I did write to my father, Miss Cowley. I wish to forget his answer. He reproached me with having gained an interest in his wife's heart. She had sorrowed for me, and had even solicited for my return. He neither wished for my success, nor sent me a guinea. I embarked with my regiment for Canada; from thence I again wrote to my father, and also to my brother Oliver. The reply of the latter was not calculated to have removed my prejudices, if I had entertained any which were unfavourable to his traffic. "He was sorry that I had disobliged my good father, by a conduct which few men could overlook, and which he thought highly criminal, when my affinity was taken into the account. But idleness was the root of all evil; and he hoped I should, in my employment, retrieve my lost time, and regain my father's favour. He had four children; his wife, a teeming woman, expecting a fifth blessing. He wished me well, and was my affectionate brother Oliver." Here our correspondence closed.
During my three or four years banishment I heard of my father's increasing infirmities, and the discontents at the hall; of Howard's having lost his mother, and his being the husband of Mary, my beloved sister; and, in a word, of my father's death, and our inheritance of a shilling. The lieutenant returned to his hospitable asylum a captain. The Heartleys "killed for him the fatted calf," as the returned blessing, not the prodigal. Nothing, however, could detain me in town; and with all my worldly wealth, namely, thirty guineas in my purse, I took my place in a northern stage-coach; and quitting it within a few miles of this spot, endeavoured to hire a horse. Some difficulty arising, to which my impatience could not submit, I determined to leave my portmanteau at the inn, and to walk. I set forward, but was soon overtaken by a heavy rain. A stage-waggon was in sight, and knowing that I had no clothes with me, I accepted the shelter. A neatly-dressed country woman was the only passenger. The rain poured down in torrents, and she began her chat by observing that I had been lucky. I sighed. "Mayhap, Sir," continued she curiously examining my uniform, "you are not used to ride in waggon; but is it not better than being wet to the skin?" I said I found it so; and that it was comfortable. "Oh!" returned she, "many of your honour's poor soldiers would think it so!" Curiosity next came forward. "Had I far to go?"—"Only to the Abbey farm," answered I.—"We pass the door," returned she; "but you will find Mrs. Wilson in great trouble; she is sad indeed."—"Then you know the family?" said I.—"Know them!" repeated she; "who does not, that lives in the parish, and I may say for miles round?"—"I am sorry to hear she is ill," observed I, anxious for more intelligence.—"Why as for the matter of health," returned she, "thank God, she has no reason to complain; but she is sadly troubled to see the curate so poorly. I suppose, Sir, you know Mr. and Madam Howard, who live at the Abbey."—I bowed my head.—"It will make your heart ach, I can tell you," continued she, "to see the poor gentleman; he is a going, that's for certain! He has never held up his head since that old rascal of a father died, and left Madam only a shilling out of all his money. Dame Dobs, who nurses Miss, told me a week agone she did not know which of the dear souls would go first, for Madam Howard was a mere notomy with fretting. Ah! Sir, you may well turn up your eyes to heaven," continued she, with eagerness, "they will find a a God to comfort them there at least; and that is more than their enemies will. They have the staff in their hands here, but the devil gave it them! I would not be the mistress of the hall for this waggon loaded with gold! They say there is no sleeping in one's bed at the hall since the old man died. I do not wonder at it. How should his soul rest after such wickedness? There is Madam Howard and her dear babe left with a shilling! There is a poor son, he is drove from the hall a downright vagabond, if he be alive; but some say he died of hunger and cold in some great forest beyond sea, and was eaten by the blacks; and that his spirit also has been seen in the room where he kept his books, for he was a great scholar. I did not know him, but Dame Dobs did, and she says he was only too good for them."—"What is become of the widow Flint?" asked I.—"Why she, Sir, as a body may say, 'jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire.' She married a second time, with as bad luck as the first. She is a lady, but her husband is in a sad sort of a way, and looks like a ghost. Poor soul! she has had hard trials! But she is not of my mind. I would sooner beg my bread, with my children at my back, than live as she does, like 'a toad under a harrow;' But the money!—Aye, there's the rub!—Master Philip is to have all Miss Flint's wealth, and so all is submitted to; but she may find herself a loser in the end; for Mr. Flamall is as cunning as the devil himself, and only pretends to love Master Flint for his own advantage. They are a precious set! I would sooner wear lindsey-woolsey than Miss Flint's silks and satins! But, dear me, she knows she is hated in the parish; and that we all pray to God to spare to us Mr. Howard, who is a lamb, Sir, and too good for this wicked world; and when Miss Flint comes to her dying bed, what good will all her money do her, who has overlooked all her relations, if nothing worse? It is but lately I settled in these parts; but people have not forgot to talk. They say Madam Howard has been cruelly treated."—Unable to suppress my agitation, I said the vehicle incommoded me, and that I would walk the remaining part of the road. The rain had abated of its violence, and I quitted my loquacious, but honest companion.
Prepared as I had thus been, I could not without the pangs of despair behold my emaciated friend; and the faded form of my once lovely and blooming sister. I dare not recall the anguish of our first embrace! Let it suffice; it appeared that Heaven in its mercy conducted me to them for their consolation. Howard's spirits were renewed, the cherub Mary smiled in her cradle, and we forgot the past in our present comforts. Tarefield-hall was shunned; for I feared my impetuosity, and dreaded to disturb the tranquillity of my dear invalids. Heartley gained me three months leave of absence beyond the term allotted me, and I was happy;—yes, Miss Cowley, happy! for I perceived that I was the cordial of health to those whom I loved more than myself. Howard's cough disappeared; and he began to talk of freeing Mr. Greenwood from his fatigue of going through the parochial duties. This led him to expatiate on that gentleman's generous and unequalled kindness. "I will," added he smiling, "relate to you circumstances, in which you will find that in Greenwood's friendship heaven gave me a full equivalent even for your absence. So prepare yourself for a long story, and for acknowledging that Mr. Greenwood with all his gravity and sanctity favoured two lovers more than you did." He pressed my hand with affection and proceeded.
You have seen detailed in my Mary's letters to me, the growth of Mr. Flamall's influence at the hall. For a time we exulted at his success, as it promised, that by directing Miss Flint's unfortunate fancy from me to himself, we should be released from a serious obstacle to our wishes. On the death of my dear mother, and after a month's absence, I pleaded business and want of spirits for neglecting to visit my kind friends at the hall. Miss Flint took a particular liking to Mrs. Wilson, and visited her daily. Terrified by this attack on my strong-hold, I consulted Greenwood; and made a full confession of my attachment to my sweet Mary, not omitting your fatherly counsels and her trust in my devoted heart. He could only repeat your sage exhortations, and pity me. Mrs. Wilson was a more useful confidant, for I had notice of the enemy's approach; and my escapes were so well managed, that, foiled in the purpose of her frequent visits, Miss Lucretia forgot her dear Mrs. Wilson, and at once made known her intentions to her father. Mr. Flint's letter contained a very civil approbation of my conduct, in as much as I had practised a prudence which did honour to my principles, it certainly being an improbable event, that he should favour an union so unequal in regard to fortune; but finding his daughter's happiness depended on her marrying me, and that I had only been withheld from applying to him from an honest scruple, he informed me that I was secure of his consent, that he should allow Lucretia four hundred pounds per annum, and on the death of the rector induct me to the living of Tarefield. For his further consideration he made no doubt, I would patiently wait till his decease. Good God! continued poor Howard, what were my emotions on reading this letter! The exchange of one word in it would have raised me to envied bliss, and with patience could I have waited for all other considerations had your father been determined to rival in longevity Methusalem himself. But it was not Mary Flint. I answered his letter, and with all the expressions of respect which the subject demanded, finished by asserting, that I had long been an engaged man, and too warmly attached to a beloved object to conceive any measured conduct necessary; that I had on many different occasions, spoken unequivocally of the state of my affections, in Miss Flint's presence; and that my behaviour had never for an instant contradicted my words; nor could any motives of interest dispose me to relinquish a woman whom I loved. You will conclude that my favour at the hall ceased; and in my disgrace, even my pulpit eloquence was forgotten; for the family, when they were disposed to enter a place of public worship, went to Greenwood's parish. Secure as we mutually were on the side of faith and love, my dear Mary and myself contrived with the help of the faithful old oak and those hopes to which we fondly cleaved, to support those little trials of our patience. I had warned her never to keep my letters, and to be prepared for the inspection of a jealous woman. She was so docile to my wishes, that she not only obeyed me in this point, but from a secret misgiving, to the motive of which I was a stranger, she buried in the avenue her little store of gold. This secret I was told when she became my wife. She had been disgusted by Mr. Flamall's behaviour, and dreaded his cunning. Her mother-in-law's kindness favoured her reserve to him, and with growing attachment these young women would soon have been friends.
"Fortune now became weary of a love intrigue like ours. My beauteous sylph was seen by Miss Flint's woman, taking a letter of mine from the oak, and dropping one of her own into it. The alarm was given. My letter, seized by the furious sister, and hers, brought by the vile informer to her lady, were proofs of our intelligence which admitted of no palliation. I had, in my letter, very freely mentioned Miss Flint; praying to fortune that she might succeed in her attacks on Flamall's heart, who, Mary had informed me, was become her favourite. She had gone farther into this subject in her letter, and in a word, we had not been sparing in our animadversions on them, nor in our compassion for the nominal mistress of the mansion, who had not the courage to pull a bell-string in her own house. I will hasten from the scene that followed this discovery," continued Howard, wiping the sickly dew from his brow, "to what purpose should I repeat cruelties at which an inquisitor, if not lost to feeling, would blush?——Mary has told me since, that she is convinced they meant to make her mad. Imprisoned in her room, suffered to see no one but Miss Flint, and the woman who had betrayed her; without books, without needle-work, or a candle when dark! reproaches! even blows, Percival! She said she thought sometimes, that her senses were affected, for she frequently found to her surprise, that she had forgotten to go to bed. On one of these occasions she was alarmed by hearing some one at the window calling her gently by name; despair rendered her fearless, and, on approaching it, she found it was a young man who lived in the house as groom. 'I come to serve you Miss,' said he, 'because it is my duty. Your dear mother saved mine from the grave. I am Frank Crofts, to whom you used to bring cakes at Chelsea. Mr. Greenwood knows all about me, and my scheme; here is a letter for you from him; and I shall come for you on Saturday night; fear nothing; try to be easy: you will soon be with my mother, and honest people.' So saying, he retired. Mr. Greenwood's letter was satisfactory. And two nights of repose gave her strength to descend from the room two stories high by means of a ladder. Frank securing some linen she had provided, gave himself no trouble to remove the means of her escape. She recollected her concealed treasure, and he disinterred it. Greenwood was at the avenue gate with a decent looking man and a chaise. He told her she was safe, and that her guide would protect her. She instantly got into the carriage, which was an open, old-fashioned vehicle, with two stout horses, and driven by her conductor. They soon lost sight of the village. Frank retired to his pillow in the stable-chamber: and Greenwood returned home. I have given to my tale the language of romance," continued Howard, smiling, "we are now come to the climax. After morning-service, this lad in passing me, said, 'Go to Mr. Greenwood's,' and he instantly joined some people at the church-gate. I looked at him, and I perceived there was more in his manner, than could be understood by a common observer; with a palpitating heart I took the road to my friend's house. I had not proceeded far, when Frank, breathless with speed, overtook me. 'She is safe, Sir!' said he, 'blessed be God, she is safe. Mr. Greenwood will tell you all about it. They cannot murder her now.' He darted from me. 'I must not be seen with you,' cried he, measuring back his hasty steps. Judge of my feelings! I cannot describe them! Greenwood suffered my tears to flow; and at length begun with his darling topic of the excellency of human nature when uncorrupted by the world's contagion. This Frank Armstrong, as he properly styled himself under his borrowed name," continued my friend, "has been the deliverer of Miss Flint, from the simple suggestions of gratitude and pity. He brought me a letter from his mother who lives at Newcastle, in which she recommends him, to leave no means unemployed to rescue your mistress from her hard captivity, to consult me on every step, and to inform me of the obligations she was under to Mary's mother. These were fully stated, and Frank proceeded to his own confession. He preferred being a sailor to working with his brother-in-law, a wealthy farmer, who lived five miles from Newcastle; he left his good friends secretly, and by chance stopped at the Ram for refreshment. There he met a groom just discharged from the hall, and who disgusted by Miss Flint, entertained Frank with the history of the family, and gave vent to his own resentments. Miss Mary was the heroine of this history. She was an 'angel,' but with the rest, made miserable by the 'she-devil' who ruled in the house; and he had left the hall in a fine 'kick up;' for they had found out that Miss Mary had been writing a love-letter to the curate her sister's sweetheart. Curiosity appears to have been the first stimulus to Frank's project; he won on the landlord to recommend him to the vacated post, and Tarefield being in no great repute for kitchen comforts, he was engaged on trial, and entered into the family as groom, under the name of Frank Armstrong. In a few days Frank was in the family secrets, the kitchen account was in the captive's favour. Anne, the chamber-maid, to use Frank's words, made his blood boil in his veins. He wrote to his mother, promising he would never go to sea, if she would come and take away Miss Mary. The good woman's letter to me, was an undeniable proof of her principles and prudence. I observed, that the only difficulty was to remove Mary from the house. 'Leave that to me, Sir,' said he, exultingly, 'leave that to me, I will die rather than she should! only, as Miss does not know me, I must have a letter from you; she may think that I am an enemy.' Struck by this acuteness, I gave him a short note and he disappeared. The next evening he called upon me. 'All will be ready for Saturday night,' said he. 'My brother will be here. I have contrived it.'—I stared with surprise. 'Why you know, Sir,' said he, 'I could not do without a ladder, seeing Miss Mary is locked into a chamber two stories high; and as for unbolting and unbarring, were she even below stairs that would be impossible, without making more noise than we want. So, Sir, I have provided ladders in plenty, and what is better, as high as the house. He laughed immoderately. It was a good thought, cried he, though I say it; for I have made them a job which will put money into their pockets for the use of the ladder. An explanation followed. I found that Frank could reason on causes and effects. A six weeks drought, said he, with a new moon, promised rain, and I was determined that there should be no want of water at the hall when it did come, so I have been in the false roof and have made such breaches in the tiling, that the garrets are afloat every shower that falls, and we have had plenty! just as though God Almighty had sent them for the purpose of serving the poor young lady.'—But why did you chuse Saturday night? asked I, on any other I could have gone with her. I will answer that in a moment, replied he. First your honour must know, that Sunday is a Sabbath of rest with our folks at the hall; I had them safe in their beds till eight or nine o'clock, and there was time gained. Secondly, Mr. Webster, my brother, could not so well come on any other day, because of his horses: and in the last place, said he, rubbing his hands with vivacity, I shall never as long as I live forget Sunday, whether I am at church or at home. The better the day, the better the deed, say I. God will bless it again, if I can save this poor soul! He then gave me with emotion the account of her treatment which he had learned from Anne the chamber-maid, who was as he said Miss Mary's 'true friend.'
"Yesterday evening Mr. Webster made his appearance, we concerted our measures, and all has succeeded. The rescued prisoner is now on the road to a shelter, and she is safe from pursuit.
"I am," continued Mr. Greenwood with dignity, "perfectly satisfied with my own motives for an interference in this business. It is the duty of every man to assist the oppressed. Mr. Flint by his imbecility and injustice has forfeited the rights of a parent; he has given up his authority into the hands of an enraged and disappointed woman, whom he well knew to be ungovernable in her passions, and under whose power he himself groans. I have acted for this father, Mr. Howard; he may one day thank me, as the deliverer of his child. It requires but a superficial knowledge of human nature, and little experience in life, to know the fatal effects of counteracted and opposed passion, in a youthful mind, when cruelty is the means employed to accomplish the purpose. I am not disposed to believe that many girls die of love; but I have seen many examples of an evil more to be dreaded than death, by an improper and harsh opposition to this passion, as well as others; and when I saw your Mary I was convinced that I was acting in favour of humanity and justice. I have, however," continued he, "engaged her promise of obedience to my directions; and I now claim your word of honour, to be governed by me. I will endeavour to see Mr. Flint; have patience; write to your beloved Mary. I will take care she has your letters; and you will soon hear from her. But you must not quit Tarefield without my permission." I answered him with my tears; he was satisfied.
A month passed. Greenwood found Mr. Flint inaccessible. He desired to see Miss Flint; and at length gained his point. With well affected concern she mentioned her father's illness as the reason of his refusing his friendly visits, adding, that no consolation could at that moment reach a mind sunk to despair, by the conduct of an ungrateful and too tenderly beloved child. She entered into the detail of my infamous duplicity, and Mary's as infamous advances to my preference. I wave however, continued she, my own injuries, bitterly as I still feel them; but the letters now in my father's hands I can never forget. The cruel mockery, the insolence of them, as they relate to him, is unpardonable! Would you believe it possible, added she, that amongst these proofs of depravity in a girl so young, my father has one, which has convinced him, that she was in Percival's secrets; and that she favoured him in his profligate inclination for Mrs. Flint, telling him, that in time she might listen to him more kindly. Could you give credit to this report Mr. Greenwood asked she, on a less certain evidence than mine? Even yours, replied Mr. Greenwood, is insufficient; for I will maintain every syllable you have uttered to be false, till I have seen those letters, and have confronted them with the declaration of the supposed writers. When I see Mr. Flint less a prisoner than he is, when he is permitted to listen to truth and to justice, you may have, Madam, better claims to my confidence than you have at present. If your visit was intended as an insult, replied she, rising with fury, its purpose is accomplished; and your character, which you have forgotten, shall be your protection, till you leave this spot. It shall do more, said Mr. Greenwood calmly, for it is proper I should warn you to pause in the road you are in. I am well informed, Miss Flint, and I caution you, as the minister of a master who "hateth the oppressor, and abhorreth the workers in iniquity," to consider what you have done to offend him; and what you still meditate to do, in order to ruin that innocent which is God's peculiar care.
He instantly quitted the room, leaving her confounded or choaked with rage. Mr. Greenwood soon after gave me my leave of absence. I flew to my every earthly good. Mrs. Croft had conducted her to Berwick, and on my joining her, we were united in the presence of as many witnesses as curiosity and the admiration of Mary's beauty collected. We passed a week with Mr. Webster, and finally settled here, with a welcome of a long hoped for blessing. Frank was early in his visit of congratulation, and our gratitude overcame him. He gazed on Mary. "Now I see," cried he, "the same face I so well remembered; but Lord help me! when you came, like a reed, down the ladder, and I saw your deadly paleness, I could hardly help thinking that ghosts had bones, and that I had one in my arms, for you looked for all the world like one. Who could have believed, Sir," added he, "turning to me with exultation, that a month or six weeks with my mother, could have made roses so cruelly frost-bitten, blown again! Oh! I would give the world if Miss Flint could see you both at this moment! she would be paid interest for all her wicked labours! but she will have it, yes, yes, Sir, the reckoning will stand; there are no sponges for her accounts! you know that, Mr. Howard, no white-washing in the creed you teach!"
"I am prolix, Percival," continued my brother, "but you share in the enthusiasm, which has for its object, a character like this." He at length, sedately gave us the particulars of the discovery of Mary's escape, which, you will easily imagine, produced the utmost confusion: I was naturally the first person suspected as having aided her; but I had, fortunately, passed the Saturday at Bishop's-Auckland, and had slept there. This alibi proved, and my remaining quiet at Wilson's perplexed them, and lost in conjectures, they gave up the fruitless question. Frank was requested to convey our letters to Mr. Flint. My master keeps his room, said he, sorrowfully; and Madam Flint no more dares to act in the matter, than to swallow fire, or poison, poor soul! But do not cry, my dear lady, all will turn out well in time. Let me consider, I will contrive! Anne goes into the room, and there is nothing she can refuse me, she is as honest as the day is light, and loves you, Madam. Never fear, you have got Mr. Howard at your side, and it is a long lane indeed that has no end. I know but of one that never ends, let them take that who like it, say I; but yours is a sure road, Madam, and never mind, altho' it is not, at present, all on the nail. "Oh Percival," exclaimed poor Howard, lifting up his expressive eyes to Heaven, "what is man when true to his endowments! He is indeed but little lower than the angels, and worthy of the all-perfect hand which made him! But I shall meet this fellow-mortal, and rejoice with him in his glorious recompence! Our letters were committed to his faithful hands. Two or three days after, he came to make his farewell visit, and to request Mary to write to his mother, that she was satisfied with his conduct. Our letters to the hall were returned, the seals unbroken. Anne was discharged at a moment. Mr. Flamall, said Frank, paid me my wages, and told me I did not suit my place nor the family. I could have told you that, said I, long ago; but you had nothing to do with me, nor I with you, Mr. Flamall. I spoke as I felt, Sir, added he, nodding to me. He warned me if I valued a whole skin, not to be insolent; but I told him that neither my skin nor my honesty would be in danger from him. He said, I was a low scoundrel. I never heard, said I, keeping my ground, of a scoundrel who was not low, though he tacked squire or counsellor to his name. He advanced to strike me, but he thought better of it, I believe, for he turned on his heel. I wish to the Lord he had, he would have met with his match at a hard blow, though he will never find one in his roguery. Anne says there are fine doings going on between him and Miss Flint. So much the better, let them have their swing, till their own noose catches them! 'tis the old one's trick, you know that, Sir, continued he, and have often told us that his snares were of our own making, and that we had arms in our hands, that would bind his, if we were disposed to use them. But I must go, added he, to fetch my things, and I will call again for your letter, Madam, and my blessing. He bowed, and hastily left us, penetrated with admiration and gratitude."