"It is too true, dear friend," said the vicar with a sigh.

"Ay! And if I'm not too bold in speaking my mind," proceeded the other, "that ain't the worst of it. You'll excuse my homely way of talking, sir, but I can't help thinking of Timothy Pinches' donkey-cart when I reads or hears of these young ladies with their science cla.s.ses, and their Oxford and Cambridge local examinations, and their colleges, and what not. Timothy Pinches were an old neighbour of mine when I didn't live in these parts--that were several years ago as I'm talking of. Now Timothy had a donkey, a quiet and serviceable animal enough, and he'd got a cart too, which would carry a tidy lot of things, yet at the same time it weren't none of the strongest. He used to cart my coals for me, and do an odd job for me here and there. Well, one day I met Timothy with a strange load in his cart; there was a lot of iron nails and bars for the blacksmith, two or three bags of potatoes, a sack of flour, a bottle or two of vinegar, a great jar of treacle, a bale of calico for one of the shops, a cask of porter, and a sight of odds and ends besides. And they was packed and jammed so tight together, I could see as they were like to burst the sides of the cart through. 'Timothy,'

says I, 'you'll never get on with that load; it's too much for the donkey, and it's too much for the cart.' 'All right,' says he, 'we'll manage.' 'Nay,' says I, 'it's too much for the poor beast; make two journeys of it, and you'll do it comfortably.' 'Can't afford the time,'

says he. But he _could_ afford the time to keep the poor donkey often standing before the door of the public for an hour and more together.

But just then he'd had an extra gla.s.s, and he wasn't in a mood to be spoken with. So he gives the poor beast a fierce kick, and a pull at his jaw, by way of freshening him up, and the cart goes creaking on up a hill by a winding road. I could hear it as I went on by a footpath as took me a short cut into the road again. Then the noise stopped all of a sudden; and when I'd got to the end of the path, there was Timothy Pinches looking anything but wise or pleasant, and cart and donkey had both come to grief. The side of the cart was burst right out; the donkey had fallen down and cut his knees badly; the potatoes was rolling down the hill; the flour had some of it come out of the sack in a great heap, and the vinegar and treacle was running slowly through it. When I looked at poor Timothy's face, and then at the break-down, I couldn't help laughing at him; but I gave him a helping hand, and I hope he learnt a useful lesson. You see, sir, it don't do to overtask a willing beast, nor to load a cart with more goods than it's meant to carry, specially if it ain't over strong. But they're making this very mistake with many of the young ladies just now--I don't mean anything disrespectful to them in likening them to a donkey-cart, but it's true.

These young ladies themselves are overtasking their const.i.tutions which G.o.d gave them, and they're loading their brains with more than them brains was designed to carry. The Lord hasn't given them, as a rule, heads fit to bear the strain as men's heads were made to stand. I'm sure of it; it's the opinion, too, of Dr Richardson, who has the best right of any man, perhaps, to speak on this subject, as he's studied it, I should think, as much or more than any man living. Now, sir, just look at your own dear child, Miss Clara,--why, it makes my heart sore every time I look at her; she ain't got the right healthy look in her face; her mind has got more to bear than ever her Maker meant it to have; and there's no reason, surely, why she shouldn't be as cheerful as a lark and as bright as the flowers in May."

"Most true! Most true!" said the vicar sorrowfully. "I only wish Mrs Maltby and my daughter could see things in this light; but when I express my fears and misgivings on this subject, they tell me that I must not take a gloomy view of things, nor alarm myself needlessly. But perhaps, dear friend, you may be able to put in a word, I know your plain, homely good sense and observation will have weight with both mother and daughter."

"I'll make bold to say a word or two to them on the subject," replied Thomas Bradly, "when next I get an opportunity."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A SHADOW ON THE HEARTH.

Thomas Bradly was pre-eminently a _bright_ Christian. A quaint old author says that "a gloomy Christian does not do credit to Christ's housekeeping." There was no gloom about Bradly's religion: it shone in his heart, in his life, on his face, and in his home; it attracted the troubled and sin-burdened; it was the concealed envy of many who scoffed at and reviled him. And yet there was not unclouded sunshine even in _his_ happy home: a shadow, and a dark one, rested on his hearth.

It has been said that he had an unmarried sister who lived with him, and that she was an invalid. Jane Bradly was a year younger than her brother Thomas, but sickness and sorrow made her look older than she really was. She was sweet and gentle-looking, with that peculiar air of refinement which suffering often stamps on the features of those who are being spiritualised by fiery trial and are ripening for glory. And there was something, too, that was very strange about her case. She was not confined to her bed, and was able to leave the house in order to attend the services at the church, which she did most regularly. Yet she very rarely left the house on any other occasion, and never visited a neighbour; and if any of her brother's friends came in, she would leave her chair by the fire and retire into another room.

When the family first came to Crossbourne, a good deal of curiosity was felt and expressed about her, and many attempts were made to draw her out; but as neither Bradly nor his wife nor children ever gave the smallest encouragement to questioners, and as Jane herself quietly declined every invitation to take a meal or spend an hour away from home, curiosity was obliged to seek gratification elsewhere, and baffled inquirers to talk about her amongst themselves with ominous whispers and shrugging shoulders.

Clearly, Jane's complaint was one which medicine could not reach, for no medical man ever called on her at her brother's house; though well- meaning persons used at first to urge on Thomas the advisability of consulting the parish doctor for her. And when others recommended their own favourite patent remedies which had never been known to fail--at least, so said the printed wrapper--he would thank them, and say that "it wasn't physic as she wanted." "Ah! Then she must have met with a disappointment where she had placed her affections; was it not so?" To which Thomas dryly replied that "he was not aware that it was so; but if it had been, he should have kept it to himself." This and similar broad hints at length closed the gossiping mouths of Crossbourne--at any rate, in the presence of any members of the Bradly family--and Jane and her troubles ceased to occupy much attention out of her own home.

Still, the deep shadow lay across the hearth and heart of her brother.

Very touching it was to see the considerate tenderness with which he always dealt with her. Never a loud or hasty word did she hear from him, nor indeed from any member of the family. When he came in from his work his first words were for her: some cheery little speech, yet uttered in rather an undertone, lest his natural abruptness unchecked should startle her. The best ma.s.sive arm-chair, and the snuggest nook by the kitchen fire, were hers; and by the Bible, which was her constant companion, and lay on a little table which stood beside her, a few bright flowers, as their season came round, were placed as tokens of a thoughtful and abiding love.

Yet she pined, and grew gradually weaker; but no murmur was heard to escape her lips. The sorrow which lay on her heart like a mountain of snow could not deprive her of G.o.d's peace, while it was chilling and crushing out her life. As far as they would allow her, and her strength would permit, she took her part in the household work; but she was princ.i.p.ally occupied with her needle, and as she was an excellent workwoman, she was never without such orders as she was able to undertake.

The vicar was deeply interested in her, and was a frequent visitor; but while she manifestly derived comfort from his instructions and prayers, any attempt on his part to draw her into confiding to him, (as a friend and spiritual adviser) her special sorrow at once reduced her to silence. And yet it seemed to him that there were times when she was on the very verge of breaking through her reserve. Not that he desired this, except for her own sake. How gladly would he have shared her burden with her, "and so fulfilled the law of Christ," would she but have in trusted him with it! It was so sad to see the deep shadow of an abiding care on that gentle face, the unnatural flush on the cheeks, and the eyes at one time filled with tears, and at another with a look of earnest beseeching, as though she longed to unburden her troubled heart, and yet dared not--as though she yearned for his advice and sympathy, and yet could not bring herself to open to him her grief. And thus it was that the poor afflicted one was drooping lower and lower; and the cloud which rested on her quiet, patient features was to be seen at times on her brother's also.

It was a few days after the accident on the line by which the miserable Joe Wright was hurried into eternity, that the vicar, who was coming out of the cottage of poor Joe's widow, met Thomas Bradly as he was on his way home from his work. Both looked very grave; and Mr Maltby said,--

"I see, Thomas, that you feel, as I do, what a shocking accident this has been. The drink, I don't doubt, must have been at the bottom of it, for we know too well what the poor man's habits were. What can I say to comfort his unhappy widow? Of course, it is not for us to judge her husband; we do not know what pa.s.sed in Joe's heart during his last moments. But that is very poor consolation, after all, when we know that, 'as a man sows, so shall he reap.' All I can do is to try and lead the poor woman herself to her Saviour. We know that the door to pardon and peace is not yet closed to her."

"That's too true, sir," replied Bradly. "I fear we can't have any comfortable thoughts about Joe; the least said about him the better.

But, to tell you the truth, sir, I were just then turning my own trouble over in my mind, and that's what made me look so grave."

"What--about your sister Jane?"

"Yes, sir. I know as it's all right; and yet somehow I can't help feeling a bit anxious about her. She must either mend afore long, or break down altogether. I should very much like her to open her heart and her trouble to yourself, sir; for I'm sure it would do her good. I know it all myself, of course; but then I've promised her to be as close as wax, and never to talk about it to a soul without she gives me leave.

And her Saviour knows it all, too. She goes with it regular to him; but still she brings back some of it with her each time. She don't mean it; but it's more nor flesh and blood is equal to, to leave it entirely to him. Now, I do believe, if she would just tell you all, or let me tell it you before her, it would help to lighten her heart and ease her mind. She knows, indeed--as of course every true Christian knows from his Bible--that no mortal man, be he who he may, can do for her what the blessed Saviour only can do; but I am sure that it will make your words, your counsels, and your prayers more precious and profitable to her when she feels that her pastor knows her great sorrow, and can join with her in taking it to the throne of grace, and pleading for light and guidance, and a way out of it too, if the Lord will."

"I quite agree with you, Thomas," said Mr Maltby. "At present I can give her only general words of advice and comfort, and can only pray for her about her sorrow in a general way; but if she sees it to be right, and can bear to confide the story of her trial to me, I shall then be able to a.s.sist her in grasping with an increasing faith those 'exceeding great and precious promises' which will be specially applicable to her case, and may meet any peculiar circ.u.mstances connected with her affliction."

"Thank you, sir, most kindly," said the other. "I think I have nearly persuaded her to let me tell you all; and I believe it will be best done before herself, for then one telling will do for all, and she will be able to put in a word here and there to make all clear."

"Just so, Thomas," said the vicar. "I can easily understand that when once she has broken through her reserve with me, or suffered you to break through it for her, she will be able better to bear the full disclosure, from having part of the weight already removed from her heart."

"That's just my view," said Bradly, "and I've told her so more than once. I'm sure she'll feel lighter in her heart when once she has fully made up her mind that you shall know all, even before you've heard a word of her story; and I'm sure she sees it so now herself. So, if it won't be troubling you too much to ask you to step over to our house to- morrow night about seven o'clock, unless I send you back word, we'll have the best parlour all to ourselves, and I believe the Lord will make it a blessed night for poor Jane and for us all."

"It shall be so then, Thomas," replied the vicar. "I will, if spared, be at your house at seven o'clock, unless I hear anything meanwhile to the contrary from yourself."

It was with a feeling of deep interest, and a fervent prayer for a blessing, that Ernest Maltby knocked the next evening at the door of Thomas Bradly's quiet dwelling. Thomas welcomed him with a smile.

"It'll be all right, I know," he said; "I've told her you're coming, and she has made no objection; and now that the time's come, the Lord has taken away the worst of the fear."

The vicar entered, and found the invalid seated by a bright fire, with her little table and the Bible on it by her side. Her poor wan cheeks were flushed with a deeper colour than usual as she rose to greet the clergyman; but there was not so much a look of suffering now in her eyes, as of hopeful, humble, patient trust. Her needlework lay near her Bible, for her skilful fingers were never idle.

Her brother set a chair for their visitor near the fire, and seated himself by him. For a moment no one spoke; then Jane handed the Bible to Mr Maltby, who opened it and read the Hundred and Forty-Second Psalm, giving special emphasis to the words of the third verse, "When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path." He offered a short prayer after the reading, and then waited for either brother or sister to spread out the trouble before him.

"You must know, sir," began Thomas, with an emotion which checked his usual outspoken utterance for a while, "as me and mine don't belong to these parts; and I daresay you've heard some of the queer tales which them as pays more attention to their neighbour's business than their own has got up about us. However, that matters very little. Our native place is about fifty miles from Crossbourne. Maybe you've heard of Squire Morville (Sir Lionel Morville's his proper t.i.tle). He lives in a great mansion called Monksworthy Hall, just on the top of the hill after you've gone through the village. There's a splendid park round it.

Most of the land about belongs to Sir Lionel; and he's lord of the manor. Well, I were born, and my father and grandfather before me, in Monksworthy, and so were Jane; and all things went on pretty smooth with us till a few years back. We'd our troubles, of course; but then _we_ didn't expect to be without 'em--Wasn't to be looked for that our road through life should be as level all the way as a bowling-green. Sir Lionel were very good to his tenants; but he were rather too fond of having lots of company at the Hall--more, I'm sure, than his lady liked; for she was a truly G.o.dly woman, and I don't doubt is so to this day.

"My father and mother had a very large family, so that there wasn't full work for us all as we growed up; and, as I was one of the younger ones, they was glad to get me bound apprentice, through the squire's help, to my present trade in the north. But I liked my own native village better than any other spot as I'd ever seen, so I came back after I'd served my time, and picked up work and a wife, as a good many of the young people had been emigrating to Canada and Australia, and Sir Lionel wanted hands just then. Well, then, G.o.d sent us our children, and they soon grew up, and it weren't such easy work to feed them and clothe them as it is in a place like this. However, the Lord took care of us, and we always had enough.

"Jane went to the Hall to be housemaid soon after I married; and Lady Morville were so fond of her that, she would never hear of her leaving for any other place.--Nay, Jane dear, you mustn't fret; it'll all turn out well in the end. There's One as loves us both, better than Sir Lionel and his lady, and he'll make all straight sooner or later.

"Now, you must know, sir, as I'd come back from the north a teetotaler.

I'd seen so much of the drunkenness and the drink-traps there that I'd made up my mind as total abstinence were the wisest, safest, and best course for both worlds; and Jane, who had never cared for either beer or wine, took the pledge with me when I came home, for the sake of doing good to others.

"Lady Morville didn't concern herself about this; but there was one at the Hall who did, and that one were John Hollands, the butler. It was more nor he could put up with, that any one of the servants should presume to go a different road from him, and refuse the ale when it went round at meals in the kitchen. So, as all his chaffing, and the chaffing of the other servants, couldn't shake Jane, he was determined he'd make her smart for it. And there was something more than this too.

I've said that Sir Lionel were a free sort of gentleman, fond of having lots of company; and of course the company wasn't short of ale, and wine, and spirits; and so long as there was a plentiful stock in the cellar, the squire didn't trouble himself to count bottles or barrels.

He was not a man himself as drank to excess; he thought drunkenness a low, vulgar habit, and never encouraged it; but he spent his money freely, and those as lived in his family were never watched nor stinted.

You may suppose, then, sir, as John Hollands had a fine time of it. He were c.o.c.k of the walk in the servants' hall, and no mistake. Eh, to see him at church on Sunday! What with his great red face, and his great red waistcoat, and his great watch-chain with a big bunch of seals at the end of it, I couldn't help thinking sometimes as he looked a picture of 'the devil and all his works, the pomps and vanity of this wicked world, and all the sinful l.u.s.ts of the flesh,' which the Catechism tells us to renounce.

"You may be sure such a man had a deal in his power; and so he had. And it wasn't only the wine, beer, and spirits as he used pretty much as he liked. Eh! The waste that went on downstairs was perfectly frightful; and a pretty penny he and the cook made between 'em out of their master's property, which they sold on the sly.

"Jane saw something of this, and longed to put a stop to it; but, poor thing, what could she really do? She _did_ once take an opportunity of speaking her mind gently to the butler, when they happened to be alone, and tried to show him how wrong and wickedly he was acting. But all she got was, that he gave her back such a volley of oaths and curses as made her feel that it would be no use talking to him any more on the subject just then. And he weren't content with merely abusing her; he threatened her besides as he'd make her see afore long what sort of paying off 'sneaking spies' usually got for their pains. And he kept his word.

"Lady Morville had got a favourite lady's-maid, who came to her when Jane had been some years at the Hall. This maid were a stylish, dashing young woman, and had a tongue as would turn any way it was wanted. So she soon made herself so useful to her mistress that she was more like an equal than a servant. But she were a thoroughly unprincipled woman, and hated Jane almost as soon as she had set eyes on her. Now she were far too deep to do anything as would get herself into trouble. She might have robbed her ladyship in many ways; and so she did, but not by taking her jewels or anything of that sort. She would wheedle things out of her mistress in the slyest way. And then, too, Lady Morville would trust her to pay some of her bills for her; and then she'd manage to pop things into the account which my lady had never ordered, or she would alter the figures in such a way as to cheat her ladyship. And she hadn't been long at the Hall, as you may suppose, before she and the butler became fast friends; and a pretty lot of robbery and mischief was carried on by them two. Jane couldn't keep her eyes shut, so she saw many things she longed to expose to her mistress; but it would have been very difficult to bring the wrong-doings to light, even if Lady Morville had given her the opportunity of doing so--which she never did.

"Georgina--that were the name of the lady's-maid--was fully aware, however, that Jane had her eyes upon her, and she was resolved to get her out of the way. But how was that to be done? For Jane bore a high character in the house, and her ladyship would not listen to any gossiping tales against her. Her mind was soon made up: a little talk with John Hollands, and the train was laid.

"Now, she could have taken a bit of jewellery from her mistress, and hidden it in Jane's box, or among her things; and this was John Hollands' idea, as Jane afterwards found out from another fellow- servant, who was sorry for her, and had overheard the two making up their plans together. But Georgina said: 'No; that were a stale trick, and her ladyship might believe Jane's positive a.s.sertion of innocence.

She would manage it better than that.' And so she did.

"To Jane's surprise, both the butler and the lady's-maid changed their manner towards her after a while, and became quite friendly: indeed, Hollands even took an opportunity to thank Jane for her good advice, and to say that he was beginning to see things in a different light; and Georgina made her a present of a neat silver pencil-case. Jane couldn't quite understand it; but having no guile in herself, she weren't up to suspecting guile in other folks, and she were only too thankful to see anything that looked like a change for the better.

"Things were in this fashion, when one morning, just before Sir Lionel's breakfast-time, as Jane was sweeping and dusting the back drawing-room, John Hollands looked in. There'd been a large dinner-party the night before, and the family was rather late. Steps were heard overhead in her ladyship's bedroom, and then Georgina comes in. 'Come in here, Mr Hollands,' she says, 'and look here, both of you; see what I've found on the stairs!' The butler came in, and the lady's-maid holds out to him a beautiful bracelet all sparkling with jewels. He took it in his hand and turned it over, and says, 'It must have been dropped by one of the ladies as dined here yesterday; you'd better give it to her ladyship.'--'Of course I shall,' says the other; 'only there's no harm looking at it.--Ain't it a love of a bracelet, Jane? Just take it in your hand and look at it afore I take it up to mistress.' Jane took the bracelet, and said that it was a beauty indeed, and was going to return it to Georgina, but that wicked woman had turned her head away, pretending not to notice Jane's hand stretched out to her. Then steps were heard close to the door, and Georgina cried out half aloud, 'There's her ladyship coming; won't you catch it, Jane! Come along, Mr Hollands;' and they were gone out at another door in a moment, just as Lady Morville came in at the other end of the room. And there stood poor Jane, her face all in a blaze, with her broom in one hand and the bracelet in the other.

"Scarcely knowing what she did, but not wishing; of course, to be found with the bracelet in her fingers, Jane tried to slip it into her pocket; but it wouldn't do, her mistress had already seen it. So she says, quiet and calm-like, 'Jane, don't attempt to hide it from me; I believe that's one of the bracelets Sir Lionel gave me on my last birthday. I couldn't find either of them when I was dressing for dinner last night, nor Georgina either. Come, tell me, Jane, how did it come into your possession?'

"What could poor Jane say or do? She bursts out a-crying, poor thing, and then turns her round, when she'd thrown up a little prayer to the Lord from her heart, and she says, 'Please, my lady, I never saw the bracelet till a few minutes ago. Georgina brought it in while I was sweeping, and showed it to Mr Hollands and me; and I was just going to give it back to Georgina, for they said that some lady must have dropped it last night--and I never knew it was your ladyship's--and they ran out of the room and left it in my hand--and then your ladyship came in and found me with it.'

"Now you may be sure, sir, as Jane had no easy work to get them words out, and, I suppose, Lady Morville thought as she was making up a lie; so she says very gravely, 'I don't at all understand you, Jane: how can Georgina have brought the bracelet to you? She was searching for the pair last night herself, and knows that they were missing from my jewel- case. And how can she have said that some lady must have dropped this bracelet, when she must know it perfectly well to be my own? Besides, it is only a few minutes ago that she told me she believed I should find it in this room somewhere, only she didn't like to say why.'

"Jane saw it all now--they had laid a cruel trap for her, and she was caught in it. At first she had no answer but tears, and then she declared that she had told the simple truth, and nothing but the truth.