"And so you may now," said Emily Mowbray; "you seem to be in some affliction. Before we knew who you were, we longed to comfort you; and now that we find that you are an old acquaintance, we shall have double pleasure in being of any use to you."
The circumstance of having, in early youth, been inmates of the same house, and in habits of frequent and kindly intercourse, leaves generally a lasting impression upon the heart. This is often felt by schoolfellows, who, when they meet, after having been long separated, have a peculiar frankness and warmth of feeling towards each other, which is seldom produced by an acquaintance contracted in maturer years. And something of the same warmth and disposition to freedom of communication is occasionally produced in children—children of the gentler sex particularly—towards the tried and valued servants of the families, in which many of their earliest and happiest days have been passed.
This species of feeling now glowed in full vigour in the bosoms of the two sisters, and of Mary Waldron. Mary had met with sympathizing friends when she most wanted them; and the Miss Mowbrays found the interest, which had been excited by witnessing her grief, increased to a ten-fold degree by this unexpected recognition. They pressed her to accompany them to their father's lodging house. The child, however, which she had left at home under the care of a neighbour, made this impossible. They therefore turned back, and walked slowly with her towards Folkestone, Caroline Mowbray having relieved her, by taking the child out of her arms.
During their walk, Mary told them, that nine years before she had accompanied her mistress to Hastings. They passed the winter there, and during that time, she became acquainted with James Waldron, who frequently came to the house with fish. Every body spoke well of him, as a sober, industrious, good-tempered man; and she became his wife when Mrs. Stanwick returned into Hertfordshire. For about six years they lived happily together at Hastings; they then removed to Folkestone, where a small house had been left to Waldron by a relation. Here he continued for some time to follow his old occupation, but unhappily became acquainted with some notorious smugglers, and was persuaded occasionally to accompany them in their expeditions to the French coast. He was led on step by step, till smuggling had become his principal employment.
"From the time that he took to the smuggling line," continued poor Mary, "my happiness has been at an end. He used to be the kindest of husbands and of fathers. Now he is seldom at home, and when he is, is generally out of temper. Now and then he will play with his children a little, but more frequently complains of their being troublesome. He used to be sobriety itself, but latterly has taken to drinking spirits. His very countenance is changed; it used to be frank and open, but now is apt to have a downcast anxious look, like that of a man who has some sad burden on his mind. And oh! how many fears do I have for him! Sometimes, I think he will be lost at sea, for they are out in all weathers; and sometimes I tremble lest he should be taken on shore, or that to prevent himself from being taken, he should do some dreadful deed that should bring him to the gallows."
"I now too well understand," said Emily Mowbray, "what you meant by what you said to us at Mrs. Hawker's."
"I should not have said it," answered Mary, "had I known who I was speaking to—but still it was nothing but the truth. Little do ladies, who in the lightness of their hearts come to purchase the smuggled silks, and the gloves, and the cambrics, little do they think what a sad business they are encouraging; that they are in fact buying men's blood. And oh! my dear, dear young ladies, would to heaven that were all—I tremble to think how not only the lives, but the souls, of these poor fellows—the soul of"—but here her voice failed, she clapped her hands to her face, and burst into an agony of grief. The two sisters soothed her as well as they could, and when she seemed tolerably composed again, turned their steps towards Sandgate.
The Admiral had been a little uneasy at their long absence. "Well! girls," he exclaimed upon seeing them, "where have you been all this time?" "Why, papa?"—"Well, you must not stop to tell me now, but make haste to get ready for dinner. Your cousin Harry Stanwick has promised to dine with us. We can seldom catch him, you know; but I told him, that coming to us was not being off duty, as he is as handy here as at the castle, in case any of these smuggling fellows should require to be looked after."
The young ladies hurried to their rooms, and when they came down stairs, found their cousin already arrived. The Admiral was eagerly trying to get from him some of the particulars of his saving the poor shipwrecked Danes. "We had some difficulty," said Lieutenant Stanwick, "in launching our boat. The first time, when we had just got her into the water, a heavy wave knocked her clean over. Upon a second attempt we got her afloat, and were just beginning to use our oars, when she was swamped again, and two of the men were nearly lost in trying to get back to the shore. My brave fellows, however, would not give it up: they could not bear, they said, to leave fellow-creatures to perish almost within hale of the land. At the third trial we succeeded. We got under the lee of the ship, and found her fast a-ground, her main-mast and mizen-mast blown away, and a tremendous sea breaking over her. Several of the crew had been already washed off the deck. I never shall forget the joy the poor fellows expressed, when we got them into our boat. There was a black man particularly, whom they had brought with them from the West Indies, and who seemed quite overpowered with gratitude. We brought them all safely on shore, and weary and buffeted as they were, the preventive-service men gave them up their beds, and the greatest part of their rations[h]."
[h] Founded on fact.