In those times of fierce and active warfare it was far more trying to the loving ones who remained at home when the moment of departure arrived, than to the brave and gallant soldiers and sailors who were going away to fight their country's battles. They could not help reflecting how many were likely to fall in the contest, and that, though victories should be gained, their aching eyes might some day see in the list of killed or wounded the names of those from whom they now parted so full of life and spirits.

"Do not be cast down, mother," exclaimed Harry, as Mrs Castleton pressed her gallant boy to her heart. "I shall come back safe and sound, depend on that; remember the verse of the song in Dibdin's new play:--

"'There's a sweet little cherub who sits up aloft To take care of the life of poor Jack.'"

"Let us rather trust to Him by whom the hairs of our head are all numbered--without whose knowledge not a sparrow falls to the ground-- instead of talking in that light way," murmured Miss Mary, who was sitting knitting near the window. "Let us pray to Him, my dear Harry, that you may be brought back in safety."

"I will, Cousin Mary," said Harry, "and I am sure mother will too. I spoke thoughtlessly. It is the way of speaking one is accustomed to hear."

"Too much, I am afraid," said Miss Mary. "We are all too apt to speak lightly on such matters." The carriage came to the door.

"You will continue to study French diligently, Master Harry," said Madame De La Motte, as she wished him good-bye. "Though my countrymen are your enemies, you will love the language for my sake, will you not?"

Harry promised that he would do as she advised; indeed, he was well aware that the knowledge he already possessed was likely to prove very useful to him on many occasions.

His sister Julia was the last of the family he embraced. "The next time I come home I must bring my old shipmate, Headland; I am glad to find that he has joined the _Triton_. He is one of the n.o.blest and most gallant fellows alive," he said, as he wished her good-bye.

"Though we shall be happy to see your friend, I only want you to bring yourself back, Harry, safe and sound, with your proper complement of arms and legs," she answered, smiling through her tears.

"I would sacrifice one or the other to have my name in the _Gazette_, and to gain my promotion, so I can make no promises," he replied, springing into the carriage after Algernon, and waving his hat as it drove off.

A number of the surrounding tenantry had a.s.sembled near the park-gates to bid farewell to the young sailor who was going off to fight King George's enemies on the high seas. Harry stopped the post-boy that he might put his hand out of the carriage to wish Mr Grooc.o.c.k, who was among them, good-bye, and to thank them for their good wishes, promising at all events to do his best to prevent the French from setting foot on the sh.o.r.es of England, and disturbing them in their quiet homes. Their hearty cheers as he drove off restored his spirits.

"It pays one for going away when the people show such kind feeling, and I hope when I come back to be received with as hearty a welcome," he remarked to Algernon, who accompanied him as far as the next town, through which the coach pa.s.sed.

There seemed a blank at Texford after Harry had gone.

The next day the Miss Pembertons moved into Downside Cottage. To some of the more worldly guests their departure was a relief, as they freely expressed opinions which were looked upon as savouring too strongly of what was called Methodism to be uttered in polite society.

Although she could not see the expression which her remarks called forth on the countenances of the company, Miss Mary was often aware by the tone of their voices that what she said was unpalatable. This, however, though it grieved her gentle spirit, did not anger her, and she spoke in so mild and loving a way that even those who were least disposed to adopt her principles could not help acknowledging that she was sincere and faithful in her belief.

The Miss Pembertons had not been long settled in their new abode before they began to visit their poorer neighbours. The blind lady and her sister were soon known in all parts of the village, and might be seen every day walking arm-in-arm, now stopping at one cottage to admire the flowers in the little plot of ground before it, or now at another to inquire after the health of one of the inmates. The sick and the afflicted received their first attentions; Miss Mary could quote large portions of the Scriptures, and explain them with a clearness and simplicity suited to the comprehension of the most ignorant of those she addressed.

The sisters had no carriage, for their income was limited; but those in distress found them liberal in their gifts, and the inhabitants of Hurlston averred that they might have kept not only a pony-chaise, but a carriage and pair, with the sums they annually distributed in the place.

Their charities were, however, discerning and judicious, and although those who had brought themselves into poverty received a.s.sistance when there was a prospect of their amending, if they were known to be continuing in an evil course they might in vain look for help, and were pretty sure to meet with a somewhat strong rebuke from Miss Jane, as Miss Pemberton was generally called. In their inquiries about the people they were helped by a good dame, one of the oldest inhabitants, Granny Wilson, who lived in a nice tidy cottage, with an orphan grandchild. Though their charity was generally distributed by Miss Jane's hand, Miss Mary was the greatest favourite. The sweet expression of her sightless countenance, and her gentle voice, won all hearts.

Though Miss Mary never ventured outside their gate without her sister, she was wont to wander about the grounds by herself. The flower-garden was under her especial care. She was said to know, indeed, every flower which grew in it, and to point not only to any rose-tree which was named, but to each particular rose growing on it, with as much certainty as if she could see it before her.

A year had pa.s.sed since the two spinster ladies had taken possession of Downside.

One morning, while Miss Pemberton had gone over to Texford, her sister was engaged, scissors in hand, in clipping the dead flower-stalks in front of the cottage.

"Good morning, Miss Mary," said a voice. "Am I to leave any fish for you to-day?"

"Pray do, Mistress Halliburt; Susan knows what we require. And you have brought your little girl with you; I heard her light footstep as she tripped by your side. I should like to talk to her while you go in.

Come here, my dear," she said, as the dame went round to the back entrance; "I have heard of you, though I forget your name; what is it?"

"My name is Maiden May, please, Miss Mary; and I have heard of you and how kind you are to the poor; and I love you very much," answered the little girl, looking up naively at the blind lady's face.

"Your name is a pretty one," said Miss Mary, a smile lighting up her countenance as she spoke, produced by the child's remark. "Why are you called Maiden May?"

"Father called me so when he found me a long time ago," answered May.

"When he found you, my child, what do you mean?" asked Miss Mary, with surprise.

"When I came in the big ship with my ayah, and was wrecked among the fierce waves," answered May.

"I do not clearly understand you. Is not Dame Halliburt your mother?"

"Oh, yes, and I love her and father and Jacob and the rest so much,"

said May. "I have no other mother."

"Is your mother's name Halliburt?"

"Yes."

"I cannot understand what you mean, my dear; I must ask Mistress Halliburt to explain to me," said Miss Mary.

"Ah, yes, do; she will tell you. But I remember that father found me on board the big ship, and brought me home in the boat, and mother took care of me, and Jacob used to walk with me every day till I was old enough to go out with mother."

"But who is Jacob?" asked Miss Mary.

"He is brother Jacob, and he is so kind, and he tries to teach me to read; but he does not know much about it himself, and I can now read as fast as he can."

"Does your mother not teach you?" asked Miss Mary.

"Not much, she has no time; but father on Sunday tells me stories from the Bible. He can read very well, though he sometimes stops to spell the words, just as I do. There is only the Bible and one book we have got at home."

"Would you like, my little girl, to come up here and learn to read? My sister will teach you, and I think I can help, though I cannot see what is printed in a book."

"Oh, yes, so much, if mother will let me," answered May. "I am sure I should remember all you tell me, and then I might teach Jacob to read better than he does now. Ah, here comes my mother."

"You can go round the garden and look at the flowers while I talk to her."

"Thank you, Miss Mary; I so love flowers. We have none near our cottage, for they would not grow on the sand," and May ran off, stopping like a gay b.u.t.terfly, now before one flower, now before another, to admire its beauty and enjoy its fragrance.

"If you can spare a few moments, Mistress Halliburt, I should like to learn from you more than I can understand from the account your little girl has been giving me of herself," said Miss Mary, as the dame approached her. "She has been talking about a wreck and being brought on sh.o.r.e by your husband. Is she not really your child?"

"We love her as much as if she was, but she has been telling you the truth, Miss Mary," answered the dame. "We have been unable to gain any tidings of her friends, though we have done all we could to inquire for them, and though we are loth for her sake to bring her up as a fisherman's child, we would not part with her unless to those who could do better for her welfare."

The dame then described how May had been brought from the wreck, and how, from the dress the little girl had on, and the locket round her neck, and more especially from her appearance, there could be no doubt that she was the child of gentlefolks.

"From the tone of her voice and the account my sister gave of her, I feel sure that you are right, Mistress Halliburt," said Miss May. "If you can spare her to-day, I should like to keep her with me, and you can call or send for her when you have finished your rounds. I shall esteem it a favour if you will bring her up to-morrow morning, and let my sister see her, and if we can in the meantime think of anything to benefit the child, we will let you know."

The dame expressed her grat.i.tude for the interest Miss Mary took in Maiden May, but she could not help feeling somewhat jealous lest the blind lady should rob her and Adam of some of the affection which the child had bestowed on them. Still she was too right-minded to allow the feeling to interfere with May's interest. She readily agreed to let her remain, and also to bring her up the next morning, that Miss Pemberton might see her and form her own opinion about the child.

Calling May, she told her that she was to stay with Miss Mary, "and if Miss Mary wants you to lead her about, you must be very careful where you go, and mind to tell her everything you see; but don't talk too much if it seems to weary her," added the dame in a whisper, as, kissing May, she wished her good-bye.