The Chaplain of the Fleet

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER XV.

  HOW MRS. ESTHER WAS DISCHARGED.

  After poor Mrs. Deborah's death my lessons came to a sudden stop, andhave never been resumed. Some of that perspicacity of style which Ihave often admired in our modern divines might have fallen to my lot,to enrich this narrative, had I continued in my course of single anddouble book-keeping.

  "I am not clever," said Mrs. Esther, "like Deborah. She was always theclever one as well as the beauty. That gave her a right to her littletemper, poor dear. I cannot teach astronomy, because one star is to meexactly like another. Nor do I know aught about book-keeping, exceptthat it is a very useful and necessary science. Therefore, Kitty, thoumust go untaught. For that matter, I think you know as much as a womanneed ever know, which is to read, to write--but one ought not to expectof a woman such exactness in spelling as of a scholar--and to cipherto such a moderate degree as may enable her to add up her bills. Butit grieves me to think you are growing up so tall and straight withoutlearning how to make so much as a single cordial, or any strong waters.And with our means, what chance of teaching you to toss a pancake, foldan omelette, or dish a Yorkshire pudding?"

  It was then that we began to console ourselves for my ignorance,our troubles, and even, I bear mind, for our late loss, by reading"Clarissa," a book which the Doctor, ever watchful in the interestsof virtue, presented to Mrs. Esther with a speech of condolence. Hesaid that it was a work whose perusal could not fail most strongly toconsole her spirit and to dispose her for resignation; while for purityof morals, for justice of observation, and for knowledge of the humanheart, it was unequalled in any language. He then made a digression,and compared the work with the ancient Greek romances. Adventure, hesaid, was to be found in Heliodorus, and the story told by Apuleiusof Cupid and Psyche was exquisitely pathetic; yet none of the earlierwriters could be compared, or even named in the same breath, with Mr.Richardson, who reminded him especially of Sophocles, in the tendernesswith which he prepared the minds of his audience for the impendingtragedy which he could not alter or abate, seeing that it was the willof Necessity. There was nothing, he went on to say, more calculatedto inspire or to strengthen sentiments of virtue in the breasts ofthe young--and especially in the young of the feminine sex--than acontemplation of Clarissa's virtue and Lovelace's wickedness. We weregreatly edified by these praises, coming from so great a scholar andone so eminently fitted to discourse on virtue. We received the work,prepared (so far as I was concerned) to partake of food for reflectionof the satisfying kind (so that the reader quickly lays aside thework while he meditates for a few days on what he has read) which issupplied by the pious "Drelincourt on Death." Hervey's "Meditationsamong the Tombs," or Young's "Night Thoughts."

  "After dinner, my dear," said Mrs. Esther, "you shall read it aloud tome. Do not stop if I shut my eyes in order to hear the better. Thesegood books should be carefully listened to, and read very slowly.Otherwise their lessons may be overlooked, and this would be a sad pityafter all the good Doctor's trouble in first reading the book for us.What scholarship, Kitty! and what a passion, nay, what an ardour, forvirtue animates that reverend heart!"

  I cannot but pause here to ask whether if Mr. Richardson had chosen todepict to the life the character of a clergyman, who had fallen intosuch ways as my uncle, with his sins, his follies, his degradation, theDoctor would himself have laid it to heart? Alas! I fear not. We knownot ourselves as we are: we still go dreaming we are something betterthan we seem to others: we have a second and unreal self: the shaftsof the satirist seem to pierce the hearts of others. I am sure thatmany a Lovelace, fresh from the ruin of another Clarissa (if, indeed,there could be another creature so incomparable), must have read thisgreat romance with tears of pity and indignation. Otherwise the race ofLovelaces would long since have become extinct.

  We received, therefore, "Clarissa," expecting edification, but notjoy. We even put it aside for a week, because Mrs. Esther hardly feltherself, at first, strong enough to begin a new book, which might floodher mind with new ideas and make her unsettled. At last, however, shefelt that we must no longer postpone obeying the Doctor.

  "Only a short chapter, my dear, to begin with. Heavens! how shall westruggle through eight long volumes?"

  I shall be ever thankful that it was my duty to read these deardelightful pages of this great romance. You may judge of our joy whenwe read on, day after day, hurrying over household work in the morning,neglecting our walks abroad, and wasting candlelight in the evening themore to enjoy it. We laid aside the book from time to time while wewept over the author's pathetic scenes. Oh, the horrid usage of poorClarissa! Was ever girl more barbarously served? Was ever man so wickedas her lover? Were parents ever so blinded by prejudice? Had girl everso unkind a brother--ever so perverse a sister? I thought of her allday long, and at night I dreamed of her: the image of Clarissa wasnever absent from my brain.

  Everything in the book was as real to me as the adventures of RobinsonCrusoe, or those of Christian on his pilgrimage from the City ofDestruction. So long as the reading of this immortal book lasted--weread page after page twice, thrice, or four times over, to get out ofthem the fullest measure of sympathy, sorrow, and delight--we lovedwith Clarissa: her sorrows were ours: we breathed and talked Clarissa:Mrs. Esther even prayed, I believe--though the book was alreadyprinted, and therefore it was too late for prayer--that the poor, sweetinnocent, might escape the clutches of her wicked lover, who, sure, wasmore a demon than a man: we carried the thought of Clarissa even tochurch with us.

  We invited our friends to share with us this new-found joy. SolomonStallabras was always ready to weep with us over a dish of tea. Neverany man had a heart more formed for the tenderest sensibility. Pitythat his nose was so broad and so much turned up, otherwise thisnatural tenderness might have been manifested in his countenance. WhileI read he gazed upon my face, and was fain, from time to time, to drawforth his handkerchief and wipe the tears from his streaming eyes.

  "Stop, Miss Kitty!" he would say: "let us pause awhile: let us comeback to virtue and ourselves. It is too much: the spectacle of somuch youth and beauty, so much innocence--the fate of our poorClarissa--read by a nymph whose lot is so below her merits--it is toomuch, Mrs. Pimpernel--it is indeed!"

  In some way, while I read, this poet, whose imagination, as became hisprofession, was strong, mixed up Clarissa with myself, and imaginedthat my ending might be in some way similar to that of the heroine.Now, with Solomon Stallabras, to think was to believe. Nothing waswanting but a Lovelace. I believe that he waited about the market inhopes of finding him lurking in some corner. Perhaps he even suspectedpoor Sir Miles. Had he found him, he assured Mrs. Esther, he fullyintended to pierce him to the heart with a spit or skewer from one ofthe butcher's stalls; adding that it would be sweet for him to die,even from the cart at Tyburn, for my sake. But no Lovelace was tryingto make me leave my shelter with Mrs. Esther.

  Sometimes Sir Miles Lackington came to join in the reading, but wefound him wanting in sensibility. Without that quality, Richardson'snovels cannot be enjoyed. He inclined rather to the low humour whichmakes men enjoy Fielding's "Tom Jones," or Smollett's "PeregrinePickle"--works full, no doubt, of a coarse vitality which some menlike, but quite wanting in the delicate shades of feeling that commendan author to the delicacy of gentlewomen. And to think that old SamuelRichardson was nothing but a printer by trade! Heaven, which deniedthis most precious gift of creation to such tender and poetic souls asthat of Solomon Stallabras, vouchsafed to bestow it upon a printer--amechanical printer, who, if he was not paid for setting up typehimself, yet employed common workmen, superintended their labours, paidthem their wages, and put profits into his purse. It seems incredible,but then Shakespeare was only an actor.

  "The sunshine of genius," said Solomon, "falls upon the children of thelowly as well as those of the rich. I am myself a scion of Fetter Lane."

  Sometimes, indeed, Sir Miles Lackington was so wanting in delicacy andso rude as to laugh at us for our tears.
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  "You cry over Richardson," he said; "but if I were to bring you 'TomJones' I warrant you would laugh."

  "'Tom Jones,'" said Mrs. Esther, "is clearly a work of coarseness.Ladies do not wish to laugh. The laws of decorum forbid unrestrainedmirth to females of good breeding. Fielding may suit the pewter potsof the tavern; Richardson goes best with the silver service of themansion."

  We looked about us as if our room was the mansion and our cupboard waslined with silver dishes.

  Sir Miles laughed again.

  "Give me a pewter mug well filled and often filled," he said, "with'Tom Jones' to bear it company, and I ask no more. 'Clarissa,' and thesilver service may remain with you, ladies. Strange, however, thatfolk should prefer a printer to a gentleman. Why, Fielding comes of anhonourable house."

  "Gentle blood," replied Mrs. Esther, "does not, unfortunately, alwaysbring the gifts of poetry and sensibility. You are yourself of gentlebirth, Sir Miles, yet you own that you love not Richardson. Many greatauthors have been of lowly extraction, and Mr. Stallabras was sayingfinely but yesterday, that the sunshine of genius falls upon thechildren of the poor as often as upon those of the rich."

  Solomon inclined his head and coloured; Sir Miles laughed again in hiseasy fashion.

  "But," he said, "Mr. Richardson knows nothing about the polite _ton_.His men are master tradesmen disguised in swords and scarlet coats;they are religious tradesmen, wicked tradesmen, and so forth; but theyare not gentlemen; they cannot talk, think, or walk, write, or act likegentlemen. If we want to read about polite society, let us at least askgentlemen to write for us."

  Sir Miles read little, yet his judgment was generally right, and sinceI have seen the society of which Richardson wrote, I have learnedthat he was right in this case; for Richardson, pathetic and powerfulas he is, had certainly never been among the class whose manners andconversation he attempted to portray.

  Presently we finished "Clarissa," with floods of tears. I believe thatno book was ever written which has caused so many tears as this work.Just then it was about the end of the year: we had already eaten ourChristmas plum porridge in the darkest and deadest time of the year,the time when fogs fall over the town by day and stop all work: whennights are long and days short: when the market was quiet at nightbecause it was too cold to stand about or to lie in the open: whenall the fighting and brawling were over before five o'clock, and theevenings were tranquil though they were long. It was just after weended our book, and were still tearful under its influence, that ourdeliverance came to us.

  I think it was on the 31st of December in that same year of grace,seventeen hundred and fifty, in which I had come to the Liberties, andtwenty-nine full years with some eleven months since the poor ladieshad been incarcerated. I well remember the day, though not certain ofthe date. It was evening: we had finished work: supper was on the tablewhen we should care to take it--bread and an excellent Dutch cheese;the candle was extinguished, and we were sitting before the fire. Mrs.Esther was talking, as women love sometimes to talk, about the littlethings they remember: she was telling me--not for the first time--ofthe great frost of 1714, when she was a young girl, and of the fairwhich they held upon the ice; of the dreadful scare there was in 1718from the number of highwaymen and footpads, for whose apprehensionthe Government offered as much as L100 a head; of Orator Henley, whobegan to preach in Clare Market shortly after the ladies came to theFleet; of the dreadful storm in 1739, which killed the famous colonyof sparrows in the Mile End Road; of the long frost of 1739, when fromChristmas unto February the poor watermen and fishermen could not earna single penny; of the fever of 1741; of the banishment of papistsbefore the Pretender's landing, in 1744; of the great Rebellion of1745, when the city so nobly did its duty.

  "My dear," she said, "we, that is the citizens, because the prisonersof the Fleet and the persons who enjoy the Liberties could hardly beexpected to contribute money or aught but prayers--and most of the poorcreatures but little used to praying!--raised twelve thousand shirtswith as many garments to correspond, ten thousand woollen caps (toserve, I suppose, as nightcaps for our brave fellows when they slept inthe open air), ten thousand pairs of stockings, twelve thousand gloves,a thousand blankets--which only makes one blanket for twelve men, butI hope they took turns about--and nine thousand spatterdashes. Therewas a camp on Finchley Common, of which we heard but did not visit;the militia were kept in readiness--a double watch was set at everyone of the city gates; there were some in the Liberties, who thoughtthat a successful invasion of England might lead to the burning ofaccount-books, registers, ledgers, and warrants, in which case we mightall get out and keep out. For my own part, my dear, and for my sisterDeborah's part, I am happy to say that we preferred the Protestantsuccession even to our own freedom, and wished for no such lawlessending to a captivity however unjust, but prayed night and day for theconfusion of the young Pretender. Happily our prayers were answered,and great George preserved."

  Then we talked of the past year, how it had brought Mrs. Esther adaughter--as she was good enough to say--and taken away a sister. Shecried a little over her loss, but presently recovered, and taking myhand in hers, said many kind and undeserved things to me, who had beenoften petulant and troublesome: as that we must not part, who hadbeen so strangely brought together, unless my happiness should takeme away from the Fleet (I thought, then, of my husband, and wonderedif he would ever come to take me away), and then said that as we wereat New Year's Eve, we should make good resolutions for the next year,which were to be kept resolutely, not broken and thrown away; that forher part, she designed, if I agreed and consented to the change, tocall me niece, and I should call her aunt, by which mutual adoptionof each other our affection and duty one towards the other would bestrengthened and founded, as it were, on a sure and stable basis.

  "Not, my dear," she added, "that you can ever call yourself aPimpernel--an honour granted to few--or that you should ever wish tochange your name; but in all other respects you shall be the same asif you were indeed my own niece, the daughter of my brother (but Inever had one) or sister (but I had only one, and she was as myself).Truly the Pleydells are a worthy family, of whom we have no need to beashamed."

  I was assuring her that nothing could alter my love and gratitude forher exceeding kindness, when we heard footsteps and voices on thestairs, and presently a knock at the door, and the Doctor stood beforeus. Behind him were Sir Miles Lackington and Solomon Stallabras.

  "Madam," said the Doctor, "I wish you a good evening, with thecompliments of the season. Merry as well as happy may you be next year."

  I declare that directly I saw his face, my heart leaped into my mouth.I _knew_ that he was come with great and glorious news. For his eyesglowed with the light of some suppressed knowledge, and a capacioussmile began with his lips and glowed over the vast expanse of his ruddycheeks.

  "Merry, Doctor--no. But happy if God will."

  "Ta! ta! ta! we shall see," he replied. "Now, madam, I have a thingto say which will take some time to say. I have taken the liberty ofbringing with me a bottle of good old port, the best to be procured,which strengthens the nerves and acts as a sovereign cordial in casesof sudden excitement. Besides, it is to-night New Year's Eve, when allshould rejoice." He produced the bottle from under his gown and placedit on the table. "I have also taken the liberty to bring with me ourfriends and well-wishers, Sir Miles Lackington and Mr. Stallabras,partly to--to--" here he remembered that a corkscrew was not likelyto be among our possessions--"to draw the cork of the bottle, a thingwhich Sir Miles does with zeal and propriety." The Baronet with greatgravity advanced and performed the operation by a dexterous handling ofthe poker, which detached the upper part of the neck. "So," continuedthe Doctor; "and partly that they too, who have been so long our trueand faithful friends, may hear what I have to say, and so that we mayall rejoice together, and if need be, sing psalms with merry hearts."

  Merry hearts? Were we to sing psalms with merry hearts in the placewhere for thirty years every day had
brought with it its own sufferingand disgrace to this poor lady?

  Yet, what news could the Doctor have which made his purple face soglad, as if the sunlight instead of our fire of cannel coal was shiningfull upon it?

  "Kitty child," he went on, "light candles: not one candle--two candles,three candles, four candles--all the candles you have in the place;we will have an illumination. Sir Miles, will you please to sit? Mr.Stallabras, will you take Kitty's chair? She will be occupied inserving. Glasses, child, for this honourable company. Why"--he bangedhis fist upon the table, but with consideration, for it was not sostrong as his own great table--"why, I am happier this night than everI have been before, I think, in all my life. Such a story as I have totell!"

  I placed on the table the three candlesticks which formed all ourstock, and set candles in them and lit them. I put out such glassesas we had, and then I stood beside Mrs. Esther's chair and took herhand in mine. I knew not what to expect, yet I was certain that it wassomething very good for Mrs. Esther. Had it been for me, the Doctorwould have sent for me; or for himself, he would have told it withoutthis prodigality of joy. Surely it must be for my good patron andprotector! My pulses were bounding, and I could see that Mrs. Esther,too, was rapidly rising to the same excitement.

  "Certain I am," said Sir Miles, "that something has happened. Doctor,let us quickly congratulate you. Let us drink your health. I burn todrink some one's health."

  "Should something have happened," said the poet, "I would it weresomething good for ladies who shall be nameless."

  "Stay," said the Doctor. He stood while the rest were sitting. He thusincreased the natural advantage of his great proportions. "We are notyet come to the drinking of healths. But, Mrs. Pimpernel, I must firstinvite you, before I go on with what I have to say, to take a glass ofthis most generous vintage. The grapes which produced it grew fat andstrong in thinking of the noble part they were about to fulfil: thesunshine of Spain passed into their juices and filled them with thespirit of strength and confidence: that spirit lies imprisoned in thebottle before us----"

  "It does--it does!" murmured Sir Miles, gazing thoughtfully at thebottle.

  "He ought to have been a poet!" whispered Solomon.

  The Doctor looked round impatiently, and swept the folds of his gownbehind him with a large gesture.

  "For what did the grapes rejoice? Why was the vintage more thancommonly rich? Because in the fulness of time it was destined tocomfort the heart and to strengthen the courage of a most worthy andcruelly tried lady. Indeed, Mrs. Pimpernel, wonderful are the decreesof heaven! Drink, madam."

  He poured out a glass of wine and handed it to her. She stared in hisface almost stupidly: she was trying to repress a wild thought whichseized her: her lips were parted, her gaze fixed, her hands trembling.

  "Drink it, madam," ordered the Doctor.

  "What is it? oh! what is it?" she cried.

  "Drink the wine, madam," said Sir Miles kindly. "Believe me, the winewill give you courage."

  I took the glass and held it to her lips, while she drank submissively.

  "With a bottle of port before him," said Sir Miles encouragingly, "aman may have patience for anything. With the help of such a friend,would I receive with resignation and joy, good fortune for myself ordisasters to all my cousins, male and female. Go on, Doctor. The ladyhath taken one glass to prepare her palate for the next."

  "Patience, now," said the Doctor, "and silence, all of you. SolomonStallabras, if you liken me again to a poet, you shall leave this room,and lose the joy of hearing what I have to tell."

  "It is now some three months that the thought came into my mind ofinvestigating the case of certain prisoners lying forgotten in theprison or dragging along a wretched existence in the Rules. It mattersnot what these cases were, or how I have sped in my search. Onecase, however, has filled me with gratitude and joy because--madam,"he turned suddenly on poor Mrs. Esther, "you will please to listenpatiently. This case concerns the unhappy fate of two poor ladies.Their history, gentlemen"--oh! why could he not get on faster?--"ispartly known to you. They were daughters of a most worthy and respectedcity merchant who, in his time, served many civic offices with dignityand usefulness, including the highest. He was a benefactor to hisparish, beautified his church, and died leaving behind him two youngdaughters, the youngest of whom came of age in the year 1720. Toeach of them he left a large fortune, no less than twenty thousandpounds. Alas! gentlemen, this money, placed in the hands of theirguardian and trustee, a friend as honourable as the late Lord Mayorhimself, the ladies' father, namely, Alderman Medlicott, was in theyear 1720 shamefully pillaged and stolen by the alderman's clerk,one Christopher March, insomuch that (the alderman having gone madby reason of his losses) the poor girls had no longer any fortuneor any friends to help, for in that bad time most all the merchantswere hit, and every one had to look after himself as best he could.Also this plundering villain had so invested part of their money, intheir own name by forgeries, as to make them liable for large sumswhich they had not the means of paying. They were therefore arrestedand confined in the prison hard by, where under the rule of the rogueBambridge they suffered many things which it is painful to recall orto think about. Presently, however, that tormentor and plague of thehuman race--_captivorum flagellum_--scourge of innocent captives andlanguishing debtors, having been mercifully removed and having hunghimself like Judas and so gone to his own place, these ladies found thenecessary security which ensures for all of us this partial liberty,with the opportunity, should we embrace it, of improving the goldenhours. In other words, gentlemen, they came out of the prison, and haveever since dwelt amongst us in this place.

  "Gentlemen, we have with us here many improvident and foolishpersons who have mostly by their own misconduct reduced themselvesto our unhappy condition. It needs not that in this place, which isnot a pulpit, I should speak of those who have gambled away theirproperty"--Sir Miles shook his head--"or drank it away"--Sir Milesstared straight at the ceiling--"or have missed their chances, or beenforgotten by Fortune"--Mr. Stallabras groaned. "Of these things I willnot speak. But it is a thing notorious to all of us that the Libertiesare not the chosen home of virtue. Here temperance, sobriety, morality,gentle words, courteous bearing, truth, honour, kindness of thought,and charity--which seeketh not her own--are rarely illustrated anddiscourteously entreated. Wherefore, I say, that for two ladies to havesteadfastly resisted all the temptations of this place, and to haveexhibited, so that all might copy, the exemplar of a perfect Christianlife during thirty years, is a fact which calls for the gratitude aswell as the astonishment of the wondering Rules."

  "He _ought_ to have been a----" began Solomon Stallabras, wiping asympathetic tear, but caught the Doctor's frowning eye and stopped;"an--an Archbishop," he added presently, with a little hesitation.

  "Sir," said the Doctor, "you are right. I ought to have been anarchbishop. Many an archbishop's Latin verses have been poor indeedcompared with mine. But to proceed. Madam, I would fain not be tedious."

  "Oh, sir," said Mrs. Esther, whose brain seemed confused with thisstrange exordium.

  "After thirty years or thereabouts of most undeserved captivity andforced retirement from the polite world--which they were born toadorn--these ladies found themselves by the will of Providence forcedto separate. One of them winged her glad flight to heaven, the otherwas permitted to remain awhile below. It was then that I began toinvestigate the conditions of their imprisonment. Madam," he turnedsuddenly to Mrs. Esther, so that she started in her chair and trembledviolently, "think of what you would most wish: name no trifling matter;it is not a gift of a guinea or two, the bettering of a meal, thepurchase of a blanket, the helping of a poor family; no boon or benefitof a day or two. Let your imagination rove, set her free, think boldly,aim high, think of the best and most desirable thing of all."

  She tried to speak, her lips parted; she half rose, catching at myhand: but her words were refused utterance; her cheek grew so pale andwhite that I thought she
would have swooned and seized her in my arms,being so much stronger and bigger. Then I ventured to speak, beingmoved myself to a flood of tears.

  "Oh, madam! dear madam! the Doctor is not jesting with you; he hathin his hands the thing that we desire most of all. He brings you, Iam sure, great news--the greatest. Oh, sir"--I spoke now for her whowas struck dumb with hope, fear, and astonishment--"what can this poorlady want but her release from this dreadful place? What can she prayfor, what can she ask, morning and night, after all these years ofcompanionship with profligates, spendthrifts, rogues, and villains, thenoisy market people, the poor suffering women and children of this denof infamy, but her deliverance? Sir, if you have brought her that, tellher so at once, to ease her mind."

  "Well said, Kitty," cried Sir Miles. "Doctor, speak out."

  "No poet--not even Alexander Pope--could have spoken more eloquently,"cried Solomon Stallabras.

  As for Mrs. Esther, she drew herself gently from me, and stood with herhandkerchief in her hand, and tears in her eyes, her poor thin figuretrembling.

  "I have brought with me," said the Doctor, taking her hand and kissingit, "the release of the most innocent prisoner in the world."

  She steadied herself for a few moments. Then she spoke clearly andcalmly.

  "That," she said, "has ever been the utmost of my desire. I havedesired it so long and so vehemently (with my sister Deborah, to whomit has been granted) that it has become part of my very being. I havedesired it, I think, even more than my sister. Thirty years have Ibeen a prisoner in the Fleet, though for twenty-six in the enjoymentof these (so-called) Liberties. Gentlemen, you know full well whatmanner of life has been ours; you know the sights, the sounds, thewickednesses of this place." Here Sir Miles hung his head. "I am, asthe Doctor most kindly hath told you, a gentlewoman born; my father,besides being a great and honourable merchant of this most noblecity of London, once Lord Mayor, an Alderman of Portsoken Ward, andWorshipful Master of the Company of Armour Scourers, was also a trueChristian man, and taught us early the doctrines and virtues of thetrue faith. We were educated as heiresses; we were delicately broughtup in the love of duty and religion; too delicately for women fatedto herd with the worst and bear the worst. It is, therefore, no meritof ours if we have behaved, according to our lights, as Christiangentlewomen. Yet, sirs, kind friends, it has been great unhappiness tous; bear with me a little, for when I think of my sister's sufferings,and my own, I fain must weep. It has been, believe me, great, greatunhappiness."

  I think we all wept with her. Yet it was astonishing to see with whatquiet dignity she spoke, resuming, at a moment's notice, the air notonly of a gentlewoman, which she had never lost, but of one who is nolonger troubled by being in a false position, and can command, as wellas receive, respect. I saw before me a great city lady, as she had beentrained and brought up to be. Small though she was, her dignity madeher tall--as her unmerited sufferings and patience made her great.

  Sir Miles laid his hand on the poet's shoulder.

  "Great heaven!" he cried. "Canst thou weep any more over themisfortunes of Clarissa, with this poor lady's sorrows in thyrecollection?"

  The Doctor wiped his eyes. But for those backslidings which we havealready lamented, what an admirable character, how full of generosity,how full of sympathy, how kind of heart, was my uncle!

  "Pray, madam," he said, "be seated again. Will you take another glassof wine?"

  "No, Doctor," she replied. "This is now no case for the help of wine.Pray finish the story of your benevolent care."

  "Why, madam, as for benevolence," he said, "I have but done what SirMiles Lackington or Solomon Stallabras"--the poet spread his arms andtapped his breast--"would have done, had they possessed the power ofdoing; what, indeed, this crying slip of a girl would have done had sheknown how. Benevolence! Are we, then, Old Bailey prisoners, chained bythe leg until the time comes for us to go forth to Tyburn Tree? Are wecommon rogues and vagabonds, that have no bowels? Can such a life asyours be contemplated with unmoved eyes? Is Sir Miles a Lovelace forhardness of heart? or Solomon Stallabras a salamander? Am I a Nero?Nay, madam, speak no more of benevolence. Know, then, that of all thepeople whom the conduct of the villain Christopher March with regard toyour affairs injured, but two are left alive. The heirs of the rest arescattered and dispersed. These two have prospered, and are generous aswell as old; their hearts melted at the tale of suffering; they haveagreed together to give back to you, not only the security which keepsyou here, but also a formal release of your debt to them; you can gowhenever you please."

  "Why, then," shouted Sir Miles, grasping the bottle, "we can drinkher----"

  "Stay," said the Doctor. "There is one thing more. This generous giftrestores to you, not only liberty, but also your father's countryestate in Hertfordshire, worth six hundred pounds a year. And here,madam, are the papers which vouch for all. You have now your ownestate, and are once more a gentlewoman of fortune and position."

  She took the papers, and held them grasped tightly in her lap.

  "And now, gentlemen," said the Doctor, gently taking the bottle fromthe baronet's hand, "we will drink--you, too, Kitty, my dear, mustjoin--a happy new year to Mrs. Esther Pimpernel."

  They drank it with no more words; and Sir Miles fell on his knees andkissed her hand, but without speaking aught.

  Mrs. Esther sat still and quiet, trying to recover herself; but thefirst eloquence would not return, and she could not speak for cryingand sobbing. In broken words she said, while she caught the Doctor'sgreat hand and held it, that he had been, in very sooth, her guardianangel; that it was he who had rescued her sister and herself from themonster Bambridge and the horrors of the prison; that, but for him,they would long ago have starved: that, but for him, she should havelanguished for the rest of her days in the Rules. Then she prayed thatGod would reward the protector and defender of the poor.

  The Doctor drew away his hand, and, without a word, walked out of theroom with hanging head, followed by Sir Miles and Mr. Stallabras.

  "We shall go, my sweet Kitty; together we shall leave this dreadfulplace," she murmured when we were alone. "What is mine is yours, mychild. Let us humbly to our knees."

  Part II.

  _THE QUEEN OF THE WELLS._