Miscellanea Part 5

whatever it may be, is strong with all of us, even in the face of death.

Moreover, hers was one of those shallow minds that seem instinctively to escape by any avenue from a painful subject; and by the time that I was in the chariot, she had got over the first shock, and there was an almost infectious cheerfulness in her farewell.

"It _must_ be all right, Dolly!"

Then I fell back, and we started. The warm light of the open door became a speck, and then nothing; and in the long dark drive, when every footfall of the horses seemed to consume an age, the sickening agony of suspense was almost intolerable. Oh, my dear! never, never shall I forget that night. The black trees and hedges whirling past us in the darkness, always the same, like an enchanted drive; then the endless suburbs, and at last the streets where people lounged in corners and stopped the way, as if every second of time were not worth a king's ransom; and sedan-chairs trotted lightly home from gay parties as if life were not one long tragedy. Once the way was stopped, once we lost it. That mistake nearly killed me. At last a watchman helped us to the little by-street where Dr. Penn was lodging, near which a loud sound of carpenters' work and hurrying groups of people puzzled me exceedingly.

After much knocking, an upper window was opened and a head put out, and my dear friend's dear voice called to us. I sprang out on to the pavement and cried--

"Dr. Penn, this is Dorothy."

He came down and took us in, and then (my voice failing) Robert explained to him the nature of our errand, and showed him the ghastly proof. Dr. Penn came back to me.

"My love," he said, "you must come up-stairs and rest."

"Rest!" I shrieked, "never! Get your hat, doctor, and come quickly. Let us go to the king. Let us do something. We have very little time, and he must be saved."

I believe I was very unreasonable; I fear that I delayed them some minutes before good Dr. Penn could persuade me that I should only be a hindrance, that he would do everything that was possible, and could do so much better with no one but Robert.

"My love," he said, "trust me. To obey is better than sacrifice!"

I went up-stairs into the dingy little sitting-room, and he went to call his landlady--"a good woman," he said: "I have known her long." Then he went away, and Robert with him, to the house of the Home Secretary.

It was three o'clock. Five hours still!

I sat staring at the sprawling paper on the walls, and at the long snuff of the candle that Dr. Penn had lighted, and at a framed piece of embroidery, representing Abraham sacrificing Isaac, that hung upon the wall. Were there no succouring angels now?

The door opened, and I looked wearily round. A motherly woman, with black eyes, fat cheeks, and a fat wedding-ring, stood curtseying at the door. I said, "I think you are Dr. Penn's landlady? He says you are very good. Pray come in."

Then I dropped my head on my hand again, and stared vacantly as before.

Exhaustion had almost become stupor, and it was in a sort of dream that I watched the stout figure moving softly to and fro, lighting the fire, and bringing an air of comfort over the dreary little parlour. Then she was gone for a little bit, and I felt a little more lonely and weary; and then I heard that cheerful clatter, commonly so grateful to feminine exhaustion, and the good woman entered with a toasted glow upon her face, bearing a tray with tea, and such hospitable accompaniments as she could command. She set them down and came up to me with an air of determination.

"My dear, you must be a good young lady and take some tea. We all have our troubles, but a good heart goes a long way."

Her pitying face broke me down. How sadly without feminine sympathy I had been through all my troubles I had never felt as I felt it now that it had come. I fairly dropped my head upon her shoulder and sobbed out the apparently irrelevant remark--

"Dear madam, I have no mother!"

She understood me, and flinging her arms round me sobbed louder than I.

It would have been wicked to offer further resistance. She brought down pillows, covered them with a red shawl, and propped me up till the horsehair sofa became an easy couch, and with mixed tears and smiles I contrived to swallow a few mouthfuls, a feat which she exalted to an act of sublime virtue.

"And now, my dear," she said, "you will have some warm water and wash your hands and face and smooth your hair, and go to sleep for a bit."

"I cannot sleep," I said.

But Mrs. Smith was not to be baffled.

"I shall give you something to make you," said she.

And so, when the warm water had done its work, I had to swallow a sleeping-draught and be laid easily upon the sofa. Her last words as she "tucked me up" were, oddly enough--

"The tea's brought back a bit of colour to your cheeks, miss, and I will say you do look pretty in them beautiful sables!"

A very different thought was working in my head as the sleeping-draught tingled through my veins.

"Will the birds sing at sunrise?"

Nelly, I slept twelve long hours without a dream. It was four o'clock in the afternoon of Monday when I awoke, and only then, I believe, from the mesmeric influence of being gazed at. Eleanor! there is only one such pair of eyes in all the world! George Manners was kneeling by my side.

Abraham was still sacrificing his son upon the wall, but my Isaac was restored to me. I sat up and flung myself into his arms. It was long, long before either of us could speak, and, oddly enough, one of the first things he said was (twitching my cloak with the quaint curiosity of a man very ignorant about feminine belongings), "My darling, you seem sadly ill, but yet, Doralice, your sweet face does look so pretty in these great furs."

My story is ended, Nelly, and my promise fulfilled. The rest you know.

How the detective, who left London before four o'clock that morning, found the rusty knife that had been buried with the hand, and apprehended Parker, who confessed his guilt. The wretched man said, that being out on the fatal night about some sick cattle, he had met poor Edmund by the low gate; that Edmund had begun, as usual, to taunt him; that the opportunity of revenge was too strong, and he had murdered him.

His first idea had been flight, and being unable to drag the ring from Edmund's hand, which was swollen, he had cut it off, and thrown the body into the ditch. On hearing of the finding of the body, and of poor George's position, he determined to brave it out, with what almost fatal success we have seen. He dared not then sell the ring, and so buried it in his barn. Two things respecting his end were singular: First, at the last he sent for Dr. Penn, imploring him to stay with him till he died.

That good man, as ever, obeyed the call of duty and kindness, but he was not fated to see the execution of my brother's murderer. The night before, Thomas Parker died in prison; not by his own hand, Nelly. A fit of apoplexy, the result of intense mental excitement, forestalled the vengeance of the law.

Need I tell you, dear friend, who know it so well, that I am happy?

Not, my love, that such tragedies can be forgotten--these deep wounds leave a scar. This one brought my husband's first white hairs, and took away my girlhood for ever. But if the first blush of careless gaiety has gone from life, if we are a little "old before our time," it may be that this state of things has its advantages. Perhaps, having known together such real affliction, we cannot now afford to be disturbed by the petty vexations and worthless misunderstandings that form the troubles of smoother lives. Perhaps, having been all but so awfully parted, we can never afford, in this short life, to be otherwise than of one heart and one soul. Perhaps, my dear, in short, the love that kept faith through shame, and was cemented by fellow-suffering, can hardly do otherwise than flourish to our heart's best content in the suns.h.i.+ne of prosperity with which G.o.d has now blessed us.

THE s.m.u.t.

The councillor's chimney smoked. It always did smoke when the wind was in the north. A s.m.u.t came down and settled on a bra.s.s k.n.o.b of the fender, which the councillor's housekeeper had polished that very morning. The s.h.i.+ning surface reflected the s.m.u.t, and he seemed to himself to be two.

"How large I am!" said he, with complacency. "I am quite a double s.m.u.t.

I am bigger than any other. If I were a little harder, I should be a cinder, not to say a coal. Decidedly my present position is too low for so important an individual. Will no one recognize my merit and elevate me?"

But no one did. So the s.m.u.t determined to raise himself, and taking advantage of a draught under the door, he rose upwards and alighted on the nose of the councillor, who was reading the newspaper.

"This is a throne, a crimson one," said the s.m.u.t, "made on purpose for me. But somehow I do not seem so large as I was."

The truth is that the councillor (though a great man) was, in respect of his nose, but mortal. It was not made of bra.s.s; it would not (as the cabinet-makers say) take a polish. It did not reflect the object seated on it.

"It is unfortunate," said the s.m.u.t. "But it is not fit that an individual of my position (almost, as I may say, a coal) should have a throne that does not s.h.i.+ne. I must certainly go higher."

But unhappily for the s.m.u.t, at this moment the councillor became aware of something on his nose. He put up his hand and rubbed the place. In an instant the poor s.m.u.t was destroyed. But it died on the throne, which was some consolation.

Moral.

More chimneys smoke than the councillor's chimney, and there are many s.m.u.ts in the world. Let those who have found a bra.s.s k.n.o.b be satisfied.