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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Huron Signal, 1881-04-22, Page 21 2 THE HURON SIGNAL, FRIDAY, APRIL 22. 1881. A LIFE FORA FIFE. sir tams tart gcs Her father seemed equally surprised, until at length her arguments apparently shush him with un ssinesa o v. you any motive in - arguing thus r' said he hurredly and cwt with- out agit lion; 'why do you do it, roue - lope rA" "A littls on pay owe aoa met, thoegh the great scandal sad publicity will not much affect Francis sad me; we shall soon be out of )England; but for the fassily's sake -for Hams salt. -when all his wickedness and our miseries have been wifely covered up these twenty years --consider, father !" She stung him deeper than she knew. I had guessed it before, when I was al- most a stranger to him, but the whole history of that old inn's life was betray- ed in one groan which bunt from the very depth of the father's soul. "Eli, the p><iest of the Lord --his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not; therefore they died in one day, both of them. It was the will of the. Laid. " The respectful silence which ensued no one dared to break. He broke it himself st last, pointing to the door; "Go, murderer, or man - 'layer, or whatever you are ! you must go fres Moreover, I must have your promiss--no, your oath -that the se- cret you have kept so long you will now keep forever." "Sir," I said, but he stopped fiercely. "No hesitation -no explanations --I will have none, and give none. As you said, your life is mine, to do with it as I choose. Better you should go unpun- ished than that I and mine should be disgraced. Obey me. Promise.„ I did. Thus in another and still stranger way, my resolutions were broken, my fate was decided for me, and I have to keep this secret unconfessed to the end. "Now go. Put half the earth between us, if you can -only go." Again I turned to obey. Blind obe- dience seemed the only duty left me. I might even have quitted the house with a feeling of total irresponsibility and in- difference . to all things, had it net been fora low cry which I heard as a dream. So did her father. "Dors-I had forgotten -there was some sort of fancy between you and Dora. Daughter, bid him farewell, and let him go." Then she said -my love said, in her own soft, distinct voice --"No, papa, I never mean to bid him farewell -that is, finally -never u long as I live." Her father and sister were both so astounded that at first they did not in- terrupt her, but let her speak on. "I belonged to Max before all this happened. If it had hap- pened a year hence, when I was his wife, it would not have broken our marriage. It ought not now. When any two people are to one another what we are, they are as good as married; and they have no right to part, no more than man and wife have, unless either grows wicked, or both change. I never mean to part from Max Urquhart." She spoke meekly,standing with hands folded and head drooping, but es still ant steadfast as a rock. My darling - my darling ! Steadfast ! She had need to be. What she bore during the next few minutes she would not wish me to re- peat, I feel sure. " She knows it, and so do I. She knows also that every stab with which I then saw her wounded for my sake, is counted in my heart as a debt, to be paid one day, if between those who love there can be any debts at a11. She says not. Yet, if ever she is my wife— People talk of dying for a woman's sake -but to live -live for her with the whole of one's being -to work for her, to sustain and cheer her, to fill her daily existence with tender- ness and care-- if ever she is my wife, she will find out what I mean. After saying all he could well say, Mr. Johnston asked her how she dared think of me -me, laden with her brother's blood and her father's curse. She turned deadly pale, but never faltered. "The curse, causeless, shall notcome, ' she said, "for the blood upon his hand -whether it were Harry's or a stranger's makes no difference --it is washed out. He has repented long ago. If God has forgiven him and helped him to be what he is, and lead the lifehehas led all these years, why should 1 not forgive him ? And if I forgive, why not love him, why Week my promise, and refuse to marry him?" "Do you mean, then, to marry him 1" maid her eater. "Sonne day if he wishes it -yes." From this time, 1 myself hardly re- member what passed; I can only see her standing then, her sweet face white u death, making no MOM, and answering nothing to any accusations that were heaped upon her, eseept when she was commanded to give as up, entirely and forever and ever. CHAPTER XXVIL ars v. "How, did you say By the law, I conclude. There is no othipt way." "And if so, what will ba*. result 1 I mean what will be done to himr' "I cannot tell -how should 11" "Perhaps I can, for I have thought over and studied the question all day," answered Mias Johuaton, still in the same cold, clear, impartial voice. "He will be tried, of course. I find from your 'Taylor on Evidence,' that • man can be tried and convicted, solely an his own confession. But in this ease, there Going no corroborating proof, and all having happened so long ago, it will scarcely prove a capital crime. I believe no jury would give a dronger verdict than mamelaughtei. He will be impris- oned, or transported beyond seas; where, with his good character, he will soon work his liberty, and start afresh in another country, in spite of us. This, I think, is the oommon sense view of the matter." Astonished as Mr. Johnstonlookd, h. made no reply. His daughter continued : "And for this you and we shall have the credit of having had arrested in our own house a man who threw himself on our mercy; who, though he concealed, never denied his guilt; who never de- ceived us in any way. The moment he discovered the whole truth, dreadful u it was, he never shirked it, nor hid it from us, but told us outright, risking all the consequences. A man, too, against whom, in his whole life, we can prove but this one crime." "What, do you take his part?" "No," she said; "I wish he had died before he set foot in this house -for I remember Harry. But I see also that, after all this lapse of years, Harry is not the only person whom we ought to re- member." "I remerubernothing but the words of this Book," cried the old man, letting his hand drop heavily upon it. "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his' blood be shed." What have you to say for yourself, murderer!" All this time, faithful to her promise te me, she had not interfered -she, my love, who loved me; but when she heard him call me that, she shivered all over, and looked toward me. A pitiful, en- treating look, but thank God, there was no doubt in it -not the change. It nerved me to reply what I will here re- cord, by her desire and for her sake. "Mr. Johnston, I have this to say. It is written, "Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer," and in that sense I sin one -for I did hate him at the time - but I never meant to hill,him; and the moment afterward I would have given my life for his. If now my death could restore him to you, alive again, how willingly I would die." "Die, and face your Maker ? an un - pardoned manalayer, • lost soul?" "Whether I live or die," said I, hum- bly, "I trust my soul is not lost. I have been very guilty; but I believe in One who brought to every sinner on earth the gospel of repentance and remission of sins. " At this, bunt out the anthema- not merely of the father, but the clergyman who mingled the Jewiah doctrine of re- tributive vengeance durinn this life with the Christian belief of rewards and pun- ishments after death, and confounded the Mosaic gehenna with the Calvinistic hell. I will net record all this -it was very terrible; but he only spoke as he believed, and as many earnest Christi- ans do believe. I think, in all humility, that the Muter Himself preached a different gospel. I saw it shining out of her eyes -my angel of peace and pardon. 0 Thou from whom all love comes, was it im- pious if the love of this Thy creature toward ones° wretched should Deme to me like an assurance of Thine ? At length her father ceased speaking, took up a pen, and began hastily writing. Miss Johnston went and looked over hie shoulder. "Papa, if that is • warrant you are making out, better think twice about it, tor, se a magistrate, you cannot retract. Should you send Dr. Urquhart to trial, you must he prepared for the whole truth to come out. He must tell it, or if he calls Don and as se witness- es-- she haring already his written eon- 1sssion in full --we must ' "You must tell -- what r' "The provocation Dr. Urquhart re - mewed; how Harry enticed hi.n • lad of nineteen -to drink, made him mad, and t•antd him. Everything will he made public; how Marry was so de- graded that from the hour of his death we were thankful to forget that he had ever existed; hew be died as he had hvd--• buster, a coward, springing upon any one frni111 whom be world get money, using his Limits only to his shame, devoid el one spark et honesty, honor, and generosity. It is shocking to dive to say this of one's own brattier, bet, father, yon know it is the truth, and se such it must be told." Aniseed I listened to her --this eldest miler, who I knew dWiked ser. And then they wanted her to promise ahs would never see me, nor write to mei but she refused. "Father, 1 will sot merry him for ever M king, if you choom-but 1 eeawt foreektI ;.kap. 1 must write to him. I am Ain very own, and As bre Wig M Ob, psje, thtalMod m1 saothet;," Aad sbS ;* his rpm* Hs must laws of R.s mother, nofi 'Item let Brio .salsas Cabo only hardened lam... Then Thulium tae, she Pace m. her little hand. "It can hold ism, yea will find. You have my premise. But whether or no, it would have bass ell the stone. No love is worth having that oould not, with or without a promise, keep true till death. You may trust as Now, good -by. Good -by, my Max." With that one clasp of the hand, that one look into her fond, faithful eyes, we parted. 1 have never seen her since. home frosts church with me, talking ebintleral subjects, like his old self, almost Peltelops bas been always good sad kind. You ask if they ever mune you 1 No. Life at lteckmount moves slowly, even ha the midst et carriage preparations. Pestslsp le getting a large store of tactdisci presents. Mrs Clanton brought *beautiful one last night from her ma Celia. I was glad you had that long friendly letter from Colin Granton --glad also that, his mother having let out the secret about you and me, he was generous enough to tell you himself that other secret, which I never told. Well, your guess was right; it was so. But I could nut help it; I did not know it. For me -how could any girl, feeling as I then did toward you, feel anything toward any other man but the merest kindliness? That is all: we will never say another word about it; except that 1 wish yuu always to be specially kind to Colin, and to do him good whenever you can -he was very good to me. Life at Itockmount, as I said, is dull. I rise sometimes, go through the day, and go to bed at night, wondering what I have been doing during all these hours. And I do not ,always sleep soundly though so tired. Perhaps it u partly the idea of Penelope's going away so soon; far away, across the sea, with no one to love her and take care of her, save Francis: U rderstand, this is not with any pity- ing of my sister for what is • natural and even • happy lot, which no woman need complain of; but simply because Franco is Francis -accustomed to think only of himself, and for himself. It may be different when he is married. He sou staying with us here a week, during which I noticed him more closely than in his former fly -away visits. When one lives in the house with a person-• dull house, too, like ours, how wonder- fully .ddi'and ends of character "crop out," as the geologists say. Do you re- member the weeks when you were al- most continually in our house ? Francis had what we used then to call "the Doctor's room." -He was pleasant and agreeable enough, when it pleased him to be so; but, for all that, I used to say to myself, twenty times a day, "My dear Max o" This merely implies that, by a happy dispensation of Providence, I, Theodora Johnston, have not the least desire to appropriate my sister's husband, or, i -- deed, either of my sister' husbands. Bp -the -bye -in a letter from Augustus to papa, which reached me through Pene- lope, he names his visit to von. I am glad -glad he should show you such honor and affection, and that they all should see it. Do not give up the Tre- herne's; go there sometimes -for my sake. There is no reason why you should not. Papa knows it: he also knows I write to you -but he never says • word one way or other. We must wait -wait and hope -or rather trust. As you say, the difference between young and older people is, the one hopes, the Other trusts. I seem, from your description, to have a clear idea of the jail, and the long, barren, breezy flat aurid which it lies, with the sea in the distance. I often sit and think of the view,outaide, and of the dreary inside, where yuu spend so many hours; the corridors, the exercise yards, and the cells; also your own two rooms, which you say are almost as silent and solitary, except when you Dome in and find my letter waiting you. I wish it was me 1 -pardon grammar -but I wish it was me -this livin me. Would you Le glad to see me ? Ah ! I know. nay, lovable. I see, sometimes, clearly enough, the stasage charm which Inas made Penelope so fond of him, she can trust him -con look on his face and feel that he would nut deceive her for the world --can believe every line he writes, and every word he utters, and know that whatever he doss, will ill do eaaply train Telt nie more abust those pear pries. en, in whom you take so Mien ase ca- terest-your apintual as w.11 M mediae/hospital. And give me a cleaner lustiest of your doings is the town, yeirp.aetise end schemes, your .ratis prtimits. dia- pessaries, and so cm. Also, Augeoles said you were employed in dsswiag el, his mese s swine of right, so mesonmotive in- rept and .tstinum about re memato- t.throg..oh, Max, 1 would give much ries, and so on the general gees*•* now t.e be pertain Penelope had this sot of so Bruch disoueeed: Whet is 10 he d,,oe love for her future husband !with our criminal closeout Hoe busy Well, they have chosen their lot, and t you crust be ! Cannot I help you? Nowt must make the beat of one another. uyou 'r MS& UP copy. Give iov some work Max, do you remember our talk by the pond -side, when the sun was setturg.and the hills looked so still, and soft 1 1 was there the other day and thought it all over. Yes, I oould have been hap - Py, even in the solitary life ee both then looked forward to, but it is better to belong to yuu as I do now. Ovid bless you and keep y.'u safe ! Yours, Tneou oa.c. P. 8.- I have a blank late to till up after Penelope and I Dome home. We are going into town together e.irly to - This statement, which is as accurate as I can make it, except in the cam of those voluntary omissions which I be- lieve you yourself would have desired, I here seal up, to be delivered to you with those other letters in ease I should die while you are still Theodora Johnston. I have also made my will, leaving you all my effects, and appointing you my sole executrix; putting you, in short, in exactly the same position as if you had been my wife. ' This is the best, in order that by no chance should the secret ooze out through any guesses of any person not connected with your family; also be- cause I think it is whet you would wish yourself. You said truly, I have only you. Another word, which I do not name in my ordinary letters, lest I might grieve you by what may prove to be only a fancy of mine. Sometimes, in the hard work of this my life here, I begin to feel that I am no longer a young man, and that the reaction after the {gest .trait , mental and bodily, of the last few months, has left me not se strong as I used to be. Not that I think I am about to die, for from it. I haves good constitution, which has worn well yet, and may wear on for sometime, though not forever, and I am nearly fifteen years, older than you. It is very possible that before any change can come, I may leave you, never a wife, and yet a widow. Possibly, among the numerous fatalities of life, that we may never be married -never even to see one another again. Sometimes, when I see two young people married and happy, taking it all as a matter of course. scarcely even re- cognizing it as happiness -just like Mr. and Mrs. Treherne, who hunted me out lately, and insisted on my visiting them -Iathink of you and me, and it seems very bitter, and I look on the future with less faith than fear. It might not be so if I could see you now and then - but oftentimes this absence feels like death. Theodora, if I should die before we are married, without any chance of writ- ing down my last words, take them here. No, they will not come. I can but crush my lips upon this paper -only thy name, not thee, and call thee "my love, my love !" Remember. I loved thee -all my soul was full of the love of thee. It made life happy, earth beautiful, and Heaven nearer. It was with me day and night, in work or rest -as much s part of me as the hand I write with, or the breath I draw. I never thought of myself, but of "us." I never prayed but I prayed for two. Love, my love, so many miles away -O my God, why not grant me a little happiness before I die ! Yet, as once I wrote befog, and as she says always in all dings, Thy will 1* dote. Everybody must you know. Heigh. ! what a homily I •m ginng you, instead of this week's hiatory, as usual -frets Saturday to Saturday. The first few days there really was nothing to tell. Francis and Penelope took walks together, grid visits, or sat in the puler talking -not banishing me, however, as they used to do when they were young. On Wednesday, Francis went up to London for the day, and brought back that important article, the wedding ring. He tried it on st supper time, with • diamond keeper, which he .aid would be just the thing for the I morrow, to enquire about the character g,,vernor's lady." °f the lady's acrid that s to be takes „Say wife at once,' grumbled I, and abroad, but we shall 1. back long before complained of the modern tashiva of ptime. However, I bare written all slurring over that word, the dearest and this h Lvernight to rake sure. sacredest in the language. "Wife, then," whispered Francs, holding the ring on my sister's finger, and kissing it. Tern started to Penelope's eyes; in her agitation she looked almost like • girl again, I thought; so infinitely hap- py. But Francis, never happy, mut- tered bitterly some regret for the past, some wish that they had been married yams ago. Why were they not ? It was partly his fault, I am sure. The day after this he left, not to re- turn till he comes to take her away final- ly. In the meanwhile he will have enough to do, paying his adieux to his grand friends, and his bills to his trader people, parlor to closing his bachelor es men's ways and lives are au different tablishment forever and aye -how glad' from women's-- but it is this levo with- out perfect trot which has been the sting of Penelope's existence. I try to remember this when she makes me feel angry with h.q., ou she did on Saturday. It was through her fault you missed your Sunday letter. You know I always post thein myself in the town; our village post office would soon see all the neighbors chattering "i cannot, father do it i baking to band At Let. Miss Johnston said to me - rather gently than not, for her. "1 &ak, Dr. Urquhart, you had better go." My love looked toward es., and after- ward at her poet lathe. she tot said, 'Yee s Max. g 1 hare no right to him; he is my hes- 111111 uttibtat. r tenon, rti r.inng no .thee reerener+wnn 1 DA Y. P. S. -You will have missed your Sun- day letter, which vexes you sore. But it is the first time you have ever booked fur a letter and "wanted" it, sad i trust it will be the last. Ab ! no I under- stand a little of what Penelope must have felt, looking day after day fur Francis's letter, which never came; bow every morning before port -time she would go about the house as blithe as • lark, and afterward turn cross and dis- agreeable, and her face would rattle into the sharp, hard -set expression, which made her look so old even then. Poor Penelope ! if she could have trusted him the while, it might have been otherwise he must be ! He seemed glad, as if with a sense of relief that all was settled, and no rum left for hesitation: It costs Francis such a world of trouble to make up his own mind -which trouble Penelope will save him for the future. He took leave of her with great tenderness, calling her "his good, faithful girl," and vowing - which one would think was quite unne- osssary under the circumstances -to be about you and me; and, besides, it is faithful to her all the days of his life. pleasant to walk through the quiet lana we both know well with Max's letter in my hand, and think that it will be in his hand to -morrow. For this I gene- rally choose the time when papa rods before dinner, with one or other of us reading to him; and/Penelope has hither- to, without, saying anything, always taken my plans and set me fres on a Saturday -a kindness T felf more thea I expressed many a time. But today she was unkind -shut herself up in her room the instant we returned from town; then papa called me and detained me till bi- ter pod -time So you kat your letter; • small thing, you will say, and this was a foolish girl to vex herself so much about it, especial ly as she can make it lunger and more interesting by details of our adventures in town yesterday. It was not altogether • pleasant day4' for something ba,ppend about the ter. vent which I am sure annoyed Penelope: nay, she being overtired and overexert- ed already, this new vexation, whatever it was, made her quite ill for the time, though ,she would not allow it, and, when I ventured to question, tads me, sharply, "let hot alone." You know Penelope's ways, and may have seen them reflected in me 'autotimer. I •n afraid, Max, that, however good we may be (of course !) we are not exactly what would be termed "an amiable family." We were amiable when we started, however: my sister and 1 went up to town quite merrily. I am merry some- times, in spite of all things. You see, to have every one that belongs to one happy and prosperous is a great element in one's perasnal content. Other peo- ple's troubles weigh heavily, because we never know exactly how they snit hear them, and beesu.e, at best, we can nn11 sit by and watch them saw, se little kelp being possible atter all. But ear own troubles we sen always bear Ire u ooertttrvss. That night, when she came into my room, Penelope sat a long time on my bed tacking; chiefly of old days, when she and Francis were boy and girl to- gether -how handsome he was, and how clever -till she seemed almost to forget the long interval between. Well, they are both of age -time runs equally with each; she is at least no more altered..than he. Here, I ought to tell you something, referriug to that which, as we are best not speaking of, even between our- selves. It is all over and done -cover it over and let it heal. Sty deur Max, Penelope confesses a thing for which I am very, sorry but it cannot be helped now. I told you they never name you here. Not usually, but she did that night. - Just as she was leaving one, she exclaim- ed, suddenly: "Dora, I have broken my promise - Francis knows about Dr. Urquhart." "What !" I cried. "Don't be terrified -not the whole. Merely that he wanted to marry you, but that papa found out he had done some- thing wrong in his youth, and so forbade you to think of him." I asked her was she sure no more had escaped her ? Not that I feared much: Penelope is literally accurate, and scru- pulously straightforward in all her words and ways. But still, Francis being a little less so than she, might have ques- tioned her. "So he did, and i refused point-blank to tell hire, saying it would be a breach of trust. He was very angry; jealous, 1 think;" and she smiled, "till I informed him that it was not my own secret. I had invariably told him, as home. At which, he said, •Yes, of course,' and the matter ended. Are you annoyed ? Do you doubt Francis's honor ?" "No. For all that, I hare felt anx- ious, and i cannot chose but tell Max; partly because he has a right to all my anxieties, and, also, that he may guard against any possibility of harm. None is likely to loom. though; we will not be afraid." Augustus, in his letter, says how high- ly he hears you spoken of in Liverpool already; how your duties at the jail are the least of your work, and that what- ever you do, or wherever you go, you leave a good ial.wee behind you. These were his very words 1 was proud. though i knew it all before. He says you are looking thin, as if you were over -winked. Max, my Max, take care. Give all dos energy to the work you have to do, but ttumemher ane likewise; remember whet is mine. i think. perhaps, you take ton long walks 1 enol Look ! I am not going to write about ourselves -- it is not good for us. We now it all; we know our hearts are nigh breaking sometimes -mine is. But it shall not. We will live and wait. What was I telling you about ? t)h, Francis. Well, Francis spent • whole week at Rockmount, by papa's special de- sire, that they might discuss business arrangements, and that he might see a little more of his intended 'son-in-law than he has done of late years. Business was soon dispatched --papa gives none of us any moony dnring his lifetime: what will Dome to us afterward we have never thought of inquiring. Francis did, though- which somewhat hurt Penelope -but he a000nted for it by his being so "poor." A relative phrase: why I should think $600 • year, certain, a mine of riches and all to, be spent upon himself. Rut as he says • single man has so many inevitable expenses, especi- ally when he lives in society, and is the nephew of Sir William Treherne of Tre- berne Court All "circumstances Peer promos; whatever goes wrong he is sore to put between himself and blame the shield of "eiroornstanoes. " Now, if I mor. a man, I world fight the world hare -frosted, aayhew. One would but be killed et last L it 'wrong of me to write to you so freely of Francis 1 1 hope not. All mine are yogis, and youn mine; you bedew their tashe and virtues lis well as I de, and will judge them equally, as we ought to juke those who, whatever they ere, sae permanently our own, I have WWI lard, adi time, to make a real brother of homes Martsrie: and he is, for memo thugs. .tesedingl♦ likable CHAPTER XXVIII. RIR STORY. Friday night. My Dear Max -You have had your Dominica] letter, as you call it, so regu- larly, that you must know all our doings at Rnckmoant almost as well as our- selves. If 1 write foolishly, and tell you all aorta of trival things, perhaps some of them twice over, it is just because there is nothing else to telL But, tries{ or not, I have a feeling that you like to hear it- you care for everything that concerns me. So, first, in obedient to orders, i am quite well, even though my handwriting is "not so pretty as it used to be" Do not fancy the hand shakes, or is nervous, or uncertain. Not • bit of it I am ,sever nervous. nor weak either -now. Sometimes, perhaps, being only a wormers after all, 1 feel things • little more keen- ly than I ought to feel; and then, not being good it eoneeelment, at least not with you, this fast peep out in my lettere For the heese-lite has its arm, and 1 feel eery weary eiwnetimea-end then, I hese net yes to rust epos- -via- bly, that is-thoggk is my heart 1 de always Hit 1 ea quite well, Mex, sad quite neatest. De sot doubt it He who bee led us *revel this furnace of allietina, will lead or safely to the cad. Yon will be gid to hear that paps is every day lees and leer cold to me- -poet paps - lomat MsAav it. ..en walked .041..- -- H.g 's Pools& Bahram u thews safe, pleasant sad /e for all diseaeee d t.Threat sew , s It curve Cobs, Bwacii CoA' ohms, CrouCbwpias Coils, P.otoral p1s , V the meet rPe°`11 meaner. A tis 405.. win rebus ib tenet troublesome is a►ildren salor adult& For e by all dealer's, st 7' cent. per bottle. Burdock Blood Bitsen mires Seville', and all humors of the Blood, Lira, !CO aeys and the Bowl it the arse tme- wbil. it allays swear irritates siel Ind tows up the 4b iced e fes' ewes all Immo *mi s pi4M worst totes it SNNtrii Ter rte b7 611 dealer. Rua* took 14 esimtm, r.gwld between the town and the jail, and that k may 1* the prisoners themselves get far die hotter and more regular meals 'has the t cot'Twat ata en is, -Ye beautify tooth and ghe lisp M ees she dnrtor See to this. d you please. it I use. ' oT y' the now toiM fleet. f' •. r uhsrr R twat smapbi. 170 i