Mabel: a novel

Chapter I

Oh, give me comfort, if you can! Oh, tell me where to fly ! Oh, tell me if there can be hope, For one so lost as I ! Southey. The grey dawn was slowly and faintly breaking, with the calm, dull light of a winter's morning. The stormy wind had sunk to rest, the fire, no longer fanned by its heavy gusts, had nearly abated, and what more was required to extinguish it, was afforded by the arrival of the fire engine, which had been forwarded with the usual promptitude, though from the distance it had to travel, it arrived too late to be of any effectual service. Mrs. Lesly's house had been the last to take VOL. II. B MABEL fire, and was not so completely destroyed, as the smaller cottages in the more thickly populated parts of the village. Mr. Ware was rejoiced to see that the church remained uninjured — his own house, too, had escaped, and no fears were entertained for the Manor.

Yet, in manjr parts, the fire still smouldered, though its fury was spent, and gave a light to the landscape, which rivalled that of the wintry dawn. There was a small and pleasant nook by the road side, where on summer evenings, children would assemble to play. Here a group had collected, composed of men and women, surrounding the prostrate form of the unhappy bailiff. Mr. Ware was supporting his head, with that pity for the wretched and suffering which his sacred character made as necessary as his natural feelings rendered it pleasant. Satisfied, as he believed, of the safety of Mrs. Lesly and her children, he had not been tempted from the side of the man, whose remorse called for all that attention which he only could give, and who, if he moved, MABEL, piteously entreated him not to leave him.

Well indeed might he beg him to remain, for in the various groups which surrounded him, he could not discover a single friend. Subject to his tyranny during his day of power, each among them might have stood forward to convict him of some harsh unkindness, if not of actual cruelty and oppression. Amongst others was Martin, his shaggy eyebrows bent in triumph on the man who, unable to display his usual bearing of conscious authority, lay weak and powerless before him. The stranger was seen advancing slowly across the green, with his hat slouched over his face, and his arms crossed upon his chest. All slightly moved to make room for him, and allowed him to stand without being too closely pressed — but, whether from a sense of his per sonal bravery in their service, or from an un conscious respect to his commanding manner — few stopped to enquire.

On his pale countenance were marks of agitation — he looked b MABEL, indeed almost faint — and Mr. Ware, fearing he might have sustained some injury in his many daring exploits, offered him some of the brandy, which he had been giving to the most weary. He eagerly accepted the offer, and then, seeing that the group had become silent since he joined it, he turned to Mr. Ware. " As a minister of holy peace, sir," he said, " let me suggest to you, that some means be taken to find out by whom this foul deed has been committed, for the intention may well meet with as much condemnation as if it had succeeded. "A foul deed most assuredly," saidMr.Ware, rising from his stooping posture — " a foul deed most truly has been attempted this night, and it ought indeed to humble us," he added, as a tear glistened in his eye, " to think that there is one among us, brethren, capable of doing so terrible a thing as to endeavour to put a man to death, even though he were his worst enemy, much less to conceive so horrible a means, even while ruin was on our own hearth sides, MABEL, ■5 and the hand of Providence raised to punish.

Oh, I am grieved beyond words to tell, not so much that ye are poor, but that poverty has brought sin among you, as I know it has done. Have you not had warning enough to-night ?" A groan escaped from the stranger, and all turned round, but his eyes were fixed on the ground. " Now, my children," continued Mr. Ware, " let us cast off from ourselves this great sin, and tell all we know of it ; and if he who has done it be amongst us, let him stand forward and suffer his punishment, as the only expiation he can offer." " Not so," said the bailiff, raising himself with difficulty, and supporting himself on his arm, while he glanced timidly upon those who were about him ; but carefully avoiding the stranger, whose dark eyes, from beneath his slouched hat, were bent upon him. "And why," asked the latter, eagerly, "would you arrest the hand of justice ?"

" Sir," said the bailiff, solemnly, " let the MABEL punishment rest upon him that deserves it. I am he. If it be wrong to think to take away my life — if it be sin to compass the death of any man — it is also sin to tempt a man to do it. Many have been the galling words I have spoken, and the wicked, taunting things I have done. But, oh, my fellow men, forgive me now, as you hope to be forgiven. This terrible night has brought my sins to remembrance, and, if I live I am a changed man — but if I die—" Here a tremor seized his whole frame. " Then you will not tell us ?" said the stranger, enquiringly. " No, sir," said Rogers, meeting his eye for the first time. " You have saved my life — but even for that I cannot do as you say ; and be fore the light of the sky above us, I swear that his name shall never pass my lips."

" I did not know there was as much good as that in him," muttered Martin. " I cannot help approving such sentiments," said the stranger ; " for they shew a MABEL, forgiving spirit, under hard circumstances, and it may be the beginning of better things which is strongly called for — since it is unlikely, that your master would overlook your neglect of the trust he so implicitly confided in you. (Rogers groaned.) Nothing can defend you, but a hearty and sincere repentance ; but I do say," said the soldier, as his eye kindled, " that it is a goed beginning, ; and, sir, I, for one, am willing to withdraw any further inves tigation of this mysterious affair, since he who has suffered most, will not come forward with his evidence." " The crime lies heavily on my heart," replied Mr. Ware ; " but I am little inclined to enter on such a business, though I know it is only right that the criminal should be punished.

If, however, he would come forward and plead guilty to this outrage, it would remove the suspicion which now rests on us all." " No, no, sir," cried the bailiff; " let him keep his own counsel, for by confessing, he MABEL, makes you all partners in his crime, if you do not punish him. Let it be between him and me, and let him take my life, if I ever deserve again to lose it at his hands." " It may be possible," said the stranger ; " that your master will accept your repentance, the first fruits of which we all witness. Is there any amongst us," said he, looking round, " who is so unforgiving, as to -think Colonel Hargrave wrong, should he give this poor man, an opportunity of redeeming his moral character in the situation in which he has lost it. I, for one, should it be necessary, would say that he was right."

A murmur of approval ran round the group, though many, at the same time doubted if they would be consulted on the subject. A light of renewed strength, and hope, shot over the bailiff's dejected face ; but when he tried to speak, the revulsion of feeling was too much for him, and he burst into tears. " Take him home," said the stranger, and as several men hastened to execute his order, MABEL, he turned away, and walked slowly down the village. As he did so, he was attracted by the observations of several women who were stand ing talking together. " Poor young thing," said one ; " so soon cut off. Well, the rich oftentimes go before the poor. 'Tis a sad night, indeed," said another ; " I thought she would not bear it." This was said with that tone of real sym pathy in illness or death, which the poor feel so readily and sincerely.

" What has happened ?" he enquired, stopping and addressing the last speaker. " Well may you ask," rephed she ; "for it is a sweet flower that has been cut down to night. I was just coming down from the Manor house, where I went to see the children, and as I came back through the avenue, what should I see, but a light in old Molly's cottage. Now I knew she had been up at the Manor time enough for her fire to have gone out ; and, says I, to myself, I'll just step in and see c P MABEL, — so, up to the house I went, and what should I see sitting on the door steps, but an old man a crying like any thing. What's the matter ?' says I ; "he didn't look up, but he said, sobbing like : " ' It's all over.' " ' What's over ?' says I. " ' She's gone to rest,' says he. " ' Who d'ye mean ?' says I. "' Miss Amy,' says he, "and then — but, bless my heart !"

The stranger had sprung from them, and hurried forwards. " I believe he's a spirit," said the terrified speaker. " Nan, Nau," said an old woman, " he's flesh and blood, for I touched 'en." They had not much time, however, for fur ther remark, for they were summoned by their husbands to leave gossipping, and come and assist them in doing all they could towards their comfort. Already Mrs. Hawkins, housekeeper at the manor, had been busy in allotting MABEL to them the rooms over the stables, formerly occupied by the grooms and stable boys, and which were still neat and clean, and well aired, in the constant expectation of the Colonel's return, 'for the faithful servant was resolved, that, whenenever her freakish master appeared, he should find her prepared for him. The accommodation thus afforded, was, how ever small, compared to the number of families, and, after dividing the whole of the servants' offices between them, she was obliged to quarter many in the better parts of the house ; she was, therefore, not a little relieved, when she found that most of the farm houses in the neighbourhood had followed the good example set them, and freely opened their doors to the houseless.

The stranger might shortly afterwards be seen coming from the lodge, and hastening towards Mr. Ware, who was superintending the removal of Rogers to the rectory, where he hoped that during the hours of returning health, he might MABEL, acquire an influence, which might turn his present feelings to good account, " Sir," said he, as he joined him, " may I beg you to go to poor Miss Lesly." " What has happened to her ?" said Mr. Ware, anxiously. " The child is dead," replied the stranger. " Dead !" exclaimed Mr. Ware, in surprise, " I heard she was safe, poor child. How I wish I had seen her." He did not speak again till they reached the lodge, and then leaving his companion without, he entered the chamber of death. There lay his little favorite on her couch, which had been arranged with studious care.

By her side knelt Mabel, her head buried in her hands, her hair loose and disordered, and looking almost as lifeless as the child she mourned. Miss Ware was in the room, and hurried to meet her brother with an affectionate kiss, for she had not seen him for some hours. " I am glad you are come, Edmund," said MABEL, she, "for I can do nothing for the poor girl — she will not even speak to me." " Do not even try to comfort her," said her brother, taking her hand, kindly ; "we who are grateful for each other's safety can well enter into her feelings. Send away these good friends, and keep only one with you, and then stay with her a little while ; but do not rouse her yet — I will come again and see her." His sister, always prompt in following his advice, choosing one steady woman to be with her, dismissed the rest (who had crowded in with the hope of being of service) with thanks for their attention.

Mr. Ware then joined the stranger, and walked on towards the rectory; he said : — " I can do nothing for her yet — but my sister is with her. It is too soon to offer com fort — for it seems like mockery in the first moments of anguish. You seem to take an interest in our favorite." "It is impossible to be insensible to such MABEL. heartrending scenes," he returned, laconically, as if to check further remark. " We are much indebted, sir, for your exer tions last night," said Mr. Ware, at length. '. "Pray mention nothing of that," he said, evasively. "But how can I help it — is it in the nature of man to receive favors with a thankless heart ?" " It is." " Yes, but not, I trust, so soon after they have been conferred. I own that benefits are often, much too often forgotten — but you wrong us, if you believe we could so return a favor bestowed by a stranger.

You shall re ceive my thanks, at least ; and do not think my simple-hearted friends less accustomed to feel because they often express their feelings with difficulty. No, let me assure you, that as long as the tale of this night shall be told by the cottage hearth, so long will your name be spoken of with praise." MABEL, " Sir," he replied, "I have been soured by the world, or I should not have expressed a doubt, which, believe me, I am very far from feeling. I know, as you say, that my poor services will be handed down as part of this night's sad tale; and of yourself, sir," he slightly raised his hat, " I have seen enough to convince me, that you deserve my respect, even had I not seen it reflected from those whose hearts are difficult to win ; and let me assure you, that I am more gratified than you would easily believe, for the good opinion you so kindly express, though I feel myself utterly unworthy of it.

It were hard for me to doubt the existence of gratitude, when the smallest benefits, and even the kindly words of — ' Auld lang syne ' are treasured up in my mind. No ; past benefits are like stars which we leave behind in our onward path, but which may light it still. But," added he, relaxing into his MABEL, desponding tone, " how very few have we to remember — how scantily are those kindnesses shewn which keep the heart warm towards its fellow creatures." "Pardon me," replied Mr. Ware, "carry back your thoughts perhaps to a mother's tender care, and her love which can find an excuse for every fault — the more thoughtful pride of a father, and the thousand little kindnesses and confidences by which sisters and brothers bind themselves to each other by links which the world finds it difficult to break, " Remember our school days and school fellows, friends at college, and why not friends in after life.

Oh, the heart must be bereaved indeed that has nothing to excite its gratitude — and, excuse me, the heart is kept warm to wards the world more by its power of blessing others, than of being blessed itself — and that is in the power of all, even if it be but the gift of a kindly word and a sympathizing look. I am surprised that one so skilled in giving as sistance to others should speak as you do ; but MABEL it seems, if I may venture to say so, as if the world had dealt hardly with you." " And you," said the stranger, " speak as one who has been so fortunate as both to have given and received blessings." " You speak truly, at least so far, that I have been much blessed through a life which I may call a long one — let me hope that you may be equally so." " What I may be," he rephed, moodily, " none can say — but what the past has been, I know too well.

Yet why I intrude my confidence upon you, I can scarcely tell, except that your kindness encourages it. Yet, when I am far from here, I shall remember your courtesy with pleasure, and would plead that I may not be altogether forgotten." " You need not ask me that," said Mr. Ware; "but you are not going to-day, and must come and dine with me." " I must deny myself that pleasure," he re turned ; " for I have sent my horse to the MABEL, Httle inn at Fowly, and ordered my dinner — and besides, you will have another guest." "Then I must wish you good day for the present," said Mr. Ware, as they parted, he to see after the comforts of the sick bailiff, while the stranger crossed the fields to the Aston woods, and buried himself in its wild paths for the rest of the day. MAEEL

Chapter II

Life ia before ye — from the fated road Ye cannot turn ; then take ye up your load, Not yours to tread, or leave the unknown way, Ye must go o er it, meet ye what ye may ; Gird up your souls within ye to the deed, Angels and fellow spirits bid ye speed, What tho' the brightness dim, the pleasure fade, The glory wane — oh! not of these is made The awful life that to your trust is given. F. Butlee. Towards evening Mr. Ware repaired to the lodge. When he entered the small room he found his sister sitting near the window, while Mabel was still upon her knees by the bed side. MABEL, " I cannot rouse her in the least," said Miss Ware, anxiously, as she met his eye, "this is a wretched place for her to stay in, and it will only do her harm." Mr. Ware approached her, and repeating her name gently, waited for an answer, but receiving none, he laid his hand on her shoulder, and said, with attempted firmness — " My child, your mother asks for you."

A heaving of the chest and a deep drawn sigh shewed that he was heard. " Shall she ask in vain," he continued, " will you refuse to go to her, dear Mabel — will you not go and weep with her ?" Mabel raised her head, but her first effort caused her eyes to fall upon the bed, and she burst into a passionate flood of tears. The brother and sister, both deeply moved, looked at each other in silence. Again Mabel raised her head, and seemingly relieved, stretched her hand towards Mr. Ware, who took it, and kindly pressed it in both his own. MABEL, 21 "Bear with me a little while," she mur mured, with quivering lips, " and I will go with you — yes, I am ready now," she said, slowly rising, then stopping to look round upon the desolate chamber, she exclaimed — " But how can I leave her here ?" " Leave her to my care," said Miss Ware, " and she shall be properly removed to the Manor."

Mabel seized her hand, but then, as if afraid of trusting herself, she tore herself away, and hurried out. Once in the open air she accepted Mr. Ware's proffered arm, and allowed him to guide her where he pleased. She neither spoke nor looked around her, nor did he seek to excite her to any further effort, he was con tented in the idea that he was taking her where she would not long remain inert ; so he only drew the cloak, he had thrown round her, closer over her head, to shield her from the cold air, and led her quietly to the Manor. It no longer wore the air of solemn silence, which was its wont ; the sound of many con- MABEL, fused voices woke the echoes in the court-yard, and men and women lounged freely about the usually strictly kept premises. The hall door was opened as they approached, by Mrs. Hawkins, who had seen them from one of the windows — the good woman looked con siderably hurried from superintending the different parts of the well-filled mansion, and in doing her utmost to preserve the carpets, hang ings, and statues from the touch of the children, and the over curious.

Mabel paused as she entered the hall, and looked anxiously round her. This was the only show part of the house, but it amply re paid the visit of the stranger. Around the walls statues of great beauty and immense value were placed in niches — above was a gallery in which paintings of the choicest kind were arranged with much taste. This reached by two marble staircases at each end. The hall was of the heighth of the house itself, and was thoroughly lighted by windows, and a sky light, so that the MABEL, pictures were seen to the greatest advantage. Beneath it opened on passages leading to different sitting-rooms, while the picture-gallery above led to the bedrooms. All these being fitted up in a style which included every luxury which the most lavish wealth could purchase, yet so completely in keeping that the whole appeared a thoroughly comfortable English home, after all.

For a few moments Mabel remained looking round her in bewildered silence Mr. Ware watched her attentively, but her open counte nance did not, as usual, tell him the train of thought which oppressed her. He took her hand, saying kindly — " Mrs. Hawkins is waiting to take you to your mother. " I am ready," said Mabel, drawing a long breath, as she turned and followed her to the room which had been given to Mrs. Lesly, and where already every comfort, which the good housekeeper could devise, surrounded her. Satisfied now that the mother and daughter MABEL, were together, Mr. Ware left the mansion with many sad reflections. The next day was Sunday, and strangely came that time of rest after the two last days of confusion and terror. The morning was cold, clear, and frosty, and as glad a sun as ever cheers a wintry landscape, shone down upon the smouldering ruins of the village.

As the time for morning service approached, a merry peal from the bells of the village church welcomed sunshine to the earth, and peace and safety to the hearts of men. As Mr. Ware slowly ascended the steep path leading to the church, he was followed by many groups of old and young, who, at his bidding, hastened to testify their thankfulness for the sparing of their lives. One young Hfe had alone been cut down, and none passed Mrs. Lesly' s cottage, without thinking sadly of Amy. Whemthe whole of the little congregation had assembled, crowding the church, for all were there, the stranger entered with a sad and serious countenance. Avoiding the seat be MABEL, longing to the Manor, which the clerk readily opened for him, he entered the next pew, and kneeling gently, seemed anxious to avoid the many eyes which were turned admiringly upon him, who, for their sakes, had braved every danger with reckless confidence.

The sermon was rendered impressive by its touching simplicity, and found an echo in every heart subdued by the late calamity. None listened more attentively than did their stranger benefactor ; and when the service was con cluded, he seemed still impressed with what he had heard, as, avoiding all companionship he walked again to the woods, which, by their peculiar beauty, always attracted the attention of the tourist. But when the bell again called to service, he returned, and entered the church, late, as before ; possibly to avoid the many groups which had been loitering round it ; and, when they again left the church, he lingered till he could join Mr. Ware in the porch, walking quietly out with him through VOL. II. c MABEL, his private gate ; thus, avoiding those who were anxious to offer him their thanks.

" You understand, sir," he said, " how to touch the feelings." "It is of little consequence, I fear, to ex cite the feelings," replied Mr. Ware; " for so many are contented to go no further." " I believe you ; yet our feelings are often the gateways to our reason." " Yes, indeed ; and therefore the power of appealing to them is not to be slighted. I was myself deeply impressed, to-day, when I saw the many anxious faces looking up to me as I spoke. Oh, I do believe this might be the beginning of better things in my parish, if — ." " If what," enquired the stranger ; " are you, too, going to throw all the blame on the poor landlord." " Willingly, most willingly would I throw not the blame, but all the praise of their well being upon him, if he would but return and give us the blessing of feeling him to be amongst us."

MABEL, " Yet you cannot help being angry with him." " Perhaps not, but mine is more the pettish ness of jealous affection, and I cannot bear to see him keeping away from those whose hearts he might make all his own — and wasting health, and time, and happiness, in the wayward course he has chosen. " But, sir," added Mr. Ware, checking him self. " You will come to my house, to-day." " I thankyou,time presses with me; and here you see my horse is waiting. A fine fellow, is he not ; how gallantly he bore that long ride the other night, and he looks none the worse for it now. Here, my good fellow," he said, dis missing the man who led him, and taking the rein upon his arm. " Will you not walk a little further with me," he continued to Mr. Ware. " Certainly, though I confess myself thoroughly disappointed that you will not stay with me." c MABEL, " Another time, dear sir, I will not fail to avail myself of the pleasure of your acquain tance ; but I really have engagements I do not like to break.

Do you think there is any hope of the poor bailiff ?" " I trust so." " I know you will do everything you can for him, mentally and bodily. If he would be come a changed man, the comfort of your people might be better secured, than by the appointment of a fresh bailiff." " Very possibly," replied Mr. Ware. The deep shadows of the winter's evening were now rapidly closing round them, and the light streaks on the horizon growing fainter and fainter — yet, still they lingered as if their short acquaintance rendered them reluctant to part so soon. " The night warns me that I must go," said the stranger, at length, as he mounted his horse, casting as he did so, a glance at the surrounding country ; " though I would MABEL, willingly stay — but the shadows always come between me and happiness." " Not so," said Mr. Ware, earnestly.

" Is it not so," said the stranger, slightly bending towards him, and as he did so, raising his hat, together with the mass of red hair which disguised his countenance, now beam ing upon him in its characteristic and noble beauty — to which the deep black of bis hair added all that was wanting. Before, how ever, Mr. Ware had time to utter a word, a Hght stroke of the whip sent the horse forward, and as he dashed onwards, he cried ; " Say nothing till we meet again." In a few seconds he had turned the corner, and as Mr. Ware stood entirely bewildered with the revelation which had burst so suddenly upon him — he heard nothing but the echo of his horse's hoofs — as its utmost speed carried him further away — till the last sound died upon the night air. MABEL

Chapter III

Oh, there are griefs for nature too intense, Whose first rude shock but stupifies the soul ; Nor hath the fragile, and o'er labour'd sense, Strength e'en to fed at once their dread controul. But when 'tis past, that still and speechless hour Of the sealed bosom, and the tearless eye, Then the roused mind awakes with tenfold power, To grasp the feelings of its agony. Hemans. The heavy sound of the funeral bell may, in crowded cities, lose half its influence by falling upon ears which use has attuned to its sound ; but in a small and remote village death comes at long intervals, and reads a more solemn lesson, lest he may be altogether forgotten. MABEL, How strange and oppressive is the sound of the minute bell — the pauso — the silence — and then the low booming sound which strikes to the heart of the most careless, as if it would urge us while the king of terrors is before us, and weighing oppressively on our hearts — to wake from the lethargy of sin, and the fascinating dreams of worldly pleasure and ambition.