Marion had continued under Mrs. Smith for three years, living in London one half of the year, and returning to Craigie Hall in the summer. She corresponded constantly with Helen, but they had never met from the time of their first separation. Still Marion wrote of John, though she could obtain no information of him, even in London; and though Helen, almost in every letter, endeavoured to convince her that all hopes of his being alive must by this time be over. Marion, on the contrary, declared that her mind would not admit a belief of this, without more positive proof than any she had yet obtained. Her last letter said, that the lady's maid had lately been married, and that, on Mrs. Smith's recommendation, she was promoted to the vacant place.
We must new revert to poor John Telfer, who remained in captivity, and still in the service of Mr. Murray. The prisoners of war were treated with extraordinary rigour; and the officers, instead of being indulged, as is usual in such cases, with residing in a town on their parole, or word of honour not to escape, were separately confined under a military guard, in the old chateaux, or country seats of the ancient nobility, who had been expelled during the Revolution. This harsh treatment induced many of them to attempt their escape, which, of course, they would not have done if they had promised not to do so, for a promise voluntarily given to an enemy ought to be held as sacred as if given to the dearest friend. However, the success of a few eluding the vigilance of their guards, increased the severity afterwards shown to the others. No interest that could be used was of sufficient weight to procure Mr. Murray his liberty, or even information as to his family or friends. His draughts, however, for money, were always answered; and he hoped, from this circumstance, that his friends were well. John tried many ways of endeavouring to send a letter to the dale, but never received a line in return; indeed, as has been seem, not one of his numerous letters ever reached their intended destination. Years rolled on in the same unvaried kind of existence; sometimes he fancied that Mr. Martin had entirely forgotten him; sometimes the recollection of Captain Elliott's assertion, that William's death would kill his father, threw him into the most violent state of misery. What would become of Miss Helen if her father was indeed dead, was continually in his mind; and at one time had made so strong an impression on him as to convince him it was his duty to endeavour, even at the risk of his life, to make his escape.
The situation in which he and his master were confined, was in some respects not unfavourable to the prosecution of such a scheme. It was in a very old and ruined building, on the banks of one of those rivers which rise in the Pyrenean mountains and fall into the Upper Garonne. The turret allotted to the prisoners commanded a view which, under other circumstances, John would have admired as reminding him of the wild scenes in his native country. Almost close to the building was a noble cascade, formed by the river rushing over the rocks which it encountered in its course; and beyond the woods on the opposite bank arose abrupt declivities, overtopped by the lofty summits of the distant mountains. John had laid his plan, and meant to have put it into execution, when, on the very morning of the day he intended to have made the attempt, Mr. Murray complained of being very ill. This was a severe blow to John: he had been under too many obligations to Mr. Murray to think of leaving him while in want of his care; at the same time, the opportunity of escape might never again offer. He had a severe struggle; but Mr. Murray's illness increasing rapidly, determined him to delay at least his intended flight, and finally fixed him to the side of his sick couch for nearly five years. How often, during his long and painful illness, did the suffering lieutenant bless God that he had been favoured, in the midst of his distress, with such a good and faithful servant as John was to him! How often did he assure him, that if they ever reached England he would make him comfortable for life! Alas! every day lessened the chance of his living to fulfil these promises; and John, in the event of his death, durst scarcely hope now to be able to effect an escape, as the prisoners were watched with redoubled vigilance.
One morning, after John had been absent in search of some dainty, which he fancied Mr. Murray particularly wished for; on his return his master put into his hand a sealed paper, saying, "John, I feel that my situation becomes every day more critical, I have no individual, besides yourself, on whom I can rely; will you, my kind friend, take charge of this packet; it contains some papers of infinite consequence to my family. I wish you to promise me never to part from them out of your possession, till you deliver them in safety to my brother's own hand; I have given you his address: he lives in Portman Square, in London. If you ever reach England, lose no time in seeing him should he be still alive; and in the event of his death find out my sister, and give the packet to her. Will you promise me to do this? It will greatly add to the comfort of my dying moments." John gave the required promise, and took the packet immediately under his care. Mr. Murray lived a very few days after this; and John, by his death, once more felt himself left alone in the world. Mr. Murray had with kind consideration given him twenty guineas, which he desired him to conceal, as it might be of use to facilitate his escape, and in all probability he would not be permitted to retain it if it were seen after his death. The event proved that this precaution was very necessary, for Mr. Murray was no sooner dead than every article about him was seized by his inhuman jailors.
When John had seen his master laid in the grave, he immediately set about contriving means to get to England; and, in six months afterwards, he succeeded in quitting his place of confinement, in the disguise of an old, tattered French soldier.
CHAP XV.
After many hair-breadth escapes from detection, John reached Boulogne in safety, and in a small open boat crossed over to Dover, having very nearly expended the whole of his little store in bribing the fishermen to carry him out of the French dominions. Upon his landing, he found his finances would not allow him any other mode of conveyance than his feet to reach London; and though worn out and exhausted with his long march through France, he determined to pursue his walk to the metropolis without delay. He reached London in three days, and found no difficulty in obtaining a direction to Portman Square. Sir James Murray's name was still on the door, which the direction on the packet pointed out. John knocked very humbly, and in a moment it was opened by a well-dressed footman. John asked if Sir James was at home and could be seen? He answered very civilly, that Sir James was at home, but particularly engaged with company, and he did not think he could possibly see him that night. "My business," answered John, "is very particular. I am just arrived in London and have something of great consequence to deliver into his own hand. I very much wish I could see him to night, as I am a perfect stranger in this great city, and, to tell you the truth, I am afraid of keeping it in my possession longer than I can help." While he stood talking at the door, a well-dressed genteel-looking upper servant maid came up the steps, and was hastily passing them when, turning round to answer some question that her fellow-servant asked her, she fixed her eyes on John, and giving a violent scream, exclaimed "John Telfer, I am sure!" John was too much surprised to be able to answer; but the man-servant held a light up and said, "I am sure you must be mistaken, recollect yourself," and was going to lead her away. John, however, no sooner heard her voice, than all his senses returned in full power, and straining her to his breast, he said, "Marion Scott alone could recognize a poor worn-out wretch, after so many long mournful years of absence, and in such a miserable plight as I am now." The servant, when he heard John pronounce her name, was convinced that it must be the very John Telfer he had heard her lament the loss of so often, and very kindly begged him to walk into a small parlour near the door. Marion had fainted at the sound of his well remembered voice, and it was some time before she became sensible; but when she did, nothing could equal the transport and delight they both felt in once more so unexpectedly having met. She informed him, that one of the young ladies of the Hall, had married Sir James Murray, and that her mother wished Marion to live with her, as she could be trusted, and her daughter was very young. She had been in her service nearly two years; but, continued she, "I mean to leave this place soon, for I am now deprived of the pleasure of seeing my dear parents in the summer, as I used to do with my old lady; and though I am in other respects very comfortable, I cannot on any account remain here much longer. Just as she had given this little history of herself, the footman came in and said that he had informed his master that John wished to see him; and, as soon as I told him who it was, he desired me to send you up to him immediately, as he said he knew you belonged to the same ship as his brother did, and therefore he concluded you could give him some information concerning him." John followed the servant into a superb room, where he found Sir James anxiously waiting for him. The moment he entered, Sir James asked him if he knew any thing of his brother. John said, "Indeed I do Sir: I have come to you by your kind brother's desire. He made me promise to deliver this packet into your own hands. He died about nine months ago, and I have never suffered it to be out of my bosom since he gave it to me." Sir James was excessively affected. He took the packet, and telling John to wait where he was, went into the next room to examine it. In about half an hour he returned, and taking John's hand said, "My dear unfortunate brother has left it in my charge to repay his debt of gratitude to you, for your faithful services and long attendance upon him in his severe illness. You shall ever be considered by me, in the light of his comforter, and from this moment you must make this house your home. He has left you in his will five hundred pounds, which shall be paid you whenever you please to draw upon me for it; but in the meantime, I must see to get you properly nursed and recovered from the fatigue you must have undergone in your long march. The papers you have brought me are indeed, of very great importance, and come at a particular fortunate moment, as they in all probability, will save me from a very vexatious lawsuit, with which I have been threatened." So saying, he rang the bell, and desired the servant to take John into the housekeeper's room, and to see that every possible attention was paid him. John, after having had some refreshments, began to wonder that he did not see Marion again. He asked where she was, and the housekeeper told him she would be there presently, and desired one of the other maids to call her. When she appeared, it was evident she had been in tears. She spoke however cheerfully to John; and the housekeeper rising said, "I am sure you must have much to say to each other, after so long an absence, so we shall leave you together till supper time, which I think Marion must be earlier to night than usual, as your friend must require rest after all his fatigues." With these words she left the room.
They were no sooner left alone, than John, taking Marion's hand, said "tell me, my dear friend, how are my master and Miss Helen?" Marion, in a faultering voice, related the melancholy detail of poor Mr. Martin's death. She was going on to tell him about Miss Helen, when surprised that he had made no remark on what she had told him she looked up, and to her great alarm, she saw him leaning against the wall, pale and ghastly, his eyes fixed, and evidently gasping for breath. She spoke to him, and at last, after making a violent effort, he pronounced his master's name. The truth was, that though Captain Elliott had suggested the probability of Mr. Martin's death, John, in the bottom of his own heart, would not allow himself to believe that he never should see his dear master again; and, even unknown to himself, the hope of being able to comfort and attend upon him in his old age, had been the chief support and motives for exertion through so many years of trial and suffering. To be in a moment fatally convinced, that all such hopes were at an end quite overcame him, and for some time he wept like a child, and could not be comforted, even by Marion. At last he became more composed, and begged Marion to tell him some tidings of dear Miss Helen. Marion repeated what we have before mentioned, and then added, that Miss Helen had joined in the partnership with Miss Maxwell, and for some time they went on very well; but that, about two years past, Miss Maxwell had fallen into bad health, which had gradually increased so much as to confine Miss Helen almost constantly to her bedside; the consequence of which she said, had been that their business had decreased very much. Miss Maxwell was just dead, and had left Miss Helen all that she died possessed of; but, from what she had written her, the property was very small. "However, she writes me," added Marion, "that she has serious thoughts of getting out of business, as soon as she can wind up her affairs, and living in retirement, upon what little property she may find herself possessed of; but I am much afraid that her health is the cause of this determination, for I think there is a degree of despondency in the style of her last letter, which I never observed in any other, notwithstanding the various afflictions she has gone through."
In a few days, John had quite recovered from all his fatigues, and appeared, in Marion's eyes, the best looking man she had ever seen. One evening, when they were conversing about Miss Helen, and talking over various plans that could be followed, to assist in recovering her health, "Marion," said John, "there is a plan I have thought of, and which would certainly be the very best thing I could do, to be of use to her; it is to get married, and go down and settle in Eskdale. Mr. Murray's legacy gives me the means of taking a farm, and I have no doubt that with the knowledge I possess of the management of sheep and cattle, I shall be perfectly able to support a wife, and have a comfortable home for Miss Helen. What do you think of my plan? Will you be my sweet little wife, and help me to show my gratitude to my dear master's daughter?" Marion's heart was full, she could not speak, but her eyes did not say no; and John was delighted to find he had at last hit upon so admirable an expedient. He instantly wrote to Mr. and Mrs. Scott, soliciting their consent to the marriage, and begging of Mr. Scott to look out for a small farm, such as he thought would suit him; and added, that he wished much to marry and bring down his wife as soon as possible, that they might get a home ready for Miss Helen, before they let her know of his arrival in England: for Marion thought she was not in a state of health to be kept in suspense. If she knew he was arrived, she might wish to see him sooner than it was possible for them to get their affairs settled, so as to marry, and he did not like to separate any more from Marion, but meant to bring her down himself to Eskdale as his wife.
Great was the surprise and joy this letter occasioned to the worthy couple in Craigie Hall; and it would scarcely have gained complete credit, had it not been accompanied by one from Marion herself, confirming all its intelligence. Mr. Scott answered it by return of post, giving his unqualified consent to the match, which he thought the sooner it took place the better, and added, "Have no concern about your farm, I know of one that will exactly suit, and shall take care to have it in proper order, both for yourselves and our dear young lady, whom, I trust, you will be able to prevail with to return amongst us again; and then I think I may once more see Eskdale look cheerful before I die, which I am sure it has never done since you left it." Marion and John were accordingly married, and took leave of Sir James and Lady Murray, loaded with every mark of kindness and good wishes.