Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, November 03, 1859, Image 1

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Thursday Morning, November 3, 1859.
[From Blaekwood's Magazine.]
It had been Mrs. Simpson's wish to have
accompanied her husband on this pleasant
voyage of discovery but that was a step which
he himself by no means approved of ; and as
the Messrs. Grindlcs gave it also as their opin
ion that such a visit would be rather prema
ture —iu fact, that it would hardly look well
—that lady, who was a staunch maiutaiuer
of decorum in all its branches, gave way at
once. Aud if her proposal, in nuy degree,
savored of undue haste to step into the dead
cousiu's shoes, she hastened amply to atone
for it, by ordering the deepest and most ex
pensive mourniug for the whole Portland Ter
raee establishment. It would no doubt have
gratified the feelings of the late Mr. John iu
the highest degree, and have almost reconcil
ed him to his fortunate representatives, if he
could have overlooked his sorrowing relative
giving directions to her milliner to have " ev
ery thing of the be>t, and just as if it was for
a brother," and have felt the thickness of the
silks, and measured the depth of the crape.
So leaving Mrs. Simpson thus dutifully en
gaged. her husband went down into Surrey
with the junior Mr. Grindle in his dog-cart.—
You might have called Mr. Grindle a bad law
yer, and he would have only laughed at you,
or even have taken it as a compliment ; but
to have questioned bis driving would have been
to make an enemy of hiiu for life. The uiare
was skittish, and the worthy citizeu felt or
fancied himself in peril of an overthrow more
than once, aud inwardly resolved not to include
a vehicle of that description in his list or ne
cessaries for a country gentleman's establish
ment ; but having the prudence to coufine his
fears to himself, and risking no remark upou
the subject beyond the unobjectionable obser
vation that the mare was " very fresh," they
arrived at Bartou End quite safely, and on ex
cellent terms with each other.
"We must stay here two or three days,"
said the lawyer. " I haven't been able to get
down here for some time, and there are a
good many things to be looked into : and of
course I should like, while we are here, to show
you over the estate : besides, I've asked a
friend to meet uie here for a day's shooting ;
generally get a couple of good days here iu
the course of a year ; your eorfsiu, Mr. John,
you see. always left me that privilege—can't
say how it's to be in the futiire, you know, of
course," continued Mr Grindle, with what he
meant for a sort of deferential smile, but ac
companied with a gentle nudge which might
struck any oue but Mr. Simpsou as rather fa
miliar. But Mr. Grindle knew his man, and
had an eye to securing the agency us well as
the shooting.
"Oh ! lam sure, I hope—l beg by all
means— if I'm ever iu that position I mean,
and if you were good enough to do my little
business for me—"
" Time euongh, my dear sir, to talk al>out
those thiugs ; at preseut, you understand I
act tor Mr. Jc in S'.mpsi H." Mr. Grindle had
perfectly satisfied himself onthepoiut on which
he had been very properly anxious ; aud r.ow
be put the question by so quietly and decided
ly, that poor Mr. Simpson felt quite rebuked,
as if he himself had very indecorously brought
it forward.
" You don't shoot, yourself, perhaps?" re
sumed the lawyer, after a decent interval, which
he kiudly allowed his eouquiou tor repent
ance aud recovery.
Mr. Simpson might have replied, " Do I
look as if I did?" but he contented himself
with a sunle and a shake of the head.
" Well, I dare say you can amuse yourself if
I am so uncivil as to leave you for a day ;
there's the mare aud cart, very much at your
service," 7
Mr Simpson bowed his acknowledgments,
bat without the slightest idea of interfering
with the mare's retirement He had been
wishing there was an omnibus handy for his
journey home ; and was very glad to descend
from his seat and follow Mr. Griiidle, who
seemed quite at heme, into a comfortable lock
ing room, with a good fire, which had evident
ly beeu a library.
" Dinner will be ready in half an hoar, gen
tlemen," said the old muu who had ushered
them in.
" ADd we shall be quite ready for it," said
the lawyer ; Mr. Simpson uot being prepared
with a reply.
Matters were not nearly so comfortable in
Portland Terrace. It so happened that the
very evening of Mr. Simpou's departure, Geo.
Harrison had run down, iu more than his usu
ally joyous spirits, with a little good news of
bis own for Mary. The long-hoped for aug
mentation of his salary had come at last. The
uncle who had taken him into his counting
bouse—and who was his guardian, for George
had lost his father—was a strict man, and
somewhat eccentric in hi?ays, but very just
He bad a large family of his own, aud though
the business was extensive and lucrative, it
had always beeu well unde*stood that George
most entertain DO expectations of future part
nership, as that would be the sous' inheritance.
Two of them wereclerks in tbe counting hoooe.
and the rather kept as strictly to tbeir desk-,
or rather more strictly, than any oue else in
the establishment. George Harrison might
consider himself fortunate in occupying the
position that he did, which was independent
and respectable ; and perhaps be was eveu
still more fortunate in having to work his own
way under eves which were oot easily cheated
or evaded, and where no mercy was shown to
any wilful neglect. He did his best ; and
thoagh his node had never done more than
express himself as quite satisfied, he found that
when w fair opportunity offered of advancing
his, he was not forgotten. His cousins would
no doubt iu time become members of the firm,
but they were young ; and George found bis.
self now promoted to a vacancy which the
father know he was at preseut much Fetter
qualified to fill. It ofTered but a very modest
income to marry upou, certainly ; but Mary
had no graud ideas : and George thought eveu
the Times minimum income for young couples
would bear reduction. At any rate, he ran
down to Portlaud Terrace (eager as he was,
uot a sixpence would he waste iu cab-hire),aud
rushed in very wet and very happy to rejoice
and consult with Mary. Mrs. Simpson was
i in her own room, very busy with the dressmak
; cr ; Augusta, who was a good-natured girl
euough.und very fond of her sister, and will
ing also no doubt to do as she be done
by, found she had something to look after in
the kitchen ; though her conscience smote her
afterwards for weakly allowing her feelings to
iuterfere with her duty, having fully adopted
her mother's views at a conference held the
evening before, that it would be a thousand
i pities now, when Maty might do so well, and
form an undeniable connection, "to your ad- \
vantage, you know my dear, as well,*' said the
thoughtful mother, "for her to go and throw
herself upon that young Harrison." The coast
being clear, however, Mary and her lover had
I a good three-quarters of an hour to themselves
before Mrs. Simpson knew that he was in the
house ; and how much may be said and done j
, in three-quarters of nil hour judicionslj em
ployed. On the stage, a whole petite cornedie,
comprehending , at least two pairs of lovers
and their fortunes, is performed within the
time ; in real life, all that is worth remember
ing iu the loug, dull drama of existence, for
either man or woman, is often played out in
less ; the rest of it— scenes, characters, and
dialogue —might be all cut out without de
stroying the interest, if uot with advantage to
the lookers ou. But for the two young hearts
now beating uear each other (very near in
deed it wa> in Mrs. Simpson's parlor, though
without her sanction, the grand act of life
had been played already, long siucc ; it was
only the winding up of the piece which
they had to settle, and that was soon done.— ;
If Mary didn't think it too little to live upon,
why, George didn't. If George thought they ;
eould manage, then Mary was sure they could.
In a meeting so unanimous, the resolutions do
not require much discussion. The arguments
are admitted ou both sides ; or rather, both
sides are one. If any unpleasant suggestion
—one of the prudence party — intrudes itself,
the course is obvious—"turn him out." What ;
means freedom of discussiou on such subjects
—indeed ou anv subject—except freedom to
discuss it as much and as little as yon like ?
Then she told him—and was glad she had uot
told him before —of the possibility that she
might have " a little something" too. Papa j
would not let her come to him quite penqiless
now ; aud some day or other— perhaps when
they most wanted it, " for their children," iu
her pure iunocence she said—he might—she ,
was sure he would—do all that he fairly could
for her. And George was almost angry with
her having any thing to promise him be
sides herself.
Three-quarters of an hour was it ? why it
did not sceui five minutes. ( Augusta thought
the clock had stopped, for the kitchen fire was
low, and Betsy was snappish, and uot so much
inclined for gossip as usual ; her young man
was waiting at the area steps, which aeeoont
ed for a low whistle every five minutes, start
ling Augusta. Betsy said tiie cat had a cold.) ]
Three-quarte's of an hour it was though, neith
er more nor less, aud George must go ; couldn't
even stay supper as usual: be would have more
work to do now, and there was something to.
be attended to that very night; he "had
rather go," ami Mary did not ask him t<> stay
So the mischief was done, aud George llarri
i son half-way botue to his humble Lodgings, he |
fore Mrs. Simpson descended to supper. She
was in a benignant mood, for the new gowns
fitted admirably, aud ining what the dress
maker called " rather jolly"—which only im
plies that which iu jWiter language is catted
well-developed proportions—she was conscious
that she looked well iti black. Even the a::
: uouncement which Mary very innocently made \
at supper time, that George had been there,
neither spoilt her teuqier nor her eppetste :
be was gone again, that was a comfort : but
she would lose no time in having a talk with |
Mary. So when she had finished her moder- j
ate glass of rum-and-w ater, she was not sorry
"o see her younger daughter who had not
spent a satisfactory evening on the whole, hav
rig -at for what seemed 'o her an unconscious
able t me in the dark with the cross Betsy ami
an uneasy eo: science take up her eandle-stn
with a yawn and proceed to bed. Mary, too.
had something to say. It was with some lit
tie misgiving—more certainly than she should
have felt a fortnight back—that she told her
mother of George's advancement, and how he
had now taken courage actually to speak about
their marriage She did not feel quite sure,
when she recalled certain hints and side-speech
m Mrs. Simpson was great hi that line ad
dressed during the last few days rather to Au
gu-ta than herself, about hasty engagements,
and imprudent marriages ar.d the duty of pay
ing due regard to the station in which people
were placed, whether what she had to teli
would be received quite as she could wish.
While George wa- with her, she had seen
no difficulties in the wav ; but no*alone with
her mother, all her joy and confidence were
gone. But if she spoke hesitatingly, and an
ticipating a somewhat colder reception for her
confession than the good hum red banter which
she had grown accustomed to ou this same sub
ject, Litie indeed was she prepared for the
storm of anger which burst upon her. >ever
bad Mrs S.mpsoo been seen so angry. She
was provoked with herself for having so de
layed her lecture to !he elder daughter so
long ; angry with her whole bocsehold for
having been accomplices in securing that im
portant three quarters of an hour for George
and Mary's conspiracy against her ; angry
with the dressmaker for having come at thai
particolar crisis—an hour behind her appoint
ment —she must have done it on purpose ; and
acgrv beyond measure wuh Harrison
I for having out z oeraiii her cherished
by a little straightforward dealing See -ai
! trusted more to the hope of disgusting hitn in
■ time by a careful system of cold receptions,
, and change of manner, than to any positive
■ effect which she expected to produce upon her
i daughter by any hints of her improved value
; j iu the matrimonial market, or direct exhorta
tions to make the most of her new position.
George, she knew, had an honest and indepen
dent spirit; once let him feel that he was sus
pected of pressing his suit now because there
was money in the ease, and however unreason
able the accusation, his pride might take of
fence. Then Marv might go into the country,
out of his way ; and so in time, this unlucky
love might go the way of many others, become
one more of those little silent sacrifices laid up
on the altars of wealth and pride—nlites in \
the estimation of a prudeut public, but some- i
times to the offerers more costly than "all f
their living"—and be gradually reduced with ;
hymns and libations from Mrs. Simpson as j
high priestess, to ashes.
So at first, even now, instead of attacking
Mary, she began by opening fire upon George.
It was a mistake, Mrs. Simpson, and as a wo
man you ought to have known it In a calm
er mood, you would never have made a first
move so utterly destructive of your game.—
Mary might have taken a good amount of scold
| ing for herself quietly ; however cruel and un
warrantable she might have felt her mother's
conduct to be, a few gentle expostulations and i
a bitter flood of tears would have been, her on
ly reply that evening. Mary and her mother
might have fewer interests and fee lings in com
mon than was good for either ; but tliere had
never yet been injustice on one side, or any
lack of dutiful affection on the other. But
when Mrs, Simpson pau>ed for breath after an
alternation of violent abuse and attempted sar
casm against George Harrison as "a low,mer
cenary creature," having declared her own firm
belief that this opportune increase of his salary
was nothing but a " move" got up between
Irtmseif and his uncle in order to nail the Simp
sons to the point at once, she saw that Mary,
; though she trembled very much, ha i'risen from
her seat, and was looking at her with a very
; cairn aud composed couuteuance, ou which
there was no symptom of a tear.
" Mother !" said the girl, " you don't mean
that of George?"
Mrs. Simpson uid not mean it in her heart;
but she had meant to say it, and had said it ;
i and she said it again, more violently than ev-
I tr, because she felt its untruth.
"Mother I" and she laid her hand quietly
on her arm, " don't say any more. If you nev- j
er meaut me to marry him, you should have
j spoken before. It's too late now, for either of
us. Wc can't go back. OU that this rniser
i able money had never come between us !"
For Mary saw it all now.
" You've been took in, Mary ; took in by a
swindler, as I may say. If I were you, I'd
. have more spirit; that I would."
Spirit! it was not spirit which popr Mary
j wanted ju-t then. She wanted patience, which
is harder to find. If the mother had under
stood her daughter before, she had unlocked
some startling secrets now. Iu the usually
calm, sweet face, now flashing crimson, then
changing to dead white, there was neither
maiden shame nor girli-h fear of her mother's
anger, but burning indignation, and fixed de
fiance. Mrs. Simpson was not a wise woman,
even in worldly sense ; she understood the
symptoms, she was frightened, but she was
not to be mastered by her own daughter, in
her own house. She was undeniably right ;
and hke many other persons, when undeniably
right, she was wrong.
" St| what you will of mo, mother, and I'll
bear it if I cau ; but don't dare to slander
hi:n .'"
" Dare ! hey-day ! I'll dare hi:n to come in
side ray doors again, that's what I will."
" There shall be uo need, motlu-r ; I can
go to him "
Both had said a good deal more now than
thev had meant to say. Mary's uas one of
those quiet answers, which rather increase
, wrath thau turn it away Her mother's iu
! dignatiou stifled her words. She could only
gasp out something like, " Very well, ma'am I
—verv well I" wheu Mary rushed up stairs to '
her room, and sat down in an agony of woud
j ed feeling, to which eveu a flo.d of tears bro't
no relief. It was ail so sudden, so little de
served ! and ail because of a little money !-
But though ?he never slept that night, she
lay v ry -till and quiet, and never disturbed
i her lister. She had no one there who under- I
stood her, none to whom to oj>eu her grief.—
But her resolution was taken ; and long be-
I fore the fauiiiy breakfast-hour she had dressed
hastily, pac-ed up quietly a few absolute ne
cessarit-s out of hr own wardro'ue, and taking
them in her own band, leaving Betsy in wide
astonishment s- -he glided by her iu the pas
sage, she k-d reached the nearest cab-stand,
and asked to be driven so her aunt's at Brix
| tOG.
A nr.: Martha, she thought, would give her
j sympathy at all eveuts, and a little counsel for j
the actual present For the future,she meant j
to a.-k no one's counsel but George's. If he
would take her to him, there she was : never
. so wretched and mi-erah!e as now, to be sure.
| but never so much needing the love and care
wc.ich he had so often prom>ed. Sue was uot
ashamed of" ber love for him now ; he had ;
been wronged, insulted. She did not consider i
it was only the senseless violence of an angry
woman ; she would scarcely hive minded rush
i ing in to him i;> h.s uncle's presence, aud cry- j
ing. " George, here I am : pity me and love
me : no one will, because I .ove yoa."
She hardly knew how she got into her aunt's
i pretty sitting-room. She did not understand j
the servant, till she had told her twice that
her aaai bad gone away from home.
•• Yes, Mis--, go ce to nurse old Mr*. Manson
for two or three days, while her niece is away. .
Old Mrs. M.insoa"s very bad, I do suppose, i
M ss." Well, sue must sst down at least, acd
calm herself. She w„a!d write to George at
once. Bat what to say? when could sorrow, :
shame, and outraged feeling ever shape them-.
-e.v-> into toe letters of any discovered alpha- j
~et t Sae wrote. tried to read what sht j
had written, aud tore :: i-to fragments. She
bent her aching head upon her hands, and
waited for the troubled thoughts to still them
selves. But they would not. Then she rose,
and went to the wiudow that looked out into
the road. By what a mercifnl ordering it is,
that the most trifliug outward object catches
the eye at sucli moments, and delivers us for a
few instants from ourselves ! A coach was
passing towards the great city. It was gen
tle asceut, and at the moment a boy with a
very small bundle let himself gently down from
behind Nut so quickly though, but that the
watchful driver caught sight of hiin when be
reached the ground,
j "Hallo, young chap!" he shouted, "fare's
a shilling, if you please 1"
"All right, coachman, all right !" and the j
i boy-ran off as fast as his legs would carry hitn.
! " All right! I'tn blest if it is though ! think
; you're going to ride all the way irctu Croydon
here for nothing, ye yontig rascal ?"
i The driver pulled up his horses, and looked
after his flying "fare" for a few seconds, as
if he had a great mind to get down from his
box and give chase ; but as the boy was ac
tive and had a fair start, and time was proba
lily valuable, he shouted a few good-humored
threats after him, and drove on.
Mary hud looked alter him too, with such
utter astonishment that her own troubles were
forgotten. Her eyes had tears in them, to be
-ure ; but there was no mistaking the personal ,
identity cf Master Samuel. She flew to the
street door, and could just see his figure in the
distance. The coach turned the corner in the '
opposite direction, and then the boy appeared
to stop, and to be watching whether any one
was coming in pursuit. He began slowly to
retrace his steps towards the door where Man
was standing, and Mary hardly wai'ed for fiim
to be within reasonable distauce to wave her
handkerchief iu the hope of attracting his at- •
tuition. The movement seemed rather a sus
picious one to the fugitive, for he halted and
reconnoitred afresh. Mary rau towards him,
unbonneted as she was, and at last Samuel
recognized a friend. He was hurried into the
bouse, aud questioned as well as his sister's
agitation would allow her.
Samuel had run away from school.
" I aint going to black Binns' boots, nor
spend al! my money in buying paunches to feed !
his dog. nor to have nuts cracked on my head
with Yardv's diet'suary, nor have my tea
stirred with a tallow candle, nor be locked up
ou a half holiday, I cut away this morning—
me and another did."
Where was be going to now, Mary a.-ked.
" Well, Iw as coming here first,-to sec w hat
Aunt Martha'd say, aud then I'm going home
to mother. I rode all the way from Croydon
here, you see, but I hadn't got a sixpence.—
Yardy said he'd skin me if 1 didn't lend him
all I had left, so 1 jumped off by here you see
without paying ; d : dn't I manage it prime ?
What'll mother say, do you think, Mary?"
Mary could have tola him that Mrs. Simp
son was not likely at present to give him a
very warm welcome. But a sudden thought
i. k •r. She would take Samuel wit!:
her —even.he was a sort of protection, and a
fellow-culprit—and go dowu at once to her
father at Barton End. She would tell him
every thing, and follow his advice faithfully,
for he would never urge her to give up George.
Samuel was delighted with the proposal ;
Mrs Simpsou'- moods were uncertain with all
her family, and it was quite a mutter of spec- i
ulation with him during his flight, whether j
she would ki<s and pity him on his arrival, or
send him to bed in preparation for the early
coach back to the hated school in the morn
ing. And to go down to Barton End !—it I
was worth rnuning away for. even if the mas
ter flogged him he couldn't thiuk Yardy real
ly meant to skin him when he was sent back.
The old pony might be living in the park stili,
pos-ibly Of course he should like to go to !
Barton End.
It was ascertained upon inqn'ry that a coach
would pass in the afternoon, which would set
down Mary and her brother soon after dark
within a mile of the house. Samuel was iu j
terror lest the coachman should be his old ac
-1 of the morning : but even he
' -iio.ii be propitiated, Mary as.-ured him. by
an extra shilling. * The boy's company had a!
ready done her good. She listened to al! his
school troubles, and promised, that if be went
ba k. and was a good boy, the absolute power '
'of B ;.ns and Yardv should be modified. It
wa- -'range. Mary thought, that even these
boys should begin thus early to torment each !
other; she wondered whether there was any
happiness anywhere in t!.is world ! Samuel
was ravenously hungry, having ran away with
it his breakfa-t. which reminded Mary that
she hail done the same : apatite is very in
fections. aud she was indebted to his example
for not refusing entirely, as -he felt verv much 1
di-posed to do, the extempore iuncbeou which
Aunt Martha's maid was quite ashamed of,
1 bat which Master SilpW pronoanced to be
"prime." Mary wrote a feisty note to An
gu-ta. to say she was gone to her father, and
ratlcr lunger ones. Lot nearly so ii.t-.-i igible,
to George and to her-aunt, and took her seat ;
in tbe coach with a sinking heart. It was a
miserable journey this looked for visit to Bar
ton End ; she dreaded the very sight of it
What w-.aid her poor father say ? Mary had
ut-ver given him oue moment's trouble. He
had been loud of saying to her when they
w ere alone ; she was bis heart's pride and de
ght. He would think her right, she was
sure : but must she be the* wretched inslru- '
mer.t of breaking up aii his family happiness ?
Still, sue never hes.tated or repented for one
instant. Sue must be true to George. She
would never have suffered herself to think of
him ; woald have smothered her first feelings
towards him as she mgbt.and either father or
mother forbmien their intimacy ; would give
him up even now, if he was—what he had
been called that morning ; so she stepped out
in tbe dark evening oa the strange road where
the turn to Barton was, with a weak and tot- j
tering step, bat with as strong a heart as
when she hod said to ber aotoer, " I caa go
j to him."
| It was a long, lonely nnia to Bartou End,
but a straight read, the coachman had a.J.
I and she bad famous company. For Samuel
had begged to go outside, aud for the lust few
, miles had sat on the box, and heard wondrous
i I tales of horses, and taken the coachman into
, his confidence as to his ruuuing away, and in
t formed him of his prospective ownership of
Barton End, and, in short, . talked iu such
; magnificent style as must have abashed Binns
A Co. forever, could they but have heard him.
But he was very quiet now, —partly from some
misgivings as to the meeting with his father,
and partly because Mary clasped his hand so
tight, and trembled so, and walked so very
fast, and then stopped for breath, that Samuel
was rather frightened. lie little knew that
in the eyes of the world, poor Mary was by
, far the greater cnlprit of the two. He be
' gan again at this last moment, us he had done
before during the day, to enlist her on his side
against the offended powers,
j " I say, Polly dear, say a good word for me;
dou't let 'em send me baek again straight, as
they did one boy, and they kept him on bread
and water for a week, and flogged him twice
every day, and he wont and drowued himself,
aud there's his Ixmes plain in the well now,
and his ghost comes up every Saturday night
iu the bucket."
" Dou't talk such uonsense, Sam," said bis
j sister, though she scarcely heard the words.
" Well, but Yardy told me so, and he sbow
i ed me something white down iu the water, and
told me to go and draw the bucket up ou a
Saturday night, but I dursn't."
Possibly the increasing gloom of the lane
had its effect on Samuel's nerves, which were
uot of the strongest ; however, they reached
the entrance to the house without difficulty or
Mr. Grindle had returned froin a long day's
shooting, aud found Mr Simpson awaiting
him at a late dinner ; rather moped, if the
truth must be told, and longing to beat home
at tea with his family. The lawyer's sporting
friend had declined to stay and dine with them
and had driven back to town : so the two
gentlemen again sut down tete-a-tele, Mr. Grin
dle doing the honors Mr. Simpsou found his
position rather embarrassing ; he was neither
master nor guest. lie was driuking the agent's
wine, kept under private lock and key iu pre
j paration for his periodical visits, eating the
salmon brought down in ice iu his dog cart.—
He would not have ventured himself to give
an order in the house for the world. Mr.
Grindle, it is true, referred to him continually,
most distinctly and pointedly, as " poor Mr.
John's cousiu but he felt that the sour-louk
ing old servant would, at a word from that
gentleman, have kicked him out of the front
door, and, as he fancied, with pleasure It
was quite true—-so he would ; aud Mr. Grin
dle after him, and Mr. John Simpson, had he
had the chance, after them both, or any other
visitor by right or by invitation, w ho interfered
with his own personal ease and quiet ; but to
poor Mr. Joseph it seemed that the sour looks
were levelled specially at him
It might be that botli gentlemen were tired,
or that they did not find each other's conver
sation very agreeable, or that, as the lawyer
observed, there was something sleepy in the
air ; for. after a very languid attempt at con
ver.-atiou, they forgot to pass tbe liottle, ar.d
fell fast asleep in their respective easy-chairs.
They were roused by a startling peal from the
hall bell (nervous bauds always pnll hard)
j echoing loudly through the almost empty house
" Rather late for a visitor," said Mr. Grin
dle ; " hope none of mv clieuts have followed
me down here."
The ball door was opened, there was a pre
liminary negotiation audible in the passage,
' and then the sour visaged domestic u-hered iu
" Mi.-s Simpsou." Mr Grindie looked a-:on
isbed, as he rose and bowed. Mr. Simpson
jumped up in alarm. " Any thing the matter
at home. Mary ? 'said the father,ia a trembling
j voice.
She forgot Mr. Grindie ; perhaps never saw
him. She rushed forward, and fell on her
knees with one loud ob at her father's feet.
Perbajw Mr Grindle could not, strictly
speaking, have been called a geutiemau. He
was a man, at all events, which :> sometimes
just as good. He was a.-lonbhed, he was very
pardonably curious, but he wa.ked straight
, out of the room. It was a case, a- he woulu
have phrased it, quite out of his line of busi
j ness. He walked straight out, rather in a
hurry, and the pa-sage was rather dark. There
he stumbled over a boy. " Who are you V
said he, shaking him rather roaghly, byway
| giving vent to his agitated feelings—" who
the d-uce are you ?"
" Dou't," said a pleading voice—" don t :
I'm Sim."
'• Situ who ?"
" Sam Smip-on."
*' Cur.-e it," said the lawyer, " here's tne
whole family come."
I " And w hat on earth are you doing here
: boy, skulking in the pts-ag- 1 ? If you want
to see your father, why don't you go to him ?"
" Ob I 'cause I've ran away ; and she's gone
to tell him about Binns."
" Ran awav ? where from ? and why did you
run here ? and whose Binns V
Bat if there had been any hope, in his then
j state of agitation, of Samuel's giving intelli
gible answers to this sharp fire of questions,
I be was at all events spared the trial, for at
that moment the hall again, as loud
ly as before.
*' Go it," said Mr. Grindle, with a sort of
sneering defiance ; " nng louder"
Samuel had not the slightest doubt that
tbe Pnilistines were upon him—that the whole
staff of Liudlev House, professors of all bran
ches, native Parisians and Germans, drawing
writing, fencing and cali-thenic cia-Nr- most
of whom he bad never seen, bet they looked
terrible in tbe prospectus, with Binns aud
Vardy probably as volunteers, were baying oo
his track, aud that he was to be dragged back
to increased torture*.
" Let go my coat tails, sir." Sam had ta-fea
ed on aim :a hiv agony. " Wu;' the matter
with tie ooy ? doa't oowi in tea: way, go to
jour father, d'je hear ?—Sorry to keep joa
| wa.ting, I'm sure," said the lawyer, again ad
' drcaJug tbe door with a bitter politeness ; for
VOL. XX. —NO. 22.
1 either the old servant was slow, or the new
v visitor impatient, and there was another peal
s along the passages. Sam was under the ball
> table now. The old servaut came across the
- hall, looking sourer than ever.
f '* More company, Zachary," said Mr. Grin
t die ; " are yonr beds all aired !" Zuchary'a
s face might have expressed disgust, but that
was its usual expression, and he was too much
> afraid of the lawyer to reply, or, perhaps, too
, intensely indignant.
> He opened the door, however, and a tall
r young man inquired for Mr. Joseph Simpson.
I " Your name, sir, if you please," said
; Zachary. It must have been a great satisfac
' tion to him to answer by a counter-qnestiou,
for the gentleman was evidently impatient.
i i Mr. Harrison." Zachary vouchsafed no
verbal answer, but allowed him to walk in.—
George caught sight of Mr. Grindle as he was
retreatiug, and addressed his next questiou to
; | him.
" I l>eg your pardon, sir, but you no doubt
can tell me—is Mary—is Miss Simpson here
with her father ? "
" Well," said the lawyer, after taking a
rapid survey of his questioner, which appeared
satisfactory, for there was something less of
irritation in his tone, " I think I may say she
is. Has she run away ?"
" Sir I" said George, firing np.
" Oh ! no offence, I beseech you ; but really
the family movements are rather puzzling.—•>
You see this young gentleman—ch ! what's
become of him now V
Reassured by George Harrison's well known
voice, Samuel took courage to emerge from
under the table.
George looked, if possible, more puzzled
than Mr. Grindle " Well," said the latter,
iu a tone that implied he gave the thing np
altogether—" I think I'll go to bed—give me
a candle. Zachary. You'll find Mr. Simpson
iu there,"
Mary had laid all her griefs before her fath
er. Her mother's violence was not so over
whelming to him as it had been to her. He
was more really vexed, though he did not say
so, at Mary's imprudent step than at bis wife's
j foolish language ; a few hasty words more or
less would have made very little impression up
on good humored Mr. Simpson. But he was
uot in love, iiad not heard blasphemy spoken
against hi.-> idol, as poor Mary had. lie sooth
ed and comforted her as well as he could,; hough
he was sadly at a loss for words ; it would all
come right by and by. At all events Mary
and George had his consent, aud they must be
patient ; but he ended by wishing with her
that cousiu John's property had gone some
where else. "We wasn't rich Mary, but we
was very comfortable as we was."
"Oh yes, dear lather, oh yes 1" and Mary
began to sob again, though the teafs were not
so bitter ; when she started at the sound of a
voice aud a step in the hall, and grsw as pale
again as marble. Wbv was it, that when
George entered the room, she turned from him
and hid her face ou her father's shoQider, in
stead of flying into his arms for shelter as she
had longed to do a few hours ago!
He had left town the instant he received
her note—so hurried and incoherent that he
scarcely gathered tnore from it than that she
was in trouble, and that he should find her
with her father at Barton End. Had she
asked him to come to her ?—she could not re
member now : had she done wrong ? -she be
gan to fear it now. Mr. Simpson held out his
hand at once, with the old cordial greeting,
" George, my boy !*' Indeed, he was delight
ed to see hitn, and would have transferred bis
his daughter at to one who was probably
more at home, or at least had more moieni
experience, in such scenes than himself; but
Mary clung close, and never LokeJ up or
I spoke.
Again the hall bell rang : not so loud, this
time : bat Harrison had left the dining-room
doer o;ew, and Sam* once more in a state of
j alarm, rushed in to his bewildered parent, and
excla med, " Oh ! father, father 1 here's a car
riage drove up !*'
" 111 bet a shilling," s lid Mr Simpsos, *' it's
your mother. Polly ! Never mind, my girl,cheer
up, cheer up." Mary locked up, and put her
hand in George's. Nobody thought of Sam :
but he felt great comfort at the suggestion
Chains and lolts were withdrawn, amidst
audi' Se muttering- frotn Zachary. It was not
a lady's voice ; it was cot Mrs. for
S lomel na led out to see. and came back look
ing iu< re -cared than ev<-r Oid Zicfary look
ed into the room, with a hideous smile, and
j announced very dittinc'lv,
MR. J ns SnrrsoN.
A -to g. dark comolexioned. but good hu
j mo-- 1 : k .g man walked full into 'hemiddlo
of the room, and bowed comprehensively to all
the t-arrv with something of foreign grace, at
least without Enp i-h awkwardness. lie
i looked as little alarm,tig as a man of six feet
with a good tj-*al of hair ahoot htm.coald well
! do ; but it may IK* supposed that the company
j were not a little startled. Certainly f*w gen
! i'-raeii wvre so received in their own hoa*c
M try telt inclined to v e ttu, but only broke
i t'o a low, hysterical I* jgh. He re* mcd U*
j enjey their intense asto ii-hment.
"Ha ! Ha !" he burst out at last, for no
i one else spoke.—" quite a family party, I con
: elude. Come. I'll tell yon what—l'm glad to
| see you all ; I've not seen a soul of my ova
nam >or k f>r fifteen years—don't look strange
at me be-aase I'm cooie hom** ~
**J hn ! " -aid his coa-in, finding voice at
hs*—-John ! I'm heartiiy g'ad to s e you—
welcome home !"
T c other looked at h,® for * moment—
they were keener eyes than Mr Joseph Slmp
scc'-v "Jo?," said h-—there was no mistaking
the honest face—•• Joe I i*l>v® it!"' aci he
dashed h; hand into hU comma's aud ta-aed
h head & for a moment —perhaps to !<vk
at Sam.
" I'm very wriy. Joe . aot sorry I'm thve,
yo,t kaow. that cau't l*s heljjed . bat sorry
you've here I cai.ed it *r.a
dleV, a.Ki tiey mid © ala boot it Ne~r
mind, Joe ; the o'J pa e aha'L He • ji®e for
voa ..! Tours aai .1 Erg ■e me fa: cam
i iug back."