I am sure that Mr. Eardley was thinking of Mr. Arthur Madden this evening when he spoke of active labourers for God being smitten down by sickness,” observed Rebekah Holdich to her husband, after the little congregation had dispersed from the cottage.
“Mr. Arthur—I hope there’s nothing the matter with him!” said Holdich, with a look of concern on his manly countenance. “The last news was that he had been ordained at Jerusalem.”
“But I grieve to say that worse tidings came this morning to Mr. Eardley in a letter from Mr. Arthur’s youngest sister, who has been nursing him in a dangerous illness. The doctors say that the climate does not agree with his health; he was ordered to England directly—he and his sister were to start by the very next steamer.”
“It will be a real pleasure to see them again,” observed Holdich. He was a man rather of deeds than words, so the simple sentence expressed a great deal more than it would have done from the lips of another.
“But Mr. Arthur may never arrive, he may sink by the way,” faltered Rebekah, who was of a disposition naturally tender, and not very hopeful.
“Wife, he is in God’s hands,” said Holdich; “sick or well, on sea or on land—he will be given what is best for him.”
“Ah,” thought Rebekah, “my husband is always one to see behind the fading blossoms the germ of the fruit. His is a faith that can bear wind and storm; he can trust not only himself, but (what I find so much harder to do) those whom he loves, to his God.”
Mrs. Bolder, as usual, carried back to her suffering husband an account of the cottage-lecture.
“There’s a word of comfort for me,” observed Bolder; “maybe I’m like one of these nine thousand seven hundred Israelites sent back to their tents. They were not to be trusted to gain the victory, lest they should boast that their own strength had won it. God kept them in the background to keep them humble; but they were not rejected—no! Nor is many a poor sinner like me, though shut up from active work—we shall yet be allowed to join in the shout, Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
Lottie Stone had returned to the Lodge that evening with a very heavy heart. Her mind was far less occupied with the lecture than with the tidings which she had heard of the dangerous illness of one of her earliest benefactors. Already perplexed and distressed as she was on account of her father, this new trouble had come on the little maid as a shock. The words in which Mrs. Bolder had communicated the news to her, “Have you heard that Mr. Arthur Madden is dying at Jerusalem?” had struck like a knell on her heart. Already that young tender heart was bleeding from home anxieties and troubles of which Lottie could not speak even to the kind mistress for whose counsel and sympathy she yearned, and now this second blow seemed almost crushing. Her father in difficulties, out of which she could not help him, returning after the absence of years to his country, but sick, tied down by debt, unable to reach those who loved him; and now the generous friend of the family dying in a far-distant land—thoughts of all this were a most oppressive burden of sorrow to Lottie. Her mind was so full of its troubles that she was more than usually awkward and inattentive in service. She was unpunctual in bringing in tea, the milk-jug was empty, the plates forgotten, the water had never been boiling. Isa was a little displeased, Mr. Gritton was angry, and his peevish chiding increased the confusion of poor Lottie Stone. In her nervous haste in removing the tea-tray she knocked over a letter-weigher which had lain upon Gaspar’s table. It fell with a clatter which made the invalid start, and the various weights were scattered hither and thither, some on the boards, some on the piece of brown drugget which covered the centre of the apartment.
“The girl must have been drinking!” exclaimed Gaspar angrily, while poor Lottie went down on her knees to gather up the weights. Isa, pitying her confusion, said, in order to draw away the attention of Gaspar, “I have not yet told you of Edith’s kindness; she has promised to send my poor consumptive girl to Bournemouth.”
“I feel no interest in the matter,” replied Mr. Gritton; “I wish that, instead of hunting up cases outside the house, you would manage to keep a little better order within it.”
Lottie rose from her knees after her search, and timidly placed the weigher on the mantel-piece. She had recovered all the weights belonging to it but one, the smallest of the set, and that, in the dim light thrown by the solitary candle on the table, she had not been able to find. Lottie was nervously afraid lest her master should examine the small machine and find it imperfect.
“I will hunt for the little round thing in the morning, when no one is watching me,” thought Lottie, “and I’ll never rest then till I find it.” The letter-weigher was the only elegant article which Gaspar’s study contained; it had been a birth-day gift from his sister, and had particularly attracted the admiration of Lottie, who, in her simplicity, had taken the gilded ornament for gold. The loss of the little weight was to the young maid a sensible addition to her heavier troubles.
“If I can’t find that little gold bit, what on earth shall I do?” thought Lottie, with the fear before her mind of having to replace an article of value unknown; “I dare say that it is worth half a sovereign, and master may say that the whole thing is spoiled by its loss. How shall I ever pay for it out of my wages, and just at a time when I would do anything to win more money for father? I’ll get up early, so early to-morrow, and search every cranny in that room before any one else is about in the house.”
Lottie Stone could hardly sleep that night from the many anxious thoughts which haunted her brain. She arose before dawn to hunt for the weight, crept out of her little chamber, and softly descended the stairs to the study. She opened the shutters, but the stars were glimmering yet in the deep blue sky, there was not sufficient light for her need. Lottie lighted a candle and began her search, under the table, the chairs, the fender, in every likely and unlikely place she hunted, but “the little gold bit” was not to be found.
“I’ll move the table right to the wall, and pull up the drugget, maybe it has rolled under there,” said Lottie to herself, exerting all her strength to move the deal table, with Gaspar’s heavy desk upon it, to the other side of the room.
To draw up the drugget was an easier task, and scarcely had it been removed when, stuck between two of the boards which had been covered by the cloth, Lottie to her great relief caught sight of the bright little weight.
She ran up to the spot, and tried to pick up the weight, but a foot had trodden on it and pressed it in firmly. Lottie pulled harder, and to her extreme surprise found that in moving the weight she also moved one of the planks between which it was jammed, while a previously imperceptible line crossed the breadth of three of them. Accident had discovered to Lottie a most carefully concealed trap-door in the floor, in the spot which was usually covered both by the drugget and the table. With some little trouble Lottie managed to raise it, and with wondering curiosity she peered down, still on her knees, into the dark vault below, into which there was a means of descent by a ladder. Stories that had been current in the hamlet then recurred to the mind of Lottie, stories of the caution and mystery used in the building of Wildwaste Lodge. She had never heard that there were cellars beneath it, and a concealed trap-door would be a strange kind of opening into one intended to contain only wine. As Lottie bent over the dark recess, candle in hand, the little gilded weight which she had recovered slipped from her hold, and fell down into the vault below. It was needful again to search for it, and perhaps the young girl was not sorry for an excuse to explore a little further. Slowly and softly Lottie descended the ladder, carrying the candle in her hand. When she had reached the bottom, she found herself in a brick-built vault; the air felt damp and chill, moisture stains gleamed faintly on the walls. On the further side was a door, close to which the little weight had rolled. Lottie went and picked it up, and then pressed her hand against the door; it was not locked, but slightly ajar, and yielded to her pressure. Lottie could not resist the temptation of entering the inner vault. It had brick walls and floor like the first, but was not, like the first, perfectly empty. There were low shelves, on which was ranged all the family plate which Mr. Gritton had inherited from his father, silver candlesticks, salvers, and tureens, with curious old coins in cases, all looking dull and tarnished. There were also yellow canvas bags ranged in order. Lottie put down her candle, and, by a strong impulse of curiosity, raised one: it was very heavy in proportion to its size; she loosened the string round the mouth and glanced in—it was full of golden sovereigns! The black eyes of Lottie dilated—she could scarcely breathe—the hand which held the canvas bag trembled. The foolish young daughter of Eve had by her indiscreet curiosity put herself into a position of sore temptation, she had given the Enemy an advantage; he who had dared to breathe his deadly whisper in Eden, was present to tempt in that dark deep vault.
“What a world of wealth is buried here, wealth useless to its owner, useless to all the world! A few yellow pieces from one of those canvas bags would never be missed, while they would bring help to a long-lost father, bring him back to his home, fill the heart of a mother with delight.” Nay, even the impious suggestion followed: “This discovery has not been made by chance. Providence has guided you here to give you the means of helping your parents in the time of their greatest need.”
Well was it then for the tempted girl that prayer had become so habitual that she intuitively turned to her God for guidance, as a child might turn to a parent. Then her pastor’s words recurred to her memory, “Let us especially beware that we use no means that are not sanctified by God’s blessing.” It was Lottie’s duty, indeed, to make every effort for her parents, but God’s work must be only done in God’s way. His blessing could not rest on ill-gotten gold, and without that blessing what could come but misery and shame? Lottie’s faith was in trial; she was called on to abstain from following the only course by which it seemed possible for her to rescue her father. It was not by low covetousness, but by the strong warm affections of the heart that the Tempter was seeking to draw the simple child into guilt. It was a short, a painful struggle, and then faith rose victorious. “Oh, no! how can I do this thing, and sin against God!” exclaimed Lottie aloud, and not trusting herself to look again at the bags of treasure, she turned suddenly round—and confronted her master!
Lottie started violently at the unexpected meeting with Gaspar; she then stood as if spell-bound, with her black eyes rivetted on his; she seemed to have no power to withdraw them, no power to utter another word. The sight of Mr. Gritton’s sallow, shrunken countenance, looking to her corpse-like in that dimly-lighted vault, exercised on the girl a kind of fascination, such as that which is attributed to the serpent’s gaze.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
Gaspar had been roused from sleep by the sounds made by Lottie in the search for the gilded weight. He never enjoyed the deep refreshing slumber of a mind at rest; the miser was haunted by the fears that are natural to one whose treasure is on earth, where thieves may break through and steal. Alarmed by the noise which he heard at an hour so unusually early, Gaspar had risen and partially dressed, his anxiety being increased by the recollection that he had forgotten to lock the door of the inner vault when last he had visited it, as he frequently did, in the night-time. It was an infirmity of Gaspar, perhaps originating in the shock caused to him by the loss of the Orissa, to feel that his money was never so safe as when immediately under his eye; it was a satisfaction to the slave of Mammon to sleep over his buried treasure. Mr. Gritton was, however, nervously sensitive to the danger of keeping large sums of money in an unguarded dwelling, especially in such a lawless neighbourhood as that of Wildwaste. He must hide from all the knowledge of the existence of hoards which would tempt the burglar. With this view Gaspar had caused vaults to be constructed with a special view to concealment: no one in Wildwaste knew of their existence. Mr. Gritton did what he could to appear before men as a gentleman of very narrow means; and though he had not succeeded in this, he had until now perfectly preserved the secret of a treasure kept under his house.
It was with annoyance and alarm that Gaspar now found his secret discovered. He could not doubt the honesty of Lottie, whose words he had just overheard; he was relieved to find that his vault had been entered by no more formidable intruder; but he anxiously revolved the means of preventing the discovery from spreading further, and stood sternly regarding the trembling girl for what appeared to her a fearfully long time.
“You have taken nothing?” he asked at length; to Lottie his voice sounded hollow and terrible, breaking the painful silence.
“Oh, no, sir—you can search me—I never thought—;” the girl checked herself in the midst of her sentence—“no, I mustn’t say that, for I was tempted; but it was for my father.”
“I never heard that you had a father living,” said Gaspar.
“He is living, and in great distress, at Southampton.”
“Hear me, girl,” said the master sternly. “I believe—I know that you are honest, but I have no means of knowing that you are discreet; after what has happened I cannot suffer you to stay for one hour longer in this house.” Seeing that Lottie looked aghast at this summary dismissal, Gaspar added more gently, “I am going to exact from you a most solemn promise that you will never utter to any being a word of what you have seen this day, or of the cause of your being thus hastily dismissed from my service.”
“I must tell my mother,” faltered Lottie, “or she will think that I have done something wrong; I never hide nothing from her.”
“You must not tell your mother, nor your lady, nor any one,” said Gaspar. “I will make it worth your while to keep silence.”
“I don’t think that I could keep it,” said poor Lottie.
Mr. Gritton laid his hand on one of the canvas bags, unloosed it, and took out five pieces of gold. “See here, Lottie Stone,” he said sternly; “if you will not make a solemn promise to tell no one, I will at once give you up to justice as a person found lurking, at a strange hour and under suspicious circumstances, in a place where treasure is kept.” He marked that Lottie’s rosy cheek blanched at the threat, and went on, “If you will pledge yourself to the strictest secrecy, you shall take home these five golden sovereigns; and if in the course of a year I find that nothing has transpired either of the cause of your leaving, or of the existence of these vaults, I will give you five sovereigns more.”
A flash of joy beamed on the countenance of Lottie. So intense was her desire to possess the very sum which her master offered to place in her hands, that to obtain it she would have been ready to sacrifice anything but her conscience.
“O sir!” she exclaimed, “I will—I do promise. I will never say one word about this place, or what I have seen, or why you send me away—I will rather die than speak!”
“You promise before God?” said Gaspar solemnly, before he placed the money in the hand of the excited girl.
“I do, I do!” exclaimed Lottie, and her fingers closed over the gold. She felt that she had saved her father.
“Now go up, pack your bundle, and be off,” said Gaspar; “and never set foot in Wildwaste again; and remember that guilt lies on your soul if you keep not your promise to the letter.”
“May I not stay till I can bid good-bye to dear Miss Isa?” pleaded Lottie.
“You may not stay an hour; I do not choose that you should see her; take your money and your clothes and be gone. Leave the candle; I will stay behind to make sure that all is right—and to lock the door,” added Gritton, under his breath; “I will not neglect that precaution again.”
Lottie, tightly grasping her dearly-won treasure, mounted the ladder, and re-entered the study through the trap-door. She hastily replaced the little weight on its gilded stand, and then ran upstairs to make her brief preparations for quitting Wildwaste for ever. Lottie soon put up her bundle, for her earthly possessions were few, and with it in her hand descended the staircase. Tears gushed from her eyes as she reached the door of Isa’s chamber; Lottie could not help lingering there for a minute to breathe a prayer for the young mistress so dearly beloved. “Oh! shall I never serve her again, never listen to her sweet kind voice, never comb out her long soft hair! What will she say of me, what will she think of me—will she not call me the most ungrateful girl in the world?” Lottie’s heart swelled at the idea, and it was with a low stifled sob that she turned away from the door.
She found her master in the hall, himself unfastening the bolts of the outer door. Mr. Gritton was impatient to have the girl out of the house, and beyond the temptation of communicating with any one in the hamlet.
“Your father is in Southampton—you had better join him there,” observed Gaspar. “Remember your solemn promise of silence made in the sight of Heaven.”
Lottie turned as she crossed the threshold, “O sir—pray—at least—let my dear mistress know that—”
Gaspar would not listen, he closed the door in her face, and Lottie found herself alone with her bundle and her gold in the chill crisp air of early morning. A dim line of red in the east showed where the sun would shortly rise, but as Lottie hastened through the hamlet there was not the sound of a human voice to break the stillness; Wildwaste was still asleep; in the great manufactory the busy hum of labour had not yet begun. But on the common, where the night dews lay heavy on fern and furze-bush, the lark, an early riser, was already mounting on quivering wing, and pouring out his song of joy to greet the advancing morn.
