“You advise me to marry one, when I love another; and this, you think, is the way to be happy. It has seldom proved so, and I should despise happiness if I could only get it in that way.
“Yours, sadly but devotedly,
“H. LITTLE.
“Will you wait two years?”
Grace, being on her defense, read this letter very slowly, and as if she had to decipher it. That gave her time to say, “Yours, et cetera,” instead of “sadly and devotedly.” (Why be needlessly precise?) As for the postscript, she didn't trouble them with that at all.
She then hurried the letter into her pocket, that it might not be asked for, and said, with all the nonchalance she could manage to assume, “Oh, if he loves somebody else!”
“No; that is worse still,” said Mr. Raby. “In his own rank of life, it is ten to one if he finds anything as modest, as good, and as loyal as Dence's daughter. It's some factory-girl, I suppose.”
“Let us hope not,” said Grace, demurely; but Amboyne noticed that her cheek was now flushed, and her eyes sparkling like diamonds.
Soon afterward she strolled apart, and took a wonderful interest in the monuments and things, until she found an opportunity to slip out into the church-yard. There she took the letter out, and kissed it again and again, as if she would devour it; and all the way home she was as gay as a lark. Amboyne put himself in her place.
When they got home, he said to her, “My dear Miss Carden, I have a favor to ask you. I want an hour's conversation with Mr. Raby. Will you be so very kind as to see that I am not interrupted?”
“Oh yes. No; you must tell me, first, what you are going to talk about. I can't have gentlemen talking nonsense together UNINTERRUPTEDLY.”
“You ladies claim to monopolize nonsense, eh? Well, I am going to talk about my friend, Mr. Little. Is he nonsense?”
“That depends. What are you going to say about him?”
“Going to advance his interests—and my own hobby. Such is man.”
“Never mind what is man; what is your hobby?”
“Saving idiotic ruffians' lives.”
“Well, that is a hobby. But, if Mr. Little is to profit by it, never mind; you shall not be interrupted, if I can keep 'les facheux' away.”
Accordingly she got her work, and sat in the hall. Here, as she expected, she was soon joined by Mr. Coventry, and he found her in a gracious mood, and in excellent spirits.
After some very pleasant conversation, she told him she was keeping sentinel over Dr. Amboyne and his hobby.
“What is that?”
“Saving idiotic ruffians' lives. Ha! ha! ha!”
Her merry laugh rang through the hall like a peal of bells.
Coventry stared, and then gave up trying to understand her and her eternal changes. He just set himself to please her, and he never found it easier than that afternoon.
Meantime Dr. Amboyne got Raby alone, and begged leave, in the first place, to premise that his (Raby's) nephew was a remarkable man. To prove it, he related Little's whole battle with the Hillsborough Trades; and then produced a report the young man had handed him that very day. It was actually in his pocket during the fight, mute protest against that barbarous act.
The Report was entitled—“LIFE, LABOR AND CAPITAL IN HILLSBOROUGH,” and was divided into two parts.
Part 1 was entitled—“PECULIARITIES OF CUTLERY HURTFUL TO LIFE AND HEALTH.”
And part 2 was entitled—“The REMEDIES TO THE ABOVE.”
Part 2 was divided thus:—
A. What the masters could do.
B. What the workmen could do.
C. What the Legislature could do.
Part 1 dealt first with the diseases of the grinders; but instead of
quoting it, I ask leave to refer to Chapter VIII., where the main facts lie recorded.
Having thus curtailed the Report, I print the remainder in an Appendix, for the use of those few readers who can endure useful knowledge in works of this class.
Raby read the report without moving a muscle.
“Well, what do you think of him?” asked Amboyne.
“I think he is a fool to trouble his head whether these animals live or die.”
“Oh, that is my folly; not his. At bottom, he cares no more than you do.”
“Then I retract my observation.”
“As to its being folly, or as to Little being the fool?”
“Whichever you like best.”
“Thank you. Well, but to be serious, this young man is very anxious to be a master, instead of a man. What do you say? Will you help his ambition, and my sacred hobby?”
“What, plunge you deeper in folly, and him in trade? Not I. I don't approve folly, I hate trade. But I tell you what I'll do. If he and his mother can see my conduct in its proper light, and say so, they can come to Raby, and he can turn gentleman, take the name of Raby, as he has got the face, and be my heir.”
“Are you serious, Raby?”
“Perfectly.”
“Then you had better write it, and I'll take it to him.”
“Certainly.” He sat down and wrote as follows:
“SIR,—What has recently occurred appears calculated to soften one of those animosities which, between persons allied in blood, are always to be regretted. I take the opportunity to say, that if your mother, under your advice, will now reconsider the duties of a trustee, and my conduct in that character, and her remarks on that conduct, I think she will do me justice, and honor me once more with her esteem. Should this be the result, I further hope that she and yourself will come to Raby, and that you will change that way of life which you have found so full of thorns, and prepare yourself to succeed to my name and place. I am, your obedient servant,
“GUY RABY.”
“There read that.”
Amboyne read it, and approved it. Then he gave a sigh, and said, “And so down goes my poor hobby.”
“Oh, never mind,” said Raby; “you've got one or two left in your stable.”
Dr. Amboyne went out, and passed through the hall. There he found Mr. Coventry and Miss Carden: the latter asked him, rather keenly, if the conference was over.
“Yes, and not without a result: I'll read it to you.” He did so, and Grace's cheek was dyed with blushes, and her eyes beamed with joy.
“Oh, how noble is, and how good you are. Run! Fly!”
“Such movements are undignified, and unsuited to my figure. Shall I roll down the hill? That would be my quickest way.”
This discussion was cut short by a servant, who came to tell the doctor that a carriage was ordered for him, and would be round in a minute. Dr. Amboyne drove off, and Miss Carden now avoided Coventry: she retired to her room. But, it seems, she was on the watch; for, on the doctor's return, she was the person who met him in the hall.
“Well?” said she, eagerly.
“Well, would you believe it? he declines. He objects to leave his way of life, and to wait for dead men's shoes.”
“Oh, Dr. Amboyne! And you were there to advise him!”
“I did not venture to advise him. There was so much to be said on both sides.” Then he went off to Raby with the note; but, as he went, he heard Grace say, in a low voice, “Ah, you never thought of me.”
Little's note ran thus:
“SIR,—I thank you for your proposal; and as to the first part of it, I quite agree, and should be glad to see my mother and you friends again. But, as to my way of life, I have chosen my path, and mean to stick to it. I hope soon to be a master, instead of a workman, and I shall try and behave like a gentleman, so that you may not have to blush for me. Should blush for myself if I were to give up industry and independence, and take to waiting for dead men's shoes; that is a baser occupation than any trade in Hillsborough, I think. This is not as politely written as I could wish; but I am a blunt fellow, and I hope you will excuse it. I am not ungrateful to you for shooting those vermin, nor for your offer, though I can not accept it. Yours respectfully,
“HENRY LITTLE.”
Raby read this, and turned white with rage.
He locked the letter up along with poor Mrs. Little's letters, and merely said, “I have only one request to make. Never mention the name of Little to me again.”
Dr. Amboyne went home very thoughtful.
That same day Mr. Carden wrote from London to his daughter informing her he should be at Hillsborough next day to dinner. She got the letter next morning, and showed it to Mr. Raby. He ordered his carriage after breakfast for Hillsborough.
This was a blow to Grace. She had been hoping all this time a fair opportunity might occur for saying something to young Little.
She longed to write to him, and set his heart and her own at rest. But a great shyness and timidity paralyzed her, and she gave up the idea of writing, and had hitherto been hoping they might meet, and she might reinstate herself by some one cunning word. And now the end of it all was, that she was driven away from Raby Hall without doing any thing but wish, and sigh, and resolve, and give up her resolutions with a blush.
The carriage passed the farm on its way to Hillsborough. This was Grace's last chance.
Little was standing at the porch.
A thrill of delight traversed Grace's bosom.
It was followed, however, by a keen pang. Jael Dence sat beside him, sewing; and Grace saw, in a moment, she was sewing complacently. It was more than Grace could bear. She pulled the check-string, and the carriage stopped.
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