Bessie's Fortune: A Novel

by Mary Jane Holmes

And though she never knew again the joy of youth which had left her forever, there came to her long intervals of rest and quiet and comparative peace, if not happiness; and when, three years after the tragedy which had blighted her young life, she, with others of her companions, ratified her baptismal vows and openly confessed Christ, He who sees and knows the secrets of all hearts, knew that among those who knelt to receive the rite of confirmation there was not one purer or more sincere than she who thought herself the vilest of the vile.

Naturally, as time rolled on, and the peddler Rogers came no more to Allington, inquiries were made for him, the people wondering if he intended remaining in Wales the remainder of his life, or would he appear in their midst again some day, with his balbriggans and Irish linens. But as he had never been more to the citizens than a peddler of dry-goods, he was soon forgotten, and Peter Jerrold's secret was safe under the floor, and the tin box, with the gold and the will, was safe in the niche of the huge chimney, where Hannah had hidden it, until such time as it could be given into the hands of the rightful owner. For this Hannah fully intended doing. How, or when, or by what agency, she could not tell, but sometime in the future, restitution would be made, either to Elizabeth or her heirs. She had calculated the interest on the money, and resolved yearly to lay by that amount for the benefit of the Rogers heirs. Everything pertaining to Carnarvon she read up, knowing perfectly its history, where it was situated, how to reach it, and almost fancying that she knew the very house where the peddler had lived, and where possibly Elizabeth was still living. And some day she would find the place and give up the money and will, and tell as much of the past as was necessary to tell, but no more.

And with this end in view she lived her dreary, monotonous life, which knew no change, except on the rare intervals when her young brother Burton, came up from Boston to spend a few days with the father and sister from whom he was growing estranged so fast; for between them and himself there was nothing common, and he was always glad when his short visit was over, and he was free to return to the life more in accordance with his taste than that at the farm-house.

When Rover died, several years after the tragedy of which he was a witness, Hannah felt that she had lost all that made life endurable, and mourned for him as for a human friend. With all the faithful sagacity of his race the noble brute had clung to her, seldom quitting her side, and frequently, when her heart was saddest, and she was weeping by herself, licking her face and hair, and uttering a kind of low cry, as if he understood her perfectly; and when at last he died, it was with his head in her lap, and her tears falling upon his shaggy face. Even to the last he was faithful to the charge he had so long assumed. A neighbor had come into the kitchen, and dragging himself from the mat on which he was lying, Rover crawled to the door of the bedroom, and stretched himself in front of it, while in the dying eyes lifted to Hannah's face, there was an expression of unutterable love and regret for the mistress he was leaving forever. When the visitor left the house, Hannah tried to coax the dog back to his mat near the stove, but he was too weak to move, and so she placed a blanket under him and kneeling by his side, put his head in her lap, and held it there until he ceased to breathe.

After his death there was nothing to relieve the tedium of Hannah's life, and but for her trust in God her reason must have given way under the strain, for it was not only her own sorrow, but her father's as well, which she had to bear. With him there was no rest, day or night, and every breath was a prayer for mercy and forgiveness.

At first he was continually haunted with a fear of detection, and frequently in the night he would steal noiselessly to Hannah's room, and awakening her with a whisper, tell her there were men about the house, come to arrest him, and charge her with having broken her oath and betrayed him into the hands of the law. Every possible precaution against a surprise was taken. Iron bolts were put on the doors, the windows were nailed down, and the house was never for an hour left alone. The people said the man was deranged, and pitied the young girl who, from daily association with him, was becoming almost as peculiar as himself.

After a few years the aged pastor, who had so long officiated in the stone church on the common, died, and the Rev. Charles Sanford, fresh from the Theological Seminary, was called to take his place. Full of energy and zeal in his work, the young rector soon made himself acquainted with all his parishioners, and seemed to find a peculiar attraction in the inmates of the farm-house, where he spent a great deal of time, arguing with the father on the nature of the unpardonable sin, and answering the many questions his host propounded to him upon the subject of genuine repentance and its fruits, and how far confession to man was necessary that one might be saved.

To these discourses Hannah was always an attentive listener, and there came gradually a new light into her dark eyes, and a faint color to her white cheeks, when she saw the rector coming up the walk, and met his winning smile. But all this was ended at last; for, after a night in June, when she walked with the young clergyman through the pasture land under the row of chestnut trees which grew upon the hill-side, he came less frequently to the farm-house, and when he did come his discourse was mostly with her father, whom he was laboring to convince that it was his duty to be confirmed. But Peter always answered him:

"No, you don't know what you ask. I am too vile, too great a sinner for that. The very stones would cry out against me."

The clergyman thought him crazy, and after a time abandoned the effort, and went but seldom to the farm-house, where Hannah had again entered the dark cloud in which his coming had made a rift, and which now seemed darker than ever, because of the momentary brightness which had been thrown upon it. She, too, had labored with her father as Mr. Sanford had done, telling him of the peace which was sure to follow a duty performed, but he answered her: