CHAPTER EIGHT.
"GOOD-BYE!"
So, upon the verge of sorrow Stood we blindly hand in hand, Whispering of a happy morrow In the undiscovered land!
The world is not half so bad a place as some discontented people makeout.
Our fellow-mortals are not _always_ striving after their own interests,to the neglect of their duty towards their neighbour:--the mass ofhumanity not entirely selfish at heart--no, nor yet the larger portionof it, by a good way!
Of course, there are some ill-natured people. Blisters, are these;moral cataplasms imposed on us, probably, to produce that very feelingwe admire, acting as they do by contrast--one of the most vivifyingprinciples of mental action.
But, when we come to calculate their percentage, how very few they arein comparison with the better-disposed numbers of God's creatures thatlive and breathe, and sicken and die in our midst, and whose kindlyministrations on behalf of their suffering brethren and sisters aroundthem, remain generally unknown, until they are far beyond any praisethat the world can give.
Yes, humanity is not so debased, but that its good points still excelits bad! Just as you see but one real miser in a fixed proportion ofmen; so, are there, I believe, quite as small a representative set ofabsolutely heartless persons. I am certain that the "good Samaritans"outvie the "Levites" in our daily existence--opposed, though my theorymay be, to the ruling of the old doggerel, which cautions us that--
"'Tis a very good world to live in, To spend and to lend, and to give in; But, To beg, or to borrow, and to get a man's own, 'Tis the very worst world that ever was known!"
Look at my present case, for instance. Of course, personal instancesare, as a general rule, wrong; but, one cannot very well argue withoutthem--especially when telling a story, and when they come up soopportunely in front of one's nose, so to speak.
No sooner was it generally known in Saint Canon's that I was going away,than I met with offers of sympathy and assistance from many that I didnot expect. I did not require their aid, yet, the proffer of it couldnot help being grateful to one's feelings, all the same.
There was Horner now. You know that I was always in the habit of"chaffing" him, taking a malicious pleasure in so doing, from the reasonthat he could not "chaff" me back again in return. Well, you wouldn'thave supposed that he bore me any great love or friendship, or feltkindly disposed towards me? But, he did!
About a week after I left the Obstructor General's Office, he came tome--I assure you, much to my astonishment--offering me his assistance.
"Bai-ey _Je-ove_! Lorton," said he, "sawy to he-ah you have left us,you know--ah. Thawght you might be in a hole, you know--ah? And, Bai-ey Je-ove! I say, old fellah,"--he added, almost dropping his drawl inhis earnestness,--"if I can help you in any way at all--ah, I shouldweally be vewy glad--ah!"
The "us," whom I had "left--ah," referred, of course, to officialdom;but, it was kind, wasn't it?
There was old Shuffler, too.
"You ain't a goin' to Amerikey, sir, is you?" he asked me just before mydeparture, meeting me in the street.
"Yes, I am, Shuffler," I replied, "and pretty soon, too!"
"Lor! Mister Lorton; but I'm right loth to 'ear it! I've got a brothermyself over in Amerikey; s'pose now, sir, I was to give you a letter to'im? It might, you know, some'ow or hother, be o' service, hay?"
"America is a large place, Shuffler," I answered.--"Whereabouts is heover there, eh?"
"Well, sir," said he, "I don't 'zackly knows were 'e his; but I dessayyou'll come across him, sir. I'll give you the letter, at hany rate;"--and he did too, although I combated his resolution. I need hardly addthat I never met the said "brother in Amerikey" of his; so, that it wasof no use to me, as I told him--although, it was a considerate action onShuffler's part!
Lady Dasher, also, did not forget me.
Believing that the last of the Mohicans still lived, and that thecontinent of the setting sun resembled Hounslow Heath in the oldhighwaymen's days, she presented to me--a blunderbuss!
It was one with which her "poor dear papa" had been in the habit offrightening obstreperous White Boys, who might assail the sacredpremises of Ballybrogue Castle--the ancestral seat of the Earls ofPlanetree in sportive Tipperary, as I believe I've told you before. Theweapon, she informed me, was a most efficient one, having once beenknown--when missing the advocate of "young Ireland" it was aimed at--todemolish a whole litter of those little gentlemen with curly tails whoassist, in conjunction with the "praties," in "paying the rint" of thetrusting natives of the Emerald Isle; consequently, its destructivepowers were beyond question, and it might really, she thought, be of theutmost utility to me on the western prairies, where, she believed, I wasgoing to "camp out" for ever!
My lady gave me, in addition, a piece of advice, which she implored mealways to bear in mind throughout my life--as she had invariably done--and that was, that, "Though I might unfortunately be poor, never toforget being proud":--it was the pass-word to her morbid system.
And the vicar, and dear little Miss Pimpernell, and Monsieur Paroled'Honneur--how can I speak of all their kindness--evinced in many, manyways--ere I left the old parish and its whilom associations behind me?
Little Miss Pimpernell worked a supply of knitted socks, "comforters,"and muffetees, sufficient to last me for a three years' cruise in thePolar circle in search of the north-west passage. The vicar gave meletters of introduction to some American friends of his, who received meafterwards most kindly in virtue of his credentials--he wanted to domuch more for me, but I would not allow him; and as for Monsieur, he_would_ not be denied, in spite of my telling him, over and over again,that I had no need of temporal assistance.
"Ah! but yes!" he said to me, in a parting visit he paid me the nightbefore I started. "You cannote deceives me, my youngish friends!Lamartine was un republicain, he?--Bien, he go un voyage en Orient; you,my dears Meestaire Lorton, are going to walk on a voyage en Ouest--datis vraisemble. Ha! ha! Ze one visite the Arabes of ze old world, zeoders ze Arabes of ze nouvelle; and,--bote requires ze money, zel'argent, ze cash. Ha! ha! Non, my youngish friends, you cannotedeceives me!"
"But, I assure you, Monsieur Parole," I replied. "I really haveplenty--much more, indeed, than I absolutely require."
"Ah! but yes! My dears, you _moost_ take him to obliges me. I havegote here a leetle somme I doos note want. If you takes him note, Ipeetch him avays--peetch him avays, vraiment!"
And he handed me a little roll of banknotes, which I subsequently foundto contain a hundred pounds.
It was, as I say, of no use my trying to get him to take them back; hewould have no denial:--he absolutely got offended with me when Ipersisted in my refusal.
"Non!" he said. "When you come back a reech mans, you can pays me back;but, note till den! Non, Monsieur Lorton! I believes you considers mea friend. You offend me if you refuse! Take hims for ze memory denotre amitie!"
What could I do? I had to take the money after that.
The only _great_ thing that grieved me at parting was the thought that Icould not see Min, to have one parting word; but, even that favour wasafforded me:--God was very good to me!
I had gone to the vicarage to say a last good-bye to the dear friendsthere. I was ushered into Miss Pimpernell's parlour; but _she_ was notthere. Somebody else was, though; for, who should get up from the dearold lady's seat in the fireside corner--where she always sat, winter andsummer alike--but, my darling!
The surprise was almost too much for me, it was so unexpected. Ithought it was her ghost at first.
"Min!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, Frank!"--she said, coming forwards eagerly--"and could you have theheart to go away without my seeing you again?"
I drew back.
"Min,"--said I,--"do not come near me! You do not know what hasoccurred; how I have sinned; how unworthy I am even to speak to you!"
She would not be denied, however. She came nearer me, and took my hand."But, yo
u have repented, Frank,"--she said--"have you not?"
"Oh, my darling!"--I said,--"I _have_ repented; but that will not bringback the past. I can never hope to be forgiven, I know. I ought not tospeak to you even!"
"Ah, Frank!"--she replied, looking up into my face with her dear greyeyes, which I had thought I would never look upon again.--"Don't youremember that sermon the vicar preached last year, when we were inchurch together? and, don't you remember the words of his text, howassuring they ought to be to us?--`Though your sins be as scarlet, theyshall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shallbe as wool!'"
We were both silent.
Presently, as we sat side by side, Min spoke to me again.
"You will not forget me, Frank, will you?" she asked.
"That is very likely!" I said, laughing in my heart at the idea.
"And you will be good, Frank, will you not?"
"My darling," I said, "with God's grace I shall never from henceforth beunworthy of your trust in me, either in thought, in word, or, in deed."
"But America is _so_ far off!" she said again after a bit, with a tenderlittle sigh.
"Not so _very_ far,"--I replied,--"and, though my body may be a fewmiles distant from you--for it _is_ only a few miles over the sea--youmay know that my heart will always be with you. I shall be everthinking of the time when I can come back and claim you as my owndarling little wife!"
"But I can make no promise, you know, Frank!"--she said.
"Never mind that, darling!"--I replied.--"I am sanguine enough tobelieve you will not change towards me if I deserve you by my life; and_I_ shall never marry anyone else, I know!"
"It is so hard, too, our not being able to write to each other! I willnever be able to know what you are doing!" she said, again.
"Ah, yes, you will!" said I, to encourage her.
As she became despondent, I got sanguine; although, a tear in the softgrey eyes would have unmanned me at once.
"Miss Pimpernell is going to write to me, you know,"--I continued,--"andI to her; so you will be made acquainted with all I do and, even, think.I will write fully to the dear old lady, I promise you!"
She gave me a little Bible and Prayer-book, before we separated, inwhich she had written my name; and, told me that she would pray everynight for me, that I might know that her prayers joined mine, and thatboth, together, would go up before the Master's throne--notwithstandingthat the Atlantic might roll between us.
She also gave me a likeness of herself, which was of more solace to meafterwards than I can tell.
A little, simple photograph it was, that has lain before my eyes athousand times--in hope, in sadness, in sickness, in disappointment;and, that has always cheered me and encouraged me in some of the darkestmoments of my life, ever bringing back to my mind the darling words ofthe giver.
And then, we parted.
One sobbing sigh, that expressed a world of emotion. One frenzied claspof her to my heart, as if I could never let her go; and, our "Good-bye"was spoken, accomplished:--a good-bye whose recollection was to last!until I returned to claim her, receiving the welcome that her darlingrosebud lips would gladly utter; and watching, the while, the unspokendelight that would then, I know, dance from the loving, soul-lit, truth-telling, grey eyes!
She and I, Volume 2 Page 8