"He is shivering," said Isabella. "Will you kindly take him down, give him a good dinner, and warm him up." The young lady had slipped a shilling n the child's hand. "In course, as you are pleased to pay. Come along, Dick; I shall have all the children in the house to feed next. But let everybody have what they pays for! You can go up, mem-second floor back." Not sorry to be rid of this woman, Isabella reached Bessy's door, and met the bearers of the workhouse coffin coming out. They made their obeisances to the well-dressed lady, with the abject servility of model paupers, in whom the independent life had been ground to dust between the hard millstones of want and ignorance. The scene in the room was very sad. Eighty-five years of mortal existencevirtuous, intelligent, patient, industrious existence-were closed at last in that bare coffin, in which pauper hands had laid Bessy's long-enduring grandmother. The weary warfare of a life of direst poverty was over at last. Lay the vanquished in the dust! But fold over departed heroism the banner of the Cross. As yet the lid was open, and Isabella saw the face of the dead, looking neither much wrinkled, nor defaced by time, but serene and beautiful. Leaning over it was an attenuated youthful figure, and a tender, winning face, but now of a white waxy hue. The hands were clasped tightly against the breast, and the hollow eyes were full of woe, such as no painter's art could imitate. Those tender, woful eyes were turned on Isabella, scarcely with surprise or interest of any sort. The world, and all belonging to it, was dead to Bessy Lee. She had toiled her utmost, endured her utmost, supported by the stronger nature of her grandmother; but that support being withdrawn, Bessy was like a wounded dove in the air, which must of necessity flutter downwards-downwards, to the earth, whence it will arise no more to sport in the golden light of orn-though, by the way, little enough had Bessy ever known of sporting, in sun shine or out of it. Isabella at once felt that words of apology for her intrusion under such circumstances would be idle, especially as the room was already intruded on by anybody and everybody who chose to indulge their curiosity in surveying the dead, or wished to tender their services to the desolate survivor. The house was full of lodgers, and almost every room had contributed its looker-on-boy, girl, or woman-and the first thing Isabella Randal did was, by a few well-directed words to clear the room, and turn the key in the door; and the second thing was, to close that black-painted lid, and draw Bessy away to another part of the room, where she took a chair beside her, and, holding both her hands, said, "You know Mr. Fielding?" "O yes," faintly answered those white, quivering lips. "He has sent me to you. But what can I do for you?" I "But not by you." No-but by-by—” "One you love too well; is it not so? speak plainly, that you may confide your whole heart to me, for I come to do you good. Bessy, I know all your history, and you see in me a sister mourner, one nearly as desolate as yourself. I too have recently lost one who was my chief support. I too am left alone. Come, then, accept my sympathy, as freely as it is offered to you. Let me take the charge of your future lot. If I can be the happy means of restoring your health, and placing you in a position of more comfort, it will not be you alone that will be benefited by the change, for I am striving anxiously to find opportunities for usefully employing the ample means I possess. Besides, Bessy, you must consider that the tempter of your friend Mickle, for whom, as well as for your grandmother, you grieve, was my late mother's relative,-and for that reason I really feel it incumbent on me to do something for you." Bessy drooped her head on the shoulder of her new-found friend, and clinging to her, wept the first tears she had been able to shed since her grandmother's last solemn farewell. Mrs. Lee, faint for want of better food and air-racked with deadly anxiety on account of Bessy's rapidly declining health and deep melancholy, had the day before given Bessy her parting counsel, ere she stretched herself on her bed to die. "Child," she said firmly, "I have tried to live for your sake, bu. my strength is gone, and I can do no more for you, but ommend you to Heaven. You have been a good girl to me, and have well resisted temptations that you have had, to escape out of this wretched life of toil and want by crooked paths, that would lead you in the end to a worse lot than the worst we have had to bear. It is hard for me to have to leave you alone-your struggle will be harder. But I rest in hope that Infinite love does exist to bless you, though you, perhaps, cannot see it for the dark clouds that interpose." She then bade Bessy farewell, as calmly as if going only on some temporary journey, and, turning her face to the wall, fell into convulsions, and expired at midnight, in the presence of the parish doctor and a group of poor women of the house, whose busy tongues and active movements had to be silenced more than once by the doctor; while the young slave of the needle sat by the death-bed of her only relative like a marble image, voiceless and still. Thus do the poor die. Mrs. Lee, after all, did not have a pauper funeral, which had been for years her anticipation and dread. Isabella Randal saw her decently interred, as became her education and worth, as well as her former respectable circumstances. Bessy was no longer left to struggle with want. She was removed by her new friend to Sandown, where Isabella trusted that change of air and scene, with rest and kindness, and generous nourishment, would conquer decline and melancholy. "And then, Bessy, I shall want you to employ your needle diligently and cleverly for me, and for certain poor children in whom I take an interest. You shall have a snug little room, looking on ivy towers and green woods, all to yourself, and lead there no idle life, I promise you." Isabella well understood the simple, tender, elevated character of Bessy-all feeling and romance-and one of the young lady's determinations regarding her were, to try, when Bessy recovered, some strengthening educational processes on her too pliant mind. But it happened, unfortunately for Bessy, that a trace was found of Mickle in a spot where no one would have dreamed of looking for one. Bessy had learned from her landlady that Mickle was supposed to have been murdered, and had been last heard of alive in the neighbourhood of Sandown, where the ferryman of the Holm Moss stream remembered his crossing in the ferry-boat in the company of Mr. Ferris. And when she found herself in the vicinity of this ferry she fancied herself nearer to the object of her tender attachment. In this instance did fancy deceive? Some rustics one day followed the windings of the stream, far up between its rocky, stony banks, to where it issued from the uplands through dense woods, and, as they sat on the brink of a rock eating their bread and cheese, and watching the hurried water rushing along, "Over granite and green," one of them let his pocket-knife fall over the edge of the stone. It dropped down about two 'yards, and fell on the edge of another great stone that was half under and half out of the water, covered thick with rank verdure. The rustic who had dropped the knife was determined to regain it, and, after trying many methods, searched out a way to reach the spot by wading through the stones in slippery and dangerous places. After some time, and with a courage and perseverance worthy a better cause, he reached the knife, and threw the trophy | had greatly interested himself in the of his prowess up to his comrade with a shout of exultation. His companion caught the knife, and then observed the other stooping down in the water to examine something. This proved to be a man's hat, out of which the rustic shook the water, and, carrying it in his hand, retraced his steps. This hat had been lying partly under the water, and was secured to the vegetation on the stone by a rent in the lining which had caught fast in a weed. The hat proved to have belonged to Mr. Ferris' missing clerk, whose name was written inside, with the address of his father-as if Mickle had been induced to afford this clue to his fate by that painful presentiment which undoubtedly overshadowed his mind on his quitting London. There was great excitement in Sandown and its surrounding parishes when this singular discovery was made. The stream was examined in all its intricacies for further secrets, but, if it had any to unfold, they remained secrets still. Nothing more was discovered. The ferryman of the Holm Moss, who search after Mickle, carried to the Grange the recovered relic, and placed it before the eyes of the young lady of the manor, who gazed on it with feelings of horror. The news had spread like wildfire, and Bessy had caught the sound. She flew through the throng of rustics and constables. "Let me see it," she wildly cried, and seizing the hat in her hands, read the name inside, and fell to the floor as one dead. The domestics had all begun to take a kindly interest in the forlorn young needlewoman, whom Miss Randal had so warmly recommended to their charitable kindness. They quickly guessed the secret of her extreme agony when this indication of Mickle's mysterious end came suddenly before her; and pitying exclamations of "Poor thing! "Dear, dear, how melancholy!" re-echoed about, as the slight, graceful figure was stretched upon a couch, without sign of life, the face still and cold. But there is a healing magic in kindness, of wondrous efficacy. Bessy did not die. Slowly, very slowly, she rallied. Know ere the marine god came to middle age. It was a fine, bold visage, rather lion-like in the outlines, but most kindly and even gentle in the details. Rough black hair encircled the whole features, beneath the shadow of a wide-brimmed, low-crowned hat. ing the worst of Mickle, and utterly de-been selected as a model for Neptune prived of hope of his re-appearance in this life, she listened to the pious reasonings of the late Lady Randal's waiting-woman, in whose special charge Bessy was now placed; and gradually her wounded heart was soothed by the generous attentions she received. Then she made efforts to requite Isabella's goodness to her, by striving to appear tranquil, and resumed her needlework. These efforts at occupation were followed by peace of mind-such peace as never waits on self indulgence. Bessy became very useful at the Grange, where she dwells to this day, a spinster, and here we leave her, as we found her, "Good as Gold." CHAPTER VII. Joy was in the old Toll-house-such as had never been there before. "Yo hoy! push forward there!" hallooed Neptune, in tones that might have been intended to reach a mast-head "When the stormy winds do blow." The poor little mannikin of a driver, hardly able to hold the reins or ply the whip, so stiff was he with cold, replied feebly, "I can't get the horse on, Sir; the snow is too thick." As he spoke, the forlorn-looking quad ruped gave up the struggle, and stood still as a statue; nor could whip or shout move him one inch forward. The snow was falling in blinding showers, the drift-covered road, mile Open flew the chaise door, and out after mile, was only to be distinguished bolted the mariner, a broad, square man, from the fields by its double row of leaf-clad in a pilot coat and loose red necktie. less tree-tops. It was with great difficulty that an old rickety post-chaise, drawn by a very sorry horse, was able to proceed between those double lines of frosted branches. Through one of the windows, ever and anon, appeared-in a stylish French bonnet, set off with a long drooping leather-a face which, though not without traces of recent suffering, and of exposure to rough weather, was still brilliantly fair and blooming. There was also a pair of lage, innocent-looking light blue eyes, that had never been endowed with much power of vision into things past, present, or to come. Those smooth and high-arched eyebrows were by no means burdened with meditative melancholy. The best feature of the face, in expression, was the mouth, which, red and pouting, and curving easily in "Cupid's bow," was capable of more varied expression than all the rest of the features combined. Indeed, but for that charming mouth, an enemy might have said, "the face was as silly as it was in form and colour beautiful." Holding the horse by the bridle, and whipping it sharply, with lusty shouts of "Now then, my hearty! yo-ho! come on, come on!" the gallant seafarer endea voured to compel or persuade the poor worn animal to finish the journey; but it was resolute to proceed in no direction excepting that which led straight back to its own stable at Redbridge. This fact being clear, there was nothing for it but to let the chaise return. Fortunately the toll-gate was a scant half-mile distant, and though the drift was deep, and the dense snow-shower! rapidly making it deeper, yet the mariner was a man of iron nerve. He laughed heartily at the obstinacy of the brute, and clambered up to the top of the vehicle, where he stood and surveyed the road through a pocket telescope, then leaped | down, and addressed his fair companion. "I see a deep cart-track runs clean up to the toll-gate. You can walk there if you will; or, if you are afraid of the snow, we may ride back to your cousin's at Redbridge. The horse won't carry us forward, but it will backward." At the other chaise window a head was "O dear, dear, dear!" whimpered frequently thrust out that might have Nelly, "what shall I do?" "I've just told you, haven't I?" 66 But, O dear! I do want so to see father. I won't go back, and I can't walk through all that snow." "Will you stop here ?" "Don't ridicule me. How unfortunate I am! There's nothing but misfortune for me. "" And Nelly began to cry. "Why, look at me! shipwrecked three times. Tossed about in a hundred storms." "Yes; you. Nothing ever could daunt you." "I never was daunted but once, and you know when that was." "O, I dare say!" "But you did have me." "Like a simpleton, as I always was. But don't stand talking there; I declare it's getting dark. What shall I do ?" "Jump out, and take my arm, and pluck up a bit of courage." 66 "Well, if I'm buried in the snow, I shall blame you." "That would be a hard case, Nell, for thee, and rayther a hard case for me. Howsever, I saved the beauty I adore from drowning in the salt sea wave, as the song says, and I don't think I shall easily let her perish in the snow, now that she's spliced to me for ever and a day. So, cheer up, and come on!" Dashing the snow out of her way with a stick like a club, the determined mariner led on, chatting or singing at the top of his voice, to keep up her spirits. When they had reached the last turn of the road, and saw the toll-house lamp shining brightly out at two or three hundred yards distance, they found the drift had filled up the cart-track before them, and the surrounding darkness became terrible. "O, there is my dear home! look at the toll-gate lamp; but I shall never reach it. There is no path left." "We must force one; come, come, my pet; hold up! All's well to the brave heart! Let's try if I can make any one hear." Putting both hands to the sides of his mouth, and taking a deep inspiration, he gave such a shout as would have done honour to any heart of oak in the British navy. "Yo-hoy! give us a hand here! Ship in distress! Yo-o-hoy!" Nelly could not help laughing, even in her terror. To her extreme delight the voice of some person invisible responded at no great distance, What's the matter ?" "Stuck fast in the snow!" bawled the mariner, "lend a hand. Here's a lady frozen to death, or going to be." "Keep straight on-it's all level road, and there's been plenty of market-carts along there this afternoon. But I'll go on to the inn, and bring a gig." "Pull away, my hearty!" cried the mariner. "I want to get my little craft here safe into port." "O, it's Robert, one of my brother William's men-I remember his voice," said Nelly eagerly; "Robert, do make haste, it's me, Nelly Adams." The man was too far off to distinguish what she said. But he was presently seen with a lantern in his hand, coming out of a barn and moving rapidly across a field towards the toll-gate. And in a brief space of time, which, however, to Nelly appeared very long, a light gig approached and stopped beside them in the darkness. One man drove it. The mariner lifted in his scared young wife, and placed himself beside her, singing, as the gig turned round to face the toll-gate, "There's a sweet little cherub sits smiling aloft, To keep watch for the life of fair Nell." "Don't be nonsensical, Tom." The driver of the gig gave a start. O, how the blood rushed to his heart! He spoke not a word until the toll-house was reached, and the mariner had alighted, exclaiming "Here we are then at last." |