ghosts
t was now supper-time; and mark, having lessened the sense of his troubles by telling of them, although he began by thinking he could not eat a mouthful, ended by making a very hearty supper. indeed, he so much commended the one or two simple dishes set upon table, and spoke so strongly, though briefly, on the subject of good and bad cookery, that, as it had been his disposition to be contented with anything that was set before him in his unmarried 225days, i set it all down to the discomfort of his late life in the forest. afterwards i was disposed to change my mind about this, and to decide that mistress blenkinsop, who in their early married days had pampered and petted him amazingly, (whereby his good looks had suffered no little,) had really destroyed the simple tastes which were once so becoming in him, and had made him something of an epicure.
after the table was cleared, he drew near me again, and with real concern in his manner, pressed me to tell him about my father. i did so from first to last, with many tears; adding thereunto my nursing of master blower. he sighed a good many times as i went on, and after i had done; exclaiming at last, “what a difference between you and me!”
226“all people have not the same qualifications,” said i.
“no,” said he, and seemed to think i had now hit the right nail on the head.
“and violet——” said he, after a pause, and colouring deeply. “is she quite well, cherry?”
“quite,” i said; and could think of nothing more to say.
“i wonder,” said he in a low voice, as if he were almost afraid to hear the echo of his own thoughts, “whether she would now have anything to say to me?”
i said, looking away from him, “such questions as that should only be put to the parties concerned.”
“you are right,” said he; and sat a long while silent, leaning his head upon his hand. at length, he said, 227“i am rich now, and she is poor, cherry.”
i said, “riches and poverty don’t make much difference, mark, when people really love one another.”
“as i have loved—” said he.
i said, “it is bed-time now, and here is dolly coming in to prayers.”
the next morning, he said he must go to the lord mayor about his house. for the abandoned effects of such families as were entirely swept away and left no known heirs, went to the king, who made them over to the lord mayor and aldermen, to be applied to the use of the poor; and mark’s absence had made it appear that his property was in that case.
soon after he was gone, the uncommon, and, i may almost say, unparalleled event occurred to me of receiving a letter; i 228was so surprised at the circumstance, that for the moment, i thought it must be from my father; or, at least, to tell me he was alive. but no, it was from master blower; and this was what he put in it:
“bucklands hall, berks.
“oct. 27, 1665.
“dear mistress cherry,
“on first coming down here, i was so ill at ease and out of sorts, as to require much care and nursing. heaven be praised, i am now well, and i hope you are the same. though the pinks and gilly-flowers are pretty well over, there are still some gay autumn flowers in the old garden with the iron gate; and my brother, the squire, and his good wife want to see the brave mistress cherry who 229nursed me through the plague. so come down to us, dear cherry, to-morrow, if you can. john, the coachman (a steady man), will be at your door, with a white horse and a pillion, at seven o’ the clock. and be so good, if it will not be inconvenient to 230you, as to bring my sister-in-law a little mace and green ginger; and also (on my account) one of those saffron-cakes they used to be so famous for at the bridge foot.
“your faithful and obliged friend,
“nathanael blower.
“if you don’t come, you must write.”
here was an event! an invitation to the country was a still more startling occurrence than the receipt of a letter. many of the circumstances connected with it were delightful; but then, it seemed so strange, so awful, to go to stay with people i had never seen, ... such grand people, too! i that was so unused to fine company, and did not know how to behave!—and master blower knew all this, knew exactly what 231i was, and yet had prevailed with them to say they should be happy to see me!—oh, his goodness of heart had this time carried him too far! they had said so just to please him, without expecting i should go!—and yet, if the lady were very much put to it for mace and green ginger.... and if master blower’s heart were very much set upon giving her the saffron-cake.... i supposed i had better go. if i found myself very much out of place, i could come away the next day.
then i thought i would go and consult violet; for, in fact, i wanted a little persuading to do what i very much liked. so i stepped across the bridge. the shop was open, but nobody was in it; so i went to the parlour door, and opened it.
directly i had done so, i saw violet 232and mark, sitting close together, their backs to me, and his arm round her waist. i closed the door so softly that they did not know it had been opened, and went home. a pang shot through my heart. it was entirely on their own accounts, for i had ceased, for years, to have anything but a most sisterly concern in him; and his character, compared with those of the people i had most loved, failed to stand the test: but i thought this was too quick, too sudden, to be quite comely or decent; there was too much passion, too little self-respect.
i now made up my mind without any more hesitation, that i would go into the country. i gave my parting directions to dolly, and desired her to let mark have things comfortable. then i made up my little travelling-equipage, not forgetting my commissions. being in 233fresh, well-made mourning, there was no trouble or anxiety about dress. i quite enjoyed the pleasing bustle of preparation, though i did not expect to be absent longer than a week.
mark was not very punctual to the supper-hour; and as he said nothing of his visit over the way, i was to conclude him all day at my lord mayor’s or in cheapside. but the deep carmine of his cheek and the burning light of his eye, told tales. i asked him if he had dined. he carelessly replied yes, with a friend. i asked him if he had seen the lord mayor. he said yes, it had been a more troublesome business than he expected: they had asked him so many searching questions, and had got the whole story out of him. he feared he had cut a sorry figure. at any rate, he had in his own sight. then i asked him whether 234he had got back his house. he said yes, and had put an old woman into it, who had undertaken to fumigate it. everything seemed sealed up, but he could not help fearing many things were gone. the old place looked so dismal, he came away as soon as he could.
after a pause, he said, “cherry, i feel a strong inclination to get rid of that concern altogether. the situation is capital, and i shall get something for the business; but i have a great mind to set up somewhere else; and though your father’s was a much smaller business than ours, yet my happiest hours have been passed under this roof; and if you like to give up the shop to me, i will give for it whatever i get for my own. and you can still live with us.... i mean, we can still live here together. what say you, cherry?”
235i said, “dear mark, i have no wish to receive for these premises what you get for your own. the shop you are welcome to; the business you will have to remake for yourself, for it has dwindled quite away; i shall be very glad to continue to live with you as long as you like to have me.”
“we ... i shall always like to have you, cherry,” said he, “for there is only one person dearer to me in the whole world.”
“my father has left me so comfortably provided,” said i, “that i shall never need to be a burthen on any one.”
“i am glad of it for your own sake,” returned he; “but, as to my taking up the business without paying for it, that is not to be thought of. whatever i get for mine, you shall have for yours.”
236“so let it stand at present, at any rate,” said i. “henceforth, the shop is yours. and, mark, you will have the whole house to yourself to-morrow, for i am going into the country.”
“where?” said he, opening his eyes very wide.
“to bucklands hall, in berkshire; to stay with master ... with squire and mistress blower.”
a broad smile spread over his face. “i am very glad indeed to hear of it, cherry,” said he.—“very glad of it.”
afterwards, as we sat chatting over our supper, we got on the subject of ghosts. he asked me if i believed in them. i said no.
“well, i do,” said he, sighing. and told me of a story he had had from the servant of sir richard hart, who, 237travelling with his master, had been summoned by him early one morning, and charged to ride home with all speed, a distance of seventeen miles, and see how fared his daughter, whom he conceited to have seen in the night, standing at his bed-foot, with her hand pressed to her head. the man rode back as he was told; and returned with the news that the young lady had indeed been taken ill about four o’clock that morning, but had had a doctor with her, and was now pretty well again. however, in the course of the day she died.
i said, “her father, in a dream, may have had so strong an impression he was waking, that to him it had all the effect of being awake.”
“but such a dream as should so raise the dead, or pre-figure their death, 238cherry,” said mark, “would be as bad as if they were raised—to us.... i think i, for one, could not stand it.” and i saw then why he was afraid to return to his own house.
we talked the matter quietly over for some time; and i asked him why, if the course taken by divine providence in the administration of human affairs ever admitted of the re-appearance of the dead, the recorded cases of such supposed appearances should only be to frighten some timid person, restore a bag of gold, or acquaint some one with what they would otherwise know a few hours after. this appeared to strike him; but he said it might be for the sake of warning. i said, if for warning, why not for comfort? how glad should i have been, for instance, to be informed supernaturally that all was well with my father? he 239said, not that way, surely. i replied yes, that way or any way that it had pleased the almighty to vouchsafe me such knowledge. i should not be afraid (and there was an intensity of earnestness in me as i said it) to see either him or my mother, either in or out of the body.
“well,” muttered he, half under his breath, “i wish i could feel as much with regard to my wife.” and, regarding me with some earnestness, added, “you’re a bold little thing, cherry!”
as i wished him good-night, he stayed me for a moment, and said, with all his old frankness and trust, “violet and i have made things out between us, cherry.”
i said fervently, “then, may you both be happy. my belief is, that she is 240likelier to make you happy now, than she was before.”
“not quite so pretty, though,” said he, rather regretfully. “however, i don’t mind that.—for, you see, cherry, i love her!”
