Hesba Stretton

“ There was something so pitiful in the contrast, that Philip walked away out into the porch; and Margaret and Dorothy clasped each other's hands and looked on with tear-filled eyes.
"Oh, my father!" said Martin, speaking as if his soul had at length found an outlet in words, "this is the Paradise, and I am not fit for it. I know nothing. You are a great signore, and I am nothing. We are far away from one another. My mother is in the Inferno; Chiara and the padre said it; no masses can be said for her soul. Let me go back to the mountains. I am not fit to live with great signori. ”

“ That must not be, Philip. Do you think he could be otherwise than wretched in England?"
"He is wretched now," said Philip, as the recollection of the poor, persecuted outcast of the little hamlet came vividly to his mind.
"I will make him a rich man," said his father, "rich and prosperous. He shall have all his heart can desire; but I cannot acknowledge him as my son."
"Oh, father!" exclaimed Philip, "no money can undo the wrong you have done him. He has led the life of a brute, and is as ignorant as a brute. He has been browbeaten and trampled on all his life. ”

“ On Colonel Cleveland's death Margaret herself would become possessor of her mother's dowry.
The feeling of freedom with which Sidney could now live was too new and too unfamiliar to be altogether a happy one. He had scarcely realized how oppressive had been the burden of Sophy's possible claim upon him. It had weighed down his spirit with a constant, yet almost unconscious, repression. He was like a man who had worn fetters until he drags his foot along the ground, unable to believe that he can walk like other men. ”

“ I've only strength to cry night and day upon God to avenge me. And he will avenge me."
"Hush! hush!" exclaimed Rachel. "In cursing him you curse those who are dear to us as Sophy was. You curse Philip and Hugh, and our own Miss Margaret. And you love them."
"Yes, I love them," he replied fiercely; "but not like my own girl. You don't know what it is to have given life to a child, and see her life destroyed by another man. It tugs at my very heartstrings. Oh, my Sophy!" ”

“ No one knows this secret except ourselves; let it be as it has always been. I cannot think of Sophy as my wife. I implore you for my sake, for Philip's sake, our first-born son, let this secret be kept."
He was still standing where he had first arrested himself, as if a gulf lay between them; and she was looking across at him with infinite sadness in her eyes. There was something miserable in her steadfast gaze, blended with profound reproach.
"And what of Andrew Goldsmith?" she asked, "the poor old man who will never cease to mourn and wonder over the fate of his lost child. ”

“ This education of Dorothy had an intense charm for Margaret; there had been nothing like it in Phyllis's training, which had naturally been left in her mother's hands. It was a never flagging delight to watch the girl growing day by day more intelligent and more beautiful in her presence; blossoming out into smiles, and caresses, and half timid merriment. It sent a thrill of pathetic pleasure to Margaret's heart when she heard Dorothy's first laugh.
"How much you think of Dorothy!" said Sidney to her one evening some months later, as they sat together on the terrace with Philip beside them. ”

“ In early days Sophy had always been a trouble and perplexity to her, though the sadness and mystery of her fate had made her forget all these cares. Sophy's son was coming to be a still greater trouble and perplexity to her in her old age. By dint of casual questions asked of Margaret at odd times, Rachel drew to herself a picture of her great-nephew which filled her with dismay. A man who could neither read nor write, who went about in rags, bare-headed and barefooted—above all, a man who, if he prayed at all, prayed to images; such was the usurper who was about to seize Philip's birthright. ”

“ Sidney was sitting in the corner of a huge fireplace, where a fire was burning cheerfully, and Philip sat down opposite to him. For once his father was absolutely unoccupied, musing with a smile upon his handsome face, as if he was reading all the happy past and the brilliant present in the leaping flames and glowing coals upon the hearth. There was no sign of old age upon him. In fact, he was still in the prime of life; strong, athletic, vigorous, with an air of intellectual keenness and power, which set him high above average men. Philip felt as proud of him as he did of Philip. ”

“ But your father refused his consent to your marrying a girl without a fortune; you know that only too well, Philip. I am not quite so worldly as that. But Phyllis, poor girl, cannot marry a poor man; she is not fit to cope with poverty, as I have done. I know the rector will not be wise enough, or firm enough, to refuse you as your father rejected Phyllis. But I am her mother, and I have an equal right to a voice in the matter. I cannot see her throw herself into life long difficulties through a foolish fancy that you love one another. You are both far too young to know your own minds. ”

“ And poor Sophy! How he has mourned for her! and how he has almost worshiped Mr. Martin! How will Andrew bear it, Philip? How can your father bear it?"
"He is all but broken-hearted," he replied, "and so is my mother. They look already years older, Dorothy. It is we younger ones who must go to their help now. We must make them feel that the future will not be a failure, even after this blow. Why cannot we in part reclaim my brother? He can never be an educated man, not a civilized man according to our notions. ”

“ Of course Dorothy takes up a good deal of her time, for the poor child has been taught nothing. You cannot be jealous of her, Phyllis. Only think of all you are, and all you know, and compare yourself with a little untrained, awkward girl like Dorothy. Why, there is not a maid in our house who has not been taught more."
"But how fond your father is of her!" said Phyllis.
"And how fond she is of him!" replied Philip, laughing; "she has neither eyes nor ears for anyone else when he is by, except my mother. And she drinks in all he says upon every topic as if she understood it. ”

“ There was no doubt in her clear brain that it was Sophy Goldsmith who was lying in that forsaken grave, and that the wretched pariah she had seen was Andrew Goldsmith's grandson. That was terrible enough; a most mournful discovery to come upon after so many years of faint hope, and of constant grief. But if the man who wrought all this misery, and was guilty of this base treachery, should prove to be Sidney! It was incredible; it was madness to believe it.
All this time Margaret did not cease to trust in the love of God, and in his love toward all men. ”

“ Margaret was not one who used many words of endearment, or many caresses. She thought that love, like religion, should show itself in deeds, not speeches. Hitherto she had never begun her letters to him in any other way than the almost formal one of "My dear Sidney." This was different.
"My beloved husband," it ran, "it is because you are dearer to me than any other human being, dearer than my own life a hundredfold, dearer even than my own soul, that I cannot just now bear your presence. How I love you I cannot find words to tell; my love for you is myself, my life. ”

“ Sidney approached his sons cautiously. For a moment Martin stood as if about to take a sudden flight; but the sight of an Englishman alone pacified him; there was no need to be afraid of him. They were very rich, these English; Chiara had always said so; they could give him enough money to buy the right of building a little hut for himself in some place on the mountains, where he could keep goats and sheep. He stood quietly, therefore, watching them from under his shaggy eyebrows, while Philip still held him by a slight yet firm grasp, of which he was unconscious, so light his touch was. ”

“ Sidney heard nothing more. It was a terrible thing to hear a fellow-man appealing to God against him. Margaret's heart was melted with pity toward them both. If only either of them knew the infinite love of God; if they could but realize how small a moment in their endless life the brief passage through this world was to every soul of man; if they could only understand how much closer God is to every soul he creates than we are to one another—what need would there be to pray in this manner, even for Martin? ”

“ Phyllis, who has been my little wife as long as I can remember; Phyllis, who has grown up for me—whom I loved as soon as I loved anyone! No; she will never forsake me. She would become my wife if I had only the poorest cottage to give to her as a home."
He clasped her hand between his own with a grasp from which she could not free it, though she made a feeble effort to do so. Then she lifted up her tear-filled eyes, and looked very sadly into his eager face.
"I never could marry a poor man," she said. "O Philip! why did your father own he was married to Sophy Goldsmith? ”

“ Dorothy loosed Margaret's hand and stepped swiftly to Sidney's side, putting her hand fondly through his arm. He looked down on her with an expression of irretrievable sadness.
"Listen to me, my son," he said, speaking very slowly and distinctly. "I did a great wrong when I left your mother, and I did a greater wrong in not seeking to know if you lived or not. I never knew you were born. If I had known it, you would have lived with me; and now you would be as Philip is, like him in every way. Look round you. When I die this house will be yours, and you will be a rich man. Do you understand?" ”

“ Philip smiled at him, a sad smile enough, but it made Martin laugh with delight. So dreary and insane was this sound, as if Martin's lips had never been taught to laugh, that it always made Philip's heart ache to hear it.
"No, no!" cried Andrew, retreating from the two brothers with an expression of terror, "that cannot be my Sophy's son! No, Mr. Philip, it is impossible. He's a savage, a Hottentot! he isn't my grandson. Why! the poor fellow is almost an idiot. He can't be my Sophy's boy. ”

“ Philip and Martin had to take their part in carrying the rude litter on which their father lay, and Dorothy, speechless with grief and anxiety for Margaret, walked beside it. Margaret watched the mournful procession as it crept slowly toward her across the silent uplands. Never before had she been so vividly conscious of the presence of God. "In him we live, and move, and have our being," she said in her inmost soul, with a gladness as sharp as pain, as these slowly moving forms of those she loved most drew nearer. ”

“ Margaret started. A sudden pang shot through her heart. After all these years was she to discover the fate of the poor girl, whose loss she had mourned so long, in this remote spot? Could this be Sophy Goldsmith's grave? And oh! how sorrowful beyond all their fears must her sad lot have been! Dying, alone, deserted; leaving behind her a child who had grown into this miserable pariah of the mountains. Swiftly the thought of Andrew Goldsmith, and his dark, deep grief when he learnt all, passed through her mind. ”

“ And Margaret's happiness would have been perfect if her father had not been slowly but surely treading the path which led only to the grave. Her marriage had opened the world to her, and she saw the brightest side of it; for Sidney was careful that she should know only the best people. His uncle had made but few friends, and he himself had lived in a narrow circle. But now, for Margaret's sake, and the gladdening sense of deliverance from a damaging secret, he enlarged the number of his acquaintances, and used his wealth to gain a position in the world which Margaret could enjoy. ”

“ Presently Margaret came in, pale and weary with the long journey, but with the light of happiness in her eyes. Philip was better than she could have hoped; there would be no real danger, the doctor said, now that she was there to satisfy his longing to look upon some dear, familiar face.
"He is not even grieved that Phyllis is not come," she said gladly, "he is just satisfied, with a perfect satisfaction, to see his father and me. After all there are seasons when no love contents us save a father's love. We are but children, every one of us." ”

“ But when those you love disappear, oh! nobody knows what the misery is. We do not know if she is dead or alive. I loved her as if she had been my own child; but she did not feel as if she owed me the duty of a child; and, when I thwarted her, she went away, and left a letter saying she was gone to London. We have never, never heard of her since, and it is now over a year ago. She is lost in London."
Rachel Goldsmith's voice was broken with sobs. But before Sidney spoke again, for he was slow in answering, she went on, with a glimmer of a smile at herself. ”

“ Philip was exactly of the age he himself was when he contracted his foolish and secret marriage. He recalled his own hot passion for the pretty village girl, and how impossible it would have been for any argument to convince him that such love as his would quickly burn itself out, and leave behind it only darkness, disgust, and misery. He had risked all, when he had all to risk, to gratify his boyish infatuation. But Philip would risk only the chance of poverty during his father's lifetime; and Sidney knew well he could, if he would, raise money on his future inheritance of an entailed estate. ”

“ Martin was a man whose natural affections, so long thwarted and disappointed, were ready to flow swiftly into the first open channel. But to love Dorothy! If it had not been for his lifelong love for Phyllis, Philip would have loved Dorothy himself. How sweet and simple she was! how true! There was a fresh and innocent, almost a rustic charm about her which contrasted strongly with Phyllis's cultivated attractiveness. Philip, in his heart-sickness at Phyllis's worldliness, was open-eyed to Dorothy's unconscious disregard to custom and fashion. She valued the world as his mother valued it. ”

“ Margaret was not brought into contact with any other men, excepting George, who was just married; and Sidney was obliged to own to himself that he had done all he could to win her affection. But he repented it now. Margaret's love could only bring her sorrow.
He could have gone back and confessed to her his boyish folly, if it had been mere folly. Had Sophy died, he could have told Margaret all about it. But what he could not own was that for seven years he had left himself in absolute ignorance of her fate. No true woman could forgive a crime like that. ”