Lost Lenore Part 63

I thought the mistress would refuse; and even hoped she would. Anxious as I was to find my sister, I did not like to receive even so slight a favour from one whom I had hated with so very little exertion.

The woman, contrary to my expectations, consented to the child's going out to show me the way; and I am so uncharitable as to believe, that her consent was given with the hope that, in finding my sister, I should meet with some chagrin!

I followed Susan through the streets, until we came to a dirty, wretched suburb of the city, where the girl pointed out a house, and told me to knock at the door.

Giving the poor little slavey half-a-crown, I sent her away; and, the next minute, my sister was sobbing in my arms.

Everything in the room proclaimed her to be in the greatest poverty.

Strange that I did not regret it; but, on the contrary, was gratified by the appearance of her dest.i.tution! It was proof that she was still virtuous and honest. Moreover, I fancied she would now be the more willing to accept the protection, I had come to offer her. She was under the impression, that I had just returned from England. When I undeceived her on this point, she seemed much grieved, that I had been so long in the colonies, without letting her know it.

I soon learnt from her the simple story of her life, since our last parting. At the time she had joined Mrs Green in business, the latter was deeply in debt; and, in about three months after, all the stock in the little shop was sold off to meet Mrs Green's liabilities. Their business was broken up; and Mrs Green had gone to Melbourne--as her rival had stated. Martha had obtained employment in two or three milliner's establishments in the city; and, as she blus.h.i.+ngly told me, had good reasons for leaving them all.

She was now making a sort of livelihood, by working for anyone who chanced to have sewing to give her; and was obtaining occasional, but ill paid employment, from the lady who had a.s.sisted me in finding her.

"Oh, Rowland!" said Martha, "that woman is the worst that ever lived.

She never lets me have a piece of sewing, at a price that will allow me more than bread and water, and yet I have been obliged to take it from her, because I cannot get enough sewing elsewhere. I often work from six o'clock in the morning till ten at night--when I can get anything to do; and yet I've often been very, very hungry. I'm sure it is as bad here, as the stories I've heard about poor sempstresses in London. Ah, brother! Good girls are not wanted in this place. People seem only to care for those who are bad; and while they have everything they wish, girls like me must live as you see I've been doing. Oh, Rowland! is it not a cruel world?"

I was much gratified at hearing my sister talk in this manner: for each word was evidence, that she had been leading an honourable life; and, moreover, her despondency led me to believe: that she would no longer oppose my projects, as she had previously done.

It was all for the best, that she had not done as I wished her two years before. Had she then consented to returning with me to England, I should have gone thither--notwithstanding my disappointment about Lenore. By doing so, I should have missed meeting my brother--besides I should have lost the opportunity of making above fifteen hundred pounds--which I had gathered on the gold-fields of Victoria.

Volume Three, Chapter XX.

MY SISTER STILL OBSTINATE.

I had been some little time in my sister's company, before telling her of my intentions regarding her. I had allowed her to indulge in such conjectures about my designs, as the circ.u.mstances might suggest.

"I am very glad, Rowland," said she, "that you have made up your mind to stay in the colonies. I hope you will live in Sydney. Oh! we would be so happy! You have come to stay here, have you not? Say yes, brother; and make me happy! Say you will not leave me any more?"

"I do not wish to leave you, dear sister," said I; "and I hope that you have now learnt a lesson, that will make you willing to accept the offer I am going to make you. I have come, Martha, to take you with me to Melbourne."

"What reason can you have, for wis.h.i.+ng me to go to Melbourne? It cannot be a better place than Sydney?"

"Are you still unwilling to leave Sydney?" I asked, with a painful presentiment, that I was once more to be baulked in my design of making my poor sister happy.

"Brother," she replied, "I am not willing to go to Melbourne. I don't wish to leave Sydney--at least, not yet."

"Would you not like to see your brother William?" I asked.

"What! William! dear little Willie! Have you heard of him, Rowland?

Do you know where he is?"

"Yes. He is in Melbourne; and very anxious to see you. I have come to take you to him. Will you go?"

"I must see William--my long-lost brother William! I must see him. How came you to find him, Rowland? Tell me all about it. Why did he not come here along with you?"

"We met by mere chance--on the diggings of Victoria; and, hearing me called Rowland, he asked my other name. We then recognised one another.

Little Willie--as you call him--is now a tall, fine-looking young man.

Next week he is going to be married to a beautiful girl. I have come to take you to the wedding. Will you go, Martha?"

"I don't know. I must see brother William. What shall I do? What shall I do? I cannot leave Sydney."

"Martha," said I, "I am your brother; and am willing to a.s.sist you in any manner possible. I am older than you; and we have no parents. I have the right to some authority over you; and now demand the reason, why you are not willing to go with me to Melbourne?"

My sister remained silent.

"Give me a straightforward answer," I cried in a tone that partook of command. "Tell me why you will not go?"

"Oh, brother!--because--because I am waiting here for some one--one who has promised--to return to me."

"A man, of course?"

"Yes, yes--a man--a true man, Rowland."

"Where has he gone; and how long is it, since you have seen him?" I asked, unable to conceal my indignant sorrow.

"He went to the diggings in Victoria, a little more than two years ago.

Before going, he told me to wait, until he should come back; and then he would marry me."

"Martha! is it possible that this is your only reason for not going with me?"

"It is--my only one--I cannot go. _I must wait for him_!"

"Then you are as foolish, as our poor mother was in waiting for Mr Leary. The man who promised to return and marry you, has probably forgotten both his promise and you, long before this. Very likely he has married some other. I thought you had more sense, than to believe every idle word spoken by idle tongues. The man for whom you are making yourself miserable, would laugh at your simplicity, if he only knew of it. He has probably forgotten your name. Cease to think of him, dear sister; and make both yourself, and your brothers, happy!"

"Do not call me a fool, Rowland--do not think me one! I know I should be, if I was waiting for any common man; but the one I love is not a common man. He promised to return; and unless he dies, I am sure he will keep his word. I know it would be folly to have trusted most men as I've done him; but he's not like others. I shall yet be happy. To wait for him is but my duty; do not urge me to neglect it."

"Oh, Martha! our poor mother thought about Mr Leary, just as you do about this man. She thought him true to her--the best husband in the world! You may be as much mistaken as she was. I advise you to think no more of him, but go with me. Look around you! See the wretched state in which you are living! Leave it for a happy home, with those who will truly love you."

"Do not talk to me so, Rowland, or you will drive me mad. I wish to go with you, and wish to see William; but I cannot, and must not leave Sydney!"

It was evident to me, that my sister was afflicted with the same delusion, that had enslaved our mother even unto death; and, with much regret, I became conscious of the folly of trying to induce her to act in a rational manner. I saw that common sense, reason, persuasion, or threats, would all be alike unavailing to obtain compliance with my wishes. The little I had seen of her s.e.x, had impressed me with the belief that no woman ever exhibited such blind faith and full confidence in a man worthy of the least regard; and I was willing to stake my existence, that my sister's lover was a fellow of no principle--some low blackguard of a similar stamp to the late Mr Leary. I could not suppose him to be quite so bad as Leary: for that to me would have appeared impossible.

I was greatly chagrined to think my kind intentions towards Martha should be thwarted by her folly. I was even angry. Perhaps it was unmanly in me to be so. My sister was unfortunate. No doubt she had been deluded; and could not help her misfortune. She was more an object for pity than anger; but I was angry, and could not restrain myself from showing it. Conscious of my upright and disinterested regard for her, I could not help thinking it ungrateful of her, thus to oppose my designs for her welfare.

"Martha," said I, "I ask you once more to go with me. By doing so, you will fulfil a sister's duty as well as seek your own welfare. Reject my offer now, and it will never be made again: for we shall part for ever, I will leave you to the misery, you seem not only to desire, but deserve."

"Rowland! Rowland!" exclaimed she, throwing her arms around my neck, "I cannot part from you thus. Do not leave me. You must not--you must not!"

"Will you go with me?" I asked, too much excited to listen patiently to her entreaties.

"Rowland, do not ask me! May heaven help me; I cannot go!"

"Then, farewell!" I cried, "farewell for ever!" and as I uttered the parting speech, I tore myself from her embrace, and hurried half frantic out of the room.

Volume Three, Chapter XXI.

MY SISTER'S SWEETHEART.