Volume Three—Chapter Thirty Two.
Mrs Nagger.
Since meeting with Lenore, I had faithfully responded to the invitation of Captain Nowell. Most of my time had been devoted to his ladies; or rather, spent in the society of Lenore. Every day had witnessed the return of happy hours; and, strange to say, the happiest were experienced on the day of that sad parting with Jessie!
On that morning, Lenore had promised to be mine; and an early day had been appointed for our marriage.
In procuring her consent to our speedy union, I was aided by Captain Nowell, who wished to be present at the ceremony, and could not postpone the departure of his ship.
When Lenore and I came to compare notes, and make mutual confession, she expressed surprise that I should ever have thought her capable of marrying another!
“Did you not tell me, Rowland,” said she, “to wait for your return, and you would then talk to me of love? I knew your motive for going away; and admired you for it. I firmly confided in what you told me. All the time of your absence, I believed you would come back to me; and I should have waited for many years longer. Ah! Rowland, I could never have loved another.”
My journey to Liverpool—to ascertain the name and address of the man Lenore had not married—I had hitherto kept a secret, but a letter had arrived the evening before, which frustrated my designs. Mrs Lanson had written to her old friend, Mrs Nowell—giving a full account of my visit that had ended so abruptly. I was compelled to listen to a little pleasant raillery from Captain Nowell, who did not fail to banter me about the trouble I had taken, to learn what I might have discovered much sooner and easier—by simply keeping faith with him, in the promise I had made to call upon him.
“I told you aboard the ship,” said he, “that I had something to show you worth looking at; and that you couldn’t do better than visit me, before throwing yourself away elsewhere. See what it has cost you, neglecting to listen to my request. Now, is it not wonderful, that the plan I had arranged for your happiness, when we were seven thousand miles from this place, should be the very one that fate herself had in store for you?”
I agreed with Captain Nowell, that there was something very strange in the whole thing; and something more agreeable than strange.
I returned home highly elated with the prospect of my future happiness. I informed my brother and his wife of a change in my intentions—merely telling them that I had given up the design of returning to Australia. They were much gratified at this bit of news, for they had both used every argument to dissuade me from going back to the colonies.
“What has caused this sudden, and I must say sensible, abandonment of your former plans?” asked my brother.
“I have at last found one,” I answered, “that I intend making my wife.”
“Ah!” exclaimed William, “the one that you had lost?”
“Yes, the one that I had lost; but what makes you think there was such an one?”
“Oh! that was easily seen. Ever since meeting you on the Victoria diggings, I noticed about you the appearance of a man who had lost something—the mother of his children, for instance. I have never asked many particulars of your past life; but, until within the last few days, you looked very like a man who had no other hope, than that of being able to die sometime. Why, Rowland, you look at this minute, ten years younger, than you did three days ago!”
I could believe this: for the change that had taken place in my soul was like passing from night to day.
I was, indeed, happy, supremely happy: since Lenore had promised to be mine.
That day I did not think of poor Jessie, until after my return home, when Mrs Nagger, while setting my tea before me, put the question:
“Please, sir, how is the poor young lady who was here this morning? She was such a nice creetur, I’m anxious to hear if she be well again.”
This was the most reasonable remark I had heard the old housekeeper make, during all my acquaintance with her. She had given utterance to a long speech, without once using her favourite expression. The fact was something wonderful; and that is probably the reason why I have recorded it.
In answer to her interrogatory, I told her, that I had neither seen nor heard of the young lady since the morning.
“Then more’s the pity!” rejoined Mrs Nagger. “If men have no regard for such a lovely creetur as her, it’s no wonder I have never found a husband. More’s the pity, sir! That’s all I can say.”
Mrs Nagger was a good servant; but my sister-in-law and her mother were often displeased with her; on account of a disposition she often displayed for meddling too much with what did not, or should not have concerned her. She seemed to consider herself one of the family; and entitled to know the affairs of every member of it, although I believe she was prompted to this, by a feeling of friendship and good will.
“Nagger,” I once heard my brother’s wife say to her, “I think you give yourself much more trouble, than is required from you.”
“More’s the pity, ma’am!” answered Nagger.
“You must not interfere with what does not concern you,” continued Mrs Stone. “If you do, I shall have to dispense with your services.”
“If you do, ma’am, more’s the pity! That’s all I can say.”
“I wish it was all you could say. Then, perhaps, we should agree very well.”
“The more I don’t trouble about your business,” rejoined Mrs Nagger, “the more’s the pity for us all!”
I believe that my sister-in-law knew this; or if not, she probably thought that a better servant would be difficult to obtain; and Nagger continued to keep her place.
I had promised to call again at Captain Nowell’s, that same evening, and take my brother, his wife, and her mother, along with me.
The Captain wished to see them before setting sail; and had urged me to bring them to his house—a request with which I was but too ready to comply: as I was desirous to show Lenore to my relations. I communicated my intention to them; and asked if they had made any engagement for the evening.
“No, I think not. Have you, William?” asked Mrs Stone.
“Not that I know of,” answered my brother, “unless it be to make ourselves happy at our own fireside.”
“I am to be married in six days,” said I, “and there is no time to lose in getting you acquainted with my intended. I have promised to take you all to see her this evening—if I can induce you to go. What say you? Will you accompany me?”
They looked at each other.
“I cannot tell,” said Mrs Stone. “What do you say, mother? What do you think William. I am impatient to see Rowland’s choice; but would it be etiquette for us to go to-night?”
“What do we care for etiquette?” said William. “I, for one, am above it. Let us go!”
An hour afterwards, we were all on the way to the residence of Captain Nowell.
On being ushered into the drawing-room, my relatives were surprised to meet an old acquaintance—the captain of the ship, on which they had voyaged some thousands of miles.
The Captain first introduced them to his wife; and then to his step-daughter. I had before mentioned her name to my brother—while giving him a brief history of the life I had led, after parting from him in Dublin.
On hearing the name, he gazed upon Lenore for a moment with evident admiration. Then turning to me, he inquired, “Is this the lost one, Rowland?”
I answered in the affirmative.
“I am reading a romance of real life,” said William, as he grasped Lenore’s hand, with a grasp no other but a true sailor could give.
Need I add that we passed that evening in the enjoyment of such happiness, as is only allowed to hearts that throb with innocence and honesty?