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 F fr - ^ ^-JfiT^ ^~HC^ ~»^"^J -^VM-">/ ' --SW-'j — itl'j ^^ \ 
 
 I
 
 ^l^^^v;U^ 
 
 L I E) RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 82S
 
 SEADRIFT.
 
 LONDON: 
 ROBSQN AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
 
 S E A D R I F T. 
 
 % Sofael. 
 
 BY 
 
 LADY WOOD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' ROSEWARN,' « SABINA,' ' ON CREBIT,' ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193 PICCADILLY. 
 
 1871. 
 
 lAU rights reserved,]
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/seadriftnovel01wood
 
 ^^2 
 
 
 SEADRIFT. 
 
 rlH^ 
 
 CHAPTER i; 
 
 ■^ * Care lives with all ; no rules, no precepts save 
 
 The wise from woe, no fortitude the brave : 
 Grief is to man as certain as the grave.' Crabbe. 
 
 It was a small sad-looking village, imbedded in 
 the chain of cliiFs on the north coast of Cornwall. 
 Sometimes, in a bright summer sun, it wore a grim 
 smile, as the granite glittered in the morning 
 light; but at the period of which I write the 
 sky was leaden in colour, and the broad desert of 
 heaving waters was only relieved from the mono- 
 tony of its gray tint by the white lines of foam 
 which streaked them as the waves crested towards 
 the shore. It Avas autumn, and the crimson and 
 yellow foliage was half quivering yet upon semi- 
 denuded branches, half swept from their ragged 
 arms, and huddled in sodden heaps round the cot- 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 SEADRIFT. 
 
 tages studded within the bay. A painter would 
 have seized with pleasure on these lingering en- 
 signs of autumn, as the only bit of warm colour- 
 ing in a sombre picture. 
 
 Seadrift had seen better days. She had a 
 church far up inland, and a doctor, and had not 
 a lawyer. Churches are creatures of centuries, 
 therefore the presence of that Avhich reared its 
 old gray tower amongst the Cornish wilds was no 
 guarantee for the importance of Seadi'ift. The 
 presence of the doctor was equally illusory, and 
 might be ascribed to the fact that he had a delicate 
 chest, and had been told by the faculty, that if he 
 wished to live a few years longer, he had better 
 try to do so on the coast of Cornwall. So his wife 
 had persuaded him to strive to prolong life, and 
 obtain a livelihood at the same time, by leaving 
 Camberwell for Cornwall. There was in Seadrift 
 a general shop ; and a carpenter, who was also a 
 ship-builder in a small way, having plenty of em- 
 ployment, if not in building, in repairing boats. The 
 clergyman lived near the church, and three miles 
 from the coast ; so the doctor was the only person 
 with pretensions to education near the sea. 
 
 What added to the gray aspect of the village 
 was the fact, that the houses were mostly built of
 
 SEADRIFT. 3 
 
 granite and roofed with slate. A slight trellis- 
 work of laths ran up outside these dwellings, and, 
 covered by clematis and Virginian creeper, made 
 a charming mixture of scarlet leaves and soft downy 
 seeds, opposed in tint to the cold gray stone, as 
 did the waving tendrils, swaying foliage, and deli- 
 cate crooked buds of the j)lants contrast with the 
 solidity of the rugged stones against which they 
 w^ere placed. 
 
 Half the population of Seadrift lived on one 
 side of the bay, and half on the other. There was 
 a steep shelving beach of sand and pebbles be- 
 tween them, and as the sea seemed to have hard 
 work to get up so many flights of pebbly stairs, 
 ^the mighty monster' appeared generally to be 
 tired when he had reached a certain helo-ht, and 
 had gone grumbling and muttering back again. 
 Notwithstanding this, the ancestors of Seadrift 
 had not always found Neptune so moderate in his 
 incursions ; and choosing probably to be on the safe 
 side, and possess a material guarantee, they had 
 made a stone causeway, of considerable solidity 
 and strength, which, extending from one end of 
 the bay to the other, seemed a formidable sea-wall 
 to defy ocean to any farther encroachment. 
 
 On one side Dr. Mereside, the apothecary, re-
 
 4 SE ADRIFT. 
 
 presented the gentility of Seadrif t ; and he was 
 declared by the neighbourhood to be a real gen- 
 tleman ; but this cause of pride to West Seadrift 
 was more than balanced by the grandeur of !Mrs. 
 Bolitho at East Seadrift — a lady with a tm-ban 
 and a bird-of-paradise plume, w^ho kept a hotel, 
 or what would have been one, had travellers ever 
 come there, and a boarding-house for ladies and 
 gentlemen, whom the known salubrity of Seadrift 
 might attract, but did not, to the north coast of 
 Cornwall. Luckily Mrs. Bolitho had means of 
 subsistence independent of her hotel and boarding- 
 house. She advertised, however, every now and 
 then in the spring, summer, and autumn months, 
 representing that Seadrift was an earthly paradise, 
 possessing everything that could cheer the spirits 
 and restore the vital tone of the invalid ; and that 
 for perfect comfort, combined with cheapness, no 
 hotel in any other part of the coast could equal 
 that kept by Mrs. Bolitho ; that invalids desirous 
 of profiting by the advantages thus offered would 
 find the first medical skill that England could pro- 
 duce in the person of Dr. jNIereside, general prac- 
 titioner; this addendum having been inserted at 
 the sufTo-estion of ]\Irs. Mereside, who had been 
 most charmingly subservient to the queen of East
 
 SEADRIFT. 5 
 
 Seadrift, till she had induced Mrs. Bolitho to per- 
 mit this addition to the usual advertisement. This 
 had been accomplished without the knowledge of 
 the medical practitioner, who would rather have 
 gone for ever without patients who could pay than 
 have submitted to a means of notoriety so unpro- 
 fessional. Luckily the innocent gentleman was 
 spared, by his wife's reticence and his own indiffer- 
 ence to the weekly paper, the blush which would 
 have turned his cheek to a colour more extended 
 than the circular pink spot on the left side, which 
 told of latent mischief within. 
 
 Formerly valuable mines of copper in the 
 neighbourhood of Seadrift had given it importance. 
 Small vessels could then come within an easy dis- 
 tance of the shore, from the shelving natm^e of the 
 beach, and then transported the ore to London. 
 The mines, however, were worked out, or supposed 
 to be so, and Seadrift lost its popularity and its 
 population. Before the causeway had been built, 
 the water flowing from the neighbouring hills had 
 formed an outlet into the sea. Much of it had, 
 however, been directed into other channels con- 
 nected with the mines. When no longer required 
 for man's assistance, the channels became choked, 
 and the water oozed naturally back to the lowest
 
 6 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ground, wliicli was the middle of the village of 
 Seadrift, where it formed first a marsh, then a 
 good-sized pond, then a lake. Round this the 
 houses and huts of Seadrift, with their gardens, 
 abutted, and were reflected with their gray tints 
 and autumn flowers ; but sometimes the troubled 
 waters, like sulky folks, declined to make any re- 
 flections at all. 
 
 The shortest way of crossing from the east to 
 the west, or vice versCi^ was once the causeway ; 
 the way round the lake was long, and made longer 
 by a circle of houses on its borders. The waters 
 had encroached on the land till the buildings had 
 been erected on the higher ground to escape from 
 its inroads. Much speculation had been raised at 
 one time on the propriety of digging an outlet 
 through the solid sea-wall, and allowing the lake 
 to escape ; but, to say nothing of the risk that the 
 ocean would take advantage of the opportunity 
 and return to reinforce the lake, the good wives 
 rebelled furiously at the prospect of losing the 
 supply of fresh water close at hand ; and, after all, 
 no one much cared what became of Seadrift. Men 
 did not begin to think about it till they grew up, 
 and then considered that it would last their time, 
 forty being the average age of the Seadiifters. It
 
 SEADRIFT. 7 
 
 might sink into decay slowly, or be washed away 
 suddenly; and a ' Dear me !' from the readers of 
 the Plymouth Chronicle w^ould have been all the 
 moan made. 
 
 The population were composed chiefly of fisher- 
 men — a stern, hard, solemn race. A hundred 
 years since, they would have been riotous and de- 
 moralised ; but Wesley had preached to then: fore- 
 fathers, and instilled holy aspirations into their 
 descendants. His impassioned eloquence had had 
 its exceeding great reward in the effects it pro- 
 duced on those remote districts. 
 
 Death came also frequently to remind these 
 men of the necessity for a godly life ; not death 
 in the sheltered cottage, with the tender tears and 
 holy pra3^ers of living creatures, but death en- 
 countered on the desolate horizon of ever-cease- 
 less surges. Beaten by wdnds, drenched by rain 
 and foam, the exhausted men frequently sank 
 with their frail vessels, leaving no clue to their 
 fate save the broken oar or shred of sail w^ashed 
 up on the beach of Seadrift, where it told to the 
 widow or orphan what had been the doom of the 
 bread-winners. 
 
 The w^omen had an expression of patient ex- 
 pectation of misfortune, with a stern determination
 
 8 SEADRnT. 
 
 to bear it, whatever might be its weight. Thus 
 everybody seemed possessed by a feeling of ex- 
 pectation in Seadrift, but in a different way. The 
 fishermen and their families expected and were 
 prepared for misfortune — which came. The doc- 
 tor expected good fortune in patients — and they 
 did not come, at least not remunerative ones, 
 Mrs. Bolitho expected inmates to her hotel and 
 boarding-house — in vain. There was a white 
 house of some pretensions, which stood with its 
 tront to the ocean, and its side to the sea-wall, 
 where lived a woman and her daughter in whom 
 expectation had almost died away, from want of 
 reasonable nourishment to keep it alive. 
 
 They were very poor, and only inhabited so 
 good a house because, in the decayed prosperity 
 of Seadrift, no one would rent it of the owner, who 
 resided in it. Mrs. Clemens had been in easy 
 circumstances during the lifetime of her husband, 
 the captain and owner of a small sailing-vessel ; 
 but a night of storms had sunk the gallant little 
 bark, and in it had perished the father and his 
 two sons, leaving a widow and an orphan girl 
 penniless. For some years Captain Clemens had 
 insured his life scrupulously ; but sailors are pro- 
 verbially careless, and a time came when he let
 
 SEADRIFT. 9 
 
 the day of payment slip by, and the insurance 
 lapsed. 
 
 The chief part of the furniture of the neat 
 cottage owned by Mrs. Clemens — if that can be 
 called a cottage which was built of granite and 
 roofed with slate — had been sold to defray the 
 small debts owing Avhen Captain Clemens had 
 perished. The chief of these was one for Martha's 
 schooling; for the j)arents had both been possessed 
 by a laudable ambition that their daughter should 
 have a superior education. Fathers and mothers 
 pay such sums willingly, with an exaggerated idea 
 of the advantages which are to result from the 
 sacrifice. The amount of any knowledge worth 
 having thus acquired is generally nil, though the 
 habits of application are of some importance, but 
 scarcely worth the sacrifice entailed on the parents 
 to procure them by such means, as a little deter- 
 mination on the part of the mother will produce 
 a better sample home-made. 
 
 ^Irs. Clemens did not find Martha could hem^ 
 seam, stitch, or backstitch a bit better when she 
 returned than when she went to school. True, she 
 brought back a large square of white -cotton velvet 
 on which bloomed splendid flo-wers, which had been 
 industriously rubbed-in by aid of tin-patterns of
 
 10 SEADRIFT. 
 
 different punctures ; but as this marvellous work of 
 art only reached home after the death of Captain 
 Clemens, it had never been mounted, and was 
 both a pride and a pain to Mrs. Clemens, who 
 kept it carefully covered with silver-paper till she 
 should become rich enough to have it made into 
 an ottoman — a circumstance not likely to occur. 
 
 The poor woman had sold all that she could, 
 and more than she could conveniently spare ; but 
 Hope, which stuck in the lid of Pandora's box, 
 had kept a small niche for herself in the home 
 of the widow Clemens. This small niche in- 
 habited by Hope was ^the best bedroom.' By 
 this the widow had a vague idea that she should 
 retrieve her fallen fortunes. 
 
 Some traveller might come to search for pic- 
 turesque scenery, some geologist for specimens 
 from the mines, or some speculator in the pilch- 
 ard fisheries. Who ever it might be, he would 
 fall in love with Martha, and make her a rich 
 woman; and then she, Mrs. Clemens, should die 
 happy. It would seem likely that death would 
 arrive sooner than any such good fortune. Mrs. 
 Clemens felt the dimness of age in her eyes and in 
 the relaxed tympanum of lier ears. She received 
 answers short and sharp from her daughter when
 
 SEADRIFT. 11 
 
 inaudible responses made to lier questions urged 
 Martha to repeat tliem. Ten years had passed 
 since that terrible storm which had brought death 
 to the bread-winners and poverty to the household. 
 Martha had been at that period seventeen — a 
 slender genteel-looking girl, whose chief beauty 
 lay in her golden hair, which rippled naturally 
 over her well-shaped head, and was twisted in a 
 rich Grecian braid at the back. She had at that 
 time a pretty delicate colour in her cheeks, which 
 had faded during the ten years of confinement and 
 privation. 
 
 When her mother could no longer see, even 
 by the aid of her glasses, the line made by the 
 thread drawn out in the shirt-collar, and had 
 become disgracefully inaccurate in turning corners 
 in stitching, Martha had been obliged to carry 
 the load laid down by her mother's failing powers, 
 and to support them both by her needlework. 
 How glad she would have been for a little ' change 
 of work,' which, as the proverb says, is as good 
 as rest ! But in this small village of Seadrift, or 
 Seadrift Church Town, as the folks called it, the 
 women kept to themselves all soft easy sewing, 
 such as flannel -petticoats and waistcoats, habit- 
 shirts and cambric handkerchiefs, and gave Mar-
 
 12 SEADRIFT. 
 
 tha Clemens the stiff silk and the stout calico on 
 which to exercise her fingers and sacrifice her 
 needles. 
 
 Gentlemen's shirts were made with an elabor- 
 ation of feminine skill, which might have been 
 considered as an effort of love if performed by a 
 devoted wife to adorn her idol, but became op- 
 pressive when a needlewoman was required to 
 throw in the additional ornament without extra 
 pay, like the ad libitum sheep supplied by the 
 painter to the Vicar of Wakefield's picture. 
 
 No one but Mrs. Clemens and her daughter 
 knew how very poor they were, nor how pinch- 
 ingly they lived. They had no servant ; for when 
 Mrs. Clemens's eyes were incapable of guiding 
 her needle through the intricacy of cross threads, 
 she abandoned that task to Martha, and took all 
 the house-work on herself. So there was no one 
 to tell to the baker's wife why it was that so 
 little bread was eaten in the house, nor to the 
 butcher that no meat was consumed from month's 
 end to month's end by the mother or daughter. 
 Martha worked swiftly and well, and had a pretty 
 taste in making up a gown, and a correct eye 
 as to its fitting properly; so that the butcher's 
 and baker's wives, and their maid-servants, when-
 
 SEADRIFT. 13 
 
 ever they had a new dress, took it to Martha to 
 be fabricated. Her charges were so unreasonably 
 reasonable, that she and her mother lived the 
 greatest part of the year on potatoes only, with- 
 out even the luxury of the salt pilchard which 
 would have given them flavour. 
 
 When Mrs. Clemens had exhausted every 
 possible necessity for cleaning the house, she was 
 condemned to inactivity, and she was accustomed 
 to sit in a corner of the room, in which was a 
 window commanding the sea-wall, or causeway, 
 and the other the broad expanse of ocean. She 
 yearned for some interest or amusement beyond 
 watching a little cutting of a rose-tree given her 
 by the doctor's wife. She looked at it daily ; and 
 had rejoiced when, by the aid of her spectacles, 
 she had seen the first irregularity in the green 
 stem, pushing itself into a tender - tinted bud of 
 future leaves. 
 
 ^ O, Martha, only see! it has taken root after all.' 
 
 Martha did not look up. She was making the 
 
 last button-hole in a servant's gown, and hated 
 
 to be interrupted. Hope deferred makes some 
 
 hearts not only sick but sullen. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens, repulsed, sank into silence. Pre- 
 sently she began again :
 
 14 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^ Martha, there is something coming along the 
 causeway — something bright and gay-looking.' 
 
 'Is there?' said Martha, in a voice of perfect 
 indifference, and without any interrogation in the 
 tone. ' You say you can't see, so I do not know 
 how you can tell.' 
 
 'My dear, old folks can see at a distance when 
 they cannot see things close. You will find that 
 out when you are as old as I am.' 
 
 ' I hope I may not live till then,' muttered the 
 daughter ; of which her mother, not catching the 
 meaning, challenged the repetition of the sentence 
 by a querulous ' Eh V 
 
 Martha replied impatiently, 'Nothing, mother;' 
 the most irritating response to a deaf person. 
 
 ' Well, Martha, but there is some one on the 
 causeway, and I really believe 'tis Mrs. Bolitho. 
 Bless me, I never saw any one dress as she does.' 
 
 Mrs. Bolitho was sailing along on the top of 
 the causeway, in a purple-silk dress, with a shawl 
 of striped orange silk, and bonnet trimmed with 
 scarlet geraniums ; an extraordinarily glowing 
 figure, considering the cold gray tints of sea and 
 sky which constituted her surroundings. There 
 is always some breeze from the sea, and it em- 
 barrassed Mrs. Bolitho considerably, sometimes
 
 SEADRIFT. 15 
 
 forcing her dress against her person so, that she 
 could scarcely move her feet ; sometimes puffing 
 up the skirt like an inverted umbrella, which she 
 tried in vain to put down with he]' little fubsy 
 fingers ; or whirling her shawl into her face, as if 
 trying to stop her breathing. 
 
 ' Well, I never !' said Mrs. Clemens. ' What 
 a woman she is I And O, Martha, I really do 
 believe she is coming here !' And the widow 
 turned pale, and Martha flushed, and cast her 
 eyes round to see if the room were tidy. There 
 were some ends of gingham, which jMrs. Clemens 
 did not see, but which Martha picked up and 
 stuffed into a drawer, just as the Queen of the 
 East, as Dr. Mereside called Mrs. Bolitho, opened 
 the gate of Mrs. Clemens's small garden, and 
 walked up to the door. 
 
 Mrs. Bolitho had not before visited the wi- 
 dow Clemens. Why should she? Her dresses 
 were made by the best dressmaker at Plymouth ; 
 but she had some sewing-work to be done, and 
 she had intended, in giving the order, to come 
 down on the solitary pair in all the dignity of 
 wealth and fine clothes. The wind, however, had 
 taken her at a disadvantage, and she was conscious 
 how ridiculous a figure it had made of her, as she
 
 16 SEADRIFT. 
 
 came along the causeway ; whilst she suspected 
 that, from the position of the windows, her embar- 
 rassment had been visible, and thought that she 
 had probably afforded amusement, when she should 
 have inspired awe. She had been obliged, too, to 
 drag her bonnet down in a manner most untender 
 towards its delicacy, and had a conviction that it 
 was sitting awry, besides a suspicion that the 
 false front had drooped more over one eyebrow 
 than the other. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens had opened the door to her, and 
 curtsying, ushered her into the sitting-room. 
 
 ^ Drat the folks — I mean, mu.m, drat the wind ; 
 it makes one feel so uncomfortable. 'Tis true, as 
 the saying is, that in a Cornish wind it takes two 
 men to hold one man's hair on his head.' 
 
 She looked over the chimney-piece, and saw 
 the marks where a glass had been. 
 
 ' Perhaps,' said Martha, ^ mother, ^Irs. Bolitho 
 would like to walk up-stairs.' 
 
 ^A good thought, Miss Clemens,' said the 
 lady. — ^Mum, be so good as to show me the 
 way.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens preceded her guest up-stairs to 
 the room which the old woman could show with- 
 out any wound to her pride. There was the hand-
 
 SEADRIFT. 17 
 
 some mahogany bedstead, with the clean white 
 dimity cmi;ains; curtains also to the windows, 
 carefully pinned up ; and a clean cover over the 
 carpet, which had scarcely ever seen the light. 
 
 ^ If you will permit me, mum,' said Mrs. Cle- 
 mens, passing her to open the shutters ; and then 
 she went out and shut the door, hearing an un- 
 mistakably angry tone in Martha's voice, calling 
 ' Mother !' at the foot of the stairs. ' Mother,' con- 
 tinued Martha ; and coaxing Mrs. Clemens down, 
 she dragged her into the sitting-room again. 
 
 ^My dear,' said the mother, 'women are so 
 cmious, I really must go up again. You see, if 
 she opens the chest of drawers, she will see all 
 those stockings that I have not mended, and,' with 
 a sigh, ' they are so coarse, and so full of holes.' 
 
 Martha flushed ; she did not like the stockings 
 to be seen either. 
 
 ^ And there's a flannel petticoat all cut through 
 at the hem. She will turn all my things over. I 
 should not care if she came on the velvet you 
 painted.' 
 
 ' I daresay, mother, she has only looked at her- 
 self in the glass. Hush, here she comes,' added 
 Martha, making a sign of silence to Mrs. Clemens, 
 as the heaA'y footsteps of Mrs. Bolitho were heard, 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18* SEADRIFT. 
 
 making the stairs creak under her weight. She 
 sailed into the room, reassured as to her appear- 
 ance, and quite ready to assert her consequence 
 and overwhelm the two women hj her condescen- 
 sion. 
 
 ^ Take a seat, ma'am,' suggested Mrs. Clemens. 
 
 Mrs. Bolitho sat down with her back to the 
 light, and cast an insolent circular glance round 
 the poor furniture of the room. Mrs. Clemens 
 quivered and flushed under it. Mrs. Bolitho was 
 a captain's wife, Mrs. Clemens a captain's widow. 
 There was no difference of social rank except that 
 made by wealth. At length Mrs. Bolitho's eyes 
 rested on Martha, as did those of Mrs. Clemens. 
 
 ^ You have no family, I believe, mum,' said the 
 mother, with a tone of triumph. 
 
 'No, I've not,' said the captain's wife fiercely, 
 ^ and I pities them as has.' 
 
 ' Sour grapes, some might say,' murmured the 
 discomfited mother. 
 
 'However,' said Mrs. Bolitho, ''tis about her 
 I am come,' indicating Martha by a nod. ' You 
 see. Captain Bolitho sails in a fortnight's time, 
 and he wants a dozen new shirts. jMy time,' con- 
 tinued the lady loftily, ' is too much occupied to 
 think of undertaking the work myself, and if they
 
 SE ADRIFT. 19 
 
 are bought reaclj-macle tliey go to pieces directly ; 
 so I have brought the cahco, aud fine Irish for the 
 collars, wristbands, and fronts, and I must have 
 them this day fortnight.' 
 
 ^I do not think I could do it in the time, 
 ma'am,' said Martha. ^Working from morning 
 till night I can only do one shirt in the day, and 
 a dozen in a fortnight is just that, cutting out the 
 Sundays. What will you pay me?' continued the 
 young woman sturdily, whilst Mi's. Clemens looked 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 ' I did think of one-and-ninepence each,' said 
 the captain's wife tentatively. 
 
 ' Can't be done for that money,' said Martha 
 bluntly. 
 
 ' They are cut out,' said Mrs. Bolitho. 
 
 ^ Umph !' said the girl ; ' not much help in 
 that.' 
 
 ^Well,' said the lady, ^we will say two shil- 
 lings each, though one pound four shillings is a 
 deal to pay for work when there's the calico, and 
 linen, and buttons, and thread, to be paid for 
 besides.' 
 
 ' Do you wish the bosom to be stitched with a 
 heart, ma'am V 
 
 ' Certainly.'
 
 20 SEADRIFT. 
 
 'Will the gentleman notice if the gussets in 
 the shirts have not three rows of stitching ?' 
 
 ' Bless youj no ! Men are such fools ! So long 
 as 'tis clean, he don't care whether 'tis Ii'isli or 
 hoUand.' 
 
 ' And about the stitchinf^, ma'am V sufj^ested 
 Martha. ' You say he won't notice it.' 
 
 'The washerwomen wdll/ returned the lady, 
 in a voice so solemn that it forbade farther dis- 
 cussion. 'Now, young woman,' continued ]Mi's. 
 Bolitho, ' do you promise that I shall have those 
 shirts this day fortnight?' 
 
 ' If I am alive and well, you shall have them 
 some time between twelve o'clock in the day and 
 twelve o'clock at night this day fortnight. But 
 you cannot have them before; and the days are 
 so short now,' said the girl, with a sigh, thinking 
 how much the twenty -four shillings must be 
 broken into for candles. 
 
 ' Yery well ; I depend on you,' said the lady ; 
 and a fat finger, of Avhicli the tip had burst the 
 kid, pointed impressively at ]\Iartha. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens had kept silence during the 
 discussion as to the price of labour, but now she 
 attended Mrs. Bolitho to the door. 
 
 'Are you going back the same way, mum?
 
 SE ADRIFT. 21 
 
 The wind won't take your clotlies so unpleasant 
 on the beach.' 
 
 ^ That's true,' said Mrs. Bolitho ; ^ but the salt 
 amongst the pebbles takes the colour out of one's 
 boots so.' 
 
 And pulling uj) her dress, she revealed a 
 gorgeous pair of purple boots clasping the over- 
 hanging plumpness of the leg. 
 
 ' 'Tis neap-tide, so I think the pebbles is dry,' 
 said Mrs. Clemens. 
 
 ' I s'pose I know that, being a captain's wife,' 
 retorted the richer woman. ^However, I'll take 
 the causeway, for 'tis rough walking along them 
 nasty sloping pebbles, that you sink into before 
 you know where you are.' 
 
 As she left the little garden, she looked inland 
 to the spot where gleamed beneath its glory of 
 autumn foliage the neat white house of Dr. Mere- 
 side. 
 
 ' Do you see much of them people f said Mrs. 
 BoUtho. 
 
 ^O, they are very kind,' said Mrs. Clemens; 
 ' aiid ^Ii's. Mereside gave me such a valuable cut- 
 ting of a rose,' said she, snatching it up, and pre- 
 senting the small green stem with the single bud 
 on it — ^liolding it up with the delight of a child
 
 22 SEADRIFT. 
 
 showing its rattle to a bigger baby, whom the pos- 
 session of a horse and cart makes indifferent to 
 anything less valuable. 
 
 'Umph!' said Mrs. Bolitho ; ^my garden is 
 full of them.' 
 
 ^ Not of this kind/ replied the other pertina- 
 ciously. 
 
 But Mrs. Bolitho had moved away, and did 
 not, or would not, hear the vehement assertion. 
 
 Martha was glad that there were only the 
 buttons to be scAved on the servant's dress, and 
 then she should be fi'ee to begin the shirts. 
 
 A few minutes after she had consented to exe- 
 cute the order, ^Irs. IMereside came on a similar 
 errand. 
 
 'My dear,' said that lady, patronising but 
 good-natured, ' Mrs. Treleaven has asked me to a 
 grand dinner-party next week, and I have not a 
 low dress to wear. You must run me up this 
 book-muslin and a petticoat to wear with it.' 
 
 Martha shook her head. 
 
 'You won't f said ^Irs. Mereside. 
 
 ' I cannot, ma'am.' 
 
 ' m pay you well, and 'tis such light work !' 
 
 ' I am veiy sorry, but I have promised to do 
 some shirts for ]Mrs. Bolitho.'
 
 SEADRIFT. 23 
 
 ♦ 
 
 ' O, if 'tis for the Queen of the East,' said the 
 doctor's wife, ' of course I cannot expect you to 
 break your word.' 
 
 Martha did not explain that it was her regard 
 for her word, and not her regard for Mrs. Bohtho, 
 which made her resist the temptation. 
 
 ^ Well, I shall take the dress to Mary Moore, 
 near the church. The doctor has a patient there, 
 and he can drop me whilst I give the order. She 
 will not disoblige me, I am sure;' and the lady 
 walked away in a huff. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens looked ready to cry. 
 
 ' If I had but my eyes, Martha, I could have 
 done the shirts, and your nimble fingers the mus- 
 lin dress.' 
 
 ^ Well, but you have not your eyes, mother ; 
 so 'tis useless crying over spilt milk.' 
 
 • I am so sorry to have vexed Mrs. Mereside. 
 She always speaks so civil to me,' the mother 
 maundered on. 
 
 ^ It can't be helped, mother ; pray say no more 
 about it.' 
 
 ' So Mrs. Clemens went upstairs to inspect the 
 spare room, and try to find whether Mrs. Bolitho 
 had meddled with aught in the chest of drawers. 
 
 ' She has ! She has indeed, Martha !'
 
 24 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^ 'Twas very unmannerly.' 
 ^ Why did you make me come down f 
 ^ Because it would have been very unmannerly 
 for you to stay whilst she took off her bonnet, cap, 
 and wig, when she don't want any one to know 
 that she wears one.' 
 
 ^Why not? Why should she wear a wig? 
 I don't ; and I know she is only younger by five 
 months than I am. And here is the stocking at 
 the top which I know was at the bottom. I put 
 it there because 'twas the worst ; so I kept it to 
 the last. And she never went to the drawer where 
 the velvet was at all ! And she as much as said 
 the cutting wasn't worth a halfpenny !' 
 
 These grievances admitted of no consolation ; 
 so Martha went on with the quick incessant move- 
 ment of her fingers in seaming the body of one 
 of the shirts she had undertaken to make. 
 
 Mary Moore made the muslin dress satisfac- 
 torily, and thereby established a claim to the 
 manufacture of all future dresses for Mrs. Mere- 
 side ; and Martha had her good principles for such 
 satisfaction as they might afford her.
 
 SEADRIFT. 25 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ' With fingers weary and worn, 
 With eyelids heavy and red.' Hood. 
 
 A FORTXIGHT passed ill this incessant occupa- 
 tion, ^lartlia did not mo^•e from her work-table, 
 swallowing down the cup of weak sugarless tea 
 which her mother brought her, and eating as fast 
 as she could the round of toasted bread without 
 butter which [Mrs. Clemens had contrived the 
 luxury of a small fire to make. They used peat 
 generally, and coals were unusual and not to be 
 had every day. At dinner the hot potatoes and 
 a bit of salt butter brought her for ten minutes 
 to the table, where she partook of them silently 
 by the side of her mother. 
 
 The fourteen days had passed. Evening drew 
 in — a di-eary evening. The wind had been blow 
 ing inshore for a fortnight; indeed, for once its 
 constancy had been remarkable. Since the morn- 
 ing when it had deranged the clothing of ]\Irs. 
 Bolitho, it had grown stronger and louder hourly. 
 The sky was of that inky colour which gives the 
 idea of its pressing dow^i on the earth, and being 
 the more solid of the two. The sea fretted itself
 
 26 SEADRIFT. 
 
 into long white lines as it readied the shore, which 
 was the only break in the monotony of colour. 
 
 ' I think I see a vessel in the offing,' said Mrs. 
 Clemens ; ' it must have a rough time of it.' 
 
 And she sighed, thinking of her husband and 
 her boys. Siie was not quite sure about the vessel, 
 however ; the rain was so thick that it blurred the 
 horizon too much to distinguish clearly. 
 
 Martha cared nothing about the vessel. She 
 was working away on the button-holes, sitting as 
 near as she could to the casement to obtain the 
 last faint gleam of twihght, her eyes surrounded 
 with two red rims, their white having become 
 bloodshot by incessant application. The tension 
 of the optic nerve affected her brain, and made 
 her more than usually irritable and untender to 
 her mother, who sat alternately looking on the 
 dim horizon and on the busy fingers of her daugh- 
 ter, in all the sadness of compelled idleness. 
 
 ' The days close in so fast now !' she said at 
 length. ''Tis dismal for them that can do no- 
 thing. In the daytime I can sweep and dust and 
 scour the kettle. The whole day is no better 
 than the twilight which Dick Bounderly says they 
 have up in the north six months at a time.' 
 
 Martha drew her chair closer to the casement :
 
 SEADRIFT. 27 
 
 but slie did not look at tlie dull sky, nor at tlie 
 line of waves dashing against the beach, and rush- 
 ing back like griefs repelled, to return again with 
 others added to them. 
 
 ^ Do leave off work for a bit. And look here, 
 I've got two or three potatoes under the peat for 
 supper.' 
 
 *'Tis of no use, mother; I have not stitched 
 these wristbands, and if I do not do them now, 
 they will not be finished in time ; and if I do not 
 work, who will pay for the next potatoes we re- 
 quire? 'Tis so dark,' she continued in an irri- 
 tated tone, flinging open the casement in the hope 
 of obtaining a little more light. 
 
 ' I wish I could help you, dear ; but with my 
 old eyes I should heap one stitch over another, 
 like a little girl just learning to sew, instead of 
 an old woman who ouo-ht to know better.' 
 
 o 
 
 And she drew her faded shawl over her shoul- 
 ders, and cowered over the smoking peat. , 
 
 ^ I wish you would put the fire out, mother ; I 
 am working the smoke into the hoUand stitch by 
 stitch. You really should not be so thoughtless 
 at your age.' 
 
 !Mrs. Clemens carried the offending peat out- 
 side the back door, and saw it flame up directly in
 
 28 SEADRIFT. 
 
 the current of air. Such extravagance was not to 
 be tolerated; so she poured water on it, and wished 
 dearest Martha was not quite so cross. But she 
 muttered : 
 
 ^I am no use. I Avish that I were in tlie 
 churchyard ;' and then she wept silently, to think 
 that no holy earth had covered the corpses of her 
 dear ones, no pious hymn been sung at their 
 funeral, no discourse uttered on their untimely 
 fate, — the dim and desolate waters had been their 
 grave, and the wild winds had sung their requiem. 
 The churchyard presented to her mind an idea of 
 loneliness, which would not have existed had the 
 bodies of her husband and sons been bm'ied there. 
 We cannot separate ourselves from the yearnings 
 of corporeal affection. ^Ii's. Clemens could not 
 help feeling as if she should know all about her 
 locality after she was buried, and should pine for 
 the absent ones even there. 
 
 ' What stories them people tell,' the old wo- 
 man thought, ' who say that if the dead were to 
 come back again, they would not be welcome; 
 but, like a book taken away for a bit out of a 
 bookshelf, the place would be closed up by other 
 books, and when they came back there would be 
 no place for them. But if I could see my deai*
 
 SEADRIFT. 29 
 
 old man again, it seems to me that I shouldn't 
 want any other heaven. And we was so happy, 
 and them dear boys — ' 
 
 And she wept all the more because they had 
 never been cross to her, and Martha was. 
 
 But she must leave off crying and go indoors ; 
 for the piercing wind seemed to cleave her to the 
 backbone, and Martha would want to have the 
 rush-candle hghted. 
 
 The Hghted candle revealed Martha's eyes sur- 
 rounded with the two red lines. 
 
 ' O, my child !' said the mother, softened into 
 additional tenderness by thoughts of the loved 
 ones she had lost, ' I can do nothing to help you ; 
 I can only look at you, and be thankful that such 
 a pleasure is still left to me. I am no use to any 
 one,' she reiterated sadly, and made a little pause, 
 hoping to be contradicted. 
 
 But no contradiction, yearned for by the 
 mother's heart, responded ; there was not even a 
 tender smile on the rigid face, the fingers still 
 continuing their quick jerking movement. 
 
 It was finished at length ; and the young wo- 
 man, having se^vn on the last button at the collar, 
 arose, and stretching herself wearily to get rid of 
 the sensation of cramp from remaining so long in
 
 30 SEADRIFT. 
 
 one position, folded up the shirt, and removing a 
 handkerchief from a pile made by the eleven 
 others, tied them all np together, and proceeded 
 to unhang from a nail in the passage an old bon- 
 net and shawl. 
 
 ' Surely you are not going out to-night !' ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Clemens, in a voice of anxious terror. 
 ^ Hark how the wind sweeps up the cove ! You 
 would be blown into the sea, and di'enched A\dth 
 rain.' 
 
 ' As the wind blows inshore, I cannot be blown 
 into the sea ; and if I fell into the lake, I daresay I 
 should scramble out again. I promised to let Mrs. 
 Bolitho have these shirts to-night. I said they 
 should be finished, and they are finished. The 
 worst part of the work is done, — the walk will be 
 a pleasant change after sitting in one place for a 
 fortnight.' 
 
 'Then, dear,' said the mother coaxingly, 'let 
 me come with you.' 
 
 'Do not be a fool, mother,' was the curt reply; 
 ' I could not o;et alono; half so flist if I had to wait 
 for you. When folks make promises, they ought 
 to keep them. I did not tell ^Irs. Bolitho that 
 she should have the shirts if it was a fine night. 
 Poor folks must take their chance of the weather.'
 
 SEADRIFT. 31 
 
 ' 'TIs near eleven o'clock/ said Mrs. Clemens, 
 ready to cry, ^ and they will all be in bed.' 
 
 Martha only answered by a look at the half- ' 
 run-down sand in the hour-glass, which Mrs. 
 Clemens had turned when the chapel clock had 
 struck ten. 
 
 The mother saw the matter was hopeless, and 
 taking her shawl from her shoulders, she added 
 it to the one Martha had already pinned over her 
 bosom. 
 
 The girl threw it off impatiently, and flung it 
 on the back of a chair. 
 
 ' It is only in the way, and I can get on much 
 better Avithout it.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens repeated the words to herself, 
 and made her own comments. ^No use, and only 
 in the way, like myself. She could get on much 
 better without me.' 
 
 Yet not the less did she dote on the cold re- 
 pulsive young woman, who was all that remained 
 to her of the wreck of her domestic happiness. 
 
 Few think of the 2;riefs of the ao-ed. The 
 young, who have grown up around them, can 
 have no sympathy for their unimagined sufferings. 
 Whatever storms may rave around the young, 
 they but displace blossoms and bow the heads of
 
 82 SEADRIFT. 
 
 luxuriant branches. The storm passes over ; Na- 
 ture reasserts her power to please and to enjoj, 
 and the tears of youth are dried by the glow of 
 the sunbeams. But age sees no sunshine; the path 
 they have to tread is hard with eternal frost, their 
 lio;ht is twilight, their future is blank. They creep 
 on, giving sympathy, but receiving little, and that 
 little from some wanderer bound like them to the 
 unknown shore, and listening like them for the 
 hollow sound of the ocean of eternity, which will 
 tell them that they draw near the end of their 
 pilgrimage. How can the young, dancing in the 
 sunshine, dream what they suffer who stumble, on 
 the dark mountains ? 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 ' Hark, how the wind sweeps by ! 
 The tempest's voice is rising o'er the deep.' 
 
 Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens closed the door when ]Martha 
 passed out, and sat doAvn to wait for her return ; 
 memories her only companions, and the images of 
 the dead evoked by their spell. She thought of the 
 days that were gone, and her heart within her
 
 SEADRIFT. 33 
 
 was desolate. By the side of the chimney on the 
 panels, Eobert had tried, when he was seven years 
 old, to poi-tray the form of a horse, and a boy rid- 
 ing thereon. The mother had blessed the early 
 promise of skill shown in the sketch, and when 
 her hand, armed with a wet flannel, had scoured 
 up and down the smoke -stained paint, she had 
 avoided that tracing of her boy's pencil made 
 sacred by love. On the chimney-piece was a 
 little boat carved by Luke ; she remembered his 
 childish sorrow when his penknife had broken off" 
 short by coming in contact with a knot in the wood; 
 how a shilling had been produced from the ma- 
 ternal store to stop his tears and remedy the dis- 
 aster; what anxiety had been felt, both by the 
 mother and the boy, when the little boat had floated 
 lopsided in the tub of w^ater in the back kitchen ; 
 and what repeated effbrts had been made to induce 
 her to keep her balance as a decent vessel should, 
 and do credit to the fabricator, or rather to the 
 sculptor. Her eyes filled with loving tears at 
 these remembrances, so that the candle grew still 
 dimmer through their haze. 
 
 She leaned back on the settle and grew drowsy. 
 In her dream she fancied the arm-chair opposite 
 was occupied by her husband, as he used to sit 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 SEADEIFT. 
 
 with a quiet smile of repose on liis face when 
 lately returned from sea. She believed that their 
 separation had all been but a tenible dream, and 
 that Time had reversed his flight for twenty years. 
 
 ^ 'Twas but a dream, William, only a dream,' 
 she went on saying in her sleep, with an uneasy 
 doubt of her joy that troubled the sleeping happi- 
 ness. Of course 'twas only a dream, for there 
 was Luke — she remembered the jacket he wore, 
 which she had patched that very morning. He was 
 showing his father the boat with grave childish 
 earnestness, whilst Robert had seized the boat- 
 swain's call, and was pursing up his red mouth in 
 the effort to sound it. The mother believed that 
 she heard the faint whistle, and started up with. 
 Hush ! lest the curly-headed baby Martha, asleep 
 in the cradle, should be scared by the shrill sound, 
 and awake with a cry of terror. 
 
 The effort aroused IVIrs. Clemens ; she had 
 followed the impulse of her dream and had started 
 up, and found herself gazing blankly on the empty 
 chair which stood by the fireless hearth, on which, 
 denuded of peat, lay the three potatoes intended 
 for supper, still uncooked in consequence of Mar- 
 tha's complaint about the smoke. The long un- 
 used cradle in which the golden-headed baby had
 
 SEADRIFT. o5 
 
 slept, no longer occupied the corner in which it 
 had stood formerly. It had been sold for one-and- 
 ninepence when so much of the furniture had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens realised all this, as she found 
 that the shrill whistle that had mingled with her 
 dream, and given to it an air of truth, was the 
 wild music of the skies, of the mad mnd shrieking 
 and moaning at every obstacle made to its mighty 
 progress. 
 
 She was conscious that she had forgotten her- 
 self, as she would have termed it, and looked ner- 
 vously at the hour-glass, lest, its last sands having 
 run out, she should be ignorant of the lapse of 
 time. This was the case; she might have slept 
 for hours ; the candle had burnt so low that it 
 flared up in its socket and went out as she stood 
 up; but, with the natural instinct of self-excuse, 
 she fancied that the "sWnd piercing through the 
 crannies of the house had made it flare and run 
 down. It would be dreadfully extravagant to 
 light another candle, but she did so ; for there was 
 not a spark of fire, and the house seemed so very 
 dreary. She wished she could hear the chapel 
 clock strike ; it was to be so helpless not to know 
 the time.
 
 36 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^ The wind is so high, I shall never hear the 
 clock when it strikes. She ought to be back by 
 this time. Good Lord, how dark it is !' she said, 
 opening the front-door carefully, in doing which 
 the candle was immediately extinguished. 
 
 The open door revealed infinite blackness — 
 nothing more to the eye ; but to the practised ear 
 of the widow a sound which was very terrible. In 
 the interval of the dash of each successive billow 
 on the shore, Mrs. Clemens could distinguish the 
 short quick lap of the water against some obstacle 
 very important and very near, 
 
 ^ O, I'm sure the tide is too high. 'Tis come 
 where it didn't ought,' said the widow; *and I 
 can't see an inch before my nose — and Martha! 
 Martha !' she cried in the tumult of her anxiety, 
 her voice going off into a wail in the tempest. 
 
 She knew that the highest tides, as a rule, did 
 not approach by many feet the base of the sea- 
 wall ; but the wind had been blowing in-shore 
 for a fortnight, and though it was now spring-tide, 
 the ocean had receded by very little during the 
 day at its ebb, so furiously had the driving tem- 
 pest forced forward the large body of water towards 
 the barrier created by the raised pathway. 
 
 How her sight strove to penetrate the darkness
 
 SEADRIFT. 37 
 
 as she stood outside the closed door ! How many, 
 consciously and unconsciously, have uttered the 
 natural sentence of St. Paul, and lain-by and 
 wished for morning ! Somewhat sheltered by the 
 trellis-work round the door, she waited in the hope 
 that, by her eye becoming accustomed to the dark- 
 ness, she should succeed in distinguishing how far 
 the tide had really advanced. She fancied that 
 it would soon turn. It seemed certain that the 
 short lapping noise was its contact with the sea- 
 wall ; but probably with its base. 
 
 ' O dear, O dear ! to think that I should have 
 slept, and do not know what the time is ! I know 
 Martha should have been home by this time.' 
 
 At length, there was a muffled light in the sky 
 at first, and then the moon beamed brightly for 
 an instant through the ragged edges of clouds, 
 and showed the waves dashing their white crests 
 against the raised pathway, and occasionally sweep- 
 ing over it. The body of water had become nearly 
 level with it. In the quivering of the water, 
 dancing in the moonbeams, she could not see 
 whether the farther part, of the sea-wall was sub- 
 merged or not. She cried out again, ' Martha ! 
 Martha !' but the sound of her voice was carried 
 away by the rushing wind.
 
 38 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ' I know 'tis nonsense to call,' said she, talking 
 to herself. ' I should see her, poor dear, if she 
 was acoming. O, please the Lord, she may have 
 stayed at Mrs. Bohtho's !' said the unhappy mother 
 as tears ran down her withered cheeks. 
 
 She went inside the house, and relighting the 
 candle, sat down for a few moments, thinking what 
 was to be done, feeling the longing for some one 
 to speak to, which is experienced sometimes by the 
 strongest-minded amongst us in seasons of anxiety. 
 But her house was nearest the sea, and at some 
 considerable distance from any other. Moreover 
 the quiet inhabitants were all probably in bed and 
 asleep, and would feel little sympathy with an old 
 woman's fancy, as they would call it. 
 
 She sat upright by the open window, with 
 every nerve of hearing and seeing strung to an 
 unnatural tension, to catch the distant lights which 
 glimmered fleetingly on the moving waters, or the 
 sounds which swept wailingly over their troubled 
 surface. There were moonbeams now, bright 
 enough to show the figm^e of Llartha, should she 
 be returning over the causeway; but, alas, that 
 wavering light now revealed a line almost smooth, 
 where the waters rushed over the sea-wall, and 
 fell with deeper roar into the lake below. Had
 
 SEADRIFT. 39 
 
 slie attempted it, slie must have been swept away. 
 How those ragged-edged clouds hurried over the 
 moon's disk, as if on a chase of life and death ! It 
 seemed to her brain, grown dizzy with watching, 
 that the moon itself was careering through the sky 
 Avith frightful rapidity. 
 
 ' Hark I what was that V she asked herself 
 aloud ; and then started at the somid of her own 
 voice. 
 
 Li a brief lull of the circling tempest the dull 
 boom of a minute-gun came across the tumbling 
 waters. She knew the sound. Some large vessel 
 was in danger on this treacherous coast ; some bark 
 sufficiently important to have guns to fire, which 
 poor Captain Clemens had not. 
 
 ^ There,' said she in a tone of inward triumph, 
 ^ I told Martha that I saw a ship ;' and then she 
 wept, thinking that perhaps Martha would never 
 again hear minute-guns nor human voices. She 
 waited, and heard it again. ^Poor souls, poor 
 souls !' she said, ' what a fearful strait they must 
 be in, to think any one could go out to them such 
 a night as this ! Struck on the Gull Rock, I 
 should not wonder;' and with quick sympathy, 
 bom of past experience, the tender-hearted widow 
 thought so much of the terrible struggle for life
 
 40 SEADRIFT. 
 
 and terror of death going on in the devoted vessel, 
 that for the instant her own anxiety was lessened. 
 
 She had now, she imagined, a legitimate reason 
 for awakening her neighbours — at least those 
 within her reach. She tied a handkerchief over 
 her head, and crossing her shawl, fastened it in a 
 knot behind her, lest the ends being caught by 
 the wind should hinder her progress. She looked 
 out, and drew back for a moment, scared by the 
 darkness. The village had been built on the slope 
 of the hills, as I have said before, w^itli gardens 
 stretching; down towards the lake. There were 
 paths, of course, between these gardens and the 
 banks of the lake ; but such roads as Seadrift could 
 boast were outside the buildings on the declivity 
 of the hills. 
 
 The desire to have some one to speak to 
 strongly urged her onwards. 
 
 ^ And Mrs. Mereside always speaks civil,' said 
 the poor woman. ' Perhaps the wind won't be so 
 strong when I get into the road.' 
 
 So she trusted her feeble steps to the force of 
 the storm. Sometimes blown forward, sometimes 
 on one side, she staggered along, at first clinging 
 to the garden-wall, till she came into the road. 
 She could not walk fast. With hands outstretched.
 
 SEADRIFT. 41 
 
 and feet put forward tentatively, she felt her way 
 in the darkness. 
 
 ^I shall know when I get to the gate/ she 
 said. ^ I shall feel with my feet where the ruts of 
 his gig- wheels turn in.' 
 
 In her difficulties of progress, she was less 
 occupied by her anxiety for Martha, feeling that 
 in some mysterious manner the Meresides would 
 aid her to recover her daughter. She had leaned 
 all her life on others : first on her husband, and 
 then on Martha ; and now she was about to carry 
 her griefs to strangers, that they might lighten her 
 burden by lifting it even with a finger. 
 
 She felt the sudden turn of the gig-wheels at 
 last, and found her way triumphantly through the 
 small sweep before the front-door, and up to the 
 lintels of the door itself, where feeling for the 
 bell-handle and the knocker, she began to knock 
 and ring violently. 
 
 Dr. Mereside had had a long day's work^ 
 and slept soundly ; as did the boy, who, having 
 attended his master in his visits, bedded up the 
 horse, waited at table, at length retreated to enjoy 
 well-earned repose in the hay-loft. 
 
 Mrs. Mereside, awakened by the thundering 
 peal, raised herself on her elbow and listened ta
 
 42 SEADRIFT. 
 
 the onslaught on the front-door. Her first im- 
 pulse was to awaken her husband, but on con- 
 sulting her watch by the light of the rush candle 
 she found he had only had half an hour's repose ; 
 and involuntarily she drew the bed-clothes over 
 his sleeping head, lest the noise should be renewed, 
 and he should hear it. 
 
 ' Poor fellow !' she thought. ^ If they were 
 but paying patients, it might be worth w^hile. Of 
 course they are not.' 
 
 Then she drew the curtain softly round the 
 bed, and raising the window gently, she asked who 
 wanted Dr. Mereside. 
 
 ' O, sir ! — O, ma'am I' said the widow spas- 
 modically, as the wind caught her breath, ' 'tis 
 me, the widow Clemens. There's a vessel firing 
 minute-guns. I know all about seafaring things, 
 by reason of my dear husband that's in heaven, 
 if it please God. And O, ma'am' (for she saw 
 the fluttering of a lace nightcap in the light of the 
 rushlight inside the window), ^ there's my Martha ; 
 she's gone to !Mrs. Bolitho's and she's not come 
 back.' 
 
 'Is Mrs. Bolitho ill, then? said the lady with 
 sudden interest, possessed by the idea that Mrs. 
 Bolitho, who had hitherto misconducted herself by
 
 SEADRIFT. 43 
 
 being well and never requiring Dr. Meresicle's at- 
 tendance, now, under the pressure of some sudden 
 attack, had been terrified by the unexpected dan- 
 ger into calling in her husband's aid — ' is Mrs. 
 Bolitho ill; and has she sent you to fetch the 
 doctor whilst Martha stays to nurse her f 
 
 This question completely overset Mrs. Clemens's 
 train of thought, which had been going at rail- 
 road speed in another direction. 
 
 ' Not that I know of,' said the bewildered wo- 
 man, who began to think whether this might not 
 indeed be the solution of the enigma of Martha's 
 absence. 
 
 ' Not that you know of I' said the ireful lady. 
 ' Then what on earth do you mean by coming and 
 disturbing people at this time of night?' 
 
 ' The ship, mum, and Martha my daughter — 
 the guns — ' 
 
 Mrs. Mereside slammed down the window, 
 this time forgetful of her husband's repose, so 
 angry w^as she at having, as she thought, been 
 made a fool of, and a victim to false hopes. 
 
 And Mrs. Clemens was too timid to knock 
 again. ' O dear,' said she, ' what can I do !' 
 and wearied by her battle wdth the wind, she sat 
 down on the door-step and cried silently.
 
 44 SEADRIFT. 
 
 The sound of the minute-gun had ceased, she 
 fancied. She certainly did not hear it ; but she 
 had turned the angle of the garden-wall, which 
 might account for its not reaching her. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 * Hope, like a glimmering taper's light, 
 
 Adorns and cheers the way, 
 And still, as darker grows the night, 
 Emits a clearer ray.' 
 
 A BRIGHT hope dawned on her after a little 
 space. She was a woman of no inventive faculty, 
 and never could have suggested to herself the 
 probability of Martha's finding ^Iis. Bolitho sud- 
 denly ill, and remaining to be of use to her ; but 
 once mentioned by Mrs. Mereside, nothing could 
 seem more likely. Then it was true that the sea 
 flowed over the boundary-wall ; but ^iartha might 
 possibly have gone round the outsldrts of the vil- 
 lage. She began to think this might be the case. 
 Such a sensible girl as Martha would never have 
 attempted to cross, if she saw the sea so high. 
 Perhaps she was now at home. She might have 
 gone along the road after Mrs. Clemens tmiied 
 away from it to follow the track of the gig-
 
 SEADRIFT. 45 
 
 wheels. Even at that very minute she might be 
 stirring up the peat to warm her drenched limbs, 
 and reproaching her mother in her heart for being 
 absent. Once possessed by this idea, she turned 
 her pale face towards home, and breasted the 
 storm boldly, though it compelled her to stop 
 every two or three minutes to recover her breath, 
 caught, as it were, by involuntary sobs. When 
 nearer home, her heart bounded with fresh hope. 
 Surely there was a light in her mndow! ^She 
 has come back, sure enough !' said the mother, 
 with a feeling of rehef which made her old eyes 
 swim with happy tears. 
 
 As she drew nearer the cottage, she saw the 
 light no longer. This disquieted her. Then she 
 saw the illumination on the other windows, and 
 knew that it arose from the glitter of the moon- 
 liorht on the casements. 
 
 o 
 
 ^ No doubt she has taken off her wet clothes 
 and gone to bed,' Mrs. Clemens told herself 
 eagerly ; unwilling to abandon the expectation of 
 relief from anxiety. 
 
 ' She reached the little gate of the gardon. It 
 stood half open, just as she had left it. The blast 
 had been unable to stir the woodwork, which had 
 settled itself into a groove of soft earth.
 
 46 SE ADRIFT. 
 
 ^Tliat means nothing,' said she. SShe is so 
 slight, she would go through without touching as 
 it stands now.' 
 
 Alas, when she opened the door, everything 
 spoke unmistakably of loneliness. Still she did 
 not quite despair ; but, too impatient to wait till 
 she had struck a light, she groped her way up- 
 stairs to Martha's room, and stood at the door, 
 which was half-open, quivering with superstitious 
 terror, which mingled with tender anxiety. 
 
 ' Martha, Martha !' she cried in a hoarse whis- 
 per, and then louder, with a wail, ^ Martha !' 
 
 Then she went in with tremulous steps, and 
 passed her shaking hands over the cold pillow and 
 the tenantless sheets. 
 
 ^ O, she is gone ! washed away in the sea ! O, 
 miserable mother ! She is lost in that cruel ocean, 
 like the others. What is my life, that I should 
 hope? What is mine end, that I should prolong 
 my life f 
 
 She sat down in the uncertain glimmer of the 
 moonlight, and listened to the storm of rain which 
 beat against the casement, whilst the mnd rat- 
 tled it impatiently against its fastenings. She 
 opened it, and peered into the night, regardless 
 of the stream of water which poured off the slates
 
 SEADRIFT. 47 
 
 on to lier head. The roaring of the sea seemed 
 louder and nearer, and she began to thmk that 
 the sea pouring into the lake would so increase 
 the volume of its waters as to endanger the lives 
 of some of the cottagers whose houses were nearest 
 to it. She speculated as to Avhether the end of 
 the AYorld was come, ^and the fountains of the 
 great deep broken up ;' but she had always been 
 told that destruction by fire was to be the next 
 of its changes. 
 
 ' If it please the Lord to do as he generally 
 does/ said she, ^the tide ought to have turned 
 afore now — not that I know the time for certain, 
 for the wind has carried the sound of the chapel 
 clock the other way.' 
 
 She must look her trouble steadily in the face. 
 She tried to speculate calmly on Martha's fate. 
 She might have asked permission to pass the rest 
 of the night at Mrs. Bolitho's. Mrs. Bolitho 
 might be ill, and have asked her to stay ; and ^ii-s. 
 Clemens felt inclined to bless Mrs. Mereside for 
 the suggestion. INIartlia might have preferred 
 crouching in one of the recesses of the cliff to the 
 risk of returning ; or she might have attempted it, 
 and been washed away. She fancied that she 
 might not have taken the alarm soon enough, and
 
 48 SEADRIFT. 
 
 been caught by the tide in the centre of the cause- 
 way before she could escape at its extremity. The 
 sea-wall was long, and her progress, from the vio- 
 lence of the wind, must have been slow. Perhaps, 
 in the beating rain and dashing spray of the 
 advancing billows, Martha had miscalculated her 
 distance, and had turned back when to return 
 presented the greatest phase of danger. 
 
 There is a degree of suffering which gives no 
 external sign of its intensity. At length Mi's. 
 Clemens was outwardly calm. So many tears had 
 flowed from those withered eyelids that they had 
 no more to shed. She sat looking out, with eyes 
 fixed on the roaring, tumbling water. What 
 images of death it presented to her mind ! She 
 gasped as she thought of the dear heads already 
 suffocated in those cruel billows. Her husband 
 and her sons had encountered death on the deep, 
 but now the remorseless ocean had left its boun- 
 daries to swallow up her last remaining hope. 
 
 ^ Whatever it is, it is God's will, and must be 
 borne,' was the cry of the aged woman, with pa- 
 tience born of anguish. 
 
 She sat gazing out into the night, with her 
 gray hair blowing over her white face, with eyes 
 that ached to penetrate into the solid dai'kness,
 
 SEADRIFT. 49 
 
 and ears stunned by the incessant roar of the 
 sea. 
 
 But time and the hour run through the rough- 
 est night as well as the roughest day. The leaden 
 firmament became lightened in the east by a yel- 
 low haze, which struggled to assert itself against 
 the inky vapours which hung like a pall over sea 
 and sky. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens gazed at the spot where the 
 path used to be, watching the receding tide, 
 which with every returning wave carried back 
 to the ocean masses of the solid masonry of 
 which the sea-wall had been constructed. The 
 greatest portion, however, remained standing, with 
 apertures through which the tide rushed impetu- 
 ously from the lake, which it had joined, forming 
 deep and treacherous channels in the receding 
 sands. 
 
 She went out, hoping to perceive objects more 
 distinctly as she drew nearer the scene of destruc- 
 tion. She moved cautiously on to the end of the 
 causeway, wdiere it joined the road which led to 
 the back of the village, which sloped do\\^i towards 
 the sea-wall. She stepped timidly, fancying, as the 
 waves roared round the blocks of solid masonry, 
 that they were tremulous under her slight weight, 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 SEADRIFT. 
 
 and she moved as quietly as slie could, not to 
 destroy their balance ; but on reaching the end of 
 the crumbling masses she stopped, not venturing 
 to stem the current of the retreating water, which 
 was too broad to step over. She returned to the 
 spot which seemed least dilapidated, that she might 
 see if Martha were coming. As she repeated the 
 words expressive of an act of such insignificance 
 in ordinary life, yet now fraught with such un- 
 speakable doubt and anguish, it seemed presump- 
 tion in her, after a night of such despair, to use 
 the words ^ Martha coming.' 
 
 Her vision swept over the alternate land and 
 water of the beach ; her aged eyes overflowed 
 from the brine blown into them. She saw no 
 sign of Martha trying to make her way over the 
 disjointed masonry towards her mother. There 
 was nothing but the dull morning sky and the 
 dashing waves so far as her sight could reach, and 
 no sound except the sullen roar of the retreating 
 tide. The channels were decreasing in br.eadth, 
 and the land within the boundary was freeing 
 itself of the water. She was gazing hopelessly at 
 the remote end of the bay, where stood Mrs. Bo- 
 litho's house, when she saw, or thought she saw, 
 a dark spot on the water, borne sometimes help-
 
 SE ADRIFT. 51 
 
 lessly on the top of the billows, sometimes engulfed 
 in their depths. 
 
 * 'Tis a body,' said the old woman in a voice 
 of awe. ' Some poor shipwrecked creature whose 
 strength failed when he neared the shore, and now 
 the waves are tossing him about like a lump of 
 sea-weed rolled over and over. O, may it please 
 the Lord that he don't feel that he is being carried 
 away back again to the ocean, after all his strug- 
 gles to reach land, where he would have Christian 
 burial, poor fellow !' 
 
 Some spectator besides herself was on the 
 scene, and seemed willing to sacrifice life to rescue 
 the dying man, or to bring the lifeless body to 
 the shore. 
 
 For down on the beach, in a line with that 
 black spot on the ocean, Mrs. Clemens perceived a 
 figure di'agging itself through the water towards 
 the inert mass. A piece of drapery was flying 
 back from the shoulders. It was a woman, then. 
 Yes, it must be a w^oman ; but not Martha — no, 
 surely not Martha. And though five minutes 
 before she felt that her happiness depended on 
 seeing Martha alive, it seemed now that, if it 
 were Martha, she was called on to witness her 
 voluntary destruction. 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 SEADRIFT. 
 
 For the advancing figure was staggering against 
 the rush of the water, striving to retain her foot- 
 ing, while the retreating waves carried the sHp- 
 pery pebbles from underneath her helpless feet, 
 struggling on seemingly to meet her death. 
 
 'She cannot stand before those vrild waters, 
 whoever she is,' said Mrs. Clemens. ' It cannot 
 be Martha ; Martha would never be so mad. O 
 Lord, help and save my child!' she said, terror 
 aiding her conviction of the truth. 'How ca?i 
 she,' the poor mother cried piteously, ' when she 
 knows she is all the cruel sea has left me ? and 
 now to go on like that, as if her life was nothing, 
 when 'tis all I've got.' 
 
 She was silent now, watching breathlessly what 
 was to happen next. As the long line of billows 
 rolled up to dash on the shore, she at intervals 
 lost sight of the objects of her attention, blinded 
 by the tossed -up foam which intervened. The 
 last time she saw the woman, she had clutched 
 the dark object, and had seemingly turned towards 
 the shore ; then the coming wave lifted her from 
 her feet, she was caught and tossed over with her 
 burden, and the waves passed over them. Then 
 the billows came rolling and broke on the beach, 
 and the mother saw nothing for a few instants; for
 
 SEADRIFT. 53 
 
 its volume so shook the battered fragments of the 
 causeway, that she was compelled to stoop and 
 cling to the loosening stones. 
 
 She sat down for a few moments, giddy and 
 stupefied. When the retreating wave allowed her 
 to see the expanse of the bay, there was no sign of 
 Martha, nor of the body she had tried to save. 
 
 * They are gone !' she said, wiping the brine 
 from her eyes. ^ I can't see them anywhere. Per- 
 haps 'twas not my Martha, after all. O, if it 
 please God that she is safe, I shall never be 
 wretched again.' 
 
 She felt her uncertain way over the tottering 
 embankment, and had advanced by slow steps a 
 considerable distance towards Mrs. Bolitho's house, 
 when she fancied she heard her name pronounced 
 anxiously. 
 
 ^Mother!' 
 
 The voice was that of Martha ; but Mrs. Cle- 
 mens saw nothing, and for an instant believed 
 that her child called her from the dead. 
 
 ^Mother! help!' was the cry repeated; and 
 she became cold with a thrill of horror, believing 
 that Martha had called on her in the agonies of 
 death, and that her spirit was renewing vainly the 
 appeal for her aid.
 
 54 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^O, Martha! where are you?' wailed out the 
 poor woman ; when a dripping figure climbed up 
 the side of the broken causeway from the margin 
 of the lake, and pressing the brine from out her 
 curling hair, which blinded her eyes, she stood 
 upright on the causeway, and received in her arms 
 the drooping figure of her mother. 
 
 Martha was not given to demonstrations of 
 affection, but her voice trembled for a moment 
 as she clasped her parent to her breast. When 
 words came distinctly, however, they were abrupt 
 and untender. ' Wliat a fool you are, mother, to 
 come out such a morning as this, soaked with rain ! 
 You will give yourself such an attack of rheuma- 
 tism !' 
 
 ^ O, Martha ! my child ! my dear, dear child ! 
 I've got you safe at last;' and the feeble arms 
 again clasped the slender form of the younger wo- 
 man. ' Why did you venture in ? Your clothes 
 are dripping with salt water! Where did you 
 sleep? — where? O, Martha! how could you be 
 so venturesome ?' 
 
 ^Mother, you must not talk; you must help 
 me. There is a man down there,' — pointing to 
 the strip of land between the wall and the lake — 
 ^dead, or nearly so. I dragged him in through
 
 SEADRIFT. 55 
 
 the waves. Come and help me to get him up 
 out of the water.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens obeyed the injunctions of the 
 stronger spirit, and followed her daughter over 
 the broken masonry to the place where she had 
 left the drowned man. Her heart had been light- 
 ened of a load so heavy, in seeing Martha alive 
 and helpful as usual, that she cared not now 
 whether or no she slipped over the loosened stones. 
 They obtained a little shelter from the piercing 
 wind by keeping within the remains of the sea- 
 wall; but they trod knee-deep in moving water, 
 which made their footsteps unsteady. It was de- 
 creasing, however, with the reflux of the tide, and 
 would probably in half an hour leave the ground 
 comparatively dry. 
 
 Martha had contrived to prop up the inanimate 
 form against the stonework of the wall which re- 
 mained ; but when she had left him to join her 
 mother he had slipped down again, and by the 
 time the women reached him, the waters of the 
 lake had flowed over his chin, and occasionally 
 over his mouth and nose. 
 
 ^O, Martha! what can we dof cried Mrs. 
 Clemens helplessly. 
 
 ' Help me to drag him back again through this
 
 5Q SEADRIFT. 
 
 liole in the wall. If we can get him up on the 
 high sand of the beach now the waves have gone 
 back, some one may see us, and bring a cart to 
 move him.' 
 
 The two women took him by the shoulders, 
 and dragged him through the channel made by 
 the retreating water, up on the highest part of the 
 beach. 
 
 ^ Now,' said the young woman, ^ give me your 
 keys, and I will go back for a blanket and some 
 brandy.' 
 
 ^O, Martha dear, not one of the best ones, 
 with the worsted worked like a cob-web in the 
 corner, or like a rising sun ; get one off my bed, 
 those are the commonest. Here's the key of the 
 cupboard,' she added with a heavy sigh; 4ake 
 some yourself, Martha.' 
 
 She did not grudge the insensible man the 
 means of returning consciousness; but brandy was 
 difficult to obtain, and the little she had had been 
 in the house since her husband's death, nor could 
 they afford to purchase any more. 
 
 The youth was clothed only in a pair of white 
 trousers and a shirt, which clung to his cold frame. 
 As Martha was about to depart, she turned sud- 
 denly, and stooping down, she drew a sparkHng
 
 SEADRIFT. ( 
 
 ring from his cold blue unresisting hand, and took 
 a gold cross from his neck. These she placed In 
 her pocket, and putting her finger on her lips In 
 token of silence, whilst her mother gazed on her 
 with astonishment, she was gone in a moment, 
 leaving Mrs. Clemens chafing the hands of the 
 unfortunate youth, to tr}- to restore vital warmth. 
 Little could be done, she knew, till he could be 
 stripped of his clinging garments. She sat with 
 his head on her knees, and wiped his hair with 
 her handkerchief, and untying the knot In her 
 shawl, she spread it over his chest. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ' On ruffled vfmg the screaming sea-birds sweep 
 The unlovely surge, and piteous seem to tell 
 How from the low-hung clouds with fury fell 
 The demons of the tempest.' Mrs, Tighe. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens looked up and down the beach, 
 spreading away for miles in dreary subhmity, left 
 vacant by the retreating tide. On the sea, rising 
 and sinking on the still unquiet waves, were dark 
 irregular masses, nearing the shore and then re- 
 treating again. In the gray morning light, groups 
 of men were watching these disjecta membra of the
 
 5S 8EADRIFT. 
 
 broken vessel, and rushing madly into the waves 
 to fling coils of rope round them and bring them 
 to land. The fishermen, though pious and chapel- 
 going men, firmly believed that, when a vessel 
 went to pieces on the neighbouring rocks, it was 
 intended by heaven that the inhabitants of Sea- 
 drift should benefit by it, especially if the waif 
 came in the shape of pieces of timber studded with 
 nails, making a duplication of materials much 
 needed for the repair of their own boats. These 
 men two generations before would have lighted 
 false beacon-fires to lure the deceived mariners to 
 the dangerous coast ; but purer morals had effaced 
 the disposition to crime, though it could not oblite- 
 rate the desire of good luck, as they called their 
 pilfering, nor the effort to obtain waifs and strays 
 cast up at their feet by the ocean. LIrs. Clemens 
 watched these rude-looking figures, their hair and 
 garments blown about by the wind, as they strug- 
 gled in the retreating waves, dragging up what 
 might be human bodies or fragments of ^^Teck, 
 with mingled hope and terror. Their hoarse cries 
 and eager gestures made her fearful ; but she could 
 not but feel that their aid would be very desirable 
 to carry the drowned man to some shelter. 
 
 ^I don't know half of them,' she said to herself;
 
 SEADRIFT. 59 
 
 ' I don't quite like the looks of them.' However^ 
 they did not notice her in any way ; as a fresh 
 group ran past her towards the water, she tried 
 the power of her feeble voice to arrest their pro- 
 gress. ' Good sirs, good gentlemen !' cried the 
 widow with a quavering voice. 
 
 ^There's something coming in, and Bill will 
 get it first,' said one to the other, not heeding Mrs. 
 Clemens. 
 
 ' Kind gentlemen ! just lend a hand to help me 
 lift this poor young man ; two of you might carry 
 him; I'll give you a shilling,' — the men were 
 nearly out of hearing — ' eighteenpence. Ah, 
 dear, they're gone ; they don't mind a poor woman 
 hke me. What can I do ? There now ! I could 
 feel his pulse a little time back, and now it don't 
 seem to throb a bit. Dear heart ! just the age of 
 Luke if he had been alive, poor fellow, but no- 
 thing so good to look at,' said the mother with lin- 
 gering maternal pride, thinking of the light curling 
 hair and freckled skin of her lost boy. ^ Perhaps 
 some mother now is fretting about this one, and 
 listening to the roaring wind, and praying to the 
 Almighty to stop it, and crying on her pillow at 
 night.' This idea made Mrs. Clemens renew the 
 friction with her weary hand.
 
 •60 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^ Dear heart ! to think that my Martha might 
 liave been knocked to pieces against these stones 
 last night, if the Lord had not had her in his holy 
 keeping ; and she has hazarded herself to save this 
 poor fellow ! I daresay she thought of her father 
 or her brothers, and no one to help them.' Then 
 with sudden anger, ^ That girl seems as if she was 
 never coming back,' she cried, feeling cramped, 
 cold, and impatient with the dead load on her 
 knees. ^ I daresay she has hampered the lock of 
 the cupboard ; more haste worse speed. Here she 
 is at last, riding in a cart; such a sensible gir} 
 she is!' 
 
 It was a butcher's cart, which Martha had 
 persuaded the owner to cbive down to the beach 
 before he began his morning's round, to fetch the 
 shipwrecked man. 
 
 ^I only do it to oblige you, ma'am,' he said; 
 ' meat is a wholesome thing, and I shall have to 
 scrub my cart afore I use it for my joints, after 
 its being lumbered up with dead corpses — for- 
 eigners too, very like.' 
 
 ' But perhaps you may save his hfe if you 
 make haste, and then he won't be a corpse, you 
 know ; at any event I shall give you a shilling for 
 your trouble.'
 
 SE ADRIFT. 61 
 
 When they reached the spot where Mrs. Cle~ 
 mens was seated, the hutclier hfted the youth and 
 laid him in the cart, with his pale face on Martha's 
 knees. They proceeded slowly thus towards the 
 widow's cottage, she following the cart. The cart 
 outstripped her, and she was obliged to stop to 
 recover her breath, when she saw Dr. Mereside, 
 looking, as she said, like Death on the pale horse 
 in the Eevelations. He was skeleton-like in form 
 and face, and the horse he rode was white. He 
 had heard of the wreck when he awoke in the 
 morning, though his wife had said nothing of the 
 nocturnal visit of the widow, and had ridden down 
 to the scene of the disaster on the possible chance 
 of being of use; for the doctor was fond of his 
 profession, and had rather work gratis than not at 
 all. During the three years that the warmer at- 
 mosphere of the west country had permitted him 
 to breathe more freely, he had not had an oppoi - 
 tunity of recalling the latent life to a drowned 
 body. 
 
 As he neared the beach, his position enabled 
 hiipL to observe the troubled looks of the young 
 woman, to whom the fresh air had given a tint 
 which made her almost pretty, as her face bent 
 down over the pallid countenance of the dead
 
 62 SEADRIFT. 
 
 youth whose head rested on her knees. ' I have 
 seen a picture abroad very Hke that,' he thought, 
 ^ in the church of Santa Croce ;' but he only said, 
 touching his hat, 
 
 ^ Drowned, Miss Clemens ? Suspended anima- 
 tion only, we will hope. Where are you taking 
 him? to your own house? Well, I'll come and 
 see if I can be of any use.' 
 
 'Thank you, sir,' said Martha. 'It will be a 
 labour of love, she added pointedly. 
 
 ' Certainly, Miss Clemens — only a friendly 
 visit. — Poor as rats,' he added to himself. ' Never 
 mind; I may save life. — I'll gallop back to the 
 surgery, and get a few things I may want ; and 
 I'll bring my apprentice, for he will require more 
 attendance than you and Mrs. Clemens can give 
 him. I shall be lucky if I get him ahve again ; I 
 never have succeeded yet. These broken seas do 
 their work effectually. They defy the boldest and 
 most skilful swimmer; and when fragments of 
 wreck are floating round him, and rising on the 
 crests of the waves, he has the chance of a broken 
 limb from the collision, or is dashed to pieces 
 against the sharp angles of rocks.'
 
 SEADRIFT. C3 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 • Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung 
 Around his scarce-clad limbs.' Byron. 
 
 The body of the insensible youth was taken 
 to Hhe best room' in Mrs. Clemens's house, and 
 Dr. Mereside and his assistant were soon occu- 
 pied in trying to restore circulation to his flaccid 
 limbs. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens sat downstairs listening to catch 
 some indications of how matters were going above. 
 They had lit a fire of her best coals, and had 
 called for flannels, which had puzzled both women. 
 Martha looked provoked; but while Mrs. Cle- 
 mens seemed scared, Martha went to her box, and 
 taking the only clean flannel petticoat she had, 
 she cut a snip in the hem, and tore it in two 
 pieces. Then quick as lightning she cut off the 
 band; and running upstairs, gave it in at the 
 door, where Dr. Mereside waited to receive it. 
 She returned to the sitting-room with the band 
 she had cut off still hanging over her arm. 
 
 ' O, Martha, what have you done ? That 
 nice new petticoat ! I gave twenty pence a yard 
 for it, if I gave a penny. My dear, there was a
 
 64 SEADRIFT. 
 
 bit of old fliinnel in the cupboard would have 
 done every bit as well.' 
 
 ^No, mother, it would not have done. And 
 you would not have grudged anythmg to me 
 when you thought I was lost last night ; so don't 
 upbraid me now, and make my life wretched.' 
 
 ^I don't want to make your life ^vretched, 
 only I can't bear that you should be cold in the 
 winter; and it seems such a waste to tear up a 
 flannel petticoat nearly new.' 
 
 Martha said no more. She was not given to 
 talking, which is better than ha\dng a voice even 
 gentle and soft, that excellent thing in woman. 
 
 Presently Mr. Chalk the assistant put his head 
 into the room. 
 
 ' The young man is recovering, ladies. He is 
 in convulsions, which is only the result of irregu- 
 lar circulation. We expect to get him quite round 
 in the course of half-an-hour. In the mean time, 
 can you give me some mustard?' 
 
 The widow produced a little. 
 
 ^ No more ? Then I must run to the shop.' 
 
 And away he went, riding his master's horse 
 for greater speed. 
 
 After the mustard had done its work, Mi\ 
 Chalk appeared again, with a smile on his face.
 
 SEADRIFT. 65 
 
 * Ladies, will you excuse my mentioning it ? — 
 I really don't know how to frame the question; 
 but — have you — have you — ladies, any garment 
 that this poor young man can be dressed in ? for 
 to lie naked, without something in the shape of, 
 or to answer the purpose of a shirt, is not fit for 
 a Christian.' 
 
 !Mrs. Clemens flushed, and hemmed. She had 
 the best clothes of her deceased husband and sons, 
 but she had always considered their being worn 
 in the hght of a desecration. However, there 
 seemed no option ; and without another word, she 
 went to her chest, and taking out the necessary 
 garments, delivered them to Mr. Chalk. 
 
 ' Only the shirt at present, ma'am. It will 
 be some time before he can get up. Fever and 
 delirium will supervene, no doubt. I must go 
 back now at once ; Mrs. Craig's baby wants car- 
 minative.' 
 
 And he hurried off. 
 
 Dr. Mereside came down deliberately in a 
 short time after. His eyes, large, well-set, and 
 lustrous, seemed to assort with the pink spot in 
 his left cheek, and gave prescience of his future 
 fate. Now the eyes were more than ordinarily 
 bright, and the pink spot more than usually vivid. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 6Q SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^ I have saved him — I have saved him !' he 
 cried, with pardonable triumph. 
 
 ' Bj God's help/ said the widow in a low voice. 
 
 ^ Yes ; by God's help, ma'am, as you say. I 
 hope he will live now. You scarcely expected 
 such a lodger for your spare room, though you 
 have often talked of getting one.' 
 
 ^ N-o, sir,' replied the widow ; ' and, you see, 
 I am afraid I shall not get any money from this 
 poor fellow. Not but that his shirt seemed to me 
 pretty good — not like a poor person's shirt.' 
 
 And the widow thought of the sparkling ring 
 Martha had pocketed, and of the locket ; but she 
 said nothing about them. 
 
 ' We shall hear when he comes to his senses, 
 Mrs. Clemens, where he belongs, and if he can 
 remunerate you sufficiently for your trouble. In 
 the mean time, people loosen their purse-strings 
 on these occasions ; and in my rounds this morning 
 1 will not forget this burden on your hospitality.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens thanked him, without having 
 the least suspicion of the meaning of his words. 
 She had some hazy idea that the doctor was go- 
 ing to find out who the poor youth belonged to, 
 and would do what he could to bear her harmless 
 of expense.
 
 SEADRIFT. 67 
 
 ^ Really 'twas too bad to give up that flannel 
 petticoat of Martha's. He ought to pay for a new 
 one — that is, if he has the money.' 
 
 ' You will sit by his side till I come back, Mrs. 
 Clemens. I mil look in again this evening.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens sat by the side of the half- 
 drowned youth, waiting till he should awake from 
 the heavy sleep into which he had fallen after his 
 recovery from semi-death. She was proud of her 
 occupation, which gave her a little temporary 
 importance, and a slight preeminence over her 
 daughter. 
 
 Of course Dr. Mereside knew what he w^as 
 about when he had desired her to sit by his bed- 
 side. He wanted a person of experience. Martha 
 was a very clever girl, no doubt, but she could 
 not know everything, as ]\Irs. Clemens did from 
 the vicissitudes of her long life. She sat with her 
 hands folded over her clean white apron, looldng 
 alternately at the wan face sunk in languid re- 
 pose after its weary buffetings with the deadly 
 waters, and at the little saucepan of beef-tea, of 
 which her patient was to partake when his sleep 
 should have ended. 
 
 She looked, as I have said, on the pale ftice, 
 so pinched and worn. His hair seemed inclined
 
 68 SEADRIFT. 
 
 to wave over his head, now that it was getting 
 dry. She longed to draw a comb through it, but 
 dared not disobey Dr. Mereside's injunction to let 
 him keep perfectly still. Young men in those 
 days plastered their hair from one side over to 
 the other, and Mrs. Clemens thought that was 
 the way to look ^ genteel.' This young man's 
 hair seemed as if it would rebel from the pre- 
 scribed fashion. 
 
 ' I daresay now,' said the widow, ' that he has 
 a mother. She may think him good-looking ;' and 
 she said this with a feeling of superior pity, think- 
 ing how very different the clear olive skin, large 
 orbited eyes, fine nose, clean-cut nostril, and small 
 mouth and short upper lip, shrouded by a nascent 
 moustache, had been to the blob nose, small blue 
 eyes, large jaw, and thick lips of her deceased 
 darlings. Pity, however, softened her heart to the 
 sleeper, and she said, ' Poor fellow ! if his eyes 
 were a deal smaller, and his mouth a deal lai'ger, 
 he would not be so bad to look at. To be sure, 
 he can't help his dark skin and hair; 'tis not 
 every one can be born an Englishman.' 
 
 She thought that somehow she never was to 
 have anything nice. She had always expected 
 that a gentleman would come to lodge in her
 
 SEADRIFT. 69 
 
 bedroom — some one very well-to-do, who would 
 fall in love with Martha, and give both her 
 daughter and herself a comfortable mainten- 
 ance for the rest of their lives. Now this black- 
 looking — no, not black — this olive-coloured young 
 man had come — a nasty foreigner, without a 
 penny in his pocket, and without a pocket to put 
 a penny in. She was forced, as it were, to let 
 him have her own boys' shirts, because he had not 
 got one to his back. This put her in mind that 
 the one taken off would want a good soaking to 
 get the salt water out of it, and that it was of 
 a finer texture than that which she had taken 
 from her sons' drawer. Her memory then re- 
 called the sparkling ring, and she thought she 
 would call Martha up, and ask to see it. 
 
 ' She could sell it, I suppose, if it's worth 
 anything ; but my husband used to say them for- 
 eigners are always dressed up with smart jewels 
 all sham.' 
 
 In the mean time Dr. Mereside should find 
 that he had left an experienced nurse by the side 
 of the half-drowned man — a nurse who knew 
 what she w^as after, and was equal to every emer- 
 gency. These pleasant little exaltations of vanity 
 came suddenly to an untimely close.
 
 70 SEADRIFT. 
 
 There had been a red flush coining over the 
 patient's skin, like that wonderful glow of light 
 thrown on the opposite landscape by the ball of 
 the sun near its setting, when unobscured by 
 clouds, and which no painter but Danby ever 
 succeeded in rendering. Simultaneously came 
 restlessness and moaning. He tossed his arms 
 about, opened and fixed his black eyes on ^Irs. 
 Clemens in a most terrifying manner, she de- 
 clared, so that she had said most meekly to him, 
 ^ Sir, will you be pleased to take some beef-tea V 
 No sooner had the warm fluid touched his lips 
 than he dashed it over, to the injury of the clean 
 sheets and the fracture of the basin, which rolled 
 on the floor. More than this : he began to utter 
 sounds that conveyed no ideas to ^Irs. Clemens's 
 intellect. He might have become insane or idiotic 
 from the perils he had undergone, or he might 
 be speaking in a foreign language. Let the cause 
 be what it might, the widow was scared into a 
 demand for her daughter's presence. 
 
 ' Lie still !' she said in a tone as if she had 
 said ^Lie down!' to a dog, and with as much 
 command as lips so unused to authority could 
 muster. 
 
 Stepping to the head of the stairs she called :
 
 SEADRIFT. • 71 
 
 'Martha! Martha! O, Martha, come up; the 
 young man is gone crazy, for he has spilt the 
 nice beef-tea I made for him !' 
 
 Martha, with a vivid remembrance of her 
 mother's beef-tea, and indeed of all beef-tea made 
 for an invalid, without pepper, salt, vegetables, 
 or an}i:hing agreeable to the palate, and which, 
 as a rule, contains about as much nutriment as 
 the same amount of toast-and-water, probably did 
 not consider it quite a proof of insanity that the 
 invalid refused it. 
 
 'Must I come, mother?' she said peevishly. 
 ' I shall never finish these shirts, if I am called off 
 thus.' 
 
 'Dear, dear! aren't those weary shirts done 
 with yet r 
 
 ' No. They were too large in the collars and 
 wristbands. Mrs. Bolitho says they must all be 
 taken off, re-made, and put on again.' 
 
 ' But sui^ely you made them on the right mea- 
 sure?' 
 
 ' Yes ; the right measure was the wrong mea- 
 sure, it seems.' 
 
 ' Won't Mrs. Bolitho pay you ? Why, I heard 
 her tell you they were all cut-out when she brought 
 them, so it could not be your fault.'
 
 72 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^Are you so young, mother, as not to know 
 that the weak always go to the wall, and the poor 
 are always in the wrong? Mrs. Bolitho says I 
 might have measured by the pattern-shirt.' 
 
 ' Will she not pay you something over for all 
 the fresh work V 
 
 ^I only know that I shall not get my one 
 pound four shillings till they are done. 'Tis use- 
 less to talk. "In all labour there is profit; but 
 the talk of the lips tendeth only to poverty," as 
 Solomon says.' 
 
 ^ Poor dear ! Did you bring the bundle back 
 all the way through the storm V 
 
 ' No ; I hid it under some stones when I went 
 in after the man. I've just brought it in. You 
 didn't think Mrs. Bolitho would send her servant 
 with it, did jouV 
 
 ' Where did you stay till morning f 
 
 ^Mrs. Bolitho's cook let me sit in the kitchen 
 till daybreak.' 
 
 ^ Hark ! there he is again. O, Martha, come 
 up ; he is going on so. He only says some word 
 like "awkward," and I am sure 'twas he who was 
 awkward, and not me, about the beef-tea.' 
 
 Martha went up, and seeing the flushed face 
 and eager eyes, and hearing the reiterated sound
 
 SEADRIFT. 73 
 
 of ^ agua/ suggested that he wanted cold water, 
 which the patient drank eagerly, and then sank 
 back on his pillow with a feeling of relief. 
 
 Martha returned to her sewing downstairs, 
 leaving her mother in the undisputed authority of 
 nurse, but with less confidence. 
 
 * That girl cannot be matched for cleverness,' 
 was the reflection of that doating parent, as she 
 renewed her watch by the bedside of the stranger 
 youth. 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 * A more abstracted man within my view- 
 Has never come.' Crabbe. 
 
 Mrs. Mereside sat before the breakfast-table 
 awaiting the return of her husband. 
 
 'If Hubert got anything by his patients, I 
 should not grudge his having his meals spoilt,' 
 said the lady, as she arranged the tongs with its 
 feet on the bar of the gra.te, and its head on the 
 edge of a chair, and placed the plate of bacon 
 thereon with another plate over it. She had not 
 partaken of any herself. It was a delicacy kept 
 for Dr. Mereside, whose complaint made nutritive 
 food indispensable.
 
 74 SEADRIFT. 
 
 At length she heard the clatter of old Sultan's 
 hoofs as they clanged on the stone outside the 
 stable, and turned to the door to greet her hus- 
 band with a smile. 
 
 ^ Oj Nancy, I've saved him ! He's alive, and 
 likely to live.' 
 
 ' I'm glad you're pleased, Hubert ; but I know 
 nothing about liirriy you know — and do sit down 
 and have your tea and your bacon. You can eat 
 first and talk afterwards.' 
 
 Mrs. Mereside did not care much for non-pay- 
 ing patients. Their income was limited; and to 
 their domestic life she had brought a small an- 
 nuity, and he the results of his practice. This 
 had made them very comfortable till the doctor 
 had showed unmistakable signs of consumption, 
 and first had spent the winter abroad, and returned 
 amended. Then the baffled disease came back, re- 
 inforced with autumn winds and autumn fogs, and 
 the faculty — a doctor may always have as many 
 opinions as he likes gratis — told them both that 
 he had better settle permanently on the Cornish 
 coast, and pick up what practice the place afforded. 
 There were patients in plenty; but he scarcely 
 made thirty pounds a year by his profession, and 
 that was absorbed by payment for his drugs.
 
 SEADRIFT. 75 
 
 All the common- sense was on the part of his 
 wife. ^ A hare-brained sentimental trace' was on 
 him, and his bright glances were ever brighter 
 when he was stirred by any circumstance out of 
 the usual course of his eventless life. He told 
 his wife of the young fellow whom he had restored 
 to life. 
 
 ^ Were there no others to be saved V said the 
 lady. 
 
 ^No, not one; only two bodies besides were 
 washed in. They were both battered out of all 
 forms of humanity.' 
 
 ^ What is he? French?' 
 
 ^ Why French?' 
 
 ' Only that Joe told Sally that they thought 
 it was a French vessel that had gone to pieces.' 
 
 ^I believe it to have been Spanish/ said the 
 doctor, ^ from some letters I picked up on one of 
 the fragments. He is a good-looking young fel- 
 low, I should say — very southern in his aspect.' 
 
 ^ Just do for a husband for Martha Clemens. 
 That girl really deserves a good husband.' 
 
 " ' You are just like the rest of your sex ; always 
 thinking of marrying. Formerly, in the time of 
 our grandmothers, tales of true love were all the 
 fashion; now the thought of love has vanished,
 
 76 SEADRIFT. 
 
 and the chances of matrimony only are consi- 
 dered.' 
 
 ^Well, my dear, 'tis human nature — or wo- 
 man's nature — and my little proposition did no 
 harm. He is not a gentleman, I suppose V 
 
 ^That I cannot tell. His hands are small 
 and delicate, and evidently unaccustomed to rough 
 work ; but that reveals nothing. He might be a 
 tailor or a scrivener. However, something must 
 be done for him, whatever he may be. The Cle- 
 menses can't afford to keep him.' 
 
 ^ No ; they are as poor as rats, and very dis- 
 obliging.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! That is strange ; want of civiHty 
 is an unusual concomitant Avith poverty.' 
 
 ^ Yes ; I begged Martha Clemens to make me 
 a dress to wear at the Treleavens' party, and she 
 would not.' 
 
 ' That was very extraordinary. I suppose she 
 had some reason.' 
 
 ^ No, none of any consequence.' 
 
 ^Well, my dear, I shall have a long round 
 to-day ; but first I should like to send a short nar- 
 rative to the Plymouth Chronicle ;' and he seated 
 himself at his wife's little writing-table, and began 
 an account of the storm and its results.
 
 SEADRIFT. 7T 
 
 Love of approbation was strong in liim. He 
 yearned for tlie applause of his fellow-men for the 
 skill in the exercise of which he had been so suc- 
 cessful; but he sat with his large lustrous eyes 
 fixed on space, as he tried and rejected sentence 
 after sentence, and phrase after phrase. 
 
 ^ Don't consider so long, Hubert. A sentence 
 is like butter to be churned. The longer it is 
 in " coming," the worse is the flavour. That is 
 best which is soonest made. Short and sweet is 
 the way now. Dr. Johnson would never have 
 been tolerated with his long-winded sentences, had 
 he lived at the present day. No one would have 
 read anything he wrote excepting his Dictionary.' 
 
 ^ I can't manage it whilst you talk, Nancy ; so 
 just go away a little. I feel modest in writing 
 my own praises whilst you are looking at me.' 
 
 So Mrs. Mereside vanished, and told the maid- 
 servant not to go into the room to remove the 
 breakfast things, as master was busy — feeling that 
 an author, big with an article on hand, ought to 
 be shut up, like pussy about to increase the claim- 
 ants to the domestic hearth, till the labour was 
 over. 
 
 Dr. Mereside came home an hour after dark, 
 very tired and somewhat hungiy. His Nancy
 
 78 SEADRIFT. 
 
 heard the clatter of Sultan's hoofs, and knew that 
 her husband would see that much-enduring horse 
 well cleaned, feci, watered, and bedded down be- 
 fore he came to his food. 
 
 ' How are your patients ? Well, I suppose. I 
 generally know by your face.' 
 
 ' Yes ; all pretty well. The young Spaniard 
 IS feverish and delirious ; but he has had enough 
 to account for it all, and for even more distress of 
 body and mind. But I am pleased about some- 
 thing else, Nancy. I have called on Mrs. Bolitho.' 
 
 ^ You don't say so !' said the wife, crimsoned 
 by the knowledge of crimes unwhipt of justice. 
 ^I thought,' she continued angrily, 'you would 
 never have demeaned yourself by calHng there ; 
 but perhaps she is ill and sent for you ? She is 
 ill, then, after all V continued the wife, thinking 
 of the past night. 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' That woman never is ill,' in a tone of intense 
 disappointment. ' I am sure, I wonder that she is 
 not, with that short neck and apoplectic colour.' 
 
 ' You are not angry with her for her good 
 health V said the doctor, smihng. 
 
 'No; but if she w^ere a lady, she would be 
 more delicate.'
 
 SEADRIFT. 79 
 
 ^You do not see how you exalt the state of 
 the lower classes,' said her husband, 'hy giving 
 them an immunity from fanciful suiFering.' 
 
 ' I mean,' said the wife, growing angry, ^ that 
 you will never make your way in the world, nor 
 realise any income of your own.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not ; but what has that to do with 
 Mrs. Bolithof 
 
 Mrs. Mereside was silent ; for she saw an un- 
 pleasant flush in her husband's face. 
 
 ^ Nothing to do with Jier — only — I don't think 
 you will ever get on in your profession.' 
 
 ^I can afford to hear you say that,' retorted 
 the doctor, * when I brought that boy to life this 
 morning.' 
 
 ^ Yes ; but what will you ever get for it?' 
 
 ' I am paid already, by being so pleased.' 
 
 ' That is luck}^,' said the wife drily ; ^ seeing 
 'tis all you are likely to obtain as a recompense. 
 But you know what I mean,' continued she. 
 
 ' I declare I do not, my dear.' 
 
 ' Well, there is Mrs. Deal, the grocer's wife. 
 She called you in to attend ]Miss Deal ; and instead 
 of pills at night, draught in the morning, and four 
 pretty little phials of camphor-and-water to be 
 taken daily, you tell the woman to provide bees-
 
 80 SEADRIFT. 
 
 wax and oil in proper quantities, and set the girl 
 to rub the mahogany table for two hours every 
 morning as hard as she could. Of course the mo- 
 ther thought you did not understand the delicacy 
 of her daughter's constitution ; and the girl was 
 furious at your suggestion that she should work ; 
 so you lost the chance of making from ten to 
 fifteen pounds by that case. Besides, you suffer 
 the evil-speaking of the Deal family as to your in- 
 competence in medical skill.' 
 
 ' 'Tis very true,' said the doctor sadly ; and 
 he murmured, 
 
 ' And art made tongue-tied by necessity ; 
 And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill ; 
 And simple truth misnamed simiilicity ; 
 And captive good attending captive ill. 
 Tired of all these, from these I would begone.' 
 
 ' I'm sure I don't know where you want to go, 
 Dr. Mereside. You might make yourself agree- 
 able to me after being out all day, and tell me 
 about your patients, if you have had any.' 
 
 ' Indeed I have ; and I have drawn money out 
 of all their purses !' 
 
 ^No!' 
 
 ^See here!' and he emptied a slender silken 
 purse of a heap of gold and silver.
 
 SEADRIFT. 81 
 
 Mrs. Mereside's hand slid involuntarily over 
 the tablecloth towards it. 
 
 ' No ; 'tis mine,' said the doctor, spreading his 
 fingers extended flat over the money. 
 
 He spoke with a smile, but his wife withdrew 
 her hand discomforted. 
 
 ' 'Tis for the drowned man, as I call him,' said 
 the doctor. ' I went to every one I knew, and to 
 many I did not know, and all gave me something, 
 though Mrs. Deal said that all Spaniards were 
 bloody Papists, and had a king called Philip, who 
 burned the Protestants.' 
 
 ' What did you reply to this V 
 
 ' O, I told her that the Almighty had sent one 
 of Pharaoh's plagues, that of lice, to eat him up, 
 and that they had done so ; which had so affected 
 his subjects with terror and remorse, that they had 
 all immediately embraced the Protestant religion.' 
 
 ^My dear Hubert, what stuff!' 
 
 ^ Yes ; but it soothed her resentment against 
 the poor youth, and she sent him five shillings. 
 Mr. Treleaven gave me a sovereign ; a great deal 
 for him — parsons are always poor. The bank 
 gave me three pounds for the firm.' 
 
 ^And:Mi's. Bolithof 
 
 'jVIi's. Bolitho asked to see the list of sub- 
 VOL. I. G
 
 025 SEADRIFT. 
 
 scribers, swelling herself larger and larger as she 
 read it; gave me a five-pound Bank-of-England 
 note, and wrote down her name with a flourish of 
 triumph.' 
 
 ^What a woman! And do you think you made 
 any impression V 
 
 ^ In what way V said the doctor, smiling. 
 
 ^ Would she send for you, do you think, if — ' 
 
 ' Certainly, if she wanted a medical man, and 
 there was no one within reach whom she hked 
 better.' 
 
 ^ Ah, well, you will never talk sense, so listen 
 to a little. Do not give all that money to the 
 Clemenses ; put it in the bank in the young man's 
 name.' 
 
 ^ A good joke ! How am I to know his name ? 
 The poor fellow says nothing but " agua." Shall 
 I call him Mr. Agua V 
 
 ^ Don't be silly. Doctor Mereside. Put the 
 money in the bank in your o^^^i name then, and 
 draw it as you think the young man may need it 
 as Ions as it lasts. I would not let those Clemens 
 women have it.' 
 
 ' My dear, I believe both the mother and the 
 daughter are quite as honest as we are.' 
 
 ' Yes, very true ; but he may be a gentleman,
 
 SEADRIFT. 83 
 
 and he is at any rate a man ; and as this money 
 has been subscribed for him, I would not submit 
 him to the degradation of asking for every penny 
 from those women ; you must know best what he 
 will require.' 
 
 The doctor thought there was much good 
 sense in this. Poor man, he had felt the pain 
 himself, but though admitting it, he said, 
 
 ^ My dear, I doubt your having been so wise 
 had Martha- Clemens made up your muslin gown 
 at your bidding.' 
 
 The lady assured him that this was not the 
 case; and after the doctor's dinner, which was 
 also his supper, he went to bed, being as anxious 
 to obtain sleep as Captain Dalgetty had been to 
 enjoy food, whether he required it or not, in order 
 to make up for future deficiencies, should they 
 occur. As his senses were sinking into forgetful- 
 ness, he heard the voice of his wife whispering in 
 his ear : 
 
 ^ Hubert, you never told me how !Mrs. Bolitho 
 was dressed. Was it the yellow flowered silk, or 
 the. pui-ple satin? so absurd for — ' But she felt 
 she spoke to unheeding ears, and was casting ma- 
 trimonial pearls before smne; so she buried her face 
 in the back of her husband's neck, and slept also.
 
 84 SEADRIFT. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens met the doctor with an anxious 
 face on his next visit. 
 
 ' The young man is certainly out of his mind, 
 sir ; he says such queer words.' 
 
 ^Probably, after the curse pronounced on the 
 workmen of the tower of Babel, each man thought 
 his neighbour demented, Mrs. Clemens. The 
 young man is a foreigner; suppose he should 
 think we were mad.' After feeling his pulse, 
 however, the doctor declared that he would not 
 answer for his sanity just then. ' The room must 
 be kept quite dark and no noise permitted. If he 
 grows violent, you must, send your daughter to 
 fetch me or Mr. Chalk ; but I trust this fever will 
 subside shortly. You must not be put to expense 
 on account of your kindness to this young fellow. 
 Here are a couple of guineas, given me by a friend 
 to be spent in his service.' 
 
 ^ Thank you, sir, very kindly. "We are very 
 poor, but — ' and the old withered cheek crimsoned, 
 for she had not been accustomed to receive money 
 in that way. 
 
 ' You had better take it,' said the doctor ; *'tis 
 for him, you know, and he is neither kith nor kin 
 to you.' 
 
 ^ Thank you kindly, then, sir;' and she put the
 
 SEADRIFT. 85 
 
 money in her pocket. She had been longing for 
 it, and was so glad to have her scruples overruled. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ' Where poverty is felt, the thought is chain'd, 
 And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.' 
 
 COWPEE. 
 
 It was years since Mrs. Clemens had had two 
 guineas that she might spend as she pleased, even 
 when the proceeds were not for her own benefit. 
 She had depended on Martha for her subsistence 
 for the last eight years, and she had found it very 
 irksome to ask her for every penny she wanted to 
 spend. Thus for some time such small articles as 
 belonged especially to her had been disposed of to 
 pedlars, or at the shops in Plymouth to which slie 
 had sent them, being too proud to attempt to turn 
 them into money in Seadrift ; but these had been 
 exhausted, and sometimes, with a tremulous quiver 
 in her voice, she would ask Martha to give her a 
 few shillings to spend. She had in her husband's 
 lifetime been lavish, too lavish, in her expenditure 
 on that girl ; and Martha never seemed to know 
 that her own mother's venerable toes found their
 
 SQ ' SEADRIFT. 
 
 way through the old jean boots, bought because 
 they were ready made and cheaper than leather, 
 nor that her feet were almost crippled by the darns 
 in her coarse stockings; such as had disturbed 
 her mind, as they had since continued to vex both 
 body and mind, when she thought that 'Mrs, Bo- 
 litho, her ancient rival, had seen the contents of 
 her chest of drawers. Every time she moved 
 about the house her soles suffered involuntary 
 penance, and her spirit was humiliated. Those 
 badly-mended stockings gave her no rest either 
 mental or corporeal. Mrs. Clemens did not forget, 
 though Martha had seemed to do so, what indig- 
 nation and jealousy of spirit had possessed that 
 young woman on a certain occasion before she left 
 school. A little girl, said to be in delicate health, 
 had been placed for a few months at the semmary 
 where Martha's youth had been passed. She was 
 ' the niece of a very grand rich lord,' the old ladies 
 who kept the establishment said in an awe-stricken 
 whisper ; and straightway all the household, and 
 all the masters who attended IMiss Sage's school, 
 fell down and worshipped the little china-looking 
 image which Miss Sage the mistress had set up. 
 
 What wonderful cambric pocket-handkerchiefs 
 she possessed! what delicate silk stockings and ex-
 
 SEADRIFT. 87 
 
 quisitely manufactured little satin shoes ! Wlien 
 she was called out from her place for the first 
 time for the dancing lesson, Martha and the other 
 girls had expected to have seen her awkward, 
 blushing, and abashed ; but she looked up in the 
 face of the dancing-master with a quiet smile of 
 indifference, and went through her five positions 
 with perfect steadiness and precision and an in- 
 step delicately arched ; and this accomplished, she 
 performed to the music of the kit a series of in- 
 tricate steps and graceful movements, which filled 
 the old ladies of the house with transport, and the 
 rest of the pupils with rage and despair. 
 
 Martha's vexation had been the greatest. 
 Martha had been called up immediately after Miss 
 Tynedale had sat down. Martha's feet were large; 
 her stockings were cotton ; and her shoes, though 
 not absolutely shabby, were misshapen. They 
 were of jean, not satin. The foot looked ill, with 
 the crossed black sandal over the white cotton 
 stocking. There was a little titter, suspected 
 rather than heard, among the girls, and a whis- 
 pering, seen by heads being placed in juxta-posi- 
 tion ; and the master, percei\ang and understand- 
 ing it all, had said something kind, and praised 
 Martha for her dancing, to comfort her, when
 
 88 SEADRIFT. 
 
 she knew she had not deserved praise. This had 
 made her usually delicate colour mount to a purple 
 tint. 
 
 When, next Monday, her mother had come to 
 Plymouth in the Lively Nancy vrith her husband,, 
 and taken Martha out — a great treat to a girl 
 shut up under such surveillance as that to which 
 the young ladies at Marina Mount were subjected 
 — ^Martha expressed a wish for silk stockings and 
 satin shoes, wdthout mentioning her mortified 
 vanity; for such feehngs reach not any human 
 ears, even those of mothers. ]Mrs. Clemens walked 
 past several shops containing rows of uTesistible 
 shoes before she could recover the shock she had 
 received on hearing Martha's extravagant request; 
 and the daughter's hopes grew dim as she, though 
 a sensible girl, felt a choking of disappointment 
 in her throat ; when Mrs. Clemens, with a gush of 
 tenderness in her heart, returned and bought th& 
 coveted treasures; and ^lartha's eyes grew brighter 
 and her face prettier, from its delicate tint of hap- 
 piness. Not the less, however, did she detest 
 *that child,' as she called Geniveve Tynedale,. 
 who had seemingly driven every one out of their 
 senses. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens, with her toes crippled by dams^
 
 SEADRIFT. 89 
 
 could not but remember her own profligate expen- 
 diture on Martha's behalf, and think it a little 
 hard that Martha should not consider sometimes 
 that she must want clothes. Martha earned the 
 money, and paid the bills ; but she never thought 
 of her mother's want of raiment. Had she done 
 so, she would have gone without herself rather 
 than that her mother should ; but she had always 
 been the person to be provided for, and never had 
 been called upon to pro\ade. Had the idea passed 
 her mind, she would have said, ' Of course my 
 mother will tell me if she w^ants anything ;' but 
 her poor mother felt as if she had rather walk 
 with her toes on the stones than ask Martha for 
 money to buy shoes and stockings. Therefore, 
 when she got the two guineas, she rejoiced greatly. 
 Not that she had any intention of defrauding the 
 young foreigner of any of the money; but ^ money 
 is power' far more than ^ knowledge.' Moreover, 
 her love for her husband and sons had prevented 
 her sending any of their clothes for sale ; but for 
 this young man she had been obliged to supply 
 some linen, and should probably have to lind him 
 whatever else he might require. Therefore there 
 was no reason why a few shillings should not 
 remain in her pocket as a legitimate payment for
 
 90 SEADRIFT. 
 
 such clothes as he might need. In the mean 
 time she would say nothing to Martha. Martha, 
 the mother admitted, was peculiar; she might 
 insist on her returning the money to Doctor 
 Mereside. Her heart answered to this thought, 
 Never. 
 
 In the mean time Martha was astonished at the 
 assured step of her mother on the stairs after Dr. 
 Mereside's departure, and at her brightened eyes, 
 and a little swell of importance in her tone, when 
 she stated her intention of stepping into the vil- 
 lage to purchase some oatmeal for gi'uel for the 
 sick man. ^He is asleep now, so I can go,' she 
 said. Martha looked disturbed, and said she had 
 not received her money yet; but Mrs. Clemens 
 bade her not worry herself, as the money would 
 not come out of her pocket; and Martha could 
 only imagine that the doctor had given an order 
 at Mr. Climo's shop that articles should be sup- 
 plied to the sick man at his own expense. 
 
 The deliffht of Mrs. Clemens was like that of 
 the young lady mentioned by Addison, who as- 
 tonished her mother by the look of disdainful hap- 
 piness she carried on her face, and the triumphant 
 air with which she stepped ; whose secret source 
 of pleasure was wearing a new pair of garters, her
 
 SEADRIFT. 91 
 
 possession of whicli no one but herself was cog- 
 nisant. She came back, however, to say, 
 
 ' He's asleep, my dear ; but if you don't mind, 
 I wish you would sit by his side. He is lying 
 near the edge, and is so feeble that he may roll 
 out.' 
 
 Martha said she would, if the light were good 
 enough in that part of the room ; if not, he must 
 take his chance. She did not suppose a roll on 
 the floor would hurt him much ; the bed was 
 low. 
 
 ^ O, Martha, don't talk like that ! Maybe he 
 has a mother grieving for him this very minute ; 
 and, my dear, do be tender !' 
 
 ^Where's the use, mother? Folks are not 
 over tender to me.' 
 
 And she pulled the thread of the wristband 
 she was stitching, and got up to go to the patient.
 
 92. SEADRIFT. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 * Earth has been sown with generations ; grass 
 
 Is but past life, of present life the prop. 
 
 We eat, drink, sleep ; into our graves we pass, 
 
 And form for the unborn a future crop.' 
 
 Horace Smith. 
 
 ^ He is very ill, poor fellow,' said the doctor, 
 who met Mrs. Clemens on her return, when he 
 left her house. 
 
 ' Dear, dear, sir ! Have we done anything 
 wrong!' 
 
 ^No, my good lady, I daresay not; but his 
 constitution has sustained a severe shock, and his 
 head is all astray at present. Yours and mine 
 would be so too, probably, if we had gone through 
 similar trials.' 
 
 'It must be very dreadful to feel drowning,' 
 said Mrs. Clemens, her eyes filling with tears. 
 
 ' Very,' said the doctor, not remembering the 
 reason of her emotion, of which the cause had 
 occurred before he came to Seadriffc. 
 
 ' And as bad,' he added, ' it is said, to feel com- 
 ing back to life again.' 
 
 ' I have left directions with your daughter, and 
 I hope the poor lad will get over the attack.' He
 
 SEADRIFT. 93 
 
 raised his liat, and passed on. ' I should not like 
 him to die now,' thought the doctor, ^when I 
 took so much trouble to bring him back to life. 
 Yes, he was dead ; dead to all intents and pur- 
 poses ; as dead as any one laid in the grave. The 
 old woman was right. His heart had ceased to 
 beat when he was lying on the beach, and I set 
 the machine in motion again. I shook the watch 
 till it went, and now 'tis so damaged that it goes 
 all wrong. He was dead for half-an-hour. Had 
 I stuck my dissecting-knife into some vital part of 
 his body, it would not have been murder ; for all 
 the coroners in England would have pronounced 
 him to be dead. 
 
 ^ This granted, where was his soul during that 
 half-hour ? Where is it now I Tlien it was ab- 
 sent from his corpse ; 7iow it gives but broken and 
 distorted images ; thoughts awry, perception crip- 
 pled, the threads of memory entangled from bodily 
 disorder. When he lay dead in that room, did 
 his soul hover over him, waiting till Dr. Mereside 
 should inflate his lungs, and Mr. Chalk should 
 work his arms up and down to restore the action 
 of the heart and lungs, and IVirs. Clemens should 
 prepare cataplasms for his feet ? 
 
 ^ No ; there is no soul distinct from the body.
 
 94 SEADRIFT. 
 
 We are but machines, filling our space in crea- 
 tion — the highest of the feeble creatures over 
 whom we dominate, but, like them, of no account. 
 Man is like a thing of naught; his days pass 
 away like a shadow. 
 
 ^Then, being material, shall we live again? 
 Alas, how are we to guess ? The resurrection of 
 the body is a part of our creed. Yea, but with 
 what body shall we come ? — our own bodies ? 
 Sown in dishonour, raised in glory?' 
 
 He was riding by the churchyard as he thus 
 speculated : an old gray chm-ch, built of granite, 
 and covered with moss of all the lovely tintings 
 in which painters delight — white, black, dull-red, 
 gray, bright orange ; built on an acclivity, where 
 it seemed reared as a guardian of the clustering 
 tombstones around it. These bent hither and thi- 
 ther, as had the feeble and wayward lives of those 
 whose existence they commemorated. Within the 
 enclosure a flock of sheep were cropping the herb- 
 age, which grew more luxuriously over the quiet 
 graves. Dr. Mereside looked at them and smiled 
 sadly. He thought how they were nom'ished and 
 whom they were to nourish; and his belief in that 
 article of the Christian creed was not confirmed. 
 
 ^ It matters little,' he said, a sharp spasm catch-
 
 SEADRIFT. 95 
 
 ing his breath as he inhaled the keen air at the 
 summit of the cHff; ^I shall soon know the grand 
 secret — if, indeed, death will reveal it. I shall 
 know it, if it can be known. But,' said he, look- 
 ing up calmly and reverently to the blue sky, 
 flecked with thin white clouds, ^ He who created 
 us once can reconstruct our bodies. The in- 
 nate love of truth and tenderness, of justice and 
 mercy, must have been inspired by Thee, O God, 
 and to thy will I bow. Enough is known to do 
 our duty to others and to ourselves, in honour 
 preferring one another. If this hfe end all, shall 
 I less visit the fatherless and widow in their 
 affliction, and keep myself unspotted from the 
 world? thus doing my duty to others as well as 
 to myself.' 
 
 His thoughts strayed back to how that duty 
 could be best performed. Then came the per- 
 formance — to relieve suffering, to prolong life, 
 and, when that was no longer possible, to soothe 
 the pangs of death, and say a few kind words to 
 the weeping relatives ; only, as Mrs. Mereside said, 
 he. got nothing by it, not even golden opinions 
 from worthy men. Where was the use of his 
 good works, when ^Ir. Treleaven the clergyman 
 shook his head sadly and sweetly when he spoke
 
 9Q SEADRIFT. 
 
 of him, and Mi\ Damnall the Dissenting minister 
 called him ^ a hell-born sinner' ? Now this was 
 hard on the poor doctor ; for if he had been hell- 
 born, it was evidently no fault of his, 
 
 ^ That man ought to be put down. He should 
 not attend me nor any of my family if there was 
 not another doctor to be had within twenty miles,' 
 said Mr. Damnall. '1 am astonished that Mr. 
 Treleaven should employ him. In my opinion, 
 he does not believe in God or devil. When he 
 dies, Mr. Treleaven will have no^ business to bury 
 him in consecrated ground.' 
 
 ' Dear, how sad !' said Mrs. Damnall. ' And 
 do you think he will be buried in cross roads V 
 And her thoughts wandered to a convenient spot 
 in the neighbourhood. 
 
 ^Certainly he don't do right,' continued she; 
 ' for he brought Liza Varco's child to life when 
 'twas born dead ; a thing we all said was fl^Hing in 
 the face of Providence, which must know better 
 than he did ; and now this young foreigner just 
 the same ; and then to come and ask honest folks 
 for their shillings and sixpences to help to support 
 the nasty Papist !' 
 
 ^ Papist !' said the husband ^vith horror. ' Do 
 you knoio he is a Papist, my dear?'
 
 SEADRIFT. 97 
 
 'Well, they're all Papists that live out of 
 England, aren't they V 
 
 'No, no, not quite all; but I daresay he is 
 one.' 
 
 'My dear,' said Mr. Treleaven to his wife, 
 'have you heard anything more of the young 
 Spaniard or Frenchman or Itahan, whatever he 
 isf 
 
 ' Yes ; I met Mrs. Clemens. She had stepped 
 out to buy some groats for his gruel. She said he 
 w^as very ill, and Dr. Mereside said that he was 
 in great danger.' 
 
 'The doctor himself looks at death's door,' 
 rephed the husband. 
 
 ' Yes. He always keeps going, however. He 
 is wearing out, not rusting out. He does much 
 good amongst the poor. They will miss him 
 when he dies.' 
 
 '^Ii\ Damnall says I ought not to give him 
 Christian bm'ial.' 
 
 'My dear, what a dreadful idea! So awkward 
 too when Mrs. Mereside and I are on visiting 
 terms. You would not be so — so uncivil V 
 
 'Let us hope he won't die here,' said the 
 clergyman with a dry laugh, ' and thus save me 
 from the dilemma. The truth is, he is not ortho- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 SEADRIFT. 
 
 clox in his opinions, and will never conceal them 
 if the subject comes up.' 
 
 'Why don't you convince him of his eiTor, 
 my dear, and turn him to the right path?' said 
 the wife, with that touching faith in the power 
 of her husband's eloquence with Avhich some sim- 
 ple women are inspired. 
 
 Mr. Treleaven gave a discontented grunt. 
 
 ' He is not a pleasant person to argue with,' 
 he said at length. ' You see, he will not admit 
 the divine inspiration of the Old and New Testa- 
 ment ; and he asked me one day, when we were 
 speaking on the subject, if I did not think the 
 cassowaries must have been very tired of their 
 walk of fifteen hundred miles from Malacca to 
 that part of Asia in which the Ark was said to 
 be built; and how the Avriter could be inspired 
 who said that rabbits " chew the cud." ' 
 
 ' Then, indeed, I give him up,' said the wife 
 with holy wrath, opening her spread palms, and 
 moving her arms as if to say, 'Anathema ma- 
 ranatha ;' ' And I fear — ^I much fear,' added the 
 lady impressively, ' that he is so utterly lost that 
 he would not care whether he lay in consecrated 
 ground or not.' 
 
 ' You don't say so !' replied her husband, wdtli
 
 SEADRIFT. 99 
 
 such a flush on his countenance as a master might 
 
 o 
 
 feel Avhen a punished boy grinned in his face, 
 ignoring the pain. ' How do you know?' 
 
 'We were standing in our garden the day 
 they dined here, where we could see the highest 
 point of the cliff; and he said, after looking out 
 across the sea as if he would look into the other 
 world, " I should like to die and be buried on that 
 height, to hear the sea breathe on my dying brain 
 its last monotony." " Not in the churchyard ?" 
 said I. So he turned round and smiled, and said 
 no more. I should not wonder if, as a judgment 
 on him, he met some dreadful death, and was not 
 buried like a Christian at all.' 
 
 This idea was a consolation to the wounded 
 dignity of the pair, and they walked off contented 
 in the possible vengeance held in store by Provi- 
 dence for the contumacy of Dr. Mereside.
 
 100 SEADRIFT. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ' Every sense 
 Had been unstrung by pangs intense, 
 And each frail fibre of the brain 
 (As bow-strings, when relaxed by rain, 
 The erring arrow launch aside) 
 Sent forth the thoughts all wild and wide.' 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Strength gradually returned to the stranger 
 youth, and Mrs. Clemens could leave him with- 
 out fearing that he Avould roll out of bed help- 
 lessly if he lay near the edge. But with strength 
 came paroxysms of raving, which were more dis- 
 tressing to the two women. The chill of the 
 hovering death which had touched him, when 
 once dispelled, was succeeded by the hot chase of 
 blood through his throbbing veins, which burnt 
 with fever. Sometimes he strove to spring from 
 his bed, believing that he was once more standing 
 on the deck of the vessel, and that his chance of 
 life was to fling himself into the rocking boat at 
 its side ; in his whirling brain he still heard the 
 roaring of the tempest and the hissing of the 
 waters, as they were sucked into the drifting bai'k 
 which they hastened to her destruction. Then 
 Mrs. Clemens was compelled to summon her
 
 SEADRIFT. 101 
 
 daughter, wlio, with the strength and determina- 
 tion of womanhood's meridian, held the restless 
 youth down in the bed by his wrists till the pa- 
 roxysm was over, and he lay exhausted. 
 
 One day he slept more tranquilly than usual, 
 and lay with closed eyes after he awoke. He was 
 shrunk to a shadow, and INirs. Clemens could lift 
 him like an infant to the sofa whilst she made his 
 bed. It was the fatigue of being removed, and 
 probably the added comfort of his re-made bed, 
 which had induced sleep, and greater composure 
 on awaking. But he could not endure the light ; 
 and familiar images peopled his darkness, and 
 well-known sounds pealed in his ears. The wind 
 was still ; but as Cowper finely observes that 
 amongst forest-trees it makes 
 
 * A music not unlike 
 The roar of ocean in its maddest mood,' 
 
 the murmm- of the waves rolling on to the beach 
 brought to his memory the noble forests of chest- 
 nut-trees girding the sacred enclosure with which 
 his earliest and latest thoughts were mingled. 
 The cool shadows of the cloisters seemed to fall 
 softly over his hot brow. In that solemn retreat, 
 shut out from the world, the chant of the monks 
 seemed to mingle with the wild music of the pine-
 
 102 SEADRIFT. 
 
 groves. Again he dwelt in the grim majesty of 
 that holy monastery. He fancied that he was 
 reclining in one of the courts of the convent, 
 which opened through a low arch on to the 
 mountain's side. He knew that the painted win- 
 dows threw broad lines of many- coloured reflec- 
 tions on the pavement, but his eyes noted them 
 not; they were fixed on the distant landscape, 
 which was, as it were, framed by the arches of 
 the gray stone entrance. There were mountain- 
 tops pink in the sunshine, sparkling streams trick- 
 ling down their sides. Dark clustering groups of 
 firs made brighter by contrast the laughing waters. 
 Hark! the monks were chanting the h}Tnn for 
 vespers. He was ill; he knew one of the bro- 
 thers would come to him soon and bring him 
 some broth. 
 
 ^ Fra Jose !' he murmured, as a hand was 
 placed under his head and a cup held to his lips. 
 ' Gracias,' murmured the youth, after he had drank 
 the gruel, as his head fell back on the pillow. 
 
 ^Poor boy!' said Mrs. Clemens, Hie is talk- 
 ing about somebody called Grass, and says Grass 
 has it, only he speaks with a lisp. There, he's 
 going off to sleep nicely. I wish the doctor would 
 come, and tell us how he is going on. He looks
 
 SEADRIFT. 103 
 
 awful, and there's not an ounce of flesli on his 
 poor bones.' 
 
 She expressed all these convictions to herself, 
 and joined Martha downstairs. 
 
 'Martha dear, let me look at that ring, and 
 the cross that was round his neck.' 
 
 ' Must I go at once, mother ? they are locked 
 up in my drawer.' 
 
 But for the talismanic influence of the two 
 guineas, Mrs. Clemens would have said, 'Very 
 Avell, my dear Martha, I mil wait ;' but that pigmy 
 sum made her a giant in her own estimation, and 
 she said, 
 
 * Yes, go at once ; I should like to see them.' 
 
 Martha looked astonished, but went, neverthe- 
 less. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens took the ring, and polished it 
 with an old bandana silk handkerchief which had 
 belonged to her husband, and held it up to the 
 light. 
 
 ' Nothing but a bit of glass, my dear, and the 
 setting is nothing but pinchbeck. My dear 
 husband — your father — used always to say that 
 them foreigners w^ere ail stuck over with mock 
 jewelry things that Englishmen would scorn to
 
 104 SEADRIFT. 
 
 MartLa looked rather crestfallen. 
 
 ' How are we to support this young man, if 
 these things are worth nothing?' 
 
 *God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,' 
 said Mrs. Clemens piously, thinking of the mone}'. 
 
 'Mother, 'tis we who shall be shorn for the 
 sake of this stranger. I really do not think I am 
 bound to work for Mm. Could not he go to the 
 poor-house T 
 
 'Martha!' said her mother indignantly, 'I be- 
 lieve you have a heart of stone.' 
 
 Martha did not reply — she did not often ans- 
 wer unless compelled ; and she began to speculate 
 whether she had indeed a heart of stone. Perhaps 
 she had, she thought ; and who could wonder, con- 
 sidering the hardness of her life ? 
 
 Martha was repellent in her manner. She had 
 never had words of tenderness whispered into her 
 ears by masculine lips, never been praised for 
 personal charms, when scores of women less at- 
 tractive had lovers and husbands and rosy chil- 
 dren, to add to toil and to lighten it at the same 
 time. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens had had all the tenderness of 
 her natm'e evoked by her ties as a wife and mo- 
 ther, and the losses she had sustained seemed to
 
 SEADRIFT. 105 
 
 have made her more tremulously careful in her 
 love for others — careful not to wound by word or 
 look creatures born to such suffering as she had 
 suffered. 
 
 Now she saw Martha looked grave after her 
 accusation, though it had not made her daughter 
 angry, and she hastened to relieve her anxiety. 
 
 ' My dear, that good doctor said that we should 
 not suffer for keeping the young man. I believe 
 he will see to that.' 
 
 * I don't know how, then,' replied her daugh- 
 ter. ^ My belief is, that the doctor is as poor as 
 Job.' 
 
 ^Not so poor as we are; and he knows rich 
 people. I have heard that he has an uncle up in 
 London who has no end of money, and no child 
 to leave it to.' 
 
 ^Yes, and we have heard, too, that he has 
 never noticed his nephew, and will not leave him 
 a sixpence.' 
 
 ' Well, well ; we can't get rid of this poor boy 
 whilst he is so ill. We must get him well again, 
 and perhaps some one will take him as a servant, 
 or an errand-boy at one of the shops.' 
 
 ^ Truly he will be so useful, being able to talk 
 so well !'
 
 106 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ' Now, Martha, 'tis all very well for you to sit 
 grumbling there; but you remember 'twas you 
 who found him, and not I; 'twas you who got 
 the cart to bring him home.' 
 
 Martha winced, thinking of the shilhng she 
 had given to the butcher for his trouble. 
 
 * We've got him now, and must make the best 
 of it.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens might have set Martha's mind 
 at rest by telling her of the two guineas ; but that 
 was a sacrifice of no little importance to her secret 
 on which she could not resolve. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens could not perform her household 
 tasks and sit by the sick man's bedside. After 
 she had remained there patiently for some days, 
 recalling by the aid of a few words here and there, 
 rather than reading, the holy Scriptures, and look- 
 ing with dim and reverent eyes at the pictures 
 in her Bible — which Bible had been taken in in 
 penny numbers, and bound handsomely, as befitted 
 the importance of the promises it contained — she 
 remembered that the house must be thoroufjhlv 
 cleaned, and that Martha must do it herself, or 
 sit by the bedside of the invalid whilst she per- 
 formed the rougher work. 
 
 Martha accordingly took her sewing and sat
 
 SEADRIFT. 107 
 
 near the window in the sick-room; for sewing 
 brought money, and cleanliness was only a per- 
 sonal luxury. After she had remained quietly 
 some time, only intermitting to the quick click of 
 her needle the occasional use of her cotton in re- 
 threading it, the sick man, unperceived by her, 
 opened his eyes, and looked at her with all the fix- 
 edness of which his weakened sight was capable. 
 
 The instinct of a painter was reawakened 
 sooner than any sequent train of thought. Mar- 
 tha's figure was good ; the half-averted cheek gave 
 promise of beauty which a fuller view did not ful- 
 fil. The sun streamed through the small window, 
 and striking on the waves of her fair head, gave a 
 flickering glory to the edges of the braids, where 
 the hairs were loose and straggling. The dress 
 was of common material, composed only of pink 
 gingham ; but a little gray handkerchief was drawn 
 carelessly round the white throat ; and both the 
 form and the colouring were in accordance with 
 the young man's idea of beaut^'. The sheet she 
 was seaming, of unbleached linen, made a warm 
 yellowish tint, and fell from her lap in massive 
 and distinct folds. 
 
 ^ Que cuadro /' he exclaimed. 
 
 Martha turned her head, to see if she could
 
 108 SEADRIFT. 
 
 understand what * que cuadro' might mean ; and 
 having offered him some cold tea, which he re- 
 fused, she returned to her foraier position ; and 
 again the picture recomposed itself to the eyes of 
 the artist, with more graceful folds in the sheet 
 which curved this time round her knees. 
 
 ' Blue, red, and yellow — the three primitives,' 
 muttered the sick man in Spanish. ' Pink repro- 
 duced more tenderly in the cheek — what a reflec- 
 tion !' he said, observing the yellow light thrown 
 by an amber earring on her rounded throat. ' I 
 must set my palette,' he said hurriedly, ' before 
 she moves.' 
 
 He raised himself suddenly on his bed, and fell 
 back fainting. The slight noise made Martha 
 turn her head. She had only a few more stitches 
 to finish her seam ; and those she sewed before 
 she arose and placed the smelling-bottle under his 
 nose, and compelled him against his will to swal- 
 low a few teaspoonsfull of brandy -and -water. 
 When she saw he was restored, she left him ; and 
 when there was nothing to occupy his sight, he 
 lay quietly with closed lids, awaiting the recovery, 
 which time would bring to the aid of youth and 
 natural strength of constitution.
 
 SEADRIFT. 109 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 * Hoc juvat, et melli est.' 
 
 Though Mrs. Clemens sent Martha to occupy 
 lier place during two clays in the week — on clean- 
 ing clays — she was very happy and very important 
 in her office of nurse. Martha had repaid her 
 tenderness by snarls : without intending it, with- 
 out even perceiving it, she mortified her mother a 
 dozen times in the course of the day. The young 
 man was gentle in his tone, and tried seemingly 
 to express his gratitude ; and the expansive heart 
 of the old woman received him gladly to its re- 
 cesses. 
 
 The tottering steps of the aged linger on the 
 beach that skirts the solemn and illimitable ocean. 
 The sand is slipping from beneath their feet, but 
 they strive to steady themselves in a position of 
 dignity, as if their equilibrium was as true, their 
 steps as swift, their hands as strong, their brains 
 as, clear, their thoughts as ready, their perceptions 
 as alert, as when they had counted but five-ancl- 
 twenty summers. The young — occupied by their 
 own schemes, more important in their opinion than
 
 110 SEADRIFT. 
 
 any that had ever before engrossed the human race, 
 beheving that no trouble is hke their trouble, no 
 sorrow like their sorrow, and that they have a 
 monopoly of wisdom, if not of experience — listen 
 not to words of advice which falter on the tremu- 
 lous tongue of age, and disregard, if they do not 
 strike aside, the uplifted finger of caution. Alas, 
 the old, with all their assumption of superior wis- 
 dom, yearn for the sympathy of the young — sym- 
 pathy they can never receive from their descend- 
 ants, for it is born of similarity of circumstance 
 and of feeling. 
 
 In the mean time Dr. Mereside saw with 
 satisfaction the recovery of his patient, and sup- 
 plied Mrs. Clemens with two guineas more, refus- 
 ing to peruse the account of expenditure, which 
 she honestly tendered to him. Again this was 
 done in Martha's absence ; for the doctor was a 
 delicate-minded man, and had seen the flush on 
 the withered cheek of her mother when he had 
 given her the previous sum. He had tried to 
 understand the sounds uttered by the youth, but 
 could make nothing of them. He knew French 
 slightly, and Italian rather better. The eight 
 months spent by him on the Continent had given 
 him a tolerable knowledge of Italian ; and French,
 
 SEADRIFT. Ill 
 
 such as it was, he had learned at school ; for that 
 language had become more necessary smce the 
 peace of 1815, and was more generally taught. 
 Those eight months had been an oasis in the desert 
 of his hard life. In pity for his impending death, 
 an old gentleman had given him money sufficient 
 to live idly on the Continent for twelve months, 
 in gratitude for the doctor's having enabled him 
 to live at all, in a case which the rest of the faculty 
 had given up as incurable. 
 
 The doctor was rather too fond of referring to 
 those reminiscences of very happy months. Mrs. 
 Mereside had not accompanied him, so they af- 
 fronted her. His auditors were affronted; for 
 when he had settled at Seadrift, he found no one 
 who had travelled more than fifty miles from that 
 decaying locality : and his stories, beginning with, 
 ^ When I was at Pisa,' ^When I was at Florence,' 
 seemed to them the impertinent pretension of su- 
 perior knowledge and information. 
 
 'Tis a safe rule, never to talk of one's travels, 
 except to those who have gone over the same or 
 similar routes. Folks are, as a rule, more inter- 
 ested in what takes place at their own doorsills 
 than in listening to descriptions of beautiful scenery 
 they have not seen, of the exquisite perfume of
 
 112 SEADRIFT. 
 
 orange-groves they have not inhaled, or of divine 
 symphonies they liave not heard, nor even heard 
 of. So, when Dr. Mereside began, * When I 
 Avas at Kome,' or ' When I was at Naples,' his 
 audience looked at him with an askance glance 
 of dislike, and changed the subject abruptly. 
 
 He was sorry he could not make out what the 
 stranger said. It was a little mortification to him. 
 He should have liked to have announced to his 
 neighbours and patients, ' Of course, poor fellow ! 
 as soon as he could speak intelligibly — that is, as 
 soon as the delirium subsided — I imderstood him 
 directly.' 
 
 For this reason the doctor would not give up 
 the effort without a struggle. He sat down with 
 a pencil and the back of a letter, and began to 
 spell out the sounds as the youth uttered them, 
 on the chance that the sight of the letters might 
 convey meanings which he could not adapt to the 
 sounds. 
 
 The foreigner saw what he was doing, without 
 understanding quite why it was done, and stretch- 
 ing out his skeleton fingers for the paper and pen- 
 cil, he began to correct with a tremulous hand the 
 writing of the w^ords he had spoken, and which 
 the doctor had tried to reproduce on paper.
 
 SEADRIFT. 113 
 
 ' Agradezco a Vd cahallero las hondades que tiene 
 2)07' 7ne.^ 
 
 The doctor spelt over it, and suddenly a bright 
 thought struck him, and he addressed his patient 
 in Latin. Tlie foreigner tried hard to understand ; 
 and the doctor, thinking again that the pronuncia- 
 tion might be the stumbling-block, wrote down his 
 question in Latin in as clear a hand as he could. 
 
 ' Of what nation are you V 
 
 'I am a Spaniard,' replied he, with a smile and 
 a flush of pleasure at finding some one who could 
 understand him. 
 
 ' Well educated, since you are acquainted with 
 the Latin language f 
 
 ' Passably, sir. That I know no more is the 
 result of my own dulness, and arises not from any 
 neglect in my worthy and revered teachers.' 
 
 ' Why have you come to this country V 
 
 ' To perfect myself in the divine art of painting, 
 and to support myself by the sale of my produc- 
 tions. England is the mart where money is to be 
 obtained.' 
 
 .The doctor's countenance fell. 
 
 ' Poor f ello^v !' he muttered. ' Have you any 
 money?' 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 VOL, I. I
 
 114 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^ I had,' he sighed ; ' but it is lost. I had a 
 diamond ring and a cross — all are gone.' 
 
 ' You are a Catholic, then V 
 
 'Certainly,' was the answer; with a look of 
 wonderment at the possibility that he could be 
 anything else. 
 
 ' Have you studied art long V 
 
 ' Since seven years old.' 
 
 ' And now ?' inquired the doctor. 
 
 ' I am twenty years of age.' 
 
 ' Well,' concluded the medical man cheerfully, 
 ' you have talked enough for one day. You must 
 lie still now. When you are better, you must 
 learn English ; and we will see what can be done 
 for you. Do not speak ; you are becoming flushed 
 and excited. Keep quiet till I come again.' 
 
 '■ This poor youth, I suppose, is the son of some 
 peasant, whom the holy fathers of a Spanish mon- 
 astery have conjured into a genius, as they sup- 
 pose. When he gets better, I shall soon be able 
 to judge if he has any mastery of his pencil. I 
 have not travelled abroad for nothing. When I 
 was at Florence — ' 
 
 But we will leave the doctor to his recollec- 
 tions of the Florentine gallery.
 
 SEADRIFT. 115 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ' Sweetest of sweets, I thank thee ! When displeasure 
 
 Did through my weary frame afflict my mind, 
 Thou took'st me hence, and in a house of pleasure 
 A gracious lodging me assign'd.' Herrick. 
 
 October came, witli his glimpses of bright 
 sunshine and soft mist ending over the distant 
 headlands. The days were chilly; and though 
 the sun shone into the room where the in- 
 valid rechned, with a blanket over his shoulders, 
 during the midday hours in the morning, when 
 evening drew in, Mrs. Clemens committed the ex- 
 travagance of making a coal fire with a few sticks 
 in the best bed-room, as it was called. This ex- 
 penditure was counteracted in some degree by no 
 peat being consumed downstairs; and the little 
 mahogany table being placed before the foreigner, 
 for the double pm'pose of enabling him to set down 
 his cup of tea, and of preventing his fallmg out of 
 the chair, Martha and her mother partook of their 
 frugal meals ; and a slow smile came over the fact 
 even of the younger woman as the Spaniard, 
 pointing to everything he saw, queried as to their
 
 116 SEADRIFT. 
 
 names, and tried, with tongue inapt, to pronounce 
 tlie words they uttered when designating them. 
 
 * A wonderful quiet young man,' Mrs. Clemens 
 pronounced him to be. ^Why, he will sit for 
 hours looking at the pictures in the Bible, poor 
 benighted youth ! Will you beheve it ? I saw 
 him do something dreadful one day.' 
 
 ^ What was it V said Martha, aroused into in- 
 terest. 
 
 ' He made the sign of the cross !' 
 ^ A Papist !' said Martha, with horror. 
 Both mother and daus^hter were Weslevans, 
 and constant attendants at chapel. 
 
 Dr. Mereside had sent a bottle of tonic medi- 
 cine. It was a large bottle, and covered with 
 the usual amount of spotless fleecy kind of paper. 
 The Spaniard sat up with the table before liim, 
 and Mrs. Clemens put a spoon, wine-glass, and 
 the medicine within his reach, maldng signs how 
 much he might take by her finger placed on the 
 bottle. He nodded his head ; and when she had 
 left him, he took off the paper carefully, and placed 
 the Bible on it to diminish the creases. Then he 
 used his newly recovered strength in crawling to 
 the fire, and bm-ning a bit of the stick which had 
 fallen down when the fire was lighted. This ac-
 
 SE ADRIFT. 117 
 
 complisliedj he stole back to liis chair with flushed 
 face and faltering steps, and had just drawn the 
 blanket over him and settled into his seat, with 
 the small artifice of an invalid trying to look as 
 if nothing unusual had occurred, when Martha, 
 unsuspicious, and not caring particularly how he 
 had been employed, came back to the room and 
 resumed her sewing. 
 
 Again her face was half averted; again the 
 graceful outline of the cheek was revealed with 
 its dehcate glow ; again the sunbeams flushed the 
 straggling hairs to threads of gold, whilst the 
 shaking hand of the youth strove to trace with 
 the broken charcoal the outline of the miconscious 
 figure. He gazed at the sketch lovingly as it pro- 
 gressed, only looking up from the paper at the 
 sitter, and again at his work, till the natural point 
 made by the broken wood was too blunt, when 
 involuntarily he asked for el coi^taplumas; a re- 
 quest which produced no response from Martha, 
 who did not look up, not understanding what he 
 wanted, and being too much occupied to attend 
 to him. He knew that knives, though not pen- 
 knives, would be brought at tea-time ; and with 
 a sigh he set aside his drawing for the present. 
 Half an hour afterwards. Dr. Mereside came
 
 118 SEADRIFT. 
 
 in, and his quick eye detected the bit of charcoal 
 lying by the side of the Bible. Doctors have par- 
 ticularly quick sight, as a rule. Their perceptions 
 are sharpened by their habit of finding out whe- 
 ther the patients have been faithless to their supply 
 of medicines, and may have tried those of some 
 quack -doctor, or have gone their own ways to 
 the chemist for some fanciful remedy suggested 
 by unprofessional friends. So the doctor saw the 
 bit of charcoal, and told him that he perceived 
 he had been drawing. The patient produced the 
 piece of paper, with something of the feeling which 
 urges a mother to show off her red-faced sodden- 
 looking infant to the careless eye of a chance 
 visitor, and with a face quivering with emotion, 
 said how he longed for paints and canvas or panel 
 to paint on. He could make a beautiful picture, 
 he said, with confident simplicity. 
 
 ^ Of Miss Clemens?' said the doctor, with a 
 meaning smile, looking at the sketch. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied the convalescent quietly. 
 ^ You consider her good-looking V 
 'Sufficiently. She is graceful — vaghezza^ 
 The doctor had been seized with a sudden 
 alarm lest his patient should be entangled ; but 
 the quietness of his answer reassured him.
 
 SE ADRIFT. 119 
 
 ^I want you to get well quickly/ said the 
 doctor, ^all the more because I am compelled to 
 go away. I am sent for to attend a sick relative, 
 and I may only be released by his death. Of this 
 I cannot predicate, as I know neither the patient 
 nor the complaint.' 
 
 The young man cast a yearning look towards 
 his newly found friend — his only one in this 
 foreign country. 
 
 ' If I had but painting materials,' said he, * I 
 could paint something worth money, and cease to 
 be a burden on these ladies.' 
 
 ^ You are not a burden on them. The people 
 in Seadrift subscribed some money when you 
 were first cast on shore. Do not distress yourself. 
 There always seems to me less bm'den of obliga- 
 tion to a crowd than to a single person.' 
 
 ' I should like to pay every one back,' said the 
 young man with a flushed face, Svhen I make 
 any money.' 
 
 ' So you shall,' said the doctor with a smile ; 
 ' but in the mean time I shall make use of part of 
 it • to send you some painting materials from Lon- 
 don, and I shall expect to see great progress when 
 I return.' 
 
 He went, and turned back directly.
 
 120 SEADRIFT. 
 
 * I have always forgotten to ask your name,' he 
 said, ^and shall not know how to address the 
 parcel.' 
 
 ^ Don Felepe Rosas ;' with a little stress on the 
 ^Don.' 
 
 The doctor understood that the young Spani- 
 ard considered himself a gentleman. 
 
 Philip, as we shall call him, recovered quickly 
 under the tonic of the medicine and of the doc- 
 tor's information. His mind was brightened by 
 hope, and relieved of part of the weight of obli- 
 gation to Mrs. Clemens and her daughter. No 
 man of any manly feeling likes to be obliged to 
 a woman for pecuniary assistance. The secret 
 vexation had damped any rising spirit of returning 
 health in the Spaniard, who had inherited the 
 pride of his countrymen, if he possessed nothing 
 beside. 
 
 One dav, when Mrs. Clemens and her daugh- 
 ter came home from meeting in the middle of the 
 day, the sun was so bright and warm, that the 
 mother proposed that he should accompany them 
 out beyond the narrow paths of the garden — paths 
 always too narro■v^^ for two persons to walk com- 
 fortably arm-in-arm, and now diminished still more 
 in width by the encroaching branches of sea-pink,
 
 SE ADRIFT. 121 
 
 which ^Lra. Clemens could not find it in her heart 
 to cut away or to uproot. ^Pretty dears/ she 
 used to say, ' they seem so proud of themselves !' 
 
 And she was proud of her patient, now that 
 he was dressed in her son's Sunday suit, and 
 thought that he was ^well to look at,' notwith- 
 standing the flashing of his large bright hazel 
 eyes, and the smallness of his dehcate mouth, 
 which she pronounced to be ' poor-looking.' The 
 Grecian type of beauty finds no favour, as a rule, 
 in the lower classes in England; and with the 
 sonless mother, the ruddy skin, flaxen hair, small 
 blue eyes, and generously-thick lips of her lost 
 boys rose in painful contrast with the attenuated 
 face of the young Spaniard, who came out into 
 the sunshine leaning on her arm. She called 
 Martha, who had gone upstairs to take off" the 
 little quaker-looking bonnet, made of gray silk in 
 the coal-scuttle pattern, which was only worn on 
 the Sabbath, to go to meeting twice during the 
 day, and had lasted for three years, having been 
 tm'ned and worn during that period a hundred 
 and fifty-six times. 
 
 ^ Come doAvnstairs, Martha, with your bonnet 
 on. ^Ii\ Philip wants to take a walk with us,' 
 
 Martha obeyed. She could not sew on Sun-
 
 122 SEADRIFT. 
 
 days, nor clean the house; and she had read 
 through their small assortment of books too often 
 to wish to reperuse any of them : Captain Cook's 
 Voyages, which had belonged to her father; Pil- 
 fjrirris Progress, the property of her mother ; and 
 Elizahetlij or the Exiles of Siberia, which she had 
 received as a prize at school for superior needle- 
 work. She would not have obtained one for learn- 
 ing ; for Martha had been a dull scholar, and her 
 sullen dislike of the great lord's niece had been 
 deepened into something like hatred when the 
 child repeated glibly a lesson, after a short studv 
 of it, over which she had spent months without 
 mastering its difficulties. So she came down not 
 unwillingly, and did not look otherwise than pretty 
 in such glimpses as could be caught of her face 
 under the shadow of the bonnet. Philip walked 
 between them, leaning on an arm of each. 
 
 They turned away from the sea to walk in- 
 land. Dwellers by the ocean do this generall}' — 
 a little of it goes a great wa}-. You never see 
 the settled inhabitants of maritime places walk on 
 the seashore itself. On the present occasion Philip 
 felt a kind of shudder at the sight of it, as a man 
 might do who sees a lion safely caged, under 
 whose paw he had previously been writhing. The
 
 SEADRIFT. 12a 
 
 women turned inland for reasons of their own. 
 Martha feared the damage of the sea-spray to the 
 colour of her gray-silk bonnet ; and Mrs. Clemens^ 
 whose black head-gear might not have given such 
 visible signs of suffering from salt water, felt that 
 inland they would be likely to meet a greater 
 number of the inhabitants of Seadrift, like them- 
 selves out for their Sunday holiday; and she 
 wanted to show their little world that Martha had 
 a nice-looking young man by her side — her own 
 beautiful Martha, who had never had a young 
 man in attendance on her before. As a rule, 
 
 ' Busy and careful like the working bee, 
 No time for love, no tender cares had she.' 
 
 To be sure, she was in attendance on him rather 
 than he on her. His steps were unsteady, and 
 he was glad of the mutual support of both the 
 daughter and the mother; but, luckily for the 
 dignity of Mrs. Clemens, with the sensitive pride 
 of an invalid not liking to admit his weakness, so 
 soon as he saw three persons, a stout man and 
 two females, bearing down on them, he withdrew 
 his hands from their arms, and placed theirs with- 
 in his, giving himself the air of being the protec- 
 tor of the party. The mother and daughter quite 
 approved of this new arrangement ; and thus they
 
 124 SE ADRIFT. 
 
 progressed till about to pass the advancing group, 
 when the Spaniard, with a ^j^ercZowa' to ^Mi's. Cle- 
 mens, dropped her arm, and lifted his hat to 
 both the stout mother and the slim daughter, with 
 a general bow including the father, who flushed 
 awkwardly and acknowledged it, the women drop- 
 ping curtsies at the same moment. They ex- 
 changed stiff salutations and forced smiles with 
 Mrs. Clemens and her daughter, and passed on. 
 
 ^Now, that's what I call a gentleman,' said 
 ^Ir. Deal. ' He has heard of me, I am sure, and 
 pays his respects like a person who knows what is 
 good manners.' 
 
 ' He is very good-looking, papa,' suggested 
 Miss Deal. 
 
 ' His eyes' dark charms 'twere vain to tell.' 
 
 ^ Handsome is that handsome does,' said the mo- 
 ther ; ' and I must say his mamier is prepossessing.' 
 
 Thus reasoned the Deal family, ignorant that 
 Felepe only paid the usual homage of a foreigner 
 to decently-dressed women. 
 
 He was not judged thus admiiingly by his 
 companions. 
 
 ^What ever did he do that for?' said jMts. 
 Clemens in a low voice to her daughter.
 
 SE ADRIFT. 125 
 
 ' You need not speak low ; he can't understand 
 you. I'm sure I don't know what possessed him 
 to go mopping and moeing like that to strangers. 
 I am sure she is not much to bow to/ continued 
 Martha, with quick jealousy of Miss Deal's attrac- 
 tions. 
 
 Miss Deal was well-to-do also; another grief 
 to Martha, who had placed a wearisome number 
 of stitches in that flounced frock the young lady 
 wore, and not having received a compensating 
 sum for her labom', looked askance at the wearer 
 and at the dress. 
 
 Felepe could not walk far ; but Mrs. Clemens 
 had met several of her townsfolk, and her inmate 
 was evidently much thought of by the inhabitants 
 of Seadrift, who looked kindly and almost parent- 
 ally on the young man their doctor had brought 
 to life, and to whose support they had contributed 
 their small means. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens and Martha perceived, too, that 
 the lifted hat was the courtesy paid to every fe- 
 male he met, and that they needed not to have 
 grudged the Deal family that mark of respect. 
 Altogether Philip, though fatigued, was the better 
 for his walk, and slept more soundly that night. 
 
 When Mrs. Clemens had placed his toast-and-
 
 '^26 SEADRIFT. 
 
 water by liis side, and had joined Martha down- 
 stairs, she said to her daughter, 
 
 ^ My dear !' 
 
 'Yes, mother.' 
 
 'Don't you think you may as well give that 
 glass ring back to the young man V 
 
 Martha pondered. She was not quite certain 
 that it was glass. Her mother pronounced it to 
 be so, but she had no respect for her mother's 
 judgment. 
 
 ' You see, / know that 'tis glass, but other 
 folks will take it for a diamond, and I think it not 
 unlikely that Mr. Damnall the dissenting minis- 
 ter may call to-morrow to see Mr. PhiHp, and the 
 ring will look so genteel !' 
 
 'What do you think he will say to the cross?' 
 said Martha grimly. 
 
 'Well, my dear, you know he won't wear it 
 outside his coat, so Mr. Damnall won't see it.' 
 
 Martha had never harboured the idea of keep- 
 ing the ring and the cross ; but she had no orna- 
 ments except the amber earrings given her by her 
 dead father, and it had been a pleasure to her to 
 retain them a little while, even when she knew it 
 could not be permanently. She wanted too to 
 tell him, when he had learnt enough English to
 
 SEADRIFT. 127 
 
 understand her, that she had kept them for him — 
 that she had saved first his Hfe, and then his pro- 
 perty. 
 
 However, she so far agreed with her mother 
 on the impression the ring was likely to make on 
 any chance visitors, that when Mrs. Clemens asked 
 her to take the cup of tea and dry toast to the 
 Spaniard next morning, she stopped at her own 
 room, and taking out the ring and the cross, she 
 placed them on the little waiter, and carried the 
 whole to the side of his bed. 
 
 Felepe raised himself feebly on his arm to 
 take the tea, and catching a glimpse of the ring, 
 his olive skin flushed ail over to a delicate rose- 
 colour, and he exclaimed, ^ O joy !' On seeing the 
 cross with the ribbon which had been saturated 
 with salt water, his delight redoubled, and from 
 the very weakness of his brain, he burst into 
 tears. 
 
 Martha was never sympathetic. She thought 
 no male creature above ten years old had any 
 excuse for weeping. She stood gravely and tran- 
 quilly till he had wiped his eyes with the hand- 
 kerchief she found for him under his pillow, and 
 then proceeded to explain to him hy signs how she 
 had obtained the rino; and the cross. He had
 
 128 SEADRIFT. 
 
 before heard that lie owed liis Hfe to her, from 
 what the Doctor liad managed to convey to him in 
 Latin ; and now his added gratitude fomid expres- 
 sion in a stream of Spanish eloquence, and seeing 
 by Martha's countenance that she understood not 
 a word, he took the passive hand which hung by 
 her side, and kissed it. 
 
 Martha withdrew her hand abruptly, flushing 
 all over even to a purplish tint, overwhelmed with 
 astonishment, not unmixed with displeasure. 
 
 That which appeared to her so extraordinary 
 was the simple expression of homage and gi'atitude 
 for a service rendered. Felepe did not seem to 
 be aware that he had done anything which could 
 be considered either rash or unadvised. He had 
 merely performed an act of courtesy ; but the kiss 
 seemed burnt into Martha's memory. It was the 
 first she had ever received, excepting from her 
 own relatives. She felt glad that her mother 
 had not seen it, though why she felt glad she 
 would have found it diflicult to explain.
 
 SE ADRIFT. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ' Amabilis insania.' 
 
 That clay Martha did not take her sewing to 
 Philip's room. He missed the occupation afforded 
 to his eyes by her presence. Half a painter's plea- 
 sure in idleness, if he love his art, is in planning 
 how such and such forms will compose, or such 
 and such tints be reproduced on his canvas. 
 
 As Martha did not come, he spent his time in 
 looking alternately at the engravings in the Bible, 
 which, though indifferently rendered, still gave 
 the fine compositions of the old masters, and on 
 the pathway which led to the village, whence he 
 hoped to see a messenger arise with the promised 
 parcel from Dr. Mereside. 
 
 He had to wait some days longer than he ex- 
 pected; for the geography of England had not been 
 one of the branches of science taught by the holy 
 fathers, whose notions of the position of London 
 were vague, consequently those of their pupil 
 were equally so. The doctor had hesitated about 
 going on the summons which had been sent to 
 him, not by liis uncle, but by his head warehouse- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 SEADRIFT. 
 
 man. It had merely stated that ^Ir. Mereside 
 was, in the writer's opinion, very ill, and had no 
 relations or friends near him. He had heard Mr. 
 Mereside speak of a nephew living at Seadrift, so 
 he thought he had better let him know on his own 
 responsibility. He could not say that Mr. Mere- 
 side had said anything about his nephew being 
 sent for. The letter was seemingly from an un- 
 educated but well-meaning man, and the doctor 
 hesitated whether to act on his suggestion or not. 
 He was indisposed to go. The journey was 
 expensive even by the outside of the mail, the only 
 way in which he could afford to travel, and whicli 
 could not be otherwise than hazardous to a per- 
 son, who must therefore be exposed to the night- 
 air, and wdiose irritable lungs would thereby 
 suffer. On the other hand, his wife urged his 
 going, and was eager to produce the money ; sug- 
 gesting that this uncle was his only relative, and 
 that her husband by his skill might relieve him 
 from his malady, and prolong his life : she was 
 too wise to urge the real motive which led her to 
 influence her husband's departm'e — the hope of a 
 legacy. Were they not very poor? Was not the 
 payment of the yearly bill to the di'ug- merchant 
 in London pain and grief to them both ? and yet
 
 SEADRIFT. 131 
 
 was it not a provoking fact, that nothing would 
 induce Dr. Mereside to withhold from his poorer 
 patients the most expensive of his medicines, if he 
 considered that they required them? — whilst at the 
 same time he knew there was not a chance of his 
 ever receiving any remuneration. 
 
 Had not a sharp-witted and unscrupulous fel- 
 low whom the doctor had attended gratis for five 
 months, instead of returning to give thanks when 
 he was made whole, heen filled with a smart inten- 
 tion, as our American kinsmen would say, and got 
 the doctor's servant, who believed that his master 
 had been paid for his medicine and attendance, to 
 give him five shillings and threepence for the 
 empty phials in which his medicine had been dis- 
 pensed to him ? 
 
 ' 'Twas seething the kid in its mother's milk.' 
 
 ' To think that my husband should be made 
 such a fool of !' was Mrs. Mereside's observation ; 
 ^ and 'twas only yesterday that he signed a paper 
 to get Jim Sheppard into the hospital, rendering 
 himself liable to the expenses of Jim's funeral when 
 he died ; and gave me as an excuse, that the poor 
 fellow had death in his face, and he could not bear 
 liim to lack the comfort and nourishment which
 
 132 SEADRIFT. 
 
 he would there obtain ; and tliat it was a dreary' 
 thing for a man to have to go about and entreat 
 folks to make themselves responsible for his fune- 
 ral expenses, whilst his family were worn out by 
 his sleepless sufferings and unproductive consump- 
 tion of their earnings, and wished him dead. 
 Where is the fifty shillings to come from, I should 
 like to know f added the lady, w^axing interrogative 
 in her indignation ; ' out of my pocket, of course. 
 But he's incorrigible,' she added in a tone of re- 
 signation. ' Why can't he let other folks alone, 
 and attend to his own business, and try to get on 
 in the world ? There are his boots — what a dis- 
 grace to a gentleman ! First they had new heels, 
 and then they were new soled in front ; and now 
 the upper leather has split, and he has not a pair 
 fit to go to London in.' 
 
 Notwithstanding the doctor's poverty, he al- 
 ways looked like a gentleman; some men have 
 that qualification. His figure was tall and shglit, 
 but so well made about the chest and shoulders, 
 that his diseased lungs seemed to have been the 
 result of accident rather than of hereditary taint. 
 It is true that his black satin stock had seen much 
 service, and had been so pierced by the little dia- 
 mond pin given him by a grateful jeweller's wife
 
 SEADRIFT. 133 
 
 for saving the life of lier child, tliat the gloss had 
 disappeared. But if the sheen had deserted his 
 necktie, it was very evident lower down over that 
 part of his trousers which covered his thin knee- 
 pans. His eyes were large and well set in his 
 head, and expressed all the emotions of a sensitive 
 mind ; the rest of his face irregular. But the eyes 
 were so luminous, that they arrested the spectator, 
 and left him no time to criticise the other features. 
 
 It was the conviction of the townsfolk, that 
 any one could Hake in' Dr. Mereside; but their 
 reliance on his probity was so great, that when a 
 large sum had been collected for the repairing and 
 beautifying the parish church of Seadrift, the sub- 
 scribers — consisting of the butcher, the baker, the 
 haberdasher, and all the shopocracy of Seadi'ift, 
 besides the county gentlemen in the neighbour- 
 hood — passed by the wealthy members of the con- 
 gregation who had good accounts at their banker's, 
 passed over the banking firm itself, and placed the 
 sum in the doctor's name as treasurer and secre- 
 tary, with full power to disburse as he pleased by 
 cheques on the bank, where he had never been 
 rich enough previously to possess an account. 
 
 Mrs. Mereside flushed with pleasure when she 
 heard it. The doctor considered it as a matter
 
 134 SEADRIFT. 
 
 of perfect indifference, nor did he perceive the im- 
 plied compliment to his honesty till his wife pointed 
 it out. When he reached London, his first care 
 was to go to a colom'-shop, and order all necessaiy 
 materials to be sent to Philip Eose, Esq., care of 
 Mrs. Clemens, Beach House, Seadrift, carriage paid. 
 Then he proceeded to the residence of his uncle 
 in the City, feeling an unpleasant tightness in his 
 chest as he advanced farther into Aldermanbury. 
 The air seemed solid and not respirable ; the fog 
 was so thick, that lamps were lighted, though it 
 was but two o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 * The ruling passion, be it what it will, 
 The ruling passion conquers reason still.' 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Mr. Mereside's uncle lived on the premises 
 of his house of business. The doctor was sIiot^ti 
 up into his sitting-room, a narrow slip of a draw- 
 ing-room, where the windows were never opened^ 
 lest the air, which it would have been a sai'casm 
 to call fresh, should bring in an atmosphere of 
 smuts, and add to the dinginess of the smoke-be-
 
 SEADRIFT. 135 
 
 grimed curtains. The maid went upstairs to an- 
 nounce the doctor's name, leaving him to amuse 
 liimself with the ready-reckoner, the only book in 
 the room. At length the dirty maid returned, 
 and said, 
 
 ^ You may walk up, sir, if you please.' 
 Dr. Mereside followed her to the bedroom 
 of his uncle, and found a large man with an apo- 
 plectic-looking head sitting by the fire with his 
 leg wrapped in flannels, and by his side a half- 
 emptied decanter of port-wine. 
 
 He stared at the doctor without speaking for 
 a few moments, and then exclaimed, 
 ' What brought you here V 
 His nephew took a chair unbidden, and said, 
 ^ I am your brother's son ; I came to see you, 
 having heard that you were ill.' 
 
 ^ What the devil is it to you whether I am ill 
 or well ? You will never be a bit the better for my 
 money.' 
 
 The doctor smiled, and replied, 
 ' I never expect to be so ; but I believe we are 
 the only two of our family left on the earth. You 
 are ill, but you will get better, and may live to be 
 an old man; I am ill, and I know that I shall 
 not be alive many months longer. Judge, then,
 
 136 SEADRIFT. 
 
 whether I am likely to come here as a legacy- 
 hunter.' 
 
 His uncle looked at him and saw the resplen- 
 dent eyes, more brilliant for the pink spot on the 
 left cheek ; he heard the laboured breathing and 
 the short suppressed cough, and felt convinced. 
 
 ' I thought you lived in Cornwall,' he observed 
 at length. 
 
 ' Certainly,' replied the nephew. 
 
 ^ And you have come over three hundred miles 
 to see me f 
 
 ' Yes, sir ; not to see you only, but in the ho])e 
 that I might allay some of your sufferings.' 
 
 ^ But I have all Moses and the prophets here.' 
 
 * You mean all the faculty of London T 
 
 ' Yes ; and you are but a country practitioner.' 
 ^ True. But I practised successfully in London 
 but a few years since ; and I thought it possible 
 that you might prefer the opinion of a relative, 
 and one who would have the ties of blood to quicken 
 his interest in your case.' 
 
 ' Ties of blood go for nothing.' 
 
 * Seemingly,' replied the doctor with an amused 
 smile ; ' and thus, feeling myself unwelcome, I will 
 return to my own home.' 
 
 He arose to go ; but Mr. Mereside cried out,
 
 SEADRIFT. 137 
 
 ^ No, no ! stop a little ; take a glass of wine.' 
 
 The doctor sat down again, but declined the 
 wine. He never drank wine, he said. 
 
 'Think it sinful, eh? A d — d lily-livered 
 psalm-singing fellow, I daresay.' 
 
 The doctor laughed at this ; he felt how ill- 
 grounded was the accusation, and he said, 
 
 ' I dare not drink fermented liquors, if I would ; 
 but I would not, if I could. I judge no man. 
 Eveiy one in such matters must make a law of 
 his own conscience. I think, however, in your 
 case, I should abstain, if I wished to avoid suffer- 
 ing.' 
 
 ' You want to kill me, I suppose.' 
 
 ' You know I can have no object.' 
 
 ' Half-a-dozen hungry brats all looking for- 
 ward to old great-uncle's death; a grasping 
 wife longing for the breath to be out of my 
 body.' 
 
 ' I have no children,' said the doctor ; ' and my 
 wife has sufficient income for oiu' joint support, 
 and consequently more than enough when she 
 loses me, as my life must be brief. I have no mo- 
 tive for legacy-hunting, as 1 have before stated. 
 I shall be glad if I can be of any use to my 
 father's brother ; if not, I shall be more glad to
 
 138 SEADRIFT. 
 
 return to Seaclrift, for the atmosphere of London 
 is stiflmg to me.' 
 
 Mr. Mereside was softened. He thought he 
 might as well hear what the young fellow had to 
 say for himself about his case ; and received ad-.-icc 
 which, as it enforced abstemiousness and exercise, 
 he felt he could never follow. 
 
 ' What should you do mth regard to the dis- 
 position ofyour property, if you had all my money f 
 he asked the younger man, with the ostentation of 
 a vulgar mind. 
 
 ' Die and endow a college or a cat,' was in the 
 doctor's thought ; but he replied, that not having 
 any money to leave, he had not troubled himself 
 on the subject ; but he thought he should leave it, 
 or great part of it, for building and endowing life- 
 boats : no doubt other charities were equally press- 
 ing ; but living on the coast, his sympathies went 
 with the perils of those who occupied their business 
 in the great waters, and he should like to do his 
 best to decrease their dangers. 
 
 Before he left his uncle he urged him strenu- 
 ously to come to Seadrift and recruit his health. 
 As he talked he felt himself attracted by small 
 points of resemblance which cropped up between 
 Mr. Mereside and the doctor's deceased father;
 
 SEADRIFT. ' 139 
 
 a twitch of the eyelid, the growth of the hair over 
 the forehead, made his heaii: warm to a man very 
 unlike in reality to his dead brother. Almost Isir, 
 Mereside consented to come. He had but to wait 
 for the unlading of one vessel, on which many 
 hundreds depended. In vain the doctor suggested 
 that he had more money than he could spend dur- 
 ing his life, and that life could not long endure 
 without some radical change in its occupation. 
 He did not remember, that his uncle's pleasure 
 was the winning of money in the great mercantile 
 game of speculation. 
 
 'I'll promise you I'll tui'n over a new leaf; 
 only just this once I must wait for the aiTival of 
 the Diana, and then I'll run dowTi and see your 
 wife. Will she be civil to the old man when she 
 knows he won't leave her a penny V 
 
 ' She wants nothing from you, sir ; and she is 
 disposed to value all who are dear to me. I need 
 say no more.' 
 
 They shook hands, and parted kindly. It was 
 well, for it was long before they met again. In 
 1827 railroads w^ere imknown in Cornwall, and 
 the journey was a long one even by the mail, 
 wliich was the speediest mode of conveyance. 
 
 Mrs. Mereside was anxiously expecting her
 
 140 SEADRIFT. 
 
 husband's return, yet half hoping that his uncle, 
 by retaining him, might indicate kindly intentions 
 towards them in the ultimate disposition of his 
 property. She was a good wife, however ; and 
 when she saw^ from the window against which she 
 was flattening her nose, a tall figure muffled up 
 coming through the garden, about the time when 
 the evening mail came in, slie ran down to receive 
 him and denude him of his greatcoat and com- 
 forter, with no thought beyond the pleasure of 
 clasping her arms round him, and hearing his 
 voice once more. Then he was brought to the 
 little parlour, where the brightest of little copper 
 tea-kettles sang praises of its own warmth on the 
 hearth, and where the doctor's favourite meal, his 
 tea, was all ready to be served. This and a couple 
 of eggs sufficed him for dinner, tea, and supper ; 
 'and when the rage of hunger was assuaged,' ^Ii's. 
 Mereside heard of the interview, and drew remote 
 hopes from its tenor. Indeed, long after her hus- 
 band slept as tranquilly as his damaged lung would 
 permit, the busy mind of his wdfe was calculating 
 how many yards of chintz it would take to re-cover 
 the best bed ; there was the lining too, so faded ; 
 and in the doubt as to wdiat the dyer would charge 
 for fresh dipping it and reglazing the chintz, with
 
 SEADRIFT. 141 
 
 the difficulty of settling as to whether it would 
 stand the wear, and, worse than that, the tear of 
 manipulation, Mrs. Mereside's ideas became misty, 
 and she slept also. 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 * A portrait is the past ; e'en ere the frame 
 Be gilt, who sat has ceased to be the same.' 
 
 When Philip, as we shall call him, found the 
 parcel did not arrive so soon as he expected, he 
 occupied himself in making studies in charcoal on 
 every scrap of white paper he could collect ; and 
 his eyes followed Martha in all her movements with 
 the unconscious watchfulness of an artist. The 
 first time he made a study of her openly, her mo- 
 ther was sitting almost in a line with her. Does a 
 woman's vanity ever die ? It was said that Ma- 
 dame de Maintenant appreciated a compliment 
 to her beauty at eighty-four. Mrs. Clemens was 
 under sixty; and seeing the glances of Philip 
 directed towards her, she stole out of the room, 
 and put on her gray silk gown, clean apron, and 
 best cap, and seated herself bolt upright in her 
 place, screwing up her mouth with such a seeming 
 determination to diminish its size, that Philip, who
 
 142 SEADRIFT. 
 
 caught the expression and divined the intention, 
 thought of the speech of the French painter to a 
 lady under similar compulsion of muscles : ' Ma- 
 dame, if you please, I will paint you without any 
 mouth.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens required all her love for her 
 daughter to cover the mortification she felt w^hen 
 she saw Philip's ,eyes sought only the outline of 
 Martha's figure. She stole out of the room again 
 noiselessly, and replaced the best garment 's^dth 
 those for every-day wear. Then she returned, 
 trying to look as if she had not done it, and 
 had not been disappointed ; and did not succeed. 
 Martha, who was more cognisant of her mother's 
 little vanities, knew it all. Martha was crimson ; 
 she never looked so well with that purplish flush. 
 Philip had risen so soon as Mrs. Clemens had left 
 the room ; and finding it impossible to explain in 
 words what he required, with the unscrupulous 
 hands of a painter intent on producing the best 
 effect for his study, wdth a simple word, which 
 sounded to Martha like ^ pardon,' he made her rise, 
 reseated her, turned her head, arranged the folds 
 of her dress over her knees, then the heavy drap- 
 ery on which she was sewing ; and then, with an 
 uplifted finger to indicate that she must remain as
 
 SEADRIFT. 143 
 
 he had placed her, he returned to the sketch he 
 was making, all unconscions of the flutter he had 
 created in the breast of his model. One sidelong 
 glance given to her mother without deranging her 
 position, had revealed what Mrs. Clemens had 
 been expecting; and Martha was disturbed and 
 grieved, though too strong-minded a young wo- 
 man to sympathise with a feehng that seemed to 
 her to arise from a vanity both ridiculous and out 
 of place. Women are always more impressed by 
 the age of their mothers than are other folks. 
 Probably Mrs. Bolitho, three months older than 
 Mrs. Clemens, would have thought her little flut- 
 tered vanity at the notion of having her portrait 
 drawn very natural and by no means absurd. 
 Whilst Mrs. Clemens went out to dress again 
 herself in her every-day garments, INIartha, with- 
 out daring to turn her head from the position in 
 which Philip had placed it, said in a low tremu- 
 lous voice, ' Draw my mother instead.' 
 
 Now as these English words had not the slight- 
 est resemblance to any in Spanish, they produced 
 no effect on the painter, who looked up for a mo- 
 ment inquiringly, and then went on with his work. 
 Where was the use, he thought, of that tiresome 
 young woman going on talking words which she
 
 144 8EADRIFT. 
 
 knows I cannot understand. When he had done 
 what he could to his sketch for one sitting, he 
 rose, and bowing lowly to Martha, indicated that 
 he released her. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens did not remain long on her re- 
 turn. She felt a little sore and ashamed at having 
 appropriated a compliment not intended for her. 
 So Martha, who was very determined on any point 
 on which she had set her mind, without asking 
 to see what Philip had drawn for her, as he was 
 placing the piece of paper within the blank leaves 
 of a Bible, which served for a temporary portfolio, 
 put the tip of her finger on his shoulder to arrest 
 his attention, and said again, 
 
 ^ Draw my mother instead.' 
 
 ' Draw my mother instead?' he repeated, man- 
 aging the th as only a Spaniard can. 
 
 ' Mother,' said Martha, pointing to the direction 
 whence the clatter of tea-things could be heard. 
 
 ' Si, mother.' 
 
 Then Martha made a sign with a bit "of char- 
 coal, as if she were drawing ; and a sudden smile 
 came over Philip's face Avith comprehension, and 
 he nodded, saying, 
 
 ' Sera para otra vezy — It will be for another time.' 
 
 The thought of being drawn was pleasant to
 
 SEADRIFT. 145 
 
 the dormant vanity of Martha. She distrusted any- 
 thing, however, that was not coloured. It could 
 not be worth looking at, done with those nasty 
 sticks ; and she thought, with a conscious smile, of 
 those wonderful colours put away in a box in her 
 room, with which in former days she used to 
 bedaub the innocent velvet. She had always re- 
 membered with a kind of awe that performance, 
 as of a time when, for a short period, she had, in 
 common with twenty other young ladies, been in- 
 spired by a pecidiar talent for producing beautiful 
 results. The method by which such results had 
 been arrived at was far too confusing to be at- 
 tempted a second time without the aid of the pre- 
 siding genius in the form of the drawing-mistress ; 
 but the colours, tightly corked up in little bottles, 
 Avere carefully hoarded amongst her few treasures. 
 They had attained superior value in her mind from 
 the time they had remained there. She knew not 
 — for Philip could not tell her — that the doctor 
 was going to send him any drawing-materials, and 
 she had nearly made np her mind to sacrifice her 
 own. She went upstairs to fetch them ; and then 
 on her way she blushed at the thought that she 
 would ovenvhelm him with the spectacle of that 
 wonderful work of art of her own, the painted 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 SEADRIFT. 
 
 velvet. She would take it down, and show it 
 to him when her mother went out. She did not 
 wish her mother to know her intention. She could 
 not have explained to herself, but such was the 
 fact : the sober staid dull Martha was beginning 
 to love the stranger waif whose hfe she had saved, 
 and wished to impress him with the extent of her 
 accomplishments. 
 
 Her mother went out ; and Martha, steahng 
 softly to the drawer in Philip's room — for he was 
 downstairs in the garden now — found that her 
 mother had locked it ; not an extraordinary cu'cum- 
 stance, as the room was now tenanted. She was a 
 little ashamed and disappointed; and as she pon- 
 dered on it she heard Philip's voice in the gar- 
 den, speaking to a stranger. She went down, and 
 found the porter from the coach-office demanding 
 a shilling for bringing a large parcel from the 
 town. Philip knew that Dr. Mereside had promised 
 to pay the carriage, and understanding the out- 
 stretched hand as a demain for money, thought the 
 claim was an attempt at extortion. Martha drew 
 the shilling from her own pocket, with a sigh at 
 the thought of the mock-diamond ring on PhiUp's 
 finger, out of the value of which there seemed no 
 chance of her being repaid. However, she let it
 
 SEADRIFT. 147 
 
 go, as it could not be helped, and turned to aid 
 Philip in carrying the parcel to his room. 
 
 She shook her head at him, as she saw him 
 take a knife from the kitchen to cut the string. 
 Martha was too poor and too careful for such 
 extravagance. ^ler fingers patiently undid knot 
 after knot of the hard t^vine which kept Messrs, 
 Middleton's painting-materials together; and she 
 was repaid for her sore finger-tips and broken 
 nails by Philip's expressions of delight, as each 
 added treasure was displayed before him. He was 
 fond of receiving sympathy, and wished to explain 
 to Martha for what purpose he had required the 
 canvases and colours. He seized her hands, and 
 looked in her face, then chopped them, and clasped 
 his o^^^l entreatingly ; pointed to the canvas, then 
 at Martha, and begged her to sit to him, with a 
 torrent of eloquent tones, meaningless to her as to 
 each separate word, but making her poor heart 
 bound and throb with new and exceeding pleasure. 
 
 ^ Si ! si !' he went on exclaiming. 
 
 She answered not a word. Then he set up 
 the easel, and seizing the charcoal — not like his 
 own half-burnt sticks, but finely prepared, and 
 delicious to the sensitive touch of the artist — he 
 pointed to a chair which he had placed in a con-
 
 148 SEADRIFT. 
 
 venient light. But Martha did not avail herself of 
 the civility. She stood painfully awkward, with 
 the exquisite pleasure of being thought beautiful 
 enough to be painted, and the intense desire to 
 escape and put on her best gown instead of that 
 old pink gingham ; and then her hair — she knew 
 it must require brushing. Philip, however, had no 
 idea of releasing her ; he had tightened his grasp 
 on her arm, whilst he went on urging his suit, as 
 a painter, so earnestly, that the blushing woman 
 might have been forgiven if she thought that the 
 lover spoke also in those pleading tones. She 
 stood silent and downcast, sHghtly flushed and 
 trembling ; and Philip, believing that he had con- 
 quered, led her to the seat he had placed, and 
 began his occupation. 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 * Now let the well-primed canvas fair expand 
 Upon its frame, and tempt the artist's hand ; 
 And those tints only on its surface place 
 Whose hues are social, whose effect is grace.' 
 
 The canvas was a small one, about thirty-two 
 inches by twenty-eight, and its companion Philip 
 placed on the floor. Presently Martha said, not
 
 SEADRIFT. 149 
 
 moving her head, and with that constrained manner 
 always put on by persons unused to sitting to an 
 artist, nearly the words she had before uttered ; 
 but now it was not ' Draw my mother instead/ but, 
 ' Draw my mother also.' 
 
 ' Draw my mother also — si,' said the youth. 
 
 He was, however, in no hurry seemingly to 
 begin the picture of Mrs. Clemens. His whole 
 soul was wrapt in the work he was about. It was 
 a cvirious process to her that Martha observed, 
 when the worm-like materials curled themselves 
 out of the little tight bladders of colour, and were 
 arranged on Philip's palette. 
 
 ' Good man ! good doctor !' he went on saying 
 with intense gratitude. 
 
 In his enthusiasm for his art he forgot that 
 gold was, or should be, his object. To make an 
 idealised representation of Nature — to this end he 
 devoted all his efforts. He had painted Spanish 
 peasants and their childi'en, and mastered the 
 flash of their dark eyes and the pure olive tint of 
 their skins. These pictures he had embarked on 
 board the ship in which he sailed for England^ 
 and they were lost with all the rest. Like Bruce's 
 spider, the thread to lift him into eminence must 
 be respun. But he had youth and genius and
 
 150 SEADRIFT. 
 
 hope — hope that lived and grew as he looked on 
 the means his friend had given him of recovering 
 his losses. Moreover, he was delighted at finding 
 his material so superior to any of which he had 
 hefore made use. In the convent he had had to 
 grind his own colours, and found those supplied 
 by Messrs. Middleton much purer in tone, and 
 smoother to work with. 
 
 The tint of Martha's skin was, however, a diffi- 
 culty he had not before encountered. He had 
 never painted a fair woman, i.e. a female with 
 light hair and blue eyes ; and in his eagerness to 
 represent all the delicate rainbow hues that lurked 
 in the shadow — and in their edges esj^ecially — his 
 eyes followed Martha incessantly, even when she 
 was not sitting to him. Such fixity of observation 
 was easy to be understood in a lover ; and neither 
 the mother nor the daughter had ever before asso- 
 ciated with a painter, and could not know that 
 when the subject of anything he is representing is 
 in his presence, his gaze is riveted on and his 
 thoughts occupied by it, to the exclusion of any- 
 thing, either person or circumstance, if he be a 
 real enthusiast in his art. 
 
 The fact of his painting Martha at all was a 
 convincing proof, Mrs. Clemens thought, that he
 
 SE ADRIFT. 151 
 
 was desperately in love witli lier ; otherwise Philip 
 might as well have represented her as her daugh- 
 ter. 'Such a pity, poor boy, that he should be 
 so destitute,' thought Mrs. Clemens ; knowing that 
 any money which should be forthcoming for him 
 must have a speedy ending, and having as little 
 reliance on anything to be earned by his paintings 
 <is she had on his ring of mock diamonds. 
 
 'Poor young fellow !' she used to say to her- 
 self, ' I should like them two to come together ; 
 but dear, dear ! I can't earn a sixpence ; and Martha 
 has hard work to keep herself and me, without 
 taking a man on her shoulders to carry through 
 the world. If he could take to house-painting 
 work, or the letters over shops, he might earn a 
 few shillings ; but he looks quite the gentleman, 
 and I suppose he don't know how ; and if he don't, 
 he'd waste more paint than he's worth.' 
 
 So she decided that the poor youth must not 
 be encouraged to think of her daughter. When, 
 however, she began to give Martha hints that she 
 should keep Philip at a distance, the young woman 
 turned from her in silent sullen anger. When pa- 
 rents are dependent on their childi'en, those children 
 are apt to make them feel that they are, in their 
 turn, the masters. ^lartha said nothing, but her
 
 152 SEADRIFT. 
 
 silence was ominous ; and Mrs. Clemens felt that 
 no money would be forthcoming from Martha's 
 pocket to pay for the next potatoes, and that her 
 daughter might expect to go to market to purchase 
 them herself, which would have inflicted a loss of 
 dignity on Mrs. Clemens terrible to think of. 
 
 Both women felt that the young man was a 
 gentleman. They could not tell why, but they 
 knew it was so, in spite of the mock-diamond ring. 
 There was a deference to them as women, and an 
 abnegation of self, which stamped him as well-bred 
 if not well-born. Kace comes out, however, in 
 men as well as in dogs and horses. Li Philip's 
 case, his deference to the female sex might be only 
 foreign laquer, or it might be real metal. He 
 might be a diamond or a mock, like his ring ; but 
 at any event he was polished. His painting pro- 
 gressed, and he became more and more absorbed 
 in the composition, and more and more observant 
 of his model. It is next to impossible not to feel 
 some tenderness towards the object which even 
 unconsciously aids you in carrying out yom* fa- 
 vourite scheme. Philip thought Martha very 
 charming and lovable, though he was not in love 
 with her. 
 
 That sensible young woman, drawn aside by
 
 SEADRIFT. 153 
 
 the stroDfi: and unaccustomed sentiment which 
 PhiHp had inspired, had remitted the exertions 
 with her needle, which had hitherto supported her 
 mother and herself. She was so charmed by the 
 glimpses she caught of her portrait, that she could 
 not endure to disappoint the painter when he took 
 her hand every morning and led her to the seat 
 most favourable to his work, from being placed 
 under the light of the window in a north aspect. 
 The room opened from his own, and became the 
 purpose of a painting-room perfectly ; for it w^as 
 one which had been denuded of all furniture by 
 the necessity of selling what they had possessed, and 
 the carpet — that constant source of irritation to a 
 painter — had followed the fate of the chairs, table, 
 and curtains ; so that the chair in which Martha 
 was placed by Philip, and which he had elevated 
 on an old box, was the only piece of furniture in 
 the room. Philip painted standing. 
 
 He did not object to the empty room. He 
 felt gTeat kindliness towards Mrs. Clemens; but 
 she was an interruption to him, and he was glad 
 there was no chair for her. The one on which Mar- 
 tha — whom he called ' Marta' — was placed he had 
 brought from his own room, which was the only 
 one in the house comfortably furnished. Dr. Mere
 
 154 SEADRIFT. 
 
 side had returned home, he knew. The doctor 
 had stopped one day on his pale horse outside the 
 garden to see Philip, and had been delighted to 
 observe how well he looked, and to be repaid for 
 his trouble in procuring the oil-paints by the young 
 man's gratitude. He meant to call and see him 
 again in a day or two ; but an anxious case near 
 the church, and therefore quite in another direc- 
 tion, had absorbed all his time and thoughts. His 
 treatment had not been considered satisfactory by 
 the friends of the patient, and a physician had 
 been sent for from Exeter, without his having been 
 consulted as to who the medical man should be. 
 He had given all his best judgment before, sind 
 was more than ever anxious to prove himself to 
 be in the right, and that the physician should 
 agree with him also. Of course the physician 
 agreed with him — doctors do as a rule, looking 
 out for being called in again by the general 
 practitioner. 
 
 These little troubles and anxieties kept him 
 from Mrs. Clemens' house, when he had seen that 
 Philip required no medical care. He left him 
 an injunction in Latin to learn the English lan- 
 guage as soon as he could, without which he 
 must be helpless, however strong, and tongue-
 
 SE ADRIFT. 155 
 
 tied, however elocpcnt; and dismissed liim from 
 his thoughts. 
 
 His mind was also occupied by the half-expec- 
 tation of his uncle's arrival. It was true that he 
 had not been, like Mrs. Meredith, employed in the 
 task of ripping to pieces the farniture of the bed, 
 with a care lest the material should give way, 
 which withheld the fingers of the busy housewife 
 when she longed, having the two sides of the seam 
 she had begun to unrip in each hand, to give a 
 decided jerk, and trust to the disruption of the 
 threads and the stability of the calico, thus by one 
 bound overleaping several fingers' lengths of her 
 task; but at any spare half-hour the attendant 
 boy of many occupations followed his master with 
 spade, hoe, and half-moon cutter, reducing the 
 garden, devoid of bloom, and half choked with 
 weeds, into something like order. Many ham- 
 perfuls of fugitive leaves were clasped in Billy's 
 arms, and made captive under superincumbent 
 earth ; and many bunches of sea-pink were cut 
 into accurate hues by the half-moon ; nor, as the 
 doctor said, should they be allowed to straggle like 
 circular pin-cushions into the middle of the path, 
 like those in Mrs. Clemens' garden. But she was 
 but a woman, and women are always silly, was the
 
 15 G SEADRIFT. 
 
 doctor's decision ; an opinion breathed to himself 
 alone. It was well for his peace of mind that Mrs. 
 Mereside did not know it. 
 
 Billy worked with stern determination to carry 
 out his master's wishes. The maid had confided 
 the cause of all the preparations to Billy ; and 
 having been seized with the general enthusiasm, 
 had shown it by scrubbing down the back-stairs, 
 under the idea that master's uncle would take 
 great interest in that department of the house. 
 With tears in her eyes she entreated Billy to take 
 off his shoes whenever he went up and down, lest 
 he should give her the work to do all over again ; 
 and when the favomite cat had left the prints of 
 her pretty soft paws in November moisture on the 
 well-washed landing, Susy was sufficiently pro- 
 voked to fling the duster at her ; at which assault 
 Pussy looked round with mild majesty, and sat 
 down to lick smooth the derangement of her 
 fur. 
 
 Dr. Mereside was a man more than usually 
 well informed and intelligent ; yet he was so far 
 self -occupied as to believe that his uncle, a mighty 
 gambler in merchandise, would observe whether 
 the garden in his nephew's house at Seadrift was 
 well tended or neglected.
 
 SEADRIFT. 157 
 
 * If trifles form the sum of human things, 
 If half our misery from our folly springs,' 
 
 surely half our little pleasures do also. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ' And yet the light that led astray 
 Was light from heaven.' Burns. 
 
 No\rEMBER closed in dark and stormy. Philip, 
 from his room, looked on to tlie wild waters, which 
 dashed themselves against the steep rocks, and 
 flung the foam of their billows even to the top of 
 the cliff. Daylight was precious now in these 
 shortened days. Philip was dressed every morn- 
 ing in the dusk, that his palette might be set 
 ready to begin work as soon as the gi'im ungenial 
 dawn might permit. Martha was always ready 
 also ; but Philip knew not that she had to sit up 
 late at night, whilst he slept, to finish the different 
 dresses, the payment for making them being the 
 only means of subsistence for the three. I fear, 
 Philip, engrossed in his selfish passion for art, did 
 not think sufficiently of this ; that they had pota- 
 toes, and nothing else but salt as an accompani- 
 ment, seemed nothing unusual to him, who had
 
 1 58 SEADRIFT. 
 
 fasted so frequently by the rules of the convent 
 where liis life had been passed. Martha's voice, 
 or that of her mother's, called him from his work 
 when the potatoes were dished up. He found 
 something to eat, hot and floury ; there are no 
 potatoes in the world to compare to those grown 
 in Cornwall. When he had finished, he arose, 
 made a profound bow to each woman, with a tor- 
 rent of Spanish excuses for leaving them, and 
 pointing to the sky, he disappeared. 
 
 They had only seen glimpses of the picture, 
 for he waved them off whenever they approached 
 it. The subject was sufficiently simple; merely 
 an arrangement of lovely tints and graceful forms, 
 with an agreeable effect of chiaroscuro. Philip 
 had seen the picture in his mind's eye idealised, 
 when, on his first recovery, he had perceived 
 Martha in flesh and blood sewing a clumsy sheet. 
 The reality had been sufficiently charming to be- 
 come very beautiful, when everything attractive 
 was brought forward, and all ugly or awkward 
 lines softened into shadow. It was a little gem of 
 a picture. The tender flesh-tints melted one into 
 another ; the golden hair seemed to glitter ; the 
 heavy folds of linen sought repose from the tor- 
 menting fingers which pierced it with repeated
 
 SEADRIFT. 159 
 
 punctures; the warm tint of the pink dress was 
 
 repeated in the delicate colour of the cheek ; and 
 
 a sunset glow was thrown over the composition, 
 
 and harmonised the whole. Very perfect was the 
 
 drawing of the hands. The face was in profile. 
 
 Martha's forehead was narrow and not quite high 
 
 enough; but the outline of her features was not 
 
 irregular, excepting that the too full lips gave a 
 
 sensual expression to the face when seen in front. 
 
 But Philip, in representing her, had 
 
 ' Been to her faults a little blind, 
 And to her virtues very kind.' 
 
 It was Martha beautified, but Martha still. At 
 length this child of labour and of love was com- 
 pleted ; and one day, when it chanced that ISirs. 
 Clemens was out, Philip, when the last touches 
 had been given, and Martha's last sitting granted, 
 rose from his seat, and taking her hand drew her 
 into the small corner of the room where he had 
 ensconced his easel, that no intruder might come 
 and look over his shoulder. 
 
 Her heart was all in a flutter, as he drew her 
 towards the picture. She had done her best to 
 see it, as had Mrs. Clemens ; an intention which 
 Philip had frustrated by locking the room w hen- 
 ever he left the room. So Martha's heart beat, as
 
 160 SEADRIFT. 
 
 would that of any woman loved, as she dreamed 
 she was, poor girl, for the first time, loving with 
 all the strength of a powerful nature and dee}) 
 feelings, and pamted for the first time by a 
 man whom she believed to be devoted to her. 
 Philip's hand trembled as he drew her into the 
 recess. Young portrait-painters usually feel a 
 sickening nervousness when the sitter is to see, 
 for the first time, the result of hours of weariness 
 on one hand, and of toil and suspense on the other. 
 He led her to the right place. He would not 
 have moved the leg of the easel an inch, lest 
 the picture should not have precisely the light in 
 which he had painted it. So they stood side by 
 side for an instant, Martha's eyes fixed on the 
 composition, and her hand remaining in his. When 
 she turned her face suddenly from him to hide 
 
 * The tears that stood in her considering eyes,' 
 
 Philip did not see the drops that were ready to 
 overrun, and her silence fell like snowflakes on his 
 tremulous hope and longing for approbation. 
 
 ^ You not like it,' he said at length. She turned 
 her blushing face towards him to answer, and 
 he saw the tears shining in her eyelids. ^You 
 not like it,' he repeated ; for his vocabulary in
 
 SEADRIFT. 161 
 
 Englisli was limited; but he had recovered con- 
 fidence from her blushes and confusion, and did 
 not quite believe that she did not like it ; and in 
 his nascent hope and joy he dropped her hand 
 and passed his arm round her waist, drawing her 
 into what he thought was a better position for 
 seeing the portrait. She turned suddenly and hid 
 her drooping face on his breast ; and the young ar- 
 tist, flattered both as a painter and a man, pressed 
 his lips on the ripples of golden hair that he had 
 so skilfully represented on his canvas. 
 
 It was the happiest hour of Martha's life. 
 Martha, who had scarcely ventured to ask herself 
 if she w^ere pretty, had been represented as beau- 
 tiful by the hand of the man she loved, — she half 
 believed it to be true, she quite believed that 
 Philip loved her. The caress he had given her 
 another woman might have received, laughed at, 
 and forgotten next moment ; but to this unsought 
 creatm-e it seemed that it was a pledge of affection 
 which was to endure through this life, even to 
 eternity. All the hardness of her nature seemed 
 softened to gentleness, all the toil of her existence 
 was henceforth to be the sweetest of pastimes, for 
 it was to be undergone for the man she loved. 
 Wliat if her eyes were aching and inflamed by 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 SEADRIFT. 
 
 her midniglit labour ? There was no redness in the 
 downcast hd that Philip had given her in the por- 
 trait; he thought her beautiful, and had proved 
 that he did by the result of his artistic skill. This 
 dream of love and devotion on one side, and of 
 future fame on the other, made the pair intensely 
 happy in the present. 
 
 ■ ^ I will work myself blind for him, if needs be,' 
 thought the young woman. 
 
 ^I will achieve a name as a great painter, 
 and from my overflowing wealth I will make these 
 women rich ; and thus far I shall do something to 
 repay the benefits they have heaped upon me/ was 
 the determination of the youth. 
 
 CHAPTER XVin. 
 
 * So very like the painter drew, 
 That every eye the picture knew ; 
 He hit complexion, feature, air, 
 So just, that life itself was there.' Gay. 
 
 They stood thus for an instant — Philip's lips, 
 darkened by the nascent moustache, still caressing 
 the golden head of the young woman and his arm 
 round her waist — when Mi's. Clemens was heard 
 lifting the latch of the door downstairs. Martha
 
 SEADRIFT. 1G3 
 
 disengaged herself liurriedlj, and went into her 
 own room, leaving Philip in eager expectation 
 of Mrs. Clemens' advent. She was occupied in 
 placing two ounces of tea in the caddy, and half 
 a pound of salt in the salt -box; to obtain these 
 she had walked in the drizzling rain some dis- 
 tance, for the village was far off. Then her old 
 bonnet was carefully wiped, and her shawl hung 
 up to dry. Philip could remain no longer in sus- 
 pense. He was too well-bred to call from the land- 
 ing; so he went down, and said, ^Mother, come 
 here; picture — look.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens was rather on her dignity. 
 Phihp had not chosen that she should see the 
 portrait during its progress, and had locked the 
 door — absolutely locked the door — of her own room 
 against her. She was a poor woman, but the 
 house was certainly her own, and it was taldng a 
 liberty to turn the key and put it into his pocket ; 
 so she did not hurry herself to obey the summons, 
 though on tenterhooks to see Martha's likeness. 
 
 Philip grew impatient. He went up to her 
 and took her hand, and repeated, ^ Moder, come ;' 
 and finding that she did not give way to his im- 
 pulse, he said with great pride, ' Come, my loaf,' 
 meaning love; imitating an invitation given by
 
 164 SEADRIFT. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens to her daughter to walk out with 
 her on the previous day. 
 
 ' Loaf, indeed !' she said, smiling : ^ you must 
 say my luv.' 
 
 ^ My luv,' he repeated after her. 
 
 ' And you must say cum, and not coome.' 
 
 ^ Cum, my lub,' said the scholar. 
 
 They went up together, Philip darting before 
 her, to be sure the easel had not been displaced by 
 the hurry of her movement when Martha had left 
 the room. Again his heart beat anxiously; and 
 having placed Mrs. Clemens in the right position, 
 he stood opposite her, to judge the effect on her 
 mind by her countenance. 
 
 < O dear me ! Well, that is beautiful ! My, 
 Martha ! And how well he've done the sheet ! all 
 the folds so natural ! But, PhiHp, my dear — ' 
 
 ' My dear,' echoed the young man. 
 
 ^ You see there is only half of Martha's face. 
 I don't like that. She has only one eye, and only 
 half of that one.' 
 
 Philip could not understand the extent of her 
 ignorance, and was puzzled to know what she 
 meant. He saw and heard that some criticism 
 had been made, but understood not what ; an ir- 
 ritating circumstance to an artist.
 
 SEADRIFT. 165 
 
 Mrs. Clemens went on to observe, that he should 
 have pamted Martha in her best gown, not in that 
 common pink gingham. 
 
 Had Philip known English, he might have 
 said, like Henry Y. in similar perplexity, 
 
 ' 0, I am ignorance itself in this !' 
 
 As it was, he only gave a despairing ' A-ah !' 
 
 ^ The man is right stupid, I believe,' said Mrs. 
 Clemens, and she called Martha, who came trying 
 to look as if she knew nothing about it ; and fail- 
 ing signally in the consciousness of this, she ap- 
 peared sulky, and consequently unattractive. 
 
 ' Look here !' said the mother, seizing her daugh- 
 ter s arm, and pointing to her face. ' Two eyes 
 here — half an eye there. That won't do. Turn 
 the head round so.' And she twisted Martha's 
 neck into the position she desired. 
 
 ' A-ah, I turn head so !' said Philip, beginning 
 to understand. ^ Marta not see sew.' 
 
 ' Of course not,' said Martha angrily. ' Mo- 
 ther, you know nothing about it. It is beautiful, 
 she said, as she caught sight of it again, her coun- 
 tenance softening into a tender look of admiration 
 for the pictm'e, and love for the painter. 
 
 ' Ah, well, it don't matter what an old woman
 
 166 SEADRIFT. 
 
 like me thinks,' said Mrs. Clemens; Hhe young 
 have it all their own way.' 
 
 And she walked out of the room, not entirely 
 displeased that she had been put down by Martha, 
 being proud of her daughter ha^dng been painted, 
 and quite willing to think that her criticism was 
 wrong. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 * But for what end, if none admire V 
 
 Poor old lady ! A bitter trial awaited her in 
 a small way. 
 
 The picture, to be seen to advantage, wanted 
 a frame. Where was the money to buy one ? 
 Mrs. Clemens did not feel as if she could spare 
 any of the sum which remained of the collection 
 which Dr. Mereside had given her. 
 
 ' If I spend the money on nonsense, what are 
 we to do for coals and flour all through the win- 
 ter V she asked herself, with some show of reason. 
 
 Neither Martha nor Philip knew of this hoard, 
 so they could not think of spending it ; but Phi- 
 lip cast longing looks at the only frame in the 
 house, which surrounded the portrait of the Lively
 
 SEADRIFT. 167 
 
 Nancy, the vessel in which Captain Clemens had 
 passed so much of his life, and had met his death. 
 It presented the extraordinary circumstance of a 
 ship in full sail going gaily before the wind over a 
 marble sea unconscious of a ripple. 
 
 Philip stood on a chair, and pointed out to 
 Martha that if the rings were taken from the top 
 and placed at the side, so as to make the frame 
 hang in the perpendicular instead of the lateral 
 direction, it would suit her portrait perfectly. 
 
 Philip had no idea — how could he? — of the 
 value placed by Mrs. Clemens and her daughter 
 on this portrait of the Lively Nancy. Did not 
 Captain Clemens pay three pounds for it, frame 
 included? Three pounds! think of that, young 
 Spaniard ! 
 
 Martha meditated a compromise. 
 
 'Mother!' said she, and she felt ashamed at 
 the consciousness that she was speaking in a coax- 
 ing tone, — ' Mother, Philip wants to see how his 
 picture would look in a frame. Would you mind 
 his putting it into that one — -just for a bit?' 
 
 ■ ' My dear,' said Mrs. Clemens, ' take that pic- 
 ture out ! I never heard such a thing ! Your 
 father's own vessel ! I can't think how you could 
 have the heart to ask me to do it, Martha.'
 
 168 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^ Just as you choose, mother; only if it had 
 been Luke who had asked you, you would not 
 have said no.' 
 
 ' Yes, I should,' interposed Mrs. Clemens. 
 
 ' And this poor boy has no mother to please 
 him.' 
 
 ^How can you tell that? I daresay he has 
 got mother and father too, in foreign countries. I 
 don't know what brought him gandering to this 
 part of the world.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens had thought herself ill-used at 
 the small amount of affection evinced for her by 
 Martha before the shipwreck and advent of the 
 stranger ; and now she was feeling still more in- 
 jured at finding, that more love than she had ever 
 believed to exist in Martha's nature was given to 
 this young Spaniard. 
 
 Parents have fared ill vai\i their children from 
 the beginning of time, when their interests are op- 
 posed to those of a Jason or a Theseus. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Clemens was snubbed by Martha all 
 that day. Philip had reiterated his request for 
 the frame, and Martha had been compelled to 
 shake her head and point towards her mother. 
 
 As Martha's face, like that of the bold baron 
 on his return to his false wife, was sad and sour
 
 SEADRIFT. 169* 
 
 next morning as well, Mrs. Clemens took advan- 
 tage of a gleam of sunshine to go out for a little 
 change. 
 
 ' Those two don't want me ; I am no use/ she 
 muttered as she put on her pattens. She wished 
 to let some of the folks know that her daughter 
 had had a beautiful likeness painted of her. It 
 was rather puzzling to her to find an excuse for 
 going to Mrs. Deal's, the grocer's shop. She had 
 made her purchases of tea and salt before. At 
 length she thought of one of the notes Dr. Mere- 
 side had given her for Philip's use ; and, as she 
 argued, it would be quite as safe in gold ; so she 
 went to the shop to get it changed. 
 
 It was early in the day, and a boy was doing 
 duty for Mr. Deal behind the counter — a state of 
 affairs by no means agreeable to -Mi's. Clemens ; 
 for the boy could not be easily made the recipient 
 of the information whicli her maternal vanity ren- 
 dered her so eager to communicate. 
 
 The boy also was perfectly capable of counting 
 out the change for five pounds. Wliat should she 
 do? 
 
 Li the mean time Mr., Mrs., and Miss Deal 
 were loitering over their breakfast in the private 
 room overlooking the shop through a glass door.
 
 170 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ' There's some one in the shop, Deal,' said his 
 wife. 
 
 Miss Deal was reading Thaddeus of Warsaw^ 
 iind eating a fried sausage — a double enjoyment in 
 which she brooked no interruption. The comfort 
 of the sausage was necessary ; for she was a ten- 
 der-hearted romantic young lady, and would have 
 wept plenteously over the distresses of the hero 
 and of his friend, but for the consolation she re- 
 ceived from that brown crisp savoury compound 
 of pork, spices, and herbs. 
 
 ^ 'Tis that dratted old woman Mrs. Clemens 
 come for another halfpennyworth of salt, I dare- 
 say,' replied the father in high disdain. 
 
 ' Lor, you don't say so !' observed Miss Deal. 
 ^ Don't you move, father ; I'll go to her when I 
 have finished my sausage — there ! 'tis done.' 
 
 ^ Never mind her. The boy can serve such 
 poor folks as she,' replied the owner of the general 
 shop. 
 
 Miss Deal arose from the table with unusual 
 alacrity, and rushing upstairs, twitched off the 
 three rows of curl-papers which had crowned her 
 head. She had not forgotten the dark handsome 
 sentimental-looking youth, who had taken off his 
 hat with a look of respect so profound, when they
 
 SEADRIFT. 171 
 
 had met on that Sunday ; and she had considered 
 herself very unfortunate, that when Mrs. Clemens 
 had purchased the tea and salt before mentioned, 
 she, Miss Deal, had been spending the evening with 
 Miss Damnall, the minister's daughter. Now the 
 chance of attracting a handsome young man, or, 
 at any event, of learning something by which 
 such a result might be attained, would have been 
 far pleasanter than to have heard second-hand from 
 Liza Damnall who were and who were not to 
 inherit eternal life — a point settled beyond all 
 power of appeal by the worthy family of the Dis- 
 senting clergyman at their social meetings. 
 
 So Miss Deal did not wait to comb out her 
 ^ sleek alluring locks,' which remained as when re- 
 leased from the pressure of the paper, in rows of 
 dark shining circles, but ran down into the shop 
 just as Mrs. Clemens — who had delayed as long as 
 she could, pretending to doubt as to whether one 
 of the shillings was a good one, and ringing it re- 
 peatedly on the counter — looked up and saw the 
 young lady, and rejoiced in the recesses of her 
 maternal bosom. 
 
 She 
 
 ' Hailed in her heart the triumph yet to come.' 
 Miss Deal was a far more satisfactory person to
 
 172 SEADRIFT. 
 
 attack than her father or mother, because more 
 likely to be vulnerable on the score of her vanity. 
 
 ' Ah, Miss Deal ! good-morning, my dear !' — 
 Mrs. Clemens had been a lady in her o^^al estima- 
 tion once, and therefore she put on a patronising 
 air to the daughter of the general-shop keeper — ' I 
 was just saying to your young man that I did not 
 think this shilling was quite good ; but I believe 
 'tis my fancy. Listen, my dear ; do you hear it 
 ring? You see, my ears are not so sharp as they 
 used to be.' 
 
 ^ Lor, yes ; that rings well enough. Pa don't 
 pass bad money.' 
 
 ^No, not if he knows it, in course, my dear. 
 But what a sweet print that is ! just a little 
 blue leaf on a white ground. Now that's my no- 
 tion of a pretty pattern ; whilst Mr. Rose — that 
 young gentleman that is staying with me just 
 now — says, says he, for beauty there is no- 
 thing to compare to a young lady in a pink 
 gingham.' 
 
 ^ My !' cried Miss Deal ; ' why, jou don't say 
 so ! Can he talk English hke that V 
 
 ' Well, miss, if he did not say the words, winch 
 I won't hold to that he did — ^}^ou see, he showed 
 it in his deeds; for he've been and painted my
 
 SEADRIFT. 173 
 
 Martha in her pink gingham frock so beautiful, 
 that you might take it for a silk.' 
 
 How provoked Philip would have been at hav- 
 ing the texture of his dress so maligned ! 
 
 ^ You don't say so ! Painted your Martha !' 
 
 The arrow had gone home, Mrs. Clemens per- 
 ceived with satisfaction. 
 
 ' What ! does he paint faces, then V inquired 
 the young lady, that being the only way in which 
 she could distinguish between a house and a por- 
 trait painter. 
 
 'Yes, my dear, he do. I've no doubt he'll 
 make no end of money when folks find out what 
 a genius he is. But, dear me ! how I do waste 
 my time ! I ought to have been home, to see about 
 his dinner, poor lamb !' 
 
 ' Is Martha very busy just now, Mrs. Clemens ? 
 Does she 
 
 " With hand untiring guide the tiny bar," 
 
 as Pope says?' 
 
 ' Not particular just at present. Miss Deal ; 
 .though she's most always got her hands full.' 
 
 ' Ah, well ; I'll just call and speak to her about 
 a frock I want to have made.' 
 
 * Do, miss ; she'll be proud to make it up for
 
 174 SEADRIFT. 
 
 jou ; and slie does fit your figure wonderfully 
 well — considered,' she added to herself, ^ what a 
 stick it is.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens departed, well pleased with her 
 work. Fortune had yet a greater pleasure in store 
 for her. She had not gone far from the shop be- 
 fore she saw Mrs. Bolitho sailing towards it in all 
 the grandeur of a new chinchilla muff and tippet, 
 above which her face glowed like a rising sun over 
 a bank of gray clouds. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens curtsied, feeling painfully aware 
 of the difference between her faded black and the 
 splendom' of the Queen of the East. 
 
 ^ Hope I'm seeing you well, ma'am,' said the 
 widow, striving to be courteous. ^ Have not had 
 the pleasure for weeks and weeks now. 'Twas just 
 a fortnight afore that awful shipwreck, ma'am.' 
 
 ^Well, Mrs. Clemens, what you say is true; 
 but, you see, now that causeway is all at sixes and 
 sevens, I can't get over to you so well. 'Twas 
 bad enough to be blown to pieces before, along 
 the top of the sea-wall; but now, unless I keep to 
 the beach, which spoils the boots dreadful, I should 
 have to go all round the village; a thing I can't 
 manage, nor would my corns permit. I hope your 
 young foreigner is well.'
 
 SEADRIFT. 175 
 
 ' O, yes, mum ; he's nicely ; and he's painted 
 such a beautiful picture.' 
 
 ' A beautiful picture ! Of what V 
 
 ' Of my daughter Martha/ said Mrs. Clemens^ 
 with such a swell of importance in her tone, that 
 Mrs. Bolitho was affronted, and said ^ Humph !' 
 
 ^ Could you not manage to call in and see it 
 some day, ma'am f added the widow, who longed 
 to mortify the Queen of the East for the inspec- 
 tion she had made of the unmended stockings. 
 
 ^ Yes, yes ; I'll see about it,' replied Mrs, Bo- 
 litho in an impatient tone. ' I want to have my 
 purple dress turned. I think Martha might be 
 capable of that,' she said loftily. 
 
 ^She can make a gown with any one in 
 England, mum, however difficult to fit !' said the 
 affronted mother, glancing at Mrs. Bolitho's over- 
 grown figure. 
 
 The Queen of the East thought her figure 
 excellent, so the innuendo fell pointless. 
 
 ^ Well, I'll call and see,' said the lady. ^ Good- 
 morning.' 
 
 , ^ Good-morning, mum,' returned the widow, 
 ^ Good lawks, how I should like to mortify that 
 imperent woman !' sighed Mrs. Clemens, with the 
 helplessness of pov^erty.
 
 176 SEADRIFT. 
 
 It was time to get home now and wash the 
 potatoes for dinner. She wondered if Martha or 
 Phihp had missed her. No ; of course not. How 
 should an old woman like her be missed ? 
 
 When she reached home and had put her 
 old bonnet away carefully, she stood on a chair 
 and took down the picture of the Lively Nancy, 
 seized the poker, and displaced the nails at the 
 back ; put the Lively Nancy into her own bed- 
 room when it had been carefully dusted, and car- 
 ried the frame into Philip's painting-room. 
 
 ' There,' she said in a tone of mixed triumph 
 and regret — ^ There it is; but I only lend it. — 
 ^lartha, Martha !' — the young woman had left the 
 room when she had heard the house-door open — 
 ^ Martha, make him understand that I only lend 
 him the frame for the present.' 
 
 Martha's countenance cleared up, 
 
 'Thank you, mother.' And she went into 
 the painting-room, where Philip was dusting the 
 corners of the frame with one of his painting- 
 brushes. 
 
 He was smiling and looking very much pleased, 
 as did Martha, who stood gazing at him in silence. 
 Mrs. Clemens peeped through the opening made 
 by the hinges of the door, and watched the pair
 
 SEADRIFT. 177 
 
 I 
 
 with loving eyes, as Philip removed the two rings 
 and placed them on the other side of the frame. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ' With much good-will the motion was embraced, 
 To chat awhile.' Deyden. 
 
 ^ AYell, they're pleased, if I ain't,' said the old 
 woman. ^I can't expect them to care for what I 
 love and value. Martha might; but he can't, poor 
 boy.' 
 
 ^ Come and look at the pictm-e now, mother,' 
 said Martha, with pride and pleasure in her tone. 
 
 Certainly the painting was all the better for 
 the addition of the frame. 
 
 ' Martha, iSIiss Deal said very likely she might 
 call to-day about a frock. I wish you would put 
 the brush through your hair, and get some of it 
 to lie smooth. It never lies smooth, like Miss 
 Deal's.' 
 
 ^ I can't help it, mother. Miss Deal's does not 
 curl naturally, so the hairs all go straight with 
 the rest.' 
 
 * Well, my dear, it might look better than it 
 does now.' 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 SEADRIFT. 
 
 Martha retired, and made herself look as neat 
 as circumstances admitted, and then sat down to 
 lier sewing. A smile dimpled over her face at the 
 thought of her portrait, which w^as a reality, and 
 of Philip's love, which existed only in her imagin- 
 ation. The slight touch, which had scarcely dis- 
 turbed the hairs of straggling gold, made by Philip's 
 lips on the top of her head, seemed to have pene- 
 trated her brain. She felt the impression made 
 on her in the unusual exaltation of her spirits. 
 She believed that he loved her, as she doted on 
 him. Martha, living on potatoes, working all day 
 and during many hours of night, was happier than 
 she had ever been in her life before. Philip was 
 everything that was handsome, noble, talented, 
 and worthy ; and she, Martha, the poor unsought 
 faded woman, had won him for herself. 
 
 Reader, before you smile at her illusion, ask 
 yourself how many you yourself cherish. 
 
 Philip, when the portrait had been safely 
 placed in the frame by aid of three of the rusty 
 nails beaten straight by the poker, and one which 
 he surreptitiously abstracted from the wall, began 
 a sketch of a scene deeply impressed on his mind 
 — the deck of the vessel half an hour before the 
 wreck.
 
 SE ADRIFT. 179 
 
 He wisliecl to put in the general effect. He 
 had been exposed enough to the violence of the 
 waves, and contemplated their fury as they dashed 
 against the dark cliff, to be pretty certain how 
 they were to be represented ; but he knew that 
 weeks of study must be spent before a finished 
 picture could result from his efforts. 
 
 He was immersed in the solemn thoughts con- 
 jured up by the remembrance of those who were 
 then around him, of whom none survived, when 
 he heard a ludicrous tee-heeing going on in the 
 sitting-room downstairs, and a strange childish 
 voice, very unlike the contralto of Martha. He 
 heard it, but took no heed ; it was nothing to him. 
 
 The sounds were emitted by Miss Deal, who 
 was in a twitter of expectation to see the young 
 Spaniard and the picture he had painted of Martha. 
 
 Martha looked at her in grave wonder at the 
 eel-like movements in which she was induloino-. 
 Grave and dull, but perfectly sincere, she, not 
 being a thief, could not catch a thief. Being 
 above trying to snatch a grace beyond the reach 
 of- art, she could not imagine why Miss Julia 
 Avriggled in a manner so unusual. 
 
 ' Well, Martha my dear, I want you to make 
 me a new frock, and I have brought a few pat-
 
 180 SEADRIFT. 
 
 terns to talk over and choose from. You see 
 they are only ginghams and cotton prints ; but 
 pa says I have robbed the shop so often this year, 
 that he won't let me have anything over twelve 
 shilhngs. Here is the little blue leaf on the white 
 ground, and here is a sweet canary-colour, and 
 here is a pink gingham. You see, dear, it would 
 hardly do for me to have a pink gingham.' 
 
 Martha looked up with wonder in her quiet 
 blue eyes. 
 
 ^You see, dear,' and the tee-heeing was re- 
 newed, ' the young gentleman that paints upstairs 
 admires pink ginghams, and he might think I 
 bought one out of compliment to him, and 
 
 ' I would not seek to win his eye 
 By borrow'd tints of roseate dye.' 
 
 Martha was lost in wonder. 
 
 ' How do you know — ' she began ; and stopped, 
 utterly puzzled. 
 
 ' Well, you will show me the likeness, Martha 
 my dear. If you keep the young gentleman shut 
 up, for fear he should stray away, I suppose, to 
 other girls — ^ 
 
 ' I am sure I never thoufijht of such a tliinfr ' 
 said Martha honestly ; but she flushed deeply, and 
 did not like the idea, when it was suggested to
 
 SEADRIFT. 181 
 
 her in conjunction with the blooming aspect of 
 the creature who stood laughing before her. 
 
 Miss Deal was a dark girl with regular fea- 
 tures, large round black eyes, and gleaming teeth. 
 Her features were delicately carved, and she had 
 a right to consider herself a beauty. 
 
 A beauty, and of a highly sentimental and 
 romantic disposition, she disdained her equals, and 
 required some one enwrapped and made half divine 
 by a veil of mystery. 
 
 It was unimportant to her, that Giles Jobson 
 the butcher's son, and Mr. Chalk, Dr. Mereside's 
 young man, showed their devotion to her charms 
 in different ways ; Giles attending her sedulously 
 to meeting every Sabbath-day, carrying her hymn- 
 book and looking out the hymns ; and Mr. Chalk 
 suppl3dng her with smelling-salts from Dr. Mere- 
 side's stores. But did she not know Giles to be 
 a very ordinary mortal, who received a few shil- 
 lings a Aveek and his board, which consisted chiefly 
 of meat considered to be a httle past sale to per- 
 sons whose noses were fastidious? And as for 
 Mr. Chalk — those gloves he was now wearing 
 had been sold to him by her ma, with threepence 
 abated of their price, because the lilac was covered 
 with little yellow spots the size of pins' heads.
 
 182 SEADRIFT. 
 
 What mystery could there be about Mr. Chalk ? 
 How could she feel any romance about these 
 young men ? But a foreigner, a dark handsome 
 gentleman, who raised his hat to her as if he were 
 a lord — a man who had been brought up in 
 a convent amongst the mountains and chestnut- 
 forests of Spain ; who was perhaps — dreadful 
 thought ! — a Papist, and might commit some fear- 
 ful crime for the love of her, and thereby merit 
 the damnation in another world that he would 
 be certain to receive as a Papist any way; a noble 
 creature, capable of carrying her off to mountain 
 fastnesses, and making her a bandit's bride ; — this 
 indeed w^as a man worthy of being loved and of 
 loving. 
 
 All these thoughts pressed on the lively brain 
 of Miss Julia Deal, and affected her spine with 
 those extraordinary contortions usually denomi- 
 nated affectation. 
 
 ' I am sure 1 don't mind,' said Martha slowly. 
 ^ Would you like to walk up to ^ir. Kose's room?' 
 
 'Not for the universe,' exclaimed the young 
 lady, ' would I so derogate from my dignity as a 
 woman! Where is your decency, Martha, to 
 propose such a thing? 
 
 " When lovely woman stoops to folly" —
 
 SEADRIFT. 183 
 
 I hope you are not in the hahit of going to his 
 room.' 
 
 * Bless you!' replied Martha, on whose dull 
 perceptions the truth began to dawn, ' 'tis not his 
 bedroom, but the room we call his, because his 
 oil-paints are there.' 
 
 * Well, but, Martha my dear, what would he 
 think of me, if I entered into the precincts of his 
 studio unin\dted ? 
 
 * Abra was present ere he named her name,' 
 
 quoted Miss Julia, who was all eagerness to be 
 within the sanctuary, and thus so much nearer 
 being painted, as she supposed. 
 
 * Perhaps I had better go up and ask him,' 
 said Martha bluntly. 
 
 And she went up, without waiting for an 
 answer. 
 
 Philip was not there. He fancied that, as the 
 tide was out, he might get a better view of the 
 Gull Kock on the beach than from the window of 
 his painting-room; and, not to disturb the wo- 
 men, or be disturbed by them, he had taken his 
 chalk and sketch-book, and passed quietly out of 
 the back-door unseen and unheard. 
 
 He was very happy in the exercise of his art,
 
 184 SEADRIFT. 
 
 as every true painter is ; witness the dying testi- 
 mony of Fuseli at ninety-two : ^ My life lias been 
 a very happy one ; for it has been spent in doing 
 what I liked best.' Thus it was with a light step 
 that Philip crossed the pebbles nearest the shore, 
 and then reached the rippled sands, in which his 
 footprints were filled immediately by water. It 
 was fresh, but not so cold as the air frequently 
 was on that liigli mountain in the Guadarrama 
 range where he had been nurtured. He had left 
 his hat at home, having been, he scarcely knew 
 how, impressed with the idea that Mrs. Clemens' 
 eyes were always watching anxiously lest any 
 harm should happen to that precious remnant of 
 her lost darling. In some mysterious way hats 
 retain the image of those who have worn them. 
 See a hat at the antipodes of the wearer, and your 
 imagination immediately invests it with the head 
 of the absent one. Philip did not know why his 
 hostess always looked anxious when he wore this 
 hat, but he put it on as seldom as possible, in 
 deference to her supposed wishes; and on the 
 present occasion he enjoyed the salt breeze that 
 lifted his thick dark curling hair, and delighted 
 to inhale its freshness, as he went to the edge of 
 the water and watched the waves running up,
 
 SEADRIFT. 185 
 
 each depositing its slight freiglit of foam on the 
 ghttering sands. 
 
 After a few moments of sensuous enjoyment 
 unmingled with thought, he remembered why he 
 had come, and looked towards the Gull Rock. 
 Unfortunately, he could not see it much better 
 than when he had been in the house of Mrs. Cle- 
 mens. He was nearer, but lower, and the wall 
 of water seemed to obscure half of its o;randeur. 
 
 He looked aromid everywhere, and found him- 
 self a solitary speck in the solitude of the beach. 
 The tide had retreated considerably, and it was 
 not yet low water ; consequently his clothes would 
 be safe if he placed them on one of the sunken 
 rocks, of which the apex only rose about three 
 feet from the sands. He had been accustomed to 
 swim in river water, but that night of storms and 
 shipwreck had been the first on wliich he had 
 confided himself to the ocean. He would swim 
 out to the Grull Rock, and should be better able 
 to paint it when he knew every crag and shelf on 
 the granite. It could not be far — not more than 
 a. mile at the most. The sea was calm; and he 
 might probably be able to scale the sides of the 
 mass and rest on it, should he be more fatigued 
 than he anticipated from the exertion.
 
 186 SEADRIFT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 * Paint as though you were describing, through the language 
 of form, light, shadow, and colour, the ideas suggested by 
 nature. However rough the manipulation may be, if it 
 shows a mental knowledge of your work, all other defi- 
 ciencies can be overlooked.' RmEEE. 
 
 When Martha had reached the paintmg-room 
 — for neither she nor her mother used the word 
 ^studio' — she found no one, and stepphig to the 
 window, she perceived a distant figure going with 
 all speed to the water. As Philip had begun to 
 bathe so soon as he was well enough to walk out 
 alone, this did not disturb her, excepting by a 
 dull wonderment that he should prefer doing so 
 when the tide was at its lowest ebb. Not being 
 able to satisfy Miss Deal by the production of 
 Philip, she did the next best thing in her power 
 by taking down the oil-painting for her inspection. 
 
 She carried it tlown very tenderly, and placed 
 it in the best light before the envious eyes of 
 Miss Deal. 
 
 * O, Martha ! you don't think that is like you !' 
 cried Julia, surprised out of poetry and politeness 
 at the same moment. 
 
 Martha coloui'ed with anger.
 
 SEADRIFT. 187 
 
 ^Mr. Rose and my mother say 'tis exactly 
 like, only she doesn't like its being a side-face.' 
 
 ' O, my dear, 'tis beautiful ! the sweetest thing 
 I ever saw ; but no more like you than 'tis like 
 Venus or Luna, that hang up in the print-shojos 
 at Plymouth,' alluding to two prints very popular 
 at that time. 
 
 She had been surprised out of her affectation 
 by her envy of the despised needlewoman. How 
 beautiful Mr. Rose had made her in the picture,, 
 and how like ! She was obliged to confess that 
 any one would be struck by the resemblance. 
 Then her thoughts travelled in the road to con- 
 solation. If the painter had managed to make 
 such a creature of light and loveliness out of that 
 freckled-face, ordinary-looking young woman, who 
 was tw^enty-eight or thirty years old if she was a 
 day ; if such a charming look of intent earnest- 
 ness could have been given to Martha's stupid 
 face, — what loveliness would shine from the canvas 
 when sJie should be the subject of the painting ! 
 
 She had been certain that Mr. Rose had been 
 struck by her appearance that Sunday when she 
 had met him Avalking. She must find out from 
 Martha what were his usual habits and times of 
 taking exercise. In the mean time, the patterns
 
 188 SEADRIFT. 
 
 •of dresses must be talked about as an excuse for 
 future meetings. The different colours were dis- 
 cussed ; and Miss Julia, too conscious to deter- 
 mine on the pink gingham, chose the canary 
 <iolour. Martha gave her vote for the little blue 
 leaf, which decided Julia against it; her maxim 
 being, that when a woman recommends any par- 
 ticular article or fashion of dress, she does it with 
 a view not to enhance, but to detract from, the 
 beauty of the future wearer. Martha had been 
 honest, however, thinking that the canary colour 
 was trying to the tint of the skin ; but she was 
 indifferent; and the weighty point of the print 
 being decided. Miss Deal prepared to return to 
 her home, assuring Martha that she would bring 
 enough of the material to make the dress on the 
 following day. 
 
 She had scarcely left the house before Mi's. 
 Bolitho came with a parcel under her arm. The 
 -orders for turning the purple silk were given to 
 Martha ; and then the Queen of the East asked 
 if she could not see the young gentleman. 
 
 ' He is gone out to bathe, I think, mum,' said 
 Mrs. Clemens. 
 
 ^ I wonder he is not afraid, after all liis di'own- 
 ing,' cried the Queen of the East, provoked, not
 
 SE ADRIFT. 189* 
 
 that she could not see him, but that he should not 
 see her. ' Where's the picture you mentioned^ 
 Mi's. Clemens f 
 
 The picture was fetched doA^^l ; and Mrs. Bo- 
 litho, not having any grudge against poor Mar- 
 tha's personal charms, as she could never wear- 
 silks and satins as she did, said it was very won- 
 derful. 
 
 ' And if you had been dressed proper, my dear, 
 in something worth painting, it would have been 
 beautiful. What does he want for it ? ten shillings 
 or twenty?' 
 
 ' I don't know — ' began Mrs. Clemens. 
 
 ^I don't think—' broke in Martha. ^I do 
 not suppose Mr. Rose meant to sell it,' she con- 
 tinued, growing yqyj uncomfortable at the thought 
 that he might have meant to do so. 
 
 ' Well, you had better ask the young man. I 
 should not mind twenty shilKngs or a guinea^ 
 though 'tis not every one who would like to buy a 
 portrait of somebody else ; but, you see, 'tain't so 
 like, that anybody would cry out, " There's Martha 
 Clemens !" so it would not matter so much. If he 
 wanted more for it, I should think we might get 
 up a raffle for it — half-a-crown a chance.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens felt indio^nant ; but swallowing
 
 190 SE ADRIFT. 
 
 <lown her anger, she said she would mention it 
 to Mr. Rose when he came in, and let ^Irs. 
 Bolitho know. 
 
 When Philip had reached and swum round 
 the Gull Rock, he looked for a convenient spot at 
 which he might draw himself out of the water to 
 rest. He was rather exhausted, but inclined to 
 be pleased with himself for the execution of his 
 intention. He climbed up to a certain height ; but 
 the idea that had possessed him, that the rock 
 might make a point of refuge for shipwrecked men 
 like himself, he could not decide on. The marks 
 of sea-water were on the rock ; but the tide might 
 not cover it, and the moisture might arise from 
 the spray thrown up by the waves. It seemed an 
 idle curiosity to know whether the rock against 
 which, in darkness and ignorance of the coast, the 
 vessel had struck, might have been utilised in 
 saving the lives of those who had been dashed to 
 pieces on the pebbles, or carried out to sea, or 
 sucked in under its hollowed caverns. The in- 
 vestigation interested him, however ; and he con- 
 trived to raise himself, by great exertion, to nearly 
 the highest point of the rock, where a little patch 
 of sloping earth bore witness to its former identity
 
 SEADRIFT. 191 
 
 with the cHfF from which some convulsion of na- 
 ture had severed it. 
 
 The sun shone out on him, and neutrahsed in 
 some degree the coldness of the bleak wind ; but 
 though not unpleasant under the present cu'cum- 
 stances, it might be a matter of doubt wdiether life 
 could linger in such a situation through a night, 
 ■with winter cold and stormy blasts. In the mean 
 time it could not be a matter of doubt to him in 
 future what form it ought to bear in his painting. 
 He knew^ every roughness of its rugged surface 
 by touch as well as by sight now. 
 
 Wlien Julia Deal left the house of Mrs. Cle- 
 mens, she was, as she admitted to herself, ' all of a 
 tmtter.' The portrait of that dull sullen young 
 woman, who never opened her lips except to snarl, 
 had filled her with unspeakable envy. To think, 
 too, that Fortune should have thrown the luck of 
 an adventure so romantic as that of saving the life 
 of the young foreigner in the way of a young 
 woman so intensely commonplace as Martha Cle- 
 mens ! 
 
 ' O, I could shake her !' said the lively little 
 lady, clenching her tiny fists, as she thought 
 how her fingers could grasp the unimpressionable
 
 192 SEADRIFT. 
 
 form of the \\ orkwoman. ^ And she to have such 
 a beautiful picture made of her !' she added with 
 additional aggravation of thought. 
 
 She had taken the pebbly line of the beach, 
 though it was destructive of boots; but then pa 
 paid for them, and she reasoned as one who had 
 not the expense of clothing herself. 
 
 ' Papa always said 'twas better to pay the 
 shoemaker than the doctor/ she added, as she 
 strode onwards, keeping an eye on the expanse of 
 beach, in expectation of seeing ^Ir. Rose return 
 along the sands. If he had been struck by her 
 appearance when walking with her parents, what 
 a — a — mermaid (she meant nereid, but could not 
 think of the word) he would consider her when 
 she was the only object in this exceedingly exten- 
 sive tract of sand ! 
 
 ' There he beheld upon the sand 
 A lovely maiden in the moonlight stand. 
 
 Only 'tisn't moonlight, but sunshine,' she said. 
 
 ' The sea-breeze lifts her locks of jet, 
 The waves about her polish'd ankles play.' 
 
 She meditated wliether she should take off 
 her shoes and stockings, and exhibit an in-e- 
 proachable pair of ankles, and be shocked when
 
 SE ADRIFT. 193 
 
 discovered; but an ugly compression in the feet 
 from tiixlit shoes made her think better of it. 
 
 ^ I wonder if it would be wrong to go a little 
 way towards the seaf she said inquiringly, as she 
 came to a spot from whence she could see the 
 prints of Philip's shoes in the sand. 
 
 ^ I've as much right to walk on the beacli as 
 any one else. Yet those Clemenses Avould be sure 
 to say I was running after Mr. Kose. Perhaps 
 they will not know it;' and this additional tempta- 
 tion of impunity was too much for the lady's 
 strength of mind ; so she followed the tracks on 
 the sand. 
 
 ' What will he think of me when he sees me ? 
 I must loiter, and look as if I were only strolling. 
 I wish I had a little volume of poems, so that my 
 eyes might be cast down ; and so, with the roaring 
 and dashing of the waves, I should of course be 
 unable to know of my approaching him till we 
 met. Let me see ; here is the paper of patterns. 
 That will do to pass for a letter — as if I were en- 
 grossed by some thrilling communication from an 
 absent friend. However, there is time enouirh. 
 I can't see him anywhere. He must be bathing. 
 Dear me, how dreadful ! I never thought of that. 
 It would not be at all romantic to see a naked 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 SE ADRIFT. 
 
 man, and to have it said that I went down to the 
 beach on purpose ! Dreadful ! hoi-rible ! All the 
 same, where can he be ? If he were bathing, I 
 should see something black and pink bobbing up 
 and down in the water. And here the footprints 
 are all mixed together ; and here on the rock are 
 his clothes — poor joung man ! — sketch-book and 
 all.' 
 
 Miss Julia opened it without any notion that 
 doing so was dishonourable. She found sketches 
 of Martha in various positions. The draughtsman 
 had never seemed weary of delineating her. JuUa 
 stamped her little feet with rage. ^Always that 
 woman !' she said. She looked through the book, 
 and then glanced over the sands and the sea for 
 the painter. There were no billows beyond the 
 breakers immediately on shore ; therefore he must 
 have been visible at a great distance, with no ever- 
 recurring body of "water to intervene between him 
 and the shore. 
 
 The Gull Rock stood out beyond one of the 
 horns of the bay at too great a distance from the 
 shore to admit of Philip's having swum beyond 
 it — at least in Miss Julia's opinion. 
 
 He was drowned ! there could be no doubt of 
 it. Ilis body must have been washed out to sea.
 
 SEADRIFT. 195 
 
 There were his clothes, poor young man ! She 
 would take the sketch-book, and tell the Clemenses. 
 She walked as fast as the bearers of ill-news gener- 
 ally travel, and opened the door of the house quite 
 breathless with the importance of her news. 
 
 ' Good Lord I you don't say so !' said ^Irs. 
 Clemens, tmniing pale ; whilst Martha, with a face 
 of ashen hue, leaned her hands on the back of the 
 chair. ^How can you tell? how do you know?' 
 continued the mother. 
 
 ^ There are his. clothes left on the beach, and 
 he is not to be seen in the water, nor out of it ; so 
 I brought the book away,' 
 
 ' Wliy didn't you bring the clothes V exclaimed 
 !Mrs. Clemens angrily ; ' such good things to be 
 washed away !' 
 
 ^Why, ma'am, what would anybody say who 
 saw me with a gentleman's coat, waistcoat — ahem ! 
 and boots on my arm, coming along the beach, to 
 say nothing of socks and shirt ? 
 
 ' If guilty of such outrage on propriety, 
 I ne'er should be received into society.' 
 
 • ' O dear, dear I' sobbed the widow ; ' the clothes 
 is nothing, poor young man ! but we never have 
 anything but misfortune ;' and she sat down and 
 wept abundantly.
 
 196 SE ADRIFT. 
 
 In the mean time Miss Julia had produced 
 her sensation, and was disappointed as to its effect 
 on Martha, whose profile was turned to the win- 
 dow. 
 
 'Don't cry, mother,' she said quietly; 'Mr. 
 Eose is coming along the beach alive and well, 
 and will be glad of his dinner, I daresay. 'Tis 
 lucky Miss Deal did not take his clothes, poor gen- 
 tleman, as well as his book. Perhaps you had 
 better put it down now. Miss Deal, till he comes. 
 He is very particular about his sketches, as he 
 calls them.' 
 
 ' I'm sure I'm very sorry — no, I'm very glad,' 
 said the young lady, really blushing at the blun- 
 der she had made ; ' but where could he have gone, 
 I should like to know f 
 
 Here Philip opened the door, and came in, 
 looking very fresh and handsome, his black curls 
 looking still blacker from their recent immersion. 
 ' Caramba !' he exclaimed when he saw his sketch- 
 book, and seized it with great delight. 
 
 ' I — I picked it up,' said Julia, blushing deeply, 
 but with eyes that looked up, though her chin was 
 on her chest. 
 
 ' Ah ! you peek up ! Thank you,' said Philip. 
 
 Julia Deal wished to stay, because she was
 
 SEADRIFT. 197 
 
 fearful of leaving tlie discussion of her walk and 
 its motive to tlie trio ; but they remained standing, 
 and she had no excuse for delay ; so she mut- 
 tered something about being very glad Mr. Rose 
 was safe, and curtseying to him with an inclusive 
 look at the mother and daughter, she went to- 
 wards the door, which Philip opened, iDOwing pro- 
 foundly to her as she passed out. 
 
 ^ A nasty hussy !' said Mrs. Clemens, in a low 
 voice, ' to go running after a young man bathing 
 like that r Women always think that the worst 
 possible motive actuates their own sex : yet they 
 would resent the application of the principle to 
 themselves or their daughters. 
 
 Philip was looking at his sketches anxiously, 
 lest any of those in chalk should have been touched 
 by defacing fingers ; and Mrs. Clemens, acute in 
 Martha's interest beyond her natural powers of 
 penetration, saw that he thought more of his book 
 than of the lady. 
 
 'Why she take book?' he asked in a puzzled 
 way at length. But the explanation was difficult, 
 and it was not attempted.
 
 198 SE ADRIFT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 * I feel the love I give to thee 
 
 Is like the sun's meridian glov/ ; 
 And that which thou return'st to me, 
 Its reflex from the unthaw'd snow,' 
 
 Next day Philip wanted Martha to sit for him 
 in another position ; but she was obliged to decline. 
 "Work must be done — work quickly repaid was 
 imperative — to procure food for them. She ex- 
 plained this to Philip, who looked deeply mortified. 
 He was being supported by the toil of Martha's 
 hands. 
 
 ' I shall be great painter/ said he ; ' give you 
 money, mother.' 
 
 ' Martha, though, would not take yom- money 
 — that is, unless she was married to you,' said the 
 mother ; who, however, had no msh for the union 
 in their present state of poverty, and saw no pro- 
 spect of any improvement in their circumstances. 
 
 ' Marta me married !' was the rather unintelli- 
 gible observation of the youth in reply to this re- 
 mark, by which he meant to express in a tone of 
 wonder, ' Fancy me married to Martha !' 
 
 He turned towards her ; but she had concealed
 
 SEADRIFT. 190 
 
 her face by stooping over lier sewing. He saw 
 that the back of her throat was crimson, and attri- 
 buted her silence to the wrong cause. 
 
 ' Ah/ he cried, ^ you all money get — I none — 
 you say. You say, no marry you — no money. I 
 say, I make money one day — rich man — marry you 
 den.' 
 
 Martha turned suddenly her crimsoned cheek 
 towards him, and put her hand in his. 
 
 ' What nonsense !' said Mrs. Clemens, hasten- 
 ing out of the room with a smile. 
 
 She did not approve of the son-in-law ; but 
 then it was the first who had ever proposed to 
 Martha. 
 
 When the mother Avas out of sight Philip pre- 
 pared to follow her, without giving Martha the 
 kiss which she had expected, and which she ima- 
 gined was the usual sealing of such a bargain. 
 However, he had left no doubt of his meaning, 
 and she was his affianced wife. She loved him 
 with all the depth of her slow nature — a nature 
 not easily impressed, but on which lines once en- 
 graved were indelible. She did not believe at all 
 in the ultimate success of his art. Mrs. Bohtho, 
 who must understand such things, had only of- 
 fered ten shillings for that beautiful picture.
 
 200 SEADRIFT. 
 
 Avhicli it had taken him so long to paint. If he 
 took to house-painting, he might do better, she 
 thought ; but he seemed too much of a gentleman 
 in all his ways for that. Who would buy his 
 pictures at Seadrift ? There was no one to do so ; 
 and Seadrift was to Martha what the Burdock- 
 grove was to the snails in Andersen's tales. Her 
 imagination extended to no world beyond it, ex- 
 cept in some dim indistinct notion of Plymouth and 
 il^xeter, which appeared to her to be as distant as 
 the kingdoms in the moon. She was willing to 
 bear the additional burden of his maintenance, out 
 of love for him ; a love that made the happiness 
 of her life — a feeling that she endeavoured jealously 
 to conceal from her mother. It was too precious to 
 be remarked upon. 
 
 She allowed of no reference to it ; but it was 
 patent. The mother saw it in every look, felt it 
 in every tone — the eye watchful for his comfort, 
 the voice softened from its severity when address- 
 ing him. She perceived it in the unwearying, un- 
 complaining labour, over a less quantity of which 
 IMartha had previously fainted in her toil : but 
 then the inducement had been less ; she had been 
 working only for her mother and herself; now she 
 laboured for the support of her lover.
 
 SEADRIFT. 201 
 
 Need was to sew. Mrs. Bolitlio was coming 
 to have lier purple dress tried on that day : for, 
 notwithstanding the superior work of the dress- 
 maker at Plymouth, the gown had been an instru- 
 ment of torture when she had worn it, producing 
 something of the effect on the lady's waist that the 
 torture of the boot inflicted upon those submitted 
 to its compression. She had not screamed ; but 
 she could not breathe freely when she had had the 
 band hooked. Martha was to contrive to make it 
 larger if possible ; and to insure the wearer's com- 
 fort this time, she was to try it on first. 
 
 So Martha finished the skirt, and put together 
 the top, and was only just in time to receive Mrs. 
 Bolitho, who arrived in good temper, but with an 
 extra amount of importance. 
 
 ^^iartha my dear, 'tis lucky j^ou've done so 
 nmcli. What do you think? I have a great lord 
 coming down to-morrow. Taken my rooms — saw 
 the advertisement, of course. He is an invalid, 
 and is wonderful particular, they say. His valet 
 came down this morning to give a look at the 
 rooms and see if they were fit for his master. — Fit, 
 indeed ! I should think they were. Fit for George 
 the Fourth himself, if he could travel so far, which 
 he can't.
 
 202 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^ You must see^ my dear, liow important it is that 
 I should look respectable the first time I see his 
 lordship. They do say he's a -svonderful man for 
 looking at ladies ; I don't belieye it goes any far- 
 ther, though. An old gent, you see, my dear. 
 Still, one would like to be nice.' 
 
 ' What's his name V inquired Martha. 
 
 ^LordTynedale.' 
 
 ^ O,' said Martha, ^ I haye heard of him.' 
 
 ^ You haye V said the lady jealously. 
 
 ' Yes ; I was at school for a little time with 
 his great-niece.' 
 
 ' Dear me !' ejaculated Mrs. Bolitho, in a tone 
 which meant. How could such a one as you get to 
 a school where Lord Tynedale's great-niece had 
 been placed? 
 
 ^You see, her goyerness was engaged to be 
 married to the son of the mistress of the school, 
 and the child's health was delicate ; so the gover- 
 ness persuaded the old lord, that it would be a fine 
 thing if they both went and boarded at this school, 
 where the young lady would gain health, and haye 
 the adyantage of masters and her own go^'erness 
 too. They made fuss enough about her, I am 
 sure. She did not mix with the. other girls, but 
 had rooms to herself; and her goyerness and the
 
 SEADRIFT. 203 
 
 masters seemed to think she had fallen down from 
 heaven, and belonged to it still. They said she 
 was a little an^el,' said Martha £!;rudo[in<][h-. 
 
 ^ Ah, then, she is the one will be Lady Tyne- 
 dale when my lord is dead.' 
 
 ^I thought 'twas only gentlemen that got titles,' 
 suggested ^lartha. 
 
 ^This may be contrary, my dear. There's 
 things called female fifes ; but I don't know what 
 plapng the fife should have to do with being 
 called my lady, nor if the young lady plays it.' 
 
 * She played the harp,' said Martha; 'but I 
 never heard of fifes.' 
 
 ' Well, that's the lord. They say he would give 
 half he's got to have a son to come after him ; 
 anything but a woman — not but what women are 
 better than men in most ways.' 
 
 Martha promised that the dress should be com- 
 pleted in time ; and Mrs. Bolitho, having inquired 
 Avhat the young man w^as doing, and hearing that 
 he was painting a shipwreck, departed to call on 
 all the tradesmen, to enforce their attention to any 
 orders given whilst the lord remained at INIrs. Bo- 
 litho's house.
 
 204 SEADRIFT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 * The man of honour's come !' 
 
 Massingee. 
 
 There was a oreat clatterinij!; of horses' hoofs 
 and rumbUng of wheels that night before the door 
 of the Queen of the East. She herself stood with 
 a candle in her hand — real wax, as she afterwards 
 told Mrs. Clemens — to welcome his lordship to her 
 humble abode. First came the valet, a feeble imi- 
 tation of his master in dress and manner, but with 
 this difference — that whereas my lord had been 
 wrapped in furs and comfortably shielded from 
 the atmosphere all the way from Plymouth, James 
 the servant had w^eak eyes and a red nose from 
 exposure to the cold on the box. Each was im- 
 pressed by the idea of his own importance, and 
 probably my lord's gentleman had the more ex- 
 aggerated notion of his position. 
 
 Lord Tynedale stepped out, leaning on the 
 shoulder of James as he steadied himself after 
 his sleep. A handsome gentleman, ^Irs. Bolitho 
 decided him to be, with a small head well formed ; 
 and when he removed his hat with a princely air
 
 SEADRIFT. 205 
 
 to the owner of the house, as if he had said, ' I do 
 this not in deference to you, but because I owe it 
 to m3^self as a gentleman,' she saw that his hair 
 was gray and fine in texture, and the top of his 
 head bald. 
 
 ' Bed !' he uttered in a deep voice ; and Mi's. 
 Bolitho preceded him to the bedroom which she 
 had prepared for him. He seated himself, and 
 surveyed the lady in a manner which evidently 
 bore out his reputation for ^looking' at ladies. 
 Mrs. Bolitho crossed her fubsv hands, and hang- 
 ing her head on one side, simpered sweetly. 
 
 'His lordship is struck with my appearance,' 
 she thought. 
 
 ^A fine woman, by Jupiter!' said my lord; 
 but aloud he uttered, ' Coffee, madam !' 
 
 Mrs. Bolitho hurried off to prepare the coffee ; 
 and just as she had completed it, James descended 
 and pronounced it to be no better than hog's wash; 
 and taking some real Mocha from the travelling 
 stores, began to prepare some himself for his lord ; 
 whilst Mrs. BoHtho's face became from vexation 
 the colour of the hot coals. 
 
 Half a cupful of the beverage having been 
 swallowed, his lordship drank some stiff brandy- 
 and-water, and composed himself to his rest, after
 
 206 SEADRIFT. 
 
 having had the bed re-made according to his own 
 idea of comfort ; another cause of concealed anger 
 to the mistress of the boarding-house, who began 
 to think that a lord, though an honourable inmate, 
 was not one so very desirable. 
 
 Lord Tynedale had lost his father at an early 
 age, and had been brouglit up by a doting mother, 
 who sacrificed her youth to his childhood, and her 
 middle age to his }'outh. She had her reward in 
 the undying reverence and affection that was ever 
 accorded to her by her son during her life, and 
 after her death to her memory. 
 
 Self-sacrificing affection sounds very pretty; 
 but it is to be doubted whether a strong -headed 
 and judicious step-father might not have made 
 more of the materials under his hands. The heir 
 to a fine property and a baron at four years 
 old ; every variation of atmosphere considered and 
 commented on with reference to his health and 
 
 a 
 
 comfort ; indulged in improper food if he cried for 
 it, lest the poor child should pine ; and dosed with 
 James's powders, the then fashionable medicine, to 
 obviate the effects of the indiscretion, — it was a 
 wonder that Lord Tynedale should have grown 
 up an elegant graceful young man, with more ex- 
 cellence in him than could have been expected
 
 SEADRIFT. 207 
 
 from Ills education. Probably good seed had been 
 sown witli the tares. 
 
 Lord Tynedale had that foundation of all that 
 is iijrand in character — a steadfast ref:fard for truth. 
 From this nothing could induce him to waver; 
 not from religious motives — for his belief in reve- 
 lation was, to say the most, somewhat hazy — but 
 because it was unbecomino- a o-entleman to lie. 
 
 o o 
 
 He was a man of honour, and would have con- 
 sidered that he did a dirty action, had he lied, or 
 deceived any one by word or deed, by tone or 
 look. 
 
 He was kind-hearted when he thouo-ht of 
 others; but his faults and his virtues centred in 
 himself; wdiich was not unnatural, for he had fallen 
 into his mother's idea, that he was the object to 
 whom every one else should be sacrificed. 
 
 As a youth he had not been subjected to the 
 ordeal of a public school, in which, in those days, 
 the rule was an iron one. His mother would 
 have shuddered at her boy being flogged or fagged. 
 What! should her darlintr be deo-raded into a 
 scourer of pots and pans, and a cleaner of boots 
 and shoes to some great hulking fellow at the 
 head of the school ? What amount of Latin and 
 Greek could compensate for breaking his spirit
 
 208 SEADRIFT. 
 
 or his nails'? And then, fancy a rod apphed to 
 that dehcate form for some nonsense about a 
 wrong quantity in Latin ! 'Twas all very well 
 for his uncle to bring up his son in a rough-and- 
 ready manner. He was the younger son; and 
 younger sons must work, and their progeny also. 
 But the less communication there was between 
 the cousins the better. The awkward manner in 
 which Arthur Tynedale entered a room full of 
 ladies was heartbreaking ; crumpled ruffles, tangled 
 hair, and his toes straight in front of him, instead 
 of the side of the heel being presented to the 
 spectator. 
 
 When Lord Tpiedale had grown up, and en- 
 tered the House of Peers, he discovered that he 
 was incapable of measuring intellects with those of 
 the lords opposed to him ; his arms were feeble to 
 beat down their weapons, for they had never been 
 tried in combat ; his information was limited, for 
 his brain had been spared all possible trouble. 
 He was mortified, and reproached in his heart of 
 hearts the tender mother who had shrunk from 
 compelling him to labour; but he loved her un- 
 varyingly. Then he retired into the country, 
 and made himself an imitator of Farmer George, 
 fancying himself the most successful agriculturist
 
 SEADRIFT. 209 
 
 that ever had an acre ploughed ; and never look- 
 ing at the account kept by his farm-bailifF, which 
 would have proved him to be a loser of only a few 
 hundi'eds in his best years. 
 
 Lord Tynedale had never married, but had 
 always intended to do so. Marriage, he said, was 
 a duty imposed by Fortune on the possessor 
 of a title. He had not yet performed this duty. 
 Whilst his mother lived, she had found no woman 
 worthy of him. After her death he had tried 
 every lady by her measure, and found them 
 wanting. 
 
 On one occasion a fair widow had attracted 
 him so decidedly, and his attentions had been so 
 pointed, that a bosom friend told him he ought to 
 propose. 
 
 ^Yes, confound it!' said the peer; ^I ought. 
 Besides, she is a charming creature, and will be 
 a grace to my establishment.' 
 
 Post-ofSces were laggard in those days, so my 
 lord sent a courier. The distance was not gi'eat, 
 but three days must elapse before an answer could 
 be. obtained from the lady. 
 
 His lordship could not sleep, could not eat, — 
 could only drink brandy-and- water. His disquietude 
 was pitiable. His dear friend, had he been a bitter 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 SEADRIFT. 
 
 enemy, must have pitied him. At lengtli the valet 
 brought into the room the answer. His lordship 
 had not spoken a word on the subject of his distress 
 of mind to his bosom friend, who had nevertheless 
 sympathised profoundly with his silent anxiety. 
 
 At length his lordship, having read it, kissed the 
 letter rapturously, placed it in his breast-pocket, 
 flung-up his wig (which lighted on the chandelier), 
 and then danced a hornpipe bare-headed round the 
 room. 
 
 ^I congratulate your lordship with joy,' said 
 his friend. ^ I wish you and my Lady Tynedale 
 many years of the rapturous happiness I see you 
 anticipate with }'our future wife.' 
 
 And the friend Avondered if the bedroom he 
 generally occupied at Tynedale would still be re- 
 served for him under a feminine rule. 
 
 'Yes; you may indeed congratulate me, mv 
 good fellow. The letter is a refusal !' 
 
 This was his lordship's first and last escape. 
 Afterwards he looked for a wife in a }-ounger 
 o-eneration ; but it was lookino; onlv. On the 
 strength of his vacillating intentions he always 
 felt injured as one blooming girl after another 
 walked off with suitors younger and more ardent ; 
 but he forgot them after a few days of regret.
 
 SEADRIFT. 211 
 
 As he grew old he became anxious for the 
 perpetuity of the title, but desired that the duty 
 of providing for it should devolve on others. He 
 had had two cousins — the elder one a soldier un- 
 married, who had been wounded, and returned to 
 England in delicate health. His wound having 
 become troublesome, he had been ordered to Bath, 
 where Lord Tynedale was staying for purposes of 
 amusement. The latter had had little intercourse 
 with his relations ; but obeyed a summons which 
 came suddenly one night, requesting him to attend 
 the deathbed of his cousin, who had some communi- 
 cation to make to him. 
 
 When he stood by the side of the restless 
 patient, however, he could make no sense out of 
 the few faltering words which fell from lips 
 over which the chill of death was stealing. He 
 soon left the room, to make way for the last 
 offices of the Catholic church, his cousin having 
 been brought up in the Roman faith by his mo- 
 ther. And saddened by the spectacle of death 
 attacking one of his own blood. Lord Tynedale 
 attended his relative's funeral, and then left Bath, 
 and forgot him. 
 
 This cousin, who would have been the natural 
 inheritor of the title, being dead, he turned his
 
 212 SEADRIFT. 
 
 thoughts to the daughter of the other, who 
 was, as Mrs. BoHtho had stated, the future 
 possessor of the barony in default of male heirs. 
 Lord Tynedale had not then given up the idea 
 of marrying, and thought that, by the aid of the 
 child who must grow up to womanhood, lie might 
 collect around her and himself a knot of fair 
 young creatures, one of whom he might select to 
 elevate to the peerage; if not, he ought to have 
 some influence in the bringing up of the futui'e 
 Baroness Tynedale. 
 
 ' She must have the best of masters, whatever 
 she may be !' 
 
 My lord vowed and sealed the asseveration by 
 an oath. 
 
 ' I wonder what she is like !' And he drove 
 off to an establishment near London, where the 
 young lady had been placed on the death of her 
 mother and the second marriage of her father. 
 
 This second marriage had produced a crop of 
 girls, who embarrassed their father so seriously, 
 that he assented with gratitude to the proj^osition 
 that Lord Tynedale should adopt this young lady, 
 and henceforth bear all the expenses of her tui- 
 tion and establishment. No impropriety occurred 
 to an}^ one in this arrangement; for in age the
 
 SEADRIFT. 213 
 
 young girl might have been the peer's grand- 
 daughter. 
 
 It was well for her that her cousin was charmed 
 by her appearance. He judged the human ani- 
 mal as he would have decided on the pretensions 
 of brutes — according to breeding. For his idea 
 of perfection there must be some resemblance to 
 his own person — a small head, well set on the 
 shoulders, bright and prominent eyes, silky hair. 
 
 Had Miss Tynedale been thick-set and clumsy, 
 he would have left her to be educated as her 
 father's limited means might have permitted. It 
 was true, that her eyes were not all that could 
 be desired by his lordship. The irides were not 
 surromided by a ch'cle of white, but shadowed by 
 a fair brow, and fringed by lashes of a darker 
 tint than her hair, which was of wavy gold ; but 
 her neck was long, like his lordship's, her waist 
 slender, and her gait graceful and assured, as if 
 she were conscious of bh'th and beauty. 
 
 So his lordship adopted her then and there, 
 so far as paying aU expenses connected with her ; 
 but having made it clear to her father that he 
 should not consider himself pledged to celibacy 
 by the fulfihnent of this duty, should it suit him 
 to marry and beget an heir to his title in the
 
 214 SEADRIFT. 
 
 direct line, lie considered himself free to do so. 
 Her father must take the goods the lord pro- 
 vided. 
 
 This gentleman suggested that some provision 
 should be made by his lordship's will for his daugh- 
 ter, Avho was to be thus luxuriously nurtured, should 
 Lord Tynedale marry and have an heir. The 
 patron had answered, that his property was strictly 
 entailed ; and all the provision he could make for 
 Geniveve in the event of his having issue, would 
 be by an insurance effected on his life in her 
 favour. Was not five thousand pounds a larger 
 sum than Mr. Tynedale could bequeath each of 
 his children ? It was very little, but more than 
 she w^ould otherwise receive. 
 
 It was unlikely, the father thought, that he 
 should marry and beget an heir ; so he would risk 
 it. Who would not have done so, urged on by 
 a greedy wife, who required every penny of his 
 income for her own children? She hated the 
 girl all the more, notwithstanding her efforts to 
 thrust her on Lord Tynedale for a maintenance, 
 for the ffood fortune she foresaw was in store for 
 her. 
 
 The father's love grew cold and his prudence 
 imperative under these united inducements ; and
 
 SE ADRIFT. 215 
 
 having desired lier to look up to his lordship as a 
 parent, he dismissed her with an assurance that 
 she would always be dear to him, and desired Miss 
 Sage to send the half-year's accounts to Lord 
 Tynedale at his seat at L akin vale. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 * Gay hope Avas hers, by fancy led, 
 Less pleasing when possess'd ; 
 The tear forgot as soon as shed. 
 
 The sunshine of the breast.' Gray. 
 
 Lord Tynedale took his young cousin from 
 school, and selected one of the governesses whom 
 the child had preferred, to take charge of her 
 when they travelled abroad; for though Miss 
 Tynedale was fluent in French, neither her pro- 
 nunciation of that language nor of Italian pleased 
 the critical ear of one who had moved in the best 
 Parisian society when a youth, and had been 
 petted at the court of the beautiful Marie Antoi- 
 nette. He wished, too, to indoctrinate her with 
 a love of painting and sculpture; and for this rea- 
 son a great part of her girlhood was spent in Italy. 
 
 He was chiefly occupied, first, with himself;
 
 216 SEADRIFT. 
 
 secondly, with liis future representative in this 
 child. His health had suffered from excesses in 
 youth; for improper food, and pernicious drugs 
 as remedies, make not a good foundation for age. 
 Indigestion required brandy-and-water to correct 
 it. Taking spirits is like a woman's habit of 
 rouging — each time an additional quantity seems 
 necessary to produce the same effect. The result 
 is identical. The skin, of the cheek is ruined 
 in one case, the coats of the stomach in the 
 other. 
 
 Each succeeding year Lord Tjiiedale found 
 the process of digestion more difficult, and his 
 health a subject of more painful interest. 
 
 He contemplated his adopted daughter with 
 envy of her blooming youth, and of a health wdiich 
 seemed to defy the imprudences of which he con- 
 sidered her guilty. Her excesses, however, w-cre 
 confined to baskets of figs, plums, peaches, melons, 
 pomegranates, and every kind of fruit she could 
 obtain ; whilst his, at the same age, had been in 
 highly-seasoned dishes, and in wine to allay the 
 thirst which they increased. 
 
 Geniveve, though delicate in form, seemed a 
 very Hebe in health and bloom — a spirit of mirth 
 bounding about his palace on the Arno, and dis-
 
 SEADRIFT. 217 
 
 porting amongst the dark cypresses and marble 
 tazzas in the grounds. She resembled the beau- 
 tiful but fragile flowers, that bloom but for a sea- 
 son round the works of art which were fashioned 
 two thousand years ago. 
 
 Her knowledge was about as much as she had 
 chosen to acquire in her wilful girlhood with quick 
 perceptions and delicate appreciation of beauty. 
 She sang sweetly; for Nature had given her a fine 
 voice, and singing was more easy than instru- 
 mental music. She drew cleverly, and was con- 
 tented to sketch in any material most easily ob- 
 tained — pencil, chalk, or pen-and-ink. Her know- 
 ledge of languages had come naturally, as it 
 were, being caught up in early youth — blown, as 
 it were, into her brain through her ears. The 
 accomplishments in wdiich she most excelled were 
 dancing and singing. In dancing she was grace 
 personified ; her figure was so slight, rounded, and 
 supple. She was as wilful in her way as her noble 
 kinsman in his ; and sometimes he was angry, but 
 more often laughed, to see his own dispositions 
 repeated in a creature so fragile and lovely, who 
 was a grace to him, and could never be a rival. 
 
 He was glad to think that she would not be 
 marriageable, according to his own opinion, for
 
 218 SEADRIFT. 
 
 some years. Girls should not marry till they were 
 twenty, and she had only passed her fifteenth 
 birthday when Lord Tynedale returned with her 
 to England; and taking fright at an attack of 
 bronchitis during his first winter in London, he 
 left her at one of his seats with her governess, 
 and sought the coast of Cornwall, for the double 
 purpose of inhaling a softer air, and consulting Dr. 
 Mereside, whose intelligence and infonnation had 
 been strongly recommended by his London physi- 
 cian. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ' Disposed to wed, e'en while you hasten, stay ; 
 There's great advantage in a small delay.' 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 ' What kind of a day is it, James V said his 
 lordship from his pillow to the valet, who drew 
 back the curtains of the window. 
 
 ' O, dismal dull, my lord,' replied the man in 
 a drear}' tone, revealing the expanse of sea and 
 sky, unbroken by any object save the black mass 
 called the Gull Rock. 
 
 Not a sail to oive an interest to the scene. 
 Had the surface of the ocean and sky been ruffled
 
 SEADRIFT. 219 
 
 by a storm, tliere would liaAC been something to 
 occupy the mind by terror or expectation. 
 
 A fit of coughing interrupted the contempla- 
 tion of the outside world. 
 
 ' Almond emulsion !' gasped my lord. 
 
 The dose was administered, and the patient 
 was silent for some time. Then he signified his 
 intention of rising ; had his breakfast brought to 
 his bed-chamber; and when a small quantity of 
 scraped ham and a boiled Qg^ had been disposed 
 of, his lordship desired his A^alet to send some one 
 to Dr. Mereside, and say that his attendance was 
 required at Mrs. Bolitho's house. In the mean 
 time Lord Tynedale desired to see Mrs. Bolitho, 
 to discuss the important subject of dinner. 
 
 We will leave them, as the interest of his lord- 
 ship's digestion was important only to himself, and 
 retui'n to Mrs. Clemens and her daughter. On the 
 morning after Lord Tynedale's arrival Mrs. Cle- 
 mens received a letter. The receipt of a letter 
 now means nothing to pay, and only a penny penalty 
 for the answer; bat in 1827 it meant a grievous 
 tax on the pockets of poor people, especially when 
 it had travelled a long distance. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens had not received a letter for 
 many years ; and as this one cost two shillings
 
 220 SEADRIFT. 
 
 and tenpencc, slic did not desii'e to receive any, 
 though she had one relation Hving in the world, to 
 whom she had been tenderly attached in her youth, 
 and who, before a dispute about a hassock ^^^th 
 the woman who sat next her in the pew had 
 turned Mrs. Clemens to the shelter of the Me- 
 thodist chapel, had been sponsor to Martha in the 
 parish church at Seadrift. This sister had been a 
 beautiful girl ; and having been seen accidentally 
 by a young and wealthy Norfolk merchant, he 
 had married her and taken her to live at Lynn. 
 Her husband had died, leaving her childless ; and 
 now, stricken by a tedious and deadly malady, she 
 thought of her sister and goddaughter, as the only 
 beings who would be able to soften the asperi- 
 ties of the path which leads to death, and who 
 would have the best right to inherit the property, 
 for which her husband's family had left no 
 claimants. 
 
 The letter spoke of her sufferings, and of her 
 hope that her sister and niece would not refuse 
 to come and nurse her, and succeed to her posses- 
 sions when she rested both from her labours and 
 her sufferings. 
 
 ^ Dear heart ! — Martha ! — good gracious me I — 
 my dear ! — what is to be done ? we must go.'
 
 SEADRIFT. 221 
 
 Martha was silent. She saw the necessity ; 
 even had her aunt been penniless, the duty would 
 have been imperative ; but her lover, her affianced 
 husband, her Philip ! 
 
 ^Mother, if we go, what can become of Mr. 
 Eose ? We must take him with ns.' 
 
 ^My dear Martha! take him to your aunt's 
 house! how could we do such a thing? and he 
 neither kith nor kin to us — neither feather nor 
 bone, as I may say. We could not say to your 
 aunt. Here is a poor beggar-man washed up by the 
 sea ; and if we come to nurse a dying woman, he 
 must come too. You see, there would be no sense 
 in that.' 
 
 Martha was silent ; she knew not what to say. 
 The mother, more occupied by subjects of pecu- 
 niary interest, her days of love having gone by, 
 had not at first remembered this clog on their 
 movements ; but she was too kind-hearted, and too 
 fond of the youth, not to be disturbed by the 
 thought of his destitution. 
 
 ' My dear, 'tis my own sister, the little Betsy I 
 used to stand up for, when our grandmother was 
 hard to us. You see, I can't help feeling 'tis my 
 duty to go to her.' 
 
 ^ She did not do her duty to us all these years.
 
 222 SEADRIFT. 
 
 when wc have nearly starved in the hard winters,' 
 replied Martha stontly. ' Had I been ill, and not 
 able to sew, we might have wanted bread for what 
 she knew or cared.' 
 
 ' Yes, that is true ; but somehow, now she is 
 in trouble, I don't seem to remember that. But I 
 see the grief about poor Mr. Eose. Poor dear 
 young man ! You see, jSIartha, 'tis not a bit of 
 use his messing about. Those nasty oil-paints 
 won't keep the pot boiling, though he has made 
 a beautiful picture of you. I'll step over to-day, 
 to ask Mr. Green if he can't employ him in the 
 house-painting business ; that will be quite in 
 his line. It would not be so bad to leave him, if 
 we knew he was earning his bread ; and let the 
 worst come to the worst, we'll ask the clergyman 
 to find out the monks where he was brought up ; 
 and I daresay they will take him back again.' 
 
 Neither of these suggestions pleased Martha. 
 
 * Mother, could not Philip live in the house ? I 
 could go on with dress-making when I am at my 
 aunt's ; and I could send him all the money you 
 did not require.' 
 
 ^ Why really, Martha, you ha^e no sense now ; 
 all your judgment has gone out of you since this 
 young man was washed Up on the beach,' she
 
 SE ADRIFT. 223 
 
 added jealously. ' Your aunt is quite a lad}'. Do 
 you think she would let you do dress-making? 
 and if she did — which she wouldn't — you would 
 have no connection in a strange place. Here 
 every one knows you. You could not go about 
 knocking at people's doors, sapng, " I am a dress- 
 maker ; employ me ;" nor could you stick up a bill 
 in your aunt's window, " Dresses made here ; and 
 plain work done cheap." A pretty thing indeed I' 
 said Mrs. Clemens, who began to feel important 
 now on the possibility of coming wealth, and the 
 tardy gleam of the sun of good fortune, though 
 appearing through clouds. ' A pretty manager he 
 would be of his money ! Why, every one would 
 cheat him. I don't think he knows how many 
 pence go to a shilling.' 
 
 Martha's brow grew dark. 
 
 ' More reason why he should not be left,' she 
 said dog-gedlv. 
 
 He was no relation to them, Mrs. Clemens 
 urged ; and here was her own sister, her own flesh 
 and blood, pining for her aid, and for the comfort 
 of her society. Mrs. Clemens felt as if she were 
 to be less dependent on Martha ; and though this 
 was a natural and selfish feeling, the accompany- 
 ing one was full of motherly love. Martha would
 
 224 SEADRIFT. 
 
 have money to live like a lady when she and her 
 sister were dead. 
 
 Martha had made up her mind silently to 
 marry Philip if possible, and remain in her mo- 
 ther's house, supporting him by the work of her 
 needle. 
 
 She did not see exactly how she was to accom- 
 plish this. She thought it possible, that many of 
 the Methodists who employed her now would with- 
 hold their support should she marry a Papist. She 
 was not sure — and here her pale cheek crimsoned 
 — that Philip was prepared to marry her immedi- 
 ately. No caress had succeeded that slight pres- 
 sure of his lips on the golden hair, to which he 
 had so striven to do justice in his picture. It 
 would be very awkward for her to propose to 
 Philip that they should marry immediately, if he 
 were not disposed for such haste. 
 
 What could he do, so helpless, and unac- 
 quainted, it seemed to her, with any but the con- 
 ventual life in which he had been brought up ? 
 She loved him so tenderly, so passionately, that 
 his destitution was a more painful anticipation than 
 that of starvation to her mother or herself. The 
 law of nature, which is also the divine law, ' for 
 this cause,' worked in her. She loved, with all
 
 SEADRIFT. 225 
 
 the strength of matured womanhood, which never 
 before had found an object on which to expend 
 itself. Embittered by disappointment as to social 
 position in her youth ; forced to labour for food for 
 her mother and herself ; destined, it seemed to her, 
 ever to be occupied in the adornment of more for- 
 tunate women, and never to have leisure or money 
 to try to make her own person attractive to the 
 opposite sex — chance or Providence had suddenly 
 cast at her feet this waif, whose life she had first 
 saved, and now sustained ; who must have thought 
 her lovely, or he would not have thus represented 
 her ; who watched every light and shadow on her 
 face, every movement of her figure ; who had said 
 he would marry her when he was rich. She never 
 doubted his attachment ; and now — was she to 
 leave this man, helpless and stranded on the little 
 Avorld of Seadrift, and as incapable of taking care 
 of himself as when he lay dying between the retir- 
 ing billows of the sea and the sullen waters of the 
 lake ? 
 
 When she left her mother she went to her 
 bedroom, and bolting the door, took from a little 
 bag her small store of money, and counted it, to 
 see how much she should have on which to begin 
 her housekeeping with Philip. It was very little. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 SEADRIFT. 
 
 She had half hoped to have found a shilling or two 
 more. But she had forgotten that she had bought 
 some lambs- wool socks for Philip, those which had 
 belonged to her deceased brothers having been so 
 large, that they blistered his feet by folding under 
 them. Still she thought it might do ; till an idea 
 suggested itself which made her heart give a sud- 
 den stop, and then bound on hurriedly. She could 
 not let her mother travel to Norfolk alone. The 
 money she had saved must be spent in placing ^Irs. 
 Clemens safely under the roof of her aunt. And 
 then, what should she have left with which to re- 
 turn to Seadrift and to Philip ? Perhaps her aunt 
 would provide money even for the double journey ; 
 but could she be asked to do so ? And how could 
 she, Martha, say to her stranger aunt and godmo- 
 ther, ' Madam, I want to marry a young Papist, 
 who is a beggar, and to return to Seadrift, leaving 
 to my mother the anxiety and toil of nursing you ; 
 give me some money for this purpose' ? 
 
 She felt that she, who had gone proudly on 
 her way, owing no man anything, never swerving 
 from the truth to her customers, nor receiving 
 a favour from them — taking that which she be- 
 lieved to be due to her, but not a penny more — 
 could not ask a pecuniary favour of an aunt
 
 SEADRIFT. 227 
 
 on whom she meant to confer none of any kind 
 in return. 
 
 Perhaps it might be possible to place Mrs. 
 Clemens under the care of the captain of some 
 coasting vessel, who would take her to Lynn ; for 
 Martha knew that the journey must be perfonned 
 by sea, — by land it would be ruinous ; but her 
 lieart reproached her a moment after, when she 
 remembered how helplessly her mother clung to 
 lier in every difficulty, even when there was 1)ut a 
 molehill, not a mountain, in her path : 
 
 ' That tender form, so bent and gray, 
 Must shortly sink to its native clay.' 
 
 And was she to leave to her mother, who herself 
 required care and affection, to bear unaided the 
 long and laborious task of nursing an invalid sister 
 through an illness which had no ray of hope to 
 illumine its progress, and which, as the disease 
 was hereditary and constitutional, would show in 
 all its ghastly details the fate which was probably 
 in store for the surviving sister ? 
 
 She was fearfully beset by the difficulties of 
 lier situation, and placed and replaced the cir- 
 cumstances before her mind, as the unskilful hand 
 strives to arrange the bits of a Chinese puzzle,
 
 228 SEADRIFT. 
 
 without finding any satisfactory solution of the 
 problem. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 ' Say ye, oppress'd by some fantastic woes, 
 Some jarring nen'e that baffles your repose, 
 Who press the downy couch whilst slaves advance, 
 With timid eye to read the distant glance ; 
 How would ye bear in real pain to lie, 
 Despised, neglected, left alone to die V Crabbe. 
 
 ^ I can't say you are very lively here/ said 
 Lord Tynedale to Mrs. Bolitho, when she had re- 
 ceived her orders for dinner, looking out on the 
 dreary sea-line of sparkling gray, and the sky to 
 match, which did not sparkle. ^ Have you no 
 small craft here, ma'am ? — nothing to look at ? 
 Why, confound it, ma'am, a shipwreck would be 
 better than nothing ! This monotonous smooth 
 sea and dull firmament is enough to make me 
 stick up my chin in the air and howl like a dog !' 
 
 ^ Dear, dear, I hope not,' said the lady, shak- 
 ing her shining black ringlets, and looking at his 
 lordship commiseratingly with her sparkling black 
 eyes. * I am sure I can feel for your lordship — 
 mi/ spirits is low sometimes. But the fishing-boats 
 go out frequently, and they bring excellent red
 
 SE ADRIFT. 229 
 
 imuUet and john-dories ; so we like to see tliein 
 come in ; and then down we go to get our pick, 
 or — Lor' bless you ! — they pack them off to the 
 Plymouth and Exeter market. And we had a 
 dreadful storm a month or so back — ships lost, 
 and the sea-wall di-eadfully damaged. We can't 
 walk over it now, 'tis so dangerous.' 
 
 ' Why don't you Seadrift folks get it repaired, 
 then r 
 
 ' Lor', sir, there is no money to do such 
 tilings. No one has the heart to make a rate, 
 when 'twould cost so much, and be so hard to 
 gather.' After a pause, she said: ^A Spanish 
 vessel went to pieces on the rock out there ; there 
 to the right — your lordship can see it standing 
 •out, a great black mark in the sea.' 
 
 ' Any lives lost V 
 
 ' O dear, yes, my lord — only one saved. And 
 he is such a fine young man — a beautiful figure ; 
 just your lordship's height and make.' 
 
 And she stole an admiring glance at Lord 
 Tynedale, and then dropped her eyes when he 
 ■observed her. 
 
 'Is he a Spaniard?' 
 
 His lordship liked admiration, and wished to 
 <iontinue the conversation.
 
 230 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ' O yes, my lord ; and lie paints beautiful pic- 
 tures. He has painted the young woman at whose 
 house he lives. How they can manage to feed 
 him, I can't think ; for they are as poor as Job.' 
 
 ^Why don't he do something for himself f 
 inquired his lordship. 
 
 ' Well, poor young gentleman, I daresay he 
 would, if he knew how ; but, I take it, he has 
 been brought up in one of those monk-liouses in 
 foreign parts, and he don't know how to do any- 
 thing but paint.' 
 
 ' Well, but he might sell his pictures, if they 
 are worth anything.' 
 
 ' Dear, my lord ; your lordship may think, 
 that if we have no money to build our wall up 
 again, we have none to spend in pictures. I did 
 think of having my picture taken,' ]\lrs. Bolitho 
 added ; and she glanced at my lord, expecting a 
 compliment, which she did not get. 
 
 His lordship considered that he himself had a 
 right to a monopoly of pretty speeches. Another 
 idea was suggested by her information to his lord- 
 ship's brain. He would amuse himself by sitting 
 for his portrait to this young Spaniard. He would 
 see what his performances were ; and if the young 
 man had a spark of genius, with his, Lord Tync-
 
 SEADRIFT. 231 
 
 dale's instructions, lie would make a fine work of 
 art. Those fellows the artists were generally so 
 confoundedly conceited ; they would go their own 
 ways, and reject Lord Tynedale's useful hints. 
 His lordship believed that no one knew how to 
 paint so well as he did ; that his genius for paint- 
 ing transcended that of Raphael or Rubens ; that 
 had he chosen to do so, he might have surpassed 
 the pure simplicity of him of Urbino, and the 
 gorgeous magnificence of the painter of the Low 
 Countries. But he had not chosen to take the 
 trouble. Many people have this conviction with 
 respect to every success that is accomplished ; 
 they daresay they should have done as well, had 
 they chosen to try. Thus mute inglorious Mil- 
 tons have the satisfaction of thinking they might 
 have eclipsed the fame of the poet of Paradise, 
 had they pleased to write an epic. 
 
 ' Send and tell that young painter to call on 
 me this afternoon — about three o'clock; and to 
 bring any sketches or pictures he may have with 
 him,' said his lordship, concluding the interview 
 with Mrs. Bolitho more abruptly than that lady 
 quite approved. 
 
 ^Yes, my lord; certainly, my lord. John- 
 dory, haricoed mutton, and preserved apricot-
 
 232 SEADRIFT. 
 
 tart. Certainly, my lord. The young painter — 
 yes, sir ; send directly.' 
 
 When she had descended, she found Dr. Mere- 
 side ready to take her place. His audience was 
 a long one, and it was necessary that he should 
 bestow patience, such as doctors give to new and 
 doubtful cases, to induce him, much-enduring man 
 as he was, to listen to every malady that had af- 
 flicted his lordship since his birth ; not only those 
 which had attacked him in his riper years, but his 
 infantile diseases also. It was sad to the doctor 
 to find a human being so intent on enjoying good 
 health, as it is called, and yet continuing the 
 system which had embittered his life, and must 
 shorten it. But habit — a tyrant that loads its 
 victim with heavy chains, and each day increases 
 their weight — had had Lord Tynedale in capti- 
 vity all his life ; and Dr. Mereside soon perceived 
 that his lordship wished to find an agreeable way 
 of getting welf, which would still enable him to 
 drink his bottle of wine daily for dinner, and 
 various stimulants in the course of the twenty- 
 four hours beside. He gave his advice as an 
 honest man should, and his lordship thought him 
 a pig-headed fool. He did not tell him this 
 opinion, for he meant to try the air of Scadrift
 
 SEADRIFT. 233 
 
 for a few days ; and tlie doctor was a man to be 
 paid for listening to liis lordship's varying symp- 
 toms, and to afford him, in return for his guinea, 
 the pleasure of uninterrupted attention. 
 
 The doctor was disposed to be cheerful; for 
 he, like IMi's. Clemens, had had a letter that morn- 
 ing from his uncle, which had relieved him from 
 some small anxieties. His uncle had in this letter 
 expressed a wish to come to Seadrift for change of 
 air, and for the benefit of Dr. Mereside's advice ; 
 but he insisted on having some lodging provided 
 for him out of the doctor's house. He was a 
 man, he said, accustomed to his own habits and 
 his own servants ; and as money was no object, 
 he wished that a fm-nished house should be taken, 
 for which he was willing to pay liberally. 
 
 ' I have ever found that money would pur- 
 chase everything but health,' added he, ^ and I 
 am willing to expend one to obtain the other. 
 When you, my dear nephew, will be keeping 
 dinner waiting whilst }'ou are attending some j)a- 
 tient, I shall require in my hours the punctuality 
 of a man of business. If I have a house of my 
 own, we shall meet independently; and we shall 
 meet only when we feel disposed for society, with- 
 out incommoding each other.'
 
 234 SEADRIFT. 
 
 'There, now!' cried Mrs. Mereside; 'I have 
 had all those curtams picked to pieces and done- 
 up again for nothing !' 
 
 ' Let us hope they may look the better for it, 
 my dear,' said the doctor. 
 
 'You are just like all men — so stupid, Dr. 
 Mereside ! I think that this change of plan looks 
 bad.' 
 
 'In what way, my dear? I think it looks 
 well for our comfort.' 
 
 ' It means,' replied the shrewd lad}', ' that he, 
 being a man with the keen sense of mercantile 
 honour carried into every-day life, will not, by 
 accepting the obligation of staying at yoiu' house, 
 be supposed to fetter himself by any implied pro- 
 mise to leave you his property at his death.' 
 
 The doctor smiled sadly, but checked the reply 
 which rose to his lips, lest he should dispel his 
 wife's delusion as to the duration of his o^^^l life. 
 He had often explained these matters to her ; but 
 if she liked to ignore the fact of his deficient 
 lung, why should he mar her joy by unpleasant 
 answers, even when they were pertinent ones %
 
 SEADRIFT. 235- 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ' Incipit effari, mediaque in voce resistit.' 
 
 Martha felt that she must inform PhiUp of 
 her mother's intentions to leave Seadrift, and of 
 his coming destitution; but her tongue clove ta 
 the roof of her mouth as she entered the paint- 
 ing-room, where he was seated, maulstick in hand 
 and palette on thumb, dashing-in a spirited sketch 
 of the vessel struck on the Gull Rock. Just 
 above the doomed ship he had painted the red 
 glow from a lighthouse, which might have been 
 supposed to warn the helpless crcAV vainly of their 
 danger. This warm light was contrasted with 
 the wan beams of the moon, scarcely breaking 
 through vast clouds. All was sohtude around the 
 caitiff rock and the victim vessel, and the whirr- 
 ing waves showed no struggle of life amongst 
 their tumult. 
 
 Martha, though obtuse and slow in her per- 
 ceptions generally, felt suffocated and oppressed 
 by the m.emories connected with the scene. Philip 
 also had his thoughts of risk and safety brought 
 vividly to his mind by the subject of his picture*
 
 23(3 SEADRIFT. 
 
 He had heard her step, and knowhig that she 
 Avas standing behind him, he turned his head, 
 with eyes softened by grateful tenderness, towards 
 the poor girl, and said, 
 
 ' I die — ^you save.' 
 
 Foreigners who know but little of a language 
 are compelled to restrict their speech to a Doric 
 simplicity of expression. In the present case no- 
 thing could have added a grace to the four words 
 which expressed his peril of death, and his deli- 
 verance from it by Martha. She was ineffably 
 touched, and found it difficult to go on. At length 
 she said : 
 
 ^ Philip, we are going away.' 
 
 ^ Awg.y ! you go away ! / fjo too^ he added in 
 a peremptory tone which usurped the accents of 
 alarm in which the first words were uttered. 
 
 ' Philip, you cannot go ; we are going to a 
 strange house to nurse a sick woman. O, Philip, 
 what can become of you V and the stern Martha, 
 unused to shed tears, leaned her forehead on the 
 back of Philip's chair to weep unseen. 
 
 There is a pathos in the inability to speak in 
 dumb animals, and Philip's ignorance of English 
 made him wordless. 
 
 ^ All alone !' he said at lencrth.
 
 SE ADRIFT. 237 
 
 Tlie notion of being houseless and without food 
 did not strike him at first so much as the loss of 
 the two persons whose speech and manner he was 
 beginning to understand. He had never felt the 
 privation of such simple nutriment as he required ; 
 and living had been so cheap in the convent in 
 which he had been educated, that the worthy 
 monks thought nothing of the obligation which 
 they conferred by sharing with him their lentils 
 and their chestnut bread. 
 
 He looked out on the dreary sea-line, as if try- 
 ing to discover some path in futm'ity. The monks 
 had given him money enough, as they supposed, 
 for his first start in a foreign country ; but he had 
 lost this and his life nearly in that cruel shipwreck. 
 
 Should he try to retrace his steps to his friendly 
 but ignorant patrons, and regain the convent which 
 he had left with such eager hope and lofty aspira- 
 tions? Should he prove to those worn-out vete- 
 rans, that he, a youth, was already weary of the 
 battle of life, when he had hardly been within the 
 sound of its clangour or the sight of its floating 
 banners? Should he determine on this coiu-se, 
 how was it to be accomplished ? The difficulties 
 were great in whatever form they were to be 
 approached.
 
 238 SEADRIFT. 
 
 'Why you go?' he said at length. 'What 
 woman ? where V 
 
 Martha Hfted her tear-stalne4 face from tlie 
 back of his chair, and bringing from her bedroom 
 a little map, pointed to Lynn. It w^as impossible 
 to make him understand the circumstances of the 
 case, and why they were compelled to go, in the 
 difficulties produced il^ want of mutual language. 
 
 Poor Martha could only weep and shake her 
 head. Suddenly Philip's face brightened ; he re- 
 membered the ring, and that he might turn the 
 stones into money. 
 
 ' Some one buy ring,' said he. 
 
 ' Ring is only glass,' said Martha sadly. 
 
 ' Ah, only glass V murmured Philip with re- 
 sponsive sorrow in his tone ; but it was really a 
 diamond. He thought it very likely that he might 
 have been mistaken in its value. 
 
 The young people were silent. The blow was 
 a severe one ; for if by it Martha lost her first and 
 only lover, he who loved her very sincerely with- 
 out being in love with her, lost a home and a 
 subsistence, and saw no present means of gaining 
 cither for himself. He was so helpless too, from his 
 ignorance of English. What was to be done ? ' I 
 must think,' he said in Spanish; and although Mar-
 
 SEADRIFT. 239 
 
 tha did not understand the words, the tone in which 
 they were uttered put a stop to farther attempts 
 at conversation. She lingered, however, at the 
 back of his chair, whilst he continued mechanically 
 to paint, but found that his masterless thoughts 
 gave vague impulses to his hands, and that they 
 for the time had forgotten their cunning. Martha, 
 at the sight of his perplexity aijj^c^tress, was about 
 to seek her mother, and aimounce to her her de- 
 termination to retm-n to Seadrift, and by marrying 
 Philip to give him a home ; but her consent must 
 be obtained to this arrangement, wdiich would re- 
 vjuire the use of her house to carry it out. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVni. 
 
 ' You promised me your constancy, you plighted me your vow, 
 "With looks of deeper tenderness than I dare think of now.' 
 
 As she descended the stairs to seek ^Irs. Cle- 
 mens, Martha came upon Dr. Mereside, who had 
 just entered the dw^elling and was bowing to the 
 repeated curtseys of Mrs. Clemens. 
 
 ' Ah, Miss Clemens, I hope you are well, and 
 my patient also; patient no longer now, eh? How
 
 240 SE ADRIFT. 
 
 goes on painting? Have you got a young Raphael 
 or Titian in the house? What has he been about?' 
 
 ^0, sir,' exclaimed Mrs. Clemens, Uhe most 
 beautiful picture he've painted of my Martha. I'll 
 get it down for you to see.' 
 
 ' Make haste, if you please, ma'am ; my time is 
 valuable to-day, and I want to talk to you and 
 Miss Clemens.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens bustled away for the painting, 
 and returned with it, whilst Martha placed it in 
 its proper light. 
 
 ' Ah, well, yes ; very nice — very creditable for 
 a beginner. Do better, I daresay, when he knows 
 more of good pictvires. You see, my dear madam, 
 that I know a little about painting, from ha\dng 
 travelled abroad and seen the best; there is no 
 dark olive tint about this. The colours are all 
 fresh and a deal too gray and cold.' 
 
 ^I daresay you are right sir,' said^Mrs. Clemens, 
 curtseying. ' All the same, I should not like to 
 see my Martha painted olive coloui', seeing she is 
 so fair.' 
 
 ^Ah, my dear madam, you don't understand 
 painting,' said the doctor with an air of superiority. 
 ' Had this young man obtained the tone of Velas- 
 quez or Titian — 'tis useless to explain ; only I see
 
 SEADRIFT. 241 
 
 lie must quite give up his present ideas of art, if he 
 ever expects to succeed. But I wanted to speak to 
 you on a subject more interesting to yourself and 
 your daughter,' he added, turning to Martha, who 
 stood depressed and sullen on hearing the opinion 
 he expressed of her lover's performances. ^ I have 
 often heard you, Mrs. Clemens, regret that you 
 could not find a tenant for your house, which is 
 larger than you require ; now if you would hke a 
 change of residence, and could get one at a reason- 
 able rate, I could let your house for you furnished, 
 I think advantageously, for some months.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens looked at Martha, and cried, 
 
 ^ Could anything ever turn out so lucky? Just 
 as we was a-wanting to go away!' 
 
 Martha's brow looked blacker and blacker 
 whilst her mother explained to Dr. Mereside her 
 sister's state, and her entreaties that !Mrs. Clemens 
 and her daughter should come and reside with her. 
 
 Martha was silent ; she felt too indignant with 
 her mother and Dr. Mereside to suggest anything 
 about Philip, expecting that they would for hu- 
 maiiity's sake recall his destitute condition ; but he 
 seemed to have passed out of their minds. She 
 was shy of seeming the only person on whose mind 
 his necessities remained impressed. Though she 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 SEADRIFT. 
 
 was seven-and-twenty, it was lier first love, and 
 slie was as diffident as if she had been but seven- 
 teen. 
 
 Her mother knew her mood of mind as ex- 
 pressed in that louring broAv ; and her o^^^l coun- 
 tenance changed, whilst she took the difficulty on 
 herself. 
 
 'You see, sir, that poor young man — I don't 
 like to turn him out of doors, and he in a foreign 
 country, with no friends nor acquaintances but us.' 
 
 'I don't see,' said the doctor, ' that your letting 
 the house will damage him much ; for you could 
 not leave him at Seadrift while you go to Lpm.' 
 
 ' No, sir ; that is a great trouble to me. You 
 see, 'tis so hard to explain to the poor boy, who 
 don't understand as a Christian should.' 
 
 The doctor ran over in his mind Avhat money 
 he had in hand for Philip from the remains of the 
 subscription, and whether it would be enough to 
 start him at Plymouth or Exeter, where a wider 
 scope might be given for his talents. 
 
 ' Does he owe you anything V 
 
 'No, sir,' replied Mrs. Clemens, looking un- 
 comfortable, lest the doctor should let out about 
 the money he had given her before Martha. ' I 
 don't count that he owes me anything. I am
 
 SEADRIFT. 243 
 
 always glad to do wliat I can for him, poor young 
 man.' 
 
 Martha loved her for this expression. 
 
 ^Well, I'll see what can be done. I might 
 get Gray the house-painter to give him a job. 
 Perhaps he has friends in Spain to whom he could 
 be sent back. Those old monks in the convent 
 might be willing to take him. At any event, 
 there will be no difficulty with you about the 
 house. I think I can offer terms which will not 
 be disadvantageous, when I have spoken to the 
 gentleman. As he is a bachelor, you will not 
 have any children to spoil your furniture.' 
 
 Thus saying, he bowed to Mrs. Clemens and 
 her daughter, and left the house, without waiting 
 to see Philip. This arose from no unkindness on 
 his part towards the young man ; but being a very 
 energetic person, he wished to have some plan to 
 propose for his benefit before he had another in- 
 terview with him. 
 
 ' He didn't seem to like the picture a bit,' said 
 the mother ; ' and, Martha, I daresay he is right, 
 and Mr. Pose don't know how to paint. All the 
 same, I must say I like to look upon it ; 'tis the 
 very moral of you, Martha, and so fair !' And 
 Mrs. Clemens reo;arded it with loving admiration.
 
 244 SEADRIFT. 
 
 . Martha was too wretched to be pleased; she 
 had come down determined to demand from her 
 mother permission to marry Philip before she left 
 home, and to return to Seadrift, and support him 
 by the work of her needle. This opportunity of 
 letting the house she could not gainsay ; but she 
 was utterly depressed at the difficulties which 
 seemed accumulating round her love-affairs, and 
 being depressed, she became more than usually 
 sulky and morose. She went up to the painting- 
 room again, with her sewing in her hand, and 
 seated herself by the side of the young painter 
 without speaking. She was conscious of a feeling 
 of delight in proximity with the man she loved, 
 the greater that she knew it must be fleeting. 
 
 How very dearly she loved him ! 
 
 It was such pleasure, when she lifted her eyes 
 to re-thread her needle, to look at his handsome 
 profile and flashing eyes, as he placed touch after 
 touch on his painting, drawing back to see the 
 effect he was giving the play of red light on the 
 sparkling waters just below the lighthouse, and was 
 pleased with the result of his laboiu'. His love 
 was given to his art. He felt no passion for 
 the young woman whose sullen bosom burnt with 
 such an unseen dull red fire for him. Towards
 
 SEADRIFT. 245 
 
 her he felt tenderness only — the tenderness of 
 gratitude — and pity for the monotony of her occu- 
 pation. He yearned, however, for the approbation 
 of some living creature besides himself ; and when 
 he had given the last touch of light to the waves, 
 he looked at her to see if she admired it as much 
 as he did. With the self-occupation natural to 
 one w^hose whole thought is given to an engross- 
 ing occupation, he had already nearly forgotten 
 that he had to think wdiere and how he w^as to 
 live. 
 
 Martha was not looking at his picture. Her 
 head was bent over the newly-dipt lining of Mrs. 
 Mereside's curtains, which that lady had sent and 
 requested her to re-make. Whilst the needle ran 
 the seams together, tears fell on her work, which 
 she wiped off impatiently. Philip saw the drops ; 
 he saw the poor weary fingers, of wdiich the index 
 was discoloured by the pricks of the needle ; and 
 was filled with pity. Then he looked again at 
 his picture, and believed that he saw in its success, 
 and in the admiration it must excite a way out 
 of .all difiiculties, with fame and prosperity in the 
 future. 
 
 He put his hand on the shoulder of the young 
 woman farthest from him, ^yitll the paint-brush
 
 246 SEADRIFT. 
 
 Still in his hand, so that his ann was round her 
 neck. 
 
 ^Marta, I gi-eat man some day, rich man; 
 marry you then ; you then no more work.' 
 
 She turned her tear-stained face to his, and 
 meeting his dark eyes fixed on hers, softened as 
 they were by pity and affection, her lips sought 
 and received the first kiss which had ever met 
 them. 
 
 ' I will be your wife,' said she, ^ now, or then, 
 or whenever you wish it.' 
 
 ' Yes, my wife, when I get money ; you no 
 work.' 
 
 Philip had pledged himself. Martha relied on 
 him, and was as happy as the adverse circumstances 
 of her fate permitted. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 * Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day, 
 Live till to-morrow, will have pass'd away.' 
 
 So:metimes life is stagnant for years ; then 
 events come crowding, and jostle each other. 
 
 The lovers were disturbed by the tones of Mrs. 
 Clemens' voice calling,
 
 SEADRIFT. 247 
 
 ' Martha ! Martha ! I see Mrs. Bolitho coming 
 along the beach. You 7nust come down. What 
 can she want now ? A new dress to be made, I 
 <laresay.' 
 
 Martha wiped her eyes, and came down as 
 soon as she coukl, having first replaced the little 
 gray neckerchief, which Philip's embrace had de- 
 ranged. 
 
 ^ Those pebbles, mum,' said Mrs. Bolitho, on 
 entering the house, ^is a disgrace to the place, 
 and ought to be done away with. To think how 
 one's feet do slip down amongst them nasty smooth 
 gray things, that have nothing to do but to go 
 polishing themselves up and down the beach all 
 day and all night, and rolling over one's toes just 
 where the corns are tender, just as if they was 
 human creatures !' 
 
 ' Dear heart, sure,' said Mrs. Clemens, sympa- 
 thising. 'And your boots, too, are just ncAv, I 
 see.' 
 
 ' Yes, mum ; all the worse for that. I put on 
 my best pair, to go up and see my lord this morn- 
 ing, and how they pinch me no one can tell. It 
 makes me pre spire all over,' said the discomposed 
 landlady, wiping her face. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens waited. Mrs. Bolitho certainly
 
 2-18 SE ADRIFT. 
 
 would not have inflicted torture on her corns for 
 nothing, she thought. Martha placed a chair for 
 the guest at the corner farthest from the fire. 
 
 ^ Thank you, Martha my dear. The gown 
 did very well. I think my lord observed it this 
 morning ; he was too tired last night. But 'tis 
 not about gowns IVe come to talk, but about my 
 lord, and your young painter. He wishes,' added 
 Mrs. Bolitho in a solemn voice — ^ he wishes ISIi'. 
 Rose to call on him, and to bring any pictures he 
 may have by him ; and I think it may be the 
 making of the young man.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens seemed as much impressed as 
 Mrs. Bolitho expected, and even the impassive 
 Martha looked flurried. 
 
 ' When is he to go, mum V inquired Mrs. Cle- 
 mens. 
 
 ' He'd better walk back with me, and I'll in- 
 troduce him.' 
 
 ' Martha, will you go up and tell ^Ii*. Rose to 
 get ready, my dear. And brusli his hat for him, 
 and make him take off his painting clothes, and 
 put on his best.' 
 
 ^I'm sure I don't know how I am to make 
 him understand about saying "my lord" and 
 " your lordship," ' murmui'ed Martha, hitting on a
 
 SEADRIFT. 249 
 
 grievous difficulty to tongues untaught to address- 
 those gifted with titles. 
 
 ^ It don't signify,' said the landlady. ' I'll 
 soften down matters to my lord, and tell him 'tis 
 a poor foreigner who don't know English titles.' 
 
 ^I think we had better both go, if you will 
 excuse us, mum,' said Mrs. Clemens. ' I can be 
 getting his things ready, whilst Martha explains 
 matters to him.' 
 
 Whilst Martha was explaining, Mrs. Clemens 
 brought down the shipwreck, to impress Mrs. 
 Bolitho still more with the talents of the painter. 
 Mrs. Bolitho dared say 'twas very natural; but she 
 didn't like such things, she didn't. It made her 
 feel like gooseskin all over. She wondered, think- 
 ing of her husband, how any one as was connected 
 -sAitli seafaring folks could bear to look at such a 
 picture. Mrs. Clemens felt somewhat ashamed 
 of being convicted of want of feeling in the mat- 
 ter ; but in truth the wrecked Spanish vessel pre- 
 sented so different an aspect from the portrait of 
 the Lively Nancy, noAv denuded of its frame, that 
 her sensibilities had not been aroused, as, in Mrs. 
 Bolitho's opinion, they ought to haA'e been. 
 
 Luckily, Philip appeared, with the portrait of 
 Martha covered up in an old silk handkerchief
 
 250 8EADRIFT. 
 
 belonging to the late captain of the Lively Nancy ; 
 and bowing to Mrs. Bolitho, said, * I am ready, 
 madam/ a sentence which Martha had carefnlly 
 taught him before he descended the stairs. 
 
 ' Come along, young man, and speak up to my 
 lord. He is a little deaf, but don't like to own it. 
 Keep to the right ear as near as you can.' 
 
 ^ Won't you take the shipwreck too V said 
 Martha. 
 
 •No dry — spoil.' 
 . ^ Take your sketch-book, then.' 
 
 Philip consented. The sketch-book contained 
 studies of different parts of the vessel, of the Gull 
 Rock, and of Martha in divers positions. 
 
 Then she went up-stairs and watched the pair 
 as they toiled over the sands, Philip offering his 
 hand politely to assist the portly lady over any 
 obstacle more important than the rest. She saw 
 them come to the spot where she had drawn Philip 
 from the water. She knew he thought of it, for 
 he stopped for a moment, and allowed Mrs. Boli- 
 tho to precede him, whilst he looked at the place, 
 which had been frequently pointed out to him 
 by the women since that awful night of storms. 
 
 She looked at him, loving him with an inten- 
 sity of passionate adoration the more unmanageable
 
 SEADRIFT. 251 
 
 because concealed by the reserve of her character. 
 He was her first, her only love. Had she been 
 loved by fifty men, handsome, and wealthy, and 
 titled, she would have passed on her way without 
 noticing them. He was her all. She felt jealous 
 and uneasy, she knew not why, at seeing him 
 depart from her. What, jealous of an old peer 
 and a fat landlady ? 
 
 Yes, it was really so. It seemed, as she lost 
 sight of his figure over the expanse of beach, that 
 he was passing away from her care, and was 
 beginning a new phase of existence. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ' The sweet intelligence of those dear eyes, 
 Blest be the art which can immortalise ! — 
 The art which baffles time's tyrannic claim 
 To quench it.' Cowpek. 
 
 When Lord Tynedale heard that the artist 
 had arrived, he desired James the valet to tell 
 him to remain below and send up his pictures ; 
 for, as he argued to himself, ^ If they are daubs, as 
 they probably are, I need not be troubled by hav- 
 ing him here ; and James may give him a guinea 
 and send him away, telling him I am too much 
 enojacped to see him.'
 
 252 SEADRIFT. 
 
 His lordship had received his letters, and 
 was not so deficient in subjects of interest as 
 when in the morning he had ordered the painter 
 to call. 
 
 James, however, had received no letters ; and 
 having nothing to gratify his yearning for amuse- 
 ment, he, when he had brought up the picture 
 and the sketch-book, uncovered the former, and 
 placed it on a chair opposite his lordship, where 
 his eye would fall naturally upon it when he looked 
 up from his writing. 
 
 It was a charming picture, notwithstanding 
 Dr. Mereside's criticism ; bright and pure in tone, 
 yet with force enough in the shadows to make 
 the lights brilliant. The female figure beamed 
 with purity and delicacy ; the half shadows were 
 transparent; the drawing carefully studied from 
 nature, as was every accessory of the pictm'e. 
 
 Lord Tynedale saw it suddenly, and said, 
 
 ^Confound it!' 
 
 His vocabulary was limited. That shibboleth 
 was in constant requisition, whatever might be 
 his feelings — whether of pleasure, pain, anger, 
 impatience, or admiration. James understood the 
 tone to mean the latter, and said, 
 
 ^ O, my lord, 'tis beautiful !'
 
 SEADRIFT. 253 
 
 ^ Humph!' said my lord in assent. 'Bring 
 it here.' 
 
 The picture had the high finish in which the 
 half instructed and wholly ignorant delight, as 
 well as those really capable of understanding the 
 difficulties of art, and the skill by which they are 
 overcome. 
 
 My lord was charmed with the performance, 
 and said to his valet, regardless of grammar, 
 
 ' Who the devil has he painted V 
 
 ' Can't say, my lord. Shall I send him up to 
 your lordship V 
 
 'Yes: 
 
 James fetched Philip, who bowed on entering, 
 and then stood up, with a slight flush on his fine 
 face ; for he hoped something might arise to im- 
 prove his prospects in art from his interview with 
 the great English milord. 
 
 ' You speak English V 
 
 ' Ah, no, milor ; no English, not much.' 
 
 ' French, then V 
 
 'No French.' 
 • ' Confound it !' said Lord Tynedale, scrutinis- 
 ing the young man. 'Every one should speak 
 French — language of the w^orld. — A handsome 
 fellow ! Looks like a gentleman ! How the
 
 254 SEADRIFT. 
 
 deuce are we to get on? — Have you painted 
 anything but thatf pointing to the portrait of 
 Martha. 
 
 Philip understood more by the action than by 
 tlie words, and said with difficulty, 
 
 ' I paint shipwreck — finished ; shipwreck like 
 this/ and he opened his sketch-book and showed 
 the rough sketch of the subject. 
 
 ^ Fetch itj' said my lord. 
 
 Philip understood, and shook his head. 
 
 ' Not dry, milor.' 
 
 ^Ah, I understand. What do you want for 
 this T pointing to the painting of Martha. 
 
 Philip coloured with surprise and pleasure. 
 He had never sold a picture before. He was 
 not certain if he understood rightly the mean- 
 ing of the peer's question, and hesitated lest he 
 should be mistaken; and Lord Tynedale, taking 
 some guineas from an open desk on the table, 
 said again, 
 
 ^ How many?' 
 
 Philip held up both hands with the fingers 
 outspread. 
 
 ' Ten r said the peer. ' By Jupiter, 'tis worth 
 it ! — Take off that shabby frame, James, and give 
 it back to Mr. — What's your name V
 
 SEADRIFT. 255 
 
 ^Kosa.' 
 
 ^ Ah, humph ! Mean to be a Salvator Rosa. 
 Not at all in his style, though.' 
 
 His lordship counted out ten guineas, and 
 placed them in the young man's hand. 
 
 ' MucMsimas gracids^ said Philip, bowing. 
 
 His lordship was pleased with his present gene- 
 rosity, and with the notion that he should be the 
 means of introducing a new star to the world of 
 London art. ' Who found out that clever young 
 fellow f would be asked. ' O, Lord Tynedale. 
 He always recognises talent where it exists,' &c. 
 &c. 
 
 ' You may go. Take the frame. I shall call 
 and see the other painting to-mori'ow; — do you 
 hear?' 
 
 'To-morrow, do you hear?' repeated Philip, 
 bowing profoundly, and repeating in a solemn 
 voice the latter part of the sentence, ' to-morro^^', 
 do you hear?' which he conceived to be a proper 
 parting salutation. 
 
 There was little of Spanish gravity in the 
 way in which he bounded down the stairs, neither 
 seeing nor hearing Mrs. Bolitho, who had hoped 
 to have gathered something of the nature of the 
 interview from young Mr. Rose as he descended.
 
 256 SE ADRIFT. 
 
 She could not even catch a glimpse of his face, 
 to see if he looked pleased or vexed, 
 
 ' As, like a meteor of the night, 
 He pass'd, and vanish'd from her sight.' 
 
 How happy he was ! made so by the gratified 
 vanity of the artist, and the becoming pride of 
 being able to repay in some degree his obligations 
 to Mrs. Clemens and her daughter. Not that 
 such obligations could ever be repaid, he knew ; 
 but the idea of wiping off the stigma of having 
 lived on Martha's labour without making her any 
 return, was a dear delight to him; for he had felt 
 how much the proper positions had been inverted, 
 when the man was supported by the woman. 
 
 He bounded over the chasm made by the sea 
 on that awful night, when it had tossed him, 
 scarcely able to struggle against its violence, 
 ao-ainst the barrier built to resist its encroach- 
 ments. 
 
 Now he was full of life and health and lio]ie ; 
 then he had almost suffered the bitterness of death. 
 That he was alive he owed to Martha, and his 
 comfort and support to her care and that of her 
 mother. He was now going to prove to them that 
 he could do something to repay them. It was but 
 as an earnest of what he should be able to do in
 
 SE ADRIFT. 257 
 
 the future. The thought of their pleasure winged 
 his feet. 
 
 ^ What ! Mr. Kose !' cried Mrs. Clemens, see- 
 ing him enter breathless. 
 
 ' Philip !' said Martha, who was not astonished, 
 as she had kept her eyes, at every interval of 
 threading her needle, on the broken pathway; 
 and having watched his returning steps, had felt 
 inclined to chide the reckless way in which he 
 bounded over the broken wall, till she remembered 
 that his want of prudence arose probably from his 
 anxiety to return to her. 
 
 Philip had placed his guineas in his waist- 
 coat-pocket, and had buttoned his jacket for their 
 safety. When he entered the room, where the 
 mother was washing potatoes (she would have 
 thought it extravagance to have peeled them), and 
 to which Martha had descended in her anxiety to 
 hear the result of his interview, he took the ten 
 guineas out, and dividing them, gave five to Mrs. 
 Clemens, and five to Martha. 
 
 ^What is this? Where is the picture?' said 
 the mother, as Philip deposited the frame and the 
 empty bandana handkerchief on the table. 
 
 ' Money for you, picture for milor,' said Philip 
 in high delight. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ^Dear heart/ said the mother; ^you are a 
 good young man ; but I won't take your money, 
 my dear.' 
 
 ' Yes, all!' cried Philip. * You give meat, clothes, 
 bed, everything.' 
 
 ^Irs. Clemens was disturbed, for she did not 
 like to say that she had received money on Philip's 
 account, and did not like to receive praise not 
 entirely merited. She had expended more than 
 the value of the four guineas she had received, if 
 she included the price of her sons' clothes. After 
 the pause of an instant she said, 
 
 ^ There, now; I will take two of them — no 
 more. Now we are quits.' 
 
 ^ Quits?' said Philip, puzzled by an unusual word. 
 
 ^ No more,' said Mrs. Clemens, pushing back 
 the three guineas. 
 
 ' Ah, you take — no?' said Philip sadly. 
 
 The money was a sad temptation to ^Irs. 
 Clemens, and her refusal, seeing how much she 
 loused for some new clothes for herself and for 
 Martha before they went to Lynn, was a self-denial 
 Avluch no one less poor could appreciate. She 
 was not long in doubt ; for Philip, putting his 
 arm round her neck, dropped the disputed bits of 
 gold into her bosom.
 
 SEADRIFT. 259 
 
 ^ You my mother,' said he, still in the highest 
 spirits. ' You keep money, buy clothes for you — 
 smart.' 
 
 He did not see the storm which loured on the 
 other side of the table. Martha was sufferino; 
 bitter pangs of mortification, which the sight of 
 the gold had no power to dispel. He had sold 
 her picture ! Slie had thought that he valued it 
 too much for her sake to have done so. But 
 though it had given her happiness so intense that 
 he should have painted her, because she fancied 
 he had loved the representation, he seemed actually 
 delighted to have got rid of it, and fancied that 
 the five guineas he had placed before her would 
 repay her for losing wdiat she had hoped that he 
 would have loved to retain to his dying day. It had 
 made the very crown and glory of her life so long 
 as it remained in the house. What was it to her, 
 whilst such a talisman remained, that Miss Deal 
 flouted her for insufiicient flomices, and Miss 
 Damnall sneered at Martha's thick shoes and 
 coarse stockings ? that no admiring eye rested on 
 her features at the Wesleyan meeting, and no young- 
 man offered to carry her pattens and prayer-book ? 
 The pictm-e was a cause of pride and pleasure 
 which no one in Seadrift had possessed but her-
 
 260 SEADRIFT. 
 
 self and her mother. It was Martha glorified 
 into beauty : her common gingham had become a 
 graceful robe, her little shabby gray neckerchief 
 a beautiful material; the rough coarse - looking 
 sheet gave a kind of grandeur to the composition 
 by the size of its folds ; the old oak chair in which 
 she was sitting, and which her father had pur- 
 chased as havino; belono;ed to Sir Cloudesly Shovel, 
 made a fine bit of colour at her back ; and this 
 perfection of a portrait, which, like the sun, had 
 shed warmth and beauty on their poor home, 
 Philip had sold for those bits of gold, the sight 
 of which she loathed under the influence of her 
 present bitter disappointment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 ' Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher ; all is vanity.' 
 
 She turned away, without giving any evi- 
 dence of the storm that loured in her bosom. Her 
 grief and anger kept their dull red fire alight, but 
 unseen. She did not touch the five guineas which 
 Philip had placed before her as he spoke to her 
 mother, urging her to accept her share of his
 
 SEADRIFT. 261 
 
 earnings. She turned away silently, and took up 
 her work. An houi' before, she had thought no- 
 thing could aggravate or increase the pain she 
 experienced at her approaching separation from 
 Philip ; but an houi' ago she had felt confident of 
 his love ; and in her present disappointment she did 
 not think he could care for her, when he had so 
 recklessly sold that for which she felt so intense 
 an admiration. They were to be separated, and 
 he had parted with what would have been so 
 pleasant a reminder of the old days and of the be- 
 loved form. She heard Philip, all unconscious of 
 her grief, singing, as he once more straightened the 
 nails and hammered them with the kitchen poker 
 into the frame as he replaced the Lively Nancy 
 into its old decoration. Philip ought, as a lover, 
 to have been too sad to whistle and sino; at his 
 occupation; but lie was also an artist, and was 
 perhaps unreasonably elated by the sale of his first 
 picture, and the glorious vista it had opened, as he 
 believed, to the temple of fame. When they met 
 at the next meal, Martha was sullen, and looked 
 less agreeable, in Philip's eyes, than usual. He, 
 who had no feeling which responded to her own, 
 could not have sympathised even had she stated 
 her case in eloquent words ; but had she spoken
 
 262 SEADRIFT. 
 
 with the tongue of a seraph, he would not have 
 understood the phrases unless they had been ut- 
 tered in Spanish ; and never having been in love, 
 Martha's grief and resentment would probably 
 have seemed utterly unreasonable. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens, when about to lay the cloth for 
 their evening meal, piled the guineas one above 
 the other, and placed them on the chimney-piece. 
 
 ^ There is your money, Martha,' she said. 
 
 ' Not mine,' Martha replied shortly. 
 
 ^ Mr. Rose, Martha will not take your guineas.' 
 
 * She note tak V said Philip, looking vexed. 
 ^I so pleased I them her give,' he continued. 
 * Marta, my loave, you them tak for me.' 
 
 Philip thought ^my love' was some pleasant 
 mode of speech, as it was generally accompanied 
 by Mrs. Clemens, when addressed to Martha, by 
 a smile of benevolence ; but he had no idea how 
 tumultuously Martha's heart bounded when he 
 addressed those words to her. 
 
 She was not placated, however, by the expres- 
 sion, nor by the pleading tone in which it was 
 uttered. 
 
 She rose, and taking the money from the 
 chimney-piece, placed it by Philip's side. He 
 took up the guineas and dropped them into her
 
 SEADRIFT. 263 
 
 workbox, smiling ; for he was very happy, and could 
 not be discoui'aged or disheartened by Martha's 
 sullen brow. 
 
 She said nothing then, and felt all the more 
 injured that Philip knew not, and did not seem to 
 guess, what had vexed her, or even that she was 
 angry. 
 
 The next day, when Philip took up his bladder 
 of white paint, he found three of the pieces con- 
 cealed under it, and the other two under the Naples 
 yellow. He was very sorry she was so obstinate. 
 He would buy her something pretty to wear, as 
 she w^ould not receive the money. He was obliged 
 to consult ^Irs. Clemens, or, as he called her, 
 * mother ;' for he knew nothing of English money, 
 nor of the proper prices of the articles he might 
 requu'e.
 
 264 SEADRIFT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXn. 
 
 ' Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, 
 Perfume for the lady's chamber ; 
 Golden coifs and stomachers, 
 For the lads to give their dears.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens was a happier woman than she 
 had been for a long time — indeed, happier than 
 she had felt since her husband's death. She con- 
 sidered herself quite rich with Philip's guineas; 
 and here was this handsome young man, who was 
 going to be her son-in-law, consulting her about 
 presents for her daughter. She made so many- 
 signs to him, indicating the necessity of secrecy, 
 that Martha, dull and unobservant as she was, 
 must have noticed them, had she not, from a feel- 
 ing of depression, kept her eyelids drooped. 
 
 She indicated to Philip that he must put on 
 his best suit ; and when he was dressed, she told 
 Martha that Mr. Rose wanted to purchase a few 
 things, and she was going out to see he was not 
 cheated, poor lamb ! 
 
 It was very improvident in Philip to desire to 
 give away all his money so soon as he had obtained 
 it ; but twenty is not the age of wisdom or prud-
 
 SEADRIFT. 265 
 
 ence. Philip, who had never wanted bread, though 
 in his early years that provision had been supplied 
 by charity, did not understand that he should ever 
 suffer the pangs of hunger. 
 
 It was a long walk to Seadrift Church Town, 
 where ^Levi, Jeweller,' spread his attractive pro- 
 perty to ensnare the unwary. Poor Mr. Levi 
 found it difficult to live where his goods were so 
 little required. He could not have succeeded, had 
 he not done a little usury in a quiet sort of way, 
 lending money on articles pledged, and demanding 
 interest as high, or higher, than any of his bre- 
 thren in large cities. 
 
 He lounged over his counter and scrutinised 
 the youth, and the old lady who rested on his arm, 
 as if to indicate that he was her property. 
 
 She, entering the shop, said with a simper that 
 she wished to see some brooches, and lockets to 
 contain haii', and some plain gold rings. 
 
 ^ Wedding-rings, ma'am f 
 
 ' No, no, sir ; not to-day — jou see, not just yet 
 — all in good time.' 
 
 • ^ Of course, ma'am ;' but he added to himself, 
 ^ You have not much time to lose, old lady, for 
 all your smiling and simpering, if 'tis for your- 
 self.'
 
 2&Q SE ADRIFT. 
 
 'Look here, my dear ]\Ir. Eose; this is an 
 elegant locket — a place for hair at the back.' 
 
 'You think Marta like?' 
 
 'O yes; she is sure to like it. What is the 
 price, Mr. Levi f 
 
 ' 'Tis marked, mem — ten shillings.' 
 
 Mrs. Clemens selected one of exactly the same 
 pattern ; and then a plain gold ring. She tried 
 this over her finger, and guessed how it Avould fit 
 Martha. 
 
 'You see, 'tis for my daughter, and will slip 
 over her finger 'cause her joints are not so knotted 
 as mine ; not but that I was said to have a well- 
 shaped hand when I was a girl.' 
 
 ' No doubt, madam. And this young gentle- 
 man is to marry Miss Clemens ? — I am speaking 
 to Mrs. Clemens from the Beach House, I am 
 thinking, ma'am.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, yes ; only, you know, we don't speak 
 of such things quite yet in public, as it cannot 
 come off directly. Poor young man, his educa- 
 tion has been greatly neglected, I fear ; for when 
 he was washed up, he didn't know a word of Eng- 
 lish. However, live and learn, say I ; and he is 
 a-irettins: on, thouo;h he don't know much now.' 
 
 Philip was examining with great interest a
 
 SEADRIFT. 267 
 
 small enamel of a cliild, copied probably from 
 Greuze, on tlie lid of a little box. The sweet eyes 
 looked out from a liaze of golden hair, the drapery 
 was red and blue. He would buy that also, he 
 told ^Irs. Clemens, who seemed disposed to rebel ; 
 but Philip had possession of the box, and would 
 not part with it; and Mrs. Clemens was glad to 
 find it cost only nine shillings. He then seized a 
 silver thimble ; for Martha, having worn the one 
 she had had at school into a lilliputian colander, 
 had been obliged to use brass ones. 
 
 When all these treasures had been placed in 
 a box, a.nd duly tied up in paper, Mi's. Clemens 
 paid for them, and next directed her steps to the 
 shop of Mr. Deal. Her happiness would have been 
 incomplete, had she not believed that she might ex- 
 cite rage and envy in the breast of that pert hussy 
 Julia Deal, who was so bold-faced as to come after 
 Martha's young man, with her little sharp black eyes. 
 
 She did not mean to expend all Philip's money. 
 She would leave him four pounds, and take what 
 more she required for Martha out of the money 
 he .had given her. Thus, receiving from him six 
 pounds for her daughter's presents and her own 
 expenses, she thought this arrangement was a fair 
 one.
 
 2QS SEADRIFT. 
 
 Dresses had not then the ample proportions to 
 which they expanded in later years. ^Irs. Clemens 
 had set her heart on buying a silk dress for [Martha 
 — a luxury unusual in those days, and one that she 
 knew would excite Miss Deal's rage and jealousy. 
 
 There was no one in the shop when Philip and 
 his future mother-in-law entered ; but she stamped 
 her foot on the floor and rapped her umbrella on 
 the counter ; and at length Miss Deal, all uncon- 
 scious as to who might be the morning customers, 
 came to answer the summons, by her father's 
 orders, as he lingered over his bit of fried bacon 
 and the Plymouth Chronicle. 
 
 Luckless Julia ! she had also been enjoying 
 her breakfast over the Children of the Ahhey^ and 
 her eyes were still red and her nose swelled by the 
 sympathy she felt for the sorrows of Malvina ; when 
 her father, finding her really deaf to remonstrances, 
 whether verbal from himself, or manual proceed- 
 ing from the efforts of Mrs. Clemens in the shop, 
 applied the prongs of the toasting-fork to her 
 shoulders, and rousing her from dreamland, sent 
 her to attend to the outer summons. 
 
 Now Julia curled her hair. She wore at night 
 a perfect chevaux de frise of curl-paj^ers. If she 
 released her hair from this pressure early in the
 
 SEADRIFT. 269 
 
 morning, slie looked a fright all day, she said, 
 with lanky black hair hanging disconsolately round 
 her face. How could she think that Mrs. Clemens 
 could be so fiendish as to call at the shop at an 
 hour so early, and bring Mr. Rose with her ? She 
 knew that she had been looking beautiful on that 
 Sunday, when he had, as she thought, been so im- 
 pressed by her appearance that he had shown his 
 captivation in the profoundest of bows, and equally 
 attractive when she had called at Beach House ; 
 and now that most spiteful of old widows had 
 exposed her to be seen such a figure ! It is true 
 that Philip took off his hat when she came into 
 the shop ; but he gave no sign in the counten- 
 ance, which Julia glanced at, of having ever seen 
 her before. 
 
 ' Did you want to see any article this morning, 
 Mrs. Clemens ? Papa is very sorry he can't serve 
 you. He has received an important communica- 
 tion from Plymouth by coach.' 
 
 Julia said this, which sounded imposing, and 
 was truth, for the paper reached him by that con- 
 veyance. 
 
 ' Well, my dear, I won't trouble him,' said Mrs. 
 Clemens patronisingly : ^ you will do quite as well. 
 You see, Mr. Rose is anxious to purchase a dress
 
 270 SEADRIFT. 
 
 for my Martha, and, poor young man, he knows 
 nothing of the tricks of trade ; not that I mean 
 any offence, Miss Deal, and I am sure that you, 
 my dear, are too tender-hearted to take advantage 
 of a 2^oor young man because he don't know your 
 language. Still business is business, so I've come 
 with him ; and let's see some silks, my dear,' patron- 
 isingly. ' 
 
 Poor Miss Deal had every little wriggle crushed 
 out of her. She had a narrow escape of becoming 
 unaffected, and therefore charming. 
 
 ' What colours do you wish to see V she said. 
 She would not say, ^ ma'am.' 
 
 ^O,' simpered Mrs. Clemens, ^something deli- 
 cate. You see, 'tis for a partic'lar dress.' 
 
 ^ I suppose you mean a wedding-dress V said 
 Julia, driven to desperation. 
 
 ' Well, well, my dear Miss Deal, we won't fight 
 about Avords ; but not quite yet.' 
 
 ' Well, Martha won't have to pay for having it 
 made up, as she's a dressmaker. That must be a 
 comfort, I am sure,' said Juha spitefully. 
 
 ^ I won't answer for whether she has it made 
 at Plymouth or London ; young Mr. Eose is likely 
 to have money enough to give her her own way 
 in that, and other things also. But 'tis for him to
 
 SEADRIFT. 271 
 
 choose it, Miss Deal, if you please to show us some 
 likely to be suitable/ said Mrs. Clemens, half shut- 
 ting her eyes, and screAving up her mouth; for 
 Julia in her vexation had taken down black silks, 
 ' 'Tis for my daughter Martha, my dear, not for 
 me,' continued the mother loftily. 
 
 Juha gave one look at Mrs. Clemens' shabby 
 dress 'with intention,' and the poor old lady 
 quailed under the momentary glance. It seemed 
 altogether incongruous to boast of her daughter's 
 coming good-fortune, when she, her mother, was 
 obliged to dress so poorly. 
 
 Julia was too much discomposed to follow up 
 her advantage, or even to observe that it had been 
 one. She took down several light-coloured silks, 
 amongst the rest a soft gray with a pink-satin 
 flower interwoven with it. Philip selected that^ 
 though Mrs. Clemens Avould have preferred one 
 quite white. He knew nothing of wedding-dresses^ 
 and his eye was pleased with the delicate tinting 
 of the silk. 
 
 ^Ii's. Clemens, again screwing up her eyes, 
 and casting them towards the ceiling in calcula- 
 tion, considered how many yards would be neces- 
 sary. Then lining, and silk, and buttons were 
 to be chosen ; Martha's mother feeling a spiteful
 
 272 SEADRIFT. 
 
 satisfaction, that every time Miss Julia turned her 
 back to take down the drawers containing the 
 different articles required, she revealed where the 
 gaping dress showed a discoloured staylace, whose 
 tightened lines proved how rebellious was the 
 plump flesh it confined, and telling that the deli- 
 cate waist was the result of compression. Julia 
 was half conscious of this, and wholly conscious 
 that every time she stooped Mr. Rose, if he looked 
 at her at all, must observe the innumerable little 
 twists of paper in her black hair. Her face was 
 crimson with mortification and coming tears. She 
 could only half steady her voice to propose to 
 send the articles home for Mrs. Clemens; when 
 Philip, again taking off his hat with profound 
 respect, accompanied Mrs. Clemens from the shop, 
 who carried the bundle under her capacious black 
 cloak. 
 
 Then Miss Julia Deal sat down, and cried tears 
 of rage and mortification. 
 
 ^ That stupid ugly girl, Martha Clemens ! what 
 right had she to have such a handsome young 
 lover? Which she was thirty-five, if a day!' 
 
 What is eight years added to the age of a 
 rival? I think Miss Deal was moderate not to 
 make use of decimals.
 
 SEADRIFT. 273 
 
 She resolved that her father should give her a 
 silk dress like the one chosen for Martha. But 
 there was no honour and glory in that. What 
 was a present made by a father, to a love-gift from 
 a future husband ? And to think that Mr. Rose 
 should have seen her head such a figure, and her 
 frock so shabby ! 
 
 ^I daresay he is a great lord or a prince in 
 disguise, and the troublesome sea tossed him up 
 just at Martha Clemens' feet. She to be a 
 heroine of romance indeed I She to save him ! 
 How could he fall in love with her^ I'll never 
 believe he is in love with her. That old woman 
 has taken him in, poor young man, to marry that 
 plain daughter of hers ; and he so handsome !' 
 And Julia ground her teeth with vexation. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 274 SEADRIFT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXin. 
 
 ' Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, 
 
 And fevers into false creations. Where — 
 Where is the form the sculptor's soul has seized ? 
 In him alone can nature show so fair V 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Martha sat doggedly at lier sewing after 
 Philip and her mother had left the house. Slie 
 was feeling very bitter against them both, with 
 some ground of reason against Philip ; but the 
 anger she extended to her mother w^as only be- 
 cause she had shown no resentment when she 
 found that the picture had been sold. Any vexa- 
 tion Mrs. Clemens might have experienced had 
 been dissipated by the liberal donation Philip had 
 made of its proceeds. 
 
 She grew more angry as time sped on, and 
 they did not return. She had no suspicion whither 
 they had gone, nor on what errand. 
 
 As she pondered, nursing her wrath to keep it 
 w^arm, two sharp knocks were accomplished, seem- 
 ingly with great difficulty, on the rusty knocker of 
 the front door, which was seldom approached by 
 visitors ; and as ]\Iartlia sprang up and Hstened, 
 they were more effectively performed by a gold-
 
 SEADRIFT. 275 
 
 headed stick on the woodwork. Martha was al- 
 ways neat, and she answered the door immediately; 
 where she perceived a gentleman whom she guessed 
 immediately to be Lord Tynedale ; he was so un- 
 like the dwellers in Seadrift, so stamped l3y the 
 hand of nature and the culture of refinement 
 with the designation of £!;entleman. His valet 
 accompanied him ; for his lordship's slight and 
 rather feeble figure occasionally required the sup- 
 port of an arm whereon to rest. 
 
 He bowed as ^lartha opened the door, curtsey- 
 ing, and looked at her scrutinisingly ; then he 
 bowed again and blushed awkwardly, seeing that 
 she was above the rank of a servant. 
 
 Neither the consciousness of high birth, rank, 
 great wealth, and thorough independence of cha- 
 racter and action, had ever taken from Lord Tyne- 
 dale his alarmed and alarming bashfulness ; at 
 seventy he blushed as he had done at seventeen, 
 though there were few men in the world who had 
 so little reason for shame, either true or false. 
 
 Martha, sempstress as she was, was less visibly 
 disturbed than the peer who confronted her. Lord 
 Tynedale's confusion was augmented by the fact 
 that they both began to speak simultaneously, both 
 stopped, then both went on and finished their
 
 276 SEADRIFT. 
 
 |)hrases, like two different and discordant bars of 
 music. 
 
 ^ Will your lordship — ' 
 
 asMr.— d— it!—' 
 
 Martha stopped, and so did the gentleman. 
 
 ' Please to walk in — ' 
 
 ^I can't remember his name.' 
 
 Martha took courasje from seeincr the discom- 
 fitu.re of her enemy. 
 
 ' Mr. Rose is not at home, my lord ; will your 
 lordship take a seat? He will be back presently, 
 I expect.' 
 
 ' Humph, yes, confound it !' said his lordship, 
 sittino^ down. His valet remained outside the 
 door, putting his hand telescope fashion to his eye, 
 and affecting to be scanning the expanse of sea, 
 that he might not seem to be excluded, and had 
 remained outside purposely to enjoy the prospect. 
 
 Martha had not laid down her sewing when 
 she answered the knocks at the door; now she 
 stood respectfully as his lordship sat in their little 
 parlour, but went on stitching industriously at the 
 Avristband she had in her hand. This gave his 
 lordship an opportunity of looking at her do^^^l- 
 cast face. 
 
 ^ A plain woman doing plain work/ his lordship's
 
 SEADRIFT. 277 
 
 thoughts might be interpreted to be ; ' nothing to 
 be compared to the picture. Confound it ! he has 
 turned an ordinary piece of goods into a divine 
 Kaphaelitish picture. Clever fellow ; shall paint 
 one. Knows where to soften, where to exalt.' 
 
 ' When will that painting fellow be back V 
 
 * I expect him every minute, my lord.' 
 
 ' He has painted something besides the painting 
 I bought of him V 
 
 ' Yes ; a ship^\Teck, my lord.' 
 
 ' Show it to me.' 
 
 ' Will your lordship like me to bring it here, 
 or will you go to the painting-room?' 
 
 ' Painting-room.' 
 
 He placed his hand on her shoulder for support 
 as they went up the stairs, using her as a walking- 
 stick. 
 
 Martha understood the reason of the pressure, 
 but the consciousness that it was unusual gave a 
 flush to her face. 
 
 When they reached the painting -room, she 
 hastened to place a chair in the best position for 
 seeing the painting. Lord Tynedale, catching 
 a sight of her face with its transient bloom, mut- 
 tered, ' Hang it ! she's rather pretty than otherwise, 
 after all.'
 
 278 SE.U)RIFT. 
 
 Then lie looked at the picture, and was silent 
 in admiration of its power. He thought it showed 
 great genius, requiring a little of the culture and 
 patronage he could bestow, but certainly deserving 
 all the encouragement he had the power and the 
 will to lavish. He had made that ordinary-look- 
 ing woman so beautiful, what a head he might 
 paint of hiiUj were he to sit to the painter I But 
 then, confound it, he could not sit to a man that 
 did not know a word of English. Like Mrs. 
 Clemens, his lordship felt inclined to think that the 
 youth's education had been strangely neglected. 
 It was very inconvenient for Lord Tynedale's 
 wishes that Philip could not understand all the 
 instruction his lordship felt inclined to impart to 
 him. ' What stupid fellows these Greeks are, not 
 to know English by this time,' said an officer in 
 the Crimea, ^when we have been here eighteen 
 months !' not seeing the reflection made upon him- 
 self. 
 
 ' Can he copy f he said at length to ^lartha. 
 
 ' I do not know, my lord ; I have only seen 
 him paint from nature.' 
 
 ' Humph !' said his lordship, and gave ]\Iartha 
 another look, from whose cheeks the colour having 
 faded, he was once again impressed by the skill of
 
 SEADRIFT. 279 
 
 the artist who had created beauty out of materials 
 so ordinary. 
 
 ^ What does he want for this V pointing to the 
 painting. 
 
 * I do not know, sir ; I did not know,' she said, 
 with a half perceptible tremor in her voices ' that 
 he had sold the other.' 
 
 Lord Tynedale saw the hidden grief. 
 
 *Did not like him to part with it, eh?' 
 
 Martha was silent, and the peer smiled to him 
 self. 
 
 ' He is too young, too good-looking, and, con- 
 found it, too much of a gentleman for this girl,' he 
 said to himself. ^ If he does not look out, he will 
 find that both these pictures he has painted mean 
 shipwreck to him — one past, one in the future. — 
 Tell Mr. Rose to come to me when he returns ; I 
 can wait for him no longer,' his lordship said, ris- 
 ing. ^I want him to copy a small painting for 
 me.' 
 
 Martha offered herself as a support down the 
 stairs; and again his lordship thought her nice- 
 looking by the time he reached the front door, 
 where the valet, having taken stock of the sea-line 
 in the distance, and the drooping chrysanthemums 
 inside the little garden, was glad that the return
 
 280 SEADRIFT. 
 
 of his lordship permitted him to obviate the effects 
 of the biting east wind by exercise once more. 
 
 When Philip and Mrs. Clemens returned, Mar- 
 tha was compelled to forego the outward and visi- 
 ble signs of sullenness, because she had the visit of 
 the peer to communicate to Philip. She was at all 
 times so silent, that Philip, although he thought 
 her less agreeable to regard, had not suspected that 
 her gloom had resulted from wounded feelings. 
 
 It was not very difficult to make Philip under- 
 stand that Lord Tynedale had been there, and 
 had seen his picture. So soon as that had been 
 made clear to him, and before he would listen to 
 any more, he bounded up the stairs two at a time, 
 and sat himself down in the chair that Lord Tyne- 
 dale had occupied, to see how the picture must 
 have appeared to him, and whether Martha had 
 placed his lordship in the best position for seeing 
 it. 
 
 He looked at it lovingly and was satisfied, and 
 could listen to Martha's explanation that my lord 
 had asked its price, and wished him to make a 
 copy of some painting in his lordship's possession 
 and that he must go to ^Irs. Bolitho's so soon as 
 he had had his dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens, in the consciousness of her small
 
 SEADRIFT. 281 
 
 store, had determined to have a treat for dinner 
 that day, and had purchased some bacon, which 
 she fried with some sHces of cold potatoes, thus 
 making a dish fit for a king. The savoury steam 
 diffused itself over the house, and they all did jus- 
 tice to the dehcacy, and to the skill of the cook. 
 The comitenance of ^Ii's. Clemens, conscious of her 
 hidden treasures of silk and jewelry, and flushed 
 both by the heat of the fire and the feeling of suc- 
 cess in her cooking, was a pleasant spectacle to 
 behold. She hoped secretly that Phihp would be 
 back before it was dark, that he might give the 
 dress to Martha before night, the colours being too 
 dehcate for candle-light. So soon as he had gone, 
 she shut herself into her own room, and strove 
 patiently to confine a circular bit of hair tied with 
 silk in the locket. She had a piece of Martha's by 
 her, and had dextrously cut ofl:' some of Philip's, 
 unseen by her daughter, before he left home. 
 It was pleasant to tlnnk how happy Martha would 
 be when she received these gifts, on his return, 
 from the man she loved.
 
 282 SEADRIFT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 
 ' Jealousy is the greatest of misfortunes, and excites the least 
 pity.' 
 
 When the motlier joined Martha with a plea- 
 sant simper on her face, that young woman had 
 relapsed into the sullen humour she had shown 
 before Mrs. Clemens and Philip had left home. 
 It was unreasonable to sulk with her mother for 
 Philip's fault in having sold her portrait. But 
 angr}^ folks are not gifted with reason. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens bore it very patiently, fancying 
 how repentant Martha would be when she saw 
 all the beautiful things they had bought for her. 
 But the best calculations of maternal tenderness 
 will sometimes fail from unexpected mischance. 
 
 The evening drew on, but Philip had not re- 
 turned. Mrs. Clemens felt that she must show 
 the silk to Martha before the light had waned to 
 twilight, and then reproached herself with the sel- 
 fishness of depriving Philip of the pleasure of dis- 
 playing it first, when she heard his hurried step. 
 
 ' Bless the boy ! he walks as if there was no 
 such thing as care in the world/ said she.
 
 SEADRIFT. 283 
 
 He came in, looking flushed and eager, and 
 with an expression in his face which was inscrut- 
 able even to the anxious eyes of affection. He 
 had seemingly a picture under his arm, and a half 
 hope passed through Martha's mind that he had 
 exchanged the shipwreck for her portrait. His 
 first words dispelled the illusion. 
 
 'More o:old!' he said, takino- out another ten 
 guineas. ' Now I pay back good people gav me.' 
 
 ' What ! is the shipwreck sold T inquired ]\irs, 
 Clemens. 
 
 ' Yas ; milor he buy. He say, " You copee 
 that also," ' pointing to the picture he had just 
 placed on a chair still covered. 
 
 Martha turned away, feeKng sick with disap- 
 pointment. She wondered if she were unreason- 
 able in her vexation. 
 
 Phihp carried his picture, still enveloped in 
 the handkerchief, to the painting-room, whither 
 ^Irs. Clemens followed him. 
 
 '^Ir. Eose, here is the locket with Martha's 
 hair. You must wear it so,' she added, tying it 
 round his neck ; ' and you must place this one 
 round the neck of my ^lartha, and give her this 
 silk, and take care it don't go near those nasty 
 messy paints,' said the old woman, with a natural
 
 284 SEADRIFT. 
 
 aversion to colours mixed Avitli oil and turpentine, 
 though the results had been so productive of plea- 
 sure to her and of benefit to them all. ^ Shall I 
 send Martha up to you V 
 
 *No, I go down/ replied the youth. 
 
 It was a vexation, for he wished to see if one 
 of the canvases he had was of the proper size 
 for the copy of the picture he had undertaken. 
 But he was sweet-tempered, and did not like 
 to disappoint Mrs. Clemens. So he laid down 
 his stretching-frame unmeasured, and Avas going 
 down with the locket and silk in his hand, 
 ■when Mrs. Clemens drew him back, and whis- 
 pered, 
 
 ' Say, This is for my wife that is to be.' 
 
 Philip ran off impatiently, and rushing up to 
 Martha, flung the ribbon round her neck and put 
 the dress into her hands, saying the only words 
 he remembered of the lesson taught by Mrs. Cle- 
 mens, 
 
 ^ My wife!' 
 
 Nothing could be less tender than his manner. 
 It was a lesson repeated by rote, that sounds mean- 
 ingless to the ear of the woman whose love for 
 him was little short of adoration. 
 
 She half drew the locket with its black string
 
 SEADRIFT. 285 
 
 from her neck, to give it back with resentment 
 and wounded pride; but looking up, she caught 
 a glimpse of the gold that hung on his breast 
 also, and touched by the thought that he wore 
 her hair, she hesitated. 
 
 * Look ! silk, prettee silk ! I choose !' said Phi- 
 lip, quite pleased with his own good taste. Then^ 
 at a loss to know what to say to a person who- 
 was utterly irresponsive, he repeated again, ' My 
 wife!' 
 
 Martha could not be gracious. She could not 
 forget that he had sold her portrait, and that the 
 silk and the locket were utterly insufficient to re- 
 pay the vexation of his having done so. 
 
 ^ Thank you, Philip. It is a beautiful dress^ 
 but far too good for me.' 
 
 ^ No, no ; not too good for my mfe. You 
 kind ; you save life. I work, I make paint ; I 
 save money, I marry you. You no more mark 
 finger,' he said, looking at that which contrasted 
 sadly with the delicate silk it held. Then, filled 
 with pity and the consciousness that he ought to 
 love Martha a great deal, and that no doubt he 
 did, he drew her to his breast and kissed her. 
 
 Martha had yearned for that embrace. She 
 was melted by it.
 
 286 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ' Why you cry f said Philip. 
 
 ^ Because, if you had loved me, you would not 
 have sold my picture.' 
 
 *Ehf inquired the youth, not understand- 
 ing. 
 
 ^Why did you sell the picture of me?' Mar- 
 tha asked, uttering every word distinctly and 
 slowly. 
 
 ' To give you money,' he replied promptly; and 
 Martha kissed and foro;ave him. 
 
 Alas that, if pleasure endureth for a night, 
 sorrow cometh surely in the morning! 
 
 Martha wore an expression of happiness dur- 
 ing the rest of that day, which had been re- 
 flected on the countenance of her mother, and 
 had gone nigh to make her own beautiful. Philip 
 too was radiant. He had sold another picture, 
 and had the money in his pocket ; and more than 
 that, he had occupation cut out for him in a way 
 he liked to be employed. 
 
 Martha carried the silk up to her room, care- 
 fully wrapped in its papers, and placed it on the 
 drawers, where she mio;ht see it in the first irleam 
 of mornino: licrht. 
 
 The locket with his hair remained round her 
 neck all night ; and in her prayers before she
 
 SEADRIFT. 287 
 
 sought lier rest, slie thanked God fervently for 
 His goodness in having given her a betrothed hus- 
 band so perfect as Philip. 
 
 As the cold gray light streamed into her room 
 at seven o'clock, slie was aware of a slight noise 
 in Philip's painting-room — it was like the scraping 
 of the legs of a chair over the uncarpeted floor. 
 She could scarcely think he would have risen and 
 gone to work so early, for the light was scarcely 
 available for painting. There was no repetition 
 of the sound, so she thought she must be mistaken ; 
 but before she had finished dressing, she heard 
 him singing a little sad Spanish song to him- 
 self, and was aware that he was already at his 
 work. 
 
 Her heart was overflowing with love and peace 
 and joy. She would go into the painting-room, 
 and perhaps he would give her a kiss as a morning 
 greeting before she went down to prepare break- 
 fast. 
 
 She was naturally slow, and therefora noise- 
 less, in her movements, and Philip was so ab- 
 sorbed in his occupation, that he did not hear her 
 approach. She went up to the back of his chair, 
 and saw Avhat made her heart stand still for a 
 moment with a pang of prescient jealousy.
 
 288 SEADRIFT. 
 
 Suspended from the top part of his easel, on 
 the pegs of which stood the fresh canvas, was the 
 portrait of a beautiful girl of fifteen. Her richly- 
 coloured opulence of hair floated on the breeze. 
 The figure seemed in motion. The small foot 
 just touched the ground, the other was behind 
 her in the air the foliage seemed scarcely to bend 
 under her pressure — 
 
 * E'en the light harebell raised its head 
 Elastic from her airy tread.' 
 
 Her broad blue sash was agitated by her move- 
 ment and mingled with the floating hair ; the 
 sweet face sparkled with mobility, and intelligence 
 looked out of the picture at the spectator. 
 
 Martha recognised the portrait at once as 
 being that of Lord Tynedale's great-niece. Had 
 she seen only the foot and ankle, she thought 
 she should have recognised it. It was the like- 
 ness of the beautiful child whom she had en- 
 vied and hated, grown up into more beautiful 
 girlhood. 
 
 Martha steadied her voice to say, 
 ^What do you think of her, Philip?' 
 The painter, for answer, crossed his arms over 
 his breast for an instant in an attitude of reverence, 
 and said only,
 
 SEiVDRIFT. 289 
 
 ^A-ah!' 
 
 It was as decisive as if he had uttered a lengthy 
 panegyric. 
 
 Martha turned away with gloom on her brow 
 and in her heart. Philip noticed her not. How 
 should he, when he was sketching-in that sweet 
 face with his crayon, and seeing that the figure 
 occupied the proper position in the centre of the 
 canvas ? 
 
 He did not come down to breakfast, and Mrs. 
 Clemens went up to fetch him. 
 
 ^ Mr. Kose, breakfast,' Martha heard her say, 
 as she opened the painting- room door ; and then, 
 'O, goodness gracious, what a beautiful young 
 creature that is !' 
 
 ' Of course she thinks so too,' muttered poor 
 Martha to herself. 
 
 Philip came down, looking absorbed but per- 
 fectly happy, and devoured his salt pilchard with 
 bland unconsciousness of what he was eating. If 
 he could have enough to satisfy the cravings 
 of hunger, he was contented, and would paint on 
 for hours without coming down' to his meals, un- 
 less reminded of the necessity by Mrs. Clemens 
 and her daughter. 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 SEADRIFT. 
 
 Martha's gloomy brow escaped his notice ; his 
 mind was filled by the image he had just left 
 of the Hebe bounding in the sunshine, with her 
 golden hair and intent eyes. 
 
 Soft rain, drizzling and almost tepid, as it 
 sometimes seems to be in Cornwall, was visible 
 from the window, which revealed the dull gi'ay 
 sky and scarcely moving distance of ocean ; but 
 in his mind was the azure background, broken by 
 light fleecy clouds, with their tints of rose-colour 
 and yellow. 
 
 ' Dear me,' said Mrs. Clemens, ^ you have got 
 a beautiful young lady to paint now, Mr. Rose.' 
 
 She was also becoming a little jealous of the 
 portrait, which was of a more lovely original than 
 her daughter. 
 
 ' Ya-as, vara 'ansom !' said Philip, with a for- 
 eigner's distaste to pronouncing an h. 
 
 In this fiiult neither Martha nor her mother 
 could correct him ; for they, like most half-edu- 
 cated people in Cornwall and Devonshire, were 
 guiltless of ever pronouncing the letter li. 
 
 I am sorry to admit, that the few sentences 
 of English learned by Philip from the wddow and 
 her daughter were ungrammatical in construction, 
 and delivered with the singing tone peculiar to
 
 SEADRIFT. 291 
 
 the inhabitants of the West country. Thus the 
 
 simple words, ^ Where are you going V would be 
 delivered in Cornwall thus : 
 
 -^- 
 
 W 
 
 "Where be gwain' ? 
 
 the interrogatory sinking instead of rising in the 
 key. 
 
 All these defects in Philip's pronunciation Lord 
 Tynedale observed and pondered over. He could 
 never produce as his protege in London a fellow 
 who dropped his Its. 
 
 He would wait till he saw how Philip copied 
 the picture of his great-niece, as she was called. 
 He had left it to be framed in London, and had 
 ordered it down, that Philip might make a copy 
 of it to 2:ive to his cousin her father. If he sue- 
 ceeded as a cop3dst, he had made up his mind 
 pretty well how to dispose of him for the next few 
 years. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens did not guess the sullen anger 
 and jealousy that burned within her daughter's 
 breast. Such inward mortifications are not con- 
 fided even to mothers, however loving and sym- 
 pathetic.
 
 292 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ' Is that the chikl you were at school with V 
 said Mrs. Clemens. 
 
 ' Yes, mother/ was the quiet reply. 
 
 ' Was she as well to look at as that then V 
 
 ' No-o/ said Martha. ' She is prettier now — 
 fresher-looking, healthier.' 
 
 ^ Ah, I daresay the man who painted the pic- 
 ture made her look better than her best,' was Mrs. 
 Clemens' comfortable reflection, with an unwilling 
 suspicion how much Martha herself had owed to 
 the skill of the painter. 
 
 They were to sail for 'Lynn in a fortnight. 
 Their passage was taken, and Mrs. Clemens was 
 to give up the house to Dr. Mereside, to be painted 
 and whitewashed and scrubbed, preparatory to the 
 advent of his uncle.
 
 SEADRIFT. 293 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 ' There are who labour through the year, and yet 
 No more have gain'd than not to be in debt.' 
 
 Crabbb. 
 
 Philip had gone out on the first evenmg sub- 
 sequent to his receiving the money for the Ship- 
 wreck, when the waning light made the con- 
 tinuation of his work impossible, and pressed Dr. 
 Mereside to take eight of the ten guineas, to pay 
 back in proportions to those who had subscribed 
 for him when he had been first shipwrecked. 
 
 ^My good fellow,' said the doctor, ^you seem 
 to me rather quixotic. If you pay away all this 
 money, how are you to hve when Mi*s. Clemens 
 and her daughter go to Norfolk?' 
 
 Philip looked rather sad, and said that he 
 should have some more money, but not so much, 
 when he had finished the copy he was making of 
 the picture for Lord Tynedale. 
 
 * I hope,' continued the doctor, ' that his lord- 
 ship may continue to give you employment ; but 
 you cannot be sure of it. I would advise you to 
 retain the money till you see how you are likely 
 to get on. It will always be easy to repay it
 
 294 SEAHRIFT. 
 
 when you have enough ; but tlie folks who sub- 
 scribed when you were naked and penniless would 
 not desire that the man they gave their money to 
 save should die of starvation.' 
 
 Seeing Philip looked disappointed, he took five 
 guineas from him, intending to retain the money 
 till he saw that Philip was fairly launched into 
 his profession, and not in danger of present ship- 
 wreck. Then the impulsive doctor acted mthout 
 consulting his wife, and asked Philip to come and 
 stay a month with him after his present hostesses 
 had departed for Norfolk. 
 
 ' You can paint my portrait,' he said, smiling ; 
 and Philip, looking at him admiringly, said, 
 
 'I paint — yas. You make fine head;' for the 
 well-developed brow and large lustrous eyes com- 
 pensated, in the painter's opinion, for the irregu- 
 larity of the lower part of the face. 
 
 A qualm of conscience passed through the 
 doctor's mind when he thought of the ire of the 
 unconsulted Mrs. Mereside. 
 
 ^ And I have no money of my own,' thought 
 the poor man ; ' and excepting Lord Tynedale, 
 I have not a single paying patient on my list. 
 I wonder what she will say? Perhaps it will be 
 better that Philip should paint Iier. And yet I
 
 SEADRIFT. 295 
 
 should like her to have some remembrance of my 
 face when I am gone.' 
 
 ' I will speak to Mrs. Mereside about your com- 
 ing to us/ Jie said, dismissing Philip ; who walked 
 home to his supper of potatoes and pilchards, and 
 Avent to bed earl}', that he might awake in time 
 to continue his labour. 
 
 ^lartha would rather that he had lingered a 
 little by her side whilst she sewed. She had much 
 to do — work to finish for her employers, wdiich 
 meant mone}' to be earned. She hoped to have 
 a nice little sum of money to start her mother 
 and herself, and some to give Philip ; for all her 
 customers had not been ready-money people, and 
 there were several who were not ashamed to keep 
 the needle-woman out of her few shillings for ten 
 or twelve months. These, she thought, could not 
 refuse payment when she was about to leave the 
 place. She did not cease to hope that she might 
 find employment at Lynn, and thus be able 
 to send money to Philip. Her love for him was 
 sleepless and intense — all the more for the jealous}' 
 which racked her brain of the beauty whose linea- 
 ments he was getting by heart during every hour 
 that he devoted to the copy of her portrait. 
 
 That child had been hateful to Martha — the
 
 296 SEADRIFT. 
 
 drop of gall in her daily cup when she was at 
 school, the admired and beloved of all by whom 
 she had been surrounded, save by Martha herself, 
 who also had admired — and hated her. And now 
 Martha felt as if she were coming A\dth her deli- 
 cate beauty between her and her affianced hus- 
 band. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXVI. 
 
 * The line he traced with fond precision true, 
 And drawing, doated on the form he drew.' 
 
 Philip had no thought of breaking the troth 
 which he had plighted to Martha, and was Scarcely 
 aware that he was beginning to worship the crea- 
 ture whose image he was duplicating. Painters, 
 both men and women, have before now loved the 
 face they have tried to coj^y. Some different ex- 
 pression comes out on the faithfully formed fea- 
 tures, with which the artist invests the original : 
 sometimes there is a fleeting smile, which the 
 touch of the pencil in the next moment displaces ; 
 sometimes a sadness in the eyes, which the loving 
 fingers hasten to dispel. The face undergoes un- 
 numbered varieties of feeling in each delinea-
 
 SE ADRIFT. 297 
 
 tion. It seems to be the property of the painter 
 for the time. His, too, are the drooping shoulders 
 and the slender waist ; his the delicate foot with 
 its glossy satin shoe. Philip copied this portrait 
 with the same reverence and worship which he 
 would have bestowed on a picture of the Virgin, 
 but he loved it with the love of a mortal. 
 
 Could Martha have seen into the working of 
 his mind by some magic art, it would have con- 
 veyed to her no more than love and jealousy made 
 clear to her perception. She could not keep away 
 from his side when he was painting ; and though 
 she worked incessantly, she looked up from her 
 mechanical occupation to watch Philip's brush, as 
 touch by touch the image grew into fresh beauty. 
 The foot with the little satin slipper — how well 
 she remembered its delicate form and springing 
 tread, and the shame and envy that had filled her 
 breast when she had been compelled to produce 
 her clumsy shoe and unshapely ankle in juxtaposi- 
 tion with the high-bred extremity of the little aris- 
 tocrat ! She could not bear that Philip should see 
 it even in a picture ; but the fear of anything far- 
 ther her reason told her was absurd. Philip was 
 a nobody, like herself. Though the old song stated 
 the fact, that
 
 298 SEADRIFT. 
 
 * There was once a Spanish lady, 
 And she woo'd an Englishman,' 
 
 there is no record, in poetry or reality, of a 
 Spaniard winning an English lady ^decked -svith 
 jewels.' Great painters have not generally, even 
 when they attain celebrity, the power of picking 
 and choosing amongst the aristocracy for a Avife. 
 Philip told her of the promise Dr. Mereside had 
 made to receive him for a month when they left 
 Seadrift; and though Martha felt disposed to 
 doubt the good intentions of the lady on the sub- 
 ject, she hoped the visit might take place, and that 
 whilst painting the wild hollow glances of the doc- 
 tor, Philip might forget the sweetness of the Hebe's 
 eyes. 
 
 She hoped this picture, which was a ceaseless 
 source of grief and jealousy to her, would soon 
 be finished; whilst the devotion of Philip's time 
 and energy to the task, though it was certain to 
 lead to this result, was a constant aggravation to 
 her. 
 
 At length it was completed ; there was not a 
 touch to be altered or improved. 
 
 ' Now you will take it to Lord Tynedale,' said 
 Martha decisively. 
 
 ^Not yet ; not dry,' said Philip.
 
 SEADRIFT. 299 
 
 Martha fancied, she said, that it was quite dry 
 enough. 
 
 ' No ; not enough dry. Doust spoil,' meaning 
 dust. 
 
 Martha expected that on the following morn- 
 ing he would certainly take it to Mrs. Bolitho's 
 house ; but Mrs. Deal had asked her to call that 
 day to receive payment for the making of the 
 canary -coloured frock for Miss Julia, and she 
 could not avoid going, and obtaining probably an- 
 other order for work to be done before she left 
 Seadrift. 
 
 She found both Julia and Mrs. Deal in a state 
 of sullen dignity, the result of Philip's purchases 
 on the former occasion. Mrs. Deal placed the 
 money to which Martha was entitled on the table, 
 and Martha took it up in silence. She was not 
 conscious that she herself was sullen; but they were, 
 and soon felt that in the exhibition of that quality 
 she was unapj)roachable, and that if they wanted 
 to wound, they must change their tactics. 
 
 ' I had thought of having another frock made 
 for Julia,' said Mrs. Deal loftily; ^but I don't think 
 you will have time before you go.' 
 
 ' I will try,' repHed Martha, with some exhibi- 
 tion of eagerness.
 
 300 SEADRIFT. 
 
 ' Well, no I You see, my dear Miss Clemens, 
 we have sent a new silk dress to Plymouth to be 
 made, and if it had come in time, you might have 
 made a frock on the pattern of it. But you will 
 excuse me, the cut of the body and sleeves that 
 you made last is so very old-fashioned; we must 
 not be so entirely behind tlie world, or folks will 
 think that we have walked out of Noah's ark.' 
 
 Martha was retying the strings of her bonnet 
 and was silent, when Julia began with a little 
 sniggling laugh. 
 
 ^Well, Martha my dear, I suppose, by what 
 your ma said, it will not be Martha Clemens much 
 longer, but Martha Rose. What a comfort it must 
 be to have such a nice handsome young-\o6kmg 
 husband by one's side ! I'm sure I hope you wdll 
 be 'appy, and that 'e will be contented; but men 
 iU'e so fickle, so fanciful, 
 
 " To one thing constant never." ' 
 
 This was said with a sigh, as if it had been the 
 result of her heart's experience ; Hke Justice Shal- 
 low, who prided himself on the fact that he had 
 ^ had losses.' Miss JuHa had never possessed a 
 lover, and this was the cause of the anojuish wliich 
 made her envy Martha her first and only one. 
 
 Martha was not ready at repartee ; she felt the
 
 SEADRIFT. 301 
 
 small sneer at her own age as compared to that of 
 Philip ; bnt she bore it as does an unfortunate cart- 
 horse tormented by summer flies, and harnessed in 
 a manner so severe and uncompromising, that he 
 cannot move to disturb the pests. 
 
 She was going to saj good-morning, when Julia 
 began again : 
 
 ^O, Martha, JNirs. Bolitho said you were at 
 school a long time ago with my lord's niece. 
 'Twasn't true, surely?' 
 * ' Yes, it was true.' 
 
 ' My !' cried the matron ; ^ my lord's valet was 
 here the other day to look at some scarves ; for, 
 said he, "Mrs. Deal, them moist fogs of yours 
 seem to wet me through and through ;" and we got 
 into conversation, and he told me a deal about my 
 lord and this }'oung lady. Such a one, he says, for 
 dancing and singing — she keeps the house alive 
 at Lakinvale ; yet she don't have any company but 
 her governess, 'cause she is not ^^ come out," as they 
 say. He told me my lord had her picture sent 
 down from London, to see if 'twas rightly framed 
 according to a pattern of his own. He is very 
 particular about such things. Well, the picture 
 was gone out of the frame next day, the valet said. 
 He missed it just after Mr. Eose the painter had
 
 302 SEADRIFT. 
 
 been tliere ; and, says he, "As sure as I stand here 
 that young painting fellow has took it away to 
 copy or to varnish." But lor', 'tain't likely that my 
 lord would think anything of any copy he could 
 make ; though he did buy your likeness, my dear, 
 and another picture, out of charity. I wondered 
 myself, and so did Julia, when we lieard of it ; for 
 lor', says I, "If he'd cared for her, he would have 
 iis soon cut ofP his hand as sell her picture." But 
 different folks have different ways ; and I daresay 
 you didn't mind, ^lartha my dear, seeing that tlxe 
 poor young man must have wanted the money.' 
 
 ' Good-day, Mrs. Deal,' said Martha, steadying 
 her voice ; ' good-bye. Miss Deal ;' and she went 
 down the High-street of Seadrift; whilst the mother 
 and daughter exchanged looks of satisfaction at 
 the thought that they had made that young woman 
 Martha Clemens wince a bit. 
 
 To intensify the pleasure, Julia lingered a mo- 
 ment at the door, and watched Martha's progress. 
 Alas for the short-lived triumphs of malice I Had 
 Julia remained in the house, she would not have 
 seen what grieved her eye and vexed her heart. 
 Mr. Rose, looking perfectly radiant with happi- 
 ness, was advancing with quick ste23s towards the 
 despised needle-woman ; and after lifting his hat
 
 SEADRIFT. 303 
 
 respectfully to her, he walked by her side, bending 
 his head to look under her bonnet^ as he seemed 
 to discourse on some subject with the greatest 
 eagerness. It is a strange circumstance, that all 
 people are anxious to watch to the end anything 
 which gives them annoyance; probably from the 
 knowledge that imagination would outstrip reality, 
 and that it is as well to know the worst ; so Julia 
 never removed her eyes till they w^ere about to 
 turn the corner of the street. Then, instead of 
 passing out of sight, they turned and walked back 
 again. 
 
 ' She is going to call here to buy something 
 with him !' cried Julia to herself, all in a flutter. 
 
 They walked back dehberately, and came so 
 near, that Julia could perceive an unusual smile 
 playing on the somewhat sullen mouth of the 
 needle- woman, and a flush on her face. Julia ran 
 up to her room to smooth her hair and put on a 
 clean frock. The other had done very well to see 
 ^lartha Clemens ; but the effort to captivate Mr. 
 Rose was worth the trouble of dressing. 
 
 ^ And I am so young and pretty,' she said, look- 
 ing at herself in the dim-looking glass ; ' and she 
 is so very plain ;' which sJie was not really, though 
 inferior in personal charms to the linendraper's
 
 304 SEADRIFT. 
 
 (laughter. ^ I must make haste,' she said, with her 
 hands behind her liead trying to fasten the top of 
 her clean frock ; whilst the rebellious hook, which 
 had broken from half its fastening, swung round, 
 and made the performance tedious. 
 
 Her arms ached from their constrained position, 
 and her face became too much flushed for beauty. 
 She had to run down into the kitchen to ask Marv, 
 the maid-of-all-work, to close up the body of her 
 dress, and had to wait till her hands were washed ; 
 and then ran up again breathless to put on a clean 
 collar. When this was accomplished, she went 
 behind the counter, and waited for her customers, 
 who did not seem in a hurry to arrive. 
 
 At length she peeped down the street, having 
 carefully looked in the other direction first, as if 
 she were waiting for something else. Her little 
 artifice was thrown away, for neither Martha nor 
 Mr. Rose were visible to her searching glances. 
 
 Where could they have disappeared ? She was 
 sure there had not been time enough for them to 
 pass the door and go on out of sight. It would 
 seem as if the earth had opened and swallowed 
 them up. Could it have done so to Martha, and 
 left Mr. Hose, I fear Julia would not have grieved. 
 But such things do not happen in England ; so she
 
 SEADRIFT. 305 
 
 was obliged to seek some other solution of the 
 mystery. O, agony and rage ! between the point 
 where she had perceived the pair and her father's 
 shop stood that of the jeweller from whom Mrs. 
 Clemens had purchased the lockets. A fold of the 
 pink gingham dress worn by Martha was visible 
 against the door-sill. It was evident that Mr. 
 Kose and Martha had turned back to purchase 
 something at the jeweller's — a present perhaps for 
 Martha. 
 
 And they were not coming to her papa's shop, 
 after all ! Her clean frock had been donned for 
 nothing. She was of a lively energetic disposi- 
 tion, and she longed to show herself, that Mr. Rose 
 might have an opportunity of seeing how pretty 
 she looked without a bonnet and without curl- 
 papers. The thought of that morning of mortifi- 
 cations had embittered her young life. To run 
 down the street to Mr. Levi's shop without a 
 bonnet might provoke animadversion ; but with a 
 shawl over her head, she might manage it. So 
 she took one down from the shelf, and shaking it 
 out, flung it gracefully over her shining curls, and 
 tripped along the pavement, comforting herself 
 that the shawl might be refolded and replaced 
 before her father found it out. What excuse could 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 SEADRIFT. 
 
 she make to Mr. Levi for calling ? O, slie would 
 ask if he had anything new in rings or pins, as 
 if she wished to purchase some. Poor Julia ! Mi*. 
 Levi was just sliding a drawer back into its place 
 under the glass containing his collection of rings, 
 but neither Mr. Eose nor Martha was visible. 
 
 ' Kings, miss ? Yes, certainly ; had some from 
 town only last week. Just sold an 'andsome one 
 to the young Spanish gentleman — not for himself 
 though. Miss Deal ! He fitted it on to the young 
 lady's finger ; and I must say it looked wonderful 
 well.' 
 
 ' Was Mr. Rose here just now,' said Julia in- 
 nocently. 
 
 ' Yes, miss ; and as they wished to make their 
 Avalk a little longer — lovers, you see, miss,' he 
 added, winking violently — ' I let them out through 
 my garden, which, you know, takes them into 
 the lane leading towards the edge of the lake. 
 They can get along that way very well now, by 
 skirting the gardens ; and if the path is naiTOw^ 
 and they have to squeeze up a Httle, you see, 
 being engaged folks, they won't complain on that 
 account. 'Opes to sell you a ring, miss, for a simi« 
 lar love-token.' 
 
 So Julia had to select a few rings to show a
 
 SEADRIFT. 307 
 
 friend, she said; and then went back crestfallen 
 and angry. Many dreadful thoughts suggested 
 themselves to her mind. She would catch cold^ 
 and die of consumption ; she would starve herself^ 
 and Dr. Mereside would see her declining healthy 
 and communicate it to his fi-iend Eose. But the 
 most pleasant plan of revenging herself on all man- 
 kind was, to declare to her parents her determina- 
 tion of being apprenticed to some great dressmaker 
 in London, where her quickness and good looks 
 would be appreciated ; where some handsome young- 
 gentleman would fall hopelessly in love with her, 
 distracted between her charms and his duty to his 
 parents and his order ; a conflict in which of course 
 her beauty and attractiveness would be triumphant, 
 and all would end happily, with veils and orange- 
 flowers and wedding-cake. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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 smoothly by, as, with feet on the fender, we have followed heroine 
 after heroine of his from the dawn of her love to its happy or 
 disastrous close, and one is astounded at one's own ingratitude in 
 writing a word against a succession of tales that * give delight and 
 hurt not' " — Fortnightly Review, 
 > (22) c