'He does, bowed down by age and now by sorrow, Walter. When you and I were younger—years ago—when my sister, who is now an angel in heaven, I hope, married you, I never thought the day would come when my lips should be the ones to tell you of the desolation of your child.'
Walter recoiled, and rising from his seat grasped the back of the chair he had been seated on with such a nervous gripe that the strong oak rail broke in two with the pressure, and his heaving chest and quivering lip told the fierce emotions that were struggling for utterance.—The landlady understood his look.
'Do not fear, Walter—your child is as pure as an angel. It is the desolation of her heart I speak of—not the pollution. It is the blight that has fallen upon her young love—upon a woman's first and holiest impressions—a virtuous love for a deserving object. Are you calm enough to hear the tale?'
'I am—proceed.'
'My tale will not be a long one, but sad—sad for more than one victim has and will fall yet to the fell passions of him, who rules this neighborhood with a rod of iron. You remember Geoffry Hunter, of the Toll gate farm?'
'Well; he and I were schoolmates.'
'He died some few years after you went on that voyage from which no one ever expected to see you return—I for one. Though remembering your daring courage and hardihood, I did not credit the tale that was brought here that you had perished in the woods attempting to escape. I felt confident you would one day return—as you did ten years ago, and brought this boy with you. Geoffry Hunter left two children. You knew them—Horace and Ellen. Poor Ellen! victim of a titled villain!' and the good woman paused, and tears filled her eyes. It was some moments ere she could proceed. 'Horace grew up a fine young-man. As a boy he was a playmate of our proud master; and when Ellen returned from Canterbury, where she had been educated by an aunt, she was the pride of the village, the joy of her widowed mother's heart, and the apple of her brother's eye. It was a beautiful thing to see, Walter, the strong love of those two—the exultant pride of the brother in his sister's loveliness—in her accomplishments, for she knew many things our country folks were unacquainted with. The deep affection of the sister—oh, it was a happy and a handsome picture, that mother, sister and brother. She took more pleasure in the society of your daughter than in any other of the village girls, and they were much together. Ellen taught her what she had learned, and thus it came about that her brother first noticed and finally loved her. And she loved him in return. A handsomer or more fitting pair never trod the sod together. You would have approved the match. Your father gave his consent—he had long mourned you as dead—and they were to have been married when she became 20 years of age. It yet wanted two years of this time when our lord returned from abroad. He soon visited the house of his old playfellow, and was struck with the beauty of Ellen Hunter—but he too well knew the character of Horace Hunter to openly show it. The first step he took was to dismiss your father from the stewardship, under pretence of his being too old, and settling a pension on him. He did not wish the good old man near him—it was a living reproach on his bad deeds.'
'On the infamous practices of his race,' said the seaman sternly; 'bad father and bad son—but proceed.'
'He installed this man Lambert in your father's place—a cold, unfeeling man—a money-worshiper, and suspected of being only too willing an instrument in furthering his master's infamous designs. Lambert sedulously cultivated an intimacy with the Hunters—condoled with the mother, ingratiated himself with the young man, and affected unbounded friendship. Ellen, however, with the true instinct of a pure and innocent girl, shrank from his companionship; innocence will ever shrink with innate consciousness from baseness. He persuaded Hunter to rent a farm in addition to his own, and lent him money to speculate largely in breeding fancy sheep. The speculation failed—the agent pressed for payment. His master came forward and paid the amount. Thus he appeared as a benefactor, and Ellen's gratitude soon ripened into love; but her brother was in the way. He went to Erith to make some purchases for his mother and sister, and was kidnapped by a press-gang. Lambert had been there a few days before.'
'Ah, I understand,' said the seaman—'too plain. Fire them—what right have they to seize a free man as if he were a negro slave?'