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  THE WORLD BEFORE THEM.

  A Novel.


  BY

  MRS. MOODIE,

  AUTHOR OF "ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH."


  IN THREE VOLUMES.

  VOL. III.


  [Illustration]


  LONDON:
  RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
  1868.




  LONDON:
  Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland Street




  THE WORLD BEFORE THEM.




  CHAPTER I.

  MRS. GILBERT RUSHMERE.


The dinner was so well cooked, and so nicely served, that in spite of
the unusual hour, Mrs. Rowly and her daughter made a very hearty meal.

Mrs. Rushmere's easy chair had been drawn to the head of the table, and
Dorothy sat beside her and carved, Gilbert being unable at present to
cut his own food. Dorothy longed to do it for him, when she observed how
unwillingly his wife performed this necessary service.

"I am a great trouble to you, Sophy," he said; "but directly my arm is
healed, I shall soon learn to help myself, as I have seen others do, who
had met with the same misfortune."

"It is a good thing to have a wife to help you," suggested Mrs. Rowly.

"Yes, but it makes a fellow feel so dependent. He has to submit through
sheer necessity to petticoat government."

"A' don't think that even one arm would make me do that," said Rushmere,
"tho' I believe a' had the best wife in Christendom."

Mrs. Rushmere laughed good-naturedly.

"Oh, Lawrence, men be often under their wives' government, an' as
ignorant of the fact as babies."

"You speak, I suppose, from experience," said Mrs. Gilbert, in her
gentle low voice. "I should have thought the old gentleman a very
difficult person for any wife to manage. I find Gilbert a hard case, in
spite of his one arm."

"There's only one way to rule me, and that's by kindness," returned
Gilbert.

Without meaning it, perhaps, his voice assumed a serious tone, almost
amounting to sadness. He looked up, and his eyes and Dorothy's met;
forcing an appearance of gaiety, he said, "What have you to say on the
subject, Dorothy?"

"I never give an opinion on subjects I know nothing about. I am the only
person in the room who cannot speak from experience. I should think your
plan, however, must be the best."

"It is a pity you have not an opportunity of trying it, Miss, What's
your name," said Mrs. Gilbert, "in which case you might perhaps find out
that kindness can be thrown away."

"I expected to find Dorothy married when I came home," said Gilbert. "I
thought it impossible that the young fellows in the neighbourhood could
suffer her to remain single."

"She waited for you, Gilly, till she found it o' no use," cried Rushmere
passing the bottle to his son.

"Oh that I had waited for her," was the thought that flashed through
Gilbert's mind, charged with a deep regret.

"Father will have his joke," said Dorothy, colouring like a rose,
"without thinking that it may be at the expense of another."

Mrs. Gilbert left off eating, and listened keenly to what was passing.

"Believe me, Gilbert, that there is no one present who congratulates you
more sincerely on your marriage than I do."

"My dear child, will you help me up stairs?" said Mrs. Rushmere,
apprehensive of mischief from her husband's blunt indiscretion and want
of delicacy.

Gilbert rose, and with his left arm supported her to the foot of the
stairs. "Oh, Dorothy," he said, "no wonder that you despise me. God only
knows how I despise myself."

"It is too late to repent now, Gilbert. You must try like me to forget.
You owe it to your wife, as much as to me."

She passed her arm round Mrs. Rushmere's waist, and left Gilbert at the
foot of the stairs. He put the cuff of his empty sleeve to his eyes. Was
it to wipe away a tear?

His wife looked daggers at him, when he returned to the table. His
father proposed a walk round the farm after dinner, an invitation that
Gilbert eagerly accepted, and the mother and daughter were left alone
together.

"We shall have a nice time of it here," said Mrs Gilbert. "Let us go
out, mother, and take a look round the premises. One might as well be in
a prison as confined to this dark, dingy room."

"I can see no garden attached to the place," said Mrs. Rowly, looking
out of the deep bay window which only opened upon the stone-paved court.
"That girl who helped at dinner could tell us all about it."

"Don't call her, mamma, I have a perfect horror of that woman. I am
certain that Gilbert and she have been very intimate. He never took his
eyes off her during dinner."

"You need not be jealous of her, Sophy; I am certain that she cares
nothing for him. You are foolish to trouble your head with any love
affairs he had previous to his marriage."

"But I am sure he cares for her, and I don't mean to play second fiddle
in his father's house to any one but Mrs. Rushmere. If this girl remains
in the house I must quit it."

"And would you like to nurse the sick mother?"

"I hate sick people. Let her hire a nurse."

"She may not be able to do that. I see no indications of wealth here. A
carpetless sanded floor, and furniture old enough to have come out of
the ark. One room which serves for drawing-room, dining-room and
parlour. I dare say these poor people have enough to do to keep
themselves."

"But Gilbert said that his father was rich."

"Pshaw! You see now Gilbert has exaggerated matters."

"But what are we to do? I can't and won't live here."

"Till your debts are paid, you must."

"Oh, dear, I wish I were single again," and Mrs. Gilbert began to cry.

"Sophy, when you were single you were never contented, always lamenting
that you were not married. No one ever asked you to marry until I gave
out that you would have a fortune."

"And what have I gained by that lie?"

"A handsome, honest fellow, if you would only think so. He would not
have been so badly off either, if he had not been forced to sell his
commission to pay your debts. He had a fair chance too, of rising in the
army, if he had not met with that misfortune. I think you very
unreasonable to throw all the blame on him. What now remains for you to
do, is to make yourself agreeable to his parents, and secure a home,
such as it is, for us."

"I can't pretend to like that old man," and Sophy shrugged her
shoulders.

"He's rather an amusing variety of the species," said Mrs. Rowly, "and
the easiest person in the world to cajole. But once more, let me tell
you, Mrs. Gilbert Rushmere, it is no use quarrelling with your bread
and butter. Put on your hat, and let us take a turn in the open air,
perhaps we may chance to meet the gentlemen."

And now they are gone to spy out the nakedness of the land we will tell
our readers a little of their private history, and how the young soldier
was deceived in his fortune-hunting speculation.

Mrs. Rowly was the widow of a custom-house officer, and for many years
lived very comfortably, nay, affluently, upon the spoils which he
gathered illegally in his office. Their only child, Sophia, though very
far from pretty, was a genteel-looking girl, and educated at a
fashionable boarding-school; but just as she arrived at womanhood, the
father was detected in his unlawful pursuits, and so heavily fined, that
it caused his utter ruin, and having incurred heavy debts to keep up an
appearance beyond his station, he ended his days in prison, leaving his
wife and daughter to shift for themselves in the best manner they
could.

With the assistance of a brother, who was in the grocery line of
business, and of whom they had always been ashamed in their more
prosperous days, Mrs. Rowly set up a small boarding-house, in one of the
little cross streets in the Minories, and just contrived to keep her
head above water for several years, until Sophia was turned of
seven-and-twenty. The young lady dressed and flirted, and tried her best
to get a husband, but all her endeavours proved futile.

She was ambitious, too, of marrying a gentleman, and looked down with
contempt upon shopkeepers