The Young Bride. A novel

Chapter I

" Where'er I go, whatever realms I see, My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee." Goldsmith. Colonel Hardy, and nurse, lost not a single moment in hurrying homeward, immediately on the departure of the train which bore Mary away. They, fortunately, met with no hind rance or obstruction on their way ; and arrived at Fortfield before any surmises of their absence had arisen. Hardy sent his companion on before him to the house, while he remained to give up the horse and jaunting car to its owner. Nurse, however, did not VOL. III. b get back before he overtook her ; she, at once, was immersed, as if nothing uncommon had occurred, in her numerous duties. Hardy, hastily undressing, was in his bed before the servant came to his room to call him. Mr. and Mrs. Sutton returned to Fortfield, the same day.

Their surprise and astonishment were unbounded, when they heard the news that awaited them. Mrs. Sutton, with the candid, honest, open-heartedness, which so strongly marked her character, wept long and bitterly, as she listened to the recital of poor Mary's trials. The extreme affection, and regard, which she felt for the young and in nocent sufferer, awoke all the womanly and tender feelings of her breast ; and she felt truly grieved that she had been away from home in her young friend's time of trouble and distress. For a day or two, everything remained quite tranquil at Fortfield. Mrs. Sutton decided that neither she, nor her husband, would return to the sea, at present ; not knowing at what time pursuers might arrive, to seek after the fugitive ; and wishing much to be on the spot, in case of that emergency occurring.

Poor, miserable, heart-broken Hardy, en deavoured to keep himself up, and battle strongly against the warrings of his own miserable breast. It would be utterly impos sible to give a just idea of his state. He crept about the house, and plunged into the most lonely nooks of the estate, to escape observation, and shun all society. He was intolerably agitated and nervous, at every sound that stirred about him. He was careless of every thing, but the one weighty agony, which over powered his heart and brain. He found out, from the workmen employed about the place, that the stranger, who had brought such misery along with him, was seen constantly wandering about Fortfield ; and that many other strange-looking men were likewise remarked lingering about, and, evidently, keenly watching all that went in and out of Fortfield House.

Not a syllable of Mary's departure had, as yet, transpired beyond the nursery. She had so often been ailing, and been confined, for days, to her room, that her absence was not noticed by the servants in general ; and Hannah and nurse alone knew of the fact of B2 her absence. It was evident that the watchers did not dream she had flown, and were directing all their attention to observing every thing connected with the house and its inhabitants. A few days more passed in unbroken order, and still the strangers strictly maintained their watch and ward. It was thought best byboth , Mr. Sutton aud Hardy to permit these persons to patrol at their pleasure, and seem un conscious of their intrusion. On the morning of the sixth day, from Mary's departure, the Fortfield family were seated at breakfast.

Suddenly the rapid whirling of a carriage, to the door, caused a painful sensation, of intense exitement, to pre vade the heart of Hardy ; and, also, nervously affect the feelings of Mr. and Mrs. Sutton. Ere a moment had elapsed, the door of the breakfast-room was thrown open, and three gentlemen entered. Mr. Sutton rose, at once, to receive them, but his manner showed extreme trepidation, when they announced themselves to be Sir Aldrich and Colonel Bulstrode, accompanied by a friend. The noble looking old baronet appeared very ill, and quite worn out with fatigue. Extreme agitation pervaded his whole frame, and Hardy was quickly near to him, with a chair, into which the old man sank quite helplessly. His eyes glanced rapidly round the room as if seeking some object of absorbing interest ; and he drew a deep heavy sigh as his gaze returned, only, upon the forms of the occupants of the apartment.

Colonel Bulstrode, without seating himself, or attending, in any way, to the salutation of the Suttons, spoke — " You will pardon our intrusion, sir, upon your privacy, in such an unceremonious man ner ; you will make allowances for us, I trust, when I say that my venerable uncle, Sir Aldrich Bulstrode, comes with me to claim, from you, his granddaughter, my wife, who, we are credibly informed, has been a resident in this house for eight months, past, under a feigned name, as governess to your children." " I regret, very much, Colonel Bulstrode, that I cannot comply with your request. The young lady to whom you allude, and whom we only knew as Miss Dalton, left this house some days ago, alone, during our absence at the sea- I solemnly swear I know not where she has gone to." At these words of Mr. Sutton's, which were spoken coolly, and calmly, Sir Aldrich rose and exclaimed — "Pardon me, sir, for doubting your state ments, but it is utterly impossible my grandchild can have left your house without the connivance ot some person in it.

It is utterly impossible, I reiterate, and as there is a Heaven above us, I shall, and will find her. I have the assistance of her husband, the aid of the law ; my, own powerover her, to enforce her return to her home. I shall have this house searched closely and minutely, I come, backed with the iron power of my country's laws, to assist me. Conceal my child, therefore, if you dare." " My uncle Sir Aldrich Bulstrode, speaks justly," said Harold. ""We have, with extreme difficulty, traced my wife here, to this very house. Within one short week she has been seen and recognized, with your family. My emissary has, since the time he saw her, strictly watched the house and all entering and leaving it. He affirms no departue took place by night or day, since my wife was seen to enter it." Mr. Sutton coolly replied, though he felt his passion rising, and his blood boiling rapidly.

" Gentlemen, I have spoken the truth, relative to the lady's departure, and my ignorance of her destination ; you may believe me, or not — just as you please. But you are all heartily welcome to make a strict and immediate search, in, and through, every part of my house and premises. During my absence from home, with Mrs. Sutton, I am informed that Miss Dalton met with some serious an noyances, while out with my children. I understand that, in consequence of this annoyance, she, on the following morning, was no where to be found — her room was empty — her bed unslept in. My three daughters, who occupied the same chamber as their governess, knew nothing of her departure. All her clothes were left behind her ; and not a vestige of her can we trace. On my return home, I was informed of the extraordinary occurrence ; and deeply I regret it.

It was a source of sincere trouble, to both Mrs. Sutton and myself, that we have been deprived of a dear and valued friend. Our children have lost an excellent and talented instructress ; one of whom we never can hope to see the equal." " Instructress ! " exclaimed Sir Aldrich, his voice trembling with pride and passion. " In structress to your children, sir ! How dare you breathe such an expression in the presence of me, her grandfather, of Colonel Bulstrode, her husband ? Do you not know, sir, that the oldest blood in England courses through her veins — the oldest, noblest heritage in the land is hers? The proudest name, and most untainted lineage, claims her. The de scendant of Saxon kings — the representative of the ancient Bulstrodes, an instructress to Irish savages and paupers ! By heavens ! 'tis too bad — too presumptuous to be believed !

I cannot stand it. The girl herself is crazed, gone raging mad with folly, that could so utterly demean herself, so wholly degrade her family. Worn out with age and infirmities, I have laboured and travelled unceasingly to find the idol of my soul, the treasure of my life, my precious darling child, and aster months of horrid care and anxiety, wearying journeying, and loss of health and strength, I come but to find my hopes a mockery, myself deluded and deceived." As he spoke, the proud old man bent his head and wept. " My good sir," said Mrs. Sutton, who had not spoken before — " my good sir, I deeply sympathize in your affliction and distress. The possession of such a treasure as your grand daughter belongs to but few. Her sojourn here has been one of real, unmixed pleasure and advantage to us ; and though the amiable and lovely girl may have degraded herself in the eyes of the world, and in your estimation, by holding the position in my family that she did, she has, at all events, won the warmest admiration, affection, respect, and esteem from all who saw and knew her.

Never for one instant could I think her to be what I now find she was. Humble, resigned, and diligent, she made us all and each happy, and con trived to mould the Irish ' savages and pau pers,' as you call my children, into amiable and refined beings, from their association with her. My absence from home at the unhappy time of her flight, has filled me with sorrow and apprehension of the severest sort ; for she was not well, and far from being able to endure the hardships she must have encountered. I would gladly make any sacrifice to provide for her comfort and safety, did I, happily, know where to find her." " Tour sympathy is needless, madam, I assure you," replied the haughty, insolent Harold. " My wife, Mrs. Bulstrode, requires no provision to be made for her security or comfort from the hands of strangers.

Sir Aldrich Bulstrode, as her grandfather, is the only person from whom my wife must deign to receive any aid or sympathy. Our only busi ness here is to claim and find the lady, the sooner that is done the better for all parties. With your permission, there must be this very moment a strict and rigorous search made through the house. Tour servants and your family must be examined. We have the as sistance of a detective force that has accompanied us." Mrs. Sutton replied in an equally haughty tone, and with much dignity of manner — " Sir, you may make any and every search you choose, if you have any doubt on your mind of my solemn assurance that the lady is not here." Harold answered, sharply — " Tou may believe her departure to have taken place during your absence, madam; I do not. Tou were from home, it is affirmed, when that departure took place ; you may have been deceived — indeed, I think and believe such to be the case.

Mr. Snow, Sir Aldrich's auditor and secretary, asserts that after his meeting Mrs. Bulstrode, no one lest this house. He followed her from the place where he met her, and saw her carried off the vehicle on which she had been driving, and brought into this house. He asserts that she was looking ill and weak, unable, in his opinion, to leave the house — at least, alone and unassisted. There were six children, two servant women, a footman, and a young gen tleman, accompanying her on that afternoon ; those persons must be all strictly examined. Immediately on forwarding the intelligence of having discovered Mrs. Bulstrode to me, Mr. Snow engaged the aid of some assistants, to watch this house, and all connected with it, night and day. For six days and nights, he and those assistants have maintained |a strict, unsleeping vigilance until this hour.

There fore, you must pardon my doubting the asser tion of the lady's flight, and the ignorance of your family and servants on the subject. We have come thoroughly authorized by the power of a husband's rights, and the strong arm of the law, to enforce my claims, and seek till I find." " Tou shall have every assistance, sir, that I can offer," said Mr. Sutton. Tou are at perfect liberty to commence at once, when and where you please." So saying, he rang the bell, and on the entrance of the servant, issued orders to have the strange gentlemen, and their attendants, shown through the whole house, how and as they choose. Sir Aldrich did not accompany his nephew in the search. He allowed him and his assistants to go without him. Indeed, the wretched old man was unable to make the exertion, so sat silently and haughtily in a large arm chair, shading his eyes with his hands and handkerchief.

To the kind attentions which were shown to him by Hardy, and the hospitable offers of Mr. Sutton, he vouchsafed no answer or reply, but remained nervously listening to every sound he heard, and every word that was spoken outside the open doors. Hardy remained quietly endeavouring to master his excited feelings, and endeavouring to regard in a favourable light the proud grandsire of his beloved Mary. He seemed unconscious of all that was going on about him, but, in truth, he was fearfully anxious, and nervously awake to every circumstance. Mr. and Mrs. Sutton could mark accurately his deep emotion and painful feelings, and note the agitated tremor that pervaded his whole frame, and racked his breast with in tolerable suffering. Pale as death, and cold as marble, he did not stir, or look off the newspaper, which he mechanically held, un read, or unthought of.

The stern Harold, and his haughty speeches, were before him, and ringing in his ears ; they filled him with terror and alarm for the safety and happiness of one dearer to him than his own existence. The hurried glance he had taken of the determined man, was enough to drive the life-blood from his beating heart. The cold, self-reliant tones in which he asserted his right to claim his wife, and his determination to seek and find, rung through poor Hardy's brain with excru ciating torture. As he pondered and thought over, and over, of those words, he felt the dews of deep, over-wrought excitement spread ing over his whole trembling frame. There he sat, nearly motionless, watching occasionally the Herculean frame of the baronet — that cold, unkind, unnatural old parent, who had in humanly sold his granchild's happiness for vain-glorious worldliness and bigoted pride.

Poor Hardy ! how little had he thought or imagined, when first his breast had become enslaved by the modest worth and unpretend ing grace of the simple Mary, that agonies, such as he never endured, would be the penalty of loving her so fondly ! — aye ! loving her truly, and fervently, and disinterestedly, with such a mine of deep, devoted, unselfish love as woman was never before worshipped with. The whole morning passed away in the same way, with those who occupied the breakfast room. For hours, the tedious and useless search after the fugitive was continued ; and the examination of the children and servants, was carried on by Harold himself, aided by Mr. Snow. No intelligence could be obtained, of any sort, relative to Miss Dalton. This was to be expected, as, in fact, no one knew she had left the house, till this inquiry had been instituted.

No one, saving nurse and Hannah, were in any way cognizant of the fact of her elopement. Of poor, innocent nurse nothing could be made by her examiners. She could not be made to understand why she was questioned about the governess. She had become very deaf, had a bad gathering in her ear, and was quite stupid. She was nothing but a bothered old fool, on whom it was of no use to waste time. So she was given up as a useless witness. Hannah could say some thing, and gave her evidence with every appear of confidence and carelessness. She found Miss Dalton's bed empty, when she went to call the children in the morning ; it was just as she had left it, after turning it down for the night, as usual. She saw Miss Dalton, at nine o'clock, on the night of her flight ; she was lying, very sick, on the sofa, not like anyone that could run away.

She never went to bed when the children did, but was in the habit of going to the school-room again, and sitting up reading: so that her not going upstairs that night, was nothing uncommon. She always suspected she was born to be a lady, and not a governess; but, wherever she went, she was an angel, and no doubt of it. She went on to say, that she found the library window unbarred, on the morning before she found Miss Dalton's bed to have been unslept in ; so, she was quite sure, it must be through that window that she escaped. This information was all that could be got out of her ; so she, in her turn, was dismissed with the other servants. Harold Bulstrode and Mr. Snow, at last, returned to the breakfast-room ; the former looking black and furious, like a thunder cloud. He approached Sir Aldrich, who started up wildly, as if from sleep, as he came near him, and said — " She is not here, certainly, uncle.

She has again escaped us. But we must soon find her; she cannot be far off; she cannot have got completely away, in her delicate state of health, especially as the place has been so closely watched. Take courage, my dear sir ; she must be caught, without any doubt ; she cannot elude the vigilance with which I shall conduct the search. We shall start in pursuit at once ; you and I one way, Snow another, and the detectives another. A very bitter groan burst from the old man, as he said — " She has eluded us a year and a half, and more, already, Harold. I may never live to find my darling. Tou, my dear nephew, may, and can follow the pursuit, it is right that you should ; but I cannot — indeed, I cannot. I am weak, and ill, and very wretched — sick unto death — heart-broken ! My last hope of finding her, is gone — that strong hope, which bore me over land and sea, to find my own precious Mary !

I shall return, by easy stages, to Dublin, with Walters; and, when able, shall try and creep back to Bulstrode. I am not able to encounter more now, Harold." " Please yourself, my dear uncle, you have held up too well and too bravely to give away so suddenly. Tou shall do, however, as you please ; perhaps it is best for you to go to Dublin, at once, with Walters, and rest quietly there for some days ; while I scour the country, and use every exertion to recover Mary. It is a great pity, that she should not know how very ill you are, and weak, and then she would lose no time in rushing to you ; VOL. in. c if she did, she could not easily again escape us." " Ah ! Harold, I very much doubt that she would now hasten to me. That time is gone, I fear, for ever. She does not love me now, as she once did, she only fears me, perhaps she hates me, too.

There was a time when nothing could separate us, when her love was trusting and unbounded. Alas ! alas ! Harold, my heart's idol, my only son's child, his only child, my pride, my comfort, my delight, she flies from me, and grovels to the earth to shun me. My nephew, let us leave this place, now, at once — I am ill, very ill. " Tou shall leave it, sir, immediately, as soon as Walters can bring round the carriage ; I have already ordered it. Colonel Hardy, I believe I address yon, will you permit me to claim the favour of a few minutes conversation with you, in private. Tou may, perhaps, be able to throw some light on this mysterious matter, of my wife's elopement, as I understand you were with her at the time of her being met and recognized, by Mr. Snow and I believe you have not lest Fortfield since."

Colonel Hardy bowed as haughtily, as did the other speak. With feigned indifference he left the room with him, at the same time stating his utter inability to give any infor mation, on the subject of Mrs. Bulstrode's flight. He added that he was totally ignorant of where she then was, and, that from the cautious and dignified reserve of the lady's manner, he could not possibly imagine what her plans were. However, he accompanied Harold to another room, where he found Mr. Snow and the detective officers, The few questions that were asked and answered, were of little avail or importance, and his examination lasted a very short time, and ended without any surmise being entertained, of his being a participator in the fact. Sir Aldrich was obliged to accept Mr. Sutton's offer, of taking some wine before he left Fortfield.

Indeed, he was so very weak, and his steps faltered so much as he walked to enter the carriage, that he was almost carried into it, by Walters and Mr. Sutton's servants. Harold, who looked alarmed at his weak and failing state, accompanied him, arranging with others of his party that he c2 would meet them at a neighbouring town, next day, to continue the pursuit. A very deep sigh of relief was breathed from the heart of Hardy, as he saw the carriage drive off, and passing by the windows, proceed down the avenue. How thankful he felt that as yet, the dear hunted fugitive had escaped, and that the examination and search at Fortfield, had ended so well. At all events, it was quite certain that by that time, Mary had reached some harbour of safety, and might eventually, escape the risks with which she was threat ened.

The worthy Suttons rejoiced exceedingly at the way in which everything had termi nated, and felt with Hardy, unmitigated disgust at the hard-hearted and unmanly part, played by Harold Bulstrode. The old man was to them all, an object of pity and commiseration. His pride had worked its own punishment, and filled his proud, passionate breast with bitter remorse ; bringinc his gray hairs with sorrow and self reproach to the grave. Until now, Hardy had feared to leave Fortfield, lest his absence should in any way injure Mary, or cause it to be thought. that he could enlighten Colonel Bulstrode if he chose, on the subject of her flight. But he could not longer remain inactive, and determined to start next morning to Dublin, hoping to find there, before him, some tidings of her. A whole week having elapsed since she left, so that he might hope for some intelligence.

But when he got to Dublin, he found no letter had come for him, to the direction of Captain Williams. Almost wild with dread and alarm, he at first determined upon setting off for Galway ; but then prudence and second thoughts prevailed over inclination and impulse. He remained from day to day, a prey to all sorts of fears and horrors, but at length, at the end of ten days from her de parture, he was rewarded for his days of fevered impatience, and his nights of sleepless uncertainty. One morning in an almost hopeless state, he enquired at the Kildare Street Club, for the letters of Captain Williams, when, behold, his eyes were blessed with the sight of one directed in a well-known hand. Catching it wildly from the waiter who handed it to him, he hurried off to his own apartment, and locking himself into it, broke the seal, and with devouring eyes, and throbbing heart, read — " This will give to my kind and dear brother the certainty of my safety.

The delay in sending a letter has been caused by several circumstances, and not by forgetfulness of my best and only friend's anxiety on my account. When I lest you, I did not think that I should ever live to the end of my journey. I was ill, and very miserable ; so desolate that I seemed completely hopeless, and felt so. A miserable, long day of in cessant rain, was that one in which I travelled from my home and friends, away I knew not whither. A long, fatiguing night's voyage shattered all my remains of strength and courage, and threw me, sick in mind, and weary in body, on the mercy and kindness of a good Samaritan. This woman treated me as her own child, housed, comforted, nursed, and clothed me for a whole week, and then forwarded me in safety to this haven of rest, opened to me by the kindness of nurse.

I am nearly well, and strong as ever I hope to be ; I have perfect rest and peace of mind, and freedom of thought and body — what more do I require ? I would gladly remain here in this quiet place, if I could ; — but that would be impossible — my mind must be em ployed, as it has been ; I cannot remain in active, brooding, in solitary despair, over my troubles and trials. Tou, my kind friend, must seek out for some secure home, out of this country, where I may be usefully em ployed and engaged; and where I may be respectably situated — I care not how humbly — far from the busy world. I would go as a teacher in a school most gladly, provided I may never be required to go abroad. I would even venture across the Atlantic, and take chance for providing means to get my daily bread, if the transit there could be effected with safety.

Once in America, that land of liberty, I might hope to hide myself for ever from danger and suspicion. I would be a companion to some elderly lady, who needed an automaton to read her to sleep, adjust her work, and listen to her discourse. I have not, I believe, a bad temper, and I know that I can bear and suffer much ; so that, perhaps, this last scheme would be the best for me, if practicable. In writing to me be careful to enclose your letters to my hostess, Mrs. Lydon, for Miss Humphreys, — we can no longer place confidence in ' Miss Dalton.' You will, I am convinced, not leave me in ignorance of the occurrences connected with me that may take place at dear, hospitable Fortfield, but let me have a full account of every particular. I truly grieve to think that, by my means, your excellent aunt, and her household, will suffer annoyances, and be subject to intrusions; but she is so very generous and forgiving that she will make allowances for the cause, and exonerate me, in her own mind, from the blame due to such proceedings.

" Writing to you, my friend, is a pleasure to me, who cannot, by any means, forget for an instant, my own great sorrows and afflictions. Tour sympathy is very valuable, and your friendship precious beyond expres sion. In the full confidence of that fraternal regard which you have promised to remember me with, now and for ever, I rest, completely satisfied and contented. I ask for no other friend, nor another protector. Tou know full well that the necessity of venturing upon the world alone compelled me to reject the comfort of your accompanying me in my es cape. Propriety, not my own will, demanded the sacrifice of separating myself from you, and from your protecting care ; you will, therefore, make allowances for the apparent ungraciousness with which I rejected your kind offers. Write often, I entreat you ; be candid and open to me, as I shall be to you.

I must say farewell to you now, for writing confuses my head, which has not ceased to ache since we parted. I cannot much longer hold my pen ; but I must try to do so till I tell you, once more, that I remain, now as ever, my dear friend, your faithful and con fiding sister."

Chapter II

" Fly to the desert, fly with me." When floating on the tide of prosperity we seldom know what we are capable of doing, because energy and exertion are not needed, nor are they required ; but on the rude and tempestuous sea of adversity the case is quite the reverse. Toung as Mary was, the various circumstances and adversities of her eventful life had compelled her to fathom her mind ; and she had by those means found energy, exertion, and strength within it, when re quired, that was most wonderful. She now once more set herself to the due and important consideration of her present position, resolving to bear with patience, and continued resignation, the trouble appointed to her lot ; and remain where she was in hidden security until the present violent energy of her pur suers should subside.