The arrangements for her new establishment were soon completed, and the time came when Laura was to begin her life of seclusion. The day before her intended removal she completed her twentieth year; and Mrs Douglas would have assembled a little group of friends to celebrate the occasion, but Laura steadily opposed it. 'Let not one who is suspected,' said she, 'assume the boldness of innocence! yet since the suspicion wrongs me I will not wear the melancholy of guilt. Give the children a holiday for my sake, and I shall be as playful and as silly as the youngest of them.' The holiday was granted; and Laura, amidst the joyful noisy little company that soon assembled round her, forgot that she was an outcast.
She was busily searching every corner for the hidden handkerchief, the little rogue who had concealed it in his shoe laughing the while and clapping his hands in delight, when she started at the voice of a stranger in the lobby; who was announcing that he had a letter for Mrs Douglas, which he could deliver to no person but herself. The next moment the stranger was shewn in to the room, and Laura with amazement beheld her American attendant. The amazement on his part was still greater. He started, he trembled, he at first shrunk from Laura, then eagerly advancing towards her, 'Bless my soul, Madam!' he exclaimed, 'are you alive? Then Mary's words are true, and the angels watch over you.'
It was some time before the man's astonishment would permit him to declare his errand. At last when his curiosity had been partially satisfied, he was prevailed upon to enter his narrative. 'You may remember, Madam,' said he, addressing himself to Laura, 'it was the morning we expected my master, (though I told Mary, for a make-believe, that he would not come till evening,) that morning Mary took you out and left you; for which I was mortal angry with her, for my mind misgave me that some mischief would come of it. So she ran down to the place where she left you sitting, but you were not there. Then she looked all about, but she could see you nowhere. She wasafraid to go among the canes, for fear of the rattlesnakes, so she ran home and told me. So I went with her, scolding her to be sure all the way. Well we sought and sought, till at last, half in the water, and half on the shore, we found your hat and then to be sure none of us never doubted that you had drowned yourself; and Mary cried and wrung her hands like a distracted creature, saying that my master was a wicked wretch that had broken your heart, and often and often she wished that we could find you to give you Christian burial, for she said she was sure your ghost would never let her rest in her bed. But we had no drags, nor anything to take you up with out of the water. Well, we were just in the midst of all our troubles when my master came. "Well, Robert," says he, in his hearty way, "Where is my angel?" I had not the heart to say a word; so with that Mary ran forward sobbing like a baby, and says she, just off hand, "Miss Montreville is in a watery grave, and I am sure, Sir, some heavy judgment will light on him that drove her to it." So my master stood for a moment thunderstruck, as it were, and then he flew upon us both like a tiger, and shook us till he scarce left breath in us, and swore that it was all a trick, and that he would make us produce you or he would have our lives. So I tried to pacify him the best I could; but Mary answered him, that it was all his own doing, and that he might seek you in the river where he would find your corpse. This put my master quite beside himself; and he catched her up, and flung her from him, just as if she had been a kitten; and then he flew down to the river side, and I followed him, and shewed him where we had found your hat; and explained to him how it was not our fault, for we had both been very civil and given you no disturbance at all, which you know Madam was true. So, close to the place where we found your hat we saw the print of your little shoe in the bank; and when my master saw it he grew quite distracted, crying out that he had murdered you, and that he would revenge you upon a wretch not fit to live (meaning himself, Madam), and so he would have leaped into the river; but by this time one of the servants he brought with him came up, and we forced him back to the house. Then he grew more quiet; and called for Mary, and gave her his purse with all his money, and bid her tell every thing about you, Madam; how you had behaved, and what you had said. So she told him, crying all the while, for she repented from her heart that ever she consented to have any hand in the business. And sometimes he would start away and gnash his teeth, and dash his head against the wall; and sometimes hewould bid her go on, that he might run distracted at once and forget all. So she told him that you had written to one Mrs Douglas, in hopes that when you were dead he would take pity on you, (repeating your very words, Madam). Then he asked to see the letter, and he carried it into your room. And there we heard him groaning and speaking to himself, and throwing himself against the walls; and we thought it best to let him come to himself a little and not disturb him. So by and by he called for pen and ink, and I carried them to him, thinking if he wanted to write it was a sign he was growing more calm. Then he continued writing for some time, though now and again we heard him restless as before. At last he opened the door, and called me, "Robert," says he, quite calm and composed like, "if you deliver this packet as directed, you will earn three hundred pounds. But be sure to deliver it with your own hand." I was going to ask him something more about it, for I did not just know what he meant about the £300; but he pushed me out, and shut himself into the room. Then I bethought myself that there was something strange like in his look, and that he was pale, and somehow not like himself. So I went to the kitchen to consult with the rest what we had best do. So I had scarcely got there when I heard a pistol go off, and we all ran and burst open the door, and there we saw my master, Madam, laid out upon Miss Montreville's bed, and the pistol still in his hand; though he was stone dead, Madam, for I suppose the ball had gone right through his heart.'
Laura, dreadfully shocked, and no longer able to listen to this horrible relation, hastened out of the room, leaving Mrs Douglas to hear what yet remained to be told of the history of a man of pleasure!!! The servant proceeded to tell that he and his companions had conveyed their master's body to head-quarters, had seen it buried with military honours, and then had sailed in the first ship for Britain. That remembering the charge to deliver the packet with his own hand, he had come down to Scotland on purpose to execute his trust; and hoped that Mrs Douglas would fulfil his master's promise. He then delivered the packet, which Mrs Douglas opening in his presence, found to contain a bill for £300 in favour of Robert Lewson, not payable without her signature; the two letters which Laura had written during her exile; and the following lines, rendered almost illegible by the convulsive startings of the hand which traced them.
'The angel whom I have murdered, was an angel still. "The destroyer came," but found her not. It was her last wish that you should know her innocence. None can attest it like me. She was purer than heaven's own light. She loved you. There is another, too, whom she protests that she loved to the last—but it was me alone whom she loved with passion. In the anguish of her soul she called it "idolatry;" and the words of agony are true. But I, like a base fool, cast her love away for the heartless toyings of a wanton! And shall I, who might have been so blest, live now to bear the gnawings of this viper—this hell never to be escaped?'She has said that she must go to the grave laden with shame; that her name is degraded through me. Once more, then, I charge you, proclaim her innocence. Let no envious tongue presume to stain that name. Let it be accounted holy. I will save what she loved better than life, though I have persecuted her—driven her to death—forced her to hide in the cold waters all that was loveliest in woman. She says that she will meet you in heaven,—and it must be true, for falsehood was a stranger to her lips. Then tell her that he who was her murderer, was her avenger too. It is said that self-destruction is the last—worst crime. In others it may be so. In me it is but justice; for every law condemns the murderer to die. He who destroyed that angel should die a thousand deaths. Justice shall be speedy.'Villiers Hargrave.'
'The angel whom I have murdered, was an angel still. "The destroyer came," but found her not. It was her last wish that you should know her innocence. None can attest it like me. She was purer than heaven's own light. She loved you. There is another, too, whom she protests that she loved to the last—but it was me alone whom she loved with passion. In the anguish of her soul she called it "idolatry;" and the words of agony are true. But I, like a base fool, cast her love away for the heartless toyings of a wanton! And shall I, who might have been so blest, live now to bear the gnawings of this viper—this hell never to be escaped?
'She has said that she must go to the grave laden with shame; that her name is degraded through me. Once more, then, I charge you, proclaim her innocence. Let no envious tongue presume to stain that name. Let it be accounted holy. I will save what she loved better than life, though I have persecuted her—driven her to death—forced her to hide in the cold waters all that was loveliest in woman. She says that she will meet you in heaven,—and it must be true, for falsehood was a stranger to her lips. Then tell her that he who was her murderer, was her avenger too. It is said that self-destruction is the last—worst crime. In others it may be so. In me it is but justice; for every law condemns the murderer to die. He who destroyed that angel should die a thousand deaths. Justice shall be speedy.
'Villiers Hargrave.'
Mrs Douglas had no sooner read the contents of her packet, than she hastened to communicate them to Laura. The horror inspired by Hargrave's letter, and the dreadful destiny of the writer, did not render her insensible to the pleasure of being empowered to clear, beyond a doubt, the fame of her young friend. Laura was, however, for the present, in no state to share her joy. She could only weep; and, trembling, pray that she might be enabled to guard against the first beginnings of that self-indulgence, whose end is destruction!
Mrs Douglas at last found means to rouse her by naming De Courcy, and reminding her of his right to immediate information of this happy change in her situation. Laura, as superior to coquetry as to any other species of despicable cruelty, instantly sat down to communicate the news to her lover. To her plain unvarnished tale, she added copies of the letters which attested her innocence, with Lewson's account of the names and addresses of those persons who had been employed to carry her from England.
Evening was drawing on before Laura had finished her task; and, desirous to recruit her spirits before she joined the family circle, she stole abroad to breathe the reviving air of her native hills. She had crossed the little lawn, and was opening the gate, when, seeing a carriage drive quickly up, she drew back. The carriage stopped. She heard an exclamation of joy, and the next moment she was pressed to the heart of De Courcy.
Laura first recovered utterance. 'What happy chance,' she cried, 'has brought you here just at the moment when I am permitted to rejoice that you are come?' 'Ah, Laura,' said De Courcy, 'could I know that you were alive and in Britain, yet make no effort to find you? I was convinced that Mrs Douglas must know your retreat. I was sure that I could plead so that no human heart could resist my entreaties. And now I have found thee, I will never leave thee but with life.'
The little shrubbery walk which led round the lawn to the parsonage was not half a quarter of a mile in length, yet it was an hour before the lovers reached the house; and before Laura presented De Courcy to her friends she had promised that in one week she would reward his tried affection; and had settled, that after they had spent a few days in delightful solitude at Glenalbert, she would accompany him to Norwood.
Laura has now been for some years a wife; and the same qualities which made her youth respectable, endear her to the happy partner of her maturer life. She still finds daily exercise for her characteristic virtue; since even amidst the purest worldly bliss self-denial is necessary. But the tranquil current of domestic happiness affords no materials for narrative. The joys that spring from chastened affection, tempered desires, useful employment, and devout meditation, must be felt—they cannot be described.
THE END.
FOOTNOTE:[A]See Jamieson's Popular Ballads, Vol. ii, p. 558.
FOOTNOTE:[A]See Jamieson's Popular Ballads, Vol. ii, p. 558.
[A]See Jamieson's Popular Ballads, Vol. ii, p. 558.
Transcribers Notes:Some minor obvious typographical errors have been corrected silently.All inconsistent hyphenation, apostrophes and single quotes have been left as found unless noted.Corrections made are shown below in square brackets:Pg. 2"She understood all the arts of courtesey[courtesy]"Pg. 16"to unit[unite] myself with vice"Pg. 19"My dear kind feather[father],' she cried,"Pg. 21"features indeliby[indelibly] engraven on her recollection"Pg. 23"Soon after she first saw Hargraves[Hargrave]"Pg. 24"the cause of Laura's depresion[depression]"Pg. 41"Hargraves[Hargrave] was the only child"Pg. 66"and she run[ran] on till she was"Pg. 108"triumphantly, [']for haven't I read it"Pg. 127"Varius[Various] circumstances, however, had led De Courcy"Pg. 135"must have a companion to it.[']"Pg. 198"was leaving the shop, goodnaturedly[good-naturedly] said"Pg. 219"she should inhabit so lovely, so peaceful [a] scene."Pg. 224"Hargrave could not possibility[possibly] refuse to fight"Pg. 225"the close of a sleepness[sleepless] night"Pg. 233"'That you have no ambition,' replied [Mrs] De Courcy,"Pg. 237"twenty times before.--[']"Always live with a"Pg. 247"'I think,' said [Mrs] De Courcy, 'I can observe"Pg. 249"Then I was gong[going] to have got"Pg. 253"namely, the liberty to infrine[infringe]"Pg. 264"Montague [who] looks so provokingly pleased"Pg. 306"'Do you dare to tell you[replaced with "me"] that you will not go?'"Pg. 313"Laura's habitual ascendancy was completed[completely] restored"Pg. 343"instead of cards, prefer[prefers] allowing me to attend her"Pg. 347"through every tedious hours[hour] in which the absence of visitors"Multiple versions of words not changed:bridemaid, bride-maidcontrol, controulcouldn't, could'ntextasy, ecstasymight'nt, mightn't, might'n'tmustn't, must'ntprint-seller, printsellerrecal, recallsuperstitution, superstitionsurprise, surprizesuspence, suspensetête à tête, tête-à-têtetonight, to-nighttremor, tremourwasn't, was'nt
Corrections made are shown below in square brackets:
Multiple versions of words not changed: