Part 39 (1/2)

And Berenice was once more left to solitude.

Now, Lady Hurstmonceux was not naturally cold, or proud, or unsocial; but as surely as brains can turn, and hearts break, and women die of grief, she was crazy, heart-broken, and dying.

She turned sick at the sight of every human face, because the one dear face she loved and longed for was not near. The pastor of the parish, with the benevolent perseverence of a true Christian, continued to call at the Hall long after every other human creature had ceased to visit the place. But Lady Hurstmonceux steadily refused to receive him.

She never went to church. Her cherished sorrow grew morbid; her hopeless hope became a monomania; her life narrowed down to one mournful routine. She went nowhere but to the turnstile on the turnpike, where she leaned upon the rotary cross, and watched the road.

Even to this day the pale, despairing, but most beautiful face of that young watcher is remembered in that neighborhood.

Only very recently a lady who had lived in that vicinity said to me, in speaking of this young forsaken wife--this stranger in our land:

”Yes, every day she walked slowly up that narrow path to the turnstile, and stood leaning on the cross and gazing up the road, to watch for him--every day, rain or s.h.i.+ne; in all weathers and seasons; for months and years.”

CHAPTER XIX.

n.o.bODY'S SON.

Not blest? not saved? Who dares to doubt all well With holy innocence? We scorn the creed And tell thee truer than the bigots tell,-- That infants all are Jesu's lambs indeed.

--_Martin F. Tupper_.

But thou wilt burst this transient sleep, And thou wilt wake my babe to weep; The tenant of a frail abode, Thy tears must flow as mine have flowed: And thou may'st live perchance to prove The pang of unrequited love.

--_Byron_.

Ishmael lived. Poor, thin, pale, sick; sent too soon into the world; deprived of all that could nurture healthy infant life; fed on uncongenial food; exposed in that bleak hut to the piercing cold of that severe winter; tended only by a poor old maid who honestly wished his death as the best good that could happen to him--Ishmael lived.

One day it occurred to Hannah that he was created to live. This being so, and Hannah being a good churchwoman, she thought she would have him baptized. He had no legal name; but that was no reason why he should not receive a Christian one. The cruel human law discarded him as n.o.body's child; the merciful Christian law claimed him as one ”of the kingdom of Heaven.” The human law denied him a name; the Christian law offered him one.

The next time the pastor in going his charitable rounds among his poor paris.h.i.+oners, called at the hut, the weaver mentioned the subject and begged him to baptize the boy then and there.

But the reverend gentleman, who was a high churchman, replied:

”I will cheerfully administer the rites of baptism to the child; but you must bring him to the altar to receive them. Nothing but imminent danger of death can justify the performance of those sacred rites at any other place. Bring the boy to church next Sabbath afternoon.”

”What! bring this child to church!--before all the congregation! I should die of mortification!” said Hannah.

”Why? Are you to blame for what has happened? Or is he? Even if the boy were what he is supposed to be,--the child of sin,--it would not be his fault. Do you think in all the congregation there is a soul whiter than that of this child? Has not the Saviour said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven?'

Bring the boy to church, Hannah! bring the boy to church,” said the pastor, as he took up his hat and departed.

Accordingly the next Sabbath afternoon Hannah Worth took Ishmael to the church, which was, as usual, well filled.

Poor Hannah! Poor, gentle-hearted, pure-spirited old maid! She sat there in a remote corner pew, hiding her child under her shawl and hus.h.i.+ng him with gentle caresses during the whole of the afternoon service. And when after the last lesson had been read the minister came down to the font and said: ”Any persons present having children to offer for baptism will now bring them forward,” Hannah felt as if she would faint. But summoning all her resolution, she arose and came out of her pew, carrying the child. Every eye in the church turned full upon her. There was no harm meant in this; people will gaze at every such a little spectacle; a baby going to be baptized, if nothing else is to be had.

But to Hannah's humbled spirit and sinking heart, to carry that child up that aisle under the fire of those eyes seemed like running a blockade of righteous indignation that appeared to surround the altar. But she did it. With downcast looks and hesitating steps she approached and stood at the font--alone--the target of every pair of eyes in the congregation. Only a moment she stood thus, when a countryman, with a start, left one of the side benches and came and stood by her side.

It was Reuben Gray, who, standing by her, whispered:

”Hannah, woman, why didn't you let me know? I would have come and sat in the pew with you and carried the child.”