 
 respectability by his wealth. I merely wished you 
 to understand that it was the townP^lks of Ashford, 
 and not my o^vn private opinion, which regarded 
 the large sum of money at the banker's as an incon- 
 trovertible proof of the high respectabihty of my 
 new master. Ifot that I entertained any different 
 sentiment when taking up my abode at the AVillow 
 House. I had not seen enough of his lordship, and 
 likewise knew too little of his affairs, to be justified 
 in coming to any decision upon the point. But as 
 throe or fuur weeks passed away and everything 
 went on calmly and smoothly — indeed happily — 
 at the mansion, I certainly felt I had every reason 
 to congratulate myself for having found an excel- 
 lent situation, where I was treated kindly enoujjh. 
 
 As the reader has been led to expect from the 
 remarks the Countess de ilontvOle made the first 
 day I saw her, many of the best families about 
 the neighbourhood called at the Wfllow House. 
 Having been seen at church and invited to a ball at 
 the banker's, it required nothing more to render the 
 Count and Countess de Montville the objects of all 
 kinds of civdities. Day after day did carriages drive 
 up to the WiUow House; and bet^^■een two and five 
 o'clock it was an incessant opening and shut ting of 
 the front door — a constant introduction and leave- 
 taking of visitors — in short a scene of gaiety which 
 reminded me more of what used to take place afc 
 Harlesdon House in London than anything I had 
 ever before seen in the country. The Count speedily 
 became an almost universal favourite with visitors 
 and guests. He sang a capital song — could play the 
 viohn, the flute, and even the piano — could draw 
 beautifully— was well skilled in horse-flesh and tho 
 "good points" of dogs — proved himself an excel- 
 lent sportsman when the shooting season began in 
 September — rode with considerable ee?((i in a steeple 
 chase — was a jovial companion at the dinner-table, 
 though he never drank much himself — could play a 
 good hand at whist and was famous at ecarte — • 
 professed the Protestant creed, and therefore was 
 regular at the parish-chm'ch — gave a donation to 
 the National Sunday School — and paid all his ac- 
 counts with scrupulous regularity every week. By 
 these varied accomphshments and proceedings, he 
 won the favour of all grades and classes with whom 
 ho came in contact. The gentlemen liked him for 
 his manly quahfications — the ladies adored him for 
 his drawing-room tastes and refinements — the trades- 
 men liked him for his punctuality — the clergyman 
 was flattered by his constant attendance at ehurch 
 — and thus he won golden opinions almost every- 
 where. As a matter of course the Countess shone 
 in the reflection of her husband's lustxe, and was 
 courted, caressed, and flatt<^redas much as himself. 
 
 It is true that they gave themselves many aristo- 
 cratic airs, and faithfully adliered to their resolve of 
 only associatuig with "carriage people." But then 
 they managed to shake olf, as it were, the overtures 
 of acquaintance made by humbler gentlefolks with- 
 out positively slighting them ; so they created few 
 enemies in that quarter, and even those who did feel 
 themselves n^^rievcd, had too much i)ridc or good
 
 MAEY PUIOE; on, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEKVANT-MAID. 
 
 2l( 
 
 Ecnse to acknowledge it. Towards tlieii" inferiors 
 tliey beliaved with, tliat half-patronizing lialf- 
 condesceuding manner wliicL was tlio least calcu- 
 lated to give offence, and to wliicli indeed shop- 
 keepers especially are too much accustomed on the 
 part of the wealthy and great to smart under such 
 a manifestation of aristocratic superiority. 
 
 Amongst the visitors who called at the Willow 
 House were Mr. and Mrs. Twisden ; and I had an 
 opportunity of paying my respects to them. The 
 little affair which had taken place in respect to Mr. 
 Trips when I was at Twisden Lodge, seemed to have 
 pretty well blown over in the coimty — partially per- 
 haps out of kindness for old ]VIr. Twisden himself, 
 and partially because they were rich people, kept 
 their carriage, and gave good dinners. Neverthe- 
 less, MrS: Twisden took an opportunity, when she 
 called at the Willow House, of speaking to me alone ; 
 and not x^dthout some little confusion of looks and 
 manner she said, " Of com'se, Mary, you never men- 
 tioned the unpleasant little business which took 
 place at the Lodge — I mean when that vulgar person 
 the actor dared make a most untrue and scandalous 
 accusation against me, he being in his cups at the 
 time." 
 
 " Accusation, ma'am ?" said I, in astonishment : 
 " I certainly heard no accusation— — " 
 
 " Yes — that I had been an actress or some such 
 vulgar thing," replied Mrs. Twisden, the colour 
 mounting to her very forehead. " But it was all 
 false — a base calumny ; and so, as you are a good 
 girl, you wiU not propagate it." 
 
 I assm'cd Mrs; Twisden that I never was given to 
 gossipping, nor had any love for meddling with other 
 persons' affairs. She expressed her approval of 
 these sentiments, and told me that '•' as she had a 
 great esteem for me she should one of these days 
 make me a present." Of course I did not behave 
 rudely by saying that I would rather not have it : 
 but I thought to myself that it was rather insidting 
 thus to promise me a bribe for not mentioning the 
 little disagreeable circumstance of the past to the 
 inmates of the Willow House. 
 
 I have not yet spoken of the Countess's two 
 children ; nor is it necessary to say much relative 
 to them. The eldest was a boy of five — the younger 
 a ghl of three ; they gave promise of inheriting 
 their mother's good looks, and though somewhat 
 "spoilt," were nevertheless sufficiently tractable. 
 Being the issue of a former mari-iagc, they of course 
 bore their father's sm'uame, wluch was Bartlett : 
 but by some strange misapprehension respectbig 
 the degrees of aristocratic rank, or rather the modes 
 in which they applied to the pi'cseut instance, the 
 Countess had chosen to dub them each " Honour- 
 able," just as if they were the children of her second 
 marriage. She seemed resolved that the luslre of 
 her new husband's noble title should shed its beams 
 upon all whom it was in any way possible to thrust 
 within the radiance thereof: so that the boy was 
 styled the Honourable Master Richard, and the little 
 girl was the Honourable Miss Emma. I was the 
 only nursemaid kept — indeed there was no neces- 
 sity for another; and having nothing to do but 
 attend to the two children, my situalion was not a 
 very onerous one. Tlie nursery was my department — 
 my home : I slept and took my meals tliere, having 
 but little intercourse with the other domestics. Tho 
 Countess was at fu'st very particular in seeing (hat 
 
 the children were treated according to her wishes : 
 but when she found that I implicitly obeyed all her 
 instructions, she gradually ceased to bestow her 
 direct superintendence upon the nursery. The chil- 
 di'en very soon became attached to mc ; and thus, 
 all things considered, I was happy and contented 
 enough in my new place. 
 
 To continue the thread of my narrative, it wiU be 
 necessary to remind the reader that the Willow 
 House had been shut up for nearly six years before 
 it was taken by the Count and Countess de Mont- 
 viUe. Indeed, it had fallen into a sad state of di- 
 lapidation and decay at the time when they saw an 
 advertisement in a London newspaper, announcing 
 "those eligible premises, near the delightful market- 
 town of Ashford, in one of the most salubrious pai'ts 
 of Kent, famed as the garden of England," to be 
 let on lease for a certain term of years. The Count, 
 as I learnt, had come down to look at the house ; 
 and being pleased with it, ratlior on account of 
 what it might be made than -n liat it was, had at 
 once taken it : whereupon, as already described, the 
 handiwork of carpenters, masons, and bricklayers, 
 had soon renovated the building from top to bot- 
 tom. But why had it previously remained so long 
 shut up ere the Count and Coimtess de Montville 
 took it as their future abode? This is the point 
 which I must now explain for the benefit of my 
 reader. In a few words, then, it had borne the re- 
 putation of bemg haunted in consequence of a hor- 
 rible crime committed on the person of the indi- 
 vidual who had last occupied it. That occupant 
 was a gentleman of eccentric habits, but of con- 
 siderable wealth ; and having neither wife nor 
 children, he lived comparatively alone at the Willow 
 House, keeping no man-servant, but only a couple 
 of female domestics. This gentleman, about sLs years 
 previous to the present date of my narrative, was 
 murdered in a bye-lane half a mile distant from the 
 mansion, as he was retiu'ning home, from a somewhat 
 late ramble in the country. The same night — an 1, 
 as it was supposed, immediately after the murder — 
 the house itself was broken into and plundered of a 
 large amount of property. Tboperpetratoi's of this 
 double crime of assassination and robbery were dis- 
 covered, tried, and executed ; aud by degrees the 
 rumour spread about that the spirit of the late oc- 
 cupant of the Willow House was wont to walk at 
 night through the various apartments. This report 
 was iii'mly believed, amongst the poorer orders uni- 
 versally, and even by numbers of persons witli 
 whom one would scarcely have expected to find such 
 gi-oss superstition. Indeed, to such an extent did 
 this belief prevail that no one could be found to live 
 in the house to take care of it ; and so it had re- 
 mained shut up, gradually fulling into decay until 
 the time when the Count became its lessee. Wliethor 
 the persons who had the letting of the place in- 
 formed Lira of the reasons of its having been so 
 long closed, I cannot say : at all events if they wora 
 thus candid on the point, it is very certain the 
 report was disregarded by iiim, and did not proviiut 
 him from becoming the occupant of the mansion. 
 
 Now, as all the servants except myself had been 
 engaged in London, they were not nt first nwurs of 
 the report which clung to tlio ^ViUow House ; and 
 when, after the lapse of a week or two, they hoard 
 it from tlie town-gossips, they wore liKlo dispuscd (o 
 pay it any very great or serious attention. Aa for
 
 248 
 
 MARY rnicR ; or, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 myself, it had never for a single instant deterred me 
 from applying for the place nor made me hesitate to 
 accept it, I never was supcrstitiously inclined, and 
 certainly should not have been so fooUsh as to have 
 been swayed, where my interests were concerned, 
 by what I could only regard as an old woman's 
 talc. 
 
 One evening, after I had been six weeks in the 
 Count's service, I went down into the kitchen to 
 fetch some things that were wanted in the nursery ; 
 and I was immediately struck by beholding the do- 
 mestics all huddled together as it were, and convers- 
 ing ^vith serious looks and in low half-hushed voices. 
 As I made my appearance, the cook said to lier 
 companions, '' Here is Mary, who is a native of AbIi- 
 ford, and can tell us all about it." 
 
 I drew near the group, scarcely suspecting what 
 was the topic of their discourse, so little was I my- 
 self accustomed to think of it. When they there- 
 fore explained to me that they were talking of the 
 prevalent belief of the house being haunted, I was 
 much surprised to see the impression the report was 
 now making on their minds, the more bo as I was 
 awai'e that they had previously heard it and had 
 treated it lightly. I gave them such particulars as 
 I was acquainted with relative to the circumstances 
 of the murder ; and when they asked me whether I 
 myself put any faith in the tale that the spirit of 
 the deceased gentleman haunted the premises, I did 
 not exactly laugh, but I gave them to understand 
 what degree of credit I attached to the story. It 
 then became my turn to question ; and I asked them 
 wherefore they were now discussing the subject with 
 every appearance of doubt and misgiving, if not 
 positive alarm ? 
 
 " You have not, then, heard any noise during 
 the night since you have been here ?" asked the 
 butler. 
 
 I replied in the negative. 
 
 "Well," he continued, looking more grave and 
 solemn if possible than before, "some of us have ; 
 and amongst them is myself. James has heard the 
 noise too — Susan has heard it — and Septimus has 
 heard it also." 
 
 Susan was the housemaid, and Septimus was his 
 lordship's valet. He was a middle-aged man, quiet, 
 sedate, and shrewd — the very last person in the 
 world that I should have expected to give way to 
 the influences of such a superstitious belief as this. 
 He was not in the kitchen at the moment when this 
 conversation had begun ; but he entered just after 
 the butler had ceased his remarks — and approaching 
 us, he joined in with the iliscourse. 
 
 " Yes," he said, in a grave voice, '• I must confess 
 that I am bewildered, and even troubled by what I 
 have heard for three or four nights past. But at 
 first thuikiug it might only be fancy, I said nothing 
 about it till this afternoon; and then, when I did 
 mention it with the apprehension of being ridiculed, 
 I was struck by finding that others had heard 
 just the same noises and at precisely the stand 
 hour." 
 
 "But I remember reading in a book, when I was 
 at Lady llai-lesdon's," said I, " that there are often 
 strange noises occurring in houses — especially those 
 which have been shut up for a long time, or iu which 
 repairs have been recently made. For instance, the 
 biu-sting of timbers, the settling down of wood- 
 Work or masom-y, and similar causes may produce 
 
 these sounds. The cracking of painted wainscotting, 
 such as there is in the passage on the second fl'.or, 
 is another cause that may be mentioned. Why 
 these sounds are seldom heard in the day-time, is 
 because there is more or less bustling and activity 
 going on in the house, and the attention is less liable 
 to be arrested or startled by any such noise. But 
 at night-time, when all is silent and the mind of 
 any one Ij-ing awake is more keenly susceptible on 
 these points, such sounds are calcudated to attract 
 the notice and even to startle the nerves." 
 
 " All this is reasonable enough, Mary," remarked 
 Septimus, who as well as the other sc-rvants had 
 listened with great attention to my observations ; 
 " but none of the caviscs you have mentioned will 
 account for the audible and regular tread of foot- 
 steps upon the stairs and in the passage — much less 
 for the low deep groans which have also met my 
 ears." 
 
 " Have you indeed heard such sounds as these r" 
 I asked, now becoming more profoundly interested 
 in the topic, though still sceptical. 
 
 " I have," answered Septimus : "' and so have 
 several others here present." 
 
 " I for one," observed the butler. 
 
 " And me too, said James the footman. 
 
 "And me," added the cook. " Susan, who sleeps 
 in the same room, has likewise heard them; and 
 wasn't we both frightened? For my part, I shall 
 give warning when my month is up, if it goes 
 on." 
 
 "And 90 shall I indeed," added the housemaid. 
 
 " Do you not think it would be better," I asked, 
 " to speak to his lordship and get a watch set ? 
 Depend upon it, the noises would be accounted for 
 by some natural means." 
 
 "No — the Count is not a man to whom such 
 things can be mentioned," observed Septimus : •• he 
 would only ridicule us all and perhaps scold. Although 
 a good master, as we must all allow him to be, he is 
 the first that I ever served who placed so little confi- 
 dence in a valet as he does, I mean he never keeps 
 me talking when I attend him in the dressing-room in 
 the morning or at night. As soon as I have laid 
 out the things he wants, he dismisses me. As for 
 letting me help him with his toilet, he never does. 
 But however, all that is little to the purpose now. 
 AVhat I mean to say is, that it won't do to mention 
 anything of all we are talking about to his lord- 
 ship." 
 
 '• Then if you will permit mo to offer my advice," 
 said I, " I will teU you the course that ought to be 
 adopted, before any of you resolve on idterior steps, 
 much less such a serious one as throwing up your 
 places where you are happy and comfortable." 
 
 " What advice is it that you have to give, Mary ?" 
 asked severjil voices. 
 
 " I wonder that the project has not already struck 
 you," said I. " Let two or three of you keep watch 
 to-night ; and if you hear those sounds, go boldly 
 forth from the room, whichever it may be where you 
 sit up, and ascertain for yourselves the cause of the 
 disturbance." 
 
 " The hint's a good one," said the butler. ""WTiat 
 say you, Septimus ? Are you agreeablj ?" 
 
 '• Quite," answered the valet. 
 
 " And me too," added James the footman. " Let's 
 all three sit up in your room, Septimus. It's the 
 nearest to the top of the stairs which the footsteps
 
 ir.vP.r PRICE ; ok,, the memoirs of a .SERVAXT-MAID. 
 
 249 
 
 ^.-/oaPMf^ 
 
 have been hecrd comiug up fust of all. But mind," 
 lie added, turning to the butler, " you let us have a 
 bottle of wine to keep up oiu* spu'its." 
 
 '•' Don't be afraid," was the response of the func- 
 tionary thus appealed to : " we \nll have the wine. 
 Well then, this is agreed upon ; and as soon as the 
 house is quiet, me and James will steal to your 
 room, Septimus, and there we will keep \\aleh. 
 You have got pistols, hav'n't you?" 
 
 "Yes — but depend upon it we shan't have to use 
 them. If it's anythmg at all, it's a ghost, and not 
 a robber," continued th(! valet ; '" because robbers 
 dun't come sneaking into a house night after niglit 
 for no purpose whatsoever — and nothing lias been 
 missed." 
 
 "Besides," added the butler, '• tliere's no traces 
 of any one having got in. However, we shall jjcr- 
 haps clear it up tu-night. Only, if it is a spirit, I 
 don't know that I shall ovenuueh like to encounter 
 it. " 
 
 MO. 3a 
 
 '= Will you have the kmduess," said I, addressing 
 myself to the valet, aj the most sensible person of 
 the lot, '■' to describe to me exactly what you have 
 heard P" 
 
 " Williugl}'," was his answer. " I think it was 
 foiu- nights ago 1 was tirst disturbed in this way. I 
 awoke, not gently aiul calmly as one usually wakes 
 out of a sleep, but with a sort of suddeimess as if 
 something had startled me; and my first sensation 
 was one of terror — I scarcely knew why. I sat up 
 in bed and listened, but heard nothing. It was 
 clear moonlight ; so I took my watch and found it 
 was close upon one o'clock. Scarcely had I put the 
 watch under my pillow again, when 1 heard tho 
 sounds of footsteps ascending the stairs as plain as 
 I can hear myself talking at this present moment, 
 ily llrst impulse was to jump up and raise au 
 alarm of thieves in the house; but all in au histaut 
 the idea of the murdered gentleman rushed to my 
 muid — and I was paralyzed, as one may say, with
 
 250 
 
 MAUT price; on, the memoirs op a servakt-maid. 
 
 terror. It seemed as if my hair all stood on end, 
 and my blood turned to ice in my veins. The steps 
 became gradually more and more distinct as they 
 ascended ; and I heard them pass close by the door 
 of my room. At the same moment it struck ine 
 that I likewise heard the rustling of some one's 
 clothes, as if brushing against the wall. When the 
 noise had ceased by the footsteps retreating along 
 the passage, I blamed myself for my folly in having 
 been so irightcncd, and now thinking it must be 
 some one moving about the house. Scarcely had I 
 reasoned myself into this belief, when I heard the 
 footsteps retm'ning; and then, as sure as you are 
 there, just as they were passing the door of my 
 chamber, two low moans — very low, but still per- 
 fectly audible — reached my ears. Had it not been 
 fer those moans I should have jumped out of bed 
 to see what was the matter, and wlicthcr anybody 
 ■was ni, or if thieves had broken in : but I could 
 not ! An awful terror was upon mo ; and it was a 
 long while before I could get to sleep again." 
 
 '•AH that you have described was just what I 
 heard," said the butler, whose room was nest to 
 that of the valet. 
 
 " And I heard the steps the fust night and the 
 moans the second," remarked James; "then both 
 steps and moans for the two or three nights 
 since." 
 
 The cook and housemaid corroborated the state- 
 ment : the lady's-maid, the coachman, and the two 
 or three other servants, who slept in a different 
 part of the house, had heard nothing. Neither had 
 I, as the reader already knows: but the mu'sery 
 where 1 slept with the children, was in the same 
 division of the premises as the rooms of the lady's- 
 maid and the other domestics just alluded to. 
 
 "Well," continued Septimus, "on the second 
 night I heard just the same thing all over again. 
 On the third night I could not go to sleep till long 
 after one o'clock ; and before I was able to close my 
 eyes I heard the same sounds repeated. Last night, 
 on going to my chamber, I resolved to sit \ip, and 
 happen what would, look out of my room should 
 the same noises retm-n ; and I kept a candle a-light 
 for the purpose. So I sat up till about lialf-past 
 twelve ; and then a cold shivering came all over 
 me — an icy perspiration burst out upon my fore- 
 head — and my hair seemed to stand up at the 
 roots. I did not mention all these particulars this 
 afternoon, because I was rather ashamed to enter 
 so deeply into them: but now that we are treating 
 the matter very seriously, I don't mind explaining 
 the whole truth. Well, in spite of my resohc to 
 look out of the chamber and sec what it was, I 
 could not : for when I heard the footsteps gradually 
 ascending the stairs again — then the unmistakable 
 rustling of clothes — and then two or tlirce deep and 
 guttural groans, I was nailed to my chair with 
 terror. The steps pi-oceedcd along the passage : 
 and it appeared to mo that they had just time to 
 reach the end and then turn to retrace their way, 
 ■when my cars caught them again. Again too did I 
 hear the moans— agaiu the brushing of the clothes 
 against the wall of tlie passage — yes, and also 
 against my door. Then, if my salvation had de- 
 pended upon it, I could not possibly have moved 
 from my seat ! When I was able, all was silence 
 once more ; and cruelly bewildered, I (lung olT my 
 clothes and got into bed. Tlio light soon burnt 
 
 down into its socket ; and when the room was dark, 
 I don't mind confessing that I really did fancy 
 every moment I should cither see some hideous 
 ghastly face looking through the deep obsciunty at 
 me, or else feel a cold hand gradually place itself 
 on me. It is horrible to have such sensations ; and 
 though all very well to ridicule them in the dav- 
 time, or be angry with yourself for having ontJr- 
 tainod them, yet what are you to do when in the 
 middle of the night they will persist in fastening 
 themselves upon you, and I defy you \6 tWfBr*^ them 
 off ?" 
 
 The circimistantial account which the valet thus 
 gave, certainly staggered me somewhat — espeelAlly 
 when I reflected that he was by no means a man to 
 indulge in idle romance, and that his story was in 
 every way corroborated by the evidence of several 
 others. 
 
 '• I suppose," he continued, after a brief JiAuse. 
 " that most of you here have read Lewis's itory of 
 the Bleeding Nun ; and those ■who hive, inay re- 
 collect how every night at a certain hour, Don 
 Eaymond, as he lay ill in bed, heard the prtnie awful 
 footsteps approaching his door and beheld the same 
 horrible apparition. ATell, so fir as the footsteps go, 
 I can easily enter into the terrilic sensfttions which 
 Eaymond — supposing there was ever such a chtlrdc- 
 ter — must have experienced." 
 
 " And who knows," asked the butler, " but wilat 
 we shall see the apparition next r" 
 
 I was unable to stay in the kitchen any longer to 
 converse with my fellow-servants upon A topic which 
 had gradually grown into one of rather more fearl'ul 
 interest than I chose trt confess even to myself. 
 The children were alone up in the nursery — they 
 might awake, and missing me, woidd naturally cry. 
 I therefore said " Good night," and hastened up- 
 stau-s. By the time t had put the various things 
 to rights it was half-{)ast ten o'clock ; and I now 
 thought of seeking my touch. But all I had heard 
 in the kitchen 1-apidly assilmed a iuore sblctiih and 
 even awful aspect, as I ■wAs about to commence my 
 preparations for retiring to rest. I even began to 
 feel afraid. I do not know that the Word afrahl is 
 exactly the right one, because I certainly appre- 
 hended no harm either to myself or others — nor had 
 I even yielded so far to superstitious belief as to 
 imagine that the strange soimds would bo traced to 
 any save natural causes. Therefore, if not posi- 
 tively afraid, I at all events experienced a certain 
 nervous agitation — an imeasiness and restlessness 
 which were quite inconsistent with the hope of 
 speedily wooing the presence of sleep. Besides, I 
 knew that a watch wixs to be set that night, and I 
 naturally felt some degree of curiosity as to the 
 result. 
 
 "No," I suddenly said to myself, " it is useless 
 for lue to lie do\ni : I know that I cannot sleep. 
 At all events I will read for an hour." 
 
 So I took a book, sat down at the table again, 
 and endeavoured to road. It was a " History of 
 England," a book I was fond of studying ; but I 
 could not possibly settle my thoughts upon the 
 pages which my lingers turned over. "Ti-i true I 
 i-ead; but without proiit. lu t lie middle of a son- 
 teuco I suddenly found my ideas travelling so com- 
 pletely away from the historical subjert, that 1 at 
 leugth gave up the attempt to read. But ti) what 
 topic ilid my thou^jhls waudorr To that which Lad
 
 MARY price; or, THE MEMOIRS GP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 been discussed in the kitclion : nor could I divert 
 my attention tkence; and the nearer the hour ap- 
 proaclied when it seemed probable the mystery 
 woidd be cleared up, the deeper and the moro 
 solemn grew the interest which I experienced in the 
 result. But even this feeling could not keep off the 
 sense of weariness that gradually grew upon me. 
 
 Midnight struck : the sharp chime of the clock 
 in the passage thrUled through the passages, me- 
 thoLight with a more than usual clearnesj in the 
 deep silence of the hoiu". I started half up from 
 my chair, and was aroused to the consciousness that 
 for the few minutes previously a sort of dreamy 
 repose had been stealing over nic. The truth is, 
 that yielding to exhaustion, I had nearly fallen 
 asleep while rechuing back in that chau", until thus 
 thoroughly startled up and rendered wide awake 
 again by the sluill metallic notes of the clock. A 
 species of vague terror was now upon me : I felt 
 cold, and experienced the sensation which is so well 
 described as that of " the hau* standing on end.' ' 
 The caudle, with a very long wick, was burning so 
 dimly that the room seemed fuU of shadows ; and a 
 deeper consternation seized upon mo as I thought 
 that phantom shapes were slowly moving about — 
 dim, vague, and indistinct ! 
 
 " This is foolish on my part," I exclaimed aloud, 
 rising from my seat and making a strong eflbrt to 
 shake off as it were the terrors which had crept 
 over me : then I snuffed the caudle, and when it 
 bui'ued bright once more, I calmly and firmly tlu-ew 
 my looks ai'ound the room — but beheld nothing to 
 scare me. Having walked to and i'ro halt'-a-dozen 
 times so as to regain perfect self-possession, I re- 
 turned to my seat, and once more endeavoured to 
 read. But in a few minutes I felt a renewed 
 drowsiness coming over me, and my head drooi^ing 
 gradually towards the pages of the volume, the 
 study of which I thus found it useless to pursue. 
 I tried to rouse myself; but a feeling like a lethai-gy 
 —or rather the gi'adual torpor of all feeling what- 
 soever — stole irresistibly upon me ; and my head 
 dropping upon the book, I fell asleep. 
 
 How long I had slept I knew not : but all in a 
 single instant I was startled up into complete con- 
 sciousness again. Good heaven, what a cry ! The 
 silence of the night was rent in twain by that loud 
 yell of mingled terror and anguish, which ran from 
 end to end of the Willow House. The frightened 
 glance which I instinctively thi'ew towards the bed 
 in which the childi'en lay, showed mo that the two 
 sleeping innocents had not been disturbed by it; 
 and the next moment, without pausing to rellect 
 upon the course I was pui-suing, I rushed forth 
 from the room. In my haste I had not taken the 
 candle with mc; but the passage communicating 
 with the nursery, had a window at the end, and the 
 moon was shining brightly. Two or three doors 
 were thrown open in that passage at the same 
 instant that I biu-st into it, and several voices in- 
 quired with intense alarm what was the matter. 
 There was the lady's-maid at one door — the house- 
 keeper at another— and I believe two or thi-ce more 
 servants had likewise been startled from their slum- 
 bers in that same part of the building, and were 
 demanding what had happened. But I was too 
 much bewildered and tcrrilied to notice who tho 
 particular individuals were that the cry had thus 
 aroused; and despite my feoi's, I was impelled by 
 
 an irresistible curiosity to ascertain the cause of the 
 alarm. Speeding along the passage — then rusliiug 
 dov^Ti a llight of stau's — 1 gained that other passage 
 whence the rooms of the valet, the bulLT, the foot- 
 man, and some other dependants of ths household, 
 opened. Heavens ! what a spectacle then met my 
 view. The door of the valet's chamber stood wide 
 open ; and that individual, wth a candle in his 
 hand, and with the butler and footman close bo- 
 hind him, were transfixed upon the threshold. 
 Leaning against the wall immediately facing them, 
 was the Count do Montville, in his dressing-gown 
 and slippers. His coimteuauco was hideously pale 
 — his eyes were rolling wildly — and he was gasping 
 for breath, as if ha\'iug just undergone some ex- 
 cruciating terror. The three men-servants were 
 gazing upon their master in consternation and dis- 
 may — not having the power, even if they dared, to 
 address a single syllable to him. The whole truth 
 flashed to my mind in a moment : the Count was a 
 somnambidist, and the three servants who had sat 
 up to keep watch, had awakened him by suddenly 
 emerging from the room with the light in their 
 hands. Hence that fearful yell, which had burst 
 from the hps of the startled sleep-walker. 
 
 Never shall I forget the expression of mingled 
 horror and anguish which the Count do MoutvUle's 
 featm'es displayed, while he leant against the wall, 
 palpitating and gasping as if battling against death 
 itself. All of a sudden, with a quick nervous motion, 
 he put his right hand up to his left shoidder, and 
 then drew the di-essing-gown more tightly aromid 
 him, — these motions being accomplished with such 
 passionate vehemenco that in themselves they were 
 alarming. The next instant tho Count sprang upoa 
 the valet — seized him by the collar — and exclaimed, 
 " Wretch, what have you seen ? Tell me, what 
 have you seen P Speak, speak quickly ! I am des- 
 perate ! Speak, or I will throttle you !" 
 
 " My lord, my lord, forgive me," beseechingly 
 cried the terrified Septimus. "I meant no harm — I 
 saw nothing " 
 
 "No — I am a fool!" suddenly muttered tho 
 Count : and aU in a moment appearing to recover 
 complete self-possession, he released the valet from 
 his grasp and stepped a pace or two backward. 
 
 At this instant the Countess, rushing up the 
 stau'S, appeared upon tho spot. She had hastily 
 thrown on a white wrapper ; and as her hair was 
 all ilowing in disorder over her shoulders, her coun- 
 tenance was ashy pale, and hor looks full of con- 
 sternation and terror, she seemed some spectral 
 object thus coming to cnhauco tho wild and strange 
 effects of the scene. 
 
 " Good heavens, Victor ! what h;is happened ? 
 what is the matter ?" she cried, as she grasped lier 
 husband's arm and cliuig to liim for support. 
 
 "Do not be alarmed, love," he answered, but in a 
 singularly bewildered voice and manner, as if her 
 presence thero had suddenly deprived liim of all his 
 self-possession again. 
 
 " But that cry — that dreadful yell, which awoko 
 me," she exclaimed, " what was it ? I missed you 
 from my side——" 
 
 "It is nothing— nothing," tho Count rejoined 
 with vehement quickness. 
 
 " But wherefore are the servants up— and ihossed 
 too?'" iuftlantajieously asked the Couuless. "Some- 
 thing has happened — I must know!"
 
 252 
 
 MAnT PRICE ; OB, THE MEM01R3 OF A SEBV ANT-MAID. 
 
 " The truth is, then," said the Count, speaking as 
 if a cold shudder were upon him, and mcthought I 
 could even hear his teeth cliatter, " I am sometimes 
 piven to — to — to — walkinj^ in my sleep " 
 
 "Oh! is that all?" exclaimed the Countess in a 
 voice which showed she was inefTably rcUeved ; and 
 then she gazed up with a look of the most compas- 
 Eionate endearment into licr husband's face. 
 
 " I hope, my lord," observed Septimus, ■who by 
 this time had regitined his own self-possession, "that 
 your lordship will not bo angry with me and the 
 Others here," glanchig over liis shoulder to^vards 
 the butler and .James, "for having startled your 
 lordship in such a manner. 33ut the truth is, for 
 three or four nights running we heard strange foot- 
 steps in the house, and agreed to sit up and keep 
 watch." 
 
 " I understand — yes^I understand — and I am 
 not angry — I cannot be angry," said the Coimt : 
 "you meant no harm ! But at the same time," he 
 added, " you should have told me what you heard 
 and what you meant to do. You see that it is a 
 weakness — a failing — an infirmity — I do not exactly 
 know what to call it — on ray part — and — and — my 
 good fellows, you must feel with me that it is hu- 
 miliating as w-ell as disagreeable for me to be ex- 
 posed thus before my servants." 
 
 Septimvis muttered something more about being 
 very sorry and so forth, in which expressions of re- 
 gret the bullcr and James also joined ; for they 
 coidd not do otherwise than deeply feel the awk- 
 wardness of their own position. The Count then 
 bade them " Good night," and hurried his lady away 
 down stau's again to theu' chamber, which was on 
 the floor below. 
 
 It appeared that my presence in the passage had 
 not been observed by cither the Count or Countess, 
 in the confusion of the scene ; for though I was near 
 enough to observe all that took place, yet I was still 
 far enough off, and likewise so much in the shade 
 beyond the reach of the candle's rays, as to escape 
 notice. I now retraced my way to the nursery, 
 giving a few words of hm-ried explanation to the 
 other sei'vants who had been disturbed, and who 
 having huddled on some clothing, were flocking to 
 the spot just as I was rcturnmg from it. Indeed 
 the whole scene which I have ni)w described, did not 
 last about fom* or five minules, though taking up so 
 much time in the description. 
 
 Tranquillity and silence once more prevailed 
 thi'oughout the mansion; and on regaining the nur- 
 sery, I hastened to put off my apparel and seek mv 
 couch. But it was long ere sleep visited my eyes ; 
 for the effect which that ch-ead mslancc of som- 
 nambulism had produced upon me, was even awful. 
 The Coimt's face, when hideous and convulsed with 
 the workings of mingled horror and anguish, 
 haunted me in the darkness of my chamber, and 
 seemed to be looking in upon me through the open- 
 ing in the bed-curtains. Good licavens ! what Icr- 
 rilic fcelmgs were expressed upon that countenance 
 during the swift brief moments I had thus beheld it 
 80 aw fully convidscd !— and I had observed, too, 
 that while he was giving in broken sentences those 
 explauations which told how he was a somnambulist, 
 there was something so strangely bewildered in his 
 tone, so dreary and despairing in his looks, so 
 agonizing in the tremblings of his frame, Uial he 
 must have been sullcring with hideous and cru- I 
 
 j cifnng feehngs at the time. "When I did get to 
 sleep, the entire spectacle was enacted over again 
 in my dreams, but with added horrors ; and moro 
 than once during the remainder of that dreadful 
 night cUd I awake to find myself starting up in my 
 bed, a prey to sensations of the most painful de- 
 scription. 
 
 I rose early with a head-ache, feverish, and un- 
 rcfreshcd by my broken slumbers, and felt so bewil- 
 dered as I di'essed the children that I committed a 
 thousand errors in their toilet. In the midst of this 
 occupation I heard the door open gently, and the 
 Countess entered the nursery. She looked very pale 
 and ill, the incident of the night having evidently 
 produced a most painful eflect iipon her. She at 
 once saw by my looks that I knew what had occured : 
 but she did not ask me how. Perhaps she had 
 really observed me in the passage at the time, but 
 did not choose to say so : or perhaps she thought 
 that I might already have received an account of 
 the incident from one of the other servants. 
 
 "Were the chilchen alarmed? did they hear it r" 
 she inquired, speaking in a whisper aside to me, so 
 that (he little ones should not catch her words. 
 
 " ]N'o, my lady," I answered : " they both slept 
 soundly." 
 
 " I am glad of that," she observed, her counte- 
 nance brightening up. " It is a very painful thing ; 
 but of com'se his lordsliip is to be commiserated. 
 He tells me that it is a habit with all the members 
 of his family, and that if he ever be the least indis- 
 posed in health or commit the slightest excess with 
 regard to wine, it is in this manner the effects show 
 themselves. Ah ! in futiu'c I wiU take care of liim, 
 now that I know it." The Countess paused for a 
 few moments, and then said, " Mary, his lordship 
 cannot of course notice the matter any more in the 
 presence of his domestics. He does not for a mo- 
 ment blame those who sat up to watch, because he 
 appreciates the goodness of their motives, after what 
 Septimus stated at the time. Nevertheless, it is a 
 sort of thing which one must wish not to be made 
 the subject of gossipping ; and knowing that you 
 are a discreet as well as intelligent girl, I thought I 
 would just step in now and give you a hint as to 
 what I want done. In short, you must represent 
 to yom' feUow-scrvants the propriety of keeping 
 silent \ipon the vmpleasant topic." 
 
 " I will candidly mform your ladyship," was my 
 answ-er, " that I was in the kitchen hist evening 
 when the servants were speaking of the strange 
 noises they had heard; and then it was resolved 
 that some of them shoidd keep watch : but I can 
 assure your ladyship that it was from no feeling of 
 impertinent curiosity, — indeed, without the remotest 
 suspicion as to the real cause of those soimds — that 
 Septimus, James, and the butler thus acted. There- 
 fore your ladyship maj- rest assured that they will 
 have no inclination to make the matter one of gene- 
 ral conversation. At the same time, I will take the 
 earliest opportunity of suggesting the prudence of 
 reserve upon the point." 
 
 The Countess then quilted me; and after I had 
 given the childi-en their In-eakfast, I left them in 
 charge of the housemaid for a few minutes while I 
 descended to the kitchen. There, as naturally might 
 be expected, I found a\\ the servants talking upon 
 the occurrence of the previous night; and I must 
 say that I was much annoyed for my mistress's
 
 sake on observing Mrs. Dunkley, the charwoman, 
 listening with open mouth and upraised hands to 
 all that was passing around her. It appeared that 
 she had just " dropped in" to see the cook — most 
 probably to ascertain why her services had been al- 
 together dispensed with since the day of her exhibi- 
 tion respecting the gin, as mentioned in a previous 
 chapter. But on so " dropping in," she had foimd 
 the servants deep in the discussion of the occur- 
 rences which it was most desu-able to keep from the 
 ears of one who was sure to go retailing them 
 throughout the town and neighbourhood. Despite 
 my vexation at finding the woman there, I could 
 not help for a moment being amused by her looks, 
 as she greedily drank in with her ears everything 
 that was said. There was something ludicrously 
 mysterious and ridiculously solemn in the shakings 
 of the head, the uplifting of the hands, and the half- 
 hushed ejaculations of " Well, to be sure ! deary me ! 
 lawk-a-daisy ! well, I never !" and so forth, which 
 marked the gloating avidity wherewith she devom'ed 
 the narrative in all its details. 
 
 " -Ih !" she said, at length delivering her opinion 
 with a still more ominous look, and a still more 
 solemn shake of the head on which the coal-scuttle 
 bonnet was perched, "it's a awful thing to be a 
 sleep-walker. There was poor Dunkley which used 
 to get up early and go to bed late, and he never 
 thought of trotting about in the middle of the night 
 like that. He slept like a top ! But then I sup- 
 pose it was the beer as did it ; foi', poor dear man ! 
 he never went to bod sober diu-ing the twenty-two 
 years and three months we was married. Alack ! it 
 was a extra pot of porter that knocked him off the 
 hooks at last ! Then there's me — I don't think that 
 I'm given to sleep-walking. I cau't say, but I never 
 hecrd that I was — leastways I never found myself 
 knockuag my nose agin the bed-post or the wall in 
 the middle of the night. It's a awful thing, and 
 makes one tremble all over just like no-how to think 
 of. I s'poso the Coimt's troubled in his mind, poor 
 manf" 
 
 "There are many persons who walk in their sleep, 
 without being troubled in their mind," said I; "and 
 I think, Mrs. Dunkley, that it wUl bo as well if you 
 do not mention outside of the house what you have 
 just heard in it." 
 
 " Hey-day , young Miss!" exclaimed the char- 
 woman, suddenly putting her arms akimbo and be- 
 coming quite red in the face with indignation : 
 " what do you mean by dictating to me P I knowed 
 you, Mary Price, when you was quite a little gal — a 
 liinfant in your poor mother's harms — and I never 
 thought the time would come when you would as 
 much as charge me to my face with gossippin' and 
 scandalizin'. Barring Mrs. Simmons, which takes in 
 washing — and Mrs. Banks, which keeps the mangle 
 — and Mrs. Slatterly, which has the sweetstuflf shop 
 — and 'Sixs. Dixon, which is the wife of the town- 
 crier, I never gossips to nobody ; but if any of them 
 ladies does drop in just to take a cup of tea, I don't 
 mean to say but what I shan't talk this matter over 
 with 'em in a neighbourly way." 
 
 Septimus, who, as he afterwards told me, sus- 
 pected that I had been spoken to by her ladyship 
 relative to having the whole affair kept quite secret, 
 now suddenly bethought himself of a manner of 
 cflcctually sealuig Mi-s. Duukley's lips : for he doubt- 
 less saw the impropricly of having allowed the dis- 
 
 cussion of the past night's adventures to proceed in 
 her presence. He accordingly said, " I wiU bet you 
 two bottles of gin, Mrs. Dunkley, that you can't keep 
 the secret for an entire month, even if you tried ?" 
 
 " And how do you know ?" she snappishly de- 
 manded : then, without giving him time to answer, 
 she added, " But I can though^ and what's more I 
 will, if so be you give me half the wager now, and 
 
 the other half when I have won it for win it I 
 
 shall and can, if I like." 
 
 "Agreed!" exclaimed Septimus: and he whis- 
 pered a few words to the butler, who at once pro- 
 ceeded to the cellar, and in a few minutes returned 
 with a bottle of Hollands, the first glimpse of which 
 made Mrs. Dunkley's mouth water and her counte- 
 nance brighten up to an extraordinary degree. 
 
 "Well," she said, instantaneously displajing the 
 best possible humour, " I do like people which is 
 honom'able in their wagers, and I'm sure for my 
 part I wouldn't be the cause of no unpleasantness 
 whatsomever. As for you, Mary Price," she con- 
 tinued, turning to me, " when I pretended to flare- 
 up just now agin you, it was on'y in fun and just to 
 see what you would say : so there's no ill will be- 
 twixt us. And now, Sir. Septimus, if I don't see 
 you afore, I shall comeback at the end of the month 
 for t'other bottle." 
 
 With these words Mrs. Dunkley concealed the 
 bottle just brought in, xmder her old rusty black 
 shawl ; and bidding us all " Good morning," she 
 marched off vnth. her prize in a sort of triumph, 
 her pattens (which she invariably wore on all occa- 
 sions, even to church on Sunday) clattering as she 
 took her departure. 
 
 For some days afterwards the servants at the 
 Willow House continued to discuss amongst them- 
 selves the strange incident of that memorable night 
 which made the Count's habit of somnambulism 
 known to us : but by degrees the topic lost its in- 
 terest, as aU such things do — and at the end of a 
 fortnight it was scarcely mentioned any more. At 
 first I had noticed that the Count himself seemed 
 pale, taciturn, and even care-worn, as if the occm'- 
 rence weighed upon his mind : but in the midst of 
 renewed gaieties, parties, and festivities, he also 
 soon appeared to banish the incident from bis me- 
 mory. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV, 
 
 ■WALKS IX THE GABDEN. 
 
 It was in the middle of October — wanting now but 
 a fortnight to the day on which I was either to sec 
 Eustace Quentin or receive a letter from him — when 
 the incident I am about to relate took place. Ono 
 morning after breakfast the Count and Countess 
 were walking together in the garden; and as was 
 often the case, they had the children with them, I 
 being in atleudanco at the same time. It was a 
 beautiful day, but cbiU — and her ladyship having 
 nothing over her shoulders, desired me to return 
 into the house and fetch her a shawl. I hastened to 
 obey her command ; and on issuing forth into the 
 g;u-don again, .-^ped after my master and mistress, 
 who with the two children were sauntering tilo'vly 
 along the gravel-walk towards the extremity of the
 
 251 
 
 MARY PUIOE; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 grounds. Tlxe moment I came within earshot, I 
 heard her ladyship saying, '•' But, my dear Victor, 
 you really must write to your lawyers in Pai'is to 
 make ui-jrc haste in settling the business ; for our 
 account will soon bo inconveniently low at the 
 banker's " 
 
 "'Well, my love, my dear angel," responded the 
 Coxmt, " if I do not receive letters to-morrow, I will 
 either \\rite very peremptorily or go myself " 
 
 " Your ladyship's shawl," said I : and I was 
 startled by the suddenness with which the Count 
 tui'ued round upon me. 
 
 Heaven knows I had not the slightest intention of 
 listening -with undue curiositj' to the discourse of my 
 raastcr and mistress : I could not help overhearing 
 what I did ; nor should I have attached the slightest 
 importance to it — for the remarks thus made had 
 nothing very extraordinary in them — had it not 
 been for the sort of consternation which appeai-ed to 
 seize upon the Count on finding that I was at the 
 moment clobC behind. Her ladyship did not per- 
 ceive either the extreme suddenness of her husband's 
 movement, nor the singular and dismayed look 
 which he fixed upon me : for she was walking the 
 least thing in advance of him at the time, and then 
 on hearing me speak, she calmly stood still while I 
 threw the shawl over her shoulders. The deduction 
 I could not help making in mj own mind, was that 
 while her ladyship did not seem to att.ach any undue 
 importance to the chcumsLaucc of my being so close 
 at the laoment, her husband was on the other hand 
 startled and dismayed thereby. ILc however said 
 nothing, but turning round again, resumed his walk 
 with her ladyship — while I hastened after the chil- 
 dren, who were getting into some little mischief in 
 another part of the garden. 
 
 The occurrence I have just mentioned made a 
 coi)sidcrii,ble impression upon my mind. That a 
 husband and wife should talk of tlieir aft'au's — that 
 they should casually notice to each other the state 
 of their fmances at their banker's, and the necessity 
 of replenishing them from their legitimate sources 
 elsewhere — was all natural enough ; ami as I ere 
 now said, I should not have attached the slightest 
 importance to the few ^^•urds that had caught my 
 car, had not the Count huusclf behaved so tin- 
 gularly. A certain feeling of luieasincss rose up in 
 my mind — a sort of vague suspicion wliich I could 
 not exactly define, and which I endeavoured to 
 banish as much as possible : but still I coukl not 
 help thinking of the cu-cumstance for the whole of 
 that day. It seemed as if my eoulidenee in certain 
 respects had been shaken, and that I began to mis- 
 trust where I had never thought of mistrusting 
 before. In plainer terms still, the suspicion which 
 floated so mistily and hazily in my brain, was never- 
 theless sulficiently definite and palpable as to make 
 mo hope for my mistress's sake that it woidd prove 
 altogether unfounded. 
 
 1 have frequently noticed that \\heuever au un- 
 pleasant doubt concerning anything or anybody has 
 been created by one incident, another is pretty sui'e 
 to follow close upon its heels to strengthen it. So 
 was it in (he present case. The very next morning, 
 as the Count and Countess A\crc again walking in 
 the garden, with the chUdren plnyiug about, and 
 myself in attendance in order to look alter them, 
 Jan'cs made his appearance with the letters which 
 the postman had just brought. Having delivered 
 
 some to the Count and Countess, he gave one to mo 
 j bearing the post-mark of Paris, .\lthough I longed 
 I to read it— for I fancied that the handwriting of the 
 j address was that of Jemima, Lady Harlesdon's 
 I maid — yet I was compelled to restrain' my curiosity 
 until alone, it of course being contrary to good man- 
 I ners for a servant to open a letter when in attend- 
 I ance upon her master and mistress. 
 
 " Have you any letters from Paris, dear Victor ?" 
 
 I I heard her ladyship ask of the Count. 
 
 j " What, my love — letters from Paris, my angel ? 
 
 ; No — I think not," he replied ; and methought he 
 
 glanced with a quick look of imeasines?' round tg- 
 
 wards me, as if fearful that I might overhear some* 
 
 tlung which he would rather I should not catch. 
 
 " But tills is very provoking, dear Victor," said 
 
 i the C(juntess. " Here is a letter from my uncle, 
 
 I stating that he cannot comply with my request 
 
 I But what letter is that you have ther&?" asked the 
 I Coimtess, as she suddenly raised her eyes, and by 
 her manner seemed to be struck with sometlunt^ 
 peculiar in her husband's look. At least such was 
 my conjecture ; for of coui'se I could not see his 
 countenance, as I was walking behind with the 
 childi'en. 
 
 " Oh ! nothing, nothing, my love — nothing, my 
 angel, I can assm'e you," rejoined the Count, as he 
 thi-ust the letter he had just been reading into his 
 pocket. 
 
 " Nay — but you looked annoj-ed," said her lady- 
 ship in an affectionately urgent tone. 
 
 " Oh ! no, my sweet — not at all, my beauty — 
 quite the reverse:" — and the Count laughed; but 
 it struck me there was something hollow in his 
 mirth. " It is merely a letter fi'om — from — an old 
 
 friend of mine nothing more." 
 
 The Countess did not utter another word, but 
 , walked oil slowly, resuming the perusal of her own 
 letter which she held in her hand. This silence 
 between my master and mistress lasted for foiu: or 
 five minutes ; and I could not help thinking that it 
 had something awkward and embarrassing in it. I 
 was likewise struck by liis lordship's manner : for 
 his very gait denoted uneasiness — he also looked 
 two or three times round towai-ds me, and then gave 
 a sidelong glance at his wife — but he said uothuig. 
 The suspicion aheady awakened in my mind by the 
 incident of the previous day, had rendered mc very 
 keenly alive to all the little circumstances of the 
 present occasion ; and by what I thus observed my 
 feeling of uneasiness was strengthened — my suspi- 
 cion became more definite and clear — iii short, I 
 fancied that everything was not right with the 
 Coimt. 
 
 Suddenly her ladyship turned round and said, 
 •■ ilar^-, I think I saW' James give you a letter. 
 You are welcome to read it if you please ; or you 
 can retire to another pai-t of the garden to do 
 so." 
 
 I was glad of an opportimity of gettLug to a dis- 
 tance li'om my master and mistress at this moment; 
 for to a certain degree I felt the awkwardness of 
 being a witness of that sudden coolness wliich had 
 evidently sprung up between them. So taking the 
 children away with me, I struck into another gravel- 
 wall,, and opened my letter. Its contents wei-e not 
 very long; and at once glaucinj; to the bottom, I 
 saw the name of her li-om whom I expected it had 
 come. This was what Jemima said: —
 
 MABY price; ok, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 2o3 
 
 " Paris, October 13, 1829. 
 " My dear Mary, 
 
 " Tour letter reached mo at Florence, and I gave her 
 ladyship the one it contained for her. I do not know 
 what you could have said in it, but it made her ladyship 
 cry ; and she said that she had wronged you, that you 
 were a good girl, and it was a great source of consolation 
 to her to have heard from you. It was his lordship's in- 
 tention to winter in Italy ; but some very important busi- 
 ness has suddenly transpired to make him alter his mind ; 
 and so we are all on our way back to England. I should 
 have written to you from Florence, and so would Lady 
 Harlesdon ■ only her ladyship thought it better to wait 
 till we arrived here [Paris] so that an appointment might 
 be made for you to see her ladyship on our return to 
 England. As his lordship lays down each day's travelling 
 with his usual precision in all such things, her ladyship is 
 able to calculate that we shall pass through Canterbury 
 on the 17th ; and she lioiies that if you can possibly 
 manage it, you will be at the Fountain Hotel during two 
 or three hours in the middle of that day — when, happen 
 what will, slie is resolved to see you. I say happen what 
 will, because bis lordship does not let her have her own 
 way quite so much as he used to do. I also, dear Mary, 
 long to embrace you ; and so I do hope you willl^e there. 
 I have such a budget of news to tell you — particularly 
 how I was nearly marrying a Prince, but who was not a 
 Priuce after all — only a swindler. If he had been a 
 Prince and I had married him, would not the Gijjsy 
 Queen's prophecy have been fiiLfUled ? You know what 
 I allude to : I meaji when she told me my fortune in 
 Hyde Park. But however, you must not thinli: me 
 foolish enough to put any faith in that now. When 
 Princes turn out swindlers, who can beUevo in Gipsy 
 Queens ? 
 
 "Now, dear Mary, if this does not find you at Ash- 
 ford (though when you wrote you said you would be 
 there for some month.s to come) and if you do not get it 
 in time to be at Canterbury on the 17th, then when you 
 do get it you must write to me at Harlesdon House in 
 London. But again I say that I shall hope to see you at 
 Canterbury. And now no more from 
 
 " Your aifectionate friend 
 
 "JEMIMA WILKINSON. \ 
 
 " To Miss Mary Price, 
 " Ashford, Kent." 
 
 How delighted I was at receiving tliis letter, the 
 reader cau full well imagine. That Lady Harlesdon 
 had been completely disabused of all her prejudices 
 concerning me, was quite evident ; and it was one 
 of the happiest moments of ray life to reflect that 
 my character was thus altogether cleared up witli 
 one whom, notwithstanding all her ftiults and frail- 
 ties, I sincerely loved. The 17th was the following 
 day; I must therefore ask the requisite leave of 
 absence in order to meet her ladyship and Jemima 
 at Canterbiu'y. I was retracing my way along the 
 gravel-walk with the chilchen towards that in which 
 I had left the Count and Countess, when I observed 
 her ladyship advancing alone towards the mansion. 
 I hurried on to accost hci', and was struck by per- 
 ceiving that she was in tears. The children ran up 
 to their mother : and hastily wiping her eyes, she 
 stooped down to kiss them, thus fondling and play- 
 ing with them for a minute or two evidently to veil 
 lier affliction from me. I turned aside, and looked 
 another way while she was thus engaged; and then 
 I observed the Count just entering the house, ho 
 having left his wife behind him in the garden, so 
 that I feared a quarrel had taken place between 
 them. 
 
 " Well, Mary," said her ladyship, " have you had 
 good news from any quarter ? for I observed that 
 you seemed jjartieulurly happy au you apjiroaehed 
 me," 
 
 1 "My late mistress Lady Harlesdon wiU be af; 
 Canterbury to-morrow," I answered; "and she 
 wishes to see me. I therefore thought of soliciting 
 your ladyship's leave for a day's absence." 
 
 "This is rather awkward — for his lordship sets 
 off on a journey mthin an hour. Indeed, he is 
 going to France on particular business, and will be 
 absent for ten days or a ibrtnight." 
 
 " I should be sorry to put your ladyship to the 
 slightest inconvenience, and will therefore write to 
 Lady Harlesdon to acquaint her with the impos- 
 sibility of paying my respects to her to-morrovr." 
 
 ■' No : I shovdd not like j'ou to be thus dis- 
 appointed," said the Covmtess. "You shall go, 
 Mary." 
 
 I thanked her ladyship for her kindness ; and sho 
 then passed on into the mansion. I remained a 
 little longer w^th the children in the garden; and 
 when I took them in-doors I found that pre- 
 parations were making for his lordship's departiu'e. 
 The carriage was being got in readiness; and a 
 portmanteau had been packed and brought down 
 into the hall. As I was taking the children up- 
 stau's, her ladyship came forth from the drawing- 
 room, and said, " Let them come in for his lordship 
 to bid them good bye. You can remain here for a 
 nimute or two while they accompany me." 
 
 I accordingly stopped upon the landing ; and the 
 Countess passed into the chawiug-room with her 
 children. She left the door ajar, inadvertently I 
 presume; and I heard her say, "Forgive me, my 
 dear Yictoi*, if I have been too urgent relative to 
 
 your affau's " 
 
 "Well, I forgive you," exclaimed the Coimt: 
 " but you should not have pressed me so about that 
 
 letter " 
 
 " Pardon me — but I was so fearful of something 
 wrong," interrupted the Countess, in a voice fidl of 
 affectionate entreaty. 
 
 I coidd not help hearing the few sentences of 
 then" conversation which I have just recorded, be- 
 cause tliey reached my ears even as I retreated to 
 the extremity of the landing; and finding that the 
 discom-se of the Count and Countess would stiU 
 penetrate to me tliither, I ascended the next flight 
 of stairs so as to escape the necessity of bemg a 
 listener. From the little I had heard, however, it 
 was clear, as I had previously surmised, that the 
 Count and Countess had been quarrelling on two 
 distinct subjects — namely, his lordship's money- 
 affairs, and that letter which he had so hastily 
 crumpled up and tlirust uito his pocket. 
 
 In a few miautcs her hidysliip came forth from 
 the drawing-room ; and not immediately perceiving 
 me, called mo by name. I hastened down, and 
 again took charge of the chUdreu. Shortly after- 
 wards — indeed within a quarter of an hour — the 
 Count took his departure in the carriage, wliich, as 
 I presently learnt, was merely to convey him to 
 Ciuiterb\u-y, where he pui'posod to take the stage- 
 coach to Dover, and tbonco embark on the fol- 
 lowing morning for Calais. In the course of the 
 afternoon (he Countess came up into the nursery 
 and sat for an hour or two with the children. 
 She was evidenlly unhappy — not merely in con- 
 sequence of her husband's departure, but with a 
 cerlain restlessness and uneasiness which she could 
 not altogether conceal. It likewise struck ine that 
 more than ouce slio embraced her children with
 
 MABY PRICE ; OR, THB MEMOIBfl OP A SEEVAST-MAIO. 
 
 a kind of passionate efifusion, as it" it afforded | upwards, was likewise much grown and unproved ; 
 relief to her troubled mind — or even as if she had i while Isabella Clementina, now two years and a 
 
 some misgiving relative to the futui-o destinj- of 
 these innocent little beings whom she thus so 
 wai-mly strained to her bosom. I felt much on her 
 account: for notwithstandinfr tlic aristocratic airs 
 
 half, was a child of exquisite loveliness. The two 
 bovs knew me at once and were delighted to see 
 me. As I embraced them one after the other, thev 
 threw their little arms round my neck and clung to 
 slie was accustomed to give herself, the silly pride me as if I had been a near relation. Isabella was 
 she displayed, and the overweening vanity with j too young at the time I left Ilarlesdon Park to 
 which she "bore her rank of Countess, she had many ! have a perfect recollection of me now : but when 1 
 L'ood points in her character and had been all along took her up in my arms she was very far from re- 
 kind io me. Her disposition was decidedly most i garding me as a stranger, and instinctively as it 
 affectionate : there could be no doubt that she pas- \\ero brightened up with smiles as I covered her 
 sion lU'ly loved her husband, and was equally do- i beautiful cheeks with kisses. After I had caressAi 
 vuti'il to her children. and played with the children for a few minutes her 
 
 Early on the following morning I repau-ed into ladysliip bade Jemima take them away, as she 
 the town — took a place in the van to Canterbury wished to be alone with me for a short time. 
 — and at mid-day entered the cathedral city. | I must here pause for a moment to observe that 
 
 On proceeding to the Fountain Hotel I imme- 
 diately recognized Lord Harlesdon's three travelling- 
 earriaires in the courtvard ; and a hostler, to whom 
 
 Lady Ilarlesdon was sadly altered. She was thin, 
 even to emaciation ; her complexion, always trans- 
 parently fair, was now so very, very pale that it 
 
 I addressed myself, informed me that the family looked like the stainless marble, and it seemed as if 
 had arrived about an hour previously. While I was i the slightest touch would soil its whiteness. Through 
 still speaking to this individual, I heard my name the diaphanous skin of the forehead the delicate 
 called by a well-known voice; and hastily looking I tracery of blue veins might be seen running like 
 back, beheld Jemima flying towards me. Although [ tendrils ; and on her shadowy- hands the veins also 
 several persons were lounging about in the hotel- might be observed, branching like the fibres of a 
 yard, she threw her arms round my neck and em- i leaf, but faintly pencilled. A slight flush of beauti- 
 braced me with the warmest affection. ful vermilion, more like the tint of art than of 
 
 " Dear me, Mary, how you have grown!" she i nature, had risen to her cheeks in the excitement of 
 cried, when she had time to speak. "To be sm'e, I I the first moments of our meeting; but it had now 
 have not seen you since last Christmas — and ten faded away, leaving her countenance apparently 
 months make an iuuueuse difference. And how paler by the contrast than it was before. Her azure 
 
 ell you look, too ! — so handsome and quite like a j eyes were full of a soft and drooping melancholy, 
 
 lady! Ah, hor ladyship will be so glad to see you; 
 and fortunately my lord has gone to take a .stroll 
 and see the cathedral while lunch is being got ready. 
 So come along at once. Oh ! what a deal you have 
 passed through since last you and I met ! That 
 ftfTair at Derby about the Percivals made quite 
 
 like those \^hich the old masters have given to theu* 
 pictures of a youthful Magdalen : and yet not even 
 the pencil of Guido could have painted the touching 
 and interesting beauty of Lady Harlesdon as I now 
 beheld it. Al.as, poor creature I even if I had not 
 known that she had suffered much, I should have 
 
 heroine of you. I really envied you. !Mary: it was read her unhappy fate upon her countenance as well 
 so roin.tntic I I do hope that some day or another , as in the wasting away of her form, 
 you wll print all these things in a book : I am cer- '" You regard me with a melancholy attention," 
 tain it would have an immense sale. But here we said her ladyship, again taking my hand and press- 
 are." I ing it kindly. *• Ala.s I it is no wonder — for you 
 
 While thus rattling away with exceeding volu- ' doubtless find me much altered ? Let me reflect,'* 
 bility, the good-tempered Jemima had hurried me she continued, with the soft plaint iveness of a voice 
 on ink) the hotel; and now we paused at a door at that had grown enfeebled in proportion as her form 
 which she knocked. A voice from within feebly itself was fading : " it is ten months since you last 
 bade her enter ; and throw ing open the door, { saw me, and dm'Lug that time I have suffered 
 Jemima exclaimed, " Here she is, my lady !" deeply, deeply — yes, more than I can tell:" — and 
 
 I passed on into a handsomely furnished apart- she compressed her tremulous Ups as if to keep 
 ment, where I found myself in the presence of Lady back the gush of those feelings that had risen up 
 Harlesdon, who was seated there with her children, to her very tliroat. 
 
 Her ladyship took me in her arms and kissed me. " Dear lady," I said, " we all have our misfortunes 
 I felt hi'r hot tears upon my cheeks ; and I full well 1 in this world." 
 
 conjectured that they were called forth by the poig- I "True!" she exclaimed, in sudden accents of 
 uantly revived reminiscences of many, many things hysterical bitterness: "but then there are degrees 
 which she knew were not strange to me. I wept ' in human unhappiness, and those which fall to my 
 also as I nmrnuu-ed, "O dear lady I how happy I i lot are the extreme! Nevertheless, Mary," she 
 am thus to be restored to your confidence and good added in a milder and gentler tone, "you who 
 opinion !" know my history well, cannot altogether sympathise 
 
 " Mary," answered her ladyship, in a tremulous i with me ; for you are virtuous imd good, whereas I 
 voice, " I am sorry that I ever doubted you. But ] am criminal and frail." 
 
 we will speak of this anon. Here are some little 
 people whom j-ou know well." 
 
 She alluded to the children, whom I embraced 
 tenderly one after the other. Master Alexander 
 Adolphus was now in his si.vtli year, and was a fine 
 little fellow. Albert Henry, who was four and 
 
 '■ Oh, dear lady ! I do sympathise with you — and 
 most sincerely tot)," I exclaimed, pressing her thin 
 white hands to my lips. " I am fearfid that the 
 narrative I sent to your ladyship at Florence may 
 have plunged a dagger into your ahvady too deeply 
 woimded heart : liu( what was I to do: It was
 
 imperative tliat I sliould clear up my own character 
 in your eyes; and in order to effect this, I was 
 compelled to explain everything." 
 
 " I know it, I know it, Mary — and not for worlds 
 could I reproach you on that account ! Besides, I 
 never ought to have mistrusted you — I never ought 
 to have given my blind belief to appearances. But 
 yet, when those appearances were so startling — 
 when I beheld you as I thought in the ai-ms of him 
 on whom the affections of ray youth had been be- 
 stowed — Oh ! you can scarcely wonder if, inspu'ed 
 by the demon of jealousy, I not only believed tlrat 
 you were false and hypocritical, but I likewise be- 
 came inveterate against you. Ah ! Mary, although 
 you are aware I have loved that man, you know not 
 how fond, how deep was my afleetion. And now, 
 when still so young in the world, I am old in bitter 
 experiences, and I have lived long enough to learn 
 that love can teach many lessons to a woman, but 
 that its last and worst is to prove that it is not 
 NO. 33 
 
 eternal, and that it can depart, but only to leave a 
 scar behind never to be effaced, and a void never to 
 be filled up !" 
 
 The tears were streaming down her cheeks as she 
 thus spoke; and I was weeping also, bhc had 
 uttered those last words not so much with the bit- 
 terness of disappointment as with the mournfulness 
 of contrition ; and it seemed us if she felt that her 
 punishment was a just retribution for her frailties. 
 
 " No," she continued, suddenly taking up the 
 thread of a former part of her discourse, " I do not 
 for an instant blame you for having given mo a full 
 explanation of all the detestable treacheries and vile 
 perfidies which were practised for tao double pur- 
 pose of plunging fresh daggers into my heart and 
 inducing you to listen to the voice of the seducer. 
 Tliank lionven, my dear girl, that by the aid of your 
 iudoiuitablc virtue you have escaped. For God's 
 sake never turn aside from this path of strictest 
 rectitude which you have hitherto pursued. I, who
 
 258 
 
 MARV trice; or, the memoirs op a beevant-maid. 
 
 have done so, and who have received such bitter ex- 
 periences of the consequences, may be permitted to 
 give you this advice. And yet you scarcely need it 
 — and there is even something that savours of insult 
 in proffering such counsel to you who are so good, 
 80 virtuous !" 
 
 Lady llarlesdon paused, and for a few minutes 
 sank into a deep reverie, during which I continued 
 to gaze upon her with feelings painfully moved : for 
 I could not help thinking that before me sat a being 
 on whom nature, and rank, and fortune had shed all 
 their choicest gifts, but whose happiness had been 
 marred by her own heart's affections. Yes — in her 
 case, as in the case of so many bright and beautiful 
 beings in this world, the holy dew of love which 
 should fall with gentle freshness upon the heart and 
 prove a delicious moisture to quicken the growth of 
 all its tcnderest and finest feelings, had been changod 
 into a poison to corrode the exquisite fibres of that 
 heart, blight its flowers, and wither all its delicate 
 tendrils. 
 
 " The causes of my unhappiness are well known 
 to you, Mary," resumed her ladyship at length. 
 " Not only am I compelled to harbour the painful 
 and undjdng conviction that all my lovo has been 
 centred upon an unworthy object ; but I am likewise 
 forced to endure the unceasmg persecutions of a 
 husband who hates me, and who not daring to 
 assassinate me outright, is murdering me by inches. 
 Alas ! I cannot find worcb to describe the myriads 
 of petty tyrannies which Lord Harlesdon makes mo 
 endure. You have seen a specimen of his capacity 
 for fiendish mischief and malignity in this respect. 
 Yet I deserve it all! I know that I injured him — 
 that I have deceived him : and yet the punishment 
 
 is cruel indeed too cruel ! too cruel !" added her 
 
 ladyship, shaking her head with the mournfulness of 
 uicer despair, and with a slight convulsive wringmg 
 of the hands. 
 
 " But if the punishment itself be disproportionate 
 to the offence," I ventured to observe, " surely, dear 
 lady, it must soon cease ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mary — it will soon cease," rejoined Lady 
 Harlesdon, in a voice ominously plaintive : •' but 
 only when I am laid cold in the grave — and then 
 what will become of my poor children ? It is true 
 that I do not fear they will be left to want, because 
 that same pride which has prevented his lordship 
 from discarding me will also serve to prevent him 
 from repudiating them. But, O God ! if he should 
 perpetuate towards those innocents tlio remorseless 
 malignity which he has shown towards their mother, 
 better far were it that I should strangle them in 
 their sleep than leave them at the mercy of him 
 who is but their father in name ! And if I have 
 hitherto endured all the horrors, the anguish, and 
 the excruciations of my position, it has been oulj- 
 for their sake. Yet heaven knows my patience has 
 IVciiuently been goaded to that degree at which it 
 seemed that no farther tension of the feelings wi\s 
 possible^ and that the bow must snap. I mean that 
 I have been cbiven to desperation— and it is a won- 
 der that at those times of ineffable agony I have not 
 either taken my children and fled away with them— 
 or else laid violent hands upon them first and my- 
 self afterwards or else," she added in a voice 
 
 that suddenly became deep and gloomy, '• tm-u 
 round upon my persecutor and with a blow avenge 
 all that I conceived to be my wrono-s." 
 
 I was horror-stricken at these last words ; and 
 Lady Harlesdon observed the look of consternation 
 and dismay which rose up on my countenance. 
 
 " No, my dear girl," she immediately continued, 
 " you need not entertain any apprehensions of that 
 kind. It is scarcely possible that I could so far for- 
 get myself as to do my husband an injury. I have 
 already suffered too much^ot to be able to guffer on 
 to the end ; and this I shall do for the sake of those 
 poor children. Nevertheless, Mary, my life is an 
 incessant pandemonium : it is the realization upon 
 earth of those tortui-es which we are led to suppose 
 await the wicked hereafter. God forbid that you, 
 my poor girl, should ever by your own experience 
 be able to appreciate one tithe of the sufferings of 
 which I am speaking !" 
 
 Lady Harlesdon covered her face with her hands, 
 and by the half-subdued sobs which met my ears, by 
 the convulsive movements of her frame, and by the 
 tears which trickled through her fingers, it was alas ! 
 too easy to conjecture the harrowed state of her 
 feelings. I threw myself upon my knees before her, 
 beseeching her to tranquillize herself; but for some 
 minutes she did not seem to hear my words, noi* 
 even to be aware of my pi-esence. At last she 
 slowly moved her hands from her countenance ; and 
 wiping her eyes bent down and kissed me affec- 
 tionately. Then she bade me rise and resume my 
 seat. 
 
 " Yes — for ten months, since you last saw me, 
 Mary," she continued, giving utterance to the pain- 
 ful ideas which were uppermost in her mind, " I 
 have never known a moment's happiness — scarcely a 
 moment's tranquillity. Throughout the day— every 
 day, I mean — his lordship is almost constantly with 
 me : he seems to have devoted the remainder of his 
 life to the dreadful purpose of abridging mine. 
 Never was a revenge so terrible ! There is not a cir- 
 i cumstance, even the most trivial, which transpires 
 around us, but with a horrible ingenuit y he makes 
 it subservient to his vindictive purposes. The bit- 
 terest taunts and the most lancinating sarcasms are 
 continually dropping from his lips when we are alone 
 together : and in the presence of others his words, 
 though more guarded, are still permeated with a 
 covert vein of irony, equally poignant. Even when, 
 before visitors ov the servants, he appears to be ad- 
 di-essing me in terms of ordinary eourtesy, all his 
 syllables are daggers — and I feel them plunging into 
 my heart. You may think that in time I should 
 grow .accustomed to this conduct on his part : but 
 mine is not a temperament that can thus nerve it- 
 self with a stern cold philosophy. I am keenly 
 sensitive, and he knows it — Oh ! he knows it — and 
 it is upon the.=;o susceptible chords of my heart, th.it 
 he thus incessantly plays with so demon-like a malice. 
 You said just now that he must cease in time. 
 Perhaps you thought that he would grow wearied of 
 this sy.'stematic persecution ? No, no — I tell you 
 that he has devoted his life to it ; it has become as it 
 were a part of his being ; and all I can do is to go 
 on enduring and suffering — thus enduring and suf- 
 fering until the end ! Mary," continued Lady Har- 
 lesdon, " I should look forward with hope and joy to 
 the tranquil slumber of the cold tomb, were it not 
 for those three innocents whom I must leave behind 
 me. It is that thought which distracts mo — which 
 drives me mad! I have relations both woaltliy an;l 
 kind, who, if I were to thi-ow myself into their ar;rs
 
 MARY price: OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 25y 
 
 and reveal everything, would gladly take charge of 
 my l3eloved children : but can you not understand 
 how the mind revolts against the bare idea of 
 making such confession and having to acknowledge 
 that all the persecutions I endui-o have been justly 
 brought upon myself? Besides, were I to take such 
 a step, it would bo as it were proclaiming to the 
 world my fraUty, and society would visit upon my 
 poor children their mother's crime." 
 
 Lady Harlesdon ceased, and again fell into a deep 
 and mournful reverie. I remained silent — for the 
 matter was alike too painful and dehcate for me to 
 offer any comments. 
 
 " My poor ghl," she resumed at the expiration of 
 a minute or two, " I have been wrong to dwell at 
 this length upon my own afliictions. I wished to 
 see you, not merely to say how completely you have 
 restored yourself to my confidence by the letter of 
 explanation you sent through Jemima, but Ukewise 
 to hear how you are getting on and ascertain whether 
 I can do anything for you." 
 
 At this moment the door opened abruptly, and 
 Jemima thrust in her head, saying, " His lordship is 
 just crossing the courtyard !" 
 
 " Then you must leave me, Mary — you must leave 
 me," said her ladyship, starting up from her seat. 
 " Write to me in London, and I will answer your 
 letters. Now go with Jemima, and you will take 
 some lunch with her and the children. Farewell 
 for the present, my dear girl." 
 
 With these words Lady Harlesdon embraced me 
 hurriedly but affectionately ; and I followed Jemima 
 away to another room. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 THE HISTOET OF A. PRINCE. 
 
 When we had partaken of somo refreshments, and 
 the three children were plajdng together very peace- 
 ably and quietly, Jemima and I began to talk upon 
 past events. She was rather curious to know what ha-d 
 taken place between me and Lady Harlesdon, and 
 also the precise nature of the letter which I had 
 sent through her to her ladyship when they were in 
 Florence: but without entering into minute par- 
 ticulars, I gave Jemima to understand that the 
 letter had contained such explanations as were re- 
 quisite to clear up whatsoever had seemed suspicious 
 in the cu'cumstances of my sudden disappearance 
 from Harlesdon Park. I then asked Jemima what 
 she meant by stating in her letter that she had very 
 nearly married a Prince who turned out to be no 
 Prince after all ? 
 
 " Ah, the viUaia !" she exclaimed, her counte- 
 nance suddenly flushing with indignation: "he 
 not only made a fool of me, my dear Mary, but 
 also robbed me of all my savings into the bar- 
 gain." 
 
 " And how much did you thus lose ?" I asked. 
 
 " Seventy-six pounds, in good English sovereigns," 
 returned Jemima. "But after all it was not so 
 much the loss of the money that annoyed me, as to 
 think what a fool I was made of. Oh, it is so 
 vexing !" 
 
 " Pray give me the particulars," said I. 
 
 " I wUl. But you did not say anything to her 
 ladyship about that part of my letter, did you ?" 
 
 " Certainly not : I should scarcely have thought 
 of such a thing, not knowing whether she was 
 acquainted with the subject." 
 
 " Oh ! no — I took very good care," exclaimed 
 Jemima, " to keep the thing very quiet, not only 
 from her ladyship, but also from the other servants, 
 as I did not want to be laughed at. Lideed, I 
 should not have mentioned it to you, only you are 
 different from all the rest and would not turn me 
 into ridicule. Besides, I have always felt a sisterly 
 kind of regard for you, dear Mary ; and that is the 
 reason why I cannot help telling you my adventure. 
 But as we have not much time — for the carriages 
 arc ordered to be in readiness at three o'clock — I 
 will go on with my story at once." 
 
 Accordingly, having glanced round to satisfy her- 
 self that the children were not getting into any mis- 
 chief, Jemima proceeded as follows : — 
 
 "You know it was just about the middle of 
 January, immediately after the trial at Derby, 
 where you behaved so nobly, that we set off for the 
 Continent. I do not mean to delay you now with 
 any minute particulars of our journey : all those 
 points shall be for when we meet again and have 
 more time to converse. Suppose us, then, arrived 
 in Florence in the early part of February, — and 
 there we put up at a splendid hotel, while his lord- 
 ship looked about for a suitable vUla to hire in the 
 Vale of Arno. The very morning after we arrived 
 at the hotel I met upon the stairs such a fine, tall, 
 dashing-looking gentleman, with such a military 
 look, such splendid eyes, and such a lovely mous- 
 tache. Now, I must frankly confess, Mary, that I 
 am passionately fond of moustachios ; and I hope 
 that whenever I do marry it wiU be somebody with 
 as fine a pair as those that graced the hp of the 
 person I am speaking of. Well, I had the children 
 with me, and was going to take them for a walk in 
 the garden belonging to the hotel; and so the 
 moustached gentleman stopped to caress the chil- 
 dren, declaring that he never saw such sweet little 
 dears in all his life. He spoke English beautifully, 
 but with just enough accent to leave it doubtful 
 whether he was an Irishman or a foreigner. I how- 
 ever made up my mind that he was the latter ; and 
 so it afterwards appeared. As for li,ttle Bella, whom 
 I had in my arms at the time, he was quite de- 
 lighted with her : but while he patted her cheeks I 
 could not help thinking that he looked very tenderly 
 at me. Now you know, Mary, that I never gave 
 any improper encouragement to the other sex ; but 
 on this occasion — I don't know how it was — I must 
 confess I felt flattered by the stranger's attention. 
 He asked me whose children they were ; and when 
 I told him, he put a great m%ny questions to mo 
 about Lord and Lady Harlesdon — when they had 
 arrived, how long they meant to stay, and so forth .'' 
 But it was not as if he were impertinently inquisi- 
 tive : it seemed as though the little children had in- 
 spired him with a sort of iaterest that made him ask 
 these questions. So I answered him very civilly ; 
 and when I got down into the garden, I could not 
 help wondering who ho was and whether ho lived in 
 the hotel. In the course of the day I again met 
 him on the stairs ; and ho gavo me so kind a nod, 
 with nothing impudent in it, but just for all the 
 world as if we wore old acquaintances. The next 
 morning, as I was taking the children out again, he 
 was standing in tho gateway of the hotel ; and a
 
 2G0 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 groom in a rich livery was spcakin!^ fo him. They 
 were talking in English: fur the groom, as I after- 
 wards discovered, was an Englishman. Just as I 
 was passing, looking from the corner of my eyes to 
 see whether he would notice me and the children 
 again, I heard the groom say, ' Yes, yoiu- Highness.' 
 —I really thought I should have dropped : it gave 
 me such a turn to think that I should have been so 
 familiarly spoken and nodded to by a Highness! 
 For of course I knew very well that that could only 
 be the title of a Prince. Well, I was sneaking by, 
 and not daring to look up at him any more, when 
 he turned round upon me, speaking so condescend- 
 in Hy, and declaring that he must have a moment's 
 chat with his little friends— meaning the two boys. 
 The groom touched his hat and went away ; and the 
 Prince, putting his hand into his pocket, pulled out 
 a lot of beautiful sweetmeats, which he gave the 
 children. How he came to have them about him at the 
 time, I could not conceive : but I have since thought 
 that from the very first he had meant to play his 
 tricks with me, and also make friends with the cliil- 
 dren as a means of getting acquainted with the 
 parents. Well, he stopped and chatted very kindly 
 with me — and don't think me vain, Mary, if I tell 
 you that he paid me such pretty complimenis I 
 really thought him the most delightful man I ever 
 met in all my life." 
 
 Here Jemima paused and heaved a profound 
 sigh, evidently in regret that her brilliant hopes 
 should have experienced such sad disappointment. 
 
 " Well," she continued, " the idea of this hand- 
 some Prince kept running in my head for aU the 
 rest of that day ; and next morning, when I took 
 the children out again, I felt my heart all in a 
 flutter, wondering whether I should meet him. But 
 conceive my surprise when, on traversing the com't- 
 yard of the hotel, I beheld him in conversation with 
 Lord Harlesdon. The groom in the elegant livery 
 was standing by, holding such a beautiful horse, 
 which was tossing its fine head about as if im- 
 patient to be mounted by its master. ' Ah ! my 
 lord,' said the Prince, ' here are those sweet little 
 chilrlren of your's :' and he instantly came up to 
 caress them, flinging a very tender look upon me at 
 the same time. I thought that Lord Harlesdon 
 gave a brief abrupt ejaculation, very much re- 
 ecmbling a grunt, as if he liked as little as could be 
 that allusion to his children." 
 
 Here I should observe that Jemima was speaking 
 all along in a low and confidential voice, which 
 invariably sank into a whisper at those parts of her 
 narrative which she thought it better should not 
 catch the ears of Master Alexander Adolphus, who 
 was a very quick and intelligent boy. 
 
 "Having atopped'to speak to the children in the 
 way I have described," continued .Jemima, " the 
 Prince put his hand into Lis pocket and again drew 
 forth a quantity of sweetmeats, which he distributed 
 amongst them. Then, as Lord Harlesdon for polite- 
 ness' sake was compelled to mutter a few words of 
 thanks for his Highness's attention to the children, 
 the Prince exclaimed, ' Oh, I am so fond of such 
 little innocents as these !' — and then he went on to 
 tell his lordship how, when he was Ambassador 
 from the Court of France to some German Sove- 
 reign (I forget now whom he said) he was the 
 greatest favourite in the world with the little 
 princes and princesses who were the children of 
 
 that monarch. I passed on my way into the garden 
 with my little charges ; and the image of the Prince 
 was never out of my thoughts. I certainly was 
 vain enough to fancy that I had captivated him ; 
 and you may be sure, my dear Mary, that I did 
 not forget the prediction of the Gipsy Queen. 
 'Well,' I thought to myself, 'although she wag 
 very wicked in stealing the child, yet after all who 
 knows but that she might have been right enough 
 in prophesying that I shoidd marry a Prince ? Be- 
 sides, did she not say that the Prince whom I was 
 thus to marry would be young and handsome, tall 
 and dark, and dressing with great elegance ? Well, 
 this Prince is not much above thirty, and may 
 therefore be called young ; and he is certainly very 
 handsome, as well as tall and dark. As for his 
 dress, nothing can be more elegant ; and perhaps I 
 shall yet see a star upon his breast.' — Then I re- 
 membered what the old Norwood Gipsy had said in 
 addition to her daughter's prophecy at the time in 
 Hyde Park, that three Princes would present them- 
 selves within the year at the mansion of my noble 
 master and mistress, and that I was to marry the 
 third. Now instead of this being the mansion, it 
 was an hotel in Florence ; and as for waiting for 
 the third Prince, I thought I should be but too glad 
 to accept the ofi'er of this Jirst one. if he were to 
 propose to make me his wife. I dare say you think 
 me very weak-minded and foolish, Mary, for having 
 given way to such reflections; and so no doubt 
 I was — but depend upon it I shall never do so 
 again." 
 
 "I sincerely hope not, Jemima," I remarked: 
 yet scarcely had the words escaped my lips, when 
 I recollected the singular instance of the Gipsy 
 Queen's apparent skUl in palmistry with regard to 
 myself at the house in St. Giles's. 
 
 " In the evening," continued Jemima, " I learnt 
 from one of the hotel servants that the Prince de 
 ChantOly was dining with my lord and her lady- 
 ship : so I inquired who this Prince was, of coiu^se 
 very well knowing that it was the one who was 
 constantly running in my head. I was now in- 
 formed that his Highness was a French Prince — 
 that he was reputed to be immensely rich — that he 
 was unmarried, had filled some high posts in the 
 service of the French King, and had been staving 
 in Florence for about three weeks previous to our 
 arrival. He had four men-servants and several 
 horses, and was very much liked by everybody in 
 the hotel. This intelligence gave mc a thrill of 
 secret pleasure ; for I thought to myself, ' What if 
 this groat French Prince should really take it into 
 his head to marry me ? Things as unlikely have 
 happened in the world ; and I have read in a book 
 that a sci-v.int-girl became Empress of Kussin. Why 
 should no J, then, become Princess of Chantilly ?" — 
 Such ideas as these went running on in my foolish 
 liead till I scarcely knew what I was doing; and 
 indeed I didevcrything wrong that evening, — laving 
 the children down, when I put them to bed. with 
 their feet instead of their heads upon the pillows — 
 and such like nonsensical fooleries. All night long 
 I dreamt of Princes with moust.ichios. and carriages 
 with four cream-coloured horses, and Gipsy Queens, 
 and Norwood Gipsies, and all kinds of extraordinary 
 things. For tlie live or six following days 1 wa< 
 constantly meeting his Highness — sometimes on tlio 
 stairs, sometimes in the courtyard of the liotol, mu\
 
 jiAnv ruiuE; on, the Jin>ron!S of a servant-maid. 
 
 2G1 
 
 sometimes in the garden. On each ocoasiou he 
 looked more tender, and at length actually took my 
 hand and pressed it to his lips. I had my gloves on ; 
 and I was shocked to think that they were not of 
 white kid at the moment when I received this dis- 
 tinguished honour. Altogether I was so confused 
 that everything seemed to be turning round, and 
 my head appeared to be swimming. Having pressed 
 my hand in that manner, the Prince hurried away ; 
 and I was left in the garden — for it was there this 
 little incident happened — to think of the good for- 
 tune which evidently awaited me. That same even- 
 ing the Prince dined again with Lord and Lady 
 Ilarlesdon; and as I was running down stairs to 
 procure sometliing I wanted, between ten and 
 eleven o'clock, whom should I see cross the landing 
 but his Highness, more elegantly dressed than ever 
 and with a star upon his breast ! I really thought 
 I should faint ; for in every way — pretty nearly — 
 did it seem as if the Gipsy Queen's prophecy was 
 to be fulfilled — for I now put her old mother's ad- 
 ditional prediction about three Princes altogether 
 out of tlie question. "Well, as I was saying, I nearly 
 fainted on thus encountering his Highness : but he 
 caught me in his arms, said something very fond 
 and pretty, and kissed me. To tell you the truth, 
 Mary," added Jemima, with a mixture of serious- 
 ness and archness, " I did not cry out and was by 
 no means angry. The sudden opening of a door on 
 the landing made him loosen his hold on me all in 
 an instant; and he went one way while I went 
 another. The next day he sought me in the garden 
 as usual : for I must tell you that the winters in 
 Italy are very mild, and though it was the month of 
 February there was scarcely any winter at all in 
 Florence. Besides, there are such quantities of 
 evergreens that a garden there has nothing like a 
 wintry appearance. I mention these circumstances 
 to account for how it was that on the occasion of 
 which I am now speaking, I was enabled to walk 
 with the Prince in a shady avenue where we could 
 not be observed by any one from the hotel windows. 
 The three children were playing up and down thp 
 walk, while the Prince began talking to me in a 
 strain which rnade my heart go pit-a-pat with Oh ! 
 such a singular sensation. He said that I was the 
 prettiest young woman he had ever seen in liis life — 
 that he had been in England a great deal — and 
 that he was very fond of English people. He then 
 fell to telling me of his palaces, and mansions, and 
 estates in France — the number of servants he kept 
 • — his equipages — and the favour he was in at Court. 
 You may conceive the pleasure and suspense with 
 whicli I listened to him ; and when at last he told 
 me that he had conceived a very great afiection for 
 me, I think — if I remember right — that I actually 
 shrieked out with joy. I suppose that I must have 
 been nearly falling; or else why did ho catch me 
 in his arms and give me another good hearty kiss ? 
 Well, I scarcely knew what I was doing or what I 
 said; and he went on to observe that he had no 
 doubt I was a very discreet young woman — re- 
 spectable and steady— and ho did not sec why I 
 should not niHk(^ an excellent Princess. I had pre- 
 sence of mind enough to make haste and confirm 
 him in the good opinion ho had foniiod of nio. I 
 told him how long I had been in her ladyKhip'a ser- 
 vice — that I was convinced I should umk(! him a 
 good economical wife — and that as a proof of my 
 
 thrifty habits I had already saved up seventy-six 
 pounds. He seemed very much delighted at this 
 account of myself — told me for the present to say 
 nothing of what had taken place between us — but 
 gave me to understand that I might consider my- 
 self engaged to become his wife. He then kissed 
 me again and hurried away." 
 
 Hero Jemima paused once more to relieve her 
 feelings with a profound sigh ; and I could not help 
 pitying my poor friend, notwithstanding the folly of 
 her conduct, when I saw two tears trickling down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 " Ah I it was very cruel," she said, " to have such 
 fine hopes completely destroyed. I was nearly wild 
 with joy ; and when the Prince had left me, I rushed 
 up to tne children and kissed them all three with 
 such warmth that they seemed quite astonished. It 
 served as a vent for my excited feehngs, and did me 
 good. I then began to arrange a thousand plans in 
 my head. First I thought how my dear parents 
 and brothers and sisters in England would be aston- 
 ished when I wrote and told them that I was 
 Princess of Chantilly, and sent them a thousand 
 guineas or so by way of a trilling memorial. Then 
 I reflected that I should actually bo of a higher rank 
 than my master and mistress ; but I made up my 
 mind not to show them any pride or make them 
 feel little in my presence. Tliirdly I discussed 
 with myself what I would wear on my wedding- 
 day, and what I looked best in ; also to whom I 
 should give the contents of my boxes. Fourthly I 
 settled in my mind the dresses that I should wear 
 when at my future husband's palace ; and I even 
 went so far as to fancy that I saw myself in white 
 brocaded satin and ostrich plumes, presented at the 
 French Court. But if I went on telling you all the 
 silly things I thus gave way to, it would fill a volume. 
 You may suppose that throughout the following 
 night after the Prince's formal declaration of lore, 
 I could not sleep a wink ; and I longed for the next 
 day to come, to see what more he would have to 
 tell me. Well, the next day came at last ; and I 
 was in the garden with the children a full half-hour 
 earlier than usual. The Prince speedily joined me, 
 and began by embracing me very affectionately 
 indeed. He then proceeded to tell me that he had 
 been thinking a great deal of what had taken phico 
 between us on the preceding day — that he was 
 resolved id marry me, and would make immediate 
 arrangements for the purpose; but that I must 
 excuse him if ere taking so serious a step, he re- 
 quested that I would give him such guarantees of 
 my respectability aud fitness for a wife as I was 
 able to produce. I begged his Highness to sper.k 
 to Lady Harlesdon upon tlie subject : but he very 
 delicately hinted that when a great Prince married 
 below himself, it was always in a private and secret 
 manner ; and that so soon as the nuptial knot was 
 tied ho shoidd hurry me off into France, take me 
 to his principal estate, muster his thousand tenants 
 around him, and tlien after ft due tribute to my 
 virtues, my beauty, and my amiable qualifications, 
 end by exclaiming, ' Bcliold tlic Princess de ("linn- 
 tilly!' — There was Kometliing so delightful in tliis 
 plan that I was enraptured with it. It reminded 
 Die so strongly of the plays I had often seen nt I lie 
 tlieatrcs in London, and the scenes I had read in 
 some of thoRO beautiful novrls of the Minerva prc^s. 
 But what was I to do for such guarantees as his
 
 262 
 
 MABY price; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 Highness required ? AH I could ofi'cr was to pro- 
 duce three or four letters I had received at different 
 times from my mother, calling me a good and ex- 
 cellent girl, and saying she was delighted to hear 
 how pleased Lady llarlesdon was with me. But 
 then my poor motlicr wTote such a curious hand, 
 just for all the world as if she scrawled with the 
 point of a skewer— up and down too in wavy lines, 
 and scai-ccly as readable as a butcher's bill. So I 
 hesitated to display such letters to a great Prince. 
 Yet why not, I reflected on second thoughts. He 
 knew that I was only a poor servant ; and he loved 
 me for myself alone. Such were my ideas ; and so 
 I tremblingly explained to his Highness that the 
 only guarantees I could possibly afford of my re- 
 spectabiUty, were my dear mother's letters and my 
 seventy-six pounds of savings. The Prince, with 
 the most affable manner in the world, complimented 
 me on my frankness and candour, and declared that 
 such proofs of my respectabiUty as I spoke of were 
 all that he required. He accorduigly bade me meet 
 him again in the evening, at seven o'clock, and in 
 that very same shady avenue of the garden, when 
 he would tell me what farther arrangements he had 
 made in the meantime for our marriage. He then 
 snatched a kiss while the children were not looking, 
 and hastened away, twirling his beautiful moustache. 
 Oh ! how I counted the hours until the moment of 
 appointment came: for I of course looked upon 
 everything as being quite as good as settled. Never 
 did a day seem so long in passing ! I could not 
 eat a morsel of food, and constantly found myself 
 giving way to the wildest dreams. At length the 
 hour came when I was to meet the Prince accord- 
 ing to his bidding. I got one of the other female 
 servants to stay with the children while I, with 
 some sufficient excuse, went out for half-an-hour. 
 But instead of leaving the precincts of the hotel, I 
 merely descended as slyly as possible to the garden, 
 with my mother's letters and the seventy-six pounds 
 in my pocket. The Prince was there, waiting for 
 me : but he appeared to be in a desperate hurry. 
 Indeed, he hastened to assure me that being en- 
 gaged to a grand ball at the Grand Duke ot 
 Tuscany's, nothing but his devoted love for me 
 could have induced him to delay his toUet in order 
 to keep the appointment. Of course I felt highly 
 flattered by this declaration, the more so us he went 
 on to assure me that though the Grand Duke was 
 trying to hook him for his niece the Prmcess of 
 Pisa, yet that he would sacrifice all the Princesses 
 of Pisa in the world for the sake of me. I was 
 foohsh enough to weep with joy at all the words he 
 uttered; and at his request, produced the letters 
 and the money, which last was done up in a small 
 paper parcel. ' Now, my dear girl,' said he, cram- 
 ming them all, both letters and parcel, into one of 
 the pockets of Ids elegantly-fitting surtout, ' I can- 
 not possibly examine these things at present, be- 
 cause i must hurry up to dress to go to the ball. 
 But I .should not even go (o the Duke's at all, 
 were I not fearful of oU'ending his Serene Highness, 
 who would write ofl" straight and tell the King of 
 France ; and then the King would be so angry that 
 he would never consent to receive cither me or my 
 pretty Princess' — and ho squeezed my hand sig- 
 nificantly — 'at his lujyal Court. But I will look 
 over all you have placed iu luy hands very early 
 to-morrow morning, and you must meet me here 
 
 imaiediately after breakfast at nine o'clock. "We 
 shall then steal out of the hotel together, and go 
 and get married at once. I have made all the 
 arrangements \t-ith the Archbishop of Florence for 
 the purijose.' — My head swam at this intelligence, 
 and I felt dizzy wth joy. I begged his Highness 
 not to offend the Grand Duke or the King of 
 Franco on any account ; whereupon he embraced 
 mo tenderly and hurried off into the hotel. I re- 
 mained in the garden for some minutes to smooth 
 down my feelings as well as I could, and then re- 
 entered the hotel also." 
 
 " And had you no suspicion that you were being 
 duped ?" I inquired, astonished at Jemima's simple 
 credulity. 
 
 " Not the slightest, Mary," she answered. "In- 
 deed, I never once thought of the money at all : or 
 if I did, it gave me no uneasiness at being in his 
 Highncss's hands. Could I possibly suppose that a 
 great Prince, with horses and servants at the hotel, 
 and who had formed the acquaintance of my master 
 and mistress, meant to deceive a poor servant-girl 
 so cruelly ? Yet such was the case. For after Ipng 
 awake all night, thinking of my good fortune, when 
 I got up in the morning at about seven o'clock, the 
 chamber-maid of the hotel, who could speak a little 
 EugUsh, told me a sad piece of news on coming to 
 lay the cloth for the children's breakfast. In short, 
 a startling exposure had taken place. The Prince 
 had disappeared on the preceding evening, leaving 
 his biU at the hotel unpaid, and his servants without 
 a farthing of wages, to shift for themselves as they 
 could. I was so astounded that any one might 
 have knocked me down vnth a straw ; and if the 
 chamber-maid had not been in a very great hurry 
 to go to some other room, I should no doubt have 
 betrayed my feelings. As it was, I had a good cry; 
 aud then being relieved, saw the necessity of holding 
 my tongue if I did not -n-ish to be cruelly laughed 
 at and richculed for my foUy. To make a long story 
 short, however, it appeared from what I subse- 
 quently learnt, that the Prince was no Prince at 
 all — nothing but a mere French adventurer without 
 either title or money. The horses he had obtained 
 under false pretences at Genoa, and had not paid 
 for them : his grooms he had hired at the same 
 place ; and thus on arriving at Florence, had been 
 enabled to make a grand show. All this was found 
 out through the horse-dealer at Genoa who had 
 traced him to Florence, and whose sudden appear- 
 ance at the hotel on the previous night, and conse- 
 quently within an houi- or two after my last meetiug 
 with the sham Prince in the garden, had caused his 
 abrupt depai-ture. It farther appeared that he had 
 managed to borrow a couple of hundi-ed pounds 
 of Lord Harlesdon, also on the previous evening, 
 by representing that he had a sudden need of the 
 money and it was too late to go to his banker's. 
 But one of the worst features in all this, apart 
 from my own case, w as his treatment of the English 
 groom, whom ho had taken away from a good 
 master in Genoa, and whom he had managed to 
 wheedle out of his little savings amounting to some 
 forty or fifty pounds. The police were put upon 
 the alert ; but the swindler managed to get dciu* 
 off. ./Vud such was the end of my adventure « ith 
 the French Prince." 
 
 Scarcely had Jemima thus finished her story, 
 when a waiter came up to state that the carriages
 
 jiAEY price; or, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 263 
 
 were in readiness and that she must come do\vn 
 with the children immediately, as Lord Harlesdon 
 was impatient to depart. Not choosing to bo seen 
 by his lordship, I resolved to remain iu the room 
 where I was, until the equipages had quitted the 
 hotel. Jemima bade me an affectionate farewell, 
 and promised to write shortly. I kissed the chUdreu, 
 whom Jemima then hastened to conduct down 
 stau's; and when from the window I beheld the 
 three travelling-carriages leave the hotel, I also 
 took my departure. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 THE PICKED-tJP lETTEE. 
 
 As it was now only three o'clock and the convey- 
 ance by which I was to return to Ashford did not 
 leave till five, I had a couple of hours to dispose of 
 as best I could. So I thought of taking a walk to 
 the Dane John, which I may as well observe, for the 
 benefit of those who are not acquainted with Can- 
 terbury, is a beautiful pleasm-e-ground, laid out in 
 walks with avenues of trees, borders of flowers, and 
 groups of shrubs. One side is bounded by a high 
 rampart belonging to the old citj'-fortifications, and 
 this is also a favourite promenade with the ladies 
 and gentlemen of Canterbury. There is a very 
 high mound, with winding walks ascending to the 
 summit, on which stands a sort of monument or 
 obelisk, with seats conveniently arranged roimd it. 
 From this eminence there is a very beautiful view, 
 not only of the city and its fine old cathedral with 
 its thi-ee stately towers and numerous pinnacles, but 
 likewise of the adjacent country for several miles 
 roimd. 
 
 To the Dane John did I accordingly bend niy 
 way, thinking of all the particulars of my interview 
 with poor Lady Harlesdon and the story that I had 
 heard from Jemima's lips. I pitied them both — the 
 exquisite miseries endured by the former, and the 
 foolish credulity of the latter. On entering the 
 Dane John, which presented an aspect of verdui-e 
 notwithstanding the advanced state of the auturon 
 season and the near approach of winter, I still con- 
 tinued meditating upon those topics ; and it was 
 rather mechanically than designedly that I ascended 
 the mound and reached the top of the eminence. 
 There I sat down on one of the seats at the base of 
 obelisk, and was contemplating the view that 
 stretched before me, when I observed two persons 
 ascending the circuitous walk leading up to the 
 eame spot. One of those persons was the Count do 
 Montville ! 
 
 I was so astonished on thus recognizing my master, 
 Hiat I did not immediately notice what sort of a per- 
 son his companion was. The reader will remember 
 that it hud been imdorstood at the Willow House 
 that his Im-dship had repaii-ed to Canterbury on the 
 preceding day in the carriage -ndlh the avowed in- 
 tention of taking the first coach that should pass 
 thi-ough the city on its way to Dover; and therefore 
 my surjjriso may be accounted for on thus beholding 
 my master still in Canterbury. Had he not left the 
 Willow House in such haste in order to lose no time 
 in proceeding to the Continent? how wasi it then 
 that ho was thus lingering in Cantorburv, and, as I 
 felt assured, unknown to his wife ? But who was 
 
 the individual ^"ith him ? On recovering from the 
 first feeling of sm-prise I looked again to gi'atiiy my 
 cui-iosity on that head. The Count's companion was 
 a shabbily dressed man, with what is called a cut- 
 away green coat and brass buttons, only one of 
 \\ hich was fastened across the chest. He had on 
 one of those long yellow-striped waistcoats which 
 grooms and hostlers are accustomed to wear — a, 
 dirty white neck-cloth — a narrow brimmed hat, with 
 the crown tapering up Hke a chimney-pot — and a 
 pan' of di'ab trousers much the worse for wear. He 
 was about thu-ty years of age — short in stature— 
 and slightly made. There was notliing actually ill- 
 looking in his personal appearance, apart from his 
 shabbiness; and altogether he seemed like one of 
 those hangers-on that are constantly observed 
 liu*king about horse depots and stable-yards in 
 London. 
 
 What on earth could the brilliant and fastidious 
 Count de Montville have to do with such a man as 
 this ? Such was the question that natui'ally oc- 
 curred to me the moment I had informed myself by 
 a hasty glance of the appearance of my master's 
 companion. All the suspicions that for the last two 
 or three days had been engendered in my mind re- 
 lative to the Count, were suddenly revived and 
 strengthened ; and the story I had so recently heard 
 from Jemima relative to the doings of a French ad- 
 venturer, doubtless had its weight in thus increasing 
 my misgivings with respect to my master. But I 
 had not much leisure for reflection. Should I re- 
 main there imtil the Count and his companion 
 reached the summit ? or shoiUd I hasten away by a 
 path on the opposite side of the mound from that 
 which they were ascending ? Wliile I was yet de- 
 liberating, it became too late to move from the place 
 where I was, ^vithout being compelled to pass his 
 lordship and the man who was with him ; and some- 
 how or another I felt an unconquerable aversion to 
 meeting my master at this moment. I really feared 
 lest it should seem as if I were there to espy his 
 actions. 
 
 While ascending to the top of the mound, the 
 Count had casually glanced up, and as a matter of 
 course had beheld a female seated there : but as I 
 instantaneously averted my head, he did not catch a 
 glimpse of my countenance ; and it was also evidi;nt 
 that he did not recognize me by my dress. Not 
 knowing that I was to be at Canterbm-y so sooa 
 after himself, he could not possibly suspect who I waa 
 without seeing my face. 
 
 Ho and his companion reached the ominenco 
 where the obelisk stood ; and I heard the man say 
 in a hftlf sidlcn, half insolent tone, " Now, what'a 
 the use of having come all the way up here to talk 
 over this matter ? You see we are not a bit more 
 private than we were down below " 
 
 " Yes — we arc more free from observation," re- 
 plied the Count. "As for that woman," he imme- 
 diately added, in a lower tone, ''who is sitting round 
 there, behind the monument, she can't catch what 
 we say " 
 
 But I did though ; and finding that I was thus to 
 become a listener against my will if I remained 
 where I was, I deterinmed to stay there uo longer. 
 Accordingly, rising from my seat, 1 passed rapidly 
 round the obelisk on the opposite side from that 
 where the Count and his companion had halted; 
 and by still keeping my faeo averted in a particular
 
 20 1 
 
 MABy 1'bice; ob, the memoibs op a sekvast-maid. 
 
 direction, succeeded in getting away without being 
 recognized by my master. Descending the winding 
 pathway with rapid steps, I was soon at the bottom 
 of the mound; and when about to turn away from 
 the precincts thereof and make for the avenue of 
 trees, I observed a letter Ij-ing upon the ground. 
 Picking it up with the view of ascertaining to whom 
 it belonged, so that if it were of importance I might 
 take measures to restore it to its owner, I opened it 
 and read these lines : — 
 
 « Canterbury, October 15th, 1829. 
 "Sir, 
 " I have found out where you are, and what you are 
 doing ; but I don't want to make mischief, or disturb you 
 in your pursuits, if you only deal honourable to me. I 
 am in distress and want my money. So if you choose to 
 come over to Canterbury to-morrow, or on the 17th, you 
 will find me in the middle avenue of the Dane John, be- 
 tween three and four o'clock in the afternoon. If you 
 don't come either to-morrow or next day, then you will 
 compel me to come over to you. I need say no more. 
 " Your humble sen'ant, 
 
 "JOHN WILSON." 
 
 This letter had no address upon it, because it had 
 evidently been enclosed in an envelope, on which the 
 direction would therefore have been wi-itten. But 
 the envelope was not now with the letter ; and con- 
 sequently I could not ascertain to whom it belonged. 
 But while I still held it in my hand, a suspicion 
 flashed like lightning through my brain. I remem- 
 bered the letter wliich my master had received on 
 the previous day when walking with the Countess 
 in the garden — how troubled he had been on perus- 
 ing that letter — how hastily he had thrust it into 
 bis pocket — and how it had bred a quarrel between 
 her ladyship and himsell'. Then that sudden jour- 
 ney immediately after the receipt of the letter which 
 had so much disturbed him — and now his appear- 
 ance in the Dane John with so unsuitable a com- 
 panion between the very hom's mentioned in the 
 stray epistle I had just picked up — all tended to 
 confirm my suspicion ! 
 
 "Yes," thought I to myself, "it is as clear as 
 daylight. This letter which I hold in my hand is 
 doubtless the one my master received yesterday ; 
 and he has within the last few minutes accidentally 
 dropped it from his pocket. Perhaps the man did 
 not keep the appointment yesterday? or perhaps 
 the Count himself did not keep it ? and thus 
 they are meeting to-day. But who is this John 
 Wilson, who WTites thus authoritatively to him, 
 and with the cool insolence of one who feels that he 
 holds him in his power r' And why address him as 
 sir ? wherefore not as mt/ lord 1 Ah ! perhaps the 
 letter has nothing to do with the Count after all ; 
 and it is merely a combination of circumstances and 
 coincidences that led me to form such a conjec- 
 ture ?" 
 
 Yet the longer I thought upon the whole affair, 
 the more was I convinced that the letter did, belong 
 to the Count, and that it was in piu-suance thereof 
 that ho had come to the Dane John to meet the in- 
 dividual with whom I had seen him. Besides, the 
 words ^^lul.•ll the man had uttered imd the way in 
 which he had spoken when they reached the top of 
 the mound ere now, all savoured of that same cool 
 insolence which characterized the letter I had picked 
 up ; and therefore, everything considered, it was im- 
 possible to doubt any longer that my first conjecture 
 was tho right one. 
 
 I had a great mind to fling the letter upon the 
 ground again and leave it to its fate ; then I thought 
 of tearing it up into small pieces and scattering it to 
 the winds: but while thus deUberating, I had walked 
 to a distance from the base of the mound, and so 
 not choosing to return for the purpose of throwing 
 back the letter where I had found it — nor yet liking 
 to tear it up — I put it into my pocket. 
 
 As I proceeded towards the office whence the 
 conveyance for Ashford was to start, I continued to 
 revolve in my mind all the suspicious circumstances 
 which had just come to my knowledge in respect to 
 the Count : for if this letter reaUy had been ad- 
 dressed to him, as I could not doubt, what was I to 
 think of him ? I trembled for my poor mistress : 
 for I felt assured that if there were indeed anything 
 wrong with her husband, his circumstances and his 
 affairs, she had been most cruelly deceived. I never 
 ceased thinking of the subject during the whole of the 
 ride in the conveyance from Canterbury to Ashford. 
 I resolved not to inform my mistress that I had seen 
 the Count at Canterbury : for in the first place it was 
 no business of mine — and in tho second place, I should 
 have been the last person in the world to have said 
 anything to make mischief between herself and her 
 husband. I however wondered whether he really 
 intended to proceed to France at all ; or whether 
 his French journey was only a suddenly devised 
 excuse in order to meet the man John "Wilson in the 
 Dane John in pursuance of that person's letter. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock in the evening when I 
 reached the Willow House ; and the first intelligence 
 I received was that Mr. Appleton, the Countess's 
 uncle, had suddenly and unexpectedly arrived from 
 Loudon about an hour previously. Although I did 
 not see this gentleman until the next day, I may as 
 well describe him at once. He was a person of 
 about sixty years of age — short and stout — dressed 
 in an old-fashioned style, with knee-breeches and 
 gaiters — and looking indeed very much like one of 
 those rich uncles who figure upon the stage, always 
 coming at the nick of time to bestow a fortune upon 
 some graceless nephew, who however gets a good 
 rating before he is thus forgiven and made happy. 
 Mr. Appleton had not exactly a stern look, but a 
 sort of business-hke matter-of-fact air of shrewdness 
 and caution : he seemed a gentleman perfectly 
 capable of doing a Uberal and benevolent act, but 
 also one who would show no mercy to a swindler or 
 adventurer seeking to get the better of him or any 
 one connected wth him. He was an old bachelor, 
 — had but lately retired from a mercantile business 
 in the City of London — and waa reputed to be very 
 well off. 
 
 Such was Ml'. Appleton, whom the Countess 
 brought up into the nursery when I and the children 
 were having our breakfasts on the morning after the 
 adventures at Canterbury. Mr. Appleton had on a 
 figured silk dressing-gown of flaming colours; and 
 as his light brown wig was a little awry at the time, 
 he struck me as being a rather strange-looking 
 person. Master liichard, instantly recognizing his 
 imcle, jumped down from his chair imd ran towards 
 him : but Uttle Miss Emma, who, it appeared, stood in 
 mortal terror of the old gentleman, set up a terrific 
 squall which could only be appeased by her mamma 
 taking her upon her lap and doing all she could to 
 pacify her. 
 " Well, Kichard, I hope you are a good boy :" said
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID 
 
 Mr. Appleton, with a half-severe look, as if he were 
 somewhat mclined to suspect the contrary. " What 
 is this young woman's name ?" ho inquired of the 
 Countess, at the same time looking very hard at me, 
 as if to assure himself that I was a fit and proper 
 person to he entnistcd with the charge of his little 
 ncjjliew and niece. 
 
 " Mary Price, uncle," answered the Countess. 
 
 " Iluin !" said Mr. Appleton : and then he gave a 
 short cough. "I believe that you are the young 
 person who figured in a certain trial down at Derby 
 — aKC you not ?" 
 
 I replied that I was ; and I felt somewhat con- 
 fused, for I thought that Mr. Appleton was eyeing 
 me with suspicion and dislike ; although being con- 
 scious of no wrong, I coidd not conceive wherefore 
 he should thus regard rao with prejudice. 
 
 " Well," he proceeded to say, " I don't like he- 
 roines generally : tliey rather belong to romance 
 than real life, and I never knew anything of the 
 Ko. 34 
 
 romantic kind turn out well yet. But however, 
 she looks a very respectable girl, and I dare say 
 is so. Besides," he added, his voice and manner 
 both becoming kinder as he spoke, " when I come 
 to recollect, she behaved uncommonly well on that 
 occasion down at Derby, and was complimented by 
 the Judge." 
 
 "And I can assure j-oi', uncle," said the Countess, 
 "she has behaved herself in a most exemplary man- 
 ner during the llnee months she has been in my 
 service. She belongs to Ashford, and has brothers 
 and sisters here to whom she has been very kind 
 and set an excellent example." 
 
 " Hum 1" again said ilr. Appleton : " these arc 
 high praises. AVell, my dear," ho continueil, ad- 
 dressmg himself to me, " continue to bo a good girl, 
 and you will get on in the world. Don't mind what 
 I said just now about not liking heroines, .ind so 
 forth. I did n >t mean to wound your feelings. 
 But 1 am rather slow in forming good opinions of
 
 2GS 
 
 MARY PKICE; on, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-ltAID. 
 
 people. When once I do, however, I always like 
 them. Now, from what your mistress has just told 
 me, I have formed a good opinion of yon" 
 
 " Oh, uncle !" said Master Richard, who perhaps 
 fancied by Mr. Applcton's manner that he was 
 scolding me, "don't be cross to Mary: she is so 
 good and kind to us— and me and Emma do love 
 her so !" 
 
 "There!" ejaculated Mr. Appleton; "I would 
 sooner have that child's testimony than any other. 
 You are a good girl, Mary — that's clear enough ; 
 and I am glad to find the children in such hands. 
 j£ere — buy yourself a new gown:" — and the old 
 gentleman, dipping his hand deep down into his 
 capacious pocket, took out a sovereign which he 
 ofTered me. 
 
 I however declined taking it, assuring him that I 
 was very liberally paid by my mistress, and that I 
 required no other inducement to prompt me to do 
 my duty. 
 
 '• Hum !" said Mr. Appleton, gazing upon me in 
 astonishment: then, after a pause, he exclaimed, 
 "■Wliat! a servant-girl refuse money ? Well then, 
 it shan't be money that I wiU give you:" — and 
 dropping the gold back into his pocket, he turned 
 abruptly round and quitted the nursery, followed by 
 the Countess. 
 
 After dinner in the evening the children were had 
 <lo\vn into the dining-room when the dessert was 
 placed upon the table; and I was accordingly left 
 alone in the nursery. But I was not long without 
 company : for the lady's-maid, who was a very good- 
 natured young woman, and particularly friendly 
 toward me, stepped in to have a few minutes' con- 
 Tersation. 
 
 "Do you know, Mary," she said, after a few 
 remarks not worth recording, " I can't help think- 
 ing there is something wrong here?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" I asked, surprised at her 
 observation ; because I could not conjecture what had 
 transpired to arouse such a suspicion on her part. 
 
 '•' Vv'hy, you s?>e," she continued, '• this Mr. Ap- 
 pleton, the Countess's uncle, has come down so very 
 sudden and unexpected. Her ladyship told me this 
 morning that Air. Appleton had been offended with 
 her for having married the Count, because be wished 
 her, if she did marry a second time, to bestow her 
 hand upon a retired linondraper of his acquaintance. 
 Bat, as her ladyship observed in a confidential man- 
 ner to me, it was not likely she would throw berseU 
 away upon a tradesman, when a nobleman oflered 
 tj marry her. Besides, she was desperately in love 
 witli the Count. However, her ladyship seemed 
 very much pleased to think that her uncle should 
 have come down of his own accord and made it up 
 with her. But I know what it was that Mr. Apple- 
 ton d'ul come do\\-n for," added the lady's-maid with 
 a sly look : " for from something her ladyship 
 dropped to me when she was in a confidential 
 humour this morning, she had written to her uncle 
 to request an advance of somo money until the ar- 
 rival of the Count's remittances from France : but 
 Mr. Appleton had sent back a point-blank refusal. 
 Then it appears that thinking better of it, he fol- 
 lowed close after his letter and came down to 
 examine the aspect of aifnirs for himself." 
 
 "And why," I asked, "should you suspect that 
 there is something wrong from all you have told 
 meP"' 
 
 "Oh! there are many little things tli^.t liav-^ 
 made me fancy so," rotui-ned the lady's-maid. ■• In 
 the first place, all that business about the somnam- 
 bulism was not natural : it did not look right — and 
 Septimus says the more he sees of the Count, the 
 more he is convinced he has something on his mind. 
 He sometimes has a nervous restless manner about 
 him, particularly if the door is opened rather sud- 
 denly : and two or three times when Septimus lias 
 been up to his dressing-room to say that somebody 
 wanted to sec him, he has always appeared so 
 anxious to know who it was — and if the person had 
 not by any accident given his name, then he would 
 inquire what sort of a looking individual it was — 
 and all those kind of things. Besides, Septimus 
 says that the Count never treats him as a valet, and 
 does not even seem to know what are the exact 
 duties that a valet ought to perform. For instance, 
 he won't aUow Septittms to help him in his toilet in 
 the slightest degree ; and once or twice when he has 
 been dressing in his own dressing-room, he has 
 seemed very much agitated and annoyed if Sep- 
 timus has entered without knocking. Then, too, 
 Septimus says — and Septimus, mind you, is a very 
 shrewd man — that the Count talks too much of his 
 estates and his mansions in France, and of his high 
 acquaintances in Paris. But what has also struck 
 me, is that the Count's hands are so very coarse. 
 Everybody must admit he is a very fine man — ex- 
 ceedingly good-looking — and .1 perfect gentleman in 
 his manners; and it does seem so very odd that 
 he should have such dreadf.d vulgar hands. They 
 reaUy look as if be had done hard work during 
 somo time of his life. Then there's another thing," 
 continued the loquacious lady's-maid, ''his lordship 
 scarcely ever drinks anything but water at his 
 dinner, and never more than one or two glasses of 
 wine at the outside afterwards : and this seems so 
 strange for a great nobleman accustomed to every 
 luxm-y. S'^ptimus does not hesitate to hint that he 
 thinks it is beeause the Count is afraid of letting 
 out some impleasant secrets, if he happens to take 
 tt drop too much." 
 
 '• Eeally I think," was the exclamation t now 
 uttered, '■ that Mr. Septimus goes a little too far in 
 making his lordship's temperance a motive of sus- 
 picion or reproach." 
 
 " Ah ! but when it is coupled with all the other 
 things I have mentioned," said the lady's-maid, 
 '• the argument is not without its force. And I will 
 tell you more," she added in a confidential tone; 
 " Jlr. Appleton has been privately questioning Sep- 
 timus to-day a great deal about the Count. Septi- 
 mus told me so hmiself just now : because of course 
 you know, Mary, that Mr. Septimus and I are en- 
 gaged to be married ; and therefore he has very few 
 secrets from me. Mr. Appleton spoke in a manner 
 as if he did not exactly wish Septimus to perceive 
 that he was pumping him : hut such it really was — 
 and Septimus saw through it pl.ain enough. So it's 
 my opinion that Mr. Appleton fancies there is a 
 screw loose somewhere, and has come down on pur- 
 pose to see about it. In fact, I am pretty sure that 
 it is so ; and what's more, I am convinced that !Mr. 
 Appleton has written off to Paris to make inquiries 
 about the Count : for this afternoon he gave James 
 a letter to take into town to the post, and that 
 letter was direct od to the Prefect of Police in Paris. 
 Now, Mr. Septimus, who knows everything, sayi
 
 MARY PRICE ; OK, THE MEMOIES OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 267 
 
 that tlie Prefect of Police is a great officer at the 
 head of all the constables ia France ; and that he 
 has got books giving an account of everybody and 
 everything. So, for what reason could Mr. Apple- 
 ton write to the Prefect if not to make inquu-ies 
 about the Count ? Well, for my part, I do sincerely 
 hope that everything will turn out all right : but I 
 very much fear the contrary !" — and the lady's-maid 
 shook her head ominously. 
 
 I had listened to this long speech because I coidd 
 not possibly interrupt it : for my fellow-servant 
 spoke with great volubility, although in the low 
 tone of mysterious confidence. She was going on 
 to make some farther observations, when the bell in 
 the nm'sery was rung with some degree of violence ; 
 and the summons being for me, I hastened down 
 stairs, thinking that I was wanted to bring the 
 children up from the dining-room. It is true that I 
 was wanted there — but not for that immediate 
 purpose. 
 
 On entering the room I saw that the Countess 
 looked somewhat agitated, while Mr. Appleton was 
 sitting up in his chair with a severe kind of magis- 
 terial aspect ; so that I immediately saw there was 
 something wi'ong, and could not help feeling myself 
 in the position of one summoned before a domestic 
 tribunal to give an account or explanations on some 
 point that was involved in doubt or suspicion. As 
 for tha two children, Master Eichard was eating 
 nuts and Miss Emma sucking an orange with great 
 relish. 
 
 " Come in, Mary — and shut the door," said Mr. 
 Appleton, in a severe tone and with a stern mys- 
 terious look. 
 
 I advanced towards the table, and stood waiting 
 to be questioned farther. 
 
 "Do you know anything of a letter," Mr. Ap- 
 pleton went on to ask, " which Master llichard has 
 had to play with ? lie brought it down from the 
 
 nursery, crumpled up in his hand Hum ! you 
 
 look pale and troubled, young woman ?" 
 
 And so, heaven knows, I did : for the whole truth 
 instantaneously Hashed to my mind. That letter 
 which I had picked up in the Dane John and so 
 unfortunately brought away with me, must have 
 dropped from my pocket and got into little Eichard's 
 hands ! 
 
 '■ Do you know anything about such a letter ?" 
 asked the Countess with feverish anxiety. 
 
 I could not answer — my lips were sealed — and I 
 felt myself turning red and pale a dozen limes in 
 as many moments ; while the gaze of Mr. Ajipleton 
 was fixed upon me with a stern and searching 
 severity. 
 
 "There is something here which must be inves- 
 tigated," ho said in a voice that sounded awfuUy 
 raa!j;isterial to my ears. " Go and take these 
 children up to the nm'sery — leave them in charge of 
 one of yom* fellow-servants — and come down hero 
 immediately again. Immediately, loiud!" he added, 
 with a look and voice which seemed to imply a sus- 
 picion that ho thought it higlJy probable I might 
 either barricade myself up in the nursery, or run 
 away from the Willow House altogether. 
 
 "Yes — for heaven's sake make haste!" said the 
 Coimtess : and it was not difficult to perceive she 
 was a prey to the most torturing anxiety, which she 
 vainly cndcavom'cd (o conceal from me as much as 
 she could 
 
 I hastened to obey the command I had received : 
 for I saw in a temporary retreat from the dining- 
 room an opportunity of collecting my confused and 
 bewildered ideas in a manner to enable me to de- 
 cide upon the course to be pursued. I aeeorchngly 
 took the two children up-stau-s ; and leaving thcui 
 in charge of the lady's-maid, who was still in the 
 nursery, descended to the dining-room again. I 
 was not absent more than five minutes : but during 
 that interval I had resolved how to act. The reader 
 will not require to be told that I was determined 
 upon telling the truth, to the extent that I had 
 found the letter in the Dane John at Canterbury: 
 but whether I should state any farther particulars, 
 I felt must depend upon the nature of the questions 
 put to me. I however hoped that I should not be 
 forced into revelations calculated to make the 
 Countess unhappy. 
 
 It was with composed looks that I re-entered the 
 dining-room, where I found Mr. Appleton stul 
 seated with a sternly majestic mien in a great arm- 
 chair ; while the Countess, who had evidently been 
 walking to and fro, no doubt in the agitation of 
 suspense, hastily went back to her place upon the 
 sofa. 
 
 "Now, Mary Price," said Mr. Appleton, "tell 
 me at once whether you know anything of the 
 letter to which I just now alluded?" 
 
 " Show her the letter, uncle," said the Countess 
 nervously. 
 
 " Hum ! not quite yet ! Mary, do you know any 
 person of the name of John Wilson ? have you ever 
 heard of that name before ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," I answered in a firm voice. "I have 
 seen that name at the bottom of a letter." 
 
 " Hum ! then you have read the letter itself?" 
 
 " I have, sb." 
 
 "And tills is the letter?" continued Mr. Apple- 
 ton, producing from his waistcoat pocket the un- 
 fortunate document I had picked up as already 
 described. 
 
 I took it — glanced my eye over it — and hand- 
 ing it back again, said, " This is the letter I have 
 seen." 
 
 "Where? how?" demanded the Countess do 
 MontvUle, with intense anxiety. 
 
 "My lady," I replied, " I picked it up yesterday, 
 in the Dane John at Canterbury." 
 
 "Hum! the Dane John!" ejaculated Mi'. Ap- 
 pleton. "And do you know anything more about 
 the letter than what its contents seem to indicate ? | 
 Come, Mary — you remember what I told you thia 
 morning, that I had formed a good opinion of you ; 
 and you must speak out caucUdly if you wish to 
 preserve it." 
 
 " Do, Mary, tell us anything you may know con- 
 cerning this letter !" — and there was iudescribablo 
 anguish in the voice of tlie Countess. 
 
 i was now cruelly embarrassed; and feeling 
 deeply for my poor mistress, who, I saw, was 
 racked by tho most torturing suspicions, I throw 
 upon her a look full of compassion. 
 
 " ]\Iary," said ilr. Appleton, adopting a kinder 
 tone and manner, "I see that you do know some- 
 tlung; and I do understand the motives vhieh 
 make you hesitate to reveal it. But you must tell 
 us cvcrylhLuff. Surely you can have notliing to 
 fear ?" 
 
 " No, sir— not ou my own account,'" I ox-
 
 2G3 
 
 MARY rniCE ; or, the MEMOIUS of a SSKVAST-MArO. 
 
 claimed. "But " and I glanced towards my 
 
 mistress. ^ 
 
 "Mary, I corijurc you to speak out!" said the 
 Countess. " Tell mo what you know. Everything 
 —anything, were better than this harrowing sus- 
 pense ! Speak, my dear girl— speak !" 
 
 But I need not dwell longer than is necessary 
 upon this scene. Suffice it to say that I was forced 
 to divuli^c all the circumstances that had happened 
 on the previous day in the Dane John, — how I had 
 seen the Count dc Montville— how he was accom- 
 panied by a person, whom I described — how I had 
 avoided being recognized by him — and how I had 
 picked up the letter at the foot of the mound. My 
 unibrtimate mistress burst into tears, and wrung 
 her hands bitterly. I flew to the sofa, and bent 
 over her in a soothing manner, but attempting 
 nothing consolatory m the shape of words : for what 
 was there to say? Mr. Appleton looked exceed- 
 ingly dark and serious ; and for several minutes he 
 observed a profound silence. 
 
 "Mary," exclaimed the Countess, taking my hand 
 and pressing it in her own, " I thank you for that 
 generous consideration which would have induced 
 you to keep all that you have now told us entirely 
 secret from mc, had you not been compelled to 
 reveal it." 
 
 " Ah ! my lady," I exclaimed, " I never shall 
 forgive myself for my carelessness in allowing that 
 letter to escape from my possession." 
 
 " You have nothing to reproach yourself with on 
 that account," said my poor mistress, down whose 
 cheeks the tears were streaming quickly. " It was 
 an accident that might have occurred to anybody. 
 But, Oh ! Mary — what must you think ? what must 
 you suspect ? My God, I shall go mad ! I shall go 
 mad !" 
 
 " For heaven's sake, compose yom- feelings, my 
 lady," I said; "and perhaps everj-thing will be 
 cleared up in a satisfactory manner." 
 
 " Ttura ! satisfaciovy indeed !" ejaculated Mr. 
 Appk'ton. " Mary Price, you arc a discreet and 
 prudent young woman; and I need scarcely tell 
 you how necessary it is that you should observe — 
 at least for the present — the strictest silence re- 
 lative to what you have now seen or heard." 
 
 " Eest assured, sir," I answered, " that it was 
 not even necessary to express yom* wishes on that 
 point. Every secret that happens to come to my 
 knowledge — and heaven knows that I do not seek 
 them ! — is sacred with me." 
 
 "Hum!" observed Mr. Appleton. "You will 
 make a good wife for some honest man one of these 
 days. Why, actually my remark has made you 
 blush ! But come — let us talk seriously. It is now 
 of the highest consequence that I should see this 
 John Wilson at Canterbury ; and you must accom- 
 pany me to-raorrow morning, Mary, to that city, 
 to point him out to me if we can hajtpen t(j run 
 iigainst him : for as he gives no place of abode in 
 his letter, it may prove rather a dillicult search. 
 But still a fellow like that will most probably bo 
 lounging and loitering about; and so you must 
 come with me." 
 
 "I hope yoii will excuse me, sir," I answered. 
 "It is not for me, a Jiunible servant, (o mix myself 
 up in these matters :" — and I glanced towards the 
 Countess to glean, if possible, from her loolis, her 
 opinion upon the point. But she was sitting in the 
 
 abstracted mood of dark despair, and did not appear 
 to have been listening to what her uncle had said 
 to mc. 
 
 "Well, well, Mary," observed Mr. Appleton, 
 "you shall not be forced into anything against 
 your will. Y''ou can think over the matter, and let 
 me know early to-morrow morning." 
 
 I then left the dining-room, and ascended to the 
 nursery, where the lady's-maid was giving the chil- 
 dren their tea. She was very anxious to know why 
 I had been detained so long down stairs; but I 
 managed to evade giving any explanations, and yet 
 without telling an untruth. Fortunately she was 
 soon summoned away to attend upon the Countess, 
 ■who, alleging sudden indisposition, had retired to 
 her chamber. 
 
 The longer I thought upon everything I now 
 knew or surmised relative to the Count dc Mont- 
 ville, the more convinced was I that the marriage 
 woidd turn out a very unfortunate one for my poor 
 mistress. It was quite evident that Mr. Appleton 
 suspected the same, and was resolved to ascertain 
 everything connected with the Count — either to 
 satisfy himself that he was an honest man, or to 
 unmask him as a base adventurer. AVith regard to 
 accompanying Mr. Appleton to Canterbury to assist 
 in the investigation, I had pretty well resolved to 
 lend myself to nothing of the sort, imlcss enjoined 
 to do so by my mistress : for I would not willingly 
 seek to rush into advcntm-es of this kind. But my 
 thoughts on that head were destined to experience a 
 complete revolution — as the reader will immediately 
 sec. 
 
 On the following morniug the postman from 
 Ashford happened to come at an earlier hour (!ian 
 usual ; and he brought me a letter, the contents of 
 which ran thus : — 
 
 " Ilarlcsdon House, London. 
 " October 18tb, 1820. 
 " My dear Jlary, 
 
 We arrived here safe and sound, at a late hour l-.ist 
 night ; and I should not perhaps have -ivritten to you so 
 soon, had it not been that I have something curious to 
 tell you. Indeed, it is a very strange coincidence, hap- 
 pening so close upon the heels of the conversation you 
 and I had together at the hotel. You remember that in 
 my story of the sham Prince I spoke of an English groom, 
 whom he had in his service at Florence, and whom lie so 
 infamously robbed and loft without wages or money of 
 any kind, to shift for himself in a foreign land too ! I 
 ouglit to have added that some English families, who were 
 in Florence at the time, hearing of the circumstance, 
 made a subscription for the poor fellow, to enable him to 
 get back to this country. But now for the incident of 
 yesterday. As the carriage in which I and one of her lady- 
 ship's maids were seated with the chiKlren, was turning 
 outofthe hotel, who should I see lounging about opposite 
 the gate but this very self-same groom that the mock 
 I'riuco took in P I knew him directly ; and very shaliby 
 did the poor fellow look. Ah ! his green coat \yith brass 
 buttons, in the vidgar cut-away stylo— his drab trousers — 
 and liis ugly-shaped hat, all going up in the crown just as 
 if it was a sugar-loaf with the point knocked oft', — made 
 him look very diflforent indeed from what he was when i!\ 
 the splendid hvcry of light blue and silver lace at Flo- 
 rence. AVas it not singular that I should thus seethe 
 poor man within a very few minutes alTer I had boon 
 tallcing to you about him ? I forgot his name : but 1 
 rather think it was Wilson. 
 
 " I shall write again soon, aud tell you all the news. J 
 So no more at i>rescut from 
 
 " Your affectionate friend, 
 
 " JICMIMA WILKINSON." 
 
 /
 
 MAUY ritlCE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERV ANT-MAID. 
 
 i6'J 
 
 Here was a discovery ! — for the astoimding fact 
 was thus indisputably revealed to mc, that the 
 Count de Montville could be none other than the 
 same infamous adventurer who under the name of 
 the Prince de Chantilly had so cruelly duped and 
 robbed poor Jemima at Florence. The motive of 
 John Wilson's letter became apparent in an instant ; 
 and the Count's trouble on receiving such an un- 
 welcome missive, when walking with his wife in the 
 garden, was but too well explained. My master, 
 then, was nothmg more than a common swindler — 
 neither Prince, nor Count, nor anything of the sort 
 — but an adventurer of the most heartless de- 
 scription. Tes — this was a discovery which not for 
 a single instant could I doubt; and I even mar- 
 velled ^rithin. myself that it had not struck me 
 when hstening to Jemima's talc, how great was the 
 resemblance between the self-styled Count de Mont- 
 ville and the picture she had drawn of the sham 
 Prince de ChantUly. But then, she had represented 
 the hero of her narrative to be little more than 
 thirty, whereas the Count was forty; and it was 
 this discrepancy which had no doubt prevented me 
 from being struck by the similitude which in other 
 respects existed between the portraits of my master 
 and her Prince. Ah, poor Jemima ! she was so 
 blinded by her foolish . affection as to fancy her 
 princely lover younger than he really was ; or else 
 her little vanity had induced her to take a few years 
 off the age of the man who had captivated her 
 heart, so that she might not appear in my eyes too 
 ridicidous in having listened to the love-nonsense of 
 a man so much lier senior. 
 
 Scarcely had I finished the few hurried reflections 
 which were excited by Jemima's letter, when Mr. 
 Applcton came up into the nursery ; and having 
 caressed the children, — little Emma being somehow 
 or another now quite reconciled to him, most liliely 
 because he had her down to dessert on the previous 
 day, — ho said to me, "\Yell, Mary, what about 
 the journey to Canterbiu-y? Have you made up 
 your mind ?" 
 
 " I have, sir," was my answer : " and I will go 
 with you." 
 
 " Hum ! you are rather whimsical, my dear ; and 
 yet I thought you of a more steady and decided 
 character." 
 
 " But circumstances may change, sir; and such is 
 the case in the present instance," 
 
 " Well, you shall explain all this to mo presently. 
 Come — the carriage is waiting ; and in the hope that 
 you tvould consent to go with mc, — for I can assure 
 3'ou it is your mistress's wish, — the arrangements 
 are already made for the children to be with thoir 
 mother ; and she will likewise invent a pretext for 
 your accompanying me. So put on your bonnet and 
 shawl, and make haste." 
 
 I speedily obeyed Mr. Applcton's directions ; and 
 in a few minutes ho and I were seated together in- 
 side the carriage, and rolling along the road in the 
 direction of Canterbury. 
 
 " Now, Mary," he said, "perhaps you will be good 
 enough to tell me what has induced you to change 
 your mind in respect to this journey." 
 
 "You will permit mo to speak freely, sir ?" 
 
 " As freely as you please. I want you to do so." 
 
 "Then, sir," I rejoined, "I feel it my duty to 
 lend you all the aid in my power, for the jnirposc 
 of unmasking an unprincipled adventurer, who 
 
 I fear has achieved the misery of my poor mis- 
 tress." 
 
 Mr. Appleton gazed upon me with no small 
 degree of astonishment : for he evidently perceived 
 by my manner that I was not speaking at random — 
 nor even giving utterance to a bare conjecture — but 
 proclaiming a fact of the truth of which I was well 
 assured. 
 
 "Then it is as I have suspected and feared," said 
 Mr. Appleton, at length breaking silence and speak- 
 ing in a gloomy tone. " My young friend," he 
 continued, — " for I can scarcely treat you as a ser- 
 vant or an inferior, but in the light of a confidante 
 — you must explain yourself fully to me." 
 
 " I will, sir," was my response : and I then pro- 
 ceeded to relate the history which I had heard from 
 Jemima's lips, and to which Mr. Appleton listened 
 with the deepest attention. I concluded by putting 
 into his hand the letter which I had that morning 
 received from Jemima, observing as I did so, " You 
 now understand, sir, wherefore I am convinced that 
 the self-styled Count de Montville is a mere adven- 
 turer, and why I deem it a duty to help in exposing 
 him." 
 
 " It is indeed but too apparent that my niece has 
 been made the victim of a scoundrel :" — and Mr. 
 Appleton shook his head gravely. " Foolish woman 
 that she has been ! She married this Coimt, as he 
 calls himself, against the wishes of myself and her 
 best fi-iends. She possessed a competency ; but she 
 sold out all her money from the Funds on the 
 specious representations of this rascal. Believing 
 that he possessed immense estates, she placed aU her 
 own resoiu-ces at his disposal ; and everything has 
 gone in fitting up the Willow House so extrava- 
 gantly, in giving sumptuous banquets, and in all 
 kinds of fooleries. I never liked that Count from 
 the very first moment I saw him : but I certainly did 
 not suspect that he was a mere swindler, till I re- 
 ceived a letter two or three days ago from my niece, 
 telling mc that her husband's agents in Paris were 
 imaccountably behind-hand in sending him his 
 proper remittances, and therefore begging me to 
 lend her a thousand poimds or so till they arrived. 
 Then it was that m}^ eyes wore opened. I saw 
 through it all in a raomient; and I was so enraged 
 to think what a fool she had made of herself, that I 
 resolved never to have anything more to do with 
 her. Indeed, it was with great difficulty at the 
 time that I could bring myself to write her a merely 
 civil answer, declining to accede to her request. But 
 in a few hours I reflected that if her husband really 
 was a villain, it would be a sin not to unmask and 
 punish him. Besides, I pitied the poor cluKb-en ; 
 and so I came down to look iuto the matter for my- 
 self. When I arrived at the AVillow House the 
 night before last, I was much disappointed in not 
 finding the Coimt there; for it was my intention to 
 insist upon his giving mo proofs of his respectability. 
 However circumstances have transpired to put us in 
 a track to clear up all doubts. But I had already 
 written to the Prefect of Police in Paris, with the 
 view of obtaining from that high odicial any par- 
 ticulars which ho may be enabled to give mo rrlii- 
 tive to such-and-such a person whom I described; 
 and you may depend upon it, Mary, that I sent such 
 an accurate description of the self-styled Count dc 
 Montville that if the Prefect really has any know- 
 ledge of him at all, he can't fail to perceive at a
 
 •270 
 
 MAUY PBICE ; OE, THE MEMOIBS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 glauce whom I am inquiring about. The scoundrel! 
 I \\-ill transport Mm yet." 
 
 "Do you not think, sii-," I aaked, '•' that it will 
 perhaps be better to hush up the affair to a certain 
 extent, for the sake of her ladyship and the chil- 
 dren ?" 
 
 "Ladt/ship! nonsense!" ejaculated ilr. Appleton 
 testily. " I dare say the villain her husband is as 
 much a Count as he was a Prince. In fact, from 
 what you have already told me, it seemed to be 
 known at Florence that he had not the slightest 
 claim to any title of nobility whatsoever So, as 
 for my niece bciag a ladyship, she will have to go 
 back to her first husband's lioncst name, and become 
 plain Mrs. Bartlett once more. As for the way I 
 shall deal with the scoimdrel himself, it must all 
 depend ujwn cu-cumstances. Perhaps he has fled 
 for good and never means to come back ?" 
 
 '• On the contrai'y, sir," I remarked; "you may 
 depend upon it he will return : or else why should 
 ho have taken the trouble to meet this John Wilson? 
 It could be for no other purpose than to settle his 
 claim and keep him quiet." 
 
 " Hum ! you are a shrewd girl," said Mr. Apple- 
 ton ; " and I am glad you have come with me." 
 
 In this manner we conversed until we reached 
 Canterbury, where we arrived a little before mid- 
 day, and at once proceeded to the Fountain Motel. 
 There ilr. Appleton inquu-ed whether such a person 
 as John Wilson was known at the establishment: 
 but he could not hear of any such individual, either 
 by name or by the description of the man's person. 
 We therefore lost no time in sallying forth together 
 on the chance of meeting him; and we had not 
 threaded half-a-dozen streets, when I suddenly 
 caught sight of the object of oiu" search standing at 
 the entrance to a stable-yard and conversing with 
 some hostlers and grooms. I immediately pointed 
 him out to Ml-. Appleton, who, leaving me standing 
 at a little distance, at once accosted the man. Ho 
 was dressed just the same as when I first saw him 
 in the self-styled Count's company in the Dane 
 John, there being not the slightest improvement ia 
 his condition. Mr. -\.ppletou took him aside and 
 spoke a few words to him. They then came over 
 together to the spot where I remained standing. 
 
 "It is all right, Mary," said Mr. Appleton: 
 " this man is John Wilson." 
 
 We then returned to the hotel, Wilson foUowinnr 
 close behind us ; and when we were all three in a 
 private room together, Mr. Appleton said, " I \vill 
 now explain why I have asked you to accompany 
 me hither. You are acquainted with a certain 
 Frenchman who in Italy passed as the Prince do 
 Chantilly, and in England is going by the name of 
 the Coimt de Montville r" 
 
 " Well, 8u% I do know such a person," answered 
 Wilson, " and have some little claim on liim. But 
 as he lias promised to settle it in tlu-ec or four days 
 and make me a present into the bargain, I would 
 rather not say any harm of him." 
 
 " AVell, but perhaps I can make it better worth 
 your while to speak out," said Mr. Appleton, " than 
 lie can possibly do to make you hold your tongue. 
 In plain terms, we know all about him : that is to 
 say, we have heard enough— too much— and wo 
 wish to receive the confirmation of it from your. lips. 
 How came you to find out that he was livin'^ near 
 Ashford P" 
 
 ""Why, sir," returned Wilson, "I happened t-, 
 hear a few days ago from the driver of the Ashford 
 van, which puts up at a pubUc-house where I am 
 lodging, that there was a gentleman of the name of 
 Montville living near Ashford and carrying on a 
 rare game, having a splendid mansion, giving grand 
 parties, and spending a sight of money. So I hap- 
 pened to ask what sort of a gentleman he was. It 
 was only curiosity ; for I hadn't a suspicion at the 
 time who this Count might be. So the carrier 
 described him to me ; and then I at once knew my 
 man. But I thought that if he was respectably 
 settled, well married, and so on, it would do me no 
 good to spoil him ; whereas, on the other hand, he 
 might not only pay me what he owed, but also make 
 me a little present for keeping his secret. So I wrote 
 him a note that I thought would bring him over to 
 Canterbury to meet me at a place I named. He 
 came accordingly, and said he was going up to 
 London " 
 
 " Hum ! up to London, eh r" said Mr. Appleton, 
 with a glance towards me, which was as much as to 
 say, " So at all events his French journey was a mere 
 excuse." 
 
 " Yes, sir," continued Wilson ; " he said he was 
 going up to London to get money, and would bo back 
 in a few days, when he would do the thing that was 
 right towards me. He gave me a guinea, which 
 was aU he said he could spare; and therefore I 
 thought he meant to act lionom-able and was satis- 
 fied." 
 
 " I know how he has treated you," said Mr. Ap- 
 pleton : " his conduct was most scandalous." 
 
 " It was indeed, sir. He took me away from a 
 
 ! good master at Genoa; and when we were at 
 
 I Florence, by pretending to take care of my savings 
 
 I for me, wheedled me out of all I possessed. Then 
 
 I he cut and bolted ; and if it hadn't been for the 
 
 I kindness of a few English families there, I shouldn't 
 
 have been able to get home to England at all. Since 
 
 I have been back I have been out of place ; and 
 
 having a few acquaintances at Canterbury, have been 
 
 knocking about here for the last five or six months. 
 
 But I hope that now I have told you what you want 
 
 to know, sir, you will be able to do something for 
 
 me." 
 
 '■■ You shall have your money, and a present into 
 the bargain," said Mr. Appleton. '•' But where 
 were j-ou to see or hear of the Count again r" 
 
 "At the public-house where I am staying, sir. 
 That is to say, he promised to write me a note there 
 and arrange to meet me in the Dane John ; because, 
 as he has many acquaintances at Canterbury, he 
 wouldn't like to be seen in company with a poor 
 devil like me in any of the public streets." 
 
 " Now then, I will tell you w hat you must do," 
 said ilr. Appleton. " Kemain at your public-house 
 till you hear from the C-oimt according to promise 
 —then go and meet him and got your money from 
 him, if he has it to g^ve you. But whether he j)ay3 
 you or not. don't breathe a word that you have seen 
 anybody who was making inquiries about him ; and 
 immediately after you have seen him, come straight 
 over to Ashtbrd, take up your quarters there at any 
 place you choose, and send up a note without delay 
 to me. Here is my card ; and I shall be at the 
 Willow House, the Count's abode. Now do you 
 understand ?" 
 
 " I do, sir," replied Wilson.
 
 MATiY price; or, the memoirs of a servant-mmd. 
 
 271 
 
 " Good !" ejaculated Mr. Appleton. " ITere is a 
 ten-pound note as an earnest that you will be well 
 rewarded if you punctually follow my directions in 
 all things." 
 
 " You may depend upon it, sLT; I will do so," re- 
 joined the man. 
 
 Mr. Appleton, however, to make sure, repeated 
 his instructions; and Wilson, thoroughly imder- 
 standinar them, took his departure. 
 
 '•■ Now, Mary, what do you think of the aspect of 
 affairs?" said Mr. Appleton, as we were seated 
 together at the luncheon which he ordered to be 
 served up. " Everything is confirmed, and your 
 friend Jemima told you the exact truth. But I 
 wonder what on earth the scoimdrel can be doing in 
 Loudon ? I suppose he has some friend there of 
 whom he •nill borrow a little money in order to pay 
 this unfortunate man in the hope of silencing him. 
 I know, from my niece, that when he left the Willow 
 House the other day he only took sixty or seventy 
 pounds with him; and so I suppose he did not 
 choose to part with much of that — for you see he 
 only gave the poor fellow a guinea — till he made 
 sm-e of getting farther supplies in London." 
 
 " And pray, sir, may I ask," said I, '• since you 
 treat me confidentially in this matter, what your 
 object is in getting Wilson over to Ashford after he 
 has seen the Count — if he ever does happen to see 
 him again?" 
 
 " Hum ! why am I adopting this course ? Just 
 because you yourself, as we were comuig over this 
 morning, suggested the prudence of hushing up the 
 affair to a certain extent. I have since been think- 
 ing of that recommendation on yom'part, and don't 
 know but what it is the best com-sc to pursue. So 
 what I mean is to unmask the villain thoroughly 
 — you shall see how when the time comes — and then 
 expel him ignominiously from my presence." 
 
 It was four o'clock Ln the afternoon when wo re- 
 entered the carriage on our return to Ashford. Im- 
 mediately on our arrival at the Willow House, Mr. 
 Appleton had a long conference with my mistress, 
 no doubt for the purpose of explaining to her all, 
 that had taken place at Canterbury. But I did not 
 see any more of him nor her for the remainder of 
 that day. 
 
 Four days afterwards Mr. Appleton received a 
 letter from the Prefect of Police In Paris, stating 
 that as the business on which he had written was of 
 a very grave and serious import, he (I he Prefect) 
 would cau,se the most searching inquiries to be 
 made, and would communicate again with Mr. Ap- 
 pleton in a few days. It was Mr. Appleton himself 
 who told me that he had received such a letter : for 
 the old gentleman not only continued to treat me 
 with the fullest confidence in the affair, but likewise 
 omitted no opportunity of demonstrating his favour- 
 able opinion of me. Although the Prefect's letter 
 was so laconic and likewise so vague, it nevertheless 
 seemed to promise some startling revelations ; and I 
 must say that I awaited the issue of all these pro- 
 ceedings with much interest and suspense, and with 
 no small degree of anxiety too, for I saw that the 
 health and spirits of my imfortunate mistress were 
 rapidly giving way. 
 
 CHAPTEE LYII. 
 
 THE CATASTKOPHE. 
 
 It was exactly a week after the visit to Canterbmy, 
 that Mr. Appleton one evening received a note from 
 John Wilson, to say that he had just arrived in 
 Ashford and was at a public-house which he named. 
 Mr. Ajjpleton immediately repaired to the place, and 
 had an interview with the man. The substance of 
 what he heard was that Wilson had seen the Coimt 
 de Montville that day at Canterbury — that the 
 Coimt had pleaded disappointments in London as an 
 excuse for putting him off" — but had given him five 
 guineas, with the promise that ui a short time he 
 would settle the remainder. Wilson had appeared 
 to be contented -with that arrangement ; but im- 
 mediately upon separating from the Count, had 
 come over to Ashford in accordance with the instruc- 
 tions he had received from Mr. Appleton. This 
 gentleman gave him a farther sum of money, and 
 bade him remain constantly in-doors at the public- 
 house, so as to be in readiness to obey any summons 
 that might be sent to him. | 
 
 On returning to the Willow House, which he I 
 reached at about half-past nine, ^Ii-. Appleton found 
 me in the parlour in company with his niece. For 
 the Countess (as I had better continue to call her 
 for the present) felt so nervous and excited at the 
 prospect of a crisis being at hand, that she could 
 not bear to be alone ; and under pretence of giving 
 me her instructions in some particular kind of 
 needlework, had me down to sit with her m the 
 parlour. The other servants could not therefore 
 think it odd imder such circumstances, that I was 
 thus temporarily made the companion of our mis- 
 tress. 
 
 Her ladyship did not hesitate to converse with 
 me upon the sad and sorrowful events which were 
 progressing towards a catastrophe ; and I perceived 
 that great as her aff'ection for her husband had 
 until recently been, her indignation and hatred for 
 the cheat he had practised upon her were now pro- 
 portionately strong. Not only did she feel that the 
 best affections of her heart had been made the 
 means of consummating her ruin in respect to pro- 
 perty and worldly happiness, but likewise that her 
 pride had beenwoimded in the most sensitive point; 
 and though she was still addressed as " my lady" and 
 " your ladyship," yet she keenly and deeply felt that 
 she had not the remotest right to those sounding 
 titles. Thus was it that from the first hour when the 
 gravest suspicions were excited relative to her hus- 
 band, by the circumstance of Wilson's letter falling 
 into her little son's hands, she had countenanced Mr. 
 Appleton in pursuing his investigations and follow- 
 ing up the clue he had oVitained to the unravclment 
 of the mystery of the Count's character. So far 
 from endeavouring to induce her uncla to hush up 
 the affair or pause in his inquiries, she not only felt 
 anxious to know the worst that she might ascertain 
 the extent of her misfortune, but longed for tho 
 return of her husband that she might overwhelm 
 him with reproaches. It was not therefore with a 
 real strength of mind or true fortitude that she 
 awailed the catastrophe; but a sentiment of vin- 
 dictiveness having superseded all her former affec- 
 tion, her health and spirits both suff'ered under the
 
 272 
 
 MAKY I'RICE ; OK, TilE MEJI0IU3 OF A SLUVANX-MAID. 
 
 influence of the troubled, uneasy, and restless condi- 
 tion of her mind. 
 
 But to resume the thread of my narrative. I was 
 seated, I say, with my mistress in the parlour when 
 Mr. Applcton returned between nine and ten o'cloek 
 after his interview with Wilson. I rose to leave the 
 room as ho made his appearance ; but he motioned 
 me to resume my scat, saying, "There are no 
 secrets from you, Mary — at least in this business." 
 
 He then proceeded to explain all that John Wil- 
 son had been telling him; and he concluded by re- 
 marking, " I firmly expected to find the seK-styled 
 Count here on my return. It is a wonder he has not 
 come back. However, we now know that he is at Can- 
 terbury, and I suppose we shall see him to-morrow. 
 It is pretty clear that whatever his hopes were in 
 London about raising money, he has been disap- 
 pointed." 
 
 I soon -withdrew to the nm-sery, leaving Mr. Ap- 
 plcton and my mistress to converse upon the sole 
 topic which could possibly engage their attention ; 
 and on retiring to rest, I could not help saying to 
 myself, " It will be a wonder if by this time to- 
 morrow strange things have not taken place at the 
 Willow House." I could not sleep much that night : 
 for knowing everything that was passing, I felt as it 
 were too much mixed up in the whole affair not to 
 be agitated and excited thereby. Besides, although 
 on the one hand I experienced the profoundcsfc sym- 
 pathy for my mistress and the children, yet on the 
 other hand I could not help feeling some satisfac- 
 tion to think that so vile and unprincipled an 
 adventiu'cr as her husband was about to be un- 
 masked. 
 
 The morning which dawned upon that all but 
 sleepless night, was one of the most cheerless, 
 wretched, and miserable in its aspect that I over 
 remembered. There was a bitter cold easterly wind ; 
 and the sleet was falling like a mist. In spite of 
 warm fires everthing looked dull and miserable 
 within the house; and the prospect without was 
 dismal and dreary to a degree. It was about a 
 couple of hours after breakfast — that is to say, eleven 
 o'clock — when the lady's-maid came up and said, 
 " Mary, you are wanted down in the parloui-. Her 
 ladyship says it is about that work you are doing 
 for her ; and I am going to stay up with the chil- 
 dren." 
 
 I accordingly hastened do^vn stairs, expecting to 
 hear that something new had transpired ; but such 
 was not the case. My mistress, who seemed very 
 pale and ill, was half-reclining on the sofa : while 
 Mr. Appleton was looking out of the window, cither 
 at the dreariness of the weather, or else perhaps in 
 expectation of the Count's arrival. 
 
 "Mary," he said, turning (Oivards me the instant 
 I entered the room, " your mistress is so nervous 
 and low-spirited this morning, that I thought it best 
 for you to come down and stay with her a Uttlo. 
 And indeed, apart from all other circumstances, it 
 is a day didl enough to damp the happiest spirits — 
 let alone its effect upon drooping ones." 
 
 '• Take your work, Mary, and sit down near me," 
 said the C'ountcss. " I am really glad to have you 
 with me." 
 
 "Here comes somebody!" at this moment ex- 
 claimed Mr. Applcton. " IIuui ! a foreigner too, I 
 should say, by the look of hun. Handsoiuo cloak — 
 comical kind of hat, with puu'hed-up brims Ah! 
 
 and there is a fellow just like the 'boots' or porter 
 of an hotel, that has come with him as far as the 
 gate — I dare say to show him the way. I should 
 not wonder if this visit is somehow or another con- 
 nected wth present affairs — you know what I mean." 
 
 A loud knock at the front door at this moment re- 
 sounded through the house ; and James speedily 
 entered the parlour, saying, " A French gentleman 
 from Paris wishes to see Mr. Appleton." 
 
 " Hum I" ejaculated this gentleman, evidently 
 struck with the same idea which at the moment pre- 
 sented itself to my mind also. " Show him in :" — 
 then as James retreated into the hall to escort the 
 visitor whom he had left there, ilr. Appleton said 
 in a hast}' whisper, " Depend upon it, this is some 
 one from the Prefect of Police." 
 
 Such was my conjecture : and the same idea had 
 also struck my mistress, as I perceived by the look 
 of assent which she gave in reply to her uncle's ob- 
 servation. I rose to leave the room : but the Coun- 
 tess impatiently motioned for me to resume my 
 seat — and I did so. The next instant the visitor 
 entered the apartment, bowing most politely as he 
 crossed the threshold. He was a middle-aged man 
 — very handsomely dressed — and had a look at once 
 resolute and thoughtful. 
 
 " Mr. Appleton ?" he said, in an inquiring tone, 
 as he addi'essed himself to that gentleman : and here 
 I may as well observe that the visitor spoke Eng- 
 lish with considerable fluency. 
 
 " My name is Appleton. Pray sit down, sir. 
 Come near the fire." 
 
 " You have written to the Prefect of Police," 
 said the French gentleman, as he took the chair In- 
 dicated by Mr. Appleton ; " and he has sent me 
 over to communicate personally with you. But had 
 we not better converse alone '(" 
 
 " Hum ! I know not exactly what to say " 
 
 " No," immediately interjected the Coxmtess, ner- 
 vously and anxiously : " there are no secrets. You 
 had better explain, uncle, to this gentleman who I 
 am." 
 
 " This lady," Mr. Appleton accordingly observed 
 to the Frenchman, " is my niece — the lady, in fact, 
 whom I described in my letter to the Prefect of 
 of Police, as as " 
 
 " I understand you, sir," interrupted the French- 
 man. " And now, since no farther preliminaries are 
 necessary, I will at once proceed with the communi- 
 cations I have to make. The Prefect of Pohce duly 
 received yoiu* letter of inquiry concerning a French- 
 man who calls himself the Count de Montville, and 
 whom you represented to have married your niece — 
 this lady now present — with the assurance that he 
 was a man of large estates and of the highest re- 
 spectability. You likewise sent a full and minute 
 description of the individual thus alluded to. I 
 must inform you, sir, that I am chief of the Office of 
 the secret Police of Paris ; and to me did the Prefect 
 entrust the task of makuig the investigations you 
 required. I at once felt a;-sui'ed that I knew some- 
 thing of the man, but could not at the first moment 
 discover the particular portfolio of papers referring 
 to him. 1 therefore sent you an official letter in the 
 name of the Prefect, stating that you should speedily 
 receive a counnunioation upon the subject."' 
 
 " Which letter came to hand three days ago," ob- 
 served Mr. A)ipletou : '-and I thank you for such 
 prompt attention."
 
 MART PRICE; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 273 
 
 
 " The very day on whicli that letter was dc- 
 spatclied," resumed the Frcncli olficial, "I disco- 
 vered the portfolio that I rcquu'cd ; and Hudiug the 
 circumstances connected with the uidividual in ques- 
 tion to be of so much more grave a character than I 
 had at first ima^jLned, — and it happening, too, at the 
 moment, that I wished to visit England tipon some 
 private business of my own, — I thought it better to 
 come and commmiicate with you personally, than 
 entrust what I had to say to a letter.'' 
 
 Mr. Appleton made due acknowledgments for 
 this kindness aud consideration on the part of the 
 Frenchman ; and I oould perceive that my mistress 
 was devoured wilh a feverish anxiety to hear what 
 was coming. ]My own cm-iosity was likewise great : 
 for the official of th^ Prefect had spoken in terni3 
 which promised stai-tling revelations. 
 
 " Madam," said the Frenchman, again seeming 
 to hesitate whether he should proceed, " it is my 
 NO. 35 
 
 duty to warn you that the talo I have to tell is ono 
 too well calculated to give you a scriou3 shock." 
 
 '■ I am nerved, sir," repUod my mistress, suddenly 
 assuming a look of composure by means of a great 
 aud visible efibrt. 
 
 '• Well then, madam, if you are resolved to listen," 
 continued the Frenchman, " it is my duty to pro- 
 ceed. The real name of the person calling himself 
 the Count do Montville is Charles Lcroux. He 
 first became known to the pohco of Paris about fif- 
 teen years ago. lie was then a gay, dashing, dissi- 
 pated young man, the son of a French merchant 
 who had been compelled to emigrate dui-ing the 
 Empire in consequence of bemg engaged in royalist 
 conspira'jies against Napoleon Bonaparte. Having 
 been educated in England, Charles Leroux spoko 
 the EngUsli language with much fluency. He in- 
 herited but a very moderate fortune from his father; 
 and this he dissipated amongst tbo most profligate
 
 274 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEttVAHT-MAID. 
 
 young men and in tLc gaming-houses of Paris. 
 When all his legitimate rcsom-ces were gone, he 
 began to live upon liis %vits ; and a case of cheating 
 at cards in which he was engaged, and which was of 
 a very flagrant character, brought him in contact 
 with the authorities at the time I have mentioned— 
 namely, fifteen years ago. For that offence he was 
 condemned to tour months' imprisonment in the 
 criminal gaol of Paris : and there I have every rea- 
 son ta believe he formed the acquaintance of the 
 very desperate men who subsequently led him into 
 his most serious and ignominious dilemma. For not 
 many months after he was released from prison, he 
 was arrested on a charge of having forged several 
 bills of exchange upon some of the most eminent 
 merchants of Paris. He had five or six accomplices 
 in this transaction — those whom I have already 
 alluded to as being the acquaintances he had formed 
 in prison. He and his accompUces were placed upon 
 their trial — their guUt was fully brought home to 
 them — and they were condemned to the galleys for 
 ten years; but previously to be exposed for two 
 
 hours in the pillory, and be " 
 
 At this instant a post-chaise drove rapidly up to 
 the gate of the grounds in front of the WiUow 
 House. 
 
 " Here he is !" ejaculated JVIr. Appleton. " Now, 
 my dear sir," he hastily went on to say, addressing 
 himself to the French official, '• I just want to see 
 to what an extent the impudence of this scoundrel 
 will go, and how he will account for liis absence. 
 Besides, I have another person waiting iu the town 
 to be confronted \\-ith liini. Will you have the 
 kindness to step into another room for the present, 
 untU I summon you hither P Where shall we put 
 th^ gentleman, my dear ?" 
 
 " Mary, take him up to the back drawing-room," 
 said the Countess, upon whose features I observed a 
 malignant and vindictive smUe of satisfaction at the 
 thought that the moment of retribution was so near 
 at hand. 
 
 " Yes — up into the back drawing-room," cried 
 Mr. Appleton, who was now all iu a bustle; '"'and 
 you shall tell us the rest of the tale, sir, in the 
 scoimdrel's presence anon. I will send off the 
 gardener's boy at once to fetch up John Wilson. 
 By the bye, that chaise will have to go back to 
 Ashford ere returning to Canterbury ; and I will tell 
 the boy to get a lift on the way. It will save a good 
 quarter of an hour." 
 
 According to Mr. Appleton's instructions, I con- 
 ducted tho French gentleman up into the back 
 drawing-room ; and as the firo happened (o be 
 ready laid, I speedily lighted it. On issuuig forth 
 acjain, I was about to ascend to the nursery, when 
 1 heard Mr. Appleton calling mc from the bottom 
 of the stall's. I accordingly hastened down ; and he 
 said in a rapid whisper, " 1 have told the gardener's 
 boy — and he is off. Now you must come back and 
 remain with your mistress. No objections ! I in- 
 sist upon it. You shall have an opportunity of 
 seeing the thing to the end. Leave it to mc to 
 manage some excuse to keep you in tho room when 
 he is there." 
 
 Thus speaking, ]Mr. Appleton seized me by the 
 wrist and forced me to acconipany him info the 
 iparlour, entirely against my inclination : but I was 
 60 confused and bewildered by this proceeding on 
 his part, that I could not offer any cfl'ectunl re- 
 
 sistance. I however saw that my mistress desired 
 me to be with her; and I therefore submitted to 
 the necessity of the case, taking up my work so as 
 to appear busy therewith. 
 
 Scarcely was all this done, when the Count, 
 having alighted from the post-chaise and paid the 
 postilion, came hurriedly up the gravel walk; and 
 the front-door being opened by James, the news of 
 his arrival having at once spread through the house, 
 he entered the hall. There he immediatelj said, 
 '' Well, James, all well at home r" 
 " Not exactly, my lord. Her ladyship is rather 
 
 unwell " 
 
 '• Ah ! nothing serious, I hope ?" 
 '■' Oh ! no, my lord." 
 " Anything new, James r" 
 
 '■' Nothing particular, my lord — only Mr. Appleton 
 has come." 
 
 '■' Mr. Appleton — eh ! and wl-^'n did he arrive r" 
 " The (lay after your lordship's departure." 
 "Oh, indeed!" — and the ejaculation was evi- 
 dently made with a pettishness which could not bs 
 concealed. 
 
 Mr. Appleton had left the parlour-door ajar, when 
 dragging me into the room as abeady described; 
 and therefore the little colloquy between the Count 
 and James reached our oars plainly enough. Mr. 
 Appleton had seated himself in the arm-chair with 
 that same grave and magisterial demeanour which 
 he had worn on the evening when he questioned me 
 about Jolm Wilson's letter. I glanced at my mis- 
 tress, and perceived that she had assumed a won- 
 derful degree of outward composure as she sat half- 
 reclining upon the sofa. Everything portended a 
 scene ; and I can assm'e the reader that my own 
 feelings and sensations were impleasant enough. 
 
 Having put off his hat and cloak in the hall, and 
 rubbed his boots upon the mat, while exchanging 
 those brief remarks with the footman, the Count do 
 Montville (as he had chosen to denominate liimself) 
 now entered the parlour. I did not dare look up : 
 but I know that he suddenly stopped short for an 
 instant, doubtless upon beholding sometliing sus- 
 picious in Mr. Appleton's demeanour — for a guUty 
 conscience is always keenly sensitive to even the 
 most trivial cause of alarm. But instantly advanc- 
 ing with a kind of rush, he cried, '"Well, my 
 angel ! my darling I how glad I am to see you 
 again !" 
 
 My mistress did not rise from the sofa — nor did 
 she utter a word : but she allowed him to throw his 
 arms about her neck and kiss her ^vith every ap- 
 pearance of enthusiastic affection. He was evidently 
 alarmed and siu-prisod at her manner : for having 
 vainly endeavoured during the first few moments of 
 that embrace to evoke reciprocal endearments from 
 her, he exclaimed, '• Why, what is the matter ? are 
 }'0U not glad to see me ?" 
 
 '• I have been ill — very ill," ansv.-crcd my mistress, 
 in a voice and manner that were in reality cold, but 
 which might also be taken for the languor of serious 
 indisposition. 
 
 ,\ud at this idea the Count evidently clutched 
 with avidity : for he said, in a soothing, coaxing, 
 cajoling way, '' Yes, you do not look well : and 
 J tunes told me you had beci» indisposed. But we 
 rhall soon have you better, my aiigcl :" — then turn- 
 ing to Mr. Appleton, he extended his hand, saying, 
 '• Most welcome, sir, to the Willow House."
 
 MARY TKICE; or, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVAXT-MAID. 
 
 275 
 
 " Hum !" retiu'ned the old gentleman, without 
 moving from his seat, and merely allowing the 
 Count to clutch his forefinger. " I am glad you have 
 come back ; for I ran down from London on pur- 
 pose to see you. Well, and what news have you 
 brought us from the Continent f" 
 
 " ^Vhen we are alone, I will tell you," said the 
 Count, fixing his eyes upon me. 
 
 " Oh ! let Mary stay P" my mistress hastened to 
 ohservc. '•' She is a very good girl, and has been a 
 great comfort to me daring your absence. Besides," 
 added the Countess, with a peculiar BmUe, "I have 
 made her a sort of confidant; and bo there is no- 
 thing we can talk about that may not be said in her 
 presence." 
 
 " Yes — Mary is a ^ery good girl; and I am highly 
 pleased with her," remarked Mr. Appleton. " She 
 is devoted to her mistress, and fond of the children. 
 So let her stay." 
 
 The Coimt looked irresolute and confused It was 
 evident he saw there was something wrong ;— but 
 of course he knew not what was amiss, nor to what 
 extent. He glanced suspiciously and hastily from 
 his wife to Mr. Appleton — then back again to his 
 wife. She was cold; the uncle was formal and 
 stately. There was a silence of nearly a minute — a 
 long period for such silence to last under circum- 
 stances so awkward and embarrassing. 
 
 '■'Well, my lord," said Mr. Appleton, at length 
 breaking that awful pause, "what news, I again 
 ask, have you brought ? ^ You may readily suppose 
 that we are all impatient to hear the success of your 
 journey to Paris.". 
 
 " But do you wish me to speak in the presence of 
 your servant ?" asked the Count, now fixing his eyes 
 keenly upon his wife, as if to penetrate all that was 
 passing in her mind. 
 
 " Yes — to be sure. Why not ?" returned the lady. 
 "Mary is a companion to me; and I vsdsh her to bo 
 here. Besides, as it is scarcely possible you can have 
 anything but good tidings to impart, where is the 
 harm in Mary's hearing them ?" 
 
 But I felt myself very imcomfortable at thus 
 being made the object of so much discussion, and 
 flung upon my mistress an imploring look that she 
 would permit mc to leave the room. I even half 
 rose from my seat for the purpose : but with an im- 
 patient gesture she waved me back again, and en- 
 joined me to remain. While addressing her husband 
 there had been a slight tinge of sarcasm iu her tone 
 — but so slight that it would not have been percep- 
 tible under ordinary ckcumstances. He however, 
 with the keen sensitiveness of a guilty conscience, 
 could not possibly fail to perceive it ; and he grew 
 more nervous, more xineasy, and more agitated — 
 while his looks, habitually restless, now wandered 
 with more than usual rapidity about the room, as if 
 iu search of something cheering and encouragmg. 
 All lliis while he had not sat down, but remained 
 standing on the heai'th-rug in front of the fire, ba- 
 lancing himself against the mantel. 
 
 " Well, my lord," said Mr. Appleton, accentuat- 
 ing the title of nobility, and giving a short dubious 
 cough, " you are a long time entering upon the par- 
 Mculars of your trip to Paris. Was the French 
 capital very gay ?" 
 
 " Yes — tolerably so," rcpUed the Count, ueiTOUsly 
 playing with his moustache. 
 
 "And of coiu'so yoiu: lordship saw all your old 
 
 acquaintances," continued Mr. Appleton, — '• Princes, 
 Dukes, Marquises, Counts, Barons, and so on r" 
 
 "I had very little time to see any one," answered 
 the Count. "But really, Mr. Appleton, there seems 
 to be something strange in your manner " 
 
 'Hum! strange! why so?" demanded the old 
 gentleman. " But if I appear to bo at all out of 
 spirits, you can very soon put me into the best pos- 
 sible humour by proving that your visit to Paris has 
 brought those rascally agents of your's to book. 
 Have they cashed up, my lord?" 
 
 " Well — not exactly ; but——" 
 
 " But what ? Do they mean to pay ?" 
 
 "Oh! beyond all doubt — and very shortly." 
 
 " Hum ! very shortly ! That's vague and indefi- 
 nite enough. But what on earth is the reason they 
 do not pay you over the monies that are your due ? 
 Come, speak candidly — is there any httle encum- 
 brance on your estates in Finance ? for if I saw my 
 way clear, of course I should not mind advancing 
 the money to pay it off." 
 
 "Well — to tell you the truth, Mr. Appleton," 
 answered the Count, his features slightly brighten- 
 ing up as if with a glimmering of hope, " there is ■ 
 something of that kind. You see, I have trusted too 
 much to my agents " 
 
 " Ah, I understand ! and they have been playing 
 the deuce veith the property? Perhaps one of them 
 has run away — another is bankrupt — and so on ?" 
 
 " No, no — things are not quite so bad as that," 
 exclaimed the Count, affecting a jocular laugh : for 
 it was evident that he was again enduring the keen- 
 est misgivings. 
 
 "Hum! do tell us then precisely how matters 
 stand:" — and Mr. Appleton looked more solemn 
 and serious than any Lord Mayor when about to 
 deliver j udgment on an incorrigible beggar. 
 
 " Why don't you tell my uncle candidly at once 
 how you stand, Victor?" asked the Countess. 
 
 "Oh! you «M«i know," cried her husband petu- 
 lantly, " that it is very disagreeable for me to hava 
 to be questioned and catechised in this manner before 
 a servant." 
 
 " I am sure," my mistress hastened to reply, as I 
 again made a motion to leave my chair and quit tho 
 room, "poor Mary here is only thinking of her 
 work and not troubling herself about what you are 
 saying. However, permit me as your wife to put 
 one or two straightforward questions, and to which 
 I expect straightforward answers. Have you brought 
 over any fimds with you r" 
 
 " No. But — in a short time——" 
 
 "Surely," interrupted the Countess, "with such 
 immense estates and revenues, you could have ob- 
 tained a few thousands in advance ?" 
 
 " I will tell you all about it when wo are alone," 
 exclaimed ihc Count ; theu assuming a haughty and 
 insolent an-, he added in a tone of defiance, "I will 
 not be cross-questioned in this manner !" 
 
 "Hum!" ejaculated ^Ii". Appleton. "You need 
 not be angfry about it." 
 
 "Oh, not at all!" said the Count: and walking 
 to the window, ho affected to be looking out at the 
 weather. 
 
 " Did you see the Duke de Montmorency while 
 you were in Paris ?" nslced (ho Countess: "ortliat 
 tailor — you remember whom I mean — who sent you 
 a cheque, you know, on one occasion for ten thou- 
 sand pounds?"
 
 276 
 
 MARY rnicE ; on. the memoirs of a SEnvA?;T-MATn. 
 
 "Ah! what was tliatr" exclaimed Mr. A p- pause to beg and bcEecch that I mi^rht be allowed 
 ■pleton. I*''' retire; for the precedincj scene with the sham 
 
 '■' Oh ! an excellent anecdote," exclaimed the ! Coimt had been too painful for me to wish to stand 
 Countess, with a most malicious smile. " Do tell j the chance of beholding the repetition or continuance 
 it to uncle, Victor. You remember— don't you ? — I of it. But my mistress earnestly requested that I 
 the tailor who sent you that cheque, — requesting I would consent to remain. I was however still prof- 
 
 you would order a coat of him ; and you retLU-ned the 
 
 di-aft Oh ! no, you bade your valet take it back 
 
 and give the insolent fellow a good caning to teach 
 him better manners in future." 
 
 " Hum ! I wish that his lordship had only fallen 
 in with such a complacent tailor on this last trip of 
 his to Paris : he would not have come back empty- 
 handed. But do tell me, when are your remittances 
 to arrive from Paris? or would you like me to take 
 a run over and urge on these dilatory agents of 
 your's?" 
 
 " I will thank you, sir, to mind your own busi- 
 ness," answered the Count, turning abruptly away 
 from the window : and by the hasty glance which I 
 threw at his countenance, I saw that he was as 
 ghastly pale as on that night when I had beheld 
 him in the passage just wakened up from liis som- 
 jiambuUsm. 
 
 " Hum ! this is a pretty way to treat aa uncle," 
 said Mr. Appleton, " who takes your interest so 
 much at heart," 
 
 " Victor, I am ashamed of you," said the Coim- 
 tess, '■' to speak thus to Mr. Appleton." 
 
 " It is clear to me," replied her husband, " that 
 some one has been prejudicing you both against me 
 during my absence. So the best thing I can do is to 
 rctii-e to another room ; and when you, madam," he 
 added, with a fierce look at his wife, " choose to 
 come and confer with me in a proper maimer, I 
 shall be prepared to give you every explanation." 
 
 With these words the Count stalked out of the 
 parlour, closing the door somewhat violently behind 
 him. 
 " Hum ! he smells a rat," said Mr, Appleton. 
 " And yet he is very far from suspecting to what 
 extent our knowledge of him goes," added the Coun- 
 tess. " He fancies that our suspicions are merely ex- 
 cited Perhaps he also has confidence in my love, 
 
 and thinks that when we are alone together he can 
 coax and cajole mo as heretofore, and appease me 
 with Eomo ridiculous tale. But he is mistaken — 
 bitterly, bitterly mistaken 1" she went on to say, her 
 fine eyes flashing fire. " I have loved him but too 
 wcU — I have been credulous even to folly— oh ! it 
 has been an infatuation, a madness, an enchant- 
 ment : but I have awakened from the dream — and 
 now the sooner the catastrophe comes the better." 
 
 " Wilson cannot be much longer ere he makes his 
 appearance," said Mr. Appleton, looking at his 
 watch. " The post-chaise would not bo more than 
 ten minutes getting into Ashford — it's only a mile 
 — and Wilson would not be a quarter of an hour 
 coming hither. We may therefore expect him in a 
 few miiiutcB." 
 
 "But what if the wretch," cried the Countess, 
 thus mercilessly aUuding to her husband, " should 
 go into the back di-awiag-room and find the French- 
 man there r*' 
 
 " Well then," rejoined J£r. Appleton, " the catas- 
 trophe, as you call it, would only be accolcrated by 
 a few minute.i, and wc should lo^e the satisfaction of 
 witnessing its efTect." 
 I now availed myself of the opportunity of a 
 
 fering my entreaties to the contrary, when Mr. Ap- 
 pleton, who in the meantime had risen from his 
 chair and approached the window, suddenly ex- 
 claimed, " There's Wilson ! I just saw him with 
 the gardener's boy passing round to the back of tho 
 house. Now, leave me to arrange the rest :" — and 
 he hurried from the room. 
 
 " Pray let me withdraw," said I when alone with 
 my mistress. 
 
 " Mary," she answered, with a voice and look that 
 were both deeply sombre, " the presence of one of 
 my own sex is necessary to sustain me. I feel that 
 it is so — and I beg that you will remain. When 
 this ordeal has passed I may experience a reaction 
 of sentiments and emotions ; and then I must have 
 you near me. But perhaps you think me very cruel 
 and hard-hearted to be thus vindictive towards my 
 husband ? The wretch ! how can I think of him as 
 a husband ? Has he not treated me vilely — infa- 
 mously ? O God ! to think that I should have had 
 a galley-slave in my arms 1" — and for a moment she 
 wrung her hands bitterly : but suddenly resxmiing a 
 strange and imnatural degree of fortitude, she went 
 on to say in a low deep voice, " Yes, I do long to be 
 revenged against one who h^3 practised such heart- 
 less cruelty — such abhorrent treachery I Has ho 
 not pkmdered me of all I possess — reducing me and 
 my children to a state of dependence upon my 
 worthy uncle ? And if it were not for that uncle, 
 what would become of us ? should we not be beggars 
 upon the face of the earth ? Oh, Mary ! the heart 
 that can love the fondest, is also that which can hate 
 the most bitterly!" 
 
 At this instant Mr. Appleton returned to the 
 room; and closing the door, he said, "It's all right. 
 I have taken WUson up to the back drawing-room, 
 and left him there with the Frenchman. It is an 
 understood thing that when I ring this bell violently 
 James is to run up and bring them both down hither." 
 •' Heavens, uncle ! have you let James into the 
 secret?" cried the Coimtess. "I thought we were 
 to save all exposure before the household ?" 
 
 "Don't be afraid, my dear," interrupted Mr. Ap- 
 pleton. "I have committed no oversight. Of course 
 the servants suspect that something strange is going 
 on : but they need not know what — nor why so mucli 
 mystery is observed about that Frenchman and Wil- 
 son. The Coimt has gone to his room : and I have 
 sent Septimus up witii a polite message, as if coming 
 from you, my dear, to beg that he will stop down 
 again as soon as convenient. He will tlxink it a sort 
 of peace-proposal, and will not fail to come." 
 
 While thus speaking, Mr. Appleton resumed his 
 arm-ch.air and also his gi-ave magisterial demeanour. 
 In less than a minute the door opened, and the 
 Count made his appearance. 
 
 "Well, my love," he said, with a quick glance 
 aroimd; and I saw th.at he was abashed and that 
 his hopefulness was ibmpcd by perceiving us all 
 three in the same position as before : but still he 
 endeavoured to put as good a face upon the matter 
 as possible; — "well, my love, aro you iu a better 
 temper now?"
 
 MARY PRIOE; on, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 277 
 
 " It all depends upon you, Victor, to put me in a 
 good humour," was his wife's response. 
 
 " Come and sit down with us," said Mr. Applcton, 
 "and lot us see if we cannot resume the conversa- 
 tion in a more satisfactory manner." 
 
 The Count, evidently at a loss to know what to 
 think, but doubtless buoyinj himself up with the 
 hope that matters might yet be mended, or at least 
 patched up for the present, placed himself on the 
 sofa where his wife was half-reclining;, wliile Mr. Ap- 
 plcton wheeled his arm-chair up to the table where 
 wriling-matcrials were spread. 
 
 "num!" said the old gentleman; "a wretched 
 bad pen ! But I must manage with it. Now, my 
 lord, how much is the mortgage on j'our estates ?" 
 '• How mucli ? Oh — a mere trifle !" 
 " "Well, but how much ? I must know before I 
 agree to advance the money to pay it off. Is it ten 
 thousand pounds F" 
 
 " That's the exact sum, my dear sir," quickly an- 
 swered the Count, his features brightening up con- 
 siderably. 
 
 " Well then—ten thousand pounds," repeated Mr. 
 Appleton, as he wrote the amount upon a piece of 
 paper. "And now, where are your estates?" 
 
 " Where ? Oh, in the neighbourhood of Paris," 
 replied the Count, still more eagerly and still more 
 joyfully. 
 
 " Good ! The Montrille estates, I suppose ? for 
 all you French noblemen derive your titles from your 
 landed possessions " 
 
 "Yes — generally so," said the Count, compla- 
 cently twirling hi5 moustache : for ho evidently 
 thought that things had taken a turn in Iiis favour, 
 and that the old gentleman intended to advance the 
 sum mentioned. 
 
 " Well, and if I lend you this money," said Mr. 
 Appleton, " when do you think you could repay 
 me ?" 
 
 " Oh ! very soon indeed — very soon ! My agents 
 are sure to make me remittances in a month or sis 
 weeks." 
 
 " Shall we say six weeks ?" asked Mr. Appleton, 
 with all the air of one who was seriously entertain- 
 ing a business transaction. 
 
 "That will suit me admirably," replied the 
 Count, now looking as if he were on a perfect bed 
 of roses. j 
 
 "Good! six weeks," continued Mr. Applcton. | 
 " And if I write a cheque on my London bankers, [ 
 which you can send through the Ashford one, you I 
 will give me your promissory note at forty-two ; 
 days for the amount P" 
 
 " Certainly — everything in the regular way. IJ'ow, 
 this is the proper manner to conduct family affairs I 
 of such a delicate kind." j 
 
 " Ilum ! and we might have managed it all 
 pleasantly enough just now," said Mr. Applcton, 
 "if you liad not taken such queer humours into ' 
 your head, telling me to mind my own business." I 
 
 " Forgive me, my dear gir," exclaimed the Count, 
 as if with an effusion of penitence and regret ; ' 
 " but I thought I was being cross-examined in an 
 unbecoming manner. And then, too, I feared that 
 you, my angel," ho added, turning to his wife, 
 "were somehow or another offended with me; 
 and tJiat was a belief that I could not bear." i 
 
 '■Come, come, let us finish off this business," I 
 ■^aid Mr. Applcton, who had been scribbling some- ' 
 
 thing on a slip of paper. " Here, I have drawn 
 j up a note of hand for you to sign. I can easily 
 
 get it stamped when I go back to London." 
 i The Count jumped up from the sofa with all the 
 elasticity inspired by a mind suddenly relieved from 
 the torture of vague misgivings; and his features 
 I were now positively radiant. 
 
 j "Give mo the pen and I will sign the not"," he 
 said. "Ah I ahil ah! see what it is to have a rich 
 uucle. Of course you have added the interest, my 
 dear sir r" 
 
 " Hum ! I forgot the interest," rejoined Mr. 
 Appleton. with a very business-like seriousness of 
 appeet. " But never mind ! The principal is the 
 chief thing; so the interest may be left out of the 
 question. Here is the pen :"— and as he handed it 
 to the Count he rose from his seat. 
 
 ''Where am I to sign?" inquired the adven- 
 turer, literally trembling with the excitement of 
 joy at this apparent piece of good luck. 
 
 "Stop! One moment!" ejaculated Mr. Appleton. 
 " As this is a large transaction we ought to have 
 witnesses to it :" — and he rang the bell violently. 
 
 Tile Count suddenly looked distured, and his eyes 
 were cast aoarchingly upon the old gentleman t but 
 not a muscle of his magisterial-looking countenance 
 moved at that moment. My mistress dropped her 
 pocket-handkerchief for the pm-pose of having an 
 opporlunity of stooping while she picked it up, so 
 as to conceal whatever emotions at the instant were 
 reflected in her countenance. 
 
 "Witnesses?" said the unprincipled adventurer, 
 with increasing agitation and trouble : " what wit- 
 nesses ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I have them ready at hand," replied Mr. 
 Appleton. " And here they are !" 
 
 The door burst open at the moment : but no 
 language can describe the agony which was ex- 
 pressed in the sort of half-yell — half-sliriek which 
 burst from the lips of the miserable Count, as he 
 at once recognized not only John Wilson, but also 
 the French-police official. He started as if suddenly 
 jiierced with a dagger, and then staggered back 
 towards the mantel-piece, where lie leant gazing 
 wildly and agonizingly upon the two individuals 
 who had thus simultaneously made tlieir appear- 
 ance. It was a scene aU the painfid horror of 
 which has often and often risen up to my mind 
 dui-ing the years that have elapsed since it took 
 place. 
 
 "Charles Leroux— Count de Mon'ville— Prince 
 dc Chantilly — and heaven alone knows how many 
 other names you have borne," said the French 
 ])olico official, in a stern voice, and speaking in 
 English, as he advanced towards the miserable man 
 wliom he thus addi-cssed, — "you are thoroughly 
 unmasked! Sir," he conlinucd, turning towards 
 JMr. Applcton, " I had not time ere now to finish 
 the tale that I had commenced : but there is one 
 little particular which may be added in a few 
 words. Not only was that unprincipled adven- 
 turer condemned to ten years at the galleys, but 
 abo — ■— " 
 
 "No, no! enough, enough!" yelled forth tiie 
 miserable man, actually writhing and convulsing 
 like a stricken snake. " Say no more ! spare me ! 
 I will go hence !" 
 
 " Silence !" exclaimed the French official, in a 
 tone of such stern authority that Charles Leroux
 
 278 
 
 MARV PRICK ; OR, THE MEMOIItS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 bpcame paralyzed as it were ^vilb len-or. '■ You 
 must be thorougUly unmasked. Enow then, sir," 
 he continued, again speaking to Mr. Appletoa,— 
 " and you too, unhappy lady," addressing my mis- 
 tress, " that this wretch ia a branded felon, and the ^ 
 mai'k of the public executioner's searing-iron is ■ 
 upon big shoulder I" ; 
 
 A half-stifled shriek escaped from the lips of my > 
 mistreMS at this horrible announcement: and she | 
 covered her face with her li;vnds as she fell back 
 upon the sofa. A tin-ill of ineffable hon-or had j 
 swept tlu-ougli my entire form, leaving behind a , 
 sickening sensation at the heart. ' 
 
 " Monster !" exclaimed Mr. Appleton, becoming 1 
 pm-ple -witli rage. " Begone — begone from our pre- 
 sence !" 
 
 Charles Lcroux waited not for compulsory means 
 fo bo taken to eject him from the mansion. With 
 most horrible workings of the coimtenance, and 
 looking indeed like a man who was about to be 
 borne to the place of execution, he staggered from 
 the room. A solemn silence prevailed in the par- 
 lour until we heard the front door open and shut, 
 and beheld the unprincipled adventurer pass rapidly 
 tlu'ough the grounds towards the gate. 
 
 " Now I seem to breathe more freely," said my 
 mistress, with a long deep gasp; and as she re- 
 moved her hands from her countenance, her face 
 •was pale as death and her features were dis- 
 torted. 
 
 "After all this excitement," hastily whispered 
 Mr. Appleton to his niece, " you had better go up 
 to your room, while I have a few minutes' con- 
 versation with these persons. G-o with your mis- 
 tress, Mary." 
 
 The unfortunate lady complied with her uncle's 
 suggestion; and I followed her up to her own 
 chamber, — on reaching which she threw herself 
 upon the bed, and bm-ying her face in the pillows, 
 r;ave full vent to the violence of those varied feel- 
 ings which had remained pent up throughout this 
 memorable morning. It was some time before she 
 became calm enough to converse : but when she so 
 far regained her composure, she addressed me in the 
 following wordi3 : — 
 
 '• It is ray intention to leave this house within an 
 hour. The oliddron will of coiu'se go with me. 
 My uncle has offered us a home at his residence in 
 London. He will not however accompany me 
 to-day, but ■will remain here to pay off aU the ser- 
 vants, sell the fui'niture, and make arrangements 
 for cancelling the lease of the "Willow House? 
 Will y(Tu go with me, Mary? I do not vrish to 
 part with you. On the contrary, it would grieve 
 me greatly if you do not assent to my proposal." 
 
 '•' iladam," I answered — for of course I no longer 
 gave her the false title of ladyship, — " I return 
 you my grateful thanks for this and all other proofs 
 of kindness which I have received at your hands. 
 But for the present it is. my desire to remain at 
 Ashford." 
 
 1 felt that I was blushing as I spoke ; and the 
 reader, who knows full well wherefore I choge to 
 stay in my native place, requires not to be informed 
 •why the colour thus raoimtcd to my checks. But 
 mv mistress was too much pre-occupicd with her 
 own affairis to notice it. She however pressed me 
 to alter my mind and remain in her service : but 
 vrith renewed thanks, I ivssui'ed her of my unalter- 
 
 able determination to continue for the present at 
 Ashford. She therefore decided upon retaining her 
 lady's-maid to take care of the children. 
 
 An hour afterwards a post-chaise, which had 
 been ordered from Ashford, drove up to the gate to 
 take my mistress, the maid, and the chiWren as far 
 as Canterbury: for she would not think of using 
 the carriage for that purpose, as all the equipages 
 ■were to be disposed of, together with every other 
 proof of t'uc sham Count's career of extravagance. 
 To be brief, I bade my mistress farewell, and af- 
 fectionately kissed the children : the post-chaise 
 then drove away, the lady's-maid being the only 
 servant of the household ■who accompanied the 
 family. 
 
 As the reader may suppose, great was the sur- 
 prise and consternation ■which prevailed amongst 
 the domestics who remained behind, at the abrupt- 
 ness of this departure, — their master going one way, 
 and their mistress ■with the children another. That 
 something most disagreeable had occurred, they of 
 course suspected : but the full extent of the igno- 
 minious catastrophe they were very far from con- 
 jecturing. Indeed, they thought it was a break-up 
 for want of funds ; and the outside of their suspi- 
 cion was that the Count must be a mere adventurer 
 who had taken in his ■wife and dissipated all her pro- 
 perty. Of course I did not enlighten them on those 
 points of which they were ignorant. 
 
 Mr. Appleton made John Wilson a handsome 
 present, on condition that he should immediately 
 betake himself away from the neighbourhood ; and 
 in order to ensure the man's prompt departure and 
 allow no time for gossipping in Ashford, Mr. Apple- 
 ton gave him a cheque that was payable only in 
 London. I need scarcely observe that Wilson was 
 in too g^eat haste to receive the amount not to 
 obey the Uberal donor's injunctions, and make 
 the best of his way from the vicinity of the Willow 
 House. 
 
 From the French police-official Mr. Appleton 
 heard the remainder of the history of Charles 
 I.eroux. This individual, after having passed ten 
 years at the galleys, availed himself of his handsome 
 person, good education, and fascinating manners, to 
 live upon the creduhty of tho?c on whom such ad- 
 ventm-ers ever manage to prey: and infinite were 
 the trickeries, s^windles, and rascalities which he had 
 perpetrated and which had come to the knowledge 
 of the French police. Mr. Appleton not merely 
 thanked the Prefect's emissai-y for the attention he 
 had shown him in the matter, but like^wise insisted 
 upon payiug all his travelhng expenses — which he 
 did with the utmost hberality. 
 
 In a similarly generous spirit did he remunerate 
 the servants of the household, whom he now dis- 
 charged; so that they were handsomely recom- 
 pensed for the sudden loss of their situations. On 
 the following day an upholsterer arrived from Can- 
 terbury, to whom Mr. Appleton at once disposed of 
 all the fui'niture. The carriages and horses were 
 sold to another individual; and the proprietor of 
 the Willow House was induced by a handsome 
 bonus to cancel the lease. Thus, in the course of 
 two or thi-ee days, tlie whole of that splendid esta- 
 blishment was broken up, — all the materials of 
 luxury and the appli;uices of ostentation and gran- 
 deur melting away as if they had never been. 
 
 When cverv one of these arrangements were
 
 HART PRTOE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 279 
 
 carried into effect and Mr. Appleton was ready to 
 enter a post-chaise to bear him to Canterbui-y on his 
 return to London, he said to me, " I am sorry, 
 Mary, that you did not consent to remain in my 
 niece's service : but I have no doubt you had very 
 excellent reasons for declining, as you are a prudent 
 and good g^rl, incapable of acting whimsically and 
 without motive. I remember that the first morning 
 I was here," he continued with a smile, '•' you re- 
 fused to take any money from me ; and I admired 
 you for it — because you knew nothing of me at the 
 time. But cu-cumstances have transpired most 
 painfully to make us frionds. Yes — I use the word 
 friends purposely : and it is as a friend, Mary, that I 
 offer you this purse containing fiffy sovereigns. As 
 a friend you must take it; and should you ever 
 stand in need of honest advice or pecuniary assist- 
 ance, do not hesitate to apply to me. Here is my 
 card, with my address in London. Now don't be a 
 fooHsh girl : you must take this little testimonial of 
 my good opinion." 
 
 The worthy gentleman forced me to accept his 
 bounty, for which I retm-ned my most grateful ac- 
 knowledgments. 
 
 " I do not insult you, Mary," he went on to say, 
 " by asking you to keep secret all the unpleasant 
 things that have happened here, and that liave come 
 to your knovvledge. You know everything. I have 
 purposely made you a confidante, because you are 
 discreet and prudent. You may however wTite to 
 j'our friend, Lady Harlesdon's maid, and tell her 
 that her false Prince has been bitterly punished at 
 last. And now good bye." 
 
 Mr. Appleton shook me cordially by the hand — 
 and we parted. 
 
 Ere I close this chapter I must make a few ob- 
 servations relative to the imprincipled adventurer 
 who had been so thoroughly unmasked. The pro- 
 cess of branding, as the police-agent had explained 
 it to Mr. Appleton, from whose lips I subsequently 
 received the particulars, was a fearful one. Charles 
 Lerous and his accompUces in the crime of forgery, 
 for which they were condemned, suffered that in-- 
 deliblc infamy. After having been exposed for 
 two hours on a high platform in the middle of one 
 of the public squares of Paris, they were each 
 marked upon the shoulder vnth a red-hot iron, 
 which thus seared the two letters T.F.* upon the 
 flesh, leaving those letters imprinted there for ever 
 in deep red hues. No wonder was it that the re- 
 membrance of that horrible punislunent should 
 haunt the miserable man even in his dreams : no 
 wonder that it should excit« his mind to such a 
 feverish degree that he would rise from his couch 
 and walk about in his sleep, giving vent to the deep 
 anguish of his soul in moans and lamentations ; and 
 no wonder was it that if suddenly startled into 
 wakefulness, his first instinctive motion should bo 
 to raise his hand to the branded shoulder in order 
 to convince himself that it was not exposed to view ! 
 The circumstance of those uidelible mai-ks bcinn- 
 upon his flesh, likewise accounted for the serupidou's 
 exclusion of Septhnus fi-om his dressing-room when- 
 ever he was performing his toilet: nor less was it 
 easy to imagine that ho would carefully abstain 
 from tho excitement of liquor, the infiuerce of 
 
 • Trava'ix Forces— UteraMy "compulsory hlcur " 
 but which may bo translated as "tho galleys." 
 
 which was but too well calculated to produce those 
 fits of somnambulism in some unlucky moment of 
 which a horrible exposure might take place. As 
 for the coarseness of his hands, that was accounted 
 for by ten years of hard labour at the galleys ; whLlo 
 the habitual restlessness of his looks, and the ner- 
 vousness of his manner when doors opened suddenly 
 or the visit of a stranger was announced, were but 
 natural enough on the part of one whose life \7a3 
 passed in the constant apprehension of detection and 
 exposure. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 THE FIRST OP NOTEJIBEE. 
 
 "When I left the Willow House it wanted but i, 
 very few days to the first of November — the 
 memorable one on which I was either to see Eustaca 
 Quentin or to receive a letter from him. I returned 
 to the same lodging which I had occupied with my 
 two sisters at the house of the widow woman pre- 
 vious to my entrance into the service of the self- 
 styled Count and Countess de MontviUe ; and I took 
 little Jane from Mr. Collins to be my companion io 
 long as I might remain there. 
 
 Throughout all those chapters which have inter- 
 vened since the one which clu"onicle?i my interview 
 with Eustace Quentin, when he declared his affec- 
 tion for me, I have avoided as much as possible 
 breaking the thi'cad of my narrative to state how 
 often his imago rose up into my mind, and with 
 what feelings of painful pleasure and fearful hope I 
 was wont to look forward to this first of November 
 v/hich was now at hand. But I am neither so 
 weak-minded in one sense nor do I profess to be 
 so strong-minded in another, as to pretend that 1 
 did not often and often fall into a reverie by day 
 and lay awake by night, wondering what the me- 
 morable first of November would bring forth. I 
 have already frankly avowed to tho reader that I 
 loved Eustace Quentin: I may add that I loved 
 him tenderly — devotedly. Indeed, I felt that this 
 love of mine was so interwoven as it were with the 
 very fibres of my existence, that aU my hopes of 
 happiness in this world depended upon the result. 
 
 The reader will recollect that, when at Captain 
 Calder's, I had ascertained that tho Hon. Mr. 
 Quentin's regiment had been ordered to the North 
 of Lreland before tho occurrence of those incidents 
 in Derbyshire which had for the time tcndod so 
 materially to compromise my reputation in respect 
 to Sir Aubrey Clavering. On several occasions sine.) 
 that period I had obtained a peep at an Army List, 
 both at the circulating library at Derby and at that 
 of Ashford, in order to ascertain whether Ids regi- 
 ment was still quartered in tho same place ; and I 
 had found that it w:i3. I had also perceived that ho 
 continued tj belong to it, his name tiguriug amongst 
 tho list of Lieutenants. M'^ill the reader blame mu 
 for these little instances of curiosity ? I tliuik not. 
 They were the cvidonco of a love which I havo not 
 hesitated to avow, and of which I could not be 
 ashamed, — a love, too, which I havo already said 
 must exercise a moat material iutlucnce upnn tlii* 
 happiness or misery of the remainder of my life. 
 
 Love is the rose of all the flowers of the soul- 
 but it is a rose with thorns ! It has its poignant
 
 280 
 
 MAKY TRICE ; OR, THK IIEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 fuars as well as its exultant Lopen : it lias its pain 
 iu well as its pknsiire. And so it was with me. 
 jN'ot that I oxperiencod the slighlcst uppreheusion 
 of Eustace Quentin's fidelity : I was convinced that 
 he would continuo to love mc, if ho bcHeved me 
 worthy ot his affection. Ah ! but there cxbted the 
 doubt; and in that doubt were centred the appre- 
 hensions, the ioars, and the pains of my love ! What 
 if the breath of scandal had wafted even to the 
 North of Ireland the talc of my supposed impro- 
 priety with Sir Aubrey Clavormg ? — what if Lady 
 Harlcsdon horsolf, v,-hen jealous and bitter against 
 me, had written the calumny to her cousin (though 
 unconscious of my engagement with him) and had 
 siuce neglected to contradict it? — or what if Sir 
 Aubrey Clavcring himself, through vindictive rage 
 against me, had contrived that the atrocious mis- 
 representations should become known to his rival in 
 my heart's affections ? This was the fear that had 
 haunted me, and had wrung many bitter sighs from 
 my heart and many scalding tears from my eyes. 
 And if the fii'st of November should pass without 
 cither the appearance of Eustace Qucutin at Ash- 
 ford or the receipt of a letter from him, would not 
 that fear bo terribly confirmed ? 
 
 But then, on the other hand, if such were the 
 case, would it not be my duty, in order to clear up 
 my own character, to write to Eustace explaining 
 everything, and even referring him to Lady Harles- 
 don for the ratification of my talc ? Ah ! but in 
 doing this, would it not be inevitably necessary to 
 reveal to him the circumstances of Lady Harlesdon's 
 own dishonour ? Yes : for otherwise how could I 
 prove that the drcssing-up of the Gipsy Queen in 
 the garments of Sir Aubrey Clavcring was a vile 
 stratagem, concocted by Lord Ilarlesdon iu order to 
 pluuge a dagger into his wife's heart P In short, I 
 could not clear up my own character to Eustace, 
 without exposing to him his cousin Lady llarlcsdon's 
 frailty. And would I do this ? Alas 1 alas ! I 
 wrung my hands bitterly at the bare thought of 
 being plunged into such a fearful dilemma. 
 
 Before I resume the thread of my narrative I 
 must state that durmg the past few months I had 
 received two letters from Mrs. Calder, dated from 
 the South of Franco, and informing me that her 
 son Mr. Edward's he.dth was somewhat improving ; 
 but that he still retained too vivid an impression of 
 that fatal affection which he had conceived for me, 
 to be enabled to shake off the melancholy that hung 
 upon liis soul ; and Mrs. Calder hinted as delicately 
 as possible that if it should turn out that my own 
 hopes relative to Eustace Quentin were disappointed, 
 both herself and the Captain would be rejoiced to 
 Welcome me as a daughter-in-law. I'roui Mrs. 
 Messiter I had likewise received two or throe letters 
 while I was at the Willow Ilouse. Ilor husband 
 was doing a good busmcss again, but was gradually 
 becoming more and more a victim to habits of in- 
 temperance ; so that the poor woman was still far 
 from happy. Mr. Smithsou, it appeared, was still 
 carrying on the game of competition with unmiti- 
 gated spu-it, and was underselling every grocer in 
 the town, lie had oven hoisted a ilag on the top 
 of his house to attract notice to his " Emporium," 
 by which magnificent name he had dubbed his 
 oslablishment. It likewise appeared that every 
 Saturday evening ho had a band of music, consisting 
 of a drum, a fiddle, and a French horn— the man 
 
 with the drum also playing the mouth-organ or 
 pandeau-pipes — stationed in front of his shop as au 
 additional incentive for pubUc patronage. But 
 even this was not all: for he occasionally hii-ed a 
 troop of conjurors to display their antics opposite 
 his window, so that a crowd might be conorefated 
 and the opportunity afforded for showering little 
 hand-bills amongst them, calling attention to the 
 cheapness of his articles. In short, Mr. Smithson 
 was becoming a public nuisance in Snargate Street, 
 and was even tlu'catened with an indictment by the 
 authorities: but this storm he cunningly mana'^ed 
 to avert by making a donation of five guineas to 
 the Sunday Morning New Light and Evangelical 
 Tract Distribution Society — by which admirable 
 stroke of policy he got the parish clergyman, 
 the churchwardens, and the overseers on his 
 side ; so that the flag continued to wave above the 
 house, the band to play on Saturday night, and even 
 the mountebanks to perform their antics without 
 farther thi'cats of molestation. 
 
 I will now resume the thread of my narrative. 
 The first of November dawned ; and instead of being 
 a dull, misty, cold day, as is usual at that season of 
 the year, the weather was fine, clear, and bright ; 
 so that I could not help thinking that the very 
 heaven itself gave me an augury of happiness. I 
 felt cheerful, and less a prey to suspense than I had 
 anticipated. A secret voice seemed to be whisper- 
 ing within my soul that my destiny was not to be 
 altogether one of sorrow and trouble ; but that it 
 would be blessed by some bright days. I could not 
 help thinking of the Gipsy Queen's prophecies when 
 exercising her bkUl in palmistry upon me; and I 
 more than over wondered how she could possibly 
 have obtauied the knowledge that the month of 
 November was to exercise so important an influence 
 over my futm'c happiness or misery. However, not 
 to weary the reader with too long a record of my 
 meditations or reflections, I •ndll proceed to state 
 that a little before nine o'clock in the morning — 
 when I knew the letters would be sorted at the post- 
 ofllce — I bent my way thither, leaving my sister 
 Jane in the care of the woman of the house. While 
 proceeding along the street I felt my heart begin- 
 ning to palpitate more and more violently : and as 
 I thought of the probability that instead of receiv- 
 ing a letter I might within a few minutes meet 
 Eusl.ice Quentin himself, such a gush of ineffable 
 emotions seemed to swell up into my very throat that 
 I was compelled to pause for a moment and affect 
 to be looking at a print in a picture-shop to avoid 
 attracting the notice of the passers-by. Then, con- 
 tinuing my way, I arrived iu a few minutes within 
 sight of the post-office : but the quick glance which 
 I instantaneously threw in that direction, was ac- 
 com))nnicd by a sudden feeling of dis.appointment ; 
 for Eustace Quentin was not waiting in the street to 
 receive me ! 
 
 Ah ! judgmg by my own sentiments, I thought to 
 mvself that if ho had come to see me, he would Lave 
 been there at the very earliest hour: and so I 
 already felt a.<;sured that ho would not come at all. 
 But then, might there not be a letter ? I retloubled 
 my epeetl— a couple of minutes brought me to the 
 shop wlicre the post-office was kept — and .as I 
 opened the door to enter, an ejaculation of joy fell 
 upon my ears. Eust:\ce Qucntiu was waiting inside 
 to meet mc !
 
 W/KY I'KIC'E ; OK, THE JiEMOIKS OF A SCKYANT-MaID. 
 
 ^81 
 
 For a moment a sort of dizziness cainc over me, 
 and my Load swam round. But wlicn I felt my 
 hand eagerly caiiglit iu his own and warmly pressed, 
 I instantaneously recovered my presence of mlud; 
 and meeting his look"?, expressed by my own the 
 ineflablc delight ^^■llich I experienced at thus en- 
 countering him. lie led me out of the shop, and 
 making me take his arm, conducted me hurriedly 
 along the street that was nearest to the open coun- 
 try, saying a thousand tender and affect ionato 
 things as wo proceeded — but still so far subduing 
 any outward manifestation of his feelings as to avoid 
 attracting unpleasant observation. 
 
 A few minutes brought us to the extremity of the 
 town; and striking into a lane which diverged from 
 the main road, Eustace then gave free vent to his 
 emotions of pleasure at this meeting. 
 
 "Dearest, dearest Mary !" he exclaimed, gazing 
 affect ionately upon me, " what a monient of happi- 
 ness is this ! Oh, 1 knew you would bo there — I 
 KO. 36 
 
 know that you would eoino to keep the appoint- 
 ment! For, on arriving at Ashford last evening. I 
 could not resist making some little private inquiries 
 concerning you ; and I learnt that j-ou were iu the 
 town. But did you think I should be hero to- 
 day P" 
 
 "I hoped so," was the answer which I murmur- 
 ingly gave; and tho tears of joy were trickling 
 down my checks. 
 
 Eustace threw Ins arms around my neck, and 
 straining me to his breast, ki-;sed me tenderly. Tor 
 some minutes wo had not words to give utterance 
 to the joy that filled our hearts, but walked slowly 
 along, no longer arm-in-arm, but hanJ-in-hand, 
 gazing fondly upon each other. Eustace showed 
 by his looks that ho considered mo to be much 
 improved iu appearance; while I on my part felt 
 precisely the same with regard to himself. A year 
 had given him a moro manly aspect. lie was 
 di'csscd iu plain clothos ; and mcthought that never
 
 2P2 
 
 MARV price; ok, txie mf,moii« of a servant- maid. 
 
 had 1 seen so elegant a youn<^ gcutlcinan. ifo wa3 
 characterized by all tlio loftiness of high birth 
 without any of its insolent hauteur : his manners 
 were poUshed to the most exquisite refinement, 
 without the slightest tinge of affectation; and he 
 had an air of the most perfect gentility, without 
 the faintest perceptible shade of dandyism. I am 
 not ashamed to say that altogether he was a bemg 
 in every way qualified to inspire love and esteem, 
 and retain possession of the heart which he had 
 captivated. 
 
 i3ut while I was still gazing upon him — while 
 our eyes, indeed, mutually poured forth the warm 
 transfusion of our blending spirits in the siucercst, 
 the purest,, and the holiest ailbctiou — I observed a 
 shaile gradually come over liis classically hantlsome 
 countenance; and at the same time a sigh, which 
 he vainly endeavoured to keep back, reached my 
 'ears. Then cUd I indeed feel that the rose of love 
 was not without its thorns ! 
 
 " My beloved Mary," he said, instantaneously 
 perceiving that I had observed this darklmg mourn- 
 fidness which had stolen upon him, " let me at once 
 assure you of my constant fidelity —my deep un- 
 alterable attachment towards you. Never, never, 
 dear girl, from the first moment that I opened my 
 heart to you in Derbyshire, have I repented of the 
 step which I then took. No — the thought that I 
 love you, and am beloved by you in return, has 
 ever been the sweetest wish my soul has harboured; 
 and your beautifid imago has never been absent 
 from my mind. I ^\iU not ask, iMary, whether you 
 have experienced reciprocal feelings: I read the 
 bhssful answer in your looks. Ah ! my adored 
 girl, how often and often have 1 taken up my pen 
 and covered whole sheets of papev with the out- 
 pourings of my affection. Ou those occasions I 
 have felt that it was an absolute necessity thus to 
 give vent to the ineffable emotions that were swell- 
 ing in my soul; and I wrote just as 1 would have 
 spoken to you, had you been near at the time. 
 But then I recollected your express wish that 
 there should be no correspondence of any kind 
 between us ; and though tempted almost beyond 
 the power of resistance to seal up the letters which 
 I had thus written and take them with my own 
 hand to the post, yet I invariably triumphed over 
 these fervid longings to break the s[)ell of sdeuce 
 and communicate with you. Yes, 1 restrained my- 
 self, because you had willed that 1 should do so 1 
 BeUeve me therefore, Mary, that by thus obe\-ing 
 you, I afforded a far greater proof of the devoted- 
 ness of my affection than if 1 had violated our com- 
 pact and transmitted those letters." 
 
 I pressed my lover's hand m acknowledgment of 
 gratitude and tenderness for all that he said, — my 
 heart being too full to allow me to give utterance to 
 my feeUngs in words. 
 
 " You may conceive, dear Mary," he continued, 
 " the admu'ation with which 1 read in the news- 
 papers of your heroic conduct at Derby. Oh, how 1 
 then longed to hasten to see you — to clasp you in 
 my arms — to tell you all I thought — and toj)roclaim 
 how undying, how illimitable was my love ! But 
 no ; I dared not violate the solemn agreement en- 
 tered into between us. Yet, from a distance, 
 Mary, I beheld you — not with my outward vision it 
 is true— but with my mental sight I beheld you, I 
 say, in all the glory of that heroisui which so nobly 
 
 prompted you to rise from a bed of sickness and re- 
 pair to a tribunal of justice to sa\e the life of a 
 fellow-creature. And then I thought, not only what 
 an admirable disposition was tout's and what an 
 exalted nature you possessed, but likewise how 
 happy I ought to be in owning your love. A 
 secret enemy has endeavoured to prejudice me 
 against you — anonymous letters have reached me, 
 filled with scandal, and designed with the base at- 
 tempt to alienate my affections from you. But no- 
 thing of all that had the least weight with me ; and 
 as for the \-ile calumniatory epistles, I indignantly 
 tore them into pieces and trampled them under foot. 
 For I knew, Mary, that you were virtue personified — 
 that you were pm-e and spotless as the innocent child 
 — and that it was the very rectitude of your prin- 
 ciples and the excellence of your conduct that excited 
 those enmities. And for your satisfaction, dearest 
 Mary," continued Eustace, in the softest and most 
 endearing tones, " let me add that from the lips of 
 Lady Uarlesdon, the day before yesterday in London, 
 I heard enough to convince me that my confidence 
 in you was not misplaced, but that you are indeed 
 all I beUeved you to be !'' 
 
 " Does her ladyship know," I inquired, tremu- 
 lously, " anythmg of all that has passed between 
 us P" 
 
 '• No," rephed Eustace : "for until I had seen you 
 this day I regarded our love, our compact, and our 
 engagement, as a secret existing only between our- 
 selves. Besides, though well assured of your 
 fidelity towards one who loves you so devotedly, yet 
 I wished to receive from your lips the bUssful avowal 
 that your heart is no way changed towards me." 
 
 " Oh ! that were impossible ! ' I answered with 
 effusion: and again did Eustace fling his arms 
 aroimd my neck and lavish the teuderest caresses 
 upon me. 
 
 " Now, dearest Mary," he continued, as we re- 
 sumed our walk hand-Ln-hand down the lane — and 
 once more did I observe the shade come back upon 
 his countenance, — " I must explain to you exactly 
 how I a)i} situated — next what my hopes and wishes 
 are — and then I must await the decision from your 
 lips. In the first place I must remind you that I 
 am but a second son, and not the heir cither to the 
 entailed estates or the title of my father Lord Wil- 
 berton. An uncle, who died some years ago, left 
 me a fortune of sixty thousand pounds, to wliicli I 
 had until lately believed myself entitled on attaining 
 my majority ; and therefore it had been my fond 
 hope that this day, on which I number my twenty- 
 first year, would have seen me independent — yes, 
 and rich also : in which case it would have been my 
 pride and my happiness to lay that fortune at your 
 ioet. But, alas, dear Mary, it now appears that by 
 a clause inserted in tliat uncle's w ill, I am not to re- 
 ceive my fortime uutil the day of my mai-riage; and 
 then only, provided that such marriage be with the 
 consent of my parents." 
 
 Quentin's voice had gradually grown mom'nful as 
 he went ou speaking ; but it sank down into com- 
 plete despondency as he gave utterance to those last 
 words. 
 
 " Of this clause in my late miele's will, I was not 
 aware," ho continued, "until about a month ago — 
 when I received a letter from my father Lord \Vil- 
 berton, reminding me that I was approaching my 
 majority, and du'octing my attention to that special
 
 MA'.VY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 283 
 
 proviso relative to my fortune, and with wHcli he 
 evidently fancied that I was already acquainted. 
 Dear Mary, I w&a at first thunderstruck by the 
 intelligence; and then I burst into tears in the 
 solitude of my chamber. Yes — I wept over my 
 father's letter ; for I understood its meaning but too 
 well. That same anonymous coward who had 
 scribbled his foul and wi-etched libels relative to 
 yourself, had evidently been practising the same 
 com-so towards my sire and making hiin acquaiuted 
 ^vith the affection that I entertained for you. My first 
 impulse was to hurry off and see my father ; but I 
 could not at once obtain leave of absence from the 
 Colonel of my regiment. Ten days elapsed ere I was 
 enabled to take my departure; then I hastened to 
 England, and sped up to London. But my father, 
 and mother, and elder brother had just set off for the 
 family seat in Yorkshire. Thither I proceeded ; and 
 in a private interview with my father, frankly 
 avowed that my whole life's happinc&s was centred 
 in the love which I entertained, sweet Mary, for 
 you. Now, be not offended at what I am com- 
 pelled to state: for you know how deeply -rooted 
 certain, prejudices are in the minds of aristocratic 
 personages." 
 
 " I understand you, dear Eustace," was my an- 
 swer, given with more firmness and calmness than I 
 had expected to be able to assume. "Lord Wilber- 
 ton wiU not hear of yom* alliance mth a poor hum- 
 ble gii'l like me ; and this I have foreseen from the 
 very first. Indeed, it would have been utter mad- 
 ness to expect the contrary. And now, Eustace, 
 Eay not another Word upon the subject : but lot us 
 part and for ever !" 
 
 "O Mary, this from your hps!" he exclaimed 
 with passionate vehemence. " No, no — it is impos- 
 sible ! It would drive me mad to see all hope anni- 
 hilated. Beheve me, sweet girl, I exist only for you. 
 But as you now comprehend my exact position — as 
 you see in me nothing but a poor lieutenant in the 
 army, altogether dependent upon a stern and severe 
 father — you must listen to what I have to propose. 
 Mary, if I possess you, the loss of my fortune is 
 nothing. Indeed, I shall be proud and happy to 
 make the sacrifice of money to that fond and holy 
 love with which j-ou have insphed me. Not for an 
 instant will I deceive you in anything ; and there- 
 fore in asking you to become my wife, it is my duty 
 to explain that we shall have nothing but my pay 
 to subsist upon : for Lord Wilberton will even with- 
 draw the allowance which he has hitherto made me. 
 Yet there ai-e oflicers in the army who have nothing 
 beyond their pay, and who are married " 
 
 " Yes — it may be so," I answered : " but this 
 shall not bo your case. I know full well that you 
 have been accustomed to every comfort and luxury 
 — that you have your horses and j'om' domestics — 
 that your regiment is an expensive one — and that 
 it is almost au absolute necessity for you to keep up 
 certain appearances. Now, Eustace— though hea- 
 ven forbid that I should measure love by gold, or 
 believe that the sincerity and purity of the former 
 can be enhanced or depreciated by the amoimt which 
 one possesses of the latter, — yet not for worlds woiUd 
 I permit you, on account of this love of oui-'s, to 
 sink down into comparative poverty. But tell mo, 
 Eustace — was your sui-mise correct that anonymous 
 letters had been sent to your father ?" 
 
 " It was so," rephcd Mr. Quentin : " and I have 
 
 no doubt that the villain Aubrey Clavering is the 
 author of those scandalous epistles wliich were sent, 
 in the most fiendish spirit of mischief, alike to me 
 and my parents. But ere I implore you to alter 
 yom' decision, my dearest Mary," he continued in 
 a voice fuU of emotion and grief, " let me tell you 
 what transphed after my interview with my father. 
 I did not leave him in anger. I mean that I would 
 not show resentment on my side — but I gave him 
 the solemn and sacred assurance that never, never, 
 woiild I conduct to the altar any other bride than 
 you, my beloved Mary ! I therefore made him 
 understand that if in a too scrupulous feeling, i/ou 
 should refuse to become my wife under these cu'- 
 cumstances, that my utter unhappiness would be 
 sealed, and that my own parents would be the 
 authoi's thereof! My father was implacable. I 
 then sought an interview with my mother ; and she 
 wept at the words in which I addressed her. To' 
 be candid with you, Mary, she advised me to take 
 no precipitate step — but to wait awhile ; and if at 
 the expiration of two or three years I still enter- 
 tained the same sentiments ^vith regard to you, sho 
 would then use her mfluence with Lord Wilberton 
 to move him in our behalf. Nothing more than 
 this could I obtain from my mother ; and I regret 
 to say that as for hoping to find an advocate or a 
 champion in my brother Ferdinand, that idea were 
 useless ! In the deepest affliction did I leave Wil- 
 berton Hall, whence I repaired to London. There, 
 as I have already told you, I saw Lady Harlesdon. 
 She knows not of ovu- engagement : she suspects 
 not how far matters have progressed between us : 
 but she has all along fancied that we were not; 
 indifferent to each other. She told me that she 
 had seen you a few days ago at Canterbury; and 
 with a sort of enthusiasm in yom* favoiu", sho 
 hastened to deplore that the breath of calumny 
 should ever have been raised against a being so 
 pure and so spotless as yourself. To hear her thus 
 speak was baln\ to my wounded heart ; and I must 
 have answered with a somewhat unguarded fervour, 
 for she gazed upon me with an earnestness that 
 was significant enough. Some one however came 
 in at the moment ; and we had no farther oppor- 
 tunity to converse relative to you. Yesterday I 
 travelled down to Ashford, where I arrived last 
 evening and took up my quarters at the hotel. 
 Ah! dearest Mary, during the whole of the past 
 night I scarcely closed my eyes ! I was tossed as 
 it were upon a troubled sea of mingled hopes and 
 fears — anticipations of pain and pleasure. I re- 
 solved to tell you everything. Not for worlds would 
 I deceive you, even in a single detail relative to my 
 exact position. And now once more, my dearest 
 Mary, let me beseech you to yield to my prayer ; 
 and if your lips breathe an afifirmative, it will bo 
 the happiest moment of my life. Oh ! perish all 
 the world's honom-s and riches, rather than that 
 such a love as om-'s should be doomed to disap- 
 pointment or despair ! For my part, dear Mary, I 
 would sooner inhabit the humblest cottage w ith you 
 as my bride, than become the tenant of a palaco 
 without you." 
 
 There was a mingled vehemence and earnestness 
 in the language of Eustace Quentin which iimde a 
 deep impression upon my heart. Deep down into 
 my soul did his words sink, exciting emotions of 
 tenderness, and gratitude, and affectionate endeai--
 
 234 
 
 MAnv ri;icE ; on, iue .memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 mcut which it were impossible to doscribo. For a 
 few moments, too, did I feel my courage giving 
 way — my fortitude deserting me — my resolves melt- 
 ing like the snow when the sun is up. Happiness 
 was within my rc.ieh — the hope of many long 
 months eould now be fulfdled if I said but the 
 word ! And that word rose up from my heart — it 
 came to the very tip of my tongue — it wavered 
 upon my lips — it was nearly spoken : and yet I 
 did not speak it ! All in an instant a sense of duty 
 sprang up within me ; and I felt that it would be 
 T\"ron<r to allow my selfishness to endanger the hap- 
 piness and ruin the prospects of that bright and 
 beautiful youth who was ready to Eacrificc every- 
 thing for me. Ilic noblest return I could poasibly 
 make for such euthusiastic love was to refuse to 
 become the means of precipitating him into poverty, 
 and perhaps ruin. Besides, the idea of entering 
 into a family every member of which, save one, 
 would spurn and scorn me — and that one would 
 likewise be cast off — ■ — no, no — I could not consent 
 to it! 
 
 " My dear Eustace," I said, speaking with the 
 calm firmness of resuscitated fortitude, " you listened 
 to my counsel when I proposed last year that a cer- 
 tain agreement should be entered into ; and I now 
 more than ever rejoice at the wisdom of that pro- 
 ceeding. But will you be guided by me again ? We 
 are yet young — very young; and circumstances may 
 take a turn in our favour. Let us, then, follow 
 Lady "VTilbcrtou's advice. If two or tlu'ee years 
 hence you still entertain the same feelings towards 
 
 me as I am sure j"ou will and j*ou may rely 
 
 that those feelings will be reciprocated by me we 
 
 may yet hofie for happiness. Lady "Wilbcrton will 
 espouse your cause ; and perhaps your lather will 
 relent. Do, do, dear Eustace, agree to this arrange- 
 ment !" 
 
 "0 Mary, it is next to madness to think of it!" 
 he exclaimed passionately. " Did you not promise 
 me that if on the attainment of my majority we 
 both experienced an unaltered love, you would be- 
 come mine ?" 
 
 "Yes — it is true, Eustace," I answered: "but I 
 could not then foresee that your prospects would 
 change and that poverty would await you. O be- 
 lieve me, not for an instant was I ever dazzled by 
 the hope of becoming rich through my alliance with 
 you. jN'o, no — would to heaven that I had a fortime 
 to bestow upon you — or that you never had one 
 to lose ! Would to heaven," I repeated vehemently, 
 " that there were anything bordering upon an 
 equality in our conditions ! But it is not so : and it 
 woidd cut me to the quick to behold you doomed to 
 succumb to altered cu'cumstancx?s. Instead of our 
 marriage being a somxe of happiness to me, every 
 privation you might have to undergo and every self- 
 denial of once-accustomed luxuries on your part, 
 would be the bitterest of reproaches that I should 
 have to make to myself. Eustace, I love you — I 
 
 adore you— I would lay down my hfe for you 
 
 heaven knows," I cried, the tears raining upon my 
 checks, " I woidd do anything to contribute to your 
 happiness — but nothijig, nothing to endanger it ! " 
 
 I clung to him, weeping bitterly — but gazing 
 earnestly up through the dimness of my I ears into 
 his countenance ; and straining me to his breast, he 
 kissed away those tears, saying everything that was 
 fond, and kind, and tender. 
 
 '• Beloved Mary," he exclaimed, " even while this 
 decision on your part pierces me to the very sou', 
 yet it i.3 impossible for me to do otherwise than ad- 
 mire the purity of your motives the excellence of 
 your heart ! Can you wonder, tl:en, that knowing 
 what a treasiu-e you are. I should long to make you 
 mine ? Oh ! dearest girl, your courage and your 
 generosity teach me the sublimest of lessons. 2^'ever, 
 never can I love you less than I do at this mrimenf ; 
 and the love which I now feel fur you is illimitablo 
 beyond the power of language to describe !" 
 
 '■' And you will do all I ask you, Eustace ?" said I, 
 pressing his hand to my hps. 
 
 " It vrere a sin not to do so !" he replied. " Bo 
 it, then, as you say ! But only on one condition," 
 he immediately added; '•'which is, that henceforth 
 there shall be no silence between us — I mean that 
 we shall correspond and write to each other often, 
 very often I" 
 
 I reflected for a few moments, during which I 
 perceived that Eustace was actually trembling with 
 the nervousness of suspense. 
 
 " Yes," said I : " we will correspond." 
 
 '•'Thanks — a thousand thanks!" he exclaimed 
 cxultingly: "this is at least a consolation. But, 
 dearest Mary, j-ou must not think of returning to 
 that laborious mode of life which you have hitherto 
 pursued. Y'ou are my o^^■n affianced bi-idc — and 
 j-ou wili not refuse to receive from my hands that 
 which will enable yo'.i to live in comfort and hap- 
 piness until the joyfid day shall arrive when I may 
 lead you to the altar." 
 
 "No, dear Eustace," I answered; "not even at 
 your hand could I eat the bread of idleness. De- 
 votedly, fondly as I love you, I should nevertheless 
 feel humiliated at being so placed. I -will not 
 woimd your generous heart by even siu'mismg for 
 an instant that your pride recoils from the idea of 
 my returning to those occupations wliich have 
 hitherto given me my bread; because you, who 
 have loved the humble servant-maid, Mdl not tpm-u 
 or scorn her because, in the honest spirit of iude- 
 pendcncc, she persists in remaining as such until the 
 happy day when you can raise her to a higher 
 sphere. Do not say another word upon that sub- 
 ject." 
 
 Eustace made no immediate reply; but once 
 more did he embrace me fondly. AVc coutiuued to 
 walk together for another hour, conversing upon 
 the incidents of the past ; and I gave him a minutely 
 detailed aecoimt of everj-thing that had occurred to 
 mo since last we met — not forgetting the adventure 
 in St. Giles's. Eustace was much struck by the 
 anecdote of the Gipsy Queen's experiment iu pal- 
 mistry and her prophecies ; and he was as profoundly 
 puzzled as myself to conjecture how she had pos- 
 sibly obtained her information relative to this 
 Kovembcr appointment which was now being kept. 
 For an hour, I say, did Eustace and I walk together 
 iu the lane; and at length I ventured to suggest 
 that it would be prudent for us to separate. 
 
 " Dear ^lary," he said, " I will not ask you to 
 meet me again ere I leave Ashford, much as I should 
 rejoice at the prospect of such happiness ; because I 
 know that you will immctliately tremble lest I 
 should endeavour to dissuade j-ou from the under- 
 stan(hng now settled between us. You have given 
 me proofs of the sublimest fortitude; and I must 
 not show myself insensible of such on example.
 
 siahy riucE: on. the jieiioies of a SEnvA:NT-::AiD. 
 
 Within an Lour, therefore, after I bid you farewell, 
 shall I leave the town. But in a few clays I shall 
 write to you.; and most anxious shall I be to receive 
 a letter in reply. Eemcmbcr your promise, my 
 sweet girl, that we are to correspond." 
 
 " Need I say, dear Eustace, that your letters will 
 bo the greatest consolations and the dearest objects 
 that I can possibly treasure up f" 
 
 ^\'e then cinbra<.-ed — for the partuig moment had 
 now come. lie held me in his arms with an almost 
 frenzied violence : he would not let mc leave him. 
 For some moments I chmg to him — for I also felt 
 that it vras scarcely possible to part. Again and 
 again did be liiss me; and I returned those fond 
 caresses. Then we parted — and I hurried away 
 with a sensation as if the very chords that bound 
 me to existence were being severed and that the 
 slightest touch woidd disimite them altogether. 
 
 CnAPTEll LIX. 
 
 MY SIXTH PLACE. 
 
 About a week after my meeting with Eustace 
 Quentin, I received an intimation from the landlady 
 of the Saracen's Head Hotel that a family had just 
 arrived at her establishmeut who were in want of a 
 nursemaid. I accordingly rcpau'ed to the hotel, and 
 was at once conducted into a room where a gentle- 
 man and three ladies were seated. A little boy 
 about sis years old and a little girl a couple of 
 years younger, were playing about on the sofa. 
 The gentleman appeared to be some three or four 
 years over fifty : he was very stout, as well as short 
 and thickset. His look was grave and reflective, 
 sometimes for a moment assuming a stern expression 
 as if he were iuvv-ardly gnuxibling to himself. He 
 was (h-essod in a suit of black, all his clothes hang- 
 ing rather loosely on him, as if he liked to feel com- 
 fortable in them. A massive watch-chain witli an 
 immense number of seals, depended from his fob ; 
 and he wore a great seal-ring on one of his 
 fingers. 
 
 One of the ladies was his wife — the other two 
 were his daughters: but the first -mentioned was a 
 second wife, and the two little children playmg 
 about were the offspring of this marriage. I may 
 as well at once mention that the name of the family 
 was Bull. Mrs. Bull was about thirty years of age, 
 and evidently a frivolous lady, giving herself very 
 great airs — fidl of the most abominable affectations 
 of fineness — and yet looking insignificant though 
 apparelled in a dress of the richest materials. It 
 was quite clear that she considered herself to bo 
 infinitely superior to her husband, and likewiso to 
 her two step-daughters. She was by no means 
 good-looking; but had a red nose, an im wholesome 
 complexion, a somewhat pimply face, and eyes of a 
 greenish colour with a sly expression. She was 
 thin — not very tall — and though far from graceful, 
 yet not altogether unladylike in her figm'e. Her 
 two step-daughters were respectively about twenty- 
 jSve and twenty-tlu'ce — tolerably good-looking, and 
 very like each other, so that it was easy at once to 
 perceive that they were sisters. They had dnrk 
 brown hair showering in ringlets down upon their 
 shoulders — small noses, the least thing turned up, 
 or what the French call retrousse — rosy checks, red 
 
 lips, and very fine teeth. They were dressed in the 
 same costly style as then' mother-in-law, and were if 
 possible more fidly steeped in abominable affectatior.s 
 than herself. But then thci'e was something pc,i- 
 tively vulgar in the affectations of the young ladies, 
 v\hcreas this was not the case with Jlrs. Bull. 
 With regard to the toilet of the two sisters, it might 
 bo said that they were elaborately rather than 
 handsomely dressed, everything about them indi- 
 cating over-care. They experienced, and indeed 
 studiously showed, a supreme disdain for their 
 mother-in-law, and were very far from being dutiful 
 to then- father : so that I had not been a quarter of 
 an hoiu' in their presence, before it struck me that 
 altogether this must be a very curious family indeed 
 if it were a happy one, with so many heterogeneous 
 elements in the composition of ita members. 
 
 As I dislike interrupting the thread of my narra- 
 tive for the pm'pose of introducing descriptive mat- 
 ter, I may as well record in this place a few more 
 particulars relative to Mr. Bull and his family; 
 though what I am about to state I did not of courso 
 learn imtU a later period. Mr. Bidl was a man v.ho 
 had risen from nothing. He had commenced the 
 world as an errand-boy in a warehouse ; and being 
 of a saving, cautious, and shrewd disposition, had 
 gradually worked his way up till he was enabled to 
 open a little shop of his own. Constantly persever- 
 ing — losing no opportunity of turning a penny — 
 ever intent upon saving and amassing money — he in 
 due com'se became a warehouseman himself. His 
 first wife was a worthy butcher's daughter, and pre- 
 sented him ^vith two children. She died early ; and 
 as time rolled on, no one ever expected that Mr. 
 Bidl would embark in a second matrimonial venture. 
 It however happened that his solicitor's daughter, 
 a lady most likely as keen and cunnmg as her father, 
 succeeded in captivating Mr. Bull; and as all solici- 
 tors are gentlemen by Act of Parliament, then- 
 daughters are by the reflection of rank " ladies" 
 beyond dispute. Now Mr. Bull, havmg grown rich, 
 thought it a very fine tiling to marry a lady, parti- 
 cularly as her "pa" was accustomed to give parties 
 at which two or thi'ce lords and half-a-dozen baro- 
 nets were paraded off as the "lions" of the evenuig, 
 their wives no doubt shining with the lustre of 
 "lionesses." It is true that these lords were all em- 
 barrassed and the baronets all insolvent, and there- 
 fore so much at the mercy of Mr. Serewby the attor- 
 ney as to be compelled, whether they woidd or not, 
 to embellish his parties with their presence. Now 
 Mr. Bull, though shrewd and cautious enough ia 
 making money, resembled the generality of London 
 citizens— that is to say, next to Mammon worship- 
 pmg nothuig so much as a Lord. It therefore oc- 
 ciu-red to 'Mi: Bidl that if he married Miss Serewby 
 the solicitor's daughter, ho should at onto get into 
 the very best socio (y. The marriage accordingly 
 took place, to the iulinite disgust of Miss Elizabeth 
 and Miss Lydia Bull, as well as to the amazement 
 of all the friends and acquaintances of the entire 
 Bull family. Mrs. Bull soon showed her airs, al- 
 ways takuig an opportunity to make Mr. Bull un- 
 derstand that any position which he had acquired in 
 "genteel sociely" was altogether oving to her. At 
 first the two Miss Bulls, being girls in their teens at 
 the time, were compelled to bo submissive to tlicir 
 mother-in-law ; but aa they grew older they exhi- 
 bited an Jncreasirg impatience of tuch restraint
 
 286 
 
 MART PRICE ; OR, THF- ^rEMOIRS OV A BERVA\T-MAU>. 
 
 and strongly resented the airs wliicli fahe gave her- 
 self on accoiint of her superior rank in society. 
 Perpetual quarrels were taking place between the 
 niothcr-in-law on one side and the step-daughters 
 on the other ; so that poor Mr. Bull's temper had 
 become soured, and his feelings expressed them- 
 Bclves in constant muttering?, grumblings, and 
 fault-findings. Altogether it was a very curious 
 family indeed. I should add that Mr. Bull had re- 
 tired from business, but that the family-dwelling 
 continued to be in the City; for Mr. Bull was a 
 member of the Common Council and had the cer- 
 tainty of receiving the alderman; j gown of his ward 
 the moment the present possef -or (who was para- 
 lytic) should be gathered to his fathers. 
 
 But to return to my introdi letory interview with 
 this amiable family. On entc) ing the room at the 
 hotel where they were seated, [ obsci-red that Mrs. 
 Bull at once assumed a very ily andkn(,\\iug air; 
 while the two young latlies tosa d their head^, glanced 
 contemptuously at their mot.ier-iu-law, and then 
 whispered to each other evidently in terms of dis- 
 gust relative to that lady. Mr. Bull seized the 
 poker and gave the fire a tremendous stirring, which 
 nearly stii-red it out ; grumbling at the same time 
 about '"coals being slates," and intimating in a gruff 
 voice of deep dissatisfaction " that it was not so in 
 his younger days." 
 
 " Come forward, young woman," said Mrs. Bull, 
 " and let me see the light upon your face. I always 
 judge people by their countenances.'' 
 
 "I wonder what opinion mother-in-law forms of 
 herself when she looks in the glass," whispered the 
 elder Miss Bull to her sister, but quite loud enough 
 to be heard. 
 
 '•'The landlady of this hotel,' resumed Mrs. Bull, 
 fixing her gaze upon me after having glanced dag- 
 gers at her step-daughters, " has spoken very highly 
 of you : but being a townswoman of yours, I dare 
 say she is partial. "Where have you lived before r" 
 
 " At Lord and Lady Harlesdou's, and at Mr. and 
 Mrs. Twisden's," was my answer. 
 
 " Oh ! the Harlesdons ?" observed Mrs. Bidl. 
 "Well, they wLU do. I know them very well by 
 name, although we are not on visiting terms with 
 them." 
 
 "'No — I don't think that Lord Harlesdon is one 
 of the great aristocrats whom Mr. Scre^^■by parades 
 off," said Miss Lydia Bidl, with a malignant glance 
 at her mother-in-law. 
 
 " Be quiet, Theodore— and you too, Georgiana !" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Bull, spcalving angrily to the two 
 little children, who at that moment were amusing 
 themselves by upsettmg the chairs. 
 
 " It's all because they are badly brought up," 
 muttered Mr. Bull in a grumbling voice. " Chil- 
 dren were very differently treated when I was a 
 boy." 
 
 " Forgive me, Mr. Bull," said his wife, " for re- 
 minding you that when you were a boy you were 
 not accustomed to genteel society." 
 
 " I suppose, then, mother-in-law," said the elder 
 Jliss Bull, colouring with indignation, "j-ou think 
 that i/ou were in good soiiety from yom- very birth : 
 but Mr. Screwby was not ahvaj/s a gentleman by 
 Act of Parliament." 
 
 •' Come, come, " grumbled Mr. Bull, " there's 
 enough of this ; and the young woman is waiting 
 for an answer." 
 
 , ■• Of course you are accustomed to children," said 
 Mrs. Bull, " and will take the greatest care of them. 
 Mind, I am extremely particular — and you must be 
 very attentive to their manners. I like everything 
 that is very- genteel." 
 
 I assm-ed Mrs. Bull that I would endeavour to 
 
 ' gpive her every satisfaction. She then asked me a 
 
 great many questions relative to my capacities for 
 
 the situation of nursemaid, but with which I need 
 
 \ not trouble the reader. 
 
 " TVe have been passing some little time with some 
 friends in this part of Kent," said Mrs. Bull, when 
 I had satisfactorily responded to all her queries; 
 " and the nm-semaid whom we had with us behaved 
 herself so ill that I was compelled to discharge her 
 suddenly. We leave for London to-morrow morn- 
 ing, and therefore you must be here at nine o'clock 
 to accompany us." 
 
 I gave my assent to this arrangement, and then 
 took my departure. Jane was now restored to the 
 kind care of Mr. Collins's housekeeper ; and I passed 
 the remainder of that day with her and William. 
 I could not go over to Talbot Abbey to see iSarah, not 
 having time sufficient : but I found leisure to write 
 her a tolerabh- long letter, in which I gave her the 
 best ad-\-iee I could, and which was couched in terms 
 that I tiiought would be the least calculated to offend 
 her somewhat haughty and independent spirit. In 
 the evening I took leave of William and Jane, and 
 early on the following morning repaired to the 
 Saracen's Head, according to promise. All the 
 places inside the coach (which was intended to hold 
 sis persons) had been secured ; and thus the family, 
 including myself, completely filled the vehicle. On 
 reaching Canterbury, it was found impossible to 
 obtain accommodation for the whole of us inside 
 any coach going to London, as those stages only 
 held four. At first Mrs. Bull suggested that her 
 husband and I should ride outside : but the worthy 
 gentleman declared he would not expose himself to 
 the bleak November air to please anybody; and 
 thus it was found absolutely necessary that the 
 party shoidd be divided, some going by one coach 
 and some by another. Mr. Bull aud his two daugh- 
 ters accordingly took possession of three seats inside 
 one vehicle : while Mrs. Bull, the children, and 
 myself, ensconced ourselves in another. 
 
 It happened that there was no occupant of the 
 fourth place inside the coach which conveyed us — 
 the two children, be it understood, reckoning only 
 as one : and thus, during the whole of that twdioos 
 journey I had to endure all the displays of affecta- 
 tion wliicli my new mistress thought fit to make. 
 At one moment she was so sorry to think that she 
 had not insisted upon Mr. Bidl t;ildng a post- 
 chaise : at another she recollected that even the 
 most genteel people of her acquaintance prefi?rred 
 the inside of a stage-c>oacli. Then she launched 
 forth into bitter lamentations to think that Mr. 
 Bull would not keep his own carriage, which he was 
 well able to do ; for, th.ink heaven 1 he was one of 
 the richest men in the Common Council : but on 
 second thoughts Mrs. Bull consoled herself by the 
 relleclion that carriages were becoming so common 
 she did not know but that it was positively and 
 actually more genteel to be without one. Presently 
 she began making all kinds of wry faces, sighing 
 aud gasping, and groaning and complaining, at «u<.'h 
 a dreadfiU rate that 1 began to be seriously al.irmed.
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, TQE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 287 
 
 [Jut it appeared, as she informed jne, that ske was 
 very liable to attacks of spasms, wliicli a little medi- 
 cine from a good-sized bottle that sbe had in a 
 basket, could alone allay. This medicine, she gave 
 me to understand, was made up accordiug to the 
 prescription of a very eminent physician: but I 
 never in my life knew medicine to have so entirely 
 -the smell of brandy as this which ]\Irs. Bull took for 
 her spasms. AVTion fidly recovered from that little 
 attack, she suddenly began to d'.Iate on the horrid 
 vulgarity of the outside passengers, whom, as she 
 stated, she liad particularly noticed ere taking her 
 seat iu the vehicle ; and presently, as the smell of 
 the cigars which some of the said outside passengers 
 were smokmg, neai'ly made her sick, she again liad 
 recourse to tlic eminent phj'sicl.m's medicine, which 
 thus appeared to be a sovereign remedy for nausea 
 as well as for spasms. When the children grew 
 hungry, she gave them each a small bun out of her 
 basket, observing that she would not offer mo any 
 as it was horridly vulgar for grown-up people to eat 
 inside a coach : but presently growing hungry her- 
 self, she recollected that some very genteel persons 
 of her acquaintance were now and then accustomed 
 to break through the general rule, and so slie not 
 only partook of the contents of her basket herself 
 but also insisted that I should do the same. In a 
 short time she found the buns lay so very heavy on 
 her stomach, that she was compelled to have re- 
 coui'se again to the physician's admirable medicine; 
 and it certamly seemed to do her a great deal of 
 good, not only curing her of every ailment she 
 complaLued of, but also rendering her full of spirits 
 and exceedmgly talkative. 
 
 'By the time we reached London I had seen qiute 
 enough of my new mistress to make me repent 
 somewhat that I had so hurriedly entered her ser- 
 vice ; and it struck me for the first time in my life 
 that inasmuch as masters and mistresses exact the 
 most rigid information relative to the characters of 
 the servants whom they engage, they on their part 
 ought to give equivalent guarantees and references 
 to the servants. Mrs. Bull was flippant in her con- 
 versation — vain, frivolous, and conceited in her cha-' 
 ractcr— at one time talking to me with a familiariiy 
 bordering upon levity, at another moment studiously 
 saying or doing something to assert her own im- 
 mense superiority, and make me feel what she 
 doubtless considered to be my equally immeasurable 
 inferiority. She was likevise particularly attached 
 to the medicine-bottle, which she replenished at an 
 hotel at Gravesend where we stopped t) dine ; and 
 this proceeding she was not enabled to manage so 
 secretly as to prevent me from discovering, what 
 indeed I had all aloug suspected, that there was no 
 need to send the bottle to a chemist so long as there 
 was a landlord or a barmaid to fill it. 
 
 It was nine o'clock at night when we alighted at 
 the coach-office in Graceehurch Street, London ; and 
 there Mr. Bull, who had arrived in the metropolis 
 half-an-hour before us, was waiting. His two 
 daughters had gone home in advance ; and he was 
 grumbling bitterly at having been kept standing 
 about in the cold expecting the coach which eon- : 
 tained his wife, the children, and myself. As for the i 
 children they had long been fast asleep ; and al- j 
 though Mr. Bull's house was at no great distance and 
 a porter might have carried the luggage, it was 
 nevertheless requisite to have a hackney-coach for ] 
 
 the sake of the little ones. Ten minutes brought U3 
 to Old Broad Street, where the lumbering vcliicle 
 pulled up opposite a house which, at the first glimpse 
 I caught of it by the street lamps, seemed on? of 
 those dingy dark-red brick habitations, with nar- 
 row windows, in which that district of the metro- 
 polis abounds. Mr. Bull grumbled at the fare 
 which the hackney-coachman exacted — grumbled 
 also because lie gruuibled at having to earrj- the 
 luggage into the passage without another fee— and 
 then grumbled again on entering the house, beiiiuse 
 the hall-lamp was not lighted and the female- 
 servant who answered the door had rushed up vfiih 
 a kitchen-candle that was immediately puffed out bv 
 the draught. 
 
 I conveyed the two children into a parlom* on the 
 ground-floor, where I laid them upon a sofa accord- 
 ing to lirs. Bull's order-, until it could be ascer- 
 tained that the um-sery u as fit to receive us. Hero 
 I may mention that, besides my^^elf as nursemaid, I 
 found the domestic part of the establishment to con- 
 sist of three females— a cook, a housemaid, and a 
 parlour-maid; the last mentioned also serving as 
 lady's-maid for her mistress and the two sisters. No 
 man-servant was kept — Mrs. Bull finding tune 
 amidst the bustle of the return home to intimate to 
 me that I must not expect to see a footman or any 
 liveried domestics about the premises, as they were 
 so common uow-a-days it was much more genteel to 
 dispense with them altogether. 
 
 The house was in complete confusion, a letter 
 which had been written to announce the day of the 
 family's return having miscarried, and the servants 
 being thus taken entu-ely by surprise. None of the 
 beds were aired— nearly all the carpets were up — 
 the curtains had been taken down from the windows 
 — cluirwomen had been busy in washing the whole 
 place from top to bottom, so that the stairs and se- 
 veral of the rooms were as wet as the streets after a 
 shower of rain. The children, who were disturbed 
 by being removed from the hackney-coach, sat up 
 on the sofa and commenced crying because they 
 were tired and sleepy and wanted to go to bed. 
 Ml'. Bull grumbled because the cloth was not laid 
 for supper : the elder Miss Bull was singing out 
 from the top of the stairs for Susan the parlour- 
 maid to come up and help her change her things : 
 while Miss Lydia was shrieking out fi-om the 
 kitchen below to the effect that the old cook was 
 tipsy and there was not a spark of fire in the grale. 
 As for Mrs. Bull, she had thrown herself into a great 
 easy-chair, declaring that the sight of the Inaso in 
 such a condition had produced so powerful an effect 
 upon her that she thought she must faint. On this 
 point however she seemed to change hor mind, and 
 once more had recourse to the sovereign remedy 
 which she carried in her basket. To be brief, it was 
 some time before I could get up into the nursery 
 with the children : and very glad I was when I once 
 found myself there. Having put them to bed, I 
 speedily sought my own couch; and much ox- 
 Imusted with the day's travelling, soon fell asleep. 
 Throughout the wliolc of (lie nest day I saw 
 very little of my master ainl mistress or the two 
 young ladies : the weather was bad — the rain poured 
 down in torrents — I was therefore unable to stir out 
 with the children, and had to keep iu the nursery. 
 On the folli)\ving day Mrs. Bui', came up in the 
 evening ; and as I euppuse that she had not been
 
 283 
 
 MARY TRICE ; OB, THE MTMOIKS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 partaking of so much of her medicine as when wo 
 were together in the stage-coach, she was m neither 
 good spirits nor in a good humour— but very cross, 
 peevish, and rlisposed to find fault. 
 
 "I understand," she said, "that you let the 
 children eat twice of meat and twice of pudding at 
 dinner to-day. You sent down their plates to the 
 kitchen all thoo tunes to be replenished. Now this 
 I can't allow. I must not have my children staffed 
 to so vulgar an extent." 
 
 "Such small quaulilies were sent up, ma'am, 
 each time for (heVniklrcn," said I, '-'that I begged 
 the housemaid, who brought up the dinner?, to pro- 
 cure them some more. ludeed, they cried for more ; 
 and it was impossible to pacify them." 
 
 " Yes— but it is your place to pacify them," re- 
 joined Mrs. Bull sharply: "you are here for that 
 purpose. It is horrid vulgar to allow children to 
 stuff as they choose. Indeed, all genteel people are 
 trying to dispense with eating as much as possible. 
 And Then I understand that you gave them each 
 two cups of milk-and-water at tea. This will not 
 do : it only encourages them in bad habits. Under- 
 stand me"onco for all— I wish my childron to be 
 genteelly brought up— good mauncra as well as good 
 morals." 
 
 "I am sorry, ma'am," I said, "that I should 
 have infringed your regulations concerning the chil- 
 di-en ; but what I did was for the best." 
 
 " And it tm-us out to be the worst," answered 
 Mrs. Bull. '• But you will know for the futm-c how 
 I wish them brought up. It is not through stmgi- 
 uess that I speak : because you yourself, for instance, 
 may eat and drmk as much as ever you like : but 
 Mr. Bidl is a dreadful gormandizer, and I do not 
 mean that he shall bruig his chikhen up in she same 
 style. It really makes me sick to think of the 
 shocking vulgarity that prevails in the City : 
 nothing but eating and drinking all day long ! ISIr. 
 Bull's t^■,-o daughters may do as they hke ; but mi/ 
 chlldi-eu,'' she added with strong emphasis on the 
 pronoun, " shall be brought up in quite a different 
 manner. So for heaven's sake, whatever you do, 
 Mary, don't let them stutt' themselves like their 
 father and step-sisters." 
 
 Having given these and several other injunctions 
 relative to the genteel treatment which she expected 
 her childi-cn to receive, Mrs. Bull descended from 
 the niu-scry. 
 
 In the course of a few days I ob lamed an iniight 
 inlo the gormandizing propensities on the part of 
 her husband and step-daughters to which she had 
 alluded. I never saw such a house for eating and 
 (h'inking in all my hfe. The brealcfast in the par- 
 lour was of the most substantial description ; and 
 while Mi's. Bull, in the fineness of her gentOity, 
 could scarcely get through half a muflin or a piece 
 of buttered toast, Mr, Bull and his two daughters 
 made hearty inroads upon spiced beef, pigeon-pie, 
 broiled ham and eggs, or cold fowl and tongue. At 
 about twelve o'clock lunch was served up, consisting 
 of cither cold joints or hot beef steaks, accompanied 
 by bottled ale and porter, with cherry-brandy after- 
 ward. The family dined at five; and the dinner 
 was of a substantiality to suit the preceding meals 
 Ki.h soupS; siich ns nioek turtle or ox-tail — fish — 
 hauuelica of inuUor., savoury pies, aud various made 
 dishes— then plum-puddings, jellies, ercimis, and 
 custards —raid a copious dessert, — such were the com- 
 
 ponent parts of the evening's banquet. At seven 
 tea and coffee were served up : but this was also 
 made a regular meal. Plates piled up with mu.'Ens, 
 crumpets, and rounds of buttered toast, were placed 
 upon the table ; and in order to encourage an artificial 
 appetite where none naturally existed, such rchshes 
 as anchovj- paste, sardines, and other piquant con- 
 diments, were supplied. But the day's gormandiz- 
 ing did not end hero : for at halt -past nine o'clock 
 the table was spread for supper, when not only were 
 all the cold joints, pies, and other substantial viands 
 left from dinner, crowded upon the board, but such 
 adcUtiuns as lobsters, oysters, and crpb-pics were 
 served uj). The spmt-stand was then placed on the 
 table : and v.hile Mr. Bidl mixed a very large tum- 
 bler of hot brandy-and-watcr for himself, ue filled 
 two smaller ones for the behoof of his daughters. 
 I should add that he likewise brewed a large 
 tumbler for Mrs. Bull : for although this lady de- 
 tested gormandizing, yet she was by no means averao 
 to stimulating beverages. 
 
 The main consideration of life with Mr. Bull 
 and Ids two daughters appeared to be summed up 
 in the words ■' eating and drinking.'^ During the 
 whole time they were at breakfast, they discussed 
 and settled what shoidd be ordered for dinner ; and 
 when the said breakfast was over, it was quite 
 a formal and solemn proceeduig to have up the 
 cook and give her instructions on that grand and 
 important subject. At lunch time Mr. Bull and 
 the two young ladies discoursed upon httle else than 
 the prospects of dinner; the father, for example, 
 grumbliug at the absence of pepper in the soup of 
 the previous day, and hoping that it would not bo 
 omitted in future; while the elder Miss Bull ex- 
 pressed her joy that there was going to be a plum- 
 pudding, '• as cook did excel in it so ;" and Mis3 
 Lydia looked forward with equal deUght to the 
 prospect of some particular made dish for wliich 
 she had found a receipt in a recently published 
 cookery-book. Tlicn again, at dinner-time, the 
 father and his daughters would observe that they 
 had noticed some splendid lobsters that day at the 
 fishmonger's ; and so forthwith was it settled that 
 there shoidd be lobsters for supper. Eveu at supper- 
 tune was the same style of conversation pursued : 
 for as 'Ml-. Bull cut slices from a skloin he would 
 not fail to observe that the bone would be an 
 excellent grill for next morning's breakfast. 
 
 I have already said that -ilr. BiUl was a tre- 
 mendous grumbler. Nothing appeared to give him 
 satisfaction, save when actually at his meals ; and 
 then he abandoned himself so complotely to the 
 delights of eating and drinking, that he never 
 quarrelled with the succulent dainties before him. 
 But if he did gvumblc at such times, it was, ns I 
 have ere now slated, m recollection of some past 
 fault in the cooking dep;u-tment of his cstabhsh- 
 lucnt. AMten not at meals, Mr. Bull found every- 
 thing amiss. The newspaper was sure to come too 
 eai-ly or too late; the room was invariably too hot 
 or too cold : if it rained he grumbled that he could 
 not go out — and if it were tme, he grumbled be- 
 cause he had no business in hand as an induce- 
 ment to go out. If no friends dropped in to call 
 or to share in one of the meals, he grumbled because 
 the house was didl : and when his friends did eomc, 
 ho grumbled after they wore gone at being pestered 
 with such iutrusiveness. Uc never was satisliod
 
 MART TEICE; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 witli the .eacling artiflo of the Times, although it 
 was his favourite newspaper : sometimes it was too 
 strong, at other times it was too weak: it never 
 suited him — not even when it was a regular 
 grumbUng article itself. I heard it said by one of 
 his daughters that when lie went to the theatre ho 
 was grumbling with little intermission from the 
 rise to the fall of the curtain. Whenever the 
 audience applauded, he gi-umbled at their folly in 
 liking " such nonsensical stuff;" and if they did 
 not applaud, he gruuibled at their apathy, lie 
 grumbled at the lady before him for not lakiug off 
 her bonnet — at the gentleman next to him for 
 thrusting his elbow into ius ribs — and at the one 
 behind him for leaning over his shoulder. 
 
 If the post brought a great many letters from 
 friends or acquaintances, Mr. Bull would grumble at 
 the trouble of answering them ; and when the post- 
 man passed by the house without knocking at the 
 door, he grumbled to think that he should have re- 
 N0 37. 
 
 tired from business and thus had nothing to do If 
 the children were kept up iu tlje nursery all day, 
 he grumbled that they were never brought down to 
 him; and when they were iuti'oduced to the par- 
 lour, he grumbled that they made such a noiso 
 which gave him the headache. If his daughters 
 made their appearance at breakfast iu negligent 
 apparel, he gi-umbled that they were slovenly ; and 
 if they came down dressed out finelj', he grumbled 
 at their extravagance. In conversation with his 
 I'riends he was likewise a contiiuious grumbler. Uo 
 grmnbled against ^linisters for not reducing the 
 luxation; Init if he heard another person talk in 
 the same strain, he would grumble at " such revo- 
 lutionary doctrines' being mentioned in his presence. 
 In the Common Council he invariably made long 
 grumbling speeches, and passed for a very liberal- 
 minded man because he grumbled against every- 
 thing and gave his support to nothing. It was 
 through grumbling in thiswavat the Guildhall that
 
 2.0O 
 
 MARY price; oh, THE MEM0IE3 OF A SEEV ANT-MAID. 
 
 8ome liberal borough in the country, believing him 
 to be a man of very independent opinion, sent a 
 deputation offering to return liim to Parliament at 
 the next election : but he grumbled that his prin- 
 ciples should have been so much misimderstood, and 
 that he should have been taken for a Whig whereas 
 he was a Tory. It was said of him in the Common 
 Council that ho condemned every measure, opposed 
 every motion, grumbled at every amendment, and 
 groaned at every speech. If he went on a pleasure 
 excursion with bis family and a party of friends, he 
 never lau^licd and joked, nor seemed to enjoy him- 
 self—save at dinner-time ; but grumbled at every- 
 thing. The roads were too dusty or too damp ; the 
 sun too bright or the heavens too cloudy ; the car- 
 riage either went at a snail's pace or else at a break- 
 neck rate ; and the bill at the hotel elicited more 
 gruinbHngs than anytliing else. But were I to 
 continue my illustrations of the modes and manufrs 
 of Mr. Bull's grumblings, I should fill whole pages : 
 whereas I have subjccls of far greater interest and 
 importance wherewith to occupy myself and engage 
 the attention of my readers. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 THE MISS BXriI.3. 
 
 I HAD been about throe weeks in my new place, 
 when a circumstance occurred which I must here 
 mention. 
 
 One day the elder Miss Bull earao up into the 
 nm'sei-y, and sitting down, began to converse with 
 me in the most condescending and affable manner 
 possible. I was somewhat a>itonished at this, inas- 
 much as the two young ladies were accustomed to 
 treat me and the other servants with an affectation 
 of the utmost pride — almost disdain ; as if to make 
 us know and keep our distance. But upon the 
 present occasion Miss Bull went on chatting away 
 with a familiar gUbncss which made me at first 
 fancy that she had been taking some of her mother- 
 in-law's medicine, or at all events a double allowance 
 of bottled ale at lunch. 
 
 " Well, Mary," she said, '•' I do hope that you are 
 happy and contented in your now place. I know 
 very well that you have a great deal to put up 
 with : for if pa ever comes up inf o the nm-sery it is 
 only to grumble and find fault ; and when mother- 
 in-law honours you with her presence it's only to 
 give herself airs or show off her affectations. Be- 
 sides," continued Miss BiUl, leaning forward and 
 dropping her voice to a confidential whisper as she 
 pointed to little Theodore and Georgiana, who at 
 the instant were disputing the pi:)Ssessiou of a toy in 
 the corner of the nursery, " I know that those chil- 
 dren are the nastiest and most ill-tempered little 
 things in tlie world. God forgive me for saying so ; 
 since I suppose I must consider them as my brother 
 and sister : but I know that it !s the case. Now 
 don't say it is not, Mary, there's a dear gii'l : for I 
 am sure it is. You are much too good-natured; and 
 if I were you, I should be tempted to give them 
 each a good whipping." 
 
 "I should not think of such a thing, Miss," was 
 my answer, uttered with some degree of indignation. 
 " I have been in several places and had children of 
 
 all shades of disposition to deal with ; and I never 
 laid a hand upon one of them yet." 
 
 " Oh ! of course you know best how to manage 
 them, Mary," exclaimed ML33 Bull, with a most 
 gracious smile; "and I would not for the world 
 attempt to dictate to you how to treat those little 
 monkeys :" — and she again pointed to Theodore and 
 Georgiana. " But as I was saying just now, I know 
 you have a great deal to put up with at times^ and 
 so have aU the servants in this house — thou-^'a I and 
 Lydia do our best to mitigate the severities of pa 
 and mother-in-law." 
 
 I was rather astonished at the boldness of this 
 declaration : for I had neither heard nor seen of a 
 single instance in which either of the Miss Bulls 
 had attempted to screen a servant's fault, nor whera 
 they had failed to raise a perfect storm in the hoasa 
 when one was committed. 
 
 '•You see, Mary," she continued, chattering 
 away with exceeding volubiUty, and frequently 
 tossing her head so that her showering curls shook 
 like bunches of clematis in the wind, — ■'•poor pa 
 would be all very well in hU way if he wasn't wor- 
 ried to death by mother-in-law's r.irs and nonsense. 
 He never used to grumble or get out of temper 
 before he married her ; but he has gradually been 
 getting worse and worse — till at last it is quite un- 
 pleasant to live with him. For my part, I and 
 Lydia have made up our minds," — and here ai^in 
 she leant forward and spoke in a confidential whis- 
 per, — '•' to get out of the place as soon as we can." 
 
 I gazed upon Miss Bull with some degree of 
 astonishment : for it naturally struck me that she 
 and her sister were thinking of running away from 
 home. 
 
 '■' Ah I I see you don't understand me," she said, 
 wtth a subdued laugh ; and again she shook her 
 curls with an aff.-ctation of girlish artlessness, 
 which however ill became a young woman of five- 
 and-twenty : " but the truth is that I and Lydia are 
 seriously thinking of getting married." 
 
 Mi-^s Bull looked at me earnestly — doubtless to 
 see what effect this confidential and mysterious an- 
 nouncement would produce upon me. But I really 
 could not help smiling, for it struck me as being 
 indescribably lutUcrous that t>/o ladies of thcu* age, 
 who had hitherto failed to obtain any eligible offers, 
 should now of then' own accord make up their minds 
 to be married — as if the mere fact of doing so must 
 at once bring suitors to then" feet. Besides, it oc- 
 curred to me as being rather probable that it would 
 have required no excessive persuasion to induce 
 them to marry any time for the half dozen years 
 past, had any very captivating candidates for thoir 
 hand presented themselves. 
 
 " You smile, Mary,"' said Miss Bull, blushing, "as 
 if you thought there was something very funny in 
 what I have told you. But I am going to commu- 
 nicate a great secret ■" 
 
 " Really, Miss," I at once answered, both seriously 
 and firmly, '• I do not desire to be made a confi- 
 dante." 
 
 " Oh I but both I and Lydia have taken a liking to 
 you," was Miss Bull's quick response, " and you 
 must Uston to me :" — then she went on to speak 
 with such exceeding volubility, and making so many 
 impatient gestures to forbid me from interrupting 
 her, that I could not possibly prevent her from 
 rattling away with her confidential outpaoriigs.
 
 MART PUICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID, 
 
 291 
 
 " The trutli is," she continued, " I and Lydia have 
 had a gi-eat many offers, but all from those vulgar 
 cockneys above whom we flatter ourselves we have 
 risen considerably. Not for a moment, however, 
 do I consider we have received any gentiUty from 
 pa's marrying old Screwby's daughter : but because 
 we have a certain air of our own — and manners 
 make the lady, you know, as well as the gentle- 
 man." 
 
 Here she gave a self-sufficient toss of the head, 
 hastening to observe, " Besides, I must teU you we 
 had the advantage of a finishing school at Kensing- 
 ton, where pa paid sixty guineas a-year for each of 
 TX3 ; and that, you know, Mary, is something which 
 few of the coarse vulgar City girls can boast of. 
 Why, there's Miss Snooks, the daughter of the pre- 
 sent Lord Mayor, who really can't spell; and yet 
 she had her health di-ank the other day when all the 
 Ministers diaed at the Mansion House. Wasn't it 
 disgusting ? However, Lydia and myself have re- 
 solved never to throw ourselves away vipon any 
 linendraper's or taUowchandler's sons ; and so we 
 have been obliged to wait a little, tiU two real 
 gentlemen — gentlemen in every sense of the word 
 — should become aware of our merits." 
 
 Here Miss Bull drew herself up with another 
 shake of her frizzy cm-Is ; and if she paused in her 
 discourse it was only on account of having talked 
 herself out of breath. I teas really disgusted— not 
 because Miss Snooks had had her health drunk at 
 the Mansion House, but because Itfiss Bull was en- 
 deavouring to entertain me with her own fidsome 
 and nauseating nonsense. But in the sclf-sufEciency 
 of her conceit she could not perceive that I ex- 
 perienced so strong a feeling in respect to what she 
 was saying; and she hastened to resume the thread 
 of her subject. 
 
 '•' Well, Mary, I must now inform you that about 
 a fortnight ago — just a week after our return to 
 London— we met at the theatre two such elegant 
 gentlemen. You remember we went with pa on 
 that occasion — mother-in-law feeling too indisposed 
 to accompany us — no doubt because she had taken a 
 little too much of her medicine. Well, in the samb 
 box these two gentlemen were seated. They were 
 so polite, and seemed to know everything about the 
 play, and the performers, and all that was going on. 
 Pa was in a particularly bad liimiour that night. 
 He had got his black stockings splashed when 
 getting into the hackney-coach — then the hackney- 
 coachman had cheated him in the fare — and on ar- 
 riving at the theatre the crowd was so great that 
 pa's best hat got smashed as flat as a pancake. Be- 
 sides, lie had hoped to see a farce, and it turned out 
 to bo a tragedy : so that what with one thing and 
 another he was as cross as two sticks, and went on 
 grumbling the whole evening. I do believe that if 
 I had whispered to him, ' What two nasty vulgar 
 impudent fellows these are in the same box with 
 us \' he for mere contradiction's sake would have de- 
 clared that they were everything just the reverse, 
 and would have treated them with all possible 
 civility. But as I had tho misfortune to whisper to 
 pa, ' \Vhat nice elegant, good-looking, and polite 
 gentlemen thcbc are !' he grumbled, and growled, 
 and eyed thcni askance, as if he took them lor pick- 
 pockets. Tin-oughout (he evening they tix>ated me 
 and Lydia with the utmost courtesy; but every tune 
 they thus showed us any attention, pa began mat- 
 
 tering and mumbling the most insulting things 
 about ' members of the swell-mob,' 'suspicious cha- 
 racters,' and so on. Ho even buttoned up his 
 pockets — tucked his gold seals and chain in his fob 
 — and kept feeUng to assure himself that his hand- 
 kerchief was safe. The two gentlemen could not 
 help seeing all this ; but they were much too well- 
 bred to appear to notice it ; and to make up for pa'c 
 rudeness, Lydia and I did the best we could to ap- 
 pear as amiable as possible. WeU, when the play 
 was over the two gentlemen followed us out ; and 
 when a hackney-coach was called, they gallantly 
 stepped forward and handed us in. Would you be- 
 lieve it, that pa actually turned round in such a 
 savage manner and expressed a brutal wish that tho 
 constables would keep a better look-out at the doors 
 of theatres ! However, both Lydia and I managed 
 by our looks to convince the two gentlemen that 
 we did not sympathize with our pa's coarse rude- 
 ness ; and we shook hands with them. To tell you 
 the truth, Mary, the elder of the two gentlemen 
 pressed my hand ; and Lydia afterwards told ma 
 that the younger one did the same to her." 
 
 " Now, Miss Bull," said I, very seriously, " I 
 would much rather not hear any more " 
 
 "Don't be so sUly, Maryl" exclaimed the elder 
 sister: "you must and shall hear the whole of this 
 romantic adventure. Last ^Monday !Mr. Screwby, 
 as you remember, gave a ball ; and I and Lydia 
 went alone together — mother-in-law being again 
 unwell, and pa having been all day on the Aldgate 
 Pump Committee of the Common Council. Of 
 course we did not require a chaperon to go to the 
 house of mother-in-law's father. Well, on entering 
 the di-awing-room where dancing had aheady begun 
 — for we were rather late — whom should we see 
 lounging arui-ia-arm together at one extremity of 
 the apartment, but our two elegant unknowns! 
 They were almost immediately by our side, and 
 seemed as dehghted and surprised to moet us as we 
 were thus to encounter them. Of course we ex- 
 pected them to invite us to dance ; and they did so. 
 I never saw such beautifid dancers — quite in a pe- 
 culiar stylo too : and my partner, the elder gentle- 
 man of tho two, delicately gave me to understand 
 that it was the approved fashion of dancing that 
 prevailed at Almack's. When the first quadrille 
 was over and our partners had left us, we hastened 
 to Mr. Screwby to learn who those two elegant 
 gentlemen were. He told us that the elder waa 
 Captain Wimbledon and the younger Mr. Caven- 
 dish. What delightful aristocratic names ! just such 
 names as they ought naturally to possess I Mr. 
 Screwby went on to say that some baronet — one of 
 his clients — had introduced them to him ; and that 
 therefore he had invited them to his ball. Lydia 
 and I danced with them pretty nearly tho whole 
 evening ; and I am quite sure that two or three of 
 the Lords present, — for Mr. Screwby always has 
 Lords, you know at his balls, — were as jealous as 
 possible at seeing me and my sister thus monopo- 
 lized by tho two elegant strangers. Never did an 
 evening pass away so pleasantly ; and to tell you 
 tho truth, Mary, when we were taking leave of our 
 two olcgunt friends, they said such tender things 
 that it was almost as good as proposing. I am sui-e 
 if they had popped the question direct, it could not 
 have been plainer. In short they requested to 
 be allowed to — to — correspond with us."
 
 202 
 
 MARv rr.if.i; ; ok, the memoirs of a servant-maih. 
 
 Miss Bull stammered, hcsitatfd, aud bliishcd as , 
 slie gave utterance to tLcsc last ^vo^ds. I must 
 state that several times durin;^ her description of 
 the proceedings at the theatre and the ball, I en- I 
 deavoured to interrupt her : for I felt not only dis- i 
 gusted but also indignant at being made the conli- , 
 dante of such a mixture of nonsense aud indelicacy. I 
 But Miss Bull woidd compel me to listen ; and I j 
 was therefore obliged to submit. "When, however, 
 she broke off at that point about agreeing to corre- 
 spond, I rose from my chair and turned a\\ay from 
 her in a manner which ought to have let her see , 
 what I thought of her conduct. But there never 
 was so much conceit and self-sufficiency on the part , 
 of any female with whom I had previously come in ' 
 contact dm-ing my life: she would not suffer herself 
 to perceive that she either disgusted or shocked me, 
 and no doubt considered it a very line thing to talk 
 about handsome strangers and flirting at balls. 
 
 "IN'ow, Mary," she resimied, '"'I wish you to do 
 mo a service :" — and she followed mc to the window 
 to which 1 had taken my needle-work. 
 
 " "What is it, Miss ?" I asked, for the moment 
 fancying that she had suddenly tiu-ncd her attention 
 to some other object. 
 
 '• Pa is so drcadfidly particular, and mother-in-law 
 is so sly and sharp,"' continued Miss Bull, leaning 
 over my shoiddcr and whispering, "that I and 
 Lydia woidd not dare to have our letters fi-om 
 Captain Wimbledon and Mr. Cavcntlish addressed 
 direct to us : so after talking the matter over, we 
 thought of having them sent imdcr co\er to you." 
 
 '■ iliss Bull." I exclaimed, feeling my cheeks sud- 
 denly glow and burn v ith indignation, '• this is a 
 do\TOright insidt ^\■hi^■h you are offering me !" 
 
 "Hush — for heaven's sakcl" said Miss Bull 
 quickly ; for Master Theodore came close up to vis 
 aud began staring at me as if ho thought I was 
 quarrelling or being quarrelled with. 
 
 " I certainly do not wish to expose j-ou or make 
 mischief," was my answer, delivered in a voice so 
 that Theodore could not catch what I said ; " al- 
 though perhaps, if I did my duty, I shoidd make 
 my master acquainted with what yon have said to 
 me. But I will hold my tongue on condition that 
 you never address me in such terms again." 
 
 "While I was thus speaking, ^liss Bull turned red 
 and pale a dozen times in a minute : she blushed at 
 having exposed herself to such reproofs from me, 
 and she grew white with rage at the manner in 
 which I treated her. I could even see that she was 
 scarcely able to subdue an outbiu-st of tempestuous 
 fui-y : but she no doubt saw the prudence of keeping 
 down her anger as much as possible, lest she should 
 provoke me to explain everything to her father. 
 
 ""Well, Mary," she said — but her white lips were 
 quivering as she spoke, — " since j'ou won't do mc 
 and Lydia this little favour, I at least hope you will 
 forget that I have asked it ; and you mustn't think 
 that I shall treat you any different on account of 
 what has taken place." 
 
 I did not choose to give any reply; and IMiss 
 Bull, after hesitating for nearly a mmute, as if still 
 wantmg to say something n\orc but not liking to do 
 so, quitted the room. 
 
 I resumed my scat, and went on with my needle- 
 work, reflecting the vhile upon all that had just 
 taken place ; when, in about a quarter of an hour, 
 Mr. Bull came up to the uurserj-. 
 
 'How is it, Mary," he asked, in his usual grum- 
 bling way, " that these children are never brought 
 dowri to sec mc?" 
 
 "I did not know, su-," was my reply, "that I 
 was to bring them do«-n unless they were rung 
 for." 
 
 " .And why ain't they rung for, then ':'' 
 
 " I do not know, sir. Perhaps Mrs. Bull either 
 forgets or objects." 
 
 " Oh I I dare say she forgets a great many things, 
 and objects to others. She has just now insisted that 
 I shall have no more lobsters for supper ; because 
 she says they give me an indigestion, and make me 
 snore so loud at night she can't sleep. I wonder 
 why she doesn't stuff her ears up ^vith cotton. But 
 how very hot you keep this nurser}% Mary." 
 
 " It is a cold room, sir, unless there is a good 
 fire." 
 
 "Cold indeed! — not so cold as the parlour down 
 stairs. There is not a room in the house where the 
 proper temperature is kept : in one I am roasted — 
 in another frozen. But how dark you keep this 
 nursery, Mary. VThy do you have the -window- 
 blinds drawn thi'ce parts do^\-n like that r" 
 
 "Because, sir, the neighbours over the way a re so 
 very inquisitive, they are always looking out of 
 their upper windows ; and unless I have the blind3 
 as you sec them, those persons can notice everything 
 that takes place in this room." 
 
 '• "WcU, but it makes the room dark — and I hate a 
 dark room. Down stairs !Mrs. Bull always wiU have 
 the blinds drawn up and the curtains pulled so far 
 back that it's a perfect blaze of light. There isn't 
 a room in the house that's kept properly in this 
 respect : one is too light, and another too dark." 
 
 •• I beg your pardon, sir ; but will this do r" — and 
 I cbew up the blinds a little. 
 
 '■ Xo — that's too high." 
 
 " Then will this do, sir r" — and I pulled them 
 down about half-an-inch. 
 
 " Do ? no ! They arc a great deal too low now. 
 But what's the reason Theodore has got such a 
 queer-coloured pinafore on r" 
 
 "It's a new one, sir; and that's the colour of 
 brown hoUand before it is washed." 
 
 ""U'ell, then, I don't like new things."' 
 
 " Shall I put birn on one of his old pinafores, 
 sir?" 
 
 " N'o, to be sure not. I hate old things. But 
 I say, Mary, what time do the children dine now of 
 a day r"' 
 
 "AVLcn the servants dine, sir — at one o'clock. 
 The diuners are cut off in the kitchen and sent up- 
 stairs to the nm'sery." 
 
 " I don't like one o'clock dinners," grumbled Mr. 
 Bidl. "■ It's too early." 
 
 '• Well, sir, it may be perhaps, generally speak- 
 ing, half-past one by the time the tray comes up." 
 
 " And that's a gi-eat deal too late," said Mr. Bull. 
 " I will have better hours kept up in the nursery. 
 Why do you go on working when I am talking to 
 you ?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," I answered : and I laid 
 aside the work. 
 
 " No — that won't do I Take it up again, and go 
 on with it : I don't like to sec idleness. Put some 
 coals on the fire." 
 
 "I thought, sii*. that you found the room too 
 hot ?■'
 
 "Hot? nonsense! It's as cold as a well. The 
 parloiu' clown stairs is Lot, if you like : I am quite 
 sufl'ucated there, ^ow do pull down those blinds : 
 everybody can see in from the opposite side of the 
 way." 
 
 " I thought, sir, that you found the room too 
 dark." 
 
 " Who said so ? Not I. It's a great deal too 
 light. ^Irs. BuU keeps the parlour as dark as pitch, 
 so that I can't read the newspaper when it comes ; 
 and when I do read it, there's nothing worth read- 
 ing in it. I should leave ofl" the Times and take 
 the Herald, only the Sei-ald is a great deal worse 
 than the Times. Hallo ! there's Theodore playing 
 with the ink, and he will spoil his new pinafore — 
 ■which would be a great pity, for he looks so well in 
 it. Has he got any more of those new brown hol- 
 laud ones r" 
 
 '•' Yes — plenty, sii'." 
 
 '• Then mind you let him wear them." 
 
 At this moment there was the rapid sound of 
 footsteps rushing up the stairs— the door flew open 
 — and a little old gentleman, with very sharp fea- 
 tiu-es and quick restless green eyes, but with a 
 marvellous activity of movement, literally bounded 
 into the room, exclaiming, " Soakwell is dead !" 
 
 "Indeed!" ejaculated Mr. Bull, who at the tirst 
 moment had begun to look uncommonly annoyed 
 at this unceremonious appearance of Mr. Screwby — 
 for he the visitor was : but on hearing this intelli- 
 gence, my master's countenance suddenly brightened 
 up. 
 
 "Yes — Soakwell is dead. I had some business 
 in the City and happened to meet the Deputy of 
 the Ward just at the end of the street here, who told 
 me that poor Soakwell was gone. It seems," con- 
 tinued the attorney, speaking with extraordinary 
 volubility and excitement, " that though given over 
 yesterday by bis physicians, poor Soakwell would 
 have a basin of turtle brought up to him- I don't 
 however suppose that would have killed him off so 
 quick, as he was so accustomed to it : but he would 
 drink a pint of Madeira afterwards, and so he 
 passed a dreadful night — was very bad all this 
 morning — and was just saying that a glass of Sherry 
 would do him good when he expired. So I was 
 told by the Deputy just now. I wouldn't lose a 
 moment, but rushed of!" here to toll you the news. 
 The housemaid who opened the door said you was 
 in the nursery ; and so I bounded up ten stairs at a 
 time." 
 
 I should inform the reader that Mr. Soakwell, 
 whose death seemed to be such a source of con- 
 gratulation on the pai-t of Mr. Bull and his father- 
 in-law, was the Aldennan of the Ward; and I 
 have before stated that Mr. Bull had every pros- 
 pect of succeeding the deceased in his civic dignity. 
 
 " Now, my dear fellow," continued the voluble 
 and excited lawyer, "you must begin canvassing 
 directly. Let your measures be well taken — issue 
 invitations for a dinner to the principal livery-men 
 — and secure all the public-houecs for the com- 
 mittees. 'Mr. Danks will be sure to be in the field 
 against you, and you know that Danks is an active 
 busincss-hke fellow. Besides, that speech ho made 
 in the Common Council the other day, about the 
 street-organ nuisance, has given him a good deal of 
 popularity with the shopkeepers; and his voting 
 for the new pump in Aldgatc was likewise a capital 
 
 I hit. So you must expect opposition. However, 
 j you know best : I am not a City man — I only go 
 by what I have been told." 
 
 ••■ Come down stairs, and we will have a bottle of 
 wine to talk this matter over," said Mr. Bull. 
 
 He and his father-in-law then quitted the nur- 
 sery ; and I could not help thinking what a strange 
 world this was, that a death which would probably 
 plunge an entire family into deep affliction was made 
 the subject of rejoicing and self-congratulation in 
 another familj'. 
 
 Mr. Bull now became as busy as a bee in can- 
 vassing the livery - men, attending his dLffercnt 
 committee-rooms, and making all the necessary 
 an-angements to ensiu-e his election. Invitations 
 were issued to a large number of persons who had 
 votes ; and the dinner to be given on the occasion 
 was on the most stupendous scale of City hospi- 
 tality. Mrs. Bull condescended to take consider- 
 able interest in the preparations for the banquet, 
 inasmuch as she greatly desired to sec her husband 
 an Alderman : for a year's tenure of the Mansion 
 House would then be in the perspective. The two 
 Miss Bulls seemed, however, particularly indifferent 
 to all that was going on: but during the fortnight 
 that had now elapsed since that conversation v hich 
 I had with the elder, they had been out a great deal 
 more than was previously their custom. They con- 
 stantly had shopping to do or calls to make : but I 
 could not help suspecting that these were only 
 excuses to enable them to meet Captain Wimbledon 
 and Mr. Cavendish. 
 
 The day of the banquet arrived ; and in the morn- 
 ing Mrs. Bull came up to the nursery to tell me 
 that I should have to bring the children down to sec 
 the company at dessert-time, and that I must 
 be very particular indeed in dressing them in the 
 new clothes which had been purchased for the occa- 
 siou. Mrs. Bull was in very high spirits, and in 
 one of her talkative moods : but she likewise gave 
 herself more abominable au's, if possible, than ever. 
 
 " Dear me, what a thing it is," she said, flinging 
 herself ujion a chair as if sinking with exhaustion, 
 " to be the mistress of a large establishment like 
 this ! But if ;Mr. Bull succeeds in his election — as 
 I am certain he will — I must get him to launch out 
 a little and live in a better style. Indeod, I have 
 changed my mind about men servants, and shall 
 insist upon having a butler and a footman. Be- 
 sides, he must set up his carriage : and so we shall 
 want a coachman and a groom. Although I know 
 some very genteel people who keep no men ser- 
 vants at all, yet it is better to bo on the right side 
 and be completely fashionable. So wo Jiiust havo 
 our men-servants. I have already settled in my 
 mind what their liveries shall be. Only think how 
 awkward it is having to borrow a couple of footmen 
 from one's friends to wait at table to-day. Every- 
 body will notice that their Uvcries are diflerent ; 
 because Alderman Dumpkins' footman who is 
 coming, has blue turned up with silver ; and Mr. 
 Deputy Grigson's footman has scarlet edged with 
 gold lace. However, I know some very genteel 
 people who have two sorts of liveries in wear for 
 their footmen ; and so our arrangements won't look 
 so very bad after all. Dear me, these spasms will 
 be the death of me! Do run, Mary, and get mo 
 up my medicine-bottle." 
 
 Mrs. Bull had suddenly begun to moan and mako
 
 294 
 
 MAP.T PBICE ; OB, THE MEMOIES OF A SEF.rANT-MAID. 
 
 hideous contortions as she ■writhed about in her 
 chair ; but as I proceeded to her bed-chamber to 
 fetch the bottle I could not help thinking that if 
 she had too many of these attacks of spasms during 
 the da J, she would not be in a very fit state to 
 receive company in the evenin*^. 
 
 '■ Thnre now — I am well again in an instant !" 
 Bhe said, after partaking of a good dose of the me- 
 dicine which 1 had been to fetch. " Ah ! it was a 
 wonderfully clever doctor who gave mc this pre- 
 scription. I know a great many genteel people who 
 likewise use it ; and they all speak highly of its 
 merits. I must however run down stairs and see 
 how tliat cook of mine gets on ; for I know she is 
 given to drinking : but if she does take a drop too 
 much to-day I will pack her off, bag and baggage. 
 There's nothing I hate so much as the habit of 
 drinking — in a servant," added ili-s. Bull after a 
 pause. '•' However, we have got a man from Birch's 
 —the great pastry-cook's, you know, on Cornhill — ■ 
 to help. The turtle-soup, the patties, and a great 
 number of the sweets are coming from Birch's. 
 "When I was in the kitchen just now — for I know a 
 great many genteel people who go into their o^vn 
 kitchens — they were all hard at work down there ; 
 and it was quite a pleasure to see with what a 
 masterly hand Birch's man was larding the veal. 
 The cook was busy with the plum-pudding; and 
 Mrs. Huggins, the charwoman, was helping her to 
 knock off a little pastry. Such a prime haimch of 
 venison there will be ; and Birch's man says it shall 
 be cooked to a turn. Now, so much depends upon 
 the turtle and the venison ! If they are good, Mr, 
 Bull T^-ill carry the day : but if they should turn out 
 bad, every livery-man who dines with us to-day will 
 turn round and vote against him. Ah ! you may 
 stai'e, Mary; but I can tell you that such is the 
 case. The livery-men would consider their ward 
 disgraced to all eternity, if it had an alderman who 
 could not give a good dinner. But, dear me I what 
 a sudden shooting pain I have got in the head. 
 It talces me right through the brain like an 
 arrow." 
 
 Of course the medicine-bottle was put m im- 
 mediate requisition; and so wonderful were the 
 effects of the dose, that the pain went away directly. 
 Mrs. Bull now started up and hurried down stairs 
 again to superintend the proceedings in the kitchen. 
 Tbis Vi'as the first time during the five weeks I had 
 been in her service that I had seen her take the 
 slightest concern in the culinai-y department : but 
 now her ambition had to be served — she longed to 
 behold her husband an Alderman — and it appeared 
 from what she said that his success depended in no 
 small degree upon the excellence of the dinner 
 which was this day to be given. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon I had occasion to 
 go down to the parloiu* to ask Mrs. Bull some 
 question relative to the children's new clothing. 
 8hP was not there at the moment: but the two Miss 
 Bulls were alone together — and they were each 
 reading a letter as I entered. With a sudden start 
 (hoy turned round, in the evident confusion of being 
 taken by surprise : and it therefore struck me tliat 
 the letters which they were thus devouring were 
 from Captain Wimbledou and Mr. Cavendish. 
 
 "What do you want, Maryr^' exclaimed Miss 
 Lydia, very angrily: "bursting into the room in 
 such a manner !" 
 
 "Oh! don't scold her," at once said the elder i 
 sister : then in a lower and quicker tone, and in a { 
 warning manner, she added, '■ Eemember !" j 
 
 Lydia instantaneously appeared to understand ■ 
 her sister Elizabeth's hint : and so did I. It was 
 evidently to the effect that as I knew quite enouo-h 
 to be enabled to expose them to their father, it were 
 impohtic to make an enemy of me. 
 
 '• I merely ■wished to speak to my mistress," was 
 the answer I gave to Miss Lydia's question. 
 
 '•' Oh ! your mistress," cried this young lady, with 
 a contemptuous toss of the head, "has taken so 
 much of her medicine that she has gone to lie do^wn 
 a little." 
 
 I ■withdrew from the parlour ; and not choosing 
 to disturb Mrs. Bull in her o^wn bed-chamber, re- 
 turned to the nursery. At about half-past five 
 o'clock Mrs. BuU came up. She was in very high 
 spirits — rather too much so ; and was dressed in 
 the most extravagant style. She was a perfect blaze 
 of jewellery: the ornaments were actually crowded 
 upon her in a way that bespoke a desire to produce 
 an astounding effect. Her nose was of a deeper red 
 than ever ; and her breath smelt of the medicine- 
 bottle, not'withstanding the powerful odour of per- 
 fumes which exhaled from her handkerchief. She 
 had come to give me some additional instructions 
 relative to the embellishment of her children ere 
 they were brought down to dessert ; and having im- 
 parted her -wishes in that respect, she said, •'• I am 
 happy to infoMn you, Mary — and I am sure you 
 will be pleased to hear — that everything goes on 
 well down in the kitchen. The cook has kept sober ; 
 and it's only Mrs. Huggins the charwoman Y.ho 
 has got tipsy. So I have packed her off without her 
 wages, and forbade her from ever entering the house 
 again. And now teU me candidly, how do you 
 think I look ? Ah ! I see you do not Like to say. 
 In fact, you are dazzled — perhaps bewildered by 
 such a display of jewels. Well, I know that my 
 toilet is altogether extremely costly : but it is quite 
 the fashion now to deck oneself like this ; and I am 
 acquainted ■with ft great many genteel people who 
 do the same." 
 
 After ha^ving vainly endeavoured to ehcit from my 
 lips a flattering opinion relative to her appearance, 
 Mrs. BuU quitted the nursery and went do^wn to the 
 drawing-room, to be in readiness to receive her 
 guests. At about seven o'clock I began dressing 
 the children in their new clothes ; and by the time 
 I had thus arrayed them, a message came up to the 
 effect that I was to take them down to the dining- 
 room. Thither I accordingly proceeded with Theo- 
 dore and Georgiana : but upon entering the room, 
 the little girl grew frightened at the appearance of 
 so many strangers, and I was obliged to lift her up 
 in my arms to pacify her. The glance that I now 
 threw round the table, showed me that there were 
 about forty guests — the leading livery-men of the 
 ward and their wives. I never in my life beheld 
 so many stout people assembled together at one 
 time and in one place. Some of the gentlemen were 
 so corpulent that it was a wonder they did not fall 
 off their chairs in apoplectic fits after a turtle .ind 
 venison dinner. For tlie most part they had very 
 red noses aiid watery eyes ; and in their jiereonal 
 appearance alfordod all the indications of gluttony 
 and intemperance. The females were all out- 
 rageously fine — dressed in the gaudiest colours, and |
 
 MAKY PKICE; or, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVA!ST-MAID. 
 
 2'J5 
 
 witli a most ostentatious splendour, but utterly with- 
 out elegance and without taste. They also were fat 
 and seemed to be gross feeders. Some had very red 
 faces — and red arms too, for that matter ; and aU 
 ■ were coarse-looking and transcendontly vulgar. 
 
 One of these great stout blowsy women got up 
 from her chair, and waddled towards me \vith steps 
 that literally stamped upon the floor and gave the 
 idea of a dressed-up elephant walking. 
 
 " Give me the sweet Uttle dear," she said, endea- 
 vouring to modulate a voice which sounded Uke a 
 bassoon to the tones which are generally adopted for 
 the pm'pose of conciliating terrified children. 
 
 "Yes — give Georgy to Mrs. Deputy Popkins," 
 exclaimed Mi-s. BuU from the farther extremity of 
 the table : but as httle Georgy would on no account 
 go to Ill's. Deputy Popkins, I was still compelled to 
 stand holding her in my arms. 
 
 " That cMld never will do what she's bid," 
 grumbled Mr. Bull. 
 
 " Give her to me," said another dame, rising ia 
 her turn and advancing towards me. '•' I'm a fa- 
 mous hand at making children good-tempered." 
 
 " Come, Georgy dear," said Mrs. Bull, in a coax- 
 ing voice, " go to Mrs. Sheepwash :" — ^but Georgy 
 would not even look at Mrs. Sheepwash a bit more 
 than she had at Mrs. Deputy Popkins. 
 
 " Hadn't she better be taken away ?" growled Mr. 
 Bull. 
 
 " Lor, how cruel ! the poor dear Httle thing !" 
 said another fat City dame, whose voice sounded as 
 hoarse and deep as if she were breathing through a 
 speaking-trumpet. "Let me try:"— -and being 
 enormously fat, she waddled along like an immense 
 overgrown duck. 
 
 " Now Georgy," again said Mrs. Bull, '■' I am 
 sure you will go to Mrs. Pugstiles. What, not go 
 to Mrs. Pugstiles — dear Mrs. Pugstiles !" 
 
 "IMo — nor to Mr. PugstUes either, I'll be bound," 
 muttered Mr. Bull. 
 
 '■' Deary me, how odd this is !" said the amiable 
 Mrs. Pugstiles, in a deeper and hoarser voice than 
 before. " Well, at aU events, i/ou wUl, Master Theo- 
 dore?" — and taking the boy's hand she waddled 
 back to her seat: then raising him up on her lap, she 
 was about to reach him an orailge when he upset a 
 full glass of Port wine over her flaming crimson 
 velvet dress. She immediately threw him off her 
 knees, at the same time giving vent to a hoarse sound 
 very much like the growl of a tigress. 
 
 Mrs. Bull began making a thousand apologies for 
 her son's awkwardness ; while little Theodore him- 
 self began to cry bitterly, squalling out, " I couldn't 
 help it, ma : I didn't go for to do it." 
 
 "The children shouldn't have been had down," 
 grumbled Mr. Bull, looking very much as if he 
 thought that the Port-wine accident had at least lost 
 him the vote of Mr. Pugstiles, whose aspect was [ 
 awfully glum at this certain spoiling of his wife's I 
 magnificent dress. 
 
 No other lady either volunteered any kindness to 
 Theodore, or to take Miss Georgiana; and for a I 
 minute or two I felt very awkward, as I was kept 
 standing there wth the little girl in my arms, and 
 she clinging to my neck and concealing her face on 
 my shoulder. 
 
 " I think you had better take the dear children 
 away," said Mrs. Bull, looking desperately annoyed, 
 and speaking quite savagely to me. 
 
 " Oh ! not on my account !" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Pugstiles : but her aspect terribly belied her words 
 — for the glance which she flung upon littla Theo- 
 dore showed that it would have been an infinite re- 
 hef to her feelmgs had she been able to administer 
 a couple of boxes on the ears. 
 
 I did not wait for a second hint to the same 
 efiFect as that which ray mistress had already given 
 me; but made haste to escape from the room with 
 the children. The moment we were outside th3 
 door Master Theodore set up the most hideous 
 squall— threw himself down on the mat in the hall 
 — and began kicking with aU his might and main. 
 One of the footmen who had been borrowed for the 
 occasion, came up at the time ; and with an oath, ho 
 said, " You little brat, what do you mean by kick- 
 ing up such a row '(" 
 
 But this only made Master Theodore all the more 
 refractory ; and hi.s cries must have reached to the 
 remotest corner of the house. Little Georgiana, 
 not knowing what was the matter with her brother, 
 forthwith renewed the crying wliich she had com- 
 menced in the dining-room : and thus the noise v.^a3 
 perfectly liidoous. The door was flimg violently 
 open — and Itlrs. Bull came out in a towering pas- 
 sion. 
 
 "Why don't you get these children up-stairs?" 
 she exclaimed, her ej'cs darting daggers at me. 
 
 I assured my mistress that I had vainly endea- 
 voured to make blaster Theodore rise from the mat, 
 and that if I attempted to put down Georgiana for 
 the purpose of lifting him, she would cry all the 
 more violently. 
 
 Closing the door of the duiing-room, Mrs. BuU 
 snatched up hor darling Theodore, and bestowed 
 upon him such a hearty box on the ears, that it 
 must have been hc:ird by all the guests inside the 
 apartment. 
 
 "Take that, you nasty ill-tempered child!" she 
 said, with a savage bitterness : then suddenly drop- 
 ping her voice, she added, ''You little monkey, your 
 father has lost Mi-. Pugstiles' vote through you, I 
 am certain of it !" 
 
 Theodore now no longer refused to accompany 
 me; but as we went up the stairs he cried and 
 yeUed worse than ever ; and on reaching the nursery 
 I had a gi-eat deal of trouble to get him to b;d. 
 But I need not dwell any farther upon the incidents 
 of that festive evening : sulHco it to say that the 
 dinner had been magnificent — the turtle and venison 
 were highly approved of — everything gave satisfac- 
 tion, even to the pastry which the charwoman had 
 knocked oft"; and thus 'Slv. Bull ensured the respect 
 and ndrau-ation, as well as the interest and support, 
 of all the leading livery-men of his ward — Mr. 
 Pugstiles alone excepted. 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 AN ARISTOCRATrC FAMILY. 
 
 A FEW days after the dinuer-party I received a 
 letter from my brother William at Ashford, in 
 which tlie following passage occurred : — 
 
 " I should not h;ive written so soon nfter my last, liad 
 it uot been to tell you that au elderly man, of very 
 hi^jhly resi>eetttble appearance, .and lUessed ia biacl;.
 
 29(5 
 
 JirARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SEBV ANT-MAID. 
 
 camo to Mr. Collins's hou3a this moining and asked for 
 tne. He said that ho had been sent down from London 
 by a nobleman and his lady to see you : but that from 
 inquiries he made in the town, ho had learnt that you 
 were no longer here. Being informed, however, that 
 you had a brother iu Mr. Collins's service, he had called 
 to ask me where you were at present. I did not imme- 
 diately satisfy him, not knowing whether he was telling 
 me the truth : but he assured me that he was steward to 
 the Lord and Lady to whom he alluded, and that it was 
 for your advantage he wished to know your address. I 
 instantly imagined that ha must have been sent by Lord 
 and Lady Harlesdoa : and 1 asked him if such were the 
 case ? He said that it vfas, and made some excuse for 
 not having mentioned their names iu the tirst instance. 
 So I no longer hesitated to tell him that you were now 
 iu the service of Mr. and Mrs. Bull, Broad Street, 
 London ; and thanking me for the information, he went 
 Bw.iy. I hope I have not done wrong, dear Mary, in 
 telling him what I did : but as he said it was for your 
 advantage that he was making inquiries — and knowing 
 from all you told me that Lady Harlesdon, if not his 
 lordship, is very fond of you— I thought it best to give 
 him the information he required." 
 
 I was much astonished at this passage in Wil- 
 liam's letter — not only astonishecl, but likewise 
 alarmed; because I know full well that the indi- 
 vidual who had thus been making inquiries con- 
 cerning me, could not be Lord Harlesdon's steward. 
 For immediately after my arrival iu London I had 
 written to Jemima to tell her where I was, and had 
 received a letter from her in reply, stating that the 
 family were going down to Harlesdon Park in 
 Derbyshire for a few months, and that on their re- 
 turn to London she would immediately let me know, 
 so that I might call and see her. She had gone on 
 to say that I might pay such a visit unknown to 
 Lord Harlesdon ; and that all the servants of the 
 household, not oven excepting the steward, the 
 butler, and other high domestic dignitaries of the 
 establishment, would be pleased to see me, they 
 having already said bo on hearing from Jemima 
 that I was in London. Thus had my friend Jemima 
 written; and therefore it was quite clear that if the 
 steward had really wanted to ascertain where I was, 
 lie could have learnt my address from her. Besides, 
 the description which William gave of the indi- 
 vidual who called upon him at Ashford, did not 
 correspond with that of Lortl Harlesdon's steward; 
 and moreover it was not likely his lordship was 
 troubling himself any farther about me and my 
 aflnirs. As for Lady Harlesdon, she knew well 
 where I was, having been informed on that point 
 by Jemima, through whom she had sent me some 
 kind messages. 
 
 That some treachery was at work, T had a mis- 
 giving : but what could it bo ? what was its object ? 
 and from what quarter would it come ? The image 
 of my ovil genius, Sir Aubrey Clavoring, rose up in 
 my niind ; and I feared some now persecution at his 
 hands. Altogether, William's letter made me very 
 dull and unhappy for the rest of that day; and 
 during the night that followed I could scarcely sleep 
 for thinking of it. 
 
 Next day, at about eleven in the forenoon, the 
 parlour-maid came up to inform me that a person 
 was waiting to spoak to me down stairs. She re- 
 mained with the children, while I Iiastened to see 
 who it was : and on descending to a little Ijack room 
 on tho ground floor, to which the visitor had boon 
 shown, I was immediately struck by lindiug myself 
 
 in the presence of an individual answering tho de- 
 scription given by William of the elderly respectable- 
 looking person in black who had called upon him at 
 Ashford. He looked very hard at me for a few 
 moments, but by no means in a rudo manner : his 
 gaze was that of mingled interest and curiosity; 
 and there was nothing in it to oEfend. He bowed 
 civilly — then shut the door, which I had left open 
 behind me — and said, " You are Miss Price, I pre- 
 sume ?" 
 
 When I had answered him, he again surveyed me 
 with much attention ; and I experienced no incon- 
 siderable degree of suspense to ascertain what his 
 business could be. Perhaps I looked somewhat sus- 
 piciously at him : for he said, " Were you expecting 
 such a visit?"' 
 
 "I have heard," was my immediate answer, "that 
 you have been making inquiries concerning me at 
 Ashford." 
 
 " And if I used a little deception with your 
 brother," he rejoined, "in order to induce him to 
 give me your addi-ess, you must not be angry. I 
 am really the house-steward to a nobleman ; and it 
 is equally true that I was sent down to Ashford by 
 his lordship to see you." 
 
 " But it was not Lord Harlesdon who sent you," 
 I exclaimed. 
 
 " No — in the assumption of that name as the 
 alleged one of my master, lay the deception for 
 which I apologize." 
 
 " Then, who is your master ?" 
 
 " Lord Wilberton." 
 
 I felt tho warm blood sufifuse my features at this 
 intelligence : for I of course knew in a moment that 
 it was on account of Eustace Quentin I had be- 
 come the object of the late inquiries and the present 
 visit. 
 
 '•'Had I been fortunate enough to meet you at 
 Ashford," resumed the steward, whose manner was 
 civil and polite enough, '■ I should have conversed 
 with you on a certain topic : but inasmuch as I find 
 you iu London, it will be better for you to see Lord 
 and Lady Wilberton — and indeed, such is their 
 desire. Have you any objection r" 
 
 I was much bewildered by this question, and 
 knew not how to ^'eply. 
 
 "BeUeve me. Miss Price," said the steward, "'the 
 happiness of Mr. Eustace Quentin — all his pros- 
 pects — his entire hope of prosperity in life — every 
 thing, in short, depends upon you ! You will not 
 be surprised if I inform you that while at Ashford 
 I made many inquiries concerning you ; and I am 
 bound to state that everything I heard was entirely 
 to your credit. Indeed, from what I did hear of 
 you, I believe that you are too good, too sincere, 
 and too generous-hearted, not to comply with the 
 request of Mr. Eustace Qucntin's parents by seeing 
 them as carlj' as possible." 
 
 Still I did not answer. Eustace Quentin, imrae- 
 diiitely after parting from me at Ashford. had 
 hastened back to Ireland to rejom his regiment. 
 Upwards of seven weeks had elapsed since then, dur- 
 ing which interval I had received two letters from 
 him : and these were full of the most endearing and 
 aft'ectionate language. Should I be acting in a 
 manner that he would approve of, by responding to 
 tho demand of liis parents ? For what purpose 
 could they wish to see me, except to induce me to 
 break off everything with their son ? Perhaps, 
 
 f
 
 MABY PRICE; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 therefore, Eustace might oe displeased if I went to 
 them ? Yet, on the other hand, wouhl it not be 
 more frank, candid, and honourable for me to obey 
 this summons on tho part of the parents of hun 
 wliom I loved and who loved me in return ? Yes — 
 to tliia conclusion I came ; and I signified as much 
 to tho steward. 
 
 " Will you accompany me now ?" ho asked. " Can 
 you obtain a couple of hours' leave of absence from 
 your master and mistress ?" 
 
 As I had not once ashed permission to go out on 
 my own account durin^r the six weeks I had been in 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bull's service, I at onco felt assured 
 that there would not bo much dilficidty in obtaininij 
 Buch leave on the present oocaaiou. I accordingly 
 went to the parlom*, where 1 found Mrs. Bull sealed 
 ftlone. 
 
 " If you ])lease, ma'am, I beg to request per- 
 mission to go out for two or three hours." 
 
 " With whom '^ and for what i" quickly demanded 
 NO. 38 
 
 Mrs. Bull. " I know that servants have a right to 
 expect a holiday now and then: but I am also 
 acquainted with some very genteel famihes where 
 no holidays ai'c given at all." 
 
 " Lord Wilberton's stewai'd has called to speak to 
 mo on some private matter," was my response ; 
 " and he wishes me to go with liim." 
 
 '•'Lord Wilberton's steward!" echoed Mrs. Bull, 
 delighted at anything which savoured of aristocracy. 
 " Oh ! of course there cannot be tho sUghtest ob- 
 jection. A nobleman's steward, you know, is a sort 
 of gentleman in his way — much bettor than any 
 poor gentleman ! I suppose you aro going with 
 him to Lord Wilberton's house ?" 
 
 1 answered in the aflirmativc. 
 
 " Ah ! tho parlour. maid informed mo that it was 
 a very respectable-looking person indeed, who had 
 come to inquire for you ; and that is tho roixson wliv 
 I (old her nut to let him stand in the liall, but to 
 show him into tho little back-parlour. If you like.
 
 298 
 
 MAltY ralCE; OB, THE MEMOITW OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 Mary, to offer him any refreshment you can do so; 
 and you may take one of the wine-decanters off 
 the sideboard in the dining-room. Noblemen's 
 stewards drink as much wine as gentlemen." 
 
 I thanked Mrs. Bull for her offer, but said that 
 I was sure the steward would not wait for refresh- 
 ment. I then hurried up-stairs to dress myself; 
 and as a matter of course put on all my best things. 
 Perhaps I shall be pardoned by the reader on the 
 score of any little vanity wliich prompted me to 
 make myself look as well as I possibly could, now 
 that I was to appear in the presence of Eastaco 
 Quentin's father and mother : for though I was not 
 80 silly as to fancy for a mo.nent that they would 
 give their consent to our marriage, yet it was 
 natural that I should endeavour to disarm them as 
 much as possible of the prejudices they had con- 
 ceived against the poor humble servant-maid. My 
 toilet thus occupied some twenty minutes; and 
 when I descended to the little back parlour again, 
 I was greatly astonished to behold Mrs. Bull there 
 m conversation with the steward. 
 
 She was louninng in an affected lack-a-daisical 
 kind of manner upon a sofa ; whOe he, having risen 
 trom his chair tlirough respect, was standing listen- 
 ino- to the tirade of nonsense to which my mistress 
 was giving vent in her accustomed stylo. I was 
 not at all afraid that he had said anything to her 
 relative to the object of his call, or the purpose for 
 wliich I was wanted at Lord Wilberton's house : 
 because even during the short time I was with him, 
 I had seen enough to convince me that he was too 
 slirewd, cautious, and reserved to indulge m mere 
 idle gossipping. 
 
 " Of coiu-se noblemen's houses at the West End 
 are much finer than our's in the City," my mistress 
 was saying as I entered ; " but when Mr. Bull be- 
 comes Alderman of his Ward, which he will be in a 
 few days, I mean him to move from Broad Street — 
 although I know a great many genteel families who 
 live in the City. Not that he need give up this 
 house altogether : but he can take a beautiful su- 
 bui-ban villa at Kensington, or Clapham, or some 
 fashionable part. For myself, however, I am not at 
 all ambitious, and don't care much about his be- 
 coming an Alderman; although it certainly will 
 lead to the Mayoralty in due coui-se — aud then you 
 know, when at the Mansion House, we shall have 
 to entertain the Ministers, and the Judges, aud 
 several noblemen from the West End, which \^'ill of 
 course be all very agreeable iu its way. Fortunately 
 for Mr. Bull, I am well acquainted with all the 
 usages and customs of fashionable life." 
 
 " No doubt of it, ma'am," observed the steward, 
 with a polite bow. 
 
 " My father is an eminent solicitor in Lincoln's 
 Inn Fields, and sees the very best company — so I 
 am accustomed to it." 
 
 " Naturally so, ma'am," responded the steward, 
 with another bow. 
 
 "And therefore I shall have a gi-eat advantage 
 over the generality of Lady Mayoresses : for between 
 you and me, the citizens' wives generally are shock- 
 ingly vidgar, although of course there are a few 
 gcutecl families this side of Temple Bar." 
 
 " No doubt, ma'am," said the steward, with the 
 utmost politeness. 
 
 " But only think of the present Lady Mayoress," 
 continued Mrs. Bull, " wearing a groat yellow tiu'- 
 
 ban the other evening when the Ministers dined »t 
 the Mansion House. Wasn't it drea/lful ?" 
 
 "Dreadful, ma'am," returned the steward, cour- 
 teously humouring my mistress's nonsensical foibles. 
 "And it's no wonder that lords and ladies at the 
 West End consider all City people to be so dread- 
 fully low and vulgar. But perhaps, if you have an 
 opportunity, you would whisper to Lord and Lady 
 Wilborton that there are exceptions :" — and ilrs. 
 Bull fixed her eyes significantly upon the steward, 
 as much as to impress him with the idea that in 
 herself he beheld one of those brilliant excGptions to 
 the general rule of civic vulgarity. 
 
 " I shall assuredly take the first opportunity of so 
 doing," he answered: then no doubt anxious to 
 escape any further infliction of ilrs. Bull's conceited 
 egotisms, he turned to me, saying, " Miss Price, I 
 see that you are ready; and I think that we had 
 better depart at once." 
 
 He according made his bow to Mrs. Bull ; and I 
 then accompanied him forth from the house. We 
 entered a hackney-coach ; and as we proceeded to- 
 wards tho West End, the steward observed with a 
 smile, " Your mistress is somewhat talkative. While 
 you were absent from the room, she amused me 
 considerably with her strivings and strainings to 
 convince me that by her marriage with ilr. Bull 
 she had shed a perfect halo of gentiUty upon tho 
 Bull family. She also endeavoured to ascertain how 
 long I had known you, and for what reason you 
 were going to Wilberton House: but I need 
 scarcely tell you. Miss Price, that I did not satisfy 
 her curiosity." 
 
 The hackney-coach proceeded to Lord Wilber- 
 ton's mansion, wliich was situated in Piccadilly, the 
 front facing the Green Park. It was an immense 
 estabUslimont, quite as extensive as Lord Harlos- 
 don's — equally thronged with domestics — as sump- 
 tuous in its appointments and decorations — and in 
 every respect affording the evidences of great wealth. 
 I caught myself sighing as I followed the steward 
 up the great marble staircase : for I could not help 
 thinking that the possessors of such a palatial abode 
 would not merely thi'ow every obstacle in tho way 
 of my union \\'ith their son, but perhaps scorn and 
 despise the bare idea of such an alliance. 
 
 I was conducted into a back drawing-room fur- 
 nished in the most elegant and tasteful manner; 
 and the steward, ha\Tng hastily whispered in my car 
 that I was now in the presence of Lord and Lady 
 Wilberton, and the Hon. Mr. Qucntin (their eldest 
 son), at once withdrew. I must candidly confess 
 that I was overwhelmed with confusion as tho eyes 
 of Eustace's parents and brother were at once fixed 
 upon mc with a curiosity which, notwithstanding 
 the rules of good breeding, they could not conceal. 
 Lord Wilberton was a tall, portly, good-looking 
 man of about sixty, with a very aristocratic air, in 
 which pomposity and haul our were blended. Lady 
 Wilberton was a stately woman of about fifty, not 
 particularly stout, but of a fine emhonyoitU : she 
 was elegantly dressed in a morning costume, and at 
 the moment I entered, raised herself up from a sort 
 of half-lounging position on the sofa. 
 
 Ferdinand Qucntin was a tall, slender, sickly- 
 looking young man, whose age appeared to be about 
 four-and-twenty. There was just a sufficiency of a 
 family likeness between him and Eustace to show 
 that they wore brothers : but he possessed naught of
 
 MAKY price; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 299 
 
 that striking beauty which characterized him whom 
 I loved. His hair was brown ; but instead of being 
 of a rich hue and arranging itself in natural wavy 
 curls, it was poor, lank, and thin. His eyes were 
 hazel ; but instead of beaming with the light of in- 
 telhgcnce, they were duU and glassy. His features 
 were smaU ; but instead of having the classic out- 
 line of Eustace's profile, they were angular and in- 
 significant. His Ops were of an unhealthy paleness ; 
 and Jiis teeth were not particularly good. When he 
 stood up he stooped in his gait, as if he had out- 
 grovra his strength. As for his manner, it was 
 composed of a kind of cool insolence, impudent self- 
 sufficiency, and overweening conceit ; which, blended 
 with a certain refined coxcombry, made him even at 
 the lu-st glance appear to me the most insufferable 
 creatui-e I had ever yet beheld in mascuUne shape. 
 While his father and mother surveyed me with curi- 
 osity only, he contemplated me with a contemptuous 
 smile upon his countenance — as if he wished me to 
 see that he was fuUy prepared to ridicule the idea 
 of such a girl as myself daring to aspire to become 
 his sister-in-law. 
 
 I have ah-eady said that I was weU nigh 
 overwhelmed with confusion on finding myself 
 in the presence of that haughty aristocrat, that 
 stately dame, and that self-sufficient young gentle- 
 man ; and for an instant I deeply regretted that I 
 had obeyed the call which summoned me thither, 
 I felt the colour moimting to my cheeks ; and I 
 cast down my eyes. Never, as long as I live, shaU I 
 forget the awkwardness and embarrassment of that 
 moment ! 
 
 " Step forward, young woman," said Lord Wil- 
 berton, in a voice which he evidently tried to render 
 as courtoous and condescending as possible, but 
 which nevertheless showed that ho could not divest 
 himself of the feeling that ho was speaking to a 
 creature only on a level with the menials whom he 
 was accustomed to command in his own ostablish- 
 
 lueut. '• She may sit down, I think may she 
 
 uotP" and he looked dubiously towards his wife, 
 for her to decide upon a point which he evidently 
 considered to be of no small importance. 
 
 " Yes — you can sit down, young woman," said 
 Lady Wilbcrton, who in her turn endeavom'cd to un- 
 bend as much as possible, but who experienced the 
 utmost difficulty to play so unusual a part. 
 
 Agam did the colour mantle upon my checks : 
 I)ut this time it was with iudignation. All my awk- 
 wardness and embarrassment vanished ia a moment, 
 ;,'iviug place to the prido and resentment of feelings 
 ili.eply wounded by this mode of treatment. If 
 Ijioy had kept mc standing I should have expe- 
 rienced no annoyance : for I liad not gone thither in 
 iho expectation of being treated as anything bettor 
 than I was : namely, a servant dependent on 
 r!)y own honest industry for my bread. But to have 
 it .irguud before my I'aco how I was to be treated, 
 s/ad too much for even m^ patience to endure ! 
 
 '• 1 thank your ladyship," I said in a firm but 
 [J il'-jtly civil tone; "Iprefur shmdiug." 
 
 •• liy Jove, I think she means to givo herself 
 airs !" aaid Mr. Quentin, caressing his beardless 
 chin in a coxcombical matter. 
 
 " Hush, Ferdinand," said his mother, in a mildly 
 reproving tone : " wo won't wound the poor girl's 
 fct;liiigs more than wo can help." 
 
 "If your ladyship," I said, not taking tho alight- 
 
 est notice of ilr. Quentin's impertinence, " has sent 
 for me with a dehberate intention of wounding my 
 feelings at all, I must respectfully beg leave to 
 retire :" — and I moved towards the door. 
 
 '■' No — by Jove ! you don't escape us like this !" 
 cried Mr. Quentin : and rushing forward he caught 
 me by the wrist. 
 
 " Unhand me, sir !" I exclaimed, my cheeks again 
 becoming crimson, and I felt that my eyes were 
 literally flashing fire. 
 
 ""What a vixen!" cried Mr. Quentin: but he 
 shrank back in aiFright though, all the same — as if 
 he thought that I meant to box his ears. " Hasn't 
 the little scullery- maid got a spirit of her own!" 
 and he gave an afiected laugh, which however con- 
 cealed but indilferently the real vexation that he 
 experienced. 
 
 "Mary Price, I beg you to stop," said Lady 
 Wilberton, in a tone as much of entreaty as of 
 command. "Ferdinand, you will do me a great 
 favour if you retire for a little whUe." 
 
 " Can't think of such a thing, my dear mother," 
 was his reply. 
 
 " But I am sure your father wishes it also," said 
 her ladyship, bending upon bim a frowning lo(jk. 
 
 "And I am sm-e that the governor wishes no 
 such thing," was Mr. Quentin's llippant rejoinder. 
 
 Lord WUbcrton looked awfully amioycd; and 
 after a few moments' hesitation, as if fearful of 
 provoking fresh impertinences on the part of his 
 spoilt heir, he said, "Ferdinand, I ask you as a 
 favour to retire for a short time." 
 
 " But it can't bo done," said Mr. Quentin, flinging 
 himself back in the chair where he had re-seuted 
 himself after his little skirmish with mo at the door. 
 " Would do anything to oblige you, 'pon my honoui' ; 
 but can't quite consent to be turned out of the room 
 like a child." 
 
 " Then will you be quiet ?" asked her ladyship in 
 a deprecating and entreating tone. 
 
 " As quiet as a mouse," ho replied, stretching out 
 his long lanky legs with true aristocratic indolence : 
 then throwing back his head, he half closed his 
 eyes, as if with a fashionably dissipated languor. 
 
 The whole of this little scene was ineffably nau- 
 seating to me : but I saw clearly enough that it had 
 been pro-arranged that I was to be treated in a 
 concihatory manner, so far as was compatible with 
 the aristocratic pride of the Wilbertons ; — and it 
 was likewise apparent that the parents were afraid 
 their scheme would be apoOt by tho flippant im- 
 pertinences of their son. 
 
 "Now, Mary Price," said Lord Wilberton, "as 
 we have important matters to talk upon, I request 
 you to bo seated." 
 
 "Yes — pray sit down," said her la^lyshipj "and 
 do not think that wo purposely wish to treat you 
 unkindly. We do not. AVe have no such imgc- 
 uerous feeling towards you; and us wo expect 
 something from j/otti- generosity, we regret that tho 
 first lew moments of your presence should bavo 
 been marked by anything disagreeable." 
 
 "I say though," cried Mr. Quentin, "was that a 
 slap at me r" 
 
 " Bo quiet, Ferdinand," said his mother, some- 
 what angrily. 
 
 Mr. Quentin gave an indolent yawn — stretched 
 out his legs still farther — tlirew back his lu-ad more 
 languidly---and appeared to bo sinking olf into »
 
 300 
 
 MARY rniOE; on, the memoirs op a servant-maid. 
 
 doze. Meantime I had taken a chair so as to avoid 
 any farther controversy on that point ; and I pre- 
 pared to listen with a respectful fp-avity, into •which 
 I thiovr as much firmness as possible. 
 
 "Now, Mary Price, if you will attend patiently to 
 mc," said Lord Wilberton, "I vrill make you ac- 
 quainted with a few facts which it is necessary you 
 •hould know. My younger son Eustace has fancied 
 himself in love with you: but you, as a sensible 
 girl, must be well aware that marriage is not te be 
 dreamt of in such a ease. From all we have heard 
 concerning you, wo are well assured that to no dis- 
 honourable terms would you listen : nor is Eustace, 
 we believe, capable of offering such. We do not say 
 that there is anything selfish in whatsoever amount 
 of aficction you may have formed for him : but it is 
 quite natural yoii should think of settling yourself 
 well in life. But here I must tell you the first fact 
 to which I have alluded — namely, that by marry- 
 ing Eustace you would marry a beggar." 
 
 " My lord," I answered, " whenever I think of 
 Mr. Eustace Quentin, it is not of his rank, his posi- 
 tion, or qf his pecuniary eventualities — it is of him- 
 scli' only." 
 
 " But love can't subsist without money," re- 
 joined Lord Wilberton ; " and without intending to 
 threaten or menace unnecessarily, I must give you 
 plainly to understand (hat my son Eustace is so to- 
 tally dependent on mc, ho has not a shilling he can 
 call liis own if he acts contrary to my wiU. Do not 
 iiitcrrupt me — but hear mc to the end. He is a 
 lieutenant in the army ; and having served his time 
 iu that capacity, would have been promoted to a 
 captaincy the other day when he became of age, if he 
 had promised to fulfil my wishes in all things. But 
 he relYised — and therefore 1 got his promotion 
 stopped in the Commander-in-Chief's Office. I am 
 sorry to say he is infatuated and obstinate ; and it is 
 useless for me to reason any more with him. It has 
 therefore occured to her ladyship and myself that 
 we would communicate with i/oii — to sec whether 
 your generosity is great enough to save Eustace 
 from the disagreeable results which will ensue if you 
 both persist in the engagement which I have every 
 reason to believe subsists between you." 
 
 " Yes — the governor is pretty well informed on 
 that head," exclaimed Mr. Quentin, lazily lifting 
 himself up in his chau-, as if it required au cITort to 
 give utterance to those few words: and then he 
 lolled back again with more indolence than at first. 
 " Be quiet, Ferdinand," said Lady Wilberton. 
 " Let me come to the point at once," resumed his 
 lordship. 
 
 " I thought you had got there already," remarked 
 Mr. Quentin : " for you have given this yoimg wo- 
 man pretty plainly to understand that Eustace must 
 ho kept out of his fortune and cut off with a shilling 
 
 in your will, if " 
 
 " Do be quiet, Ferdinand," interrupted Lord Wil- 
 berton, now speaking sternly. " Mary Price, what 
 I wish you to comprehend and appreciate, is the 
 esact position in which Eustacf; is placing himself — 
 and in which, to speak candidly, you are helping to 
 place hun. If you do not consent to abandon every 
 hope you may have formed of marrying that foolish 
 boy, I shall without delay adopt the most energetic 
 as well as the severest measures. I shall stop his 
 allowivnce — I shall get his regiment ordered off to 
 lucUa— I shall prevent his promotiox — I shall keep 
 
 him a poor lieutenant — in a word, I shall do all I 
 can to teach him the necessity of obedience to his 
 father." 
 
 " Good heavens, my lord !" I exclaimed, a-uclly 
 afilictcd by these threats which pierced like barbed 
 arrows to my very heart's core : "you surely would 
 not persecute your son thus ?" 
 
 " Do not call it persecution," said Lord Wilber- 
 ton sternly : " or if you do, look to yourself as the 
 primal cause of it." 
 
 " IS'o, my lord — no," I exclaimed, with a degree 
 of excitement that made me speak vehemently and 
 look frenziedly : " not for worlds would I do aught 
 to injure the prospects of your son ! If he repent 
 of anything he has ever said to me — of any hope he 
 has ever held out — of any promise he has ever made 
 — heaven knows that I will release him, that I will 
 never reproach him, but that I will make any sacri- 
 fice for his sake !" 
 
 " You arc a good girl — a very good girl," said 
 Lord Wnberton, as he exchanged a look of satis- 
 faction with her ladyship. "It is such a sacrifice 
 which we now ask at your hands : and therefore we 
 have resolved upon making you a certain proposal, 
 which, after all you have just said, you can scarcely 
 refuse to accept. But perhaps your ladyship had 
 better explain it," said the nobleman, again turning 
 his eyes upon his wife. 
 
 "Yes — let mother do it," exclaimed Mr. Quentin, 
 with another long dissipated yawn, as he ran his 
 lingers carelessly through his thin lank hair. " Go 
 on, mother — you will make a better hand at it than 
 the governor." 
 
 " Eeally this is impardonable, Ferdinand," said 
 Lord AVUberton, " thus interrupting such serious 
 discourse !" 
 
 " I merely gave my opinion — that's all," said the 
 young gentleman : and again he laughed affectedly. 
 
 " iSIai-y Price," said Lady "U'Uberton, after having 
 bent a frowning look upon her son,' " in pro- 
 posing that you should make the sacrifice which we 
 now ask at your hands, we have not been immind- 
 ful of your future welfare. His lordship has just 
 granted the lease of a very fine farm to a young 
 man of good steady habits, excellent personal ap- 
 pearance, and very passable manners, considering 
 his position in hfe. He is under the deepest obli- 
 gations to his lordship, and is ready to follow our 
 advice iu any way that wo may point out. He is as 
 yet unmarried, but wants a good, active, industrious, 
 well-behaved young woman as a wife. I am sure 
 ho will like you at the very first glance ; and our 
 proposition therefore is, that if when you and he 
 meet, you think you can like each other, your hands 
 shall be joined with as little delay .ns possible, and 
 his lordship will make you a present of a thousand 
 guineas on your wedding-day." 
 
 I had listened in total silence to this long speech, 
 because amaacment scaled my hps. It was not 
 exactly an amazement which showed itself in the 
 countenance, or else perhaps her ladyship would 
 have stopped short if she had observed that her 
 words were producing such an cfiect : but it was an 
 amazement which fastened itself as it were upon the 
 soul, paralysing the body and fixing the features in 
 dull staring vacancy. Even when her ladvship had 
 done speaking, I could scarcely persuade myself 
 that I had heanl aright. The proposition ap- 
 pcarcd to combine the most flagrant insult with the
 
 JiAiiY riucE ; on, the MEiroins of a subv ant-maid. 
 
 301 
 
 most sliamelcss indelicacy- It oircniled mo in every 
 one of my keenest sensibilities : it wounded me in 
 all the tenderest places of my heart : it shocked, it 
 mortified, it humiliated me : — and then all those 
 feelings flamed up into one volcanic burst of indig- 
 nation. 
 
 "For what do you take me?" I suddenly ex- 
 claimed, starting from my scat. " Good heavens ! 
 what an opinion you must have formed of my 
 character ! Is it because the vitiated atmosphere 
 which you breathe has poisoned all the generosity 
 and sincerity of your own heart ? or is it because, 
 looking down upon me through the mist of gross 
 prejudices which environ persons of your rank, you 
 think that I am lost to all sense of feminine de- 
 cency, of feeling, and of self-respect ? Oh ! your 
 ladyship is bitterly mistaken if you think that the 
 love which I cherish for your son is of such a nature 
 as to permit me to transfer it in a moment to this 
 husband of your choosing ! And if I am prepared 
 to sacrifice that love of mine to the well-being of 
 your sou, think you that gold can recompense mo ? 
 think you that the best feelings of the heart are to 
 De disposed of and purchased at a price ? It may 
 be so in your sphere, my lady: but it is not in 
 mine ! No — I scorn and despise your proposals : I 
 am almost tempted to adtl that I scorn and despise 
 those who have made them. Yet listen, my lady — 
 and you also, my lord — to what on my side I volun- 
 tarily propose, and what on my part I spontaneously 
 ofier." 
 
 " By Jove, what a heroine !" ejaculated Ferdi- 
 nand Quentin. " Perhaps she thinks herself doing 
 the Derby affair all over again r" 
 
 " Silence, sir — and let her speak !" exclaimed 
 Lord AVilborton, in evident amazement at all I 
 had previously said, and in anxious anticipation 
 that I was still inclined to make some ofl'er that 
 would suit the end he had in view. 
 
 "If Mr. Eustace Quentin," I continued, some- 
 what more dcUberately than before, " will write to 
 me and say that, everything considered, he would 
 rather not fly in the face of his parents, and that he 
 will make the sacrifice of his own feelings to their 
 wishes, — then will I not merely bow to that deci- 
 sion, but will write him such a reply as shall 
 strengthen him in the maintenance of it." 
 
 "And is this nil that you will do ?" asked both 
 Lord and Lady Wilbcrton in the same breath. 
 
 " "What more would j-ou have me do ?" I ex- 
 claimed. "If your son Mr. Eustace estimates me 
 above all those worklly prospects which yom* lord- 
 ship, as his father, seems so fatally able to control, 
 it is not for me to resign of my own accord, or 
 rather to repudiate that aflcction with which he has 
 honoured me. But if, on the other hand, Mr. 
 Eustace Quentin places his worldly prospects above 
 his affection for me, then am I ready to release 
 him from any promise he may have made inc." 
 
 " Think well, young woman, what you arc 
 Eaying!" exclaimed Lord Wilberton, now speaking 
 with an imperious and menacing tone. " There are 
 ways of bringing you to your senses, of which per- 
 haps you little dream." 
 
 Not choosmg to prolong the controversy, I made 
 a respectful salutation — rather because they were 
 Eustace's relatives, than because their conduct de- 
 served any show of respect on my part : aud then I 
 moved to the door. 
 
 " Stop — stay for one minute longer !" cried Lady 
 'Wilberton, rising from her seat aud hastening to- 
 wards me. "You really must not go away thus. 
 
 Make allowances for the feeling of parents " 
 
 "But does not your ladyship think," I asked 
 "that allowances shoidd sdso be made for my 
 feelings?" 
 
 " Mary Price, I implore you to save my son !" 
 said Lady Wilberton, not heeding my question. 
 "Come — let me speak with you aloue:" — and 
 catching me by the arm, she hurried me out of the 
 room, across the landing, into another apartment, — • 
 all this taking place so suddenly that I had not 
 time to resist or remonstrate, even if I had been so 
 disposed. 
 
 We were now alone together, I and Eustace 
 Quentin's mother. Even before we loft the other 
 room she had thrown aside her patrician stateliness, 
 and had condescended to the adoption of a tone of 
 entreaty : but now she exhibited a still more con- 
 ciliatory feeling, and with some degree of kindness 
 desired me to sit down on the sofa by her side. 
 
 " I must confess," she said, " that you have not 
 been altogether as well treated in the other room as 
 you ought to have been, and as I had predetermined 
 that you should be. All the angry words you ad- 
 dressed to me just now were perhaps natural enough; 
 and I am not angry with you on that account. In- 
 deed, I sec plainly that there is more romance in 
 this love of your's than I had at first anticipated. 
 Perhaps you arc aware of what took place between 
 me and Eustaice some few weeks ago at our seat in 
 Yorkshire ? Yes — that tell-tale look of your's 
 shows me that you arc." 
 
 " Nor do I attempt to deny it, my lady," I an- 
 swered. 
 
 "You are aware then," she resumed, "that I 
 gave Eustace to miderstand that if at the expira- 
 tion of a few years he still found himself as deeply 
 attached to you as ever, I would think seriously of 
 the all'air — and even perhaps use my influence with 
 Lord Wilberton to induce him to conscrvt to an al- 
 hance so necessary to ensure our son's happiness. 
 Ai'e j'ou aware of aU tliis ?" 
 
 "lam," was my response. 
 
 "And perhaps, then, you are attaching more im- 
 portance to that promise of mine than it deserves ? 
 Believe me, IMary Price, it was but an evasion — a 
 subterfuge — a little stratagem, in a word, on my 
 part, in order to induce my son to postpone for the 
 present all thought of committing liimself beyond 
 the possibility of self-revocation. To sjieak candidly, 
 I thought and hoped that wilh the lapse of timo 
 ho would be cured of this foolish passion. But 
 from a letter which I received a few days ago I 
 learn that he is obstinately and invct crate ly hcnt 
 upon what, in the common parlance of lovers, ia 
 icTvucAremaininrj faithful. Ah! your countenance 
 brightens up at this intelligence : but what is 
 joy to you, is wretchetlness to mo ! Now then, 
 Mary, since my son is so blinded by this passion 
 to his own material interests, I again appeal to 
 your goodness, your generosity, your strength of 
 mind, and I Mill even say your pride, — for I see 
 that j'ou possess it, — I appeal to you, I say, in the 
 most sacred aud serious manner to break ofl" of 
 your own accord whatever engagement subsists 
 between Eustace and yourself." 
 
 " I cannot do more, my lady, than I have alreaJj
 
 302 
 
 MAEY PBIOB; OB, THE MEMOIES OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 nffored," was my answer. " Mr. Eustace Quentin 
 is the beat judge of bU own happiness ; and if he 
 considers me necessary to that happiness, it would 
 be but an ill-requital for so much love on his part 
 if I were to do au<Tht that would justify him in tax- 
 ing mo with iml'aithl'ulncss. I am willing to sacri- 
 fice my own happiness to ensure his : but I will do 
 nothing to make him imhappy." 
 
 Lady Wilberton continued to argue, entreat, coax, 
 and cajole for a considerable time. At length, per- 
 ceiving that she could extract from me no promise 
 beyond that which I had already given, she said, — 
 though with some degree of hesitation, as if she had 
 obtained too deep a reading of my character to think 
 that the proposal would be accepted, — " If you will 
 go to America, or to any distant part of the world, 
 the sum of five thousand guineas shall be paid into 
 the hands of a London banker, so as to be forwarded 
 to your place of destination." 
 
 " Money, money — always money !" I exclaimed, 
 rising from my seat. " Ilave I not already given 
 your ladyship to understand that the world holds no 
 amount of treasure which could induce me to prove 
 faithless and treacherous to your son ; while on the 
 other hand, if by repenting of his engagement he 
 should exact the sacrifice of my happiness, that sacri- 
 fice will be consummated on my part without the 
 recompense of a single farthing." 
 
 Lady Wilberton had also risen from her seat ; and 
 as I spoke her whole appearance underwent a rapid 
 change. Anger gathered upon her countenance, so 
 that by the time I had done speaking fires fiashed 
 from her eyes — her Ups grew white and quivered 
 with rage — her whole form trembled — and she was 
 convulsed with passion. 
 
 "Vile, detestable, intriguing girl!" she exclaimed, 
 completely throwing olf the mask of assumed conci- 
 hation and kindness : ' ' think you that I cannot 
 fathom your deceitfuljaess to its very depth ? You 
 kaow that by your artful wiles you have so involved 
 iuy uuhappy son in the meshos of infatuation, that 
 there is not the remotest chance of his requiring anv 
 such sacrifice at your hands as you pretend yourself 
 to be ready and wilhng to make. This you know 
 full well ; and therefore you axe safe enough in 
 voUmtccring such an offer, all the merit of which 
 you hope to secure to yourself, in the full confidence 
 that you arc not likely to be called upon to act up 
 to your words ! And you dare talk of loving my 
 son, — you, who for your ovm selfishness will thus 
 blight all his worldly prospects ! Well then, go and 
 £uarry him — ally yourself to i)overty — and when in 
 the hour of his bitterest disappointment, of his peni- 
 tence, and his remorse, he tm-ns round and curses 
 you as the source of his aulTerings, then will you ex- 
 perience a condign punishment ! Go and marry 
 him if you will : but understand mo well — instead 
 of him rai<(ing you up to his rank, it will be you 
 drugging hira down to tho depths of yoiu- degrada- 
 tion. Hapi)incs8 ! you spoko of happiness ! — what 
 happiness will there bo for a young man whoso 
 career hss commenced so brilliantly, but through 
 you must end so darkly ? Go, young woman ! A 
 thousiuid additional roproachca ai"e upon my 
 tongue ; and yet 1 have not patience sulficient to 
 endure you any longer in order to gain tuno for 
 their utterance. Go, I say — and if you marry my 
 son, may a mother's bitterest, deepest, most wither- 
 ing curBO bo upon youi* head. Go !" 
 
 At fii-bt I had listened with feelings of renewed 
 indignation and resentment : but as Lady Wilber- 
 ton went on speaking, I was overawed by the vehe- 
 mence of her words and the prophetic bitterness 
 which pervaded their meaniag — tiU at last I shud- 
 dered all over and nearly shrieked out in horror and 
 afiright, as she invoked that tremendous maledic- 
 tion upon my head. She at once turned away — 
 passed into an adjoining room — and closed the door 
 violently behind her. I stood hngeriug for a few 
 moments, cruelly bewildered what to think and how 
 to act — half inclined to hurry after her, throw my- 
 self at her feet, and promise to fly at once from the 
 country : but suddenly, with the influence of an 
 angel presence, the recollection flashed to my mind 
 that Eustace had lately written to her declaring his 
 resolve to remain faithful to me — and I at once felt 
 that my duty was to remain faithful to him ! 
 
 Cheered and strengthened — tranquillizedal so by 
 the sudden turn which my thoughts had thus taken, 
 I issued from the apartment, rapidly descended the 
 stairs, and quitted the house. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXIL 
 
 THE GSEEK FABE!. 
 
 On emerging from Lord Wilberton's palatial resi- 
 dence, I entered the Green Park to seclude myself 
 for a brief space from the activity, the din, and the 
 bustle of the great thoroughfare of Piccadilly, so 
 that I might commime a little \\-ith my o^vn heart 
 and thoroughly compose my feelings ere I took a 
 conveyance back to the City I was anxious to 
 weigh well all that had taken place, so as to sift my 
 conduct and arrive at a dispassionate conclusion 
 whether I had acted well or otherwise in the course 
 I had pursued. Although it was in the midtUe of 
 winter and the weather was very cold, I sat down 
 on a bench imder one of the trees in the Green 
 Park ; and as the -ndnd moaned amidst the skeleton 
 boughs over my head, I phmged deep into those re- 
 flections for tho pursuance of which I had sought 
 that comparative seclusion. But I had not re- 
 mained long wrapped up in my reverie when I 
 heard tho sounds of voices in very gay and jovial 
 conversation approach ; and as one of them instan- 
 taneously struck me to resemble that of my brother 
 Eobert, though the speakers were still at some little 
 distance, 1 raised my eyes — and sure enough, behold 
 him arm-in-arm with his friend Mi-. Tomlinsou, the 
 manager of the itinerant theatrical troop. 
 
 They were both thesscd in the richest manner, 
 and were walking with the jaunty air of the finest 
 exqiusit<;s. Very dilfereut in appearance were they 
 now than when I had seen them at Derby, dressed 
 in (heir threadb;ire garments and decorated with 
 the trumpery of theatrical jewellery. Their clothes 
 were not only perfeclly new, but cut in the most 
 elegant fashion : they had gold watches and chains— 
 and as each dangled a glove iu his hand, the fingers 
 that were thus exposed wore perfectly laden with 
 rings. Mr. Tomliuson, who, as the reader will ro- 
 coUcct, was a tall portly individual, wore an air so 
 majestic that a stranger might have thought the 
 whole of PiccadiUy with the Green Park included 
 belonged to him. My brother looked better than 
 when I List saw him : for though his countouauco
 
 MARY price; or, the memoirs of a bervant-maid. 
 
 303 
 
 atill hovc! cprtain signs of the early dissipation in 
 wliicli lie had pkingod, yet there was mucli loss of 
 that low kind of rakishncss in his appearance than 
 when we met at Derby. Altogether, llobert had a 
 more genteel air than I should have fancied he 
 could assiuno : but I cannot say that I experienced 
 any feelings of satisfaction or pleasure at beholding 
 him thus splendidly apparelled — for how was it pos- 
 sible to suppose that he could be pursuing a steady 
 or honest coiu'se of life thus to have risen, at aU 
 events in appearance, so high above the condition he 
 was in when last I saw him ? 
 
 As he and Mr. Tomlinson did not immediately 
 see me, but went on talking and laughing ui the 
 livchest strain together, I had a fall opportunity 
 thus to notice the wonderful change that had taken 
 place in their exterior : and indeed they were about 
 to pass me by, when rising from my seat, I hurried 
 forward and caught Ilobert by the hand : for at that 
 moment my misgivings on his account were tem- 
 porarily forgotten in the natural pleasure that I felt 
 on seeing him. 
 
 "Ah, Mary! is that you?" he exclaimed: and 
 quickly surveying mo from head to foot, he imme- 
 diately added, " Well now, really you do look smart 
 to-day !" — for the reader will recollect that I had 
 put on my best things in order to proceed to Wil- 
 borton House : at the same time the word smart 
 did not properly apply to me ; for I was only 
 dressed with neatness, but not with gaiety. 
 
 "Your most obedient, Miss Price," said Mr. 
 Tomlinson, hfting off a hat that was all curled at 
 the brims in the French fashion. " It is as de- 
 lightfid as unexpected to encounter you, most beau- 
 tiful princess, in the midst of this scene o'er which 
 stern winter has spread its cheerless desolating 
 hand." 
 
 I bowed slightly to Mr. Tomlinson, and asked 
 Sobert how long he had been in London. 
 
 " Only five or six weeks," he replied. '■' But we 
 have been getting on swimmmgly — hav'n't we, 
 most worthy friend of mine ?" 
 
 " Forsooth, have we !" was the manager's pom- 
 pous reply: and he played with his gold guard- 
 chain with a dramatic stateliness of air. " Set 
 afloat by our own ingenuity on the bi'oad expanse 
 of this metropolitan ocean, with fortune's propitious 
 breezes filling our sails, wo have been wafted into 
 the haven of the very best society." 
 
 " Drinking champagne, frequenting the theatres, 
 going to dinner-parties and balls, and all that kind 
 of thing," added my brother. " In fact, Mary, we 
 are well up in our stirrups : and if you like 1 wiU 
 
 pay you back the money you lent me at Derby 
 
 that is, if you want it : but I know that you are such 
 a careful saving girl that you have already enough 
 of your own." 
 
 " I do not want yoxir money, Ilobert," I an- 
 flvrerad ; " but should be much pleased to learn that 
 you have obtained it " 
 
 " ] Eonestly f" exclaimed Mr. Tomlinson: "that 
 i« the word, fair lady, that hovered unspoken upon 
 those red lips of thine. Come, let us seat ourselves 
 —I cannot say beneath the umbrageous covering of 
 this lofty tree, inasmuch as there is not a single 
 Icftf upon its boughs i but at all events lot us seat 
 oursolvan, mitl wo will give you r history of our a^l- 
 voaturos," 
 
 Anxious to hoar what had occurred to Eobert 
 
 .«ince I last saw him, and to what circumstances he 
 was indebted for the present seeming brilliancy of 
 his position, I did not refuse to sit down between 
 him and Mr. Tomlinson : but when the latter was 
 resuming his llorid jargon, I said to Ilobert, '• Do 
 let me hear from i/otir li^is whatever you may have 
 to tell me." 
 
 "With theo, then, lieutenant of mine," said Tom- 
 linson, " be the task of enlightening thy sister on 
 the subject of her questioning." 
 
 " Why, you see, Mary," began my brother, " our 
 theatrical spec (^ Derby turned out a precious 
 fiiilure. After you left we ran up a fresh bill at the 
 Shoulder of MuUon ■ but how could we possibly 
 settle it, when night after night we played to empty 
 boxes, three or four individuals scattered about in 
 the pit, and half-a-dozen small boys up in tiie gal- 
 lery. At no time was the audience more numerous 
 than the troop. Well, Mr. Tibby of the Shoulder 
 of Mutton became clamorous for his money " 
 
 "Tripe and gin were stopped," interjected Mr. 
 Tomlinson, extending his arms majestically; "and 
 there was not even confidence sublime enous^h to 
 furnish such poor refection as bread and cheese." 
 
 "What then were we to do?" continued my 
 brother. "The ladies and gentlemen of the com- 
 pany all fell foul of my worthy friend here, vowing 
 that he had deceived them concerning his own po- 
 pularity in the provinces, and insisting upon his do- 
 iug something in plain terms, asking impossi- 
 bilities. So my worthy friend and I, after consult- 
 ing together, agreed to bolt and leave the rest of the 
 company in pawn for the bill. We managed to get 
 a few shillings by pledging something : and mount- 
 ing the top of the coach, we got as far as York. 
 There, taking fresh names — very aristocratic ones, 
 you may depend upon it — we got an engagement at 
 the theatre. All went on pretty well for a month 
 or so ; when lo and behold ! whom should we one 
 day meet but Miss Arammta Eosina Flummery ! 
 She flew at us both like a tigress — but vowing the 
 utmost vengeance against me in particular " 
 
 "Had you deceived her then, Kobcrt, in any 
 way?" I asked. 
 
 ' " Oh, yes ! deceived her jollily !" he replied, darting 
 a significant look over his shoulder towards Mr. 
 Tomlinson. " I left her without saying good-bye — 
 and that I suppose was the reason she took it into 
 her head to be so precious savage. Well, there was 
 a deuce of a row in the streets of York — in the 
 middle of the day too ; and the consequence v/as wo 
 were all three taken into custody and had up before 
 the justice. "WTicn in the presence of his wor- 
 ship. Miss Araminta Eosiiia actually had the bare- 
 faced impudence to swear assault and battery 
 against my worthy friend and me — whereas it waa 
 she who attacked us first. The justice believed her, 
 and ordered us both to find bail to keep tlie pcaco 
 towards all his Majesty's subjects in general and 
 Jliss Flummery in particuhir. Now there was & 
 great lack of confidence in the Solo Lessee and 
 Manager of the York Theatre ; and ho refused to 
 bail us. We were accordingly marched off to prison 
 for a month " 
 
 " Good heavens, Bobert ! you have been in pri» 
 son?" I esclaimod; ancl I felfc tl»t I turnpd fW 
 whilo as a shoot, 
 
 " Ah ! that indeed havo I," ho aneworod. " But 
 dott't you «ee, it woa for nothing that I had really
 
 304 
 
 MARY PBICE; OE, THE MEMOIRS OF A 8EBVANT-1UID. 
 
 done — and for nothin;T very serious cither. Besides, 
 we passed the month comfortably enough : for 
 there were some jolly good fellows of debtors 
 in the prison, and we lodfjed with them. We 
 smoked and drank, played racquets, and sang 
 songs all day long ; and so the month passed away 
 in no time. But when we got out we could not 
 show any more on the York stage ; and to increase 
 our vexation we hoard that Miss Araminta, by 
 being described as the heroine of a gross, cowardly, 
 and unprovoked assault, had excited universal sym- 
 pathy — had been taken by the hand by the York 
 manager — and was starring it gloriously on the 
 boards in that city. Again did me and my worthy 
 friend take new names ; and thus we made the best 
 of our way to Manchester, where we got an engage- 
 ment. But there another of the old troop soon 
 turned up and blew upon us; so that we were 
 obliged to decamp. We wandered about from place 
 to place, going through many queer adventures, 
 and being put to some singular shifts; but with 
 which I need not trouble you. At last wc resolved 
 to come up to London — that was about six weeks 
 ago — and in a very sad plight was it, I can assure 
 you, that we approached the metropolis. It was 
 between two and three in the afternoon, and wo had 
 had nothing to eat all day — that's a fact — isn't it, 
 old boy ?" 
 
 " It requires no sanctity of an oath to confirm thy 
 statement, friend," was Mr. Tomlinson's magnificent 
 reply. 
 
 " Poor Eobert !" I murmured, gazing in compas- 
 sion upon him. 
 
 "Well," he proceeded, "wet, tired, and famished, 
 we reached a little public-house about a mile on the 
 outskirt of. London; and sitting down on a bench 
 before the door, were deliberating together what 
 the deuce we should do when we got into London. 
 But I can assure you, Mary, that though we tried 
 to put the best face on it, we both looked confounded 
 glum. Presently a gentleman on horseback, at- 
 tended by a groom, rode up to the pubUc-housc, and 
 called for a pint of ale ' in its native pewter,' as ho 
 expressed himself. While it was being brought out, 
 he looked at us ; and seeing, I suppose, that our 
 condition was not over-blooming, ho invited us to 
 drink. More ale was called for ; and after a little 
 conversation the gentleman jumped off his horse, 
 tossed the bridle to his groom, and told us to walk 
 into the public-house with him. The parlom* was 
 unoccupied ; and wo three accordingly sat down to- 
 gether. Wo now had brandy-and-water, and I 
 
 think cigars too had wo not, most worthy 
 
 friend ?" 
 
 "Yes — we puffed the fragrant weed, while quaf- 
 fing the nut-brown ale," rcphcd Mr. Tomlinson. 
 
 " Our now firiend," continued llobcrt, " was a 
 dashing, jovial, good fellow — a regular man about 
 town, and it was evident from something he said 
 that he wanted the assistance of two clever fellows, 
 which ho no doubt at the first glance saw that we 
 were. So, as the brandy-and-water and cigars pro- 
 gressed, he entered into explanations. A friend of 
 his was locked up in the King's Bench for a trifle of 
 debt — about two thousand pouu(Ls or so ; and ho 
 wanted to got him bailed before the Judge in Cham- 
 bers. Ho accordingly proposed that us two shoulil 
 attend and bail him in ilue course."' 
 
 "Wliat is tlirtt, Uo))ortP" i asked, having at the 
 
 time but a dim comprehension of the legal proceed- 
 ing alluded to. 
 
 " It means that the gentleman in difficulties had 
 to give securities, each in four thousand pounds, or 
 the double of his debt, for his appearance when the 
 action should be tried before the Court ; and as it 
 was a mere form, of course I and my worthy friend 
 here did not hesitate to become bail imder such cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 "But," I exclaimed in astonishment, "siu'ely un- 
 less the whole process were an unnecessary mockery, 
 you must have had to prove yourselves worth four 
 thousand pounds each ?" 
 
 "To be sure," rejoined my brother flippantly: 
 " and 60 wc did." 
 
 " liobert, I do not understand you," said I, gazing 
 upon him in utter bewilderment. " How could you 
 prove any such thing, when you know there was no 
 truth in it r" 
 
 " Oh !" he ejaculated, " all we had to do was just 
 to make a few representations before the Judge and 
 take our oaths to them." 
 
 "And those representations?" I asked trem- 
 blingly ; for I already suspected that the foul crime J 
 of perjury must have been committed. 
 
 " Oh, don't be alarmed, Mary ! The stories were 
 very innocent ones, and did no one any harm. We 
 only said we were each possessed of large landed 
 estates — one of us in S'oropshire, and the other in 
 Buckinghamshire." 
 
 " But this was a dreadful falsehood, Eobert," I 
 said, with tears in my eyes. 
 
 " It certainly was not the exact truth," he an- 
 swered coolly : " but then we each had a complete 
 new suit of clothes and a hiindred guineas between 
 us for the job ; and so it was not a very bad day's 
 work. Our friend who picked us up at the public- 
 house, was a man of title and distinction ; and ho 
 asked us to dine with him and the gentleman that 
 was bailed out. Several other gentlemen were' pre- 
 sent; and as they were not let into the secret that 
 it was all nonsense about our assumed names and 
 imafrlnai'y estates, they really took us for what we 
 had passed ourselves off before the Judge ; and 
 they paid us very great court indeed, I can assure 
 you. So, through them wo actually got introduced 
 into good society, and have kept tip-top company 
 ever since. Two or three of our new friends have 
 lent us money; and if a certain little transaction 
 which wo have in hand turns up a trump " 
 
 " IJcally, Eobert," I suddenly exclaimed, " I 
 would rather not hear any more of your proceed- 
 ings. God help you, my unhappy brother ! You 
 are going wrong — dreadfully and dangerously 
 wrong ; and I tremble. Oh 1 I tremble, when I 
 think of it.'* 
 
 I had started up from my seat with considerable 
 excitement, and was clasping my hands in a p.i- 
 roxysm of mingled grief and despair which I could 
 not control. 
 
 "What a fool you are, Mary," said Eobert sul- 
 lenly. " You alw.ivs seem annoyed at everything I 
 do ; and now that I am trying to push myself on in 
 the world, it's rather too bad to bo talked to in this 
 way." 
 
 " liobert," I answered, " if you were pursuing a | 
 career of honour and integrity, there is not a being I 
 on the face of the earth who would be more sincerely | 
 rejoiced th.xu I. But it is iliUoront— very difl'orent. I
 
 [AUY PRICE; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 sn'i 
 
 P jm 
 
 wmmnmh.^ 
 
 ««/■!' '%^»i 
 
 You are rusliing headlong to ruin ! By your own 
 confession you have committed the terrible offence 
 of perjury " 
 
 " Come, enough of this, Mary !" exclaimed Eobert, 
 no\r »peakLng very fiercely. "I am not to bo talked 
 to by you just as if you was my elder sister. I 
 don't demand an account of your actions — you do 
 just as you liko " 
 
 " No, Eobert — because you appear to bo utterly 
 indifferent towards me and WilUam, and Sarah and 
 Jane — ^just as if there were no such beings in ex- 
 istence. Oh, Mr. Tomlluson !" I exclaimed, in 
 deepest anguish, " I beseech you not to lead my 
 poor brother into these paths which sooner or later 
 must close in ruin." 
 
 " Were that appeal delivered on the boards," was 
 the unfeeling response given by the late manager, 
 ' it would draw down thunders of applause. Beau- 
 tiliil Miss Price, you have mistaken your vocation. 
 1 told yoii as much at Derby, when beneath Miss 
 No 39. 
 
 Nibkins' honoured roof I first basked in the sun. 
 shine of your eyes." 
 
 "Eobert," I said, turning away with ill-concealed 
 disgust Irom my brother's companion, " will you 
 not retract ere it be too late ? Oh, I beseech you 
 to pause and reflect, if not for your own sake, at 
 least for that of your brother and your three 
 sisters !" 
 
 " Come, let's be off," suddenly exclaimed the un- 
 feeling Eobert. " I didn't think when you asked 
 me to tell you my history, that you were going to 
 sermonize over it in this way." 
 
 Thus speaking, he hurried abruptly away; and 
 Mr. Tomlinson, lifting his French-fashioned hat 
 with a sort of mock majesty, strode awuy after my 
 brother. My first impulse was to hasten in pursuit 
 of the misguided Eobert, and renew my entreaties 
 that he would turn into another and a better 
 course of life : but I was so overpowered with 
 distress of feeling that my limbs tWed me — s
 
 30t; 
 
 MAHY FRICE ; OE, THE MEMOIRS OP A 8EBr ANT-MAID. 
 
 dizziness came over me — and I sank back upon 
 the seat at the luot of the tree. A flood of tears 
 burst from my eyes; and when I grew somewhat 
 composed, neither Mr. Tomlinson nor my brother 
 were any longer in sight. 
 
 Ten minutes passed, and I was still sitting in 
 deep tribulation in the Green Park, thinking over 
 all that Eobert had told me, and wondering what 
 would eventually become of him, when I was 
 aroused from my reverie by the fresh sounds of 
 footsteps approacliing. Looking up, I observed a 
 tall, middle-aged, aristocratic gentleman passing 
 along the gravel walk on the edge of which the 
 tree stood where I was seated. He appeared to be 
 absorbed in thought, and passed by without looking 
 to the right . or left. Notwithstanding the pre- 
 occupation of my own ideas, and those too of so 
 sorrowful a nature, I could not help being struck 
 by the Lntelleclual character of that gentleman's 
 coimtenance. There was pride in its expression, — 
 but not so much that haughty and insufferable pride 
 which I had noticed in respect to the aristocracy 
 generally, as the pride which exists in the conscious 
 superiority of intellect. That man appeared to me 
 as enjoying the consciousness of such power ; and I 
 know not how it tvas, but it immediately occurred 
 to mo that he was some great personage, such as a 
 Minister or eminent statesman. 
 
 While I was still gazing after him with that va- 
 cant kind of curiosity which seemed to afford a sort 
 of relief to the distressed feelings that had pre- 
 viously engaged my mind, I noticed that as he drew 
 forth his handkerchief a small red portfolio fell from 
 his pocket. He did not perceive it — but walked on. 
 I immediately flew to the spot, and picked up the 
 portfoUo, which was crammed full of papers sticking 
 out at both ends, on one of which my eyes caught 
 sight of the words Secret Service Money. •! hastened 
 after the gentleman ; but he was now walking so 
 rapidly that I could not immediately overtake him. 
 Being too much out of breath with running, I was 
 unable to call out ; and he had nearly gained that 
 limit of the Green Park which joins St. James's, ere 
 I succeeded in coming up with him. I touched his 
 arm : ho immediately stopped short — turned round 
 T-and catching sight of his portfoUo, clutched it 
 with a kind of avidity ; so that I at once perceived 
 its loss would have been of no small inconvenience, 
 while its recovery was of proportionate consequence. 
 
 "A thousand thanks," he exclaimed, with a per- 
 fect enthusiasm of gratitude. " But where did you 
 pick it up ? how could I have di'opped it ? You are 
 quite out of breath : you must have been ruiming 
 very fast." 
 
 Indeed I was out of breath. I could not imme- 
 diately speak ; and the gentleman waited patiently 
 until I was able to give utterance to a few words of 
 explanation, — telling him how I had seen him drop 
 the portfoUo, how far off the incident had occiuTed, 
 and how I had run to overtake him. 
 
 "1 wiU not insult you," ho said, "by asking 
 whether you had the curiosity to look into the port- 
 folio: for I see that in youi- countenance which 
 convinces me you are altogether above such a pro- 
 ceeding." 
 
 " I can assure you, sir," was my prompt answer, 
 " that you only do justice to my feelings." 
 
 I then curlsiod, and was hasiciiing away wheu he 
 called mo back, 
 
 " Stop !" he said. '" We must not part in this 
 manner. You do not know the service you have 
 rendered me. If these papers had faUen into dis- 
 honest hands a very evil use might have been made 
 of them. In plain terms, they are most important 
 State-documents." 
 
 "I am delighted, sir," was my response, "that 
 I shoidd have been the means of restoring them to 
 you." 
 
 '•' I see you do not know me," he said, with a sort ' 
 of half-smile. " But no matter. Fortunately I am 
 possessed of the power to reward a good action. 
 Again I tell you that you have done me a service 
 which I do not attempt to underrate. It would 
 have been the destruction of the Ministry if the 
 papers had got into the hands of an Opposition 
 Member." 
 
 These last words he had muttered in a musing 
 manner, but quite audible enough for them to reach 
 my ears : and I prett}- weU understood their mean- 
 ing. It was evident that my original su.spicion 
 was sin'jjularly correct: the gentleman or nobleman 
 — whichever he might be — was clearly one of the 
 Cabinet Ministers. 
 
 "Come," he said, "you must permit me to give 
 you some proof of my gratitude for what you have 
 done. You are evidently a very respectable young 
 person; and I suaU not offer you money. But if 
 you have any relation in whom you are much in- 
 terested and who is eligible for any situation suited 
 to his circumstances or position, he shall have rt 
 witliin four-and-tweuty hoiu-s." 
 
 I stammered forth my thanks at this proposition, 
 which came upon me almost with the suddenness 
 and improbabiUty of a dream : but I assured the 
 gentleman that I had no male relative old enough 
 to become the object of his generosity. Then, 
 scarcely had I thus spoken, when my thoughts set- 
 tled upon Eobert — but only for a moment : for how 
 dai'e I recommend an individual of so bad a cha- 
 racter as he ? Alas ! that I should have been thus 
 compeUed to abjure the golden opportunity which 
 thus presented itself for my elder brother : but I 
 could not conscientiously act otherwise. 
 
 "The more I see of you," said the Minister, 
 smiling affably, '•' the more I am pleased with you. 
 How different you are from those, whether male or 
 female, with whom I generaUy come in contact! 
 They are hungering with a cormorant avidity for 
 aU kinds of benefits which are not offered ; while 
 you decline one which is frankly and sincerely 
 placed at your disposal. Come, speak ! You surely 
 have a brother, an uncle, a cousin, or some one, to 
 
 whom I can render a service or if none of those, 
 
 perhaps," he added, " there may be one who, al- 
 though no relation, is yet an object of your re- 
 gard ?■' 
 
 Though these last words wore spoken not merely 
 with courteous urbanity, but with a sort of paternal 
 kindness, the colour immediately rushed to my 
 cheeks : for the image of Eustace Qucntin was 
 vividly conjured up before me. 
 
 "jVh!" he exclaimed, taking my hand; "now I 
 have got upon the right track. There i* some one 
 iu whom you arc thus tenderly interest«l? TeU 
 me who and what he is. Do not be afraid : I am 
 incapable of asking through any unpertinent curi- 
 osity. Let this be the proof." 
 
 Thus speaking, he drew out his cai'd-case ; aud
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEKVANT-MAID. 
 
 307 
 
 opening it, displayed a name well known to me as 
 that of a nobleman occupying one of the highest 
 posts in the councils of the King. 
 
 " My lord," I said, trembling all over with agita- 
 tion, '•' I again return you my sincerest — my most 
 grateful thanks " 
 
 " Thanks, my good gu'l !" he said, smiling. " For 
 what ? I have as yet done nothing for you ; but I 
 am anxious to do you a service if you will afford me 
 the opportunity. Tell me, then, the name of him 
 in whom you are interested : for I see that there is 
 such a happy person in the world." 
 
 I hesitated for a moment — blushed again — felt 
 confused, even to dismay ; and then mustering up 
 all my courage as the thought of Lord Wilberton's 
 cruel menaces in respect to his son recurred to my 
 mind, I breathed the name of the Hon. Eustace 
 Quontin. 
 
 " Indeed!" said the Minister, gazing upon me with 
 evident surprise. " His father Lord M^ilborton has 
 only to ask in order to obtain his son's promotion." 
 
 " But he will not ask, my lord," I said, now sud- 
 denly bursting into tears. 
 
 "Oh, I see!" exclaimed the Minister: "some 
 little secret love-aftau- — eh ? • Well, it is no business 
 of mine — except mdced, that I shall like to do some- 
 thing to make you happy, not only because I owe 
 you a debt of gratitude, but because you appear to 
 me a good, well-behaved, and ingenuous young per- 
 son. Come now, have I understood you aright?. 
 You desire Mr. Eustace Quenliu's promotion ?" 
 
 " I do, my lord," was my answer, still given tre- 
 mulously and amidst blushes. " But I do not wish 
 him to know fi'om what eircmnstanco " 
 
 " I understand you," interrupted the Minister. 
 " Ko one shall know anything about it. It is a 
 secret between you and me — a State secret if you 
 like:" — and he laughed good-humourecUy. "Look 
 in the next Gazette. And now fare you wcU." 
 
 Ho took my hand, shook it cordially, and then 
 hurried out of the Green Park, leaving mc trans- 
 fixed with indescribable feeUugs on the spot where I 
 was standing. He was soon out of sight ; and then 
 I hurried away towards Piccadilly. There I obtained 
 a conveyance back to Old Broad Street ; and during 
 the liour's ride I thought of nothing but this 
 singular adventm'o with the Minister. It ap- 
 peared incredible — altogether a dream. At one mo- 
 ment I fancied that lie must have been makuig sport 
 of me, and that everything which had passed would 
 be retailed as a good joke to Lord and Lady AVil- 
 berton, tlnus aggravating their prejudices against 
 me. But then as I recollected the urbane cordiality 
 of the Minister's manner, and weighed well every 
 word lie had uttered, I could no longer entertain a 
 suspicion so injurious to him. Tlicrefore, having 
 reviewed all the details of the adventure, my hcai-t 
 grew elate with hope ; and I thought that it would 
 be one of the happiest moments of my lite if through 
 my agency my beloved Eustace Qucntin should ob- 
 tain that promotion which his father had so sternly 
 resolved to stop. T knew very well what the Gazette 
 meant, and knew also where to look for it in the 
 newspaper: but I did not recollect on what particu- 
 lar days it was published — and on r(;turning to 
 Broad Street there was nobody in tho Iiousc to 
 whom I could put tho question wtliout the fear of 
 being impertinently interrogated in respect to its 
 motivo. 
 
 It was on a AYednesday that the incidents I have 
 been relating took place. Immediately after breakfast 
 on the following morning I obtained a sight of the 
 Times as it lay upon the hall-table in readiness for 
 Mr. Bull when he came down stairs for his own 
 breakfast : but no Gazette was there. During that 
 day I wrote a long letter to Eustace, telling him 
 what had occiu-rcd between myself and his parents 
 — suppressing however as much as I possibly 
 could in respect to the indignities that I had expe- 
 rienced at the hands of themselves and the Hon. 
 Mr. Ferdinand. I assured Eustace that I should 
 not have mentioned the circumstances to him at 
 all, were it not that I chose to act with the most 
 perfect candour towards him, and that I hkewise 
 wished bim to express with equal frankness his ap- 
 proval or disapproval of my conduct in the affair. I 
 said nothing relative to my advcntiu-o with the 
 Minister; and indeed, whatever the result thereof 
 might be, I resolved to keep my o\rD. counsel, it 
 being my fixed determination to do nothing that 
 should in any way seem to assert a selfish claim 
 upon the continued love and fidchty of Eustace. I 
 preferred leaving all this to the unbiassed dictates 
 of his own heart ; so that in future, whatever might 
 ensue, I should have no reason for scU'-reproach. 
 
 On taking out my letter to the post, which I ob- 
 tained an opportunity to do, I entered a news- 
 vender's shop — ostensibly to pui'chase some periodi- 
 cal, but in reahty to find a pretext for satisfying my 
 cmiosity concerning the days on which the Gazette 
 was pubUshed. To the query 'that I put, I was ac- 
 cordingly informed that tho Gazette would not ap- 
 pear in tho daily newspapers until Satui-day morn- 
 ing. This was Thursday: one whole day woidd 
 intervene ere my suspense would be cleared up 
 relative to the Minister's promise ! 
 
 CHAriEK, LXIIL 
 
 LOED AND LADY HAKLESUON. 
 
 On the following morning, immediately after break- 
 fast was over in the nursery, I was surprised by a 
 visit from Jemima. She embraced me with much 
 affectionate friendship, and told me that the family 
 had come back to town two days previously. 
 I remarked that I thought from her letter, Lord 
 and Lady Harlesdon had intended to remain a 
 longer time at the Park in Derbyshire : to which 
 she replied, "Yes, such was my lord's intention: 
 but buaiaess compelled him to retui-n. Ai\A now 
 would you believe it, my dear Mary, ho has of late 
 become so tender, and aflectionatc, and kind to our 
 <lcar lady, that slie is quite mstouishod, and so am 
 I too. I really do not know what to make of it. 
 There is even something pointed in his attentions 
 At times I am very glad to sec it, and liopo that 
 it is because he feels sorry for his past cruelty. 
 But what makes you look 80 doubtful and suspi- 
 cious, INLiry ?" 
 
 I did not imswor. The truth was, I had my 
 misgivings that under this altered manner of Lord 
 Harlesdon some new treachery towards his poor 
 wife was intended. But I could not tell .Icmima 
 what I thought and apprehended, because it was 
 dillicult to touch upon iLat delicate topic without
 
 308 
 
 MART PRIOR ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A SEftV ANT-MAID. 
 
 sliowing that I knew mure than I chose to re- 
 veal. 
 
 "I see that you think Lord Ilarlesdon is not 
 sincere," she resumed, " in his present conduct 
 towards her ladyship ; and I myself, though I 
 ecarcc know why, have entertained a similar sus- 
 picion. But let us hope that we may be deceived. 
 There is such a thing in the world as a sorrow for 
 what has passed and a resolution to amend for the 
 future : so perhaps his lordship ia influenced by all 
 this. However, the chief object of my coming is 
 to invite you to pass the day with me." 
 
 " Impossible, my dear Jemima !" I answered. " I 
 was out the day before yesterday——" 
 
 " Oh, but her ladyship ha^ wTitten such a polite 
 note to your mistress, requesting as a personal 
 favour that leave may be granted you. I gave it to 
 the servant down stairs : and so I daro say Mrs. 
 Bull has read it by this time." 
 
 Scarcely were these words uttered, when the door 
 was opened and Mrs. Bull made her appearance, 
 enveloped in a new morning wr.ipper. Her nose 
 looked a great deal redder than even it usually was; 
 and as she approached, her breath exhaled the un- 
 mistakable odour of her medicine. She had evi- 
 dently been taking an early dose. 
 
 " Arc you the young woman from Lady Harles- 
 don's.'" she said in the most affable manner pos- 
 sible to Jemima: and on recei\-ing the affirmative 
 reply, she went on to observe, " Well, Mary may 
 accompany you -n-ith the greatest pleasure on my 
 part. Although I have not tlic honour of Lady 
 Harlesdon's acquaintance, yet from the polite note 
 which she has written to me I very much desire it : 
 and you may mlorm l.cr ladyship so. Of course her 
 ladyship is awaro that though the citizens and their 
 wives are, generally speaking, not very polished, yet 
 that there are some genteel families this side of 
 Temple Bar, Mary," she added, turning to me, 
 "you will not forget to mention to her ladyship that 
 Mr. Bidl's canvass of the Ward gets on prosperously : 
 for as her ladyship is so deeply interested in you, of 
 course her ladyship is equally interested in your 
 master and mistress." 
 
 Having talked some more nonsense of the same 
 sort, and shown off the airs of her own " fastidious 
 gentility," as she fancied her affectation to be, Mrs. 
 Bull was suddenly reminded by an attack of spasms 
 that she must take another dose of her medicine. 
 She accordingly hurried from the nursery ; and 
 Jemima looked at me as much as to say, " What a 
 singular person your mistress is 1" I made haste to 
 dress myself in my best apparel ; and this being 
 done, I entered tlie hackney-coach which had brought 
 Jemima to Broad Street, and which she had or- 
 dered to wait for \is. 
 
 " You will be surprised," said Jemima, as we were 
 proceeding along in the lumbering vehicle to the 
 West End, " to hear that Lord Harlesdon is per- 
 fectly aware of your coming to the bouse to-day ; 
 and indeed, he of his own accord gave her ladyship 
 a hint that if I liked to see you, I was perfectly 
 welcome to have you to visit me in Grosvenor 
 Square." 
 
 " But how did his lordship learn that I was in 
 London ?" 
 
 " It appears that his lordship happened to men- 
 tion your name yesterday in the presence of the 
 steward, and the steward told him where you were. 
 
 So his lordship, when seated in the drawing-room 
 with her ladyship just before retiring to rest, men- 
 tioned what I told you ; and availing myself of that 
 permission, I got up early this morning and came 
 off to fetch you." 
 
 I did not exactly like this fresh piece of intel- 
 ligence which I had now received of Lord Harles- 
 don's altered manner. I thought I knew him too 
 well to believe that so singular a change could be 
 based on sincerity; aud I was not so frivolously 
 vain as to imagine myself of sufllcient consequence 
 to enter for a moment into that nobleman's thoughts, 
 unless it were his intention again to make me the 
 means of ministering unto his vengeance in respect 
 to his wife. But all I had heard reudered me really 
 anxious to see her ladyship : for I knew that she 
 would speak more openly to me upon the change in 
 her husband's conduct than to Jemima. 
 
 Wlien the hackney-coach arrived in Grosvenor 
 Square, I received a voi-y kind welcome from tho 
 old porter and the other servants who happened to 
 be in the hall at the time. Jemima at once con- 
 ducted me up-stairs to Lady Harlesdon's own 
 private sitting-apartment ; and there I was affec- 
 tionately greeted by her !«adyship. She bwked con- 
 siderably better than when I List saw her, which 
 was at Canterbury two months back. The air of 
 Derbyshire had evidently done her good; and-licr 
 mind, as I presently found, was more at case than 
 it had been for a long time past. 
 
 "You must leave Mary with me for half-an-hour, 
 Jemima," said her ladyship ; " and then she shall 
 be your guest in the nursery for the remainder of 
 the day. I will not monopohze her from you longer 
 than that time." 
 
 Jemima accordingly took the hint to quit the 
 room; and when I was alone with her ladyship, 
 she said, " Come and sit near me, ZSIary : for I hope 
 that I have something to communicate that you 
 wdl be pleased to hear." 
 
 "I shall indeed be delighted, dear lady," was my 
 answer, " to listen to cheering words coming from 
 your lips." 
 
 " His lordship's behaviour has undergone a total 
 change towards me," resumed Lady Harlesdon ; 
 and she smiled, even radiantly. " But I must tell 
 you how it happened. It was about a month ago, 
 when down in Derbyshire, that his lordship one 
 day entered the boudoir suddenly, and found me 
 weeping. Yes — I was weeping with great bitter- 
 ness : for it was only on the previous evening that 
 he had said many cuttingly sarcastic things to me 
 in the presence of Dr. Vincent and Lord MUtown. 
 It was so unusual a thiug for him to penetrate 
 into my boudoir in the middle of the day, that I 
 really apprehended some fresh manifestation of his 
 dreadful vengeance. But conceive my surprise 
 when he approached, took my hand, and began nt 
 once by saying that he was wearied of the life we 
 had been leading — that he was prepared to for- 
 give everything, and throw a complete veil over 
 the past, if I were willing to accept such pardon 
 at his hands and show myself grateful for it. I 
 listened with amazement, and also with incredulity. 
 What ? thought I, could this man hitherto so im- 
 placable put aside his vengeance all in a moment, 
 as if ho were tlu'owing off a garment that hung 
 heavily upon his person — coidd he change (bus sud- 
 denly, and yet experience sincerity in that change P
 
 MAKY FIllOE ; OK, THE MEMOIBS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 30? 
 
 But as I watched his countenance, scrutinizing it 
 ■with the intcnsest eagerness to catch the slightest 
 movement of a muscle that might serve to hetray any 
 lurking treachery that lay beneath this conciliatory 
 demeanour— and as I hung upon his accents to 
 discover if any poison were mingled with those 
 honied words — I could detect naught to excite the 
 faintest misgiving within me. No: liis look — his 
 manner — his words, all inchcatcd sincerity. He saw 
 what was passing in my mind, and observed that it 
 was natural I should receive his conciliatory as- 
 surances with mistrust : but he added that he was 
 moved by my resignation, my submissivcness, and 
 my despair — he thought I was sufficiently punished 
 — and apart from these reasons, he himself was 
 wearied of the excitement and the irritability in 
 which he was constantly kept by the pursuance of 
 his vengeance. In short, he said so much to re- 
 assure me that I fell at his feet, pressed his hand to 
 my lips, acknowledged hovf righteously I had suf- 
 fered, and poured forth my gratitude for the for- 
 giveness which ho thus accorded me. Then he sat 
 down by ray side, and said that it would not bo 
 rational to suppose that he should thenceforth 
 lavish upon me the same endearments as he was 
 wont to bestow in the iirst few years of our mar- 
 riage. Indeed, he went on to say that if ho were 
 to do so I should not give him credit for sincerity in 
 the reconciliation at all. But he declared that so 
 far as a suitable demonstration of kindness was con- 
 cerned, it should not be wanting at his hands ; and 
 he concluded by expressing a hope that we might 
 hencelorth manage to live happily together. His 
 words seemed fraught not merely with sincerity, 
 but also with the most rational spirit. Indeed, I 
 did not see how he could possibly adopt any other 
 line of conduct towards me than that which he had 
 just shadowed forth. I was contented — I was even 
 happy. Again and again did I thank him : again 
 and again did I vow to continue faithful to all my 
 duties as a wife." 
 
 " And his lordship has kept his word ?" said I, 
 catching the infection of her ladyship's enthusiasm : 
 for she had grown quite enthusiastic as she went on 
 speaking. 
 
 " His lordship has more than kept his word," re- 
 plied Lady Harlcsdoh. "Instead of treating me 
 with kindness only, he has behaved to me with 
 affection and tenderness. Kehgiously has ho ob- 
 served his promise to liing a veil over the past— 
 except in two instances ; and then he merely alluded 
 to that past in order to give me fresh proofs of his 
 kind intentions for the future. I must mention 
 these two instances. The first was this : — Three or 
 four days ago, when he suddenly informed mo that 
 letters relative to that interminable Chancery-suit 
 rccjuired his almost immediate attendance in Lon- 
 don, and would probably keep him here for the next 
 six weeks— if not altogether till the end of the 
 season — he observed that he felt himself compelled 
 to touch for a moment upon a subject of some little 
 delicacy. Ho then went on to state that as it was 
 possible Sir Aubrey Clavcring might pass a few 
 weeks in London during the winter, as was generally 
 his wont, we should bo almost certain to encounter 
 him in society. His lordship accordingly expressed 
 a wish that wo miglit meet Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 on the old footing of friendship, just as if nothing 
 bad ever occurred to create unpleasant feelings. 
 
 Seeing tliat I hesitated and looked confused, his 
 lordship went on to say that as he had com- 
 pletely forgiven mo he had also restored me his 
 fullest confidence, and that he had too strong a 
 faith in my natural generosity of heart not to 
 believe that it would bo merely as an acquaintance 
 I should ever again meet Su- Aubrey Clavering. 
 Then his lordship went on to urge that as our recon- 
 cihalion was complete, an early opportunity should 
 be taken to give before the world as strong a refu- 
 tation as lay in our power to any little scandalous 
 whisperings which might have circulated ; and that 
 this would be best done, not only by meeting Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering in society on the same friendly 
 terms as before — that is to say, to all outward ap- 
 pearance — but likewise by including him as usual in 
 the list of invitations to our parties. In this man- 
 ner did Lord Harlesdon express his -n-ishcs. ^^hat 
 could I say ? what remonstrance could I offer ? 
 Had he not generously forgiven me? was he not 
 essaying by present kindness to compensate for the 
 tyrannies of the past? I therefore felt myself 
 bound to submit to him in all things — especially in 
 a proceeding where he sought to vindicate his own 
 and my honour in the manner that appeared to 
 him most eUgible. I accordingly assured him that 
 I bowed to his suggestions." 
 
 " And therefore, my lady," said I, "if you meet 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering, you will give him a friendly 
 greeting?" 
 
 " There is a gentle remonstrance in your accents, 
 my dear Mary," retiu-ned Lady Harlesdon ; " and I 
 know what is passing in your mmd. You consider 
 it is somewhat indelicate for me to encoimter Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering at all — and something that shocks 
 the feeUng in the idea that I am ever again, even to 
 outward appearance, to give him the hand of friend- 
 ship. Ah ! and you are right too, Miu-y, in enter- 
 taining such thoughts. But what can I do ? I 
 live in an artificial world, which is full of con- 
 ventionalisms, hypocrisies, duplicities, and deceits; 
 for of all those evil elements is what we call High 
 Life composed. In respect to the course laid down 
 by Lord Harlesdon in case of meeting Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering, we are ruled by the necessity of those 
 conventionaUsms. To pass him by imnoticed would 
 be to tell the world that its surmises in respect to 
 him and me are correct : to treat him with only a 
 reserved and distant courtesy, would be to give tho 
 same confirmation to those surmises, and at the 
 same time stigmatize my husband as a coward and 
 a drivelling idiot for only partially resenting his 
 dishonour; but to treat Sir Aubrey Clavering with 
 tho same outward appearance of cordiality and 
 fi-iendship as heretofore, would bo to astound tho 
 scandal-whisperers and stamp their assertions as a 
 foul calumny." 
 
 " I understand tho force of your ladyship's argu- 
 ments," I observed. "And yet, mcsccms, apart 
 from the unnatural deceit fulness of this course 
 which his lordship has recommended, there is much 
 danger m it." 
 
 " You think perhaps that his lordship's jealousy 
 may bo re-awakened," continued Lady Harlesdon: 
 " but it is by no moans probable. He trusts to my 
 good feeling, now that ho has forgiven me ; and as a 
 man of sense ho must know that after everything 
 which has occurred, I should bo utterly deficient in 
 the spirit of a woman — nay, that I should not even
 
 810 
 
 MABY price; ok, THE MEMOIUS OP A SEUV ANT-MAID. 
 
 possess that of a worm — if I were ever to' listen 
 again to soft language from the lips of Sir Aubrey 
 Clavcring." 
 
 " Your ladyship mentioned another instance," j 
 said I, " in which Lord Ilarlosdon dehcately alluded 
 to the past." \ 
 
 " Yes : thi.9 was in respect to yourself," re- 
 joined hor ladyship. "It appears he accidentally 
 learnt from ono of the domestics that you were in [ 
 London ; and ho said to me last night that he felt \ 
 he had been guilty of much wrong towards you in 
 Derbyshu'c, by not only conniving at your being 
 carried off by Sir Aubrey Clavcring, but also by in i 
 any way allowing you, an innocent young girl as 
 you are, to have your reputation compromised in | 
 that affair of the disguised Gipsy Queen. He 
 therefore said that if ever you happened to call at ( 
 the house, he should at once lay aside all idea of 
 the distinction of rank, and solicit your forgiveness 
 with as much sincerity as if you were the highest 
 lady in the land. He even requested me to toll 
 Jemima that if she liked to invito you hither, she 
 was most welcome. And now, my dear Mary," 
 added Lady Ilarlesdon, '■'! have told you every- 
 thing ; and you will admit with me, that these are 
 good tidings which I had to impart." 
 
 " JNIost sincerely do I congratulate you, dear 
 lady," I exclaimed, " upon this change in his lord- 
 ship's conduct : and most fervently shall I pray to 
 heaven that it may not only have emanated from 
 the best and most generous motives, but also that 
 it may endure unto the end." 
 
 " Oh ! I have not the slightest doubt of that," 
 cried Lady Harlesdon, in a tone of the fullest con- 
 fidence. "It would be impossible for any man to 
 simulate such kindness as Lord Harlesdon evinces 
 towards me. I can assure you that at first I myself 
 could scarcely believe in the reality of this change : 
 it appeared to mo like a dream — and I sometimes 
 trembled lest treachery lurked beneath. I felt as if 
 I were walking in pathways strown with the choicest 
 and most beautiful flowers, but amidst which I had 
 the intuitive consciousness that a venomous snake 
 was gliding unseen and liable to sting me at any 
 moment. Then too, on those occasion, would I 
 watch Lord Ilarlcsdon's features, vmperceived by 
 him, and with the closest scrutiny: but there was 
 naught in his looks to confirm my latent apprehen- 
 sions. Thus I gradually acquired full confidence ; 
 and no single incident — no, not one — has tended to 
 diminish it. liy the bye, I must tell you, my dear 
 Mary, that a week before we left Dorbyshu'e his 
 lordship suggested to me that if I woidd call upon 
 your friends the Percivals, I liad not only his full 
 concurrence but that he sliould even like me to do 
 so. I accordingly availed myself of the suggestion, 
 and am happy to inform you that t hc^y are getting on 
 well and prosperously. But this, however, you know, 
 as they told me that they from time to time write 
 you a long letter. Your name, Mary, is a household 
 word with them. If this were an age in which mor- 
 tal women were worshipped as demi-goddesses, you 
 would be held in such eslimation and would have 
 such worship there. I must say that your friend 
 Ellen is a very nice young woman, and makes Leo- 
 nard an excellent wife. He is Iherefore naturally 
 proud of her, and also adores her. Old Mrs. Baker 
 is as happy as the day is long. I passed two or three 
 hours with them, and imbibed no small amount of 
 
 satisfaction from the contemplation of the unalloyed 
 bliss of that famUy." 
 
 I was in the midst of expressing my joy and de- 
 light at such pleasing intelligence, when the door 
 opened and Lord Harlesdon entered the room. The 
 reader will recollect that when he was first intro- 
 duced upon the stage of this narrative, I described 
 him as a nobleman with the haughtiest look of aris- 
 tocratic pride : but never had I seen him so com- 
 pletely amiable and so condescending, — I nught al- ; 
 most say kind — in his looks and manner as on the 
 present occasion. It could be by no means easy for 
 a man seventy years of age, whose features had 
 through a long series of years settled as it were into 
 a natm'al sternness, which expression was enhanced 
 by the wrinkles across the forehead, at the comers 
 of the eyes, and about the lips, — it could not have 
 been easy, I say, for sucli a countenance to relax 
 into a bland smile unless the heart itself experienced 
 a kindred feeling. Such was the idea that struck 
 me at the time; and therefore I thought Lady 
 Harlesdon was fully justified in placing the utmost 
 rehance upon the sincerity and good faith of her 
 husband in the reconciliatioii which bad taken place 
 between them. 
 
 Having said something kind to her ladyship, 
 Lord Harlesdon advanced straight up to me where 
 I stood, having risen from my seat the moment he 
 appeared ; and taking my hand, he said, " Mary, I 
 am conscious of deep wrongs towards yourself : but 
 when I declare that I am sorry for the past, I feel 
 assured " 
 
 " My lord," I exclaimed, interrupting him, '• I beg 
 that your lordship wiU not speak another word upon 
 the subject." 
 
 " You are a good and generous-hearted girl," he 
 rejoined ; " and it was bad indeed of me to seek to 
 do you an injm'y. However, I take the words you 
 have just uttered as an assurance that you can for- 
 get the past. Now sit down, Mary — I know that 
 
 her ladyship is very much attached to you sit 
 
 down, I say." — and with much apparent good- 
 humour he UteraUy forced me to resume my seat by 
 the side of his wife on the sofa. He himself took a 
 chair, and went on to say, " I hope you are happy 
 in your new place : but if not, and her ladyship 
 wishes to have you again with her, I shall be very 
 glad. Indeed, I should like you to return, so that 
 I might have an opportunity of convincing you that 
 I am truly soiTy for any injiu'y I may have done you 
 in times past." 
 
 " ]Mary and I will talk it over presently," said 
 licr ladyship, perceiving that I was somewhat con- 
 I'used by tlio proposition : for at the time I scarcely 
 knew what answer to make, and at least thought 
 it was a subject which required some consideration. 
 
 " Very well," said his lordship. " Of course Mary 
 can do as she pleases. Do you not think her lady- 
 ship is looking better than she was r" he a:!ked : 
 " for I know that you saw her at Cantcrbui-y on 
 our return to EuglanRi'' 
 
 " Yes — I told his lordship the other day that I 
 saw you there," observed Lady Harlesdon. 
 
 " I certainly think that her ladyship is looking 
 much better, my lord," was my response to the 
 nobleman's question; "and I sincerely hope that 
 her ladyships health will continue to improve." 
 
 "Yes— 1 must have her get quite well." said 
 Lord Harlesdon, looking kindly upon his wife.
 
 MABY price; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 3U 1 
 
 " It will not bo my fault," he added pointedly, " if 
 her ladyship does not regain her good looks alto- 
 gether in a very short time." 
 
 After a little more conversation, in the course of 
 which Lord Harlesdon dropped several hints to 
 make me aware that he was thoroughly and com- 
 pletely reconciled to his wife, and that he meant to 
 study her happiness for the future as the only way 
 of obtaining peace and tranquillity for himself, I 
 rose and went up to the nursery. There I was 
 gladly welcomed by the children ; and when I and 
 .Temima had an opportunity of conversing together, 
 our discourse speedily turned upon a subject in- 
 teresting to herself. 
 
 "I wTote and told you," said I, "how by a 
 strange coincidence your false Prince de ChantiUy 
 turned out to be none other than my master, the 
 equally false Count de Montville." 
 
 " And now, my dear Mary,'.' exclaimed Jemima, 
 "you must give me every particular concerning 
 him. Oh ! the base swindler, to have taken me 
 in as he did 1" 
 
 I accordingly gave Jemima in full detail all those 
 particulars relative to the French adventurer with 
 which the reader is acquainted, and which, at the 
 time they occurreil, I had sketched in a letter to 
 Jemima. She could not help inveighing with much 
 bitterness against him — not on account of the money 
 of which he had robbed her, as on account of the 
 deceit he had practised in a more tender point of 
 view. 
 
 "Believe me, my dear Mary," she added, "I 
 am perfectly cured of my foohsh predilection for 
 mustaches ; and I never think now, even in my 
 dreams, of marrying a Prince. If aU the Gipsy 
 Queens in the world were to prophecy for me the 
 most brilliant destinies, I should not believe thorn. 
 And now tell me, what think you of this recon- 
 cihation between my lord and her ladyship ?' ' 
 
 " I cannot entertain so bad an opinion of human 
 nature," was my answer, " as to believe that it is 
 otherwise than perfectly sincere. I feel convinced 
 that it is ; because Lord Harlesdon is not the man 
 to be able to aifect sentiments of generosity, kind- 
 ness, and tenderness without really feeling them." 
 
 " I aim glad to hear you express such an opinion," 
 exclaimed Jemima: "for at one time it made me 
 so miserable to see her ladyship constantly suffering, 
 and weeping, and pining, that I could not endure 
 the sight and meant to leave. But now I shall 
 stay." 
 
 " What should you think, Jemima, if I were to 
 tell you that his lordship has asked me to come back 
 and resume my old situation P" 
 
 " Is it possible ?" cried the good-hcartcd young 
 woman. " Oh ! I should be so pleased ! and the 
 dear children too would be so delighted ! Of course 
 you will accept the offer : for I am sure you cannot 
 like being in the service of those odious Bulls. 
 \VTiat I saw of Mrs. Bull this morning was quite 
 enough for me." 
 
 I answered that her ladyship intended to speak to 
 me again upon the subject of coming back into her 
 service, and that I should then decide upon the stop 
 to be taken. I passed a very happy day with Je- 
 mima and the children ; and in the evening Lady 
 Harlesdon sent for mo to a parlour where she 
 was seated alone, and resumed tho topic la-st al- 
 luded to. 
 
 " It would give me the utmost pleasure to return 
 to your ladyship's service," said I : " but there is 
 one reason which makes me hesitate." 
 
 " I have already penetrated your thoughts," she 
 observed. "You are afraid of encoimtering Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering ?" 
 
 "I feel, my lady, that I ought not. out of 
 respect for myself, to incur even the risk of meeting 
 him." 
 
 " I not only appreciate your motives, Mary, but 
 honour them. At the same time, recollect that i£ 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering should ever come to the 
 house again, it will not be to stay as a visitor, but 
 merely as a transitory guest at a dinner-party or 
 ball — on which occasion you would not have the 
 slightest chance of meeting him." 
 
 " Under those circumstances, my lady," said I 
 "it is impossible to refuse your kind offer. But 
 not to behave unhandsomely towards my present 
 mistress, it wiU be requisite to give a month's notice 
 there. This I can do in the eom-se of a day or two 
 when the current month will have expired." 
 
 " Then, in a month, Mary, I shall expect you to 
 retuj-n beneath this roof. I see, my dear girl, that 
 you have upon your finger the little memorial I 
 gave you for your noble conduct in respect to 
 Isabella. The circumstance of your wearing that 
 ring convinces me that you entertain an affection 
 towards me; and therefore I shall be truly delighted 
 to have you again about mo." 
 
 I thanked her ladyship for these assui'ances, and 
 took my leave of her. I then bade farewell to 
 Jemima and the children, and hastened back to Old 
 Broad Street. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV, 
 
 THE MISS BUIIS' L0TE-AFFAIE3. 
 
 On the following morning I obtained possession of 
 tho Times newspaper the moment it was left at the 
 house ; and tm-ning to the Gazette, ran my looks 
 with eager anxiety and sus])enso over the list of 
 names congregated under the head of "War Office." 
 Ah ! what an electric thrill of joy shot tlirough my 
 heart, as my eyes rested on the foUowing para- 
 graph :— 
 
 "— th Regiment. Lieutenant the Hon. Eustace 
 Quentin, to be Captain, mthout purchase." 
 
 Tho Mmister had kept his word, and ,he whom I 
 loved had through mo received promotion. He was 
 now a Captain — and despite his father's evil inten- 
 tions also ! How astonished his parents and brother 
 would bo ! But was it not certain that Lord Wil- 
 berton would at once hurry off to tho official resi- 
 dences to inquire into the circumstance ? Would the 
 Minister explain the meaning thereof ? No : I felt 
 assured ho would not: he had promised that the 
 secret should rest between himself and me ; and as 
 ho had so faithfully kept his word in one sense hi> 
 was not likely to violate it iu another. But even if 
 he did, what ma(tcrcd-it? No blame could bo 
 attached <o me. On the contrary, would not tho 
 whole transaction afford a proof of that sincere and 
 disinterested love which I experienced for Eustace 
 Quentin ? At tlie same time it wa.s my wish, tor 
 I tho reasons already explained to the reader, (bat
 
 312 
 
 HABY price; OB, THB MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 the origin of this promotion should remain enveloped 
 in mystery — at least for the present. 
 
 Assuredly it was one of the happiest moments of 
 my life when I beheld that notification in the 
 Gazette. Hurrying up to the nursery I could not 
 help giving vent to my joy in a flood of tears : for 
 even joy itself may fill the heart to a degree which 
 can find no other vent than through the eame 
 avenues whence the fulness of grief likewise es- 
 capes. I sought an immediate opportunity to pen 
 a letter to the Minister, expressing my grateful [ 
 thanks for the remembrance which he had bestowed i 
 upon the humble individual who thus addressed 
 him ; and I ventured delicately to remind his lord- 
 ship of his promise that the whole transaction should j 
 be kept a secret. 
 
 In a few days I received a letter from Eustace 
 Quentin, who was still in the North of Ireland, in j 
 reply to the one I had written detailing all that had j 
 occurred at Wilberton House. At the time he j 
 wrote, the intelligence of his promotion had not 
 reached him. His letter was most tender and aOec- 
 tionate. He asked me how he could do otherwise 
 than approve of my conduct towards his parents ; 
 but he assured me, with numerous protestations of 
 continued fidelity, that he never had repented and 
 never could repent of having formed an engage- 
 ment with me. " At the same time, my dear Mary," 
 he went on to say, " I fully and deeply appreciate 
 all that is noble and generous in the proposition 
 you made to my parents to sacrifice yourself for me : 
 but never, never, dearest girl, will that sacrifice be 
 demanded at your hand. On the contrary, you 
 would consimimate my wretchedness and plunge me 
 into despair if you even thought me capable of 
 vacillating in the attachment I experienced for you. 
 No ; my love forms a part of my very being ; and if 
 I do not now urge our immediate alliance, it is only 
 out of respect to your own feelings. But believe 
 me, it will be the happiest and brightest day in my 
 existence when I can persuade you to give me your 
 hand." 
 
 I pressed the dear letter to my lips, and shed 
 tears of gladness upon it. Two or three days after- 
 wards, I reci-'ived another letter fiom Eustace, in 
 which he wrote as follows : — 
 
 "A joyous but most unaccountable incident has oc- 
 curred, I am promoted to the rank of Captain ! The 
 intelligence has just reached me. But it is wit)iout pur- 
 chase, and therefore totally independent of my father's 
 money or interest. I cannot understand it. A letter 
 from the Secretary at War, which aocompauiea the 
 usual documefct, tells me that my promotion is a rewai'd 
 for my general good conduct in my regiment. But this 
 I know to be a mere complimentary eiouso. Promotion 
 is not granted for such reasons to those who by their 
 position and circumstances may be held competent to 
 obtain a step in rank by purcliase. There is some mystery 
 in the matter, wliich I cannot clear up. But now, dear 
 Mary, with my pecuniary means thus increased, may I 
 venture to hope that you will say the one word which is 
 to render me happy ?" 
 
 Captain Quentin proceeded to urge me in the 
 most affectionate and endearing manner to give my 
 immediate consent to our imion. He said that if I 
 would do so he could procure leave of absence and 
 come to London for the purpose of making me his 
 wife ; and ho concluded liis letter by expressing the 
 most heartfelt hope that I would tlirow no farther 
 obstacle in the wav of our marriaare. Ah ! reader 
 
 can you not enter into the feelings which now 
 swelled in my bosom ? Happiness was within my 
 reach : and yet again did a sense of duty prompt 
 me to a farther self-sacrifice ! 
 
 " If I at once agree to Eustace Quentin's pro- 
 posal," thought I, " how can I acquit myself of a 
 prophetic selfishness in asking for this promotion oa 
 his account ? Besides, even with the pay of a Cap- 
 tain he has not enough to maintain his rank and 
 position as the son of a Peer of England. Forttme 
 has been hithfirto so far favourable as to make me 
 the means of rendering Eustace a service at the 
 moment when his own father was endeavourinc to 
 work him an injury. Must I not trust to this same 
 good fortune to throw down all the barriers that at 
 present oppose our imion ? May I not hope that 
 his parents will sooner or later relent ? More im- 
 probable things have happened in the world. If 
 any one had told me a fortnight back that I should 
 become the means of raisiag Eustace a step in his 
 profession, I could not have possibly believed such 
 a prediction — and yet it has taken place ! Ah, and 
 I attributed it to fortune ! No, it was to Providence 
 — and heaven itself in its own good time will ensure 
 our happiness." 
 
 I sat down and penned a long letter to Eustace, 
 congratulating him on his promotion, but declaring 
 that it efiected a very slight change in the circum- 
 stances and the motives which had prompted me 
 when we met at Ashford to urge the necessity of 
 delay in respect to our mai-riage. I begged him not 
 to mistrust my love in thus beseeching him to pause 
 yet awhile ere he took a step which would perhaps 
 render the breach altogether permanent between 
 himself and his parents. I reminded him that we 
 were both very yoimg — that we were well assured 
 of each other's constancy — and that in the peculiar 
 cu'comstances of our relative position, it would be 
 far more satisfactory to my feelings to wait awhile 
 in the hope that his parents would relent, rather 
 than hurriedly rush into a family every member of 
 which, save one, would treat me with scorn, hatred, 
 and contempt. Much more did I say, couching my 
 arguments in the tendcrcst and most aflectionate 
 terms, and imploiiug Eustace still to be guided by 
 me in the counsel that I ofl'ered. Anxiously did I 
 watch for the return of post ; and the letter which 
 it brought afforded another proof of Captain Quen- 
 tin's pure and constant love: for it signified his 
 wish to meet my views in all things, and that he 
 consented to a short delay, so that we might trust 
 to our good fortune and see what the chapter of 
 accidents would turn up in our favour. 
 
 I had duly intimated to Mrs. Bull my intention 
 to withdraw from her service at the end of the 
 month. She was at first inclined to be very angry ; 
 but when she heard that I had an opportunity of 
 returning to my old place in Lady Harlesdon's ser- 
 vice, she immediately became most amiable, saying 
 that she would not stand in the way of her lady- 
 sliip's wishes for all the world, and enjoining me not 
 to forget to let her ladyship know that she had said 
 so. She added that although it was an unpleasant 
 thing to be constantly changing servants, especially 
 when they suited, yet she knew a great many gen- 
 fcol families who wore frequently compelled to sub- 
 mit to such aniioj-ances. 
 
 Mr. Bull succeeded in his election, and booamo 
 Alderman of his "Ward. If the principal quablica-
 
 MARY price; or, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID, 
 
 tioH of a City magistrate consists, as I bflicvc it 
 does, in being able to play a famous gami* with the 
 knife and fork, Mr. Bull was certainly as eligible a 
 candidate as could possibly have stepped forward; 
 find under such circumstances the liverymen of his 
 Ward did themselves the highest honour and proved 
 faithful to all their antecedents by electing him. 
 Nothing could exceed the airs which Mrs. L'uU now 
 gave herself. She spoke of her husband only as 
 " the Alderman." When she came down of a morn- 
 ing her first question was, '"Is breakfast ready? 
 You know the Alderman has to bo at Guildhall pre- 
 sently." At mid-day it was, " Has the Alderman 
 come in yet to lunch ?" At dinncr-timw ^hc would 
 ring the bell with frantic violence, demanding of the 
 servant who anawcTcd the summons, " whctlior the 
 Aldeiiimii had gone up to his dressing-room?" At 
 tea-timi' luid at supper there were fresh excuses for 
 dinning " the Alderman" in tlic oars of all the do- 
 mestics, la fact no opportunity was lost of mivking 
 NO. 40 
 
 the most of "the Alderman." As for the ZVIiss 
 Bulla, they appeared much less elated with their 
 father's success than might have been expected. 
 Not but that they were glad : yet they appeared to 
 be too much pre-occupied with certain little ailoirs 
 of their own to enter with the same spirit as their 
 m(;ther-in-law iiito whatsoever advantages were to 
 be derived from their father's civic rank. They were 
 constantly whispering together on the stairca.ie, tho 
 landmgs, and in their own chamber. If ever I hap- 
 pened to have occasion to cuter their room, I was 
 tolerably sure to find the two young ladies in closo 
 and earnest convrrsaticm. But I waa at no loss to 
 conjecture the cau.so of this behaviour on their part. 
 The names of Captain "Wimbledon and Mr. Caven- 
 dish afforded the duo to tho readmg of tLa 
 mystery- 
 One morning — about ten days after Alderman 
 Bull's election, and within three or four of tho ox- 
 piratioa of the month — I happened to bo comiu;;
 
 314 
 
 MABT PEICB; OB, THE MBM0IB9 OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 down stairs at the instant when the postman's well 
 known doable knock echoed through the house. I 
 at once went to the door to save the housemaid the 
 trouble of answering it. 
 
 '■Alderman Bull, Mrs. Bull, and Miss Mary 
 Price," said the postman, hurriedly turning over 
 a quantity of letters and spceifWng the names to 
 which they were addi-essed : then thrusting the 
 packet of correspondence into my hand, he sped 
 away. 
 
 The next moment the elder Miss Bull came 
 rushing down the stairs, and stopping me just as I 
 was about to enter the breakfast -parlour with the 
 letters, she said in a low quick voice, but with very 
 excited manner, " Let me look at them for an in- 
 stant." 
 
 I gave her all the letters save the one addi'essed 
 to myself, and the handwriting of which, I should 
 observe, was altogether unknown to me. 
 
 '•' What is that let ter you have got in your hand ? " 
 she asked with increasing excitement. 
 
 " It is for me,- Mis?," I said, and at once put it 
 into my pocket. 
 
 Miss Bull appeared confounded. She turned pale 
 as death, gazing upon me with a sort of Tae;;ncy 
 and terror which actually frightened me. Then she 
 appeared to gasp, as if endeavouring to give utter- 
 ance to words which literallj' stuck within her 
 throat, ^'ot knowing what to think of all this, and 
 feeling pained as well as embarrassed by the scene, 
 I took from her hand the letters which I had given 
 her a moment before, and at once went into the 
 parloiu-. 
 
 " Correspondence for the Alderman ?" said ilrs. 
 Bull, who had apparently been troubled with a 
 recurrence of her spasms ; for she was in the act of 
 pouring some of her medicine into her tea at the 
 moment I entered. 
 
 I laid all the letters on the table, and then quitted 
 the room. Miss Bull was loitering in the hall : but 
 at the very moment that I thus issued forth, the 
 parlour-maid appeared with a tray of cold viands 
 which she was carrjing into the breakf\ist-parlour. 
 80 Miss Bull could not speak to me then, as she 
 evidently wanted to do; and I hiu'ried up-stairs. 
 I heard Miss Bull como bounding after me; and 
 now the suspicion flashed to my mind that the letter 
 which I had in my pocket, though addressed to me, 
 waa in reaUty intended for her. This thought filled 
 me with indignation. "Was it possible that notwith- 
 standing the peremptory refusal I had given some 
 time back to allow any correspondence to be di- 
 rected imder cover to me, such an unwarrantable 
 liberty had nevertheless been taken with my name ? 
 I really felt at the moment anxious to punish Miss 
 Bull for her conduct if she had really been guilty of 
 BO gross an impropriety. Tlicreforo I remained 
 deaf to her mingled entreaties and commands that 
 I would stop as she pursued mo up the stairs ; and 
 on reaching the nursery I darted in, locking the 
 door in her face. The little children were quite 
 frightened at the proceeding; and Miss Bull 
 through the key -hole besought and implored me to 
 admit her. 
 
 Heeding neither the children nor then- sister-in- 
 law, I drew forth the letter from my pocket, and 
 now perceived that there was a small cross made 
 in one corner. The object of that mark was dear 
 enough : it was to show that notwithstanding the 
 
 letter was addressed to me, it was in reaUty in- 
 tended for the Miss Bulls. I however tore it open, 
 considering that under the circumstances there was 
 no sanctity in such correspondence. The envelope 
 contained two letters — and the first which met my 
 view was addressed to the elder Miss Bull. Hastily 
 running my eyes over its contents, I found them to 
 be as follow : — 
 
 " Thursday Evening. 
 "Everything is arranged, angel of my heart! To- 
 morrow night at eleven o'clock the carriage-and-four 
 will bo in readiness in Finsbury Circus. We have chosen 
 that spot B3 being most secluded from observation, and 
 yet the nearest convenient one to your abode. At 
 eleven, then, adored one of my soul — miracle of beauty 
 that thou art — shall I clasp thee in my arms : and then 
 away, away with lightning speed to Gretna ! Oh, the 
 love and the romance that are blended in all this ! 
 " Ever ttiine until death, 
 
 "EUGENIUS WlilBLEDON." 
 
 The second billet was directed to Miss Lydia : 
 but the instant I caught sight of that address, I 
 started, and an ejaculation escaped my lips — for it 
 at once struck n\c that the writing was familiar. 
 Yes — it was so beyond the possibiUty of doubt : for 
 if I could not judge by the few words of the address 
 on the outside of the note, I was able to do so by 
 the greater quantity of writing inside. The con- 
 tents of this latter note were as follow ; — 
 
 " Thursday Evening, 
 " Beloved and adored Lydia, 
 " As my esteemed friend the gallant Captain Wim- 
 bledon informs your amiable sister, everything is at- 
 ranged ; and to-morrow night at eleveu o'clock we ihall 
 meet, to part no more ! think of me in the interval, 
 my adored one — even as I think of you. I waft yon a 
 million kisses on ambrosial gales. 
 
 " Your sincere lover, and soon to be 
 
 " Your devoted husband, 
 " CO^^STANTI^'E CAVENDISH." 
 
 " Now," said I to myself, " I know how to act :" 
 — and I restored the two notes to their envelope. 
 
 During the couple of minutes which had elapsed 
 while I was perusing these billets. Miss Bull had 
 never ceased talking through the key-hole, entreat- 
 ing me in the most piteous manner to open the door. 
 I now did so — and she rushed in. The first glance 
 showed her that I had opened the letter, and a flush 
 of indignation crimsoned her countenance : then 
 she became pale as death — and snatching the packet 
 from my hand she hurried to the window, where 
 turning her back towards the children, she scanned 
 each little billet. 
 
 "Mary," she said, abruptly addressing me, but 
 speaking in a low and agitated voice, "you have 
 read these letters, and I and Lydia are at your 
 mercy. You will toU our father?" 
 
 "No," I answered: "it is not my intention to 
 make such mischief between a parent and his 
 daughters." 
 
 " Then you will tell mother-in-law t" said Miss 
 Bull, her features somewhat brightening up. 
 
 "No— because Mrs. Bull would tell your father : 
 and if I >vished Imn to know it, I had bott«r tell 
 him rnvbclf." 
 
 " Oh ! you are a good girl, Mary — a dear good 
 girl after all !" said Miss Bull, seizing me by the 
 hand and pressing it with effusion. " Then you 
 will not betray us ? you will hold your tongue con- 
 cerning what you have read?"
 
 MARY PKICIE; OR, THE IIEJIOIES OP A SERV AST-MAID- 
 
 315 
 
 " It \ri\l be your fault, Miss, if your father or 
 mother-in-law become aware of your conduct," was 
 my answer. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" she demanded, surveying 
 me with anxiety and suspense. " You have 
 some concealed intention — you meditate some- 
 thing — ^there is an imnatural coldness in your 
 manner " 
 
 "Your breakfast is ready, Miss— and you Lad 
 better go down to it." 
 
 " Well, I will come up to you again presently," 
 she said with hasty excitement. "But pray, for 
 heaven's sake, don't betray poor Lydia and myself. 
 It would be the death of us ! And do prevent that 
 boy," alluding to Theodore, " from letting the 
 secrets out to his mamma." 
 
 '■ I wli certainly endeavour to do so," was my re- 
 joinder. 
 
 Miss Bull then quitted the nursery; and I coaxed 
 the child not to say anything of what he had just 
 seen to his mother. I knew how to humour him, and 
 I'clt assured that he was won over to silence, at least 
 for the present. If on any future occasion he should 
 let out what he had seen, I did not much care, so 
 long as I could keep him quiet until I had time to 
 put in execution the plan I had formed. 
 
 In the course of an hour the two Miss Bulls 
 came up into the nursery. Both of them looked, I 
 thought, particularly foolish, and eyed me with 
 raingled apprehension and suspense. That they 
 were really in such a rage they could have de- 
 voured me, there can be no doubt ; and it must 
 have been gall and wormwood to them to be thus 
 compelled to maintain a civil and even hiunble de- 
 meanour. 
 
 " Come, Theodore — and you too, Georgy," along 
 with mo," said Lydia. " I have got some pictures 
 and some sugar -plums to give you. Mary will let 
 you go with me for a few minutes." 
 
 I offered no objection, although I saw it was a mere 
 subterfuge on the part of Miss Lydia to afford the 
 elder Miss BuU an opportunity of speaking with me 
 alone. Lydia accordingly took the two children out 
 of the nursery; and the moment the door had closed 
 behind them, the elder Miss Bull said, " Now, Mary, 
 do tell me what course you mean to adopt : for I 
 know you well enough to be assured you will do 
 something." 
 
 As she spoke she seemed in a complete state of 
 trepidation, and her heart was fluttering so that I 
 could positively hear its beatings. 
 
 " I have already promised you," said I, " that I 
 will not betr.ay you to your father and mother-in- 
 law, and I mean to keep my word." 
 
 "But that is not enough! It leaves mo in the 
 cruellest state of suspense," she immediately replied. 
 " Of course you see how Lydia and I arc situated 
 with these two gcnllemeu. AVhat are we to do ? 
 how are we to act ? It is you now who must decrde. 
 Oh, Mary ! if we could only enlist you in our ser- 
 vice, how happy shouJd we be ! But you are of- 
 fended on account of our having our letters directed 
 to you. Well, but you see that we took measures 
 to enable us to distinguish whatsoever letters were 
 in reality intended for us, so that we might never 
 incur the risk of violating your own private cor- 
 respondence. Look — this cross in tlie corner was 
 the sign agreed upon." 
 
 " But, Mias Bull," I said, " you are not accus • 
 
 tomed to answer the front-door and therefore you 
 must have induced the other servants to place in 
 your hands all letters addressed to me ?" 
 
 "No — or else we should have had the letters 
 addressed under cover to one of the other servants. 
 I can assure you that either I or Lydia have con- 
 stantly watched the postman's coming — and when 
 the parlour-maid or housemaid have answered the 
 door, we have instantly taken the letters In- 
 deed," she added, hurriedly, "it was because the 
 letters were thus first taken in by them that we did 
 not have them directed to either one of those ser- 
 vants — and as for trusting them, it was out of the 
 question. But you see, Mary, that you yourself are 
 in no way compromised " 
 
 " I am certainly pleased from being saved from 
 implication in such a proceeding," said I. " But 
 what did these persons say — Captain Wimbledon 
 and Mr. Cavendish, I mean — when you arranged 
 with them to direct their letters to me 7" 
 
 " Oh ! I recollect — they evidently thought it very 
 odd, and the moment your name was nientioned, 
 they appeared quite confused. But they said it was 
 only because they had heard of your famous ad- 
 venture at Derby, and were therefore struck by the 
 coincidence that you should now be in pa's service. 
 However, I forget all they said — for I was much 
 flurried at the time " 
 
 "And of course," said I, "they never offered to 
 visit you at the house ?" 
 
 " No — because pa took such a hatred to them." 
 
 " And did they advise you to make a confidante 
 of me .''" I asked. 
 
 " Quite the contrary. They begged and implored 
 that you should be kept in entire ignorance of 
 everything — because, they said, it was evident from 
 all that had transpired of yoiur character, you 
 would not lend yourself to anything that was going 
 on." 
 
 " They judged me rightly," I thought to myself. 
 
 " But why do you ask all these questions, Mary ?" 
 continued Miss EuU, still in a complete flutter of 
 agitation. "Do you know anything of Captain 
 Wimbledon and Mr. Cavendish ? But no — of 
 course you cannot. And now, pray don't be angry 
 at what has been done. Y'ou see I have treated 
 you with the utmost frankness — you are entirely in 
 the secret — and you will not betray us ? The truth 
 is," she added, colouring and looking remarkably 
 foolish as well as endeavouring to be most coaxingly 
 
 poUte, "Lydia and I don't look so serious, 
 
 I\Iai-y Lydia and I love these two elegant gen- 
 tlemen — our happiness depends on marrying 
 them " 
 
 " Unknown to yoiur father," I obseiTud. 
 
 " Yes — this is true, because pa has taken such 
 a silly dislike to them. But then pa is so un- 
 reasonable — you know he is — he does every tiling for 
 contradiction's sake. I am sure a nicer man than 
 Captain Wimbledon or a geutccler ouo than Mr. 
 Cavendish cannot exist. If you only saw them you 
 would think so. Now obsi-rve, Mary, as I and 
 Lydia arc both of ago our actions cannot be con- 
 trolled ; and we might leave the Louse directly if 
 we liked — not even pa, though he is an Alderman, 
 could atop us. Special licenses could be got, and 
 we might be married in a few days. So you see 
 nothing can or need prevent us." 
 
 " Then why this intended flight to Gretna Green?"
 
 Si*? 
 
 JIART TRICE ; on, TTHE MEMOIIW OF A SEBVANT-VAID. 
 
 I askod, struck with the truth of all Miss Bull's ob- 
 servations. 
 
 "Oh ! that dear fellow, Captain Wimbledon, sug- 
 gested it," she replied ; " and L ydia and I were quite 
 charmed with the idea. It is so romantic ! All the 
 City ^rls will bo bursting with cnvr and spite when 
 they hear of it. Besides, don't you see — it guards 
 us against the chance of any unpleasant intrusion 
 on the part of pa in case he should discover what is 
 goin'T on. If we arrang'j to get married by special 
 license, he might suddenly pop in upon us at the 
 church, and do or soy something to stop the pro- 
 ceedings : but if we get a whole night's start of him 
 wc are sure to be at Gretna first, even if he should 
 take it into his head to follow us. You see, Mary, 
 I am telling you crcry thing; and now as you arc 
 our confidante, I hope you will assist us. But you 
 ar« so rery particular— you arc unlike any other 
 young person I ever knew." 
 
 " Miss Bull," I said, after a few moments' reflec- 
 tion, " I will accompany you this evening." 
 
 " You, Mary !" she exclaimed in mingled aston- 
 ishment and joy. " Will you indeed ? is it pos- 
 sible ?" 
 
 "I will indeed," was my rejoinder. "You must 
 therefore make an arrangement with the house- 
 maid or parlour-maid to come and stop with the 
 children." 
 
 "What! make a confidante of cither of them?" 
 cried !Mis8 Bull. 
 
 " Yes — it is absolutely necessary." 
 
 "Then it shall be the housemaid. And after all," 
 continued Miss Bull, in a reflecting manner, " it 
 will not be so dilFicult, or yet so dangerous: for I 
 need not say a word to her till pretty near the last 
 moment — and then a five-pound note will secure her 
 services, I am siu'c. "Well, ^lary, it shall all be done 
 as you suggest. And, oh ! how delighted I am, and 
 how happy Lydia will be !" 
 
 Miss Bidl throw her arms round my neck, and 
 embraced me with a great show of afToction. She 
 then hurried off to tell her sister the good news ; 
 and in a few minutes they returned tc the nursery 
 together, bringing back the children with tlicra. 
 Lydia took an opportunity to press my hand with 
 every appearance of cordial warmth ; and I have no 
 doubt that at the moment both the sisters felt well 
 enough disposed towards me, now that they believed 
 I was entering fully into their plans. 
 
 Nothing of any consequence occurred during the 
 remainder of the day — unless it were that Mrs. 
 Alderman Bull, as she now called herself, had so 
 many attacks of spasms and was compelled to have 
 such frequent recourse to her medicine that she was 
 forced to go to bed immediately after dinner. I 
 subsequently learnt from the parlour-maid, who had 
 to help her up-stairs. that she was in a thorough state 
 of intoxication ; and I must candidly confess that, 
 all things considered, I was by no means displeased 
 at the prospect of quitting uij- present place at the 
 expiration of a few days. 
 
 I put the children to bed that evening at the 
 usual hour ; and they soon fell asleep. The iliss 
 Bulls, who liad been up to the nui'sery several times 
 during the day, no doubt to convince themselves 
 that I was still in the same mind about accompany- 
 ing them on their (5retna Green expedition, paid 
 me another visit between nine and ten o'clock ; and 
 they then asked me pointedly if 1 still purposed to 
 
 accompany them ? I answered in the affirmative; 
 whereupon they t«ld me that they had made every- 
 thing right with the housemaid, and that as their 
 mother-in-law had gone to bed and their pa would 
 not be long in following her (he liimsclf having 
 done such ample justice to the bottle after dinner 
 that he would be completely " settled" by his allow- 
 ance of brand^'-and-water at supper) there was no 
 apprehension to be entertained of any impediment 
 in making our egress from the house. I accord- 
 ingly promised to be ready at a quarter to eleven, 
 at which time the Miss Bulls were to come up to the 
 nursery and fetch me. 
 
 It was a little more than half-past ten when the 
 housemaid joined me ; and having convinced her- 
 self that the children slept soundly, she said in a 
 mysterious whisper, " Well, Mary, isn't this a bit 
 of fun .' How astonished the Alderman and nmsus 
 will be when they come down in the morning and 
 find the birds flown ! I wbh I was going with 
 young missuses: but they have behaved very hand- 
 some to me, and so I needn't complain. What fun 
 you will have I You will see the blacksmith-parson 
 who splices a pair of lovers just as cleverly as he 
 shoes a horse. What a man he m'ost be !" 
 
 This last reflection appeared to open a wide field 
 
 I for the rangings of the hoasemaid's fancy : for she 
 
 sat in a deep reverie, while I hastened to put on my 
 
 bonnet and cloak and wrap myself well up, it being 
 
 a bitter cold night, in th« middle of winter. 
 
 "Missus has gone up to bed so how-come-you-so 
 she couldn't walk," observed the housemaid, arous- 
 ing from her reverie. "• She gets worse and worse 
 every day. To my knowledge that medicine-bottle 
 of her's was filled three times since breakfast this 
 morning, let alonp the bottled porter and cherry- 
 brandy at limch, and the wine at dinner. But old 
 master has took to drinking more than ever since 
 ho has been an Alderman, lie has just gone up so 
 top-heavy that he grumbled at the stair carpet the 
 whole way, declaring it hadn't been put down pro- 
 perly and was enough to trip any man up. When 
 he got as far as the first landing he insisted that all 
 the flooring was loose and made him so unsteady 
 he could hardly stand. But here is young mis- 
 susas ! " 
 
 The housemaid had heard them approaching with 
 stealthy steps ; and now the door, opening cautiously, 
 gave them admittance. They were both wrapped 
 up with cloaks, shawls, and furs ; and each carried 
 a little parcel of necessaries for the toilet during the 
 journey. 
 
 " Oh, Mary is ready !" they both said in the same 
 breath: (hen the elder Miss Bull, speaking to the 
 housemaid, observed, " You must come down and 
 bolt the street door beliind us." 
 
 "No — don't do that," I said : "for suppose that 
 by any chance there should bo a disappointment 
 and wc might want to get back ag.ain into the 
 house. Let the street door remain unbolted ; and 
 wc \vill take the key with us." 
 
 "But what disappointment can there possibly 
 be ?" asked Miss Lydia, somewhat petulantly. 
 
 " There are risks in everything," I replied cabuly. 
 " Suppose that the gentlemen should not be there — 
 or that there is a mistake relative to the hour or the 
 night -" 
 
 "Well,"' interrupted the elder Miss Bull, "we 
 can but follow Mary's advice: so the stroct-door
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 317 
 
 need not be bolted. Come along — there's not a 
 minute to lose." 
 
 "A pleasant journey. Miss — and to you also^ Miss 
 Lydia," said the housemaid, as the tvro ladies wished 
 her farewell. 
 
 The Miss Bulls and I then crept silently down 
 stairs — not that there was much chance of disturb- 
 ing; the Alderman and his wife, considering the cir- 
 cumstances imder which they had both retired to 
 rest. We reached the hall without molestation ; 
 and I took very good care to secure the key of the 
 street-door about my porson. We issued forth as 
 noiselessly as possible, and began making the best 
 of our way by the shortest cuts towards Finsbury 
 Circus. The two sisters walked together, I follow- 
 ing close behind. Little was spoken between them ; 
 antl I said not a word. In about tea minutes we 
 reached the place of appointment. 
 
 "There's the carriage 1" immediately ejaculated 
 the elder sister. 
 
 '•'With the lamps lighted," addnd Miss Lydia. 
 " And I can see the foui- horses. JS'oble creatures !" 
 she added in a sentimental mood : " little do they 
 suspect the errand of love on which they arc to 
 bear us along." 
 
 " Here they are, rushing to meet us !" said EUza- 
 beth Bull, as two tall cloaked figm'cs, suddenly 
 emerging from the obscui'ity behind the rays of the 
 carriage-lamps, came hm-rying forward towards us. 
 " Dearest Eugenius !" murmured Miss Bull, as she 
 was clasped in the arms of Captain Wimbledon. 
 
 " Adored Constantine !" tenderly whispered the 
 sentimental Lydia, as she at the same time was 
 etrained to the breast of Mr. Cavendish. 
 
 " Yes — I was not mistaken," thought I to myself 
 as I witnessed this scene : and I now trembled all 
 over with excitement — for I was about to dash the 
 golden bowl of hope to the ground and shiver it to 
 atoms. 
 
 " Come, my best-beloved, my adored one !" said 
 Captain Wimbledon. " The carriage is in attend- 
 ance — the postilions are mounted — the horses are 
 pawing the ground with impatience — and I, my 
 princess, am ready to bear thee away on the wings 
 of love ?" 
 
 " Yes — don't let us delay," said Mr. Cavendish to 
 Lydia. " Cherished being of my soul I a rosy-tinted 
 future stretches before us. But I say," he suddenly 
 exclaimed, as he caught sight of mc where I stood 
 in the background ; and his voice had changed all 
 in a moment to accents of imcasincss. " Who's 
 that you've got with you ? An attendant ?" 
 
 " Is she faithful ? bears she the stamp of trust- 
 worthiness upon her brow ?" demanded Captain 
 Wimbledon, also in a somewhat nervous manner : 
 and through the obscurity of the night the two gen- 
 tlemen's eyes were fixed keenly and penetratingly 
 upon mo — but they could not immediately distin- 
 guish my countenance, though it was tolerably clear 
 they had an uneasy present im«nt who I was. 
 
 Nor did I leave them long in doubt upon tho 
 subject; but raising my voice, I said, " You ask 
 whether I am faithful P Yes— too faithful to the 
 cause of honour and truth to permit this proceeding 
 to go any farther." 
 
 "Perdition! this was what I apprehended all 
 along!" exclaimed the self-styled Mr. Cavendish, us 
 he at once knew my voice. 
 
 "Yes — 'tis aho!" muttered Captain Wimbledon, 
 
 'as I stood forward so that tho light of a street-lamp 
 fell upon my features. 
 
 But the two Miss Bulls, little suspecting the real 
 cause of my suddenly pronoimcing against them, 
 but naturally supposing that I had meant to play 
 them false all along, turned round upon me with 
 enraged looks. 
 
 "Vile treacherous gbl!" said the elder sister in 
 bitterest accents : " it is too late ! You can do 
 nothing now : wo are our own mistresses — and we 
 defy you !" 
 
 " Yes — we defy you. Begone !" cried Miss Lydia. 
 •'And now let us away!" she added, appealing to 
 her lover. 
 
 "No," I said firmly and decisively: "you will 
 both return to your father's house. Painful as my 
 position is, I am nevertheless luliilling a duty. I 
 do not wish to say a word more than is necessary. 
 Let it sufllce then for me to assure you, Miss Ehza- 
 both — and you too, Miss Lydia — that the names of 
 those to whom you woidd have entrusted yourselves 
 are not Wimbledon and Cavendish — nor arc they 
 what they have represented themselves." 
 
 The two sisters turned their looks in dismay upon 
 Mr. TomUnson and my brother; for these indeed 
 were Captain Wimbledon and Mr. Cavendish ! But 
 the air of mingled confusion and disappointment 
 which both of them wore, was but little calculated 
 to reassure the Alderman's two foolish daughters. 
 
 " Well, Eobert, I suppose it's all up ?" exclaimed 
 Mr. Tomliuson. "A storm has gathered — the 
 cloud has broken — and the thunder has burst above 
 our heads. Come, let us be oil'." 
 
 " By Jove !" ejaculated my brother, " I will be re- 
 venged for this !" — and he gnashed his teeth with 
 rage as he threw a terrible look upon me. 
 
 The two Miss BuUs screamed with affright ; and 
 Mr. Tomliuson, doubtless fearing that the neigh- 
 bourhood would be alarmed, and perhaps the inter- 
 vention of the pohce-authorities put into request, 
 suddenly took to his heels, closely followed by my 
 brother Eobert. 
 
 " Now away home, ladies !" said I, in a hurried 
 voice : for your cries have already brought people to 
 theu" front doors." 
 
 Such was indeed the case ; and recalled by tho 
 circumstance to the necessity of displaying their 
 presence of mind, the sisters followed mc rapidly 
 away from Finsbury Cu^cus. 
 
 •' What in heaven's name, Mary, does all this 
 moiiu ?" demanded the elder Miss Bull, in a voice 
 almost choking with rage and spite as wo relaxed 
 our pace in one of the streets leading homeward. 
 "It means that I have saved you both from 
 taking a step which you would have repented for 
 all the rest of your lives." 
 
 " Then who are those persons ? why did you do 
 this? how did you know thcmr" inquired both 
 tho ladies, speaking with nervous excitement and 
 as it were with the same breath. 
 
 " I have seen theni before — I know them well," 
 was my equally hm'ricd response; "and they are 
 far — very far — from being what you fancied theuu 
 Alas ! that I should have to say so," I mur- 
 mured to myself, tears trickling down luy cheeks: 
 f<jr the image of my unhappy and misguided 
 brother was uppermost iu my thoughts. 
 
 •' What is that you were saying ?" inquired Miss 
 Lyilia sharply.
 
 318 
 
 }f ABT rBICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A BEBrAKT-MAID. 
 
 " Oh ! what's the use of questioning her any fur- 
 ther ?" exclaimed the elder sister. " What she says 
 must be correct, from the conduct of those two de- 
 ceitful men themselves. Oh, Lydia ! how could you 
 ever have been so blind ?" 
 
 " I blind ?" echoed the younger lady. " You are 
 a fool, Elizabeth : it was you who led me on." 
 
 " It wasn't — it was you that over-pcr/uaded mc. 
 Oh ! I could cry my eyes out with vexation !" 
 
 "And I could tear the eyes of those deceitful 
 wretches out," added Sliss Lydia. 
 
 In this manner did they go on exchanging ex- 
 cited remarks imtil we reached Broad Street ; and 
 then I reminded them that it would be prudent to 
 hold their tongues as we stole back into the house. 
 
 " But one word, Mary," said Miss Bull, suddenly 
 slopping short. " Why, if, you knew those men to 
 be mere adventurers, did you not tell me so before ? 
 Some weeks have elapsed since I first mentioned 
 their names to you " 
 
 " Yes — ^but imder those assumed names I did not 
 recognise them," was my answer. " It was only 
 when that letter came this morning that I at once 
 discovered the mystery : for the hand- writing of one 
 of the notes was famiUar to me." 
 
 "Then why did you let matters go so far P" in- 
 quired Miss Bull. " Why did you suffer us to be 
 made such fools of?" 
 
 "Because I perceived how infatuated you were," 
 I explained; "and I knew full weU that if I had said 
 anything against those persons you would not credit 
 me. So I resolved to unmask them in your presence 
 and thus place their real characters beyond the pos- 
 sibility of doubt in your estimation. What I did 
 has been done for your sake, and with the best pos- 
 sible motives. Indeed, I can assure you," I added, 
 " that it has cost me a pang to be compelled to act 
 in such a manner." 
 
 I was thinking of my brother as I thus spoke : 
 but of course the Miss Bulls did not comprehend 
 the allusion. 
 
 " Ah ! it was no wonder they looked so queer," ex- 
 claimed Elizabeth Bull, " the first time I ever men- 
 tioned your name to them. Don't you recollect, 
 Lydia ? And they made us describe what sort of a 
 looking person you were, Mary. But when and how 
 did you first know them ?" 
 
 "And who are they, after all?" inquired Miss 
 Lydia. 
 
 "I really must decline saying any more," was 
 my hurried response. " Indeed, I insist upon our 
 entering the house directly." 
 
 The Miss Bulls were obliged to submit, and we 
 effected our return into the dwelling without the 
 slightest difficulty as well as without creating any 
 alarm. The Miss Bulls retired to their chamber, a 
 prey to the bitterest feelings of spite, annoyance, 
 and humiliation. As i'6r the housemaid, who had 
 taken up her quarters in the nursery, and who was 
 sitting up reading a romance, — she was amazed at 
 I seeing me return, and instantaneously began to 
 j overwhelm me with questions. But I positively 
 refused to enter into any details, beyond the one 
 grand fact that the matrimonial project on tlie part 
 of the two ladies was abandoned. To them did I 
 refer her for any farther explanations; and she 
 withdrew to her o^vn room in high dudgeon at my 
 want of commxmicativenesa. 
 
 CHAPTEK LXV. 
 
 A SI^TCCLAn PEOJECT. 
 
 Tun day arriving for me to leave the service of 
 .'Uderman and Mrs. Bull, I was by no means sorry 
 to bid farewell to the gloomy house and the dis- 
 agreeable family in Broad Street. I therefore expe- 
 rienced a real pleasure in returning to mv old place 
 in the far more cheerful region of Grrosvenor 
 Square. Behold me, then, once again installed as 
 under-nurse-maid at Harlesdon House — the com- 
 panion of the good-tempered Jemima — and restored 
 to the possession of my well-furnished and commo- 
 dious bed-chamber in the suite of apartments con- 
 stituting the nursery-floor. 
 
 A month now passed without any incident worthy 
 of note : but at the expiration of this period I acci- 
 dentally became a listener to a conversation which, 
 however trivial in many respects it may appear at 
 first sight, win hereafter be found to have a very in- 
 timate connexion with the thread of this narrative. 
 One afternoon I was seated alone with Lady Ilarles- 
 don in her private apartment : for I served her as a 
 companion even more than I attended to the duties 
 of the nursery. Her ladyship, who for the last 
 few days had been somewhat pensive and had kept 
 entirely ia-doors, was dividing her attention between 
 a new novel and occasional intervals of conversation 
 with me ; while I was doing some fine work which 
 I had taught myself and of which I was fond. All 
 of a sudden the door opened ; and Lady Davenport 
 with her two daughters entered the room. These 
 ladies have been previously mentioned, the mother 
 as having been once a very handsome woman, but 
 now given to cards and scandal, and likewise to all 
 possible manoeuvres to get off her two marriageable 
 daughters. These young ladies I have also alluded 
 to in an earlier chapter as being particularly insipid 
 in looks and "missish" in behaviour. They wore 
 very long ringlets, and had a foolish habit of whis- 
 pering and giggling with each other, notwithstand- 
 ing the frowns and pursing-up of the mouth with 
 which their mother was wont to endeavour to check 
 their silliness. 
 
 " My dear Lady Harlesdon," said Lady Daven- 
 port, taking my noble mistress's hand and shaking 
 it with effusion, " you are doubtless surprised at our 
 bursting in upon you when I know that you are 
 invisible to general visitors ; and still more amazed 
 must you be at our penetrating as far as your own 
 private sitting-apartment. But really you must 
 blame Lord Harlesdon for both offences." 
 
 " Do sit down, dear Lady Davenport. I am quite 
 delighted to sec you !" cried Lady Harlesdon, in- 
 stantaneously assuming the utmost affability of 
 manner, although I knew full well that in her heart 
 she not only disliked the Davenports, but was the 
 last person in the world to be pleased with such an 
 intrusion after she had sent down positive orders to 
 the hall-porter 'Mhat she was not at home" — this 
 being the fashionable falsehood conveying a refusal 
 to see visitors. 
 
 " Wliat beautiful thing is that you are working ?' 
 demanded Lady Davenport, whose eyes bad sud- 
 denly lighted upon the work I held in my Land : 
 and she stopped me as, having risen from my seat, 
 I was about leaving the room. "Dear me, how
 
 HABY rBioe; or, the memoies of a sebv ant-maid. 
 
 319 
 
 pretty !" she continuecl, pretending to look at the 
 work, but all the time examining me from under 
 her eye-lids : then suddenly raising her looks alto- 
 gether, she said, " Are j-ou that famous Mary Price 
 of whom the world heard so much in respect to the 
 Derby affair? I thought I recollected you. You 
 were at Harlesdon Park when we were staying 
 there last winter: but I did not know you were 
 again in my dear friend Lady Harlesdon's service. 
 You are really a very interesting young person. 
 My dear Lady Harlesdon, I quite envy you the pos- 
 session of such a treasure as this. She works, too, 
 beautifully ! Come, girls, and look at this elegant 
 specimen of what the needle can do." 
 
 While Lady Davenport was thus rattling on, I 
 had remained standing in some little degree of con- 
 fusion : for I felt that those references to " the 
 Derby afiair," though most likely made without 
 any aim or purpose, were but too well calculated to 
 excite distressing reminiscences in the mind of my 
 noble mistress. Lady Harlesdon however was 
 enabled to throw that well-bred gloss over her feel- 
 ings which on most occasions served eifectually to 
 veil them; and with a smile, she said, '• I am glad 
 your ladyship is pleased with my young friend 
 Slary. I call her a friend, because she really is one ; 
 and I am not accustomed to treat her otherwise." 
 
 " Oh ! any one can see thafr she is a very superior 
 young person," exclaimed Lady Davenport. '• Pray 
 do not let her leave the room for us. On the con- 
 trary, I should like the girls to watch her while she 
 goes on with that beautifid work. Nay, Mary," she 
 added, addressing herself to me, " I do insist upon 
 your remaining — or else I myself shall be off at 
 once." 
 
 I dare say that Lady Harlesdon would not have 
 been particularly sorry if Lady Davenport had car- 
 ried this threat into execution : however, for cour- 
 tesy's sake, she humoured her by observing, " Oh ! 
 if you wish Mary to stay, she certainly shall ; and I 
 am sure she will have much pleasure in showing 
 your ladyship's daughters how that work is done." 
 
 Thus speaking. Lady Harlesdon made a sign for 
 me to sit down again — and I did so. The two Miss 
 Davenports, who had just been whispering and gig- 
 gling to each other, now approached me — took a 
 chair on each side — and watched me while I re- 
 sumed my work. 
 
 " Now for the explanation which I owe you," 
 cried Lady Davenport. " Just as we stopped at the 
 door in the carriage. Lord Harlesdon dismounted 
 I'rom his horse ; and although ho confidentially 
 whispered that you, my dear Lady Harlesdon, are 
 not visible to-day to visitors generally, yet he added 
 he was quite sure you would be accessible to us. So 
 in the kindest manner in the world, his lordship 
 escorted us almost up to the very door of this room, 
 and gave us leave and license to enter, telling us 
 that ho would shortly appear to receive a scolding 
 from your lips if ho had done wrong." 
 
 " Oh ! I can assure your ladyship that Lord 
 Harlesdon has not done wrong," responded my 
 mistress. " He doubtless thought I might be dull, 
 and considerately afforded mo this opportunity of 
 companionship." 
 
 " How amiable of his lordship !" said Lady Da- 
 venport. "Do you know, my dear Lady Harlesdon, 
 I must congratulate you on possessing a husband 
 who improves as he grows older. I never saw him 
 
 so affable, so kind, and so good as he has been lately. 
 I can assure you it is quite different with Lord Da- 
 venport. He has got the gout now, and is so ill- 
 humom-ed and irritable that the house will scarcely 
 bear him. I and these dear girls do all we can to 
 soothe and make him comfortable: but he does 
 nothing but grumble and look sour from morning 
 till night. Poor girls !" added Lady Davenport, 
 turning her eyes upon her daughters and sighing 
 profoundly, no doubt in vexation because she had 
 not succeeded in getting either of them off during 
 the last season and began to fear that they would 
 hang heavy on her hands. 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and Lord 
 Harlesdon entered. 
 
 " Ah !" he exclaimed, in a good-humoured man- 
 ner, addressing himself to Lady Davenport ; " so 
 you have made good your entry into this chamber 
 of solitude ?" 
 
 " Not altogether of solitude, my lord," rejoined 
 Lady Davenport; "for we found Lady Harlesdon in 
 company with her interesting young companion, 
 who really is so proficient with her needle— —There 
 now, she is trying to be off again !'" 
 
 " Don't go, Mary," said Lord Harlesdon, " since 
 your presence appears to be agreeable to Lady 
 Davenport." 
 
 "And she is teaching the girls to work in the 
 same exquisite style," cried the lady thus alluded 
 to. 
 
 Lord Harlesdon went and placed himself by his 
 wife's side upon the sofa ; and looking at her with 
 an air of mingled kindness and good-humour, he 
 said, " Am I to be scolded for sending these ladies 
 up to you? Eeally, my dear Clementina, I took 
 pity upon you, though you take none upon your- 
 self; and I thought that a little society would en- 
 liven you." 
 
 " Then I could not possibly find it in my heart to 
 scold your lordship," replied Lady Harlesdon, 
 laughing. " Besides, you were quite right in sur- 
 mising that Lady Davenport and the young ladies 
 would be most welcome." 
 
 " Of that I felt assured," said his lordship, with a 
 gracious bow to the visitresses. " By the bye, I am 
 truly glad that Lady Davenport has called on this 
 occasion," he continued ; " for I have a little idea in 
 my head which I meant to propound to you to-day, 
 my dear Clementuia ; and I am rejoiced at the op- 
 portunity of submitting it to the taste of her lady- 
 ship." 
 
 " Ajid what is this bright idea ?" inquired Lady 
 Davenport, to whom he had just alluded. 
 
 " I have been reading in the newspapers," re- 
 sponded Lord Harlesdon, " of the great amusement 
 and diversion afforded by the private theatricals 
 which the Marquis and Marchioness of Clydesdale 
 have had at their beautiful scat in the Highlands. 
 There is a long description of the whole affair in 
 
 to-day's I'ost and Herald " 
 
 " I read it every line," interrupted Lady Daven- 
 port, " and was quite charmed." 
 
 "Yes — and if mamma had only accepted Lady 
 Clydesdale's invitation," said the elder Miss Daven- 
 port, pouting her Ups like a spoilt child, "we should 
 liave had an opportunity of seeing instead of merely 
 reading those delightful exhibitions." 
 
 " Well, my dear, I d<j regret having declined the 
 invitation," said Lady Davenport : " but a journey
 
 320 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A SEBVANT-MAID. 
 
 into the Highlands in the middle of w-inter seemed } 
 to me something absolutely horrifying. I should 
 as soon have dreamt of ascending Mount Blanc all 
 by myself. But private theatricals are at this mo- 
 ment the entire rage. Lord and Lady Mordaunt 
 have been having them at their seat in Staffordshire ; 
 and even old Lady Bagshot, who called at Daven- 
 port House yesterday, told me in confidence that 
 the thought of getting up something of the sort. 
 But about this idea of yours, my lord ?" 
 
 "My idea appears to have been anticipated by 
 Lady Bagshot," rejoined Lord Ilarlcsdon : '• for I 
 thouglit that if these private theatricals proved so 
 effective and pleasing at a baronial castle in the 
 Highlands, there could be no reason why they 
 should not be got up with greater eclat in London." 
 
 "And has your lordship really thought seriously 
 of it ?" inquii-ed Lady Davenport. 
 
 "To be siure! Wherefore not? It would be a 
 change from the usual routine of banquets and balls, 
 soiri^es and card-parties. But what does my Cle- 
 mentma say ?" he inquired, turning to his wife. 
 
 " That it will give mo the greatest plcasui'e to^ 
 assist in anything initiated by you," was Lady Har- 
 lesdon's affable and ingenuous response. 
 
 " Then it is decided," said his lordship. 
 
 "Oh, how rejoiced I am!" exclaimed Lady Da- 
 venport, who was as frivolous in most things as 
 ladies of fashion u-iually are, notwithstanding her 
 cunning and duplicity in mauccuvi-ing to catch hus- 
 bands for her daughtors. " Of coui-se Lady, Bag- 
 shot will abandon the idea when slie learns that it 
 has been taken up by Lord and Lady Harlesdon. 
 Besides, how ridiculous on her part to entertain 
 such a thought ! She has not a room in her house 
 large enough for the purpose — whereas you have 
 every convenience here. Either the great drawing- 
 room or the banquctting-room would serve admi- 
 rably. But you must have it fitted up in all respects 
 as well as they did at Clydesdale Castle. The cor- 
 respondent of the Post has given a beautiful de- 
 scription of it." 
 
 " Youi- ladyship may depend," said Lord Harles- 
 don, "that everything shall be done in the most 
 efhcient manner. And now, my dear," he added, 
 turning to his wife, '• if you really approve of this 
 idea of mine we will lose no time in carrying it into 
 effect." 
 
 "I can only repeat what I have just now said," 
 answered Lady Harlesdon, " that I shall be de- 
 lighted to assist in getting up the entertainment." 
 
 " Oh ! but your ladyship must lake a part in it," 
 cried Lady Davenport. " I am sure that I will — 
 provided you play something in which there is a 
 character that will suit me. Of coui-se it must be 
 Shakspeare. They had Shakspeare at Clydesdale, 
 and Shakspeare also at the Mordaunts'. Even old 
 Lady Bagshot spoke of Shakspeare : and yet be- 
 tween you and me, I think she knows as much 
 about Shakspeare as of the Chinese language. But 
 the girls," added Lady Davenport, alluding to her 
 daughters, '• must take their parts in one of (ho 
 pieces." 
 
 At this announcement the two young ladies gave 
 a look at each other and then burst into a subdued 
 giggle, which lasted for more than a minute, and 
 which not even the frowns of their lady-mother 
 could succeed in rejiressiug. But her ladyship no 
 doubt thought that these private theatricals would 
 
 be an excellent opportunity for her two daughti^rs 
 to display themselves to an advantage which might 
 produce important results in a matrimonial sense. 
 
 " Well then, it is settled," resumed Lord Harles- 
 don, " that wc shall have private theatricals here. 
 I think the banquetting-room will be the best to 
 have fitted up for the occasion: but wc sliall see. 
 And now we must look around and decide whom we 
 will invite to take part in the representations. We 
 ought to form a kind of little committee to settle 
 the pieces to be performed and the allotment of the 
 characters in a suitable manner. I think we cannot 
 do better than ask Lady Bagshot to become a mem- 
 ber of our committee : it wiU console her for the 
 disappointment in having the idea taken out of her 
 hands. What do you say, Clementina ?" 
 
 "It would be but courteous," responded Lady 
 Harlesdon. 
 
 "' Of course your lordship means to perform?" 
 exclaimed Lady Davenport. 
 
 "Oh, certainly !" was the answer: and it so much 
 astonished me that I almost dropped my work. The 
 two Miss Davenports exchanged ironical looks, and 
 with difficulty repressed another outburst of gig- 
 gling. Lady Harlesdon herself experienced some 
 degree of amazement — I could tell by the transient 
 expression of that feeling which flitted over her 
 countenance : but instantaneously recovering her- 
 self, she hastened to say something to do away with 
 any impleasant impression that her husband might 
 have received in case he had noticed that look. 
 
 "I am glad to hear," she observed, "that your 
 lordship means to enter heart and soul into a re- 
 creation alike so intellectual and amusing." 
 
 " But if I take a part in the performances, my 
 dear Clementina," lie answered, " it is only on the 
 condition that you do so likewise." 
 
 " Under such circumstances, I cannot possibly 
 refuse," rejoined her ladyship. 
 
 "We are getting on admirably," eried Lady 
 Davenport ; " and I am truly rejoiced that I hap. 
 pened to call here to-day. Come, girls, let us now 
 
 be off. We have got a round of visits to pay 
 
 By the bye, your lordship of course will give mo 
 permission to mention all that has just taken place. 
 The intelligence that London does not mean to bo 
 long behind Clydesdale and Staffordshire, should bo 
 spread like mld-llre. The whole world of fashion 
 will be in a perfect blaze of excitement. How de- 
 lightful! how delicious ! Besides," she added, in a 
 flattering tone, " when once Lord and Lady Harles- 
 don have set the example in the metropoUs, others 
 will follow it. Girls, 1 think that we must try and 
 persuade your fiither to do so. If he were not 
 alUieted with the gout at this moment, I am sure 
 he would." 
 
 Having thus rattled away with great volubility, 
 Lady Davenport took her leave, accompanied by 
 her daughters, and attended by Lord Harlesdon, 
 who politely imdertix)k to escort them as far as 
 their carriage. I now remained alone with my 
 mistress ; and scarcely had the door closed when 
 she said in a joyous tone, "Is it not truly dehghtful 
 to see how his lordship has changed ? It is like tlw 
 sternest winter with all its ice thawing and yielding 
 to the advent of the wai-mest and brightest summer. 
 I do really believe (hat his lordship has stsirted (his 
 idea for (he sole jiurpose of affording recreation 
 and amusement for me. He has seen (ka( for the
 
 MART TEICE; OR; THE SiKMOIKS OF A SERVANT-MaID. 
 
 
 
 (tHO 
 
 Dps 
 
 last few Jays I Lavo cleuiod myself to visUors and 1 
 remaiacil much at lioiiie; aud lie fancies perhaps | 
 that I am sulTeruig under lowucss of spirits, or j 
 require change of scene. Ho is well aware that if I 
 join in the usual routine of fjashionahlo conreu- 
 tionahsms — or I miglit rather say frivolities — it is 
 not because I like them; but because, as I have 
 often explained to you, Mary, they form part and 
 parcel of that destiny which belongs to every one 
 moving in the higliost sphere : aud therefore his 
 lordship may very naturally suppose that there are 
 times when I am wearied of this kind of life. 
 Doubtless, then, it was in tho hope of abstracting 
 my mind that he sent up tho Davenports to me; 
 and in the same spirit has he now proposed these 
 private theatricals. But he little knows, JNIary, the 
 real cause which lias led mo thus to sechido myself 
 for the last few days and decline either receiving 
 visits or going to entertainments." 
 
 '•I myself have been fearful that yourlalyship 
 
 isro. 41 
 
 had some new cause of sorrow," was the o1)?crva- 
 ion that I made when Lady Ilarlesdon had ceased 
 speaking. 
 
 "Not exactly so," she replied. "But I will tell 
 you what it is :" — then after a. moment's pause, she 
 added in a lower and more serious tone, "Sii* 
 Aubrey Clavcriug is in London— and you can well 
 understand that I shall not purposely incur the 
 chance of meeting him." 
 
 '• Has your ladyship seen liimr" I asked. 
 
 " Yes: the last liuic I rodo out in the carriage — 
 that was five days back. I had occasion to go to 
 Howell aud James, to purchase a few (rifles ; and 
 on coming out, I caught a glimpse of Sir Aubrey 
 Clavmug riding on horseback down Regent Street. 
 I affected not to see liim, but entered the carriage 
 and drove home." 
 
 I said not a word, but was inwardly pleased at 
 the delicate feeling which thus iiaflacuccd my m.'blo 
 mistress.
 
 322 
 
 MARY rnicn ; on, tiik ?:emoibs of a servant-maiu. 
 
 " Sir Aubroj Claverinj will not of course call at 
 the house until ho has met his lordship and myself, 
 or cither one of us, and has seen that it is our inten- 
 tion to treat him before the world on the same terms 
 as before. But I need not tell you, Mary," added 
 her ladyshiii, '• that the longer I can postpone such 
 a meeluig, llic more agreeable is it to 2iic." 
 
 Here 1 he conversation ended : for Lord Harlcs- 
 don returned to the room, and I went up to the 
 nursai-T. 
 
 Oil the following day, between two and three 
 o'clock in the afteD'.oon, there was a succession of 
 nrrivrls at the mansion, — Lady Darenport and her 
 daughters coming first, the Downger-Countess of 
 Bagshot next, and these followed by at least a dozen 
 other visitors male and female. Thi<! was the com- 
 mittee, whom, as I subsequently learnt. Lord Har- 
 Ifsdon had invited to meet for the arrangement of 
 the private theatricals. The committee sat about 
 two hours in deliberation ; and shortly after it broke 
 up I was summoned to Lady Hnrlcsdon's apartment. 
 1 found her alone, looking as cheerful and happy as 
 possible ; and I could not help contrasting her 
 present state of mind vrith what it was a few months 
 back, when in tears and despair she had poured 
 forth her sorrows to me at Canterbury. 
 
 "Well, Iny dear Mary," she said, " I thought you 
 would like to know how the arrangements for the 
 foriliroming entertainment get on. His lordship 
 has dif-played the mo;t admirable tact in the selec- 
 tion of hi3 committee, — those odious Davenports 
 nnd that excruciating old plague Lady Bagshot 
 excepted. But all things considered, I n.m of 
 opinion that the affair will go off uncommonly well. 
 It is settled for this day month. To-morrow the 
 committee will meet again to decide upon the pieces 
 which are to be performed. It is already xinder- 
 stood that one of Shakspeare's cbamas is to be the 
 main attraction ; and the entertauiuients ■will con- 
 clude with a vaiidevillP, or farce. We have likewise 
 decided that the banquettiug-room is to bo fitted up 
 for the occa-siou : it is the loftiest apartment in the 
 house, and communieftting as it docs at one ex- 
 tremity with anol'ner suite of apartment.'', it affords 
 facilities for a Green Boom, and likewise for dressing- 
 chambers wherein to make such alterations in the 
 toilet as may be necessary between the Acts. His 
 lordship is determiued to spare no expense in ren- 
 dering the whole proceedings as complete as possible. 
 An experienced theatrical manager is to be engaged 
 to superintend all the arrangements ,: and the ban- 
 quetting-room will be fitted up in all respects as a 
 theatre. Thei-e will be a proper stage, with all the 
 requisite machinery for the drops, shifting the 
 scenes, and so forth. In short, everything is to be 
 on the most accurate as well as the most brilliant 
 scale. We calculate that by forming gn.lleries and 
 laying out the seats m the best manner, at loa^t 
 five or six hundred spectators may be accommodated 
 — and invitations will be issued accordingly." 
 
 I listened witli attention to all that her ladyship 
 told me : but when she had ceased speaking I made 
 no remark. I do not know how it was, but I did 
 toot like tlio idea of these private theatricals. Troni 
 the very first moment they were mentioned in my 
 hearing I had felt surprised that a man of Lord 
 Harlesdou's saturnine nature should have so sud- 
 denly taken up au idea which though intellectual jn 
 ono sense, was neverlheloss frivolous in another. 
 
 What I mean is, that although there might be Intel. 
 Icctuality enough in the study and contemplation of 
 any one of the masterpieces of Shakspeare, yet that 
 the notion of several lords and ladies — together with 
 other scions, male and female, of the aristocracy-s- 
 playing at actors appeared to me frivolous to a de- 
 gree. Therefore when I beheld a man of Lord 
 Harlesdon's age and habitual reserve actually in- 
 itiating this idea — abandoning himself to it with a 
 sort of schoolboy joyousness — gathering together a 
 committee to sit for hours in deliberation on the 
 scheme — and he himself undertaking to perform a 
 part upon the mimic stage to be erected — I could 
 not help thinking that there v.-as something strange 
 and almost unnatural in such a coiurse. It was 
 evident however that Lady Ilarlesdon, though 
 eminently intellectual and keen-witted, took not the 
 same view of the matter : she fancied that it waa 
 for her sake that his lordship was douig all this — 
 and as she was happy in that belief, it was not for 
 me to disturb it. Besides, after all. this belief of 
 her's might be the true one. Lord Harlesdon in 
 sincere regret for the past, might be honestly and 
 frankly exerting himself to the utmost to make the 
 present agreeable : and as people of strong passions 
 are most liable to fall into extremes, it was possible 
 that from having been the pitiless avenger he might 
 have become the uxorious husband. In the depths 
 of my heart I fervently prayed that it night really 
 be so! 
 
 But Lady Harlesdon perceived that I made no 
 comment upon all she had been saying ; and she 
 went on to observe, '•' Perhaps you thmk that I am 
 almost as siUy as the frivolous Lady Davenport and 
 her two insipid daughters, in thus abandoning my- 
 self vnth a sort of childish delight to the idc6 of the 
 forthcoming entertainments ? But having expe- 
 rienceiT so long a period of intense and agonizing 
 eufferiugs, my mind becomes suspectible of amuse- 
 ment even from the veriest trifles so long 6s they 
 are briUiant and dastzling. Such is human nature, 
 Mary. Besides, I am fully convinced that his lord- 
 ship is now doing all he can to make me happy ; 
 and therefore it is my duly not only to seem happy, 
 but to be happy ! We are all children of a larger 
 gi'owth; and depend upon it that if we can escape 
 from the cares of the world by means of any re- 
 creation, however frivolous or light, yet so long as it 
 is innocent, we can rise superior to ridicule. The 
 sagest philosopher may laugh at times, and even 
 cliase butterfUes if he can induce himself to do so. 
 We must endeavour to make the world as happy an 
 abiding-place as we can." 
 
 AVhen I lay down to rest that night I pondered 
 well upon all Lady Harlesdon had snid; nnd 
 though I discovered much truth in her ob.^ervations, 
 yet I did not find them all truth. Some portion of 
 lliem struck me as being sophistry — and that kind 
 of sophistry too with which people often succeed in 
 blinding theu" own eyes to the existence of some 
 latent misgiving in the depths of the soul. 
 
 CHAPTEi: LXYL 
 
 THE AMATKUK COMMITTEE'S AnS.WOEAIKKTS. 
 
 Day after day did the committee meet ; but, as I 
 learnt from Lady Harlesdon, without coming to any
 
 MAUY PRICE ; OR, THIi: MExAIOIKS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 323 
 
 understanding as to which of Shakspearo's plays 
 should be performed. Meaiiv/hile the preparations 
 had commenced lu the banquetting-room : all the 
 magnificent furniture had been removed, the mh-- 
 rors were taken down from the walls, and a host of 
 carpenters had begun to do what in plam terms may 
 be called pulling tlie place to pieces. The day, as 
 ah-eady stated, was fixed for the amateur per- 
 foi'mance — the cards of invitation were all m readi- 
 ness to be issued — and it appeared that the whole 
 afiixir was creating great excitement in the fashion- 
 able world. 
 
 A week had passed, and yet the Shaksperian 
 drama was not fixed upon. I need not weary the 
 reader with the different objections that were raised 
 to each one that was suggested : suffice it to say 
 that there was a great dilEcidty in settling the 
 choice, although it was determined that it should be 
 one of the principal and most striking plays of the 
 Bard of Avon. At length the committea assembled 
 one day at an earlier hour than usual with a resolu- 
 tion of not separating until the selection was made. 
 On this occasion the committee sat from noon until 
 past five o'clock ; and then it broke up, having come 
 to a decision. When aU the carriages had rolled 
 away from the house I was summoned to Lady Har- 
 lesdon's apartment : but instead of finding her in 
 the full exhilaration of buoyant spuits as heretofore, 
 I observed that if not exactly pensive, she was at all 
 events struggling against a growing sense of de- 
 pression. 
 
 "I dare say you are anxious to hear what we 
 have done to-day," began her ladyship, endeavour- 
 ing to look as cheerful as possible : but I saw that 
 it was with the effort of one who puts off a load 
 from the heart. '-Wo have come to a decision — 
 and what piece do you think it is that the com- 
 mittee has settled upon performing ?" 
 
 Her ladyship paused as if for a reply ; but of 
 course I could not even hazard a conjectiu'8 on such 
 a point. 
 
 "You will never guess, Mary," she continued; 
 and nov^ a more marked expression of uneasiness 
 appeared upon her countenance, which had likowise 
 lost the beautiful sca-shcll pink of health and hap- 
 piness that l*d for sojne weeks past shone delicately 
 upon her cheeks. 
 
 "Shakspeare has written so many cbamas, my 
 lady," I observed, '•' that of course I caimot fix my 
 surmise upon any one in particular." 
 
 ''You will perhaps say that it is strange," she re- 
 sumed ; " and yet why should it be so r" It is a mere 
 
 coincidence scarcely cveu that how foolish I 
 
 am to hesitate thus to tell you what play it is !" 
 
 But still she did hesitate; and at length I said, 
 "What is it, my lady ?" 
 
 " Othello," was her answer : and as she gavo it, 
 methought it was with a kind of painful effort and 
 likewise with a t; -rt of gasping for breath. 
 
 A thrill of terror shot through me. I had read 
 four or five of Shakspeare's plays— the few which, 
 as I had been informed, are alone proper for young 
 females to road : but Othello was one of them, — 
 and as her ladyship mentioned the name, the whole 
 of that tremendous drama flamed up aa it were in 
 my mind, producing the most painful sensations — 
 nay, ercu striking me as with a sure presentimont 
 of evil. Lady Uarlcsdon watched mo earnestly as 
 she mentioned th»t name : she saw that I started, 
 
 and must have seen likewise that the colom* vanished 
 from my cheeks, for I felt that I became pale as 
 death. Her eyes instantaneously fell ; but her lips 
 trembled as if something wavcicd upon them, — 
 something that she Viished to say, but had not the 
 courage ! There Vv-as more than a minute's profound 
 silence : and a very painful silence it was — at least 
 for me. I am certain that it was equally paiafi.U, 
 even if not more so, for Lady Harlesdon. 
 
 "It 13 useless to disguise it," she suddenly ex- 
 claimed, as if feeling the necessity of touchuig on tho 
 disagreeable topic, yet doing so in a paroxysm of 
 desperation: "it is useless to disguise it — but tho 
 coincidence is strange 1" 
 
 " It is, my lady," I answered. 
 
 " There is something ominous in your tone, Mary," 
 she observed anxiously. 
 
 '•Heaven forbid that you should think so!" I 
 exclaimed. " But how camo it, dear lady, that this 
 particular tkama was chosen F" 
 
 " The committee, on meeting to-day,'" replied Lady 
 Harlesdon, "first decided that tho ohoico should 
 be made from 3£acbetlt, Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, 
 and Othello. Upon those four tho discussion then 
 took place. In due course Hamlet and Romeo and 
 Juliet yfevB rejected. The choice then lay between 
 Macbeth and Othello. For a considerable time I 
 thought — and hoped," continued Lady Harlesdon 
 hesitatingly, "that Macheth would jjrove tho fa- 
 vom'ite: but suddenly Lady Davenport suggested 
 that it v/oidd be impossible to find three old ladies 
 to take tho part of the V/itches — ajid so Othello 
 was carried by a very largo majoritj-. The com- 
 mittee then broke up ; and it meets again to-morrow 
 to distribute the parts to those who are to have a 
 share in the representation." 
 
 I said nothing, for I expsrienced a heavy weight 
 upon my soul— a weight which I vainly endeavoured 
 to shake off. Indeed, I was dull— depressed — dii- 
 ph'ited — almost miserable. 
 
 " I see what is passing in your mind," said Lady 
 Harlesdon, again breaking a silence which had en- 
 dured for several miuutes. " You consider tho se- 
 lection of Othello to be unfortunate. But recollect 
 that whatever little scandalous whispermgs thcra 
 may havo been in a certain respect, they ai'e no 
 longer believed. The evident happiness in which 
 his lordship and I now live together, luis completely 
 refuted them; and therefore it is impossible that the 
 members of the committee coidd have had a sinis- 
 ter motive in the choice which they havo mado rela- 
 tive to this particular drama of Shakspeare." 
 
 At this moment one of tho lady's-maids entered 
 tho apartment with some letters, and I took the op- 
 portunity to withch'aw : for it pamcd mo to continue 
 discourtfiug upon a topic which involved an incident 
 that had struck me as most serious. When I went 
 to bed at night it was long ere sleep visited my ..'yos ; 
 and even aficr slumber had WTappcd mo in its em- 
 brace, I was haunted by dreams ia which I beheld 
 vividly depicted all tho dotaili of Shakspearo'g 
 wondrous drama, together with its terrible catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 When the committee met on the follo\ring day I 
 experienced an uneasiness which continued growing 
 painfully upon me tho longer the members of that 
 committee sat in deliberation. It appeared as if 
 they were actually a jury met to decide upon tho 
 fate of an accused peroou, though this accused \\:\s
 
 324 
 
 MAUY ritlCE ; Oli, TDE SIEMOIKS OF A SEBVAKT-MAID. 
 
 herself one of that jury. It was a strange confusion 
 of ideas that I had; and thoutjli, durins the three 
 or four houi-s that thus elapsed, I frequently blamed 
 myself for giving way to vague presentiments and 
 shadowy forebodings, yet I could not escape from 
 thou- influence. I felt as if a storm were gathering 
 over the house, and that some dread catastrophe 
 would ensue. At lust I knew by the departure of 
 the carriages that the committee had broken up ; 
 and I now anxiously expected to be summoned as 
 usual to my mistress. Uut no — in this I was dis- 
 appointed; and my suspense became absolute tor- 
 lure. Even Jemima, who was not particularly far- 
 seeing in Buch matters, iuquii'ed if anything ailed 
 me ; for she assured nio that I looked unhappy and 
 careworn. I endeavoured to bustle about to con- 
 vince her that nothiug was the matter ; but I could 
 not shake off the disugrccable sensations that v.-ere 
 upon me. 
 
 An hour and a half had elapsed since the depar- 
 ture of the last carriage, when one of the lady's- 
 maids came up to iuibrm me that I was wanted by 
 her ladyship. I hurried down stairs : and the mo- 
 ment I entered the apartment where my noble mis- 
 tress was seated alono, I saw by her countenance 
 that (as on the preceding day) she was troubled with 
 an agitation against which she vainly battled, and 
 which with equal fruitlessness did she endeavour to 
 conceal. 
 
 " You can guess why I have sent for you, Mary," 
 she began : " knowing how interested you are in all 
 tlie prGliminary arrangements which are making fur 
 these amateur tlieatricals, I thought you would like 
 to hear the result of to-day's proceedings on the 
 part of the committee. There are more strange co- 
 incidences, if in such a light we ought to regard 
 them :" — and she endeavoured to smile, but it was 
 a sickly and even a ghastly attempt. 
 
 " The committee has settled the characters, then, 
 my dear lady P" I said, sitting down as she beckoned 
 mc to do. 
 
 •' Yes :" — and Lady Harksdon affected to laugh, 
 but the endeavour was as sad and mourufid as the 
 previous attempt to smile. " What would you 
 tlimk, Mary, if I were to tell j"0u that I am to per- 
 form the part of Desdemona ?" 
 
 " And Lord Harlesdon ?" I instantaneously said, 
 with a cold shudder. 
 
 "Oh! the great majority of the committee in- 
 sisted upon his lordship taking the principal male cha- 
 racter:" — and I saw that Lady Harlesdou' could not 
 bring herself to mention the name. 
 
 " .till !" I cried. '■' Now I understand the cause of 
 my uneasiness while the committee was sitting to- 
 day. It was a presentiment — and it has been 
 fulljlled." 
 
 "■ A presentiment of what ?" demanded Lady 
 Ilarlcsdon quickly. 
 
 " A prescntimcut that the two principal chai-acters 
 would be thus assigned:" — and I suddenly bui-st 
 into tears. 
 
 " Good heavens, Mary !" exclaimed her ladyship : 
 "what is the moaning of this emotion F" — but there 
 was a wildness in her eyes as she spoke and an ex- 
 pression of anguished uneasiness upon her coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 "Pear lady," I said, in a broken voice and with 
 tearful eyes, " I cjujiive you to have nothing to do 
 with these theatricals 1 Trom the very first I havo 
 
 not liked the idea : and now I am positively fright- 
 ened at it. There is something ominous in every 
 step that is taken " 
 
 " Hush, Mary — we might be overheard !'' saiJ 
 Lady Harlesdou, glancing uneasily towards tho 
 door. " I admit that I m^'self should be better 
 pleased if things had not gone so far : but I cannot 
 possibly retreat without covering myself with ridi- 
 cule." 
 
 '• And yet, dear lady, you yourself have your mis- 
 givings!" I exclaimed, earnestly and with vehe- 
 mence. '• I know you have I I saw them expressed 
 in your looks yesterday ! I have observed thorn 
 again to-day !" 
 
 " It is true, !Mary, that I have been made some- 
 what nervous and uneasy by the coincidences which 
 have led to the choice of Othello and the assignment 
 of the principal characters to myself and Lord 
 Harlesdon. But after all, it is weak and foolish to 
 give way to such misgivings." 
 
 " How does your ladyship know that they are 
 coincidences?" I asked: "how can you be assured 
 that they are the result of accident r Tor my part, 
 I tremble lest there shoidd be some secret and un- 
 derhand influence whicli has ddUberately led to 
 these arrangements, and has cunningly invested 
 them with the air of chancp, accident, or coincidence, 
 whichever you may term it." 
 
 "Listen, Mary," said Lady Harlesdon, now 
 speaking in a more collected manner than at first. 
 " JN'cither yesterday nor to-day was there anything 
 in the deliberations of the committee to justify the 
 belief that there could have been secret or imdue 
 influence exercised. Every one gave his or her 
 opinion freely and without constraint. AATien the 
 committee broke up just now, the reason I did not 
 immediately send for you was because his lordship 
 followed me hither to my apartment, so soon as tho 
 carriages had rolled away ; and ■no had a long con- 
 versation together. He began by saying that ho 
 was glad this particular drama of Shakspearc had 
 been chosen — glad also that the two leading charac- 
 ters had been assigned to himself and me — because, 
 as he obs(yved, the adoption of such a play \N-ith 
 such an apportionment of the two principal parts 
 would tend more than anything else to brand as 
 false and calmnniatory any little whispcrLugs which 
 scandal may have cuxulated concerning me. I told 
 his lordship that I could scarcely view the matter 
 in the same light. Then he sat down, and began to 
 reason with me so kindly, so patiently, and at the 
 same time so earnestly, that I was compelled to 
 yield to his arguments and admit that perhaps after 
 all the arrangements were for the best. He re- 
 mained with mc for more than an hour — and when 
 he retned, I sent up for you." 
 
 "But if your lodyship were so thoroughly con- 
 vinced by cverythmg Lord Harlesdon said," I ob- 
 served, "wherefore did I find you troubled and 
 agitated when I entered the room ?" 
 
 "Because I was very silly, weak-minded, and 
 foolish," returned her ladyship, now endeavouring 
 to laugh off her previous deprcstion and imeasiness. 
 " After all, my dear Mary, you must admit that it 
 is ridiculous to conjure up evils where none exist, 
 and invest a perfectly ordinary ]n-ocecding with an 
 ominous aspect. You still look grave, and even 
 gloomy. Come, my dear girl, tell mc candidly what 
 your thoughts are?"
 
 " Yoiu" ladyship desires me to speak with coBiplete 
 frankness ?" I said. 
 
 " To be sure," she answered, " Tell me yom* re- 
 flections with as little reserve ur constraint as if you 
 were my sister." 
 
 ' " Then, my ladj'," I rejoined, " I am fearful that 
 beneath all this apparent kindness and good- 
 humour, and even joviality, his lordship is mu'sing 
 some treacherous intent. jS'ow I have spoken can- 
 didly, even at the risk of offending you." 
 ' " No — yovi cannot offend mo, Mary," said her 
 ladyship ; " because I am well aware you entertain 
 a sincere affection for me. But, granting for a 
 moment that your surmise is correct, what treachery 
 could his lordship possibly hare in contemplation ? 
 You do not imagine," she added, again laughing, 
 " that he will avail himself of the cu-cumstances of 
 the drama in order to put me to death?" 
 
 " No, my lady — such an idea has never entered 
 my head : but I do fear that his lordship will avail 
 himself of the power which his part will give him 
 to lacerate your heart with real taunts and up- 
 braidings, and that he will mercilessly drag you 
 through a terrible ordeal in the presence of the 
 entire audience. I fear that he will thi-ow so much 
 reality into his performance, and identify himself 
 BO completely as it were with the terrible hero of 
 the piece, that you, forgetting you are Desdemona, 
 will have the feelings of Lady Harlesdon. And 
 then exposure may ensue in short, I have a pre- 
 sentiment, dear lady, of some catastroplie of this 
 kind; and I beseech you to retreat from having 
 anything to do with these theatricals, ere it be too 
 late." 
 
 Lady Harlesdon's countenance had gradually 
 grown grave and even sombre as I thus addressed 
 her with excitement and vehemence ; and when I 
 had left off speaking, she gave me no immediate 
 reply, but sat pensive and mournful. 
 I "I must candidly confess, Mary," she at length 
 said, slowly raising her looks, " that I myself have 
 been tortured with precisely the same presentiment 
 to which you have given form and substance. But 
 after aU, even supposing that my husband could be 
 guilty of such a vile and despicable act of treachery, 
 — even granting that his reconciliation is only as- 
 sumed in order to be made the means of leading me 
 on into a position which shall give him the oppor- 
 tunity of accomplishing a crovening vengeance, — may 
 I not baffle him by means of my own fortitude ? 
 If through the character of Othello he speaks direct 
 at me, have I not a part to perform which wUl 
 inspire me with the courage requisite to pass through 
 the ordeal ? For remember that Desdemona is in- 
 nocent. Ah ! I understand that sudden expression 
 which has appeared upon your countenance, Mary : 
 for the thought struck you that though Desdemona 
 is innocent. Lady Harlesdon is not !" 
 
 I could not deny that such a reflection had at the 
 moment flashed to my mind : but perceiving that 
 her ladyship was pained by the circumstance, I took 
 her hand, pressed it to my lips, and exclaimed, wth 
 the tears once more trickling down my cheeks, 
 "Whatever fears I entertain, dear lad^-, arc be- 
 cause I love you — because you have ever been so 
 good and kind to mc— and because it would alino:it 
 break my heart to sec you doomed to suffer any 
 more at the hands of his lordship !" 
 
 "You are a good girl," she said, kissing mc 
 
 affectionately : " but the longer I reflect upon all 
 these things, the more I am inclined to believe that 
 there is nothing to apj)rehcnd, and that Lord 
 llai'lesdon is completely honest and sincere in his 
 reconciliation with me. But remember, Mary," 
 continued her ladyship in a lower and graver tone, 
 " that my husband is keenly sensitive on the point 
 of his honour ; and he will do everything ho can to 
 make the world beheve that the whisperings of 
 scandal relative to myself and Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 were a foul calumny. Is it not therefore intel- 
 ligible enough that he should be rejoiced at the 
 selection of this drama and at the assignment of 
 the two leading characters to himself and me, be- 
 cause the world will naturally argue that we should 
 never dare appear even before our friends to play 
 such parts, unless I were conscious of my innocence 
 and he were equally convinced that his honour had 
 never been tarnished ? Yes," exclaimed Lady 
 Harlesdon, with the joy of one who is enabled by 
 strong argument to crush all disagreeable mis- 
 givings: "that is the key to his lordship's senti- 
 ments upon the subject ! And therefore, even if he 
 has privately used his influence with some of tho 
 members of the committee to produce the results 
 which have so much frightened you, Mary, his mo- 
 tive in so doing is apparent enough. Now I have 
 made up my mind to yield to these silly fears no 
 more, but to fling myself heart and soul into tho 
 excitement of the preparations for the forthcoming 
 entertaimnents." 
 
 I saw that Lady Harlesdon did not wish to de- 
 bate upon the subject any longer, and that even if 
 she were not altogether satisfied in the conclusions 
 to which she had come, she nevertheless chose to 
 appear so, and also studied to persuade herself into 
 the belief that she was thus satisfied. I accordingly 
 said no more, but hastened up to the nursery, 
 leaving my mistress to th'css for dinner. 
 
 When night came, and Jemima and the chikh'cn 
 were asleep, I sat down at the table in my own 
 chamber to look over Shakspearc's terribly sublime 
 tragedy of Othello. I had procured the volume 
 from the library in the course of the evening ; 
 for I had free permission from Lady Harlesdon 
 to have access to the well-stored book-shelves in 
 that library whenever I chose. Although nearly 
 every one who can read has read Othello, and if not 
 read it has seen it performed upon the stage, yet 
 as there must be some who are unacquainted with 
 it altogether, it will bo useful for the purposes of 
 my narrative to give a short sketch of the inci 
 dents of that ch-ama. This, then, is tho outline 
 of Shakspearc's greatest tragedy : — 
 
 Othello was a iloor, well stricken iu years, and 
 by no means of prepossessing appearance, but 
 having the black skin and the thick lips of the 
 aboriginal jVfrican race. His life had been prin- 
 cipally devoted to military sen-ico ; and after 
 having passed through an infinite variety of ad- 
 ventures and perils of the most thrilling character, 
 both by land and by sea, ho placed his sword at 
 the disposal of (ho Venetian Republic. Venice 
 «as at the tiiuo engaged in warfare against the 
 Turks : but Othello vanquished the enemy and 
 added fresh glory to the annals of Venetian his- 
 tory. Believing the war to be ended, )io returned 
 to Venice, where ho was received wilh all tho 
 honours due to his siffual services. Amoncrst tho
 
 32G 
 
 MAiiV I kicj: ; ok, the memoirs or a seuvast-uaid. 
 
 officers attached to his stafi", was one named lago, 
 v>-ho served as his standard-bearer, or ancient. 
 The post of lieutenant (or principal officer next 
 in rank to Othello) bccoining vacaat, lago aspired 
 to it : but to his mortliication, ho found an inexpe- 
 rienced young man, named Cassio, preferred to 
 him. Cassio was more remarkable for his personal 
 beauty and his intellectual acquirements than for his 
 military proficiency: and therefore lago, who had 
 fought boldly in the recent wars against the Turks, 
 was not without just grounds for being offended at 
 the preference. "While smarting with the sense of 
 v/rong and longing for revenge, he discovered that 
 Othello had carried off and privately maiTied the 
 Lady Desdemona, daughter of a Venetian senator : 
 and at the same rime lago encountered a yoimg 
 Venetian gentleman, named Eoderigo, who was 
 deeply enamoured of Desdemona, but had been 
 rejected by her. lago and Eoderigo, reciting 
 their wrongs to each other, determined upon re- 
 venge; and their first step was immediately to 
 raise a disturbance at the senator's house and 
 warn him that liis daughter had been carried off. 
 The senator vowed to punish Othello, and at once 
 had tlio matter brought before tho Duke of Venice. 
 At the same moment, however, iatelligenco ar- 
 rived that the Turks had renewed hostilities, and 
 that their fleets wero threatening the islands of 
 ivhodos and Cyprus, then in tho possession of 
 Venice. Tlio Dy.ke had already determined that 
 fj'thello should command the Venetian forces, when 
 tlia charge relative to tho carrying off of Des- 
 (lc:noaa was made. Tho senator accused Othello 
 (;f having practised magic arts and sorceries in 
 order to captivate Dosdemona's heart; but Othello, 
 ill a spoGch of powerful eloquence, showed that 
 Iho only arts he had practised consisted in having 
 told the tale of his exploits, his adventures, and 
 his travels in tho presence of Desdemona, who was 
 thereby led to love him as a hi-vo. The lady her- 
 self appeared before tho Didco to corroborate this 
 defence ; and the senator was compelled to be 
 satisfied. 
 
 Othello was now at once appointed to the govern- 
 ment of the Isle of Cyprus ; and thither did ho 
 proceed without delay, followed shortly after by 
 Desdemona, whom he had left to the charge of 
 Cassio, lago, and Emilia (lago's wife), lloderigo, 
 at the instance of lago, hkewise quitted Venice and 
 repaired to Cyprus. On arriving in the i,-land, 
 lago pursued his vindictive aims, to which ho was 
 incited not only by mortiScatiou at having Cassio 
 put over his head, but also because h.o fani-'lod that 
 Othello had intrigued with his wife Emilia. r.Iaking 
 Eoderigo his tool, he fomented a qu.arrcl bctwr-eu 
 him and Cassio. In this dispute a persoa of high 
 rank not only became involved, but was wounded 
 by Cassio. Othello, compelled to visit this offence 
 heavily upon Cassio, discharged hir.-i from his olHco 
 of lieutenant. This was precisely tlio circu'ustanco 
 that lago had laboured to bring abo;it, so that \n ith. 
 a fiendiili ingenuity he might prompt Ca.ssio to 
 appeal to Desdemona to interest herself wllh Othello 
 in his behalf. Cassio readily adopted the advice of 
 his supposed friend and obtained au interview with 
 Desdemona, who in tho gonerosilj of lier heai-t 
 warmly espoused his cause. lago took good ciu-o 
 that Othello should observe tho meeting from a dis- 
 tance; and to tho natural curcumstanccs thereol^ he, 
 
 with a Satanic artifice, managed to give such a 
 colouring as to excite the Moor's jealousy. Thia 
 feehng, onco aroused, was kept vividly alive by tho 
 treacherous lago. He contrived to obtain possession 
 of a handkerchief of a very curious embroidery, 
 which Othello had presented to Desdemona; and 
 this handkerchief lago got placed under Cassio's 
 pillow in his sleeping apartment. In a subsequent 
 conversation with the Moor, lago mentioned that 
 he had seen Cassio in possession of the handker- 
 chief. Othello, bhnded as well as goaded by his 
 maddening jealousy, at once jumped to the con- 
 clusion that Desdemona had given Cassio the hand- 
 kerchief. He sought an opportunity of demanding 
 her to produce it, which she was of course unable 
 to do : but a-t the same time, little suspecting how 
 every word she uttered was like pouring oil upon 
 fire, she earnestly interceded for the restoration of 
 Cassio to his office. Everything therefore appeared 
 to confirm Othello's suspicions; and on a subsequent 
 occasion he openly charged her with infidelity, yet 
 mentioned not the name of her supposed lover. 
 
 Things had now been brought to a pass which 
 rendered it necessary for lago to get rid either of 
 his instrument Eo.lerigp or else of Cassio ; and he 
 accordingly persuaded the former to assassinate the 
 latter. Eoderigo v/as however wounded in the 
 attempt ; but lago treacherously assailed Cassio with 
 his sword, tho darkness of the nighs favouring tho 
 assault. As Eoderigo was not slain, and was likely 
 to reveal all he knew, lago made an end of him. 
 But in the mean time a terrible tragedy was taking 
 place ill the Moor's chamber : for there, after 
 accusing Desdemona of her fancied infideUties, and 
 having bade her make her peace with heaven, 
 Othello smothered her in her bed. A complete 
 exposure of all lagi/s viilany immediately after- 
 wards took place, chiefly brought about by Emilia 
 proclaiming that she herself had surreptitiously 
 taken the handkerchief and given it to her husband. 
 Several letters, found about the persoa of the mur- 
 dered Eoderigo, tlircw farther hght upon lago'a 
 treacheries; and llio unhappy Moor, whcri too lata 
 discovering that his wife was innocent, stabbed him- 
 self with his sword and fell upoa tlio corpse of tho, 
 murdered Desde:aona. 
 
 Such is the outline of that dr.ima in which Lord 
 and Lady llarlesdou were to play the principal 
 pnrts. I sat up for more thiui tvyo hours, ou the 
 ni^ht to which I am alluding, painfully absorbed in 
 the perusal of this terrific tragedy; and tho longer I 
 dwelt upoa those scenes in wliich Othello and Des- 
 demona figure, the more was I appalled at the tre- 
 mendous scope that would be afforded for his lord- 
 ship to overwh'-lm my pocn* mistress with the bit- 
 terest taunts and upbraidiy^gs, to which if ho chose 
 he migbt give so natural and life-like an efl'eot ! 
 When I retired to rest and sleep visited nij eyes, 
 my dreams wero fiUeil with images of terror; so 
 that I awoke iu tho niorniug •anrefrcshcd, and very 
 far from beuig relieved of tho sLuister-preaentimcnts 
 and glooiny forebooiugs which had liaiin.tcd liiy 
 minil ere L sought my couch. 
 
 For tho next wo«flc I saw very litfle of LaJy 
 llavlesdon, and sellom was alone wiLii her. 2fot 
 that sho kept me at a distmico, or was less kind 
 towards mo tlian heretofore ; but because she was 
 now so Ihorouglily engaged in leai'uiug her part, re- 
 hearsing it, and a.'isiituig her husbaud to supcrin-
 
 JfATIT PnrrE; on, the MEArOinS of a SEHVAKX-JrAID. 
 
 tend the inanagemonts (ind decorations of tbo 
 banquetting-room. At the expiration of that week 
 however — it boing on a buudaj afternoon — her lady- 
 ship seat for mo to her own apartment ; vrhcn she 
 told me that his lordship had plot Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering in the mornliig, and that as the baronet 
 had been courteously addressed, ho might be ex- 
 pected to call at the house. Lady Ilarlesdon then 
 proceeded to say, " I must tell you candidly, my 
 dear Mary, that I shall not be over well pleased if 
 Su" Aubrey is invited as a guest on the evening of 
 the dramatic performances : and yet I do not very 
 well see how it is possible to avoid it, considering 
 how intimate he has always been at the house, and 
 how strange it will therefore appear to exclude him 
 on such an occasion." 
 
 A few days afterwards, when I again had an op- 
 portunity of speaking to Lady Ilarlesdon, she told 
 me that Sir Aubrey Clavering was invited to the 
 amateur representations, Lord Harlesdon having 
 observed that it v.'ould seem singular indeed if he 
 ■were excluded on the very evening when the most 
 signal refutation was to be given to the whisperings 
 of scandal. Besides, it appeared that Lady Daven- 
 port and several other members of the committee 
 had suggested that Sir Aubrey's name should be 
 added to the list of invitations, not merely because 
 he was one of the leading young men of fashion, 
 but also because he was known to bo an enthusias- 
 tic admirer of Shakspeare, and it was desirable to 
 include amongst the audience all those ladies and 
 gentlemen whose reputation for refined taste would 
 give an additional eclat to the whole proceeding. 
 
 A few more days passed, and the banquetting- 
 voom was finished. It certainly was fitted up in the 
 most elegant and convenient manner possible. Its 
 great height afforded ample space for the erection of 
 a gallery^ — or rather a tier of boxes — round three 
 sides, the fourth boiag occupied with the stage and 
 its appurtenances. One portion of the gallery, as 
 I had better caU it, was screened ofl" from the rest, 
 and intended for the numerous persons forming 
 Lord and Lady Harlesdon's household, — it being 
 arranged tV.at all the domestics should be favoured 
 with a view of the performances. 
 
 Lady Harlesdon continued in excellent spirits, 
 and seemed entirely to have got rid of the misgiv- 
 ings which had at first troubled her. The frequent 
 rehenrsals had familiarized her with the part she 
 had to play, and had afforded her, as she believed, a 
 perfect insight into the style which her husband in- 
 tended to adopt in the development of the leading 
 chai'acter of the piece. She had seen nothing in his 
 look, his manner, or his delivery, to encourage the 
 sliglitest apprehension in her mind, or to make her 
 dread that ho would wield with a treacherous effect 
 nny of those terrible weapons of language with 
 which the enactment of the jealous Moor would 
 furnish him. 
 
 Moreover, when they were alono together, Lord 
 Harlesdon continued so kind, and even so afi'ec- 
 tionate, that it was no longer possible for her to 
 doubt his sincerity, or in any way to mistrust him. 
 Indeed, such was her confidence that I myself 
 became reassured ; so that as tho day approached, 
 and I beheld her in the Ijost of spirits, and radiant 
 in health and beauty, I could not help smiling at the 
 ominous presentiments which I had entertained and 
 which appeared to have been so grouudlesi. 
 
 CHAPTER LSVir. 
 
 The all-important evening came. The members of 
 the committee, as well as those wJio were to take 
 part in the performances, together with a few select 
 friends, weno invited to an early dinner : that is to 
 say, early for Harlesdon House— the horn- being five 
 o'clock. The gentlemen did not linger over their 
 wine; but at half-past six all those who were to 
 appear upon the stage that evening quitted the 
 table and repaired to the several dressing-rooms pro- 
 vided for them. At seven o'clock the numerously 
 invited company began to an-ive ; and in half-an- 
 hour the banquettiug-room — or the theatre as I 
 might now call it — was thronged with all the elite 
 of rank and fashion. 
 
 Together with the other members of the house- 
 hold, I took my seat in the department screened 
 off for om* accommodation; and I was fortunate 
 in obtaining the very best seat— namely, that at the 
 extremity of the gallery overlooking the sta^e. 
 Jemima sat next to me ; and we had with us the two 
 boys. Miss Isabella Clementina being asleep in the 
 nursery and in the care of one of the housemaids, 
 who being indifferent relative to the di-amatic exhi- 
 bition, had volunteered to take chai-ge of the nur- 
 sery. 
 
 I have ah'eady stated that the little theatre was 
 fitted up in the most tasteful and elegant manner. 
 The seats were all covered with crimson velvet, and 
 on the floor they had been so arranged as to rise 
 with a gentle ascent, eo as to present an amphi- 
 theatrical effect. There was the place for the or- 
 chestra, which consisted of a splendid band : a 
 magnificent lustre, suspended to the ceiling, threw a 
 blaze of hght upon the scene, the splendour and 
 brilliancy of which were enhanced by the ostrich 
 plumes waving gracefully above the heads of titled 
 dames and the diamonds that glistened in the hair 
 of then* beauteous daughters. Upwards of six 
 hundred fashionably dressed gentlemen and ele- 
 gantly apparelled ladies were congregated in the 
 amphitheatre and in all that part of the gallery 
 which was independent of tho portion allotted for 
 tho use of the domestics. Amongst them I recog- 
 nised many faces well known at Harlesdon House ; 
 and in the amphitheatre, on the very foremost row 
 of seats nearest to the orchestra. Sir Aubrey Claver- 
 ing was placed. Once, ere the curtain rose, he 
 looked up at me: but I appeared not to notice 
 him, although at the first glance I perceived that ho 
 was astonished to observe me there — eridently not 
 knowing that I had returned into her ladyship's 
 service. 
 
 The exhilarating music swelled through the theatre ; 
 and every eye appeared to brighten at the inspiring 
 sounds. Then, at the expiration of the symphony, 
 tho curtain rose upon the first scene of Shakspeare's 
 tragedy of Othello. In that scene a street of A'enice 
 is represented : and the scenery itself, although tho 
 footlights were lowered to represent night, produced 
 the finest effect. Giving promise of what the 
 future scenery would be, it showed that in no single 
 detail had expense been spared so as to get up tho 
 representation in as perfect a manner as possible. 
 The part of lago, who appears with Koderigo in the 
 first seen*, was performed by a gentleman who en-
 
 328 
 
 MAnv rnuT, ; on, Tiin memoihs or a <;EavANT-M.viD. 
 
 tPi-c'd fully into the sijirit of .SLukspoare's creation, 
 —displaying ill! tlic qualitit'3 of tlio moi-tified, vin- 
 dictive, unpi-incipled scUcmcr whose villany consti- 
 tutes the piv-ot whereon turns the whole action of 
 thtf tragedy. Tlie part of Cassio in the second 
 scene was played by a youn/r nobleman of voi-y 
 liandsome person, and who likc\vi:ii; understood 
 the character he was required to adopt. The 
 reader already knows that Lord llarlesdon was 
 Othello; and it was quite evident from the very 
 first moment when hii lordship made his appear- 
 ance that he eomprcheuded with the nicest and 
 keenest appreciation every trait in the character of 
 the Moor, Indeed, with a powerful effect tlid lie i 
 deliver in the third scene that well-known spocch 
 commencing with the lines — [ 
 
 Most ijotent, grave, and reverend siguiors, 
 
 ^ly yerv noble aud approved good masters, — 
 
 That I have ta'eu av\ay thirf old man's dauglitc-r, 
 
 It is most true ; true, I have married her ; 
 
 The very head and freut of my olleuding 
 
 Hath this extent, no more. | 
 
 But even with still greater efTcet did Lord Har- j 
 lesdon deliver that speech wherein Othello describes 
 how he won Do.;domona's love, concluding with 
 the lines — I 
 
 My story being done, I 
 
 She gave me for my paius a world of sigh3 : i 
 
 She swore, — In faith, 'twas strauge.'twas passing strange j i 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : i 
 
 She wished she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 
 That hoaveu had made her such a m:in : she thanked me ; 
 And bade mo if I had a friend that lov'd her, l 
 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, i 
 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake; I 
 
 She lov'd me for the dangers I had pp.rjed ; I 
 
 Aud I loved her, thiit she did pity them. j 
 
 This only is the witchcraft I have iis'd ; 
 Here comes the lady, let her witue.;s i;. i 
 
 The entrance of Lady Harlesdou as Desdoiuona \ 
 was greeted with much louder a-jd more enthusiastic [ 
 applause than might have been expecled on the part 
 of so aristocratic an audience : but the sjiirit with 
 •svliich Lord Harlesdou had delivered tlie two fins 
 speeches above specified, had infus.-^d a thi-illiug 
 fervour amongst the listeners — and they vrere all 
 now prepared to enter heart and soul into the en- 
 joyment of the intellectual treat thus offered to 
 them. With exquisite sweetness did Lady Harles- 
 dou deliver that address to he*- father in which she 
 says that between him and her hu'^band she per- 
 ceives a divided duty, but tiiat a full sense of the 
 duty which a wife owes to her husband makes her 
 cling to the Moor. But infinitely liner was .she a 
 few minutes afterwards, when in reply to a question ' 
 put by the Duke of Venice, she says— ' 
 
 That I did love the Moor to live with hun. 
 My downright violeuce and storm of fortune-* 
 May trumpet to the world : my heart's subil\icd 
 J-'veu to the very quality of my lord: 
 I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
 Aud to his hononra, and his valiant part-, 
 Did I ray soul and fortunes eonsoorute. 
 So that, dear lords, if I ba left behind, 
 A moth of peace, and he go to the war, , 
 
 The rights for which I love him, areb.n-eft me, \ 
 
 And I a heavy interiin shall support . i 
 
 By his dear absence ;— Let m;> go with him. I 
 
 I 
 
 The first act concluded to the infinite satisfiiclion • 
 
 of all present ; aud the moment the curtain dropped j 
 
 there was a perfect storm of applause from every 
 part of the theatre. 
 
 '•Who would have tliought," wliispered Jemima 
 to me, '•' that his lordship could have played his part 
 80 well ? I really did not think he had spirit enough 
 to do so : I fancied him too cold — too stem — too 
 severe. And for a man of his age, too, how well he 
 made his voice hoard 1 But lier ladyship — was not 
 she beautiful as Dcsdemona? I really thought I 
 should cry when she pleaded so hard to accompany 
 her husband. But where is Othello going r I 
 could not exactly catch tliat." 
 
 '■'To Cvprus,'' I answered. 
 
 Jemima went on chattering, but in a low whisper, 
 till the curtain drew up again : and now commenced 
 the second act, which is somewhat dry at the 
 opening, but becomes ven- exciting in that scene 
 where Koderigo and Cassio quarrel. Montano, the 
 former governor is wounded : and Othello with his 
 attendants, all roused from their beds, make their 
 appearance to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. 
 There is one fine point which Othello lias to make 
 in this scone : it is where he dismisses Cassio ; and 
 this was accomplished by Lord Harlesdou with 
 masterly effect : — 
 
 I know, lago. 
 
 Thy honesty- and love doth mince this matter. 
 
 Making it light to Cassio : Cassio, I love thee ; 
 
 But never more be oilieer of inLue. 
 
 The second act terminated amidst renewed ap- 
 plause; and during the interval, ere the curtain 
 rose again, the theatre was filled with the buzzing 
 sounds of voices as the audience passed their opinions 
 M'ith each other upon the pi-ogress of tlie drama. 
 Jemima gave mo her sentitsents upon the subject, 
 which were to the effect that she was quite surprised 
 how a number of lords, gentlemen, and ladies could 
 have managed to learn their parts so admirably and 
 represent the characters of the play so successfully. 
 
 The third act now began ; and in the third scene 
 all the merits of Othello's and lago's performance 
 were most efi'ectively exhibited. It is in this scene 
 that lago begins to instil the poison of jealousy 
 into Othello's e:tr ; and while with seeming frank- 
 ness warning his master against the green-eyed 
 monster, he insidiously and artfully throws out a 
 thousand little hmts and inueudos >^hich though 
 apparently such trifling sparks in themselves, soou 
 set the combustible materials of Othello's nature in 
 a blaze. Lord Harlesdou. as Othello, now appeared 
 to be inimitable: he seemed to identify himself 
 altogether with the character he was personating, — 
 as if the scene itself were the expression of his own 
 thoughts, — as if it were not a part that ho was 
 playing, but a reality he was exptn-iencing, — as if it 
 were not an Knghsh peer treading those boards, with 
 blackened face and in stage garments, but the Moor 
 of Venice himself, with his acerbated feelings, his 
 tierce looks, aud his impassioned gestures. Indeed 
 I shuddered — I felt cold all over — I experienced a 
 faint ness at the heart, as he delivered that solil.^quy, 
 when lago has left Lim, which concludes thus: — 
 
 Or, for lamdecliu'd 
 Into the vale of years ; — yet that's not muoli ; — 
 .'^hc's gone ; I am abused : and my relief 
 Must be — to loathe her. O curse of ra.irriage, 
 That we can call these delicate creatures our's, 
 Aud not their nppalitos ! I had rather be a toad, 
 Aud live up. in tlii' vapour of a dungeon,
 
 TliMii kppp a corner in the filing I lovp, 
 
 For others' uses. Yet 'tis the plague of great ones ; 
 
 Prerofjativ'd are they less than the base; 
 
 'Tis destiny unshuniiable, like death ; 
 
 Eveu then this forked plague is fated to U8, 
 
 When we do qiiiekea. 
 
 Those words wore delivered witli a power and an 
 effect that tirst galvanised, then petrified the entire 
 audioiic*; and tliere wag in my heart the strongest 
 certainty that Lord Harlesdon felt at the time the 
 force — jes, and the meaning too, of all he uttered. 
 It was with withering acocnts, accompanied by an 
 inefiable bitterness of look, that he had invoked that 
 malediction upon inarria(]e ; and also when he 
 declared that he would rather be a toad, Ac. Im- 
 mediately after the delivery of that speech. Lady 
 Harlesilou as Desdemona had to appear upon the 
 stage. I coidd not help watching her uaiTOwly — 
 eagerly — yes, with the intensest scrutiny ; and I 
 could see that she was somesvhat apitatcd. as it' 
 NO. 42 
 
 when behind the scones she too had felt the powci 
 and the terrible sincerity with which her husbamj 
 had delivered that speech every line of which — aye, 
 every word, applied so entirely to him and to her .' 
 Even when she spoke I could discern a slight tremw- 
 lousnoss in her accents, although such ought not to 
 havo been according to the words she had to speak 
 at that stage of the perl'ormanoe. She however had 
 to remain but a few minutes on this occasion ; and 
 very shortly aft«rward3 camo that magnificent sceii>( 
 between Othello and lago where the latter excite; 
 still more than ho had hitlierto dona the jealousy oi 
 the Moor. Now, as Lord Harlesdon, »till morci 
 and more if possible identifying himself with the 
 character of Othello, listcn*:d to lago's speeches, and 
 from time to time gave vent to his own passioiiat,! 
 outbursts of fearful menace and vehemonl exolania- 
 tion, there was so powerful au cxprcsiiioii of t/ii 
 reality upon his countenance as eveu to ins]iirii 
 terror. That old nobleman was indeed sublime in
 
 330 
 
 MARY PRICE ; on, THR MEilOlUS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 his pnrsoniGcal.ion of the charact<T : but it was an . in.i^ to In-eatLe fi'eely again ; " how I have been t«?. 
 appalli!!^ subiimitj, even to those who knew not so j vitiod! 1 quite forgot tliat Othello was Lord Harles- 
 much as I did ! 1 *^'^"' ^^^ Deudeinona her ladyship. During all the 
 
 " Is he ia caruest ? or 'a he really ouly playing ?" last part of this scene I felt as il' every tliinj passing 
 asked Jemima of me, in a low half-hushed whisper; ' bsfore me was quite real and horribly natural. But 
 and as I turned to answer her, I saw that the poor ■ how pale you look, Mary ! You Lave been ft-ight- 
 younsj woman was trembling all over and pale as ' cned also r" 
 
 "death so that the two little boys who looked up in j I was about to ariiwcr, hut at that moment my 
 her count<inance at the same time, were both ! eyes unwittintjly fell upon Sir Aubrey Clavering, who 
 actually fri>'al.eued. ' ^^^,3 seated on the front bench below and in such a 
 
 "Hush!"^! said, sliivering all over with a cold ' situation that from my place I could look down upon 
 tremor ; and then to the little children I whispered 1 him. I saw that he was pale and evidently agitated, 
 some kind and reassuring words. But I suddenly j Ha played with his moustache— he twirled his glove 
 stoiped short ; for all my attention was absorbed in round and round— he stood up— ho sat down ajjain 
 
 the frightful energy with which Lord Harlesdon •:■. 
 thundering forth those awful linos — 
 
 Ariao, blaek vengeance, from thy hollow ooll ! 
 Yiold up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne 
 To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught, 
 For 'tia of aspicks' tongues ! 
 
 Soon afterwards came the scene where Othello 
 demands of Desdemona the handkerchief; and while 
 I still felt that there was something awfully real in 
 Lord Harlosdon's performance, I was still equally 
 
 — and his eyes wandered about with a restless un- 
 easiness. I, who was feeling so keenly myself, could 
 full well understand and appreciate the same keen- 
 ness of feeling in others. Beyond all doubt. Sit 
 Aubrey Claver-ing had been profoundly moved by 
 Lord Harlesdon's personification of the terrible 
 Moor. 
 
 The curtain rose upon the fifth act, and a solemn 
 silence suddenly fell upon the audience, — a ailonce 
 which, succeeding so abruptly to the hum of hun- 
 dreds of voices, struck with the chill of an omen 
 
 convinced that her ladyship felt fi-ightened, although upon my heart. The first sc^ne, in which Eoderigo 
 
 sho did her best to play this portion of the scene 
 with the unsuspecting gentleness properly charac- 
 teristic of Desdemona at that stage of the proceed- 
 ings. The third act concluded amidst reiterated 
 applause ; and then began the buzz of voices again 
 amongst the spectators, as they interchanged their 
 coinments. 
 
 In the fourth act Lord Harlesdon continued to do 
 a terrific justice to the character which he was 
 enacting,— no, not enacting — with which he was 
 indeuti^'ing himself ! In that fearful scene where 
 
 is slain and Cassio wounded, was witnessed with 
 that emotionless sort of attention which was saving 
 all its concentrated interest for the one that was to 
 follow. And that one was the bed-chamber scene, 
 where Desdemona is discovered lying upon a couch 
 asleep, a light buruing in the room, and Othello 
 preparing to execute his vengeance. Upon the 
 countenance of Lord Harlesdon methought I read 
 the sternness of a terrible purpose. An oppressive 
 uneasiness fell upon mo, heavy as load, yet excru- 
 ciating as if my brain were on tire and my heart 
 
 Othello accuses Desdemona of infidelity, I could ^ere being torn by scorpions. For a mom«it I felt 
 
 observe the tremendous workings of Lord Harles- as if I must cry out ; and I only checked the scream 
 
 don's couutcuance, notwithstanding the black dye of terror at the very instant it was about to find 
 
 with which it was stained : I could mark the tierco vent from my lips. Then Lord Harlesdon eom- 
 
 contrnutiug of the brows, the forcible compression of menced the opening speech of the scene ; and m> 
 
 the lips, the play of rage and immitigable hate upon attention was rivctted with a fearful interest upon 
 
 every feature : I could sec his oyes fiasliiug fire and Jiim : — 
 his looks striking sharp diiggers dovi'u into the very 
 
 heart of my poor mistress : i could sec also that she 
 herself felt there Mas a terrible reality in her hus- 
 band's performance, and that every word he uttered 
 was not in mere pursuance of his part, but a verita- 
 ble taunt and a branding accusati()ii adtkcssed to 
 herself — so that in her terror and under the lacera- 
 tions which she was so crually enduring, her own 
 acting became vividly life-like and strikingly real. 
 The audience listened with suspended breatli, and 
 gazed with fixed looks, as if forgetting that it was 
 a, mere performance on a stage, — forgetting that it 
 was the conception of a poet which was being car- 
 ried out, — but with a kind of concentrated terror, 
 believing that man to be a real Othello and that 
 woman to bo a real Desdemona ! Up to the end of 
 the fourth act was this stato of feeling sustained ; 
 and then, as the curtain fell again, there was an in- 
 describable sensation of relief experienced by the 
 whole audience. I could see that such was the casti 
 — I knew it — I shared the same sensation : it was 
 as if a terriGc spoil had been lifted from every mind 
 — as if the power of an imnatural fascination had 
 been suddenly removed! 
 " Good heavens," whispered Jemima, now appear- 
 
 It is the cause, it is llie cause, my soul — 
 
 Lot me not name it to you, you cliaste stars ! — 
 
 It is the causa. — Yet I'll not shed her bloo.i ; 
 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow. 
 
 And smooth as monumental al;»'oast«r. — 
 
 [TdjiM oj !iii sicarJ. 
 
 Yet she must die, olso she'll betray more mou. 
 
 Put out the fight, and then put out theUght : 
 
 If I quench thee, thou tlamlag minister, 
 
 I can again thy former fight restore, 
 
 Should I repent me :— but once put out thine. 
 
 Thou cuuning'st pattern of eic^Ui:!g nature, 
 I know not whore is that Promathoan heat, 
 
 That can thy light relume. "When I have pluck'd thj 
 
 rose, 
 I cauuot give it vital growth again. 
 It needs must wither :— I'll smell it on tho tree. — 
 
 IKiising her. 
 O bidmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 Justice to break her sword ! — One more, one mor«.— 
 Be thus when thou ai-t doad, and I will kill thee. 
 And love theo alter :— One more, and this the last : 
 So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weop, 
 But they ara cruel tears : This sorrow's heavenly ; 
 It strikes, where it doth love. — She wakes—— 
 i)ft>-. "Who's there? Othello? 
 
 0th. Ay, Desdomana. 
 
 Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ?
 
 SiATtY PRIOE; on, the memoirs of a SERTANT-MAIT). 
 
 331 
 
 Otk. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemonn ? | 
 
 I)es. Ay, my lord. 
 
 0!h. If you bethink yourscIV of any crime 
 
 Unreconcil'd as yot to heaven and grace, 
 
 SoUcit for it strai?;l'.t. • 
 Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean hy that ? 
 Olh. Well, do it, and bo briof : T will walk by : 
 
 I would not kill thy unprepared spirit : 
 
 No,— Heaven forfend,— Iwonldnot kiU thysoul. 
 Des. Talk you of killing ? 
 ai/i. Ajjlio. 
 
 Dis. Then, heaven 
 
 Have mercy on me ! 
 Olh. Amen, vrith all my heart ! 
 
 Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. 
 (nli. Humph ! 
 Dis. And yet I fear you ; for you ore fatal then, 
 
 "When your eyes roll bo : Why I should fear, I 
 know not, 
 
 Since guiltiness I knov/ not ; but yet, I feel, I fear. 
 
 It was ia a piercing, ror.ding voico that Lauy 
 Harlesdon, as Desdemona, had given vent to thcao 
 last words,— words which thrilled forth with a wld 
 cry as if coming in all the intenseness of a real 
 terror from tlie boltom of her heart. For the looks 
 of her husband, as Othello, were indeed terrible— 
 and his eyes were in truth rolling T/ith a savage 
 ferocity. The entire audience seemed to share Lady 
 Harlesdon'a fright; and by an instinctive movement 
 several persons half rose from their scat?, as if ready 
 to precipitate themselves towards the stage and pre- 
 vent a catastrophe ; but then they sat down again, 
 no doubt recalled by a second thought to the convic- 
 tion that it was a more play after all. Oh I I could 
 understand the feeling that was at the bottom of 
 
 every heart, — a feeling that it was not Othello and [ round to an ante-chambor behind the door com- 
 Desdenaona, but Lord irarlesdon and his wii'e — and j municating \vith the stage. I c-uppose that I must 
 
 that thus took possession of me ; and forgetting all 
 the past in respect to Sir Aubrey and myself— fi;r- 
 getting the insults I«had received from him— for- 
 getting the aversion I bore hioi — I started from my 
 seat and abruptly quilted the gallery. 
 
 "What ia itf" I demanded in a quick tone of 
 firvered excitement, as I stood alone with him in a 
 little corridor which had been constructed behind 
 the galleries. 
 
 "Mary, for the love of God, go and save your 
 mistress!" said the Baronet, terribly agitated: in- 
 deed his eyes were rolling wildly — his face was 
 ghastly pale — his features were distorted. 
 
 " Is she in danger ? do you think so ?" 
 
 " Danger ? yes ! Danger imminent and terrible ! 
 Ilarlcsdon is mad! He is no mock Othello — he is 
 a real one ! Oh, if you had seen the bitter looks (;f 
 diabolic hate, mingled with fiendish triumph, that 
 he just now threw upon me " 
 
 " Oh! what would you have me do?" I asked in 
 the bewilderment of despair. " Good heavens, he 
 dare not injure my poor mistress I" 
 
 " He will, he will !" replied Sir Aubrey, quiverin<-j 
 with excitement. "O God, I am suffocating with 
 
 terror— ashes are in my throat ?Iary,for heaven's 
 
 sake, delay not! Fly — speed — rush down to the 
 stage— and save your mistress !" 
 
 I waited to hear no more: I had already heard 
 enough — too much. A mortal terror gave wings to 
 my feet — I flew along the corridor — I precipitated 
 myself down the temporary staircase that had 
 been erected— and I reached the great entrance- 
 hall.' Thence I had to pass by a circuitous route 
 
 that in the mind of the former there vras a real sen- 
 timent of implacable vengeance, and in that of the 
 hitter, a horrible alarm ! Every one sat with sus- 
 pended breath, lips apart, head iuclined forv/ard, 
 and looks rivetted upon the scene, — evidently attri- 
 buting to admiration the undetinable sensations that 
 thus kept them spell-bound. 
 
 '■ I am terribly frightened, Mary," whispered 
 Jemima to me. 
 
 '• And I also," was my involuntary .inswcr. 
 " Would to heaven it were ovor !" 
 
 At; that moment I suddenly observed Sir Aubrey 
 Clavoring rise from his scat and abruptly quit tlie 
 theatre by a side-door. What could tliis mean? 
 what was he about to do ? llaJ he from the place 
 where he had been si! ling, a better opportunity of 
 observing the looks of Lord Harlesdon than I had 
 up in the gallery ? and did he apprehend anything 
 serious? I knew not — and yot this little incident 
 suddenly enhanced my alarms to an intolerable de- 
 gree of poignancy. In less tliun a minute the door 
 which led into that compartment of the gallery 
 .allotted to the servants, opened abruptly — and jn- 
 ; linctivoly looking round, I beheld Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 voring beckoning mc with passionate vehemence. 
 None of the other 6erv,ants no! iced tliat he was there ; 
 rior had they even observed that the door itself had 
 opened, so intent were they upon watching the 
 progress of the scene. 
 
 A horribla idea Btruch me : or rather, all my for- 
 mer presentiments and misgivings were suddenly 
 concentrated into this one horrible idea. The scene 
 passing upon the stage wnsarenliiy — andCiavering 
 knew it to be such ! This was tlic hideous (liought 
 
 have looked pale as a ghost and horrified to a 
 degree; for as I appeared upon that part of the 
 platform which was behind the scenes, several of 
 the gentlemen and ladies who bore parts in tlie per. 
 formance, and who wei"e waiting till their turn c^rae 
 to go on again, gave vent to ejaculations of surprise 
 and dismay. 
 
 "What is the matter, Mary?" demanded the 
 nobleman v/ho performed Cassio and who kuevy 
 who I was. 
 
 " Let me go— let me go," I said, '•' to cave my 
 mistress'" 
 
 "You foolish girl !" he exclaimed, catcliing mr" by 
 the arm and holding me forcibly back : " jou don't 
 take it for n reaUty, do j'ou r' 
 
 " Yes, yes — too real— too Teal ! Let me go :"— 
 and I liurst from him. 
 
 "This is too ridiculous," said the gentleman who 
 performed lago; and seizing me round the waist, he 
 held me back. "Why, how silly you are! Aiid 
 yet this terror on your part is the biglie.it com- 
 pliment which can be paid to Lord Harlesdon's per- 
 formance." 
 
 " Oh, for heavens sake, let me go ! " I cried, strug- 
 gling desperately with him. 
 
 " Take her awcy !" cried Feroral of t!io Kadica .and 
 gentlemen. 'She will be heard in Iront of the 
 scenes — she will alarm the whole house — she is a 
 fool !" 
 
 At tliis moment a terrible cry, in Lord llarles'don's 
 voice, but soundin g more like tlie yell of a wibl beast, 
 burst upon our ears; and this was instantaneously fol- 
 lowed by a hundred other cries of liorror and ilarm, 
 terror and dismay, ou the part of the audicaca.
 
 MAny t'RicK ; ob, thk memoirs of a sebvast-maid. 
 
 "Good God! what is the matter?" exclaimed 
 lago, suddenly looBening his hold on me : and so 
 sickening a sensation of undefinable agony and 
 horror seized upon me, that I staggered back and 
 sank down against the wall. Had utter silence then 
 prevailed I should no doubt have fainted : but quick 
 as the eye can wink, waa I recalled to myself — 
 startled up, I may say, into the keenest suscepti- 
 bility, the most vivid sensitiveness, by a fresh out- 
 burst of cries of horror and consternation. All the 
 gentlemen and ladies in their theatrical costumes by 
 whom I was a moment before surrounded, had 
 rushed upon the stage, whither I now followed them. 
 Good heavens ! what a scene of confusion, and 
 terror, and dismay met my eyes! Elegantly-dressed 
 ladies and fashionable gentlemen, great nobles and 
 titled dames, were rushing from their seats in wild 
 horror towards the stage, struggling and jostling 
 pell-mell : the musicians were leaping from their 
 seats in the orchestra ; and in the midst of a dis- 
 mayed and horrified group on the stage, stood Lord 
 Harlcsdon in h's INIoorish guise, apparently under 
 the influence of the most terrible emotions. 
 
 " Good heavens !" I • was exclaiming. " I felt 
 myself carried away by the part I was performing — 
 1 was mad " 
 
 These words filled rac with despair. A group, 
 all in agitation and confusion, was collected about 
 the bed. Thither I flew ! Utterly regardless of 
 ceremony and even of courtesy, did I thrust aside 
 lords and ladies, peers and peeresses ; and then, as 
 I beheld my beloved mistress suppoi-ted in the arms 
 of two ladies who were endeavouring to recover her, 
 the last fatal conviction struck to my heart — the 
 realization of my presentiments was accomplished — 
 and with a wild terrific scream I threw myself upon 
 the inanimate form of the murdered Lady Har- 
 lcsdon ! 
 
 CHAPTEK, LXVIII. 
 
 AFTEE THE TRAGEDY. 
 
 When I again recovered my senses I found myself 
 lying in bed in my own chamber, with Jemima 
 seated by my side. So slowly did consciousness 
 thus return, that it may be described as the gradual 
 approach of a person bearing a light through a very 
 long dark corridor, or emerging from the extreme 
 depths of a vast subterrauean. And by slow 
 dogrees, too, as that approaching light would reveal 
 one bj' one the features of the place through which 
 it was borne, did the lamp of my mind gradually 
 shadow forth the memories of the past until at 
 length I was brought to the recollection that some- 
 thing dreadful had occurred — but what it was I 
 coidd not instantaneously remember. The next 
 stage at which returning consciousness however 
 arrived, was that last one where it had so suddenly 
 halted and ceased: namely, at the point when the 
 ron^-iction of the tramendous catastrophe had 
 ttrickcn like a mortal blow upon my heart, and 
 ■when I had flung myself with a despairing shriek 
 upon the body of my mistress. 
 
 "Just hruvcns, Jemima!" I murmured, "is it a 
 dream — a horrible dream P" 
 
 But she burst into tears; and then I perceived 
 that she "was in mourning. 
 
 " Jomima!" I excluLmed, starting up to a sittinff 
 
 posture in the bed — for I felt suddenly galvanized 
 with an unnatural strength ; " tell me — tell me — it 
 it true ?" 
 
 " Alas, too true !" retjimed the unhappy young 
 woman ; and throwing her arms round my neck, 
 she wept bitterly upon my shoulder. 
 
 Oh! and I wept bitterly too: for my heart was 
 pierced with lancinating arrows, and I was de- 
 voured with a grief such as I had never experienced 
 since that day when my youthful soul was almost 
 rent in twain with the anguish caused by my poor 
 mother's death. Oh ! could it be possible .' the 
 beautiful, the kind, the generous Lady Harlesdon — 
 was she no more ? That beloved mistress, had she 
 departed from this earth ? 'So, no : it was impos- 
 sible — it appeared to be a dream I Besides, there 
 was too much horror in it to permit me to believe 
 in its reality. 
 
 "Jemima, Jemima," I exclaimed, passionately 
 tearing myself away from her embrace and almost 
 flinging her back from me, so that I might contem- 
 plate her with attention; "let me look in your face, 
 to read whether your lips have spoken truly." 
 
 " Oh, Mary ! do you think that I would deceire 
 you ?" she said, wringing her hands bitterly. "Look 
 at this mourning-dress — and in the next room the 
 
 poor little children also in mourning garments 
 
 Oh, it will break my heart I it will break my 
 heart !" 
 
 "And mine too," I murmured: and then did a 
 faintness come rapidly over me — every object in the 
 room faded from my view — my senses once more 
 abandoned me. 
 
 When I again returned to consciousness, it was 
 night: a candle was burning iu the room — the kind 
 and faithful Jemima was seated by my bedside. It 
 instantaneously struck me that some hours must 
 have elapsed since I had last sunk into a state of 
 insensibility ; and I found on inquiry from Jemima 
 that such was the case. Then methought all in a 
 moment that perhaps even days had passed since 
 the fearful tragedy of the theatre : for when I again 
 observed my fellow-servant in her mourning, I knew 
 that this dark raiment could not have been made in 
 a few hours. 
 
 "How long have I been here — I mean imcon- 
 scious of what was passing?" I inquired with 
 feverish anxiety. 
 
 " You have been ill, dear Mary— very ill." waa 
 the response ; " and at first your life was despaired 
 ©f. Indeed, for a whole week " 
 
 "A whole week!" I exclaimed, actually shudder- 
 ing with affright at this quick lapse of tiuie; "and I 
 unconscious of it. " How long is it since* " 
 
 "Do not excite yourself, and I will tell you. It 
 is exactly a fortnight " 
 
 " A fortnight !" I echoed, starting up in the bed. 
 " And what has hajipcned during that time ? Lord 
 Harlesdon " 
 
 Jemima shook her bead; and bending down 
 towards me, she whispered, " He affects the dcepeet 
 sorrow for what has occurred." 
 
 " But where is ho ?" I asked with frantio im- 
 patience. 
 
 ••Where should you think, Mary?" inquired 
 Jemima, gazing upon me with astouifhmeMt. 
 
 " In prison — in Newgate — in a felon"* gaol," I 
 answered vehemently < " in a condemned cell — where 
 he ought to be!"
 
 MARY price; on, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 333 
 
 = do 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried my fellow-servant, 
 you really believe, then " 
 
 "Believe what? That he murdered our dear 
 mistress ? Yes, yes," I cried ; " I am certain of it !" 
 
 " Pray, Mary, do no"t excite yourself," said Je- 
 mima : " this is what you have constantly been 
 saying in your delirium. The doctor left you a 
 composing draught — will you take some ?" 
 
 " Not I. But pardon me, Jemima — I have no 
 right to be abrupt and petulant with you. My 
 feelings are in a cruel state Oh, my beloved mis- 
 tress! my murdered mistress!" — and burying my 
 head in the pillow, I gave vent to the violence of 
 my grief. Those tears relieved me — that outpouring 
 of accumulated anguish eased my heart ; and be- 
 coming much calmer, I said, " Give me the com- 
 posing draught, Jemima. I see that you have 
 kindly tended me as my nurse, and I will not re- 
 ward you with ingratitude. Do forgive me, my 
 dear friend, if I am impatient and abrupt " 
 
 " Don't talk of forgiveness, Mary, where there is 
 no offence," said the good-natured young woman, 
 as she poured me out my draught. " There, that 
 will do you good. You know not how ill you have 
 been — and you must really take care of yourself. 
 At one time you were so bad with the delirium of 
 fever, that I really thought of writing to your 
 friends at Ashford. Indeed, I had penned a letter 
 to that good Mr. Collins of whom you have so often 
 spoken; but your illness took a favo'xrable turn, and 
 so I thought I had better not alarm your brothers 
 and sisters." 
 
 " You did wisely, Jemima ; and I thank you for 
 so much consideration. But our dear murdered 
 mistress — has her funeral taken place?" 
 
 " Hush, dear Mary — do not repeat, now that you 
 are sensible, what you said in your dehrium. The 
 term is too severe to be applied to what was acci- 
 dental " 
 
 "Accidental!" I exclaimed, springing up in the 
 couch with a renewed and still wilder paroxysm of 
 excitement. " You believe that foul and unnatural 
 murder to have been accidental ?" 
 
 " Mary," answered Jemima, gravely and even 
 reproachfully, " I know that you never liked Lord 
 Harlcsdon, and you are aware that I myself have 
 no particular affection for him. But it is really 
 unworthy your natural generosity of disposition to 
 lay such an odious crune at his door ; and even if I 
 disliked him a thousand times more than I do, I 
 would not accuse him of such an atrocity." 
 
 WhUe Jemima was thus speaking, the remem- 
 brance flashed to my mind that she was not so in- 
 timately acquainted as I was with tlie peculiar cir- 
 cumstances which had existed bet\roen Lord and 
 Lady IJarlosdon; and that whereas the had merely 
 been able to form surmises, I possessed the know- 
 ledge of facts. I therefore ceased to wonder so 
 much that she should now be willing to acquit Lord 
 Karlesdon of that extreme turpitude of which J, in 
 tlic sincerity of my soul, believed him guilly ; and 
 I likewise saw the necessity of speaking with more 
 caution than I had just been doing. 
 
 •' But you have not told me, Jemima," I said, 
 " anything that has occurred during my illness." 
 
 " You excite yourself so strangely, Mary " 
 
 " I will be composed— I will listen without inter- 
 rupting you. Pray speak." 
 
 " It is late— past eleven o'clock," observed Je- 
 
 mima. " Had wc not better postpone it until the 
 morrow " 
 
 " If you yourself arc tired, I will not rdk you to 
 sit up any longer," said I. " But " 
 
 " My poor Mary, I see that you would feel dis- 
 appointed if I did not tell you all you wish to know ; 
 an<l therefore I will do so. If I hesitated for a 
 minute it was only because I feared to excite you : 
 for when the doctor was here just now, he said that 
 you must bo kept as quiet as possible." 
 
 " I will endeavour not to excite myself any more, 
 dear Jemima. And yet it is hard and it is difficult 
 
 to repress those feelings Oh ! it appears like a 
 
 dream ! So short a time ago, and our poor mistress 
 
 was alive ! Now ^but I will say uo mere. Go 
 
 on, Jemima." 
 
 " I scarcely know what you want mo to do," she 
 said ; " but perhaps I had better begin by informing 
 you that there was a coroner's inquest upon our 
 dear lady the day after her death. Lord Harlesdon, 
 though not actually in custody, was certainly con- 
 sidered to be under restraint, so to speak : but he 
 did not offer to leave the house till after the inquest 
 — or rather I should say, he did not stir out till 
 after the funeral." 
 
 "But about the inquest, Jemima?" 
 
 "The inquiry lasted for at least six hours. Of 
 course there was no doubt that our poor dear lady 
 
 was was suffocated smothered with 
 
 the pillow " 
 
 I could not repress a groan which rose to my lips ; 
 and such a cold shudder passed through my frame 
 that I felt as if suddenly enveloped in a winding- 
 sheet of ice. 
 
 " Ah I it does you harm to hear me talk of it, 
 Mary !" exclaimed Jemima, sobbing. 
 
 " Oh, pray go on ! Of course I cannot repress 
 my feelings. But about this inquest, Jemima?" 
 
 "A great number of lords and ladies were ex- 
 amined," she continued; "and they every one 
 proved that Lord Harlesdon was so completely car- 
 ried away by the spirit of the character he was per- 
 sonating, that ho appeared to lose his own identity 
 and to become perfectly irresponsible for his actions. 
 In fact, as several of the witnesses said, he seemed 
 during that last terrible scene, to work himself up 
 to a perfect pitch of frenzy " 
 
 " Was Sir Aubrey Clavering examined ?" I sud- 
 denly asked. 
 
 " No — I think not," returned Jemima. " Indeed, 
 I am sure he was not, when I "omc to reflect. He 
 was to have been ; but it appeared that he did not 
 see the last and terrible part of the tragedy " 
 
 "The real tragedy," I murmured, witli another 
 cold tremor. 
 
 " He was taken unwell and went out in the mid- 
 dle of that scene," continued Jemima. "But as I 
 was telling you, all the witnesses were unanimous 
 in declaring that for the time Lord Harlcsdon must 
 have been positively beside himself. I was ox- 
 nminod, Mnry " 
 
 " You, Jemima? And what did yo» say ?" 
 
 " I said that I was certainly very much terrified 
 by the vehemence and the passion with which Lord 
 Tlarlesdon i)erfonned his part, and that I really did 
 tlunk that ho forgot he was Lord Harlesdon and 
 fancied himself Othello." 
 
 " Did you say that he might have hud some rea- 
 son thus to identifv himself with that character ?"
 
 3f}4 
 
 MABT ntlCEJ 01?, THE JIEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MATD. 
 
 "What a question, Mary! Of course I said no- 
 tliingf of the sort. But I was asked upon what terras 
 his lordship and our poor dear lady had been re- 
 cently living ; and I said that for some time past 
 they had been on the most affectionate terms possi- 
 ble. IndeedfXady Davenport fully convinced the 
 coroner that the private theatricals were got up en- 
 tiroly to please our dear deceased lady — that the 
 idea, in fact, was initiated by Lord Ilarlesdon in 
 Iior (Lady Pavcnport'G) hearing — and that Lady 
 JIarlesdon had adopted it joyfully. All the mem- 
 bers of the committee proved that our dear lady had 
 entered with great spirit into Ihe preliminary ar- 
 rangements ; and they every one testified to the 
 perfectly good understanding which subsisted 
 throughout between Lord and Lady Ttarlcsdon. I 
 should also observe that several witnesses proved 
 that on the fatal evening, between all the scenes 
 and acts Lord TIarlesdou demonstrated the most 
 delicate attentions towards his wife when in the 
 Green Koom, and that just before they went on the 
 stage for the last scene, his lordship patted our dear 
 lady with familiar kindness on the cheek, telling her 
 not to be frightened if he should presently look 
 very fierce and very terrible." 
 
 " Were you examined at great length, Jemima ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " For not more than ten minutes, and the ques- 
 tions chiefly put to mo, were relative to the terms 
 on which my lord and lady had lived together. 
 I told the truth. I said that for some time, while 
 they were upon the Continent, there appeared to 
 be a misunderstanding between them ; but that 
 latterly a perfect reconciliation had evidenlly taken 
 place, and that they had lived not merely in com- 
 fort, but in positive happiness." 
 
 "And what was the result of the sad inquiry?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " Oh ! the verdict went to acquit Lord Ilarlesdon 
 altogether of any thing like premeditation," returned 
 Jemima. * 
 
 " Ah ! and you have already told me," I said, 
 " that yovi believe in the justice of that verdict r" 
 
 " How can I do otherwise ? I really cannot 
 fancy that his lordship would bo so base — so 
 
 ■ndeked Besides, after having so completely made 
 
 it up with our dear lady, it was not likely that he 
 would have all of a sudden turned so savagely vin- 
 dictive, and availed himself of such an opportunity 
 to commit so dreadful a deed." 
 
 " But did you not tell me just now that Lord 
 Harlesdon affects a great deal of sorrow ?" 
 
 "Tes," rejoined Jemima; "because I don't think 
 he is the man to feel anything so deeply as he 
 appears to foel tliis. Perhaps 1 was wrong to say 
 what I did, and even imcharitable : but neverthc- 
 lesR, ray idea is that though he must certainly be 
 acquitted of any wicked intent, yet liiat he i.s now 
 putting on a little more grief than it is his nature 
 to feel." 
 
 "And and — the interment, Jemima?" I asked 
 
 in a faltering (one and with suffocating sobs. 
 
 "The funeral was conducted with the greatest 
 pomp — I might almost say magnilieence — far too 
 
 much to please me '^ 
 
 " Was Sir Aubrey Clarcring invited to the 
 funeral r" 
 
 " No — scarcely ! Of courso his lordship would 
 not have <lone that, since he roust have known that 
 
 vSir Aubrey and her deceased ladyship had been 
 talked about. Though his lordship had evidently 
 made it all up with our poor dear mistress during 
 the last two or three months, it was no reason why 
 he should invite the baronet. That would have 
 been rather indecent." 
 
 "And the servants generally," said I, — "what 
 do they think of this terrible occurrence ?" 
 
 " Oh! they all agree in the justice of the verdict 
 — they all think as I do," answered Jemima ; " and 
 as 1/oit must think also, my dear Mary, because 
 you are too charitable to put an evil conatruction 
 upon anything where none ought to be." 
 
 "But the dear children, JemimV' Baid I, — "do 
 they cry after their poor mother?" 
 
 " The boys fret very much ; but poor little Bella 
 is of course too young to undcrstaud a parent's 
 
 ]033 Ah ! that is the hardest part of it, to have 
 
 to answer the questions which those poor boys put 
 to me ! They do not exactly comprehend what 
 death is; and yet they have something more than 
 a vague idea of it." 
 
 Jemima burst into tears : my own were already 
 flowing thick and fast again. 
 
 "!Now, my kind friend," said I, after a pause, 
 during which we both wept mucli ; " I will not 
 keep you up any longer." 
 
 "Do you feel inclined to sleep ?" asked Jemima: 
 " for if not, I shall stay with you. I and the house- 
 maids have hitherto taken our tiurns to watc'u by 
 you; and Mrs.' Brandon," alluding to the house- 
 keeiier, "' has passed many hours by your bedside. 
 But tell me — do you think you can sleep ?" 
 
 " I ^-ill try — you must not sit up any longer." 
 
 " I am in the next room to you, my dear ;^^ary, 
 jouknow; and I will leave the door of communi- 
 cation open, so that if you waut anything you can 
 call. And now good night." 
 
 Jemima retired into her own room ; but ere she 
 soug'ut her couch, she stole in gently to see if I 
 were asleep. I pretended to be so, because I would 
 not keep the gocd-natui-cd young woman up any 
 longer. 
 
 " I'oor girl !" ehe said, as sho bent down and 
 kissed me; '" she was deeply attached to our dear 
 mistress. God grant t'aat his lordship was not 
 really guilty of such a crime! ISo, no— I dai-e not 
 think he was — I dare not, I dare not! And yct^ 
 ]Mary who knows so much " 
 
 But Jemima Flopped suddenly short in her 
 audible musings ; and retreating to licr own room, 
 went to bed. 
 
 Long v.-as it ere I closed ray eyes in slumber. 
 The image of Lady Ilarlesdon, as I beheld her 
 stretched lifeless upon that couch on the mimic 
 stage, seemed (o rise up beforo me, and with lier 
 looks demand vengesince upon the head of her mur- 
 derer. For thai Lord Harlesdon had murdered her 
 — murdered her too with premeditation — I felt con- 
 vinced. Indeed, I entertained not a doubt upon the 
 subject. Heaven knows I was not uncharitably in- 
 clined ; and for a thousand reasons would I rather 
 have believed him innocent : but I could not — 
 because on the other hand a thousand circumst-ances 
 convinced me of liis guilt. The longer I thought 
 upon the v.'h.ilo terrible proceeding — from the very 
 first instant when the idea of the private thcatricaU 
 was initiated in my presence, until the crownin.; 
 catastrophe — the more completely did a horrible
 
 UARV PEICE; ok, TUE MEMOIIIS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 335 
 
 clcavncsa eiiliq^bton my mind to the rendiug of all 
 that was dimly obscure aud mystciioiis to ttie rest 
 of the world. J. knew cuoush of Lord Harlesdoa's 
 dispositiou to be couviaced that Lis very rccon- 
 ciiiatijn with her ladyship was but a blind, not 
 merely to lull her into aecai'ity, but also to deceive 
 the world when tho liual blow should be struck. 
 And he had succeeded! The coroner's jui-y could 
 scarcely have come to any other Verdict, considtr- 
 iug the evidence adduced at the inquest. Indeed, 
 . who would believe that after havmg treated his 
 wife with a marked kindness — au unwearied atten- 
 tion—an even uxorious tenderness for some time 
 past, he could have wilfully caused her death ? Yet 
 I knew that he had ! Oh, how tho world was de- 
 ceived ! But what course was I to pursue ? Waa 
 this mm-derer to be loft at large ? or was he t-o be 
 brought to justice? Justice indeed! justice waa 
 blind in this case— justice could not see his guilt: 
 justice in livot had aheady procluimcd him inno- 
 cent 1 'Would justice re-open the case at my insti- 
 gation ? What could I prove ? what could I say ? 
 Evea if I were to tell all I knew in respect to the 
 dark and hateful plottings which Lord Hnrleadou 
 had devised wherewith to torture his wil'a— if I were 
 to make known every incident connected with the 
 transactions in Derbyshire — to what extent would 
 such teatimony go ? Merely to the effect tliat Lord 
 Harlesdon had onco been bitterly vindictive. Eut 
 would it not bo alleged that he had since done all 
 he could to alone for the past ? Yet, again, might 
 not Sir Aubrey Clavorlng himself prove something 
 of importance ? Could not I proclaiui the fact, and 
 v.'oidd not he corroborate it, that ou that fatal night 
 he hiuiself had read murder in Lord Harlesdoa's 
 looks, aud that he had anticipated the real tragedy 
 of Oihello ? But what would this prove ? Kothbig 
 more than that Sir Aubrey Ciavoring was as ii-ight- 
 puod as I and many others at the time. YvTiatevcr 
 I thought of, an oijjcclion started up against it — so 
 that I was compelled to come to tho conclusion that 
 though I in my own heart knew Lord ilarlesdon 
 to be a murderer, I had scarcely a shadow of evi- 
 dence to prove him so. Add to this consideration 
 the cii'cumstancc that he was a great nobleman, 
 with a host of friends ready to view everytliiug in a 
 light most favourable to his interests and his inno- 
 cence — and what could I, the humble servant-maid, 
 do towards bringing ibis powerful peer to justice in 
 the lace of the eutTmous and manifold difficultica 
 that stood in the way ? 
 
 I cannot help pausing a little longer ere I resumo 
 the thread of my narrative to recall attention to 
 those minute details of Lonl liarlesdon's conduct 
 tovvaidd his wile, which may have escaped the 
 readt:r'8 recolleciion, but which muat bo regarded 
 as Luks iu tho entire chain of a deeply plotted and 
 long meditated plan on his lordship's pai-t for a 
 crowning vengeance against her. Everything had 
 been done to lull her suspicions asleep — every device 
 had been practised to make lier believe that his 
 pardon was" sincere, that the reconciliation was 
 t;<»uuine, and that even ho himself was penitent fur 
 certain phases of lib past conduct. Thus, whilo 
 still iu Derby sLu-c, lio had urgi>d Lady Harlesdon 
 to call upon the I'orcivals and say civil things on his 
 behalf; aud on thu return to London he hud ex- 
 pressed a desire that i should visit the servants of 
 his household, aud that I should even rcturu iuto 
 
 her ladyship's service. Nay, more — when he saw 
 me, ho had made what appi-ared to be t'ne moit 
 honom-able apologies for all that he had made me 
 sufter at his hands. Then, too, ho had not merely 
 pcrmitte.l, but even encouraged my frequent com- 
 panionship with his wife ; and iu a thousand little 
 ways he had given mo to understand that I must 
 look upon myscU' rather as her ladyship's friend 
 than her menial. Ho had seldom allowed me to 
 leave the room w'nen seated with her ladyship ; but 
 was wont, vnth seeming aft'ability and good temper, 
 to remark that he had no secrets to talk about which 
 I might not overhear. 1n^» ver waa conduct fraught 
 with a deeper duplicity: never did the serpent 
 glide more insidiously amongst the flowers that, 
 while marking its pathway, nevertheless concealed 
 its sting. No wonder that her ladyship should 
 have been lulled into a security so false, so ground- 
 less ! A perfect master in the art of deceit, her 
 husband had played his cards with a consummate 
 tact and a marvellous ingenuity — but as demoniac 
 as it was consummate, and as fiend-like as it was 
 marvellous ! And thus until the very last had ho 
 led my poor mistress on, even in the intervals of 
 those dramatic scenes which were made accessories 
 to his vengeance,— persuading her to believe that 
 there was nothing in the part of Othello which he 
 at all idcntiiied v^ith his own feelings or posi- 
 tion, — and ultimately managmg the catastrophe 
 with such cold-blooded skill, while affecting all the 
 furious rage ot the jealous Moor, as to enable him 
 to accompUsh the crownuig act of his vengeance 
 not merely with success but also with impunity. 
 
 I believe that neither the records o? truth nor the 
 imaginmgs of iiction — neither the bock of hiunau 
 nature nor the page of the novelist — ever included 
 such a monstrous crime, so ingeniously devised and 
 so triumphantly carried out. But, ah! was this 
 murderer, all patrician and peer though he were, to 
 live on iu his impunity? was he to continue to 
 hold his head high in the presence of the world, 
 feeling himself above tho reach of human jus! ice, 
 and defying that of Providence.^ No, forbid it, 
 Ueaven! — that heaven whoso retribution he ap- 
 peared to reck not for! Yet again and again 
 recurred the thought that I myself waa power- 
 less against the manifold defences with which this 
 bold bad man's guilt was hemmed in around, and 
 that I had none to aid me in exposing his iniquity, 
 bringing it homo to him, making it manifest to all 
 the world, and di'awiug down condign punishment 
 on his head. 
 
 These and a variety of kindred reflections occu- 
 pied my mind day by day for a whole week after 
 I had returned to confciousness. I was still too 
 weak und cnlceblod to bo able to leave my bod- 
 chamber; and yet I longed to quit a mansion 
 whore tho very atmosphere seemed heavy with the 
 breath and tinged with the hue of mui-dor. But I 
 knew that my life would bo risked by a promaturo 
 removal : indeed, tho physician told me so when I 
 hinted my desire to him — and besides, I was so im- 
 stfttled iu my mind that I felt tho necessity of 
 resolving on some jjoaitive course ere 1 took my 
 departure. My recovery w;i9 materially retarded 
 by tho distressed state of my fechngs. I'or several 
 uii;hl3 successively u cold tremor gradually por- 
 Viiilcd iny entire being ero i could woo sleep to 
 uiy eyes: and us I diuzed oil' I kept stiu-tiiig u]),
 
 33G 
 
 MAIir PBICE ,* OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAIU 
 
 with a vagus horror seizing upon me, whilo my 
 hair appeared to si and on ond by the roots. I felt 
 ray teeth chattering— my blood curdled and became 
 stagnant in my veins— and a cold perspiration 
 broke out all over me, so that I was bathed as it 
 were in mine own agony. Sometimes, so intolera- 
 ble were the images of terror which my attenuated 
 fancy conjured up, that I strove to speak— to cry 
 out for Jemima, who slept in the next room : but 
 I invariably felt my tongue cUnging to the roof of 
 my mouth and my voice paralysed. I had no 
 power over myself. Sometimes I would lie awake, 
 irresistibly revolving all kinds of horrible things, 
 and fancying that I beheld the shade of my mur- 
 dered mistress hovering like a bluish cloud— va- 
 poury, dim, and indistinct — around the bed. At 
 other times, and even in the midst of those fits of 
 crucifying agony which I have above described, I 
 would fall off into a heavy sleep : but then would 
 come the strangest and most bewildering dreams, 
 with the spectral imago of Lady Harlesdoa ever 
 prominent to my mental vision, but with a changed 
 countenance— a countenance, oh ! so changed, that 
 it filled me with iaefiable terror : for her looks ap- 
 peared to reproach me for not at once avenging 
 
 lier and shu gazed upon me with eyes, not of 
 
 azure softness as in her life-time, but with a fixed 
 and unearthly brilliancy that seemed to burn into 
 my soul ! 
 
 Ni"-ht after night did these imaginings take place. 
 In the day-time, when I reflected on them, I knew 
 that they were naught gave the offspring of a fevered 
 fancy ; but as night approached, I trembled at the 
 prospect it brought with it. A thousand times was 
 I on the point of telling Jemima all I endured, and 
 l)egging her to sleep with me ; but my pride re- 
 strained me — I did not choose to appear so weak- 
 jiiiudcd ; and besides, what had I myself to fear — 
 I who had never experienoed aught save lovo and 
 kindness towards my dear departed mistress ? Eut 
 a "ain and again, night after night, I saw her in my 
 dreams : and when my frame was torpid and locked 
 up ia that profound sleep, she was present to my 
 soul— and in the still hours of the night her spirit 
 eharmed herself from the other world to my mental 
 gaze. She haunted my pillow — and her looks ap- 
 peared to demand vengeance. 
 
 The physician fountl I was recovering so slowly 
 that he began to open his «yes to the reading of the 
 truth — or at least partially so. He accordingly said 
 to me one day, " 1 understand that you were very 
 much devoted to your deceased mistress, and doubt- 
 less your continuous abiding beneath this roof keeps 
 too vividly alive all the impressions of the past. If 
 this ba so, you would do well to seek change of 
 scene as soon as possible." 
 
 I was only too glad to avail myHclf of this permis- 
 sion: and feeling the want of complete quietude 
 and retirement, I asked Mrs. Brandon, the house- 
 keeper, if she could recommend mo to a respectable 
 lodging for a short time. She happened to have a 
 sister who was a widow and had a house in Great 
 Russell Street, Bloomsbury, which she let out in 
 lodgings, whereby she supported herself. It was 
 represQuted to me as a quiet, respectable, and well- 
 conducted house ; aud Mrs. Brandon made inquiries 
 to see whether i could be iiccommudated there. It 
 fortunately happened that Mrs. Richards (whii'h 
 wa< the name of her sister) had a bed-chamber ou 
 
 the third floor to let — airy and comfortable, and at 
 a moderate rent. This lodging I therefore engaged ; 
 and taking leave of the dear children and the ser- 
 vants at Harlesdoa House, I removed thither. His 
 lordship I did not see ero I took my departur? — a 
 circumstance which was far more agreeable to mc 
 than otherwise. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 A MEETIKQ WITH AX OLD ACQUAIXTASCE. 
 
 I FOUND Mrs. Richards a kind, good-nat'ored, 
 motherly woman, and that her house was as re- 
 spectable as it had been represented. She herself 
 occupied the ground-floor : the first floor was 
 tenanted by an old gentleman and his wife who 
 habitually resided in the country, but whom busi- 
 ness had brought for a few months to London. The 
 second floor was occupied by a widow lady and her 
 daughter, who had seen much better days, and now 
 were compelled to earn their living by making arti- 
 ficial flowers, copying music, and giving lessons on 
 the piano. There were three rooms on the third 
 floor — two of which were rented by a very eccentric 
 old lady, the widow of an otlicer in the navy, and 
 whose meagr* pension did not allow her to live in 
 better style. The remaining room on this storey was 
 the one which I had engaged ; and so far as comfort 
 went, as well as peace and tranquillity, I had no- 
 thing to complain of. 
 
 I of course ^vrote to my brother "William and 
 Sarah, as well as to Captain Quentin, to tell them 
 that I had left Lord Harlesdou's service and where 
 I was temporarily lodging : but I did not mention 
 a word of those dread accusings which my soul in 
 its deep conviction harboured against his lordship. 
 To my brother and sisters there was of course no 
 use in alluding to the subject; and \vith respect to 
 Eustace, I felt that after the verdict of th« coroner's 
 inquest, the testimony that had been given thereat, 
 and the impression entertained by all the sen-ants 
 of the household in respect to Lord Harlesdon's in- 
 nocence of premeditation or deliberate intent, it was 
 far too serious a thLusj for me dogmatically to assert 
 I the exact contrary. At aU events, for the present I 
 1 resolved to keep my own counsel and reflect well 
 and maturely upon the course to be pursued. But 
 I why had I remained in London ? In the first in- 
 ' stance because on leaving Harlesdon House I was 
 too weak and ill to travel to Ashford, the only place 
 to which I should have chosen to remove if able to 
 journey at all ; and moreover I needed repose and 
 tranquillity for my mind, which I could only acquire 
 in solitude and seclusion. But wherefore, when at 
 the expiration of a fortnight I found myself more 
 I composed in mind, and completely convalescent in 
 health, did I still linger in London, nor even think 
 j of immediately removing elsewhere ? Because there 
 was a presentiment lu my soul that every act in 
 ! the great Harlesdon drama was not vet performed, 
 I and that I myself was needed upon the spot to, 
 play some farther part therein. In other words, 
 , there was a secret voice whispering in my heart 
 that I must remiiiu in London for the present — one 
 of those vague, unaccountable, aud vet powerful 
 feelings which every one in the course of bis life has 
 ut souitt tiue or tuiotksr experienced, aud which ap-
 
 lARY price; or, the memoirs of a servant-maid 
 
 pear to be a portion of those inf5cru(ablo means 
 whereby Providence works out its great purposes 
 aud human destinies are accomplished. 
 
 It was at the expiration of three weeks after I 
 had taken up my abode in great Kussell Street, 
 that Jemima, who had previously called two or 
 three times, came to take tea with me. She could 
 not however remain long away from Grosvcnor 
 Square, and having arrived at six was obliged to 
 leave at half-past eight. It was a beautiful evening 
 in the month of Juno, and she asked me to walk a 
 portion of the way with her. I agreed to do so : 
 yet not liking to be out after dusk in the streets of 
 London, I only accompanied her a short distance — 
 but to be more specific, a little way up Oxford Street. 
 I then bade her good night : we parted — and I hur- 
 riedly began to trace my steps homeward. Just as 
 I was crossing the bottom of Tottenham Court 
 Road, from Oxford Street to Great Russell Street, I 
 suddenly beheld by the light of a lamp the well- 
 No 43 
 
 known figure of the Gip?y Queen. She was dressed 
 in her usual style — a dark stuQ" gown, with a hand- 
 kerchief upon her head ; and as on previous occa- 
 sions when I had seen her, she seemed to walk with 
 a dignity of air not unmingled with grace : for she 
 was one of nature's own splendid models, in which 
 clegiince to some extent combined with beauty. I 
 know not how it was, but. I felt myself suddenly in- 
 spired by the instinctive thought that this woman 
 could in some way or another assist me iu the reali- 
 zation of those aims, hopes, and purposes which 
 were floating uppermost in my mind. Besides, the 
 recollection of (hat person who had borne tho namo 
 of Graham, and whose apjiearance had produced 
 Bueh tt strange impression upon mo at the house in 
 St. Giles's, ilashed to my mind ; and I longed to 
 ask the Gi])sy Queen for some more information 
 concerning him. 
 
 Gloved by these several impulses, I quickened iny 
 steiis, and was speedily bv her side.
 
 SS8 
 
 MARY FUICE; OB, THE MEHOnU OF A gERVAST-MATD. 
 
 "Whdt! my youn^r frienrl, Mwy Price f" 8?ie 
 eaiil, with a smile that displaynd her brilliant teeth : 
 and taking my hand, she shook it with every ap- 
 pearance of cordial w anuth. 
 
 " I w-ish to speak to you," said I, " upon ono or 
 two things." 
 
 "I know you do," she iuunodiatoly answered, 
 but in her usual calm, measured, and deliberate 
 manner, as she fixed her superb black eyes upon ray 
 countenance as much as to intimate that she could 
 road the secrets of my soul. 
 
 "You know that I do?" was tho ejaculation 
 which very naturally burst from my lips as I con- 
 templated her with surprise. 
 
 " Yes," she rejoined : " there are at least two sub- 
 jects on which you desire to question me. One is 
 respecting a certain person whom you saw at the 
 house in the Holy Land ; and the other is concern- 
 ing tho death of that lady whom you loved so 
 well." 
 
 " But how is it possible," I asked, in still deeper 
 astonishment, " that you can thus read my 
 thoughts ?" — and I gazed with a species of awe 
 upon this mysterious and incomprehensible woman : 
 for at the moment I felt — especially as the incident 
 of her experiment in palmistry occurred to my 
 mind — as if I stood in the presence of one really 
 invested with some of the powers to which the 
 scions of hor race pretended. 
 
 " Follow me, Mary Price," she answered : " that 
 is to say, if you are not afraid of accompanying 
 mo to the same place whither you have been be- 
 fore." 
 
 " Afraid P no 1" was my immediate response. 
 "On that occasion you gave me proofs of friend- 
 ship and good feeling ; and I am unconscious of the 
 existence of any reason which could have induced 
 you to change your sentiments towards me." 
 
 " They are not changed," she rejoined, with a 
 look of tho deepest sincerity. " Why should they 
 be ? When wo last parted, I told you that if you 
 should ever wish to see mo again you could inquire 
 for me at Norwood. That intimation might have 
 given you to understand that I ever hold myself in 
 readiness to do you a service, should tho oppor- 
 tunity occur. Follow mo." 
 
 For tho benefit uf those who may not be well ac- 
 quainted with London, I must observe that tho spot 
 whore I thus encountered the mysterious Barbauld 
 Azetha, was close by that densely populated neigh- 
 bourhood known as St. Giles's ; and as she at once 
 plunged into this horrid maze of narrow lanes, dark 
 alleys, and pestiferous courts, I hesitated not to fol- 
 low her. In the streets surrounding tho Holy 
 Land it was perfectly light with tho soft glimmer 
 cf the summer evening and tho artiticial aid of the 
 lamps, as well as by tho blaze from tho shop- 
 windows : but there, in that maze of closely packed 
 buildings, a deep gloom prevailed, save where the 
 bright gas-light shone at the corners of the streets, 
 indicating tlie presence of public-houses — those 
 palaces of iniquity in the midst of a lah}Tinth of 
 squalor, wretchedness, fdth, and demoralization. 
 At length, iu about a (juarler of a hour, we reached 
 that house of miserable appearance whore I had 
 been before ; and the court in which it was situated, 
 appeared as stiQing with tho heat and as nauseating 
 with sickly odours as on the former occasion when 
 I visited the place. The Gipsy Queen knocked— 
 
 and the door was opened by her luwther, w1h> nt 
 imce recognized me by the light of a candle which 
 oho held in her hand. 
 
 " -^ — what ! Miss ilary with you again, Bar- 
 bauld ?" said the old ZS'orwood Gipsy, her wrinkled 
 countenance expanding into a smile. 
 
 '■ Yes, mother. Do not keep her waiting," re- 
 sponded the Gipsy Queen : '• she wishes to speak to 
 me on some subject of importance." 
 
 The old woman made way: the Gipsy Queen 
 took the light from her liand, and conducted me 
 up the ricketty staircase, the boards and ban- 
 nisters of which seemed as if they had not been 
 swept ever since I was last there. On reaching 
 the landing of the second storey, I cast a some- 
 what anxious glance at the door of that room 
 where the invalid bearuig the name of Graham 
 had lain the last time I was there. 
 
 "He is not here now," said the Gipsy Queen, 
 in a low whisper ; fot she evidently divined the 
 meaning of the look which I had thrown upon 
 that door : then opening the one leading into her 
 own room, she invited me to walk in. I accord- 
 ingly ibllowed her, and found the chamber wear- 
 ing exactly the same appearance as when I was 
 last there — which was upwards of a year back. 
 There was the bed with the yellow stuff curtams 
 — the table with the writing materials and books — 
 and the immense volume containing the written 
 entries respecting the circumstances of thousands 
 of families in or about the metropolis. 
 
 " Now sifc down," said the Gipsy Queen, placing 
 a seat for my accommodation ; and taking another 
 chair near me, she continued, " We can converse at 
 our ease ; and you may begin to question mo upon 
 whatsoever topic you feel most interested in." 
 
 "Tell me then," I at once answered, — " and do, I 
 beseech you, speak with solemn truthfulness—— 
 
 that individual whom I saw here " 
 
 " You allude to the man Graham ?" said the 
 Gipsy Queen, quietly. " ^\^^at I told you at the 
 time, was the exact truth. Y'ou surely have not 
 since entertained any doubts upon the subject r" 
 
 " I know not exactly how to answer you," I said : 
 "for it woidd be offensive to declare that I did not 
 put implicit faith in the account you gave me of 
 the person alluded to. Yet so strangely striking 
 was the resemblance which he bore to my poor 
 father, that you cannot wonder if there have been 
 moments when I have felt misgivings arise in my 
 mind——" 
 
 "It is natui-al," interrupted the Gipsy Queen; 
 " and yet I can do no more than repeat what I have 
 already told you — that this resemblimce which 
 struck you was a mere coincidence, and that tho 
 man Graham has been with our tribe as long as I 
 can remember." 
 
 I gazed as fixedly upon Barbauld as I dared while 
 she spoke ; but in the depths of her fine dark eyes, 
 and in the serene dignity of her very handsome 
 countenance, there was nothing to warrant me in 
 doubting her sincerity. She evidently observed th.it 
 I thus scrutinized her with attention; and her look 
 as well as her manner wiis altogether that of one 
 who spoke the truth. 
 
 '• Ifpon this jwint, then," was my observation, 
 after a pause, '' 1 have nothing more to ask. But 
 
 now, relative to the other topic " 
 
 "The death of Lady Harlesdon," said the Gipsy
 
 MARY price; on, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 339 
 
 Quocn. " You believe that she was murdered ?"— 
 and she fixed her eyes keenly upon me. 
 
 I did not know how to answer : I was afraid of 
 committing' myself; — and yet I had almost a per- 
 fect confidence in the woman's sincerity and friend- 
 ship. 
 
 " You need not be afraid to express your opinion," 
 she continued : " for mine is already formed upon 
 the subject. Lord Htxlesdon as certainly premedi- 
 tated the murder of his wife, as that you and I are 
 seated together at this present moment :" — and she 
 spoke with the emphasis of one who asserts a known 
 fact or a deep conviction. 
 " Good heavens ! have you any proof of what 
 ■ you say ?" I exclaimed : and once more was I 
 struck by the knowledge which this extraordinary 
 woman appeared to possess relative to things in 
 wliich it was difficult to perceive how she could be 
 60 well informed. 
 
 "Do you requu'e the proof?" she asked, again 
 fixing her eyes strangely upon my countenance. 
 " And if you possess it, would you help to bring 
 Lord Harlesdon to justice ?" 
 
 " I would — I would ! " were the exclamations 
 which now burst from my lips. " Heaven knows 
 that I am not vindictive, and that my nature is to 
 pardon rather than to persecute ! But here is a 
 crime of so black a dye and so monstrous a magni- 
 tude, that it would be a sin for any one possessing 
 the power to prove it, to let it go unpunished. The 
 treachery was so dreadful — the cold-blooded cruelty 
 was so unparalleled — the whole plot was character- 
 ized by so much systematic villany of a truly satanic 
 nature, that the criminal should not be sufiered to 
 escape." 
 
 " You speak with energy, Mary," observed the 
 Gipsy Queen, gazing on me with something like 
 admu'ation in her looks. " Know you not that 
 heaven has marked you out to become the instru- 
 ment of avenging your loved mistress's most cruel 
 murder? have you not felt an inward prompting 
 which has given you an impulse of this kind '(" 
 " Yes : I have — I have," was my answer. 
 " And the moment you beheld me this evening, it 
 struck you that it was possible I might give you 
 some assistance ?" 
 
 " How well you understand my feelings — my 
 thoughts !" I cried, lifting my eyes to Barbauld's 
 countenance with renewed astonishment; and for 
 the moment I folt almost afraid of this woman who 
 in reality appeared to possess powers of no ordinary j 
 character. 
 
 It was while I was under the influence of this ] 
 awc-inspircd feeling, that she took my hand, and | 
 gently drawing off the glove, began to consider the 
 palm as she had d(mc on the former occasion when 
 i was with her in this same house. I dared not 
 Avithdraw my hand : there was a superstitious feel- 
 ing upon me at the instant which compelled me to 
 abandon it to her. Taking up a pen from the 
 table, the Gipsy Queen traced the course of the 
 lines on ray palm with the feather-end, lier look the > 
 while being profoundly serious, even to solemnity. I 
 
 "Yos — the map of your destiny," she at length 
 said, iu a voice that suited the scrii)usnes8 of lier 
 looks, "is still a bewildering mazi> tlio course of 
 which it is difficult to trace. Did i not toll you tliat 
 the month of November of last year was one laden I 
 with great importance for you ? Ah I that meeting ■ 
 
 with him you loved, and whom you love so devoutly 
 still ! But your evil star in respect to this love of 
 your's has continued in the ascendant — yet vibrat- 
 ing not with so malignant a light as that which it 
 shed previously to your meeting. For now you have 
 
 hopes, young maiden " 
 
 " Oh ! tell me, tell me," I exclaimed, with strangely 
 excited feelings of mingled pleasure and terror, 
 " how are you enabled to speak to me thus f" 
 
 " On the former occasion when we were together 
 in this very room," responded the Gipsy Queen, " I 
 enjoined you not to question me. I can now only 
 repeat the injunction-." — and as she thus spoke she 
 dropped my hand which for the last few minutes 
 she had been holding in her own. " You love, 
 Mary — you love deeply, fondly, and devotedly," she 
 went on to say in accents that were unmistakably 
 tinged with a soft melancholy. " You know what 
 love is — you have experienced its hopes and fears, 
 its bitterness and its bliss. Love is the ruling 
 divinity of civilized creatures : its power is felt and 
 acknowledged in the palace and the hovel — by the 
 peer and peeress in their sumptuous mansion, and 
 by the swarth gipsy-man and girl pursuing their 
 vagabond career upon the face of the earth. Who 
 has not known and acknowledged the empire of 
 love ?" 
 
 These last words were uttered with a deepening 
 mournfulness of tone, and with a visible abandon- 
 ment of the soul to the influence of the reflection. 
 Barbauld's fine person, usually drawn up with a 
 graceful statcliness — a queen-like majesty all her 
 own — slowly drooped as it were, her finely-shaped 
 head inclining forward, her dark eyes bending their 
 looks down, so that they were nearly concealed by 
 their long thick jetty fringes — and her hands catch- 
 ing each other in negligent clasp at the rounded 
 length of her drooping arms. At that moment the 
 Gipsy Queen was the embodiment and personifica- 
 tion of more true feeling and of deeper emotion than 
 I could have previously supposed her to be suscep- 
 tible of; and I could not help asking in a low voice 
 and somewhat timidly, " Do yov, then, know what 
 love is P" 
 
 "Know it!" sho exclaimed, suddenly raising her 
 Lead, while her eyes flashed strange fires, as if 
 diamond-rays were flung forth from the living jet of 
 those magnificent orbs. " Am I a woman, and 
 know not what love is ? Am I handsome, and 
 never have been courted? is there nothing about 
 me to inspire love, or to lead you to suppose that I 
 am acquainted with it ? Yes, yes : I have loved — 
 and I love still — shall love on for ever and until the 
 end ! You ask me, INlary, if I know what love is ? 
 Tiiink you that when I behold the beautiful flowers 
 expanding their glories to the sun, I am insensible 
 of the delicious porfumo which they shed upon the 
 air ? Think you that when I gaze up into the deep 
 blue vault of heaven at night, I take no pleasure in 
 contemplating the vibrating lustre of the silver stars, 
 or that they have no voices which speak to the in- 
 telligent spirit thatr dwells within me ? Think you 
 that when the sun glows u])on this hemisphere from 
 his meridian lieirjht, 1 feel not the warmth of his 
 rays? Oh, Miiry, if you imagine tlint. I have no 
 sense, n<> faculty, no power of appreciation, tor Hiiy 
 one of these, tlicn may you indeed conoludo that I 
 am likewise insensible of love! But if you believe 
 that I possess a heart like other women — an intelli-
 
 340 
 
 MATIY VntrV.: on, TUK memoirs op a SEnvASX-MAlD. 
 
 gcncc like the rest of my sex— the aame senses, the 
 same faculties, the same power of appreciating all 
 that is bright, beautiful, and delicious in nature, — 
 then must you also be convinced that I am equally 
 susceptiblo of love— that 1 can be moved by Us 
 charms, conquered by its power, and melted by its 
 tenderness! Oh, Love can bo an angel hovering in 
 a sunny atmosphere, scattering llDWOrs from his 
 bnrvv and diamonds from his wing: but ho can 
 likewise assume the shape of a fiend, sternly tram- 
 pling on all the blossoms of the heart ! His breath, 
 ^■ith the chaste wooings of the; zephyr, can inspire 
 the young buds of the soul to expand their beauties 
 to his soft pure kisses— or with the hot glow of 
 imhallowcd passion can scorch the flowers of the 
 heart and make tlicm scar, and withered, and 
 parched up. Yes — and on liovc's shrine, too, may 
 the light of hope and purest aft'ection burn un- 
 dimmed and undying, fed by its own eternal 
 incense; — or Love's altar may become a sepulchre 
 of broken hearts, and its oracles but words of doom ! 
 Do I not know what love is, Mary ? have I not 
 described it ?" 
 
 It was a strange thing to hear Barbaukl Azetha 
 talk thus, — a strange tliiug indeed to listen to 
 such sentiments coming from the lips of a woman 
 who appeared to lead a wild, peculiar, and un- 
 settled life : but still, as I contemplated her ex- 
 ceedingly handsome person — her inttlligent coim- 
 tcnanoe, her expressive eyes, and those wreathings 
 of the v.cll-chiscUed lips which gave effect to her 
 eloquent language — I ceased to marvel that the 
 wandering gipsy should have known what love 
 was. To speak the truth, I longed to ask her 
 jaore, — if she were happy or untbrtunate in her 
 love — if she had been married, or expected to be 
 married to its object, — in a word, to put all those 
 questions which the curiosity and interest ^vith 
 whiclx she had inspired me, naturally suggested. 
 But I dared not : she gave me no fui'ther encour- 
 agement to speak upon the point — and I feared 
 to intrude on the sanctuary of her thoughts. 
 
 'Olary," she suddenly exclaimed, as if shaking 
 off a tenderness of mood into which she had been 
 imcousciously betrayed, but which she was now 
 sorry she had exhibited; '"we must talk no longer 
 relative to myself ! Besides, time passes ; and 
 knowing the purity of yoiu" character, I am well 
 aware that you do not choose to remain until too 
 late an hour away from your place of residence. 
 One word more, therefore, will suiriee for the pur- 
 pose of our present interview. You feel that j-ou 
 have been marked out by heaven to bring a foul 
 assassin to condign punishment — and it is for mo 
 to succour you. Inform me of the place of your 
 abode, and in a few days you shall receive a note 
 givmg you an appointment with me. I may then 
 be able to tell you more." 
 
 I named the address of Mrs. Kichards' house in 
 Great Kussell Street, near at hand ; and the Gipsy 
 Queen volunteered to accompany me as far as the 
 door of that dwelling. Before I had oven time to 
 thank l\er fir this kindness, she rose from her scat, 
 plucked the hniidkenhii^f from her head, and open- 
 ing the large trunk which stood in the room, drew 
 forth a bonnet and shnwl, which she at once put on. 
 Sho likewise put on a pair of gloves ; and when 
 thus equipped in a style which gave her the ap- 
 pearance of a rospectablo tradesman's wife or 
 
 daughter, she conducted me forth from the house. 
 AU was silent, and aU appeared to be dark in the 
 rooms which we passed while descending the 
 stairs : I therefore concluded that she and her 
 mother alone tenanted that dwelling oh the occa- 
 sion of this visit of mine. To be brief, Barbauld 
 Azetha escorted me through the labyrinth of 
 streets and alleys in which I should have been 
 lost without her guidance ; and within a few mi- 
 nutes I found myself in Great BusscU Street. 
 
 Tlie Gipsy Queen waited at the door until Mrs. 
 Ilichards's servant opened it, and then she wished 
 me good niglit. I fully appreciated her considerate 
 motive in thus tarrying, so that it should not ap- 
 pear as if I liad wandered through the streets by 
 myself at that time of night. I ascended to my 
 own chamber, wondering more than ever at the 
 strange character of the Gipsy Queen, and infinitely 
 perplexed as to her means of obtaining informa* 
 tion on so many subjects of interest to myself. 
 
 CHATTER LXX. 
 
 nVDE PAEK. 
 
 A WEEK elapsed, during which interval I heard 
 nothing from Barbauld Azetha ; and though I was 
 a prey to the utmost suspense, and felt cruelly dis- 
 appointed every time a postman knocked at the 
 door and went away leaving not the expected letter 
 for me, yet I was assured that she had neither 
 meant to trifle with me, nor had forgetten her pro- 
 mise. At last the wished-for communication arrived. 
 I at once recognized the handwriting of the Gipsy 
 Queen, which I have said on a former occasion (when 
 she penned me the certificate that I subsequently 
 sent to Lady Harlesdon) was characterized by an 
 elegance and a fluency perfectly lady-hke. I hastily 
 tore it open, and found its contents to be as 
 foUow : — 
 
 " To-morrow evening at nine o'clock precisoly, I sball 
 call for you in a hackney-coach. As you will be perhaps 
 two hours away from your lodgings, and may wisli to 
 account for such absence at so late an hour, I shall come 
 in a dress which will give me the appearance of a fmall 
 tradesman's wife, and I shall send up the name of Mrs. 
 Simpson. You recollect that it served me to make an 
 inquiry concerning you at another place and on a former 
 occasion. 
 
 " Your's affectionatolv and faithfullr, 
 
 " BARBAULD AZETHA." 
 
 That I completely bewildered myself in conjec- 
 tures as to what course the Gipsy Queen intended 
 to pursue, the reader ma^" easily imagine : but that 
 all my suppositions were thrown away, may be like- 
 wise conceived. Jfor need I dwell farther upon my 
 thoughts and reflections during the interval which 
 elapsed until the appointed hour came. I was 
 ready dressed at nine o'clock on the evening follow- 
 ing the day on which I had received the letter ; and 
 punctuallj' at that hour did a hackney-coach drive 
 up to the house. Then the servant ascended to 
 inform me that " Mrs. Simpson had come to fetch 
 me to sup with her :" and I lost no time in tripping 
 down stairs. The Gipsy Queen, dress.nl as she told 
 me she should be, was seated inside the hackney- 
 coach, and welcomed me in a manner suitable to tha 
 part she was playing so long as the servant-girl
 
 MABY PKICE; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 341 
 
 remained on the thi'eshold. The hackney-coachman 
 closed the door of the vehicle, mounted his hox, and 
 drove off. He liad already received his instructions, 
 and therefore know in which direction to proceed. 
 
 " Wliat are you going to do ? and whither are we 
 repairing P" I asked of the Gipsy Queen, as I sat 
 by hor side in the vehicle. 
 
 " Put no questions to me — but wait the issue of 
 events," she answered. "Depend upon it that I 
 shall not lead you, dear Mary, into any embarrass- 
 ment or error." 
 
 We then continued to converse for a few minutes 
 on indifferent subjects : but I soon ceased speaking, 
 and fell into a train of conjectures as to the pro- 
 bable end and aim of the Gipsy Queen's proceeding. 
 I did not notice in which direction the hackney 
 
 the recollection flashed to my mind how conspicuous 
 a part her ladyship had played on the committee of 
 management in respect to the private theatricals, I 
 began to have some glimmering idea that she per- 
 haps might know more of Lord Harlcsdon's trea- 
 cherous tiu'pltude than I had previously imagined. 
 
 "Shall we sit do\\Ti ? or shall wc walk while we 
 converse?" asked the Gipsy Queen. "It is for 
 your ladyship to decide. But perhaps it would be 
 better to sit down, as our discourse is nut only to 
 turn on a very serious topic, but may likewise last 
 some time." 
 
 Lady Davenport threw a hurried glance around 
 her, with the nervous trepidation of one who has 
 not altogether a clear conscience, and who knows 
 not exactly what is about to take place, yet appre- 
 
 coach went: but in a very short time it drew up by j hends some mischief: then as if making up her 
 the side of some high railings, which I speedily re- mind with a sudden effort, and being anxious to 
 
 cognized as those of Hyde Park. 
 
 "Here wc must alight," said the Gipsy Queen: 
 and we descended accordingly. She dismissed the 
 vehicle, and then conducted me into the Park. She 
 looked out for a particular seat in the neighbourhood 
 of Grosvenor Gate, and stopping there, said, " "We 
 must remain until the person whom I am expecting 
 joins us." 
 
 " And whom are you expecting ?" I asked, with 
 no small degree of curiosity. 
 
 " Hush ! you will see in a moment. She is already 
 approaching." 
 
 She ? Then it was some female for whom we 
 were waiting; and looking in the direction to which 
 the Gipsy Queen's eyes were turned, I beheld the 
 form of a woman advancing towards us. As she 
 drew near I observed that she was handsomely 
 dressed, though evidently with a view to disguise ; 
 for she wore a veil closely folded over her counte- 
 nance. By the stoutness of her figure and by her 
 walk, I conjectured she must be of a matronly age; 
 and that she was of no mean rank I likewse sup- 
 posed — for in spite of certain evidences of hesita- 
 tion and even alarm as she approached, it was not 
 diflicult to recognize the gait, mien, and an* of a 
 well-bred person. 
 
 "Lady Davenport ?" said the Gipsy Queen, rising 
 from the bench and advancing a step or two to 
 meet her. 
 
 "Yes — it is I," responded her ladyship. "But 
 what do you want with me ? wherefore that letter 
 80 threatening — so ominous ?" 
 
 " Did it not assure you that no harm was in- 
 tended to yourself, provided you came to the ap- 
 pointment which it gave ?" asked the (iipsy Queen. 
 " Yes— true !" responded Lady Davenport, but 
 still in a nervous and almost hysterical manner. 
 " Tell me, however, what you want with mc ? Who 
 arc you ? and who is this with you ? What, JMary 
 Price !" she exclaimed, as the starlight now re- 
 vealed my countenance to her. " Good heavens ! 
 what is the meaning of all this mystery ? Can it 
 
 be that " 
 
 And she stopped suddenly short. I myself was 
 totally unable to explain the matter : I was as much 
 a prey to astonishment as her ladyshij), though of 
 course I shared none of her alarm. At tlie first 
 glimpse of the present proceeding, 1 could not for 
 the life of me conjecture how it was that the Gipsy 
 Queen hoped to make Lady Davenport the means of 
 bringing his guilt home to Lord Harlcsdon : yet as 
 
 seek prompt relief from a most unpleasant state of 
 suspense, she sat down upon the bench. 
 
 " 3Iary Price," she said, " tell me what all this 
 means. Who is this it that you have with you ? 
 You surely cannot mean me any harm h" 
 
 "Permit me to speak," observed the Gipsy 
 Queen, resuming her place upon the bench in 
 such a \Aay that Lady Davenport was between us. 
 "As yet Mary Price knows nothing of what I am 
 about to say or do. It was I who wrote that letter 
 to your ladyship enjoining you to meet me here 
 this night, and to come alone, if you would wish 
 to avoid exposure in a certain matter nearly con- 
 cerning yoiu' honour and reputation." 
 
 ".Ind that certain matter," said her ladyship 
 quickly, — " to what do you refer ?" 
 
 " I am sorry to find," answered the Gipsy Queen, 
 "that your conscience has more than one thing 
 weighing upon it and making it afraid. However, 
 that is no business of mine. It is relative to Lord 
 Harlesdon that I have bid you meet mc here." 
 
 " I thought so," resumed Lady Davenport, wi( h 
 the air of one who receives the confirmation of a 
 most unpleasant suspicion. " Yes — I thought so 
 the instant I beheld Mary Price. But good 
 heavens ! you cannot for an instant suppose 
 
 that Xo, no — you cannot 1" and she again 
 
 stopped short suddcnlj-. 
 
 " Lady Davenport," said the Gipsy Queen, " you 
 had better thi-ow off ^11 excitement and listen to 
 mc. The evening before last — at this very horn-— 
 and in another part of this very Park — you met 
 Lord Harlesdon. He was followed at a distance 
 by some one having good reasons to watch him. 
 That person was myself. When you sat down to 
 converse together, I stole near enough to gather all 
 that passed between you." 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried Lady Davenport, in min- 
 gled anger and alarm. " But this was abominable ! 
 And yet I must not upbraid you — I must not give 
 way to my feelings: for I see that I am com- 
 pletely in your power. Go on, go on," she added 
 nervously: "what do you wish with mc? Speak 
 — speak at once." 
 
 " Lady Davenport," resumed Barbaukl Azetha, in 
 her wonted style of measured gravity and imprcs- 
 sivcness, " the intimacy which, li-om ynur conver- 
 sation of the night before last, has subsisted be- 
 tween Lord JJarJcsdon and yourself for many ye:u-s, 
 is no concern of luine ; and assuredly it is not 
 merely for the purpose of taunting you with it that
 
 342 
 
 MAEV price; or, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 we have met here on the present occasion. But 
 during that conversation between yourself and his 
 lordship, allusions were made to a subject involving 
 a deep and fearful interest." 
 
 " But you heard nothing which can lead you to 
 suppose," interrupted Lady Davenport, still in 
 great excitement, " that I knew what was to take 
 place ? And surely, surely you cannot think that 
 Lord Harlesdon himself intentionally did it i" 
 
 " I perceive you know full well to what I am al- 
 luding," said the Gipsy Queen; then in a still more 
 solemn strain she went on to observe, "By the 
 conversation which I overheard between youi-self 
 and Lord Harlesdon the night before last, amongst 
 the trees on yonder side of the Park, you yourself 
 have been tortured by the deepest and direst mis- 
 givings in respect to Lord Harlesdon and that fear- 
 ful tragedy. Yes, lady — I acquit you altogether of 
 any criminal knowledge of what was to be the 
 crowning catastrophe of those private theatricals: 
 but during the preliminary arrangements you suf- 
 fered yourself to be made an instrument and an ac- 
 complice in working out a part of his lordship's cun- 
 ning scheme of deep-laid villany. Listen — and do 
 not interrupt me : for there are things which it is 
 needful I should recapitulate. You met Lord Harles- 
 don, as I have already stated — met him according to 
 a pressing letter which you had written to him. 
 Such did I glean from your discourse. He asked 
 you the meaning and the object of so much mystery 
 — 80 much secrecy. You told him that you could 
 no longer endm-e the torture of those feelings which 
 wore tearing your heart and destroying your peace 
 — that you had resolved upon having explanations 
 with him — but that as he was now a widower, you 
 could not visit him at his own house, and that as he 
 was in mourning it would not be seemly for him to 
 call upon you or any other acquaintances for the 
 present — and moreover as the topic on which you 
 had to speak was one of such fearful import, for all 
 these reasons you had proposed a meeting in a spot 
 and at an hour when there was no chance of being 
 seen or overheard. He was much troubled at all 
 you said to him : but yott, were still more troubled. 
 Lady Davenport, as you reminded him of certain 
 past incidents. And these incidents I must now 
 recapitulate. You first of all bade him remember 
 how he had made use of you to bring about certain 
 arrangements in respect to the theatricals — how on 
 the first day the idea was broached in Lady Hai-les- 
 don's presence, he had bade you bci'orchand call at 
 Harlesdon House at a particular hour, when he 
 would be in the way — and how he himself under- 
 took that you should obtain access to his wife's 
 o^vu private sitting-apartment, she at the lime hav- 
 ing refused to receive visitors. You next reminded 
 him, Lady Davenport, how he had prompted you to 
 insist that both himself and Lady Harlesdon should 
 take pai-t in the performances : and you bade him 
 recollect thai you had done so. You then went on 
 to recapitulate how, as a member of the committee 
 of management, you had followed Lord Hai'lesdou's 
 directions by advancing all the arguments you could 
 think of in favour of Othello, and against every 
 other drama which might be selected. You likewise 
 reminded kim that it was through his secret prompt- 
 ings you had taken such active though private mea- 
 Buree to influence the oilier ladies and gentlemen of 
 the committee to assign the choiacter of Othello to 
 
 himself, and that of Desdemona to his wife. And 
 lastly, you bade him recall to mind how it was 
 through his private suggestion to yourself that you 
 recommended an invitation to be sent to Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering, as his lordship had particular reasons 
 (which you. Lady Davenport, knew full well) for 
 wishing that gentleman to be present at the per- 
 formance. All these circumstances, one after an- 
 other, did you the night before last, in my hearing, 
 recall to Lord Harlesdon's recollection — as if it wer« 
 needful for such recalling ! — and then you expressed 
 your dire apprehension that he had all along medi- 
 tated his wife's death, and that every step which was 
 taken had been so devised as to lead insensibly but 
 surely on to that result. To do you justice, Lady 
 Davenport," continued the Gipsy Queen, '-you ex- 
 pressed the most fervid hope that your terrors were 
 imfounded ; and you besought from Lord Harles- 
 don's lips the assurance that they were so. You 
 told him that though heaven knew how innocent 
 you were of conspiring to the accomplishment of his 
 wife's death, yet that considering the part you had 
 enacted in combining the circumstances which led 
 to that unfortunate result, her death lay heavy upon 
 your conscience. Nay, more — you likewise assured 
 his lordship that you felt you had not told all you 
 might have told before the coroner — for that you 
 had suppressed all the incidents of which you had 
 been reminding his lordship, and which I have just 
 recapitulated. You therefore besought him to swear 
 to you, by the great God above j'our heads, that 
 he was innocent of a premeditated murder I Is not 
 all this true, Lady Davenport?" demanded the 
 Gipsy Queen: "and have I not given a faithful 
 summary of that discourse which I overheard be- 
 tween Lord Harlesdon and yourself?" 
 
 "It is so — it is so," responded Lady Davenport, 
 evidently much perplexed and cruelly bewildered. 
 " But if you overheard all that you have rec.ipitu- 
 lated, you likewise heard that Lord Harlesdon did 
 swear!" 
 
 " Yes," resumed the Gipsy Queen : " it is true 
 that he took the oath which you demanded. But 
 Were you satisfied by that oath ? Did it not occur 
 to your ladyship that the man who would commit 
 miu-der, was but little likely to hesitate at peijury ? 
 And did you not notice that there was a subdued 
 toue in his accents — a tremulous quickness in his 
 voice at the time he took that fearful oath — as if he 
 fell the stupendous tm-pitude of the crhue he was 
 committing, and shuddered inwardly lest the ven- 
 geance of an outraged heaven should fall upon his 
 head and strike him down a corpse then and there !" 
 " There is something in your words which terrifies 
 me," said Lady Davenport, clutchiug with hysteri- 
 cal nervousness at the Gipsy Queen's arm : then, 
 abruptly turning round to me, she exclaimed, 
 " Mary Price, to what is all this to lead ? Good 
 heavens ! if a dork deed has been done, you see that 
 1 was innocent of it. It is true — yes, 1 will not 
 deny it — that when I lent myself, at Lord Harles- 
 don's private suggestion, to the task of inllueuciag 
 those little arrangements on the part of the com- 
 mittee, 1 knew that his lordship purposed to avenge 
 himself upon his wife for her iuUdelity : but heaven 
 knows how fai-, how very far 1 was from foreseeing 
 the fiightl'ul result ! Methought that it was a ven- 
 geance to be conllued to words, and to be wieivked 
 through the incdiuiu of the terrible language »hich
 
 MARY price; or, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 343 
 
 flic part lie had to perform would put into Lord Har- 
 Icsdon's mouth. • And, oh I with sorrow and shame 
 do I confess it now, that disliking Lady Harlesdon in 
 the secrecy of my soid, I revelled in her mortifica- 
 tion. But as for murder Oh, the dreadful word ! 
 
 God knows I was not a willing accomplice in 
 
 that I Besides, we must not believe that Lord Har- 
 lesdon himsel£ " 
 
 " Lady Davenport," interrupted the Gipsy Queen, 
 solemnly and even sternly, " do not endeavour to 
 blind yourself to your own convictions. There is no 
 sophistry nor wilfulness that can effectually enable 
 you to do that. You know — you feel — that at the 
 bottom of your soul there rests the dread certainty 
 that Lord Harlesdon has committed a wilful and 
 dehberate murder !" 
 
 Lady Davenport gasped as if about to reply ; but 
 the words she would have uttered died upon her 
 lips ; and she sat confounded— overwhelmed with an 
 awful consternation. 
 
 " Yes," continued the Gipsy Queen, " from the 
 way in which you spoke the night before last — all 
 the flippancies and frivolities of fashionable conver- 
 sation being laid aside, and your language and man- 
 ner at one moment being earnest and another im- 
 passioned — it was but too evident to me that in the 
 depths of yoiu* heart dwelt the conviction of Lord 
 Harlesdon' s guilt. But wherefore, then, did you 
 seek that interview with him ? and why did you 
 bid him swear to his innocence P I wUl tell you. 
 It was in the hope that the result would be a salve 
 to your own conscience, and a means of soothing the 
 tortured feeling which, with nature's own eloquence, 
 you so truthfully depicted. Now, Lady Davenport, 
 can you deny that in your soul you entertain the 
 assurance of Lord Harlesdon's deepest, blackest 
 giult ?" 
 
 " Heavens ! if I answer you, what will be the re- 
 sult?" said the unhappy Lady Davenport, now 
 weeping bitterly and wringing her hands. 
 
 " And if you do not answer, the result will be 
 precisely the same," rejoined the Gipsy Queen. 
 '•For can you not conjecture the purpose of this 
 present interview ? It was merely that you might 
 admit in the presence of a witness the truth of all 
 those details which I overheard the night before 
 last and which I have recapitulated now. And that 
 witness is there — by your side — Mary Price !" 
 
 "But, good God!" exclaimed Lady Davenport, 
 " if you carry this matter any farther, you will ex- 
 pose me — you will ruin me ! Reflect — Oh, reflect, 
 I beseech you ! I have a husband who will spurn 
 me from his presence — I have two grown-up 
 daughters on whoso heads my dishonour would re- 
 dound Expose me not, I beseech you I for the 
 
 love of heaven expose mo not :" — and the unhappy 
 woman clasped her hands in the agony of her 
 feelings. 
 
 The Gipsy Queen spoke not a word ; but whether 
 her silence was to be taken as a proof that she was 
 . inexorable so far iis she felt herself interested or 
 concerned— or on the other hand, that she left the 
 matter entirely to my judgment and discretion, I 
 know not. For myself, I was profoundly moved. 
 I felt for this unhappy woman whoso frailty ]iad 
 thus involved her in such a terrible embarrassment: 
 I felt also for her husband and her daughters — 
 though the former was a proud overbearing 
 man (I had frequently seen him at Harlesdon 
 
 House) and the latter were frivolous, hollow-hearted 
 young women. Yet I pitied them all, I say— even 
 including this wretched Lady Davenport herself, 
 though she had evinced no pity towards my poor 
 mistress, but, to use her own worde, had revelled in 
 her mortification at the taunts and upbraidings of 
 Lord Harlesdon as Othello. But with all this pity, 
 what was I to do ? how was I to act ? the bewilder- 
 ment was cruel — the perplexity was torturing. 
 There were now the means of bringing Lord Har- 
 lesdon to justice and proving his cold-blooded pre- 
 meditation of the murder of his wife ; and it 
 were impossible, if all the details previously re- 
 capitulated were brought forward against him, that 
 he could escape condemnation. But in punishing 
 him for his guilt, the cruninal intimacy which, as 
 it appeared, had so long subsisted between himself 
 and Lady Davenport would be fully exposed, and 
 such exposure was sought not by me. On the other 
 hand, to save her ladyship from this exposure, and 
 to avoid plunging an entire family into distress and 
 disgrace, it would be necessary to leave Lord Har- 
 lesdon in his impunity — to allow the murderer to 
 remain at large and impunishod. 
 
 Such was the flight of thoughts that swept rapidly 
 through my mind, as Lady Davenport turned in an 
 appealing manner towards me; while the Gipsy 
 Queen remained locked up in so dubious a silence. 
 
 " Mary, Mary, I entreat— I conjure you," cried 
 the wretched woman, "to spare me this frightful 
 exposure. I know that I have done wrong in actintT 
 at the time against your deceased mistress; but 
 heaven can testify that it was without dreaming of 
 the dread result. Mary, I beseech you to spare me 
 
 Oh, spare me — spare me — and I will pray for 
 
 you as long as I live — I will do anything I can to 
 servo you— gold shall be lavished upon you " 
 
 " Lady Davenport," I interrupted her with indig- 
 nation, " if you address me in these terms you will 
 destroy whatever amount of sympathy I may at 
 present experience towards you." 
 
 " Oh! then you do feel sympathy in my behaK?" 
 exclaimed Lady Davenport, seizing one of my hands 
 and holding it in both her own ; " and you will not 
 ruin me beyond redemption ? I know you possess 
 a good heart, Mary — I know that you loved your 
 mistress, and that it is natural you should seek to 
 punish him who caused her death — if he really did 
 it deliberately and with premeditation. But it will 
 be a poor consolation to you to reflect that in striking 
 this blow against him, you prostrated me at the same 
 time — broke my husband's heart — and brought 
 down disgrace upon my children. Mary, Mary, do 
 not this amount of mischief, I beseech you !" 
 
 While Lady Davenport was thus speaking, a 
 thought which in an indirect manner was favour- 
 able to her own cause — that cause which she was 
 pleading so energetically and so imploringly — arose 
 in my mind ; and I wondered, as it rapidly de- 
 veloped itself, that it had not occurred to me be- 
 fore. If this matter were fully prosecuted — if Lord 
 Harlesdon were brought to justice — if justice did its 
 duty — and if the law were allowed to take its course, 
 the wretched man would bo consigned io the scaf- 
 fold. The scaflbld— Oh ! how could I become in- 
 strumental in dooming a fellow-creature to death? 
 for I abhorred the barbarian and brutal displnv of 
 the gibbet — I entertained the firm conviction that 
 the punishment of death was unchristian in ittelf.
 
 344 
 
 MARY PRIOE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEBVAXT-MAID. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXXI. 
 
 HAEIESDON HOUSE. 
 
 useless as an example, and demoralizing in its , ished ! It is true she was faithless to him : but 
 effects upon society,— a horror and an atrocity re- : was not he the whUe carrying on his own intrigue 
 volting to every well-constituted mind. Thus, even likewise? Yes— with you, Lady Davenport— with 
 before°Lady Davenport had (inishod that last speech, ' you, one of his wife's enemies 1 Ah ! and in his cold- 
 I had made up my raind not to push this aflair to | blooded cruelty he had me invited to his mansion 
 the utmost extremity. The Gipsy Queen still ro- ' that I might behold him murder liis wife ! What > 
 mained profoundly silent ; and I consequently felt such diabolic conduct as this to go unpunished '. 
 that the destiny of Lord Ilarlesdon and the honour j No, by heaven ! if ever the gibbet be again raised 
 of Lady Davenport remained entirely in my own in England, it shall be built up for him !" 
 jjgjjjg And having given atterance with frightful energy 
 
 " Humble an individual as I am," said I, now j and whirlwind rapidity to this volley of words— his 
 breaking silence, " much depends upon the course I j countenance ghastly and distorted the while— Sir 
 may think fit to adopt in this terrible combination j Aubrey Clavering rushed away, and m a moment 
 of circumstances. Lady Davenport, I do not wish , was lost in the obscurity of the evening, 
 to expose you to the world : but this feeling which , " This must not be !" I shrieked forth : and not 
 I entertain is rather on behalf of your fataily than i knowing what I did, I flew in pursuit. But 
 yourself— for your own conduct towards my dear | scarcely had I sped a dozen yards when my foot 
 deceased mistress was detestable in the extreme, j tripped against a stone— I fell forward as. if 
 No, not exactly in the extreme— for I acquit you j stricken by lightning — and with the rapidity of 
 of any ^\-illiug and intentional complicity in the | that same lightning's disappearance from the sky 
 stupendous cHuio that sent her prematurely to the , on a night of storm, did consciousaess abandon 
 
 grave. As for Lord Ilarlf'sdon himself, I have no I me. 
 
 pity for him — no, not the least ! Indeed I feel that 
 
 I could bo remorseless and merciless towards him. 
 
 But there is this one grand consideration that 
 
 sways me — namely, I cannot become instrumental 
 
 in sending a fellow-creature to the scaffold. But 
 
 on one condition alone will I keep silence, and 
 
 induce my companion here to keep silence also." 
 "And that condition?" cried Lady Davenport 
 
 c.igerly — her accents trembling too with an ill- 
 concealed joy; lor she doubtless saw that she was 
 
 safe from the exposure which had seemed to threaten 
 
 her a few minutes back. 
 
 '• Lord Harlesdou," was my response, " cannot 
 
 be allowed to go altogether unpunished. Though 
 
 not holding the opinion that society has a right to 
 
 demand his life, j'ct I do hold the opinion that 
 
 society would be wronged were he allowed to escape 
 
 altogether with impunity. Therefore let his punish- 
 ment be an eternal exile from his country. In the 
 
 ordinary course of nature he cannot have many 
 
 years to Uve : let those years, whatever their num- 
 ber, be passed in expatriation. Lady Davenport, 
 
 you can make known this sentence to him — a sen- 
 tence which I do not pronounce with the arrogance 
 
 or vanity of a self-constituted judge, but which 
 
 heaven ordains through the medium of my lips — • 
 
 that heaven which has shown its resolve that the 
 
 gudt of this wicked man should be fully brought 
 
 home to him !" 
 
 "Hark — a footstep!" suddenly whispered the 
 
 Gipsy Queen, whose quick ear had caught the 
 
 sound ere it struck either mine or Lady Daven- 
 port's. "Yes — footsteps! and close behind us, 
 
 too !" 
 
 " Aye — and of one who has listened to all that 
 
 has passed !" exclaimed a voice which I instantane- 
 ously recognized: and as we all three started up 
 
 from the bench, he who had thus spoken appeoreil 
 
 before us. 
 It was Sir Aubrey Clavering. 
 " You say, IMary Price, that Lord Harlesdon shall 
 be saved?" he continued, in a quick and almost 
 
 furious tone— for he was dreadfidly excited. " But 
 no— by heaven, ^le shall die ! If there be law and 
 
 justice in the land, they shall reach him. What? 
 this long anil bitter i)erseeutiou of a young and 
 lovely creature— no, no, it shall not 'go uupun- 
 
 Whex I regained my senses, I found myself sup- 
 ported in the arms of Barbauld Azetha, who was 
 kneeling by my side on the grass where I had 
 fallen. I felt a dreadful pain in the head — the 
 result of the concussion which had stunned me : 
 but beyond this I had sustained no injury. 
 
 Eising to my feet, I glanced around. Lady 
 Davenport lay close to the bench; and it imme- 
 diately struck me that she must have swooned 
 through terror at Sir Aubrey Clavering's fearful 
 threat — a threat which, if carried out, would pro- 
 duce the exposure she so much dreaded. 
 
 " You have left her to herself — and she has 
 fainted !" I said to the Gipsy Queen, almost in a 
 tone of reproach : for in the be\vilderment of the 
 moment 1 regarded it as an unkind act on her 
 part. 
 
 " I could not attend to both," she replied hastily 
 and in an agitated manner : '"and I preferred at- 
 tendmg to you." 
 
 " Ah ! my generous friend, and I upbraided 
 you !" said I, snatching her hand and pressing it 
 warmly. " But let us hasten and attend to her 
 ladyship." 
 
 No sooner said than done — and in a few moments 
 Lady Davenport, whom we lifted from the ground 
 and supported between us, began to revive. 
 
 '• How came Sir Aubrey Clavering here f " said I, 
 now^ struck by the singularity of the circumstance 
 as my ideas disentangled themselves from the con- 
 fusion into which they had been thrown. 
 
 The Gipsy Queen made no answer : but I saw by 
 the star-light that she looked agitated and even 
 frightened — a circumstance that struck me as being 
 significant enough in one naturally so cool and self- 
 possessed as Barbauld jVzetha. 
 
 " Is it possible," 1 exclaimed, " that you " 
 
 " Give not vent to any uijurious suspicion," said 
 the Gipsy Queen, instantaneously recovering her 
 wonted composure, and addressing me with that 
 species of majestic imperiousness which on occasions 
 she was accustomed to adopt.
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 345 
 
 " Pardon me if I Lad wronged you in thought," 
 was my quick rejoinder. 
 
 She flung upon mo a glance to imply that I was 
 forgiven — but she said nothing ; and notwithstand- 
 hcr words and looks, which were equivalent to a 
 denial to my half-expressed accusation, I still felt a 
 doubt and misgiving in my mind. 
 
 " O heavens ! is it a dream ?" now exclaimed 
 Lady Davenport, the tide of whose recollections had 
 rushed baok to her brain. " No, no — it is a hor- 
 rible reality ! Hasten, I implore you — prevent an 
 exposure Mary Price, you are pledged to a par- 
 ticular course Oh, my husband! ray children! 
 
 haste — fly, I beseech — I implore you ! Go, dear 
 
 Mary— go, my good girl, I conjure you— I will wait 
 here till your return." 
 
 " I will g<j," said the Gipsy Queen : and she was 
 
 already hurrying away when that same misgiving 
 
 which had lingered iu my mind, fired up all iu a 
 
 moment into a perfect blaze of euspicion, and I 
 
 • No. 44 
 
 cried out, "I will accompany you then!" To Lady 
 Davenport I hurriedly said, " Stay here till my 
 return. At all events you shall know the worst :" 
 — and the next instant I was by the side of Bar- 
 baidd Azetha. 
 
 She said not a word — and wo sped onward to- 
 gether. Grosvenor Square was close at hand; and 
 a very few minutes brought us to Lord Harlesdon's 
 mansion. The front-duor stood wide open ; and by 
 the brilliant light of the gas-lamps which burnt 
 over tlie portico, as well as by the flood of luctro 
 pouring forth from the hall, I at once perceived the 
 well-known figure of Sir Aubrey Clavering. Tho 
 hall-porter was likewise upon tho threshold : but no 
 words appeared to be passing between them at the 
 moment — the ail- and attitude of tho Baronet indi- 
 catuig that he was pondering in uncertainty what 
 course to pursue. That hLs excitement liad abated, 
 or was at least masked and concealed for tlie moment, 
 instantaneously struck me ; and I was glad of it—
 
 346 
 
 MABT PBIOE; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 for it seemed to promwo that matters might yet end 
 without an explosion. 
 
 " And you say that his lordship is not at home ?" 
 observed Sir Aubrey, suddenly raising his head from 
 its downward look of contomplati-cness : and these 
 words caught my ear at the very instant that I and 
 the Gipsy Queen reached the steps leading up to 
 the mansion. 
 
 " I have already had the honour of telling you 
 three times, su-, that his lordship went out an hour 
 ago, without saying where he was going :" — and the 
 hall-porter gazed with mingled curiosity and sur- 
 prise upon Sir Aubrey Clavering. whose look and 
 manner, as well as the circumstance of repeating 
 his inquiiy after Lord Harlesdon so often, had 
 naturally struck the old man as singular, if not 
 ominous. 
 
 "Then I will walk in and wait his lordship's 
 return," said the Baronet, as if suddenly making 
 up his mind how to act : and he was entering the 
 hall, when happening to look around him — perhaps 
 to ascertain whether ho had been piu-sucd from the 
 park — he caught sight of me and my companion. 
 "Ah!" he ejaculated; and hastily rimning down 
 the steps, he demanded, addressing himself to me, 
 " What do you want ? why Mnll you interfere far- 
 ther in this business ? It rests with me noiv 
 
 %vithme alone!" 
 
 I perceived that his excitement was rising again ; 
 and I at once said, " Sir Aubrey Clavering, it is ab- 
 solutely necessary that you should listen to rea- 
 son " 
 
 "Ah, reason?" he echoed scornfully. "' Can you 
 teach it me? Well, perhaps I had better hear 
 what you have to say:" — and then turning sharply 
 round upon the Gipsy Queen, he said, " Barbauld, 
 go — leave us." 
 
 I was struck witli astonishment at the manner in 
 which Sir Aubrey Clavering thus addressed her — a 
 mannner of mingled familiarity and command ; and 
 notwithstanding the excited state of my feelings on 
 account of other matters, I was curious to observe 
 how she took it. I behold the colour mantle upon 
 her cliecks and her eyes for au instant flash Hre. 
 Instinctively my glance travelled back to Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering ; and I caught him making an imperious 
 sign for her to obey him. Again I looked at her — 
 and now she seemed to hesitate : but all in an in- 
 stant, as if feeling that the scene must be put an 
 end to, she said in a strange deep voice, and also 
 with a look the full meaning of which I could not 
 comprehend, "One word. Sir Aubrey Clavering — 
 one word aside — and I will depart." 
 
 The Baronet, with an evident gesture of impa- 
 tience, hurried to the distance of hall'-a-dozcn yards, 
 Barbauld Azetha by his side. They paused and con- 
 versed together in low whispers for about a minute, 
 at the expiration of which Sir Aubrey came back to 
 me, and the Gipsy Queen, waving her hand in token 
 of adieu, hurried rapidly away. She did not take 
 the direction of the Park ; and so I at once con- 
 cluded that she did not intend to trouble herself 
 any more about Lady Davenport or the business 
 that was in progress. 
 
 " Now," said Sir Aubrey Clavering to me, " I 
 am at your service. But I do not intend to move 
 away from this house until " 
 
 " Hush !" I suid, not choosing the hall-porter to 
 hear what was menacing his master. "There 13 
 
 no necessity, sir, for you to leave this place unless 
 you choose. I am not denied entrance thither ; and 
 with your permission vriU accompany you to some 
 room where we may converse." 
 
 " Be it so," rejoined Sir Aubrey : and springing 
 up the steps, he said to the hall-porter, " I mean to 
 wait for his lordship's return." 
 
 "And I also," I immethately interjected. "But 
 I have a few words to say to Sir Aubrey Clavering 
 in private. Allow me to accompany bitn into the 
 parlour." 
 
 The hall-porter stared at me with all his eyes : 
 but I gave him a look which was as much as to 
 imply that some matter of deep importance was 
 involved in the present proceeding — and the good 
 old man knew me too well and also had too high 
 an opinion of me to suppose for an instant that it 
 was through any friendly feeling towards the Ba- 
 ronet I wished to speak in private with him. 
 
 To be brief, in a few moments I found myself 
 alone with Sir Aubrey Clavering in a parlour open- 
 ing out of the hall. Yes — I was alone with that 
 man whom of all others, under different circum- 
 stances, I should have most dreaded to be alone 
 with — a man at whose hands I had endured per- 
 secution and suffered injury — a man who had tried 
 to blast my reputation as well as lure me from the 
 path of virtue — a mau, in fine, whose character and 
 conduct were in every way calculated to inspire me 
 with aversion, mistrust, and terror. But all these 
 things were scarcely remembered at the present 
 moment. I felt not afraid of him — and my thoughts 
 were far too otherwise occupied even to allow me 
 leisure to reflect that I disliked him. Assuredly I 
 experienced no feeling in his fa,vour : but such was 
 the agitation of my mind — such the hurry of my 
 brain — that I only beheld him at the instant as an 
 individual bent upon doing something from which 
 I had strong reason to dissuade him. 
 
 "Now, Mary," he said — but not flippantly nor 
 insolently — no, he also had appeared to have lost 
 sight of the past so far as it concerned our two 
 selves alone — " what have you to say to me ? You 
 have heard my intentions — you know that I am a 
 man to carry them out. I tell you, Mary, that if 
 Lord Harlesdon had a thousand lives and I had the 
 power to take them all, I would not leave him one- 
 no, not one ! " 
 
 " Sir Aubrey Clavering," I asked, with a mixtare 
 of solemnity and excitement — for at that moment 
 there was a deep earnestness in the midst of my 
 agitation, — "is it the deceased Lady Harlesdon 
 whose death you pm-pose to avenge r" 
 
 "Aye — and my own wrongs also!" ho replied 
 almost fiercely. "For J have wrongs to be thus 
 avenged; What ? the cold-blooded villain who ar- 
 ranged all that diabolic plot to gratify his insatiate 
 thirst for vengeance — shall ho not be made to feel 
 likewise what vengeance is ? Never, never shall I 
 forget the satanic looks of hatred — the fiend-like 
 glances of maligiaity, which he flung upon mo when 
 performing that terrible part that he enacted with 
 such fearful truth. ,\li ! the whole scheme was as 
 much devised for me as for the dead Clementina, 
 But wo will both bo avenged !" 
 
 Having spoken those last words between his set 
 teeth and with a concentrated rage. Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vering began to pace to and fro in the apartment 
 with agitated and imeveu steps. As the reader will
 
 MAKY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 347 
 
 remember, he was quite a young man ; and it was 
 truly painful to behold one of his youthful years 
 thus giving way to an infuriate wrath. The coun- 
 tenance which naturally had not a single wrinkle, 
 was now distorted into deep lines, as he walked to 
 and fro hke a lion chafing in his cage; and evidently 
 altogether forgetting my presence, he went on giving 
 utterance to tlireats terribly vindictive against Lord 
 Harlesdon. I did not interrupt him — I said not a 
 word — but kept apart and silent in a corner of the 
 room, waiting till this tornado of passion should 
 have passed over. But I began to think that I 
 might vainly await the return of a calm : for the 
 longer Sir Aubrey Clavcring gave way to his excited 
 thoughts, the greater was the empii-e which passion 
 seemed to obtain over his reason. All of a sudden 
 he noticed me; and stopping short, said, "Well, 
 Mary, why do you remain silent ? are you afraid of 
 me ? By heaven ! you never were more assured of 
 being left at peace by me than at this moment : for 
 I have no thought for anything save the business 
 which I have come hither to execute." 
 
 "And that business?" said I, not thinking it 
 worth while to notice the former portion of his re- 
 marks. 
 
 "That business?" he echoed. "You know it! 
 It is to give a murderer into custody — to arrest him 
 with my own hand — to summon his servants that 
 they themselves may turn policemen to drag him oiF 
 to a felon's gaol!" 
 
 "Will you — can you, listen patiently and tran- 
 quilly to a few words ?" said I, seeing that it was 
 useless to await a calmer moment, and also reflecting 
 that as time was passing Lord Harlesdon might re- 
 turn ere I had been able to dissuade Sir Aubrey 
 from his purpose. 
 
 " Well, speak then — and I will endeavour to lis- 
 ten. Proceed." 
 
 " You have said, Sir Aubrey Clavering," I re- 
 sumed, " that you seek to avenge the deceased lady 
 whom you loved — and also to avenge what you call 
 your o'rni wrongs. But reflect well on the part you 
 are about to perform. If Lord Harlesdon be given 
 into custody and a judicial inquu-y takes place, every 
 incident of the past will transpire ; and many things 
 not creditable to yom'solf will thus come to light." 
 
 "To what do you allude ?" demanded Sh" Aubi'cy. 
 "That I loved Lady Harlesdon — that I intrigued 
 
 with her Ah ! believe me, there is nothing in all 
 
 this discreditable to a man of the world !" 
 
 "But it may be held discreditable, Sii- Aubrey 
 Clavering," said I, " that at the time you were poor 
 and without prospects you counselled hcr*\vhom you 
 
 loved to marry this old nobleman Need I say 
 
 any more ?" 
 
 " No, no — not upon that pomt," Ciclaimcd Sir 
 Aubrey. "It is indeed something that one would 
 not like trumpetted forth to the public," he added 
 in a musing tone. 
 
 "And then too," said I, promptly following up 
 the advantage already gamed, " you would be bring- 
 ing down a legacy of dishonour — the reflection of a 
 mother's shame — upon those doai- children " 
 
 "True again. Mary!" ejaculated Sir Aubrey. 
 "There is force in your words :" — and now he bent 
 liis looks downward, and stood iu the middle of the 
 room reflecting profoundly. 
 
 " You see, Sir Aubrey Clavcring," I continued, 
 " that all things considered, it will be better to Icavo 
 
 his life to this wretched nobleman, and compel him 
 to abandon the country for ever. This will be an 
 adequate vengeance ; and by adoptuig such a course, 
 there will be no revival of past scandals — the me- 
 moi"y of her deceased ladyship wiU not be dragged 
 iu shame and dishonour before the world — the chil- 
 dren will not have to blush for their parents as they 
 grow up " 
 
 " Enough, Mary — it shall be as you say," sud- 
 denly exclaimed Su- Aubrey Clavering; "and at 
 least I shall have the satisfaction of overwhelming 
 Lord Harlesdon with terrible reproaches. Do you 
 choose to remain here and witness the result." 
 
 But ere I had time to reply to the question: — and 
 indeed before the question itself was linished— the 
 door opened and Lord Harlesdon entered the room. 
 This was the first time I had seen him since the 
 night of the terrific tragedy ; and I was struck with 
 the alteration that had taken place in him. Nearly 
 two months had elapsed since that memorable event ; 
 and during the interval he appeared older by as 
 many years. All the hale vigour of a strong old 
 age which had been wont to characterize him, ap- 
 peared to be gone : lie stooped considerably in his 
 gait — his frame was terribly emaciated — his coun- 
 tenance was thin and haggard, even to corpse-like 
 ghastliness — and the mourning garb which he wore 
 (Oh ! vrhat a hideous mockery was that mom-ning 
 dress in such a case !) seemed to hang upon him as 
 if on the fleshless frame-work of a skeleton. There 
 was a scowUng sternness m his features as he en- 
 tered the room ; but ia the quick glances which he 
 threw first upon the Baronet and then upon my- 
 self, methought there was also the glitter of un- 
 easiness. 
 
 " Sir Aubrey Clavering and Mary Price coming 
 hither together," he began to observe, " is assuredly 
 a circimistauco I should little have expected. But 
 perhaps," he continued with increasing irony, and 
 also, I felt convince:!, with increasing uneasiness, 
 " you have made up past difi'ercnces ?" 
 
 "Silence, my lord!" interrupted Sir Aubrey Cla- 
 vcring : "this miserable attempt at banter on your 
 part will not serve your purpose." 
 
 " And by what right," demanded the nobleman, 
 now drawing himself up and assuming his natural 
 hauteiur, "do you intrude yourself within thcso 
 walls ? I shall not use the same language towards 
 this j'ouug woman on account of her sex, and also 
 because she has been in my service." 
 
 " ily lord, your grand airs will not overawe me," 
 
 said the baronet. " Things have transpired to place 
 
 you in a position soinewliat dificrent from that se- 
 
 I curily into which you had previously hdled your- 
 
 ' self." 
 
 Paler gi-cw the pallor, whiter the whiteness, ghast- 
 lier the ghastUuess jf Lord Harlesdon's counte- 
 nance, as Sir Aubrey Clavering thus spoke. I 
 longed to flee from the room: for the sceao was 
 indcscribubly painful, not merely in its own details, 
 but likewise ou account of the remembrance it so 
 vividly conjured up. But 1 could not accomphsh 
 my wish ; my physical powers would not obey my 
 mental volition : there was a spell upon my limbs 
 — they were rivcttcd to the spot ; and there 1 stood, 
 g.oy.ing upon the two, confronted us they were to- 
 gether, the mur<Jgrer and the avenger! 
 
 " Yes, my lord," contuuicd Sir Aubrey Clavcring, 
 " things have transpired which alter your position
 
 348 
 
 MAR7 price; or, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEUVAST-.V AID. 
 
 materially. I need say no more than this — that 
 every syllable which passed between yourself and 
 Lady Davenport the night before last in Hyde Park, 
 was overheard." 
 
 "Ah!" gasped Lord HarJesdon— and for a mo- 
 ment he staggered ba<'k; but almost immediately 
 recovering himself, be said with an attempt at self- 
 sufficient defiance, " And what if vile eaves-droppers 
 and base listeners, in doing their dirty work, did 
 overhear the discourse which passed between me 
 and that lady — what does it all prove ?" 
 
 •■■ That from the very beginning you premeditated 
 the murder of your wife," answered Sir Aubrey 
 Clavermg. 
 
 Lord Harlesdon was evidently struck by the truth 
 of this ol>servation, — yes, struck as though it were 
 with the sharp blow of a hammer ; and again did 
 that horrible paleness seize upon him, and again 
 did he stagger back as if about to fall down and 
 expire. 
 
 " And you, base villain," he suddenly exclaimed, 
 fury in his looks and rage in his tones, '•' dare con- 
 stitute yourself the accuser! Suppose that but 
 
 I deny it suppose, however, it be true that my 
 
 wife's death was premeditated by me, — did she not 
 deserve death ? was there a vengeance within the 
 reach and power of man too terrible to be wreaked 
 against her who violated the sanctity of her vows 
 and deceived me even before she became my wife ? 
 But who made her thus criminal? who gave her 
 the first lessons in profligacy and deceit ? You, 
 eir — you, black-hearted villain that you are ! It 
 was you who did it all ! K murder has been com- 
 mitted, it is you who are the real murderer: for 
 your treachery, your crimes, were the main-spring 
 of the catastrophe ! AVhat ? through you have I 
 endured unspeakable misery — and I was to put up 
 tamely with it ? No— by heaven ! it was impossi- 
 ble !" 
 
 "Observe, Mary Price," exclaimed Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering, livid vrith rage, " in Ids very words there 
 is a confession of that black premeditation wherewith 
 we charge him." 
 
 " Mary Pnce ! do you appeal to her ?" said the 
 nobleman, flinging upon me the look of a basilisk. 
 " Doubtless it was she who played the base part of 
 listener the night before last r" 
 
 "No — it was another." ejaculated Sir Aubrey; 
 " one who can be forthcoming as a witness at any 
 moment." 
 
 " A witness ?" echoed Lord Harlesdon, in mingled 
 ecom, doubt, and uneasiness. " Do you mean to 
 avail yourself of those gleanings so treacherously 
 obtained - ■" 
 
 "Aye — to punish you!" rejoined the Baronet. 
 " I came hither for the purpose of giving a mur- 
 derer into custody ; but curtain considerations have 
 led me to resolve upon a milder course. Lord 
 Harlesdon, choose between the scaflbld and exile. 
 Promise to depart this very night — to leave your 
 country for ever ; or else resign yourself to the 
 felon's doom. Now, my lord, which of these alter- 
 natives do you choose?" 
 
 The WTetchcd nobleman was evidently confounded 
 by the words thus imperiously thrown at him; and 
 for nearly a minute ho stood g»zing in a species 
 of dismay upon Sir Aubrey Clavcriug. Doubtless 
 Lord Harlesdou, during that minute, revolved in 
 his mind all the precise cu'cumstauccs of his posi- 
 
 tion, and whetlier he were really so completely dt 
 vested of all the defences of his security as the 
 Baronet had represented. If such were his reflec- 
 tions, as I presume them to have been, they as- 
 suredly terminated not in a manner satisfactory to 
 himself; for his whole appearance gradually showed 
 that he regarded his situation as that of a lost and 
 fallen man. 
 
 " Sir Aubrey Clavering," he said in a low brokea 
 voice, " it is useless for us to bandy words farther. 
 I will leave England." 
 
 " AVithin an hour r" said the Baronet, with tha 
 imperiousness of one who felt the satisfaction of 
 being enabled to dictate terms to an enemy. 
 
 " Yes — within an hoiu*," answered his lordship : 
 and a still ghastUer expression passed slowly over 
 his countenance. 
 
 "Never, never to return," rejoined Sir Aubrey, 
 " under pain of at once being seized upon by the 
 otlicers of justice !" 
 
 " Yes. The place to which I am going will be 
 for ever — for ever!" said the wretched old man, with 
 a voice and look which sent a chill pang through 
 my heart — a pang which left a strange tightness 
 there. 
 
 He then turned and slowly quitted the room. 
 "I have now nothing more to do within theso 
 walls," observed Sir Aubrey Clavering, after a pause 
 of nearly a minute : and thus speaking, he also left 
 the apartment. 
 
 But I did not Instantaneously follow him. I sat 
 down, sick at heart, and wishing that I had not 
 been a spectatrix of the disagreeable scene which 
 had just passed. The horrible look of Lord Har- 
 lesdon appeared to haunt me : and I thought within 
 myself, "There was indeed no necessity to visit the 
 extremcst penalties upon that man's head. In the 
 feehngs of his o\\ti conscience is her ladyship's 
 death avenged!" 
 
 Presently the door opened, and the hall-porter 
 made his appearance. 
 
 " In the name of heaven, Mar>-, what is taking 
 place r" he asked, evidently much troubled. " "\Mieu 
 his lordship left the room a few minutes back, he 
 looked more like a ghost than a human being as he 
 crossed the hall ; and Sir Aubrey Clavering, as ho 
 went out, appeared to have upon his countenance 
 a look that it did me harm to behold. You your- 
 self, Mary, arc pale and agitated. TcU mo what has 
 happened — do tell me." 
 
 " I cannot — I must not," was my hurried answer j 
 " and you will do well to say nothing of all this to 
 the other servants. One thing I may teU you, 
 because you will doubtless hear of it within an hour 
 — and that is, his lordship has made up his mind to 
 leave England this very night."' 
 
 The hall-porter gazed upon me with astonish- 
 ment, and then exclaimed, "To-night! why, it ia 
 already twelve o'clock." 
 
 " So late !" I cried : for diu-ing the scenes which 
 had been passing one after the other and with 
 such a continuously sustaineil excitement, I had 
 forgotten all about the lapse of time. I now re- 
 memberud that Lady Davenport was waiting in tho 
 Park and that I had promised to return to her. 
 " I must go at once," I said. 
 
 " What — alone ?"' asked the old man. " Had 
 vou not bettor remain here for the night? Al- 
 though Jemima has doubtless been ia bed long a^o,
 
 JURY price; on, the memoirs op a servant-si a id. 
 
 Si9 
 
 disturbed 
 
 I daresay slio will not feci angry at bcin, 
 by you." 
 
 " No— I cannot remain another instant," I said. 
 « It is not ILkcly that his lordship will take her and 
 the children with him to-night. They will doubt- 
 less have to follow him, if he has them at all, poor 
 little creatures ! But I will come and sec Jemima 
 in the morning. And now good night." 
 
 With these words I hurried from the room, and 
 passed out of the mansion, bending my way towards 
 the Park with all possible speed. There I found 
 Lady Davenport waiting in a dreadful state of ex- 
 citement. In a few hurried words I told her that 
 I had succeeded in persuading Sir Aubrey Claver- 
 ing to adopt a more merciful and wiser coiu'se — 
 that he had done so— and that Lord ITarlesdon had 
 
 agi'ccd to leave London within the hour that was j after eight o'clock in the morning. Rising to ascer- 
 passing, and to lose no time in quitting England tain the cause of this imusual sxunmons — for being 
 for ever. This intelligence seemed productive of \ myself habitually an early riser, I was not accus- 
 
 I do not think that Lady Davenport made any 
 reply — for I had no doubt that she was deeply en- 
 raged at the little stratagem I had practised to ob- 
 tain her convoy to my own door. But for her lady- 
 ship's displeasure I rwked little indeed ; and thank- 
 ing the servant of the house for having sat up 
 for me, I ascended to my own chamber, where 
 through thorough weariness and exhaustion I soon 
 fell asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIL 
 
 THE SUICIDE. 
 
 I MIGHT have slept on to a much later hour, had I 
 not been awakened by a knocking at my door soon 
 
 infinite rehef to Lady Davenport ; and she thanked 
 me with much apparent sincerity for coming back 
 to her. 
 
 " But you, Mary, will faithfully keep this secret ?" 
 she said. '■ Remember how much depends on it !" 
 ■ — then, as if in the selfishness of her own natm-e 
 she still considered it necessary, notwithstanding 
 the manner I had previously repelled her offers, to 
 follow up her injunction with the inducement of a 
 
 tomed to be called by the servant of the house — I 
 learnt " that Jlrs. Simpson desh-ed to see me im- 
 mediately." Knowing full well who this Mrs. 
 Simpson was, and wondering what could possibly 
 have brought her hither at so early an hour, I bade 
 the servant show her up at once ; and during the 
 minute or two that intervened ere the visitress 
 made her appearance, I huddled on a few clothes. 
 The Gipsy Queen, dressed in a becoming middle- 
 
 bribe, she said, " You ■wUl not find me ungrateful, i class apparel, and with her veil over her countc- 
 Let me know where you live, and I will send you a I nance, was introduced to my chamber; and the mo- 
 handsome present to-morrow." j ment the servant had retired, she threw up her 
 I was about to give an indignant answer, when a , veil, revealing to me a countenance the expression of 
 sudden thought struck me ; and I said, " Your lady- wliich at once indicated that somethLag of import- 
 ship, if you really be sincere in your wish to serve ' ance had happened, 
 me, must accompany me ere we part to see where I | " Prepare yourself, Mary, to hear somethinn; 
 
 live." 
 
 " AVcU, be it so," she replied, not with an over 
 good grace — immediately adding, " I hope it is not 
 very far t" 
 
 " As your ladyship lives in Portman Square," I 
 rejoined, " it will not take you much out of your 
 way to go round by Great Russell Street, Blooms- 
 bury." 
 
 " It will make a matter of twenty minutes' dif- 
 ference," she said. " But never mind : I ^vill do as 
 you wish." 
 
 VJ'o then quitted the Park together, and for- 
 timately procured a hackney-coach which was pass- 
 ing up Park Lane at the time. I told the driver 
 whither to proceed; and now behold me ensconsed 
 with that aristocratic lady inside the lumbering 
 vehicle ! No conversation passed between us until 
 we entered Great Russell Street; and then the 
 Bilcnce was broken by myself. 
 
 " Lady Davenport," I said, " I require nothing in 
 the shape of a bribe as an inducement to keep secret 
 all that concerns you. I would accept nothing 
 from your hands. Hero is where I live — and I 
 thank you for accompanying me hither." 
 
 " Then what in heaven's name, young woman," 
 she asked, in astonishment not altogether untingcd 
 with vexation, " did you bring mo all out of my way 
 like this ?" 
 
 " Simply," I answered, " because I value my re- 
 putation, and did not chooso to return alone at 
 such a lute hour. The little service you have done 
 me in bringing mo home, is all tho bribe I requno 
 ♦"or keeping your bulysbip'e. wcret. Good night, my 
 lady. 
 
 dreadful," she began, wth a deepening ominous- 
 ncss of look. " I thought I had better come myself 
 
 at once to make you aware of it But I see that 
 
 you have already guessed it. Lord Harlcsdon has 
 committed suicide !" 
 
 Yes — I had indeed conjectured the terrible tidings 
 which the Gipsy Queen had come to impart. I 
 know not how it was, but the moment she began 
 speaking in that tone of warning, bidding me pre- 
 jjarc myself for something dreadful, tho truth 
 flashed to my mind ; yet when her tongue spoko 
 the fact a cry of horror escaped my lips. I was 
 profoundly shocked, and for nearly a minute ex- 
 perienced such a strange sensation that my tongue 
 was unable to give utterance to a single syllable of 
 questioning. 
 
 " Yes," resumed the Gipsy Queen, after a long 
 pause, "Lord Harlesdon is no more. It was with a 
 dose of deadly poison that he put an end to his 
 existence." 
 
 Then I remembered the horrible look of ghaslli- 
 ness which he had worn at tho moment when ho 
 said to Sir Aubrey Clavcring "that tho place to 
 which he was going would bo for crrr ;" and I won- 
 dered that I was not struck at tho timo by tho 
 ominous signilicancy which I now remembered to 
 have marked both his features and his accents. I 
 asked the Gipsy Quocn if she was acquainted with 
 any particulars relative to his lordship's suicide: 
 but she rcphed that she knew little beyond tho biiro 
 facta she had already communicated to me. I was 
 surprised that she should have learnt the circum- 
 Btauco at so early an hour ; and I inquired by what 
 moans it had come to her knowledge ?
 
 350 
 
 MABV PBICE; OB, THE MEMOIBS OP A SERVAKT-MATD. 
 
 '•' I was in that neigbourhood an hour hack," she 
 answered, " and learnt from some one whom I met 
 the event which had taken place. It appears that 
 his lordship left a few lines scribbled upon a piece 
 of paper, and assigning for the deed which he con- 
 templated some cause that will render a coroner's 
 inquest a mere matter of ceremony. Beyond these 
 few particulars I know nothing." 
 
 For some minutes I sat absorbed in profound and 
 melancholy reflection. Was this the end of that 
 proud and haughty nobleman whose wealth was so 
 vast, whose estates were so immense, and whose 
 establishments were on such a palatial scale ? was 
 this the end of one on whom the accident of birth 
 had heaped such riches and such honours ? To die 
 as a despairing suicide at last ! there was something 
 awful and shocking in the idea ; and I felt the blood 
 curdle and stagnate in my veins as I reflected upon 
 it. By degrees, as my thoughts began to expand 
 from their concentration on that one terrific subject, 
 and the incidents of the past night came crowding 
 back to my mind, I recollected the strange conduct 
 of Su' Aubrey Clavering and the Gipsy Queen to- 
 wards each other at the door of Harlesdon House. 
 
 " There is one question which I am anxious to put 
 to you," said I. 
 
 " I can anticipate it," observed Barbauld Azetha, 
 in her wonted quiet manner, and %\-ithout the 
 slightest change of look. "You seek to know 
 whether it was through me that Sir Aubrey Claver- 
 ing became a listener in the Park to the conversa- 
 tion between ourselves and Lady Davenport last 
 night ? I can assure you, by all that the gipsy race 
 deem sacred — by everything we consider solemn and 
 holy — that I had not the slightest idea of his pre- 
 Bencc there until he so abruptly revealed himself." 
 
 " But it is evident that you know him well — in- 
 timately indeed, I may say — much better than I 
 Lad any idea of." 
 
 " You must be aware that we are very far from 
 strangers to each other," responded the Gipsy 
 Queen, " when you recall to mind certain incidents 
 wliich I had rather should have been bm-ied in 
 oblivion— I mean the part I played towards your- 
 self in Derbyshire." 
 
 "But you appeared last night," I said, looking 
 suspicious upon the subject, " to be on such terms as 
 if you had a secret understanding together. He 
 bade j'ou depart in a manner which I certainly ex- 
 pected at the moment to see you resent : but so far 
 from exhibiting anything more thau a transient 
 anger, you requested to speak aside to him — and 
 then you conversed apart and in whispers for up- 
 wards of a minute." 
 
 "Miss Price," said the Gipsy Queen, drawing 
 herself up somewhat haughtily, " I am not aware 
 that it is my bounden duty to give you an accoimt 
 of my conduct." 
 
 " Most assuredly not," I at once replied, perceiv- 
 ing that this assimied dignity of her's on the present 
 occasion was merely a refuge which she sought from 
 the necessity of giving me any explanation of her 
 mysterious proceeding in respect to Clavering. 
 "No — assuredly not," I repeated coldly: "nor 
 should I have alluded to the incidents at all, were it 
 not that the suspicion was in my mind, amounting 
 almost to a conviction, that it was through j'ou Sir 
 Aubrey Clavering appeared v.poa the scene iu 
 Hyde Poik." 
 
 "The gipsy will no doubt he, deceive, and tell 
 falsehoods in the ordinary manner, to answer a pur- 
 pose," responded Barbauld Azetha : " but to servo 
 no earthly aim will the gipsy swear so solemnly as 
 I did to you just now upon the point you have 
 mentioned. Once more I declare, by everything I 
 deem most holy, that I knew not of Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering's presence there last night." 
 
 " I see that it is atopic upon v>'hich we had better 
 not speak any more," said I, still in a somewhat 
 reserved and cold manner: for I could not help 
 thinking that there was even an evasion in that 
 solemn assurance to wliich Barbauld Azetha had 
 twice given utterance. For it might be true enough 
 that she had not expected Sir Aubrey Clavering to 
 be in Hyde Park at the time : but might she not 
 have previously told him whom she was to meet 
 there, and for what purpose? In short, could I 
 possibly bring myself to behevc it was a mere ac- 
 cident or coincidence which had led the Baronet 
 thither at the very moment when a subject wherein 
 he was so deeply interested was being discussed ? 
 And as there was evidently some secret understand- 
 ing between Barbauld and Sir Aubrey, was it not 
 perfectly natural to conclude that she had pre- 
 viously made him aware of the interview that was 
 to take place in Hyde Park ? 
 
 The Gipsy Queen saw that I was not altogether 
 satisiied with the httle incidents referred to : but it 
 was equally evident that cither her pride or some 
 other reason prevented her from offering any far- 
 ther explanation. She rose to take her departure ; 
 and extending her hand, said, " I hope that we 
 shall separate in the same friendly spirit as we 
 met." 
 
 "Assuredly," I replied, feeling my heart warm 
 somewhat towards her : because as the reader is 
 aware, I had conceived a liking for this singular 
 woman. I therefore pressed her hand cordially. 
 She then took her departure, drawing the veil down 
 over her countenance; and I remained alone to 
 reflect once more upon the tragic end of Lord 
 Harlesdon. At length, anxious to escape as much 
 as possible from the painfid nature of these medi- 
 tations, I began to bustle about to dress myself, 
 and then to prcpai-e my breakfast. By the time I 
 had taken a cup of tea, a note was brought up by 
 the servant of the house. It had been left by hand ; 
 and as I immediately recognized Jemima's writing, 
 it was ^\-ith no small degree of trepidation and 
 suspense that I tore it open. Its contents ran as 
 
 follow : — 
 
 " Dearest Alury, 
 " I write under the influence of feelings which yoa 
 will belter imagine than I can doseribe, when I tell you 
 that his lordship has destroyed 1 luself. Do come to me 
 immediately, if you can. I understand from the hall- 
 porter that you were here last night, and that you said 
 you would call upon me in the morning. 
 
 " Your afl'ootionate friend, 
 I "JEMLlMA WlLKEfSON." 
 
 I lost no time iu obeying this simunous, and 
 proceeded at once to Grosvenor Squai-e. The house 
 presented oxtomally the usual aspect of mourning 
 where dc.ithis: all the blinds were drawn down— 
 and I could not help thinking to myself, " Little 
 perhaps did his lordship anticipate, when two 
 mouths back these blinds were closed for Lady 
 Harlesdon, that they would so soon be closed again
 
 ilABY price; OB, THE MEM0IE3 OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 351 
 
 for himself!" Yet scarcely had I made this reflec- 
 tion, when the remembrance flashed to my mind 
 that it was by poison he had killed himself. Then 
 he must have had it handy in the house — and there- 
 fore he had probably all along made up his mind 
 to die by his own hand, should accident bring his 
 guilt fully to light and threaten him with the con- 
 sequences. Unhappy man! had ho, then, after 
 committing murder, been compelled to keep his 
 eyes fixed upon the prospect of suicide ? 
 
 My summons at the front-door was answered by 
 the hall-porter, who wore a mournful look ; and as 
 the kind-hoarted old man took my hand, he said in 
 a subdued voice, " Ah ! Mary, when I saw his lord- 
 ship looking so ghost-like last night as he crossed 
 the hall, I had a sort of presentiment that some- 
 thing would happen. But go up-stairs to Jemima: 
 she is anxiously waiting for you, and she will tell 
 you all the particulars." 
 
 I accordingly ascended to the nursery, where I 
 found Jemima with the three children. Master 
 Alexander Adolphus, being above sis years old, 
 understood what death meant, and was crying 
 because the intelligence had been gently broken to 
 him "that his papa was dead." Albert Henry, 
 being only just five, had but a vague and dim com- 
 prehension of what death meant : but still he cried, 
 because his brother did — while dear little Isabella 
 Clementina, now a little above three, was too young 
 to have the shghtest conception of what it meant 
 by " her papa being dead " — but yet she was wliining 
 and crying because her brothers were unhappy. As 
 for poor Jemima, she was quite wretched. 
 
 " You know, Mary," she said, alter some few 
 observations had been exchanged, " that his lord- 
 ship was never a favoui-ite of mine : but still for 
 
 him to die by his own hand and then these dear 
 
 ehiltben to be left orphans, deprived of father and 
 mother within the space of a couple of months of 
 
 each other there is something di-eadful in all 
 
 this !" 
 
 " Dreadful indeed, dear Jemima. But tell 
 me " 
 
 " Fu'st of all it is for you to tell me what you 
 were doing here last night with Sir Aubrey Claver- 
 
 ing do tell mo, Mary — I cannot understand it. 
 
 The porter told me of it this morning, but quite 
 privately ; and he did not tell it to any other of tlio 
 servants. He said that you had advised him not, 
 and he meant to follow your counsel." 
 
 " I am glad of that," I observed : " it will save 
 much useless conjecture, gossipping, and scandal. 
 Fortunate was it that none of the foutmen or pages 
 happened to be in the hall last night, ei(her when 
 we came or took our departure. But tell me, Je- 
 mima, before I enter into any particulars— even if 
 I can at all — the cii'comstances attending his lord- 
 ship's death." 
 
 The reader ia already aware that Jemima was a 
 tractable, docile, and thoroughly good-tempered 
 young woman,— generally lettmg otliers have their 
 own way ; and tlius she did not persevere in ques- 
 tioning mo at the present moment, but proceeded 
 to givo mo the details I sought. 
 
 " It seems," she said, " that it was about midnight 
 when his lordship ascended to his own chamber. 
 His ' gentleman ' was in attendance ; but his lord- 
 ship at onoo dismissed him, bidding him rotiu-n in 
 an hour as he meant to sit up and write some letters 
 
 ere retu'ing to rest. The 'gentleman,' as he has 
 since said, felt a misgiving arise iu his mind at the 
 time, that something was wrong ; but he did not 
 apprehend the terrible catastrophe that was to 
 ensue. A little before the expiration of the hour 
 he went back to his lordship's chamber; and not 
 immediately perceiving his lordship, fancied that he 
 had retired to rest without his assistance. The 
 lamp was biu-ning upon the table — the wax-lights 
 upon the mantel. He approached the bed, and not 
 finding his lordship there, imagined that he must 
 have gone down stairs again: but as he turned to 
 leave the room, he caught sight of his lordship 
 sitting back in one of the large easy chairs. His 
 first impression was that his lordship had fallen 
 asleep in that chau' : but the next instant observing 
 the ghost-like pallor of his countenance, the chill 
 of horror crept over him. He advanced — and a 
 nearer survey showed him that his lordship was no 
 more. An alarm was instantaneously given — phy- 
 sicians were sent for — but even before their arrival 
 the sad truth had become only too apparent. A 
 small phial, labelled Poison, was found close by tho 
 chair, having evidently dropped from his lordship's 
 overhanging hand. Conceive the consternation that 
 must have prevailed amongst those whom the ' geu- 
 tleman's ' furious ringing at the bells had brought 
 to the room ! A farther research showed them some 
 writing on a sheet of paper that lay upon the table. 
 I don't know the exact words ; but I will tell you 
 the sense of those lines which were traced by his 
 lordsliip's hand during the last hour of his exist- 
 ence." 
 
 As this document was subsequently printed ia 
 the newspapers, I may as well present it at once 
 to the reader, exactly as it was worded, and not 
 accordhig to the somewhat imperfect description 
 which Jemima gave me of it at the time. Its con- 
 tents ran thus : — 
 
 " The fatal ar?cidont wliich caused tho premature 
 death of my beloved wife, has preyed so upon my mind 
 that I can endure it ho louger. Life has become 
 intolerable— I Iiave uotliing in the world worth living 
 for, since all my happiness is poisoned by the bitter, 
 bitter reilectiou that it was my hand which, though so 
 uniuteationally, sent my Clementina out of existence. 
 There is madness in my brain — everything seems to bo 
 whirling round and round. I know not what I am 
 doing. God forgive me ! 
 
 "HAELESDOX" 
 
 Though from Jemima's lips I only received tho 
 sense and not the exact wording of this document, 
 yet did I glean sufficient at tho time to confirm tho 
 information I had already received from tho Gipsy 
 Queen, and to prove that a coroner's inquest would 
 be a mere matter of form. But I shuddered in- 
 wardly as I reflected that so far from Lord Har- 
 Icsdon having experienced tho feelings he described 
 in that document, he had even gloried in the foul 
 murder of his wife iu the presence of myself and 
 Sir Aubrey Clavering, on tho preceding night, and 
 within tho hour which was the last one of his exist- 
 once! Even when coutcmplutiug suicide — when 
 lool:uig death as it were in the face — Lord Harles- 
 don had dared lo pen a falsehood to deceive the 
 world. Doubtless his hope was that Sir Aubrey 
 Clavering would not contradict tho statement lio 
 thus traced in his last moments : for with regard to 
 myself, he must have been well assured that I was
 
 352 
 
 MARY rUICE ; OB, THE MEMOIltS OP A BERVANT-irAID. 
 
 not so malicious as to do so. Though he had pos- 
 sessed hardihood enough to commit a murder, ho 
 did not wish to be branded as a murderer in the pre- 
 sence of the world, even though he himself should 
 be no more;— and pitilessly vindietive as he had 
 been towards his wife, he nevertheless took credit 
 for a remorse of the most honourable and afiuc- 
 tionato character (had it been real) in the eyes of 
 all men. But though ho had thus striven to con- 
 ceal his turpitude beneath the guise of a falsehood, 
 it was not for me to lift the veil therefrom, nor do 
 aught to blacken the memory of the wretched sui- 
 cide. Therefore, when Jemima had finished her 
 narrative by telling me the sense of the document 
 found upon the table, I saw at once that I could 
 not give her any explanations relative to what had 
 passed between myself. Sir Aubrey Clavering, and 
 his lordship on the preceding night. 
 
 " It was not imtil this morning," added Jemima, 
 " that I heard what had taken place : but when I 
 awoke, the under-nujsemaid came to the room to 
 impart the dreadfiU intelligence. I hastened down 
 stairs to ascertain if it were really true — for I could 
 not believe it : and then it was that I got into con- 
 versation with the hall-porter, who told me that you 
 and Sir Aubrey hud been here last night. I must 
 also inform you that from what the physician said, 
 his lordship's death must have been pretty nearly 
 instantaneous, as soon as he had swallowed the 
 poison : for it was of the most vii-ulent character. 
 And now, Mary, I am waiting for such explanations 
 as you may choose to give me respecting your visit 
 to the house last night." 
 
 "Jemima, my good friend," I answered very se- 
 riously, " you must not press me upon this point. 
 You know that I am incapable of telling a false- 
 hood ; and therefore I will not invent anything to 
 satisfy your curiosity. But I ^\'ill plainly and simply 
 inform you at once that circumstances compel me 
 to maintain an inviolable secrecy in respect to that 
 business." 
 
 " I know that you would tell me if you could, 
 dear Mary," rejoined Jemima, " and that you 
 must have some very good reasons for not doing 
 so. I will not therefore press you on the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " Bu,t there is one thing that I must mention for 
 my own sake," said I ; " which is, that there is 
 nothing changed in the feeling of aversion I ex- 
 perience towards Sir Aubrey Clavering, although 
 the circumstances to which I have alluded threw 
 us for a short time together last night. But when 
 we separated again, it was, I assm-e you, with the 
 hope on my part that I should never see him 
 more." 
 
 Jemima and I continued to discourse upon the 
 melancholy topic of the tragedy for nearly an hour : 
 but I need hardly say that we did our best to sootlio 
 and comfort the httle children. At the expiration 
 of that interval the deceased Lord Harlesdon's 
 sister, Lady Oldcastle — a dame well stricken in 
 years, but very lively, active, and bustling — arrived 
 at the mansion. Uer residence was in the suburbs 
 of London, and an express had been despatehetl to 
 her early in the morning to communicate tlio cir- 
 cumstance of her brother's deatli. Slie came up 
 into the nursery ; aud I at onec saw by her manner 
 that she was a lady of no very amiable disposition, 
 —proud and arrogant as her late brother was, aud 
 
 looking down upon persons in servitude as some- 
 thing about as good as the dust beneath her feet. 
 I therefore made haste to take my leave of Jemima 
 and the dear little childr.3n, from whom I however 
 found it somewhat difficult to get away : for they 
 all besought me to stop, and little Bella clung to 
 me most tenaciously. Lady Oldcastle inquired of 
 Jemima who I was, " that the children made such a 
 fuss with me :" and on being informed of my name, 
 she said with a supercilious sneer, "Ah! the heroine 
 of an adventure at Derby, eh i" I disengaged 
 myself from the children's embrace and hastened 
 away from the nursery, where I saw that my pre- 
 sence was disagreeable to her ladyship. 
 
 As I returned to my lodgings in Great Bussell 
 Street, I coidd not help thinking that Lady Old- 
 castle displayed very little grief at her brother's 
 death ; and I feared that if the poor orphan children 
 were to be consigned to her keeping and in future 
 live with her, they would not be made very happy. 
 But I need not dwell at any greater length upon 
 the few particulars which are requisite to dispose of 
 this part of my narrative. An inquest was duly 
 held upon Lord Harlesdon's body in the course of 
 that day : but as the jury consisted almost entirely 
 of the tradesmen of the household, there was no 
 inclination to prolong the proceedings or pene- 
 trate beneath the surface of the tragic affair as it 
 was presented to their view. The document found 
 in Lord Harlesdon's room was considered quite 
 sufBeient to accoimt for his self-destruction : and a 
 verdict of " Temporary Lisanity " was promptly re- 
 tm-ned. Cake and wine were then served up to 
 the coroner and the jury in the dining-room where 
 the inquest was held ; and having comfortably re- 
 freshed themselves, they retu-ed to their own homes, 
 discussing in little knots of twos and threes the 
 manifold virtues, excellences, and amiabilities of his 
 deceased lordship. The misfortune however was 
 that none of these admirable qualities on his part 
 could be found out by his tradesmen during his 
 life-time ! 
 
 As I had siipposcd, the three children were taken 
 into the care of Lady Oldcastle: but Jemima re- 
 tained her place as principal nm'scmaid. I saw her 
 for a short half- hour before she quitted Grosvenor 
 Square to take up her abode at Oldcastle Lodge; 
 and she promised to write to me from time to time 
 and let me know all about the children, in whom I 
 felt deeply interested. 
 
 The following quotation is from a biographical 
 sketch of the late Lord Hai-losdon which app,?ared 
 in one of the daily newspapers : — 
 
 " His deceased lordship was a man of whom it may be 
 said that bis virtues were so numerous they utterly eclipsed 
 any little failings which accordiug to the common lot of 
 humanity he may have possessed. But such failings, in 
 contrast with tlie many admirable qualities which ctiarac- 
 terized this venerable nobleman, were mere spots on the 
 sun's disc, visible only to a microscopic gaze. As a de- 
 voted husband, a fond father, a staunch friend, a bene- 
 volent landlord, and a kind master. Lord H.orlesdon mjiy 
 assurotlly be quoted as the type of perfection ; while his 
 innumerable charities, always distributed in secret, and 
 never in ostentation, proved his illimitable sympathy for 
 the poor and needy. Possessed of a powerful intellect 
 and a vigorous mind, Lord Harlesdon was in every respect 
 one ol'the brightest ornaments of a brilhsnt Aristocracy : 
 he was a geuorons patron of literature aiid the fine arts, 
 and loved to sf retell forth a hand to the succour of strug- 
 gUng talent. In bis own unostentatious way, be bas often
 
 MAEY PEICE ; OE, THE SIEMOIBS OF A SEEA' AST-MAID. 
 
 353 
 
 penetrated into the obscure dwelling of gi^nTns and dis- 
 tress, and has left behind him the noblest evidences of 
 his bounty. As a Christian, his lordship was of a piety of 
 the purest and hoUest kind — meek and inobstrusivo, bat 
 holding faithfully and firmly to the tenets of that Esta- 
 blished Church which is one of the pillars of our throne 
 and the source of our blessed civilization. In politics 
 tliis venerable nobleman was a staunch Tory, devoted to 
 his King — the unflinching chavnpion of our glorious con- 
 stitution — and ever at his post in the higher branch of 
 the Legislature to ratify his opinions with his votes. 
 Conscientiously believing that it is entirely for the peo- 
 ple's good that they should be placed as far as possible 
 beyond the pale of political power, this honest and right- 
 minded nobleman invariably raised his voice and recorded 
 his surtrage against any proposition tending to let in the 
 tide of a furious and turbulent democracy. One incident 
 which 80 eminently redounds to his lordship's credit 
 must not be omitted from a sketch which is intended to 
 do honour to his memory, and express the wide-spread 
 grief which amongst the upper classes is necessarily ex- 
 perienced at his loss. Wo allude to that troublous 
 period when the Corn Law — a law which wo regard as 
 No. 45 
 
 the flcmo of hura^.n wisdom — was first imposed in 1S14, 
 and at which period the ritl-nvff and rabble of society 
 dared to rear their hydra-heads against the wisdom of 
 our august legislature. At that time a mob, amounting 
 to some twenty thousand wicked, seditious, and ill- 
 disposed persons, being entirely of the working-class and 
 therefore having no possible stake in the country, as- 
 sembled near Derby, under the pretence of holding a 
 meeting to petition Parliament. It was upon this occa- 
 sion that Lord Uarlesdon exhibited his firmness and 
 decision : for being Lord Lieutenant of the county, he at 
 once ordered out the military, headed them in person, 
 proceeded to the spot, and with admirable promptitude 
 commanded a charge to bo made. This was done with 
 such oflect that the mob was speedily dispersed, some 
 fifty or sixty of the seditious scoundrels being shot or 
 sabrod as they deserved ; and two or three hundred 
 (amongst whom there were many factious and ill-disposed 
 women) were dangerously wounded. We might quote 
 other instances of his lordship's firmness of mind and 
 devotion to the blessed institutions of this happy and 
 prosperous country ; but we have said enough to com- 
 memorate all the virtues and do honour to all the excel-
 
 MAnY price; cb, tee jikmoies of a SraVA^T-iJAtD 
 
 lent quaUties of tto venerable and deeply regretted 
 nobleman." 
 
 A Sunday newspaper of very large circulation, 
 after noticing the death of his lordship, concluded 
 its nai-rativc of the suicide and inquest in the fol- 
 lowing terms : — 
 
 "Thus perished Lord Harlesdon— a wretched suicide 
 dying by his own hand. Not one earthly vu^;ue did this 
 inan''po3sess— not one single good quaUty ! A cruel 
 husband, an mdifferent father, a man incapable cf friend- 
 ship— oppressive, and therefore hated as a kadlord— 
 tyrannical, and therefore loathed by liis servants as a 
 master, the deceased has gone out of existence unre- 
 gretted by a single soul, unless it be by the aristocratic 
 order to which he belonged. To their gratitude he cer- 
 tainly had many claims ; for his hatred tO the people at 
 large was inveterate as his opposition to the popular 
 cause was stem, fierce, and uncompromising. It is one 
 ot the reddest pages of history in which liis atrocious 
 conduct at the meeting of an immense concourse of in- 
 tiUigent, enhghtened, and honest working men at Derby, 
 in 1814, is traced in letters of blood. AVe know the old 
 motto, ' Speak nothing save what is good of the dead :' 
 but unfortunately in the present case to say one good 
 •word in respect to Lord Harlesdon would be to stamp 
 ourselves with the most flagrant falsehood." 
 
 The reader will perceive that the two passages 
 above quoted stand in very strong contrast ; and I 
 must leave him to decide which of the two is nearer 
 the truth. I must add, ere taking leave of this 
 distressing subject, that the mural tablet which over- 
 looks the family vault to v.hich Lord Harlesdon's 
 remains were consigned, represents the deceased as 
 " a nobleman endowed with every virtue, and whose 
 disposition, almost too good for that of man, very 
 neai'ly approximated the condition of angels." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 MT SEVESm PIACE. 
 
 I CASTTAtLT mentioned that the first floor of Mrs. 
 Eichards' house was tenanted by an old couple who 
 habitually lived in the coimtry, but who had come 
 up to London on some business which detained them 
 in town for a few months. Their name was Antro- 
 bus ; and as eccentric an old couple they were as in 
 the course of this narrative it will be my duty to 
 introduce to the reader. The gentleman was about; 
 sixty-five — the lady seven or eight years younger. 
 They were thoroughly good-tempered, and dotiugly 
 fond of each other. Jlr. Antrobus had occasion to 
 visit his solicitor nearly every day ; but Mrs. Antro- 
 bus coidd not possibly think of letting him stir 
 abroad without her. She therefore invariably ac- 
 companied him, even on his visits of business ; and 
 as I learnt, if he went to the Bank of England or 
 to the oflice of his stockbrokers — no matter where 
 — his wife was his constant companion. It was not 
 that she was jealous of him, — although this even 
 might have been the case, for age in respect to 
 cither party is no guarantee against jealousy : but 
 such v.-as iwt the feeling wliich inspired Mrs. An- 
 trobus. The truth is, she was always afraid that he 
 would not take proper care of himself in respect 
 to his health, or that some accident would befall 
 him. London, she said, was such a very wicked 
 place, and so full of vehicles of all kinds. Which- 
 ever way you went, there was a thief ready to rob 
 
 j-ou some ruffian ready to knock you down, some 
 constable ready to take you up, or some carriage, 
 cart, or waggon ready to run over you. Then there 
 were draughts in the hackney - coaches through 
 broken or ill-fitting windows — such a heated atmo- 
 sphere in the offices of business-men — such risks of 
 sim-strokes in the middle of the summer-day — and 
 such cold winds blowing round the comers of street j 
 at nights, that it was quite impossible Mr. Antrobus 
 could keep himself free from cold or other injuries 
 to his health, unless she was ever at hand to take 
 care of him. Therefore the good old soul, perform- 
 ing the part of guardian angel to her husband — 
 though a somewhat fat and dowdy one — was his 
 constant and inseparable companion. 
 
 It must not be thought that Sir. Antrobus ob- 
 jected to this tenacious cUnging to him on the part 
 of his wife. "Very far from it ; and it was as much 
 through his wish as by her own desire, that she 
 was so constantly with Mm. He could not have 
 thought of going into the City and leave her, pwor 
 soul 1 to mope at home, fancying all kinds of things 
 — that the hackney-coach had upset — or that pos- 
 sessing the phenomena of a pair of frbky horses, it 
 had run away with him— or what was far more 
 likely, that it had a drunken driver who would 
 persist in taking him to Pentonville when he wanted 
 to go into the City. Mr. Antrobus felt that such 
 would be the dire imaginings of his beloved and 
 devoted wife if he went abroad without her ; and sc 
 they invariably went out together. For, as they 
 very justly observed, if a vehicle did upset, or they 
 were run over in crossing a street, or had the mis- 
 fortune to fall in with a drimken driver ^vho would 
 persist in taking them five miles out of their v.-ay, 
 thoy at all events would have the consolation of 
 being together when any one of these dii-e mishaps 
 should occrn*. 
 
 lufiLnitc was the care which they took of each 
 other, and which they were therefore individually 
 compelled to take of themselves. If Mr. Antrobus, 
 through getting a little dust in his throat, or having 
 a crumb go " the wrong way" at meal-time, should 
 happen to cough, poor dear Mrs. Antrobus would 
 insist upon his going to bed early, putting his feet 
 into hot water, taking some wine-whey or a b.ason 
 of gruel, tying a flannel (perhaps a stocking) round 
 his tlu'oat, having his bed warmed (although in the 
 middle of summer), and sleeping with a mountain 
 of extra blankets upon him. Then, on the following 
 day, the anxiety of the worthy dame to have chicken- 
 broth, jelly, arrow-root, and everything in readiness, 
 showed all the sincerity of the unportanee which 
 she attached to her husband's indisposition — an in- 
 ' disposition which after all existed but in her own 
 imagination. On the other hand, if Mrs. Antrobus 
 I only took a slice of bread-and-butter less than usual 
 at breakfast, her husband would immediately appre- 
 I hend the worst. She was off her feed — she was ill 
 — it should bo taken in time— or else heaven only 
 knew what might be the consequences ! Then he 
 would insist upon her nursing herself with as much 
 care as she made him observe ; and he would attend 
 upon her with as much solicitude and affectionate 
 ministration as could be shown by one of the other 
 sex. But sometimes it happened that they were 
 both unwell — or fancied that they were — or else 
 persuaded each other that they were, at one and the 
 same time; and then they were truly miserable, —
 
 JiAEY pwce; ok, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 neither having the satisfaction of waiting upon the 
 otlicr, but botli simultaneously confined to the bed- 
 room and "coddling" themselves in a manner that 
 would bo ludicrous to thiuk of, were they not such 
 good-humoui-ed, kind-hearted, and amiable old 
 people. 
 
 A few words of personal description, and I may 
 then piu'sue the thread of my uarrative. 5fr. and 
 Mrs. Antrobus were indeed admirably suited fcr 
 each other, iu aspect as well as in mind and temper. 
 They were both short and stout, ^rlth laigc full- 
 moon faces, small twinkling good-natured eyes, 
 benevolent smiles playing about the lips, and fafc 
 double chins. In order to please each other, and 
 mutually beguile any unpleasant perception of the 
 ravages of time, they dressed gaOy — not gaudily or 
 outrageously — but in rather a juvenile fashion. 
 Mr. Antrobus wore a wig of chesnut hair; and Mrs. 
 Antrobus a flaxen front, which looked very natural 
 indeed when set off by the spruce cap with its 
 sprightly ribbons, or the ample bonnet with its 
 waving feathers. The old gentleman wore a blue 
 coat with brass buttons, a gay silk waistcoat, black 
 pantaloons, and polished boots ; and yet there was 
 nothing of the mawkish affectation of the anti- 
 quated beau about him: he rather looked like a 
 thorough English gentleman of the old school. 
 Mrs. Antrobus was always what might be termed 
 handsomely dressed, though some years behind the 
 fashion of the day; and there was certainly no- 
 thing of the old coquette in her mien or manner. 
 Generally speaking, when not having to nui'se 
 themselves for imaginary indispositions, and v,-hen 
 not under the influence of the fear of being run over 
 or rim away with — upset or knocked down — taken ill 
 or taken advantage of — ]Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus had 
 the appearance of a comfortable old couple, Avith as 
 few of the world's cares to trouble them as could 
 possibly belong to the human condition — well-to-do 
 in ch'cumstances, and doatingly fond of each other. 
 From the long description which I have thus 
 given of the lodgers on Mrs. Eichards' fu-st floor, as 
 well as from the heading of the chajiter itself, the 
 reader is already aware that in the service of this 
 old couple I was to find my seventh place. It was 
 a fortnight after the suicide of Lord Uarlcsdon, 
 that from an intimation I received from Mrs. 
 Eichards, I spoke to Jlrs. Antrobus. During the 
 fcv/ weeks I had already lodged in the house, this 
 lady had on several occasions spoken to me on the 
 stairs — had once or twice called mo into her sitting- 
 room and insisted on my taking a glass of wine and 
 a piece of cake, — and in short had showed me 
 Bcvcral little civilities, or rather kindnesses. Thero- 
 forc I was already prepossessed in her favour ; and 
 when I heard that a circumstance had occurred 
 which rendered it ncccssai-y for them to engage a 
 servant-maid ere they left London, I cheerfully 
 adopted Mrs. Eichards' suggestion and applied for 
 tho place. 
 
 The cu'cumstance to wliicli I allude was this : Mr. 
 Antrobus had a nephew who was a Captain in the' 
 Army in India. The Captain, wlio bore the same 
 name as his uncle, was married and had two chil- 
 di'cn : his wife and family had remained behind him 
 iu London, it being at first uncertain how long Cap- 
 tain Antrobus would remain in India. But letters 
 had just arrived to tho cflcct that lie had obtained a 
 high post about tho person of tho Governor- General, 
 
 and that his wife must come out to him with as 
 Uttlc delay as possible. It was not deemed ad- 
 visable that the children, who were rather sickly 
 and of tender age, should accompany their mother, 
 and they were consequently to remain in England 
 with Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus. The lady had just 
 taken her departure at the time of which I am 
 writing ; and it was to have the charge of tho two 
 little children that a nursemaid was required. Such 
 was the situation now placed at my disposal ; and I 
 win describe the interview which took place vath 
 ilr. and Mrs. Antrobus on the occasion when I 
 accepted it, as the reader will therefrom gain a 
 farther insight into the characters and peculiarities 
 of this eccentric but amiable old couple. 
 
 It was nine o'clock -Ln the evening — the curtains 
 were closed — the candles were lighted — the table 
 was laid for supper. On one side sat the old gen- 
 tleman in his dressing-gown and slippers, — not a 
 di'cssing-gown of ordinary character nor slovenly 
 worn, but of silken material, and of a gay, or rather 
 cheerful pattern. Neither were the sUppers old 
 knocked-about things, trodden down at heel; but 
 new morocco slippers of a purply coloui", and worn 
 as neatly as shoes. On the other side of the tabic 
 sat Mrs. Antrobus, handsomely dressed, and looking 
 as kind and benevolent as human countenance could 
 possibly seem. The children, who were only con- 
 signed to their care that same afternoon, had been 
 put to bed by Mrs. Eichards, assisted by myself: 
 for they were pretty littla things — and being 
 naturally fond of children, as well as pitying these 
 in particular, for being deprived of then: mother's 
 care — I had been passing half-aa-hour in. the roora 
 to which they were consigned. 
 
 "Well, Mary Price," said Mrs. Antrobus, as I 
 entered the parlour where the old couple wcro 
 seated, " it would be an odd thing after all if you 
 was to come and live with us — for I took a liking to 
 you the very first day I saw you; and all that I 
 have seen or heard since has made me like you still 
 more. But are you sure you have shut the door 
 behind you ? for there is such a draught up tho 
 stairs — and poor dear Mr. Antrobus is so susceptible 
 of cold—-—" 
 
 "Now, if there is a draught, my dear, in tho 
 room," interrupted her husband, looking with sud- 
 den care and vmeasiness towards the middle \viudow 
 of the three, "it comes from that casement just 
 behind you. Do pray sit farther round tliis way." 
 
 "I can assure you, my dear Mr. A., that there's 
 not a breath of wind from that window at this 
 moment." 
 
 " Eeally, my dear, I can feel it even where I am 
 sitting. Do move a lectio — if it's ever such a lectio." 
 " Well, to oblige you, I will — you aro so kuid and 
 considerate ! But now tho draught, if there is ono 
 — and I am sm-o there is, sinco you say it — must 
 blow full iu your flico ; and you will have a cold in 
 your right eye to-morrow. Do pray movo your 
 chair a little also." 
 
 " Well, my dear soul, I will do so. There !" 
 The old couple accordingly shifted their chairs to 
 please each other, although there was not a breath 
 of wind stirring cither inside or out of tho house; 
 for it was a close sultry evening in tho month of 
 July. 
 
 " Mrs. Eichards dropped mo a Lint, my dear 
 girl," continued Mrs. Antrobus, " that you would
 
 35G 
 
 MA BY price; OB, THE MEMOIBS OP A 8EBV ANT-MAID. 
 
 like to come to us; and both Jtr. A. and mjself 
 will be quite delighted. We don't want any re- 
 ferenccB as to character, because wc have already 
 beard everything good concerning you " 
 
 "I'm convinced I saw that candle flaring," ex- 
 claimed the old gentleman, now looking suddenly 
 aghast at the particular light to which he alluded, 
 and which I declare was burning as steadily as pos- 
 sible. " There's a draught from that farther win- 
 dow ; and it takes you, my dear soul, on the left 
 ear. You will have to put on an onion poultice to- 
 night " 
 
 "And you, my dear Mr. A., must really mix 
 some goulard water for that right eye of your's, 
 and bandage it up to-night. But you know, Mary," 
 continued Mrs. Antrobus, now turning again to me, 
 " that we purpese leaving the day after to-morrow, 
 all Mr. A's business being settled in London. And 
 I am 60 glad ; for London is a dreadful place ! I 
 saw such an ill-looking man staring up at the win- 
 dow to-day and crying hearthstones. I am sure 
 he was a thief ^—" 
 
 "Ah ! anyhow near, my poor dear soul, you and 
 I were run over to-day by that dreadful omnibus !" 
 interjected her husband. 
 
 " Which puts me in mind," resumed Jlrs. An- 
 trobus, " that you had a terrible fright, my dear old 
 man; and you must take something for your 
 nerves. What say you to a leetle hot brandy-and- 
 water, with a spoonful of the tincture in it ? No 
 ^when I think of it, not with that threatened 
 
 cold in your eye you must go to bed early, 
 
 take a nice bason of gruel " 
 
 " But you also had your share of the fright, my 
 dear," said the old gentleman ; " and you had bet- 
 ter do the same. I don't think we ought to touch 
 that cold chicken and ham this evening," he added, 
 looking with a sort of apprehension and misgiving 
 at the dishes on the table. 
 
 " Oh ! my dear Mr. A., I must see you eat a 
 good supper after the fatigues of to-day. Besides, 
 you made such a bad dinner. Eeally you must get 
 another box of those dinner-pills." 
 
 "And you, my dear, must return to your old 
 tonic — the camomile tea. Now mind, I shall make 
 it for you myself to-morrow. But really I must 
 protest against your eating any of that ham——" 
 
 "And I will follow your advice, my dear old 
 man, on condition that you don't touch that salad." 
 
 " Well, well," rejoined Mr. Antrobus, not impa- 
 tiently—quite otherwise — in truth, exceedingly 
 uxorious ; " I will do just as you say." 
 
 " You understand, then, Mary," said Mrs. Antro- 
 bus, " that we leave the day after to-morrow. And I 
 had better tell you beforehand that such as you sec us 
 here, so shall we be at home— ^very plain people, 
 living very quietly, seeing but little company — for 
 dinner-parties don't agree with Mr. A., whose di- 
 gestion is not particularly good " 
 
 " And sitting up late quite kills you, my dear," 
 observed the old gentleman. " In fact, Mary," he 
 added, turning to me, " both the health of Mrs. A. 
 and myself is very precarious — very precarious in- 
 deed. We are obliged to take great care of our- 
 selves." 
 
 I could scarcely repress a smile : for I thought 
 that I never had seen two more healthy-looking 
 persons in all my life— I might even say with a 
 healthiness of look approaching to joviality; and 
 
 it struck me that if any people in the world might 
 with impunity sup upon cold fowl, ham, and salad, 
 such people were Mr. and Mrs. ^\jitrobus. 
 
 " I must also tell you, Mary," resumed the lady, 
 " that our house, though near Winchester, is quite 
 retired and secluded — cheerful enough in the mid«t 
 of nature's beauties, but with nothing of what Lon- 
 don people call gaiety " 
 
 "Stop, my love, stop, I implore you'." ejacu- 
 lated ^Ir. vVntrobus. "That other candle has flared, 
 I positively afiirm ! Good heaven, this room is full 
 of draughts ! you will catch your death with cold, 
 my poor dear creature — and then what will become 
 of me ? There must be a crevice in the window- 
 frame——" 
 
 " Or perhaps the draught comes through the key. 
 hole," suggested Mrs. Antrobus, her look having 
 grown as dismayed as that of her husband. " Posi- 
 tively you must put your feet into hot water to- 
 night, with a tea-spoonful of mustard to give it 
 warmth." 
 
 " Well, my dear soul," replied her husband, " I 
 will follow your advice: but really I think you 
 had better take your breakfast in bed to-morrow. 
 
 You don't look well there's a certain paleness 
 
 which isn't right. I am really alarmed. Perhaps 
 it was the heat in the City when in the sun " 
 
 "Or else the cold in the shade," suggested the 
 lady : but if it were to account for her own looks, 
 there certainly was nothing to account for, as she 
 appeared to be in the most vigoroxis health. 
 
 " Our solicitor's office struck me as being quite 
 damp to-day," observed the old gentleman. 
 
 " 'Then I am sure you had better take a treacle- 
 posset to-night, instead of the gruel," said the lady; 
 " or you will be very, very ill to-morrow. However, 
 we wQl arrange all that presently. And now, Mary, 
 as I was telling you, our house in the country may 
 seem dull and lonesome to one who is accustomed to 
 London " 
 
 "I can assure you, ma'am," was my answer, 
 " that I am far less accustomed to London than I 
 am to the country, and that I infinitely prefer the 
 latter." 
 
 " I am rejoiced to hear you say so," observed 
 Mrs. Antrobus ; " and I think you are wise — for the 
 country is much healthier in every way. There is 
 no stone pavement to attract the sun — no long 
 streets for the wind to go rushing through " 
 
 "And then take you with a nipping chill as it 
 comes round a corner," added Mr. Antrobus. " But 
 I am very much mistaken if I did not see the cur- 
 tain of that window shake ; and if there's a draught 
 there as well as from the other windows, through 
 the keyhole, and down the chimney, I don't know 
 what will become of us '" 
 
 In this manner did Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus go on 
 talking for a considerable time, suggesting to each 
 other all kinds of things that thoy were to take that 
 night on going to bed to avert threatening colds, rheu- 
 matisms, headaches, and so forth : but during the in- 
 tervals of their discourse they both alike gave me 
 assurances of the kindest treatment as well as (ho 
 most hberal wages. In short, we came to an agree- 
 ment that very evening. The nest day I wrote to 
 all to whom it was necessary to make known my 
 future address, not forgetting Jemima, whom I Lad 
 not time to go and sec at Lady Oldeastle's, in 
 consequence of leaving London so speedily.
 
 MAiiv fhioe; ok, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 357 
 
 It was about tliree o'clock in the aftc^-noon wlien 
 the stage-coach in which we joui'neyed from London, 
 drew near the City of Winchester. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Antrobus, myself and the two children, occupied 
 the interior of the vehicle ; and though it was a 
 broiling day in the middle of summer, the old gen- 
 tleman had on his great coat and his wife a fur 
 round her neck. They had mutually insisted upon 
 each other beuig thus muffled up to guard against 
 the draughts which they declared were always to be 
 encountered in travelling by stage-coaches. Then, 
 as the perspiration poiured down thinr ample counte- 
 nances, they begged each other to take care of them- 
 selves as they thought there was a chill in the air ; 
 and they charged me to keep the children well 
 wrapped up. They even endeavoured to persuade 
 me of the folly of throwing off my shawl; but I 
 must do them the justice to say that although they 
 carried their own preca;\tions to such ludicrous ex- 
 tremes, they did not despotically compel me to 
 follow their example. And when I represented to 
 them that the fresh air was necessary to the children, 
 and that there was no need to muffle them up, they 
 suffered me to have my own way, — observing that 
 after all I was possibly right, there bemg a great 
 difl'ercnce between young people and old. 
 
 When within about two miles of Winchester, the 
 coach stopped at a wayside cottage, standing all 
 alone, and having a very picturesque appearance. 
 My first impression was that this must be our place 
 of destination : but a second glance convinced me 
 that I was mistaken ; — for though a genteel little 
 residence, it was evidently too small for persons of 
 comfortable means such as those of my new master 
 and mistress. That second glance likewise showed 
 me a young female of remarkable beauty, who came 
 forth from the portico formed of wreathing jessa- 
 mine and honeysuckle. The powerful sunlight 
 seemed to float around her like a glory, displaying 
 the singular beauty of her rich auburn hair now 
 shining with a golden light ; and also setting forth 
 the exceeding delicacy of her smooth and finely 
 grained complexion, so pale and so transparent. 
 Her figure at first struck me as being of sylph-like 
 slenderness: but as she drew nearer, I observed that 
 it was thin with an air of wasting — rather with the 
 delicacy that interested, than with the emaciation 
 that shocked. I observed also that the pallor of 
 her countenance was mingled with a sedate pen- 
 sivcness, which did not belong to her age : for slie 
 could not have been more than eighteen or nineteen. 
 At the first glance it struck me that her form had a 
 bending and statue-like grace : but the second look 
 showed me that it was rather with a drooping and 
 languid air, which indeed appeared to characterize 
 her altogether. Yet it was impossible to gaze even 
 for a few moments upon her singular and spii'it-like 
 beauty, without being struck by the conviction that 
 some heart-tale was connected with that young 
 creature, and that her experiences of life had not 
 been as happy ns they ought. In a word, I conceived 
 a quick and lively interest in this charming un- 
 known who issued from the cottage the moment 
 the coach stopped, and hastily threading the gravel 
 walk which intersected the little garden of about 
 twenty yards deep, approached the wicket opening 
 into the road. All in a moment I saw her eyes of 
 beautiful blue — they were large, soft, and full of a 
 melting sadness — rest for on instant upon tho per- 
 
 sons inside the vehicle : and then she gave a sliglit 
 start as if a quiver had run through her form, while 
 at the same instant the deepest blush suddenly 
 mantled in carnation glow upon the countenance 
 that was a moment before so pale, so colourless. 
 Instinctively I looked around towards Mr. and Mrs. 
 Antrobus ; and I was struck by observing the look of 
 mingled reserve and compassion — coldness strangely 
 blended with s}'mpathy — which they exchanged, and 
 which was evidently significant of some efl'ect pro- 
 duced upon their minds by the apparition of that 
 fair young creature. 
 
 " One shilling to pay !" shouted the guard of tho 
 coach leaning down from the seat behind, and pre- 
 senting a brown paper parcel to the young female, 
 who at once drew forth her purse and produced the 
 coin named. But I observed that she was cruelly 
 agitated— that her white taper fingers trembled so 
 that they could scarcely perform their task — that the 
 colour came and went rapidly upon her countenance 
 — and that two tears glistened on the long lashes 
 which beautifully fringed her eyehds. But transient 
 was the opportunity which I had for making these 
 observations, inasmuch as having received her parcel 
 she tui-ned abruptly away to re-enter the cottage, 
 while the coach whirled on towards the cathedral 
 city. 
 
 The fair young creature was no longer in sight- 
 she had disappeared like a vision, leaving however 
 a deep impression upon my heart. It was not the 
 sentiment of mere idle curiosity : it was a tender 
 and compassionate interest on behalf of one so 
 beautiful, so young, and evidently so much ac- 
 quainted with care. I looked towards Mr. and 
 Mrs. Antrobus : they were grave, solemn, and 
 serious. Even the very benevolence which natu- 
 rally belonged to their features, seemed absorbed 
 and lost for the moment in the gloom of that gra- 
 vity. For a gloom it assuredly was, — but the gloom 
 likewise which made me aware that though they 
 observed the feeling of curiosity which had sprung 
 up within me, they did not intend to gratify it. 
 And I do not hesitate to say that a livelier curiosity 
 I had not often experienced. For that this young 
 female of the cottage was known to Mr. and Mrs. 
 Antrobus, and that they were equally well known to 
 her, had been evident enough : but that they, 
 instead of choosing to recognize her, had averted 
 their looks in cold reserve, and then exchanged 
 with each other almost simultaneous glances of 
 compassion, was also apparent. That she too had 
 felt she was thus ignored by them— thus rejected 
 from the acknowledgment of ac(iuaintancesliip— 
 was a fact not the less patent. What could all this 
 mean ? Who was she— that fair being of the cot- 
 tage ? A thought stole into my mind— but only for 
 an instant : I dared not harbour it,— for it eeonied 
 80 terrible— indeed I may say so shocking— to im- 
 pute guilt to a being whose spirit-beauty appeared 
 to shine through her with an angelic effect. 
 
 Such were tho reflections which swept through 
 my mind as the stage-coach rolled away from tho 
 spot where my feelings hod been so suddenly and so 
 vividly excited. But the train of my meditations 
 was cut short in a few moments by another halt of 
 tho equipage ; and this time it was in front of a 
 genteel country residence— a moderate-sized, well- 
 built house, beautifully situated in the midst of ver- 
 dure and flowers, and just the very sort of place I
 
 358 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A 8EEV ANT-MAID. 
 
 liatl akeady pictured in my mind as the dwelling of 
 my new master and mistress. Two respectable- 
 looking, neatly-dressed female servants, each about 
 thirty years of age, came forth to welcome the tra- 
 vellers Lome; and an old gardener, with an im- 
 mense straw-hat, likewise stepped forward with a 
 smile upon his face— a smile which was full of the 
 kindliness of an old servant long in the employ of 
 those whose return filled his heart with joy. The 
 trunks were soon handed down by the guard to the 
 old gardener — we all alighted from the interior of 
 the vehicle, the female servants helping out the 
 chilch'on, of whose coming they had previously been 
 made acquainted by letter — the coachman and guard 
 were remunerated with liberality by Mr. Antrobus 
 — and the equipage dashed onward in its way to 
 Winchester. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXXIV. 
 
 THE COZfJUEOES. 
 
 It would be impossible to conceive a more perfect 
 picture of neatness than the dwelling of Mi', and 
 Mrs. Antrobus. Well furnished, without any osten- 
 tatious display, all the apartments were kept in the 
 best order : there was not a speck of dust to be seen 
 — not a chair out of its place — but all the arrange- 
 ments betokening scrupulous care and nicety. The 
 reader may rest assm-ed that the rooms were all 
 guaranteed against draughts, the •windows being 
 made to fasten with the utmost exactitude, and the 
 doors all having list nailed round them. The two 
 female-servants whom I have mentioned above, 
 were the housemaid and parlour-maid : they were 
 very respectable-looking women, about thirty years 
 of age — quiet, steady, and much attached to their 
 master and mistress. The cook was a middle-aged, 
 stout, good-tempered woman, and had been for 
 many years in her present place. No man-servant 
 was kept ; but the old gardener lived upon the pre- 
 mises, and had likewise been a considerable time in 
 the service of Mr. Antrobus. I received a kind 
 •welcome from my fellow-servants in my new place, 
 and had not been there many hours ere I saw 
 enough to convince me that I should be very happy 
 and comfortable with this family. 
 
 The two children that I had to take care of, -were 
 a boy and girl of five and three years old respec- 
 tively. I have already said that they were some- 
 what sickly and required a great deal of attention. 
 I was first of all fearful that Mrs. Antrobus would 
 interfere with me a great deal in the management 
 of them, carrying her own eccentricities into the 
 nursery, and bestowing upon the little ones a share 
 of that anxiety which she const antly experienced in 
 respect to her husband's health. Eut tliis ■was not 
 the case : the good lady seemed to put the utmost 
 confidence in me, and allowed me to have entirely 
 my own way. The day after our arrival Mi", and 
 Mrs. Antrobus went into Winchester and returned 
 in a few hours' time with an immense quantity of 
 toys for tho children ; so that the nursery was soon 
 in the most admirable confusion therewith. To my 
 mind however there is no sight more beautiful than 
 that of little chikkcn amusing themselves with tho 
 toys newly brought home ; and as I sat and g.-ized 
 upon them, I could not help thinking that whi 
 
 all human beings have their playthings, those of the 
 child are objects of the most innocent and unal- 
 loyed delight while those of the man are too often 
 fraught with terrible mischief or else produce the 
 most fearful delusions. The drums and rattles of 
 the former create a noise ■which may sometimea 
 give the headache : but the drums of man when 
 beating amidst the rage of strife, and the thundering 
 rattle of the artillery, accompany the scenes where 
 thousands of lives are destroyed and produce tho 
 bitterest heart-ache. Sad and mournful reflection! 
 that the child on whose chubby countenance play 
 the most innocent smiles, and whose little heart 
 beats with such unsophisticated feelings, should 
 grow up to become tho man on whose features 
 selfishness and worldliness trace deep lines and 
 leave their sinister impress, while the secret thorns 
 of envy, avarice, jealousy, and ambition rankle ia 
 his heart. With the child the sweatmeats and de- 
 licacies bestowed upon it have nothing bitter in 
 their taste, and are indeed all sweet : but ■with tha 
 man too often do inward cares, anxieties, and the 
 rankling of dark passions mingle their poison in his 
 sweetest cup. With the child, ignorance of tho 
 •world is a source of happiness and good : but with 
 the man, hia superior knowledge is fuU often a 
 source of misery and e'vil. The inexperience of the 
 child sustains the buoyancy of its sjiirits and nur- 
 tures the best feelings of its disposition : but with 
 the man does knowledge prove too little for bis 
 mind and too much for his heart. 
 
 During the first week that I was in mv new place, 
 I felt my spirits, which had been depressed during 
 all the latter part of my residence in London, 
 speedily recovering their wonted healthful tone — an 
 improvement to which certain letters that I received 
 no doubt essentially contributed. From Eustace 
 Quentin came one couched in more tender and 
 affectionate terms, if possible, than ever. He said 
 that he was glad I had obtained change of scene 
 after the horrible occmTences in connexion with tho 
 Harlesdons, which, as he had learnt from my letters, 
 had afiected me greatly ; but he still regretted that 
 I persisted in piu-suing my humble and solitary 
 course of life, instead of at once becoming his wife 
 and thus ensm-ing myself a constant, loving, and 
 faithful companion. From my brother William I 
 received a letter stating that he had been to see 
 Sarah in her place at Talbot Abbey, th.it she ap- 
 peared quite happy and comfortable, and that she 
 was growing quite a fine girl. Little Jane was also 
 in good health, and was most kindly treated by Mr- 
 Collins's housekeeper. A letter from my good 
 friends tho Percivals gave me most satisfactory 
 accounts of their prosperity ; and another from Jlrs. 
 Calder, ^vrittcn from Italy, and sent by way of Ash- 
 ford, informed me that Mr. Edward's health was still 
 considerably improving. Thus, altogether, my cor- 
 respondence at the time of which I am writing was 
 well calcidatcd to cheer my mmd. 
 
 It was at the expiration of the first week in my 
 new place, that Mrs. Antrobus came up into the 
 nursery after breakfast one morning, and said, 
 " Mnvy, I mean to give you and the two maids" 
 (alluding to the parloiu:-maid and housemaid) "a 
 great treat to-night. In fact, to tell you the truth, 
 dear Mr. A. aud I are going to regale ourselves in a 
 similar manner: for it is impossible to rcsbt tho 
 attractions of this truly wonderful performance."
 
 MARY PRICK ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-JIAID. 
 
 359 
 
 Thus speaking, the good-natured old lady un- 
 folded an immense long bill, printed like a play- 
 bill, and setting forth how those celebrated and 
 world-renowned Polish conjurors, Count Lievche- 
 witz and Chevalier Pichantoss, had taken the Win- 
 chester Theatre for three nights (positively for three 
 nights only, they being under a bond to the amount 
 of 100,000?. to appear at Drui-y Lane Theatre on 
 the fourth night thence, and that therefore the no- 
 bility and gentry, as well as the citizens and working- 
 classes of Winchester and its environs, would never 
 have another opportunity beyond tliese three nights 
 of beholding the two celebrated conjurors). The bill 
 then proceeded to set forth a detailed programme of 
 the performance, — showing how Count Licvebewitz 
 woidd ride a donkey, which he had specially trained 
 for the purpose, up a perpendicular ladder — how the 
 Chevalier Pichantoss would ascend without any 
 visible means from the stage to the ceiling, and 
 dance a hornpipe round the hoop of the central lus- 
 tre, without breaking the same or his own neck — 
 how the two conjurors together, embraced in each 
 other's arma, would perform sis consecutive svun- 
 merscts in mid-au", without touching the stage the 
 whole time, and without having any rope to sustain 
 them — how they would produce their magic mirror 
 in which any lady or gentleman present should see 
 reflected the image of a futm-e husband or wife, re- 
 spectively, as the case might be — how Count Licve- 
 bewitz would pass his head through any lady's 
 wedding-ring and grin through it as through a 
 horse-collar; how the Chevalier Pichantoss would 
 dance a fandango in a sack, while his comrade the 
 Count would produce from a bellows and a kitchen- 
 poker more exquisite strains of music than ever 
 were drawn fi-om the finest violin ; and how, after 
 an infinite variety of other achievements far too 
 numerous to mention and too wonderful to bo be- 
 Ueved unless witnessed, the performance would con- 
 clude by the Count rolling himself up into a ball no 
 bigger than a good-sized melon, and by the Cheva- 
 lier getting bodily and entirely into a quart-pot. 
 
 I must say that I laughed very heartily at the 
 mu'acles set forth in this prograuune, which had a, 
 foot-note appended, explaining how these Polish 
 worthies, having fought for the independence of 
 then- country, were compelled to seek refuge on the 
 hospitable shores of Britain — and how theu' im- 
 mense fortunes had been confiscated, the Count 
 losing in one fell swoop an estate of six thousand 
 acres with a revemie of four hundred thousand 
 pounds a-year, and the Chevalier suffering to very 
 nearly a like extent, so that they had been com- 
 pelled to turn their talents to the best possible ad- 
 vantage in a foreign clime. 
 
 Talents indeed! mcthoughfc if they could only 
 pcrfonn one tithe, or one-hundredth part, of what 
 was set forth in this progi-ammo, they must be the 
 two most extraordinary men m existence: but it 
 certainly struck me as very odd that two noblemen 
 of such enormous wealth as they appeared to have 
 possessed, could ever have been characterized by 
 such talents at all. Indeed, I vcntiu'cd to express 
 my belief to Mrs. Antrobua that there must be some 
 trick at the bottom of it all. 
 
 " AVcll, my dear Mary," she said, " I do not of 
 course beUeve tJiat everything announced in this 
 prospectus will bo performed; but Miat they are 
 very wonderful conjurors, and that their tricks will 
 
 be productive of great amusement, there can be no 
 doubt. All Winchester is talking of them, and tha 
 theatre to-night will no doubt be crowded to excess. 
 I have sent the gardener across to secure a box ; 
 and as I said just now, you and the two maids shall 
 go with dear Mr. A. and myself. Cook has volun- 
 teered to take care of the children." 
 
 "Iveally, ma'am," I answered, "while thanking 
 you for your kindness, I would rather remain at 
 home and take care of the children myself. I 
 have no fiincy for such exhibitions." 
 
 " I shall take no refusal, Mary," said the kind- 
 hearted lady, with the best possible intention. 
 '•' There is sure to be some excellent performance, 
 although the programme may be exaggerated : but 
 we know that foreign conjurors do perform very 
 singular things. Of course the story of their es- 
 tates and the titles they have given themselves, 
 are most hkely nothing but flourishes : but the 
 whole is put forth with so much good-humour that 
 it is impossible not to be anxious to befriend the 
 two poor fellows. So we will all go, Mary : that is 
 decided. A fly is ordered to be here at six o'clock ; 
 and Mr. A. has promised to wrap himself up in his 
 over-coat and put a comforter round his neck, so 
 that he shan't catch cold." 
 
 Here I should observe that the weather was most 
 insufferably hot — that there was not a breath of air 
 stirring — and that for the last few days the even- 
 ings had been so close and sultry that a storm had 
 been expected. 
 
 " Cook will have hot water ready, so that dear 
 Mr. A. can have a foot-bath when he comes home," 
 continued Mrs. Antrobus ; " and a good bason of 
 gi'uel will make him sleep soundly. He insists that 
 I shall take the greatest care of myself; and there- 
 fore you see we have been settling everything in our 
 own minds." 
 
 Having talked in this strain for some Uttle time 
 longer, Mrs. Antrobus descended from the nursery ; 
 and I proceeded to dress the childi-en to take them, 
 out for a walk. Without any premeditated design 
 I took them tlirough the fields in the direction of 
 that pretty little cottage whore I had seen the sweet 
 young creature whose appeai-auco had so much inte- 
 rested me, and concerning whom there seemed to 
 be some mystery which I had not yet fathomed. 
 Frequently, during the week which had elapsed 
 since I first saw her, had her imago presented itself 
 to my mind ; and that Madonna-like countenance, 
 80 sott and toucliing in its pensive saducss, had ap- 
 pearcd to rise up before me. Nevertheless, I had 
 asked of my fellow-servants no question concerning 
 her; because I had felt assured that if Mr. and 
 Mrs. Antrobus had thought it right to be explana- 
 tory relative to whatsoever circumstances might 
 concern her, they would have done so instead of 
 maintaining a reserve which had naturally led me 
 to infer that it was a tale which I had better not 
 inquh-e into. I had not therefore sought to gi-atify 
 my curiosity in that quarter ; and it was with no 
 object of the kind tliat I now bent my steps with 
 the children in the direction of the picturesque cot- 
 tage. Indeed I was thinking at the time of the 
 programme of tho Polish conjurors ; and it was 
 while my thoughts were thus settled upon this 
 ludicrously' exaggerated assemblage of marvels, that 
 1 insensibly followed the path leading through tha 
 fields towards that cottage-dwelling. I may also
 
 o«0 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MEM01B3 OP A SERVAKT-MAID. 
 
 observe that it was the only walk where the shade 
 of trees could be obtained ; and thus it was natural 
 enough that I should pursue that course on a fore- 
 noon belonging to the hottest of all the hot days of 
 that season. 
 
 We had walked about half-a-mile, and I was lis- 
 tening to the interesting prattle of the eldest boy to 
 his little sister, when all of a sudden I observed a 
 female approaching. She was followed by a neatly 
 dressed servant-girl of sixteen or seventeen, and who 
 carried a child of about two years old in her arms. 
 I know not how it was, but even while they were 
 yet at a distance I felt the intuitive feeling rise up 
 within mc, that this female, followed by the servant- 
 maid with the child, was the object of my interest 
 and curiosity. Nor was I mistaken: for as she 
 drew nearer I recognised the radiant glory of her 
 sunny hair showering in ringlets down upon her 
 bosom from under the front of her bonnet, and 
 flowing over her shoulders from beneath the curtain 
 thereof. She was dressed in a plain and simple 
 manner, but with exquisite neatness ; and her whole 
 appearance was a blending of the softest, saddest 
 beauty with a natural elegance and grace. Thus, 
 though unobtrusive, and indeed bashful and retiring 
 in her looks, even as if with the consciousness that 
 she ought to be so, she was notwithstanding a 
 charming and fascinating creature whom it was im- 
 possible to view otherwise than with the deepest 
 sympathy and most compassionating interest. The 
 child was sitting up in the girl's arras, and its little 
 Lands were playing with the ribands in her bonnet. 
 Such sweet pretty little hands ! such fat chubby 
 arms ! and the child's face, too, set off with flaxen 
 hair, had the appearance of a rosy-cheeked wax-doll 
 — except that it was full of life and innocent smiles, 
 a joyous Ught dancing in its large blue eyes. 
 
 At the first glance cast upon this group — the in- 
 teresting young lady, the nursery-girl, and the 
 child — methought I half read a clue to the mystery 
 which had hitherto enveloped that fair creature, and 
 relative to which Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus bad main- 
 tained so deep a reserve. Was it possible that this 
 beautiful innocent-looking young female had, un- 
 wedded, become entitled to a mother's name ? Ah ! 
 by the pensive face on which the blush of shame 
 seemed slowly to suffuse itself as her eyes met mine, 
 I feared that my conjecture was the true one ! But 
 Oh! if she had erred, she must have been most 
 foully deceived — most treacherously betrayed ; for 
 there was assuredly nothing evil in her looks — no- 
 thing to indicate the young woman of strong pas- 
 sion — and still less anything to mark the wilful 
 sinner. On the contrary it appeared to mc that 
 there was positively a halo of virtue and an air of 
 conscious purity about that young woman, even de- 
 spite her suspicious look when at the coach door, and 
 despite also that blush of seeming shame which now 
 mantled upon her cheeks as her eyes encountered 
 mine. 
 
 I know not whether I gazed so long upon her and 
 80 intently, as to be guilty of rudeness ; but I cer- 
 tainly did fix my regards more eai-nestly than per- 
 haps I ought upon that interesting being. Yet 
 there must have been au unmistakable expression 
 of sympathy and commiseration in my counte- 
 nance at the time ; for in no other way could I have 
 thus intently surveyed her. And that there was 
 too, I subsequently felt certain as I walked onward 
 
 after passing her by ; for I then reflected that even 
 as the blush rose to her cheeks her eyes assumed • 
 grateful expression — soft and indefinably plaintive, 
 deep, and touching — as if she read my own feelings 
 towards her and thanked me for them. But it was 
 no wonder that such feelings of interest and sym- 
 pathy should have filled my heart — for she was a 
 being well calculated to exsite them. I walked on 
 in profound abstraction, almost regretting that I 
 had not spoken to her, even if it were only a single 
 word. But then, what right had I to do so ? We 
 were utter strangers ; and moreover she was my 
 superior in social position, even if she were not alto- 
 gether a lady — and such, in the general acceptance 
 of the term, she certainly looked. 
 
 I did not walk very much farther, as the children 
 were getting tired ; but we sat down for a little in 
 the fields under the shade of the trees. Presently I 
 beheld the object of my curiosity ^-ith the servant- 
 girl and child retracing theur way, evidently towards 
 the cottage. I rose up, impelled by the sudden de- 
 termination to speak to her ; but as she drew nearer, 
 the thought suddenly flashed to my mind that as my 
 master and mistress had pointedly avoided any com- 
 munication with her when she saw them in the 
 coach, it would be improper for me to introduce 
 myself. I accordingly kept sUent. As sie passed, 
 she in her turn looked earnestly at me. Methought 
 there was something in her gaze which told me that 
 she longed as much as I did to exchange a few 
 words, and that she even understood wherefore I ab- 
 stained from making the first overture. Nay, more 
 — I even fancied that her lips parted for an instant 
 as if about to give utterance to the words that 
 wavered on them, but that she also suddenly checked 
 herself and with a painful effort held her peace. 
 She even qiuckened her footsteps, passed me by, and 
 did not once turn her head until she reached the 
 gate at the extremity of the field. Then she looked 
 round for a moment — but only for a moment — and 
 proceeding on her way, closely followed by the 
 servant-maid and child, was quickly out of sight. I 
 returned homo with my little charges, thinking the 
 whole time of the young lady of the cottage. 
 
 In the evening the ily arrived at the appointed 
 hour. Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus, well muflled up, 
 entered it, followed by the two maids and myself. 
 There was not a breath of air stirring: the heat 
 was oppressively sickening — and yet the worthy old 
 couple would insist upon having all the windows of 
 the vehicle closed. In their natural good-humour 
 they anticipated great pleasure from the evening's 
 entertainment : but during the ride to Winchester 
 there were certain little drawbacks to their comfort. 
 Mr. Antrobus discovered that there wiis a draught 
 from one of the windows ; and he seriously appre- 
 hended that his beloved wife would be laid up next 
 daj', miless she took a foot-bath on returning home, 
 a treacle-posset, and lay in bed to breakfast the next 
 morning. Then Mrs. Antrobus found out that the 
 flooring of the chaise gaped \>'ith sundry small 
 crevices ; and she wiu lamentably afraid lest her 
 dear old soul of a husband should catok the rheu- 
 matism, which might load to gout, and gout might 
 be accompanied by dropsy, and a whole train of 
 evils was to follow, unless ho promised to adopt 
 precautions similar to those which he had recom- 
 mended to herself. But this was not all : the horse 
 happened to shy a little at something in the road
 
 JIAET PRICE ; OE THE MEMOIES OF A SEEVAXT-MAID. 
 
 3G1 
 
 __ (■rA\^ -^^^ -O^-f '^ 
 
 —whereupon !Mr3. Antrobus was convinced tliat 
 the driver must be tipsy; and her husband imme- 
 diately recollected that be had noticed a very vacant 
 stare on the part of the man as he opened the door 
 to let them into the vehicle. I certainly had ob- 
 served that the driver did look rather hard at my 
 master and mistress at the time : but it was scarcely 
 astonishing, seeing how they were muffled up, the 
 former in a great coat and comforter, and the latter 
 with her fiu's — the weather being, as ah'cady de- 
 scribed, of such oppressive sultriness. 
 
 However, wo reached 'Winchester without any 
 accident, although both Mr. and Jklrs. Antrobus were 
 more than once thrown into dire dismay lest the 
 vehicle should upset or the horse run olf — which 
 latter casualty wius very far from probable, inas- 
 much as the poor animal had really but three legs 
 to make use of, and had the trouble of dragging the 
 other as a dead weight. Alighting at the entrance 
 to the Theatre, we found that there was a perfect 
 No. 46. 
 
 concourse of vehicles of every descripnon, from tho 
 private carriage and its well caparisoned pair 
 down to the minutest pony-chaise. Tho people 
 were pouring in; and it was evident enough, 03 
 Mrs. Antrobus had assured me, that all Winchester 
 was in a tremendous state of excitement at tho 
 marvellous programme issued by the Polish eon- 
 jurors. We were duly conducted to the box that 
 liad been secured for our accommodation ; and it wa<» 
 not till they were safely ensconced therein, and l)ad 
 .assured themselves against the existence of draug^its, 
 that my master and mistress would consent to un- 
 mulllo "themselves from their hot garments. They 
 oeeu])ied tho front seat in the box, tho two maids 
 and myself sitting behind. As we had expected, the 
 theatre was crowded from pit to roof; and before 
 the hour arrived when tho performance was to com- 
 mence, every place was occupied. As we subse- 
 quently learnt, great numburs of persons were 
 turned awav from the doors, tliero being no room
 
 3r,2 
 
 jiABY rr.ioE; oe, the memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 for them. Tli wealthiest families of the city and 
 neighbourhood were present, and the printed pro- 
 grammes were in immense request. The scene was 
 'most hilarious ; for everywhere the reading of the 
 bills excited peals of laughter. At the same time 
 tliere was a general feeling of wonder and eager 
 cui-iosity as to the extent to which the promises of 
 the conjurors would be performed: for the stage 
 (the curtain being already raised) showed prepara- 
 tions which to a certain extent seemed to justify the 
 announcements of the programme. Por instance, 
 there was a ladder fixed upright, the summit of 
 which was lost amidst the canvass clouds overhang- 
 ing the stage; and to the foot of this ladder a 
 donkey was attached by a halter. Heaven knows, 
 the poor animal was light and airy enough to climb 
 wheresoever a donkey coidd possibly go : for it was 
 the leanest and most wretched starveling of its 
 species I ever beheld in all my life. There was 
 also a large mirror resting against a table in the 
 middle of the stage; and upon this table stood a 
 pewter quart-pot, into which the Chevalier Pichan- 
 toss was to condense himself. There were divers 
 other articles scattered about, all bearing reference 
 to the details of the programme, so that the ex- 
 pectations of the audience were evidently raised to 
 the highest degree. 
 
 An orchestra had been duly provided, consisting 
 ot a harp whicli gave forth the gloomiest tones — a 
 very wheezy violin — a llute that was evidently 
 cracked — a flageolet that did nothing but scream^ 
 and a trombone so hoarse that it resembled a boat- 
 swain who had been roaring for a week throughout 
 a succession of terrific gales. Neither did the 
 players of these instruments seem to be in the best 
 possible concord as to the particidar symphony 
 which was to cheer the audience ere the commence- 
 ment of the entertainments : for while one of the 
 orchestra struck up " God save the King," another 
 began "Eule Britannia," and a third the "Old 
 Hundreth." However, the spectators were all in 
 the best possible humour : for they had not come to 
 listen to the music, but to behold the wondi'ous ne- 
 cromantic feats announced in the programme. 
 
 The overtui-e being ended, the tinkling of a bell 
 was heard, and silence prevaDed throughout the 
 theatre : for that was regarded as a signal that the 
 illustrious conjui'ors were about to come forward. 
 And so they did, — one from the right hand side of 
 the stage, the other from the left ; — and joining in 
 the middle, they made their bow to the audience. 
 Immense was the applause wherewith they were re- 
 ceived : but heavens ! what a strange idea struck 
 mo at the moment. I passed my hand over my 
 eyes, thinking that my sight was deceiving me 
 and that I was labouring under a mistake. Then 
 I looked again — and the idea grew more firmly ri- 
 vctted in mj-miud. I strained my eyes with a pain- 
 fid eagerness. Yes — there was no mistake : it was 
 indeed they— ilr. Tomlin^on and my brother 
 Kobcrt ! 
 
 I sank back in the corner of the box, almost 
 stupified: for it instantaneously struck mc that 
 some trick was intended, as I knew perfectly well 
 that however great a conjui-or Mr.Tomlinson might 
 be, Kobcrt was none at all,— unless indeed he had 
 qualified himself in that line since I last saw him, 
 which I did not think likely. The maids, who sat 
 upon the same bench with ^nysclf, did not observe 
 
 the state of feeling into which this recognition of 
 Count Lievebewitz and the Chevalier Pichantoss 
 threw mc: for they were altogether intent upon 
 feasting their eyes with the presence of those two 
 wondrous men who were to perform impossibilities. 
 
 As a matter of course I did my best to regain my 
 presence of mind: for I did not wish to betray 
 what I felt and incur the chance of having dis- 
 agreeable questions put to me. But the reader may 
 rest assm-ed that it was with no pleasurable state 
 of feeling that I awaited the finale of this new and 
 strange adventure in which Mr. Tomlinson and my 
 brother had embarked. All that was ludicrous in 
 their programme, now lost its salient influence upon 
 me, and lay like a weight of lead upon my mind. 
 My sensations were those of the most painful sus- 
 pense and poignant cviriosity. 
 
 Mr. Tomhnson, -nith a most wonderful effrontery, 
 began to address the audience so soon as the ap- 
 plause had ceased. Aifecting the broken English 
 and foreign accent which might be supposed to 
 belong to the character he was personating, he com- 
 menced, with a majestic wave of his arm, by stating 
 that however extraordinary the announcements 
 made iii the programme might appear, they would 
 nevertheless be fulfilled to the very letter. He went 
 on to declare that not only should the noble donkey, 
 then and there present, ascond the ladder perpen- 
 dicularly fastened, but that he (Count Lievebewitz) 
 would ride on the aforesaid sagacious animal's back 
 during the performance of the feat. Pointing to 
 my delectable brother, he proceeded with consum- 
 mate coolness to declare that he (Chevaher Pichan- 
 toss) although so yoimg, had distinguished himself 
 in nmeteen battles between the Eussian and Polish 
 armies — that he had been wounded seventy-sis 
 times — and carried the scars of fifty-three of the 
 said wouads abou*: his body. As for himself (Lieve- 
 bewitz) he did not like to boast of his o^vn exploits, 
 but he must be permitted to tell the truth. One 
 portion of this truth was that he had been left for 
 dead eleven times on the glorious battle-field ; and 
 another portion was that he had only been recalled 
 to lite again on each occasion in the most miraculous 
 manner. He then fell suddenly into the dismals ; 
 and pointing to the starveling ass. pathetically la- 
 mented, with his hand upon his breast, the dire 
 necessity which compelled him who had bestridden 
 war-steeds to mount the back of that animal. He 
 craved the sympathy- of the audience — he appealed 
 to the generosity of the great British public to be- 
 stow its good feeling upon himself and comrade in 
 exile ; and he wound up this highly edifying speech 
 by declaring that when Poland should be free and 
 he and his beloved companion wore restored to their 
 estates which had been so unjustly conliscatod, they 
 would scud over a couple of millions sterling to be 
 distributed amongst the poor people of Enghmd. 
 
 This hai-angue, which the educated portion of the 
 audience natiu-aUy regarded as a burlesque prologue 
 to the entertainments, but which the more ignorant 
 and crediUous received as gospel, was saluted with 
 another roimd of applause, Count Lievebewitz and 
 Chevalier Pichaiitoss — who, by the bye, were both 
 exceedingly well dressed — bowing and scraping 
 the whole time. \Mien silence was restored, the 
 first-named gentleman waved his arm as indica- 
 tive that he was about to speak again ; and he 
 proceeded to say that he and his gallant and
 
 JSIAEY PRICE ; OE, THE MEMOIES OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 
 patriotic comrade were so overpowered by tlie gene- 
 rous reception tliey liad esperioncod, that they mast 
 retu-e fur a few minutes to compose their feelings. 
 Here both Mr. Tomliiisou and my brother applied 
 white handkerchiefs to their eyes in a truly the- 
 atrical manner; while " Hooray !" and " Brayvo !" 
 resounded from the gallery. IVIi'. Tomlinson — or, I 
 beg his pardon, Count Lievebewitz — once more ex- 
 tending his arm, promised to return in a few mi- 
 nutes to commence the intellectual, artistic, and 
 wondrous performance on the donkey; and then 
 clapping his pocket-handkerchief again to his eyes, 
 rushed off full of di-amatic emotion on the right 
 hand, while Eobert disappeared in an equally ef- 
 fective manner on the left. 
 
 The wheezy, sickly orchestra struck up another 
 time — or rather two or three diiferent tunes — or, to 
 be more correct still, apologies for times ; and the 
 buzz of conversation commenced amongst the 
 audience. There was evidently a strong feeling of 
 curiosity to see how Count Lievebewitz would acquit 
 himself of the donkey-feat — or how he would get 
 out of it : for opinions were certainly divided upon 
 the point, — the occupants of the boxes knowing fiill 
 well the impossibility of the thing, while those in 
 the pit and gallery seemed to be certain that it 
 would be consummated somehow or another. In 
 this latter opinion the two maids seated next to me 
 seemed to share, and thus formed an exception to 
 the prevalent idea of the box-occupants : for I heard ^ 
 one whisper to the other, "I knovv how it can be j 
 done : the donkey will be drawn up the ladder with I 
 ropes." I 
 
 "Well," answered the parlour -maid, "but how 
 can the conjuror go up too ?" | 
 
 " Oh ! depend upon it he will manage." i 
 
 '• Then perhaps you think the young one will I 
 really get into a quart-pot ? What do you think, 
 Mary ?" 
 
 '•'That one is just as likely as the other," was my 
 response, at which both my fellow-servants smiled : 
 for they saw that I was incredulous. And heaven 
 knows I was ! but I couldn't for the life of me think 
 how Mr. Tomlinson and my brother would get off 
 the performance of their promises. I knew full 
 well that the former possessed a great deal of inge- 
 nuity, and both of them a brazen effrontery, which 
 qualities I conceived would no doubt go far ia 
 enabling them to extricate themselves from their 
 dilemma. 
 
 liut while these reflections were passing through 
 my mind, and while the buzz of conversation was 
 going on around, and the orchestra was pomung 
 forth its blended jingling, dolefulncss, shrieking, and 
 hoarseness, time was passing awaj-. Ten minutes 
 had elapsed ; and the audience began to think this a 
 sufliciont interval for the two magnanimous Polos 
 to compose their feelings. Still, however, there 
 seemed to be a spirit of generous forbearance towards 
 men who had seen so many battle-fields, received 
 such numerous wounds, and had lost such immense 
 estates. But when another ten minutes passed, and 
 even the orchestra itself was wearied of waiting and 
 had exhausted all its tunes, real or imaginary, 
 the audience began to show signs of impafience. 
 Several voices from the gallery requested that the 
 performance might begin, or that their money 
 shouhl be returned. The pit next grew clamorous ; 
 and then the boxes exhibited symptoms of iudig- 
 
 I nation. But still the conjurors appeared not, 
 although the donkey was waiting at the foot of the 
 ladder. Indeed, by the time half-an-hour had 
 elapsed, the said donkey was the only living thing 
 : within the walls that appeared to labour under no 
 feeling of excitement 
 j The disturbance was now alarming : vmmistak- 
 able threats were fulminated from the gallery — sten- 
 : torian voices shouted out that tlie Poles were afraid 
 to come forward. The pit evidently entertained a 
 similar idea : the boxes had by this time seen through 
 the trick. Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus grew very much 
 alarmed lest in the confusion the gallery should 
 tumble down upon the box-tier, and the box-tier be 
 I thereby precipitated into the pit. But still they did 
 not like to issue forth, because the fly was not or- 
 dered to come until ten o'clock ; and the}' knew that 
 if they stood about in the lobby they should catch 
 their death with cold. The theatre was by this 
 time the scene of such confusion as I had never seen 
 before and never saw since. It was a complelo 
 Babel of human voices. But all of a sudden an in- 
 cident took place to concentrate the general atten- 
 tion in one point. This was the abrupt appearance 
 of a little, thin, elderly man, who bounded upon the 
 stage from one of the wings as if he had been tossed 
 thence out of a blanket, or had been impelled by a 
 leap from a springing-board. He looked frantic — 
 waved his arm like a maniac — and gesticulated furi- 
 ously. There was a dead sUonce in a moment. 
 
 '•Ladies and gentlemen — citizens — friends — lend 
 me your ears '." vociferated forth this individual, 
 who, it appeared, was the Lessee of the theatre and 
 the leading tragic actor of his own corps : " I come 
 to enlighten you — not to deceive you. Eogues— 
 
 swindlers — rascals " 
 
 "Does he mean us?" shouted out an indignant 
 voice from the gallery. 
 
 "No — heaven foreiend !" vociferated the Manager 
 more furiously still. " I mean those Poles. Poles ! 
 they are Englishmen — alas, that I should say it, — 
 and swindlers, rogues, villains, rascals of the first 
 
 water. They havo bolted ^yes, bolted with 
 
 all the receipts, and left mo minus all the ex- 
 penses !" 
 
 The rage of tho little Manager was so ludicrou<! 
 that it gave a sort of turn to tho proceedings ; and 
 shouts of laughter pealed forth from every part of 
 tho house. The audience generally seemed for the 
 moment to forget how completely they had been 
 done, in the amusement caused by the wrath of tho 
 Manager at having been himself so completely done. 
 The hilarity of tho spectators only aggravated tho 
 fiu:y of that individual ; and he danced and capered 
 about the stage as if ho were insane — till at length 
 seizing a cudgel, ho found a vent for his rage by 
 belabouring tlio poor inoffeusivo ass. 
 
 In short, to bring to a termination this adventure 
 which was ludicrous enough to others, but exceed- 
 ingly painful to me, tho audionco speedily began to 
 disperse: a hanger-on about the placo was de- 
 spatched to fetch tlie fly which had brought us thi- 
 ther ; and Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus having muRljd 
 themselves up with double caro to avoid tho danger 
 of catching cold, wo took our scats in the vehicle 
 and returned homo at a much earlier hour than had 
 at lii'st been anticipated. %
 
 3(U 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEBVAXT-MAID. 
 
 Cn.VPTER LXXY. 
 
 A CLUE TO THE EEADINO OF A aiYSTERY. 
 
 About a week after the adventure described ia the 
 preceding chapter, I went down into the kitchen 
 one morning after breakfast, to fetch something re- 
 quired up in the nursery, when I heard the heusc- 
 maid observe to the cook, " Isn't it strange, though, 
 that he should come back into this ncighboui-hood 
 after having declared that he would leave it for 
 ever P" 
 
 "Perhaps the feeling has gone off," responded 
 the cook ; " which is most likely with a young gen - 
 tleman of his age. One doesn't mope over these 
 affairs for ever. Cut come — you must look sharp 
 and get the spare bed-room in order." 
 
 "So I will," observed the housemaid: and she 
 issued forth from the kitchen. 
 
 " I suppose you have heard the news, Mary ?" 
 now remarked the cook to me; and on my answer- 
 ing that I did not know what she referred to, she 
 said, " Mr. Cleveland is expected here to-day." 
 
 I replied that I ilid not know who Mr. Cleveland 
 was. 
 
 " Well, to bo sure 1" exclaimed the cook : "not to 
 have heard of missus's nephew — one of the hand- 
 somest young gentleman that was ever seen, and 
 the best behaved too, for that matter. Master and 
 missus has received a letter this morning to say that 
 he is coming to pass a few weeks with them. He 
 has been abroad on the Continent for some time ; 
 and I am sure I never thought when he went away 
 that he would ever come back again. Ah! poor 
 young gentleman ! it was a dreadful blow for him," 
 added the cook, shaking her head: " but I do hope 
 that he has got over it." 
 
 Although she was again talking in perfect enigmas 
 tome, I did not like to ask any quest ions: for I 
 fancied that some family secrets were involved in 
 the matter. At that moment the old gardiMier cafao 
 into the kitchen with a foce expressive of joy; and 
 he said, " So, cook, I understand we are going to 
 liave Mr. Arthur home with U5 again ? Master has 
 just told me so in the garden. Ho will be down by 
 the four o'clock coach I'rom London. AV'ell, I shall 
 be so glad to see him : it will do my old heart good! 
 He was always good ami kind to mo; and many's 
 the shilling that he has put iu my hand wiieu walk- 
 ing in the garden and watitliing ine at my work. 
 Poor Mr. Arthur !" added the old man, shaking his 
 head as solemnly as the cook had ere now doiie : " I 
 hope that coming home again won't call up un- 
 pleasant things to his mind." 
 
 "That's just what I am afraid of," rejoined the 
 cook: "but I suppose that he knoivs his own feel- 
 ings best — and perhaps an abseuee of a couple of 
 years has made an alteration iu him." 
 
 The old gardener went forth again to his work ; 
 and I hastened up to the nursery, having no farther 
 occasion to remain down in the kitchen. I could 
 not however help rellectiug upon all that had been 
 said in my presence, and wondering to what secret 
 cause of sorrow allusion had been made iu respect 
 to Mr. Arthur Clevchiad. 
 
 The day was exceedingly fine ; so I tot)k the chil- 
 dren out for their usual walk. Since the occasion 
 which I have be fore spocilied, I had not rambled in 
 
 the direction of the picturesque cottage : but now, 
 for the second time, I took that same path tlirougli 
 the fields. I had no more motive for doing so tlian 
 on the former occasion : indeed it was almost uncon- 
 sciously that I found myself proceeding in that 
 direction; but, as before observed, tliis particular 
 walk presented opportunities of seeking the sliarle 
 not to be found elsewhere, and the day was a^aiu 
 excessively sultry. 
 
 I was walking on with my two little charges, 
 thinking of my unhappy brother Robert and won- 
 dering what in the end would become of him, when 
 I observed the servant-maid belonging to the young 
 lady of the picturesque cottage. She was approach- 
 ing across the field with the little child in her arms, 
 and was talking to her (for it was a gu"l) in the 
 usual strain adopted by those who have the charge 
 of ehiklren. The child appeared to be somewliat 
 cross ; and the young female was so entirely absorbed 
 in her endeavours to amuse it, that she did not seem 
 to notice me until she came close up to the spot 
 where I was i-esting with my own two little charges 
 at the time. Then, on perceiving me, the young 
 nursemaid stood still ; and after looking at me rather 
 hard, said, " Good morning. Though my missus 
 and your's don't speak to each other, it's no reas-jn 
 why 3-oa or I should pass each other by without so 
 much as exchanging the compliments of the day — 
 being neighbours, too, as one may say. Is there 
 any reason r" 
 
 " Not in the least that I am aware of," was my 
 answer. " That poor little thing seems to be some- 
 what fretful " 
 
 " And yet I am doing the best I can to quiet her. 
 There now ! she's gone off to sleep, and I am glad 
 of it." Thus speaking the servant-girl seated her- 
 self on the grass by my side; and after a few 
 moments' silence, she observed, "' I thmk Miss 
 Temple longed very much to speak to you the other 
 day when we met you walking here a week ago " 
 
 " Miss Temple r" I echoed, almost involuntarily. 
 " Is that the name of your mistress." 
 
 "Yes — to be sui'c," she exclaimed, opening her 
 large eyes — for she was a pretty young girl — and 
 gazing upon mo with a mixture of astonishment 
 and curiosity: "didn't you know the name of my 
 missus ? — and you living so near, and with the An- 
 trobuses too!"' 
 
 " Xo — I can assure you," was my answer, " this 
 is the first time I ever lieai-d the name of your mis- 
 tress mentioned." 
 
 "Thi.'u I suppose they don't speak of her down 
 yonder?" continued tlie girl; and she glanced sig- 
 uilieantly in tho direction of my master and mis- 
 tress's abode. 
 
 " They never speak of her," was my i-eply. 
 
 " "Weil then, but at all events the servants do?" 
 immediately exclaimed my new aequainlance ; " and 
 if so, they must have told you all about it. Come 
 now. what's the use of playing the shy and dis- 
 tant with me? just as if what took jd.ace wjis any 
 fault of mine, or as if we servants should show ill- 
 feeling in (he matter." 
 
 " I can assure you that the scrvixnts at Mr. An- 
 trobus's have never spoken in my presence con- 
 cerning Miss Temple's aft'airs : nor have they even 
 mentii)neil her name — or else it would not have 
 appeared strange to me just now. But as for 
 showhig any ill-feeluig towards you," I added.
 
 MARY FUICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 SCi 
 
 " that is impossible ; iuasmuch as I have not the 
 sli^fhtest reason to do so, and am a peri'yct stranger 
 to anythin;^ which might possibly fui'uish a motive 
 for such a sentiment." 
 
 " I am glad to hear yoii speak in tliis manner," 
 responded the servant-gu-1 ; " because I really felt 
 that I liked you the first instant I saw you— and 
 Jliss Temple also said what a nioe-lookiug young 
 person you were, and how she woulil have liked to 
 speak to you, when we met you walking here last 
 week. And now that I recollect," exclaimed the 
 girl, " Miss Temple said you seemed so kind and 
 gentle, as if you felt for her sorrows — so that really, 
 notwithstanding all you have said. 1 must tkink that 
 you know something about them. But do tell 
 mc — where is Mr. Cleveland now?" 
 
 " ilr. Cleveland I" I exclaimed in renewed as- 
 tonishment: and then instantaneously recollecting 
 all the conversation I had heard in the kitchen that 
 morning, I at once associated those allusions with 
 Miss Temple's history, whatever it might be : and 1 
 began to have some little glimpse at the solution of 
 the mystery. 
 
 "■ oil ! I see that you are really ignorant of all 
 that has taken place," resumed the girl ; and then 
 she went on to say in a mysterious and contideutial 
 tone, "Why, you must know that Mr. Cleveland 
 was at one period going to be mai'ried to Miss 
 Scliua Temple, at about the same time her 
 eldest sister Miss Gertrude was engaged to Lord 
 Davenant. But then Miss Selina's misfortune 
 happened:" — and the young female looked down 
 significantly at the infant which she held in her 
 arms. 
 
 I felt as if the shock of a sudden calamity had 
 happened to myself : for notwthstandiug all the 
 circumstances which had hitherto tended to excite 
 the belief that the fair creature of the cottage had 
 erred from the path of prudence, I still had cher- 
 ished the hope that I should eventually hear 
 otherwise. Indeed, I had all along been loath to 
 admit those suspicions which had thus forced them- 
 selves upon me ; and now that they were so paiu- 
 i'ully confirmed, I felt as it were a sudden mistrust 
 in human nature itself. That sweet, charming 
 creature, with her spiritual and nymph-like beauty 
 — Oh! it was a distressmg thing to contemplate her 
 as a fallen angel ! 
 
 " You do not know wliat a good, kind creature 
 Miss Temple is," continued the servant-maid. '■ L 
 have been with her now t« o years — ever since little 
 Selina here was born; and she has never said a 
 iiarsh word to me t^ie whole time. Poor thing ! she 
 is so unhappy — and sometimes I catch her crying 
 if I go suddenly into the room. She often locks 
 lici'self up in her own chamber for hours together ; 
 •and old Mrs. Danby — that's the only servant she 
 keeps besides mc — steals up to the door and listens ; 
 and if she hears our dear missus sobbing, she 
 knocks very gently and begs her not to give way 
 to her grief. I am sure I would do anything 
 for the poor dear young hidy, — she is so sweet- 
 tempered, and amiable, and kindl' 
 
 Here the girl licguu to shed tears; and I took a 
 liking to her — for 1 saw that her grief was genuine, 
 and tliat she was in reality deeply attached to her 
 unfortunate young mistress. She went on to tell 
 me that Jier own name was Nancy Brown, and that 
 her pai'cnts were poor people livhig in a cottage 
 
 about half-a-mile clLstant, and which she pointed 
 out to me amidst the trees. She asked me my 
 name; audi told her — for I found that there was 
 a great deal of artless simplicity about her, and that 
 her questions »lid not arise from any impertinent 
 curiosity. It also appeai-ed from what she told me 
 that JNIiss Temple's elder sister, Gertrude, had mar- 
 ried Lord Davenant — that they lived in London— 
 and that though since their marriage they had 
 never been to see Selina, and it was even supposed 
 that his lordship had ordered his wife not to hold 
 any communication with her, yet that parcels often 
 came by the coach from the metropolis for the un- 
 happy young ladj', and that these uo doubt were 
 sent by Gertrude. 
 
 " She had a parcel as lately as about a fortnight 
 ago," continued Xancy. " Poor dear creature ! 
 when she is expecting anytliiug from London, how 
 she does watch from the parlour-window for the 
 arrival of the coach; and if it passes the door with- 
 out stopping, how much sadder she grows. But if 
 it does stop, how she hurries forth to receive what- 
 ever comes ! — and then she goes up to her owu 
 chamber and locks herself in, perhaps for two or 
 three hours ; but when she comes down again, she 
 always looks as if she had been crying very much, 
 i'et you have no idea. Miss Price, how fond she is 
 of little Selina here — though after all it's the cause 
 of her troubles, poor thing 1" 
 
 " And does she live all alone in that cottager" I 
 asked. " I moan, has she no friends or relations 
 with her? are her parents dead.-" 
 
 "jUas, poor thuig!" replied Nanc\', her eyes 
 again filling with tears ; " it broke her mother's 
 
 heart two years ago you know w hat I mean 
 
 and ever since she has lived all alone : ior her sister 
 had married just before the mother's death, and a? 
 she went with her husband to some foreign part — 
 Italy I think — or at all events, a long way off — to 
 spend the honeymoon, she was not here at the 
 funeral. Indeed the funeral must have been over 
 long before Lady Davenant even heard of her 
 mother Mrs. Temple's death at all. Poor missus 1 
 she has only been a few weeks out of mourning. 
 Don't you think she is sweetly pretty ? jVnd now 
 that I recollect it, that day she received the last 
 parcel from London, the Antrobuses were in the 
 coach, and you was with them : for missus said hist 
 week the moment she met you in these fields, that 
 you was inside the stage along with Mr. Cleveland's 
 uucle and aunt. I think it was tlic first time that 
 she had met the Antrobuses since everything was 
 broken off between her and Mr. Cleveland two 
 years ago; and so she was very much alfjctcd at 
 thus sutldealy liiuling herself face to face with tlic 
 old pcoi)le. But do tell me. Miss Prio^-, if you have 
 heard anything said at your place about ^Ir. Cleve- 
 land r ' 
 
 I did not immediately answer the question; for I 
 did not know whether I ought to bo communica- 
 tive on the subject. But it occurred to me tliat alter 
 all I had heard, it would be but a kind and consi- 
 derate action t<) let .Miss Temple know that Mr. 
 Cleveland was about to return into the neighbour- 
 hood, so that she might avoid the risk of an inter- 
 view whicli Ciiuld scarcely fail to be of a most pain- 
 ful as well as humiliating nature to herself. I 
 accordingly informed ^^ancy that Mr. Cleveland 
 was e.'cpected homo that very d;iy — that his room
 
 366 
 
 MABY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 •was prepared for him — and that he would most pro- 
 bably arrive by the London coach which passed 
 along the road at four o'clock. 
 
 " Oh, this is indeed important !" exclaimed Nancy: 
 " and I must hurry home and break the intelligence 
 to Miss Temple. Good bye ! I dare say we shall 
 often meet in oui- walks : indeed I hope so !" 
 
 We parted — Nancy with the little Selina hasten- 
 ing oft' in the du-ection of Miss Temple's cottage, 
 and I retracing my way with my two little charges 
 to our own abode. During the walk homeward I 
 coidd think of nothing but all that I had heard 
 from Nancy Brown; and I experienced the most 
 compassionate sympathy for Miss Temple ; for I 
 felt assm-ed she could not have sinned wilfully, but 
 that some foul treachery or some extraordinary in- 
 fatuation had proved her ruin. There was one cir- 
 cumstance which appeared to me most strange and 
 mysterious : namely, how it was possible for that 
 fair young crcatm'c, when engaged to be married to 
 Mr. Cleveland, to have been beguiled by another 
 from the path of virtue. It was this very mystery 
 which impressed mo \vith the conviction that her's 
 was no common case, and that if all the particulars 
 were known to me I should doubtless find, as I 
 hoped, extenuating circumstances on her behalf. 
 
 According to expectation, Mr. Cleveland arrived 
 by the coach that afternoon. lie was a tall hand- 
 some young man, of about thi'ce-and-twcnty : in- 
 deed, I may say that ho was remarkably handsome, 
 with a most gentlemanly bearing and pleasing man- 
 ners. There was a shade of melancholy upon his 
 countenance, which detracted nothing from its 
 manly beauty, but on the contrary, rendered his ap- 
 pearance the more interesting. Cordial was the 
 welcome which he experienced from Mr. and Mrs. 
 Antrobus ; and he on his side appeared full glad to 
 see them again. He had not been in the house 
 many minutes, ere he asked to see the " little ones " 
 — meaning the childi-en ; and his good-natm'cd aunt 
 at once rang for them to be brought down. I there- 
 fore had an opportumty of seeing Mr. Cleveland 
 almost immediately after his arrival; and I felt 
 convinced that he must be a thorough kind-hearted 
 man by the way in which he caressed the two chil- 
 dren and compassionated them for being deprived of 
 the parental care. When I was once again up in 
 the niu*sery, I could not help thinking to myself 
 that the whole affaii* relative to IMiss Temple seemed 
 more mysterious than ever: for Arthur Cleveland 
 was in all respects a young man well calculated to 
 win the heart of a young lady — and if Selina Tem- 
 ple had at one time accepted the offer of his hand, 
 it was scarcely possible to believe that she did not 
 love him. But if so, still less possible was it to 
 believe that she would in mere wantonness have 
 thrown herself into the arms of another. In short, 
 I perceived that there were many particulars and 
 details requisite to perfect the skeleton of the his- 
 tory which I had received in so meagre a shape 
 from the lips of Nancy. 
 
 That same evening the housemaid camo up to tho 
 nursery to have a chat with me ; and after some in- 
 different remarks, she incpurcd what I thought of 
 Mr. Cleveland ? I replied that from the little I had 
 seen of him, ho struck me as being a very kind- 
 hearted gentleman, and that I always thought well 
 of those who v.'cre good to children. 
 
 " Your opinion, Mary," retm-ned my fellow- 
 
 servant, " is well formed ; for no one could possess 
 a. better heart than Mr. Cleveland. I suppose you 
 have heard something about that imfortunate love- 
 affair of his ? ^Ve don't like to speak of it much, 
 and seldom do. Ah ! it was a sad, sad thing, and 
 created a great sensation in this neighbourhood at 
 the time ; because it took every one so thoroughly 
 by surprise, the character of the unfortunate girl 
 standing so very high. Indeed, at the moment I 
 first heard of it, I could not possibly believe it. I 
 should as soon have thought our dear old master 
 would have turned out to be a Captain of Banditti, 
 as that Selina Temple could have fallen into error." 
 
 " And was she so very guilty ?" I asked, anxious 
 for the assm-ance that some extenuating circum- 
 stances existed. " Is it possible that she could hare 
 been altogether to blame ?" 
 
 "It is scarcely credible, such wickedness!" an- 
 swered the housemaid. " It makes one feel ashamed 
 of one's own sex. It is indeed very sad to think 
 that an angel in outward appearance could be so 
 thoroughly lost to every sense of decency and virtue. 
 It broke her poor mother's heart. But when I say 
 her j3oo)' mother, I do not know that I ought to 
 have used the expression : for in many ways Mrs. 
 Temple was a worldly-minded woman, and she ma- 
 nceuvred most cunningly to ensnare Lord Davenant 
 for her eldest daughter, Gertrude." 
 
 "Was it not then altogether a loye-match on 
 both sides ?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say that Gertrude Temple was very 
 much attached to his lordship," rejoined the house- 
 maid : " for he is a fine handsome man, though 
 somewhat proud in character and imperious in man* 
 ner, as well as stern in look. But then he is hand- 
 some and of a commanding appearance — besides 
 being very rich. Therefore, in most respects, it was 
 a capital match for a young lady brought up in tho 
 country, and who never could have hoped for so 
 grand an alliance. As for the inequahty in their 
 ages, it is not so very much after all — not more than 
 seventeen jcars." 
 
 " I consider that to be a great deal," was my ob- 
 servation. 
 
 " Lafly Davenant must now bo twenty-three, and 
 her husband forty," continued my foUow-servant. 
 " Ho is still therefore in the prime of hfo. But 
 there is tho bell ! I must go and answer it. Per- 
 haps I shall run up again presently:" — and thus 
 speaking, she hastened trom the room. 
 
 I must confess that I did hope that the house- 
 maid would return ; inasmuch as I foresaw that if 
 she did, she would prove fully communicative upon 
 all the points that I wished cleared up in Mliss 
 Temple's sad history — for my curiosity was certainly 
 piijued to no ordinary extent. At the same time 
 there was one point on which there seemed to be no 
 longer any doubt : namely, that the object of my 
 recent sympathy was very far from being entitled 
 to it ; and I deplored — deeply, deeply deplored — the 
 necessity of withdrawing that feeling from Selina 
 Temple. To think that one endowed with so much 
 externid loreliness and in the earliest spring-time of 
 her life, should be so tainted with wickedness, was 
 but too well calculated to shock the mind and en- 
 geiulor the most tlisagrecablo relloctions. 
 
 The housemaid did not return to the nursery that 
 evenuig : she was detained by her duties elsowliere 
 until too late an hour to rejoin mc. Somewhat
 
 MAKY riUCE; OR, THE MEJIOIKS OF A SEUVANT-MAID. 
 
 307 
 
 disappointed, I retired to rest, and dreamt the 
 whole night through of the beautiful Sclina 
 Temple. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVI. 
 
 THE SPIES. 
 
 The room which had been appropriated as the nur- 
 sery, was on the highest storey ; and the windows 
 were in the front of the house — therefore looking 
 upon the road. I was standing at one of these 
 windows after breakfast in the morning, and gazing 
 forth upon the beautiful scenery which formed the 
 view from that point, vv'hen I was suddenly startled 
 — or rather felt my blood all in a moment congeal 
 in my veins — on observing the two well-known 
 figures of the Bulldog and Nick Sawbridge pass by. 
 They were on foot; and so far as I could judge from 
 such a distance — the house standing back about 
 thirty yards from the road — they appeared to be 
 dragging themselves along with the air of men 
 fatigued by a long journey. They also looked as if 
 covered with dustj and I therefore concluded that 
 they must have been on their travels since a very 
 early hour in the morning. But that they were (he 
 dreaded individuals whom I supposed, I had not the 
 slightest doubt : my eyesight was good — and even if 
 the distance had been double what it was, I could 
 not have failed to recognize them. But what on 
 earth could they be doing in that neighbourhood ? 
 Such was the reflection which had instantaneously 
 suggested itself to my mind; and it was natural, 
 in the first shock produced by the recognition, that 
 I should immediately associate their business near 
 Winchester with myself. I therefore watched with 
 acute suspense to see if they regarded the house in 
 a manner calculated to justify my suspicions. But 
 they did not. On the contrary, they pursued their 
 way without turning their heads at all ; — and con- 
 siderably relieved by this circumstance, I said to 
 myself, "Doubtless my fears arc baseless. They 
 cannot know that I am living in this neighbourhood , 
 and even if they did, what object can they possibly 
 have in seeking mc out.^ No: it is a mere coin- 
 cidence — and 1 must not give way to ungrounded 
 alarms." 
 
 Still I was not altogether satisfied with this con- 
 clusion ; and I wished I had not seen those dreadful 
 men at all — for I felt that for some time to come 
 this circumstance would prove a source of uneasiness 
 and misgiving to my mind. I felt as Hobinsou 
 Crusoe must have done when he discovered the print 
 of a human foot on the sea-shore. 
 
 It was now the usual time for taking the childi-cn 
 out for their morning's walk : but I felt half afraid 
 to do so, lest I should fall in with those fearful cha- 
 racters. Then I reasoned with myself that it was 
 scarcely possible they would have any interest in 
 doing me harm; and moreover, that if they had 
 really come into the neighbourhood on my account, 
 they would not have passed by the house in br<jad 
 daylight and thus afforded mc an opportunity of 
 seeing them. So I summoned all my fortitude to 
 my aid— dressed the childi-cn— and took them out 
 for their usual walk. I did not proceed through 
 those fields which led in the direction of Miss Tem- 
 ple's cottage ; for it was not my wish to encoui-agc 
 
 an intimate aeciuaintance with her servant Nancy, 
 — in the first place, because under all circumstances 
 I felt that it might natm-ally be displeasing to my 
 master and mistress ; and in the second place 
 because I did not choose to let any feeling of curi- 
 osity on my own part impel me to throw myself iia 
 her way for the purpose of gleaning from her lips 
 whatsoever more she might have to tell me. There- 
 fore I led the children in quite the opposite du-ec- 
 tion : namely, towards the City of Winchester. 
 
 At a distance of about a third of a mile from the 
 house, there was a little grove or knot of trees on a 
 slight rising of tho ground; and as the children 
 always liked to play about on the grass and I was 
 accustomed to seek some shady place where I could 
 sit down the while and watch them, I bent my steps 
 towards those trees. Entering the little grove, I 
 seated myself in a place where the hazels and the 
 hawthorns formed a complete bower, with a foliage 
 so thick as to be entirely impervious not merely to 
 the rays of the sun, but also to the eye of any one 
 passing behind ; — and opening a book which I had 
 brought with me, I bade the two children play jusfc 
 opposite the front of this natural arbom", so that I 
 could keep a look out upon them and read at 
 the same time. Presently the younger child became 
 sleepy ; and lying down on the grass with her head 
 supported upon my lap, she soon fell into a deep 
 slumber. Her brother, in a childish frolic, came and 
 lay down by her side, without however meaning to 
 go to sleep : but he gradually fell off into a doze, 
 and at length slept as soundly as his sister. 
 
 All was now silence around me : but this stillness 
 was very shortly broken by the sounds of voices and 
 the rustling of the trees behind the arbour where I 
 and the childi-cn were ensconsed. Those voices ! I 
 almost immediately recognized them ; — and it was 
 accompanied with no slight feeling of alarm tliat 
 the unmistakable tones of the Bulldog and Saw- 
 bridge thus reached my ears. 
 
 " Let's lay down here and tuck into our wittals," 
 said the Bulldog. " It's a nice cozic shade when 
 there's such a briling hot sun over one's head — and 
 besides, it's a conwenicnt spot " 
 
 The rest of the sentence was lost in the noise 
 made by the two men throwing themselves upon 
 the grass withiii at least half-a-dozcn yards of where 
 I was seated. My first impulse was to snatch up 
 the children and hm-ry away from the spot : for I 
 was filled with apprehension at the unpleasant vi- 
 cinage of those dreaded individuals. But tho 
 thought instantaneously struck me that if I were 
 to move I should awaken the children, and the elder 
 would be sure to speak while the younger was 
 equally certain to cry ; so that the attention of tho 
 two rufllans would be drawn towai-ds me — and du- 
 bious as I was as to tho motive of their visit to this 
 neighbourhood, I by no means chose to run tho 
 risk of encountering them face to face. I accord- 
 ingly remained where I was, inwanlly hoping that 
 they would take their departure ero the childi-en 
 awoke. 
 
 " Como now, Nick," said the Bulldog, "just pro- 
 duce the brandy-flask, and it'll help these cold wit- 
 tals to go down all the better. Didn't tlicy look 
 rather suspicious on us at that little public-house 
 just now where wc got tho flask filled?" 
 
 " Well, I can't say," returned the well known 
 Toico of Sawbridge, " that we're the most fasciuatiup
 
 •MS 
 
 >IAKY PRICE; on, 'illE MEMOIRS OP A 8EUV AST-MAID 
 
 chaps in oxistt-nce, all covered with dust as we arc. 
 But I say, harn't we had a good long walk of 
 it this morning? On our legs ever since five 
 o'clock 1" 
 
 "To be sure," responded the Bulldog, with a sort 
 of growl of satisfaction: "that's just the way I 
 like doing things, when there's business in hand. 
 Queer-louking gon'lcmen like you and me, Nick, 
 seem out of place when riding by the stage-coaches 
 — and so it's apt to attract notice and raise suspicion. 
 Wasn't it best, therefore, after allj^o ^get that lift 
 down from London in tho common cariaer's van as 
 far as it came, and then walk all the Test of the 
 way?" 
 
 " Well, it's better now that it's over and we've 
 I'cachcd the spot at last," rejoined Sawbridgc: '• but 
 it's rather a tiresome thing to j(% along for sixteen 
 miles or so on one's legs when one has got plenty of 
 money in pocket to pay coactf^^e. llowsomovcr, 
 caution was the game, and so we played it. Hand 
 us the brandy-flask, Ben : youi-'re keeping it all to 
 yourself." 
 
 "So you sec," .remarked the Bulldog, after a 
 pause, during whi^I could^digtinctl^ngr that the 
 two men were doingauiple justice to their provi- 
 sions — £tnd the elder rulPian was now evidently 
 speaking with his mouthful ; " so you sec that the 
 nice-looking house wo passed last of all afore we 
 
 come to the public, was them people's what's 
 
 their name again ?" 
 
 "Antrobus," answered Sawbridge. "But do 
 you think you did right to make the inquiry at the 
 public ?" 
 
 " Why, didn't I do it in such a way," demanded 
 the Bulldog, " that the landlord and landlady ! 
 couldn't possibly suspect I had any particular mo- | 
 live in view ?" | 
 
 "And yet, as you yourself said just now," ob- I 
 served Sawbridge, " they did look rayther suspicious I 
 at us " 
 
 " Well, after all," interrupted the Bulldog, " what 
 the deuce could they suspect about us ? Wo drank 
 our ale, filled our brandy-flask, and paid for what 
 wc had — and that's everything pubhcans look to. 
 Eut didn't they give these Antrobuses a good cha- 
 racter ? — crying 'em up as the nicest and charita- 
 blost old couple in all these parts. I made sure it 
 was their house as we passed it ; 'cause why, if j-ou 
 recollect we was told it was about a mile farther on 
 the road than Miss Temple's cottage — and that we 
 recognised easy enough by the description." 
 
 "Yes: and deuced glad I was to recognize it too," 
 observed Sawbridge : " for it showed that we had 
 come to pretty near the end of our journey. But I 
 say, Ben, we didn't look up at the winders of An- 
 trobus's house, or yet stand gaping and gazing 
 about." 
 
 " Not us indeed — not such fools I" answered the 
 Bulldog. " 'Why, in a country place like this, if a 
 couple of ill-looking chaps, as the saying is " 
 
 '■This is the second time within five minutes that 
 you've spoke a>;in your own self, and me too," in- 
 terrupted Sawbridge, with a C(jarse laugh. 
 
 "If beautj' and good looks was made a crime, 
 neither you nor me would ever be taken up for it," 
 replied the Bulldog : " and so there's no mistake 
 about that. But howsoinevor, as I was saying, if 
 two queer-looking chaps, such as you and me are — a 
 sort of gen'lemen that don't seem able to give a wcrry 
 
 good account of theirselves — is observed lurking 
 about a house, or even looking up at it rayther hard, 
 it's immediately set do\vn that a robbery is intended; 
 and then all tho inmates is on their guard, and 
 
 p'raps constables is set to watch all of which 
 
 wouldn't suit our book. So that's why I told you to 
 look straight for'ard as we walked along, and not 
 seem to be taking no particklar notice at all of any 
 house we might pass within two or three miles of 
 Winchester." 
 
 " Just as if I didn't understand what you meant !" 
 exclaimed Sawbridge. " You seem to take me for a 
 fool, Ben — or else you wouldn't talk such a long 
 rigmarole about your precautions. If you had told 
 me how you thought of proceeding now we have 
 got down here, I should be more obleeged to you r 
 for hang me if I see how we are to watch the chap's 
 movements, without drawing towards us them very 
 suspicions you're so anxious to avoid." 
 
 "The best plan," answered tho Bulldog, "is to 
 eat and drink first, and then hold a council of war 
 afterwards. So if you've finished the one, let's go 
 seriously to work about t'other." 
 
 " I'm done, and prime for the council of war," 
 responded Sawbridge. " You speak first, Ben — as I 
 always look upon you as a sort of leader." 
 
 " 'SVell, well," observed the Bidldog, evidently 
 flattered by the compliment : for even the sphere of 
 crime has its aristocracy, its grades, and its degrees : 
 " p'raps I do deserve the title. So now listen. In 
 the first place we've foimd out that yon house there 
 belongs to these Antrobus people ; and we likewise 
 know that Cleveland must now be with them — for 
 with our own eyes we saw him get into the Win- 
 chester coach yesterday at the White Horse Cellar, 
 Piccadilly. 'Well, our business is to keep a narrow 
 watch on all his movements, and report progress to 
 a certain party " 
 
 "xind most partickler," chimed in Sawbridge, 
 " to see whether he falls in with the Miss Temple 
 which lives in the cottage yonder, and if so, whether 
 they speak, and on what terms they appear to be 
 together. Now, for my part," added Sawbridge, 
 " I think that one of us ought to keep watch near 
 Antrobus's, and t'other near Miss Temple's." 
 
 " That's exactly what I was going to recommend," 
 observed the Bulldog : " 'cause why, we shall then 
 make siu-e of watching the actions of both, so that 
 if one should miss Cleveland, t'other would be siuv 
 to observe the movements of the young lady ; and 
 if they did meet, it wouldn't be lost sight of by one 
 of us." 
 
 " Then that's our plan of proceeding," said Nick 
 Sawbridge; "and if so be you're agreeable, I'll 
 take and watch the young lady : 'cause why I do 
 love looking after anything in the shape of a petti- 
 coat." 
 
 " Just as you like," said the Bulldog. " I'll keep 
 watch on Cleveland. .\jid now that we've had a 
 rest, we mustn't let the grass grow under our feet. 
 You start ofl' first, and keep along them hedges 
 yonder ; and so you can work yoiu: way round until 
 you get close enough to Miss Temple's cot tage to 
 keep a keen eye upon it. I shall wait here till 
 you're at a reasonable distance ; and then I'll go 
 and liud some shady nook, where I can watch the 
 Antrobus's house : for we mustn't be seen together 
 any more during the day-light. At dusk we'll 
 meet in this wery spot again."
 
 '•'But if the biiisinoss keeps us engaged a long 
 time in these here parts, such as two or three weeks 
 for iastance," observed Sawbridge, " wc had better 
 get some change of clothes in Winchester and dis- 
 guise ourselves: or else we're sure to be noticed 
 by the labourers and people that we may chance to 
 meet in the fields; and if they see us lui-king about 
 in tlie same spot day after day, it's more than likely 
 we shall get took up and hauled afore ajustlce-of-the- 
 pcace as rogues and waggabones — the end of which 
 would be a dance for two months on the everlasting 
 staircase at the county gaol." 
 
 "There'll be time enow to discuss all them things 
 to-night or to-morrow,'' responded the Bulldog: 
 "'cause why, we must sleep in Winchester, you 
 know — for it won't do to go and get beds at that 
 little alehouse where wo filled the brandy-flask. 
 Eut come, you be off, Xick : there's lio use in stay- 
 ing uhal tering liere any longer." 
 MO. 47. 
 
 The convevsaLion was now brought to a close by 
 tlie departure of Sawbridge, the suuuds of whoso 
 retreat amidst the rustling trees I could distinctly 
 hear. Ten minutes then d.-ipsed ere the Bulldog 
 moved from the spot where his companion had left 
 him ; and during tliis interval I was held in ouo 
 continuous state of terror— a prolonged and awful 
 dread — lest the ruffian should take it into his fancy 
 to stroll amidst the mazes of the little grove ere he 
 followed his companion's example and took his de- 
 parture. For I felt assured that if he .should dis- 
 cover me in a position to convince him that I must 
 have overheard every syllable of the preceding dis- 
 course betweeu him and his accomplice, he would 
 not for an instant scruple to make away with nie. 
 lu the deepest suspense did I watch the countc-- 
 n.ances of the slumbering children : but they gave 
 no signs of speedy awakening, and slept tranquilly 
 on. At length the Biilldoj i'^sued forth from the
 
 570 
 
 MARY price; or, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 grove ; and as I heard the sounds of the rustling 
 leaves and the crackling branches, unspeakable was 
 the relief which I experienced. Nevertheless, when 
 those incUcations of his departure had ceased to be 
 heard, I still remained for nearly a quarter of an 
 houi- amongst the trees, so as to give him an oppor- 
 tunity of getting to a distance ere I emerged from 
 my place of concealment. Then I gently awoke 
 the children; and instead of retracing my steps 
 across the fields, I made the best of my way, along 
 with my two little charges, into the main road — 
 because by so doing, the grove remained between 
 the path which we took on the one hand and that 
 which the Bulldog was pursuing on the other. 
 
 On reaching the house I did not immediately 
 report what had taken place, but ascended with the 
 children to the nursery, where I sat down to collect 
 my ideas and deliberate upon the proper courso to 
 be pursued. The mystery involved in the proceed- 
 ings of the Bulldog and Sawbridge, was utterly 
 beyond my power of comprehension : for I knew 
 not enough of the past history of Arthur Cleveland 
 and Selina Temple to be enabled to form the 
 shghtest conjecture as to who could be interested in 
 employing this pair of ruffians to watch their move- 
 ments. As a matter of course I felt the necessity 
 of informing Mr. Cleveland of everything I had 
 overheard : but considering that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Antrobus were nervous and timid old people, I 
 thought it expedient to leave it to his discretion 
 whether ho would acquaint them with the ominous- 
 looking business. That the Bulldog would speedily 
 discover I was an inmate of the house which ho 
 was watching, there could be no doubt ; and well 
 aware of his desperate character, I felt that it would 
 not be safe for me to walk out again with the 
 children while he was in the neighbourhood. At 
 all events, I entertained such a horror of the man 
 that I dared not run the risk of encountering him; 
 and thus I saw the necessity not merely of putting 
 Mr. Cleveland on his guard, but also of consulting 
 him relative to the course which I myself ought to 
 pui'sue. 
 
 But how was I to obtain an interview alone with 
 that gentleman? I knew not: and I began to 
 reflect that after all I should be compelled to speak 
 to him in the presence of his uncle and aunt — which 
 I was very loath to do, as I knew it would alarm 
 them terribly to hear that there were two such 
 desperate characters lurking about the neighbour- 
 hood and watching the premises, lioavcu only knew 
 with what ulterior intent I Accident however fur- 
 nished me with an opportunity of speaking to Mr. 
 Cleveland alone. Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus were 
 compelled by some business to go into Winchester 
 for a couple of hours in the afternoon; and Mr. 
 Cleveland, who did not seem much inclined to quit 
 the house on the llrst day of his sojourn there, 
 remained in-doors. Availing myself of the hour 
 when the little girl was accustomed to sleep after 
 dinner, as a great many chikhcn do, I took the little 
 boy down stairs ; and confiding him to the tem- 
 porary care of the old gardener who was engaged 
 in weeding his flower-beds, I at once proceeded to 
 the parlour where JNIr. Cleveland was seated. Ho 
 was reading a book at the time I entered— or rather, 
 he had a book in his Jiand ; but I do not think that 
 he was occupied with its contents— for he wore an 
 air of melancholy abstraction, and did not even 
 
 immediately notice my appearance. It was with a 
 slight start tliat he lifted his head as I advanced 
 towards him, saying, '• Pardon this intrusion, sir : 
 but it is of the highest consequence that I should 
 speak a few words to you." 
 
 lie gazed upon me with a degree of astonish- 
 ment which was natural enough: for he must in- 
 deed have felt surprised at being thus addressed by 
 one of the female servants of the household. 
 
 " There is no time for much preface to what 
 I have to say," I at once proceeded to observe, 
 speaking hurriedly and somewhat excitedly; fori 
 was fearful of any of the other servants entering 
 the room, in which case it would have appeared odd 
 indeed to find me in conversation with ilr. Cleve- 
 land. "Are you aware, sir, of any reasons which 
 could induce persons to watch your movements." 
 
 " Heavens, no !" he exclaimed, with an increased 
 astonishment of look. 
 
 " Nevertheless, it is so," was my immediate re- 
 sponse. "Circumstances, which I need not now 
 pause to explain, have made me aware that there 
 are in the world two dread and desperate charac- 
 ters ; and those men are at the present moment 
 in this neighbourhood, charged to espy all your 
 proceedings." 
 
 " You sui-prise me ! you astonish mo to a degree 1" 
 interrupted Mr. Cleveland. '• Surely you must be 
 making some mistake P There is no one who can 
 have any interest in watching my movements." 
 
 " I do beseech, sir, that you will listen to me :" 
 — and I then went on to explain how it was that I 
 had become a listener to the whole conversation be- 
 tween the Bulldog and Nick Sawbridge in the 
 grove. I was compelled to mention the name of 
 Miss Temple: but I gave utterance to it timidly 
 and hesitatingly— for from all I had leai-nt, I could 
 but too well conjecture that it would revive 
 the most painful recollections with a too vivid 
 cleai'ness in his mind. And such was evidently 
 the efl'ect produced; for a sombre cloud over- 
 shadowed his countenauco — a look of the pro- 
 foundest melancholy settled iipon his featm-es — and 
 he could but half repress the sigh which rose suflb- 
 catingly up into his very throat. 
 
 "This is most cxtraordinarv !" he said, when I 
 had made an end of my narrative. " I cannot pos- 
 sibly comprehend it :" — and he looked bewildered 
 to a degree. "You say," he continued after a 
 pause, " that one man is to watch my movements, 
 and the other to observe the proceedings of — of — 
 that lady whom you have named; and that they 
 are to make communications, if certain things hap- 
 pen, to some person who is employing them ? Now, 
 for the life of me, Mary Price, I can no more 
 fathom the meaning of all this than I can penetrate 
 the mysteries of infinite space, or read the secrets of 
 futurity." 
 
 Mr. Cleveland appeared to look at me very hard, 
 though not with rudeness, as if to discern whether 
 it were possible that I was in any way deceiving 
 or trifling with him : and I really could not in my 
 heart feel annoyed that ho should do this, as the 
 communications I had made were certainly of a 
 startling and bewildering character — all the more 
 so, inasmuch as it appeared that he could not pos- 
 sibly fix his ideas upon any human being who had 
 cither a motive or an interest in employing spies to 
 watch him.
 
 siAKY pkice; or, the jiemoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 " Pardou luc," he said, perceiving that I compre- 
 hended the nature of the scarchiu;^ look -which he 
 bent upon ine, — '■'pardou me if for a moment I 
 seemed to mistnist you : but all you have said is so 
 extraordinary that it is enough to mako me disbe- 
 lieve my own ears." 
 
 " I am not oflended, sir," was my answer ; " be- 
 cause I am a total stranger to you " 
 
 " IN'ot altogether a stranger in name, !Mary," be 
 at once observed, a half-smile appearing for a mo- 
 ment vipon his countenance ; " inasmuch as I have 
 read of you in the newspapers ; and therefore know- 
 ing ho\v heroic and generous was your conduct at 
 Derby some time ago, I ought not to have mis- 
 trusted you even for a single instant now. I pre- 
 sume that you have sought an opportunity of 
 making these strange communications to my cars 
 alone, in order to avoid creating a source of terror 
 for my worthy relatives ?" 
 
 "Such was my motive, sir: for I need not remind 
 you that Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus ai-e timid and 
 nervous to a degree." 
 
 " You have acted inisely, Mary, and with a dis- 
 cretion that demands my gratitude. Again do I 
 apologize for the temporary incredulity which I ex- 
 perienced. It will be much better to keep this 
 affair altogether to ourselves for the present: be- 
 cause if I were to invoke the aid of justice and give 
 these men into custody, it is most probable that they 
 would stoutly deny your testimony, and at all events 
 would find it to their interest to keep their em- 
 plo3'er's name entirely secret ; while on the other 
 hand, it becomes to me a matter of importance to 
 ascertain who it is that has set spies to watch my 
 proceedings, and I must trust to the chapter of ac- 
 cidents to clear up this mystery." 
 
 " But in the meantime," I asked, " \nll it bo safe 
 for me to walk out with the children as heretofore ? 
 Who knows to what extent the villany of these men 
 may reach ?" 
 
 " At all events," interrupted Mr. Cleveland, '•' no 
 part of then' proceedings appears to apply to you. 
 ^Yhat is it that you fear ?" 
 
 " I have aheady told you, sir, that circumstances 
 have made me but too well acquainted with the 
 dreadful characters of these men ; and they know 
 very well that if I were to sec them lurking about 
 in this neighbourhood, I should not keep silent rela- 
 tive to their presence. That they must speedily 
 become aware of the fact that I am a member of 
 this household, is of course certain ; inasmuch as 
 they are keeping so strict a watch. May they not 
 therefore think it necessar}', in order to ensure the 
 success of their designs, whatever they may be, — to 
 remove me from their pathP I shudder when I 
 reflect of what these men arc capable I" — and as I 
 thus spoke, all the horrors of that terrible adventure 
 on Shakspcarc's Cliil" at Dover swept back to my 
 mind. 
 
 "The whole affair involves so many points for 
 ecrious consideration," said Mr. Cleveland, " that it 
 is impossible to mako up one's mind how to act all 
 in a moment. But in any cose you will not require 
 to walk out again to-day ; and to-morrow morning 
 you can take the children for their usual airing: I 
 will watch when you go out, and I will follow you 
 at a short distance. 1 shall have a brace ol' loaded 
 pocket pistols about me; and therefore fiar nolhiug. 
 Perhaps in the interval I may have resolved upon 
 
 some particular course to be pursued, and in that 
 case I %vill avail myself of the opportunity to make 
 it knowTi to you." 
 
 I thereupon retired from the parlour where this 
 conversation had taken place; and rctLu^nLng into 
 the garden again, took charge of the elder child, 
 whom I conducted up to the nursery, where I sat 
 down to reflect once more upon the occurrences of 
 the day. When night came, I experienced a cer- 
 tain degree of nervousness on retu-ing to rest. I 
 endeavoured to reason myself out of my fears by the 
 reflection that the Bulldog and .Sawbridgc had come 
 down to the neighbourhood of Winchester to watch 
 the proceedings of two particular persons, and not 
 to commit a burglary in the house : but still it was 
 by no means a pleasant idea to entertain, that a 
 couple of such desperate ruffians were in that part 
 of the country at all, and that they had their atten- 
 tion specially fixed on the dwelling within whose 
 walls I resided. It was a long time ere I could 
 compose my feelings to sleep; and when slumber 
 fell upon my eyes, the images of the Bulldog and 
 Sawbridge haunted me in my dreams. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXXVII. 
 
 ME. CLETELAXD's niSTORT. 
 
 Ox the ensuing day, at the usual time after break- 
 fast, I took the children out ; and knowing that Mr. 
 Cleveland was to follow at a distance, I natiu-ally 
 avoided taking the direction of 3Iiss Temple's abode. 
 I therefore pursued the opposite course, bending my 
 way towards the little grove where I had overheard 
 the conversation between Sawbridge and the Bull- 
 dog. But as I emerged from the back-garden into 
 the open fields, I said to myself, " JN'ow, at this very 
 moment, the eyes of the greater villain of the two 
 are upon me. Doubtless he is astonished at seeing 
 me here!"— and I shuddered at the bare idea of 
 being within the range of that terrible man's visiou. 
 I felt as an inhabitant of an Oriental clime might 
 be supposed to feel, when penetrating into a jungle 
 where it is known that a monstrous snake is lurk- 
 ing, but the precise whereabouts of which is at the 
 moment a matter of uncertainty j so that if the 
 reptile really means to spring, it is doubtful from 
 which point the perfidious attack is to bo made. 
 
 I looked round, and observed INIr. Cleveland com- 
 ing firth in a leisurely sauntering manner from the 
 back-gate of the garden ; but still I scarcely ex- 
 perienced any feeling of relief, and certainly no in- 
 ward conviction of positive safety, because he was 
 nut near enough to protect me from any sudden 
 atta(.'k. That such an attack woiUd be made upon 
 me was by no means probable, if I had looked coolly 
 and calmly at the matter ; but I was not in a mood 
 thus to consider it : sufficient was it for mo to know 
 that I was walking in a region where the most des- 
 perate of rulliaus lay hidden in some nook or corner 
 — and despite my natural fortitude, the circum- 
 stance was assuredly enough to excite serious mis- 
 givings ill my soul. As llobinson Crusoe, to whom 
 I have alluded on a former occasion, was alai-med 
 by every bush and shrub which he saw nt a distance 
 as he returned home after beholding (ho print of 
 the n):m's foot upon the sea-shore, sd did I regard 
 with a certain degree of nervous trcpiilatiou every
 
 372 
 
 MAnT price; en, the memoiiw of* A bsr ast-maid. 
 
 objuct which resembled the human shape; and 1 
 carefidly avoided walking too close to the hedge- 
 rows, lest that man whom I dreaded so much should 
 suddenly start forth. For it would be impossible to 
 describe the horror and aversion — the mingled 
 loathing and terror, which I entertained for Ben 
 the Bulldog. 
 
 On approaching the gi'ove, instead of entering it, 
 I passed round, keeping at a convenient distance 
 from its maze of verdure. On reaching the farther 
 eide I sat down on a bank, to aflbrd the cliildrcn an 
 opportunity of having their usual romp in the lield. 
 I was watching them as they were thus disporting, 
 when I heard footsteps approach : and looking 
 round, beheld Mr. Cleveland. I immediately rose 
 from my seat ; but he motioned me to resume it ; 
 and placing himself by my side, he said, " Circum- 
 stances have placed us on a certain footing of friend- 
 liness with each other — levelling barriers and nar- 
 rowing distances. You vrHi not therefore feel 
 offended that I accost you thus — that I sit down by 
 you — and that I treat you with a certain familiarity 
 and confidential intunacy " I 
 
 " Mr. Cleveland," I observed, interrupting him, ! 
 " you need say nothing more upon this subject : I \ 
 can well understand your meaning. There is liow- ; 
 ever something to be considered — which is, that we 
 may be seen together, and this might prove inju- 
 rious to me." 
 
 "Those who are acquainted with me in this 
 neighbourhood," replied Mr. Cleveland, '•' arc well 
 aware that I am incapable of any impi-oprioty of 
 conduct ; and if it should reach the ears of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Antrobus that I sat with you for half-an-hour 
 this morning, I will at once tell them imder what 
 cu'cumstances the interview has taken place. Tell 
 me — have you ever heard the details of my sad his- 
 tory? are you acquainted with the occiu-rences 
 which have connected my name with that of a 
 certain lady — I mean her whom you named yester- 
 day?" 
 
 " I have heard some outline of the story," was 
 my answer ; " but merely an outline — and that so 
 deficient in particulars as to render many parts of 
 it unintelligible." 
 
 " WUl you give mc leave to unveil the sad narra- 
 tive in its entirety?" he asked, with a mournful 
 look and in a melancholy voice : " for it is absolutely 
 necessary that we should consult together relative to 
 the proceedings of these men : and you cannot as- 
 sist me with your counsel unless you aro acquainted 
 with all the facts of the case." 
 
 " If you consider it requisite, sir, to tell mc the 
 history of which you speak, I am prepared to 
 listen." 
 
 "I will do so," rejoined Mr. Cleveland: then 
 after a pause, he said, " 1 must bring myself to 
 mention a name which for two years past I ha-ie 
 never been able to utter without experiencing a 
 painful thi'ill through every fibre of my frame and 
 through every chord of my heart — the name of Se- 
 liua Temple. Perhaps you have st^eu her r" he 
 added, turning towards me. 
 
 "I have seen her twice," was my answer; "and 
 I must candidly confess that at first I was deeply 
 interested in her ; but I have been led to npprehcud 
 that my sympathy was soniewliat misplaced. I hope 
 — most sincerely hope — I shall hear from your lips 
 that she is not beyond the pale of commiseration.' 
 
 Arthur Cleveland shook his head mournfully ; 
 and then, after a brief pause, he proceeded in the 
 following manner : — 
 
 "I. must begin by stating that I was an only 
 son. My mother died when I was very young ; and 
 my father, who was a rich merchant in the City of 
 London, resolved to educate me for the Chiu-ch. 
 Accordingly, on attaining the age of eighteen, I was 
 sent to the University of Oxford, where I remained 
 for three years. At the expiration of that period 
 my father died suddenly, leaviug me a considerable 
 fortune. I must candidly confess that I never had 
 any taste for the clerical profession ; and though I had 
 pursued my studies at the University with ardour 
 and perseverance, it was only to give satis faction and 
 pleasm-e to the very best of fathers. TVhen my de- 
 ceased parent's will was opened, a note appeared at 
 the foot, strictly enjoining me not to enter the Church 
 unless my taste was fiUly in sjTnpathy with that 
 profession ; and gladly availiugmyself of this license, 
 1 at once abandoned the career for which I had 
 hitherto been studying. It La now a httle more than 
 three years since my father died ; and when the 
 funeral was over I resolved upon accepting an invi- 
 tation which I received to pass a few months with 
 ;Mr. and INIrs. Antrobus. Seven years had elapsed 
 since I had visited them ; and then I was a mere 
 boy. At that time, amongst my acquaintances — I 
 may ahnost say playmates — were the two daughters 
 of a certain Mrs. Temple — Gertrude and Selina. In 
 the busy whirl of subsequent school-occupations and 
 college-pursuits, I had well nigh forgotten them: 
 but on my return to this neighbourhood three years 
 back, I Ibimd that the elder had grown up into a 
 splendid young woman of nearly my ovra age, and 
 the younger into a charming creature of sixteen. 
 Being such near neighbours, the Temples were fre- 
 quent visitors at the house : and not merely was our 
 acquaintance renewed, but in a few weeks I learnt 
 to love Selina Temple with an enthusiastic adoration. 
 You must pardon me if I dwell for a moment upon 
 that passion the memory of which .-ilone is left to mo. 
 The rose of love is crushed and withered -nithin me — 
 but its ])erfume still remains. It would be unpossi- 
 ble for mortal man to concentrate all the purest and 
 holiest affections of his soul more completely on 
 any being, than mine were on Selina Temple. You 
 have seen her, Mary — and you doubtless consider 
 her stQl beautiful ? For that she is so, did 1 leam 
 from my aunt last night ; and yet the angelic sweet- 
 ness of girlhood must have depai'ted when nature's 
 diadem of purity fell from her brow, and the buoy- 
 ancy of sjiirit as well as ihe freshness which consti- 
 tuto the blooming beauty of youth in its freedom 
 from the world's taint, can exist no longer I If she 
 bo beautiful still, in the saddened rousciousncss 
 of her fall, and with the glow of a chaste mind ani- 
 mating her cheeks no longer, you may imagine, 
 iMary Price, how lovely she must have been at the 
 time of which I am speaking — namely, three years 
 ago. To my eyes she appeared a being too ethereal 
 to belong to this world, — a seraphic embodiment of 
 grace and beauty. There was the joyous sparkle of 
 the glance, the coufidLng simshiue of the smile, and 
 the elasticity of footstep which scarcely touched the 
 earth, as if she w ere indeed a being above this world 
 and idl things pcrtaiumg to it I Such w.is Selina Tem- 
 ple at the tinu^ when I renewed my acquaintance 
 with her and k'iU-ut to love her. Lonc! it was an
 
 adoration and a Worship, sucli us man bestows not 
 often upon woman: and methougljt that Iier love was 
 as profound and deathless in return. About the 
 same time of which I am speaking, Lord Uavenant 
 proposed for her elder sister Gertrude. I otiered my 
 hand to Selina, and she accepted me, it being under- 
 stood that our marnage should take place at the ex- 
 piration of the year's mourning for my deceased 
 father. Mrs. Temple was rejoiced at the bright 
 prospects which thus opened themselves for her 
 daughters, as she was by no means well oft', being 
 the widow of an officer in the navy and entirely 
 dependent on a pension which would of coiu'si' die 
 with her. Moreover, she was of extravagant habits, 
 and instead of living in becoming seclusion at her 
 pictui-esque little cottage, was fond of society, and 
 not only visited a great deal, but gave parties in 
 return. She was a thorough woman of the world, 
 and had mixed thus in the gaieties of life as much 
 for the purpose of pushing off her daughters as to 
 gratify her own tastes. Supremely happy, then, was 
 Mrs. Temple at the circumstance of a rich noble- 
 man becoming the suitor for her elder daughter, and 
 a gentleman of fortune such as myself proposing to 
 her younger child. And now one word relative to 
 that elder daughter Gertrude. She was about four 
 years older than Selina, and of a far more stalely 
 and commanding beauty. Or to speak with greater 
 accuracj'^, it might be saiil that Gertrude was splen- 
 didly handsome, while Selina was exquisitely beau- 
 tiful. Gertrude was of tall figure and finely de- 
 veloped shape, with dark hair and eyes, and a look 
 indicative of a proud spirit and a haughty soul. 
 She had none of the sotler amiabilities and gently 
 winning graces which corresponded so aihnirably 
 with the ethereal and spirit-like beauty of her sister. 
 Gertrude seemed born to shine in the splendid 
 saloons of fashion, — Selina to embellish some beau- 
 tifid and picturesque rural habitation surrounded 
 with verdure and with flowers — the fitting divinity 
 of that self-same cottage in which she dwelt. Such 
 were the impressions which the appearance and dis- 
 position of the two sisters respectively made upon 
 the minds of those who were acquainted with them." 
 
 IVIr. Cleveland paused — and, perhaps involun- 
 tarily, turned his head in the direction of the pic- 
 turesque cottage, which standing on a slight emi- 
 nence, was just visible amongst the trees at a 
 distance. He gazed long and stea(lfa.->lly, but with 
 a deep raournf'ulness which showed how fondly he 
 had loved, and how deeply he felt the wreck of all 
 the hopes which had once inspired his heart. 
 
 "But I will not dwell too long,"' he resumed, 
 "upon the details of that period when Selina 
 Temple was all in all to me, and when I believed 
 her as incapable of faithlessness as it is impossible 
 for the driven snow to sully its own purity. Sudice 
 it to say that I looked forward to the time when the 
 solemn rite of matrimony was to make her mine, 
 with the confidence of establishing my happiness 
 on the most solid foundation. It was arranged that 
 the two marriages should take place about the same 
 period— that of Gertrude with Lord Davenaul, and 
 that of Selina with myself. And now I must pro- 
 coed fo observe that at the time of which I nra 
 speaking, Winchester was particidarly gay, and 
 there was a constant scries of balls, parties, and fes- 
 tivities. In tlieao I of course could tuke no part on 
 account of the recent death cf my lather and the 
 
 I mourning-garb which I wore ; and I therefore led a 
 comparatively secluded life beneath the roof of my 
 worthy relatives, the only visits I paid being to 
 [ Mrs. Temple's cottage. On the other hand, Lord 
 Daveuant was extremely fond of society ; and by 
 his wish Gertrude was present at all the parties 
 given at the time. Of course she could not go 
 alone ; and therefore Mrs. Temple was necessitated, 
 even if her own inclinations were not concerned, to 
 escort her ; — and for the same reason it was equally 
 impossible to leave Selina in solitude at the cottage. 
 Sometimes Selina insisted upon passing the evening 
 at my uncle's and aunt's instead of accompanying 
 her mother and sister to some gay party ; and she 
 constantly gave me the assurance that if it depended 
 upon herself, she would always pass her evenings 
 thus than go to any of those parties at all. How 
 firmly did I believe her ! — and who indeed, when 
 gazing upon her angelic countenance, as she gave 
 these assurances with an air of such artless simpli- 
 city, could possibly suspect that there was duplicity 
 in her soul ? And yet, even at that very time— as 
 the result will show — must she have been playing 
 a game of the darkest, deepest, most criminal hy- 
 pocrisy. But I, in my illimitable confidence, 
 believed all she said ; and I persuaded her to pui'suo 
 those recreations which I fancied at the time to be 
 necessary as it were for the formation of the cha- 
 racter and the modelling of the behaviour of 
 a young lady just entering upon the gi-eat 
 theatre of the world. iMoreover, as I myself was 
 incapacitated by the recent death of my father 
 from miughng in gay and festive scenes, I 
 considered that it would be unkind and churHsh to 
 a degree to deprive her of those innocent amuse- 
 ments which were suita))le to her age, as well as to 
 the position which as the wife of a wealthy man she 
 appeared destined to occupy in society. I therefore 
 used to tell her that she should devote her mornings 
 and afternoons to me, that we might ramble to- 
 gether in the fields, or sit in an arbour of her gar- 
 den to read our favourite authors together; but that 
 her evenings she must devote to the same pursuits 
 as her mother and sister. I must now intoriu you 
 that at the period of which I am speaking, a dashing 
 regiment of dragoons were quartered in Winchester ; 
 and the officers were naturally in great recjuest at 
 all the balls and parties given in the city or its en- 
 virons. It was uidced thi'ir presence at Winchester 
 which created such an unusual round of gaieties; 
 and I must add that tliis regiuicnt had aheadybeen 
 stationed there some six or eight months at the time 
 when I came on that visit to my uncle and aunt. 
 Amongst Ihc officers was a certain Captain Tollc- 
 mache — one of the handsomest men that ever woro 
 the most attractive uniform in the niilitai'y service. 
 Ho was about six-and-twcnty years of ago — un- 
 married — a great favourite wit h everybody — courted 
 by the men as an excellent fellow, and pronounced 
 by the ladies to be a most engaging, fascinating, and 
 agreeable companion. At the same time ho had the 
 reputation of unscrupulous honour; and his general 
 good character was such that even the most parti- 
 cular fathers and mothers did not object to allow 
 him to visit at their houses. Indeed, ho was a gene* 
 ral favourite. He could talk iwlitics with old gt<fi. 
 tlemen : and whatever their opiuions. he contrived 
 to avoid tlispute, although never compromising his 
 own. To elderly ladies, iluwagers, mammas, and
 
 J74 
 
 JIAKV rKK C ; OK, THE 3IEMOIR3 OF A SERVAXT-3IAID. 
 
 old maids, ho manifested a courtesy of attention not 
 usually shown by dashing young men of his age and 
 position. He used frequently to visit at Mrs. Tem- 
 ple's; and indeed when I came into the neighbour- 
 hood, I found that he was on terms as intimate 
 there aa at most other houses, lie was wont to 
 take new music to the young ladies, wrote poems in 
 then- albums, and paid them all those Uttle cour- 
 tesies and attentions which are common in genteel 
 life, and which have no ulterior meaning attached 
 to them. For everybody said that Captain Tollc- 
 macho was not a marrying man ; and his high re- 
 putation appeared an adequate guarantee against 
 the possibility of his harbouring dishonourable 
 views. Lord Daveuant was not jealous of the Cap- 
 tain on account of Gertrude ; and assuredly I was 
 not in respect to Sclina. On the contrary, I 
 formed a very sincere liking for Captain Tolle- 
 mache; and we used frequently to walk or ride 
 out together. His horses were always at my ser- 
 vice ; and in many ways did his actions seem to 
 prove that my friendship was reciprocated." 
 
 Hero Mr. Cleveland paused again. This time he 
 did not gaze in the dkcction of the cottage, but 
 bent his looks downwards in deep and melancholy 
 abstraction. I said nothing — but awaited with some 
 degree of curiosity for the continuation of his nar- 
 rative. 
 
 " Six months passed away," he resumed at length, 
 " and I was then compelled to return to London. 
 During my absence, the solicitors who were en- 
 trusted with the settlement of my deceased father's 
 affiiirs, had made considerable progress in the busi- 
 ness; and my presence in the capital became no- 
 cessai'y for the tmal arrangements. I have already 
 told you that my father was a merchant ; and as he 
 died in excellent circumstances, leaving me a consi- 
 derable fortune, I did not choose to carry on his 
 business. I had therefore given directions to have 
 it disposed of; a purchaser had been found — nego- 
 tiations were carried on — and it now needed my 
 assistance to terminate the matter. I must how- 
 ever add that my father had established branch 
 houses on the Continent ; and it was imperatively 
 necessary for me to repair thither with the pur- 
 chaser of the business, in order to induct him into 
 full possession of the extensively ramified concern. 
 In short, there was every prospect of an absence of 
 eeveral months, inasmuch as I deemed it desirable 
 to have all my alfuirs fully settled previous to my 
 marriage, in order that no cares of business might 
 mar the happiness of that wedded stale to which I 
 looked forward which such blissful anticipation. I 
 took leave of SeUna ; and we parted with the most 
 fervid protestations of continued love and devotion. 
 How profound appeared her grief! and Oh, the 
 tears which stood upon her checks seemed pure as 
 the dew in its gem-like brilliancy on the modest 
 loaves of (he rose. Yes — we parted! 1 took leave 
 also of her mother and sister — of Lord Davenant 
 and Captain ToUcmacho — of my uncle and aunt — 
 and proceeded to London. If anybody had then 
 whispered in my car the faintest syllable shadowing 
 forth what was destined to occur, I should have re- 
 pelled the prophecy with mingled indignation and 
 Boorn, and denounced the proplict as the vilest of 
 calumniators. Indeed it was with the fullest confi- 
 dence that at the expiration of the period of my 
 absenco I should return to find a pui-e, and lovuig, 
 
 and affectionate creature waiting to become my 
 bride, — it was in such confidence as this, I say, that 
 I took my departure. I was detained in London 
 about two months, and so much occupied every day 
 as to be totally unable to pay a visit to Winchester • 
 and then my journey to the Continent was hurried 
 by circumstances which I need not mention, they 
 being purely of a business character. The affairs of 
 the branch-houses, and the formalities of transfer- 
 ring them to the purchaser of the business, occupied 
 me during the four months that followed ; and thus 
 it was altogether six month since I parted from 
 Seliua Temple. During that period I heard from 
 her constantly ; and her letters breathed the purest 
 and sLncerest affection. "\Mien I think of those 
 letters, and then reflect upon the depth of guilt and 
 shame in whic'a she was all the while plunged, I am 
 astounded at the association of so much tremendous 
 hypocrisy with one so young and apparently so art- 
 less. But it does not bear thinking of. It is one of 
 those occurrences in life which defy all ordinary cal- 
 culations and ideas in respect to human nature : or 
 rather, may I not say that it is something to make 
 one doubt the whole world — sulEcient to destroy 
 every particle of confidence in one's fellow creatures ? 
 But let me make as speedy an end of my narrative 
 as possible. My aftairs on the Continent being at 
 length finished, at the very time when my year's 
 mourning for my father expired, I returned to 
 England, -f-having previously written letters to 
 "Winchester to notify the fact. Yes — I returned, 
 resolved to lose no time in speeding back to the 
 place which contained all I held dear upon earth. 
 !My purpose was to remain but a few hours in 
 London, and then travel on to my ultimate destina- 
 tion. Conceive, therefore, my astonishment when 
 on arriving in London, I found my uncle and aunt 
 waiting there to meet nic; and at the very first 
 moment I encoimtercd them, I saw by their looks 
 that there was somethuig wrong. A terrible mis- 
 giving seized upon me — but of a very different 
 character from the real truth. I fancied that Selina 
 ^^■as ill, or that she was dead — and I trembled so 
 that I could hardly speak. My uncle and aunt 
 besought me to summon all my fortitude to my aid, 
 as they laboured imdcr the painful duty of having 
 terrible tidings to impart. Then I felt assured that 
 my worst feai's were contuTned, and that Selina was 
 no more. Heaven forgive me if I say that it had 
 been better to have heard even this than the intolh- 
 gcncc which was in store for me ! But let me come 
 to the point. It appeared that a circumstiuiee of 
 terrible shame and scandal had taken place ail on a 
 sudden at ilrs. Temple's cottage, only three days 
 before this meeting with my uncle and aunt in 
 London. In the dead of night a surgeon had been 
 fetched in the utmost haste from Winchester : and 
 shortly after his arrival at the cottage, Selina 
 Temple became a mother. The utmost endeavours 
 were made to hush up the matter; but the medical 
 man incautiously said enough to his own wife on his 
 return home, to enable her to comprehend what had 
 occurred — and as she for some reason entertained a 
 feeling of jealoiu^ ninliguity towards tlie Temples, 
 she spread the affair abroatl. It flow like wildfire, 
 taking every one throughout the neighbourhood 
 with a surprise amounting to a consternation. The 
 name of the seducer also transpired — and this was 
 Captain ToUcmachc! Such was the terrible an-
 
 MARY PKICE; or, IBE MEMOIRS OP A SERVAST-MAID. 
 
 nouncement which my iinele and aunt broke to me 
 
 as delicately as they could : but despite all their 
 kind consideration, it came upon me with an over- 
 whelming effect. A thunderbolt falling at mj' feet 
 could not have produced a sensation more astound- 
 ing : but that thimderbolt would have been mercy 
 had it fallen on my head. Was it possible that 
 human nature could be guilty of such consummate 
 wickedness ? Why, at the very time when Sehna 
 Temple received the avowal of my love, accepted my 
 suit, pledged me her troth, and consented to become 
 my bride in due course, — at that very time, I say, 
 must she have been a lost and fallen creature ! Yes : 
 and throughout the interval of my absence too, dur- 
 ing which she had written so many letters replete 
 with such assurances of undivided love and continued 
 affection, must she have been aware of the state in 
 which her fraUty had placed her, and which could ex- 
 perience no other catastrophe than that of shame ! 
 But I cannot dwell upon this subject, so fraught with 
 painful reminiscences for me. Doubtless you can 
 understand all I must have feit — all I must have en- 
 dured ? For several days I alternated between the 
 ravings of frenzy and the despondency of despair, 
 — in either mood seeming quite capable of self- 
 destruction. From my uncle and aunt did I ex- 
 perience the kindest and tenderest ministrations : 
 but where was the balm that the world could fur- 
 nish for wounds so deep as mine ? where was the 
 anodyne which mortal hands could minister to sooth 
 a grief so stupendous as that which filled my heart P 
 At length, when my mind had regained so much of 
 its composure as to leave me the master of my 
 actions, I sped away to the Continent, resolving 
 upon a long absence, in the hope that by persever- 
 ing travels I might be enabled to mitigate the poig- 
 nancy of my anguish in the rapid succession of 
 changing scenes. I corresponded occasionally with 
 my kind relatives, and from them learnt the inci- 
 dents that took place in England. Thus I was in- 
 formed that Lord Davenant honourably fulfilled his 
 engagement with Gertrude, from which he was not 
 deterred by the shame that had overtaken her 
 sister. I likewise learnt that Sirs. Temple had 
 died of grief— or, as worthy Mrs. Antrobus ex- 
 pressed it, of a broken heart ; and that the un- 
 happy Selina continued to inhabit the cottage 
 with the innocent offspring of her shame. Be- 
 fore I bring my narrative to a conclusion I must 
 inform you that when upon the Continent I fre- 
 quently met Lord and Lady Davenant, who were 
 likfiwiso travelling in foreign parts. As a matter of 
 course I did not testify towards her ladyship any 
 reserve or coldness in consequence of the deceit her 
 sister had practised towards me, and in which she 
 herself was, I all along believed, far from being an 
 accomplice. Once— and once only — was the name 
 of Selina mentioned by Lady Davenant and me ; 
 and on that occasion it happened that we were alone 
 together. In delicate and gentle terms did she 
 approach the subject, saying that she knew it was 
 as painful a one to me as it was for herself, but that 
 she could not do otherwise than avail herself of the 
 opportunity to give me a few words of explanation, 
 so as to justify herself in respect to any suspicion 
 that might be lurking in my mind as to her know- 
 ledge of her sister's misfortune previous to ils ex- 
 posure. She then went on to assm-e me that neither 
 she nor her mother had suspected Selina's position 
 
 until the very last hour. But I will not, Mary 
 Price, dwell longer on this point : suffice it to say 
 that Lady Davenant fully convinced me that she 
 was no accomplice in the duphcity practised bv her 
 unfortunate sister towards me. That was the' only 
 occasion on which Sehna's name was ever mentioned 
 by her ladyship ; and Lord Davenant, with a con- 
 siderate delicacy, forbore altogether from any 
 allusion thereto. I need scarcely tell you that I 
 did not court their society more than was necessary 
 in the Continental towns where I met them. Not 
 that I had the slightest ill-will towai'ds her lady- 
 ship ; but because I never coulil find myself in her 
 presence without experiencmg a poignant revival of 
 all the bitterest recollections. That she herseli' 
 deeply feels her sister's disgrace, I am confident : 
 for her ladyship is not happy— and often did I 
 notice that she fell into moods of a painful abstrac- 
 tion. The last time I saw Lord and Lady Davenant 
 on the Continent, they expressed themselves in the 
 most friendly and earnest terms, to the effect that 
 they hoped when I revisited England (whither they 
 themselves were then about to proceed) I would call 
 upon them ; and I could not without rudeness avoid 
 giving an affirmative promise. Accordingly, on 
 arriving in London the other day, I did repair to 
 Davenant House, and paid my respects to its noble 
 owners. They received me with the kindest atten- 
 tion ; and when I informed them that I purposed 
 passing a few months with 5Ii-. and Mrs. Antrobus, 
 his lordship generously declared his unfeigned 
 delight at the intelhgence— thereby meaning "that 
 he was pleased to observe the composed and altered 
 state of my mind. Lady Davenant said nothing : 
 but her looks showed how painfully the recoUections 
 of the past had just been revived in her mind by 
 the mention of the circumstance that I was about 
 to revisit the neighbourhood in \>'hich her un- 
 happy sister dwelt. And now, Mai-y Trice, 
 that you are acquainted with all the details 
 of this melancholy narrative, perhaps j-ou may 
 wonder that I should have come to such a resolve as 
 that of visiting my relatives again? But in the 
 th-st place I owe them many obligations ; and it 
 was my boimden duty to triiunph so far over my 
 own feelings as not to allow them to stand in tho 
 v,'ay of doing my duty towards such kind relations. 
 And know you not, Mai'y Price, that there is 
 in the human heart a certain feeling — whether a 
 morbid or a healthful one, I cannot s;iy— but which 
 invariably prompts impulsive man to revisit sooner 
 or later tlie scenes where his happiest or his most 
 wretched recollections are centred. And so it is with 
 me. One thing however I assuredly did dread— 
 which was the chance of a meeting with Selina 
 Temple. But ere I came down hither I reasoned 
 to myself that as she would be certain to hear of 
 my arrival, she herself would adopt every precau- 
 tion to avoid an encounter. But now that I am 
 here, I have not altogether that same dread of meet- 
 ing her; and at this moment, aftjr I have so long 
 been sp(!aking of her, I almost feel as if it would be 
 a melanciioly pleasure for me to see her once again."' 
 Mr. Cleveland paused— and I gazed upon him 
 with some degree of curiosity and auiazcmont : for 
 it seemed singular indeed that he should speak thus 
 of a meeting with the authoress of all his sorrows. 
 
 " No, no — I said too umch — I spoke unguardedly," 
 ho abruptly exclaimed, with much excitement. " It
 
 would not do for us to meet. If we did I ought to 
 turn away from her in seom — or ebc over- 
 whelm her with reproaches. But I could do neither. 
 Good heavens ! to think that I speak of treating 
 with scorn her whom I once loved so tenderly— so 
 devotedly! And, Oh! must there not have been 
 some foul and diabolical treachery practised by that 
 consummate villain who led her from the paths of vir- 
 tue ? Yes : but even gi-anting that, still no power 
 
 of sophistry could furnish extenuation for the long 
 course of duplicity which she practised toward my- 
 self—deep, vile, terrible duplicity! Oh, now my 
 blood boils as I think of it ! No, no — assuredly I 
 must not stand the chance of encountering her !" 
 
 Throughout this speech Arthm- Cleveland had 
 shownmore excitement and deeper varieties of feeling 
 than during the whole course of the narrative of his 
 unfortunate love : and stopping suddenly short, 
 he covered his face with his hands and remained for 
 more than a minute absDrbed iu the saddest reverie. 
 I said nothing, but sat reflecting on the pain- 
 fully interesting and truly extraordinary lustory 
 which I had heard, and wliich was far moro ro- 
 mantic and seemed to delineate a more stai-tling 
 phase in the progress of hiunan hypocrisy than any- 
 thing which the pen of the novelist ever had 
 sketched out. 
 
 " And now, Mary," resumed Mr. Cleveland, slowly 
 removing his hands from his countenance and turn- 
 ing his looks towards nie, — " now that you have 
 heard my story, can you see youi- way one whit 
 moro clearly towards the unravelment of the mys- 
 tery of this watch which is set upon my move- 
 ments ?" 
 
 " I must confess," was my response, " that I (Can- 
 not. I thank you, sir, for the trouble which you have 
 given yourself in telling mc this history, and for the 
 confidence which you repose in me : but frankly do 
 I declare that I am as much at a loss as ever to ac- 
 count for the proceeding instituted by means nf 
 these two men. Might I ask, sir, if you are aw;ire 
 what has become of Captain ToUemache ?" 
 
 " I forgot to mention just now that in some of 
 the earliest letters which I received fi'om my imcle 
 and aunt after leaving England to travel upon the 
 Continent, they stated that Captain ToUemache had 
 suddenly left Winchester at the very time the ex- 
 posure took place, and that he had been no more 
 heard of. Subsequently, it appears, he sold out of 
 his regiment, and all trace of him then seemed to 
 be lost. But do you know, Mary, that two or three 
 times while I was travelling on the Contment, it 
 struck me that I caught a gUmpsc of the villain : 
 still upon each occasion it was only a glimpse, and 
 one 80 fleeting that it left no certainty as to the 
 fact behind it. I am, however, inclined to beUeve 
 that my conjecture was right, because on each oc- 
 casion the individual whom I fancied to bo Captain 
 ToUemache, disappeared with an abruptness as if 
 he were anxious to escape fi-om my notice. 1 may 
 add, too, that each time this circumstance occurretl 
 I made inquiries iu the particular towns where I 
 thought I saw him, to ascertain if such an indivi- 
 dual were there : but I coidd obtain no satisfactory 
 information upon the point. But why did you ask 
 me what had become of this man ? Did it strike 
 you that he might bo at the bottom of the spy- 
 system instituted in respect to mysoU' and Seliua 
 • Temple ?" 
 
 '•■ Such an idea did certainly occur to me for the 
 moment," was my answer, — •'•' but only for the mo- 
 ment — because a second thought convinced me that 
 it could not be s-j." 
 
 '• Xo," rejoined Mr. Cleveland : '•' for what earthly 
 interest can Captain ToUemache Lave in making 
 himself acquainted with my movements ? From 
 what my aunt told mc last evening, he has never 
 been seen nor heard of iu this neighbourhood since 
 the exposiu^e of the ruin which he wrought. He 
 cannot therefore be jealous of Selina Temple, as 
 he has no farther intercourse with her. What con- 
 jectiu-c arc we to form, therefore, respecting these 
 spies ?" 
 
 '• I know not," was my reply. '• But what ci)urse 
 do you intend to pursue? "W'iU you allow these 
 dreadful men to remain in the neighbourhood? or 
 does it not strike you, sir, that when they shall 
 have weU watched particular premises and made 
 Ihomsclvcs thoroughly acquainted with aU the 
 movements of tho inmates, they are quite capable 
 of breaking into those premises for the purposes of 
 robbery? In short, there is no safety either for 
 your uncle's house or iliss Temple's cottage, so 
 long as these desperate characters arc lurking 
 about in the vicinage." 
 
 '•Your observations are most just, Mary," re- 
 j joined Mr. Cleveland. '■ .ind yet, as I observed to 
 you yesterday, it is absolutely necessary that I 
 I should tmd out who is the author of this deliberate 
 and deeply arranged schi'me of espiaL Perhaps," 
 ho added in u musing tone, " there may be some 
 circumstances connected with the past, of which I 
 i myself am unaware, but which on the other hand 
 are known to Sehua Temple, and which would af- 
 ford a clue to the development of this mystery. 
 I I'crhaps, too. if she herself ■were informed that spies 
 arc set to watch our motions — and especially to as- 
 j certain whether wo meet at all, and if so, upon 
 what terms we meet, — perhaps, I say, if she were 
 told all this, she might judge from circumstances 
 known to lierself who is the person likely to be the 
 employer of these men. ZVow, Mary Price," asked 
 Mr. Cleveland, tui-ning somewhat abruptly towards 
 mo, •• wiU you do me a favour r" 
 
 ■■ With pleasure," I answered: '• because I know 
 full well that you wUl make no request which I 
 may not pledge mysrlf beforehand to gi-ant." 
 
 "Then," at once rejoined Mr. Cleveland, '•you 
 must see Solina Temple and make her acquainted 
 with everything you know in respect to these 
 men." 
 
 '• And am I to tell her, sir," I asked, " that 
 it is by your wish I take such a stop r" 
 
 '• Mary," he replied gravely, "1 must leave it 
 to your own good souse and delicacy of feeling to 
 make as little allusion to me as possible. But you 
 will sec her — you will not fly from the promise you 
 have given me r" 
 
 " I will see Miss Temple, sir, since such is your 
 desire. But observe — these men who are watching 
 wiU not fail to notice- that I pay a visit to the cot- 
 tage, and thoy may perhaps suspect that I am in 
 some way bent in frustrating their designs : for it 
 would not be the lirst time," I added, as the recol- 
 lection of tho rescue of little IsabeUa Clementina 
 ti'om the hands of those nUliamj occurred to mj 
 miiul. 
 
 •Thr'y can scai-coly put such a construction upon
 
 MAHY PEICE ; OR, THE MEMOIES OF A SEEVANT-MAID. 
 
 the simple fact of your paving a visit to Miss Tem- 
 ple's abode. At all events you must incur the risk. 
 And now tell me, how is it to be managed ? Can 
 you not obtain leave of absence this afternoon for 
 an hour or two P" 
 
 '■ Mrs. Antrobus would ask mo whither I was 
 goiufj, and I could not tell her a falsehood." 
 
 "Excellent jrii-l !" exclaimed Mr. Cleveland: 
 " pardon me if for a moment I appeared to suggest 
 anything savouring of duplicity. No — I did not 
 mean that : for it did not strike me at the time that 
 you would be questioned as to your object in going 
 out alone. I must leave you to suggest your own 
 plan — unless indeed you wish mo at once to tell my 
 uncle and aunt everything that has taken place, and 
 thus make them awaro of the commission where- 
 with I havo entrusted you in respect to Miss 
 Temple ?" 
 
 " No — I do not wish you to adopt this course," 
 NO. 48. 
 
 said I, after a few moments' roncction : " for I am 
 very sure that my master and mistress would be 
 made really ill with alarm if they knew that these 
 desperate characters were lurking about the house. 
 But I tell you what I will do, sir. This evening, at 
 about six o'clock, I will take the children for a walk 
 in the direction of the cottage: you must follow at 
 a convenient distance— and then I will leave the 
 children for a little while in your charge, while I pay 
 the visit which you desire." 
 
 " Be it so," observed Mr. Cleveland. "And now, 
 Mary, let mo express my thanks for the interest you 
 are taking in tlus matter." 
 
 lie then left mo ; and I retraced my way with the 
 children homeward, Mr. Cleveland still following at 
 a certain distance so as to protect me from harm. 
 I however saw nolliing of cither of the dreaded in- 
 dividuals, and reached the house in sality
 
 378 
 
 MAKY price; ok, THE MEM0IB3 OF A SEIIV ANT-MAID. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVII. 
 
 SELINA TEMPIE. 
 
 AccoRBiifn- to the plan laid down, I took out 
 the children for another walk towards the cool of 
 the evening : and Mr. Cleveland, who had taken 
 care to keep due watch for my egress, followed at a 
 distaace. I still felt rather nervous in respect to 
 the probable appearance of either of the ruffians in 
 my path : but my apprehension was not near so 
 great as in the morning- — because I reflected that it 
 ■was in the district which Sawbridge had undertaken 
 to watch that I was now proceeding, and I 
 did not stand in so much dread of this individual 
 as of his more horrible and more unscrupulous ac- 
 complice. But nothing occurred to justify any 
 alarms which I entertained on the subject ; and in 
 a short time I reached the close vicinage of the 
 picturesque little cottage. I paused in the shade of 
 a knot of trees until Mr. Cleveland came up ; and 
 then leaving the children in his charge, I proceeded 
 liurriedly on towards Miss Temple's abode. 
 
 I had to pass round into the main road in order 
 to enter the little garden in front of the cottage ; 
 and even before I reached the front door it was 
 opened by Nancy Brown, who appeared as much 
 delighted as she was surprised to see me. She hur- 
 ried out to greet me ; and thinking that I had come 
 to pay her a visit, invited me up to her own room; 
 but I soon informed her that I sought an interview 
 with her mistress if it were convenient for Miss 
 Temple to grant it. Nancy opeaed her eyes still 
 more widely in amazement : for it naturally struck 
 her that I had come with some message from my 
 master's house. But in order not to keep the poor 
 girl in unnecessary suspense, much less buoy 
 her up with any hope that Mr. Cleveland's pre- 
 sence in the neighbourhood might chance to in- 
 spii'e in respect to her mistress, I hurriedly gave 
 her to understand iu a few words that something 
 liad come to my knowledge which I thought Miss 
 Temple should be made acquainted with. Nancy 
 requested mo to wait in the passage for a moment 
 while she communicated with her mistress ; and slie 
 entered the parlour opening thence. Almost im- 
 mediately issuing forth again, she bade me walk 
 in ; and in another instant I found myself in the 
 presence of the beautiful creature who until lately 
 had filled me with so deep an interest. 
 
 I felt a strange palpitation at the heart at thus 
 finding myself fiice to face and alono with Miss 
 Temple: for Nancy immediately retired from the 
 room on introducing me thither. It was a neat 
 little parlour, well and prettily furMislicd, and in 
 every way corresponding with the picturesque ap- 
 pearance of the exterior of the dwelling. Miss 
 Temple was seated at a table, with a volume of 
 poems open before her, and which she had evidently 
 been reading. She could scarcely conceal, much 
 less altogether subdue, hor agitation on beholding 
 jcae : the colour went and came rapidly upon her 
 countenance — there was the glistening of suspense 
 in her blue eyes— her vermilion lips quivered — and 
 Ler bosom palpitated with visible heavings beneath 
 the modest high-bodied dross. She bade me sit 
 down, speaking in a voice so tremulously dear and 
 so sweetly musical, that it touched the tcndcrcst 
 
 chords in my heart. All my interest— or I might 
 rather say all my sympathy— suddenly revived^in 
 her behalf; it was almost impossible to gaze upoa 
 her countenance and believe that she had been de- 
 liberately, wantonly, and wilfully wicked: but the 
 supposition which was the most natural seemed to 
 be that there was some profound mystery or some 
 dread fatality which had involved that angel-like 
 creature within the inextricable meshes of the sad- 
 dest destiny. 
 
 " I hope you will forgive me, Miss Temple," I 
 began, "for this intrusion: but as I just now in- 
 timated to your servant, something has come to my 
 knowledge with which I considered you ought to be 
 made acquainted. Not to waste words in an unne- 
 cessary preface, I must inform you at once that 
 there are spies watching your house — v&tchxa^ also 
 your movements !" 
 
 iliss Temple surveyed me with an astonishment 
 which evidently sealed her lips and paralysed the 
 power of utterance. 
 
 "You may well be amazed," I went on to sav; 
 "but it is as I tell you. There are two men of 
 desperate characters and capable of any atrocity, 
 lying in wait in the vicinage — one watching this 
 house — the other watching my master's dwelimg." 
 
 " Your master's dwelling?" said Miss Temple, as 
 if galvanized by my words, so that the faculty of 
 speech returned to her all in a moment. " Is this 
 possible? arc you not labouring under some mis- 
 take ?" — and I saw that she was nervously agitated. 
 
 "' Miss Temple," I said, hesitatingly, and with 
 diffidence approaching the subject, "you must par- 
 don me if in what I am about to state I am com- 
 pelled to mention a certain name " 
 
 " Oh, I understand you ! I vmderstand you !" in- 
 terrupted the unhappy young lady, with a sudden 
 paroxysm of hysterical anguish : and she burst into 
 tears. Covering her face with her hands, she 
 sobbed convulsively, the tears tracing their pearly 
 path between her fingers and her whole frame agi. 
 tated with the strength of her afEiction. " Excuse 
 this weakness," she presently said as she slowly 
 passed a handkerchief over her eyes ; and I can 
 assure the reader that at the moment I saw but 
 dimly, for my own eyes were also filled with tears. 
 
 " And now proceed with what you had to say 
 
 do not hesitate 1 am more composed now—— 
 
 do speak !" 
 
 " These men to whom I have alluded," I con- 
 tinued, " were settling their plans yesterday in that 
 grove which stands a short distance beyond my 
 master's house; and they little suspected I had 
 sought refuge there from the heat of the sun. I 
 overheard everything that passed between them. 
 They spoke of some person who had employed them 
 to watch the motions of yourself on the one hand, 
 and of of — Mr. Cleveland on the other." 
 
 "Good heavens! what can be the meaning of 
 this ?" exclaimed Sclina Temple, in mingled surprise 
 and alarm. "They said not who their employer 
 was ?" 
 
 I ansrrorcd in the negative ; and went on to say, 
 " It appears that thoy watched Mr. Cleveland take 
 his departui'c by the coach from Loudon ; and they 
 followed him down without much loss of tune. At 
 this very moment I have every reason to believe 
 that one of the men is seiu'ctcd at no great distance 
 from yom' house, Miss Temple; and the other is in
 
 JIAKY PKICE; or, the MEMOmS OF SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 379 
 
 tlie neijlibourhood of my master's. But I have 
 something more to tell you — which is that they have 
 
 special instructions pardon me if I must agaia 
 
 allude to Mr. Cleveland " 
 
 " Go on, go on !" ejaculated JMiss Temple ner- 
 vously ; for it was evident that the mention of her 
 former lover's name excited her powerfully. 
 
 '■' The object of these men, Miss Temple," I con- 
 tinued, '•' is of a strange and incomprehensible cha- 
 racter unless indeed you yourself can find some 
 
 key to the reading of the mystery. But I wUl be 
 explicit. Their instructions in short, are to watch 
 the movements of yourself and Sir. Cleveland — to 
 see whether you meet, — if so, upon what terms you 
 
 appear to be " 
 
 '•■ Oh ! what can be the meaning of all this ?" 
 agaui ejaculated the young lady, now still more 
 paiufully excited than before. '•' You ask me for a 
 
 key to the mystery ? I cannot fui-nish it unless 
 
 indeed but no, no," she added, interrupting her- 
 self with hysterical quickness ;— — "I know not what 
 to think — what to say !" 
 
 She rose from her seat, and walked in an agitated 
 manner about the room. I said nothing, but waited 
 imtil this access of cruel excitement should have 
 passed off, or at least subsided, ere renewing the 
 conversation. I could not however help following 
 her with my eyes; and as I regarded the angehc 
 beauty of her countenance and the sylph-like sym- 
 metry of her shape, the whole figure invested with 
 so ethereal a beauty, I could not help feeUng a 
 rapidly augmenting interest in this charming crea- 
 ture, around whom, notwithstanding all I had heard 
 concerning her from the hps of Mr. Cleveland, there 
 seemed to hang a mystery that was not all com- 
 pletely penetrated. Indeed, as I thus gazed upon 
 her, I lost sight of the dark side of her character, 
 as I had so recently had it depicted tome; and I 
 beheld in her only the young, beautiful, and nymph- 
 likc creature who was supremely unhappy ! 
 
 For several minutes did she walk to and fro in 
 the room in a state of nervous agitation — at times 
 suddenly turning towards me as if about to say 
 something which the nest instant she recalled even 
 in her thoughts before it was uttered; and then 
 stopping short as if struck with some new idea — 
 perhaps a conjecture towards the solution of the 
 mystery — and appearing to reflect upon it pro- 
 foundly. At length she resumed her seat; and then 
 in a low, deep, but tremulous voice, she said, " Have 
 
 you told all this to — to Mr. Cleveland ?" 
 
 " I have," was my answer. " I felt it my duty to 
 do so. But I beseech you, Miss Temple, not to 
 allow what has taken place between us to agitato 
 you in this manner : for I see that you are agitated I" 
 " Oh ! as you must bo well aware of all the cir- 
 cumstances," she exclaimed, with an hysterical out- 
 burst of anguish, " you cannot be surprised if I 
 should be thus afflicted. And yet I will bo calm — 
 Oh, I wiU be calm ! I have forgotten myself — I 
 ought not to have given way thus ! You say th<vt 
 these men whom you overheard conversing, spoke of 
 an employer — but they said nothing to afford you 
 the slightest idea who that employer is .'' Now tell 
 mo — strive to recollect — did they speak of that em- 
 ployer as man or woman ?" 
 
 " I do not recollect. And yet to the best of my 
 knowledge, I should say that their employer is of the 
 male sex. But I am not certain — it may bo other- 
 
 wise — and siuco you have put the question, I feel 
 myself involved in doubt upon the subject." 
 
 Miss Temple again relapsed into silence, and re- 
 flected profoundly. At length raising her eyes 
 slowly, she said in a mild and gentle voice, " Yoa 
 regarded me the other day with so much generous 
 sympathy, that I was half inclined to speak to you, 
 I am sure that you are a good-hearted young woman j 
 and there is something in your appearance which at 
 first sight interested me deeply. I felt as if I should 
 like to have such a companion as yourself to live 
 with me — to cheer me in my loneliness, if possible— 
 
 to be the confidante of my sorrows No, no ! not 
 
 the confidante!" she added quickly, and as if to 
 recall the very words themselves which she had just 
 uttered. 
 
 "I thank you sincerely, Miss Temple," said I, 
 " for the kind words you have addressed to me. I 
 did indeed feel interested in you ; and if it were la 
 
 my power But I must not intrude upon your 
 
 time any longer :" — and I rose from my seat as I 
 spoke. 
 
 "You do not intrude," she immediately ex- 
 claimed. " On the contrary, your presence here is 
 fr'aught with consolation. Oh! I should like to 
 question you upon many things : but I dare not— 
 no, I dare not. TeU me, however — oh, do tell me— 
 
 does he you know to whom I allude does 7» 
 
 seem stiU to remember what has passed ? Is there 
 a cloud of melancholy upon his brow? or has he 
 banished me from his memory?— Yes, yes — he 
 must have done so ! I will not ask you the ques- 
 tion — or rather, I will not require you to answer it. 
 But, good God ! if he knew all— —Oh, it is terrible 
 to smart under all this! The world has never 
 known excruciations so poignant as these which I 
 endure. There has been anguish crucifying enough 
 at death-beds — anguish deep and profound enough 
 by grave-sides in church-yards — ano^uish horrible 
 and rending enough in the condemned cells of the 
 felons' gaols ! But oh ! all these are light and trivial 
 — the veriest trifles floating in the air — in compari- 
 son with the anguish which rends my heart ! Mary 
 Price — for I know your name, you see — if you were 
 my bitterest, bitterest enemy, I could not wish that 
 you should know what I know and feel what I feel r 
 but as you arc one of tender disposition and kind 
 heart, and whom it would be impossible to regard 
 otherwise than as a friend, I beseech and implore 
 Almighty God to shield you from ever enduring the 
 most infinitesimal part of all that I endure !" 
 
 Selina Temple ceased : but now she shed no 
 tears — she sat like the efllgy of grief in the man- 
 sion of despair — gazing upon me with a look so 
 sad, Oh! so profoundly sad, that I felt my heart 
 swelling as if it must burst. My feelings well 
 nigh overcame mo — the tears rolled down my 
 cheeks — and at that moment I experienced a bound- 
 less and illimitable sympathy for Selina Temple. 
 
 "You must go now," sho said, somewhat ab- 
 ruptly rising from her seat. " Not that I wish to 
 get rid of you : no, no — heaven forbid ! On the 
 contrary, I would that you could stay with mo al- 
 togctlior: but while you aro here I feci that I wish 
 to question you upon those topics relative to which 
 I ought not to speak, and concerning which it 
 would be impossible for you to give mo cheering an- 
 swers. Yet one word ere you depart ? If you should 
 have an opportunity," she continuod, advancing
 
 380 
 
 MARY price; OB, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 close up to mo, and speaking in a voice so deep and 
 low that her words were but just audible— and yet 
 they wore filled with the melody of an exquisite 
 pathos ; " if you should have an opportunity, tell 
 him that you have seen me — that his image has 
 never been absent from my mind— that day and 
 night have I thought of him— and I would lay down 
 my life at the expiration of one hour if during that 
 hour we could be as we were wont. Oh ! that this 
 were permitted me! One hour — one hour of love 
 and bliss with him — and I should die content! 
 But no — no: you must not tell him what I say — 
 you must not !" 
 
 Now the tears rained down her cheeks, and her 
 voice was lost in sobs. She clasped her hands vrith 
 all the mute eloquence of utter despair; then she 
 fell back upon a seat, covered her face with those 
 thin but white and exquisitely-modelled hands, and 
 gave way to an outburst of anguish so violent that 
 I dared not leave her. 
 
 " Oh ! tranquillize yourself, JMiss Temple — com- 
 pose yourself, I beseech you!" was my earnest and 
 imploring adjuration. 
 
 "Tranquillize myself!" she exclaimed. "What, 
 •when aU the joys of my life have withered and 
 perished like evanescent flowers? Good heaven, 
 when I think of it all," she cried passionately, and 
 with a strange wild look, " it nearly drives me mad. 
 
 Yet with a word— a single word no, no — never, 
 
 never ! I must endui-e it all until the end. Death 
 will soon release me from my sufferings : for it is 
 impossible that I can Uve on thus much longer. 
 And yet it is a sad and a cruel thing to contemplate 
 that even in my very gi-ave shall I be dishonoured. 
 Mary Price," she exclaimed, starting up and 
 turning towards me with the strangest vehemence, 
 " there are moments when frenzy fastens on my 
 brain. Do not — do not, I implore you attach any 
 
 importance to what I have said 1 scarcely know 
 
 indeed what I have sald^— but pray do not catch 
 up any hasty word that may have fallen from my 
 
 lips and put upon it a construction which But I 
 
 am raving even now ! Ah, mine is a fearf id life — a 
 horrible, horrible destiny I" — and now she wrung 
 her hands in despair. 
 
 " I cannot leave you thus," said I, having utterly 
 lost sight of all that was disparaging to her, and 
 thinking of naught but what spoke in her favour 
 — namely, her youth, her beauty, her ineflfable 
 antfuish. " You have not told me what j-ou purpose 
 to do in respect to these men who are watching in 
 the neighbourhood," I said gently. 
 
 "Oh, let them watch on!" she exclaimed, now 
 with a species of strange wild bitterness in her ac- 
 cents. " Will they not watch vainly ? Shall he 
 and I meet? No, no. For were we to encounter 
 each other, even by accident, I could not endure the 
 look of scorn — perhaps hatred — which would appear 
 upon those features that were wont to beam only 
 
 with love and bliss for me no, I could not endure 
 
 it— and I should fall at his feet— I should tell 
 him " 
 
 But here again she checked herself abruptly, and 
 remained silent. I still stood hesitating wliether 
 to take my immediate departure, or to remain a 
 little longer; for the interview had been rapidly 
 deepening in mysterious interest for mc. 
 
 "Ah!" she ejaculated, as if her words were an 
 echo of a reminiscence that had struck her, " we 
 
 were speaking of those men who are watching in 
 the neighbourhood. Well, they must watch on. 
 You say that they are bad and evil characters ? No 
 matter — at least so far as I am concerned. Think 
 you that even if I knew they entertained a desi<ni 
 upon my hfe, I would take a single step to frustrate 
 it ? No, no — not I. What .^ my wretched worthless 
 life — a thing which is a burden and an encumbrance 
 
 to me and I take any means to save it ? No, 
 
 no — not I indeed !" 
 
 I could say no more: I ft-lt that this was the 
 proper time for me to take my leave— and I did so. 
 But as I was passing out of the room, iliss Temple 
 suddenly sprang forward, and catcliing my hand, 
 wrung it warmly, saying, '• Come and see me again. 
 I shall always treat you as a &iend. Come soon — 
 promise me that you will come soon ?" 
 
 I did promise, and then hurried away. Hastily 
 rejoining Mr. Cleveland, whom I found with the 
 children in the spot where I had left them, I saw by 
 his looks that he was most anxious for me to explain 
 what had taken place with Miss Temple ; and I 
 could not help thinking that notwithstanding aU he 
 had endured on account of her, the love that he had 
 once borne her, was not altogether dead in his 
 heart. 
 
 "Let me speed with these children homeward," 
 said I : " for it is already getting late, and Mrs. 
 Antrobus might be angry at my long absence." 
 
 " Just one word, Mary — one word !" said Mr. 
 
 Cleveland earnestly. " Did she Miss Temple 
 
 receive you kindly and with pleasure ? did she 
 
 suspect that you came from me ? did she speak of 
 me? But rather I should ask," he added, with a 
 sudden air of dignified reserve, " how fares that 
 poor fallen creature? does she seem contrite and 
 penitent P" 
 
 "I now bethink me," said I — but rather in a 
 musing manner to myself than in direct response 
 to his question, — " that throughout our interview, 
 which, as you perceive, has lasted above an hour, 
 not a single word that may properly be termed ex- 
 pressive of penitence came from her lips. Of bitter 
 lamentations, anguished expressions, and the out- 
 pourings of despair, there were sufficient, heaven 
 knows !" 
 
 " And no word of penitence ?" said Mr. Cleveland 
 in a tone of mournful regret. " Surely she cannot 
 be hardened " 
 
 '•Hardened? No — that is impossible," I quickly 
 answered : then in a very grave and serious manner, 
 I added, "Mr. Cleveland, there is some mystery 
 about SeUna Temple which not even you have 
 fathomed. I feel convinced that all the details of 
 her sad history are not known to you. There is in 
 her language and her manner a certain repining 
 against her condition, as if it had not been shaped 
 out by herself. A stranger, to hear her speak, and 
 to behold her looks when she is speaking, would 
 think — supposing him to be totally unacquainted 
 with her history — that she is a victim rather than a 
 criminal. Depend upon it, sir, that I w;is not alto- 
 gether wrong when I pitied her and gave her my 
 sympathy !" 
 
 " And you pity her now ?" he said, evidently 
 much moved. " Yon sympathiza with her still.-"' 
 
 "I do," was my firmly given response: "and 
 henceforth I shall always pity her. These may be 
 strange words coming from my Ups : for heaven
 
 MARY PKICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A 6ERVAXT-MAID, 
 
 3Sl 
 
 knows that I can have no real sympathy with aught 
 savouring of guilt or impurity. But in this in- 
 stance I cannot help the feeling which inspires me. 
 It is stronger than myself." 
 
 " What, in heaven's name, would you have me 
 infer from this strange lan<jUage of yours ?" asked 
 Mr. Cleveland, growing more and more agitated. 
 
 " I know not — because I mean nothing. Unless 
 it be that I have the profound conviction in my soul 
 that if SeUua Temple's history were known in all its 
 most secret and minutest details, there would be 
 found something to render her less criminal in your 
 eyes than she is at present." 
 
 Mr. Cleveland appeared deeply struck by the 
 words I had just uttered; and I felt that I had 
 uttered them too in an earnest and impressive 
 manner. I now left him, and hurried onward to the 
 house with the two children, being obliged to carry 
 the younger in my arms, as the poor little thing was 
 very tired and sleepy. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXXVIII. 
 
 AN EXCOUNTEE. — UNPLEASANT SUSPICIONS. 
 
 A WEEK now passed, during which no change took 
 place in the aspect of affairs. The weather had all 
 of a sudden undergone a change; and for several 
 days there was a great deal of rain — so that I was 
 unable to take the children out for their usual exer- 
 cise. Being during this interval chiefly confined to 
 the nm-scry, I saw very little of Mr. Cleveland; and 
 he said nothing to me relative to the matter which 
 nevertheless could not have been but uppermost in 
 his mind. Whether the Bulldog and Sawbridge 
 were still watching in the neighbourhood, I had not 
 the shghtest means of knowing: but from the con- 
 versation which I had overheard between them in 
 the grove, I concluded that they were not at aU 
 likely to abandon in a hurry the task which had been 
 assigned them. I must say that during this week 
 I felt in a somewhat nervous and unsettled state : it 
 seemed to me as if I were myself connected with 
 the transactions I have been describing. I also felt 
 as if they must reach a crisis — for I tliought that it 
 was impossible Mr. Cleveland would remain apa- 
 thetic as long as he had cause to believe that every 
 movement of his was secretly watched by spies. In 
 short, I longed for this state of things to cease, and 
 that something should be done either to solve the 
 mystery of those men's presence in the neighbour- 
 liood, or else ensure their departure. 
 
 It was therefore with a degree of satisfaction and 
 pleasure that I beheld the return of a line day: for 
 methought that if I went out, Mr. Cleveland would 
 seek an opportunity of speaking to me, and I was 
 anxious to know whether during the week's interval 
 he liad been enabled to arrive at any fixed determi- 
 nation how he was to proceed. Having dressed the 
 children, I took them out for a walk ; but as the 
 fields were still damp from tlic heavy rains that had 
 fallen, I was compelled to proceed along the main 
 road. I did not Uike the direction of Iil iss Temple's 
 cottage, because I thought that if Mr. Cleveland 
 <lid foUow me, he would not like to repair openly in 
 t'lat vicinage : so I walked in tlie du:cction of \Vin- 
 ciiester. I was not disappointed in my anticipation: 
 for iji about a quarter of on hour Mr. Cleveland 
 
 overtook me. Scarcely however had he thus joined 
 me — and before a single word had passed between 
 us, a tall gentleman, with ample whiskers, glossy 
 mustaches, and an imperial — in fact, with all the 
 lower part of his face pretty well embedded in hair, 
 emerged hastily from a lane which branched off from 
 the road at right angles. I must observe that there 
 was a very high hedge in this particular spot, and 
 that therefore the individual could not possibly have 
 seen us until he had turned the angle of the hedge 
 and thus ran as it were completely up against us. 
 The recognition between himself and Mrs. Antro- 
 bus's nephew was immediate ; and simultaneously 
 did they ejaculate each other's name. 
 
 " Mr. Cleveland 1" 
 
 " Captain Tollemachc !' 
 
 I started at the mention of this name, so inti- 
 mately connected as it was with Selina Temple's 
 history : but what immediately followed took place 
 so hastily that I had little opportunity to take much 
 notice of the Captain's personal appearance. It how- 
 ever struck me that he was as he had been described 
 to me — a remarkably handsome man — judging 
 from as much of his countenance as the quantity of 
 beard ho wore left visible. He was very iinely 
 made, and seemed to be handsomely dressed. 
 
 '•■ Yes !" exclaimed Cleveland, with mingled indig- 
 nation and bitterness: "it is I, whose happiness 
 was wrecked through you !" 
 
 Captain Tollcmache made no reply, but turned 
 abruptly on his heel, and was walking away, when 
 Arthur Cleveland sprang after him : and catching 
 him by the arm, exclaimed, " Villain, you shall not 
 escape me thus I The day of reckoning is come. 
 Perhaps I should have sought it long ago !" 
 
 '•'As you please, sir," said Captain ToUemaehe 
 haughtil}', as he drew his fine form up to the full of 
 its military-looking statehness, — " as you please, 
 su" : and perhaps the sooner the better." 
 
 "But a friend pistols whom can I apply 
 
 tor" suddenly ejaculated Cleveland — involuulariiy, 
 no doubt, in the bewilderment of the moment. 
 
 " No, no, sir !" I almost shrieked forth, terrified 
 at the idea of a duel : for I know that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Antrobus would be alarmed out of their wits if 
 their nephew's proceeding should reach then* cars. 
 
 " Mary Price," said Mr. Cleveland, hurriedly 
 turning away from Captain Tollcmache and accost- 
 ing me : "I beseech you to exercise becoming for- 
 titude. The challenge is given and accepted. As a 
 man of honour I cann ot retreat, even if I wished : 
 but I do not wish. I enjoin you to say nothing at 
 home of what is now taking place here, licmember, 
 it is a solemn mjunction which I thus give you! It 
 will be sutlicieut for my worthy relatives to hear of 
 it when it is over, whichever way it may terminate. 
 You will spare them all s^uspeuse by keeping the 
 seci-ct— will you not, Mai-y ? Promise mc this 
 much!" 
 
 These words were uttered with vehement rapidity, 
 and in a low voice aside to me ; so that Captain 
 Tollcmache did not overhear them : but he stood afc 
 a short distance with his arms folded haughtily 
 upon his chest and his back half turned towards 
 us. 
 
 " But is this duel abaalutely necessary, Jlr. 
 Cleveland ?" I asked, in mingled confusion and tre- 
 pidation. 
 
 " Yes — absolutely necessary," w.os his firm re-
 
 382 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 sponse. "For heaven's sake, Mary, fulfil my in- 
 junction!" 
 
 "I will, I will," I answered, scareely knowing 
 what I did say. 
 
 "Mr. Cleveland," now observed Captain ToUc- 
 maelic, "there arc not wanting persons whom we 
 both know in Winchester, to act as our seconds. 
 You can hear of me within an hour at " 
 
 He named some hotel — I forget now what it 
 was : in fact, I do not think I caught it at the time 
 —for all my ideas were whirling in confusion, and 
 a dizziness appeared to be coming over me. I how- 
 ever promptly recovered myself; and then I beheld 
 Mr. Cleveland hurrying along the road towards 
 Winchester, and Captain Tollcmache preceding with 
 equal rapidity up the lane whence he had ere now 
 emerged, and which was a short cut into the city. 
 I couJd do nothing to stop the progress of this 
 duel: I even felt that I had been di-awn into a 
 pledge not to betray to my master and mistress 
 what was about to take place ; and I saw that it 
 was Mr. Cleveland's secret which I must keep in- 
 violable, and not mine which I could reveal if I 
 chose. Moreover, I felt persuaded that even if I 
 raised an alarm at the house, there would not be 
 time for any useful and effectual interference ere 
 the hostile meeting had probably taken place ; and 
 under these cu'cumstances I perceived no utility in 
 filling my master and mistress mth the du-est 
 alarms and making them endure the torture of sus- 
 pense. I therefore decided upon keeping the pro- 
 mise which had been exacted from me and placing 
 a seal upon my lips. 
 
 I turned and retraced my way with the children 
 towards the house : but while proceeding along, I 
 thought to myself that the transactions which had 
 recently occupied my attention down in this part of 
 the world, had now reached a juncture from which 
 something important would be evolved. Such was 
 the presentiment that arose in my mind, as it gra- 
 dually recovered its poise from the agitation into 
 which it had been thrown. But was it not strange 
 that Captain Tollemache should be in the neigh- 
 bourhood at the same time as Mr. Cleveland ? and 
 was it not natural to connect his presence there 
 with that of the spies who had been employed to 
 watch that gentleman's and Miss Temple's move- 
 ments ? I now felt assured that Captain Tolle- 
 mache ivas the hitherto unknown employer of the 
 Bulldog and Sawbridge : but still I was as far off 
 as ever from being enabled to conjecture what 
 coidd bo the motive of instituting this watch at 
 all. However, it is useless now to record aU the vari- 
 ous speculations that entered my head at the time, 
 seeing that none of them turned out to be correct, 
 and that I had not the slightest forecasting of the 
 strange and unparalleled torrent of incidents now 
 about to ensue. 
 
 On re-entering the house, I was about to take 
 the chiUhen as usual up into the nm-sery, when 
 Mrs. Antrobus happening to meet us in the hall, 
 bade me bring them into the parlour. This I did ; 
 and as she and her husband seemed inclined to keep 
 them there for a little while, I withdrew and went 
 up to the nm'sery alone. In about a quarter of an 
 hour the parlour-maid came up with the children, 
 and said, "Mary, missus wants to speak to you 
 for a minute. I will take care of the httlc ones till 
 you come up." 
 
 It now struck me all in a moment that the little 
 boy, who was a shrewd, sharp, intelUgent child, had 
 been saying something to make Mr. and Mrs. An- 
 trobus wish to question me. Ifot that he was 
 a mischief-making child : on the contrary, he was a 
 very amiable and sweet-tempered little fellow — so 
 that if he had really said anything, I knew it could 
 only have been in juvenile innocence and artless- 
 ness. I must candidly confess that it was with a 
 beaticg heart and almost with a feeling as if 1 Lad 
 been doing si^mething wrong, that I entered the 
 parlour where Mr. and ^Mrs. Antrobus were seated ; 
 and the moment I stood in their presence I was 
 struck with the solemn gravity of their looks. 
 
 " Shut the door, Mary," said Mrs. Antrobus : 
 " there may be a draught, and the atmosphere is 
 stiU damp after the heavy rains. And now come 
 near, if you please. I hope that you wiU be able to 
 give me satisfactory answers to the questions I am 
 about to put to you. Mr. Antrobus, my dear, you 
 have blown your nose three times during the last 
 minute. I have watched you — and I am very much 
 afraid that you have caught cold." 
 
 " No, my dear — no," responded the old gentle- 
 man. " I was only sorry that we should bo com- 
 pelled to put to Mary Price those questions which 
 as in duty bound we are about to ask her." 
 
 Under any other circumstances how prompt would 
 have been my assurance that nothing could be put 
 to me in the shape of interrogatory that I should 
 not be able to answer at once and most satisfac- 
 torily : but I could not give this assurance now— 
 and therefore I stood mute, perhaps almost trem- 
 bling, and I dare say, looking very much like a 
 guilty thing: for the knowledge of a secret which 
 one is pledged not to impart, places one when ques- 
 tioned in this disagreeable and suspicious predica- 
 ment. 
 
 "Now, Mary," resumed Mrs. Antrobus, "we 
 have hitherto believed you to be a yoimg person of 
 the strictest probity and truthfulness ; and such do 
 we hope to find you now. We have learnt ■n-ithin 
 
 the last quarter of an hour 1 need scarcely tell 
 
 you from whose lips that you have on more tlian 
 
 one occasion met Mr. Cleveland out walking. Of 
 course it is natm-al enough for him to stop and caress 
 the children if he meets you out with them ; but 
 fi'om what we have understood, he on one occasion 
 sat with you for a long, long time upon the grass, 
 and on another occasion ho met you elsewhere and 
 remained with the childi-en while you were absent 
 for a long time;— and lastly he just now met }-ou 
 
 again in the road, or rather overtook you But, 
 
 dear me ! Mr. A., I do believe there's a draught 
 from that window. Some of the Ust must be olT. 
 We must send for Scroggins the carpenter to look 
 to it." 
 
 " Well, I did think I had a pain in my ear," said 
 Mr. Antrobus. 
 
 "An onion-poidtice to-night, my dear old soul." 
 
 " Very good, my dear : but a bason of gruel for 
 yourself by way of precaution. And now, Mary," 
 continued my master, "you have heard all that 
 ilrs. A. has said, and I hope you are prepjired to 
 give proper explanations. Young men ioill be 
 young men ; although I must candidly confess that 
 I should be very much astonished to hear that 
 -Irthur Cleveland of all persons in the world couLl 
 take it into his head to flirt with a young person i'
 
 JIARV PHICE ; OR, THE MEMOIES OF A SERVAKT-MAID, 
 
 tlic service of his relatives. Indeed, there are many 
 reasons," he added, with a significant look at his 
 wife, evidently alluding to the uutbi-tunate affair of 
 Selina Temple, "which are but too well calculated 
 to surprise his aunt and myself." 
 
 I can scarcely explain to the reader the emotions 
 with which I listened to this addi-ess. I felt indig- 
 nant, yet could not give vent to my indignation : I 
 longed to explain, yet dared not give explanations. 
 The state of my mmd being reflected in my coun- 
 tenance, naturally made me appear full of confusion 
 and trouble; so that I looked very much like a 
 guilty thing. As my master and mistress surveyed 
 me, theu" own countenances became indicative of 
 distress : for they beheld in my manner the confir- 
 mation of all their worst suspicions. i 
 
 •'• Are we really to understand, then," said IMrs. 
 Antrobus, " that Mr. Cleveland has dared conduct ; 
 himself with thoughtlessness and impropriety 
 towards you, and that you have not resented his 
 behaviom* as you ought ?" | 
 
 '• Good heavens — no, ma'am ! " I exclaimed : 
 " you are to think nothing of the sort." { 
 
 " But is it true that he has met you when you 
 were walking out ?" 
 
 '' Poi'feclly true, ma'am." 
 
 '■ That he has sat down on the grass and talked 
 to you for a long time ?" 
 
 " Yes — I do not attempt to deny it." 
 
 "And what did he talk about ?" 
 
 I made no answer. I did not choose to tell an 
 untruth — and I could not of course give the proper 
 explanations. 
 
 '• Mary," said ilrs. Antrobus, now speaking still 
 more seriously than even she had been doing, '•' I 
 am very sorry indeed at what has occurred. I am 
 truly distressed — I had such a much higher opinion 
 of you, and likewise of my nephew. I do not wish 
 to miake any words in the house, or expose you 
 before the other servants : but for your own sake 
 you will sec the necessity of leaving my service with 
 the least possible delay." 
 
 I was cruelly distressed at hearing my kind old mis- 
 tress talking to me in this strain. It shocked me to 
 continue even for another minute under the weight 
 of the suspicions which circumstances had attached 
 to me : my heart swelled almost to bursting — I felt 
 a suffocating sensation in the thi-oat, and the tears 
 filled my eyes. Heavens ! at that very moment 
 perhaps, while his uncle and aunt were thinking ill 
 of him as well as of myself, was Mr. Cleveland's life 
 endangered in the duel which he had provoked. Or 
 even worse than that — he might already be no 
 more ! I felt for an instant inclined to throw myself 
 at the Icot of my mistress and tell her all I knew : 
 but remembering my promise to Mr. Cleveland — or 
 at all events, what he had construed into a promise 
 and which I considered myself equally bound to 
 abide by — I held my peace. 
 
 " I have nothing more to say to you, Mary," re- 
 sumed Mrs. Antrobus, in whose accents and looks 
 there was an evident compassion mingling with her 
 feeling of annoyance. " Your own good sense must 
 tell you that I cannot act in any other manner 
 than I am doing." 
 
 "Madam," I said, "I feel all the justice of your 
 
 observation — but but " 
 
 I was about to ask lier to suspend her judgment : 
 but it instantaneously occurred lo mo that if 1 did 
 
 it would only lead to questions against which I 
 should have to fence in order to avoid giving di- 
 rect answers ; and into this kind of prevarication 
 I did not choose to be driven. I therefore thought 
 it better to labour under an injurious suspicion for 
 an hour or two, than stand the chance of making 
 matters worse. I accordingly quitted the room 
 somewhat abruptly, and hastened up into the 
 nm-scry, where I gave vent to my feelings in tears. 
 The little children, who were very fond of me, came 
 and looked up sorrowfully in my face ; and the boy 
 said, '■ Don't cry, Mary — don't cry." 
 
 Poor little follow ! he had been the author of my 
 present vexation, but with no wilful intent : and so 
 far from exhibiting any iU-feeling towards him, I 
 caressed him for the manner in which he now spoke 
 to me. 
 
 " After all," I said to myself, " the matter will be 
 cleared up presently: for if Mr. Cleveland should 
 fall — which heaven forbid — in this duel, I must at 
 once reveal everything I know; and if on the other 
 hand he comes home safe, he will not lose a minute 
 in justifying me to his relatives as soon as he hears 
 of what has taken place." 
 
 A couple of hours passed, during whicli I suffered 
 no small degree of suspense- I pictured to myself 
 all the anguish which would be experienced by 
 Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus if Arthur Cleveland should 
 be kUled or wounded in the duel. As time wore on 
 and he did not return, I could not help apprehend- 
 ing the worst ; and at length my nervous excite- 
 ment arose to such a pitch that I was on the point 
 I of hastening down to the parlour and telling my 
 i master and mistress evei'ything, so that they might 
 I send out and search or make inquiries for Mr. 
 I Cleveland. But at that moment I heard the sounds 
 1 of several voices in the road; and hastoiiing to the 
 ! window, I was horror-stricken on beholding half-a- 
 dozen men bearing amongst them a person stretched 
 upon what appeared to be a litter. Good lieavcns ! 
 my worst fears were confirmed — and Mr. Cleveland 
 I was either dead or seriously wounded. My first 
 ' impulse was to rush from the room and ascertain 
 ' the precise extent of the evil : but I dared not leave 
 I the children alone ; — and therefore, not pausing to 
 I reflect what suspicious construction miglit be put 
 upon my anxiety on Mr. Cleveland's bolialf, I 
 i snatched up the little girl in my arms, took the boy 
 1 by the hand, and hurried with them down stairs. 
 ! There I found terror and alarm prevailing. The 
 1 servants were already rushing across the garden to 
 mf^et tlie bearers of the litter ; while ^Mr. and ^Irs. 
 Antrobus were just emerging from the parlour in 
 I fearful consternation. 
 
 " Oh ! what has happened ? what has happened ?" 
 I they exclaimed. " Is our poor Arthur dead ?" — 
 j and tliey precipitated themselves down the front- 
 door stops into the garden. 
 
 Mr. Cleveland was not however dead, nor even 
 insensible : he had received a dangerous wound, 
 which the medical man who accompanied the 
 mournful cortege, at once assured Mr. and Jlrs. 
 Antrobus not to be mortal. It was speedily under- 
 stood (hat Arthur Cleveland had been fighting a 
 duel, in which he had received this hurt. Tlicro 
 was however too much confusion, excitement, and 
 grief for immediate explanations, the great object 
 being to ccmvey flic wounded goiitlimiaii up to his 
 chamber. I have already said that he was perfectly
 
 384 
 
 ilARY PRICE ; OB, THE MBMOII« OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 sensible; and he implored his afflicted relatives not 
 to abandon themselves to grief on his account. 
 
 "Oh, Arthur!" said Mrs. Antrobus, clasping 
 her hands in deep anguish, "what have you been 
 doing ?" 
 
 At this moment Mr. Cleveland caught sight of 
 me ; and fixing his eyes upon me, he said in reply 
 to his aunt's question, " Mary Price will tell you 
 everything." 
 
 These words caused general surprise ; and for an 
 instant every look was thrown upon me. But, as I 
 just now said, this was not the moment for explana- 
 tions ; and we all did our best to help the bearers 
 of the htter in getting the wounded gentleman to 
 his chamber. When this was done Mr. and Mrs. 
 Antrobus and the doctor alone remained with 
 him. 
 
 The men who had borne Mr. Cleveland to the 
 house were of the labouring-class. They had been 
 at the time employed working in the fields near the 
 spot where the duel had taken place. All they 
 knew was that being suddenly startled by pistol- 
 shots, they hurried in the direction thereof, and 
 found Mr. Cleveland lying stretched upon the grass, 
 with Dr. Eobertson (which was the name of the 
 medical man) bending over him and examining the 
 wound he had received. Thi'ce gentlemen were 
 hurrying away from the scene of the duel ; and 
 these were no doubt the other principal with the 
 two seconds who had officiated on the occasion. A 
 mattrass was promptly procured from the nearest 
 cottage : this was placed upon a hurdle ; and a litter 
 being thus formed, the wounded man was borne 
 upon it to the house in the manner already de- 
 scribed. 
 
 Such was the account given by the labourers to 
 myself and the other servants after Mr. Cleveland 
 had been conveyed to his chamber. The cook im- 
 mediately set the contents of her larder before the 
 working-men ; and by the time they had finished 
 regaling themselves, Mr. Antrobus came down into 
 the kitchen to remunerate them all hberally for 
 then* trouble. He repeated the assui-ance aheady 
 given by Dr. Eobertson, and which a more careful 
 scrutiny of the wound had since corroborated — that 
 though dangerous, it was not mortal. 
 
 The labourers took theh departure ; and Mr. An- 
 trobus, turning with the kindest and most benevo- 
 lent look towards me, said, " Now, Jlary, my dear 
 girl, I want to have a few minutes' private conver- 
 sation with you. Leave the children in the care of 
 the other servants, and come with me to the par- 
 lour." 
 
 In one respect a considerable weight was now 
 lifted from my mind : for I saw that the injurious 
 suspicions which had previously existed against me 
 had been dispelled. I followed my master to the 
 parlour ; and the moment we were alone together, 
 he took my hand, saying, " You must forgive me 
 and Mrs. Antrobus for what took place just now. 
 Enough has fallen from Mr. Cleveland's lips to con- 
 vince us that our suspicions were altogether un- 
 founded; and I must say that you are a very 
 generous-hearted girl to have remained and 
 smarted under them, rather than bo guilty of a 
 breach of confidence towards !Mr. Cleveland." 
 
 " I knew very weJl, sir," was my answer, " that 
 circumstances would soon tend to disabuse your 
 mind of those suspicions. Hut does Mr. Cleve- 
 
 land say that I am now at perfect liberty to tell you 
 all I know ?" 
 
 " It is for that purpose we are here together at 
 this moment. He says that there is no necessity 
 to maintain any farther reserve or secrecy — indeed, 
 that under present circumstances it would be wrong 
 to do so." 
 
 I accordingly proceeded to make Mr. Antrobus 
 acquainted with those particulars which arc already 
 well known to the reader — how I had overheard 
 the conversation of the two men in the grove — how 
 I had communicated the particulars of their dis- 
 course to Mr. Cleveland — how we had both agreed 
 to keep the matter secret for fear of creating alarm 
 in the house — how I had called at his request upon 
 Selina Temple — and how that morning Mr. Cleve- 
 land had encountered Captain Tollemache and had 
 provoked him to a duel. 
 
 Mr. Antrobus Hstened in silent astonishment to 
 all these particulars ; and when I ceased speaking, 
 he said, after a few minutes' profound reflection, 
 " Then there is every reason to suppose that the 
 two men to whom you have alluded were employed 
 by this same vUlain Tollemache r" 
 
 " Such is the inference to be drawn from their 
 coincidental presence ia the neighbourhood," was 
 my response. " But perhaps Mr. Cleveland told 
 you, su", whether anything of importance took 
 place between him and the Captain, besides the dis- 
 tressing incident of the duel f " 
 
 "It appears that nothing of the kind did take 
 place," answered Mr. Antrobus. "Cleveland was 
 wounded at the first shot ; and so soon as Dr. 
 Ilobertsou had hastily examined the wound and 
 pronounced it not to be mortal, the Captain and 
 the two seconds fl.ed, doubtless afraid of the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 " And will not Dr. Eobertson himself be hable 
 to a collision with the law r" I asked. 
 
 " In these cases the medical men are seldom in- 
 terfered with," replied 'Mr. Antrobus. "They are 
 evidently indispensable in such unfortunate alJairs ; 
 and if they were arrested and punished, the conse- 
 quence woidd be that they would decline attenduig 
 at all." 
 
 Mr. Antrobus then proceeded to inform mc that 
 the bullet had entered the flesh of Mr. Cleveland's 
 right shoulder — that it had broken the collar-bone, 
 and had lodged in that part — but that there was 
 every prospect of Dr. Eobertson being able to 
 extract it soon. 
 
 "And ^^ith regard to these two men who are 
 keepiug watch in the neighbourhood," said I: 
 "what do you purpose to do in the matter ?" 
 
 " I have not yet had tune to think," answered 
 Mr. Antrobus. " Perhaps, now that their employer 
 has lied, they will likewise take their departure. 
 But we shall see." 
 
 Here this interview with Mr. Antrobus ended; 
 and while he hastened up to Mr. Cleveland's chamber, 
 I repaired to the kitchen to resume my charge of 
 the children. The servants naturally regarded me 
 with a great deal of curiosity; as from the words 
 that Mr. Cleveland had uttered on being brought 
 into the house, as well as from my long interview 
 with Mr. Antrobus, they conjectured that I was 
 acquainted with some important secrets. But tlicy 
 did not ask me any questions; and of course I ditl 
 not volunteer explanations. Taking the children up
 
 MART PEICE ; OE THE MEMOIES OF A SEETANT-MAID. 
 
 3S- 
 
 ,'fS"lliii 
 
 into the nursery, I was glad to be agnln in my own 
 quarters, so as to have an opportunity of reflecting 
 upon all that had occurred. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXXIX. 
 
 ALABMING SYMPTOMS. 
 
 It was about seven o'clock in the- evening of that 
 same eventful daj', that Mrs. Antrobus came up to the 
 nursery, and putting a note into my hand, said, " My 
 dear Mary, this has just been dcliveretl at tlm house. 
 The gardener took it in. A labourmg man brought 
 it, and instantaneously hurried away without saying 
 a word. In conscquoneo of all you told Mr. A. this 
 afternoon, and which he has of course repeated to 
 nic, I have no dilficuU^' in guessing from wliom the 
 letter comes. But you will open it and see." 
 No. 49 
 
 My mistress spoke in the kindest and even most 
 affectionate manner, evidently to make amends for 
 the little scene which had taken place between us in 
 the morning. I hastened to open the note, the 
 address of which was written in a beautiful femalo 
 hand ; and I also, even before I saw the signature, 
 ai once suspected from whom it came. Nor was I 
 mistaken : it was from Selina Temple, and its con- 
 tents ran as follow:— 
 
 •'My dear friend, 
 *'For such I hopo you will permit mo to call you. 
 I do beseech and implore that you will contrive ti» 
 oorao and see me this evening, if only for a fc'w minutes I 
 I am in a stiite of dreadful nervous excitement ; aud thero 
 nre moments when I foci aa if I sliould ifA raving mad. 
 In such a mood I am fearful of committing some des- 
 perate fully— even to the rashness and impropriety of 
 vi'iiling you where you are. Pray endeavour to como-" 
 Oh, do como ! 
 
 " SELINA TEMPLE."
 
 MARY price; ok. THE MEM0IK3 OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 Having perusod tliis note, I handed it to my mis- 1 I at once gave Miss Temple the same assurance 
 tress, who read it with attention. She then asked ; I had already given her servant in the passage, 
 my permission to show it to her husband, to which I " Oh, then he will be saved ! he will be saved I" 
 I of course gave my assent. She accordingly quitted ! exclaimed Selina, in accents of exultant hopeful- 
 the room f(jr the purpose ; but returned in a few ; ness. " Good heavens, what conflicting report* have 
 minutes, and said, " Mr. A. is of the same opinion j reached my ears ! I thought I should have gone 
 as myself; which is that you should comply with mad — and it was almost in a state bordering upon 
 the request contained in this note. Poor erring ' frenzy that I penned that note to you. But tell 
 creature ! her wckednoss has been great, but her me, ilary, is it indeed true that Dr. Bobertson is 
 punlshmont has been almost commensurate ; and | in attendance upon him ?" 
 there is such a thing as making punishment a per- " It is true, Miss Temple," I answered, 
 secution. Such an appeal as this ought not to be She sat down and fell into a profound reverie. 
 
 neo-lected. You must go therefore, Jlary that Two or three minutes thus elapsed during which 
 
 is to say, if you yourself have no objection ?" she appeared to have forgotten my presence alto- 
 
 '■'How can I, my dear madam?" I exclaimed, 'gether: but suddenly raising her eyes towards me, 
 " It appears to be almost a duty — and at least an she said, " Is it likewise true that he — Captain 
 act of charity — to comply with a request so earnestly | ToUemache " — and she seemed to shudder at the 
 urged. Does Mr. Cleveland know that this letter bare mention of the name — " fled precipitately im- 
 has been sent ?" mediately aft«r the encounter ?" 
 
 " Oh, no !" replied Mrs. Antrobus : " for Dr. " That is likewise true," I replied. 
 Robertson has given the most positive orders that all " And of course it has struck you, Mary,' 
 
 causes of excitement are to be guarded against as 
 much as possible. Indeed," she added in a mourn- 
 ful voice, " Arthur is not so well this evening: the 
 wound is more inflamed, and the bullet is not yet | longer any uncertainty upon the point. From the 
 
 at 
 once resumed the yoimg lady, " that he must have 
 
 been the employer of those two men Oh I I 
 
 understand it all — I understand it all — there is no 
 
 extracted. He is sleeping, but appears uneasy and 
 restless. I showed the note to Dr. Eobertson " 
 
 " You did, madam ?" 1 exclaimed, in some degree 
 of astonishment : for I did not know that the medi- 
 cal man had been admitted as a confidant in all 
 that had taken place. 
 
 "Yes, to be sure!" she responded: " for the doctor 
 is himself deeply interested in the whole proceeding. 
 Perhaps however you are not aware," she added, 
 seeing that I still looked surprised, "that Dr. Eo- 
 
 very first I had my suspicions !" 
 
 She suddenly stopped short and again yielded 
 herself up to her own thoughts. Again also was 
 it with a sudden start — as if she were now the 
 victim of nervous impulses — that she exclaimed, 
 "Did Captain ToUemache hold any conversation 
 with Arthur Cleveland? did much discourse pass 
 between them ? But I presume, from what I have 
 heard, that nothing was said of any consequence 
 after the encounter — no explanations of any kind 
 
 bertson was the gentleman called in two years ago, I were given ?" 
 
 when the sad exposure took place' " I "Nothing," I replied: and then I thought that 
 
 " Indeed ! the name of the medical man had not ' Miss Temple herself was about to volunteer some 
 been mentioned to me before. Was it Mr. Cleve- ! explanations of her own — for that there were im- 
 land or Captain ToUemache who engaged him to be portant secrets trembling upon her tongue I felt 
 present at the duel ?" | convinced. She had the appearance of one upon 
 
 "It was Captain ToUemache, I believe," replied ' whose heart lay a weight of which she could dis- 
 Mrs. Antrobus. " The doctor, on reading the note burden herself if she chose, but she was afraid to do 
 just now, earnestly recommended that you shoidd so. IMore than ever did I feel assured that there 
 lose no time in visiting the unhappy young woman j was a strange mystery enveloping this singular 
 who so much desires to see you." creature — a mystery holding her in toils and meshes 
 
 " I will go at once," said I : and having hastily from which some impulsive power urged her to 
 put on my bonnet and shawl, I issued forth on my j emancipate herself, but in the thraldom of wliiei 
 way to the cottage. I proceeded along the main j was she held fast bound by imperious circumstances 
 road, so as to avoid the risk of encountering the j of some totally opposite nature. 
 Bulldog or Sawbridge, in case they should be stiU I " Marv Price," she said, " again do I thank you 
 watching in the fields. In little more than a quarter ' for this visit. Before you came I thought that I had 
 of an hour — for I walked very quickly — I reached a thousand things to tell you : but now that you are 
 the cottage. The door was immediately opened by here, I feel myself Incapable of saying anything. 
 Nancy, whose first words, spoken in a hurried "WTicrcfore do you gaxe upon mo in this strange 
 whisper, were, " How is Mr. Cleveland ? is he in manner ?" 
 
 danger?" I at once assured her that the injury he 
 had received was not mortal and hopes were enter- 
 tained of his recovery. Her countenance brightened 
 up somewhat; and then she at once introduced 
 
 " Perhaps I should offend if I told you," tras my 
 answer. 
 
 "No, no — you are iucapable of giving me of- 
 fence !" she quickly rejoined. " TeU rae — there is 
 
 me to the little parlour, where I found Selina something in your mind — you must speak it out 
 
 Temple. j frankly and candidly " 
 
 "Oh! I thank you— thank you most sincerely for " Miss Temple," I repUed, "that there is some 
 this kindness 1" exclaimed the young lady, starting extraordinary mystery surrounding you with its tre- 
 from her s(>at and takmg both my hands, which mcndous iufluoneo, — enveloping you as it were in a 
 she pressed warmly. " You know not the agonies dark cloud — I feel convinced. That it would be a 
 of suspense I have endured ! But tell me all — relief for you to escape from this thraldom, I am 
 
 everylhi'ig— oven the worst— if the worst be to tell ! likewise certain " 
 
 Is .^irthur — I mean Mr. Cleveland " I " God knows it would !" she exclaimed fervently :
 
 MARY PRICE ; OK, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 and she clasped her hands together. " But no — I 
 dare not !" 
 
 " You dare anything to rescue yourself." 
 '' No, no !" she repeated hysterically, now wring- 
 ing the hands which an instant before had been 
 clasped together : " you know not what you say. 
 But listen," she instantaneously added, suddenly 
 becoming more composed ; " and bear in mind what 
 I am about to say. If jVrthur Cleveland's injury 
 should appear to take an evil turn, — which God in 
 his mercy forbid ! — if danger should menace him 
 
 ^you imderstand me — I cannot bring my mind 
 
 to be more cxphcit but in case of emergency, 
 
 you promise me that you will come hither — you will 
 fly to me — you will acquaint me with the sad truth 
 — so that I may at least see him in his last moments 
 — that he may not go out of the world without hear- 
 ing from my lips But I can say no more — ^you 
 
 understand me fully——"' 
 
 "I do, Miss Temple," was my answer; "and if 
 I be permitted, I promise to comply with your re- 
 quest." 
 
 " Permitted 1" she exclaimed with hysterical petu- 
 lance. " Grood heavens ! you must not wait for per- 
 mission — you must do it of your own accord — Oh ! 
 you know not how much depends upon the fulfil- 
 ment of your promise ! For were he to pass out of 
 this life without having heard from my lips the re- 
 velation of the tremendous secret which lies like a 
 weight of lead upon my heart, I should become 
 frenzied — it would make me a maniac — and I should 
 die raving in a madhouse ! Now, Mary, do you un- 
 derstand how important it is that you should give 
 me the promise I require — but give it without re- 
 serve, without condition " 
 
 "I will do so, Miss Temple," said I, feeling as- 
 sured that I could take this much upon myself. 
 
 '•■ My life may not be a long one," she said in a 
 profoundly mournful tone, " but my gratitude will 
 be your's until the end. And now you must leave 
 me : for I have need of solitude to commune with 
 myself. But remember your promise ! Even if it 
 
 bo the middle of the night you must come Oh! 
 
 you must come I" 
 
 " I woidd not for worlds deceive you," was my 
 answer, " after all that you have said." 
 
 She took my hand and pressed it cordially. I 
 then departed ; and hurrying from the house so as 
 to avoid the chance of being questioned by Nancy, 
 made the best of my way homeward. On my arri- 
 val I was at once desired by the housemaid to pro- 
 ceed to the parloiu: ; and on entering that room, I 
 found my master and Dr. lioberLson seated to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Wait a moment till your mistress comes down," 
 said Mr. Antrobus. 
 
 In a minute or two the worthy old lady made 
 her appearance; and I tlien described everything 
 whicli had taken place between Selina Temple and 
 myself. I could not help noticing that Dr. Ilobert- 
 son listen(!d with a peculiar and absorbing interest : 
 he seemed to hang upon every word I spoke ; and 
 as I recited the impassioned ejaculations to which 
 Miss Temple had given utterance, mcthought I 
 rciul in his looks that he was not altogether at a loss 
 to comprehend their meaning. Indeed I felt con- 
 vinced that the medical man knew more than it was 
 guiiorally suspected ho did, and that ho could make 
 a revelation if he chose. 
 
 "Is not all this singular, doctor?" asked 'Mis. 
 Antrobus, when I had finished my narrative. 
 
 " Very singular, madam," he replied, but still I 
 thought with a certain di-yness of tone as if the af- 
 fair was by no means singular to Jiim. 
 
 "There is evidently a secret somewhere," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Antrobus ; "and you, doctor, who were 
 called in at the time the sad affair took place, 
 might perhaps, if you ransacked your memory, dis- 
 cover some clue to the reading of it." 
 
 " I think I had better go up to see how my pa- 
 tient gets on," said Dr. Eobertson ; and he there- 
 upon quitted the room somewhat abruptly. 
 " How is Mr. Cleveland now ?" I asked. 
 " There is not any improvement, I am sorry to 
 say," replied Mrs. Antrobus. "Dr. Eobertson in- 
 tends to remain here all night." 
 
 " I have told you, ma'am, the promise which I 
 gave Miss Temple : I hope you do not disapprove 
 of my proceeding in that respect ?" 
 
 " Not in the least, Mary. On the contrary, you 
 shall keep it if the sad necessity arises. But God 
 forbid that it should be so !" — and the poor old lady 
 began to weep. 
 
 After a little more conversation I quitted tho 
 parlour and returned to my quarters. 
 
 The night passed; and the moment I rose in 
 the morumg I descended to inquire concernin<T 
 Mr. Cleveland. Very gently did I knock at the 
 patient's door : Mrs. Antrobus herself came out— 
 and it was easy to perceive by her disordered dress 
 that she had not been to bed at all. She shook 
 her head mournfully, and the tears trickled down 
 her cheeks. I began to grow frightened ; and yet 
 I thought that if there were any positive dan- 
 ger, slio would have called me so that I might fullil 
 the promise I had made to Selina Temple. 
 
 " He has passed a bad night, and for some time 
 was delhious," said Jlrs. Antrobus. "But Dr. 
 Eobertson assm-cd me there was no imminent peril. 
 
 He is now sleeping more tranquilly. But " 
 
 and the old lady shook her head mournfully. " In 
 his delirium," she went on to say, " he was con- 
 tinually calUng for her whose image is evidently 
 
 uppermost in his mind. I fear me, Mary " 
 
 She stopped short and wped her eyes. She was 
 going to say something more: but her feelings suf- 
 focated her, and she retreated into the chamber, 
 while I returned to the nursery, sadly apprehcnsivo 
 that the worst would ensue. 
 
 In the course of the day Dr. Eobertson was en- 
 abled to extract the bullet : but this operation was 
 not followed by more favourable signs. It was 
 indeed a melancholy time for us all at the house ; 
 and every one seemed to feel deeply the caliunity 
 which had occurred. Towards evening I thought 
 that it would bo but kind and proper to let Miss 
 Temple know that the bullet had been removed ; 
 and I accordingly gave a hint to this effect to ili-s. 
 Antrobus. My purpose was to pen a lino or two 
 to Miss Temple : but the good lady recommended 
 me to pay a visit to the cultnge. 
 
 " For," said she, " after the deep interest which 
 the unhappy girl has taken in my nephew's con- 
 dition, I do not wish to treat her with unneces- 
 sary harshness. She is cither profoundly penitent ; 
 or else there is some mystery which, if revealed, 
 would go far perhaps to extenuate the seominsi 
 wickedness of her conduct. Heaven knows! -Vt 
 
 »-.^ 
 
 ^
 
 388 
 
 MAUY rUICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVAKT-MAID. 
 
 all events we will treat her with as much consi- 
 deration as under circumstances she can expect." 
 
 It being now seven o'clock in the evening, and 
 therefore close upon the children's bed-time, I did 
 not take them with me but repaired alone to the 
 cottage. I was immediately admitted; and Miss 
 Temple advanced to meet me with a look of ap- 
 prehension—for her fii-st thought naturally was 
 that I had come to summon her to a death-bed. 
 I therefore hastened to reassure her on that head; 
 and unspeakable was the relief which she expe- 
 rienced. I told her that the bullet had been ex- 
 tracted ; but I did not conceal from her the f;ict that 
 Mr. Cleveland's condition was such as to inspire 
 much misgiving. She wept bitterly — she wrung her 
 hands— and after many lamentations, suddenly ex- 
 claimed, " I must go to him ! I must go to him ! 
 I can endure this no longer ! No — happen ^\ hat 
 will, I must go to him !" 
 
 Before I had time to utter a word in reply, a 
 travelling-carriage dashed up to the gardengate ; and 
 Selina, glancing forth through the window, cried, 
 "My sister!" Then, as if struck by some extraor- 
 dinary sensation, she sank back upon the sofa, and 
 neither moved nor spoke, but gazed with a singu- 
 larly wild and vacant look in the du-ection of the 
 equipage which had just arrived. 
 
 A tall livery-servant, leaping down from the box, 
 opened the door of the vehicle, and a lady descended. 
 Ilurriedly did she traverse the little garden and 
 approach the cottage. Nancy, who had seen the 
 carriage stop, hastened to open the front door : for 
 I heard her steps tripping rapidly along the pas- 
 sace — and I heard the door also open. 
 
 " My sister — Miss Temple — is she at home ?" 
 asked Lady Davenant : and it struck me that she 
 spoke in a voice more or less agitated. 
 
 " I thmk that I had better retire. Miss Temple," 
 said I, moving towards the door: but Schna an- 
 swered me not — she still sat motionless and silent 
 upon the sofa, like one petrified by the strangest 
 and most powerful emotions, or as if reduced by 
 utter bewilderment and consternation to that statue- 
 like rigidity. The parlour-door opened hastily, and 
 Lady Davenant rushed in. Yes : she literally rushed 
 into the parlour — but stopped suddenly on finding 
 herself face to face with a stranger in the person of 
 myself, instead of her sister. A quick glance around, 
 however, showed her Selina seated upon the sofa : 
 and the next instant the sisters were folded in each 
 cither's arms. Then I hurriedly quitted tho room, 
 closing the door behind me. 
 
 Nancy was in the passage, and she asked me to 
 fltep into the kitchen and take some refreshment 
 with herself and Mrs. Danby (Miss Temple's house- 
 keeper aud general servant). But it was now dusk, 
 and I was anxious to return home. I accordingly 
 excused myself, aud hastened away. I could not 
 help thinking as I sped along the road, that the 
 eudden and evidently unexpected arrival of Lady 
 D.ivcnaut was in some waj' connected with the inci- 
 dents then progressing; and yet I knew not how to 
 connect her presence therewith. I may observe 
 that from the little I saw of her — scarcely more 
 than a hurried glimpse — she fully justilied tho de- 
 scription which Mr. ClevoUuid had given of her, — 
 being of tall figure, finely made, slightly inclining 
 to stoutness, but still not to a degree to mar the 
 symmetry of her sliapo. ■ She was evidently much 
 
 agitated at the momeut she entered the parlour : 
 but that might have been, methought, at the cir- 
 cumstance of thus re-visiting the home of her girl- 
 hood after an absence of two years — re-visiting it 
 also to see that sister whose sorrows were so pro- 
 found ! 
 
 Such wore my reflections as I retraced my way 
 homeward. On rcacWng the house I at once pro- 
 ceeded to the parlour, where I found my master 
 alone. I communicated to him Lady Davenant's 
 arrival; and while I was yet speaking. Dr. Eobcrt- 
 son entered the room. Upon learning the intelli- 
 gence which I had just imparted to Mr. Antrobus, 
 the medical man was evidently stricken with amaze- 
 ment : and he said — no doubt involuntarily — " This 
 is most extraordinary ! It cannot be a coincidence 1" 
 
 " Doctor," observed Mr. Antrobus, who had been 
 eyeing him attentively, "I cannot help thinking 
 that you know more than you choose to admit !" 
 But the medical man made no reply, and again 
 quitted the room as abruptly as he had done on the 
 preceding evening. 
 
 I ascended to the nursery, wondering what could 
 be the cause of Dr. Eobertson's singular be- 
 haviour, unless it were that he was really the 
 depositor of some secret which he dared not reveal, 
 aud therefore studiously avoided placing himself in 
 a position to be inconveniently catecliised. 
 
 Before I retned to rest I made inquiries respect- 
 ing Mr. Cleveland, and was much grieved to learn 
 that the s^-mptoms were even less favourable than 
 in the afternoon, and that Dr. Eobertson entertained 
 some apprehension respecting the night which the 
 invalid was about to pass. I had a presentiment 
 that I should be called up ere many hours elapsed : 
 I even hesitated whether I should go to bed — but I 
 decided upon doing so, placing however my clothes 
 in readiness in case of being summoned. It was a 
 troubled aud restless kind of sleep that fell upon 
 my eyes. I was haunted by evil dreams, in which 
 the images of the Bulldog and Sawbridgo, Captain 
 Tollcmache, Lady Davenant, Dr. Eobertson, and 
 Selina Temple, all seemed mingling strangely and 
 fancifully: and at length I imagined — still under 
 the iulluence of a dream — that the Bulldog was 
 knocking at the nursery -door and commandmg me 
 to give hun admittance. I started up, the per- 
 spiration standing cold and clammy upon my fore- 
 head, and my whole frame quivering with terror. 
 The knocking at the door was repeated — and my 
 first impulse was to shriek out in atfright : but the 
 next momeut a mild and well-known voice said 
 mournfully and softly, " ilary, are you awake .-'* 
 
 It was my mistress who spoke — atul I knew for 
 what she came. Springing from the couch. I hast- 
 ened to unlock the door ; and Mrs. Antrobus ap- 
 peared with a light. Her countenance was haggard 
 and careworn — the tcai-s were triekUug down her 
 eheeks— and she trembled so that she could scarcely 
 hold the candle. 
 
 ">[arv," she said, entering the room, "I am 
 afraid, my dear girl, that circumstances demand tho 
 fulfilment of the promise you made to iliss Temple. 
 Arthur— poor Arthur— is raving in the delirium of 
 fever ; and Dr. Eobertson is now seriously alarmed. 
 1 have notieed that every six or seven hours somo 
 change takes place, either temporarily for the better 
 or for the worse ; and 1 fancy that all dcpencis on 
 the period which is to follow this one of delirium. 
 
 1
 
 MARY rr.roE; on, the memoirs of a sekvant-maid. 
 
 389 
 
 Poor Arthur!" repeated Mrs. Antrobus, her lips 
 quivering with emotions and her voice almost suf- 
 focated with sohs: "he does nothing but call for 
 Selina Temple — and I do really believe that her 
 presence might do him good. At all events— every- 
 thing considered— she shall be fetched- yes, she 
 shall be fetched.'' 
 
 While Mrs. Antrobus was thus speating, I had 
 begun to huddle on my clothing. She told me it 
 was between twelve and one o'clock; but as the 
 night was very dark and the road extremely lonely, 
 she would call up the old gardener to accompany 
 me with a lantern. I begged her to do nothing of 
 the sort ; for the old man by the slowness of his 
 pace would only delay mc, and I could find my 
 way very well without the aid of a lantern. In- 
 deed, at the moment I had no fears of any kind : 
 for even the influence of my troubled dream had 
 passed away, and I thought only of fulfilling the 
 promise I had made to Seliua. 
 
 " If ever there were a moment when whatsoever 
 secret Miss Temple harbours in her bosom, ought to 
 be revealed, it is now," observed Mrs. Antrobus ; 
 '•'and unless I shared in your opinion that there is 
 indeed something in the back ground, which if known 
 would go far to present her former conduct in a 
 new light, I would not have sanctioned the promise 
 you made, nor allow you to fulfil it now. But are 
 you really not afraid, Mary, to go by yourself? Mr. 
 A. should accompany you, but that ho would catch 
 his death with cold. However, I can go with you, 
 
 wrapping myself well up " 
 
 "jS'o, dear luadam," I continued: "I will set off 
 at once, and alone." 
 
 By this time I had finished dressing myself, even 
 to my bonnet and shawl ; and issuing from the room, 
 descended the stairs. As I passed by the door of 
 Mr. Cleveland's chamber I heard him raving in his 
 delirium: he was calling forth the name of Selina 
 Temple in the most impassioned manner ; and his 
 accents gave an impulse to my speed, for I felt con- 
 vinced that, as Mi's. Antrobus had said, the presence 
 of her whom he had loved so fondly, and perhaps 
 loved still, would do him good. Hurrying down 
 stairs, I let myself out at the front door — traversed 
 the garden and sped along the road in the diix-c- 
 tiou of the cottage. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXXX. 
 
 selixa's secket. 
 
 In the excitement of the proceeding which I was 
 taking, and in the grief which I experienced in 
 consequence of my poor mistress's affliction and 
 her nephew's calamity, I had totally forgotten the 
 cireumstaucc of Lady Davenant being at her sis- 
 ter's cottage. But now, as I proceeded along the 
 road, it suddenly flashed to my mind ; and I began 
 to wonder whether she would throw any obstacle 
 in the way of Sclina's fulfilment of her desire to 
 visit the deathbed of her former lover. But this 
 was not the only recollection which sprang up in 
 my brain as I pursued my lonely patli in the deep 
 darkness of the night : the images of the Bulldog 
 and Sawbridgc recurred to my fanc}', and terror 
 seized upon me, making me apprehend some peril. 
 I moved away from the hedgerows which I had 
 
 at first been skirting, and got into the midvUe of 
 the road. Fear le'jt wings to my feet : but ever 
 and anon I kept looking round in the apprehension 
 that I should discern some one close at my heels. 
 All my apprehensions however proved unfoimded ; 
 and I reached the cottage without any inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 To my surprise I beheld a light burning in the 
 parlour; and I therefore concluded that Lady 
 Davenant and her sister had not retired to rest. 
 But perhaps her ladyship was no longer there ? per- 
 haps her visit had been but a hurried and a flying 
 one ? or perhaps, on the other hand, she was really 
 there, and after their long separation the sisters 
 were sitting up until this late hour, unobservant of 
 the lapse of time, in the absorbing interest of their 
 discourse .'' 
 
 Such were the varied conjectures which passed 
 rapidly through my mind, as I opened the garden- 
 gate and threaded that little enclosure of verdure 
 and of flowers. I knocked gently at the front- 
 door; and almost instantaneously I heard the 
 parlour-door opening inside. Then the front-door 
 itself fell back ; and I beheld the object of my 
 visit. She was pale — very, very pale — and appeared 
 as if she had been weeping much and bitterly. 
 
 "Heavens, is it you?" she ejaculated, but in a 
 low voice, and her accents seemed as if they were 
 clouded with inward grief. " Oh, I know why you 
 come !" — and clasping her hands in convulsive an- 
 guish, she staggered back against the side of the 
 passage. 
 
 " Who is it, Selina ?" asked a voice from the par- 
 lour, and which I instantaneously recognized to bo 
 that of Lady Davenant, whom, as the reader will 
 remember, I had heard speak on her arrival at the 
 cottage that evening. 
 
 " No one — that is to say, it's nothing," quickly 
 replied Selina, as if instantaneously recalled to her- 
 self by her sister's voice; and she put her finger 
 upon her lips to enjoin me to be upon my guard. 
 "I will be with you in a moment," she added in a 
 low whisper. 
 
 Then &he turned abruptly away, and sped up- 
 stairs. Almost at the same instant a shadow dark- 
 ened the doorway of the parlour whence the light 
 of candles was streaming forth into the passage ; ■_ 
 and Lady Davenant stood before mo. By that ' 
 same light which now shone fully upon my counte- 
 nance she evidently recognized me at once : and ia 
 a quick voice, she said, " Ah ! you are the young 
 woman I saw here before. What do you require 
 now, and at this hour ?" 
 
 " I had something to say to Miss Temple," was 
 my answer. 
 
 Scarcely were the words spoken when Selina camo 
 precipitating herself down the stairs, but light as 
 the spirit whose airy speed she seemed to bo en- 
 dowed with. She had her bonnet and shawl on, 
 and looked as if she were filled with an almost 
 frenzied agitation. 
 
 "Selina, what docs this mean?" exclaimed Lady 
 Davenant, who appeared to be suddenly seized witli 
 a fearful anxiety. 
 
 " I shall rctm-a presently — I am going with this 
 young person hero for a few minutes," was Miss 
 Temple's quick and excited response. 
 
 " It is impossible, Selina ! You cannot go out 
 to-night."
 
 390 
 
 MABTT PRICE ; OB, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 " Gertrude, you shall not rule me thus !" almost 
 screamed forth the frenzied young lady, her cheeks 
 suddenly flushing as she stamped her foot in the 
 excitement of her feelings. 
 
 "Ah! do you speak to mo so?" exclaimed the 
 elder sister, becoming pale as death, all the grand 
 beauty of her countenance turning into a convul- 
 sive ghastlincss. " No— it shall not be!"— and 
 seizing SeUna by the arm, she di-agged her with 
 extraordinary power into the parlour. So sudden 
 was the movement that Selina evidently had not 
 even the time for resistance. The parlour-door 
 was closed violently ; and there did I remain on the 
 threshold of the front-door, which continued open. 
 I was confounded at this scone, and knew not how 
 to act. A violent altercation sprang up between 
 the sisters inside the room : but my ear caught not 
 the sense of their words. In a few instants Lady 
 Davenant came forth ; and with fury in her looks, 
 she cried, " Begone, yoimg woman — I know who 
 you are ! My sister goes not out to-night !" — and 
 she shut the front-door in my face. 
 
 Almost simultaneously therewith, I heard the 
 window of the parlour suddenly open, and beheld 
 Selina come bounding forth into the garden. With- 
 out waiting for me she darted to the gate, swift as 
 an arrow shot from a bow. The nest moment I 
 was speeding after her. The gate was reached— I 
 glanced back, and observed Lady Davenant also 
 springing in what appeared to be frantic precipi- 
 tation from the open ^vindow. I paused not a- 
 moment, but ran after Selina Temple, whose light 
 dress I caught sight of at least thirty yards ahead. 
 Several minutes elapsed ere I overtook her ; and 
 then she was so esliausted with the efforts she had 
 made and the excitement accompanying them, that 
 she was compelled to stop and cling to my arm for 
 support. I looked back : Lady Davenant was at 
 the moment issumg from the gate. 
 
 "Your sister is pursuing us," I said. "Let us 
 speed on." 
 
 The announcement seemed to inspu'e the young 
 lady with new courage and fresh activity; and 
 away we went, coursing along the road like two 
 hunted deer. I heard a voice, hoarse with rage, 
 commanding us to stop: but it only seemed to 
 have the effect of urging my companion to a more 
 frenzied speed. "\Ye did not pause again for at 
 least five minutes ; £;nd then we both sank breath- 
 less and exhausted on a bank by the road-side. For 
 at least another minute neither of us could utter a 
 word ; but we sat panting and gasping with painful 
 and desperate efforts to recover the power of re- 
 spiration. Suddenly the rustling of garments, the 
 sound of footsteps, and likewise the gasping of a 
 breathless throat met our ears: the next instant 
 the form of Lady Davenant camo rushing from the 
 depth of gloom — and she sprang towards her sister 
 like an infuriate tigress. But Selina bounded away 
 with the lightness of the fawn : the next moment 
 I was by her side — and again did we leave Ger- 
 trude far behind. Oh ! what wild excitement was 
 there in that scene ! On wo sped, ' as if for life 
 and 'death. Not a word was spoken between us. 
 For my part I could not speak : my throat 
 was as dry as if I had been swallowing ashes, 
 jigain were we compelled to stop to recover breath. 
 We listened with all the keenness of our cars : but 
 no indications of continued pursuit reached us then. 
 
 In a few moments, however, it was different : and 
 then they were heard again — the quick steps, the 
 rustling silk, and the terribly panting breath ! 
 
 Away, away again ! — again too was our pursuer 
 distanced ! And now a glimmering light appeared 
 at the extremity of a length of gloom. It was the 
 place of our destination — the Hght that shone in 
 Mr. Cleveland's window. A few minutes more, 
 and we reached the garden-gate. No pursuing 
 steps were now heard : through the garden we sped 
 — and more violent than it ought to have been was 
 the knock which I gave at the front-door. Scarcely 
 had the sound ceased when the garden-gate was 
 flung violently open, and our pursuer came madly 
 bounding along the walk. Selina threw her arms 
 roimd my waist, and clung to me as if resolved not 
 to be torn away by her tigress-like sister. The 
 front-door opened — we sprang across the threshold 
 in a manner that made 3Irs. Antrobus, who opened 
 it, shriek out — and I closed it in the face of Lady 
 Davenant. 
 
 Selina sank down half-fainting upon the hall-mat, 
 while I threw myself on the foot of the stairs, both 
 of us gasping as if life itself were ebbing away, 
 Jlrs. Antrobus naturally conjectured that we had 
 been frightened ; and hurrying into the parlour, 
 the kind considerate old lady fetched water and 
 glasses, and gave us each to drink. I had expected 
 to hear a furious knocking at the front door ; but 
 nothing of the kind took place — and therefore I 
 concluded that Lady Davenant, finding that her 
 sister's object was accomplished, had not chosen to 
 make any farther attempt to coerce or arrest her. 
 
 " Madam," said Miss Temple, so soon as she had 
 partially recovered breath and had risen up painfully 
 from where she had thrown herself, " I never 
 thought that I should cross this threshold again. 
 BeUeve me — Oh ! believe me that I am not what 
 you have long — too long — imagined me to be ! Eat 
 this is a revelation which I must make first of all to 
 him whom it most concerns !" 
 
 It v."ould be impossible to describe the sudden 
 thrill of joy which shot through my heart as these 
 words met my ears. They seemed like a proclama- 
 tion of innocence — and I beUeved that it was so : 
 but how or in what manner such innocence was to 
 be proved, or how in the face of all known circum- 
 stances it could exist at all, I neither knew nor 
 waited to conjecture. The same feeling was evi- 
 dently shared by worthy Mrs. Antrobus : for in a 
 voice broken with mingled surprise and joy, she 
 said, '• Oh ! if this is true, Selina, how fondly would 
 I clasp you in my arms !" 
 
 '•■ Dear madam, you will know all soon I" quickly 
 responded the young lady : and she glanced impa- 
 tiently up the staircase. 
 
 '• I know whither your thoughts are travellbg— 
 or rather, where they are fixed. And I have some 
 
 good news for you " 
 
 " Oh, God be thanked!" murmured SoHna, clasp- 
 ing her hands in the fervour of a hopefulness sud- 
 denly inspii-ed. And I also comprehended the mcan- 
 iniT of my mistress's words, and welcomed them as 
 another source of satisfaction and joy. 
 
 " Yes," continued Mrs. Antrobus ; " soon after 
 you left, Ikliu-y, the fever took a favourable turn — 
 the delirium ceased — and, heaven be praised ! 
 Arthur is now sensible. But he knows not as yet 
 that you are coming, Selina And yet he li.v3
 
 MART PRICE ; OE, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 SUl 
 
 mentioned your name," slie added more slowly, 
 "not only in Ms ravings, bat likewise since!" 
 
 '• Oh, delay not in letting me see him !" ex- 
 claimed Miss Temple, still clasping her hands to- 
 gether. " I have made up my mind how to act, and 
 nothing shall deter me from it. But pray, dear 
 madam, let me see him at once Oh ! let me see 
 him !" 
 
 "Walk into the parlour with Mary for a few 
 minutes, and I wiU prepare him:" — having said 
 which, Mrs. Antrobus hastened up-stairs. 
 
 We did not move away from the spot where we 
 were standing; for Selina, with a restless impa- 
 tience to see the object of her adoration, would not 
 quit the vicinage of the staks leading up to his 
 room. Taking my hand, she said in a deep voice 
 full of grateful emotion, " Mary, how much am I 
 indebted to you for having brought this about ! 
 And j-ou ^ill find that after all, I am not unworthy 
 
 But I can say no more now: you shall remain 
 
 ■vvith me while I make the wondrous revelation to 
 Arthur :" — then glancing round towards the front- 
 door, she added, while a visible shudder swept over 
 her frame, " Unhappy Gertrude, what am I about 
 to do ?" 
 
 Relinquishing my hand, Selina leant against the 
 wall, and for a few moments appeared to reflect 
 profoundly. Perhaps even then — at the last moment 
 — she hesitated whether to do what she had resolved 
 upon ; and I guessed what was thus passing in her 
 mind. But suddenly a door up-stairs opened ; and 
 Mrs. Antrobus, leaning over the bannisters, said in a 
 gentle voice, " Come up !" 
 
 Sclina's first impulse was to bound up the stairs 
 fleet and airy as in her fawn-like speed she had ere 
 now bounded along the road : but instantaneously 
 checking herself, she ascended in the gentle and 
 more deliberate manner becoming the house where 
 an invalid lay. I followed her ; and it was with a 
 beating heart — for I felt as much true joy on her 
 account as if it were my own case. On reaching the 
 landing, Mrs. Antrobus beckoned me to enter along 
 witli them; and we passed into the room where 
 Arthur Cleveland lay. 
 
 " My own and only love — I am innocent, I am 
 innocent!" murmured Selina, falling upon her knees 
 by the side of the couch, and by that very act call- 
 ing heaven as it were to attest the truth of what 
 she proclaimed. 
 
 " Innocent, Selina?" said Cleveland, the radiance 
 of an indescribable joy suddenly appearing upon his 
 pale features. " My God, if this were possible " 
 
 " As there is an Almighty above us, I can attest 
 it!" said Dr. Eobertson, advancing from the ex- 
 tremity of the room and speaking in a solemn 
 Toice. 
 
 '•' Oh I come to my arms, Selina ! come to my 
 arms!" exclaimed Cleveland, with a sudden access 
 of power in his voice, as if that joyous but amazing 
 anouncemcnt had infused the strong tide of a new 
 life into him: and Selina was the next moment 
 weeping and sobbing upon his breast. 
 
 It would be impossible for any power of language 
 to do justice to this scene. Dr. Ilobcrtson turned 
 away and applied his handkerchief to his eyes; 
 wliile worthy old Mrs. Antrobus, crying and sobbing 
 for joy, caught me in her arms and embraced mo 
 affectionately, murmuring in a broken voice, " It is 
 you, Mary, who have brought this about ! It never 
 
 would have happened except for you. God Al- 
 mighty's blessings upon you!" 
 
 When released from my mistress's cordial em- 
 brace, I sank upon a chair overpowered by my emo- 
 tions. Was it possible that what I saw passiu"' 
 before me could be otherwise than a dream ? was it 
 a reality that Selina Temple — chaste and pure, im- 
 maculate and stainless — was clasped in the arms of 
 him who so recently had risked his life in the 
 attempt to punish her supposed seducer? Yes: it 
 was indeed all true — for there was Dr. Eobertson to 
 attest it. But who then was the guilty one? to 
 whom belonged the offspring of shame that dwelt 
 at the cottage? The conduct of Lady Davenant 
 this night seemed to give an answer to the question. 
 
 When Mrs. Antrobus had done embracing me as 
 above described, she could not resist the temptation 
 of hastening to arouse her husband and communi- 
 cating the glad tidings of all that had taken place. 
 She was not even deterred from this .'ourse by the 
 reflection that it was very prejudicial to awaken an 
 old gentleman from his sleep, especially after he had 
 taken a foot-bath and a treacle-posset to throw him 
 into a perspirati(5n and make him pass a good night's 
 rest. Nor did she even recollect to throw over her 
 shoulders the shawl which had dropped off in the 
 almost frantic dcUght with which slie had strained 
 me to her bosom. It could therefore have been no 
 ordinary state of mind which made the good old 
 lady so utterly regardless of all these things. But 
 something equally marvellous speedily took place. 
 For Sir. Antrobus, in complete defiance of night- 
 ail', draughts, dangers of cold, and risks of rheuma- 
 tism, got up — huddled on some clothing — and, en. 
 veloped in his flowered silk dressing-gown, with a 
 white cotton night-cap upon his head, came to the 
 invalid's room to oifer his congratulations and 
 embrace Selina. 
 
 Happy Selina ! she was indeed embraced by tho 
 worthy old couple with so cordial a warmth that if 
 she had been their own daughter she could not have 
 experienced a more affectionate endearment. She 
 embraced them too with an equal fervour. Nor was 
 I forgotten by that amiable, excellent, and much- 
 wronged young lady : she folded me in her arms — 
 she lavished upon me tlie tcnderest epitliets — she 
 called me her dearest friend — her sister — nay, her 
 more than sister ; and she wept, and laughed, and 
 smiled, and sobbed by turns. At length Dr. Eobert- 
 son was compelled to interfere lest this scene should 
 be prolonged to an extent that might prove inju- 
 rious to his patient with its excitement ; and ho 
 good-naturedly but firmly insisted upon the chauibjr 
 being cleared. Selina earnestly implored that she 
 might sit up in company with the doctor to watch 
 by the bedside ol' her beloved : but in this she was 
 overruled by tho representations mode on the part 
 of all of us, including Mr. Cleveland himself. Nor 
 would Dr. Eobertson even allow her to give on the 
 present occasion those explanations which were to 
 clear up all mystery in respect to the past ; and as 
 her innocence was now thiroughly believed in by all 
 present — corroborated as it had been by the solemn 
 asseveration of the doctor — she yielded also to his 
 recommendntion for tho postponement of tho nar- 
 rative. To be brief, after having exchanged another 
 fervid embrace with her lover — who was now imleed 
 her lover once again — iSelina Toiuplo retired to a 
 chamber appropriated for her occupation.
 
 392 
 
 MAEV PRICE ; OE, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 Little was the sleep that visited my eyes during 
 the rest of that memorable night. I felt the su- 
 preme satisfaction of having had a hand in bringing 
 two devoted lovers together again ; and I was truly 
 rejoiced. On the following day the mystery relative 
 to the past was cleared up ; and I will now make 
 the elucidations known to my readers. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXXXI. 
 
 THE SELF-DETOIED. 
 
 It appeared that previous to the acquaintance of 
 Lord Davenant with the Temples, Gertrude, the 
 elder sister, conceived a strong passion for the 
 handsome and fascinating Captain Tollcmache, who, 
 as previously stated, was a frequent visitor at the 
 picturesque cottage. The Captain himself was not 
 insensible to the charms of Gertrude ; nor did he 
 fail to notice the impression which he had made 
 upon her. He was however a poor man : that is to 
 say, he had nothing beyond his pay as an officer in 
 the army — he had contracted numerous debts alike 
 with his tradesmen in London and those in Win- 
 chester — and it was therefore most hkely that if he 
 married at all, it would only be to some heii-ess whoso 
 fortune would extricate him from his difficulties. 
 T^^evertheless, he made love to Gertrude in secret ; 
 and such was the violence of her passion that she 
 became his victim. About the same time Lord 
 Davenant arrived in the neighbourhood — was intro- 
 duced to the Temples — and became strongly en- 
 amoured of Gertrude. In due course his attentions 
 grew marked; and then Gertrude consulted with 
 Captain ToUemache how she was to act. He ex- 
 plained to her his own position, assuring her that 
 he dared not think of marriage, unless it were for 
 the purpose of patcliing up his broken fortunes ; and 
 earnestly counselled her to favour the advances of 
 Lord Davenant. Gertrude had her ambition as wcU 
 as her other passions and more tender feelings ; and 
 perhaps she was not in her heart sorry Captain Tol- 
 lemache forbore from asserting any claim to her 
 tacd. Ijjni Darent/.t {;r,'.'p; r-d tin.:l ?^s.z sccrpJcJ ; 
 but shortly afterwards Gertrude foynd that her 
 weakness with Captain ToUemache was likely to be 
 productive of consequences too well calcidated to 
 mar her hopes of ever becoming Lady Davenant. 
 She however kept her own secret ; and as time wore 
 on, it continued to escape the suspicion of even those 
 most nearly connected with her. The period for 
 marriage was fixed, the time named being the 
 same as that settled for the union of Arthur Cleve- 
 land and Selina Temple. All this while Captain 
 ToUemache continued a visitor at the cottage ; and 
 there can be no doubt that he instigated his victim 
 to keep the secret as long as it possibly could be 
 kept, and trust to the chapter of accidents to fur- 
 nish the means for extricating her from the cruel 
 dilemma in which she was placed. So accomplished 
 a hypocrite was he— and so successfully did Ger- 
 tru<le keep guard over her own words, looks, and 
 actions — that the intimacy between the two escaped 
 all suspicion ; and, as it has been stated on a former 
 occasion, Captain ToUemache was regarded in the 
 light of a pleasant and agreeable friend, incapable of 
 entertaining any dishonourable views. How little 
 
 thought the world that the full measure of dis- 
 honour had been accomplished ! 
 
 In the same way that Arthur Cleveland was com- 
 pelled to absent himself from the vicinage of 'Win- 
 chester to arrange his affairs prior to the time fixed 
 for his marriage, so was Lord Davenant also com- 
 pelled to a few months' separation from her on 
 whom he had bestowed his heart. He possessed a 
 large estate in Ireland ; and certain circumstances, 
 which need not be here mentioned, forced him to 
 pass a short time amongst his tenantry in the sister- 
 kingdom: for he intended after his marriage to 
 travel on the Continent, and was therefore naturally 
 anxious to leave all his personal atfairs in a con- 
 dition that would guarantee them against suffering 
 in his absence. Thus, for the last three or four 
 months of the period of courtship. Lord Davenant 
 was absent in Ireland ; and doubtless this circum- 
 Btance inspired Gertrude with hopes that she might 
 still manage to conceal her shame altogether from 
 the general knowledge of the world. Her design 
 was to make her mother a confidante of her position, 
 well knowing that her worldly-minded parent would 
 do her best to hush the matter up. But with the 
 natural disinclination to reveal such astounding in- 
 telligence, even to a mother of that worldly cha- 
 racter, Gertrude procrastinated the period for such 
 revelation until her secret revealed itself. In short, 
 she was suddenly and somewhat prematurely seized 
 with the indications of promptly approaching ma- 
 ternity. Until this moment — the very last — she 
 had most successfidly managed to veil her condition 
 even from the keen regards of ilrs. Temple ; and 
 therefore when the secret was made known, it burst 
 with the violence of a thunder-shock alike upon the 
 mother and the sister. Dr. Eobertson was sent for 
 in the utmost haste; and Gertrude became tho 
 mother of a female babe. Earnest and impassioned 
 were the entreaties addressed to the medical man 
 that he would himself undertake to dispose of the 
 infant by sending it to a distance, finding a suitable 
 nurse for it, and concealing all the circumstances of 
 its birth from the female to be thus charged with 
 its keeping. But Dr. Eobertson absolutely refused 
 to have anytliing to do with such a proceeding : at 
 the sarar tiiao kc promised that if those who were 
 most interested in the case could manage to h'osh it 
 up, he would not betray the secret. Unfortunately 
 however, on his retina home, after some hours' ab- 
 sence, he let a few words drop when conversing 
 with his wife which made !Mrs. Eobertson suspect 
 that something mysterious had occurred at the cot- 
 tage; and as her husband earnestly enjoined her 
 not to mention that he had been called up in the 
 night and summoned thither in so urgent a manner, 
 her suspicions were naturally strengthened. For 
 some reason or another she entertained a bitter 
 pique against the Temples, either through jealousy 
 at the way in which they were courted and sought 
 after in society, or else from some sUght which Ger- 
 trude herself had at one time put upon her. She 
 therefore lost no time in gratifying her malignity, 
 or avenging the old stauiUng affront, by propa- 
 gating the rumour that one of the iliss Temples 
 had become a mother. 
 
 The doctor, bitterly indignant and profoundly 
 annoyed at tho conduct of his wife, immediately 
 hastened to the cottage and frankly confessed the 
 coui-so which her malignitv had taken. All was
 
 MARY PEICE ; OK, THE MEMOIES OP A SEEYANT-MAID. 
 
 393 
 
 j^i'ii;iiiii|;i7'.iji^,iii;iii^ 
 
 then dismay, and afilicUon, and lamentation witlun 
 the walls of that cottage. But then was it that 
 Mrs. Temple, siifi'eriug her worldlj'-miudodness to 
 impel her to an act the most diabolical and atrocious, 
 suggested that it' one of her two daughters' accepted 
 suitors must be lost, it were better to lose the un- 
 titled one and the least wealthy, than the patrician 
 of high rank who possessed thousands where Mr. 
 Cleveland only possessed hundreds. In short, that 
 unyrincipled and heartless mother proposed that the 
 weight of shame and infamy shoukl be placed upon 
 the shoulders of the unfortunate Selina, so that 
 Gertrude might still enjoy the prospect of becoming 
 Lady Davenant. For Mrs. Temple had studied Lord 
 Davenant's character well enough to be fully aware 
 that he was too mueli infatuated with Gertrude to 
 break off the raatcli under the impression that her 
 sister had fallen into the ways of error — and like- 
 wise too honourable to visit that sister's supposed 
 error upon Gertrude herself. Upon these calcu- 
 No, SO 
 
 lations was Mrs. Temple's ncfiirioua project based. 
 She propounded it to Gertrude, who, being herself 
 as worldly-minded, as ambitious, and as intensely 
 selfish as her mother, greedily clutched at the hope 
 of saving her own reputation even at the sacri;ieo 
 of her innocent sister's, and of retaining her own 
 lover although that sister would be doomed to aban- 
 don the love of Arthur Cleveland. Then followed a 
 scene whioli language has no power to describe. 
 Mrs. Temple, closetted with her yoimger daugiiter, 
 broke to the bewildered, terrilied, and anguish- 
 stricken girl the project she liud devised. She re- 
 presented the brilliancy of the connexion which the 
 family would form in the alhance of Gertrude with 
 Lord Davenant, and the impossibility of renouncing 
 such a golden prosi)cel. She went upon her knees 
 in Selina's presence — used all the arts of persuasion 
 to induce the poor girl to accept shame, dishomuir, 
 and unhapphiess for herself, in order that she might 
 sccui'o tt splendid position for her sister. Selma
 
 ;t 
 
 MASr PEICE ; OB, THE MEMOIES OP A SERVAJJT-MAID. 
 
 felfc as if she were going mad. It was not merely 
 sufficient that she should resign every hope of be- 
 coming the bride of him whom she loved with all her 
 heart and with all her soul ; but it was likewise neces- 
 sary that she should adopt as her own that disgrace 
 ■which had overtaken another ! It must indeed have 
 been a terrible scene. The diabolic sophistry, pcrsua- 
 Biveness, and arts of the wily and wicked mother 
 however prevailed ; and after an hour's painful and 
 agonizing interview, the unhappy young creature 
 consented to all that was demanded of her. Yes — 
 she yielded ; but it was only under influences the 
 most unnatural — the most abhorrent. For Mrs. 
 Temple had declared that she would commit suicide 
 in her young daughter's presence if an affii-mative 
 answer were not given to her atrocious demands. 
 Thus was it that Selina agreed to renounce the hope 
 and joy of her life — to lay a suicidal hand upon her 
 love, her fame, and her honour — to doom the rest of 
 existence to the dreariest isolation from the world 
 and to the dismalest solitude of solf-inilicted dis- 
 grace — to trample under foot the coronal of flowers 
 encircling her virgin brow, and to bring a blight 
 upon all the choicest and timdorest blossoms that 
 festooned in their purity around her own heart. 
 It was a dread and an awful destiny to which the 
 young girl thus doomed herself. But still she did 
 it — she accepted that fearful fate j and tho mother 
 who should have left the guilty one to tho conse- 
 quences of her guilt, throw the whole weight there- 
 of upon the head of the innocent. 
 
 At the expiration of that dread hour of interview 
 between the worldly-minded parent and her self- 
 sacrificing child — an horn" which perhaps witnessed 
 excruciations of feelings more harrowed than ever 
 human heart had known before — Mrs. Temple made 
 Dr. Robertson acquainted with tho decision that 
 bad been arrived at. He was astounded : he could 
 scarcely believe his ears ; and at first, when assured 
 that the plan was to be persisted in, he refused to 
 become a party to it. Then followed more entreaties 
 — more intercessions — more beguiliugs on the part of 
 that worldly-minded woman; and Selina herself, 
 having been fetched into the doctor's presence and 
 compelled to declare from her own lips that she ac- 
 cepted the destiny marked out for her, the physician 
 consented to let those who were most interested put 
 their own colouring and construction upon the case. 
 The rumour was accordingly spread abroad that the 
 disgrace was all Selina's; and the world could not 
 do otherwise than believe it. Gertrude's conduct 
 was such as to aid effectually in averting anything 
 like suspicion from herself. It seemed natural imdc r 
 the circumstances that the family should remain in 
 the strictest seclusion for a short time : but Ger- 
 trude was the first to appear abroad again — and her 
 recovery being prompt, every incident thus helped 
 to sustain that immense imposture — that stupendous 
 cheat ! 
 
 Lord Davenant acted precisely as Jlrs. Temple 
 had foreseen. Too deeply enamoured of Gertrude's 
 charms to renounce her readily, ho was likewise too 
 honourable to make her sulfor for what ho believed 
 to be her sister's guilt. The marriage was however 
 postponed for a few months in consequence of Ger- 
 trude's representations that her spirits had received 
 a shock, in consequence of her sister's dishonour, 
 which would require (his little interval to compose 
 them: but at the expiration of tho timo the mar- 
 
 riage took place. Lord Davenant at once bore his 
 bride away to the Continent — and soon afterwards 
 Mrs. Temple was seized with a severe illness, which 
 carried her off suddenly. It was said that she died 
 of a broken heart ; and although this could scarcely 
 have been strictly true Ln respect to so worldly a 
 woman, yet that remorse for her own vile conduct, — 
 a remorse which was rendered all the more poignant 
 by the spectacle of her doomed young daughter's 
 illimitable woe — produced an effect upon her, it is 
 easy to conceive. The reader is already aware that 
 at the time tho sad affair took place at the cottage, 
 Captain ToUemache disappeared suddenly. This 
 was perhaps as much owing to the clamours and 
 threats of his creditors, as to the dread of being 
 pointed at and shunned as a base seducer. He sold 
 his commission : but it did not appear that from the 
 proceeds ho liquidated any portion of the accounts 
 due to his "Winchester tradesmen. 
 
 With the death of Mrs. Temple her income also 
 ceased : but Lady Davenant made Selina a Uberal 
 allowance, regularly remitted. This was done with 
 the consent of Lord Davenant, who would not allow 
 tho imfortunate girl (as he beheved her to be in 
 every sense of the word) to fall into want, although 
 he naturally enjoined his wife to hold as httle cor- 
 respondence with her as possible : for the honourable 
 mind of that nobleman was profoundly shocked at 
 tho idea of a young woman consenting to become 
 tho wife of a worthy, confiding, and estimable man 
 at the very time when she appeared to have been in 
 a condition alTising upon her a signal disgrace. 
 Lady Davenant, however, wrote incessantly to 
 SelLna. Her ladyship was a prey to a constant 
 apprehension that her young and much-injured 
 sister might in a moment of despair, or in a pa- 
 roxysm of uncontrollable g^ef, proclaim her inno- 
 cence, and thus divulge the fearfid secret. In those 
 letters which she was so incessantly sending to her, 
 unknown to Lord Davenant, Gertrude reiterated all 
 possible argiuuents and prayers, representations and 
 entreaties, to induce her sister to reconcile herself to 
 her fearful destiny. -She also sent her numerous 
 presents from the Continent; and after her return 
 to London with her husband, she trcqucntly de- 
 spatched by the coach a variety of gifts which she 
 thought would prove acceptable to Sehna. But in- 
 vai-iably were those gifts accompanied by epistles 
 full of the wonted prayers and intercessions, and 
 over which tho unhappy Selina would weep the bit- 
 terest, bitterest tears in the solitude of her chamber. 
 Mrs. Danby — a faitliful and attached servant, who 
 had been for many years in the family — was ac- 
 quainted with tho secret of the terrible mystery; 
 and often and often did the good woman ascend to 
 Selina's chamber-door and listen to ascertain if her 
 young mistress were weeping. Then would she 
 endeavour to console her, or else descend to the 
 kitchen again, weeping bitterly herself at tho idea 
 of the undeserved sorrows which tho fair yoimg 
 creature was enduring. Xancy Brown, who had 
 only been taken into the house some weeks after tho 
 birth of the child, was kept in profound ignorance 
 of the real truth, and never even suspected it. 
 
 Thus the timo had passed on until the date of 
 those incidents which have occupied the last few 
 chapters. It appears that when I called upon Selina 
 aud made her acquainted with the fact that those 
 two men, Sawbridge and the Bulldog, were watch-
 
 iunr rrjcE ; or, the mejioirs of a s-EnvANX-iiAiD. 
 
 80o 
 
 ing in the neij^hbouvliood — and for wliat purpose 
 they were watching : namely, to espy her own and 
 Mr. Cleveland's movements, and report them to 
 some employer elsewhere, — the moment, I say, that 
 all these cu'cumstances were mentioned to her, she 
 suspected somethiug of the truth. She knew how 
 terribly apprehensive her sister was that she should 
 betray the secret; and it occurred to her that as 
 Gertrude had probably heard of Mr. Cleveland's in- 
 tended visit into that neighbourhood, she had become 
 desperately alarmed lest Sclina should in a moment 
 of tenderness or despair proclaim to him her inno- 
 cence. 
 
 It now becomes necessary to explain what took 
 place between Lady Davenant and Selina when her 
 ladyship so suddenly made her appearance at tlic 
 cottage. So soon as they were alone together, after 
 I had taken my departure. Lady Davenant began 
 informing her sister that it was with the utmost 
 difEcidty she had persuaded her husband to allow 
 her to pay this visit — and that indeed she had been 
 compelled to devise an excuse for the purpose of 
 wringing that assent from Lord Davenant. This 
 excuse was that Selina was lying dangerously ill, 
 even to be at the point of death, — on hearing which 
 Lord Davenant had objected no longer. But why 
 was it that Gertrude had been thus anxious to visit 
 the cottage ? wherefore had she left London with so 
 much precipitation? and why had she been com- 
 pelled thus to invent the excuse of a downright 
 falsehood rather than abandon her project ? It was 
 because she had heard, not only that Mr. Cleveland 
 was in the ncighbom'hood, but likewise that some 
 kind ui communication had already taken place 
 between the house and the cottage, a young person 
 in service at the former having visited at the latter. 
 That young person was of com-se myself; and it 
 was no wonder that Lady Davenant should have 
 looked upon mo with no very pleasing demeanour 
 when she encountered me at the cottage — for she 
 doubtless suspected who I was, though she did not 
 choose to say so in my presence. It farther appeared 
 that Lady Davenant renewed in words all those 
 earnest prayers and entreaties which she had pre- 
 viously conveyed in letters — to the eficct that Selina 
 would keep the secret; and she proposed that the 
 young lady should quit the neighbourhood the very 
 next day, and take up her abode in some distant 
 part of the country, Gertrude undertaking to pro- 
 vide for her as sweet a residence as the picturesque 
 cottage. The reader will recollect that up to a late 
 hour at night had the sisters remained together in 
 the little parlour of the cottage; aud during all 
 those hours Gertrude called iuto requisition her 
 entire powers of persuasion to carry her point. At 
 one moment Selina, moved by the bitterness of her 
 sister's grief, promised everything : but the next 
 instant, recollecting that Cleveland was stretched 
 npon a couch whence ho never more might rise 
 alive, she recanted all tho pledges she had made. 
 Lady Davenant appeared to grow desperate, and 
 made use of threats. An altercation thus arose 
 between the sisters; and it was at this moment that 
 I had knocked at tho door to summon Sclina to what 
 I then believed to bo tho death-bed of her lover. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXXXIL 
 
 LADY DAVESAKT. 
 
 Such were tho explanations which Selina Temple 
 gave in the morning that da\vned upon the night of 
 her installation at the house of Mj. and Mrs. An- 
 trobus. These explanations were given from her 
 lips by the side of Mr. Cleveland's bed, in the 
 presence of the worthy old couple and myself. I 
 have not attempted to preserve the precise language 
 in which the amiable and self-devoted girl made 
 known the history of tho past : I have given the 
 incidents purely in a narrative form ; and if there 
 be any gaps, the imagination of the reader will 
 supply them. Dr. Eobertson was not present 
 during tho recital of the tale: but ho entered the 
 chamber immediately after its conclusion — and at 
 once perceiving what had been taking place, he re- 
 quested permission to speak a few words. 
 
 " Some blame may be attached to me," he said, 
 in a grave and serious tone, " for having permitted 
 at the time such an outrage against all honour and 
 propriety, justice and good faith, to be consum- 
 mated. But you must remember that in the fii-sfc 
 place ib was through the unfortunate conduct of my 
 own wife that a suspicion of something wron" had 
 been circulated through the neighbourhood ; and I 
 was bound to repair as well as I could the injury 
 thus inflicted. Therefore, when those who had been 
 injured by my vrife's indiscretion — to use no harsher 
 term — suggested then* own means of mitigating, if 
 not of repairing the injury, I could not well persist 
 in remonstrances — much less refuse my adhesion to 
 the project. In the second place, a medical man has 
 sometimes a difficult course to pursue. It is not 
 because he is a medical adviser, he should constitute 
 himself a family adviser also ; and if in the course 
 of his practice, circumstances render him acquainted 
 with family secrets, ho is bound to regard these 
 secrets as if unconscious of them. In the third 
 place, knowing but very little of Miss Selina at tho 
 time, and hearing her say in my own presence — 
 with what appeared to me the coldness of a firm re- 
 solve, though I can now well understand that it 
 must have been the chill of blank despair — that she 
 consented to her mother's arrangement, and even 
 wished it — what more could I urge ? You perceive, 
 therefore, that my conduct has its excuses — if it 
 will not admit of tho fullest justiiication. But bc- 
 Ueve me," added Dr. Eobertson, with tho mingled 
 impressiveness and emotion of heartfelt sincerity, 
 "that I experience the liveliest joy at beholding the 
 hapj)y issue of an unfortunate transaction which 
 had already lasted much too long I" 
 
 Mr. Cleveland — who, I may hero observe, had 
 wonderfully improved during tho lost few hours — 
 stretched forth his hand to tlie medical man, saying, 
 "Doctor, whatever there may bo disagreeable in tho 
 past, let it bo buried in oblivion. We are all too 
 happy now to sullor anything, whetljer in tlio shape 
 of recollection or incident, to throw a iresh gloota 
 over our souls." 
 
 "Ala'5, my dear Arthur!" said Miss Temple, in 
 gently murmuring and mournful accents, as the tears 
 traced their crystal pathway down her lovely checks, 
 " there is still a deep cause for sorrow on my part. 
 Perhaps in giving new life to myscll", I may have 
 killed my unhapjiy sister !"
 
 396 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SEEVANT-JIAID. 
 
 '■' What would you have us do, my dearest girl?" 
 asked Mrs. Antrobus, in the most soothing and the 
 kindest manner possible. " You have told us how 
 your sister, the unfortunate Lady Davenant, en- 
 deavoured to coerce you by threats and intimidation 
 — and how she pursued you and Mary up to the 
 front-door last night. Her conduct, my dear Selina, 
 does not appear calculated to excite much sympathy. 
 At the same time, it cannot bo forgotten that she is 
 your sister; and possessing an excellent heart as 
 you do, it is natural that you should feel for her. 
 But on the other hand, you must consider whether 
 she has ever shown any good feeling towards you. 
 She sought to erect the fabric of her own prosperity 
 upon the ruins of your happiness. I do not know 
 much of the world ; but all my experience of it — 
 all that I have ever heard and all that I have ever 
 read — does not afford me an illustration of anything 
 so terrible as the conduct which has been pursued 
 towards yourself." 
 
 " Ah, my dear madam!" responded the weeping 
 ScUna, "it was not so much the sense of that 
 cruelty which at length determined me to reveal 
 the whole secret, but it was because I could no 
 longer endure the consciousness of being the object 
 of scorn and shame — perhaps detestation — on the 
 part of him whom I so fondly loved." 
 
 Thus speaking, Selina took Arthur Cleveland's 
 hand — carried it to her lips — retained it there — and 
 covered it with her kisses and her tears. It was 
 indeed full easy to perceive, by the brightness which 
 came back to Cleveland's eyes and the colour which 
 returned to his cheeks, that love is the sovereign 
 anodyne for ministeriug to the restoration of the 
 invalid ! 
 
 " You asked me, dear madam," continued Selina, 
 addressing herself to jNIrs. Antrobus, "what course 
 I would wish to be pursued in respect to my sister F 
 If I might ask my dear friend Mary Price to un- 
 dertake so unpleasant a mission, I would beseech 
 her to repair to the cottage and ascertain if Ger- 
 trude be stili there. If so, Mary," added Selina, 
 the tears stiU trickling down her cheeks, " speak 
 kindly to her — endeavour to console her. TeU her 
 that you come from me — that I not only forgive her 
 for the past, but in my turn implore her forgiveness 
 for having at length revealed the secret which was 
 entombed in that past. Tell her also that I have 
 striven — heaven only knows how I have striven — to 
 resign myself to that destmy which my deceased 
 mother chalked out ; but that the task became at 
 length moro than I could endure. Tell her that 
 had Arthur never come back to this neighbourhood, 
 perhaps I should have kept the secret inviolable to 
 the end; but that when he did come back, and by 
 so coming, imperilled his life in avenging what at 
 the time he believed to bo my dishonour, — human 
 nature could no longer remain in revolt against 
 itself. The patience of an angel would have been 
 exhausted — much more the patience of a poor frail 
 mortal like myself. Lastly, my dear Mary, you 
 will tell my sister that as everything must now be 
 made public— and that within a few days — perhaps 
 withui a few hours — the whole of this neighbour- 
 hood will become .acquaiuled with the right version 
 of the past history— and therefore that the iu- 
 telligcncc must inevitably reach Lord Davenant 
 Boon — I beseech her to hasten and throw herself at 
 bis feet, and implore his iiardnu. Go, !!\Iary — and 
 
 be speedy : for it will be to me a state of cruel sus- 
 pense until you return." 
 
 Though not much liking the mission entrusted to 
 me, I nevertheless accepted it : for I would have 
 done anything to please or impart consolation to 
 that sweet and amiable young lady. I accordingly 
 lost no time in hurrying up to the nursery, putting 
 on my bonnet and shawl, and issuing forth upon my 
 errand. It was now mid-day : and the sun was 
 shining brightly down upon the road along which 
 Selina and myself had sped in such frenzied haste 
 in the middle of the previous night. Then, how 
 httle did I anticipate the marvellous and fortunate 
 issue of the adventure in which I was engaged ! 
 But what would now become of Lady Davenant ? 
 Should I find her at the cottage ? or had she taken 
 her departure thence ? and if so, whither had she 
 gone ? What also had become of Captain Tolle- 
 mache ? and were his spies still in the neighbour- 
 hood? 
 
 Such were the thoughts and questions that I was 
 revolving in my mind, while walking along towards 
 the picturesque cottage : but all on a sudden a bend 
 in the road brought me face to face with the two 
 dread objects of my last self-put query — the Bull- 
 dog and Sawbridge ! 
 
 " Mary Price, by jingo !" exclaimed the latter. 
 
 " And I'U be bound it's all her precious meddling 
 that has put an end to this game of ours :" — and as 
 the Bidldog thus spoke, his looks were fixed upon 
 me with a cold-blooded and brutal ferocity. 
 
 I endeavoured to pass them by : but the last- 
 named monster caught me rudely by the arm, ex- 
 claiming, " Stop !" 
 
 I threw a quick glance around, in the hope that 
 some one might be approaching : but there was no 
 such succour at hand. 
 
 "You needn't be afeard," resumed the Bulldog: 
 " your life is of no use to us — and I don't know 
 that it's worth while to run the risk of a halter by 
 knocking you on the head. At the same time I 
 really could thi-ottle you : for there never was such 
 a precious meddler in this world. Here was we set 
 to watch a couple of houses — and a couple of people 
 too — and one of the very first things we see is you 
 going from one house to the other. Howsomcver, 
 it's all over now : we've got our blunt — and that's 
 all we care about." 
 
 " So we can very well afford to let you go on your 
 way without knocking yom* brains out this time," 
 added Sawbridge, in the form of epilogue to his 
 friend's observations. " Come, Ben, let's toddle on 
 and leave Mary Price to go aud poke her nose into 
 the next adventure that may turn up." 
 
 " "Well, before we leave her," rojoiued the Bull- 
 dog, his countenance becoming if possible even 
 more diabolically ferocious than was its wont, "let's 
 give her a little bit of advice : aud that is to mind 
 how she crosses our path the next time wc have got 
 any business in hand; for I'm blowed if I'll put up 
 wi(h it any more. So now you imderstaud me, 
 !Miss Mary ; and for all your jiretty face, and fino 
 black eyes, and white teeth, I'll spile your beauty 
 for you if I ever catch you meddling where I am 
 comvrned again." 
 
 Having given vent to these brut.il threats, tho 
 Bulldog passed on his way, aocompauied b}- Nick 
 Sawbridge — while I hun-ied on to the cottage, in- 
 liuitely delighted to think I had got quit of theui ao
 
 jiARY puicje; on, the memoies of a servant-maid. 
 
 easily. If any doubt Lad before existed in my mind 
 as to who the employers of these mea had been, it 
 was now cleared up ; and it was a source of deep 
 satisfaction to have received the assurance that their 
 mission in that neighbourhood was at an end. 
 
 On givining the cottage, I plunged my looks into 
 the parlour of the ground-floor to see if I could 
 discern Lady Davenant ; and methought that I 
 beheld a female figure much resembling her, pacing 
 to and fro within that apartment. I certaLuly felt 
 somewhat nervous and apprehensive as to the scene 
 which might ensue : for I had beheld enough of 
 Lady Davenant on the previous day, and had judged 
 sufficiently of her temper while she was pursuing us 
 in the night, to entertain these misgivings as to the 
 reception she might give me now. And that it was 
 she herself whom I had seen through the window, 
 I was speedily made sui-e :for even before my hand 
 had touched the knocker, tlie front-door was sud- 
 denly opened — and by Lady Davenant in person. 
 
 " Walk in," she said, in a cold tone, which was as 
 inscrutable as her looks: for though her counte- 
 nance was very pale, yet her features were rigid, 
 and it was impossible to penetrate the thoughts that 
 wore passing behind. She proceeded before me into 
 the parlour. I followed and shut the door. " Now 
 sit down," she said, in a voice of command rather 
 than of invitation. I obeyed — and she took a seat 
 upon the sofa. For a few moments she remained 
 silent, with her large dark eyes fixed upon me as if 
 to penetrate the object of my presence. 
 
 " I come from your ladyship's sister," I began by 
 saying. 
 
 '•And she has of com-sc made her peace with 
 Arthur Cleveland ?" observed Lady Davenant, still 
 cold and unfathomable. " You need not answer my 
 question in words: I see that I am not wrong. 
 But to have made her peace with him she must have 
 told him everything ! Now reply truly, young 
 woman — is this the case ?" 
 
 " It is, my lady," was my immediate answer. " As 
 for giving you true replies to whatsoever questions 
 yom* ladyship may put to me, I am incapable of 
 doing otherwise. And now, if your ladyship will 
 permit," I wont on to say, not heeding the scornl'id 
 curl of the lip which she gave at my remark, " I will 
 deliver a message wherewith Miss Temple has en- 
 trusted me. And believe mo, Lady Davenant, that 
 it will suffer much in the affectionate tenderness of 
 its tone and language when coming second-hand 
 from my lips." 
 
 " Proceed," said her ladyship, coldly and proudly. 
 I thereupon delivered the message which Miss 
 Temple had sent, and which I need not recapitulate 
 to the reader. Not a muscle of her countenance 
 moved until I reached that point where the advice 
 was given to urge her ladyship to hasten and throw 
 herself at her husband's feet and implore his for- 
 giveness. Then I perceived a quick and ominous 
 alteration growing over her features : first they 
 flushed — next they relapsed into a dead cold pallor 
 again — then thoy burnt with the deepest red, while 
 her eyes flashed firo and her lips quivered. They 
 were in truth magnificent eyes which thus darted 
 forth thoir lightnings at mc ; and that was a veri- 
 tably aristocratic mouth, in its classic chiselling and 
 haughty wreathmg, which quivered with its red lijjs 
 — those lips that revealed teeth of pearly beauty. 
 " Enough I" she suddenly exclaimed ; " I wish to 
 
 hear no more. You have delivered your message 
 from my sister ; and now you will be pleased to 
 listen to what I have to say, and bear it back as a 
 message to her. I am not going to treat you, Miss 
 Mary Price, all heroine of romantic adventure as 
 you are, with any of those fine scenes to which you 
 are so much accustomed: but I am going to tell 
 you a few plain truths, which you will have the kind- 
 ness to repeat to my sister." 
 
 " For heaven's sake. Lady Davenant," I ex- 
 claimed, " send back no message that will plunge a 
 dagger into her heart !" 
 
 "A dagger into her heart!" echoed Gertrude with 
 demoniac bitterness and ineffable scorn : " how sharp 
 is the dagger which she has plunged into mine ! 
 She has torn the mask from my face, and revealed 
 me to the world as I am — not as I have appeared 
 to be. Well, let it be so : I will not put on that 
 mask again. If she has shown me depraved, let 
 me glory in my dopra^^ty ; and as I now seek for 
 
 the bitterest vengeance against her yes, against 
 
 my own sister 1 know that the direst vengeance 
 
 I can inflict, will be to Inform her how depraved I 
 have already been and how still more depraved I 
 can yet become !" 
 
 " Oh, this is shocking !" I exclaimed, absolutely 
 terrified, not merely by the dreadful words but also 
 by the still more dreadful looks of Lady Davenant : 
 for there was not only In her air the ferocity of a 
 tigress, but also the brazen efi'routery of a woman 
 who has resolved to fly In the face of all decencies 
 and defy the whole world. 
 
 " Pulmg, winning, canting thing that you are !" 
 she said, the words hissing serpent-like between 
 hor parched lips : and catching mo violently by the 
 wrist, she gave me a kind of wrench that made mo 
 fall back upon the chau* from which I had started 
 up. "You sliall listen to me — and the more you 
 interrupt me, the longer wUl this interview be con- 
 tinued ; so that if it is really painful to you, it will 
 be yom* own fault how long it lasts." 
 
 I accordingly held my peace — but as much 
 through terror at this infuriate and desperate 
 woman, as in the hope of speedily escaping from 
 her presence. 
 
 " Go back to my sister," she continued, '* and tell 
 her that I am Jienccforth resolved to lead a lif'o that 
 shall bo shackled by none of the foolish conven- 
 tionalisms and ridiculous forms wluch prudes and 
 hypocrites have devised wherewith to bind society. 
 Tell her that I have the me;ms thus to enjoy my5(lf ; 
 and I shall not I'ail to make use of them. Fortu- 
 nately I obtained from my husband, in an hour of 
 drivelling fondness and uxorious weakness on his 
 part, the settlement of a considerable sum upon 
 myself, dating from the period of the bequest. 
 Therefore in a pecuniary sense am I independent ; 
 and my own strong will shall make me equally in- 
 dependent in a moral sense. But you havo j-ct 
 more to hear — and more to toll my sister. Know 
 tiiou, that I never lovcil my husband; but I liavo 
 always loved Tullomaclio passionatel}', devotedly. 
 He followed us all over the Continent; my inter- 
 views with him wiu'o frequent — and they never worn 
 suspected by Lord Davenant. On two or tlireo 
 occlusions that insipid sentimentalist and love-sick 
 young man, Arthur Cleveland, was seen by Tullc- 
 machc in some of the continental towns which wo 
 visited; and pity it was that the Captain did not;
 
 398 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OR, THE SIEJIOIKS OP A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 provoke liim to a duel ihen, and kill liim outright. 
 But as Cleveland never hinted in Lord Davcnant's 
 presence, nor in mine, that he had seen Tollcmacho, 
 it was thought expedient to let things take their 
 course. You have to tell my sister that Tollsmache 
 has been my lover over since my marriage— as ho 
 was before it— and as he ^vill continue to be, as long 
 perhaps as I have money to lavish upon him." 
 
 These last words were spoken with a strange bit- 
 terness ; as if Lady Davcnant fully comprehended 
 the selfishness of Captain Tollemache's feelings 
 towards her— but also as if the very fact of her 
 connexion with such an unprincipled character was 
 a part and parcel of that depravity of which she 
 was now making a glory and a boast. 
 
 " You know," she continued, " that a couple of vil- 
 lains were set to watch the actions of Selina and 
 Cleveland — yes, you know it, because you came and 
 gave Selina tho information yourself. She told me 
 so last evening. Well, doubtless you suspect by 
 this time that those two ruffians were hured by 
 ToUemache for the purpose. It was at my request 
 that he took that step. How he found out such 
 a pair of accomplished villains, I do not exactly 
 know : it is another proof that the man whom I 
 boast of as my lover, is well acquainted with the 
 vile dens of the metropolis in which to search for 
 the human reptiles that are requisite for evil pur- 
 poses. I myself have not seen those rufiians : but 
 I am told that they know you well, Mary Price 
 — and you know them ; and therefore you may judge 
 whether ToUemache was happy in his selection." 
 
 " Lady Davenant," I exclaimed, in mingled hor- 
 ror and amazement — for I began to fear that an- 
 guish and excitement had turned her brain, and 
 that she must be mad ; because her language, her 
 accents, and her looks were all too well calculated to 
 justify such a suspicion. 
 
 " Silence — and hear me !" she cried vehemently ; 
 and again she forced mc back into my seat. " My 
 sister has advised me, through you, to hasten home 
 and throw myself at my husband's feet ? Splendid 
 advice ! charmingly romantic 1 The only misfortune 
 is, that I do not feel disposed to foUow it. There- 
 fore, since the long dreaded catastrophe has come 
 and the explosion has taken place, I have but one 
 course to adopt. What that is you wiU know in a 
 few minutes :" — and as Lady Davenant spoke she 
 looked at her watch. "Yes — it is half-past one 
 o'clock ; and that is tho time named. When you 
 return to Selina, you may tell her all that I have 
 now told you ; — you may tell her in addition that 
 since she has thought fit to expose me to the world, 
 she shall have to blush for her sister untO the end 
 of her life ! Tell her that if I am now about to 
 bravo public opinion, set tho world at defiance, and 
 break all those ties which are generally considered 
 the most sacred and binding, — it is she herself who 
 has forced me into such a path. For her, then, will 
 be tho satisfaction of having made her sister be- 
 come a mark for the linger of scandal and scorn to 
 point at. Oh ! I know the sensitive feelings of Se- 
 lina full well; and through that medium will I 
 punish her. But, Ah ! hero is tho last scene of the 
 present drama.'' 
 
 These words were elicited by tho sudden appear- 
 ance of a post-chaise and four, which coming from 
 the direction of Winchester, dashed up to the front 
 of the cottage. 
 
 " I am now about to depart," said Lady Dave- 
 nant, putting on her bonnet and scarf, which were 
 in readiness. " But you see that 1 am not about 
 to avail myself of the private carriage which 
 brought me down hither," she added, in accents 
 of bitter irony. " No : that equipage belongs to 
 my husband; and I will not take it from him. 
 Would you wish to know who is now to be my tra- 
 velling companion ? Behold him 1" 
 
 As she thus spoke, I observed Captain ToUemache 
 leap out of the post-chaise — a circumstance for 
 which I was not altogether unprepared after the 
 language that this depraved woman had been ad- 
 dressing to mc. 
 
 " Now, Mary Price, I bid you farewell," she said, 
 in a strange wild tone. " Y'ou can return to my 
 sister and tell her all that has taken place." 
 
 Thus speaking, she hastened from the room ; and 
 meeting Captain ToUemache in the garden, was at 
 once conducted by him to the post-chaise. They 
 entered it — Lady Davenant waved her white ker- 
 chief in derisive farewell from the window — and 
 the equipage dashed away. She had gone, that wo- 
 man ! — gone in company with her lover — gone with- 
 out bestowing a parting kiss upon her child, which 
 was within the walls of the cottage — gone without 
 even appearing to devote a thought to that innocent 
 little being! 
 
 Scarcely had she left, when Nancy and Mrs* 
 Danby came into the room; and by their looks, 
 rather than by words, they inquired what had hap- 
 pened. I told them all that had taken place at 
 Mr. Antrobus's house — how Selina's secret was a 
 secret no longer, and how she was reconciled to 
 Arthur Cleveland. This was the first intimation 
 which Nancy had received of the real truth in 
 respect to her young mistress : and she was as much 
 rejoiced as surprised to learn that, after all, Miss 
 Temple was innocent of past wrong and that 
 she had now every prospect of receiving virtue's 
 reward. As for Mrs. Danby — who appeared to be a 
 very worthy and excellent woman — she wept fw 
 joy at the intelligence which I imparted to her, but 
 the nature of which she had suspected, or rather 
 foreseen, from the moment I had fetched Selina 
 from the cottage during the past night. 
 
 I did not remain there many minutes after Lady 
 Davenant's departure : I remembered that Selina 
 had intimated to me that her suspense would be 
 great until my return — and I accordingly left Mrs. 
 Danby and Nancy to talk over the matter together, 
 white I hastened back to the house. The moment I 
 made my appearance, Selina came down from Mr. 
 Cleveland's chamber to ascertain what intelligence I 
 brought ; and when I told her that her sister had 
 just departed with Captain ToUemache, she became 
 overwhelmed with grief. As a matter of course I 
 broke the tidings to her as gently and as delicately 
 as I could; and the reader may rest assured th.at I 
 repeated very little of all that Lady Dsivenant had 
 said to mo. Mrs. Autrobus united her endeavours 
 with muie to console the yoimg lady as well as we 
 were able ; and my mistress said, " After .all, dearest 
 Selina, there was scarcely any other result to be an- 
 ticipated in respect to j'our sister. It was not likely 
 that she would return to her husband : but in the 
 course wliich she has now chosen to adopt, there is 
 nothing for which you, my dear girl, can blame 
 yourself."
 
 MAET PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 399 
 
 To be brief, Mrs. Antrobus said and did cvei'y- 
 thing slie could to console Selina : but she evidently 
 felt deeply on ber sister's account. Three or four 
 days elapsed ere she showed signs of returning 
 cheerfulness; and then, as slio found Mr. Cleve- 
 land progressing rapidly towards a state of conva- 
 lescence, the smiles came back to her angelic coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 A letter was WTitten to Lord Davenant, explain- 
 ing to him all that had occurred. This letter was dic- 
 tated by Arthur Cleveland himself, and signed with 
 his name : it was couched in the most delicate terms 
 that circumstances would permit ; and the reason 
 that he gave for sending such a communication at 
 all, was that tie considered it to be his duty, as Lord 
 Davenant's friend, and as the intended husband of 
 Lady Davenant's sister, thus to put his lordship into 
 possession of the whole particulars of the imfortu- 
 nate history. The return of post brought a reply, 
 showing that Lord Davenant deeply felt the blow 
 which had thus stricken him ; but he declared that 
 although his own happiness was now ruined for 
 ever, yet he fervently hoped that the fullest mea- 
 sure of felicity would be enjoyed by Arthur Cleve- 
 land and Selina, It is scarcely necessary to state 
 that the circumstances which I have been relating, 
 produced the greatest sensation and the utmost sur- 
 prise throughout the entire neighbourhood. Visitors 
 were calling all day long at the house to inquire 
 after the health of Mr. Cleveland, and to pay their 
 respects to Miss Temple: many noble and very 
 wealthy persons residing in the vicinage, and who 
 were previously unacquainted with the Antrobusos, 
 likewise called to testify the sympathy and kind 
 feeling which Selina's romantic history had excited. 
 At the expiration of ten days Arthur Cleveland was 
 so far recovered as to be able to descend from his 
 chamber and take a little exercise in the garden. 
 I need hardly say that Selina was his constant com- 
 panion, or that their happiness appeared now as 
 complete as it well could be, — the only drawback 
 thereto being the conduct which Lady Davenant 
 was pm-suing. Por it appeared from a letter which 
 Mr. Cleveland received from a friend, that her lady- 
 ship and Captain Tollemache were living openlj 
 together at Bath. 
 
 Selina had remained altogether at tho house of 
 my master and mistress since the memorable night 
 Dn which I fetched her thither. Nancy and the 
 child had likewise removed from tho cottage : for 
 Selina had conceived tho most generous afibction 
 for the innocent littlo beingr — and as it was neg- 
 lected, or rather altogether abandoned by its own 
 mother, Mr. Cleveland readily assented to his be- 
 loved Selina's wish that she should still bo permitted 
 to keep charge of it. 
 
 It was about a fortnight after the duel, that I re- 
 ceived a letter from my brother AV'illiam containing 
 a sad piece of intelligence. This was to tho effect 
 that our worthy friend and benefactor Mr. Collins 
 had died suddenly, and that consequently some fresh 
 arrangements would have to bo made for William 
 and dear Jane. I at once decided upon repairing 
 to Ashford, to sec what was best to bo done m the 
 matter; and when I communicated my purpose to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus they kindly gave mo per- 
 mission to pay the contemplated visit to my native 
 place, as Nancy might take care of all tlie childi-en 
 during my absence. Cut I represented to my 
 
 worthy master and mistress that it was possible 
 I should be unable to return to them ; for unless 
 I could provide a comfortable and respectable home 
 for my sister Jane, I should be compelled to 
 settle altogether at Ashford, have her with me, and 
 earn my livelihood by needlework. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Antrobus at once offered to allow Jane to dwell 
 with me at their house ; but of course I could not 
 think of taxing their goodness to such an extent. 
 I therefore promised to let Mrs. Antrobus know as 
 soon as I got down to Ashford what my prospects 
 and plans were; and I besought her not to be 
 offended if circumstances should prevent me from 
 returning. Selina was much distressed at heaiing 
 of my meditated departure ; and she took an oppor- 
 tunity of speaking to me alone. 
 
 "My dear Mary," she said, "I need not again 
 repeat how deep is the gratitude I experience to- 
 wards you for all you have done towards bringing 
 about the change which has taken place in my 
 position. Mr. Cleveland experiences a similar feel- 
 ing towards you; and he has desired me to state 
 that if after our marriage — which will shortly take 
 place — you would hke to come and live with us, we 
 shall be truly happy to receive both yourself and 
 your sister." 
 
 This generous proposal I declined, on the same 
 ground that I had refused the offer of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Antrobus: but in so decUning it, I tendered mj 
 best acknowledgements. Selina then, with much 
 hesitation and bashfulness, intimated that Mr. 
 Cleveland had enjoined her, in case I should refuse 
 the tu-st-mentioned proposal, to offer me a sum of 
 money for my use. The proffer was made in tho 
 most delicate terms, and could not possibly v/ound 
 even the most sensitive feeUngs : but this likewise 
 I declined, assui'ing Miss Temple that I had ample 
 pecuniary means for my present uses, but that if I 
 should require any friendly assistance of tho kind I 
 would not hesitate to apply to her. 
 
 I was to leave on the following morning, my 
 place being secured in the coach which passed from 
 Winchester at ten o'clock on its way to London. 
 A perfect shower of gifts and memorials from Mr. 
 and Mrs. Antrobus, Mr. Cleveland, and Selina, was 
 bestowed upon me ; and these I was compelled to 
 accept. Thus, accompanied by these testimonies of 
 kind feeling, and attended by the genuine good 
 wishes of all whom I left behind, I took my place 
 in the coach and was soon far away from a neigh- 
 bourhood where so many extraordinary incidents 
 had occurred in the comparatively short space of a 
 few weeks. 
 
 On arriving in London at about five in the even- 
 ing, I resolved to proceed on my journey without 
 delay, and accordingly took a place by the night- 
 coach to Canterbury. In this latter city I arrived 
 at an early hour in tho morning — obtained a littlo 
 rest at the hotel — and after breakfast, found myself 
 seated in tho carrier's van on my way to Ashford. 
 While proceeding thither, I could not help reflecting 
 upon tho manifold incidents which had occurred 
 since I was last at my native place. Tho reader 
 will recollect that I loft it in tho service of the Bull 
 family ; but that from this family I had passed again 
 into tho household of Lord and Lady Ilarlesdon, 
 both of whom had coascd to exist ; and that my 
 next place was tho one which I had just left. la 
 those three situations how much had I seen I what
 
 400 
 
 JIARY PmCE ; OB, THE MEMOinS OF A SEBVANT-SIAID. 
 
 an infinite variety of adventures had I passed | then took her departure from a town where she 
 through ! If the reader will but glance back over [ had dwelt during the greater portion of her life, 
 the chapters recording them, he will discern enough | The reader cannot have forgotten a certain letter 
 to have swollen my narrative to treble its present which, at the period of my poor mother's death, 
 form : but from the very first it has been my study had been entrusted to the care of ilr. Collins, 
 to observe as much conciseness as possible. Often After the funeral of the deceased surgeon had taken 
 and often might I have indulged in reflections na- | place, a sealed packet was found amongst his papers; 
 
 and on the envelope was the following memoran- 
 dum in his own writing : — 
 
 " September lat, 1830. 
 " This contains the letter which Mary Price confided 
 
 turally suggested by the shifting scenes and chang- 
 ing circumstances in which I was an actress, or ot 
 which I was a spectatris ; but I have seldom, save 
 where I deemed it absolutely necessary for the pur- 
 pose of making my narrative intelligible, sufiered ' to my care. If she wiU follow the advice of a true friend 
 myself to be beguiled into unnecessary comment. ' and one who knows the world well, she will not open 
 
 this packet to read the letter until she be married; or 
 if not marned, until she be several years older than sho 
 is now. BeUeving that my end is approaching, I eamestl/ 
 and aliectionately give her this counsel." 
 
 My object is to chronicle as faithfully as possible, 
 and in a style as simple as may be, all that I passed 
 through, as well as all that I saw during my period 
 of servitude. There are perhaps some who will con- 
 sider it extraordinary that so many romantic and 
 strange adventures should come within the experi- 
 ence of one and the same individual : but there is no 
 situation in life which affords so much scope for 
 curious observation as that of a domestic servant. 
 In respect to myself, the diSereuce is that my own 
 destiny or else my own feelings tended to involve me 
 
 It appeared from the date aSfised to this memo* 
 randum that it must have been written on the verj 
 day of poor Mr. Collins's death, and most probably 
 within & few hours of his departure to another 
 world : for, as already stated, the illness which had 
 seized upon him was very sudden, and its fatal 
 work was done rapidly. I need not add that I 
 
 in many of those transactions and occurrences of ' resolved upon following the advice contained in tho 
 which most other servants would have remained memorandum — a com'se which met my brother Wil- 
 mere passive beholders, and in which neither fate | Ham's earnest approval ; for neither of us expe- 
 nor sentiment would have led them to bear a p.v.'t. | ricnccd any curiosity to penetrate into our departed 
 
 But I must not now deviate from my rule of con- i mother's secret, 
 ciseness at the very moment I am speaking of it. William, Jane, and I had taken lodgings in Ash- 
 I will therefore hasten to observe that it was about ford ; and it became necessary to consult on our 
 noon when the four spires of Ashl'ord church met futm'e plans. I had been to see Sarah at Talb&i 
 my view; and again did I enter my native place. ' Abbey; and she appeared very comfortable m her- 
 Alighting at the van-olficc, and leaving my boxes ' place as nursery-governess there. She had still 
 there for the present, I at ouce proceeded to the ; farther improved in personal appearance, even 
 house which death had entered. I shed tears en ' during the ten months which had elapsed since i 
 beholding the shutters all closed and the blinds | had last seen her ; and though not yet sixteen, sho 
 
 drawn down; and those tears were a tribute to the 
 memory of a man who had been a sincere and true 
 benefactor to a family which had not any positive 
 claim upon him. In a few minutes I embraced my 
 dear brother and sister; and their tears also showed 
 me how much they felt the death of the good fi-iend 
 whom we had lost ! 
 
 was so well grown that she looked at least a couplo 
 of years older. Her rare beauty has been already 
 mentioned more than once: she had become if 
 possible more beautiful still; — but in my heart I 
 wished that she was not half so handsome — for she 
 was far from being unconscious of her charms, and 
 having a good salary, was enabled to gratity her 
 inclination for fine apparel. In this she did not 
 appear to be checked by Sir Edward and Lady 
 Talbot ; and when I took it upon myself to hini 
 that I thought she was dressed a little too gay for 
 her situation, she tossed her head indignantly, and 
 if I had said another syllable, she would no doubt 
 have told me to mind mv own business. There- 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIII. 
 
 THE DEAL COACn. 
 
 The reader will recollect that some time pi-eviously 
 to the date of which I am now writmg, Mr. Collins fore, to avoid unpleasant words, I held my peace; 
 had fallen into pecuniary difficulties ; and though but after I had taken my departure, I could not 
 he had surmounted them at the time, yet since help wishing that her notions were less elevated, 
 that period he had put by nothing in the shape of j her thoughts less aspiring, and her vanity of a far 
 savings. Such appeared to be the state of his [ more subdued character. 
 
 affairs when theywere examined into by his nearest | Sarah had however a good place, so far as I could 
 relation after the funeral; and it was even found judge; and that was a great consideration. It now- 
 necessary to sell off all the personal property of the remained for AViUiam and myself to deliberate upon 
 deceased in order to pay the expenses of the in- j our own prospects — especially in connexion with 
 terment and the tradesmen's current accounts. The ; Jane. Perhaps I should remind the reader that I 
 housekeeper, who was a very worthy woman, and was now past nineteen— that William was past 
 had been so exceedingly kind to dear Jane, had seventeen— and that Jane w.as thirteen and a half, 
 managed during long years of servitude to save up A fine, tall, genteel, and handsome youth was Wil- 
 enough to make her old ago comfortable; and liam; and being so thoroughly embued with good 
 having relations in another county, she decided principles — so affectionate in his disposition — so 
 upon passing tho rest of her days with them. Siio steady in his conduct— and so completely everything 
 bade us all an afl'ectiouate farewell, declared that that a brother ought to bo, I w-is proud of hmi, 
 she should always be glad to hear from us, and I and did not wish /i ihj to be any diflorcnt from what ho
 
 MARY PEICE 5 OE THE MEMOIES OP A SEEV ANT-MAID, 
 
 401 
 
 ll!llll't*'l''11l||)h,,, 
 
 was. Jauo was likewise an excellent creature — gay, 
 and playful, but artless and innocent, and withal as 
 docile and tractable as could possibly be desired. In 
 respect to our pecuniary resources, these lay princi- 
 pally with me ; for "William had not been able to save 
 more than a few pounds durinfj bis residence with 
 Mr. Collins. I had about seventy pounds in my 
 possession, — consisting of the fifty guineas which 
 Mr. Appleton, the Countess do Montvillo's imcle, 
 had given me, and the savings of my wages in the 
 places I had subsequently occupied. Altogether we 
 could muster eighty pounds ; and this was in our 
 eyes a very pretty little sum to begin the world 
 with : so I deliberated with "William bow we 
 sliould lay it out to the best advantage. Our 
 plans were soon settled. It was resolved that 
 ^ve should take a little cottage and furnish it — 
 that he should obtain another situation at a sur- 
 geon's or druggist's, if possible — but that he should 
 live at homo with mo and Jane — and that I would 
 MO, 51 
 
 take in needle-work. We calculated that wlicn all 
 our arrangements were made, we should still have a 
 tolerable surplus left, as a provision for any casuivlty 
 that might transpire. Before however we decided 
 upon finally settling down at Ashford in the man- 
 ner thus dcscrlbeil, wo considered it jjruili'nt to as- 
 sui'o oul-selvcs in the first place tiiat Williani could 
 obtain such a situation as he desired and wiiich lie 
 was competent to fill. The town was small, and 
 the chances were therefore limited of procuring 
 such a place. It was fortunate tliat we were thus 
 prudent: for when ho came to inciuire, he found 
 that there was not tlio least opening of the kind. 
 At the very moment that wo were discoursing, witli 
 somewhat damped spirits, upon this disajipoint- 
 ment, a Canterbury newspaper fell into our Lands; 
 and amongst tlie advertisements was one presenting 
 tlie very opportunit)' that William sought. It was 
 inserted by a medical gentleman at Deal — olfered 
 a liberal salary — and left it to the ai>plieant'8 choice
 
 402 
 
 MARY PRICE ; OK, THE SIEM0IE3 OF A SEBV ANT-MAID. 
 
 whether he chose to reside in the house or sleep at 
 home. In all respects the vai-ious details of the ad- 
 vertisement exactly suited William's capacities and 
 requirements. 
 
 The town of Deal, bcin_5 on the Kentish coast, is 
 not more than four-and-twcnty miles from Ashford, 
 as the crow flies : but having to go round by Can- 
 terbury to reach it, the journey was thirty miles in 
 those days of coach-travelling. We should have 
 preferred remaining at Ashford for many reasons : 
 firstly, because it was our native place, and the 
 remains of our mother lay entombed there; se- 
 condly, because we were so well kaown that I could 
 have relied upon adequate patronage as a seam- 
 stress ; and thirdly, because we wished to be as near 
 Sarah as possible. But we were in that position 
 which compelled lis to be ruled by circumstances ; 
 and to these did we accordingly bow. A\''illiain lost 
 no time in answering Ihe advertisement by letter. 
 Mr. Sands, tiie sui-geon alluded to, sent back a very 
 liurried and laconic reply, desiring a personal inter- 
 view. William accordingly repaired to Deal ; and 
 he and Mr. Sands were so well satisfied with each 
 other, that an arrangement was promptly entered 
 into between thcin. William returned in good 
 spirits: for he liked Mr. Sands — he liked the situ- 
 ation which ho had accepted — and ho had scon 
 several pleasant cottages to let in the neighbourhood 
 of Deal, any one of which would guit our purposes. 
 We accordingly lost no time in making arrange- 
 ments for oiu" departure ; and we paid a visit to 
 Talbot Abbey to explain our plans to Sarah, and 
 take leave of her, as it might bo some time ere we 
 should see her again. 
 
 In the eveuing, after our return from Talbot 
 Abbey, I wrote a long letter to Mrs. Antrobus, ex- 
 plaining how I was situated and the arrangements 
 M'hich I had thought it most expedient to make. I 
 expressed a hope that she would not feel displeased 
 or tnlce it as unkind that I did not return iuto her 
 service : I renewed my thanks for the treatment I 
 had experienced at her house— assured her of the 
 deep interest I should ever fool in the welfare of 
 Miss Temple, who I hoped soon to hear would 
 become Mrs. Cleveland — and concluded by solicitino' 
 the favour of a letter to inform mo when that 
 event should have taken place. 
 
 On the following morning— it was in the middle of 
 September, 1330— we took our place in the carrier's 
 van for Canterbury, and were soon beyond the view 
 0^ our native town. Little Jane had never in her 
 life travelled to any groat distance from Ashford ; 
 and she was not only delighted with the journey, 
 but on arriving at Canterbury, was astonished at the 
 magnitude of that city in comparison with the town 
 we had just left. As wo had to wait three or four 
 hours at Canterbury until the Deal coach started at 
 five in tlie evening, wo left our boxes at the coach- 
 office, where wo also booked our places ; and then 
 we proceeded to visit the Cathedral. As we were 
 repairing thilhor, WiUiam asked me where I had 
 dejiosited the money ? I told him that I had kept a 
 few pounds in my purse; but that the bulk of our 
 littlo property was in my own box, which we had 
 just loft at the coach-ollice. He expressed a hope 
 that the luggage would bo safe; and I. who had 
 travelled so much without ever losing anything, re- 
 assured him on that head. Ho thought no more of 
 it ; and we passed a couple of hours at the Cathedral, 
 
 We then obtained some refreshments ; and the time 
 drawing on for the departure of the Deal coach, we 
 returned to the of&ce. There we found that the 
 luggage was all safe, as I had predicted. The coach 
 came up — the boxes were stowed upon the roof in 
 tlie usual manner — we took our places inside — and 
 away the equipage went. At that season of the 
 year the dusk sets in at sis o'clock ; and therefore 
 we did not long enjoy a view of the road which we 
 were travelling: but vic were told by a fellow- 
 passenger — an elderly gentleman who appeared 
 something of an alarmist — that certain portions of 
 it were very lonely ; and ho did liiat in a mysterious 
 manner that such things as robberies had taken 
 place in that district. I did not myself share in the 
 old gentleman's fears ;_ and I was in the middle of 
 some well-intended observations to tranquillize him, 
 when the coach stopped suddenly — the horses 
 phmged — and vehement ejaculations burst from the 
 lips of the driver, who was the only person outside 
 the' vehicle, there being no guard. The old gen- 
 tleman was now terribly frightened ; and I could 
 not help sharing his fears. These were instanta- 
 neously confirmed, as the well known and terrible 
 voice of the Bulldog met my ears. 
 
 '■ Xecp quiet on your box, or you're a dead man. 
 JN'ow, ai-e the traces cut ?" 
 
 "All right," was the response at once given by 
 a voice which I recognised to be Sawbridge's. 
 
 " Come then," exclaimed the Bulldog, "and let's 
 make short work of it. You get up a-top, and see 
 to the luggage." 
 
 The next moment the Bulldog, who had taken 
 one of the coach-lamps from its place, appeared at 
 the door of the vehicle, and threw the light inside. 
 He wore a black mask on his face ; but I had al- 
 ready discovered him by his voice. He now recog- 
 nized me in his turn, as likewise my brother and 
 sister, whom he knew well by sight; and an ejacula- 
 tion of astonislmient escaped him. But he said no- 
 thing more to show that he had recognized us,— 
 doubtless hoping that the tones of his voice might 
 not have betrayed him. I should add that he pre- 
 sented a pistol into tlie coach, at the sight of which, 
 as well as at the appearance of his masked head at 
 the \\'iudow, Jane was terribly frightened, and the 
 old gentleman groaued in despair. 
 
 "Villain!" ejaculated WiUiam, clutching at the 
 pistol in the sudden excitement of tue moment : but 
 my brother did not know who the ruffian was. 
 
 I shrieked out, and caught hold of WUliam's hand. 
 Then in a rapid voice I said to the Bulldog, " For 
 heaven's sake take away that pistol 1 no resistance 
 will be offered !" 
 
 "Well theu,"^he growled, now disguising his 
 tones as much as he could, '• f.irk over your purses 
 ami all you've got, if you don't w;uit your brains 
 blown out." 
 
 I was about to address him by name, to let him 
 see that I knew who he was, when it instantane- 
 ously struck me with the vividness of an inspiration, 
 that if I did he and his desperate companion would 
 murder us all to prevent the consequences that might 
 ensue from such knowledge of thorn. 1 accordingly 
 caught back the wonl as it were from the very tip 
 of my tongue, and addressed him in anotlier sense. 
 
 " For heaven's sake," I said, pretending not to 
 know him, " do not take from us our oil. We are 
 but poor persons -"
 
 HART price; or, tqe memoirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 403 
 
 "Hold your tongue," growled the Bulldog, still 
 in a disguised voice. "Hand over what you've 
 got." 
 
 I was accordingly compelled to give him my purse ; 
 and the old gentleman speedily followed my exam- 
 ple, imploring the man in the most piteous terms 
 not to do hun any mischief. William however made 
 no sign of compliance with the ruffian's mandate, 
 but did his best to tranquillize poor Jane, who was 
 terribly frightened. 
 
 "Now then, what about them boxes?" exclaimed 
 the Bidldog, who either did not notice that William 
 had surrendered up nothing, or who else thought 
 that a mere youth of his age was not likely to 
 liavc anything worth the takmg. 
 
 "Haud us up the darkey," responded Sawbridgo, 
 meaning the coach-lamp. " There is but three boxes, 
 and they don't seem to have uothiuk iu them worth 
 making swag of." 
 
 Oh! how fervently I hoped that our treasure 
 would escape the villain's notice; and during the 
 minute that followed the suspense which I endured 
 was very painfid. 
 
 "By jingo, here's gold!" suddenly exclaimed 
 Sawbridge. " It's in a woman's box too : but there's 
 nothing else worth taking." 
 
 "Come then," said the Bulldog ; "look sharp." 
 
 Sawbridgo leapt down from the top of the coach ; 
 and the next moment there was the rustling of trees 
 by the road said. It was caused by the two villains 
 as they plunged into a wood, or thicket, that fringed 
 that part oF the highway. 
 
 The old gentleman was giving vent to his lamen- 
 tations — William was pacifying Jane — and I was 
 almost reduced to despair by this terrible calamity 
 which had beggared us all in a moment, — when tlie 
 coachman descended from his box, where he had 
 remained perfectly passive during the few minutes 
 the robbers were engaged in their predatory work : 
 for the whole occurrence passed in an mfinitely 
 shorter space of time than it has takea mo to relate 
 it. 
 
 " Well, here's a pretty go," said the coachman, 
 approacliing the window : "they've took my silver 
 turnip," — meaning his watch, — "and all my money, 
 and they've cut away the 'osses." 
 
 " You scoundrel, you !" exclaimed the old gentle- 
 man, whose terrors were succeeded by a violent fit 
 of passion : " you was cither in league with them, 
 or else you're the greatest coward in the universe." 
 
 " I say, sir," replied the coachman, " mind what 
 you're talking about. Everybody knows me on this 
 road, and will speak to my honesty. But who the 
 deuce could do anything against chaps with loaded 
 pistols f " 
 
 " Then look to your horses, and let us get on as 
 quick as we can," rejoined tho old gentleman, tes- 
 tily. 
 
 "I had belter help him," said William, "or wo 
 may remain here all night :" — but ere he leapt out 
 of the coach, he said in a very low and rapid whis- 
 per to me, " Q-ood heavens, dear Mary, what a 
 dreadful misfortune !" 
 
 " Wo must make tho best of it, William," was 
 my response : for I did not clioose to render him 
 more wretched than tlio poor fellow must have 
 felt. Ho got out of tlie coach and assisted the 
 driver to recover tho horses, which had strayed 
 to some littlo distance, where they were however 
 
 found nibbling the grass by the road-side. The ani- 
 mals were brought back to tho vehicle; and by 
 means of some pieces of cord the harness was suffi- 
 ciently repaired to enable the coach to proceed on 
 its way. Before, however, it started, William clam- 
 bered up to the top and ascertained the amount of 
 mischief done to om- boxes. He found everything 
 tossed out pell-mell on the roof of the coach, our 
 things mingled with those of tho old gentleman : he 
 therefore put them all indiscriminately back into 
 the boxes, leaving the proper assortment to be 
 made at the end of the journey. lie-entering the 
 coach, he resumed his place by my side; and we 
 proceeded on our way. In about a quarter of an 
 hour we reached the town of Sandwich ; and at the 
 tavern where tho horses were changed, a full ac- 
 covmt was given of the robbery. I did not however 
 drop the slightest hint that I knew who the ruffians 
 were: for too well recollecting tho horrible threats 
 which the Bulldog had levelled against mo when I 
 met him in the neighbourhood of Winchester, I was 
 fearful that if a hue and cry were raised on iufarma- 
 tion given by me, and if ho and his compauioa 
 shoidd evade the pursuit of justice, they would not 
 fail to seek the iirst opportunity of wreaking a 
 deadly vengeance upon me. I therefore considered 
 it more prudent to hold my peace : for knowing 
 what desperate miscreants they were, I stood in 
 mortal terror of them. 
 
 Dispirited and unhappy did we all feel, as the 
 coach pursued its way : and cheerless enough was 
 our entrance into Deal, where we had ant icipated to 
 arrive iu the same comfort and hopeful condition of 
 mind we were in when lirst taking our scats in that 
 ill-fated vehicle. Fortunately we were not alto- 
 gether penniless, as William had tlu'cc pounds in 
 his purse : but how different was our position now 
 from what it had been with our little treasure of 
 eighty! We stopped for the night at the tavern 
 where the coach put up : our clothes were separated 
 from those of the old gentleman — and we found 
 that nothing had been taken except the money. 
 It was not till now, when we were all three seated 
 alone together in a room at tho tavern, and par- 
 taking of refreshments, with however a sad heaviness 
 at our hearts, almost rendering food unnecessary — 
 that I told AVilliam and Jane who the two higliway- 
 men were. They were much surprised at the iutol- 
 hgcnce I thus communicated, especially as I had 
 not beforo named tho fact with a view to having a 
 pursuit instituted. But when I informed them of 
 my reasons, they heartily concurred in tho prudence 
 which had dictated my silence: for William espe- 
 cially knew enough of their characters to bo well 
 aware of tho danger of provoking their rancour. 
 AVo endeavoured to cheer each otiier .as well as wo 
 coiUd; but both AVilliam and I felt in our hearts 
 that tho calamity which had occurred was a fatal 
 blow to all our previously arranged plans. Poor 
 Jane was too young and inexperienced to com- 
 prehend tho extent of tho misfortune which had 
 thus overtaken us; and while conversing in her 
 presence, AVilliam and I spoke as guardedly as pos- 
 sible, so 03 to avoid making the poor girl completely 
 unhappy. 
 
 Little was the sleep which visited my eyes that 
 night; and I l.iy thinking of wiiat was now to bo 
 done. Thei'o were several persons to whom 1 could 
 apply fur money if £ chose. Mr. Applutuu hod
 
 401 
 
 MAKY PBICE ; OB, THE MEMOIES OP A SEKVANT-MAID. 
 
 bade mo regard him as a friend : but really I felt 
 that I had not the slightest claim upon him. The 
 Percivals would assist me: but how did I know 
 whether they could at the moment afford it? for 
 though doing well, yet all their money might be 
 locked up in their fanning operations. Mrs. An- 
 trobus or Sclina Temple would either of them cheer- 
 fully comply viiih any request that I made to them: 
 but would it be quite right to seek such a service at 
 their hands, after having declined returning into 
 the former lady's service ? Besides, there was one 
 cogent reason which applied generally to all those 
 cases, one as well as another; and this was a deep 
 dislike which I experienced to ask any favour of a 
 pecuniary character. Therefore I resolved to trust 
 entirely to my own resources — to meet the calamity 
 with a becoming fortitude — and to act as the altered 
 circumstances in which I found myself placed, 
 should, after due deliberation with my brother in 
 the morning, seem to suggest. There was one sub- 
 ject for self-congratulation : which was that the ring 
 Lady Harlesdon had given me and which I treasured 
 as a memento of that deceased lady, was not plun- 
 dered from me by the Bulldog at the same time that 
 he took my purse. 
 
 CnAPTER LXXXIV, 
 
 THE phot's widow 
 
 After breakfast in the morning I advised William 
 to go at once to Mr. Sands, announce his arrival, 
 explain to him the calamity which had befallen us 
 on the preceding evening, and see whether that 
 gentleman would of his own accord suggest any 
 coiu'se for us to pursue. My brother lost no time 
 in doing as I desired ; and during the hour of his 
 absence I waited with some degree of suspense — for 
 a great deal depended upon his interview with the 
 surgeon. Unfortunately Mr. Sands was not mar- 
 ried ; or else perhaps his wife might have at once 
 interested herself in my position so far as to re- 
 commend her friends to give me needlework. But 
 on the other hand, Mr. Sands himself being a medi- 
 cal man, and consequently having access to a large 
 number of families, might do this. I must say that 
 I somewhat repented having quitted a place where 
 I was so well known as Ashford, and having come 
 to one where I was a perfect stranger ; and in my 
 present position, I felt as if I had dropped from the 
 clouds. But it had all been done for the best ; and 
 there was no use in repining. 
 
 At the expiration of the hour William came back ; 
 and I at once saw by liis countenance that he had 
 no particular good tidings to impart. The moment 
 that from the window I saw him coming, I pur- 
 posely sent Jane into the bed-room where she and 
 I had slept, desiring her to pack up our things, but 
 really with the object of having an opportunity of 
 conversing alone with AVilliam. 
 
 "I have seen j\Ir. Sands," he said; "and he re- 
 ceived mo very kindly. Ho was in a very groat 
 hiu-ry, having a number of poor patients to receive 
 at this hour in the morning; and therefore I was 
 compelled to wait until he had a moment to talk 
 to me. But it was indeed only a moment that 
 ho could give mc — for his gig was waiting to take 
 liiui into the country, I told him of what bad hap- 
 
 pened last night, and how you were now situated 
 with Jane. He said that the best thing to be done 
 was for me to take up my quarters at his house, and 
 for you to hire a lodging immediately, so that when 
 he had more time to think of the matter he wovdd 
 see what was to be done. As I have before told 
 you, he appears a good-hearted man, but in a world 
 of bustle and hurry ; and I do not think that he 
 can fail to sympathise with your position. He bade 
 me devote myself to you for the rest of the day, 
 and repair to his house in the evening. By the bye, 
 he added that you may give a reference to him if 
 needful, in taking a lodging." 
 
 '■ Well, dear WilUam," I answered, *■' there is no 
 other com-se to be adopted. We will at once go out 
 and look for a lodging, so as to avoid incurring any 
 farther expenses at this tavern." 
 
 William, I, and Jane accordingly sallied forth to- 
 gether, having previously inquired of the landlady 
 of the hotel where we were most likely to find such 
 a lodging as I wanted: but when I mentioned 
 that it was merely one bed-room at a very low rent 
 that I needed for the accommodation of my sister 
 and myself, she did not seem much inclined to give 
 herself a great deal of trouble to answer me. How- 
 over, she said she thought there were such rooms to 
 be had a couple of streets off, indicating the direc- 
 tion to which she alluded; and we accordingly 
 proceeded thither. Deal is an old-fashioned ill- 
 built town — the houses for the most part small and 
 poor-looking, and many of the streets nothing better 
 than the merest lanes. The particular street to 
 which the landlady of the inn had directed us, 
 consisted of a row of little four-roomed houses, in 
 the immediate vicinage of a burial-ground; and 
 poor though I felt myself to be at the present 
 time — and being poor, was prepared to make many 
 sacrifices — I could not bear the idea of cooping 
 myself up in one of those hovels and in the sickly 
 atmosphere of the grave-yard. We accordingly 
 walked farther on, and looked at two or three 
 streets of a somewhat more engaging character. 
 Very few of the houses indicated that they possessed 
 any accommodation in the shape of lodgings at all ; 
 and those that did would not smt the condition of 
 our pocket. William became distressed that I 
 should persist in offering only so low a figure as 
 three-and-sixpence a week for a furnished bed- 
 chamber ; and he besought me to go at least to 
 live shillings : but this I was resolved not to do; 
 and after a couple of hours' fruitless researches I 
 was about to declare that we would go back to the 
 wretched-looking street near the grave-yard, when 
 we observed a bill in a « indow which caused us to 
 make one more inquiry in that quarter whither our 
 stops had led us. This was at a neat-looking little 
 house, almost on the outskirts of the town on the 
 northern side, and near a wide barren tract which 
 I afterwards discovered to be called the Sand-hills. 
 This httlo cottage — for it was nothing more — was 
 separated from the other houses near, aud stoo<l in 
 a little garden surrounded by a low wliitc fence. 
 There was an air of neatness about the place which 
 at once made me hope that we should be successful 
 in our apphcation there. 
 
 The door was opened by an elderly woman in 
 widow's weeds. Slie liad a matronly look of good- 
 nature about hor, which increased the favoui-ablo 
 impression the a;>poct of her abudo had already
 
 JIAUY PUIUE; Oa, the iMEJIOIRS OF A SERVANT-JIAID. 
 
 405 
 
 made in my mind : but wlien I mentioned that I 
 came to look at the lodging notified by the card 
 in her window, she surveyed us with some little as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 '•Dear me, miss," she said, "it is but a poor 
 room that I have to lot, and for poor people." 
 
 " I can assure you that we are not otherwise," 
 was my answer. 
 
 " Well, but you arc superior folks at all events — 
 middle-class, no doubt — and not accustomed to a 
 little humble place like this." 
 
 I inquired the rent of the room which she had 
 to let; and. when she said three shillings a week, 
 I requested to be permitted to see it. Still with 
 a look of surprise amounting almost to incredulity, 
 she invited us to walk in; and we at once en- 
 tered a little parlour opening from a very narrow 
 passage, ascending from which there was a still 
 narrower staircase. The little parlour was comfort- 
 ably furnished enough, but abounded in embellish- 
 ments of a somewhat striking character. Above 
 the little looking-glass over the mantel were a cou- 
 ple of cutlasses, a blunderbuss, and a brace of 
 pistols, — none of them looking however as if they 
 had very recently done any service, and though not 
 absolutely neglected (for the whole place was re- 
 markably clean) yet showing the inevitable rust of 
 disuse. On the narrow summit of a chest of 
 di-awers, the sloping lid of which gave it the air 
 of a desk — a very old-fashioned piece of furniture — 
 stood the model of a httlo man-of-war with three 
 masts, completely rigged, and having brass cannon 
 pointing out of its port-holes ; so that it formed alto- 
 gether a perfect work-of-art of its kind. On an- 
 other antique-looking piece of furniture was the 
 model of a Deal boat — a lugger, as I suliscquently 
 learnt that it was called, — hkewise equipped in all 
 its details, even to the little anchors and the bar- 
 rels for holding water. Against the wall facing the 
 looking-glass was suspended the portrait of a bluflf- 
 lookmg sailor in his blue jacket, his black hand- 
 kerchief loosely tied round the half-open collar of 
 his checked shirt, and the little black hat perched 
 jauntily on one side of his head. This portrait 
 represented a man of about fifty ; and I concluded 
 that tho original might have been the husband of 
 the widowed occupant of the cottage. There were 
 numerous other pictures upon the walls ; but these 
 were chiefly daubs in water-colours, representing 
 ships of all existing kinds and in all conceivable 
 positions. There was likewise a coloured chart, 
 depicting the whole line of coast between Eams- 
 gate an<l Dover, with the position of the Goodwin 
 Sands opposite Deal, the guard-ship moored at its 
 anchorage, and divers other features of tho mari- 
 time scene. On a liitlc table in a corner stood a 
 glass case containing some extraordinary kind of 
 fish, preserved, and sustained in the case in pre- 
 cisely the same position in which it was wont to 
 swim in the water. An infinito variety of pieces 
 of dried sea-weed, curious shells, and other marine 
 curiosities were dispersed abi>ut the liitlc parlour , 
 so that there could not be the slightest doubt tliat 
 the worthy woman's husband hud been a sea- 
 faring man. 
 
 William and Jane sat down in this room, wliile 
 tho worthy widow took me up-slau's to look at the 
 bed-chamber. It was small, but neatly furnished in 
 » humble way — remarkably dean— aud with a cheer- 
 
 ful aspect, looking upon the shore and commanding 
 a view of the broad expanse of sea far as the eyo 
 could reach. A little way to the left was Sandown 
 Castle; and thence stretched the Sand-hills, to 
 which I have ah-cady alluded, for a distance of five 
 or six miles inland. 
 
 I expressed myself perfectly satisfied with the 
 little chamber, and agreed to take it at once. I 
 offered a week's rent in advance and a reference to 
 Mr. Sands : but the good woman would take 
 neither. She paid me the compliment to say " that 
 I had quite the look of a young lady, as my brother 
 appeared quite the young gentleman;" and Jane 
 herself came in for her share of the widow's eulo- 
 gies: but she added that she hoped we had not suf- 
 fered misfortunes, compelling us to seek her humble 
 abode. I told her in a very few words enough to 
 satisfy her of our respectability; and when she 
 heard that I had been in service, she again seemed 
 quite astonished. She was one of those simple- 
 minded primitive creatures who believe that one's 
 station in life as well as the capacity of one's purse 
 are always to be judged by one's outward appear- 
 ance ; and because I was well dressed, and, as she 
 was pleased to say, "genteel-looking," she could 
 scarcely believe that my social condition was in 
 reality so humble. Then she grew garrulous relative 
 to herself, telling me that her husband had been 
 a pilot for many long years, and that he had pos- 
 sessed a boat of his own, of which the lugger down 
 stairs was the exact model, as the portrait was tho 
 representative of himself. She expatiated upon his 
 exploits iu pushing off the Saucy Sal (whic'u was the 
 name of his boat) amidst the raging billows, and even 
 in the depth of the dark wintry nights, to proceed to 
 the rescue of mariners shipwrecked upon tho Good- 
 win ; and she added, tho tears coming into her ej'es, 
 that her poor husband was drowned some ten years 
 back in the last venture of the kind which he ever 
 dared, and that his boat was engulfed in the 
 furious ocean. After a pause, during which she 
 wiped her eyes, she went on to tell me that the 
 body of her husband was washed on shore a lew 
 days afterwards, and was buried in the grave-yard 
 of the chapel-ol'-ease in Djal, where a monument 
 had been erected to his memory by a subscription 
 on the part of tho Deal pilots. She t'ueu proceeded 
 to state that she had a son who was a sailor on 
 board a man-of-war at Portsmouth — that he was 
 very good to her, allowing her what he could out of 
 his pay, and never failiug to bring her presents 
 whenever he came to see her. It further appeared, 
 from what she told me, that with the aid of her son, 
 and by a little pension of twelve guineas a year 
 from some fund, together with letting out tho 
 chamber which I had just engaged, she managed to 
 live comfortably enough : besides which, the Deal 
 pilots, she added, were always very kind to tho 
 widows of those who had met their death as her 
 husband had done. 
 
 i[aving finished her narrative, which she told in 
 a somi'what verbose and round-about manner, Mrs. 
 .Seudder — for such, slio informed me, w;i3 her name 
 — conducted me down stairs again to the little par- 
 lour; and there she renewed her garrulous but 
 good-luruourcd and frieudly-nieant outpourings. 
 She told me how her husband had been wont to em- 
 ploy his leisure houfs iu making tho little model of 
 tho throe-mast ship — huw she had beoa offered
 
 ten {Tuineas for it over and over again — but how she 
 had resolved never to part with it, no matter how 
 great her need might bo. She pointed to the cut- 
 lasses and fire-arms, and told me how her husband 
 during the war-time had been a mate on board a 
 privateer, and had fought with those weapons 
 against the French; how he had made a deal of 
 money at the period — had bought his boat with a 
 part — had furnished the little cottage with some 
 more — and had lent all the rest to a friend who dis- 
 appeared the next day and never came back again, 
 — a circumstance which the worthy dame still 
 seemed to regard with wonder; for in the simplicity 
 of her heart it never seemed to have struck her that 
 the friend was a false one. She made me and Wil- 
 liam and Jane examine all the sea-weeds and shells, 
 telling us how her husband had brought home the 
 former, and how she herself in her younger days, 
 ''when she was a blooming, bouncing girl," — these 
 were her own words, — had picked up the latter. 
 This circumstance reminded her of the period of 
 her courtship; and she proceeded to tell us how 
 Bill Scudder, then the handsomest young sailor con- 
 nected with Deal, had fallen in love with her — and 
 how he used to watch for her appearance on the 
 beach to pick up shells — and how it was on the very 
 day that she found the most curious of all the shells 
 in her collection, that Bill Scudder popped the ques- 
 tion, which took her so aback at the time that she 
 dropped the curious shell and would have lost it 
 altogether, if ho had not put it into her hand again 
 as an excuse for carrying that hand to his lips. In 
 short, there was not an article, either of embellish- 
 ment or of furniture, in that neat little parlour of 
 twelve feet by ten, that did not remind the wortliy 
 widow Scudder of some remarkable incident in her 
 domestic history. 
 
 Thus two hours passed away at the dame's cot- 
 tage; but even then she would not let us go, al- 
 though I promised to return as soon as pojsiblc 
 from the tavern where we had been staying. She 
 insisted upon our taking some refreshment ; and we 
 saw that wc could not refuse without ofi'endiug her. 
 With marvellous alacrity she bustled about — spread 
 a snow white napkin on the little round table in the 
 middle of the parlour — placed bread and butter and 
 cheese thereon — and took from a cupboard a bottle 
 of British wine, which she insisted upon opening, 
 although botli I and William assured her that we 
 reqvured nothing of the sort. Then, treating Jane 
 quite as a little child, she produced some apples 
 and cakes from the same cupboard ; and what Jane 
 could not eat, she forced her to put in her pocket. 
 I only mention such trifling incidents as these in 
 order to show the kind traits of this poor widow 
 woman's character. 
 
 Getting away from the cottage at last, we sped 
 back to the tavern, well pleased at having obtainetl 
 a lodging of so comfortable and respectable a cha- 
 racter; and indeed the circumstance was altogether 
 well calculated to cheer our spirits after the calamity 
 of the preceding night. The bill was paid at the 
 inn — a porter was sent with the boxes — and we 
 went down upon the beach to seek an opportunity 
 for conversation, well knowing that if wc repaired 
 at once to the lodging, ]Mrs. Scudder would engross 
 us onlircly unto herself. I have already said that 
 all the money at our command after the robbery 
 consisted of three sovereigns : oiu' subsequent ex- 
 
 penses had reduced this amount to two pounds 
 ten shillings— and this sum William desired me to 
 keep. But I would not do so, representin'^ to him 
 that ho could not possibly enter his new situation 
 without money in his pocket. I therefore insisted 
 that he should take a sovereign ; and we kept the 
 thirty shillings. Ere we went to the cottage wo 
 purchased such little necessaries as -were required 
 for our immediate wants, buying however only 
 small quantities — and, in short, showing every dis- 
 position to husband our resources as much as pos- 
 sible. Mrs. Scudder insisted upon oar all three 
 taking tea with her that evening ; and" she enter- 
 tained us not only with as much hospitality as it 
 was in her power to bestow, but likewise with as 
 many histovies of her deceased husband's exploits 
 as she could think of. Finally, at about half-past 
 eight o'clock, William took his departure to repair 
 to Mr. Sands' house; and soon afterwards I retired 
 with Jane to our little chamber, both much wearied 
 with th3 walks and wanderings of the day. 
 
 I did not immediately tell Mlrs. Scudder that I 
 wanted needlework as a means of maintenance, for 
 two reasons: firstly, because I expected that Mr. 
 Sands' good ofEces would be exercised to procure me 
 some immediate patronage amongst the ladies 
 whom he visited ; and secondly, because I thought 
 it very unlikely that my good landlady, considering 
 the retired life she led, and her humble position, 
 would be enabled to render me any service in that 
 respect. Two or tlu'ee days passed without my 
 seeing William, which I accounted for by supposing 
 that he was very busy; and I did not like to go and 
 call at Mr. Sands' house to inquire for him. At 
 length William made his appearance at rather a 
 late hour one evening, Jane had gone to bed and 
 was already fast asleep ; for we had taken a very 
 long walk upon the beach during the day. I did 
 not think that William looked altogether as cheerful 
 as he was wont and as I had hoped to see him ; so 
 that I hastened to ask if he were happy in his new 
 situation ? 
 
 '"To tell you tho truth, Mary," he said, "I 
 scarcely know how to answer the question. Mr. 
 Sands has a very large practice, and I find that there 
 is ample work in the surgery for at least two assist- 
 ants; and he says that he is expecting another — 
 but in the mean time the whole of this work falls 
 upon me. I have been up every night preparing 
 medicines till twelve o'clock; so that I could not 
 possibly spare a minute to run and see you. Mr. 
 Sands is in a constant bustle; and ou two or three 
 occasions when I have endeavoured to speak about 
 you, he has begged me to put it off till he had more 
 time. The day after to-morrow will be Sunday; 
 and then I will take au opportunity of speaking to 
 him agaiu, as I dare say ho will have more leisure 
 then." 
 
 " And does lie seem so good and kind-hearted a 
 man as you at first expected ?" I inquired, with 
 some litile misgiving upon the point. 
 
 "Yes — I think so— I hope so," returned Wil- 
 liam, but in a somewhat hesitating manner : "only 
 I must say I think he is rather abrupt and hasty 
 towards the poor whom he sees gratuitously every 
 morning at nine o'clock. But on tho whole, I thiuk 
 he has a good heart." 
 
 AVilliam did not remain long conversing with mo 
 on the present occasion, Lo being in a hurry to get
 
 MAKY PKIOE; or, THE MEMOIRS OF SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 407 
 
 back ; for it was with some difficulty that he had ob- 
 tained Mr. Sands' permission to come out at all for 
 an hour, in consequence of press of business in the 
 surgery. When he had left me I fell into a fit of 
 despondency. My prospects were indeed at the 
 moment any thing but bright : the little mone}' I 
 had was slipping away — and I was in idleness. 
 However, I resolved to wait and see what Simday 
 would bring forth, when WiUiam would speak to Mr. 
 Sands concerning me; and endeavouring to cheer 
 myself with the hope that it would not be in vain, I 
 went to bed, 
 
 Sunday came — and as William had promised to 
 pass the day with us, Jane and I were ready ch-essed 
 by ten o'clock; expecting that he would take us to 
 church. But William made not his appearance; 
 and as we did not like to go out until he came, we 
 sat at home expecting him. Hour after hour passed, 
 and still he came not. The little dinner I had pre- 
 pared got cold ; and neither Jane nor myself felt 
 any inclination to touch it. To be brief, it was four 
 o'clock in the afternoon before Wdliam came ; and 
 thouq;h he endeavoured to seem cheerful, I saw that 
 he was much annoyed inwardly. He said that it 
 was impossible for him to get away sooner, as there 
 was so much medicine to make up, and Mr, Sands 
 was in a greater bustle than ever. I asked if he 
 had contrived to say a few words to that gentleman 
 upon a certain point : to which Wilnam replied that 
 •he had, and that Mr. Sands had promised to do 
 everything in his power. 
 
 Later in the day — ere William left in the even- 
 ing — he found an opportunity of telling me, un- 
 heard by Jane, that Mr. Sands had listened to him 
 \nth some degree of attention, had expressed the 
 deepest sympathy in the case, had promised to 
 make a point of mentioning it amongst all iiis lady- 
 patients, and had no doubt that he should be 
 enabled to procure me plenty of needlework. I 
 asked William if he thought Mr. Sands was to be 
 relied upon : to which he replied that he hoped so — 
 but I saw that he entertained the same fcehng of 
 uncertainty on the point that I did myself. He 
 however spoke as cheeringly as he could ; and pro- 
 mising to visit us again as soon as possible, he re- 
 returned to his employer's abode. 
 
 I had not as yet suffered Jane to perceive bow 
 really embarrassing our position was becoming : for 
 I did not of course vnsh to damp the buoyant 
 spirits of my ilear sister, who though so gay and 
 playful, nevertheless had nothing giddy in lier dis- 
 position, but was exceedingly sensitive. In the 
 morning, however, I gently intimated to her that as 
 we were now entu'ely dependent on our own re- 
 sources, we must not bo idle, but that I meant to 
 go and seek for needlework, in doing which she 
 must to a certain extent help me. Jane was over- 
 joyed at the idea of being uscfid ; and her happiness 
 laused my own spu-its to revive. We went out to- 
 gether, and I applied at some of the shops which 
 by the nature of the articles they sold were likely 
 la employ needlewomen. At one I was told that uu 
 new hands were wauled— at anotlier tliat it was a 
 bad season of tho year — at a third that there wore 
 already too many seamstresses in the town — at a 
 fourth that I might look in again in a week— at a 
 fil'tli that they never gave out things to strangers 
 without security — and at a sixth, I was asked for 
 references, Hero I replied that Mr, Suuda tho sur- 
 
 geon would speak for my respectability. The 
 female who kept the shop accordingly said that if I 
 could obtain a note of recommendation from IMr. 
 Sands, she would give me work. Much cheered by 
 this promise, I hastened homo with Jane to our 
 little lodging — penned a few hues to William to tell 
 him what I had done, and what I required from his 
 employer — and then proceeded to leave the note for 
 my brother at Mr. Sands' house. There was a side- 
 door leading into the surgery ; and here it was that 
 I knocked. The door was instantaneously opened 
 by a short, thin, middle-aged gentleman, with a 
 busthng air, and who seemed to be in a desperate 
 hurry. Ho had a sharp look, but by no means an. 
 ill-natured one ; and his manner proved to be par- 
 ticularly kind. From WilUam's description, I 
 knew him to be Mr, Sands, He asked me my 
 business; and I told him that I was William's 
 sister — that I had a few words to say to my 
 brother — but that in case I should not be able to see 
 him, I had written a note explaining my object, 
 
 '■'Then you have acted very prudently indee;!, my 
 dear," said Mr. Sands: "for your brother William 
 is exceedingly occupied at present. He is an excel- 
 lent lad, and I am very much pleased with him. 
 
 We are excessively busy at present But give me 
 
 yom- note, and he shall have it." 
 
 "Pray forgive me, sir," I answered, "if I detain 
 you for a minute : it wiU then be unnecessary to de- 
 liver the note at all to my brother " 
 
 " Well, my deai', one minute — ^just one minute — 
 I really can give you no more," repUed Mr. Sands, 
 taking out his watch. " Half-past three — God bless 
 me ! and I have got to be at Admiral Bowline's at a 
 quarter to four. A good half-hour's ride and a 
 quarter of an hour to do it in ! Pray excuse me 
 now, Miss Price — you see how hurried I am — it's a 
 matter of life and death — the poor Adnural may be 
 at his last gasp " 
 
 "I will not detain you, sir," I exclaimed: "but 
 pray, pray do what is asked in that note." 
 
 "Oh! if it's anything to serve you, I will," lio 
 rejoined quickly. " Is this your sister? Not much 
 like you — she's chubby and rosy-faced. And now 
 good bye. Tom, is that gig going to be ready to« 
 day?" 
 
 "All right, sir:'"' and forth from tho adjacent 
 stable was the equipage brought out by tho groom. 
 Mr. Sands sprang up into the vehicle on one side — 
 the gi-oom leapt up on the other : "I'll not forget 
 you," said the surgeon, nodding his head to me — and 
 the next moment the gig was rattling along the 
 street at a furious pace. 
 
 I lingered near the house for a few minutes in 
 the hope that William might see me from a window 
 and come out. But ho did not. I liad a great 
 mind to ring and ask for him : but I thought that if 
 the circumstance should reach Mr. Sands' ears, it 
 would be deemed obtrusive on my part — and there- 
 fore I at length walked slowly away in company 
 with Jane. 
 
 I did not expect any answer that evening, seeing 
 how very much occupied !Mr. Sands was : but when 
 all tho next day passed and still no notice was taken 
 of my letter to William, I began to feel truly 
 wretched. I made suro that William would fiud 
 time to come down in tho evening to tho littlo cot- 
 tage: but in this hopo I was disapi)ointed. In the 
 morning I penned another note to William ; and not
 
 408 
 
 MAUY peice; oe, the memoirs op a sebv ant-maid 
 
 liking to take it myself, so fearful was I of offend- 
 ing Mr. Sands by appearing obtrusive, I gave a 
 boy sixpence to convey it, though heaven knows 
 that I was at the time looking hard even at pennies 
 ere I expended them. During that day I applied 
 to more shops for work, but with no better success 
 than on the previous occasion. When the evenbg 
 set in, William made his appearance ; and this time 
 there was not merely a half-subdued look of uneasi- 
 ness, but a positive and visible cloud upon his 
 countenance. Jane and I were seated in our little 
 chamber when he entered ; and feeling that it was 
 no longer possible to conceal from my poor sister the 
 condition we were in, I made a sign to William to 
 speak out at once. 
 
 '■The note you sent this morning, my dear Mary," 
 he said, " quite astonished me, as it spoke of a 
 former one which I had not received. Mr. Sands 
 was out — he did not return till three this afternoon, 
 having several bad cases to attend to; and when I 
 spoke to him on the subject of your note, he was 
 suddenly struck by the remembrance of something. 
 Putting his hand in his pocket, he di-ew out the 
 letter you had given hiui for me the day before 
 yesterday, declaring that in the hurry of his occupa- 
 tions he had altogether forgotten it. Ithen asked him 
 if he would write the few lines of recommendation 
 which you required; and with much apparent 
 wai-mth of feeling he promised to call hi m self on 
 the milliner named in your note, and say all that 
 was necessary for you. He added that he was just 
 going out again — should pass the door of the mil- 
 liner's shop, and would not fail to drop in. He did 
 go out ; and it was only hall'-an-hour ago that he 
 returned. I ventured to ask him if he had thought 
 of the little act of kindness he had promised to fid- 
 fil; when he vowed and protested that it had 
 altogether slipped his memory, but that he would 
 make a point of doing it to-morrow. I respectfully 
 observed that two lines fi-om his pen would save 
 him the trouble — when he declared that the trouble 
 would be a pleasure and that he could do more by 
 speaking than writing. I then asked him if he had 
 kindly recollected his promise to recommend you to 
 the patronage of any of his lady-patients ; when he 
 frankly confessed that he had not, the whole thing 
 having altogether escaped his memory — but he 
 vowed that to-morrow he would do his best and that 
 he was confident of prociu'ing you ample support. 
 Mary," added Wilham, in a mournful voice, " I am 
 much afraid that there is nothing to rely upon in 
 that gentleman's promises." 
 
 "Such also is my opinion," I answered; "and I 
 have feared so from the first moment that I saw 
 him. lie may not possess a bad heart ; but his 
 actions are precisely the same as if he did. It is 
 evident that he promises recklessly»-that being in 
 au incessant bustle, he recollects nothing — and that 
 he is a man who in plain terms cannot make time 
 or put himself out of the way to perform a generous 
 deed. Moreover, ^Villlam, I am afraid that he is 
 exacting from you the largest possible amount of 
 
 work " 
 
 " Yes, but I know that ho has made inquiries tor 
 another assistant," was my brother's answer: "for 
 several have already applied, and not having time 
 to talk to them, ho has told them to come back 
 again, which they have done so often and have been 
 so continuously put off on each occasion, that Ihoy 
 
 grew tired of dancing attendance upon so volatile 
 as well as inconsiderate a person." 
 
 "With regard to our present prospects," I ob- 
 served, after some further conversation on the sub- 
 ject, " I am resolved to trust to myself alone, confi- 
 dent that there is nothing to expect from ilr. Sands 
 — no, not even so much as a note of recommen- 
 dation." 
 
 "' But if the milliner to whom you applied," sug- 
 gested William, " would take the trouble to call on 
 Mr. Sands, he could not do otherwise than give an 
 answer; and I am certain that it would be favour- 
 able. For if he could serve either of us without at 
 all putting himself to an inconvenience, he would." 
 
 '•' Well, there is no harm in trying, my dear Wil- 
 liam," said I; " and I will do so to-morrow." 
 
 At nine o'clock on the following morning I was 
 at the milliner's shop, and profiFered my request 
 that she would call on Mr. Sands. 
 
 " AVhat? and stand the chance of being made to 
 dance backwards and forwards for a whole week 
 without being enabled to exchange a word with him ! 
 No, no. Miss : I can't lose my time like that. If 
 you cannot get two lines of writing from Mr. Sands, 
 who you say knows something about you, I am sure 
 I could not get two satisfactory words from his lips. 
 Therefore I must decline :" — and she turned ab- 
 ruptly away to put an end to the conversation. 
 
 Much dispirited by the incident, I returned to the 
 little cottage with the determination of asking 
 Mrs. Scudder's advice. This now appeared to be 
 my only resom'ce — and in short my only hope : but 
 from the reason I have previously stated, I feared 
 that it was one little to be reUed upon. Seated with 
 the good widow in her little parlour, I explained to her 
 frankly and candidly how I was situated — not even 
 mincing the fact that my pecuniary resources would 
 be soon exhausted, and that though I had good 
 friends in other parts of the country, it could only 
 be the bitterest need that would induce me to apply 
 to them. 
 
 "My poor child,'' answered Mrs. Scudder, with 
 tears in her eyes, " it's no use buoying you up with 
 hopes that can't be fulfilled. All my acquaintance 
 Ues with the pilots and their families, where there 
 are lots of grown-up daughters who do all the 
 needlework themselves. Bless youl there isn't a 
 pilot of anything like a mature age that hasn't got 
 his tlu-ee or four bouncing daughters ; and they are 
 all active enough with the ucMjdle, that they may 
 wear the fine clothes you see thein walk out in. There 
 can't be in all England a place where you are less 
 Idiely to get your living by your needle than in 
 Deal. So, for heaven's sake, my dear girl, write to 
 your friends and get them to do something for you. 
 As for my little rent, if I mention it at all, it is to 
 tell you that you are welcome to stay here as long 
 as ever you like and pay me when you can : for you 
 are a steady girl — and as for Jane, I love her dearly." 
 I thanked the good woman for her advice and 
 kind expressions ; and ascending to my httle cham- 
 ber, I could not help sitting down and having a good 
 cry. Not even the certainty of making poor Jane 
 miserable could enable me to restrain my tears: 
 they flowed fast and bitterly. What a position to 
 be in — I who had so recently possessed what for a 
 i;irl in humble life was a perfect fortune, and of 
 which I had been so cruelly robbed ! Jane, crying 
 passionately herself, threw her arms around my
 
 MARY PBICE ; OE THE MEMOIRS OF A SEETAXl'-MAID. 
 
 409 
 
 Beck, saying all she could to console mo. My tears 
 relieved me — I regretted the weakness into which 
 iny feelings had betrayed me — and ijdw illd my 
 best to console poor Jane in her turn. 1 (hen deli- 
 berated how I should act. I .still wa.s not so utterly 
 devoid of hope as to be able to coiKjuer my repug- 
 nance tu address myself to tho.se who, if appli^'d to, 
 would at once a.«sist me with money. Suddenly an 
 idea struck me. Dover was but oiglit miles distant, 
 and therefore raoro accessible with our Immble 
 means — now reduced to a few shillings — than .Vah- 
 ford was; and perhaps Mrs. Messiter could recom- 
 mend me to th'' patronage of ladies, if I settled in 
 thai town? I had not heard from her for a long 
 time : but now I lost not a moment in penning her 
 a letter, frankly and candidly explaining my situa- 
 tion. This I took to tho post, and resolved to 
 await tho result. Two more weary and wTctched 
 NO. 52 
 
 days passed ; and tho third morning brought me the 
 following reply:— 
 
 " >'o. , Beacli Street, Dover. 
 
 " My dear Mavy, 
 
 "Yoiii- letter ha:( piveu me th? jjreafost pain, aJtlinj 
 
 to my already (tecp, deep alUiotions. You may pcrceivo 
 
 that I write not from the same place wliere you dwelt 
 
 with us. The shop has passed into othor hands, and we 
 
 are now living in a garret ! Oh ! God bo thanked 
 
 tliat my poor dear boy was taken from me ere these 
 aUlietions canio upon us ; and would that Providence" 
 had likewise removed the others from a world in which 
 they are di>=tined to endure so much misery. Mary, wa 
 are reduced to poverty — aye, to destitulion. 1 need 
 siarei'ly tell you the oanie. My unfortunate husband's 
 addiction to drink lias be(,'(^ared us. Through your nobla 
 generosity ho n>ight have thriven : but the demon of in- 
 temperance had fastened its claws upon him. His cus- 
 tomers fell off, and our downfall was rapid. It was no 
 doubt accelerated by tho conduot of Smithson, who, it 
 appears, induced » woman named Mar;jarct, who ouoo
 
 410 
 
 MAny price; oe, the memoirs of a servant- jtAiD. 
 
 Ted with us as servant, to expose bim in a certain war 
 to all the neighbourhooJ. That blow was fatal ; and the 
 result is the deplorable condition to which we are re- 
 duced. In short, I see nothing before us but good 
 
 God! how can I write the word ? Ihe icorkhoiuc .' I 
 
 cannot say that I seize a momout to write this surrep- 
 Utiousl}' : for iny unhappy husband leaves me only too 
 much to myself. He is out from morning till night under 
 pretence of seeking soinetliing to do, but in reality fre- 
 quenting the pothouse and getting drink from whomso- 
 ever will give it him. Oil, if you could see him now— 
 how altered, how changed ! Alas, that I should be com- 
 pelled to say it of my own husband : but to you, dear 
 Mary, must I unbosom myself he looks like the con- 
 firmed drunkard— the degraded sot. With such a hus- 
 band, 3Iary, and in such a position, I am unable to 
 succour you in any way. I do not advise you to come 
 to Dover : for where I might once have given recom- 
 mendations in such a case, I am now powerless — and 
 perhaps an object of that scorn which a bad husband 
 brings down upon all connected with him. With my 
 own children literally wanting bread at this present time 
 — which is God's solemn truth, Mary — I need not say 
 that I am unable to send you anything. I cannot eveu 
 pay the postage of this letter. Xeed I say more ? 
 " Your atFootionato but deeply afflicted friend, 
 
 •' FANSTY MESSITEE." 
 
 If the t.alo of my sorrows had aclJcd to the poor 
 vv-oman's griefs, the narrative of hor's as surely aug- 
 mented mine. I wept over that letter, — wept over 
 it at the recollection of the death-bed of her poor 
 boy to whose loss she so feelingly alluded — wept 
 over it when I pictured to myself her poor little 
 
 cliildren gathered around her crying for bread 
 
 Oh ! it was too much — and I experienced something 
 like a feeling of bitter animosity against that man 
 who had proved such a cruel husband and such a 
 bad father. As for the woman Margaret to whom 
 allusion was made in the letter, I had no difficulty 
 in recognizing her as the same with whom' I had 
 overheard Mr. Messitcr conversing when amongst 
 the blocks of granite on the harbour at the time I 
 was in his service. 
 
 But the idea of those poor children being desti- 
 tute of bread! I say that I could not support it. 
 Hastily I examined the contents of my own purse : 
 these amoimtcd to barely ten shillings. Oh ! if I 
 had a sovereign to scud, carefully enveloped in a 
 letter. Vrithout pausing to rellect any longer, 
 I hastened ofi" towards Mr. Sands' house; and just 
 as 1 entered the street, I met 'William. He w-as 
 hurrying along with some phials to deliver at a 
 • house close by : for, as he told me, the two boys who 
 were kept for the purpose were both out at the 
 moment, and Mr. Sands had sent him off on this 
 errand as the case of the patient for whom the 
 medicine v.as intended was urgent. 
 
 I turned and walked with him as far as the house 
 to which he was going : but I would not tell why I 
 now sought him until he had acquitted himself of 
 his errand. Then I put Mrs. Messiters letter into 
 his baud, and bade him read it. I saw the tears 
 come into his e^'cs as he perused that epistle ; and 
 in the depths of my soul I blessed him lor possess- 
 ing a heart capable of such generous sympathy. 
 
 '■ I have a sovereign, dear Mary," lie said, — " the 
 one which you made me keep — and I have not spent 
 any of it. Take it— send it to this poor w^oman for 
 her childi'eu " 
 
 " It was for this that I sought you, William," was 
 my reply. '' And now hasten back, for ilr, Sands 
 may scold you for your abjcuce," 
 
 AVilliam pressed my hand — we neither of us said 
 anything about my own position or prospects theu 
 — and wiiile he sped away in. one direction, I re- 
 traced my steps homeward in another. I wrote a 
 brief letter to Mrs. Messiter, telling her that cir- 
 cumstances had suddenlj' transpired to enable me to 
 forward her the little aid contained in the note. It 
 certainly was not altogether the truth that I thus 
 told her — and it was one of the very few occasions 
 in my Ufe that I have been compelled to approach a 
 falsehood : but I knew very well that if I did not 
 make her think I could easily afford the succour now 
 sent, she would transmit it back again. I likewise 
 desired her in my letter not to write in return until 
 she heard from me again, as it was uncertain how 
 much longer I should remain at Deal: this was 
 auothcr precaution which I took to prevent her &om 
 returning the money. I secured it inside the letter — 
 made a parcel of it — and took it to the office of the 
 Dover carrier, duly booking and paying for the same. 
 Having done this, I returned to my humble lodging 
 once more, pleased to think that for the nest few 
 ■days at least Mi-s. Messiter and her children would 
 not want for bread. 
 
 CHAPIEE LXXXT. 
 
 DISTBES3. 
 
 A roET}fiGHT elapsed after the incident which I 
 have j list related, and in the meantime no change 
 had taken place in my position — imless it were for 
 the worse. During that fortnight I applied at every 
 shop where I thought it possible to obtain needle- 
 work; but without success. I went back to the 
 milliner whom I had asked to take references con- 
 cerning me from Mr. Sands, and offered to leave the 
 ring presented to me by Lady Harlesdon, and some 
 other trinkets, the gifts of Selina Temple and Mrs. 
 Antrobus, as security for any work with whicTi she 
 might entrust me. liut she told me with a heart- 
 less coldness that she did not do business in that 
 way — she was no pa^-nbroker — and that she would 
 rather decline. I pressed her somewhat — where- 
 upon she turned her back upon me and walked to 
 the farther end of the shop. 
 
 All my money was gone. I had paid the rent 
 with punctuality, making the good widow woman 
 believe that I was not so pinched as I really was; 
 and Jane and I had subsisted on the most frugal 
 fare. In short we had lived upon bread-and-butter 
 and tea. Poor William was penniless: but even 
 from him had I kept the sad truth as to the utter 
 lowness of my funds. Ho of course knew they 
 must be pretty well exhausted, but he did not think 
 that they were quite. I had gone alone to the mil- 
 liner's shop, leaving Jane at home at the lodging. 
 On issuing forth from that shop I remember that I 
 spoke tlius to myself: — "There is nothing in the 
 cupboard left to eat : the last morsel of bread was 
 consumed this morning. We must eat again pre- 
 sently : it is only bread that we require — but how is 
 even broad to be obtained? For myself, I would 
 go long — very long before I either asked for credit 
 at the baker's or took an article to the pawnbroker's : 
 but one of these alternatives must be adopted now 
 — for poor Jane must not suffer hunger. Hunger ! 
 — oh ! how that word goes cold to my very heart as 
 I merelv think it !"
 
 jfAny pnicE ; or, the jiemoirs of a sekvant-maid. 
 
 411 
 
 JIv resolve was sjDccdily taken. I went lioine, 
 aud unpcrccived by Jane, took a sliawl I'rora my 
 bos: then I repaired to the pawnbroker's; but it 
 ■was like a guilty thing that I stole into the place, 
 it being the broad daylight. I fancied that the 
 eyes of all the passers-by in the street were fixed 
 upon me — that all the inhabitants of the adjacent 
 houses were at their windows to see mo go in. My 
 confusion was so great that I scarcely comprehended 
 the questions which the pa^^^lbrokc^ addressed to 
 me: but I remember that infinite was the feeling of 
 relief which I experienced when I found myself 
 once again afar from that gloomy receptacle for the 
 tributes of poverty and extravagance. I had tNyenty 
 shillings iu my hand ; and upon this sum Jane and 
 I could live for some time, even including the pay- 
 ment of our rent. At least during the interval I 
 should be enabled to adopt some deeisivo course. 
 Most certainly should I have gone back to Ashford 
 with my sister, wei-c it not that I feared William 
 was far from happy in his situation ; and I could not 
 bear the thought of leaving him altogether. Hcuce 
 my resolve to remain at Deal if circumstances would 
 possibly permit. I need hardly say that Mr. Sands 
 had not fulfilled his promise of speaking to his pa- 
 tients on my behalf; and William had ceased to 
 inquire whether he had done so. What hope, 
 then, had I of obtaining a livelihood at Deal ? My 
 idea now was of endeavouring to procure places for 
 rayself and Jane in some family where a nursemaid 
 and a nursery-girl were required; and in order to 
 obtain such situations, I resolved to lose no time 
 in making inquiries amongst the tradesmen in the 
 usual manner. But the sum of my calamities was 
 not yet complete: aud truly was the old proverb 
 iustiiied, that "misfortunes never come alone." 
 
 At about ten o'clock on the following morning 
 William made his appearance at the cottage with a 
 I pale and agitated countenance, so that I imme- 
 diately saw something was wrong. I fancied tliat 
 he had lost his situation; and when I asked him if 
 it were so, be shook his head, exclaiming, " Would 
 that it were only that ! It is something about 
 Eobert." 
 
 "Oh, keep me not in suspense!" I exclaimed;" 
 " but let me know the worst at once." 
 
 He thereupon produced a letter, tho contents of 
 ■which ran as follow : — 
 
 " Clerkenwell Prison, Londou. 
 " October 7tb, 1830. 
 " Dear Bill, 
 " I dare say you will be sui-prised to rpceive a loiter 
 from me at all, as I have never before bothered you 
 with auy of my correspondence ; and you will also be 
 surprised to receive it from such si place as this. You 
 must not however think that I am here lor prippnnE: or 
 anything of that sort : it's only an assault case. Tiie fact 
 is I am travelling about the country with a gentleman 
 named Tomlinson ; and I dare say that if you have seen 
 Mury lately, or she has written to you, she has told you 
 that I am acquainted with this gentleman. Well, the 
 other uight wo got into company with a fellow who tried 
 to cheat us at cards ; and so wo both gave him an un- 
 common good thrashing. He had the ba<!cness to call in 
 a constable to take his part ; and so we thrashed the 
 constable too — and it served him right for poking his 
 nose where he oughtn't. Tho end of it was that mo ami 
 Tomliiisou were hauled oft" to the station-house, ;ind 
 taken up yesterday before the magistrate. There wn^ 
 awful perjury co:nmitted ; tho fellon- that we (ir -t 
 thrashed, deelariug that it whs lis who tried to cheat liim 
 at card.^ ; and he got a conplo of witnesses to come for- 
 
 ward aud prove it. The magistrate, who was a very one- 
 sided man, believed tUora ui preference to us : so he 
 lined us each live pounds for each of the assaults — tlie 
 one on the sharper (as he really was), and the one on 
 the policeman, with all the costs, making about twelve 
 pounds eadi, or else to bo imprisoned for forty days. 
 So you see, Bill, here I am, lumbered for a paltry twelve 
 pounds. Never mind Tomlinson ; he must shift for him- 
 self. I don't know where the deuce Mary is at present, 
 or I would write to her : but it struck me that as you 
 are a saving kind of a fellow, it is most likely you hava 
 got a little snug hoard put by; and if so, you won t let 
 your own brother remain in lavender for the sake of a 
 paltry twelve pounds. To convince you that it is no 
 gam^J3on, and nothing of a plant on my part to do you 
 out of your tin, you can send it up to the governor of 
 this place, if you like, taking care to say that it's for 
 Mr. Constantino Cavendish ; for that's the name I gave 
 at the time, for fear of bringing disgrace down upon our 
 own excellent name of Price. Tho prison-regiilatious 
 say that there is to be no letter-writing unknown to the 
 governor : but that's all my eye — for I am now manag- 
 ing to write this on the sly, or else I shouldn't be al- 
 lowed to enter into all these particulars. I hope Sarah 
 and Jane are getting on nice : tell them to be good 
 girls, and I will always love them. As for you, dear 
 Bill, you know I always liked you more than any of tho 
 kit ; and if I hav'n't wrote to you it is because it's so 
 deuced slow for one brother to write to another. 
 " I remain, dear Bill, 
 
 " Your very affectionate Brotber, 
 " KOBEKT PEICE. 
 
 "P.S.— Don't forget that I am ilr. Constantinc Caven- 
 dish here. But it would look better to put Coastantiua 
 Cavendish, Esquire." 
 
 I was deeply afflicted on reading this letter; but 
 nevertheless experienced some degree of satisfac- 
 tion that it vras no worse, and that it was merely a 
 case of assault instead of any more serious oli'cuco 
 for which liobcrt had been committed to prison. 
 At the same time I knew full well iu my own heart 
 that the magistrate must have taken a right view 
 of the case; and I was now constrained to contem- 
 plate my brother iu the odious light of a sharper at 
 cards. William and I could not prevent Jane from 
 knowLag what had happened, as she was in tho 
 room at the time; and perceiving that something 
 very serious had taken place, she read the letter at 
 the same time as myself. Poor girl ! Low bitterly 
 did she weep on hearing that her brother was ia 
 prison. 
 
 " And now, what is to be done ?" asked William. 
 " Oh ! if I had the money, how speedily should it 
 be despatched to him. Poor fellow ! because ho 
 has not an immediate answer, he will perhaps think 
 that I do not choose to notice his letter:" — for I 
 should observe that it had been directed to William 
 at Ashford, and then re-dirccicd on from the post- 
 ofiice tiicre to Deal, according to instructions left 
 by U3 ere quitting the former town. 
 
 In the midtUe of our sorrowl'ul discourse Slrs- 
 Scudder knocked at tho door ; and on being desired 
 to walk in, she ut uuce saw by our looks that some- 
 thiug unpleasant had transpired. luilced, she had 
 suspected im much by observing the agitated coun- 
 tenance of Williaui on his arrival; aud hence her 
 anxii'ty to learn what it \vus,'in order to see if she 
 could help lis. 1 hud already made up my mind 
 how to act; and this was to pledge everything 1 
 possessed to raise the money to liberate Robert Irom 
 prison. This could not bo done unknown to Mrs. 
 .-H-iiddcr : and therefore I at once explained frankly 
 and canaidly what had occurred.
 
 412 
 
 MARY price; OE, THE JIEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 
 
 " Poor dear cliihlrcn !" sho said : " you are really 
 very fortunate. But I should think twice if I was 
 you, before I made away with my things for a 
 
 worthless brother -" 
 
 "Oh! there is no liesitation ia the matter," I 
 exclaimed. " What ! leave hun to the contamina- 
 tion of a gaol — he who " 
 
 I was about to add the words, " is already bad 
 enough ;" but I stopped short, for though it was 
 the trutli, yet there was something shocking in 
 {jiving utterance to an aspersion against one's own 
 brother. William comprehended full well what I 
 Lad intended to say and wherefore I checked my- 
 self; and he hastened to exclaim, "Oh! every sac- 
 rifice must be made to liberate Eobert. I will ask 
 Mr. Sands for an advance of salary——" 
 
 "No, William — you shall do nothing of the 
 sort," said I, firmly: ''he would put you oti' till to- 
 morrow, and then again till next day, and so on, 
 »ind so on — whereas every instant is precious. The 
 money must be sent up to the governor of tlie gaol 
 this evening. I know but little of the value of 
 things in the eyes of a pawnbroker ; but I believe 
 that I possess enough in euperfluous clothes and 
 trinkets to realize the amount. We must see." 
 
 "But there arc my Sunday clothes also," ex- 
 claimed William. 
 
 "Not for the world!" I again interrupted him 
 with firmness : " you would be disgraced in your 
 employer's eyes — you might even lose your situa- 
 tion — and it would only require that to make our 
 miseries complete." 
 
 Mrs. Scudder, perceiving that I was firm in 
 making away with my things, said that she was 
 acquainted with the pawnbroker and would take 
 tjiem herself, as he would give her a larger advance 
 upon them in consequence of certain representations 
 she would make for the purpose. I accepted the 
 worthy woman's kind offices on this melancholy 
 occasion — especially as William had to hurry back 
 to Mr. Sands as quick as he could, and I wanted 
 the requisite leisure to write Kobert a letter be- 
 seeching and imploring him to turn over a new leaf. 
 William took his leave of us with a very heavy 
 heart ; and I lost no time in making a parcel of all 
 the things I purposed to send to the pawnbroker "s. 
 The greater portion of my good clothes, the presents 
 I had received at Winchester, and Lady Harlesdon's 
 ring, which I most of all regretted, — all were put 
 together for the purpose : then the obliging widow 
 woman set off with the parcel — and when Jane and 
 I were once moi-e alone togefher, ^^•o threw oLU-^olves 
 into each other's arms and mingled our tears, which 
 llowed fast and freely. 
 
 I sat down and wrote a long and serious letter to 
 ilobert, telling him very camlidly how we were all 
 situated, and what I was obliged to do in order to 
 raise the money which he rec[uired. But I need not 
 weary the reatler with any lengthy detaUs couceru- 
 ing this epistle that I adchesscd to my brother: 
 sullice it to say it cointained a fervent prayer for 
 his reformation. Bjt the time 1 had finished it, 
 Mrs. Seudder came imck. She had managed to ob- 
 tain just the requisite sum to forward for Robert's 
 lilieratiou; and tliis, slio assured me, sio had suc- 
 ceeded in procuring with the greatest dilliculty and 
 only after much persuasion. 1 enclosed (he money 
 in a parcel directed to Ihe governor — ioaled the 
 letter for liobert— and then with a heavy heart 
 
 took them to the post. Jane accompanied me; and 
 when we had paid the two letters at the office we 
 went and sat upon the beach. There I explained to 
 her the necessity that now existed for us to endea- 
 vour to obtain situations. She cheerfully gave her 
 assent; and when wc had well talked the matter 
 over, we proceeded to call at several tradesmen's 
 shops to inquu-e if they knew of any families re- 
 quiring such servants. The replies were all in the 
 negative ; but several promised to mention the cir- 
 cumstance to their customers, and bade us call 
 again. 
 
 By return of post I received a letter from Eobert 
 acknowledging the receipt of the money by the 
 governor, and his ovnx liberation: but he barely 
 thanked me, and said that as for the lecture con- 
 tained in the letter, '•' it was just Uke my impudence 
 to address my elder brother in that style." Ho 
 added that his poor friend Tomhnson could not 
 raise the money to liberate himself, and that this 
 was a soui'ce of great sorrow and annoyance to him 
 (Kobert). The letter was laconic in its terms and 
 evidently written in a hurry : altogether it was of 
 so unfeeling a character that both I and Jane shed 
 bitter tears over it. Nevertheless, even when I 
 looked into my well-nigh emptied boxes, I did not 
 regret having parted with my things to emancipate 
 my brother from prison. 
 
 A week passed — day after day did we call at the 
 tradesmen's shops ; but we could hear of nothing 
 favourable. Our money was diminishing : our 
 prospects were becoming more and more gloomy. 
 Often did I seize my pen with the determination 
 of writing to those from whom I was sure of ob- 
 taining assistance ; but on each occasion was I with- 
 held by those feelings of delicacy ah-cady described- 
 Another week passed — and our funds were ex- 
 hausted. StiU wo could hear of no situations. 
 There were plenty of opportunities for me to obtain 
 a place for mj-self, but none to accommodate both of 
 us in the same family. When it was dusk one 
 evening, I again found myself stealing along to the 
 pawnbroker's to raise a few shillings upon some ar- 
 ticles of clothing out of the scanty wardrobe re- 
 maining to me. On returning to the lodging and 
 offering tho week's rent to the worthy widow wo- 
 man, she refused to take it: but I happened to 
 know that she herself at the moment was much 
 straitened and even embarrassed, a remittauco 
 which she expected from her son not having ar- 
 rived, nor any letter to account for the delay. I 
 therefore compelled her to take the money, making 
 her believe that I had more for myself than I really 
 had. And now, during the next fortnight, it was 
 one continuous struggle agaiust poverty. Three or 
 four more visits to the pawnbroker retluced my own 
 and Jane's warth'obc to a residue of the barest ne- 
 cessaries. In short, there was nothing more to pai-t 
 with : and still wo were as far off as ever from ob- 
 taining the means of earning our own bread. Aa 
 well as I could, did I conceal om* situation from 
 dear AVilliam, knowing that he woidd insist upon 
 makiug away with his own apparel to help iu sup- 
 porting us; and this I would not have him do on 
 anv account. Often and often, when there was but 
 a morsel of bread iu the cupboard to cat, did I go 
 out by myself — walk about, or sit down upon tuo 
 beach— and when 1 returned, make Jane oat what 
 there was, assuring hor that 1 had pai-tokon of u roll
 
 MAP.Y price; or, the jiesioirs of a servant-maid. 
 
 413 
 
 or a bun during my ramble — whereas at the time I 
 had not literally one penny to purchase so much as 
 either the roll or the bim ! Poor Mi*s. Scudder her- 
 self was struggling against difficulties on account of 
 the delayed remittance from her son, so that from 
 her likewise did Jane aud I conceal as well as we 
 were able our wretched condition. Oh ! poverty is 
 a sad, sad guest ; and at that period I felt its pre- 
 sence most keenly. At last I was resolved to do for 
 •Jane's sake what I never would have done for my 
 own ; and this was to sit down and pen a letter to 
 .Selina Temple, representing my situation and ask- 
 ing her for a few pounds. I was taking it to the 
 post, when on my way thither I met Mr. Sands. 
 
 "Well, Miss Price," he said, grasping my hand, 
 " it is a long time since I have seen you, and upon 
 my word, I am ashamed to look you in the face ! 
 But I have been so dreadfully busy — and am indeed 
 in such a bustle now, that every minute is of value. 
 But still I must stop and ask you how you have got 
 on. 1 remember you wanted needlework — I pro- 
 mised to speak to my lady-patients ; but if it had 
 been for the salvation of my soul I should have for- 
 gotten it. However, I suppose you have not been 
 idle — you have managed to rub on — and if it is not 
 too late, I will really and truly make a point of 
 speaking for you. But, heavens ! half-past twelve," 
 he cried, looking at his watch ; '•' and I have got to 
 be at the other end of the town in five minutes. 
 Mv horse has gone lame, and I am compelled to 
 trot about on foot." 
 
 " I am obliged to you, sir, for your offer," was my 
 response, delivered somewhat coldly, but of course 
 respectfully : " it is now too late. This letter, which 
 I have in my hand, is an application to a lady a 
 long way off, for the means of taking me and my 
 sister away from a place where we have suffered so 
 much misery :" — and I burst into tears. 
 
 " Misery !" he exclaimed, evidently shocked ; and 
 putting back his watch which he had been holding 
 in his hand, he said, " You don't mean to tell me 
 that j'ou have suffered any privations ?" 
 
 "Privations, sir! the greatest — the deepest. I 
 have been living in a forced and vmwiUing idleness. 
 You know how cruelly we wore robbed of our little 
 all on our journey hither " 
 
 '■ True ! I had really quite forgotten it. I remem- 
 ber now. WilUam told me all about it — and I really 
 meant to do something. Upon my word, I have 
 been thoughtless ! But come along with me." 
 
 And appearing to think no more of his appoint- 
 ment at the other end of the town, Mr. Sands hur- 
 ried me towards his own house. He made me take 
 his arm ; and as we proceeded, he went on talking 
 in this strain : — '• The worst of it is, I am always in 
 such a desperate hurrj'. I know that I promise a 
 great many things which I mean to do at the time, , 
 but which I never perform. It is a sad fault of 
 mine ; but it's constitutional, 1 suppose. I can't 
 help it. Ucuco take it ! how could 1 have neglected 
 you thus 'f And your brother William too, who is 
 such an excellent youth, and gives such satisfaction ! 
 By the bye, 1 am afraid he is over- worked — I really 
 must get another assistant." 
 
 While he was thus rattling away, the idea settled 
 In my mind that after all he might be a. very good- 
 hearted ami well-meaning man, but terribly thought- 
 less and rash in his promises, thus buoying pcojilo 
 up with hopes which woi"o not destined to be ful- 
 
 filled, but yet little suspecting the amount of misery 
 he might cause. I had not however much time for 
 reflection : for he hurried me on through the streets 
 at an almost frantic pace; and on reaching hi? 
 house he at once introduced mo into the parlour, 
 where he bade me sit down. He then rang the beli 
 violently ; and as his summons was not instanta- 
 neously answered, he kept on ringing away till a 
 female-servant made her appearance. 
 
 "' What the deuce do you keep me waiting liko 
 this for i" he exclaimed. " You know my time is 
 precious. Now listen : I am not at home to any one 
 for the next half-hour. IS'o matter who sends, or 
 who comes, or who's dying, or who tumbles down 
 and breaks his arm or leg — I won't bo disturbed. 
 For once in my life I mean to devote a whole half- 
 hour to make amends for past neglect. You under- 
 stand me — and novf be off." 
 
 The servant, evidently accustomed to her master's 
 wayward moods and strange caprices, showed Uttlc 
 surprise at these orders, — the small amount of as- 
 tonishment she did exhibit being no doubt caused 
 by the circumstance t'aat Mr. Sands meant to dovote 
 an entire half-hoiu: to any one individual at all. 
 
 '•' Now, Miss Price," he said, when the servant had 
 withdrawn, " please to tell me everythmg. I will 
 listen patiently, and wiU not even look at my 
 watch." 
 
 '• I have little to tell you, sir," was my answer, 
 '• beyond this — that I have been totally unsuccessful 
 in obtaining any employment. I have my younger 
 sister entirely dependent upon me. A sudden de- 
 mand, made by my eldest brother a few weeks 
 back, compelled me to part with nearly all I pos- 
 sessed ; and the remainder has gone to support my- 
 self and sister. We have no debts ; but at this in- 
 stant we are penniless. Why should I blush to avow 
 that the contents of our boxes are at the pawn- 
 broker's ?" 
 
 " Good heavens-I and to some extent all this Las 
 taken place through mo ! How foolish — how incon- 
 siderate I have been. But it is just like mc — it's 
 the fault I have. However, it is better to mako 
 amends than prove callous and indifferent." 
 
 He had started from his seat at the conclusion of 
 my observations, and was now walking about the 
 room in an excited manner as he thus spoke. 
 
 "This letter," I continued, "which you can read, 
 sir, if you please, will show you the situation to 
 which I have been reduced:" — and breaking open 
 the epistle that I Irid addressed to Selina Tomi)k', 1 
 handed it to him. He took it and glanced his eyes 
 rapidly over its contents: but still I saw that ho 
 lost not a word. He had a habit of doing every- 
 thing in a violent hurry — even to reading. 
 
 " I am positively shocked !" he exclaimed, band- 
 ing me back the letter. " I see that you mention mo 
 and my promises ; ond pcrliaps you speak more 
 lightly aud generously than I deserve. However, 
 let us see what is to be done, ^"ou have pledged all 
 your things. Where are the duplicates — or what- 
 ever they call them r" 
 
 " Here they arc, sir:" — and as I produced theiu 
 I felt that ray cheeks were reddening with .iliume. 
 
 " Fifteen pounds in all," cried .Mr. Sands: then 
 pulling out his purse, he produced two ten-pound 
 notes, adding, "Take these, my poor girl, as a little 
 present — or I should rather say as an atonement lor 
 all the misery I havo caused you through my roslj j
 
 414 
 
 MAUY trice; or, the memoirs of a SEBVANT-ilAID. 
 
 promises." Having said this, he again ruslicd to the 
 bell and rang it violently. The servant was not 
 tlu3 time so long in answering the summons ; and 
 when she appeared, he said, '• Tell William Price to 
 come hither." 
 
 In a few minutes my brother made his appear- 
 ance ; and he was evidently much surprised to find 
 mc there. The light of hope beamed upon his 
 countenance; and as ho saw the bank-notes that 
 lay upon the table together with the pawnbroker's 
 duoUcates, he comprehended it all, and with tears in 
 his eyes murmui-ed forth a faw words of gratitude 
 to Ml'. Sands. 
 
 '■' There's c?nough of it," interrupted this gentle- 
 man. "You must not think that I possess a bad 
 heart: but I know that 1 am deuced thoughtless. 
 Now, "William, I am aware you are over^vorked 
 here ; and I tell you what you may do. Go and 
 tell that young man who left the credentials throe 
 or four weeks ago and has called every day since, 
 that I accept' his services; and he may' come and 
 take up his quarters here to-morro\v^ But wait — 
 don't run away directly. Should yoii like to hare 
 your sist,ar Jane here to live with you for a year or 
 two, till she is old enough to do something for her- 
 self? She shall bo entirely with Mrs. Parsons," — 
 meanjftig his housekeeper : '• and she can do the 
 needlework of the house and help Mrs. Parsons a 
 little. What do you say. Miss Mary ? If this plan 
 is adopted, you can then soon manage for yourself: 
 but don't think of needlework. It's all nonsense : 
 there arc too many seamstresses ah-eady. If you 
 like to go out to service again, trust to me for re- 
 commendations ; and tJiis time" he added em- 
 phatically. "I really will not forget you. There 
 now : I don't want another word of thanks. Does 
 all this suit you r ' 
 
 Both I and William cheerfully gave our assent: 
 for one of my chief objects was now accomplished 
 in finding a comfortable home for my dear sister. 
 Mr. Sands hastened to his sideboard — produced 
 wine and cake — forced us both to partake of re- 
 freshments — and then suddenly looking at his watch, 
 cried, " The half-hour is up, by Jove ! and a minute 
 beyond it !" lie then rushed from the room with- 
 out saying another word, leaving me and William 
 to exchange congjratulations upon this sudden, most 
 unexpected, and equally extraordinary turn in our 
 fortunes. We were indeed supremely happy. It 
 appeared as if a friend had dropped down from the 
 clouds; and wo could of course come to no other 
 conclusion than that Mr. Sands was a very generous- 
 hearted and well-meaning person after all. We 
 walked out together, William to perform the mission 
 entrusted to him relative to the new assistant — and 
 I to hasten homo with the good tidings I had to 
 impart. 
 
 " The day after to-morrow is Sunday, dear ^Nlary," 
 said WilUam, as we were about to separate ; " and I 
 
 am sure after what has taken place, Mr. Sands will 
 let me pass the whole day with you — especially as 
 we shall have the new assistant. I think it ^\•^ll be 
 one of the happiest Sundays we shall ever have 
 spent together." 
 
 '• It will, dear William," I replied : and we then 
 parted. The moment I reached the door of the 
 cottage, Mrs. Scudder saw by my countenance that 
 something favourable had transpired. Jane was 
 with her in her little parlour ; and when I told them 
 all that had happened, I really know not whether 
 my sister or the good-hearted old widow testified the 
 most exuberant joy. She insisted upon goino- her- 
 self to redeem all my thmgs from the pawnbroker's ; 
 and while she sallied forth upon that errand, I went 
 out and purchased the materials for a comfortable 
 repast. Mrs. Scudder, on her return with the pack- 
 ages, sat down with us : and we were all three exceed- 
 ingly happy. 1 need scarcely add that the letter 
 which I had written to Selina Temple was torn up; 
 and it was not one of the least ingredients of the 
 Sum of my felicity that ckcumstances should have 
 s(5 ypportimeiy rendered it unnecessary to despatch 
 the epistle at all. 
 
 That day I sent off another sovereign to poor 
 Mrs. Messitor; and this time I could indeed truth- 
 fully teU her that a change in my position enabled 
 me to do so. Nor did I now forbid her from writing 
 to me on any pretext whatsoever. I enjoj'ed a far 
 more comfortable night than for some weeks past I 
 had knewu ; and next day it was with a real feeling 
 of pride, as well as of satisfaction, that I was 
 enabled to go and make the requisite purchases for 
 a good dinner for the Sunday. Jane accompanied 
 me ; and never had she appeared more gay, more 
 smiling; or more happy. As he had anticipated, 
 William was enabled to join us at an early hour on 
 the Sabbath morning; and the moment he made 
 his appearance, his first words were, " Well, Mary, 
 this liino ilx. Sands has not forgotten his promise. 
 Here is the address of a family where you are to 
 call to-morrow ; and from what Mr. Sands has told 
 me, I think that you will be happy there." 
 
 T was well pleased with this announcement. We 
 all sat down to breakfa.<t ; and when it was over, 
 Jane and I. once again dressed in our best apparel, 
 accompanied WUliam to church, — Mrs. Scudder un- 
 dertaking to remain at home and perform certain 
 little duties which I had entrusted to her. On our 
 r.^turn from church, I found that she had acquitted 
 herself of that task : a comfortable dinner was 
 served up in her own neat little parlour — we made 
 her preside — and after the meai, a bottle of British 
 wine, some cakes, apples, and pears, were served up 
 as dessert. "W'c were all as happy as possible, the 
 only drawback being on the poor widow's account, 
 the expected letter from her son at Portsmoutli 
 being still delayed. That Sunday was indeed alto- 
 gether one of the happiest I ever passed in my iit'c. 
 
 ESD Off VOLUME I.
 
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