The World Before Them Volume Ii Part 6

"The girl wept and entreated, said that she knew no one in the town, who would take her in; that she had no money, and on her knees promised her aunt, that she would never marry John without her consent, if she would only for this once forgive an offence which was quite involuntary on her part.

"John was so handsome, and had been so kind to her, that she had fallen in love with him without knowing it. Her aunt had not warned her that she was not to look at him or speak to him, or she would have been more circ.u.mspect.

"Mrs. Knight was deaf to reason and nature. She had been a young woman herself, and might have been in love, but it seems she had forgotten all about it, and, after venting upon her niece all the pent up wrath she was afraid of bestowing upon her son, she turned the poor girl into the streets.

"Fortunately for Maria, she had received a very tender note that morning from John, by the hands of a sailor who was returning to his friends at s...o...b.., and the man informed her of the place where her lover was to be found; for he had left the house in a rage without telling his mother or Maria the name of the parties with whom he was going to stay.

"The town was a sea-port thirty miles distant, and she walked the whole way without a penny in her purse, or a morsel to eat. When she got to the house where young Knight was staying, she sat down on the door-step, overcome with shame and fatigue, and began to cry. John, returning from a frolic with a set of jolly tars, found his mistress sitting alone in the street, half dead with cold and fright. The next morning he got a license, and went to church with her and married her, in the face of the whole congregation, for it was Sunday.

"A week after, Mrs. Knight was standing at the door of her shop, not very well satisfied with the turn things had taken, and wondering what had become of Maria, whom she missed more and more every day from behind the counter, when a chaise drove up to the door, and John Knight led his bride up to his mother, and introduced her as his wife, with an air of genuine triumph.

"'You don't dare to tell me, John, that you have married Maria?'

"'She is my wife, mother, I insist upon your receiving her as your daughter.'

"'You can't force me to do that, John. She shall never set her foot in my house again.' Mrs. Knight scowled defiantly at the young married pair.

"John answered, with great good humour, 'Nonsense, mother, listen to reason. Your being angry cannot undo the knot the parson has tied. Death only can do that. We are one. If you turn out Maria, you turn out me.

You ought to be obliged to me for bringing home your niece safe and in her right mind. You turned her into the streets, without a penny in her pocket to buy a morsel of bread, or to pay for the shelter of a roof, the orphan child of your sister. She might have been ruined. G.o.d ordered it otherwise--be thankful that he has saved you from a greater sin. And now kiss and be friends, or you and I, mother, part upon this threshold to meet no more on earth.'

"The threat of losing him--her idol, was enough to terrify Mrs. Knight into submission. She promised to forget the past, and to be kind to her daughter-in-law, if her son would only consent to remain at home. The women kissed one another.

"Oh, women, women! How often, Judas-like, you betray your best friends with a kiss. As long as John remained at home, things went on smoothly enough. Maria was very attentive to Mrs. Knight, and as she did not scold her, she was content to put up with her sullen humour for her husband's sake.

"This hollow peace between the mother and daughter did not last long.

The three first months of matrimonial life glided away only too quickly. John Knight received orders to join his s.h.i.+p, which had taken in her cargo, and was expected to sail in a few days.

"Sad news it was to the two young creatures, who were all the world to each other. The parting was like death to them. Mrs. Knight alone was tranquil, and received the intelligence with an air of indifference. She arranged everything for John's departure, and left the husband and wife to spend the last hours of their union in undisturbed sorrow.

"A long perilous voyage was before John Knight. He felt not a little down-hearted at leaving Maria with his mother. He did not exactly like the ominous peace she had maintained with her daughter-in-law. It was not natural--not, at least, to her, who was wont to let her wrath find a voice, and speak in terrible tones on all occasions; and but for Maria's advice to the contrary, he would have hired a lodging for her at a distant part of the town. She was likely, too, to become a mother. He was doubtful how Mrs. Knight would receive the expected stranger. He knew that she hated the noise of children, and he feared that Maria would have a poor time of it during his long absence.

"The young wife had none of these apprehensions. She was quite willing to believe that the old woman's anger towards her had died a natural death, and that she, Maria, was indispensable to the comfort of the mistress of the house, and her presence necessary for the well-doing of the shop.

"John was at length persuaded that all was right, but he yielded the point very reluctantly.

"Before leaving the house, he solemnly confided his young wife to the care of his mother, and begged her to treat her as a daughter for his sake.

"The old woman promised nothing, but seemed hurt that he should consider it necessary to urge upon her so earnestly such a request.

"'Did he expect,' she said, angrily, 'that she was going to murder the girl the moment that he was out of sight?'

"John's s.h.i.+p had not sailed many days before the hatred Mrs. Knight had so long concealed came into active operation, and she commenced a series of aggressions against her daughter-in-law, that rendered her life miserable, and slowly and surely undermined her const.i.tution.

"She had to endure vehement reproaches, and all the scornful contempt that a strong, harsh nature can bring to play upon a timid, sensitive mind, that cannot fail to be weakened and borne down in the unequal struggle.

"Maria did not, however, yield. She bore the attacks of her vindictive enemy with wonderful courage, offering a firm and silent resistance to her imperious demands, while she accorded a willing obedience to whatever was not cruel and unreasonable, leaving the old woman no grounds of complaint, and often turning her malicious attacks upon herself by pretending not to see them.

"She had a double motive for acting entirely upon the defensive, the welfare of her husband, for she knew that her aunt was rich, and that of her child, whose advent she looked forward to as a recompense for all her troubles.

"This longed-for, but dreaded event, at last arrived, and Maria became the mother of a female child, to the increased dissatisfaction of Mrs.

Knight, who said,

"'That even in this matter Mrs. John was determined to spite her, by having a girl. She knew how she hated girls.'

"Maria was too much engrossed with her new treasure to heed these ungracious complaints. It was a beautiful healthy infant, and she had come through the trial so well, that she had every reason to be thankful.

"The old woman, for a wonder, was kinder to her than she expected, and spared no expense in providing her with good and nouris.h.i.+ng diet, and the attendance of an excellent nurse, though she still grumbled at the s.e.x of the child.

"About ten days after young Mrs. Knight's confinement, she was found one morning dead in her bed. The nurse said that she was quite well when she went to bed, had eaten a bowl of gruel, and laughed and chatted with her about the baby, kissing it frequently, and declaring that it was the picture of John.

"The nurse scolded her for talking so much, took the baby from her, and bade her go to sleep. She slept in the same bed with her mistress, and took charge of the child, that its mother might not be troubled with it during the night.

"Early in the morning, when the nurse awoke, she spoke to young Mrs.

Knight, and told her that the babe wanted her; receiving no answer, she grew uneasy, and sitting up in the bed, discovered that the poor girl was dead.

"The alarm was instantly given; the neighbours poured in; two doctors rushed to the rescue; old Mrs. Knight wept and wrung her hands, while the women filled the house with shrieks and lamentations.

"No suspicion was aroused by the appearance of the dead. The corpse presented the happy, tranquil aspect of one who had died in sleep, while under the influence of some pleasing dream. It was not the age for chemical investigations. No one suspected any foul play, and no evidence was sought for to prove that such had been the case. Maria Knight was consigned to her early grave without any question being raised of her right to be there. She had died, the coroner said, "by the visitation of G.o.d," and the sympathizing neighbours, and the pitiful women were contented.

"Mrs. Knight had a wet nurse for the child, and gave the dead mother a very handsome funeral; though no one ever heard her express the least regret for her untimely death.

"'As for the child,' she said, 'if it had been a boy, and like John, she could have loved it. It was the image of its mother, she wished it had died with her, for she never liked her; and it was hardly to be expected that she should feel any great affection for her child.' She named the child Alice, after her sister. She had had enough of the name of Maria, and did not wish to have it recalled to her memory.

"People marvelled at the hard, cold heart, that could transmit hatred to the second generation; but they all had experienced the uncongenial nature of Mrs. Knight, and merely shrugged their shoulders, and said, 'It was just like her; what would John Knight say, when he came home.'

"But John Knight never came home. Never heard of the death of his young wife, or the birth of his child. His s.h.i.+p was lost at sea, and all hands perished.

"The arrow launched by the hand of Heaven went home to the cruel mother's heart; for months she raved over the loss of her son, and only recovered her reason to become more cruel and grasping than ever. Her idol of flesh had perished. She now set up one of gold, and all that remained of human softness in her nature, became as hard as the metal which composed her new divinity.

"She took very little notice of the orphan babe. She had tolerated it while her son lived; but he was gone, and the hated mother alone survived in the child. She never caressed it, seldom spoke to it, or of it, and always treated it with the most marked neglect.

"The extreme beauty of the little girl deeply interested the sympathies of my dear mother, who was one of the kindest women on earth; her large maternal heart, yearning over everything in the shape of a child, especially if that child was ill-used and an orphan.

"She often sent me to Mrs. Knight, to invite Alice to spend the day with her; that the children might have a good romp in the garden together.

"I was just four years older than Alice, but very small for my age. She was a healthy, well-grown child, there did not look more than the difference of a year in our respective ages. I had neither sister nor brother, and these visits from our little neighbour were hailed by me with intense pleasure.

"What a sweet child she was, with such a pair of clear, laughing blue eyes, such a happy, dimpled, innocent little face, yet brimful of mirth and mischief, and then, such wealth of golden brown hair, falling all round her rosy cheeks in showers of s.h.i.+ning curls. She was my darling, my precious pet, and she would answer to no other names. I fell in love with her as a boy, and for years I only felt alive and happy in her presence.

"Hand in hand we roamed the beach to look for sh.e.l.ls and bright stones, or wandered about the green common at the back of the town, among the gay furze bushes, hunting for the first violets.

"Mrs. Knight stood somewhat in awe of my father. Violence loves to contend with violence; it can only be subdued by gentleness and patience. My father's amiable qualities opposed to her fierce anger, were arrows in the hand of the giant, silently and surely they demolished the bulwarks of pride and hatred behind which she sought to entrench herself.

"She was civil to my mother, and though I shrank from the stern, sharp, scowling face, she sometimes condescended to pat my head, and call me a pretty boy.

"I had once seen her beat Alice very severely, for having mislaid her bonnet; and I never saw Mrs. Knight without longing to beat her after that.

"Cross as she was to other people, she never hindered our happy meetings, and I ought to have felt grateful for that favour.