CHAPTER X.

----And now, their wanderings o'er, They, 'mid embowering trees, descry their home once more. Home, thrilling sound! To the time-sobered breast, Thronged with remembrances, not sweet alone But sacred, and with sadder thoughts imprest Of cherished sorrows, and dear hopes o'erthrown; While to young hearts, that yet have only known The hey-day joys, and buoyancy of spring, It speaks of happiness again their own: Of throbbing bosoms, bright eyes glistening, And laughter's merry peal, that through the hall shall ring.

_Unpublished Poems._

Three years had elapsed since the Mowbrays had left Overhurst, and all the parish was now joyfully expecting their return. Again the village bells rang a joyful peal, again the village children shouted, and all was animation in Overhurst and at the Park.

Susan was the first to hear the carriage-wheels. "Yes, sure enough, here they are!" said her mother; "three carriages full: and such a load, and the horses so jaded, poor things! And there's Mrs. Mowbray nodding as she goes along; and there's Miss Fanny--no--why, I declare if it is not Miss Emma, with her head quite out of the window. Well, I'm glad enough to see them all come home again. And there's the 'squire on the box; he turns round to speak to Mrs. Mowbray; he looks hearty still. And there is such a queer foreigner behind, with such black whiskers. And sure that can never be Jenny Simpson? Her very face seems Frenchified! I'll be bound her own mother will hardly know Jenny when she sees her." Not long afterwards the dame's eyes were again attracted to the window. "Why, sure, there can't be another carriage full of them! Why, if it is not Captain and Mrs. Harcourt! And there is the baby! May the Lord bless them all! It will be a happy evening at Overhurst Park!" And Dame Foster sighed while she rejoiced in their happiness.

And heart-felt joy and social gaiety did reign in Overhurst Park. The delight of finding themselves again in Old England, the joy of meeting after a long separation, the raptures of Mrs. Mowbray over her first grandchild, the pleasure of visiting their old haunts, occupied the ladies for the first day or two; but Mr. Mowbray had been looking about him, and had made himself acquainted with all the village gossip.

On the third day after their return, he bustled into the drawing-room, where his wife and daughters were eagerly displaying to Alice and Captain Harcourt their relics from the various places they had visited in their travels, and were explaining the exact point of view from which such a drawing had been made, or directing their attention to an invisible dot in a pencil sketch, which stood for 'imperial Rome' in the distance, or helping out by descriptions _vivâ voce_ the tints which did not express the roseate hues of evening upon the glaciers.

"I do not know what all the pretty women in the parish have been thinking of while we have been away," interrupted Mr. Mowbray. "There's poor Susan Foster! Have you heard, my dear, about poor Susan Foster?"

"No, indeed. I have been so occupied with Alice and her baby, and so full of our own travels, I have not had time to go into the village. What has happened? You quite alarm me."

"Why, I really am put out about it myself. She is gone blind! Pretty Susan, with the bright eyes! I am quite vexed. If it had been any other girl in the village, I should not have felt it so much. Those soft brilliant eyes, that could sparkle so merrily too. And then, that pretty Mrs. Otley! she is going into a consumption."

"Susan--Susan Foster blind!" exclaimed the ladies all together.

"Impossible!" cried Mrs. Harcourt; the hopeful, happy, Mrs. Harcourt.

"It is quite true, my dear Alice: she is blind! and what's more, George Wells has jilted her, and has married Jane Dixon. The fellow has some taste, I will say that for him. She was as fine a girl as ever I saw, though hers is not such a high style of beauty as Susan Foster's. Susan Foster, if she had been a lady, would have looked well anywhere; now, Jane Dixon would never have told in a ball-room: and then, she is so altered; she is grown coarse; and blue eyes soon lose their blueness and turn grey, while black eyes retain their brilliancy----"

Mr. Mowbray might have proceeded at greater length in discussing the comparative merits of black eyes and blue, but neither filial piety, nor conjugal devotion, could enable the listeners to keep silence any longer. "Oh, papa!" exclaimed Alice, "George Wells married to another girl! and Susan Foster blind, and jilted! and I had fancied her so happy in that cottage close to her parents! I remember begging you so to let them have it, because I thought how I should have liked to live close to you and mamma!"

"Yes, my dear Alice! I have seen Susan myself; and there she sits knitting, by the side of her blind father. I declare it was almost too much for me. I got away as quickly as I could, for I hate seeing sad sights when one can do no good; I always make it a rule to get out of the way."

"But do you think it impossible we should be able to do her any good? Let us go and see them, mamma; perhaps we may think of something. I always was so fond of Susan, and we were to have been married the same month! Poor dear Susan!"

"Oh, yes!" cried Emma; "at all events it will please them. Old Nicholas used to be so fond of me. How well I remember he used to put his hand upon my head to feel how much I was grown! Do let us go directly, and pay them a visit, dear mamma."

Mrs. Mowbray was shocked and grieved at Mr. Mowbray's intelligence, and the whole party was soon in motion along the well-known paths.

"I wonder how Susan looks!" said Emma, in a low voice, while a sensation of awe stole over her youthful mind at the prospect of an interview with a person who had undergone a great misfortune since she had seen her last.

Dame Foster soon recognised the visitors she had been watching for. "Here they are!" she exclaimed; "I was sure Mrs. Mowbray would come and ask after us before long. And there's Miss Alice--Mrs. Harcourt I should say--looks prettier than ever;--and Miss Fanny! I'm sure she does not seem as if anything had ever been the matter with her;--and Miss Emma, why she is almost a woman now." Susan sighed, and thought what sad changes had taken place in her fate since last they had received a visit from the 'squire's family.

As they approached the little garden-gate, the bearing of all the party became subdued and saddened; and they gently opened the door, and followed each other quietly into the cottage. The dame and Susan both rose, and Susan court'sied, but not exactly in the direction in which Mrs. Mowbray stood. She soon made them resume their seats, and then inquired after old Sarah's health.

"Thank you kindly, madam, I am still able to get about, though sometimes I think my pains make me grow weaker; but I must try to the last to do for these poor afflicted creatures, madam. You have heard, I dare say, madam, of all our misfortunes. And there's my poor girl now, no better off than her old father. But 'tis as pleases God, and it is not for us to murmur."

The old dame had at once entered upon the subject in the plain, direct manner usual to the poor, and the restraint which might have rendered such a meeting distressing among the higher orders was soon dispelled.

"My poor Susan!" said Mrs. Mowbray, going up to Susan, and taking her by the hand, "I have only this moment heard of your afflictions, or I should have been here sooner. I wonder such sad news should not have reached me abroad, but the death of poor Mr. Sandford has been a loss to us all. He knew my village friends, and he would have told me about you. And you, Nicholas, how are you? How do you bear up against these trials?"

"Pretty middling, madam; pretty middling: I am quite used to my own, and I don't think anything at all about them; but I can't say I have rightly got over hearing my poor girl ask her mother whether 'tis a fine day or not, or who it is going by the door, and whether her shawl is pinned straight, or her cap as it should be. Them things go hard with me. But, as my good woman says, 'tis as it pleases the Lord! Are all the young ladies with you, madam?" he added, after a short pause. "I warrant me they are grown very tall," and he stretched out his hand: "I should like to put my hand on Miss Emma's head once more, bless her heart!"

"You must put it a good deal higher," said Emma, as the old man was feeling at the same height he had been used to feel, three years before; and she took his brown withered hand and lifted it to the crown of her head.

"Sure!" he exclaimed in almost childish wonderment.

Alice meanwhile had been talking to Susan, and had extracted from her some account of the mode in which her eyes had been attacked, although it was with pain she was brought to allude to anything connected with Alice's wedding-day and the happiness which at that time was hers. She could not help an inward shudder when she heard Captain Harcourt address his wife: "Alice, my love, I think you should return home to the baby; I would not have you out too late." The picture of home happiness, wedded love, maternal affection, all the visions in which she had indulged as almost realities on that day, rushed over her mind; but she remembered that George was the husband of another, that another was the mother of his child!

When they returned home, Alice eagerly recounted to Mr. Mowbray an instance of a person, whose blindness had been described as somewhat resembling Susan's, having been restored to sight by an oculist with whom Captain Harcourt was acquainted. With the sanguine disposition of youth, she felt convinced that something might be done; that Susan need not be condemned to perpetual blindness.

The more sober part of the company did not enter quite so warmly into Alice's hopes, but all were equally ardent in their wishes that Susan might recover her sight. Captain Harcourt's friend had the care of an eye-hospital; so that Alice declared it would be the easiest thing in the world to secure Susan's admission, and the most certain thing in the world that she would be immediately cured. The only difficulty that remained was to get over the prejudice entertained by many of the poor against hospitals in general, and the horror they had of parting from their friends.

"But Dame Foster is so reasonable!" exclaimed Alice; "and Nicholas is so quiet, he will never oppose it; and as for Susan, what would one not do to recover one's sight? To be sure, her lover is married now, and even the restoration of her sight cannot restore her to happiness, poor thing! But still! think of the joy of seeing the blue heavens and the green fields again!"

"Oh, yes, dear Alice," answered Mrs. Mowbray, "if we could indeed restore to Susan her eye-sight, she might look forward to many happy years. She is still young, and she is so pretty, that I dare say she may yet marry comfortably."

"Oh, mamma!" exclaimed Alice reproachfully.

"I am sorry to have shocked you, my love! and if you wish it so much, we will suppose that Susan shall never marry."

"Mamma, you speak as if marrying was marrying, and as if it did not signify whom one married."

"Not exactly, my dear! but I do imagine it just possible that after a certain number of years have elapsed, a woman may be happy with a man who was not her first love. But now we will not disturb ourselves concerning the use Susan may make of her eyes when they are restored to her. We will first adopt all possible means to accomplish this most desirable, but, I fear, improbable event."

"She has had no advice yet but that ignorant man's at Turnholme. Captain Harcourt shall write to-day, and the moment we get the answer, I will undertake to persuade Susan and her parents to consent to our proposal."

All prospered according to Alice's wishes. Her _protégée_ was to be admitted into the hospital, where she was to meet with every kindness and attention. Susan gladly agreed to any plan which might possibly enable her to assist her parents more effectually than she could at present; old Nicholas thought it so "against nature" that the young should be afflicted like the old, that he was pleased and hopeful, while Sarah assented, but assented despondingly.

"If it is God's will our poor child should be blind, why there is no use in man's fighting against Providence. Howsoever, there's no saying these may not be the means by which God has ordained she is to be cured; so it is not for us poor mortals to say any thing against it: we will try, and hope for the best; but it is an awful thing to have our blind child go quite away from us to that great town."

"But we will send somebody with her, dame, who shall see her safe into the hospital."

"Thank you, madam, you are very good; and let it turn out which way it will, we shall always be grateful."

The evening before Susan's departure, Farmer Otley called: "I thought I would just look in and wish you good luck, Susan; we shall all be heartily glad to hear of your doing well, though my good woman will miss your nice worsted-work. She would have come down to see you too, but that she is not quite as she should be. She has got a nasty cough that keeps plaguing her. I tell her 'tis because she will wear such smart thin shawls, instead of a good warm cloak; but young women they will have their own way: I dare say you have a way of your own too, Susan, though I don't know what it is."

Susan smiled. "I believe I was as headstrong as other young folks once; but a poor helpless creature like me, who is quite dependent upon mother's goodness, has no business with any fancies now."

"Well, Susan, I hope you will come back with a will of your own, that's all: and I dare say, dame, you won't mind."

"My poor Susan! I should be glad enough, indeed, to see her her own sprightly self again; and 'tis our duty not to throw away any opportunity that God puts in our way."

Susan was safely conveyed to the hospital, and from thence the reports, which were received by Mrs. Harcourt, and duly transmitted to Nicholas and Sarah Foster, were satisfactory. The hopeful Alice was not disappointed in her eager desire to serve Susan; and before six weeks had elapsed, she was able to run breathless to the cottage of the Fosters, with the surgeon's letter in her hand, announcing that Susan's sight was safe, and that in another month she might return to her friends, in health and happiness.

Old Sarah clasped her hands in speechless joy; the tears rolled in torrents unheeded down her face: her soul was absorbed in prayer. Old Nicholas groped about till he found Mrs. Harcourt's hand; and seizing it, the old man suddenly fell on his trembling knees before her.

"God bless you, my dear young lady, and God reward you! I know it is to God we first owe our gratitude; but you have been the blessed instrument in his hands. God bless you!" and the old man sobbed aloud. Alice, inexpressibly distressed and affected, assisted him to rise, replaced him in his seat, extricated her hand from his grasp, and hastened away from a scene which, although delightful, was almost too overcoming.

At length Susan herself wrote to them: it was the first act of her restored sight: and the dame placed the letter before her on the deal table, with her prayer-book and her spectacles, and every day did she look at it, and every day did she read it over, word by word, to Nicholas, and every day did Nicholas say "God bless Miss Alice that was!"