Part 7 (1/2)
”What! cry to see your father, child?” she exclaimed. ”See what a bonnie gentleman he is, and what a pretty horse he rides, while we tread along through the mire.”
”What have you come to me for, Ellen?” asked George. ”Do you know that if you are seen about here just now you may do me a great injury?”
”I don't want to hurt you, George,” she replied; ”but I must have money. I cannot work, and I dare not show my face here. Can't you take me in to-night, George, only just to-night, and let me lie by the fire?
I'll go in the morning; but I know it's going to freeze, and I do dread the long cold hours so. I have lain out two nights, now, and I had naught to eat all day. Do'ee take me in, George; for old love's sake, do!”
She was his own cousin, an orphan, brought up in the same house with him by his father. Never very strong in her mind, though exceedingly pretty, she had been early brought to ruin by George. On the birth of a boy, about a year before, the old man's eyes were opened to what was going on, and in a furious rage he turned her out of doors, and refused ever to see her again. George, to do him justice, would have married her, but his father told him, if he did so, he should leave the house with her. So the poor thing had gone away and tried to get needlework in Exeter, but her health failing, and George having ceased to answer all applications from her, she had walked over, and lurked about in the woods to gain an interview with him.
She laid her hand on his, and he felt it was deadly cold. ”Put my coat over your shoulders, Nelly, and wait an instant while I go and speak to Madge. I had better let her know you are coming; then we shan't have any trouble.”
He rode quickly through the plantation, and gave his horse to a boy who waited in front of the door. In the kitchen he found Madge brooding over the fire, with her elbows on her knees, and without raising her head or turning round, she said:
”Home early, and sober! what new mischief are you up to?”
”None, Madge, none! but here's the devil to pay. Ellen's come back.
She's been lying out these three nights, and is awful hard up. It's not my fault, I have sent her money enough, in all conscience.”
”Where is she?” inquired Madge, curtly.
”Outside, in the plantation.”
”Why don't you bring her in, you treacherous young wolf?” replied she.
”What did you bring her to shame for, if you are going to starve her?”
”I was going to fetch her in,” said George, indignantly; ”only I wanted to find out what your temper was like, you vicious old cow. How did I know but what you would begin some of your tantrums, and miscall her?”
”No fear o' that! no fear of pots and kettles with me! lead her in, lad, before she's frozen!”
George went back for her, and finding her still in the same place, brought her in. Madge was standing erect before the fire, and, walking up to the unfortunate Ellen, took her baby from her, and made her sit before the fire.
”Better not face the old man,” said she; ”he's away to the revels, and he'll come home drunk. Make yourself happy for to-night, at all events.”
The poor thing began to cry, which brought on such a terrible fit of coughing that Madge feared she would rupture a blood-vessel. She went to get her a gla.s.s of wine, and returned with a candle, and then, for the first time, they saw what a fearful object she was.
”Oh!” she said to George, ”you see what I am now. I ain't long for this world. Only keep me from worse, George, while I am alive, and do something for the boy afterwards, and I am content. You're going to get married, I know, and I wish you well. But don't forget this poor little thing when it's motherless. If you do, and let him fall into vice, you'll never be lucky, George.”
”Oh, you ain't going to die, old Nelly,” said George; ”not for many years yet. You're pulled down, and thin, but you'll pick up again with the spring. Now, old girl, get some supper out before he comes home.”
They gave her supper, and put her to bed. In the morning, very early, George heard the sound of wheels below his bedroom window; and looking out, saw that Madge was driving out of the yard in a light cart, and, watching her closely, saw her pick up Ellen and the child just outside the gate. Then he went to bed again, and, when he awoke, he heard Madge's voice below, and knew she was come back.
He went down, and spoke to her. ”Is she gone?” he asked.
”In course she is,” replied Madge. ”Do you think I was going to let her stay till the old man was about?”
”How much money did you give her, besides what she had from me?”
”I made it five pounds in all; that will keep her for some time, and then you must send her some more. If you let that wench starve, you ought to be burnt alive. A MAN would have married her in spite of his father.”