The Moorland Cottage Part 13

Mrs. Browne's murmurings, whatever was their meaning, were lost upon Maggie. She ran through the court, and up the slope, with the lightness of a lawn; for though she was tired in body to an excess she had never been before in her life, the opening beam of hope in the dark sky made her spirit conquer her flesh for the time.

She did not stop to speak, but turned again as soon as she had signed to Mr. Buxton to follow her. She left the house-door open for his entrance, and pa.s.sed out again through the kitchen into the s.p.a.ce behind, which was partly an uninclosed yard, and partly rocky common. She ran across the little green to the s.h.i.+ppon, and mounted the ladder into the dimly-lighted loft. Up in a dark corner Edward stood, with an old rake in his hand.

"I thought it was you, Maggie!" said he, heaving a deep breath of relief.

"What have you done? Have you agreed to write the letter? You've done something for me, I see by your looks."

"Yes! I have told Mr. Buxton all. He is waiting for you in the parlor. Oh!

I knew he could not be so hard!" She was out of breath.

"I don't understand you!" said he. "You've never been such a fool as to go and tell him where I am?"

"Yes, I have. I felt I might trust him. He has promised not to prosecute you. The worst is, he says you must go to America. But come down, Ned, and speak to him. You owe him thanks, and he wants to see you."

"I can't go through a scene. I'm not up to it. Besides, are you sure he is not entrapping me to the police? If I had a farthing of money I would not trust him, but be off to the moors."

"Oh, Edward! How do you think he would do anything so treacherous and mean?

I beg you not to lose time in distrust. He says himself, if Mr. Henry comes before you are off, he does not know what will be the consequence. The packet sails for America in two days. It is sad for you to have to go.

Perhaps even yet he may think of something better, though I don't know how we can ask or expect it."

"I don't want anything better," replied he, "than that I should have money enough to carry me to America. I'm in more sc.r.a.pes than this (though none so bad) in England; and in America there's many an opening to fortune." He followed her down the steps while he spoke. Once in the yellow light of the watery day, she was struck by his ghastly look. Sharp lines of suspicion and cunning seemed to have been stamped upon his face, making it look older by many years than his age warranted. His jaunty evening dress, all weather-stained and dirty, added to his forlorn and disreputable appearance; but most of all--deepest of all--was the impression she received that he was not long for this world; and oh! how unfit for the next! Still, if time was given--if he were placed far away from temptation, she thought that her father's son might yet repent, and be saved. She took his hand, for he was hanging back as they came near the parlor-door, and led him in. She looked like some guardian angel, with her face that beamed out trust, and hope, and thankfulness. He, on the contrary, hung his head in angry, awkward shame; and half wished he had trusted to his own wits, and tried to evade the police, rather than have been forced into this interview.

His mother came to him; for she loved him all the more fondly, now he seemed degraded and friendless. She could not, or would not, comprehend the extent of his guilt; and had upbraided Mr. Buxton to the top of her bent for thinking of sending him away to America. There was a silence when he came in which was insupportable to him. He looked up with clouded eyes, that dared not meet Mr. Buxton's.

"I am here, sir, to learn what you wish me to do. Maggie says I am to go to America; if that is where you want to send me, I'm ready."

Mr. Buxton wished himself away as heartily as Edward. Mrs. Browne's upbraidings, just when he felt that he had done a kind action, and yielded, against his judgment, to Maggie's entreaties, had made him think himself very ill used. And now here was Edward speaking in a sullen, savage kind of way, instead of showing any grat.i.tude. The idea of Mr. Henry's stern displeasure loomed in the background.

"Yes!" said he, "I'm glad to find you come into the idea of going to America. It's the only place for you. The sooner you can go, and the better."

"I can't go without money," said Edward, doggedly. "If I had had money, I need not have come here."

"Oh, Ned! would you have gone without seeing me?" said Mrs. Browne, bursting into tears. "Mr. Buxton, I cannot let him go to America. Look how ill he is. He'll die if you send him there."

"Mother, don't give way so," said Edward, kindly, taking her hand. "I'm not ill, at least not to signify. Mr. Buxton is right: America is the only place for me. To tell the truth, even if Mr. Buxton is good enough" (he said this as if unwilling to express any word of thankfulness) "not to prosecute me, there are others who may--and will. I'm safer out of the country. Give me money enough to get to Liverpool and pay my pa.s.sage, and I'll be off this minute."

"You shall not," said Mrs. Browne, holding him tightly. "You told me this morning you were led into temptation, and went wrong because you had no comfortable home, nor any one to care for you, and make you happy. It will be worse in America. You'll get wrong again, and be away from all who can help you. Or you'll die all by yourself, in some backwood or other. Maggie!

you might speak and help me--how can you stand so still, and let him go to America without a word!"

Maggie looked up bright and steadfast, as if she saw something beyond the material present. Here was the opportunity for self-sacrifice of which Mrs.

Buxton had spoken to her in her childish days--the time which comes to all, but comes unheeded and unseen to those whose eyes are not trained to watching.

"Mother! could you do without me for a time? If you could, and it would make you easier, and help Edward to"--The word on her lips died away; for it seemed to imply a reproach on one who stood in his shame among them all.

"You would go!" said Mrs. Browne, catching at the unfinished sentence. "Oh!

Maggie, that's the best thing you've ever said or done since you were born.

Edward, would not you like to have Maggie with you?"

"Yes," said he, "well enough. It would be far better for me than going all alone; though I dare say I could make my way pretty well after a time. If she went, she might stay till I felt settled, and had made some friends, and then she could come back."

Mr. Buxton was astonished at first by this proposal of Maggie's. He could not all at once understand the difference between what she now offered to do, and what he had urged upon her only this very morning. But as he thought about it, he perceived that what was her own she was willing to sacrifice; but that Frank's heart, once given into her faithful keeping, she was answerable for it to him and to G.o.d. This light came down upon him slowly; but when he understood, he admired with almost a wondering admiration. That little timid girl brave enough to cross the ocean and go to a foreign land, if she could only help to save her brother!

"I'm sure Maggie," said he, turning towards her, "you are a good, thoughtful little creature. It may be the saving of Edward--I believe it will. I think G.o.d will bless you for being so devoted."

"The expense will be doubled," said Edward.

"My dear boy! never mind the money. I can get it advanced upon this cottage."

"As for that, I'll advance it," said Mr. Buxton.

"Could we not," said Maggie, hesitating from her want of knowledge, "make over the furniture--papa's books, and what little plate we have, to Mr.

Buxton--something like p.a.w.ning them--if he would advance the requisite money? He, strange as it may seem, is the only person you can ask in this great strait."

And so it was arranged, after some demur on Mr. Buxton's part. But Maggie kept steadily to her point as soon as she found that it was attainable; and Mrs. Browne was equally inflexible, though from a different feeling. She regarded Mr. Buxton as the cause of her son's banishment, and refused to accept of any favor from him. If there had been time, indeed, she would have preferred obtaining the money in the same manner from any one else.

Edward brightened up a little when he heard the sum could be procured; he was almost indifferent how; and, strangely callous, as Maggie thought, he even proposed to draw up a legal form of a.s.signment. Mr. Buxton only thought of hurrying on the departure; but he could not refrain from expressing his approval and admiration of Maggie whenever he came near her.

Before he went, he called her aside.

"My dear, I'm not sure if Frank can do better than marry you, after all.

Mind! I've not given it as much thought as I should like. But if you come back as we plan, next autumn, and he is steady to you till then--and Edward is going on well--(if he can but keep good, he'll do, for he is very sharp--yon is a knowing paper he drew up)--why, I'll think about it. Only let Frank see a bit of the world first. I'd rather you did not tell him I've any thoughts of coming round, that he may have a fair trial; and I'll keep it from Erminia if I can, or she will let it all out to him. I shall see you to-morrow at the coach. G.o.d bless you, my girl, and keep you on the great wide sea." He was absolutely in tears when he went away--tears of admiring regret over Maggie.

CHAPTER X.

The more Maggie thought, the more she felt sure that the impulse on which she had acted in proposing to go with her brother was right. She feared there was little hope for his character, whatever there might be for his worldly fortune, if he were thrown, in the condition of mind in which he was now, among the set of adventurous men who are continually going over to America in search of an El Dorado to be discovered by their wits. She knew she had but little influence over him at present; but she would not doubt or waver in her hope that patience and love might work him right at last.

She meant to get some employment--in teaching--in needlework--in a shop--no matter how humble--and be no burden to him, and make him a happy home, from which he should feel no wish to wander. Her chief anxiety was about her mother. She did not dwell more than she could help on her long absence from Frank; it was too sad, and yet too necessary. She meant to write and tell him all about herself and Edward. The only thing which she would keep for some happy future should be the possible revelation of the proposal which Mr. Buxton had made, that she should give up her engagement as a condition of his not prosecuting Edward.

There was much sorrowful bustle in the moorland cottage that day. Erminia brought up a portion of the money Mr. Buxton was to advance, with an entreaty that Edward would not show himself out of his home; and an account of a letter from Mr. Henry, stating that the Woodchester police believed him to be in London, and that search was being made for him there.

Erminia looked very grave and pale. She gave her message to Mrs. Browne, speaking little beyond what was absolutely necessary. Then she took Maggie aside, and suddenly burst into tears.

"Maggie, darling--what is this going to America? You've always and always been sacrificing yourself to your family, and now you're setting off, n.o.body knows where, in some vain hope of reforming Edward. I wish he was not your brother, that I might speak of him as I should like."

"He has been doing what is very wrong," said Maggie. "But you--none of you--know his good points--nor how he has been exposed to all sorts of bad influences, I am sure; and never had the advantage of a father's training and friends.h.i.+p, which are so inestimable to a son. O, Minnie! when I remember how we two used to kneel down in the evenings at my father's knee, and say our prayers; and then listen in awe-struck silence to his earnest blessing, which grew more like a prayer for us as his life waned away, I would do anything for Edward rather than that wrestling agony of supplication should have been in vain. I think of him as the little innocent boy, whose arm was round me as if to support me in the Awful Presence, whose true name of Love we had not learned. Minnie! he has had no proper training--no training, I mean, to enable him to resist temptation--and he has been thrown into it without warning or advice. Now he knows what it is; and I must try, though I am but an unknowing girl, to warn and to strengthen him. Don't weaken my faith. Who can do right if we lose faith in them?"

"And Frank!" said Erminia, after a pause. "Poor Frank!"

"Dear Frank!" replied Maggie, looking up, and trying to smile; but, in spite of herself, her eyes filled with tears. "If I could have asked him, I know he would approve of what I am going to do. He would feel it to be right that I should make every effort--I don't mean," said she, as the tears would fall down her cheeks in spite of her quivering effort at a smile, "that I should not have liked to have seen him. But it is no use talking of what one would have liked. I am writing a long letter to him at every pause of leisure."

"And I'm keeping you all this time," said Erminia, getting up, yet loth to go. "When do you intend to come back? Let us feel there is a fixed time.

America! Why, it's thousands of miles away. Oh, Maggie! Maggie!"

"I shall come back the next autumn, I trust," said Maggie, comforting her friend with many a soft caress. "Edward will be settled then, I hope. You were longer in France, Minnie. Frank was longer away that time he wintered in Italy with Mr. Monro."

Erminia went slowly to the door. Then she turned, right facing Maggie.

"Maggie! tell the truth. Has my uncle been urging you to go? Because if he has, don't trust him; it is only to break off your engagement."

"No, he has not, indeed. It was my own thought at first. Then in a moment I saw the relief it was to my mother--my poor mother! Erminia, the thought of her grief at Edward's absence is the trial; for my sake, you will come often and often, and comfort her in every way you can."