CHAPTER XII.

_EBENEZER._

_January 3._

HOW ill have I treated this poor faithful journal of mine! And I fear 'tis like to fare even worse, in the future. I can hardly realize it, but such is the fact. I am going to be married the day after to-morrow. Whereas I had not expected such an event before June, at the nearest, and my poor dear child, Lady Betty, is the good fairy who has brought all this about. But I will go back and tell my story in an orderly manner.

There was great bustle and interest in making ready for the holidays—more even than usual, for my Lord meant to celebrate the birth of his sons, by giving a good piece of beef, and a fine pudding to each one of the cottagers. He was to have had a feast for them at the Court, but on account of my Lady's health, and for some other reasons, that is put off till next summer. Then the school children were to be feasted at my Lady's expense, and a Christmas gift made to each, and all the maid servants were to have new gowns; all of which involved a good deal of work for some of us.

Most of the shopping fell upon Lady Jemima, and myself, and we had a fine time going to Biddeford, and selecting gowns, ribbons, and the like. And I was surprised to see how much interest dear Lady Jemima took in the purchase. I could not have thought it was in her, to care so much for such a matter. She is a great deal more cheerful than I have ever seen her, and really grows pretty and plump, now that she has left off her fasting and sitting up of nights. Every one sees the change. I am sure she is very good to love me as she does. I don't believe I could do it, in her place.

Betty was very grave and thoughtful for two or three days before Christmas, and I wondered what was in her head. On Christmas-Eve, as she and I were sitting in my Lady's room—my Lady nursing one of the babes, and Betty holding the other, I was glad to sit still, for I was thoroughly tired, and the quiet was very grateful to me. We had been silent for some minutes, when Betty spoke:

"Mamma, why don't Margaret and Walter get married? I thought that was the next thing, when people were betrothed."

"And so it is, my dear one!" answered her mother. "But then you see Margaret has a little nursling whom she does not like to leave. What do you think you would do without her?"

"But she would not go so very far-away. She would only be at Corby-End," said Betty. Then, after a little silence, "Mamma, I should like to see Margaret married."

"Why, so you shall, and be bridesmaid too, if you like," answered her mother. "Why not?"

"Then, mamma, I should like them to be married pretty soon," replied Betty, "because I don't believe I shall be here a great while longer."

This was the first time she had spoken so plainly, though she had hinted as much a good many times lately. My Lady started and looked anxiously at her.

"Why do you say that, my darling?" she asked. "Don't you feel as well?"

"I don't know, mamma," said Betty. "I feel languid and weary, and there is a feeling 'here,'" (pressing her hand to her heart,) "which I never had before you were ill, and which tells me that I shall not live long."

"Dear child, that is only a fancy," said her mother, kissing her. "You must drive away such gloomy thoughts."

"They are not gloomy," said this strange child; "and they are not fancies, either. Something calls me away all the time, and at night, when I lie awake, I hear such strange, beautiful music in the air and among the trees. But I wont talk about it, if it makes you unhappy, dear mamma," she added, seeing the tears in her mother's eyes. "Only, if you please, I should so much like to have Walter and Margaret married very soon. Please, wont you have it so?"

"We will see," answered her mother.

Betty was silent, but I could see she was turning the matter over in her mind, as her fashion is. And when she went to bed, she spoke of it again.

"Margaret, if you want to make me very happy, you will be married very soon. I am quite sure that I have only a little time to live now, and I do so want to see you married. Please do let me speak to papa about it."

What could I say? I saw how much in earnest she was, and I believed with herself that she had not long to live, and that she might go from us in any of the fainting fits she had lately. She saw, I suppose, that I was moved, and urged me again, even with tears, to let her speak to my Lord.

"Don't cry!" said I, alarmed. "You shall do as you please, but you must not cry, or you will bring on one of your bad times again."

But the bad time came, in spite of me. She fainted, and it was more than ten minutes before we could bring her round. I began to think she had gone for good, but she breathed again at last, her breath coming in most painful gasps and sobs. She is weaker after every one of these fits, and longer in recovering herself.

When she mentioned the subject again, I told her she should do as she liked, and at last she went to sleep, quite content and happy.

I did not leave her save to go to my room and put on my wrapper. As I went out into the gallery, I met Mr. Van Dyke, with his hands full of toys and sweetmeats.

"See here, Mistress Merton," said he. "Cannot we put these into the shoes of my little lady and Catharine, and so give them a pleasant surprise, and let them think the good Saint Nicholas has been to visit them?"

I was well-pleased with the fancy, and we went to my Lady Jemima's room, where the little Catharine sleeps. Lady Jemima entered into the sport and we filled the little socks and shoes with sugar-plums and toys. Then I went back and lay down by Betty, whom I did not mean to leave that night.

Early in the morning, long before dawn, we were roused by the schoolboys, and the young men and maids from the village, coming to sing carols under the window. Mrs. Judith and her maids were up early, as it was, and they were called into the hall and regaled with cakes and spiced ale.

Soon the whole household was astir, and Betty would get up and be dressed with the rest, to meet the family at breakfast. I did not oppose her, for she seemed strong and bright for her, and besides I did not believe that anything would make much difference. There is that in her face nowadays that I have seen too often to mistake its meaning. She was very merry this morning, and much delighted at finding the St. Nicholas gifts in her shoes.

"I know how Saint Nicholas looks, Margaret!" said she. "He hath fine dark eyes, and curling hair, and a peaked beard, and he paints beautiful pictures."

So I saw that she had guessed the riddle at once. Little Catharine, however, was not so quick in her apprehension, but I believe thinks, to this hour, that St. Nicholas paid her a visit, and only regrets that she was not awake to see him.

Betty had made a couple of fine handkerchiefs for Christmas gifts to her father and mother, doing the open hems very nicely, with a little of my help. And after prayers, she had the pleasure of giving them, and seeing them admired to her heart's content.

"And please you, my Lord, I have to beg for a Christmas box!" she said, with a little formal courtesy. "You know you promised me one."

"Why, so I did, Bess, and what shall it be?" said my Lord, well-pleased.

"Let me whisper in your ear, papa," said she.

He bent his stately head down to her—he is very indulgent to her, nowadays—and then, as she whispered eagerly to him, he stared, laughed heartily, and bade her ask Walter, since he was the person most concerned.

"I think he will be willing, don't you, papa?" said Betty: "He is always so kind and obliging."

My Lord roared with laughter again, and said he did not doubt he would be willing, since it was to oblige his cousin. And so I hardly know how, 'twas all settled in an hour that we were to be married on Twelfth Day, and so go home to Corby-End.

It grieves me that I must be married away from mother, but there is no help for it, and Walter promises to take me home for a visit so soon as the spring opens.

The Christmas revels went off very nicely. We all went to church, my Lord and Lady, and all—and my Lord stayed to the sacrament—a thing I never knew him do before. The church was beautifully adorned with ivy and holly, and such late flowers as the mild season often spares till Christmas. Everybody was dressed in their best, and all were exchanging good wishes and, Christmas words.

I could, not help shedding some tears as I remembered last Christmas, when I was at home, and dear father was alive and well: but for all that I felt wonderfully tranquil and happy. Old Uncle Jan Lee was at church, and so I was glad to see were his brother and all his family. My Lord would take no denial, but would have them all up at the Court for their Christmas dinner—Will Atkins and his wife, and all—so we had a great gathering, and a very merry one, but all sober and decorous enough.

Betty lay down and had a nap after dinner, and so was ready to see the revels in the evening, when we had the Christmas mummers—Lord Christmas, Dame Mince Pie and all the rest, with a fine copy of verses from the schoolmaster, in which he compared our poor babes to Castor and Pollux, and I know not what other heathen gods. I fear he was rather scandalized by our levity, for no one could help laughing, but my Lord thanked him and made him a handsome present, so he was consoled.

Mr. Penrose was not with us, he keeping his Christmas at Sir Thomas Fulton's. And so ended our Christmas day.

Since then I have lived in a kind of dream, recalled to this lower world, however, about once an hour, by Mrs. Brewster, who wants me to try on something, or to give my judgment on some solemn matter of trimming or pattern. But I am sure I shall never know what to do with so many fine clothes as they are preparing for me. It is very silly in me, I dare say, but I cannot help wishing I were not so poor. If my poor dear father's ship had come home, now!

_January 5._

I have to-day had the greatest—yes, the very greatest surprise of my life, greater even than that of finding myself on the eve of marriage to a great gentleman like Walter. I was hearing Betty's Latin lesson, which she will still keep up though she has dropped most of her other lessons these short days, when Mrs. Judith herself came up, and informed me that a gentleman was inquiring for me and was awaiting me in the little parlor.

"A gentleman to see me—you must surely be mistaken, Mrs. Judith!" said I.

"Indeed I am not!" she asserted, with a merry twinkle in her eye. "'Tis a gallant young gentleman as I wish to see, and he asks for Mrs. Margaret Merton. So go you down and see him."

I arranged my dress and went down-stairs, wondering who it could possibly be, and thinking over all the gentlemen I had ever known, which were not many. Somehow it never came into my head to think of Dick, and yet when I opened the door of the little parlor, there he was, looking as composed and grave in his sober riding suit, as if he had but just come over from Chester to spend Sunday at home.

I don't know what I said or did at first, save that I cried, laughed, and talked all at once, till suddenly a thought came over me, which made me cry out: "Oh, Dick! You have brought me no ill news, have you?"

"No, no! Very far from that," he answered me, cheerfully. "Why, Meg! How you have grown, and how handsome you are! The gentleman who met me in the hall, and to whom I made myself known, tells me that I am just in time, for that you are to be married to-morrow. How is that? I thought the great event was to be put off till spring."

I explained that the time had been shortened to gratify my little lady, who was in delicate health, and who was bent on seeing the wedding.

"Aye, doubtless it was a great sacrifice!" said he, in his old way.

"But Dick," said I, "what wind has blown you here? I am sure something must have happened more than common."

"A good wind, though a most unexpected one," he answered. "The last one I ever thought of, I am sure. Meg, my father's ship has come home, safe and sound, and with a wonderful rich freight. My father's poor venture of three hundred odd pounds is magnified tenfold, and more. Mr. Gunning tells me that our fair share of the cargo comes to five thousand pounds, and he is quite willing to advance us the money upon it."

I could only sit and stare stupidly at him for a moment. Then I burst out crying, and sobbed: "Oh, if my poor father had but lived to see it!"

"He will not miss it where he is," answered Richard, gravely. "But is it not wonderful?"

"Wonderful, indeed," said I. "'Tis like a chapter of romance. I can hardly believe it."

"Nor could I, till I saw the ship herself, and went on board of her, for you must know I have been in Bristol, and a fair and great city it is. I have had a wearisome journey."

And here came in one of the men with a great tray of refreshments, sent by Mrs. Judith. And while Richard was eating, came in first my Lady, who made my brother welcome with her usual grace and courtesy, and then Walter and my Lord, and the lawyer from Biddeford, who is here now.

And there was a deal of talk about business before I could get Dick to myself again. But I did finally, and carried him off for a walk by ourselves in the chase, and he told me all about home matters. How my mother took the news, and how she loves the cottage too well to leave it, but will add somewhat thereto, as she can do with great convenience. How all our old neighbors rejoiced in our good fortune, specially Dame Crump, who is still alive, and who has always prophesied that the ship would come home sometime. How Mr. Carey makes himself loved by all, both rich and poor, save that he and Sir Peter Beaumont do not well agree. Finally, and best of all, how Dick himself is now to carry out the darling wish of his heart, and go to Cambridge, to begin his studies as soon as possible.

And so ends the day before my wedding day, with all the content possible. And as I look back at the last year, and see how wonderfully I have been preserved and helped, what friends I have found on every side, and how the plans of mine enemies have been frustrated and brought to naught, my heart overflows with thankfulness and joy, and I feel like consecrating myself anew and more entirely than ever to Him who is the Father of the Fatherless and the God of the widow.

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Here ends all of my journal which I have seen fit to transcribe for my daughters to read when I am gone, as I feel that I soon shall be, to join my honored parents and my dear Lady.

My married life hath not been wholly without clouds, as what life is? In the civil wars which began soon after, my husband took part with Parliament, and afterward served under the Protector, while my Lord was on the other side: yet did that circumstance never wholly divide the families, and my husband was able to be of great service to my Lord in protecting his property from sequestration.

Poor Lady Betty survived till Easter, gradually growing weaker, but suffering little, and able to keep up till the last. On Easter Sunday she received the Sacrament, at her own earnest request, Mr. Penrose having given her preparatory instruction. It being a fine warm day, she rode to the parish church, sat out the whole service, and seemed none the worse. But the next morning, when Mary went to call her, she was dead, having, as it seemed, passed away without ever waking up.

We all grieved for her, and I think none more than my Lord, to whom she had become very dear of late, but we could not but feel that it was well with the child.

My Lady survived her daughter some four years. After a decent time, my Lord married again to a very good woman, a widow lady with two daughters. She was a very good wife to my Lord, and a kind mother to his sons, but she was never to be compared to my own dear Lady.

Lady Jemima lives in her own house, with her family of orphan maids about her, and is much loved and respected. Little Catharine—now a fine tall young lady, is still with her, but she has changed the rest of the family many times over, and always for their advantage. She is indeed a most excellent lady.

Felicia is still alive; a sour, discontented woman, rich, but feeling poor, and always imagining that somebody is leaguing to rob her or impose upon her. Her first fall in life I do think was when her husband positively refused to let her put in any claim to my father's estate, saying that he was rich enough already, and that she ought to be ashamed to ask for a penny, seeing she had been brought up at my father's expense. Felicia scolded and sulked, but he was firm, and for once she met with her match.

Mr. Fowler is dead now, and poor Felicia lives alone, having quarrelled with all her husband's relations, and not being able to find a waiting gentlewoman who will stay with her more than a month at a time.

Richard went abroad just at the beginning of the trouble, as tutor to a young nobleman, and did not return till the restoration, when he took orders, and is now a useful, unambitious parish-priest in Chester. I don't think he will ever be a bishop, as I used to dream, and I don't believe he wishes it. But there is some hope that he wilt have my father's living at Saintswell, and dwell in the dear old house where we were all born.

THE END.

UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.

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WON AT LAST; or, Mrs. Briscoe's Nephews .. .. By AGNES GIBERNE. WINNING AN EMPIRE. The Story of Clive .. .. G. STEBBING. UNDAUNTED. A Tale of the Solomon Islands.. .. W. C. METCALFE. OUT IN GOD'S WORLD; or, Electa's Story .. .. J. M. CONKLIN. THE STORY OF MARTIN LUTHER .. .. E. WARREN. ROBIN TREMAYNE. A Reformation Story .. .. E. S. HOLT. HER HUSBAND'S HOME. A Tale .. .. E. EVERETT-GREEN. A REAL HERO; or, The Conquest of Mexico .. .. G. STEBBING. ALL'S WELL; or, Alice's Victory .. .. E. S. HOLT. WAITING FOR THE BEST; or, Bek's Story .. .. J. M. CONKLIN. THE KING'S DAUGHTERS. A Martyr Story .. .. E. S. HOLT. A KNIGHT OF TO-DAY .. .. L T. MEADE. THE HIDDEN TREASURE .. .. L. E. GUERNSEY. SISTER ROSE; or, The Eve of St. Bartholomew .. E. S. HOLT. JACK. The Story of an English Boy .. .. Y. OSBORN. LITTLE QUEENIE. A Story of Child Life .. .. EMMA MARSHALL. THE CHILDREN'S KINGDOM .. .. L T. MEADE. LADY SYBIL'S CHOICE. A Tale of the Crusades .. E. S. HOLT. THE KING'S LIGHT-BEARER .. .. M. S. COMRIE. CLARE AVERY. A Story of the Spanish Armada .. EMILY S. HOLT. OUR HOME IN THE FAR WEST .. .. M. B. SLEIGHT. LADY ROSAMOND; or, Dawnings of Light .. .. L. E. GUERNSEY. THE MARTYR OF FLORENCE .. .. ANON. GOLDEN LINES; or, Elline's Experiences .. .. LADY HOPE. OLDHAM; or, Beside all Waters .. .. L. E. GUERNSEY. TWO SAILOR LADS. Adventures on Sea and Land .. GORDON-STABLES. BEATING THE RECORD. The Story of Geo. Stephenson G. STEBBING. DOROTHY'S STORY. A Tale of Great St. Benedicts.. L. T. MEADE. ENGLAND, HOME, AND BEAUTY .. .. GORDON-STABLES. THE CHILDREN OF DEAN'S COURT .. .. EMMA MARSHALL. LILLIAN'S HOPE .. .. .. .. .. C. SHAW. FACING FEARFUL ODDS; or, The Siege of Gibraltar GORDON-STABLES. EVERYDAY BATTLES .. .. .. .. .. FIDELITÉ. WELL WON. A School Story .. .. .. .. J. T. THURSTON. LIFE-TANGLES .. .. .. .. .. AGNES GIBERNE. THE STRANGE HOUSE; or, A Moment's Mistake .. CATHARINE SHAW. LADY BETTY'S GOVERNESS .. .. .. L. E. GUERNSEY. LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE .. .. .. GORDON-STABLES.

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LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.