Her wrinkled lips twitching with a grim humour, she noted the points of likeness between herself and the old piece of furniture; the tall, narrow, dark figure, the broad, pale countenance. Tick, tick, went the old time-piece in the silence and shadow, while the spring sunshine fell on the threshold of the open hall-door, and the echo of young voices sounded from beyond the fields and the hedgerows without. "I think she has been running down lately. One of these days the pendulum will stop. Ah, well; if I have done my duty as well as the old clock has done hers, I shall be right enough, mayhap!" "Tick, tick, tick, tick," answered the clock in the silence, and the old woman turned away, muttering, "Why do you not laugh at my joke? he he! Bide a little, Miss Bell. They may laugh who win.” The next time that Mrs. and Miss Golightly dined with their respected relative they noticed with surprise that the old clock-case had been removed from the hall, and stood stiff and gaunt in a corner of the parlour. Why, aunt, this is a change!" cried Miss Bell, with an uncomfortable feeling that the old clock was somehow bearing witness against her. "I am coming near my end, Bell, and I want to remind myself that my time is short, and that I had better make good use of the little that is left me.!' Mrs. M'Naughten was not given to moralising, and her niece and grand-niece stared. Miss Bell wished the stupid old clock-case back in its place in the hall. "Why keep it here ?" she persisted "For the same reason that people hang up their own portraits in their sitting-rooms; I have heard that there is a striking likeness between it and me," said the old lady, chuckling. Bell stood amazed; so sure had she been of Lucy's honour that she had never counted on being betrayed by her. But now her mind misgave her. "Only a malicious person could say it," said she, determined to right herself at any cost, and glancing at Lucy, who was replenishing the fire, and listening to the conversation with surprise. "Softly, Bell. We must make allowance for the follies of youth," said Mrs. M'Naughten, with a twinkle in her eyes that puzzled Miss Golightly, who, much as she disliked the accusing face of the old clock, yet comforted herself with the assurance that, at all events, her grandaunt was not displeased with her. If Lucy had turned tell-tale, the old lady had not believed her. Summer was coming; the wild flowers had vanished out of the woods, and the roses were budding, and still Lucy had heard no more of Robin. She kept her sorrow to herself, and went about her duties with a pale, resolved face. If Robin, who must, before all, be a great sculptor, had thought it better to forget her, be it so. She would never utter a reproach nor a complaint. Her mistress would sometimes say to her, "Any news, Lucy?" And when Lucy shook her head with a look of proud pain, the old lady would say, "Sweep him out, Lucy. Sweep him out!" There came a day when Miss Golightly learned that Mr. Abel Pollard was about to be married to a girl with hair and eyes the colour of Lucy's. She was not in good humour that day, and sought to divert her mind by going to take a walk in her aunt's garden, where Lucy, who had been gathering a nosegay for her mistress, was standing on the path with a wistful face, busily engaged in the performance of a foolish rito. She was plucking the petals of a daisy, as girls will do, and casting her fate upon the fall of the delicate rose-tipped spears. "He remembers, he forgets; he remembers, he forgets," said Lucy. "Boom!" said an old bee, laden with honey; and went wheeling past; and Miss Bell flounced down the path. "Simpleton!" she cried out to Lucy, "getting the daisies to tell your fortune. "Are you asking why he does not write?" Lucy turned her brave eyes on the visitor. "How do you know that he does not write?" she said, quickly. Bell suddenly remembered that she ought not to have known, and a look of mingled cunning and embarrassment crossed her eyes. Lucy saw the tangled look and wondered at it; but Bell answered boldly: "Oh, it is not very hard to know about that. Anyone can get a look at the contents of the post-bags." "Can they?" said Lucy. "Then I think there must be something wrong." A light came into Lucy's mind as she spoke, and, almost bewildered by it, she silently knelt down to tie up her flowers, while Bell poured out floods of village gossip after her usual fashion. As soon as she could get away from her, Lucy ran to the house, wrote a hasty letter, and putting on her bonnet, flew with it down the road in time to catch the carrier's cart setting out for Wanderley Common. "Post this letter at the post-office at the Common," she said, "and inquire every day you go if there is a letter in answer for Lucy Primrose. Say nothing about this and I will pay you well." Having done this, Lucy came back to the house with a beating heart. If Bell had intercepted her letters and his, at least Robin would now soon know that she was true. Returning to her tasks, Lucy felt as if the house had grown very still. True it was always still, and the new tumult of hope in the young girl's heart perhaps made her fancy that an unusual quietness prevailed. She tried to sing, but her voice quivered back into her throat. The heavy silence resented being broken, and Lucy crept softly about, wondering what was the matter with her. She began to long for the sound of her mistress's cough or call, but neither fell upon At last, impelled by she knew not what, Lucy opened the her ear. door of the best parlour. Ah, well! The shadow that had hung upon the old dwellinghouse was the shadow of the wings of the angel of Death. The old lady was sitting in her chair, but no breath was coming from her lips. She sat at the table with one hand grasping her spectacles and resting on her Bible, and the other laid on her heart. Her eyes were fixed on the face of the old clock. "Tick, tick," went the voice from behind the wooden panel louder than ever, but the machinery of the poor old human Clock-case was run down; the pendulum had stopped. The death caused a great sensation in the village, and in the excitement of becoming an heiress Miss Golightly almost forgot the final defection of Mr. Abel Pollard. A lawyer came from a considerable distance to open the will, and a select assemblage of friends were present at the reading of it. Lucy was not in the room. Nobody even thought of inviting her in. What interest could she have in the matter? "I, Barbara, otherwise Barbary M'Naughten, being of sound mind, bequeath to my grand-niece, Bell Golightly, this house and garden, and all its contents, save and except the old clock-case in the corner, which I have reason to believe she will be glad to get rid of; also the sum of two hundred pounds." So ran the opening of the will. Then followed the announcement of several small legacies, among which there was a present for Lucy. "The old clock-case before mentioned, with its weights, pendulum, and machinery, and whatsoever else it may contain, I give and bequeath to my little servant, Lucy Primrose, who knows so well how to keep it wound up, and bright." A smile passed over the faces of the listeners as they glanced at the old clock. "A ten-pound note would have been more use to the poor girl," muttered somebody; but Miss Bell's face was radiant with triumph, while she waited for the closing words of the will, which should declare the main bulk and residue of the old woman's possessions to be the property of the before-mentioned Bell Golightly. To the amazement of everyone, however, the will ended abruptly with"And what I have done with the rest of my money Time will tell.” When Miss Golightly was finally persuaded by the lawyer that she was in reality heiress of nothing but the old house and two hundred pounds, she went off into hysterics, and had to be assisted to her home. "No wonder she was satirical [hysterical], poor thing," said one old cottager to another; "It is a lesson to folks not to be too proud. But what did the old woman do with her money?" "Spectulated, and lost it, I suppose," said the neighbour gossip, "and was too wise to tell us, for fear of losing her consequence." The next morning Lucy was ordered to turn out of the house as quickly as possible, and to take her old fright of a clock-case with her, for Miss Bell could not bear the sight of it, and would not give it house-room for an hour. It was a very inconvenient piece of property for the little homeless maid, who had only five shillings in hand, having been obliged to buy a pair of shoes since she had been in receipt of the wages of her service. To avoid the gossip of the village, Lucy took a lodging in a cottage at some distance on the edge of the moor, and there on a certain summer evening the carrier's cart, on the way to Wanderley Common, deposited her and her clock. Too poor to burn candles, Lucy sat down in the twilight of her tiny room and shed a few tears to the memory of her kind, if eccentric, mistress. The old clock stood staring at her, and her eyes would keep wandering to its blank white face. She had never felt so forcibly its grim, absurd likeness to the departed old woman; and the gaunt personality that crept into it more and more as the twilight deepened, fascinated her, and filled her with a half-superstitious trouble. She tried to think of Robin, of the efforts she must make at once to procure work; but she could fix her mind on nothing, because of her mistress's eyes that seemed to be staring at her out of the face of the old clock-case. To put an end to her perplexity, she decided on going to bed, hoping to be in a more practical mood the next morning. She soon fell asleep, and had a curious dream. She thought that as she lay on her bed, unable to withdraw her eyes from the clock, she saw it gradually undergo a change. The frills of her mistress's cap came out round the face, and the long, narrow case was transformed into the well-known figure, with its straight black skirts. Barbary M'Naughten was there and the clock was gone; and as Lucy gazed at her in surprise, the old lady approached the bed and bent over the frightened girl. "Lucy, Lucy, get up!" she said; "the clock has run down. Wind it up." Accustomed to the call of duty, the little maid started up, and in doing so wakened. The moonlight was shining as bright as day; or, stay! was it not the dawn that was already brightening in the east? Lucy was glad to find the morning was come, and sprang out of bed, and as soon as she was dressed she proceeded to obey her mistress's orders, and to wind up the clock. "It is just what she would have bid me to do," thought Lucy; "she could not bear things that did not go." The weights and pendulum had been packed in the bottom of the interior of the clock-case, and Lucy had to dive into its recesses to find them. When they were all taken out and laid upon the floor, she VOL. VIII No. 88. 39 found that there was still something more in the depths of the case. It was a hard thing, with corners, and it was heavy and difficult to move. It was a box. With some trouble the girl got it out upon the floor. A key was attached to the handle of the brass-bound lid, and a label was tied to the key, with Lucy's name written on it. She applied the key and opened the box, and then she saw that the box was full of notes and gold. A folded paper was held by a strap inside the lid. With trembling hands Lucy unfolded it, and read: "I give and bequeath the sum of ten thousand pounds to my dear relative and faithful servant, Lucy Primrose, as a token of my love, and as a reward for her care of the old clock-case. The money will be found in the box with this paper. The lawyer knows all about it." This was the gist of what the paper contained, but all formalities had been duly observed. While Lucy stood gazing at her treasure like one still dreaming, there came a knocking at the cottage door, and the sound of a man's voice in the hall. "Robin, Robin !" cried Lucy wildly, and the next moment was in his arms. "Of course, I knew all about it," said the lawyer, jingling the seals that dangled at his watch-chain. "Poor old lady, how she did laugh over her little joke when she bade me write-Time will tell !” AFTER THE STORM. ARY most pure, walking in highest heaven MARY Among the blossoms of the starry meadows, Pausing, she listened to the piteous story; Then said she, "I will have for my handmaiden And I will robe her in eternal glory." Behold the eager angels hastening Where Death and Satan hover o'er their prey, For each his own, and none will dare deny : R.M. |