Under these circumstances, it became high time for the mistress of the house to take notice of these things; and, in as gentle a manner as the circumstances of the case would permit, she spoke to Margaret alone on the subject. She regretted to hear from all quarters the alteration which had taken place in her manner. She spoke to her most feelingly upon the result of such a change, and with great kindness contrasted the pleasure of the past with the sorrow which her late conduct occasioned.
“I cannot,” she added, “permit sailors of every kind to be incessantly coming to the house at all hours with pretended news of Laud, and so deceiving you by playing upon your disposition, and then robbing you and the house. Reports of a very unpleasant nature have reached my ears injurious to your character and that of my establishment. I cannot submit to these things; and, though I most sincerely regard you, Margaret, yet I must make you sensible of the danger you incur by listening to the artful tales of these men. I strongly recommend you to have nothing to do with them. Your own character is of much more consequence to you than their nonsensical stories. If you wish it, I will write for you to Portsmouth to make inquiries about Laud; and, rather than you should be in doubt and affliction, and in any uncertainty about him, I am sure that your master will send a trustworthy person to search him out and ascertain the cause of his detention.
“Let me see you henceforth what you used to be—cheerful and contented, thankful and happy, and not over-anxious about matters which in the end will all probably come right. You have my entire forgiveness of the past, even though you do not ask it; but let me not be imposed upon for the future. Go, Margaret, go; and let me hear no more of these complaints.”
Margaret heard all that her mistress said in perfect silence. She neither defended herself, nor yet thanked her mistress, as she used to do. She seemed sullen and indifferent. She left the presence of that kind lady and most sincere friend with scarce a curtsy, and with such a pale, downcast countenance, as deeply distressed her benefactress. Then was it the painful reflection occurred, that her servant’s religious principles had been neglected; that her duty as a servant had been done from no higher motive than that of pleasing man; and that when she had failed to do so, and received a rebuke, her spirit would not bear it. These reflections pressed themselves upon the kind lady’s mind, and she resolved to do her best to correct for the future that which appeared so deficient.
Margaret returned to the kitchen unaltered, saving in feature; she was silent, pale, and restless. She did her work mechanically, but something appeared to be working upon her in a very strange way. She could not sit still a moment. Sometimes she put down her work, and sat looking at the fire, as if she was counting the coals upon it. At one time she would rise and appear to go in search of something, without knowing what she went for. At another time she would bite her lips and mutter something, as if she were resolute and determined upon some point which she did not reveal. Her fellow-servants did not lay anything to her, and took as little notice as her strange manner would permit. They all considered that something very unpleasant had occurred between herself and her mistress. Some surmised that warning had been given; others that she would leave of her own accord; but all felt sorry that one who had been so highly esteemed should now be so perverse.
One evening, in the midst of these domestic arrangements of the kitchen, when all the servants were assembled, a knock was heard at the back-kitchen door; the girl who opened it immediately called out, "Another sailor wants to see you, Margaret!”
Without rising from her seat, as she was accustomed to do with alacrity upon such occasions, Margaret petulantly and passionately replied, loud enough for the sailor to hear her through the door of the kitchen, which now stood open, “Tell the fellow to go about his business! I have nothing to do with, or to say to, any more sailors. Tell him to be off!”
The sailor stepped one step forward, and pitched a canvas bag in at the kitchen-door, which fell with a loud chink upon the bricks. He had heard the words of Margaret, and was off in a moment.
The reader will doubtless surmise that this was none other than Will Laud. He it was who, at this unfortunate moment, returned, with all his prize-money, on purpose to give it to Margaret, for whom he had kept it, intending to purchase a shop at Brandiston, or one of the neighbouring villages, where she might like to live. The bag had a label, directed
| "To Margaret Catchpole, |
| John Cobbold’s, Esq., |
| Cliff, Ipswich." |