Late, but not too late. A tale

Front matter

LATE, BUT NOT TOO LATE. _! ©ate, ANN BARNETT. " There is a Divinity That shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will." — Shakspeare. WILLIAMS AND NORGATE, 14, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON ; AND 20, SOUTH FREDERICK STREET, EDINBURGH. 1865. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PA(;E I. The Mysterious Beggar. . 1 II. A Dbive. ... 8 III. Good bye ! . . .20 IV. STEANGEES. . . .24 V. SCAELET FeVEB. . . .30 VI. WOESE AND "WOESE ! . .38 VII. Wheee's my Husband ? . .45 VIII. Welcome little Steanger! . 54 IX. FlBE AND MUEDEE. . . 59 X. Suicide. . 78 XI. Lunacy. . . .86 XII. "Who was the Woest ? . 102 XIII. A suee Sinking Fund is a Law tee's Pocket. . . . 113 XIV. Miss Mills in Paeis. . . 127 XV. St. Ouen at Eouen. . . 136 XVI. My Mothee ! . . .148 XVII. Abe you Suee? . . 163 XVIII. Thebe is no " Chance." . . 172 XIX.

The Missionaey Meeting. . 184 XX. The Aeboue. . . .198 XXI. The Bells. . . .207 XXII. Eaeth poe Toil, Heaven eob Best ! contents. PAGE XXIII. Father and Daughter. . 228 XXIV Check-Mate! . . .238 XXV. Catching Straws. . . 259 XXVI. Another Promise. . . 274 XXVII. Revenge. . . .283 XXVIII. A Secret's a Secret when known but to One. . . .295 XXIX. Who has a Friend's Claim ? . 305 XXX. The Will. . , .318 XXXI. Death, the great Revealer of Secrets ! . . . B LATE, BUT NOT TOO LATE.

Chapter I

the mysterious beggar A scream ! but one would scarcely believe any woman capable of uttering such a piercing shriek as now proceeded from the quiet little Governess seated at dinner with the family at Eversfield Rectory. The kind-hearted Mr. Elton caught her, as she fell fainting against Edith, and gently carried her to the sofa, where the usual restoratives were administered by his wife. A soon as animation returned, she said in a rambling sort of way: — " Oh, I must go — I must leave you. 1 mean I had better go upstairs." Mrs. Elton said, " Yes, my dear, I think you will be more comfortable in the quiet of your own room," and assisted her to rise ; having conducted her to her chamber and attended to her comforts there, she left her and came back to the family circle. As dinner proceeded, Mr. Elton inquired of Roberts (the man who was waiting), if any one had been to the house to ask for him.

"No, sir; not as I have heard. When I went to the kitchen just now, I saw that beggar woman who comes about here sometimes, just leaving our back gate." " Indeed ! Has any one discovered who she is, or what brings her into this neighbourhood ? " " No, sir, and she do never seem to beg, nor want anything. I heard farmer Smith's wife say, as last time she were seen about here, she looked so bad, like as if she were ill, that she had her in and gave her some dinner ; but she didn't seem to eat as if she were hungry, and she could get nothing out of her, as to where she come from, or to where she were going, only home, and 'twere a long way off." " It is very singular ; and I have heard that she goes into market every week, and buys and pays for her few things, but never talks to any one." " Papa," exclaimed Edith, "this is the beggar that always makes Miss Mills go so queer " " My dear, I do not know what you mean by so queer, but I cannot see what that woman can have to do with Miss Mills."

" Well, Papa, I know when she is about here, Miss Mills is always trying not to walk across the fields, but only in the garden or village, and if we have by chance met her, Miss Mills goes, oh so white and shakes so ! " " Does the woman ever speak to her ?" " No — at least yes. I mean she does not beg, but passes her two or three times, and looks so hard and odd in her face, and says, God bless you, my own child." " It is very extraordinary." Mrs. Elton here gave her husband a hint in French not to continue the conversation during the servant's presence ; but, as soon as he had removed the dinner things, and the children were gone to the garden to gather their dessert, Mrs. Elton said, " As you say, my dear, this seems an extraordinary affair, for this woman was certainly never seen in this neighbourhood before Miss Mills came to us.

I think, I had better ask her something about it. This is the third or fourth time she has had this sort of attack, and when I asked her what occasioned such a sudden faintness, and what made her scream, she said it was a sort of spasm in her heart, to which she is liable." " Do ask her, my dear, but it must be done with great caution, for I can see she is such a sensitive girl, that we may vex her quite unintentionally. She seems such a quiet meditative person, that I could almost fancy some tale of sorrow attached to her." " Yes, and how very delicate she looks with her clear red and white complexion and soft blue eyes. I should really be very sorry to part with her now, b for, although she has only been with us a year and a half, the children are much attached to her, and she gets them on so well."

" 1 hope it may not be necessary to part with her, nor can I see why it should. Perhaps this is some poor relation, who comes to trouble her for assistance, in which case arrangements might be made to prevent her from doing so. But it is always a delicate matter to interfere between relations, and most persons have some they would not have selected for themselves." Here they went to look for the children, who were busily engaged in helping the birds to strip the fruit trees. Each had a leaf full of the best fruit they could find, reserved in the arbour for their parents ; we will leave them there to enjoy it, and a pleasant evening of united happiness. Oh, surely with whole families, as well as with only the married members, we should say, " What God has joined together, let not man put asunder," for are not all family disagree ments traceable only to man's work ?

Now-a-days, happily, we are not called upon to sever brothers and sisters for the sake of God's truth. Although I hate descriptions in works of fiction, I had better, as briefly as possible, make my readers a little acquainted with the family and residence of the Reverend Walter Elton. He was the rector of Eversfield, which had been purchased for him by an uncle, who was likewise his godfather, and had entirely superintended his educa tion since he had been left an orphan at eight years old. The proceeds of the hving would have been too small to enable them to live as they did had not Mrs. Elton added about £400 a-year to her husband's income, so that they had about twelve hundred per annum. They had five children, three sons and two daughters. Edith, the elder girl, was above thirteen years of age, and Eda only just eight.

Of the sons, Reginald was the oldest ; he was about twenty, and at Cambridge, studying for his father's profession. Charles was seventeen, and was just articled to an attorney, and Alfred was between fifteen and sixteen, and was in the navy, and now absent on his first voyage in H.M.S. " Nile." One sweet boy who stood in age between Edith and Ella, had died of whooping-cough, about a year before the time we are writing. Eversfield Rectory was a pretty house, but rather smader than was convenient for the family ; but now the boys were so much from home, it did well enough, as the httle governess always had her hohdays whilst the two sons were at home; one month of the vacation she used to accompany her two pupils to visit their grandmamma at Scarborough. The old lady always claimed them for that time ; but could not have them as formerly, without the superin tendance of their mamma, or now Miss Mills, and she had by her gentle manners and kind attentions quite won the old lady's heart.

But to return to the descriptive part of our story. The house had a pretty portico entrance well grown over with choice creepers ; on one side stood the dining-room window, and on the other a blind window for the sake of uniformity, as the drawing-room had been enlarged by a bay window looking down the lawn and home meadow, past the church and winding brook, far away over the country. But, by this blind window stood a thick plan tation, hiding the back buildings and leading by an almost hidden path into a beautiful beech copse of great extent. Our readers must bear this in mind as it is the only part of the scenery influencing our narrative, and consequently ad that I shall weary them by describing. We will now return to our friends. Mrs. Elton had at first intended alluding to the beggar when she visited Miss Mdls to see if she required anything ere the famdy retired for the night : but " second thoughts," as she repeated, " are often best, I will leave her a few days to re cover herself thoroughly."

Consequently the next morning, Miss Mills, looking paler and sadder than usual, resumed her place at meals and at the studies, and all went on as before. About a fortnight after wards Mrs. Elton, (as was her frequent custom), asked her to give the children a half-holiday, and drive her in ner little pony-carriage to the neigh bouring town of Norton, to make some purchases necessary to equip them for the annual visit to Scarborough, which was to take place at the com mencement instead of at the end of the vacation this year, and Reginald was to accompany them : Charles was not coming home until later, and during their absence the rectory was to undergo painting and papering. At the request Miss Mills first turned very red and then very white — attempted to speak — but failed. Mrs. Ehon was surprised at such unusual conduct, and quickly added, " Perhaps there is some reason for which you ao not wish to go this time, and I can just as well take Roberts, only I thought the drive would do you good, and you may also want a httle shopping on your own account?"

"Oh yes — I mean no, thank you, there is no reason whatever and I shall be very glad to go : it is just what I was wishing." " Very well then, if you please we wdl have lunch and start as soon as we can." But Mrs . Elton thought that she certainly looked very strange for a person having her own wish antici pated. She did not know that they were both in the same mind to a certain extent ; intending to speak confidentially about what would result in their parting ; although nothing was further from the poor Governess' intention than to discuss the mysterious beggar.

Chapter II

A DRIVE. Accordingly the two ladies set off, on a bright breezy afternoon in June, to all appearance on no more important a mission than ladies' shopping, but how little aware was either of what would be the result of this little trip. Mrs. Elton was determined not to destroy the pleasure of the early part of the drive, nor to make her companion uncomfortable a moment sooner than necessary. She, therefore, kept up a cheerful conversation and aduded with pleasure and satisfaction to the visible improvement in the disposition of her Edith, and how even little Ella had overcome a great deal of her hastiness and petulance. In fact she did ad in her power to comfort, cheer and encourage her young Governess ; and there can be few (we feel sure) who know how valuable are a few words of encouragement to the painstaking Governess, or surely they would more frequently bestow the costless but deeply treasured and richly deserved boon !

Is it sound philosophy to make the moment of parting, or of the intimation of the necessity to part, A DRIVE. 9 the more deeply to be regretted by sweetening the bitter pill with additional kindness ? We think not. — The sugar is sweet but the pill tastes the more bitter in comparison. But we are not philosophers, so will continue our simple narrative. During the pauses in the conversation (which, by the way, was almost all on Mrs. Elton's side, with the exception of an occasional monosyllable from Miss Mills), during those pauses Mrs. Elton frequently noticed the tear in the blue eye at her side, and the changing colour, and a look from time to time which appeared as if she had something she wished to say, but which could not clothe itself in words. Ah well ! thought she, on our return it will be all right.

Perhaps, poor girl, she wishes to say something about her uncomfortable fainting fit the other day. And so they reached Norton, made their pur chases, (those of Miss Mills being very few and inexpensive, but were kindly increased by one or two trifles on the part of Mrs. Elton,) and they com menced their drive home again. Mrs. Elton now felt ad the awkwardness of her position. How should she allude to the cir cumstance at all ? or what right had she to suppose the beggar and Miss Mids had any knowledge of each other ? However, it had to be done, and, as in many cases c'est le premier pas qui coute, she at once rushed into it bravely but circumspectly. A DRIVE. " You look better for your drive ; do you find too much confinement in the school-room ? because if so we can easily arrange that you should get the air twice a day : indeed I think it would do the children good to walk twice."

Miss Mids at first looked grateful and then alarmed : " Oh no ! thank you, I do not think I could walk twice a day : I am not very strong, and — and my spasm " " Do you find exercise produce that ? because I have hitherto observed it generally occurs when you are at dinner and ere you have had your walk. Have you long been subject to it ? or nave you had any medical advice?" '* No, it comes so seldom that I do not think it is worth taking advice. I think perhaps — I am not quite sure that this neighbourhood agrees with me— I think I had better leave you" — and she ourst into tears. " My dear, I cannot think that, for we consider our place so remarkably healthy ! I cannot either think that if that be the only reason you would be justified in seeking a change ere you have consulted a medical man on the subject.

Be persuaded by me, and see Dr. Morris the next time he calls, and he, no doubt, wdl do so ere you go to Scarborough." Miss Mids only stammered forth her thanks, and " Oh no, no !" A pause ensued, but Mrs. Elton was not to be A DRIVE. 11 baulked in her object, so she resumed : " Where are you going for the remainder of the holidays after you leave my mother? Are you going home or to friends ?" * ' Alas !" said she, " I have neither." " My poor child," said Mrs. Elton, taking her hand kindly, and checking the pony to a walking pace, " why could you not have told me before of your friendless state? Have you then lost your parents ?" " I have never known either," sobbed she, "I believe they both died when I was quite a child : at least my mother must have done so, and my father, as I have been told, went abroad after having seen me placed with a widow with whom he left all directions for my education, &c. until I should be old enough to provide for myself; for this purpose he purchased an annuity to be paid into a banker's hands for me until I should be eighteen."

" But then," inquired Mrs. Elton, " what has become of this widow ? Surely if she has had you from almost your infancy she would give you a home still?" "Good Mrs. Wilton fulfilled her undertaking, I should say, but too kindly. She indulged me in every way, and indeed behaved to me as though I had been her own and only child. She did her best towards instructing me, and when I was ten years old every one said I ought to be sent to a good A DRIVE. school to prepare me for my future life of dependence ; but she would not hear of it. She said the sum of money annually provided for me was but small for the purpose. She should save as much of it as pos sible, until I was four or five years older, and then have the more to spend on a more liberal education for the remaining two years, and if possible, a little left, that I should not begin by spending my first year's salary.

With this idea she engaged a very well-educated girl residing near us, (but who was in such bad circumstances as to be thankful for a little money, and yet unable to go out to teach much, as she lived with an aged grandmother, who could not spare her after one o'clock), to come daily for three hours to instruct me in French and music, and such things as Mrs. Wilton's own limited education prevented her from undertaking, but she devoted much time daily to my English studies, work, &c. Things went on like this, and answered her wishes in every way ; she was only spending the half of my allowance for four years and a half, and then busily prepared to send me to a London school, where I should get lessons from the best masters in the accomplishments which she knew were necessary to my success, and to them she intended me to devote two years and a half.

But then happened my great affliction. She was taken suddenly ill with inflamma tion on the chest. Being of a weakly constitution, the greatest danger was immediately foreseen. She A DRIVE. 13 was fully aware of it herself, and took an early opportunity of speaking to me about my future plans in case she should not recover to continue her motherly care of me. She then told me the money that was paid for me would be discontinued when I was eighteen ; that she feared I must look upon my self as an orphan, and without any friends but such as I could make for myself, for that she knew nothing whatever of my family ; nothing could be heard of my father. No one seemed at all aware of whither he went after he left England, as he had said, for Australia. That now, I should be homeless — that even if I obtained good situations as a governess I must remember I should always be at an expense for a home during the vacations, and must look forward to interims of perhaps several months between my engagements, or even before I procured my first ; that sickness also might bring me into heavy expenses, so that she now wished to urge upon me a different plan.

Further and better instruction I must get, but it must be done at less expense ; therefore, she wished me without delay to write a letter to Miss Marston (to whom I was to have gone in a few weeks) , telling her how impossible it Would now be for me to incur the expense of her establishment, and asking her, if, under the circumstances, she could suggest any expedient whereby I could still become one of her pupils, whether by giving my assistance to junior classes, instead of paying for my board, &c., and then A DRIVE. I should still be able to pay for lessons from the masters, and lay by half my little annuity. This was done the same day, also adding a request that if Dossible we might have an answer by return of post ; for Mrs. Wilton said a day might be of the greatest importance. Her dlness now assumed a different appearance, I was not to be so suddenly deprived of my good friend and mother.

The inflammation gave way to the remedies applied, and she began too fondly to hope that our fears were groundless. Not so her medical attendant, he said from the first he did not fear that the inflammation would cause her death, but the necessary remedies which would so reduce her already feeble constitution that she would gradually sink ; and so it was. But she seemed thankful for the time being lengthened that she might see me settled. " Miss Marston's reply came. It was written in a haughty style, and very unfeeling, so much so as to make dear Mrs. Wilton rejoice at what she called my escape. She wrote nearly in these words, for they were deeply fixed in my mind : — " Miss Marston presents her compliments to Mrs. Wilton, and begs to state that it is not at all within her province to enter into the pecuniary affairs or other circumstances of those ladies who may have expressed a wish to place their chddren or wards with her as pupils.

Her establishment is of far too high a rank to justify her in making unusual A DRIVE. 15 arrangements : such must be left to schools where half-boarders are admitted." We then heard, through our kind medical man, of a lady in London, who was left a widow with three girls, in very reduced circumstances, who, he thought, would give me my board and residence with her in return for my teaching her eldest chdd, about eight years old, as much as I could ; and in the meantime, I should attend Masters' classes at Queen's College, Harley Street. So there it was decided I should go. I could still always pass my holidays with her at smad expense, but that she has removed to Edinburgh to get a cheaper education for her chddren than she could procure in London, and it would have been such a long expensive journey for me, as would have made it cost as much as going to the Governess' Home in Harley Street.

But I quite beg your pardon, Mrs. Elton, I am going on without thinking how uninteresting all this is to you. I don't know what I could have been thinking about." " By no means, I am, on the contrary, deeply in terested in your recital, and only wish I had known all your trials sooner. I could at any rate have managed some way to have found you a home. My mother would have been delighted with a young companion for a few weeks twice a year. But pray, proceed. How long did your good friend live after this ?" " My good mother, (for indeed she was such to A DRIVE. me,) lingered on about five weeks. After her funeral, her will was opened, by which it appeared she had a son in New Zealand, for whom she had sacrificed her all to enable her to give him a good education ; but he turned out a sad character, and at last left her and emigrated.

She used occasionally to receive cruel letters from him. This the medical man told us, as soon as he heard the name read from the will, for no one else present was at all aware she had any child. She never spoke of her trials, but suffered silently and severely. Her will went on : * From my heart I forgive him, as I hope God will do ; to whom I have never ceased to pray for his salvation, and I feel sure his mother's prayers will be answered, although she may not live to know it this side of her grave.' " To him she left her cottage and what little money she had saved, and to me all her personal effects. I then sorrowfully left the home of my happiest years, and arrived in London, one of the many solitary beings in that crowded city. I was most kindly re ceived by Mrs. Carter, but can never forget the utter misery of that first night.

Then indeed I realized what it was to be a friendless orphan ! " The rest is soon told ! I studied industriously, but finding 1 was far behind the present style of Governesses in my English knowledge, I pursued that with music and French for one year, and was then persuaded to seek a situation at once for a few years, save what I could, and go to Paris and Germany to A DRIVE. acquire French and German, aud what I could at the same time in drawing, singing, or Italian. I have my income untouched for the year and half I should have remained in London." She paused ; not as though she had said all she wished, but as if that part of her history were ended. Mrs. Elton felt she was rapidly approaching home without having gained her object. She resolved on a sudden plunge into the subject, and circumstances aided her, for at a turn in the road she saw a poor woman going in the other direction.

She suddenly looked round at her companion, and said, — " I wonder if that is the beggar the children were talking about, whom they meet in tlieir walks?" Miss Mills turned very pale, but just raised her eyes in the direction, and said, — " Oh no ! that is not." Mrs. Elton then said, trying to laugh, as if at the absurdity of the idea, — " By the way, Edith says you are afraid of the beggar, is it true ? And yet she is not a gipsy, that bugbear of children, nor would you mind I suppose if she were ?" Miss Mills looked so deadly pale that Mrs. Elton feared she was going to faint, so snatched the reins from her with one hand while she supported her with the other ; but she rallied almost immediately, and with a very composed look muttered something about her spasms. c A DRIVE. Mr. Elton said nothing for a few moments, that she might quite recover herself, then very kindly, but with a firmness that showed no contradiction would avad: " Now, my dear Miss Mids, I am sure that there must be some mysterious connection between you and this woman.

Far be it from me to wish to pry into your affairs, but you have just pronounced your self friendless ; this woman evidently is the cause of pain or annoyance to you in some way; wdl you accept me for your friend ? ted me as much as you please to disclose about her, and adow me to help you by my advice, or otherwise ; you must feel we cannot adow such a mysterious person to haunt our premises from time to time, without endeavouring to discover her motive !" Miss Mills remained sdent for some time, and then spoke in a very low voice, slowly, but in such a decided manner, as showed she was speaking with caution and truthfulness. She asserted that she had no mystery to unravel, that she absolutely knew nothing of the woman — but that it was very singular how the beggar seemed to know her. She must also confess to a very strange feehng whenever the woman approached her, whether it were an instinctive fear of her, or a power of attraction, which she could not repel ; in fact, whether she felt drawn towards her by fear or hatred, she could not say, but it was the sight of her always brought on the fainting attack, and it A DRIVE. 19 was on this account she wished to tell Mrs. Elton she had better leave her family and go to some distance from Eversfield, where the woman would be unable to trace her.

" But," said Mrs. Elton, " she could not have been the cause of your iUness the other day, for it occurred whdst we were at dinner, and indeed, I have noticed, as I before said, that it generady is so." " She stood behind one of the pillars of the portico, looked at me, kissed her hand, and then raised her eyes and hands towards heaven, and ran off through the plantation towards the Beeches." "It is most singular," added Mrs. Elton, "but for the present we can decide nothing. I wid think what is for the best, but stdl cannot see any reason for your leaving us. I think our better way would be to have the woman traced, and spoken to, and if needs be, she could be obliged either to give her reasons for lounging about our place, or to leave." Miss Mills said, she would rather do as she said, for she had really become so nervous of late, she did not think she could remain. A few yards more brought them home.