How often he had sworn to love her for ever. Dorothy thought those two simple words _for ever_, should be expunged from the vocabulary, and never be applied to things transitory again.

She had laughed at Gilbert when he talked of dying for love. She did not laugh now. She remembered feelingly how many true words are spoken in jest.

A heavy cross had been laid upon her. She had taken it up sorrowfully, but with a firm determination to bear its weight, without manifesting by word or sigh, the crown of thorns by which it was encircled, which, strive as she would, at times pierced her to the heart.

CHAPTER IV.

REMINISCENCES.

"What is the matter with Dorothy?" asked Henry Martin of his wife. "A great change has come over her lately. She looks pale, has grown very thin, and speaks in a subdued voice, as if oppressed by some great sorrow."

"I think, Henry, it has some reference to her lover. Mrs. Barford hinted as much to me the other day as we walked together from church. Don't speak of it to her. She will tell you all about it in her own time."

"He was a fine, well-grown young man," remarked the curate, "but very inferior to her in worth or intellect. I have often wondered that Dorothy could fancy him. But this trial is doubtless sent for her good, as all such trials are. For her sake, I am not sorry that he has cast her off."

"It may be for the best, Henry, but such a disappointment is very hard to bear, and though she never alludes to it, I know she feels keenly his desertion."

"It is singular," mused the curate, and speaking as if to himself, "the deep interest that Lord Wilton takes in this girl. Do you know, Rosina,"

turning to his wife, "I sometimes think that his regard for her is stronger than that of a mere friend."

"Why, Henry, you don't mean to insinuate that he wishes to make her his wife. He is old enough to be her father."

"And what if he be her father," continued Martin, in his abstracted way.

"To his sin be it spoken. Sit down, Rosina, and take up your sewing. I want to have a serious talk with you about this matter.

"I met Lord Wilton the other day riding in the vicinity of Heath Farm.

He drew up beside me, and asked how Dorothy was coming on with her lessons. I spoke of her highly as she deserves.

"He seemed strangely agitated. 'Martin,' he said, grasping my shoulder, as he leant towards me from the saddle, 'you can do me no greater favour than by making that sweet girl a good Christian. I wish you to educate her thoroughly, both for earth and heaven, G.o.d bless her! I would give all I possess to see her happy.'

"He put spurs to his horse, and rode off at a reckless pace, like one who wished to get rid of painful recollections. I thought--but I may wrong him--that some connection existed between him and Dorothy, of which the world was ignorant, which would account for the deep melancholy that always clouds his face. Lord Wilton is a kind man, a benevolent man, but some hidden sin is wasting his frame, and robbing him of peace."

"Has Dorothy any idea of this?"

"None, I am certain, and mark me, Rosina. This is a mere fancy of my own. You must not mention what I have said to her."

"Certainly not."

The good man walked to the window, and looked abstractedly across his small garden plot for a few minutes, then returned as suddenly to his seat.

"Rosina," he said, looking with a half smile at his gentle partner, "these suspicions with regard to Dorothy, brought back to my memory a strange story. You will not be jealous, my dear wife, if I relate to you a tale of boyish love and its disappointments. It happened many years before I saw or had learned to love you."

"Henry, that is a sad cut to my vanity," returned his wife, laughing, "I always had flattered myself that I was your first love. However, I promise to give you a fair hearing, and will not be affronted, until I know the end of your story. But what connection it can have with Dorothy Chance puzzles me."

"There may be none. It is only mere conjecture, as I said before. Of the probabilities I will leave you to judge.

"My father was curate of the neighbouring sea-port town during the few years of his married life. He conducted the morning and evening service, in that large beautiful old church that stands on the edge of the cliff, and had to walk over to Hadstone in the afternoon, through all weathers, to preach in our little church here. It was hard work, and very poor pay, his salary amounting, like mine, to eighty pounds a-year."

"How did you contrive to live, Henry?"

"Not very luxuriously. Sprats and herrings were plentiful, however; my mother was an excellent manager, the neighbours were kind, and I was an only child; my parents worthy, pious people, and I a happy, hopeful boy.

"We lived in a little cottage near the sea, just before you turn into the main street. The first house in that street, and the one nearest to us, was occupied by a Mrs. Knight.

"She was an old woman, and must have numbered her threescore and ten years, when we came to s...o...b... She kept a small shop, confined entirely to the sale of French kid gloves, French laces, silks, shoes, and such articles of women's wear.

"It was always suspected that these were smuggled goods, but Mrs. Knight was patronized by all the ladies in the place, and most likely, bribed the excise officer, a drunken, worthless fellow, to keep her secret.

"This woman, had been the wife of a trading captain, who sailed between that port and London, and old people who knew her in her young days, described her as having been a very handsome woman; but a darker, more repulsive-looking being I never saw. She had a terrible temper, and was morose and miserly in the extreme. I had read in the Bible of the witch of Endor, and I always fancied that she must have resembled Mrs. Knight.

She seldom spoke to me, but when she did I felt a tremor creep through my limbs.

"She carried on a flourishing trade during her husband's life. His ship was lost in a heavy gale on the coast, and she was left a widow with one son.

"This happened long before my time.

"Mrs. Knight's great ambition was to make a fortune, and bring up her son John a gentleman. In both these projects she was disappointed.

"John Knight was born with marine propensities, and insisted on going to sea.

"After many desperate battles with the lad, of whom, however it appears, she was pa.s.sionately fond, for he was eminently handsome, she gave a reluctant consent, and he went as junior mate in an East Indiaman.

"A voyage to the East Indies and back, in those days, could not be accomplished in less than eighteen months; and during those long intervals, Mrs. Knight toiled on at her illicit trade, to make money for this beloved son.

"While he was absent, an only sister died, a widow in poor circ.u.mstances, who on her death-bed sent for Mrs. Knight and implored her to take under her protection her daughter, a young girl of sixteen, as she had no friends by the father's side, who could or would do so.

"After some demur on the part of Mrs. Knight, she gave the required a.s.sent, and the poor woman died in peace, and Maria returned with her aunt to s...o...b...

"The girl was very pretty, brisk, clean and handy; could read and write, and was a good accountant; and the aunt began to think that her advent was quite a G.o.dsend in the little shop. Maria was an especial favourite with the customers, and was so obliging and useful that even the cross aunt often spoke of her as quite a treasure.

"All things went on smoothly until John Knight returned from sea; and, finding a cousin in the house of whom he had never before heard, and that cousin a pretty winning creature, he naturally fell desperately in love with her, and wished to establish a closer relationship between them.

"Seeing that the girl was on good terms with his mother, and that their own position might be considered in the lower walks of life, John lost no opportunity to make himself agreeable to Maria, till the young folks were over head and ears in love.

"Some neighbours, who thought that the match had been agreeable to all parties, complimented Mrs. Knight on her son's approaching marriage with her niece.

"Then the clouds gathered, and the storm burst upon the luckless pair.

Mrs. Knight raged, John swore, and Maria cried. The rebellious son declared that he would marry the girl he loved, in spite of all the mothers in England; that if she refused her consent, and persuaded Maria to yield obedience to her unreasonable demands, he would leave England for ever, and never let her hear from him again.

"This threat did frighten the cold, hard woman. There was only one thing she loved in the world, and that was her son. For him she toiled and took no rest, saving and acc.u.mulating to make him rich, and now he was going to frustrate all her plans for his advancement by marrying a girl who was a beggar depending upon her bounty. What was to be done? She saw that he was determined to have his own way, that violent opposition to his wishes would only make him obstinate, that she must use some other means to circ.u.mvent his wishes.

"She accordingly let the subject drop, forbidding either of them to mention a word of it to her again; and John went off to visit a shipmate who resided in the country, hoping to find his mother in a better temper when he returned.

"He was to be absent a month, and Mrs. Knight took this opportunity of informing Maria that her services were no longer required, and if she did not leave the town immediately and seek service elsewhere, it would be the worse for her. That she had acted most ungratefully in daring to inveigle the affections of her son; and that she would never forgive her to her dying day.