Chancing to make the above Remark to Rose, she cried, "And why not be happy with him in Aldersgate Street?" I briefly replied that he must get the House first, before it were possible to tell whether I coulde be happy there or not. Rose started, and exclaimed, "Why, where do you suppose him to be now?" "Where but at the Taylor's in Bride's Churchyard?" I replied. She claspt her Hands with a Look I shall never forget, and exclaimed in a Sort of vehement Passion, "Oh, Cousin, Cousin, how you throw your own Happinesse away! How awfulle a Pause must have taken place in your Intercourse with the Man whom you promised to abide by till Death, since you know not that he has long since taken Possession of his new Home; that he strove to have it ready for you at Michaelmasse!"
Doubtlesse I lookt noe less surprised than I felt;—a suddain Prick at the Heart prevented Speech; but it shot acrosse my Heart that I had made out the Words "Aldersgate" and "new Home," in the Fragments of the Letter my Father had torn. Rose, misjudging my Silence, burst forth anew with, "Oh, Cousin! Cousin! coulde anie Home, however dull and noisesome, drive me from Roger Agnew? Onlie think of what you are doing,—of what you are leaving undone!—of what you are preparing against yourself! To put the Wickednesse of a selfish Course out of the Account, onlie think of its Mellancholie, its Miserie,—destitute of alle the sweet, bright, fresh Well-springs of Happinesse;—unblest by God!"
Here Rose wept passionatelie, and claspt her Arms about me; but, when I began to speak, and to tell her of much that had made me miserable, she hearkened in motionlesse Silence, till I told her that Father had torn the Letter and beaten the Messenger. Then she cried, "Oh, I see now what may and shall be done! Roger shall be Peacemaker," and ran off with Joyfulnesse; I not withholding her. But I can never be joyfulle more—he cannot be Day's-man betwixt us now—'tis alle too late!
Nov. 28, 1643.
Now that I am at Forest Hill agayn, I will essay to continue my
Journalling.—
Mr. Agnew was out; and though a keene wintry Wind was blowing, and Rose was suffering from Colde, yet she went out to listen for his Horse's Feet at the Gate, with onlie her Apron cast over her Head. Shortlie, he returned; and I heard him say in a troubled Voice, "Alle are in Arms at Forest Hill." I felt soe greatlie shocked as to neede to sit downe instead of running forthe to learn the News. I supposed the parliamentarian Soldiers had advanced, unexpectedlie, upon Oxford. His next Words were, "Dick is coming for her at Noone—poor Soul, I know not what she will doe—her Father will trust her noe longer with you and me." Then I saw them both passe the Window, slowlie pacing together, and hastened forth to joyn them; but they had turned into the pleached Alley, their Backs towards me; and both in such earnest and apparentlie private Communication, that I dared not interrupt them till they turned aboute, which was not for some While; for they stood for some Time at the Head of the Alley, still with theire Backs to me, Rose's Hair blowing in the cold Wind; and once or twice she seemed to put her Kerchief to her Eyes.
Now, while I stood mazed and uncertain, I hearde a distant Clatter of Horse's Feet, on the hard Road a good Way off, and could descrie Dick coming towards Sheepscote. Rose saw him too, and commenced running towards me; Mr. Agnew following with long Strides. Rose drew me back into the House, and sayd, kissing me, "Dearest Moll, I am soe sorry; Roger hath seen your Father this Morn, and he will on no Account spare you to us anie longer; and Dick is coming to fetch you even now." I sayd, "Is Father ill?" "Oh no," replied Mr. Agnew; then coming up, "He is not ill, but he is perturbed at something which has occurred; and, in Truth, soe am I.—But remember, Mistress Milton, remember, dear Cousin, that when you married, your Father's Guardianship of you passed into the Hands of your Husband—your Husband's House was thenceforthe your Home; and in quitting it you committed a Fault you may yet repaire, though this offensive Act has made the Difficultie much greater."—"Oh, what has happened?" I impatientlie cried. Just then, Dick comes in with his usual blunt Salutations, and then cries, "Well, Moll, are you ready to goe back?" "Why should I be?" I sayd, "when I am soe happy here? unless Father is ill, or Mr. Agnew and Rose are tired of me." They both interrupted, there was nothing they soe much desired, at this present, as that I shoulde prolong my Stay. And you know, Dick, I added, that Forest Hill is not soe pleasant to me just now as it hath commonlie beene, by Reason of your Oxford Companions. He brieflie sayd, I neede not mind that, they were coming no more to the House, Father had decreed it. And you know well enough, Moll, that what Father decrees, must be, and he hath decreed that you must come Home now; soe no more Ado, I pray you, but fetch your Cloak and Hood, and the Horses shall come round, for 'twill be late ere we reach Home. "Nay, you must dine here at all Events," sayd Rose; "I know, Dick, you love roast Pork." Soe Dick relented. Soe Rose, turning to me, prayed me to bid Cicely hasten Dinner; the which I did, tho' thinking it strange Rose should not goe herself. But, as I returned, I hearde her say, Not a Word of it, dear Dick, at the least, till after Dinner, lest you spoil her Appetite. Soe Dick sayd he shoulde goe and look after the Horses. I sayd then, brisklie, I see somewhat is the Matter—pray tell me what it is. But Rose looked quite dull, and walked to the Window. Then Mr. Agnew sayd, "You seem as dissatisfied to leave us, Cousin, as we are to lose you; and yet you are going back to Forest Hill—to that Home in which you will doubtlesse be happy to live all your Dayes."—"At Forest Hill?" I sayd, "Oh no! I hope not." "And why?" sayd he quicklie. I hung my Head, and muttered, "I hope, some Daye, to goe back to Mr. Milton." "And why not at once?" sayd he. I sayd, "Father would not let me." "Nay, that is childish," he answered, "your Father could not hinder you if you wanted not the Mind to goe—it was your first seeming soe loth to return, that made him think you unhappie and refuse to part with you." I sayd, "And what if I were unhappie?" He paused; and knew not at the Moment what Answer to make, but shortlie replyed by another Question, "What Cause had you to be soe?" I sayd, "That was more easily askt than answered, even if there were anie Neede I shoulde answer it, or he had anie Right to ask it." He cried in an Accent of Tendernesse that still wrings my Heart to remember, "Oh, question not the Right! I only wish to make you happy. Were you not happy with Mr. Milton during the Week you spent together here at Sheepscote?" Thereat I coulde not refrayn from bursting into Tears. Rose now sprang forward; but Mr. Agnew sayd, "Let her weep, let her weep, it will do her good." Then, alle at once it occurred to me that my Husband was awaiting me at Home, and I cried, "Oh, is Mr. Milton at Forest Hill?" and felt my Heart full of Gladness. Mr. Agnew answered, "Not soe, not soe, poor Moll:" and, looking up at him, I saw him wiping his Brow, though the Daye was soe chill. "As well tell her now," sayd he to Rose; and then taking my Hand, "Oh, Mrs. Milton, can you wonder that your Husband should be angry? How can you wonder at anie Evil that may result from the Provocation you have given him? What Marvell, that since you cast him off, all the sweet Fountains of his Affections would be embittered, and that he should retaliate by seeking a Separation, and even a Divorce?"—There I stopt him with an Outcry of "Divorce?" "Even soe," he most mournfully replyd, "and I seeke not to excuse him, since two Wrongs make not a Right." "But," I cried, passionately weeping, "I have given him noe Cause; my Heart has never for a Moment strayed to another, nor does he, I am sure, expect it." "Ne'erthelesse," enjoyned Mr. Agnew, "he is soe aggrieved and chafed, that he has followed up what he considers your Breach of the Marriage Contract by writing and publishing a Book on Divorce; the Tenor of which coming to your Father's Ears, has violently incensed him. And now, dear Cousin, having, by your Waywardness, kindled this Flame, what remains for you but to—nay, hear me, hear me, Moll, for Dick is coming in, and I may not let him hear me urge you to the onlie Course that can regayn your Peace—Mr. Milton is still your Husband; eache of you have now Something to forgive; do you be the firste; nay, seeke his Forgivenesse, and you shall be happier than you have been yet."
—But I was weeping without controule; and Dick coming in, and with Dick the Dinner, I askt to be excused, and soe soughte my Chamber, to weep there without Restraynt or Witnesse. Poor Rose came up, as soone as she coulde leave the Table, and told me she had eaten as little as I, and woulde not even presse me to eat. But she carest me and comforted me, and urged in her owne tender Way alle that had beene sayd by Mr. Agnew; even protesting that if she were in my Place, she woulde not goe back to Forest Hill, but straight to London, to entreat with Mr. Milton for his Mercy. But I told her I could not do that, even had I the Means for the Journey; for that my Heart was turned against the Man who coulde, for the venial Offence of a young Wife, in abiding too long with her old Father, not onlie cast her off from his Love, but hold her up to the World's Blame and Scorn, by making their domestic Quarrel the Matter for a printed Attack. Rose sayd, "I admit he is wrong, but indeed, indeed, Moll, you are wrong too, and you were wrong first:" and she sayd this soe often, that at length we came to crosser Words; when Dick, calling to me from below, would have me make haste, which I was glad to doe, and left Sheepscote less regrettfullie than I had expected. Rose kist me with her gravest Face. Mr. Agnew put me on my Horse, and sayd, as he gave me the Rein, "Now think! now think! even yet!" and then, as I silently rode off, "God bless you."
I held down my Head; but, at the Turn of the Road, lookt back, and saw him and Rose watching us from the Porch. Dick cried, "I am righte glad we are off at last, for Father is downright crazie aboute this Businesse, and mistrustfulle of Agnew's Influence over you,"—and would have gone on railing, but I bade him for Pitie's Sake be quiete.
The Effects of my owne Follie, the Losse of Home, Husband, Name, the Opinion of the Agnews, the Opinion of the Worlde, rose up agaynst me, and almost drove me mad. And, just as I was thinking I had better lived out my Dayes and dyed earlie in Bride's Churchyarde than that alle this should have come about, the suddain Recollection of what Rose had that Morning tolde me, which soe manie other Thoughts had driven out of my Head, viz. that Mr. Milton had, in his Desire to please me, while I was onlie bent on pleasing myself, been secretly striving to make readie the Aldersgate Street House agaynst my Return,—soe overcame me, that I wept as I rode along. Nay, at the Corner of a branch Road, had a Mind to beg Dick to let me goe to London; but a glance at his dogged Countenance sufficed to foreshow my Answer.