66

CHAPTER IV.

SIN AND ITS BITTER FRUITS.

MADE myself tidy as quickly. as I could, and then ran down the three wide flights of stairs to the hall, which I have described. A door to the left

stood open, and there in a room, half kitchen and half parlour, was a table spread for a meal, and a bigboned woman had just set down a large ham and a huge pie.

There seemed no chance of starving, and my three cousins-Robert, the one who had driven me from Cirencester; Charles; and another whom they called Paul, a mere child of twelve, with a mass of rough reddish hair and twinkling eyes-set themselves to eat in good earnest. Blanche did not appear, and there was not much talk. I was not hungry, but I was very thirsty, and the tea was refreshing.

Tea was in those days much dearer than now, for the duty had not been taken off, and I saw Barbara eyeing the teapot. When Paul said he should like some tea instead of cider, he was told to hold his tongue, for tea was only for those that were too fine to drink what other folks did.

I made my escape as soon as possible, and, beckoning Paul, asked him to show me the way to his mother's room.

"First door on the left," Charles called out. "Here, I'll show you."

I expected, as well I might, to find Blanche with her mother; but no, poor Aunt Bella was alone. Blanche had gone to spend an hour or two with some "friends" in the next village, Breame St. Denys.

"I suppose I can't expect a girl of that age to sit with a sick mother. She was brought up to expect something different. So was I, but I am a miserable woman. Now sit down, my dear, and tell me about Pamela, your mother, how does she look ? and-oh dear! the pain!" Aunt Bella moaned.

"Before I sit down, I should like to put you comfortable," I said. "I brought you some medicine; have you had it ?"

"No, there wasn't a glass. Blanche went to fetch one, and didn't come back. She is very pretty, isn't she, Cherry?"

The question provoked me. Pretty! Well, I said to myself, "pretty is that pretty does." I left the room in search of a glass, and with great difficulty found one. "I should like a jug of hot water," I said, turning to Charlie, "if you can let me have one." Again Charlie befriended me, and carried the jug up for me.

"What do you think of mother?" he asked.

"I think she is very ill," I said.

"So do I," he replied; "and I tell you what, she is dying of neglect and a broken heart."

It would not answer my purpose to write here all the details of the next few hours or even days. Blanche returned to Cirencester. Barbara, indignant at receiving no wages, went off in a huff, and I was left with my sick aunt. It is strange that when we feel all depends on us, we have power to bear itpower we never suspected to be in us till the trial comes.

My poor aunt looked to me for everything, and made me the confidante of her many troubles in a way that is touching to me to think of even at this distance of time.

On the third day after my arrival at the Manor, the doctor came. He gave a start when he entered my aunt's room.

"Why," he said, "what fairy has been here? I should not know the place for the same!"

I had only cleared away the rubbish, cleaned the windows, scrubbed the floor-little bits at a time, and made the bed to which my aunt was confined as neat as I could. Her long hair was brushed and combed, and plaited tight under a nice white cap, and I had mended her night-gowns, so that she could have a proper change. The doctor signed to

"Yes, sir," I answered; "my mother is Aunt Bella's only sister. I came here to try and be of use to her, for she wrote my mother a letter which nearly broke her heart."

"Well, look here," said the doctor, "Mr. Denys is gone off deeply in debt; the sons are not much better than the father. And my advice to you is, to try to remove your aunt out of this house as soon as possible. There is a cottage in the next parish which belongs to me. I will let Mrs. Denys have it for a trifle; and you might move out a few things and leave the rest of the rubbish to young Denys. He will have it all seized for debt before long, and, to tell you the truth, it is the best thing, for he would only lead the two younger ones into mischief. Well, speak to your aunt about the cottage, and if she falls in with my plan, we will make arrangements. The daughter is still at the school at Cirencester, I suppose?" and Dr. Thornton shrugged his shoulders. "Poor child! brought up with ridiculous notions, and taught to think herself a fine lady. Mrs. Denys was, I believe, the daughter of a professional man?"

"My grandfather was a lawyer, sir, at Ladminster. My mother married my father, who is a linen-draper in the town, very soon after his death. Poor Aunt Bella went out as a governess, and fell in with Uncle Denys in one of her situations. My mother thought it was a good marriage."

"Good! Denys never bore much of a character. He holds this place on a long lease from his father. It is all going to ruin. Well, I must be off. You must speak to your aunt, and let me know."

When I returned to my aunt's room, I heard loud angry voices-Robert's voice and my aunt's: the one loud, almost furious; the other high-pitched, till it was nearly a

scream.

I collected myself, and had to be calm, asking God to help me; and then I saw Charlie coming up the stairs.

"He is at it again, I do believe. Go in, Cherry, and stop him."

I opened the door, Charles saying, "I will wait here. I only make him worse,"

221

and found Robert stamping his feet, and saying,

"Give me the money! You've got the money. I know it's under the bed. I'll have it! Mocking and pretending to be ill, and buying yourself dainties!"

"Robert!" I said, advancing, as firmly as I could, "will you please leave your mother's room ?"

"Get out; what business have you canting here?"

"I am in charge of my aunt, Robert; and I tell you you must leave the room. You do not know what you are saying," I said, looking at his heated, flushed face.

"I know well enough. I'll have the money," he said; "and I'll shake her till she gives it to me." And he made a dart at his sick mother.

Oh! I was frightened, so frightened, that though I could hardly raise my voice I was going to call Charles, when I remembered that Charles said he always made his brother worse. So I went up to Robert, and said,—

"Robert! wait till the evening, and I will speak to Aunt about the money. Look at her, Robert, your own mother. Look, how you have hurt her." For my poor aunt was shivering and crying out in a way that was dreadful to see.

"She shouldn't keep the money, then, and spend it on gew-gaws for that stuck-up girl of hers, and see her sons in such a plight. She has sent her husband off, and she wants to get rid of me. You skulking hypocrite," he roared, as, turning, he caught sight of his brother standing by the half-open door, “I'll teach you;" and, springing forward, he gave Charles a heavy blow, which sent him reeling back, striking his head against the corner of the wide staircase, where he lay insensible.

The noise brought up little Paul, and the only farm-servant on the premises, to see what was the matter. Paul screamed,—

"Bob has killed Charlie. Oh, Bob, you wicked Bob!"

Robert stood sobered and paralysed with terror. Charles lay motionless, a dark stream of blood coming from a cut in his temple, and Carter, the man, as he stooped down, said,

You've been and killed your brother, Mr.

Robert. I wouldn't be in your shoes for something, that I wouldn't."

Ah, I never, never can forget that scene. How little did my gentle mother, my good steadfast father, my brothers, think in what a position I was placed! How little could Pamela imagine it!

Sin, and death by sin-sin which is truly born of drink-what evil, what ruin it works! With a groan, such as I trust none of my children may ever hear burst from the lips of any fellow-creature, Robert Denys put his hand to his head, and fled.

CHAPTER V.

TRUST WITH PATIENCE.

I CAN hardly write of what happened during the next few hours.

I know Paul ran for Dr. Thornton, whose gig had been seen standing by Farmer Barter's gate, not half a mile down the road, as he came home from school. Carter's wife and several other village women came to offer help. I had to stay with poor Aunt Bella, who could not move from her bed, but who knew something dreadful had happened.

"If he is dead, Robert has killed him. And it will kill me too. Oh! Cherry, Cherry, pray God to help me."

I think this was the first time in my life that I had felt God to be near. What I mean is, I had lived in a quiet, well-ordered, religious household; but I had not felt for myself that there was One who was my Saviour from sin, and my refuge in the needful time of trouble.

I think, too, that my young heart by this great blow learned the life-long lesson of the exceeding sinfulness of sin.

This home, where this dreadful scene was enacted, what might it not have been ! The voice of joy and health might have been heard within its walls, instead of the bitter weeping of the stricken mother, who refused to be comforted.

"He was in liquor," Carter said to me. "Mr. Robert wouldn't hurt a fly when he is sober. His temper was hot, and drink always just makes it at boiling heat. I don't believe as ever he'll speak again, poor boy."

Carter and his wife were leaning over the prostrate figure of Charles Denys; and I, through the open door, by my station from my aunt's bed, could see Anne Carter's tears falling, as she tried in vain to stem the stream of blood which flowed steadily and slowly from the deep cut.

I knew afterwards what seemed hours was, in reality, scarcely half an hour, when Dr. Thornton returned.

I heard him say, "Help me to carry him up to a bed."

And then my aunt's cries and hysterical screams and struggles became so great that I could scarcely hold her.

How I prayed, not in so many words, but in my heart of hearts, for the help of God, to keep me calm to do His will, and to do what was right. For I was an inexperienced girl, and I had always depended on Pamela to act in any emergency. When our mother's cap caught fire, it was Pamela who rushed instantly to put out the flame; though, I remember, I sat with her afterwards, and she said holding my hands quieted her nerves. When one of the boys cut his hand with a bit of glass, and Nancy screamed that he would bleed to death, it was Pamela who bound it up so tight below the cut, though for a minute it seemed as if it made the wound bleed all the more; but it was I that George asked to stay with him afterwards, and read to him till he was well enough to go to school again. In our house Pam was first, and I was always second. Now every one seemed to turn to me.

Well might I pray for the help of One who is mighty and able to help, as I have found all through my long life. And these are not mere words, but the experience of an old woman, who would fain persuade others to lean on the same staff which has never failed her.

Dr. Thornton came down to me in about a quarter of an hour. He spoke firmly and kindly to poor Aunt Bella, telling her that her son was living, and he might yet recover. Then he smoothed the pillows, and said, "She must be quiet." After giving her a sleeping draught, he said he must speak alone to me. Perfectly exhausted, Aunt Bella lay back, her cries subsiding into low moans,

"This is a serious affair," Dr. Thornton said, when we had left the room. "Was there any provocation?"

"None, sir; except that Charles stood by in case violence was used to his mother."

"Humph! it is a sad story from first to last. It is a hard thing for you, my girl, to be brought in for all this. Your parents did not know what you were coming to, I suppose ?

While Dr. Thornton was speaking, steps were heard approaching, and a grey-headed clergyman appeared, who, turning to the doctor, asked what had happened.

He had, as I afterwards learned, only very recently been presented to the living of Breame St. Bernard and Breame St. Denys, which in those days were served by one minister. He knew nothing of the people or the neighbourhood, and said to Dr. Thornton,

"Is this a sister of the young man? "No; a cousin," Dr. Thornton replied. "Come up with me, sir, and look at the patient; and you too," he added. "Sleep will soon make your aunt forget her sorrows for a time. You may leave her safely."

I followed the two gentlemen upstairs, trembling. Mrs. Carter and another woman were standing by the bed where Charlie lay.

His eyes were open, and they were fixed on me, but he did not speak.

Mr. Massey, the clergyman, knelt down at once, and prayed. The others stood, but I fell on my knees by him. Ab, that prayer! it seemed to bring the Great Physician to the bed; and I could almost have thought He laid His hand on Charlie, for a strange look came over his face, and when the prayer was over, he said,—

"Cousin Cherry."

I went and bent over him.

223

behind his own counter, year in and year out, and I felt it showed how much he cared for

me.

I threw myself into his arms in the big hall, crying like a child.

"I'm come to take you home, Cherry. This is no place for you. Mother and Pam made as big a mistake as ever they made in their lives when they sent you off to a den of wickedness like this."

"Oh! hush, father; little Paul will hear. It has been very dreadful; but come in, dear father, I'll get you some supper. You look tired out," I said.

"It's a long journey, child; and as to those railroads, they are enough to drive all the sense out of a man's head, whistling and screeching and flying along, till it makes one giddy to look out of the window. Those railroads will never answer, depend on it."

It may well provoke a smile now, to think of an opinion like this of my father's forty years ago an opinion shared by many a good tradesman in humdrum country towns throughout England, who could not see that the great tide of progress had set in, and must carry all with it.

Well, my father stayed that day, and the next, and the next; and on the evening of the third, he told me to come out with him, as he wanted to talk to me.

"You must come home along with me tomorrow, Cherry. I can't leave you behind."

'Father," I replied, "please let me stay, at any rate till Charles is up and about again, and till my aunt is removed to the small house at Breame St. Denys. Let me stay!"

"Stuff and nonsense," said my father; "let her send for her own daughter to nurse her and look after her. She was always eaten up with her selfishness and vanity. No, no, Cherry; you must come along with me."

My heart was full; the thoughts of home were sweet: Frankie's joy at seeing me; the other boys' pleasure; above all, the thought of my mother's kiss. But if I went back, my work was only half done. It would be cowardly to turn from it; and yet I must not disobey my father.

So we walked along silently, till we came to the next village. It was a glowing