[CHAPTER XIII.]
We are now going to relate an event, in which our heroine had need of all the exertion and fortitude which the education she had received had so forcibly inculcated. Her mother's grave was always an object of attention to her; and though no pompous monument adorned the place, or flattering eulogy appeared on the simple stone which stood at its head (her name, and age, with the date of the year in which she died, being all that was engraved there), Anna regarded it with interest, because it was all she had ever known of her parent; and never passed it without reflecting on her birth, and thinking of her father; and it was on this very spot she was destined to meet him, whom she had so often wished to hear of, and who for twenty years had made no inquiry after her.
She was one autumnal evening walking through the church-yard rather later than usual, and alone; having left Betty, who had come out with her, at her father's, to assist in preparing her younger sister's clothes, who was just then going out to service for the first time; it was twilight, and she stepped out of the path on perceiving something near her mother's grave, which she could not distinguish without approaching nearer. As she advanced she saw a man stooping down, as if to read what was written on the stone, and which the dimness of the evening scarcely allowed him to see. His whole attention was engrossed, and he did not hear her footstep.
"Anna Eastwood," said he, "daughter of William and Mary Campbell;—Ah! that is her. But is there no other name? Is there not another Anna Eastwood? Did I not hasten the death of my child also?"
Anna heard no more, but overcome by the suddenness of the discovery, uttered a faint scream and fell senseless on the turf. The man started from his reverie; and perceiving by her white dress where she lay, at that moment lost to all animation as the dead by which she was surrounded; he hastened to her relief, and raising her in his arms, without the least idea how near she was allied to him. He supported her and himself against the tombstone, till her faint breathings informed him she revived. At this moment a labouring man passed along the path; and Eastwood called to him.
"Come here, my friend," said he, "and assist this young lady."
"Gracious me!" exclaimed the man, on perceiving who she was, "it is Miss Meridith! How did she come here at this time of the night? Is she very bad?" continued he, on observing her tremble, and looking wildly around.
"Don't you know me, Miss—poor Thomas?—Don't be frightened, nobody shall hurt you; did this man attempt it?"
"Oh, no," replied Anna, who had now gained her recollection, and scarcely able to refrain from declaring he was her father; but reflecting on Mrs. Meridith's uneasiness at her stay, she expressed a wish to go home.
"Can you walk, Madam?" said the stranger, gathering from her appearance, and the manner in which the labourer regarded her, that she was in a superior situation. "Will you allow me to assist you? I am a stranger here, or I would offer to call some one, but perhaps this man can procure you a conveyance?"