I will not go in with you, Isa dear,” said Edith, as the carriage approached the little country town. “Lottie will speak to you more freely if no one is by. I hope that we shall be able to carry back with us to Wildwaste your runaway little gipsy maid.”
“I am sure that we shall,” replied Isa. “Lottie is an affectionate girl, and loves me. I must chide her a little, but gently; she is one with whom a short reproof will go a long way.”
“And all your scourges are made of feathers, like those in the fairy-tale,” said Edith with a smile, as the carriage rolled up to the door of Mrs. Green’s shop.
Courteously declining the guidance of the cobbler’s stout wife, Isa lightly ascended the stair to the lodging above. She entertained not the slightest doubt of succeeding in bringing back her truant; her only subject of consideration was how far reproof should be blended with kindness. Lottie’s strange conduct had given her mistress just cause of offence; it must not be overlooked, though in Isa’s heart it was already forgiven.
The lady tapped at the door, and entered the room where Lottie stood trembling. Her face was buried in her hands; but Isa could see the red burning flush on her neck. The girl’s attitude was so expressive of humiliation and grief, that her gentle mistress forgot at once all her intended rebuke.
“My poor Lottie, what has happened?” There was nothing but kindness and sympathy in the voice which uttered the question.
The tears trickled through Lottie’s brown fingers; but she did not remove her hands or raise her head.
“What has happened?” repeated Isa, addressing herself to the lad, who had risen from his seat on the entrance of the lady.
Steady tugged hard at the button of his jacket; his nostrils dilated; he looked first to one side and then to the other, an image of dull perplexity. He jerked out the answer, “She won’t tell no one;” and then, unable to bear another interview like that which had just passed between his sister and Mr. Eardley, the poor lad shuffled hastily out of the room.
Isa went up to Lottie Stone, and gently laid her hand on her shoulder. “If you have had anything to pain and distress you, open your heart to me. I am not angry with you, Lottie, though you did wrong to leave the house without giving notice. I am willing to take you back if you tell me frankly the cause of your going.”
“I can’t tell,” replied Lottie in a choking voice.
MISS ISA QUESTIONS LOTTIE.
“Something that was said distressed you, perhaps. Was it what your master spoke about drinking, when you threw down the weights last evening?”
Isa’s question suddenly opened for the young maid a little door of escape. The lady had found out a cause for Lottie’s strange conduct when she herself could give none. Would there be any harm in leaving Miss Gritton to think, and to lead others to think, that the whole strange affair had arisen from a burst of passionate feeling, caused by an accusation which had been both unjust and cruel? A disingenuous girl would have gladly availed herself of the lady’s mistaken view, and have left her to form her own conclusions from it. But Lottie had the straightforward simplicity of one in whose spirit there is no guile. She shook her head on Isa’s repeating her question, and her mistress remained more perplexed than ever. Isa felt, as Mr. Eardley had felt, surprised, discouraged, and at length a little displeased. Lottie would neither apologize, nor explain, nor consent to go back to her place. No sentence could be wrung from her lips but a repetition of “I can’t tell,” “I can never go back;” and yet her manner expressed fervent, grateful affection towards her young mistress. Isa was convinced that the girl’s obstinate reserve was not that of indifference or of pride.
“Lottie, you quite grieve me,” said Isa at length, as she turned to depart, lingering at the open door with her fingers on the handle, to give the girl an opportunity of calling her back.
Lottie clutched her own black hair with both her hands, and tore it, as if physical pain could relieve the anguish of her heart. She turned suddenly away to the window, to escape as far as she could from the presence of her lady. Edith, waiting in the carriage below, chanced to glance up at the moment, and caught sight of a young face clouded with an expression of such misery as she had never seen on a countenance before.
In the meantime, Mr. Eardley, having resolved, if possible, to clear up the mystery, and at least ascertain whether poor Lottie were not unjustly accused of dishonesty, walked over to Wildwaste Lodge. He was much disappointed at not finding Miss Gritton at home, but asked for an interview with her brother.
“Master ain’t very well, he don’t see visitors,” said Hannah, who, grumbling at being left to do all the work of the house, had come out from the kitchen smoothing her soiled apron and pulling down her tucked-up sleeves.
“I have walked from Axe, being anxious to speak on a matter of some importance,” said the heated and weary clergyman. “Pray, ask Mr. Gritton to have the kindness to see me but for five minutes.”
Ushered into the study, Mr. Eardley almost immediately entered on the object of his visit. Gaspar was embarrassed; he had not contemplated the difficulties which must arise from Lottie’s faithful adherence to her promise.
“Really, sir, I can’t be answerable for—I can’t be expected to know anything about the doings of a girl like Lottie.” Gaspar took a large pinch of snuff to cover his embarrassment.
“But what I am most anxious to ascertain is this: has anything been missed here, is there the slightest cause to suspect the young girl of dishonesty?” Gaspar could not meet the gaze of the clear eyes that were fixed upon him.
“No; she’s no thief; she’s awkward, ignorant, but honest—yes, perfectly honest.” The words were spoken as if with effort, and again Gaspar had recourse to his snuff-box.
“That is a great relief to me; that is what I wanted to ascertain. I thank you, Mr. Gritton,” said the clergyman, rising; “I need not longer intrude on your time.”
As Mr. Eardley was about to depart, Isa returned from her fruitless expedition to Axe. To her the presence of the vicar was ever welcome, and more than usually so at the present moment. She eagerly related to him all that had happened, as far as her knowledge extended, emphatically confirming Gaspar’s testimony as to the perfect honesty of poor Lottie.
The interview did not last as long as either Henry Eardley or Isa would have wished, as Hannah came clattering in with the tray to prepare for early dinner. It would have been an act of common courtesy to have asked the weary minister to stop and partake of the meal. Isa glanced at her brother, without whose assent she dared not give the invitation which was upon her lips, but Gaspar did not choose to understand the look; hospitality was foreign to his nature, and to his sister’s mortification he suffered the tired guest to depart unrefreshed.
Henry Eardley left the Lodge with a joyous feeling of a more complicated nature than would have arisen only from satisfaction at having been relieved of painful doubts in regard to a member of his flock. His thoughts were by no means absorbed by the case of Lottie, though he went out of his way to let it be known in the cottage of Holdich, and in various dwellings in Axe, that the young maid had not been dismissed for any fault, and that she had taken nothing with her that was not honestly her own.
Mr. Eardley did what he could to clear the character of Lottie from the imputation resting upon it; but it is as easy to force back an overflowing river into its usual channel as to stay the flood of calumny when once it has spread far and wide. The vicar could not throw light on the mystery of Lottie’s hasty flight from Wildwaste, or her possession of a considerable sum of money for which she would not account.
“Folk may talk till they’re black in the face,” said Mrs. Green to her neighbour the baker, “but they can’t talk away them five bright sovereigns as I seed with these eyes. Girls can’t make gold pieces out of old tea-leaves; and if any one gave ’em to her, why don’t she say so at once?”
Young Stone returned to his lodging that evening with a black eye and a great swelling on his brow.
“O Steady, you have had one of your falls!” exclaimed Lottie, with affectionate sympathy.
The lad’s face was working with suppressed emotion. He sat down heavily, and passed his hand through his mass of shaggy light hair before he replied in his slow, peculiar drawl,—
“Bat Maule says—says he—you took fifteen pounds from your master’s desk, and he was a-goin’ to send you to jail, only Miss Isa begged and prayed, and so he let you off.”
It was a long speech for the lad to utter; his drawled-out words fell on Lottie’s ear like the drip, drip of water, which is said at length to produce madness in the victim on whose head it descends.
“And what did you say?” exclaimed the miserable Lottie, starting up from her seat.
“I didn’t say nothing, I knocked him down,” replied Steady; “but he did the like by me.”
The lad pressed his rag of a handkerchief against his bruised and swollen forehead—the stain of blood was upon it.
“Hurt for me!” moaned Lottie, whose courage was beginning to give way under her complicated trials.
“I wish you’d clear up about that money,” her brother went on, “’cause I can’t knock down all them folk as talk, and I can’t stand hearing ’em call you a thief.”
Lottie went up to the lad, threw her arms round his neck, and sobbed on his shoulder.
“Don’t take on so—don’t take on so,” said poor weak-witted Steady, almost beginning himself to cry in his rough sympathy with his sister. “I trust you, Lottie, you ain’t no thief; but why—why won’t you clear up?”
And still that painful silence had to be maintained, that cruel promise had to be kept. A hundred times was Lottie on the point of breaking it, but simple faith kept her firm in temptation. To break her word would be to disobey her Lord; it was better to suffer than to sin. “But oh!” thought Lottie, “it’s a blessing that mother is away; how could I have kept any secret from her!”
Poor Steady’s rude championship of his sister had been worse than useless; it only, as was the case with any violent excitement, brought on one of his sudden attacks, which, though very brief in duration, were always distressing, and very painful to witness. Sleep, however, soon removed from the afflicted lad all consciousness of earthly trouble; but for Lottie there was no rest throughout all the night. She heard the church-clock strike every hour as she lay on her pallet-bed, almost too wretched even for tears.
“But oh,” thought the poor girl, “it’s such a comfort that there is One who knows all; He knows that I did no wrong, except—except in letting curiosity lead me on, and touching that bag of gold, and thinking those wicked, covetous thoughts. But He has forgiven me—I feel that He has, though He lets me suffer for my folly. It seems as if all my friends and my comforts were being a-taken from me together. Mother away—father ill—Mr. Eardley and my dear lady vexed and displeased—all my neighbours turning against me—even poor Steady scarcely knowing what to think of me, though he will never desert me. It is just as Mr. Eardley said in his lecture, all my blossoms are falling from the tree.” The idea linked itself on to others connected with Gideon when his faith was in trial, when, just before the struggle with the foe, he was constrained to deprive himself of the help of those on whose support he had counted. “It must have seemed strange and hard to him,” mused Lottie, “to have had the greater part of his friends sent from him, with all these fierce enemies gathering in front. Now it seems as if my Midianites were getting stronger than ever, and I more helpless against them. There’s dreadful Disappointment, and worse than Discontent, and I seem at Dissension with all my neighbours, though I never willingly did them wrong; and as for Distrust, ’tis just crushing me down, for I can’t see any way out of my troubles, and it looks as if the Lord had forsaken me. And now those of whom I would have said, ‘They will always comfort and care for me and trust me,’ are those who cause me most grief and pain. They are still good, patient, and kind; yet I have, as it were, to send them from me, and struggle with temptation alone. But God gave victory to Gideon in a way that man would not have thought of. It was not to make him really weaker that he was deprived of his friends; I suppose that it was to make him rest more entirely on God. Perhaps that is why a poor child like me is left so desolate now. I look to this side, and to that side, and no one seems able to help me; and then, when there’s hope nowhere else, I look up straight to my God. I should like to hear more of what happened to Gideon. I think that I could walk to Mrs. Holdich’s cottage on Friday with Steady, who goes whenever he can. It would be dreadful, indeed, to face all the people; do they not look upon me as a thief! And yet,” said the poor girl, half aloud, raising herself on her elbow, as the first morning ray glimmered through her casement, “I should like to show to all that I am not ashamed, that I dare show my face before my accusers. I should like Mr. Eardley to see that I prize his holy words—for, oh! I need them—I need the comfort and strength which only religion can give. It would be a pleasure, too, to look on the face of my sweet young mistress; I would not speak to her—oh, no—but I do so long to see her; and I would quietly slip away as soon as the prayer was done.”
The resolution thus taken seemed to calm the mind of Lottie, or perhaps Nature at last was claiming her rights, and sorrow of mind gave way to overpowering weariness of body. Deeply and peacefully the young girl slept, with her hands folded as if in prayer.
Lottie rose with a brave spirit, though a heavy heart; she was resolved to seek comfort in a clear conscience toward man and a humble confidence in her God, however painful might be the struggle before her. Lottie did not sit down in idle sorrow, though she shrank from quitting her lodging; for wherever she went she would have to encounter suspicious looks and cruel taunts. The young maid read her chapter, and said her prayers with her brother, and after giving him his simple breakfast, set resolutely to work to prepare, as she said, for her parents’ return. The room was thoroughly washed and scrubbed—even the window-panes cleaned; and when the little place had been made the picture of neatness, Lottie turned to mending her brother’s garments, in which many a darn and many a patch showed the skill of her busy fingers. The most trying event of the day to Lottie was a second long interview with her pastor; but she again resisted the almost overpowering temptation to pour out her whole heart to him, and to tell him all that had happened. It was a satisfaction to find that Mr. Eardley had no suspicion of her honesty, notwithstanding the mystery regarding the money; and that Miss Gritton had never doubted that honesty for a moment. Lottie saw that the clergyman was now rather perplexed than displeased by her reserve; and when, with her honest eyes looking full into his, she assured him that if he knew all he would not blame her silence, it was a relief to the poor child to feel that he had not lost faith in her word.
Friday brought no tidings from Southampton. Lottie felt keenly “the sickening pang of hope deferred,” and she had now but little occupation wherewith to fill up the tedious hours. The day passed slowly and wearily, till it was time to start for the cottage-meeting. Glad was Lottie to leave Axe, though only for a space so brief; the cottage of Holdich was connected in her mind only with thoughts of holiness and peace, and she was thankful to be permitted still to kneel as a worshipper there.
