It was broad day when Abigail awoke. On arousing herself, she found that the dame, whom she had left so disordered, looked now less feverish, and was locked in repose. Apparently much gratified by a glance at her aspect, she rose to her feet; and proceeded, with the stealthy step which she had all along maintained, but which was not so noiseless as she supposed, to make her egress from the chamber.
On reaching the passage without, she softly closed the door of the chamber, and descended straight to the kitchen. There, preparatory to other household arrangements, she shortly kindled a fire, and set everything in order for an early breakfast.
Various and arduous were the duties that she had to discharge. To scrub here, and sweep there—to rub this, and wash that, employed her continually; and a not very encouraging feature in her performance, on a close examination, was, that it appeared to have little effect, and that, after undergoing a very extensive process of cleansing, everything appeared to be quite as dirty as at first.
But she was clearly not aware that her industry was so unprofitable. A much more important idea, indeed—and even a more singular one—engaged her attention. She felt convinced that she was bewitched!
Several things, it must be owned, had gone wrong during the morning. In the first place, she had had some difficulty, beyond what she could reasonably have looked for, in kindling a fire; secondly, she had afterwards cut her hand; and thirdly, in washing the earthenware, she had nearly broken a drinking-mug. Now, philosophers have discovered, among other great and mysterious truths, that there can be no effect without a cause; and though Abigail was not well read in philosophy, or in anything else (being unable to read at all), her shrewd mind acquired this information instinctively. She thus became sensible, on consideration, that her unlucky mishaps were not spontaneous, but were the effect and issue of some unseen cause.
What could it be? Some people would have thought, on a superficial review of the subject, that her difficulty in kindling the fire arose from the fact of its being carelessly laid; that she had cut her hand through having misguided the knife; and that she had nearly broken the drinking-mug, which was her crowning mishap, because she had had but a slight hold of it. But Abigail was not so simple. She knew, from experience, a teacher not to be slighted, that the prevailing influence was of a higher origin; and she hastened to search around for some trace of its presence.
A brief investigation distinctly elicited its malignant source. It lay on the shelf of a neighbouring cupboard, in one corner; and presented to her doubting eyes, on their very first glance, the fragment of an onion!
Who has not heard what a tide of misfortune the retention of this esculent, in a broken state, will bring on a household? Abigail knew its evil effects but too well. But how to counteract them, without some way injuring herself (which she feared that her personal interposition would do), was a matter which she was not so promptly or easily resolved on.
At last, she determined to seek Zedekiah; and endeavour, by a little excusable cajolery, and the exercise of those arts which are the chief attribute of her sex, and of which Zedekiah was an impassioned admirer, to prevail on him to remove the infectious vegetable. Although he had not yet appeared in the kitchen, she doubted not that he was up; and the stable, over which he slept, seemed to her to be the place where she was most likely to find him.
Zedekiah had, indeed, been up for some time, and, as she supposed, was really engaged in the stable. But far other thoughts than his horses engrossed his attention—more melancholy functions than a groom’s, or even a clerk’s, claimed his administration.