CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER'S ADVENTURE; AND
A CONVERSATION OF SOME IMPORTANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND ROSE
When the inmates of the house, attracted by Oliver's cries, hurried to the
spot from which they proceeded, they found him, pale and agitated, pointing in
the direction of the meadows behind the house, and scarcely able to articulate
the words, 'The Jew! the Jew!'
Mr. Giles was at a loss to comprehend what this outcry meant; but Harry
Maylie, whose perceptions were something quicker, and who had heard Oliver's
history from his mother, understood it at once.
'What direction did he take?' he asked, catching up a heavy stick which was
standing in a corner.
'That,' replied Oliver, pointing out the course the man had taken; 'I missed
them in an instant.'
'Then, they are in the ditch!' said Harry. 'Follow! And keep as near me, as
you can.' So saying, he sprang over the hedge, and darted off with a speed which
rendered it matter of exceeding difficulty for the others to keep near him.
Giles followed as well as he could; and Oliver followed too; and in the
course of a minute or two, Mr. Losberne, who had been out walking, and just then
returned, tumbled over the hedge after them, and picking himself up with more
agility than he could have been supposed to possess, struck into the same course
at no contemptible speed, shouting all the while, most prodigiously, to know
what was the matter.
On they all went; nor stopped they once to breathe, until the leader,
striking off into an angle of the field indicated by Oliver, began to search,
narrowly, the ditch and hedge adjoining; which afforded time for the remainder
of the party to come up; and for Oliver to communicate to Mr. Losberne the
circumstances that had led to so vigorous a pursuit.
The search was all in vain. There were not even the traces of recent
footsteps, to be seen. They stood now, on the summit of a little hill,
commanding the open fields in every direction for three or four miles. There was
the village in the hollow on the left; but, in order to gain that, after
pursuing the track Oliver had pointed out, the men must have made a circuit of
open ground, which it was impossible they could have accomplished in so short a
time. A thick wood skirted the meadow-land in another direction; but they could
not have gained that covert for the same reason.
'It must have been a dream, Oliver,' said Harry Maylie.
'Oh no, indeed, sir,' replied Oliver, shuddering at the very recollection of
the old wretch's countenance; 'I saw him too plainly for that. I saw them both,
as plainly as I see you now.'
'Who was the other?' inquired Harry and Mr. Losberne, together.
'The very same man I told you of, who came so suddenly upon me at the inn,'
said Oliver. 'We had our eyes fixed full upon each other; and I could swear to
him.'
'They took this way?' demanded Harry: 'are you sure?'
'As I am that the men were at the window,' replied Oliver, pointing down, as
he spoke, to the hedge which divided the cottage-garden from the meadow. 'The
tall man leaped over, just there; and the Jew, running a few paces to the right,
crept through that gap.'
The two gentlemen watched Oliver's earnest face, as he spoke, and looking
from him to each other, seemed to fell satisfied of the accuracy of what he
said. Still, in no direction were there any appearances of the trampling of men
in hurried flight. The grass was long; but it was trodden down nowhere, save
where their own feet had crushed it. The sides and brinks of the ditches were of
damp clay; but in no one place could they discern the print of men's shoes, or
the slightest mark which would indicate that any feet had pressed the ground for
hours before.
'This is strange!' said Harry.
'Strange?' echoed the doctor. 'Blathers and Duff, themselves, could make
nothing of it.'
Notwithstanding the evidently useless nature of their search, they did not
desist until the coming on of night rendered its further prosecution hopeless;
and even then, they gave it up with reluctance. Giles was dispatched to the
different ale-houses in the village, furnished with the best description Oliver
could give of the appearance and dress of the strangers. Of these, the Jew was,
at all events, sufficiently remarkable to be remembered, supposing he had been
seen drinking, or loitering about; but Giles returned without any intelligence,
calculated to dispel or lessen the mystery.
On the next day, fresh search was made, and the inquiries renewed; but with
no better success. On the day following, Oliver and Mr. Maylie repaired to the
market-town, in the hope of seeing or hearing something of the men there; but
this effort was equally fruitless. After a few days, the affair began to be
forgotten, as most affairs are, when wonder, having no fresh food to support it,
dies away of itself.
Meanwhile, Rose was rapidly recovering. She had left her room: was able to go
out; and mixing once more with the family, carried joy into the hearts of all.
But, although this happy change had a visible effect on the little circle;
and although cheerful voices and merry laughter were once more heard in the
cottage; there was at times, an unwonted restraint upon some there: even upon
Rose herself: which Oliver could not fail to remark. Mrs. Maylie and her son
were often closeted together for a long time; and more than once Rose appeared
with traces of tears upon her face. After Mr. Losberne had fixed a day for his
departure to Chertsey, these symptoms increased; and it became evident that
something was in progress which affected the peace of the young lady, and of
somebody else besides.
At length, one morning, when Rose was alone in the breakfast-parlour, Harry
Maylie entered; and, with some hesitation, begged permission to speak with her
for a few moments.
'A few--a very few--will suffice, Rose,' said the young man, drawing his
chair towards her. 'What I shall have to say, has already presented itself to
your mind; the most cherished hopes of my heart are not unknown to you, though
from my lips you have not heard them stated.'
Rose had been very pale from the moment of his entrance; but that might have
been the effect of her recent illness. She merely bowed; and bending over some
plants that stood near, waited in silence for him to proceed.
'I--I--ought to have left here, before,' said Harry.
'You should, indeed,' replied Rose. 'Forgive me for saying so, but I wish you
had.'
'I was brought here, by the most dreadful and agonising of all
apprehensions,' said the young man; 'the fear of losing the one dear being on
whom my every wish and hope are fixed. You had been dying; trembling between
earth and heaven. We know that when the young, the beautiful, and good, are
visited with sickness, their pure spirits insensibly turn towards their bright
home of lasting rest; we know, Heaven help us! that the best and fairest of our
kind, too often fade in blooming.'
There were tears in the eyes of the gentle girl, as these words were spoken;
and when one fell upon the flower over which she bent, and glistened brightly in
its cup, making it more beautiful, it seemed as though the outpouring of her
fresh young heart, claimed kindred naturally, with the loveliest things in
nature.
'A creature,' continued the young man, passionately, 'a creature as fair and
innocent of guile as one of God's own angels, fluttered between life and death.
Oh! who could hope, when the distant world to which she was akin, half opened to
her view, that she would return to the sorrow and calamity of this! Rose, Rose,
to know that you were passing away like some soft shadow, which a light from
above, casts upon the earth; to have no hope that you would be spared to those
who linger here; hardly to know a reason why you should be; to feel that you
belonged to that bright sphere whither so many of the fairest and the best have
winged their early flight; and yet to pray, amid all these consolations, that
you might be restored to those who loved you--these were distractions almost too
great to bear. They were mine, by day and night; and with them, came such a
rushing torrent of fears, and apprehensions, and selfish regrets, lest you
should die, and never know how devotedly I loved you, as almost bore down sense
and reason in its course. You recovered. Day by day, and almost hour by hour,
some drop of health came back, and mingling with the spent and feeble stream of
life which circulated languidly within you, swelled it again to a high and
rushing tide. I have watched you change almost from death, to life, with eyes
that turned blind with their eagerness and deep affection. Do not tell me that
you wish I had lost this; for it has softened my heart to all mankind.'
'I did not mean that,' said Rose, weeping; 'I only wish you had left here,
that you might have turned to high and noble pursuits again; to pursuits well
worthy of you.'
'There is no pursuit more worthy of me: more worthy of the highest nature
that exists: than the struggle to win such a heart as yours,' said the young
man, taking her hand. 'Rose, my own dear Rose! For years--for years--I have
loved you; hoping to win my way to fame, and then come proudly home and tell you
it had been pursued only for you to share; thinking, in my daydreams, how I
would remind you, in that happy moment, of the many silent tokens I had given of
a boy's attachment, and claim your hand, as in redemption of some old mute
contract that had been sealed between us! That time has not arrived; but here,
with not fame won, and no young vision realised, I offer you the heart so long
your own, and stake my all upon the words with which you greet the offer.'
'Your behaviour has ever been kind and noble.' said Rose, mastering the
emotions by which she was agitated. 'As you believe that I am not insensible or
ungrateful, so hear my answer.'
'It is, that I may endeavour to deserve you; it is, dear Rose?'
'It is,' replied Rose, 'that you must endeavour to forget me; not as your old
and dearly-attached companion, for that would wound me deeply; but, as the
object of your love. Look into the world; think how many hearts you would be
proud to gain, are there. Confide some other passion to me, if you will; I will
be the truest, warmest, and most faithful friend you have.'
There was a pause, during which, Rose, who had covered her face with one
hand, gave free vent to her tears. Harry still retained the other.
'And your reasons, Rose,' he said, at length, in a low voice; 'your reasons
for this decision?'
'You have a right to know them,' rejoined Rose. 'You can say nothing to alter
my resolution. It is a duty that I must perform. I owe it, alike to others, and
to myself.'
'To yourself?'
'Yes, Harry. I owe it to myself, that I, a friendless, portionless, girl,
with a blight upon my name, should not give your friends reason to suspect that
I had sordidly yielded to your first passion, and fastened myself, a clog, on
all your hopes and projects. I owe it to you and yours, to prevent you from
opposing, in the warmth of your generous nature, this great obstacle to your
progress in the world.'
'If your inclinations chime with your sense of duty--' Harry began.
'They do not,' replied Rose, colouring deeply.
'Then you return my love?' said Harry. 'Say but that, dear Rose; say but
that; and soften the bitterness of this hard disappointment!'
'If I could have done so, without doing heavy wrong to him I loved,' rejoined
Rose, 'I could have--'
'Have received this declaration very differently?' said Harry. 'Do not
conceal that from me, at least, Rose.'
'I could,' said Rose. 'Stay!' she added, disengaging her hand, 'why should we
prolong this painful interview? Most painful to me, and yet productive of
lasting happiness, notwithstanding; for it WILL be happiness to know that I once
held the high place in your regard which I now occupy, and every triumph you
achieve in life will animate me with new fortitude and firmness. Farewell,
Harry! As we have met to-day, we meet no more; but in other relations than those
in which this conversation have placed us, we may be long and happily entwined;
and may every blessing that the prayers of a true and earnest heart can call
down from the source of all truth and sincerity, cheer and prosper you!'
'Another word, Rose,' said Harry. 'Your reason in your own words. From your
own lips, let me hear it!'
'The prospect before you,' answered Rose, firmly, 'is a brilliant one. All
the honours to which great talents and powerful connections can help men in
public life, are in store for you. But those connections are proud; and I will
neither mingle with such as may hold in scorn the mother who gave me life; nor
bring disgrace or failure on the son of her who has so well supplied that
mother's place. In a word,' said the young lady, turning away, as her temporary
firmness forsook her, 'there is a stain upon my name, which the world visits on
innocent heads. I will carry it into no blood but my own; and the reproach shall
rest alone on me.'
'One word more, Rose. Dearest Rose! one more!' cried Harry, throwing himself
before her. 'If I had been less--less fortunate, the world would call it--if
some obscure and peaceful life had been my destiny--if I had been poor, sick,
helpless--would you have turned from me then? Or has my probable advancement to
riches and honour, given this scruple birth?'
'Do not press me to reply,' answered Rose. 'The question does not arise, and
never will. It is unfair, almost unkind, to urge it.'
'If your answer be what I almost dare to hope it is,' retorted Harry, 'it
will shed a gleam of happiness upon my lonely way, and light the path before me.
It is not an idle thing to do so much, by the utterance of a few brief words,
for one who loves you beyond all else. Oh, Rose: in the name of my ardent and
enduring attachment; in the name of all I have suffered for you, and all you
doom me to undergo; answer me this one question!'
'Then, if your lot had been differently cast,' rejoined Rose; 'if you had
been even a little, but not so far, above me; if I could have been a help and
comfort to you in any humble scene of peace and retirement, and not a blot and
drawback in ambitious and distinguished crowds; I should have been spared this
trial. I have every reason to be happy, very happy, now; but then, Harry, I own
I should have been happier.'
Busy recollections of old hopes, cherished as a girl, long ago, crowded into
the mind of Rose, while making this avowal; but they brought tears with them, as
old hopes will when they come back withered; and they relieved her.
'I cannot help this weakness, and it makes my purpose stronger,' said Rose,
extending her hand. 'I must leave you now, indeed.'
'I ask one promise,' said Harry. 'Once, and only once more,--say within a
year, but it may be much sooner,--I may speak to you again on this subject, for
the last time.'
'Not to press me to alter my right determination,' replied Rose, with a
melancholy smile; 'it will be useless.'
'No,' said Harry; 'to hear you repeat it, if you will--finally repeat it! I
will lay at your feet, whatever of station of fortune I may possess; and if you
still adhere to your present resolution, will not seek, by word or act, to
change it.'
'Then let it be so,' rejoined Rose; 'it is but one pang the more,
and by that time I may be enabled to bear it better.'
She extended her hand again. But the young man caught her to his bosom; and
imprinting one kiss on her beautiful forehead, hurried from the room.
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