Margaret and her bridesmaids
Stretton, Julia Cecilia, 1812-1878
/• 1 1 nc*. sg^. * • wm ^^V= ^~ ^^^ MUgWg * X > ^ , y<k ' ^ >. *■ « r^it sfi*'^ MARGARET AND HEE BRIDESMAIDS. BY THE AUTHOR OF "WOMAN'S DEVOTION." " Queen Rose of the Rosebud garden of girls.''— Tennyson. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1856. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/margaretherbride03stre V.3 MARGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. CHAPTER I. Mrs. Laird did not understand Lotty's cha- racter yet. After that first emotion, she showed no more. There was a quiet air of content about her, that provoked Mrs. Laird beyond measure. She talked of Philip in a manner as serene and cheerful as if he were still up stairs, and wrote all her letters, and arranged all his affairs without a tear. She seemed rather sorry when she heard that Madame La Luce's leg was broken, and it was feared she would be lame for life. VOT.. TTT. B 2 MARGARET " Poor thing !" murmured Lotty. " Puir thing, indeed ! aye, bairn ; but I misdoubt grief has turned yer brain, spaking in thon daft way." " Is she not to be pitied, Mrs. Laird ? I think so, for many reasons." " Hoot awa ! set her oop i' the cutty stuil, and I wadna pity her ; she letten yer bonny Philip dee in that awfu way, and no in his bed, like a guid Christian." " But still she is to be pitied/' persisted Lotty. " Philip is happy, and what is she ?" • " Weel awa ! ye're past my kenning. When div ye think ye'll hear fra your friends ?" " In three days now, I hope," said Lotty ; " and then you will lose your plague and tor- ment, Mrs. Laird," kissing her. " Eh ! bairn, ye hae coaxing ways, and we a' your queer doings, I am like to have a sair heart when I lose the sight of ye. De ye think they'll send ony body to fetch ye ?" " Oh, yes !" said Lotty, smiling. " And did ye tell them to bring ye out widow's mourning ? Here's yer husband been AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 3 buried these ten days, and ye wi' no crimped cap on yer head. In these outlandish pairts, they dinnaken what decency is; and though I hae gettin you a guid silk dress of a deep black, with yards o' crape, not in the hail town could I get yer widow's cap." " But do you think my curls will go under " Bairn ! bairn ! dinna be flighty j we can cut the curls off, but ye maun be decent iu yer weeds/5 " Cut off those curls !" said Mr. Laird ; " never, I would rather cut off my leg." " Hoot, man ! dinna spoil the bairn, when I am spending my breath in learning her, her duty. But, may be, ye hae sensible friends as will teach ye aright. Ye have nae mither ; have ye an aunt now ?" " No," said Lotty. " Nor a sister ?" "No." " Nane but men folks ?" " Yes, I have some aunts-in-law and cousins- in-law." b 2 4 MARGARET " And wha dive ye think wull come for you ? though I wish the day may be far off yet.'' " Perhaps a brother will come, or, perhaps, two ; or it may be one of my uncles, or, pro- bably, a cousin." " Och ! set ye up, indeed ; de ye think all the world is ready to gang clattering o'er foreign pairts, after a bit thing like you ?" " They love me very much." " I'm thinking they could na help it," said Mr. Laird. " Now, Alick, dinna fleech her up any mair, or, may be, she will be getting o'er full o' her- sel, spite of a' my counsels. But save us ! what's at the door ?" Lotty ran to the window, as the noise of a carriage was heard rattling up the street ; one look, and she bounded out of the room, down the stairs, out of the door, and when Mrs. Laird looked out after her, she saw her in the arms and embraces of so many people, she lost sight of her " bairn " altogether. Outstripping the post by two days, rivalling the wind in their intense desire to get on, the AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 5 loving Beauvillians had come for " their girl." Mrs. Laird stood in the middle of the best parlour floor. " My dear uncle Tom ! Mrs. Laird," said the sweet thrilling voice, putting the large Beauvil- lian hand of fine, tall, bluff-looking uncle Tom, into hers. Uncle Tom nearly shook it off. " And kind uncle Ned," bringing forward a larger, taller, more radiant, uncle Ned, who nearly wrung off the other hand. " And my two brothers, Norman and Wal- ter, and cousin Frank ; dear, dear cousin Frank ! how is my Pro. ?" And Lotty ran from one to the other, and each one took her up in his great arms, and would have gone on kissing her, if another had not been impatient to have her j and then, at intermediate times, each and all shook hands over and over again, with the amazed and as- tounded Mr. and Mrs. Laird. And then they all shook hands with each other, as if in such a state of congratulation and delight, that it was not to be expressed in any other form. 0 MARGARET " We shall never forget your kindness," said uncle Tom. "Your kindness to our girl, our dearest treasure," said uncle Ned, taking up the mea- sure. "You demand our everlasting gratitude," exclaimed Walter, going on. "I am your servant for life," continued Norman. " Really you must excuse me, I am so over- powered ; will you oblige me by shaking hands again ?" wound up Mr. Frank. So they all start afresh, and then calming down again, they take the chairs offered me- chanically by the bewildered hostess, and then they look at, scrutinize, with fond loving eyes, the change in "their girl." "Did she look well?" " Yes, they thought she did, they all agreed she did not look ill." So they all thanked and shook hands again with the Lairds. " Did she look sorrowful ?" No ; shocking as it is to allow it of our AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 7 perfect Lotty (though perfect people are very disagreeable), she did not look sorrowful. On the contrary, her heart seemed to bloom and expand, under the cheering, happy influ- ence of her own people ; Mrs. Laird began to think there must be a dozen Lotties in the room, so bright, so fairy .like, did she seem, as she went from one to the other. And amazing was it to the good couple to see how first, one great, fine, tall old gentle- man, would rise from his chair, and walk across the room, apparently only to lay the large hand on the curly head, perhaps, lift up the pretty face and kiss it, and then go back to his chair; while another rose up and did the very same. Until at last, with abrupt, irre- pressible truth, Mrs. Laird's wonder burst out into words : " Lord save us ! how ye do love that bairn !" " We do love her," said one and all ; " she is worthy of our love ; she is our girl, our pride, our treasure — we dote on her." Then was Lotty kissed again by all ; and 8 MARGARET the Lairds' hands were again seized and shaken vehemently. No word was said of past events, no ques- tion asked of how and why. It was enough to the Beauvillians, that they had their girl once more their own ; it was enough to Lofty, that she had five pair of strong, brawny arms, not to be matched in England, that only opened to present her with a home. " Nae wonder," as Mrs Laird whispered to her faithful spouse, "that the bairn was unco queer in her ways." But when the good Beauvillians had de- parted for the night to their hotel, most re- luctant to leave, but most determined in their purpose not to teaze the good Lairds with their board and lodging, she made Lotty sit on her knee, and looking into her sunny eyes, said — " Bairn, what are ye made on ! that they great men-folk love yer little finger like the breath of Heaven ?" "I do not know, Mrs. Laird ; but they have always done so, and I love them." AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. V " I dinna wonder at it. Else may be I wad preach ye a sermon this night, having such bonny, bright, griefless eyes, and yer husband no in his grave ten days." " Dear Ma'am, Philip would marry me, and would not wait for me to love my people less, and him more ; and that made us unhappy, because, Ma'am, ah ! because — they are so good, so true, so kind — " " Ech ! sirs, they're past everything, dinna ye gang now to be fleeched up ; ayes me, but what am I saying, fleeched up, indeed, bless- ings on the bairn ! I'm thinking yer just a bit angel slipt away from Heaven, and given to them fine, heartsome folk, as a present for their kindly natures. But me, how they shak honds ; save us ! I'll never recover it. But I see it all the noo. Nae wonder wi' such folk ye could na love dark, gloomy Philip Leigh, wi' a* his grand luiks. My word, when you and they were allthegither in my best parlour, I thought the gracious sun had ay come in at the winder and lighted us all up. Ech ! lassie, the sight o' such folk does ane gude, 10 MARGARET and the doctor's maist demented wi' gladness and pride. Little did we twa think, as we said ye suld hae our blue room, what a treat was in store for us. In the first place, unlike themselves, Philip was never glad to see them, never asked them to stay with him. In the second place, he never came to see them, or brought their and his Lotty to show with pride and pleasure to all her doting relatives. In the third place, he had carried off this treasure so beloved without warning, without leave. Certainly, they had no right to expect he would consult them ; but it had grated sore AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 11 in their loving hearts that such an important matter should be done, settled, executed, and not one of them consulted, not one allowed to bid her farewell, not even her faithful nurse suffered to accompany her. It required all the milk of human kindness so overflowing in the Beauvillian hearts, to prevent them from thinking of Philip Leigh in a way that was quite uncomfortable to their jovial natures. And nothing but her constant and happy letters prevented the milk from turning sour, and overwhelming Philip Leigh with the curds. Not that they had wholly left their darling Lctty to the care of one, about whom they were quite unhappy, not to think as highly of as they did of the rest of the world. For, unknown to her or Philip, a faithful Beauvillian had travelled after them, and contenting himself with seeing that she looked well and happy, had returned again with the news to his anxious brethren. It was contrary to their open, frank natures, to ask any questions, or to appear to pry into things that were not brought under their iin- 12 MARGARET mediate eyes, so that they felt but little more than a vague notion, their Lotty had better be under the care of the smallest, most insig- nificant Beauvillian, than wedded to the handsome, distinguished-looking Philip Leigh. Now they were so happy to have her once more their own, it was enough for them. Philip might have been unkind, morose, dull, (dear Beauvilhans ! they could think of no greater sins) — but he was dead. The grave was sacred to them, and whatever feeling they might have had, was only expressed by the perversity with which they one and all seemed to think she was still Miss Beauvilliers. And when convicted of their mistake by the ser- vants saying no such person had any boxes there, no one was in the house of that name ; they only said in excuse, " Ah ! we mean Lotty." While making preparations for her return home, which was to be immediate, both on account of their anxiety to restore her once to her people, and because of some little domestic event about to happen in Mr. AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 13 Frank's family — Lotty heard all the news of everybody. "My dearest Georgina insisted upon my « coming, though I felt that even you, dear Lotty, would have forgiven me, had I so far restrained my impatient feelings on account of my dearest Georgina's interesting situation. But when we received your letter, when we felt that you must be brought home, brought home properly ; though at first, there were far too many of us who had settled to come, my dearest Georgina said, ' You must be one of those chosen, you must go to our darling Lotty ; for if you don't, you shall not have the girl you wish for — I will have twin-boys.' Think of my dear Georgina saying that ! she did, indeed ; and I thanked her from my heart. And whether she gives me a girl or not, I shall be grateful to my dearest Georgina all my life, for permitting me to be one of the favoured, happy few, to escort you home, dear Lotty." The Eeauvillians created quite a sensation in Homberg. They visited Lotty's old lodg- 14 MARGARET ings, and left substantial marks of their having been there, to the inhabitants thereof. They went to see the good old Bonne, and besides giving her such a donation that she had never before beheld so much money at one time, they emptied a shop of its bon-bons, and distributed them among the children under her charge, who had contributed, though in so small a degree, to their Lotty's happiness. But they thereby endangered their lives for wrecks to come, except that children's sto- machs, and foreign children's in particular, are, through some wise provision, made to con- tain an incredible amount of sugar-plums. As for the good Lairds, it seemed to them that some genial spirit had taken entire and full possession of their house, while the beam- ing presence of the fine fellows remained there. And the gratitude they expressed ! Besides perpetual shaking of hands (indeed, if he had only been encouraged, Mr. Frank looked as if he could gladly salute the chaste but withered cheek of Mrs. Laird), the whole set of Beau- villians, in full conclave, presented Mr. and AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 15 Mrs. Laird with a very handsome present in money, to indemnify them for all the trouble and anxiety they must have had with their Lotty. Not that they believed she was a trouble or anxiety, or that Mr. and Mrs. Laird were so foolish as to think they did do so ; but it was just their way, to remove any idea of grati- tude. And as if that was not enough, each Beau- villian, in secret and privately, presented Mrs. Laird with a present of their own, just as if that one, individually, was more indebted to her kindness than all the others. And when she would have expostulated as she received the third secret present, and openly said, how she had received two besides, she was not even listened to. " Of course, of course — very right ! I knew my kinsmen would not forget such a duty ; and you must be kind enough to keep our presents as a remembrance of us." As if she was ever likely to forget them. And so all things being ready, after a leave- 16 MARGARET taking that was enough to shake the nerves of the winged Nineveh bull, if it had any, Mrs. Laird found herself sitting in the middle of her parlour floor, drowned in tears, and Mr. Laird endangering his limbs and his life, by stretching so far out of the window to take a last look, wave a last adieu. But they had not departed without leaving a token of respect, at least, to the memory of the mistaken, self- sacrificed Philip Leigh. Lotty's last act was to put a packet into Mrs. Laird's hand, saying : " You will see a proper monument put up, and everything done, just as if he were your ' bairn.' " AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 17 CHAPTER II. Loving and lovely Margaret, with your shadowy form, your ethereal face, your gentle, calm submission, your pure faith, your pious patience, let us return to you. Basil had found the sea strewn with light floating articles belonging to the " Marguerite," too surely indicating her fate, and selecting from these one or two well-known articles, had placed them, as we have seen, in that abrupt manner before Lady Katherine. There might seem a degree of cruelty in this act, especially as Margaret, all unknowing to him, had witnessed the scene. But they had rightly judged her character; pity and sorrow for the poor mother made her lock up 18 MARGARET in her innermost heart the grief and loneliness she was to carry to her grave. She felt that they had meant to shock the mother's feelings, for a peculiar purpose, and divined the cause. No murmur escaped her lips, no duty was left undone. True to her unselfish nature, she urged Gerald with fervour to rem6ve Millicent at once to a warmer climate. Her delicate frame seemed to suffer for those she loved, even more apparently than the mourners them- selves. Yet, notwithstanding all this, they saw Margaret growing thinner and paler every day, presenting the appearance of a living, moving body, but the soul was far away. To Basil it seemed as if in her eyes there always dwelt the scene of the heaving, restless sea, bearing within its bosom that beloved form. " She will die, if we cannot do something to change her thoughts and feelings. If Lotty were but here now !" " It is strange," said Millicent, "she has never mentioned Lotty. I do not like to do so ; in fact, I dare scarcely speak ; it seems to me that but a cobweb thread holds her life and reason." AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 19 " Yes, her sensitive nature suffers when all is calm ; unlike the violent outpourings of poor Lady Katherine, that fortunately weaken themselves by their very vehemence. " " I am glad Mr. Grey is to live in the house with Lady Katherine, she seems to have taken so great a fancy to him." " Yes, Milly ; so now you and Gerald may leave with comfort; and the sooner you go, remember, the more you please Margaret. I should, like when I see her to-day, to say you are gone." " Do so, Basil ; for it was but the pain of leave-taking that has made us linger. We are all ready, and only last night agreed it would be best to depart in secrecy." " Much better. None of our nerves at pre- sent can stand much more strain on them. I will spend an hour or two with Margaret, and will then follow you to Liverpool. She will be interested to hear the last news of you." It was thus they cared for, and thought of, their poor, stricken Margaret. c 2 20 MARGARET When Basil joined them at Liverpool, he told Millicent that Margaret seemed relieved by knowing they were gone, and, taking ad- vantage of the moment, he had spoken to her of Lotty. A slight flush rose on the white cheek, the eyes lost that ever-searching, mournful look, but all she said was — " My Lotty will come to me when she can." " Thus, Milly, we can hope for no particu- lar change just yet. When the little, bright, cheerful spirit joins her Margaret, we may ex- pect some good, for she always seemed to di- vine what her school- wife most loved." " You will write to Lotty, Basil ?" " I hardly think so ; she has enough to bear without. Now, Milly, farewell ; I need scarcely say to you that you have no easy task before you, for Gerald bears within his breast a bruised and contrite heart." " You are right, brother. Until he meets Harold face to face before the judgment-throne of God, he will never cease, while breath is given him, to implore mercy and pardon for AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 21 the share he thinks he has had in Harold's fate." So Margaret's mother came to live with her, and the bleak December passed away, bring- ing in a stormy, violent January. She had been to her nursery to watch her fine boy enjoy his dinner; she had looked into the cot that contained a rosy, sleeping babe, whose red lip was never to be pressed by a father's kiss ; she had seen her steward, and transacted all her business with him ; she had read to her mother the psalms and lessons of the day ; and, with the same dreamy air and quiet, listless manner, she called for her bonnet and shawl, to take her daily walk. "The sleet drives in great gusts," remon- strated the nurse; "you will take cold, my lady." " I cannot take cold," answered her lady, mechanically. " The gardener says there will be soon a heavy fall of snow, my lady." " Does he ?" answered Margaret, still as in a dream, while she put on her bonnet : " Do not take the children out, then." 2.2 MARGARET And she went. " One would suppose she never heeded what I was saying," murmured the nurse; "and yet she must have done so, to have remembered the children. The Lord touch her heart with life again, for it is sore to see her thus !" Margaret went to Rose Leigh, her daily custom. Lady Katherine, as usual, received her as if they had not met for years, installed her in her own chair, and hovered about her as a loving hen guards the one nestling left, her. Pru. was in an excited state to-day, and had a great deal to tell Margaret. In fact, ever since the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Her- bert, and the arrival of Mr. Grey, Pru. had been growing more and more enigmatical in her conduct. And had Margaret ever heard the episode of the curate, absorbed as she was, she must have noticed Pru.'s manner. " I have heard from dear Georgina," said Pru. " Prank has left her for a short time " " Indeed," answered Margaret. " Mr. Grey is so much liked among the people, my dear daughter," said Lady Kathe- rine. AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 23 " Ah !" answered Margaret, unheeding Pru.'s violent blush. " There are snow-drops appearing already, dear Margaret, cold as the weather is." "Is it cold ?" said Margaret. "Mr. Grey said it was bitterly cold," con- tinued Lady Katherine, " and he is the best judge of weather I know." Again Pru. flushed and grew pale. " Shall I walk back with you, dear Margaret?" " If you please," was her quiet answer. During this walk, which lasted much longer than from Rose Leigh to Court Leigh, Pru.'s excitement broke out into one incessant chatter in which a certain pronoun, he, was mixed up with everything on which she discoursed, and which, on less unheeding ears, would have divulged poor Pru.'s secret. Once only did Margaret show interest. " It was Lotty's doing, all dear, darling Lotty's plan," said Pru. " What plan ?" asked Margaret. " Why," answered Pru., blushing vehement- ly, at being asked a question she did not ex- pect, " that he came." 24 MARGARET " My Lotty came ?" asked Margaret in perplexity. " No, no, though I wish in my heart she was, then all would go right ; but it snows hard now, dear Margaret, so I will run home, as you must go in." Margaret did not go in, she liked the wild weather; it brought a pulse of life in her heart, to watch the wintry elements. They seemed typical of her own withered hopes. " Lotty," she said to herself, unconsciously, " my Lotty ! I wish she would come. It seems to me, her presence would prove to me like the first snow-drop of spring, seen in this wintry weather. Ah ! Lotty, if you were here, perhaps you could devise some means by which I could visit that spot, behold with my own eyes, if the sea can give me up no mes- sage from her dead. If I could have something ; even in the hour of utmost danger, he would have written to his Margaret, he would have sent me some last directions safely enclosed within some floating casket. I know, I feel sure there is such, and if Lotty were here — " AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 25 "She is here, Queen Margaret, these are her arms round you, her kisses pouring on you — but stay — say nothing, speak not to her, for there is your treasure, your message from the dead. Your Lotty would have been here before, but that she knew what her Margaret wanted. She went, she sought, she has found it. Take it, sweetest, dearest mourner ! Basil was the real discoverer, your Lotty only the divi- ner ; now, here, in the little summer-house, you will be alone, unwatched, unseen — God bless my Margaret !" And Lotty, placing in Margaret's trembling h ands an oilskin packet, directed to her, kissed her cheek with passionate fondness, and left her alone. First Lotty went to the nursery, and kissing young Harold, took her little god-daughter to- be in her arms, and said, " This is my child, nurse." " God be praised for it, Ma'am ! and more than all, that you have come back. We have looked to no change in our dear Lady, until you could arrive." 26 MARGARET " God has been very good in giving me the power to bring her a last token of remem- brance from her husband." " Heaven be praised ! 'twas all she wanted." And the tears fell in showers from the good nurse's eyes. Lotty now went across, spite of the driving snow, to Rose-Leigh. She peeped in at the window, and saw Lady Katherine with her feet and nose comfortably in the fire, that is, near the fire, knotting away with an indefatigable per- severance worthy a great cause. On the other side of the fire, equally comfortable, sat a gentleman ; the sound of his strong, sonorous t voice came through the window ; he was read- ing aloud. Rather behind her mother, sat Pru., who ought to have been knotting ; " but oh !" as Lotty upbraided her afterwards, " her knotting was on the floor, and she was gazing, unabashed, on the face of a young man, not more than forty years of age." Lotty went quietly into the room, but Pru. was not so absorbed in her occupation, as to forget old friends. AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 27 " Dearest, dear Lotty ! you have returned to us at last ;" and the knotting became inex- tricably entangled in the legs of two chairs, as Pru. sprung nimbly round them, to embrace her. With touching, child-like feeling, Lady Katherine looked at the little girlish thing, and said, — " My dear, don't kiss me, do not be kind to me, for I am a very unworthy, wicked woman ! I love to see your sweet face again, we have been longing for you, but I have widowed your Margaret ; I, I have broken her heart. Oh ! my son, my son, my only son !" " But I will kiss my Margaret's mother thus and thus, and I love Harold's mother as if she were my own, and I bring her the greatest comfort she can now have, a last fond letter from her son, full of love and forgive- ness, I know." " Where ? — oh, where ? — let me see the blessed words 1" " Margaret has the letters, we must leave her alone with her treasure as yet." 28 MARGARKT " Oh, Lotty ! how did you get them ?" asked Pru. " Basil has written to me constantly, all the news from here, and all he knew of that fatal night. He felt that some of these days, Mar- garet might like to know every particular ; then I should be able to tell her, or to show her the letters. He has collected every paper, every account, every circumstance that occur- red to our Harold from the time he left home, until that fatal Thursday night. From that time he has given me a history of his own voyage, when Gerald accompanied him. Again of a second one, when he discovered the fatal truth, and found those few sad remains ; and among other things that he has collected, is the figure-head of the ' Marguerite.' The instant I knew this, I called to mind several things that I had heard poor Harold say of this figure-head. How he had had infinite pains taken with it, so that it should resemble Margaret in attitude and face. How he should consider it as his guardian angel, and that it might indeed prove so to him, for it was constructed in a peculiar manner. Fur- AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 29 ther, I remember in particular, he said, — l The image of my Margaret shall never be - de- stroyed or wrecked. It shall float, though all the rest of the vessel is riven in pieces / so on my road home, we appointed Basil to meet us at Cowes, and there, in the ' Ripple/ was laid all that remained of the ill-fated ' Marguerite/ " Proceed, dear, dear Lotty, oh! finish your tale." The heroic little Lotty was stifling her tears. " The figure-head of the ship was so like my Margaret ; her small, graceful head just turned and bent, as if in the act of listening ; the slight hands touching, half laced together by the fingers, her own peculiar attitude, as you know. But Basil wondered why I examined it so minutely. " ' See, Basil,' I said, ' it has not been sepa- rated from the ship by violence, or blows. It has been carefully unscrewed and sent adrift.' " ' You are right, Lotty/ he answered, ' and these hollow tubes must have gone through the beams. The screws must have penetrated to the cabin, or been fastened from there.' 30 MARGARET " ' And unfastened again. Let us sound it, it is almost hollow within.' " " Suffice it to say, we found a spring, which opened to us the hollow cavity, that, filled with air, caused the figure-head to float so buoyantly, when all heavier things were swal- lowed up, in those shifting sands. And within was also Harold's last message to Margaret. I have brought it and given it to her." " Ah, Lotty ! best Lotty, you are well- named, but my son can send nothing but up- braidings, to his mother. Nevertheless I will meekly receive them ; if my poor, dear, widowed Margaret forgives me, and has fond messages to him from his watery grave, I shall be very grateful to a merciful God. It will be quite as much as I deserve." " God afflicts none more than they are able to bear, dear Lady Katherine," said Mr. Grey. " I feel that ; nay, I know it. What ought I not to suffer ? yet how am I blessed !" " I am very glad to find Mr. Grey is living with you," said Lotty. AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 31 " Under God's blessing, he has saved my soul, dear Lotty ! from very sinful murmurings and despair. I was almost lost in every way, for my Margaret was too good to me." " He is very good and kind to us both," murmured Pro., blushing violently. "I am very glad to hear he is kind to you," whispered Lotty back again. With all her tender heart and melting sor- row, some things bewitched little Lotty into being mischievous. " When shall I see my Margaret ?" began Lady Katherine, with nervous tremor. " We must not disturb her," answered Lotty ; " when she is calm, she will join us. If she has comfort to bestow, so much the sooner will she come." " How well you know her character," said Mr. Grey ; "it seems strange that one so faultless should be thus tried." " Pure gold is tried in the fire," answered Lotty. "Lotty," said Lady Katherine, abruptly, " where is Philip ?" 6'Z MARGARET The little childish thing looked up with amazement for a moment — then she glanced at her black dress. " I thought I heard he was ill, dead," con- tinued Lady Katherine ; " but I am grown so selfish, so absorbed, you must forgive me, dear child. You have no white cap on your head like my Margaret ; your pretty curls are as usual ; I trust he may be spared to you, poor, little, young thing !" The colour deepened in Lotty's cheeks until they bloomed like winter roses. Then she said : " I have come home to be once more Mar- garet's little school-husband, for we are both alone now; God has taken Philip Leigh to his rest." In the little summer-house did the widowed Margaret read this letter, a message sent by the sea from her dead. " Margaret ! what is this I have to do ? I have written to you before. Thank God ! I wrote from Jersey ; a letter — such a letter as AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 33 I ought to write to my Margaret. And now but a few days are passed since that was penned and sent ; and in this scrawled, blotted, stained sheet of paper, you are to take my last message, the only letter you will ever- more receive from the Harold you loved so well, the last token of his love for you. " Oh, fate ! fate ! could you pour no other vial of wrath on my devoted head ? Was the measure of my sins so great, that I was to bear for three days, (each a lifetime,) alternate hope and despair ; gleams of strength and resignation ; hours of horror and remorse ; every feeling that can lacerate the human heart, yet bid it hope against hope ; was I to bear all this with a man's weak spirit, only to learn that death is about to part me and thee, Margaret? One man on board — but one — ■ announces that nothing can save us. But he is the only experienced sailor we have, and my reason bids me feel and know that his words are true. I see the drift of the under- current, ignorant sailor as I am. I watch the light articles tossed over, they all float one VOL. III. D 34 MARGARET way, to a doom that is inevitable. Let me collect my thoughts, let me strive to take leave of my Margaret as befits her husband. An irresistible impulse bids me write, all these three days it has urged me like the sharp prick of conscience. I obey ; incoherent, hasty, desponding and despairing as my words may be, I write to Margaret, my wife, my fond, loving wife ! Oh, God ! wilt thou not hear my prayer ? Let me see her again, for her own sweet sake, not mine. One word, one look, 'tis all I ask. A slight preparation ! she can have none, it is impossible ; naked, plain, in all its stern truth, the fact will be told her, as in a breath, ' Your Harold is dead, drowned — drowned in the very vessel he made your rival !' How she will feel for me ! how she will gasp and say, * In any other way, oh, God ! I could have borne it better ; but not from his own wilfulness, not his own headstrong will/ " But, Margaret, I can comfort you there. 'Tis true, my mother's letter drove me away. I expected an answer from you to that I wrote AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 35 from Jersey— (I love to think upon that letter, it was a fitting one for you) — and I received hers ; only that one from my mother, and a message from you in it. A newspaper, too, with that lie ! those lies ! Did you believe them ? Oh, no ! no ! mad, fierce, wild as was my passion, in the midst of all it drove me to do, one small voice would repeat, ' Mar- garet loves you ! Margaret trusts you ! why care for others ?' " But I must needs get away into the wide, open sea, out of sight of land ; that land, which held so true and fond a wife and mo- ther! So I gave the order, and when we were many hours away, I went on deck to breathe and think. The wind blew in fitful gusts — it cooled my brain. Suddenly, a sweeping, soft air came rushing by, as if stirred by angels' wings, and a voice seemed to speak to my heart — " ' Remember Margaret's state. Bethink you of her tender, sensitive nature. The word that attainted her Harold's name would be as a sword entering her heart.' 36 MARGARET " And so, Margaret, as if the touch of the Saviour had driven the demon from his hold, and the holy words had dismissed and re- buked him, did I become calm and in my right mind. I gave the order to return at once, and went down to my cabin and thanked God. I then saw it all. My mother so angry ; my Margaret so hurt with her ; per- haps she had, all unfit as she was, travelled to Cowes, to meet and console, and love more fondly than ever, her wayward, but not wicked, Harold — her traduced, foully-slandered Ha- rold. But a fear crept in silently, fixedly, the shock might have been too much. My Mar- garet is so very tender, so sensitive for her Harold. Perhaps she had gone already to Heaven, taking with her a little, blighted blossom. Perhaps those two stars were her seraph eyes, beaming down on me, and bid- ding me prepare. Those stars I saw but three nights ago. " I said I gave the order for the ship to return, and went down to my cabin. My company were not congenial to my present thoughts, and I remained for many hours ; until I thought we might see lights on the island. " All was wild, dark, stormy ; a desert of sea and waves. " * When shall we reach Cowes ?' I asked of the helmsman. " ' Cowes ! we had a second order from you, through one of the young ladies, to keep our course for Holland.' " So, Margaret, they did it. Let them weep and wail. Let them upbraid and weary Heaven with their cries; on their own shoulders rests their doom. " They thought I was actuated by whim, 38 MARGARET in going out to sea ; they had a whim not to return. Thus are we lost through folly. " And Mr. Clare ; to him we owe it, that we have so poor a crew, a captain utterly weak and incapable, ignorant even to my own ex- tent of nautical matters. But one man on board knows these fatal sands : a greater man than I am once escaped them. Why should not we ? I must hope. God never gave me such a gift as Margaret — to tear me from her thus. And yet I valued her not. Oh, God ! if I see her once again — if I hold her once more in these arms, second to Thee only shall she be ! She will teach me to worship and praise Thee. Poor Gerald ! Tell him the promise has come true — ' He has cast his bread upon the waters, it will not return to him void/ I remember scoffing at his text — 1 Make Thou Thy servant to delight in that which is good/ But useless for me is that prayer now, though it haunts me. But a few hours more, the old seaman says — The ship drives heavily. Margaret, I would not that you should think these blurred, unsteady lines AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 39 are other than accidental. Your Harold is calm. Hope may be departing, but God is at the helm. I think again of Gerald, and say, 'Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before Thee, and am no more worthy to be called Thy son ;' but forgive me ! oh, forgive me! " Thus do I pray, at every moment that I do not pray for thee. " I have been on deck. In a vain hope to aid us, for want of coal, we have burnt every available thing within the ship. Doors, par- titions, all are gone. We group together, for we cannot separate. None can go hide their grief and despair ; nakedly shown before us all, are the different phases of woe in all their human weakness. " My companions gaze on me, preparing these papers — my will — for you, fond wife. They derive comfort from my calmness, think- ing the wild scene above is but a hideous drama, in which they take no part. Poor Miss Clare ! Poor Augusta ! — she beseeches me to save her ; and calls upon you, my Mar- 40 MARGARET garet, to hear her vows and promises. Never more will she give you one moment's uneasi- ness— never more will she see or speak to me again. I believe her there; but I smile in pity at her words. My Margaret knew all her Harold's sins and weaknesses j I thank God I have nothing to confess. She upbraids me as the cause of their impending doom : again I thank God, and so must you, Margaret : not only is my soul free (for even her compa- nions chide her for her words) from this charge, but He who sees into all hearts knows I would freely give my life for hers, so unfit is she to die, while I rest in the hope of the thief on the cross. " My boy ! Make him the Harold I ought to have been. With his mother near him, I know his father's name will be green in his memory evermore. 