From the Farm to the Battlefield. Three separate stories

Introduction

. IN the fanciful narration, which forms the third and last of these distinct Stories, the authoress has endeavoured to indicate what she conceives to be the Christian Church on earth, as delineated in the New Testament : — a sanctuary of purity and peace, and of mutual help and instruction where the Heavenly Father can be worshipped in spirit and in truth, and loved with all the heart and with all the strength, and each member of the community strive in genuine earnestness to love his neighbour even as himself! CONTENTS. The Brentwoods of Dovesdell Farm. — H@oOo@»(— (Sugar's Natratifo. PAGE

Chapter 1

— The Farm and the Family i „ II. — An Adventure 9 Praia's Narrati&e. ,, III. — Vows Unfulfilled, Yet True 16 Qorotfjca's Rsarrattrje. „ IV. — DOVESDELL IN SHADOW 2$ ,, V. — The Withered Rose-Bud 31 „ VI. — A Tragedy: then the Dawn of Better Times 36 iSettfja's Contribution. VII. — A Beautiful Passing Away CONTENTS. VI A Queen of El Dorado. — ~©oo°<§x— PAGE

CHAPTER I.

— The Rosary - 51 ,, II. — In the Shadow of the City 58 ,, III.— A Letter of Fortune and Farewell. 64 ,, IV.— Cedar Mount 69 „ V. — Constantine Norman 73 „ VI. — A Chilling Experience 80 „ VII. — A Sleuth-hound on the Scent of Gold. — Desertion 86 ,, VIII. — Finessing. — Courting Uncompromisingly 96 „ IX. — The Old House by the Sea 102 „ X. — Confidences 10S „ XI. — Threats and Portents of Evil 116 „ XII. — Catastrophes 121 ,, XIII. — The Knight sans Peur et sans Reproche CONTENTS. vii The Last Battle on England's Isle. — >@.o.@H- Part I. PAGE

CHAPTER I.

— The Church in the Wilderness 137 „ II. — Departures from the Sanctuary 145 „ III.— An Elysium of Fancy 152 Part II. ,, IV. — Shadows of War 159 ,, V. — The Fate of the Fleet 167 „ VI.— The Last Battle CDgar's ifrarratiioe*

CHAPTER I.

The Farm and the Family. Ours was an old, but unambitious family, going on from generation to generation in the same track, farming the same acres, sticking true to the old Nonconformist faith, and entering but little into the arena of political strife. My father and mother, and those who had lived before them in the quaint old farm-house, embowered by climbing roses, and surrounded by gigantic elms upon whose top most boughs a noisy colony of rooks built year after year, had striven to act up to their ideas of duty, — had been kind and considerate in their treatment and education of their children, just and charitable to the labourers on their farm, and to the servants in their kitchen. They were not Puritanic, in the sense of intolerant and bigoted — for they drew the Waters of Truth from the pure and holy Well of the New Covenant, — nor was their road, to the Better Land, through the gardens of pleasure and selfish indo lence, but it lay over the thorny heights of work, (of honest, laborious toil,) with their peaceful resting-places of prayerful hope and thanksgiving.

Our farm derived its name from a beautiful little vale, beyond the garden and the bountifully-yielding apple and plum orchards, and forming a boundary on one side to the rich broad meadows that sloped away from the rookery. Up the grassy sides of this dell grew trees of enormous size — oaks, elms, ashes, and a few firs, and the coo of the wood-pigeons was heard from the branches, in the spring and early summer, through the livelong day. It was a favourite resort, too, for nightingales, and as for flowers, nowhere else could such bunches of primroses, such sweet smelling violets, or such a carpet of blue-bells be seen. We, that is I, Edgar Brentwood, Dorothea, my elder sister, and little Hilda, the youngest of the family, — our mother had always a fancy for pretty names, — were very happy as children, for we both loved and revered our parents, who well deserved our filial affection : but it was such a placid, commonplace sort of happiness, — though very real and true, — that I fear its description would interest few people in these days of excitement and bustle, and of running to and fro across the face of the earth.

But a change came, tragic in the doom it wrought, terrible in its effect upon us, and upon our father. Besides the farm horses, we always kept one for riding and driving purposes, and, at the time to which I now refer, when Hilda, the youngest, was about sixteen, our father happened to have a mare upon which he especially prided himself, as she used to run in his gig to market and back in double-quick time. Occasionally, he would ride her about the fields, and sometimes I was told to <nve her a little exercise, but she had not half work enough, considering her high spirit. And one day, after having passed many idle days in the stable, she so far forgot the good behaviour for which she was noted, notwithstanding her fidgetiness, as to bolt, and indeed fairly run away, for a short distance. Perhaps my father, who was alone at the time, would hardly have succeeded in stopping her so soon, if the road, when she started, had not been up a steep hill.

Be that as it may, he made light of what he called the mare's playfulness, and when our mother de murred about trusting herself in the gig with " Nellie " in harness, and begged our father — as she wished to go shopping the next day at Greybridge, our nearest market town—to let her have an old horse, who had been for a year or two consigned to the plough for slowness of pace, he would not listen to her, but patting " Nellie's " beautiful arched neck, fondly, (he happened to be riding into the gate, when our mother asked him,) assured her that he could manage the pretty creature perfectly. Ah — well ! I am an old man, now — old, through thick coming sorrows, as well as through years, but I have never forgotten and shall never forget while I live, all that I witnessed, all that I felt, the next evening !

It was on the eve of harvest : everything was peaceful and promising. The cows had been milked, and were browsing in the home meadow, or ruminating under the huge elms ; the soft tinkling of sheep-bells could be heard from a fold, set in a rich field of clover, that lay behind the Dovesdell. A couple of foals were playing round the old mares, in a little paddock, close to the orchard : and between the trees, and beyond the meadows, could be seen glimpses, here and there, of the ripening corn, all gleaming like gold in the rays of the sun. It was rather late for our parents to return, for they were not wont to spend time in idle talk, when their business was done, and Dorothea, or Dora, as we usually called her, sent me a little way along the road, to where there was a bend, and past which I could obtain a good view of the way they would come for a considerable distance.

My attention was caught, as soon as I got by the turn, by the sight of some vehicle, not very distinguishable, being still far away, which was getting over the ground with frightful rapidity. How quickly the distance diminished, as I gazed, with my heart in my mouth ! Could it be, I thought, yes — I could see more plainly now — it must be " Nellie " tearing away with the gig at her utmost speed ! On, on she came, never relaxing her pace, and remembering I had set open our gate, I rushed back to close it ; for perceiving, too well, that the animal was beyond all control, I felt sure that if she attempted to turn into the gateway, she must inevitably overturn the gig. I hoped, besides, that the mare would gradually slacken her speed, and suffer herself to be pulled up, when she had passed the entrance.

Alas ! we cannot foresee how things will turn out ! The brute, seeing that the gate was shut, stopped herself with such a sudden plunge and jerk that our poor mother was thrown out upon the hard road. I ran and lifted her up, but she never spoke again — her neck was broken — death must have been instantaneous, the doctor said, when he arrived : and yet, I thought her lips moved, once or twice, as I bore her into the house, and laid her on a sofa in the parlour. Our father had managed to cling to the gig, and had escaped all injury, but he was broken-hearted, and kept accusing himself of having been the cause of dear mother's death, until it was grievous to hear him. And never more was he destined to be his own light-hearted, brave, generous self again ! Hilda was almost frantic in her wild distress, she was always a very sensitive and warm-hearted little thing : and I — well, in the midst of my almost unbearable sorrow, I fell in such a rage with that petted, ungrateful beast, that had made us so miserable — we, that had been the happiest of happy families, that I asked my father if I might shoot her there and then!

But he said, "No, Edgar; vengeance would not heal my anguish, and I do not wish to have her killed, but she shall be sold to some one who will keep her hard at work, and cure her of her tricks. She has wrought me woe enough, Heaven knows ! The shadow of my terrible misfortune will never pass away from my life — for I brought that misfortune upon myself, upon your dear mother, upon you all." There was little sleep for any of us that night : after a brief doze, I would wake up with a sense of unutterable grief, and would hear Hilda sobbing in the next room, while Dora's voice, low, sad and soft, was endeavouring to console her. Occasionally, I caught the sound of my father's step pacing backwards and forwards in the rest lessness of misery. And ever-recurring, during those lingering hours, was the question in my mind — "Why was she, the best of us all, hurried into Eternity, without time for preparation, for the admonition of her children, for even bidding her dear ones farewell ?"

The future was hidden from me, and I could have no conception of the nature and greatness of the trials, from the sphere of which she had been then removed, in the zenith of her happiness, by a wise and merciful Providence. One treasure she left us — a pure, sweet, beautiful memory, ever with us to sustain or warn us, as might be needed by us, though I, at least, did not always profit by the warning thus offered to me. Dorothea was our greatest help and comforter, during the dreary solemn days that intervened before the funeral, though I, who knew her so well, could see how deeply she, herself, was suffering. Sometimes Hilda would ask me to go with her into the chamber of death : outside the house, the very brilliancy of the sunshine, the beauty of the scenery and the signs of joyful life jarred upon my feelings, but the darkened quiet of that room, where our poor mother lay, looking so calm and fair — she had been the beauty of the neighbourhood before her marriage — soothed my mind, and, I think, Hilda's too, even while it saddened us.

Dora had placed, around her pillow, many of our mother's favourite flowers — and appearing so life like and lovely as she did, it gave us a spasm of terror, and seemed a sin to place her in a coffin, and lower her into the cold, damp earth. Henceforth, for several years, Dorothea was our staff of strength : she did as our mother had done before, — tread ing with loving veneration in her footsteps. She caressed, consoled and exhorted Hilda, urging her to useful ex ertion ; and Hilda learned to lean upon her for help and comfort, whenever afflicting recollections distressed her. But Dora's ministrations were perhaps even more neces sary to our father, who, in the completeness of his deso lation, seemed to cherish the wish of following our dear mother to the grave : yet even in the intensity of his sorrow and self-blame, he could' not be entirely insensible to Dora's simple, unselfish devotion, and religious arguments : and he was often lulled to sleep of an evening by her gentle voice, as she read to him, and thus obtained the rest which fled from him when alone at night.

The management of the farm fell almost entirely upon me, at this time, and indeed remained principally in my hands always afterwards : and here too, Dora became a great assistant, for she advised me with great judgment and discretion, whenever I found myself in a difficulty, which was pretty often, as I had not been accustomed to order and direct the operations of the farm, but only to see that my father's wishes and plans were carried out, in his absence. Both my sisters were particularly good-looking, and their charms, their homely virtues and simple diffidence were not unappreciated, for both had lovers early in life. But I must not anticipate. Dorothea was rather above the middle height, graceful and supple of form, with regular features, soft brown eyes, rich brown hair, and a step elastic as that of a young wild deer.

Hilda was shorter and slighter, while her face was a very picture to look upon — with its broad brows of snowy whiteness, beauti fully arched eyebrows, and long dark eyelashes shading eyes large and brilliant, yet exquisitely tender, its tresses of raven blackness, Grecian nose, delicate ruby-lipped mouth, and cheeks tinted with the softest rose-colour imaginable. We had all been educated in rather a superior manner, for those times, having been sent to the best schools in the neighbouring town, through our mother's wish, and from which seats of learning, we used to return home, in the holidays, with a delight which none, but those who have a happy home, can fairly realize. Hilda was gifted with an especial taste for music, and her voice was a marvel of sweetness and richness combined. Our house stood near the road, and often and often, in the summer time, when the windows were open, have I noticed strangers riding or walking by, pause to listen to her singing or playing : for seeing what a love she had for music, our father, though he did not much care for it himself, had given her a piano, — a second-hand one, indeed, but out of which her clever touch could draw most thrilling and enchanting sounds.

Our dear considerate parents, being aware that, unlike Dora, she had not the strength to take much walking exercise, had made her another present of the prettiest little silver-grey pony, perfect in shape, make and action, and looking worthy to carry a little princess ! She called him " Sylvio," and she used to wander about on his back, and get acquainted with all the picturesque spots and shady, flowery lanes within a few miles of home. All, or nearly all, that I am about to narrate in the next chapter, I learnt from Dorothea, to whom Hilda herself related it, immediately after the occurrence.

Chapter II

An Adventure. One morning— it was the summer after our great be reavement — Hilda had ridden further than usual, beguiled by the beauty of the June day, and enticed on, by scenery that was new and interesting to her. Finding herself close to a wood, and the gate standing invitingly open, she turned her pony down a broad, green path that ap parently led straight through it. She was always a dreamy young thing, fond of the quiet of the woods, of listening to the songs of the birds, or to the whispering of the leaves in the warm wind, and delighted to discover amongst the flowers some early blossom of the season : and she rode on, and on, without exactly noticing where she went, for the path, instead of going in a straight direction, presently wound about, and other wood-rides crossed it. Just as she began to feel a little bewildered, she observed that the darkness of heavy, threatening clouds was falling over the wood, and a sudden peal of thunder startled both her and "Sylvio": — at the same instant she heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and saw a gentleman riding quickly towards her, up a side-path, and followed by a groom.

Through her fright at the coming storm, she gained courage to speak to him, as he glanced at her while passing, and asked him entreatingly, to be so kind as to tell her the nearest way out of the wood, as she had lost herself. "What way do you want to go ?" he asked, reining up his horse, and regarding her with some curiosity. "To Dovesdell Farm, Sir." " Ah, you are the wrong side of the wood, altogether, and the farm is a considerable way off, too:" he paused a moment, and then added — "And a thunderstorm is coming on rapidly ; so I think you had better take shelter in my house, until it has passed over." Hilda thanked the gentleman gratefully, and they cantered away, without a word more being spoken, my sister following closely her guide, as large drops of rain began to fall, and every now and then came the roll of the advancing thunder.

In a very short time, they got clear of the wood, and made swiftly across a beautiful park, through the majestic trees of which, Hilda could catch glimpses of a sheet of water, and of the colonnaded front of a stately mansion. The gentleman did not ride up to the grand entrance, but guided his horse through a door way that led to a stable-yard. Here a groom ran to take " Sylvio," and Hilda sprang from her saddle, and, at the invitation of the gentleman, followed him, by a side-door, into a splendid hall, and across that to a richly-furnished dining-room, where a tempting luncheon was set out, and where a middle-aged lady was sitting, in an easy chair, reading. " I am so glad, that you have got home before the storm has " but here the lady paused suddenly, and, rising from her seat, regarded my sister, who was colour ing from embarrassment, with no little surprise.

" I must introduce this young lady to you, my dear," said the gentleman, good-naturedly. (Hilda noticed that he was somewhat older than his wife, though still a finelooking man, with a benevolent cast of countenance.) "I found her in Beechburne Wood, where she had lost her way, and as the storm was so near, I prevailed on her to accompany me here, and stay until she could ride home without getting wet through." The lady smiled, and turning to Hilda, said — "But I have not heard your name, yet." " Hilda Brentwood, Madam." " And you live at the pretty rose-covered farm-house — Dovesdell, it is called, is it not?" — that I have so often admired," continued the lady, with condescending graciousness. Then she and the gentleman sat down to luncheon, politely pressing my sister to do so like wise.

" Where are Theresa and Bernard ? " inquired the master of the house. "They came in just before you: they will join us directly ; " was the reply ; and almost immediately after wards a fragile, sickly-looking young lady of about eighteen, with a languid, yet kindly expression in her soft blue eyes, entered the apartment. Bernard followed her, with a quick elastic step, and a pleasant smile on his open, attractive countenance. He was a handsome young fellow of three or four-and-twenty : with unfailing spirits, untiring energy, and a thorough good heart ; as I, myself, can testify, from what I saw of him subsequently. Well — he and his sister took much interest in Hilda's little ad venture, and as the rain, after luncheon, showed no signs of cessation, they proposed to send a messenger, over to our farm, to apprise us of Hilda's safety, and say that she would stay at Silvermere Park until the next morning.

Hilda would have made excuses, and ridden home through the rain, but Theresa, having gained her mother's assent to the plan, would not listen to a word of objection, but carried off my sister to her own apartments, and summoned her maid, who found in her young mistress's wardrobe a pretty silk dress that just fitted Hilda, and who dressed her magnificent black hair in so fashionable a style that she scarcely knew herself, when she looked in the glass. Then the good-natured young lady brought her books to read, and prints to look over, and later on, showed her over the picture-galleries, and all the splendid reception rooms. When dinner-time came, Hilda felt a little awkward and nervous, there was such a glitter of plate, and such beautiful hot-house flowers in the centre of the table, and such well dressed men-servants in waiting, but Theresa seated her beside her, and Bernard made everything easy and pleasant, in a very short time — he was so genuinely kind, so witty and mirthful !

After dinner, Mrs. Delaforte (for that was the name of the family at the Park) asked her daughter to give Hilda some music. Miss Delaforte had been well-taught by players and singers of eminence, but she did not possess, it seems, the genius of Hilda, or her power and sweetness of voice. However, she kept on playing and singing until the gentlemen entered the drawing-room, and then Bernard asked my sister if she, too, was not a musician ? and whether she would not favour them with some simple ballad, or pathetic air ? It was considered merely an act of civility, I suppose, to make the request : at all events Hilda judged so, when she' noticed on Mrs. Delaforte's face, as she rose, with ready compliance, a smile half-pitying, half-con temptuous. Hilda had the sweetest temper possible, but this smile roused her spirit a little, and she carefully selected, from a huge pile of music, a song that required much compass and volume of voice, and considerable powers of execution in the accompaniment.

Theresa looked aghast: — "It is too difficult, do not attempt it;" she whispered. " I have sung it often — please let me try ! " said Hilda, as she struck a few opening chords. How she drew forth the tones of the magnificent piano, until the spacious apartment appeared filled with glorious sound, and how her voice rose, clear and resonant, yet full of unspeakable sweetness and pathos, I heard from Bernard himself, afterwards, and also what a magical effect Hilda's performance had upon all who listened. And yet my sister felt conscious that Mrs. Delaforte was annoyed ; that it was far from agreeable to her, that her highly-cultured daughter, occupying a position of wealth and influence, should be thus eclipsed, in an accomplishment upon which she prided herself, by a farmer's daughter; and also that it jarred upon her pride to hear the .enthusiastic praises bestowed by Bernard upon the execution of the song.

She was aware, too that Mrs. Delaforte's manner afterwards grew cold and constrained towards her, which made her anxious to get away. Immediately after breakfast the next morning, she took leave of her host and hostess, thanking them gratefully for the kind shelter they had afforded her. Theresa was extremely cordial at parting, and Bernard would insist upon riding back with her, though his mother tried, un availingly, to make him see that she did not like it. Bernard was delighted with our home, which he called the "Rose-Bower of Song" ; and he conversed some time with our father, and greatly cheered him up by his bright hopeful way of viewing things, and his heart-felt trust in the beneficence of the Creator. He, besides, succeeded in ingratiating himself with our cautious and discreet Dorothea, for though usually slow in forming an opinion of strangers, she was, in this case, fairly won over, by his sincere and ardent admiration of Hilda's musical talent.

And after that memorable day, Bernard Delaforte came often to Dovesdell Farm. Another event in our family history dates from about this period. Maurice Loring, the son of an old friend of our father, (Mr. Loring of Oak Valley, who farmed his own land, and belonged, like us, to the yeoman class,) had been for some time back, a very constant visitor at our house : and one lovely midsummer evening, after Dora had been walking with him in the orchards, and in the Dovesdell, she came in with a happier look than usual in her brown eyes, and a vivid flush on her cheeks, and told our father that Maurice had asked her to be his wife ; though he feared their engagement must be a protracted one, as he was resolved to win for her a good position. Our father did not object to the engagement, for he knew that Maurice was high-principled, and very steady in his conduct, though he was ambitious, and had vexed his father by refusing to become a farmer, having a very decided taste and preference for mechanics.

Probably the knowledge that a long while would elapse before Maurice could claim his bride, reconciled our father to the betrothal, for I am sure he dreaded the thought of losing Dorothea. For herself, Dora would have preferred to have become mistress of Oak Valley, (Maurice's mother had been dead some years,) to being lifted into any grand position, through Maurice's success in the profession he had chosen — that of an engineer. Young Loring and myself, though always friendly, were never especially fond of each other's society, as our tastes essentially differed. I was fond of out-of doors' occupations, and pleasant entertaining reading, while he was constantly puzzling over some mechanical intricacy, being intent, I imagine, upon making some notable invention. Ere that summer was over I, too, had commenced forming plans for the future, ignoring unwisely the opinions of my family, and what I well knew would have been my mother's views of my conduct, had she been alive.

A spell was upon me, and in a headstrong mood, I thought only of the prettiness and apparent lovingness of Annie Dickson, the only daughter of a reputedly wealthy tradesman of Grey bridge. I would not listen to my conscience, though it plainly warned me that Annie was not only frivolous, but also obstinately self-willed, and that she had no abiding sense of the responsibilities of life, — religion being, to her, only a formal observance. So I hardened my heart to my father's strenuous re monstrances, to Dora's wise counsels, and to Hilda's gentle, but earnest entreaties that I would weigh well, beforehand, the certain consequences of the step I was so eager to take. May my sufferings, and my repentance, win me a pardon from the Most High ! Lima's iBatrattoe.

Chapter III

Vows Unfulfilled, yet True. Edgar has asked me to continue the family record which he has commenced, as it now relates to myself more par ticularly, — that is, during the ensuing few months. It will be remembered that my brother stated, in his account, that henceforth Bernard Delaforte became a frequent visitor at our house. Alas ! he was with us far oftener than his own people liked : but what could / do ! to have asked him not to come, would have implied that I took it for granted that he rode over solely on my account ! And then his visits did our poor father so much good, not only physically, but even morally : for as his spirits rose, he began to perceive that he had brooded too long over his great sorrow. One day, indeed, he acknowledged as much to me, and even accused himself of selfishness, in having neglected to sympathize sufficiently with his children, in their toils and troubles.

After a while, as I could not help half-hoping, half-fearing they would do, matters came to a crisis. It was a lovely September afternoon ; Bernard had ridden over after his own luncheon, reaching the farm, as was his wont, just as we had concluded our early dinner : then he walked with our father and Edgar into the meadow to look at the cattle, and further on to a stubble-field where the sheep were busy picking up stray ears of corn, or nibbling at anything eatable which they could find in the way of green food. Later on, Bernard joined me in the garden, where I was busily engaged tying up some young rose-trees, which the wind, the night before, had blown away from their supports. " Come Hilda" — he said, in his persuasive way — " I want to talk to you for a few minutes ; let's stroll down the filbert walk to the Dovesdell."

I shall never forget, to my dying day, the bewitching beauty of that fateful afternoon : — the sun was shining with such soft, subdued brilliance and deliciously tempered warmth, — as if some mystic, silvery veil, imperceptible to mortal eyes, had been let fall over its dazzling disc : robins were singing their sweet, but plaintive melodies, leaves were rustling overhead in the balmy, languid breeze, where the filbert boughs almost met, and where the foliage was just crisping and growing aromatic, beneath the first light touch of decay. Bernard drew my arm within his. " It is there your hand should ever rest, my little Princess — fairy queen of flowers and song, and enchanted glens !" he said gaily. Then becoming suddenly serious, he added — " I have told my father and mother that I will never marry any one else : that you are necessary to my happiness, my life! and they said — 'Go, and travel for a few months:' they would give me no explanation of their motive, or subsequent intentions : now, what do you say ?