The World Before Them Volume Iii Part 13

He left the room slamming the door after him. Miss Watling raised her eyebrows, shrugged her shoulders, and cast a pitying look towards his wife. Sophia smiled, "that's a warning to all young unmarried ladies, Miss Watling, not to be too eager to get a husband. I can a.s.sure them, that it is far better to remain single."

"You may spare such advice, Mrs. Rushmere, it will never appear rational, except to the initiated," said Mrs. Barford. "From the time of Eve down-wards, old maids and young maids never will give up the hope of getting married. I had a maiden aunt of sixty, who put this proviso in her will: 'I leave all my personal property to my nephew, James Stanton; but in case of my marrying, an event not impossible, though rather improbable, I revoke the said bequest.'"

"If men are such bad folks," said old Rushmere, "I want to know, Mrs.

Barford, why all the widdies are so anxious to thrust their heads again under the yoke?"

"They have met with one bad husband, and hope to get a better," returned Mrs. Rowly, thinking that in duty bound she ought to speak up for them.

"There is one piece of advice, however, which _I_, who have been some years a widow, would give to both widows and maids. Never to marry a cross superannuated old man!" and she cast a scornful glance at the master of the house.

"Sour grapes," muttered the old Rushmere. "One she-fox is enough in a house, without having two to eat the grapes."

"What did you say about foxes, Mr. Rushmere?" asked Miss Watling, very innocently. "Have they been troubling your poultry lately?"

"Yes, Nancy, eating me out of house and home. I wish a' could get rid of such troublesome vermin."

"_You_ must feel the loss of your wife very much?" remarked the same kind individual.

"More an' more every day. While Mary lived, I had a quiet comfortable home, but now, I am no longer master o' my own house. Ay, times are changed, but it won't be for long." And taking up his staff he hobbled out.

"The poor old man is failing very fast," said Mrs. Barford. "What a hale strong man he was a year ago."

"Oh, he frets, and fumes, and finds fault with everything," returned Mrs. Gilbert. "It's of no use attempting to please him--in fact, I now never try. A nice house it would be if I allowed him to interfere.

Between him and his son I lead the life of a dog."

"How do you get on with the dairy, Mrs. Rushmere?" asked Mrs. Barford.

"Heath Farm was always celebrated for its b.u.t.ter and cheese."

"I have given all that up," returned Mrs. Gilbert. "I can tell old Rushmere and his son that they won't make a dairy-maid of me."

"But how will you live without it? The farm is fit for nothing else?"

"I don't care. I just get Martha to make enough b.u.t.ter to supply the house. The old fellow grumbles and says, it's only fit for cart grease.

But if I can eat it, I am sure he may. I won't put up with his airs."

"Poor old man!" sighed Mrs. Barford, as they left the house. "It's very plain to me how all this will end. Gilbert can't work, and this wife of his won't, and the old place will soon come to the hammer, if all we hear of Gilbert's constant visits to the ale-house be true."

"How dirty and untidy everything looks," said Miss Watling. "I was afraid the dusty chairs would spoil my black silk dress. How neat and clean the house used to be."

"In Dorothy's time," suggested Mrs. Barford. "Rushmere did a foolish thing, when he hindered Gilbert from marrying her. However, the poor girl will be much better off."

"Oh, don't talk about her. I hate her very name."

"Nancy, it is all envy," returned Mrs. Barford, laughing; "you will like her very much when she is Countess of Wilton."

What Mrs. Barford had hinted about Gilbert's visits to the public-house in the village, was but too true. The young man had no peace or happiness at home. His wife and her mother insulted and abused his old father, who gave way alternately to fits of pa.s.sion and sullen gloom. He would appeal to Gilbert, when he felt himself unusually aggrieved, but for the sake of peace, for he was really afraid of his wife, Gilbert chose to remain neutral.

This enraged the old man, who would call him a poor hen-pecked coward, to stand by and see him ill-treated. Then Gilbert, roused in his turn, would tell him that it was his own fault, that if he had let him marry the woman he loved, they might have been all happy together.

One evening, when Dorothy and her lover were returning home through the lane, from visiting a sick man in the country, they observed a tall man staggering along before them, making very ludicrous efforts to keep his balance, which was greatly frustrated by the want of an arm.

"That's poor Rushmere," said Gerard. "Walk home, dear Dorothy. I must speak to him. I cannot see a fellow-creature in this state without attempting to warn him of his danger."

Directly Dorothy was out of sight, for she took the path over the heath, he followed Gilbert, and, laying his hand gently on his shoulder, said,

"My friend you are in the wrong path, take my advice and I will guide you into a better."

"Go to--!" was the awful rejoinder from the intoxicated soldier.

"No, my friend, I should be very sorry to travel one step in your road.

It is to save you from the frightful termination of your journey, that I now address you."

"I neither care for your cant, nor your companions.h.i.+p. Begone, and leave me to pursue my own way," and Gilbert turned fiercely round, and struck Mr. Fitzmorris a heavy blow with his left hand. "Do you like that? You see," and he laughed bitterly, "though I am drunk and have only one hand, I have some strength left."

"Gilbert Rushmere," said Gerard very quietly, "I do not mean to resent your blow. Though now a _canting_ parson, I was for five years a _soldier_. You lost your arm in one great battle. I have received wounds in four. I am no coward. Those who fight under the banner of the Prince of Peace must use other weapons than those wielded by the arm of flesh--patience, temperance and brotherly love. I cannot be angry with you, I pity you from my very heart, and would save you, if you would allow me to do so."

"If I had known you had been a soldier, Mr. Fitzmorris, and fought and bled for old England, I should have been the last man in the world to strike you. Can you forgive me?"

"With all my heart. There is my hand."

"The blow I gave you was a severe one."

"Rather, I could have returned it with interest. I was once a good boxer, but I wish to be your friend. Cannot I persuade you, Rushmere, to renounce this vile habit, and escape from the ruin which it involves."

"I cannot promise you, Mr. Fitzmorris even to try. It is the only relief I have. The only antidote to misery like mine. The sooner it kills me, the sooner I shall get rid of this wretched world. I hate and loathe my life, and want to die."

"That would be all very well, if you could kill your soul. But though you may sinfully abuse and destroy the machine in which it dwells, to destroy that, is beyond your power. It is only the G.o.d who made it, that can destroy both body and soul in h.e.l.l. Suppose that you succeed in killing yourself, you will find the second state worse than the first, a whole eternity of misery, instead of a few years spent on earth. Don't push me off, Rushmere, I can't see you perish in this foolish way, without trying to convince you of your sin."

"I will listen to you some other time. I have heard enough for one night. If you could tell me how to get rid of my wife, I would listen to you patiently all day."

He brushed hastily past, his foot caught on a stone, and he measured his length upon the dusty road.

"See, you are not in a fit state to guide yourself." And Gerard once more set him on his feet.

"Go out of my way. I can get on without you. If you knew how jolly a gla.s.s makes me feel, you would get drunk too," and he staggered on singing at the top of his voice:

"Which is the properest day to drink? Sunday."

"That, parson, won't do for your shop. Good night."

"Unhappy man," said Gerard, "what good angel can arrest your downward course? if he will not be persuaded by me, I must try what Dorothy can do. I could almost love the fellow, for having had taste enough to love her."

CHAPTER IX.

THE OLD MAN IN PRISON.