friend's case, because of the uttercharacterlessness of the husband to whom she was enslaved. Why interferewith the hunger he would do nothing to forestall? How could she evengive such a man the sixpence which had been her father's last gift toher?
But Annie was one to whom, in the course of her life, something strangehad not unfrequently happened, chiefly in the shape of what the commonmind would set aside as mere coincidence. I do not say _many_ suchthings had occurred in her life; but, together, their strangeness andtheir recurrence had caused her to remember every one of them, so that,when she reviewed them, they seemed to her many. And now, with a shadowyprevision, as it seemed, that something was going to happen, and with ashadowy recollection that she had known beforehand it was coming,something strange did take place. Of such things she used, in afterdays, always to employ the old, stately Bible-phrase, "It came to pass";she never said, "It happened."
As she walked along with her eyes on the ground, the withered leavescaught up every now and then in a wild dance by the frolicsome wind, shewas suddenly aware of something among them which she could not identify,whirling in the aerial vortex about her feet. Scarcely caring what itwas, she yet, all but mechanically, looked at it a little closer, lostit from sight, caught it again, as a fresh blast sent it once moregyrating about her feet, and now regarded it more steadfastly. Even thenit looked like nothing but another withered leaf, brown and wrinkled,given over to the wind, and rustling along at its mercy. Yet it made animpression upon her so far unlike that of a leaf that for a moment moreshe fixed on it a still keener look of unconsciously expectant eyes, andsaw only that it looked--perhaps a little larger than most of the otherleaves, but as brown and dead as they. Almost the same instant, however,she turned and pounced upon it, and, the moment she handled it, becameaware that it felt less crumbly and brittle than the others looked, andthen saw clearly that it was not a leaf, but perhaps a rag, or possiblya piece of soiled and rumpled paper. With a curiosity growing toexpectation, and in a moment to wondering recognition, she proceeded touncrumple it carefully and smooth it out tenderly; nor was the processquite completed when she fell upon her knees on the cold flags, herlittle cloak flowing wide from the clasp at her neck in a yet wilderpuff of the bitter wind; but suddenly remembering that she must not bepraying in the sight of men, started again to her feet, and, wrappingher closed hand tight in the scanty border of her cloak, hurried, withthe pound-note she had rescued, to the friend whose need was sorer thanher own--not without an undefined anxiety in her heart whether she wasdoing right. How much good the note did, or whether it merely fell intothe bottomless gulf of irremediable loss, I cannot tell. Annie's friendand her shiftless mate at once changed their dirty piece of paper forsilver, bought food and railway tickets, left the town, and disappearedentirely from her horizon.
But consequences were not over with Annie; and the next day she becameacquainted with the fact that proved of great significance to her,namely, that the same evening she found the money, Mr. Macintosh'skitchen-chimney had been on fire; and it wanted but the knowledge of howthis had taken place to change the girl's consciousness from that of onespecially aided by the ministry of an angel to that of a young woman,honest hitherto, suddenly changed into a thief!
For, in the course of a certain friendly gossip's narrative, it came outthat that night the banker had been using the kitchen fire for thedestruction of an accumulation of bank-notes, the common currency ofScotland, which had been judged altogether too dirty, or too muchdilapidated, to be reissued. The knowledge of this fact was the slam ofthe closing door, whereby Annie found her soul shut out to wander in anight of dismay. The woman who told the fact saw nothing of consequencein it; Mrs. Melville, to whom she was telling it, saw nothing butperhaps a lesson on the duty of having chimneys regularly swept, becauseof the danger to neighboring thatch. But had not Annie been seated inthe shadow, her ghastly countenance would, even to the most casualglance, have betrayed a certain guilty horror, for now she _knew_that she had found and given away what she ought at once to have handedback to its rightful owner. It was true he did not even know that he hadlost it, and could have no suspicion that she had found it; but whatdifference did or could that make? It was true also that she had neithertaken nor bestowed it to her own advantage; but again, what differencecould that make in her duty to restore it? Did she not well remember howeloquently and precisely Mr. Kennedy had, the very last Sunday,expounded the passage, "Thou shalt not respect the person of the poor."Right was right, whatever soft-hearted people might say or think. Anyonemight give what was his own, but who could be right in giving away whatwas another's? It was time she had done it without thinking; but she hadknown, or might have known, well enough that to whomsoever it mightbelong, it was not hers. And now what possibility was there of settingright what she had set wrong? It was just possible a day might come whenshe should be able to restore what she had unjustly taken, but at thepresent moment it was as impossible for her to lay her hand upon apound-note as upon a million. And, terrible thought!--she might have toenter the presence of her father--dead, men called him, but alive sheknew him--with the consciousness that she had not brought him back thehonor he had left with her.
It will, of course, suggest itself to every reader that herein she wasdriving her sense of obligation to the verge of foolishness; and,indeed, the thought did not fail to occur even to herself; but theanswer of the self-accusing spirit was that had she been thoroughlyupright in heart, she would at once have gone to the nearest house andmade such inquiry as must instantly have resulted in the discovery ofwhat had happened. This she had omitted--without thought, it is true,but not, therefore, without blame; and now, so far as she could tell,she would never be able to make restitution! Had she even told hermother what befallen her, her mother might have thought of the way inwhich it had come to pass, and set her feet in the path of her duty! Butshe had made evil haste, and had compassed too much.
She found herself, in truth, in a sore predicament, and was on the pointof starting to her feet to run and confess to Mr. Macintosh what she haddone, that he might at once pronounce the penalty on what she neverdoubted he must regard as a case of simple theft; but she bethoughtherself that she would remain incapable of offering the leastsatisfaction, and must therefore be regarded merely as one who sought byconfession to secure forgiveness and remission. What proof had she tooffer even that she had given the money away? To mention the name of herfriend would be to bring her into discredit, and transfer to her theblame of her own act. There was nothing she could do--and yet, howeverwas she to go about with such a load upon her conscience? Confessing,she might at least be regarded as one who desired and meant to behonest. Confession would, anyhow, ease the weight of her load. Passivelyat last, from very weariness of thought, her mind was but going backwardand forward over its own traces, heedlessly obliterating them, whensuddenly a new and horrid consciousness emerged from the troddenslime--that she was glad that at least Sophy _had_ the money! For onepassing moment she was glad with the joy of Lady Macbeth, that what wasdone was done, and could not be altered. Then once more the storm withinher awoke and would not again be stilled.
But now a third something happened which brought with it hope, for itsuggested a way of deliverance. Impelled by the same power that causes amurderer to haunt the scene of his violence, she left the house, and wasunaware whither she was directing her steps until she found herselfagain passing the door of the banker's house; there, in that samekitchen-window, on a level with the pavement, she espied, in largepen-drawn print, the production apparently of the cook or another of theservants, the announcement that a parlor-maid was wanted immediately.Again without waiting to think, and only afterwards waking up to thefact and meaning of what she had done, she turned, went back to theentry-door, and knocked. It was almost suddenly opened by the cook, andat once the storm of her misery was assuaged in a rising moon of hope,and the night became light about her. Ah, through what miseries are noteven frail hopes our best and safest, our only _true_ guidesindeed, int
o other and yet fairer hopes!
"Did you want to see the mistress?" asked the jolly-faced cook, whereshe stood on the other side of the threshold; and, without waiting ananswer, she turned and led the way to the parlor. Annie followed, as ifacross the foundation of the fallen wall of Jericho; and found, to hersurprise, that Mrs. Macintosh, knowing her by sight, received her withcondescension, and Annie, grateful for the good-humor which she took forkindness, told her simply that she had come to see whether she wouldaccept her services as parlor-maid.
Mrs. Macintosh seemed surprised at the proposal, and asked her thenatural question whether she had ever occupied a similar situation.
Annie answered she had not, but that at home, while her father wasalive, she had done so much of the same sort that she believed she couldspeedily learn all that was necessary.
"I thought someone told me," said
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