EDWARD IN DESPAIR.
By the Friday of the fourth week, he had altogether lost hope. He had taken nothing in the shape of money that day. His exhibition was entirely deserted. He sank into the lowest state of despondency. About three o’clock he received a letter from his master at Banff, telling him that if he did not return immediately to his work, he would be under the necessity of giving his employment to another. “Return immediately?” That was impossible. What was he to do with his collection? How was he to defray his debt?
It is scarcely to be wondered at, if, under these deplorable circumstances, despair—despair of the worst description—should have got the better, at least for a time, of his over-taxed and over-sensitive brain. He was in a strange place,—a place which had once known him, but knew him no more. His wife and his five children were altogether dependent upon him, though they were at present living with his aged and infirm parents. He was deep in debt, for which, if not liquidated, his collection would be seized,—a collection, rather than part with which, he would have sacrificed his life. At the same time, the loss of work, starvation, and ruin, stared him in the face. Is it surprising that, thus situated, despair should for a time have got the mastery over his better and sounder judgment?
The afternoon was far advanced. His dinner, which had been brought to him an hour before, still lay untasted. He was pacing up and down the apartment, pondering over his miserable position, when his father entered. Edward was looking so agitated, that the old man inquired “what ailed him?” He said he was going out, and went towards the door, fearing lest his wife or any of his children might appear. His father stepped between him and the door, remonstrating with him, and saying that he was not fit to go out in such a state. But a woman entering, attracted his father’s attention, and Edward was thus allowed to slip away unobserved.
RUNS TO THE SEA-SHORE.
Edward rushed down Union Street, on his way to the sands. At first he thought of going to the Dee at the Craiglug; but he bethought him that it would be better to go to the sea-shore, where it might be thought his death was accidental. From the time of his leaving the shop in Union Street until about four hours after, when he recovered his senses, his memory remained almost a complete blank. He had a vague idea of crossing the links, and seeing some soldiers at the foot of the Broadhill. But beyond that, he remembered next to nothing. Unlike a dream, of which one remembers some confused ideas, this blank in his mental life was never filled up, and the purpose for which he wandered along the sands left little further impression upon his memory. He remembered, however, the following circumstances:
THE FLOCK OF SANDERLINGS.
He had thrown off his hat, coat, and waistcoat, before rushing into the sea; when a flock of sanderlings lit upon the sands near him. They attracted his attention. They were running to and fro, some piping their low shrill whistle, whilst others were probing the wet sand with their bills as the waves receded. But amongst them was another bird, larger and darker, and apparently of different habits to the others. Desirous of knowing something of the nature of this bird, he approached the sanderlings. They rose and flew away. He followed them. They lit again, and again he observed the birds as before. Away they went, and he after them. At length he was stopped at Don mouth. When he recovered his consciousness, he was watching the flock of birds flying away to the farther side of the river. He had forgotten all his miseries in his intense love of nature. His ruling passion saved him.
THE PROVIDENTIAL BIRD.
How long the chase lasted he never could tell. It must have occupied him more than an hour. He found himself divested of his hat, coat, and vest; and he went back to look for them. He had no further desire to carry out the purpose for which he had descended to the sea. His only thought was about the strange bird among the sanderlings: “What could it be?” Perhaps the bird had been his Providence. He tried to think so.