CHAPTER XII. All things are touched with Melancholy, Weighed down with vile degraded dust. Hood. MAGDALENE MARSDEN was not one to suffer terror or danger to overcome her faculties without making a violent effort to sustain them. She was brave and enterprising ; she perceived not only quickly, but correctly—a combination which rarely falls to the lot of women. She had been compelled, at a very early age, to think and act for herself; and as her principles were fixed, and her mind pure and elevated, her actions were invariably distinguished by a systematic correctness that rendered her a valuable friend. While the strange carriage was rolling away, one of the post-boys clambered up to the window, and Magdalene was soon extricated from her perilous situation. "A terrible haccident, Miss," said the fellow; "but haccidents will happen-hope you ain't hurt-ye be-Miss ; 'twas nothing but a haccident as couldn't be helped.” Alone, unfriended, unacquainted with the localities, Magdalene's thoughts were, at that moment, as collected, her mind as clear, as if nothing had occurred. Perfectly convinced that the "haccident," as the post-boy called it, was premeditated, she made no reply to his observation, but inquired if he knew where they were? The man had evidently expected a torrent of reproaches, and thought within himself what a fool she must be, to take such an event so quietly, and to be so easily imposed upon. Yes, he believed there was a turnpike about a quarter of a mile another way, he found they had taken a wrong turn, got out of their direct line 'somehow,' into a crosscountry they must go back to get on the London road. What! sure she wasn't going to walk; they'd soon put the carriage straight, and the horses were not at all hurt -she could get back quite safely." No, she would walk; she said; and she also prevailed on them to light and give her the carriage-lamp which had been extinguished. It seemed to Magdalene as if the post-boys were too confused to think of the fate of the poor footman; she not only remembered seeing him fall, but thought she could find the spot, as he had disappeared at the moment the carriage upset. She had not, however, proceeded more than thirty yards on her way, when one of the men followed, saying, he must procure assistance, as they could not move the carriage, or manage the horses between them. "Gracious God!" thought Magdalene, "if He should have bribed this villain to murder me, lest I should hasten the pursuit, or frustrate all by the knowledge I possess of him!" Magdalene's heart beat almost audibly within her bosom ; her knees smote against each other; she could hardly hold the light steadily in her hand, but she did hold it. Although the fog was less intense than it had been, it was still thick, and, she fancied, suffocating. The man walked a little behind her, yet she distinctly saw his breath borne onward by the wind, and mingle with the dense atmosphere. Under any other circumstances, the presence of a human being, in so dreary and deserted a spot, would have brought the blessed idea of safety and protection to her mind; but at that moment she would have hailed solitude as safety. She tried to utter a few trembling words of prayer, but she could not speak-her tongue felt thick, and her teeth chattered at the same moment she felt the man's grasp upon her arm, and then, for the first time during this adventure, she screamed violently. : "Gadzooks!" he exclaimed, "give me the light, you are walking into the ditch." Poor Magdalene breathed a little more freely—the sound, even of her own voice, had in some degree dissipated the horrid vision, which a remembrance of past scenes had conjured up; and as she tried to retreat from the ditch, into which, by another step, she must have been precipitated, the figure of the luckless footman stood before her. "Thank God, Robert, you are saved!" she exclaimed. "Thank ye, Miss Magdalene," replied the country youth, in a whining tone; ye never said anything so kind to me before. Where's Missus?" 66 Suddenly her terror of the stranger returned, and adVOL. II.-8 vancing to the footman she whispered, "Where are your pistols ?" "My goodness me! I don't know-I laid them down at the inn, and think-I have not got them now, at all events. I'm very much hurt, Miss Magdalene." "There's the toll-light," said the post-boy, who was quite guiltless, in this instance, of any evil intention, "I knew we were not far from it." "Bear up, Robert," exclaimed Magdalene, quite reas❤ sured, and wondering at her past terror; "bear up, for you have much to do." In a few minutes they entered the toll-house; the solitary being who, without holding communion with any, saw hundreds of his fellow-creatures pass his way-side hovel, directed them to a farm-house close to his dwelling, where he said they would meet with assistance. Magdalene only tarried to inquire if a carriage had gone the London road within the last twenty minutes; and was answered in the negative. She then concluded that Mary must have been carried towards Portsmouth. Her resolve was at once taken-the postilion procured the assistance he required 1 must pause, though but for a moment, to describe the interior of the farm-house she had entered. It was one of those dwellings so peculiarly English as to be found in no country of the world save in our own blessed land. The prayer of the son of Sirach,-"Give me neither poverty nor riches,"-had been answered to the dwellers of Bellfarm. In the general sitting-room, close to the fire, attired in the homely and simple garb which the grandmothers of our existing peasantry did not deem too homely,—the close white cap, the white kerchief crossed in front, the black silk petticoat quilted in diamonds, the gown, open at the sides, met by the snowy apron, all betekened the respectable dame of the olden days, who was seated in a high wicker chair, knitting most industriously; a handsome man, of about five and thirty, had been reading, but rose on their entrance; two young girls were busied in small housewifery, and a tall, rosy-cheeked country maiden (a servant, doubtless,) was preparing the homely, but healthy supper. The room was boarded and sanded: in front of the fire-place there was a piece of square carpet, the dresser glittered with its variegated stores, and at the farther end of the apartment, which was large and lofty, there was a window, set deeply in the wall, hung with white drapery, and containing sundry articles of furniture, of a more refined and modern quality than what appeared in other parts of the room. There were also some pictures hung at either side the window, and had Magdalene, fastidious as she was in matters of art, but looked at them, she would at once have confessed they were the productions of no inferior pencil. riches. The aspect of the whole was that of cheerfulness and contentment,-the happy medium between poverty and When informed of the accident, the old lady rose, and most kindly opened her hospitable stores for MagdaHene's refreshment; while her son accompanied the postillion, with one of his servants, to see after the carriage.— The mistress summoned her assistants to examine the footman's bruises, and endeavoured to persuade Magdalene to take refreshment; but Magdalene's head and heart were too full. "Give me," she said, "pen, ink, and paper. I have much to arrange before I can think of myself.” She wrote distinctly what had occurred to the Police authorities at Portsmouth, and addressed Lady Ellen Revis, telling her, if possible, to conceal the event from Mrs. Brown Lorton, but adding that, of course, Lord Norley would use prompt and efficient means to find 4 what was a treasure to them all." She declared her 46 positive knowledge of the ruffian who had committed the outrage, and concluded by saying, that she felt assured there was no necessity for urging Lady Ellen Revis to exertion on behalf of her friend. Having ascertained that a London coach would pass within an hour, she added the information in her postscript, that she would herself bear the distressing intelligence to Horace Brown. She then directed the footman to hold himself in instant readiness to return to Portsmouth; and, indeed, when the poor fellow really understood what had occurred, it needed nothing more to stimulate his exertions. Fortune favoured Magdalene's judicious arrangement, for a London coach, on its way to Portsmouth, passed Bell-farm within ten minutes after she had finished her despatches, and succeeded in making Robert understand their nature; so that when Mrs. Lorton's carriage and the postilions drove up to the door, they found Magdalene ready to continue her journey, but not with them. She requested the farmer's permission to leave the carriage under his care, until he heard from her, and paid and dismissed the postilions without a word of inquiry or reproof. There is no crime more revolting to our English nature than abduction; and when the farmer's family comprehended what had occurred, their feelings burst forth in execrations upon the cowardly villain who was capable of such an act, the worthy host himself volunteering to accompany Magdalene to London, or go anywhere, if he could be of service in rescuing the young lady. "But you must take refreshment," urged the good dame; "this will never do; you will not have power to pursue your journey unless you strengthen this poor body with food; the spirit, I trust, will receive support from Heaven. Here, sit here, near the window, apart from our family," continued the considerate woman; and Magdalene followed her almost mechanically to the spot she pointed out. While the old lady placed with her own hands on the table wine and the best her house afforded, Magdalene looked round carelessly at the pictures. There was a portrait of the dame herself, in a balloon cap, with a rose-bud sticking jauntily in her powdered hair; there was another, a child, simple and natural, its little hands clasped in prayer, its eyes looking forward, its attitude earnest and unaffected; another, a wild landscape, the storm gathering over head, the clouds heavy and thick with peril, the whole dense and appalling, with the exception of a single line of light stealing along the horizon, and which, small as it was, would suffice to whisper sunshine and hope to the wayfaring traveller. But there was one that riveted Magdalene's attention-she stood and gazed upon a lofty brow, a sunken eye, a pallid cheek, the fingers of a long thin hand resting between the leaves of an open bible. "Take this glass of wine," said the old lady, presenting it to her guest, "it will do you good." She looked kindly in Magdalene's face, and, to her astonishment, saw that it was white and ghastly, her lips quivered, and large heavy tears were rolling down her cheeks. "Alas! did you know him?" inquired the good dame; "did you know Edward? My dear blessed son, my eldest hope, whom my poor husband educated so well, thinking learning would make him happy. You must have known Edward-many a soul did he lead unto salvation! Did you ever attend his ministry?" |