The ways of the hour

by James Fenimore Cooper

And, sooth to say, notwithstanding the extreme awkwardness of her situation, the angry feeling that was so fast rising up against her in Biberry and its vicinity, and the general mystery that concealed her real name, character and history, there was that about Mary Monson, in her countenance, other personal advantages, and most of all in her manner and voice, that might well catch the fancy of a youth of warm feelings, and through his fancy, sooner or later, touch his heart. As yet, John was only under the influence of the new-born sentiment, and had he now been removed from Biberry, it is probable that the feelings and interest which had been so suddenly and powerfully awakened in him would have passed away altogether, or remained in shadow on his memory, as a melancholy and yet pleasant record of hours past, under circumstances in which men live fast, if they do not always live well. Little did the uncle think of the great danger to which he exposed his nephew, when he placed him, like a sentinel in law, on duty near the portal of his immured client. But the experienced Dunscomb was anxious to bring John into active life, and to place him in situations that might lead him to think and execute for himself; and it had been much his practice, of late, to put the young man forward, when ever circumstances would admit of it. Although the counsellor was more than at his ease in fortune, and John and Sarah each possessed very respectable means, that placed them altogether above dependence, he was exceedingly anxious that his nephew should succeed to his own business, as the surest mode of securing his happiness and respectability in a community where the number of the idle is relatively so small as to render the pursuits of a class that is by no means without its uses, where it can be made to serve the tastes and manners of a country, difficult of attainment. He had the same desire in behalf of his niece, or that she should become the wife of a man who had something to do; and the circumstance that Millington, though of highly reputable connections, was almost entirely without fortune, was no objection in his eyes to the union that Sarah was so obviously inclined to form. The two young men had been left on the ground, therefore, to take care of the interests of a client whom Dunscomb was compelled to admit was one that interested him more than any other in whose services he had ever been employed, strongly as he was disposed to fear that appearances might be deceitful.

Our young men were not idle. In addition to doing all that was in their power to contribute to the personal comforts of Miss Monson, they were active and intelligent in obtaining, and making notes of, all the facts that had been drawn out by the coroner’s inquest, or which could be gleaned in the neighbourhood. These facts, or rumours, John classed into the “proved,” the “reported,” the “probable” and the “improbable;” accompanying each division with such annotations as made a very useful sort of brief for any one who wished to push the inquiries further.

“There, Millington,” he said when they reached the gaol, on their return from a walk as far as the ruins of the house which had been burnt, and after they had dined, “there; I think we have done tolerably well for one day, and are in a fair way to give uncle Tom a pretty full account of this miserable business. The more I see and learn of it, the more I am convinced of the perfect innocence of the accused. I trust it strikes you in the same way, Mike?”

But Mike was by no means as sanguine as his friend. He smiled faintly at this question, and endeavoured to evade a direct answer. He saw how lively were the hopes of Tom, and how deeply his feelings were getting to be interested in the matter, while his own judgment, influenced, perhaps, by Mr.[Mr.] Dunscomb’s example, greatly inclined him to the worst foreboding of the result. Still he had an honest satisfaction in saying anything that might contribute to the gratification of Sarah’s brother, and a good opportunity now offering, he did not let it escape him.

“There is one thing, Jack, that seems to have been strangely overlooked,” he said, “and out of which some advantage may come, if it be thoroughly sifted. You may remember it was stated by some of the witnesses, that there was a German woman in the family of the Goodwins, the day that preceded the fire—one employed in housework?”

“Now you mention it, I do! Sure enough; what has become of that woman?”

“While you were drawing your diagram of the ruins, and projecting your plan of the out-buildings, garden, fields and so on, I stepped across to the nearest house, and had a chat with the ladies. You may remember I told you it was to get a drink of milk; but I saw petticoats, and thought something might be learned from woman’s propensity to talk?”

“I know you left me, but was too busy, just then, to see on what errand, or whither you went.”

“It was to the old stone farm-house that stands only fifty rods from the ruins. The family in possession is named Burton, and a more talkative set I never encountered in petticoats.”

“How many had you to deal with, Mike?” John enquired, running his eyes over his notes as he asked the question, in a way that showed how little he anticipated from this interview with the Burtons. “If more than one of the garrulous set I pity you, for I had a specimen of them yesterday morning myself, in a passing interview.”