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CHAPTER 46
It was the poor schoolmaster. No other than the poor schoolmaster. Scarcely less moved
and surprised by the sight of the child than she had been on recognising him, he stood,
for a moment, silent and confounded by this unexpected apparition, without even the presence
of mind to raise her from the ground.
But, quickly recovering his self-possession, he threw down his stick and book, and dropping
on one knee beside her, endeavoured, by such simple means as occurred to him, to restore
her to herself; while her grandfather, standing idly by, wrung his hands, and implored her
with many endearing expressions to speak to him, were it only a word.
'She is quite exhausted,' said the schoolmaster, glancing upward into his face. 'You have taxed
her powers too far, friend.'
'She is perishing of want,' rejoined the old man. 'I never thought how weak and ill she
was, till now.'
Casting a look upon him, half-reproachful and half-compassionate, the schoolmaster took
the child in his arms, and, bidding the old man gather up her little basket and follow
him directly, bore her away at his utmost speed.
There was a small inn within sight, to which, it would seem, he had been directing his steps
when so unexpectedly overtaken. Towards this place he hurried with his unconscious burden,
and rushing into the kitchen, and calling upon the company there assembled to make way
for God's sake, deposited it on a chair before the fire.
The company, who rose in confusion on the schoolmaster's entrance, did as people usually
do under such circumstances. Everybody called for his or her favourite remedy, which nobody
brought; each cried for more air, at the same time carefully excluding what air there was,
by closing round the object of sympathy; and all wondered why somebody else didn't do what
it never appeared to occur to them might be done by themselves.
The landlady, however, who possessed more readiness and activity than any of them, and
who had withal a quicker perception of the merits of the case, soon came running in,
with a little hot brandy and water, followed by her servant-girl, carrying vinegar, hartshorn,
smelling-salts, and such other restoratives; which, being duly administered, recovered
the child so far as to enable her to thank them in a faint voice, and to extend her hand
to the poor schoolmaster, who stood, with an anxious face, hard by. Without suffering
her to speak another word, or so much as to stir a finger any more, the women straightway
carried her off to bed; and, having covered her up warm, bathed her cold feet, and wrapped
them in flannel, they despatched a messenger for the doctor.
The doctor, who was a red-nosed gentleman with a great bunch of seals dangling below
a waistcoat of ribbed black satin, arrived with all speed, and taking his seat by the
bedside of poor Nell, drew out his watch, and felt her pulse. Then he looked at her
tongue, then he felt her pulse again, and while he did so, he eyed the half-emptied
wine-glass as if in profound abstraction.
'I should give her,' said the doctor at length, 'a tea-spoonful, every now and then, of hot
brandy and water.'
'Why, that's exactly what we've done, sir!' said the delighted landlady.
'I should also,' observed the doctor, who had passed the foot-bath on the stairs, 'I
should also,' said the doctor, in the voice of an oracle, 'put her feet in hot water,
and wrap them up in flannel. I should likewise,' said the doctor with increased solemnity,
'give her something light for supperóthe wing of a roasted fowl nowó'
'Why, goodness gracious me, sir, it's cooking at the kitchen fire this instant!' cried the
landlady. And so indeed it was, for the schoolmaster had ordered it to be put down, and it was
getting on so well that the doctor might have smelt it if he had tried; perhaps he did.
'You may then,' said the doctor, rising gravely, 'give her a glass of hot mulled port wine,
if she likes wineó'
'And a toast, Sir?' suggested the landlady. 'Ay,' said the doctor, in the tone of a man
who makes a dignified concession. 'And a toastóof bread. But be very particular to make it of
bread, if you please, ma'am.'
With which parting injunction, slowly and portentously delivered, the doctor departed,
leaving the whole house in admiration of that wisdom which tallied so closely with their
own. Everybody said he was a very shrewd doctor indeed, and knew perfectly what people's constitutions
were; which there appears some reason to suppose he did.
While her supper was preparing, the child fell into a refreshing sleep, from which they
were obliged to rouse her when it was ready. As she evinced extraordinary uneasiness on
learning that her grandfather was below stairs, and as she was greatly troubled at the thought
of their being apart, he took his supper with her. Finding her still very restless on this
head, they made him up a bed in an inner room, to which he presently retired. The key of
this chamber happened by good fortune to be on that side of the door which was in Nell's
room; she turned it on him when the landlady had withdrawn, and crept to bed again with
a thankful heart.
The schoolmaster sat for a long time smoking his pipe by the kitchen fire, which was now
deserted, thinking, with a very happy face, on the fortunate chance which had brought
him so opportunely to the child's assistance, and parrying, as well as in his simple way
he could, the inquisitive cross-examination of the landlady, who had a great curiosity
to be made acquainted with every particular of Nell's life and history. The poor schoolmaster
was so open-hearted, and so little versed in the most ordinary cunning or deceit, that
she could not have failed to succeed in the first five minutes, but that he happened to
be unacquainted with what she wished to know; and so he told her. The landlady, by no means
satisfied with this assurance, which she considered an ingenious evasion of the question, rejoined
that he had his reasons of course. Heaven forbid that she should wish to pry into the
affairs of her customers, which indeed were no business of hers, who had so many of her
own. She had merely asked a civil question, and to be sure she knew it would meet with
a civil answer. She was quite satisfiedóquite. She had rather perhaps that he would have
said at once that he didn't choose to be communicative, because that would have been plain and intelligible.
However, she had no right to be offended of course. He was the best judge, and had a perfect
right to say what he pleased; nobody could dispute that for a moment. Oh dear, no!
'I assure you, my good lady,' said the mild schoolmaster, 'that I have told you the plain
truth. As I hope to be saved, I have told you the truth.'
'Why then, I do believe you are in earnest,' rejoined the landlady, with ready good-humour,
'and I'm very sorry I have teazed you. But curiosity you know is the curse of our sex,
and that's the fact.' The landlord scratched his head, as if he thought the curse sometimes
involved the other sex likewise; but he was prevented from making any remark to that effect,
if he had it in contemplation to do so, by the schoolmaster's rejoinder.
'You should question me for half-a-dozen hours at a sitting, and welcome, and I would answer
you patiently for the kindness of heart you have shown to-night, if I could,' he said.
'As it is, please to take care of her in the morning, and let me know early how she is;
and to understand that I am paymaster for the three.'
So, parting with them on most friendly terms (not the less cordial perhaps for this last
direction), the schoolmaster went to his bed, and the host and hostess to theirs.
The report in the morning was, that the child was better, but was extremely weak, and would
at least require a day's rest, and careful nursing, before she could proceed upon her
journey. The schoolmaster received this communication with perfect cheerfulness, observing that
he had a day to spareótwo days for that matteróand could very well afford to wait. As the patient
was to sit up in the evening, he appointed to visit her in her room at a certain hour,
and rambling out with his book, did not return until the hour arrived.
Nell could not help weeping when they were left alone; whereat, and at sight of her pale
face and wasted figure, the simple schoolmaster shed a few tears himself, at the same time
showing in very energetic language how foolish it was to do so, and how very easily it could
be avoided, if one tried.
'It makes me unhappy even in the midst of all this kindness' said the child, 'to think
that we should be a burden upon you. How can I ever thank you? If I had not met you so
far from home, I must have died, and he would have been left alone.'
'We'll not talk about dying,' said the schoolmaster; 'and as to burdens, I have made my fortune
since you slept at my cottage.'
'Indeed!' cried the child joyfully.
'Oh yes,' returned her friend. 'I have been appointed clerk and schoolmaster to a village
a long way from hereóand a long way from the old one as you may supposeóat five-and-thirty
pounds a year. Five-and-thirty pounds!'
'I am very glad,' said the child, 'so very, very glad.'
'I am on my way there now,' resumed the schoolmaster. 'They allowed me the stage-coach-hireóoutside
stage-coach-hire all the way. Bless you, they grudge me nothing. But as the time at which
I am expected there, left me ample leisure, I determined to walk instead. How glad I am,
to think I did so!'
'How glad should we be!'
'Yes, yes,' said the schoolmaster, moving restlessly in his chair, 'certainly, that's
very true. But youówhere are you going, where are you coming from, what have you been doing
since you left me, what had you been doing before? Now, tell meódo tell me. I know very
little of the world, and perhaps you are better fitted to advise me in its affairs than I
am qualified to give advice to you; but I am very sincere, and I have a reason (you
have not forgotten it) for loving you. I have felt since that time as if my love for him
who died, had been transferred to you who stood beside his bed. If this,' he added,
looking upwards, 'is the beautiful creation that springs from ashes, let its peace prosper
with me, as I deal tenderly and compassionately by this young child!'
The plain, frank kindness of the honest schoolmaster, the affectionate earnestness of his speech
and manner, the truth which was stamped upon his every word and look, gave the child a
confidence in him, which the utmost arts of treachery and dissimulation could never have
awakened in her breast. She told him allóthat they had no friend or relativeóthat she had
fled with the old man, to save him from a madhouse and all the miseries he dreadedóthat
she was flying now, to save him from himselfóand that she sought an asylum in some remote and
primitive place, where the temptation before which he fell would never enter, and her late
sorrows and distresses could have no place.
The schoolmaster heard her with astonishment. 'This child!'óhe thoughtó'Has this child
heroically persevered under all doubts and dangers, struggled with poverty and suffering,
upheld and sustained by strong affection and the consciousness of rectitude alone! And
yet the world is full of such heroism. Have I yet to learn that the hardest and best-borne
trials are those which are never chronicled in any earthly record, and are suffered every
day! And should I be surprised to hear the story of this child!'
What more he thought or said, matters not. It was concluded that Nell and her grandfather
should accompany him to the village whither he was bound, and that he should endeavour
to find them some humble occupation by which they could subsist. 'We shall be sure to succeed,'
said the schoolmaster, heartily. 'The cause is too good a one to fail.'
They arranged to proceed upon their journey next evening, as a stage-waggon, which travelled
for some distance on the same road as they must take, would stop at the inn to change
horses, and the driver for a small gratuity would give Nell a place inside. A bargain
was soon struck when the waggon came; and in due time it rolled away; with the child
comfortably bestowed among the softer packages, her grandfather and the schoolmaster walking
on beside the driver, and the landlady and all the good folks of the inn screaming out
their good wishes and farewells.
What a soothing, luxurious, drowsy way of travelling, to lie inside that slowly-moving
mountain, listening to the tinkling of the horses' bells, the occasional smacking of
the carter's whip, the smooth rolling of the great broad wheels, the rattle of the harness,
the cheery good-nights of passing travellers jogging past on little short-stepped horsesóall
made pleasantly indistinct by the thick awning, which seemed made for lazy listening under,
till one fell asleep! The very going to sleep, still with an indistinct idea, as the head
jogged to and fro upon the pillow, of moving onward with no trouble or fatigue, and hearing
all these sounds like dreamy music, lulling to the sensesóand the slow waking up, and
finding one's self staring out through the breezy curtain half-opened in the front, far
up into the cold bright sky with its countless stars, and downward at the driver's lantern
dancing on like its namesake Jack of the swamps and marshes, and sideways at the dark grim
trees, and forward at the long bare road rising up, up, up, until it stopped abruptly at a
sharp high ridge as if there were no more road, and all beyond was skyóand the stopping
at the inn to bait, and being helped out, and going into a room with fire and candles,
and winking very much, and being agreeably reminded that the night was cold, and anxious
for very comfort's sake to think it colder than it was!óWhat a delicious journey was
that journey in the waggon.
Then the going on againóso fresh at first, and shortly afterwards so sleepy. The waking
from a sound nap as the mail came dashing past like a highway comet, with gleaming lamps
and rattling hoofs, and visions of a guard behind, standing up to keep his feet warm,
and of a gentleman in a fur cap opening his eyes and looking wild and stupefiedóthe stopping
at the turnpike where the man was gone to bed, and knocking at the door until he answered
with a smothered shout from under the bed-clothes in the little room above, where the faint
light was burning, and presently came down, night-capped and shivering, to throw the gate
wide open, and wish all waggons off the road except by day. The cold sharp interval between
night and morningóthe distant streak of light widening and spreading, and turning from grey
to white, and from white to yellow, and from yellow to burning redóthe presence of day,
with all its cheerfulness and lifeómen and horses at the ploughóbirds in the trees and
hedges, and boys in solitary fields, frightening them away with rattles. The coming to a townópeople
busy in the markets; light carts and chaises round the tavern yard; tradesmen standing
at their doors; men running horses up and down the street for sale; pigs plunging and
grunting in the dirty distance, getting off with long strings at their legs, running into
clean chemists' shops and being dislodged with brooms by 'prentices; the night coach
changing horsesóthe passengers cheerless, cold, ugly, and discontented, with three months'
growth of hair in one nightóthe coachman fresh as from a band-box, and exquisitely
beautiful by contrast:óso much bustle, so many things in motion, such a variety of incidentsówhen
was there a journey with so many delights as that journey in the waggon!
Sometimes walking for a mile or two while her grandfather rode inside, and sometimes
even prevailing upon the schoolmaster to take her place and lie down to rest, Nell travelled
on very happily until they came to a large town, where the waggon stopped, and where
they spent a night. They passed a large church; and in the streets were a number of old houses,
built of a kind of earth or plaster, crossed and re-crossed in a great many directions
with black beams, which gave them a remarkable and very ancient look. The doors, too, were
arched and low, some with oaken portals and quaint benches, where the former inhabitants
had sat on summer evenings. The windows were latticed in little diamond panes, that seemed
to wink and blink upon the passengers as if they were dim of sight. They had long since
got clear of the smoke and furnaces, except in one or two solitary instances, where a
factory planted among fields withered the space about it, like a burning mountain. When
they had passed through this town, they entered again upon the country, and began to draw
near their place of destination.
It was not so near, however, but that they spent another night upon the road; not that
their doing so was quite an act of necessity, but that the schoolmaster, when they approached
within a few miles of his village, had a fidgety sense of his dignity as the new clerk, and
was unwilling to make his entry in dusty shoes, and travel-disordered dress. It was a fine,
clear, autumn morning, when they came upon the scene of his promotion, and stopped to
contemplate its beauties.
'Seeóhere's the church!' cried the delighted schoolmaster in a low voice; 'and that old
building close beside it, is the schoolhouse, I'll be sworn. Five-and-thirty pounds a-year
in this beautiful place!'
They admired everythingóthe old grey porch, the mullioned windows, the venerable gravestones
dotting the green churchyard, the ancient tower, the very weathercock; the brown thatched
roofs of cottage, barn, and homestead, peeping from among the trees; the stream that rippled
by the distant water-mill; the blue Welsh mountains far away. It was for such a spot
the child had wearied in the dense, dark, miserable haunts of labour. Upon her bed of
ashes, and amidst the squalid horrors through which they had forced their way, visions of
such scenesóbeautiful indeed, but not more beautiful than this sweet realityóhad been
always present to her mind. They had seemed to melt into a dim and airy distance, as the
prospect of ever beholding them again grew fainter; but, as they receded, she had loved
and panted for them more.
'I must leave you somewhere for a few minutes,' said the schoolmaster, at length breaking
the silence into which they had fallen in their gladness. 'I have a letter to present,
and inquiries to make, you know. Where shall I take you? To the little inn yonder?'
'Let us wait here,' rejoined Nell. 'The gate is open. We will sit in the church porch till
you come back.'
'A good place too,' said the schoolmaster, leading the way towards it, disencumbering
himself of his portmanteau, and placing it on the stone seat. 'Be sure that I come back
with good news, and am not long gone!'
So, the happy schoolmaster put on a bran-new pair of gloves which he had carried in a little
parcel in his pocket all the way, and hurried off, full of ardour and excitement.
The child watched him from the porch until the intervening foliage hid him from her view,
and then stepped softly out into the old churchyardóso solemn and quiet that every rustle of her
dress upon the fallen leaves, which strewed the path and made her footsteps noiseless,
seemed an invasion of its silence. It was a very aged, ghostly place; the church had
been built many hundreds of years ago, and had once had a convent or monastery attached;
for arches in ruins, remains of oriel windows, and fragments of blackened walls, were yet
standing-, while other portions of the old building, which had crumbled away and fallen
down, were mingled with the churchyard earth and overgrown with grass, as if they too claimed
a burying-place and sought to mix their ashes with the dust of men. Hard by these gravestones
of dead years, and forming a part of the ruin which some pains had been taken to render
habitable in modern times, were two small dwellings with sunken windows and oaken doors,
fast hastening to decay, empty and desolate.
Upon these tenements, the attention of the child became exclusively riveted. She knew
not why. The church, the ruin, the antiquated graves, had equal claims at least upon a stranger's
thoughts, but from the moment when her eyes first rested on these two dwellings, she could
turn to nothing else. Even when she had made the circuit of the enclosure, and, returning
to the porch, sat pensively waiting for their friend, she took her station where she could
still look upon them, and felt as if fascinated towards that spot.