LI B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 
 ^4 ,t^,*«* 
 
 S '^'Y ■ 
 
 
 .<^fc..«^-*f 
 
 ^^ *f ■' 
 
 . f-^" 
 
 (^ 
 
 (|.-^ 
 
 l.,*,..--*-^^ 
 ^.J.^ 
 
 , - vrf
 
 FERRERS. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 FERRERS. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE 
 
 REIGN OF GEORGE THE SECOND. 
 
 BY CHARLES OLLIER. 
 
 THOUGH THIS BE MADNESS, YET THERE'S METHOD IX IT.— SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 1842.
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY SCHULZE AND CO., 13, POLAND STREET.
 
 n 
 
 I 
 
 
 FERRERS. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 1750. 
 
 Eht Earthquake. 
 
 Whenas chearlesse night ycorered had 
 Fayre heaven with an universall clowd, 
 That every wight, dismay'd with darkenes sad. 
 In silence and in sleepe themselves did shrowd, 
 
 *»■»»*» 
 
 an hideous storme of winde arose, 
 
 With dreadful thunder and lightning atwixt, 
 And an earthquake ! 
 
 SPENSER. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Ghampaign 
 
 http://www.arehive.org/details/ferrersromanceofOldr
 
 FERRERS. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ALARMING VISITATION — STREZT-SCEXES BEFORE DAY-BREAK — A SOLI- 
 TARY WAKDERER— UNWELCOME COMPANION — SCENE IN FRONT OF 
 ST. JAMES'S CHURCH, PICCADILLY — THE WANDERER'S BRUTALITY— 
 THE EAJITHQUAKE. 
 
 The people shall be troubled at midnight. 
 
 BOOK OF JOB. 
 
 The earth was feverous, and did shake. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 In the year 1750, the month of February, 
 which in this chmate is generally raw and in- 
 clement, was as sultry as the latter end of June. 
 The preceding six months in England had been 
 hotter and drier than was ever known in any 
 other part of Europe ; and this unnatural 
 warmth having attracted pretty general cu- 
 
 B 2
 
 4 FERRERS. 
 
 riosity, it was recollected that Sir Isaac Newton, 
 a short time before his death, had predicted that 
 our climate would undergo a violent change in 
 1750, which he wished he might live to see. 
 
 Various speculations were afloat regarding 
 this prophecy, which seemed to be confirmed 
 by the then miraculous foretaste of summer, 
 when on the eighth of the month, between 
 twelve and one o'clock at noon, the inhabitants 
 of the metropolis were startled by a rumbling 
 noise like distant thunder, only that, instead of 
 the sound coming from over-head, it seemed 
 to issue out of the ground. This was imme- 
 diately followed by so strong a movement of 
 the earth that, in many houses, the chimnies 
 poured down their soot, and turned the gayest- 
 coloured carpets into ^^ one black ;" the chairs, 
 seemingly of their own accord, exchanged 
 places with each other in the rooms ; the glass 
 tumblers realized their name so efi'ectually 
 as to fall against each other and be shi- 
 vered to fragments ; the bells rang untouched 
 of hands, and the pewter plates danced on the 
 shelves to their own jingling njusic. It was as
 
 FERRERS. 5 
 
 though some unseen goblin — some prankish and 
 mischievous Robin Goodfellow — had, contrary 
 to his legitimate oflBce, wreaked his spite against 
 the neat-handed labours of good housewives, no 
 less than against the litters of sluts. 
 
 The panic that ensued on this supernatural 
 movement of goods and chattels, and on this 
 trembling of the ground, was so great that 
 people left their houses and ran into the streets, 
 being apprehensive that the next wonderful ex- 
 hibition would be the falling of the walls. 
 All business was, for a time, suspended : mer- 
 chants broke oflF in the middle of intricate ne- 
 gociations in the Exchange ; and the counsellers 
 in the courts of law in Westminster Hall sud- 
 denly abandoned their pleadings, and rushed 
 forth dreading the demolition of the ancient edi- 
 fice. The alarm, however, was a vain one ; for, 
 excepting that a few chimnies were thrown 
 down, and that some wooden buildings in 
 South wark and a house near Horselydown,^ 
 were levelled with the ground, no serious mis- 
 chief was done 5 and, as the visitation took
 
 6 FERRERS. 
 
 place in mid-day^ the terror had not the 
 aggravation which night and darkness always 
 give to any uncontrollable portent. 
 
 As the catastrophe had apparently passed, 
 the Londoners shook off their apprehension, 
 and nothing more vs^as thought of Sir Isaac's 
 proj^hecy, nor of the strange temperature, so 
 different from that produced by the biting and 
 withering north-east winds which, in England, 
 generally blow from January to June. Even 
 the freaks of the tumbling glasses, the self- 
 moving chairs, the spontaneously-ringing bells, 
 and the saltatory platters^ ceased (after some 
 slight comparison of notes between dwellers at 
 different parts of the town) to furnish topics of 
 conversation. Accordingly, the earthquake 
 and its attendant phenomena seemed in a fair 
 way to be utterly forgotten. 
 
 Four weeks after the above event, namely, on 
 the 8th of March, the day was excessively close 
 and stifling ; a singular gloom pervaded the at- 
 mosphere ; the sun was obscured by heavy 
 clouds, and the evening closed in wildly. Instead
 
 FERRERS. 7 
 
 of the western sky being tinted with the faint, 
 dingy orange-hue common at this season, it 
 was bathed in deep crimson, strongly shewn by 
 the beams of the sinking sun, over whose disk 
 hung a dazzhng cloud like a sword of flame in 
 the darkening firmament ; while based on the 
 opposite horizon, and piled up in the shape of 
 a pyramid, stood a mass of vapours, '* huge as 
 Despair," and " black as Erebus/' 
 
 Whether the threatening aspect of the hea- 
 vens had kept people within doors, or whether 
 a feeling of languor inspired by the unseason- 
 able heat and closeness had disposed them to 
 retire earlier than usual to their beds, is uncer- 
 tain ; but true it is that on that night the streets 
 of London were almost deserted. A few 
 stragglers, indeed, were seen about midnight 
 issuing from the taverns in the neighbourhood 
 of the theatres ; the lantern of some explora- 
 tory watchman, of more than ordinary research, 
 every now and then pierced the darkness witli 
 its gleam, revealing the dusky coat of its wearer; 
 or one of those forlorn women, who make a
 
 8 FERRERS. 
 
 London night hideous, lost to herself and aban- 
 doned by the world, houseless, penniless, in 
 rags and in sickness, might be observed creep- 
 ing about in search of a friendly door-way, that 
 she might rest her weary limbs, and lay her 
 poor, throbbing head under its shelter, and 
 quiet the pangs of her breaking heart in sleep. 
 But as the night advanced towards morning, 
 even these signs of life, dreary as they were, no 
 longer existed. Convivialists of all classes were 
 ensconced at home, many of whom were buried 
 in the heavy, fevered, night-mare-haunted 
 sleep of the intemperate. In utter hopeless- 
 ness of a fare, the hackney-coachmen had driven 
 to the stables their horses and crazy vehicles. 
 Vagrants of both sexes, having been forced to 
 plead guilty to the crime of being without a 
 home, had been dragged before the night-con- 
 stable, and were locked up in stone dungeons 
 to await the punishment due to their offence in 
 the committal of the morning-magistrate ; and 
 even the most intrepid of the venerable watch- 
 men, finding, in the universal emptiness and
 
 FERRERS. 9 
 
 silence of the streets no further occasion for 
 their vigilance and courage, betook themselves 
 to their boxes to snore till day-break. 
 
 About half past four o'clock in the morning, 
 the door of a tavern at the southern extremity 
 of the Haymarket was opened, and a man, ap- 
 parently about thirty years of age, issued forth, 
 who, casting a hurried glance at the sky, mut- 
 tered, " It will be here before sun-rise 1 no bed 
 forTiie — the fields, the fields !" 
 
 So saying, he drew his roquelaure about him, 
 and, turning to the right, took his course up 
 the street towards Piccadilly. By the unstea- 
 diness of his gait, it was evident that he had 
 been drinking deeply, though the precaution 
 indicated by what he had exclaimed in refer- 
 ence to the ominous appearance of the sky, 
 shewed that if intoxication had made his limbs 
 unsteady, it had not obscured his intellect. 
 
 " The streets are infernally empty this morn- 
 ing,^' ruminated he, as he walked along 5 
 " they'll be full enough before day-light, I 
 warrant me. The snoring fools will be roused 
 
 B 3
 
 10 FERRERS. 
 
 rather unceremoniouslyj I'm thinking, and the 
 women will appear in public without being 
 over particular about their toilet. I'll take care 
 of myself at all events. Nothing like that. 
 Why in^the name of common sense, should a 
 man be mindful of others ? Lord, what idiots 
 have I seen in the world, with their stupid 
 anxiety for their fellow-creatures ! Now I think, 
 that as long as one can be comfortable one- 
 self, it is good fun to look upon the torments 
 of one's friends, just as a storm out of doors 
 increases the luxury of the fire-side within. 
 But no house will be safe for the next few hours, 
 for I feel certain we shall have another earth- 
 quake soon, and the shock will be fifty times 
 as violent as it was last month. That fiery 
 cloud last night, which the English blockheads 
 call ^ the bloody cloud' — didn't hang over the 
 red horizon for nothing. I have seen it three 
 several times in Italy, and it was always fol- 
 lowed by an earthquake. Then this sulphu- 
 ' reous air ! Ugh ! The earth will rock with it 
 by and by. If it topple down a few houses,
 
 FERRERS. 11 
 
 and stretch to eternity the sleep of some of 
 their inmates, what care I ? Perhaps it may 
 rid me of a younger brother or so, and save me 
 a little money." 
 
 As thus the wanderer soliloquized, a terrific 
 flash of lisrhtninoj smote the earth at his feet. 
 He reeled a few paces in dismay, but, quickly 
 recovering himself and exclaiming, '^ I'm not 
 touched — I'm always lucky," pursued his 
 course. " But I must quicken my steps," 
 thought he, ^^and gain the fields beyond 
 Cavendish Square." 
 
 With this view, he strode as rapidly as the 
 fumes of his night excess would allow, along 
 Piccadilly till he approached St. Jameses Church. 
 Here hisprogress was stopped, for he was almost 
 blinded by a second mighty stroke of lightning, 
 the flashes of which now became incessant, 
 and were so great and strong and near the 
 earth, that every house in the street, right and 
 left, might have been distinguished as plainly 
 as under the noon-day sun. 
 
 Our wanderer, inebriated as he was, began to
 
 12 FERRERS. 
 
 feel the thrilling approach of fear. He seemed to 
 be the only moving creature in a mighty city 
 over which the menaces of heaven were hurled. 
 Though his eyes had been injured by the light- 
 ning, he peered wistfully around in the hope of 
 discerning a human being with whom he might 
 obtain the solace of companionship until the 
 terror of the time should be passed j but all 
 was silent and solitary as in a deserted city in 
 an Eastern wilderness. Among the numerous 
 houses and streets, there were no wayfarers, 
 nor signs of inhabitants ; even the lights which 
 burned in the chambers of some of the sleep- 
 ers could only be seen at the windows in 
 momentary glimpses, being for most of the 
 time drowned in the broad and ghastly eiful- 
 gence which, with brief intervals, was thrown 
 from the sky over the long line of buildings. 
 
 " What a morning !'^ thought our wanderer. 
 "But it will be worse before day-break. I 
 wish I could see some one to speak to, for 
 now that I am alone, all manner of miserable 
 ideas press upon me, and the lightning seems
 
 FERRERS. 13 
 
 to bum them into my soul. To the memory 
 of the curse which up to this time has rested 
 on my family, and which I seemed born to 
 dissolve, are now added wretched apprehen- 
 sions of I know not what, though they seem 
 to point to something fatal originating in this 
 dreary morning. But away with such idle 
 fears : it ill becomes me, in the pride of man- 
 hood, to play the old woman and harbour 
 ridiculous presentiments. Besides am I not 
 always lucky ? And see, the lightning has 
 abated. I can now walk on, and soon shall be 
 in the fields, for it would be madness to go to 
 the hotel, or trust myself to sleep.^^ 
 
 As he turned to pursue his course, he saw, 
 creeping round the comer of the little court on 
 the eastern side of the church, a woman who 
 advanced towards the spot where he stood. 
 Her gait was feeble and tottering. Her gar- 
 ments, which still bore evidence of ha\dng 
 been made according to the prevailing mode, 
 were now almost in rags, and seemed ill-cal- 
 culated to keep her warm in the night air.
 
 14 FERRERS. 
 
 Yet even in the midst of this apparent wretch- 
 edness, there was something unvulgar in the 
 poor creature's demeanour. 
 
 On approaching our wanderer, he called on 
 her to stop. 
 
 " Here, accept my arm, my dear,^^ said he. 
 ^'This is a dreadful morning: let us walk 
 together, and I will take care of you." 
 
 At the sound of his voice, the woman shook 
 like one suddenly startled, then sighing 
 heavily, she passed her arm within his. 
 
 '^ What !" continued he, " not a word ? Not 
 even a simple '^ thank ye r^ Come, let me see 
 your face. You tremble and turn away. Don't 
 be afraid. Trust yourself with me, and PU 
 take you where you shall be safe, for hark'ee, 
 my love, we shall have an earthquake before 
 dawn, and the streets will be rather perilous. 
 What I say is true, depend on't : Fve been 
 used to these things abroad. Come, let us 
 walk and talk." 
 
 Still the woman averted her countenance 
 and would not speak.
 
 FERRERS. 15 
 
 " Confound it !" exclaimed the man, " you 
 are not dumb, I suppose/' 
 
 Passing his arm around her waist, he drew 
 her close to his side, and lifting her bonnet, 
 looked into her face. No sooner had he done 
 this, than he recoiled, and, pushing her away, 
 ejaculated, " You 1" 
 
 If his gratification on beholding a fellow 
 creature was at first great, his anger was still 
 greater when he found who was his compa- 
 nion. 
 
 " What do you do in the streets ? Why are 
 you not at home ?" said he sternly. 
 
 "I have no home," she answered. 
 
 "That is a vile lie, Judith,'^ returned the 
 man. 
 
 '•How am I to get a home,^' responded she, 
 '• unless through your means ? You have left me 
 without a friend, and your promises of succour, 
 except just at first, have all been broken. When 
 you accosted m^ a fev/ minutes ago, I knew your 
 voice even though it sounded kindly, and I 
 feared to utter a word lest you should recognize
 
 16 FERRERS. 
 
 me, and speak harshly as you have done for 
 many months. Why you have been thus cruel, 
 I know not, for I am guiltless of wrong to 
 you. Pray do not taunt me now, for I am 
 starving." 
 
 " Wretch !" vociferated the man, " what has 
 become of the money I sent thee V 
 
 " You shall hear,*' meekly replied his com- 
 panion. " It is now eight weeks ago since you 
 doled me out two guineas ; and I have lan- 
 guished upon it ever since. The last farthing 
 is gone. This night I have been turned out 
 from my lodgings, and, wild with hunger and 
 despair, have staggered through the dismal 
 streets, with the hope — may Heaven pardon 
 me !— that— '' 
 
 *' Well ! go on,^' said he, with a bitter sneer. 
 " Don't be bashful. You'll thrive in time, 
 and do honour to your new profession.'^ 
 
 " Thou hard-hearted man. But beware ! 
 Cans^t thou stand here close to the buried 
 dead, and in the midst of this hideous light- 
 ning, and talk thus to me, thy victim ?"
 
 FERRERS. 17 
 
 " Leave me then," he replied ^ ^' I seek not 
 thy company/^ 
 
 " Alas !'^ rejoined the poor woman, in a tone 
 tremulous with sorrow, " had you a hundredth 
 part of my grief — could you know but for one 
 instant the despair of my broken fortunes — feel 
 the deep misery of my want, the bitterness of 
 my shame, or the ghastUness of my fear, you 
 could not refrain from helping me/^ 
 
 " This fine talking will not do, Judith/^ re- 
 turned her companion. " You make me sick 
 with hate." 
 
 " Great Heaven \" exclaimed Judith. " Have 
 I lived to hear this ?" 
 
 She then, with a strong effort, raised her 
 bent and shrinking frame to its utmost height, 
 and, extending one arm towards the sky, she 
 looked, as the lightning flashed about her, as 
 Cassandra might have looked, when screaming 
 her doleful prophecies in the streets of Troy. 
 
 Lifting up her voice, she ejaculated : " Mark 
 me, thou proud, treacherous, and cruel man. 
 Thou wilt some day be torn from thy station
 
 18 FERRERS. 
 
 by the vengeance of Heaven, and be exposed 
 to the scorn of the meanest of mankind. Guilt 
 will lie on thy heart — despair will cling to thee, 
 and thy fate be sealed by a miserable death ! 
 I— despised, betrayed, ruined, and perishing, 
 tell thee this. Remember my words, for they 
 are uttered by a dying voice.^' 
 
 " Miracle of insolence, begone ! What ! 
 have I not said months ago that I am tired of 
 thee, and that I loathe thee ? Will not this 
 suffice, but must I now spurn thee with my 
 foot ? Fly, and shun my rage.^' 
 
 '' Though I know that thou art brutal,^^ re- 
 plied the destitute woman, " I do not fear thee. 
 I will follow thee like thy shadow, and men 
 shall know thy shame.^^ 
 
 ^^ ikfiy shame ! Ha! ha! The shame, Ju 
 dith, sticks to thee, not to me. But I waste 
 time and words. Away, away ! Follow me 
 one single step at your peril. Mind, I give 
 you fair warning." 
 
 So saying, he crossed the road and struck 
 into Sackville Street.
 
 FERRERS. 19 
 
 Having reached the upper end of this long 
 line of houses, and turning into what is now 
 called Vigo Lane, he saw that he was pursued 
 by the woman. With a direful imprecation, 
 he seized her arm, and, throwing her violently 
 from him, she fell helplessly, (for famine had 
 weakened her) with her face against the curb- 
 stone. 
 
 The man bent over her for a while to ascer- 
 tain if she moved ; but, except that her frame 
 seemed slightly convulsed, she stirred not, and 
 he perceived, by the lightning's flash, a small 
 stream of blood creeping, like a red snake, 
 along the pavement from underneath his vic- 
 tim's head. He was greatly alarmed at this 
 unlooked-for efiect of his violence ; not, indeed, 
 as regarded the suflferer, for he would not have 
 cared how miserably she might perish, but in 
 reference to the consequences as affected him- 
 self. 
 
 Attempting, therefore, to soothe the poor 
 creature, he directed his voice to her ear, and
 
 20 FERRERS. 
 
 whispered, '^ Juditli, Judith ! Where are you 
 hurt ? Speak ! Do you hear me, Judith ? 
 Where are you hurt ?'^ 
 
 No reply was given to these questions, and 
 the body remained just as it had fallen. 
 
 " She^s dead, I think,^^ muttered the man to 
 himself. " What then ? She drew it on 
 herself — she was always obstinate. I fairly 
 warned her. I did not mean to kill ; I thought 
 only to terrify her. But I am safe,^' he con- 
 tinued, looking anxiously around. " Yes, yes ; 
 my usual luck — all is silent^-no one is in 
 sight. Besides, I'm sure a shock is at hand, 
 and then she'll be reckoned as a victim of the 
 earthquake, and so I shall eternally get rid of 
 her. Capital 1" 
 
 As he was escaping from the scene of his 
 brutality, a sullen, rumbling sound was heard 
 as from a distance. It came on with increased 
 volume, and seemed to be repeated by a hun- 
 dred echoes. 
 
 "Ah! what noise is that ?^' exclaimed he.
 
 FERRERS. 21 
 
 " It sounds like a mighty rush of wind, but the 
 air is still as death ! Giddiness creeps over 
 me. It is coming, it is coming ! no time is to 
 be lost — the fields, the fields 1'^ 
 
 And away he ran till he arrived near Hano- 
 ver Square, intending to cross Oxford Road, and 
 gain the open pasture-land, then lying between 
 Marylebone Lane, and the old village church. 
 
 But this point was not to be reached. An 
 awful roaring noise, as of the wheels of ten 
 thousand chariots fiercely driven, was now 
 heard— the ground, as if suddenly animated 
 and seeming to throb with a strange and 
 violent pulsation, shifted westward, then to- 
 wards the east, then westward again — dogs 
 howled — and the chime-hammers of the clocks 
 of St. George's and St. Jameses churches 
 struck with untimely and horrible dissonance 
 on the steeple bells. 
 
 Then came the mighty shock ! and, in an 
 instant, by one irresistible impulse, the win- 
 dows of the different houses in George Street, 
 and the neighbouring square, were thrown up.
 
 22 FERRERS. 
 
 and while some of the bewildered inhabitants 
 looked out in terror, others rushed with frantic 
 consternation into the streets, which, silent and 
 solitary as they had been the previous moment, 
 were now filled by shrieking crowds. 
 
 ^* Mercy, mercy 1" — " Save us. Heaven, save 
 us !'' " Doomsday is come ! the terrible day 
 of doom ! who may abide it ?^' and other such 
 ejaculations of despair were heard among the 
 multitude, some of whom having fainted and 
 fallen to the ground in the agony of fear, were 
 recklessly trampled on. Several ponderous 
 stones were loosened from the parapets. One 
 of the fragments, tumbling down with crushing 
 violence, killed a shivering, half-clad wretch 
 close to the side of our fugitive, whose foresight 
 now availed him nothing, and who stood with 
 a wild visage, scared by the danger, and by the 
 throes of his own bad con.science.
 
 FKRRERS. 23 
 
 CHAPTER II, 
 
 DAWK — FLIGHT OP THE MULTITUDE — UPROAR IV TYBURN' LAN'S — THE 
 PANATIC TROOPER, A.ND HIS PREDICTION' — MORN'IN'G DRAMS AKD 
 BAD COMPAN'Y. 
 
 Prophecying, with accents terrible, 
 Of dire combustion and confused events, 
 New hatch'd to the woeful time. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The dreadful convulsion lasted nearly a mi- 
 nute, then all was still. But the people, ap- 
 prehensive of a second shock, hastened, by a 
 simultaneous movement, some along Grosvenor 
 Street towards Hyde Park, and others across 
 Hanover Square in the direction of Maryle- 
 bone Fields, in which open spots it was evident 
 that the danger would be less than among 
 crowded buildings. 
 
 Looking towards the east, our wanderer
 
 24 FERRERS. 
 
 observed that the black and sulphureous clouds 
 which had congregated there, seemed split into 
 a thousand fragments ; and, through the rifts, 
 he saw long lines of silvery light, which, as 
 they widened, afforded glimpses into the serene 
 depths of heaven. It was the blessed dawn 
 shining in all its usual peacefulness, though so 
 fearfully heralded. The sun would soon be 
 up, to comfort, with its animating gleam, the 
 terrified creatures who could not yet shake off 
 their fear. 
 
 By former observation in Italy, our wan- 
 derer knew, from the scattering of the dense 
 clouds, from the purification of the air, and 
 from the tranquil day-break, that no second 
 shock would take place that morning. But, 
 being excited by what had happened around 
 him, especially by his own act of violence, of 
 the consequences of which he was still not a 
 little apprehensive, and being, moreover, at- 
 tracted by curiosity in respect of the panic- 
 stricken people, he followed one of the crowds 
 on its way to the Park, till, passing by the
 
 FERRERS. 25 
 
 new buildings close to Grosvenor Square, 
 where the shock had been more severely felt 
 than in any other part of town, he arrived in 
 Tyburn Lane, which, now, with its aristo- 
 cratical houses, is called Park Lane. 
 
 And here a curious scene presented itself. 
 Multitudes were scahng the walls of the wide 
 enclosure, encumbering each other by the im- 
 petuosity of their rush, and uttering every kind 
 of savage imprecation. All was tumult, outcry, 
 struggle, and bewildered flight. Women, 
 screaming for help, were holding up their 
 children to those who had climbed to the top 
 of the wall. Others were pihng chairs and 
 tables against its side to assist them in their 
 ascent ; while groups of old men were bawHng 
 for admission at the closed gates. 
 
 Amidst all this confusion, however, one 
 voice contrived, by vehemence and persever- 
 ance, to make itself heard above the surround- 
 ing clamour. It came from a gaunt man, more 
 than six feet high, dressed in the then un- 
 couth uniform of the Horse Grenadiers. Being 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 FERRERS. 
 
 heated with exertion, he had taken oflf his high, 
 peaked cap, so that his countenance was plainly 
 seen in the grey light of morning. His fore- 
 head was lofty; his face pale and haggard; 
 his eyes were wandering, anxious and tearful ; 
 and his whole appearance was that of one pos- 
 sessed — of one whose mind laboured with 
 thoughts too big for utterance, and yet too 
 weighty to be borne. To look at him was to 
 pity him, for his enthusiasm was evidently 
 '^ fretting his body to decay .'^ He had, on one 
 or two other occasions, attracted public atten- 
 tion, and some little of his history was known. 
 Gregory Skrymster, so was the trooper 
 called, had been in his regiment between five 
 and six years, during which time his general 
 conduct and attention to his military duties 
 had been most exemplary. Latterly, how- 
 ever, especially since his return from Flanders, 
 (the war in that country having ceased in 1 748,) 
 he had become moody and reserved, and, when 
 not on duty, carefully avoided all intercourse 
 with the generality of his comrades. He was
 
 FERRERS. 27 
 
 conspicuous among that little band of devout 
 soldiers^ who were presented to Lady Hun- 
 tingdon by Colonel Gumley, and to whom 
 the celebrated TMiitefield, her ladyship^s chap- 
 lain, addressed a pastoral letter. 
 
 Skrymster was never seen at the Canteen, or 
 other pot-house, but, on the contrary, was as 
 constant as possible in his attendance at such 
 places of worship as belonged to "the people," 
 as they were called, of Lady Huntingdon. In 
 these he had frequent opportunities of hearing 
 the singular, denunciatory, and fiery eloquence 
 of Whitefield, of whom it was said, that his 
 preaching had often driven people mad ; nay, 
 that some had actually given up the ghost 
 under the power of his searching oratory. Be 
 this as it may, it is certain that the effect of 
 this minister's words on Gregory was indehble. 
 The trooper had, moreover, been much noticed 
 by the Countess herself, who had supplied him 
 with tracts and sermons, which he studied with 
 unremitting application, and, at length, became 
 so wrought on by their fervour and enthusiasm, 
 
 c 2
 
 28 FERRERS. 
 
 that he imagined he was himself called to the 
 holy office; a delusion encouraged both by 
 Whitefield and Lady Huntingdon, who patron- 
 ized lay-preachers of every worldly calling, 
 among whom soldiers were not uncommon. 
 Witness the case of Captain Scott, of old Abra- 
 ham, of William Shent, who was first a peruke- 
 maker, then a soldier, and numerous others. 
 In the inspired pages of the Bible our trooper 
 was deeply versed. 
 
 Addressing the terrified populace, Gregory 
 shouted aloud, " Are you all mad ? What can 
 flight avail you ? Nothing ! — Can your doom 
 be averted by change of place ? No ! — The 
 wages of sin is death ! There will be no Zoar 
 to shelter you. Go where you may, the wrath 
 of the Destroyer will overtake you. The 
 lamentations of the prophet, even Jeremiah, 
 were typical of your present doleful state. ' Our 
 end is near — our days are fulfilled, for our end 
 is come. The punishment of thine iniquity is 
 accomplished, O daughter of Zion ! They 
 that did feed delicately, are desolate in the
 
 FERRERS. 29 
 
 streets : they that were brought up in scarlet, 
 embrace the earth. Fear and a snare is come 
 upon us ; desolation and destruction. The 
 joy of our heart is ceased ; our dance is turned 
 into mourning. The crown is fallen from our 
 head : woe unto us that we have sinned ! For 
 this our heart is faint; for these things our 
 eyes are dim.^ " 
 
 The sublime and awful words of the prophet 
 thus forcibly and sincerely enunciated by one 
 in so strange a garb for a preacher, arrested 
 the progress of some of the multitude, who 
 gathered around the half-crazed enthusiast, and 
 listened patiently to his words. The terror of 
 the earthquake had humbled their hearts, and 
 disposed them to Hsten to pious language, even 
 though it should bear the message of wrath and 
 denunciation. 
 
 After a short pause the trooper resumed his 
 harangue : 
 
 " We stand on the brink of a frightful pre- 
 cipice ! Babylon was destroyed for her giant
 
 30 FERRERS. 
 
 sins, and Nineveh, and so shall this mighty 
 city. Woe, woe, to London. Yea, I tell you 
 that every building in it will be swallowed up 
 before another month is passed, and nothing 
 shall remain but heaps and pools ! Woe, 
 woe 1" 
 
 Here Gregory was interrupted by one of the 
 bystanders, who inquired what authority he 
 had for these denunciations. 
 
 " 1*11 tell you, friend,'^ was his reply ; " so 
 may you believe and save your soul, for §hort 
 will be the time allotted you. Last night, I 
 was awakened from heavy sleep by a sudden 
 flash of light. My eye-lids burned — my brain 
 was on fire — my temples throbbed and leaped, 
 and I seemed to hear their beating. I started 
 from my bed in agony, and the room where I 
 lay was filled with flame. I gazed, in fear and 
 trembling, but could see nothing, though I 
 heard a voice which said unto me, 'Arise, 
 arise ! Go forth, son of man, and prophesy. 
 Rebuke the people for their abominations, and 
 tell them that their hour is at hand !* *'
 
 FERRERS. 31 
 
 ^' Take my advice," said one of the surround- 
 ing group, in a sympathizing tone. " Go home, 
 my poor man — go to your barracks. Tell the 
 doctor what has befallen you. You are de- 
 lirious and feverish." 
 
 " Thy caution is well meant, friend," replied 
 Gregory, ^'and I thank thee. But thou art 
 wrong. As surely as thou now seest in the 
 east the flush of the coming sun, so surely am 
 I entrusted with a great mission. But alas ! 
 I am not strong enough for it — I shall smk 
 under my task. As I arose from my bed, I 
 knew that some awful event would soon come 
 to pass ; and, lo, this earthquake ! If this wiU 
 not convince thee, neither woulds't thou be 
 convinced even should one arise from the 
 dead." 
 
 '' I do not admit that," observed the stran- 
 ger." 
 
 But Skrymster, not heeding the remark, 
 pursued his discourse. 
 
 " Hearken unto me, my brethren, and re- 
 pent. Repent, I say, while there is yet time
 
 32 FERRERS. 
 
 meet for repentance. Was there not an earth- 
 quake a month ago ? Is not this, from which 
 you are now madly flying, a more frightful one ? 
 And will not the next be more hideous still ? 
 Yea, and it will not leave one stone upon 
 ianother. And where then will be your pride, 
 and your pomps, and your vanities — your 
 feasts, your chariots, your purple and fine 
 linen, and your audacious wantonness ? The 
 earth, I tell you, will yawn like one monstrous 
 grave, and the quick be buried with the dead \" 
 
 " Heaven save us ! he speaks like one ap- 
 pointed !'^ muttered an old woman to her com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Listen to me — Glisten \" pursued the orator. 
 " The destroying sword is, even now, stretched 
 over your city. You are all doomed ! It 
 is given to me to know, that on this day four 
 weeks, the third visitation — a dreadful day of 
 doom — ^will come. The earth will reel and 
 yawn — the buildings will stagger and be down- 
 dashed — the cry of thousands, torn by des- 
 pair, will ring through the welkin — the air
 
 FERRERS. 33 
 
 will be on fire — and, if a distant wayfarer shall 
 turn his eyes towards the city, he will discern 
 only a smoky cloud hanging over the place ; 
 and, when that passes away, nothing shall 
 be found where London stood but a dismal and 
 putrid lake ! These things must assuredly 
 come to pass. Clothe yourselves, therefore, 
 in sackcloth and ashes, and repent. It may be 
 that I shall never more exhort you. In the 
 words of the pious Baxter : 
 
 * I preach as tbough I ne'er might preach again ; 
 
 And as a dying man to dying menl*** 
 
 Here the poor enthusiast paused, and, press- 
 ing his hand over his eyes, as it to cool them, 
 said meekly, " Now, leave me, my brethren. 
 I am faint, and will rest awhile." 
 
 He then seated himself on a stone step, 
 gazing listlessly at the scene before him. 
 
 While Skrymster was occupied in pro- 
 nouncing his imaginary prophecies, our heart- 
 less wanderer, who laughed vehemently as the 
 words of the itinerant preacher caught his 
 
 c 3
 
 34 FERRERS. 
 
 ears, was seated at a table covered with bottles 
 and glasses, which, with the usual prompt eye 
 to business, that distinguishes the greater por- 
 tion of our loving countrymen, had been 
 brought into the lane by a neighbouring pub- 
 lican, and which soon found abundant customers 
 among the crowd. Our profligate, who had 
 scarcely yet shaken off the effects of his pre- 
 ceding night^s debauch, indulged himself, never- 
 theless, with a dram or two of bad brandy, ^^ to 
 settle his nerves,'^ as he observed to a ragged 
 knavish-looking fellow seated at his side, who, 
 while engaging him in discourse, was diligently 
 employed in certain furtive experiments on his 
 pockets. 
 
 The disk of the sun had now topped the 
 horizon. Its beams fell full on the face of the 
 wanderer, and a physiognomy of more repul- 
 sive expression was, perhaps, never revealed. 
 His hair, drawn backward from its roots, 
 displayed a broad and rather lofty forehead; 
 the cheeks were puffed and bloated, as by 
 habitual intemperance ; the eyes were staring.
 
 FERRERS. 35 
 
 wild and arrogant, and the eye-brows seemed 
 as if constantly held up by a strong eflfort ; the 
 upper part of the nose was thick and vulgar, 
 and the nostrils were spread out like those of a 
 negro ; the mouth, which was drawn down at the 
 comers, was partly open, displaying prominently 
 a single tooth, or tusk in the upper jaw, which 
 rested on the lower lip j and the chin was unusu- 
 ally long, wide and coarse. Altogether, the effect 
 of the lineaments was ferocious, unseemly, 
 haughty and defying, with a slight appearance 
 of madness. In person, the man was burly, 
 and strongly built ; and his throat, ill-con- 
 cealed by a very scanty cravat, resembled that 
 of a bull. 
 
 The panic had now done its utmost, and was 
 beginning to subside ; the crowd was dis- 
 persing ; but our wanderer kept his seat at the 
 dram-table, and the poor, soul-stricken trooper 
 remained on the stone step, leaning his throb- 
 bing temples on his hand.
 
 36 FERRERS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DISMAL PROCESSION— WHAT HAPPENED TO THE WANDERER IN TY- 
 BURN LANE — HAVING BEEN ROBBED, HE IS HIMSELF TAKEN FOR 
 A THIEF — THE LANDLORD OP THE COCK AND THISTLE — A BRO- 
 THER'S LAMENTATION — A FRACAS — HOW LORD FERRERS'S LIFE WES 
 SAVED, AND WHO WAS HIS DELIVERER. 
 
 Do not insult calamity. 
 It is a barbarous grossness to lay on 
 The weight of scorn, where heavy misery 
 Too much already weighs men's fortunes down. 
 
 DANIEL. 
 
 As the trooper gazed with lack-lustre eyes 
 along Upper Grosvenor Street, at the corner of 
 which, as it opens into the lane^ he was sit- 
 ting, he saw, at a little distance, a group of men 
 approaching, with measured tread, towards 
 him. Four of them bore on their shoulders 
 the body of a woman stretched on a shutter ;
 
 FERRERS, 37 
 
 and the dismal procession was led by a young 
 man in the dress of a mariner who wept bit- 
 terly. On issuing into the lane, the party 
 turned to the right towards Tyburn, when one 
 of the crowd told them they were taking the 
 wrong direction, as the Hospital was near 
 Hyde Park Comer at the other extremity of 
 the lane, 
 
 " Hospital !'' exclaimed another by-stander. 
 "What's the use of the hospital ? The 
 woman's dead ! The doctors can't do nothing 
 for her but 'notamize her, and the young chap 
 there, who says he's her brother, wouldn't Hke 
 that, I'll be answerable. He seems to be in 
 trouble enough already." 
 
 Here another person interfered, and said, 
 " You are acting rashly, my friends. What 
 makes you so sure that the poor creature is 
 dead? She looks ghastly enough, I admit; 
 but for all that, life may still be in her ; and if 
 so, not to take her to the hospital, is to deprive 
 her of her only chance. Are you her brother?'' 
 continued he, addressing the young man.
 
 38 • FERRERS. 
 
 *' Yes, oh yes ! why do you ask ?'* 
 
 " I am a surgeon/' replied the stranger. 
 "If you will stop the bearers, I will exa- 
 mine the body ; and, should I find that life is 
 not utterly extinct, I should earnestly recom- 
 mend you to take your sister to the hospital.'^ 
 
 "Thank you. Sir — a thousand thanks. I 
 need counsel — indeed I do, for I am very, 
 very miserable.^' 
 
 Then directing the body to be lowered that 
 the surgeon might examine it, the mourner 
 burst into a fresh transport of grief. 
 
 " Does any one present know how the wo- 
 man came by her hurt ?'^ inquired the surgeon. 
 
 On hearing this question, our wanderer cast 
 a hurried look at the body, and seemed not a 
 little embarrassed. Calling the man who had 
 charge of the dram-table, he demanded to 
 know what he had to pay. 
 
 " I'm oiF,'^ said he, abruptly. " I like not 
 these sights. The woman's drunk you see, 
 and has tumbled down and cut her forehead. 
 I have seen quite enough. What's to pay ?"
 
 FERRERS. 39 
 
 *' In course you settle for the 'tother gentle- 
 man, Sir ?^' observed the tapster. 
 
 '* What other gentleman ?" 
 
 " Him which you was going to bet with, 
 when this here dead body come up.'* 
 
 " What do you mean ? I know nothing of 
 the man. / shall pay for myself, and he'll pay 
 for himself.'' 
 
 " Very true,'^ returned the victualler ; " only 
 you see he's mizzled. As you sot down toge- 
 ther, and took your drops in company, and 
 was discoursing all the time, I thought you was 
 friends, and so didn't mind the t'other's walk- 
 ing off. But as he's diddled me, I suppose I 
 must put up with the loss, only 'twill be a 
 warning another time. Your reckoning comes 
 to a couple o' shillin' for your own cheek." 
 
 Our unknown now sought in his pockets for 
 his purse, which, however, was nowhere to be 
 found. " Curse it 1" he exclaimed, " I'm un- 
 lucky this time. I've been robbed. How con- 
 foundedly provoking ! That fellow has picked 
 my pocket, and I havn't a single coin left."
 
 40 FERRERS. 
 
 " Gammon !*' muttered the tapster. " That 
 trick won't pass with me. Pay your score, or 
 you don't move from this place. You and him 
 as is bolted are a couple of queer prigs. But I 
 understand trap ; I know a thing or two. 
 Come;, down with your dust.^' 
 
 ^^ Impertinent scoundrel !" retorted the 
 other. '^ Follow me if you are in a hurry for 
 your money, and then you'll learn who it is 
 you have insulted.'^ 
 
 " A likely thing, indeed !" said the tapster. 
 " Follow you, eh ? And who's to mind my 
 goods here all the time ? A pretty trap ! But 
 I'm not to be bit again by a sneaking- budge 
 rascal. Jemmy Ram 's not fit to keep the 
 Cock .and Thistle if he stands that. A laced 
 coat and a cocked hat, don't signify much 
 with me, my friend. No, no. Pay me my 
 two shillin', or I'm d— d if I don't get a con- 
 stable and put you in quod. The beaks know 
 you well enough, I'll be bound, my covey.*' 
 
 This altercation, on more than one account, 
 was inexpressibly annoying to our unknown.
 
 FERRERS. 41 
 
 who, from the moment he discerned the dole- 
 ful party pacing slowly along Upper Grosvenor 
 Street, was seized with misgivings that the 
 figure he imperfectly beheld on the shutter 
 might be that of the unhappy creature whom 
 he had so savagely treated. The encounter 
 was not altogether what he liked. He was, 
 moreover, fearful that some one in the crowd 
 would recognize him at this awkward juncture, 
 for he thought it just possible that the poor 
 sufferer, should she not have died in the street 
 where he had thrown her down, might yet 
 rally sufficiently to denounce him by name 
 with her dying breath. In such an event, the 
 consequences to himself would have been 
 rather inconvenient, and he heartily wished 
 that he was in any other place than that where- 
 on he was compelled for a time to stand. His 
 whole thoughts were, indeed, absorbed in con- 
 siderations for his personal safety. The detest- 
 able vice of selfishness was so all-absorbing 
 in his bosom, that it left no room for remorse 
 at the recollection of his cowardly and brutal
 
 42 FERRERS. 
 
 act ; of him, perhaps alone in all the world, it 
 might be said that he was wholly destitute of 
 sympathy with his fellow creatures, and of 
 conscience in himself. 
 
 While the surgeon was busied in his pro- 
 fessional investigation, the heart-broken bro- 
 ther continued to "pour his dolours forth," 
 and to rack with pity the hearts of all, but one, 
 by whom he was surrounded. The prophet- 
 dragoon, already exhausted by his agitated 
 thoughts, felt his dejection increase as he lis- 
 tened to the youth's frantic bewailings over 
 the blood-stained figure of his sister. 
 
 ^^ Poor, desolate, forlorn girl !'^ he cried, as 
 he stood contemplating her motionless frame, 
 while the surgeon deliberately prolonged his 
 examination ; ^^ and is it thus we meet on my 
 return ? Despair and a violent death in the 
 train of poverty, ghastly poverty ! World, 
 world, how . bitter are thy trials ! Alas ! Ju- 
 dith, thou must have been heartlessly treated, 
 whether that fearful wound be an accident, or 
 whether it has been inhumanly dealt. Else
 
 FERRERS. 43 
 
 what means the ragged silken finery which scarce- 
 ly covers thee ? When I left thee — O, would 
 I had never done so ! — thy garments, though 
 humble, were neat and warm, and thou didst 
 bear up with virtuous and resolute strength 
 against our fate. And now — merciful Heaven 
 let me not think of it ! Ah, my poor sister ! 
 what dismal sufferings must thine have been 
 before thou could'st have brought thyself to 
 shame !^' 
 
 " Here, you saucy blackguard,'^ said our un- 
 known, impatiently addressing the tapster, 
 " take this ring, it will secure the payment of 
 your paltry two shilUngs.'^ 
 
 " Keep a civil tongue in your head," returned 
 Jemmy Ram, *^ or I won't take nothing but 
 the money. Besides, how do I know that the 
 ring a'n't flash ? Do you think I a'n't up to 
 the time of day ?^* 
 
 And while the bauble was subjected to a 
 close and deliberate scrutiny, the poor young 
 man broke out in fresh lamentation. 
 
 " She is dead — dead in her shame ! utterly
 
 44 FERRERS. 
 
 lost ! You see she moves not. She will never 
 breathe again ! So short a life and so huge a 
 misery! Better she had expired years ago, 
 than live to reap disgrace ! And yet, poor, un- 
 done Judith, would I could save thee ? Is she 
 gone. Sir, is she gone ? If what I heard when 
 I was abroad, be true, the blow was struck in 
 mercy — the grave will hide all." 
 
 " Take coQifort, my poor young man," said 
 Gregory advancing to the mourner. " Hea- 
 ven is all-bounteous. Its frowns are mercies. 
 Your sister is snatched from the temptations 
 of a wicked world — from the snares of the fiend 
 — and from such tormenting grief as now rends 
 you. We shall all soon follow, for behold the 
 end approacheth ! Thou and I and every one 
 here present will shortly be with her. Those 
 that are heavily laden will soon find rest. Let 
 this give thee comfort.^' 
 
 " Comfort ?' echoed the young man, catch- 
 ing at the last word, but not heeding those 
 which preceded it — " comfort, and I are stran- 
 gers, and shall be so evermore. I shall never
 
 FERRERS. 45 
 
 have a happy thought again unless it may be 
 found in revenge upon the libertine who has 
 betrayed and then cast off my sister/' 
 
 " Unsay that word ; it is impious !" exclaimed 
 Gregory. " Vengeance should come from on 
 high — it is not work for man." 
 
 "Away! you preach to a deafear/^ returned 
 the youth. " My own right hand shall punish 
 the despoiler. T will seek him to the end of 
 the earth. They have told me his name — it is 
 Ferrers — Earl Ferrers ; but his nobility shall be 
 no shield to him. O, that I could but once see 
 that man/^ he added fiercely ; " his blood should 
 wash out his offence !" 
 
 " Why there he sits \" thoughtlessly, or mis- 
 chievously, exclaimed one of the crowd, point- 
 ing to our wanderer. 
 
 '' Who r' 
 
 " Lord Ferrers !'^ 
 
 " Where ^ 
 
 "There, hiding his face at the table." 
 
 "Are you certain it is he V
 
 46 FERRERS. 
 
 " To be sure, Fve known him well ever since 
 he came to his title/* 
 
 " Enough/^ 
 
 Snatching a bludgeon from one who stood 
 near him, the youth darted with desperate 
 frenzy towards the place, followed by three or 
 four of the crowd, whose gestures were suffi- 
 ciently menacing. The Earl, for it was indeed 
 he, rose suddenly — stepped back a few paces, 
 and drew a pocket pistol, without one or two 
 of which it is known he never went about. 
 Pointing the weapon at his assailants, he warn- 
 ed them, as they valued their lives, not to ap- 
 proach him. But the youth was mad with 
 grief; and, though unarmed, save with the 
 bludgeon, he sprang upon his enemy, and, by 
 one dexterous blow, struck the pistol out of 
 Ferrers's hand. In another instant, a second 
 stroke felled the peer to the ground. 
 
 Hugh Bernard, such was the young man's 
 name, now snatched up the pistol, and would 
 have shot the peer, had not a person rushed
 
 FERRERS. 47 
 
 between and implored the assailant to de- 
 sist. 
 
 " Stand back, stand back !" cried Hugh Ber- 
 nard, " or take the consequences. Look at 
 that poor bleeding woman there, ruined by his 
 foul artifices. I am her brother — do you hear 
 me ? — her brother ! Stand back, or I fire.^^ 
 
 " I will not move one single inch,'' said he 
 who had interfered. " You see I am an old 
 man — my life is not worth much, and I cannot 
 sacrifice it better than in this cause. Here I 
 stand — kill me if you will ; but you shall not 
 murder Lord Ferrers.^' 
 
 This heroic determination arrested, for a 
 brief space, the fury of the young man. But 
 it might probably have soon returned with in- 
 creased deadhness of purpose, for the crowd 
 which stood gaping at the scene, did not seem 
 inclined to interfere, had not a more effectual 
 agency for the restoration of peace been at hand. 
 At that critical juncture, the surgeon had ascer- 
 tained that Hfe still fluttered in the veins of the 
 poor woman. Elevating his voice towards those
 
 48 FERRERS. 
 
 who were engaged in the fracas, he called out 
 loudly, " Shame, shame ! Cease your ill-timed 
 strife ; she is not dead ; there is still a chance 
 for her/' 
 
 At this announcement, the youth dropped 
 the pistol, and faintly ejaculating, " What do 
 I hear ? God be praised V' staggered to the 
 spot where his sister lay, and fell down by her 
 side in a swoon. 
 
 The preserver of Lord Ferrers now turned to 
 raise him from the ground. "Are you much 
 hurt, my lord ?'^ said he. 
 
 " No,^^ replied the Earl, " I was only stun- 
 ned. The folds of my hat broke the force of 
 the fellow's stick ; 'twas a shrewd blow, and, 
 except that I'm always lucky, might have gone 
 far to send me, in a hurry, to the other world. 
 But how fortunate, Johnson, it was that you 
 happened to be here. I suppose the earthquake 
 frightened you out of your bed as it has done 
 all these people. Some how or other things 
 always turn out well for me. In saving my 
 life, Johnson, I must say you have done
 
 FERRERS. 4 9 
 
 your duty, and approved yourself a trusty 
 steward.'^ 
 
 Mr. Johnson, who knew his lord well, was 
 fully prepared for this cool acknowledgment of 
 his services on the present occasion. He was 
 thoroughly aware that no act, however lofty, 
 generous or self-sacrificing, could inspire in the 
 breast of Ferrers the slightest emotion of kindly 
 feehng. Revenge, even for slight offences, was 
 the EarPs master passion. This so wholly en- 
 grossed his breast as to leave no room for any 
 other impulses, save those of sensual gratifica- 
 tion, even had he been capable of entertaining 
 them. To gratitude he was an utter stranger. 
 In benefiting him, the honour, he conceived, 
 was sufficient reward. Mr. Johnson knew this 
 perfectly, and yet did not hesitate to peril 
 his own life to save that of his employer, by 
 whom, and by his predecessors, Washington 
 and Henry, the second and third Earls, he had 
 been engaged from his youth in a confidential 
 situation. And well and faithfully had Mr. 
 Johnson discharged his trust. His stern and 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 FERRERS. 
 
 incorruptible honesty was combined with an 
 affectionate disposition, a warm sympathy with 
 distress, and a generous heart. As far as his 
 means went, no suffering ever met his eye, that 
 was not alleviated. 
 
 To any person who should have seen the 
 two individuals standing together on this event- 
 ful morning in Tyburn Lane, the contrast in 
 the appearance of the peer and his land-steward 
 would have been exceedingly striking — the 
 former presenting a discordant union of fero- 
 cious vulgarity and aristocratical hauteur, while 
 the latter, with his comely grey locks, was 
 characterised by an air of refinement, intelli- 
 gence and mildness. 
 
 ^' I say, Johnson," observed the Earl with a 
 laugh, " do you know that I am in limbo here 
 for two shillings ? An industrious fellow — set 
 on me no doubt by that scoundrel there at the 
 table who sells drams— has very adroitly ab- 
 stracted my purse from my pocket (there was'nt 
 much in it — I'm always lucky, you know) ; and 
 his accomplice, the aforesaid dealer in bad
 
 FERRERS 51 
 
 spirits, has threatened me with a constable be- 
 cause he and his friend have disqualified me 
 from paying my reckoning. Where's my ring, 
 sirrah ?'' he added addressing the owner of the 
 Cock and Thistle. " Don't stand there fum- 
 bling in your pockets, and looking like a con- 
 victed felon, but produce the ring, you scoundrel 
 and this gentleman shall pay you your money. 
 
 The ring, I say, this instant, or " 
 
 " O, my Lord,'^ repUed Jemmy Ram, who by 
 this time had disenterred the bauble from a heap 
 composed of halfpence, shillings, two or three 
 bits of chalk, a stick of sealing wax, and a to- 
 bacco stopper, '^ here it is, Never mind the 
 reckoning. Do you think I'd go to lay hands 
 on a Lord's ring ? No, the Lord help me ! I 
 humbly hope, my Lord, that your grace won't 
 think nothink of what has passed, for how was 
 I, you know, to know your honour ? especially 
 then so much queer company is about. I'm 
 sure if I had known you was a nobleman, I 
 should never have took you for a prig — I 
 should'nt, indeed, my Lord ; and you might have 
 
 D 2 
 
 UNlVERSmOFlUiWIS
 
 52 FERRERS. 
 
 had everything on the table here^ and, what's 
 more, the run of the Cock and Thistle, afore I'd 
 have axed for a single farden." 
 
 " So, fellow, you would first call me thief, 
 and then poison me, eh ? Is this your Ty- 
 burn practice ?" retorted the Earl, sHpping the 
 ring on his finger. " Take him at his word, 
 Johnson ; you hear he does not want the money. 
 Don't pay him. So much saved.'' 
 
 "I am not surprised at your anger, my 
 Lord," returned Mr. Johnson. " But," added 
 he, with a smile at the amount of Jemmy 
 Ram's claim, "let us always pay our just 
 debts." 
 
 "No, no!" exclaimed Ferrers, '^I'm pe- 
 remptory — the fellow shan't have a farthing. 
 Look at that crowd of fools !" he continued, 
 glancing at the group assembled round the 
 poor woman ; " how they press about the crea- 
 ture, instead of giving her air. One would 
 think they never saw a drunken hussy before. 
 That fellow, who calls himself her brother, is a 
 rank impostor in the disguise of a seaman —
 
 FERRERS. 53 
 
 another of the Cock and Thistle gang, I ^11 be 
 sworn," he added, with a threatening gesture 
 at the landlord. " I Ve a great inclination to 
 have him apprehended for an assault. But 
 I Ve no time just now. Never mind ; though 
 he escape me at present, his hour will come. 
 No one ever offended me with impunity 1^' 
 
 " Nay, my Lord,'^ observed Mr. Johnson, 
 who anticipated some deadly evil, from the ex- 
 asperated feelings entertained towards each 
 other by Hugh Bernard and the peer, " think 
 no more of the occurrence ; the man is beneath 
 your resentment. Let me entreat your Lord- 
 ship to forget the whole affair.^^ 
 
 " What 1" furiously exclaimed Ferrers, " for- 
 get an infamous and cowardly villain, who 
 threatened, while I lay on the ground, to shoot 
 me with my own pistol ! Forget him ? if I do, 
 may I be smitten bhnd ! Had you not pre- 
 vented him, would he not have murdered 
 me?" 
 
 " I rejoice to think I have been of such ser- 
 vice," returned Mr. Johnson.
 
 54 FERRERS. 
 
 "Yes, 3^es/' rather impatiently rejoined the 
 peer^ who began to fear he had spoken too 
 warmly of his steward's dauntless act ; " still, 
 Johnson, I cannot but believe, that even had your 
 interposition not been so well timed, I should 
 have been protected by the high destiny of my 
 order. We noblemen bear charmed lives, as 
 Macbeth says. Who ever heard of a peer of 
 the realm being put to a violent dpath in the 
 open places of London, and at broad daylight ? 
 You may just as well talk of hanging a lord, 
 here, at Tyburn. No, no ! — the thing 's im- 
 possible. Still, I will not forget his intention. 
 He shall bitterly repent it." 
 
 Here, a sudden movement among the crowd 
 round the poor woman, interrupted the Earl's 
 oratory, and accelerated his departure. 
 
 " I must be off, Johnson,'^ said he, " or there 
 will be another disturbance. Good morning. 
 Let me see you to-morrow. Mind the tapster 
 don't get his money.*' 
 
 So saying, the peer struck off rapidly towards 
 Piccadilly, and soon reached his hotel. And
 
 FERRERS. 55 
 
 when he was out of sight, Mr. Johnson paid 
 Jemmy Ram his two shillings, and walked to- 
 wards the mourner and his sister. 
 
 '^That *ere Lord's a rum customer, any how/' 
 muttered the tapster to himself; "but the 
 'tother gentleman 's a trump 3 if he isn't, my 
 name 's not Jemmy.'' 
 
 C
 
 56 FERRERS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GOOD TOR EVIL — TYBURN FIELDS — A FEW WORDS TOUCHING AN- 
 CIENT AND MODERN TYBURN — THE HUT — DOROTHY TULL'S FRIGHT 
 —MR. JOHNSON, GREGORY SKRYMSTER, AND HUGH BERNARD- 
 STORY OP THE LATTER — HIS EARLY RECOLLECTIONS — PLEASANT 
 LIFE AT THE VILLA AT WEST END — AN OMINOUS VISITER —DIS- 
 ASTROUS INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 They that say- 
 Hope never leaves a wretched man that seeks her, 
 I think are either patient fools or liars ; 
 I'm sure I find it so, 
 
 BEAUMONT & FLETCHER. 
 
 On reaching the spot where Judith Bernard 
 lay, Mr. Johnson found the surgeon giving di- 
 rections for her removal to the hospital— an 
 order in which the brother, who had recovered 
 from his swoon, acquiesced, though not with- 
 out evident reluctance, and expressions of 
 regret that his poverty would not enable him 
 to have her attended in his own room, and
 
 FERRERS. 57 
 
 under his own eye. A vein had been opened 
 in the sufferer^s arm, and though pulsation had 
 faintly returned, she still remained in a state of 
 unconsciousness. 
 
 Mr. Johnson, who had noticed Hugh Ber- 
 nard's wish, that his sister should be conveyed 
 to his own lodging, now addressed the young 
 man. 
 
 " Having, a few minutes ago,^^ he observed, 
 ^' heard what you said here in the lane, I can- 
 not affect to be ignorant of the cause of your 
 deadly hostility to Lord Ferrers. Let me 
 admonish you, however, that even should your 
 conjecture, as respects his Lordship, be correct, 
 it is wicked and irrational to attempt to remedy 
 one crime by the commission of another. Had 
 you succeeded in your design of murdering 
 Lord Ferrers, you, yourself, would have been 
 put to death at the gallows, and I need scarce- 
 ly ask how that would have benefited your poor 
 sister.^^ 
 
 " What !" demanded Hugh, " is the hbertine 
 perverter of innocence, who afterwards aban- 
 
 D 3
 
 58 FERRERS. 
 
 dons it to want and despair, to go unpun- 
 shed?'' 
 
 "'No/' rejoined Mr. Johnson. "The law is 
 open to you ; and, if its redress is inadequate, 
 there is an unerring and awful Avenger, whose 
 justice, sooner or later, will reach every culprit. 
 You cannot fail to recollect, for I see you are not 
 uneducated, who it is that has said ' Vengeance 
 is mine !* You may, moreover, be wrong in 
 fixing the guilt on Lord Ferrers. You are too 
 impetuous. I, who never injured you, might 
 have fallen a victim to your blind fury, had not 
 your hand been paralysed, as though from 
 Heaven. But, I will return good for evil." 
 
 "The world is not all wicked," thought 
 Gregory Skrymster, who had been listening 
 and looking on with intense interest 5 " here is 
 surely a good man. Were there ten such, 
 peradventure, we might yet, as was promised 
 to Abraham, be saved. But, alas ! I fear our 
 doom has gone forth. We must all perish, 
 or wherefore the vision }" 
 
 " As I see you wish to take your sister po
 
 FERRERS. 59 
 
 your own lodgings/^ resumed Mr. Johnson, 
 after a brief pause," I will furnish you with 
 means to that end. If this gentleman/^ turning 
 to the surgeon, " who has thus far restored the 
 sufferer, will undertake to attend her, the ex- 
 pense shall be mine, and I will, moreover, see 
 that neither you nor your sister shall want any 
 comfort." 
 
 Poor Hugh Bernard, to whom the words of 
 consolation had long been strangers, looked 
 fairly bewildered at this unexpected advent of 
 a friend, and could only exclaim, " Heaven^s 
 blessing, and the thanks of the broken-hearted 
 be with you, Sir. Pardon'me, pardon me!'^ 
 
 " Nay," returned Mr. Johnson, " I require 
 not thanks. Perhaps I may not be so disin- 
 terested as you imagine. Do not suspect me 
 of romantic generosity. I have a motive in what 
 I do, and must require something of you in 
 return. But," he continued, "we have no 
 time now for explanation. Our first duty is 
 with the patient. Where do you Uve r"
 
 60 FERRERS. 
 
 " In a cottage in Tyburn Fields/' was the 
 reply. 
 
 Having ascertained that the surgeon, who, 
 indeed, was but a young practitioner, would 
 accompany the party, the all but inanimate 
 woman was again lifted on the men's shoulders, 
 and the procession, accompanied by Mr. John- 
 son, set forward for Hugh Bernard's residence, 
 followed by the trooper, who could not suppress 
 the curiosity which had been awakened in him 
 by what he had already seen and heard. 
 
 They soon reached their destination — a 
 mean hut near the terrible place of execution — 
 that EngUsh Golgotha, which, for more than 
 three hundred years, had been polluted by 
 the blood and the bones of criminals, for it was 
 often a scene of unhallowed burial, as well as 
 of violent death. 
 
 A few words connected with this locality 
 may not here be out of place. Tyburn was an- 
 ciently a village on the eastern bank of a rivulet, 
 close to which nine conduits for supplying the
 
 FERRERS. €1 
 
 city of London with water, were erected about 
 the year 1238. Here stood the Lord Mayor's 
 banqueting- house, where his Lordship occasion 
 ally repaired with the aldermen and their ladies 
 in waggons to view the city conduits, and, 
 afterwards, according to the most approved 
 and immemorial city practice, the company 
 were feasted at the banqueting-house. At this 
 time, we may suppose the village to have been 
 a simple, innocent, rustic place. 
 
 But the destiny of Tyburn, until the present 
 day when its fate has been magnificently re- 
 deemed, was a miserable one. First the village 
 went gradually to decay ; scarcely a house re- 
 mained in it ; and its church, named St. John 
 the Evangelist, being left alone by the highway, 
 was robbed of its books, vestments, bells, 
 images, and other decorations — a sort of pre- 
 figurement of the subsequent connexion of the 
 spot with robbers. The church was soon af- 
 terwards pulled down. 
 
 We know not exactly at what time Tyburn
 
 62 FERRERS. 
 
 was first used as a place of execution, but 
 it is certain that in the early part of the six- 
 teenth century, criminals were conveyed thi- 
 ther to be put to death. Elizabeth Barton, 
 the Maid of Kent, was hanged there, together 
 with some of her adherents, in 1533, and, 
 until 1783, when the '^dreadful tree" was 
 finally removed, the place was constantly fami- 
 liar with blood and death. 
 
 In the year 1750, the period at which the 
 present story commences, Tyburn consisted of 
 grass land, with here and there a low mud hut, 
 tenanted by laundresses, carpet-beaters, and 
 other followers of humble occupations. The 
 spot was very open and picturesque. Looking to 
 the south, the eye caught the distant range of 
 the Surrey Hills, while on the north, the view 
 was bounded by the ridge of uplands, extending 
 in a gradual and downward slope, from Hamp- 
 stead, westward to the Edgeware Road. 
 
 Close to Tyburn, not more than twenty 
 years ago, stood a colony of wretched cottagers, 
 among whom, as if in continuation of the for-
 
 FERRERS. 63 
 
 met horrid character of the place, larked many 
 lawless and desperate individuals — thieves, 
 coiners, bruisers, &c ; and where dog-fighting, 
 cock-fighting, bull-baiting, badger-drawing, 
 and other knansh sports, drew together the 
 fooHsh and brutal of all classes, titled and 
 untitled, about London. This vile neighbour- 
 hood no longer exists ; but on its site stand, in 
 the present day, some of the most magnificent 
 houses in the \acinity of the metropolis — (so 
 great a change has the encroaching arms of 
 the town worked even in the most squalid lo- 
 calities.) Here, in costly mansions, reside 
 Bishops, Judges, and other magnates of the 
 land; and Peeresses give splendid routs, where 
 formerly a yelling multitude pressed to see a 
 murderer put to death, and where, in more 
 recent times, a haunt was afi'orded for despe- 
 rate violaters of the law. 
 
 But to return to our tale : — As the party 
 halted at the little gate opening into a few 
 yards of turf surrounding the hut, a woman, 
 whose arms and hands were dripping with
 
 64 FERRERS. 
 
 soap-suds^ came from the house, staring with 
 amazement and terror. 
 
 " What's all this ?^' she exclaimed. '^ Mercy 
 on me ! Why do you stop here ? And with 
 a dead corpse, too ! Do you mean to frighten 
 a hard-working body out of her wits ? Take 
 the corpse away. There's no public-house 
 here to receive it. Take it away. What do 
 you stop at my door for? The body don't 
 belong to me. I'm a poor lone woman. Go, 
 go ! The sight is enough to turn every 
 drop of blood in one's veins." 
 
 '^ Don't be alarmed, my good Tul^ said 
 Hugh Bernard, stepping from the crowd 
 which had concealed him. " I have found my 
 sister — poor Judith — there she lies 1 But she 
 is not dead — not quite dead P' And as 
 he spoke, his voice trembled and became hys- 
 terical. 
 
 "Whatl" ejaculated Mrs. Tull, "is that 
 white figure stretched out there, poor Judith 
 Bernard ? God's will be done ! Bring her in 
 Oh, master Bernard, and is it thus you have
 
 FERRERS. 65 
 
 found the lost one ? Is it thus you have 
 brought her home ? Must you and I look on 
 upon another tragedy ? Alas ! we have seen 
 enough of doleful sights. This way/^ she 
 continued, leading the bearers into an inner 
 room ; and Judith was soon laid upon her 
 brother's bed. 
 
 Having seen his patient thus lodged, Mr. 
 Kirklandj the surgeon, departed, promising to 
 return with all possible speed, and bring medi- 
 cine. Dorothy TuU took her station by the 
 bed-side of Judith; Mr. Johnson remained 
 in the outer room with Hugh Bernard ; and 
 Gregory Skrymster craved permission to bear 
 them company, with a view of affording such 
 spiritual consolation as was in his power. 
 For some little time, the three companions 
 remained silent, each being apparently ab- 
 sorbed in his own thoughts. 
 
 At length Mr. Johnson thus addressed 
 Hugh Bernard : 
 
 " Several things are connected with our 
 encounter this morning, of which I am anxious
 
 66 FERRERS. 
 
 to hear an explanation. My motive is not 
 mere curiosity. It arises from an earnest 
 desire to serve you, and, at the same time, to 
 protect one against whom you have vowed a 
 ferocious revenge. We will talk more of this 
 by and by. Meanwhile, perhaps, you will 
 have no objection to explain how it happens 
 that you, in the garb of a common sailor, should 
 be gifted with language and general manner so 
 much above your station — how your sister 
 came by her hurt — where you found her on 
 this terrible morning — and why you connect 
 Lord Ferrers with her misery. If you doubt 
 not my sincerity, you will, perhaps, be candid 
 on these points.'^ 
 
 "Your sincerity," replied Hugh Bernard, 
 *' has been sufficiently tested this morning, as 
 well towards myself as towards him whom I be- 
 lieve to be the betrayer of my unhappy and, I 
 fear, dying sister. You have a right to know all? 
 and if you can bear to hear a story of almost 
 unvaried sadness, nothing shall be concealed 
 from vou."
 
 FERRERS. 6"] 
 
 ^^Hold!'' exclaimed the trooper. "I did 
 not come here to listen to secrets, but to calm 
 with the words of everlasting truth, the throb- 
 bings of a heart tried beyond its strength. 
 Your case, young man," he added, addressing 
 Hugh Bernard, '^ seemed to be a desperate one. 
 You had forgotten the divine injunction, 
 ' Do good to them that hate you,^ and were 
 rushing on a sin of which, in the present awful 
 state of the world, no time could be allowed 
 you for repentance — ' the night cometh when 
 none can work.^ It was the desire of exhorting 
 you against this sin, that made me struggle 
 with the weariness that even now overcomes 
 me. But I see you are already in the hands of 
 a pious man. 1 will, therefore, depart, and 
 seek my rest.'* 
 
 ^^Nay," observed Mr. Johnson, who was 
 sensibly touched by the honest enthusiasm of 
 the dragoon, " nay, my good friend, do not go. 
 You may aid me in the cause I wish to pro- 
 mote. Besides, you are faint, and, doubtless 
 need refreshment ; so do we all. But we must
 
 68 FERRERS. 
 
 not take the poor woman of the house from 
 her charge. I will sally out, and see if a break- 
 fast can be procured among the cottages here/' 
 
 So saying, he left the hut, and soon returned, 
 followed by a woman bearing a tray with a 
 plain, but comfortable morning repast. 
 
 When the meal was finished, Mr. Johnson 
 begged Hugh Bernard to commence his story, 
 which he did as follows : 
 
 " My sister and I are twins. We know not 
 our parents; for our mother, we have been 
 told, died in giving us birth, and of our father's 
 name, no mention has ever been made. We 
 are now twenty years of age, the last four of 
 which have been passed in a fearful and un- 
 friended struggle with ill-luck, ending in the 
 seduction, and, as I tremble to anticipate, the 
 miserable death of poor Judith. O, Sir, you 
 little know — you cannot even guess — the love 
 existing between twins ! nor imagine how far 
 it surpasses all other brotherly and sisterly 
 aifection. Bear with me for awhile — my heart 
 is fulL'^
 
 FERRERS. 69 
 
 He paused, and not a word was uttered by 
 his companions to disturb the sacredness of 
 his sorrow. 
 
 After an interval of a few minutes, Hugh 
 Bernard again spoke. " How hushed is every 
 thing in the next room ?' he exclaimed. " Be- 
 fore I tell you what I have suffered, I will go in 
 and see if there is any change." And, noise- 
 lessly opening the door, he disappeared. 
 
 His return was immediate. ^^ She sleeps !" 
 he said. ^^ So far there is comfort." 
 
 " Cherish it," observed Gregory. '^ It 
 comes from the Great Bestower of all consola- 
 tion. Blessed be His name 1" 
 
 " I told you," resumed Bernard, " that our 
 last four years have been a season of dreadful 
 trial. Up to that time, we were comfortably 
 taken care of by a lady whom we supposed to 
 be our mother, though she did not bear our 
 name. A good education was bestowed upon 
 Judith and myself, and though we lived fru- 
 gally, we felt not even the approaches of want. 
 We were beloved by our supposed parent, and
 
 70 FERRERS. 
 
 life seemed to smile upon us. Judith, poor 
 thing ! was all lightness of heart and innocent 
 gaiety, as she plied her household task, or 
 conned her school-lesson beneath the encourag- 
 ing looks of her good protectress; while I, hav- 
 ing been promised a commission in the army 
 when I should be old enough for service, used to 
 read, with boyish exultation^ the details of the 
 glorious battles of Dettingen and Culloden, 
 and pant for the time when I, also, should 
 fight by the side of our veteran King, and the 
 brave Duke of Cumberland.^' 
 
 "In being snatched from this ambition/' 
 said Skrymster, " behold the hand of mercy ! 
 War is an unholy thing. Remember, I pray 
 you, that you heard this from a soldier. The 
 Founder of our faith came to distribute peace 
 on earth, and good will to all men." 
 
 "Yes," observed Mr. Johnson, "happy 
 would it be for us all, could we follow out His 
 divine intention." 
 
 " But the world groans with wrong, which 
 too often can only be redressed by blood,''
 
 FERRERS. 71 
 
 exclaimed Hugh Bernard, fiercely. Let me, 
 however, finish my recital. Our kind guardian, 
 her only servant, (the poor woman who now 
 inhabits this hut,) Judith and I, hved, up to 
 the time of which I have spoken, in a lonely 
 house, at West End, near Hampstead. Still, 
 though lonely, it was not cheerless ; for, with 
 the pretty country round about — the green and 
 woody lane that led to the door — the pleasant 
 garden, varying in its beauties every month — 
 the little porch, overhung, in summer, with wild 
 roses and honeysuckles — and the books, (for 
 we were great readers,) and other comforts 
 indoors, we had no unpleasant feeling of soli- 
 tude. Then, when the occupations of the 
 day were over, Judith^s laugh used to ring so 
 merrily through the house, that the morning 
 lark could hardly be gayer than we ; and, be- 
 fore we withdrew to bed, and while we knelt 
 in the parlour to the night-prayer, the words 
 sounded so persuasively in the innocent, and, 
 for that moment, plaintive voice of my sweet
 
 72 FERRERS. 
 
 sister, that we thought it impossible evil could 
 ever come near us/' 
 
 ^' We should ever watch and pray," observed 
 Gregory. " It is on the stillest summer eve 
 that the thunder-cloud bursts most fearfully.^' 
 
 " About this time/' continued Bernard, " the 
 good lady who sheltered us was pestered with 
 the visits of a dissolute- looking man, whose 
 bearing towards her was that of a relation. 
 She always appeared disquieted after he had 
 called, and the bare mention of his name would 
 throw a shade over her countenance. We did 
 not wonder that it should be so, because he 
 was an ill-looking fellow — reason enough in 
 our young minds. His forbidding appearance 
 was not so much, however, from any original 
 defect of nature, for his features were regular, 
 and his figure tall and commanding, as from 
 a certain haggard and villainous expression — a 
 bloated, pale, anxious, and yet reckless look — 
 a look of hopeless care, and half insane abandon- 
 ment, which I have since observed to be charac- 
 teristic of idlers and confirmed drunkards. In-
 
 FERRERS. 73 
 
 deed, he was often intoxicated, and frequently 
 looked as if he had not been in bed all night when 
 he intruded on our quiet circle. We soon per- 
 ceived it was not easy to get rid of him without 
 a gift of money. My sister and I thought we 
 observed something of a resemblance, in feature, 
 between him and our supposed mother, but 
 this did not, in the least, prevent the strong 
 dislike we instinctively bore to him. We used 
 to compare him to Satan, in ' Paradise Lost/ 
 who broke in upon the bliss of Eden. 
 
 '' On one occasion, however, a violent alterca- 
 tion arose between this man, whose name was 
 Robert Foxston, and our guardian ; after which, 
 to the great relief of us all, he appeared no 
 more at our abode. Thus, our only source of 
 annoyance seemed stopped, and our happiness 
 was perfectly unclouded. 
 
 " But alas ! this serenity was not long to 
 continue. Other evils were advancing upon 
 us. For several months during the summer of 
 the year 46, Judith and I had perceived a great 
 falling-off in the spirits of our kind mother, as 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 FERRERS. 
 
 we termed our protectress. Her occasional 
 assumption of cheerfulness was evidently 
 forced : it was obvious that something lay 
 heavily on her mind : her smiles were feigned ; 
 her struggling sighs were real : Judith^s play- 
 fulness was idly responded to, and when she 
 repeated the evening prayer, her guardian's 
 eyes, which at that time used to be lighted 
 with serene hope, were dimmed by tears, and 
 fixed anxiously on the face of her young charge. 
 My sister and I often spoke to each other of 
 this change in the mood of our supposed 
 parent, and concluded that some calamity 
 hovered over us ; but of its nature we were 
 unable to form any definite guess, though we 
 imagined it must, in some way, be connected 
 with Foxston. 
 
 " One evening in the autumn — never shall I 
 forget it — the good woman called us into her 
 room, and, mournfully bespeaking our atten- 
 tion, told us she was not our parent —that our 
 mother had died at our birth — that we were 
 twins, and that we had been consigned to her
 
 FERRERS. 75 
 
 care by our father, who, in yearly payments, 
 supphed her with means for our subsistence 
 and education. She added, that when we were 
 ten years of age, our father lost his life in a 
 duel, but the allowance for our maintenance had 
 been continued to that year, when she had re- 
 ceived notice that it would no longer be paid." 
 
 " I thinV^ interrupted Mr. Johnson, " you 
 said this was in 46.*' 
 
 " It was," replied Bernard. 
 
 '^ What was the name of your guardian ?'^ 
 
 ^^Mrs. HoUis.^' 
 
 " Go on w^th your story ,^^ ejaculated Mr. 
 Johnson, sighing heavily, as if under the pres- 
 sure of a painful surmise. 
 
 '^"\^Tien our protectress had reached this 
 part of her communication, we implored her 
 to acquaint us who our father was. This she 
 refused, telhng us she was under a solemn 
 promise never to divulge his name. 'But,' 
 added she, with a faltering voice, ' I will never 
 forsake you, my dear children, for you have been 
 always good, pious and gentle, and you shall 
 
 E 2
 
 76 FERRERS. 
 
 not be turned out to the merciless world. We 
 must, however, not expect to live as we have 
 hitherto done. This house — this happy home 
 — can no longer shelter us. My own resources 
 are small ; but, in a meaner residence, we may 
 still keep together, and our industry, though 
 I hardly know how it is to be directed, may 
 better our fate.' 
 
 " Then, folding us in her arms with a con- 
 vulsive pressure, our dear friend bade us ' good 
 light,' in a tone of unusual solemnity, and 
 imploring the blessing of God on our heads, re- 
 tired to her chamber. I never again saw her 
 alive !'' 
 
 At this period of his narration, the young' 
 man leaned back in his chair, being strongly 
 agitated ; and it was some time before he was 
 sufficiently composed to resume his story.
 
 FERRERS. 77 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AX OMINOUS NIGHT — ALARM — 3CKNB WITH HOUSB-BRKAKERS — FATAL 
 EVBXT— VOYAGB TO JAMAICA— A RECOGNITION IN SPANISH TOWN 
 — NEWS — RETURN TO LONDON — HUGH BERNARD'S DISCOVERY OK 
 HIS SISTER — CONCLUSION 07 HIS STORT. 
 
 Duke. This was a fatal night. 
 Gent, Heaven has his working, ' 
 
 Which we cannot contend against. 
 
 BEAUMONT & FLETCHER. 
 
 "The sad intelligence communicated to us 
 by Mrs. Hollis/' at length continued Hugh 
 Bernard, " was the first blow of misfortune 
 Judith and I had ever felt. It stunned us. 
 We gazed at each other with bewildered looks, 
 under the pressure of a crowd of strange and 
 terrible sensations. We scarcely understood 
 their full import, but we knew that our happi- 
 ness was gone — that the last Sabbath of our 
 souls had passed. A direfid revelation had been
 
 78 FERRERS. 
 
 made : we were the children of sharae — our 
 mother's eyes had closed before she could 
 have seen us — our father had met a bloody 
 death — and we were left in utter destitution, 
 objects of the bounty of one who could ill 
 afford to succour us ! But what we felt the 
 most severely was, that we must no longer 
 regard dear Mrs. HoUis as our mother. The 
 long habit of our loving hearts was stopped, 
 and we staggered beneath the sudden jar. The 
 wretchedness arising from this seemed myste- 
 rious and inexplicable : we could scarcely bring 
 ourselves to believe it : it stupified us : we 
 could not weep. I kissed Judith and led her 
 to her room, but, like her, was unable to speak. 
 We parted, for the first time, without the mu- 
 tual ' Good night.' 
 
 " All in the house was now still, except that, 
 as I stood at the door of the room wherein 
 Mrs. HoUis and Judith slept, I could hear my 
 sister's voice supplicating Heaven for protec- 
 tion during the night. 
 
 "This having ceased, the gloomy silence
 
 FERRERS. 79 
 
 was broken only by the measured and drowsy 
 ticking of the clock on the landing-place. I 
 stood motionless as a statue, ruminating with 
 grave and dreamy ideas over what I had heard, 
 and presaging all manner of gaunt disasters 
 which were the more to be dreaded, seeing that 
 they assumed no definite shape. 
 
 " How long I continued in this wretched 
 state of bewilderment, I know not; but the 
 time could not have been brief; for I was 
 aroused from my reverie by the clock of 
 Hampstead Church, plainly heard in the dumb 
 midnight, striking ' One.^ I had never before 
 been out of bed so late, yet I felt not the least 
 approach of sleep. Every nerve in my frame 
 was irritable and wakeful. To close my eyes 
 seemed impossible. I gasped with some unde- 
 finable apprehension and, groping the way to 
 my own room, for my light had burnt to its last 
 flash, I sat down at the open window, and 
 sought refreshment in the air which swept 
 past me. 
 
 " Every thing around was wrapped in thick-
 
 80 FERRERS. 
 
 est darkness : I never saw so black a night. 
 A few stars, indeed, shone in the solemn firma- 
 ment, but a thick pall seemed spread over 
 the earth. Though I had often heard people 
 talk of' darkness that might be felt, I never 
 knew till that night the full significance of 
 the expression. I tried to discern the outline 
 of the trees in the garden, but all was blank. 
 Still, as the breeze was balmy and cooled my 
 fevered brow, I kept my position and thought 
 not of going to bed. 
 
 " As I sat absorbed in meditation and think- 
 ing what steps I could take to earn my liveli- 
 hood, and so relieve Mrs. HoUis from the bur- 
 then, which fate and her own kind heart had 
 drawn upon her, I saw, on a sudden, a twinkling 
 light which had no sooner flickered on the 
 solid darkness than it disappeared. I was not 
 alarmed at this, but took it for a Will o' the 
 Wisp, though I had never before seen any exhal- 
 ation of this sort in our neighbourhood, the 
 ground about us not being marshy. I looked 
 intently for its return, because in my unhappy
 
 FERRERS. 81 
 
 and sleepless state, anything which could divert 
 the gloom of the hour would have been welcome. 
 But the light did not re-appear. 
 
 " Presently I heard a rustling among the 
 boughs under my window, as of some person 
 creeping cautiously through them. I listened 
 again and all was still. ' Ah !' thought I to 
 myself, ' misery and watchfulness have made me 
 nervous and fanciful. I was deceived. The 
 night-silence is unbroken.' 
 
 '^ No sooner had I concluded thus, than the 
 low rustling was once more audible and became 
 now too plain to be mistaken. The light again 
 flashed here and there, and I could see ob- 
 scurely one or two figures moving about. Who 
 could they be? and for .what purpose could 
 they seek our dwelling at so dreary an hour ? 
 You must recollect," added the narrator, as if 
 anxious to excuse his simplicity, ^^ that I was 
 then a boy only sixteen years old. 
 
 " Being now painfully anxious and apprehen- 
 sive, I leaned half my body out of the window 
 that I might catch every sound from below, 
 
 E 3
 
 82 FERRERS. 
 
 when, to my infinite terror, I heard the low 
 voices of two or three men, one of whom in a 
 tone which I thought 1 had heard before, asked 
 another impatiently for ' the crow/ Though I 
 knew not what this meant, I was no longer in 
 doubt as to the design of the intruders. We 
 were beset by burglars — we had no neighbour 
 to summon to our succour — no male creature 
 was in the house but myself, and I was without 
 fire-arms. What was to be done ? 
 
 ^' I had just made up my mind to rouse Mrs. 
 HoUis and my sister, when a sudden crash 
 below convinced me that the door was forced. 
 This was followed by the trampling of many 
 feet upon the stairs. A line of light under my 
 door enabled me to dart towards it, and rush 
 forth to the assistance of my sister and our 
 friend. On issuing from my room, I stood sud- 
 denly face to face with three men, disguised 
 with crape over their visages, and armed with 
 cutlasses and pistols. One of them held an 
 unmasked dark lantern. We stared at each 
 other for an instant or two in utter silence. 
 
 " Though I was only a defenceless boy
 
 FERRERS. 83 
 
 opposed to three armed men^ my unlooked-for 
 appearance with my clothes on at that hour, for 
 it was past two o'clock in the morning, stag- 
 gered the ruffians, and they recoiled several 
 steps down the stairs. Could I then have 
 guessed the source of their fear, I might, by 
 calling on one or two feigned names, have taken 
 advantage of it, and possibly ensured the flight 
 of the thieves, inasmuch as it is now evident 
 to me that the sight of a human being ready 
 for action at the stairs-head made them think 
 the house was in a state of defence. But I was 
 then too young for such a thought or for such 
 presence of mind. Planting my back against 
 the door of the room wherein slept Mrs. Hollis 
 and Judith, I panted and gazed in a state of 
 horrible suspense at the retreating house- 
 breakers. My heart beat violently against my 
 side, and though I knew my own insufficiency, 
 I desperately resolved to die, should the robbers 
 rally from their apprehension and return to 
 their vile work. 
 
 " Hitherto everything had passed in silence
 
 84 FERRERS. 
 
 excepting the crash at the door. But now 
 that the villains began to think they had no 
 other opponent than a solitary boy, one of 
 them, a bony ruffian in a smock frock, muttered 
 in a low growl, ' What the h — ^ll^s the use of 
 standing here. Captain ? Have we been on the 
 lay so many years, to be kept at bay by a bit of 
 a boy ? What tho'f he is dressed ? There an't 
 no more on 'em, depend on't. See how wild 
 the kid stares : he's in a dream, and don't 
 know he's out o' bed. Come along ; we'll soon 
 quiet the sleep-walking devil's imp : see if I 
 don't bring the blood into his white face.' And 
 taking a piece of cord from his pocket, he re- 
 ascended the stairs followed by the rest. 
 
 ^^ The gang were upon me in a moment : one 
 of them held a pistol to my breast, threatening 
 me with instant death if I cried out, while the 
 fellow who had spoken, proceeded to bind me 
 hand and foot. In stooping to do this, the 
 crape fell from his face, and I had a clear view 
 of his countenance which was so remarkable 
 that I should know it again among a hundred.
 
 FERRERS. 85 
 
 If the features looked grim when muffled by 
 the black crape, the uncovered lineaments were 
 still more hideous. The fellow must formerly 
 have received a deep cut in his left cheek 
 sloping from his ear to the corner of his mouth : 
 the scar of this wound was deeply indented, 
 and as it formed a sort of continuation of his 
 lips, one side of his face presented an undeviat- 
 ing grin. His visage resembled a deformed 
 and ugly mask — grotesque, sneering, savage, 
 and idiot-like. 
 
 "The exposure of his features baffled the 
 ruffian, and the bunghng manner in which he 
 performed his work drew a reproof from the 
 leader of the gang. ' What are you fumbling 
 at, Jem Gabei '' growled he in a thick and evi- 
 dently disguised voice. 
 
 " ^ What do you mean by letting out a fellow's 
 name in such a business as this ?' retorted the 
 other, mth a blasphemous imprecation. ' Sup- 
 pose I was to bawl out your name, Captain ? 
 How do you think that would sound in this 
 here house ?'
 
 86 FERRERS. 
 
 " The leader, trembling at the implied threat, 
 asked pardon of the other for his inadvertence, 
 and then said, in a low tone, through his com- 
 pressed teeth, ' If the boy don^t like to be 
 tied up, why quiet him the short way. 
 Where's your knife ? Do you think we're going 
 to stay here till day-light ?' 
 
 " Jem Gabel had, however, by this time suc- 
 ceeded in securing his ligature round my limbs, 
 when, taking me in his arms, he carried me 
 into my own room, which remained open, flung 
 me on the floor, and again swearing that if I 
 made the least noise, he would return and 
 murder me, left me in darkness, and I heard 
 the door locked on the outside. In this help- 
 less situation, I was compelled to remain, while 
 the adjoining apartment, which contained the 
 two most precious beings on earth, was aban- 
 doned to plunder and violence. 
 
 " For awhile all continued silent with the ex- 
 ception of a shght and cautious shuffling of 
 feet. I listened intently — my very soul was in 
 my ears. Had the world been in my possession,
 
 FERRERS. 87 
 
 I would have given it that instant for power to 
 regain my feet and the use of my hands ; but 
 I was strictly bound and could only writhe on 
 the floor in impotent despair. O^ how I prayed 
 that heaven would turn the hearts of the robbers 
 from injuring either of the sleepers in the apart- 
 ment they had invaded ! 
 
 ^^My supplications were interrupted by an 
 altercation in the next room, which increased in 
 vehemence, and I plainly heard the voice of 
 Mrs. HoUis in parley with the ruffians. There 
 was a slight struggle — then came the report of a 
 pistol, followed by one of the most dismal 
 screams I ever heard. The brief quiet that 
 ensued was broken by Dorothy Tull, who, 
 having been scared out of her sleep by the noise 
 of fire-arms and the shriek that had just been 
 uttered, flew to the door, rushed out into 
 the lane, and shouted ^ murder 1^ with all the 
 power of her lungs. 
 
 " This fresh alarm threw the burglars into 
 confusion. Having hastily secured whatever 
 money and trinkets they could find, they
 
 88 FERRERS. 
 
 rushed out of the house, and old Dorothy, who 
 on hearing the sound of their feet, had con- 
 cealed herself in the angle of a shed, could just 
 discern them as they scampered past her in the 
 direction of London. Returning to the house, 
 Dorothy ran to her mistress's room where an 
 appalling scene presented itself. My sister 
 whose eyes were nearly starting from their 
 sockets, was sitting up in her bed, catching 
 wildly with her hands, and gasping for breath 
 like one in a convulsion ; while Mrs. Hollis, our 
 dear, good, benevolent guardian, who had, only 
 a few hours before, commended us to the 
 blessing of God, was lying a breathless heap, 
 her blood flowing copiously over the white 
 counterpane. A ghastly group must that si- 
 lent chamber have presented — the gory body 
 — the half strangled girl — and the staring 
 woman, transfixed with horror ! 
 
 " 1 now called loudly for some one to come 
 and unbind me — a demand which roused poor 
 Dorothy from her trance, who soon set me at 
 liberty, and we went together to Mrs. HoUis's
 
 FERRERS. 89 
 
 room. It was sometime before we could so far 
 restore my sister to consciousness as to enable 
 her to tell what transpired; but at length 
 she informed us that she and Mrs. Hollis had 
 been awakened by a sudden light in their room 
 — that they saw three men there — that one of 
 them coming to her (my sister's) bed, had 
 thrown the blanket and counterpane over her 
 face^ which he continued to press down so as 
 eflfectually to deprive her of the power of crying 
 out, and almost to smother her. Amidst the 
 torment occasioned by this suffocation, she 
 could just hear Mrs. HoUis in the other bed 
 refuse to state where she kept her money : she 
 told the man who questioned her that she had 
 two children to support, and if he deprived her 
 of her Httle stock of cash, they must starve. 
 She gave him her watch and the money in her 
 purse, but resolutely refused to yield the small 
 and hidden store on which our subsistence for 
 some months depended. 
 
 '^ ' Tell me where it is ; it will be better for 
 you,' said the man ; ' I know you, Mrs. Hollis, 
 and I know you have no children. That pre-
 
 90 FERRERS. 
 
 tence won't do. Look at this pistol. I can 
 kill you in one moment ; but you are safe if 
 you give up all the money that I know is in 
 the house. You now understand me.^ 
 
 " ^ In the name of Heaven, who are you that 
 thus talk to me?' returned Mrs. HoUis. 
 ^ Good God ! you do not speak in a natural 
 voice — it surely cannot be ' 
 
 " * Silence '/ interrupted the robber. ' Will 
 you tell me where the money is ?' 
 
 " ' No.' 
 
 " ' Die then !' and Judith heard the report of 
 the pistol, followed by the scream of the suf- 
 ferer, and Dorothy's shouts for help. The 
 hand which, outside the bed-clothes, had been 
 pressed on my sister's throat, now relaxed its 
 hold : she heard the flight of the thieves, and, 
 casting off the stifling blanket, sprang up and 
 gasped for air. 
 
 " Throwing her dressing gown around her, 
 Judith now arose, and while she and Dorothy 
 busied themselves about Mrs. Hollis, I got 
 ready to go to London, to give information of 
 the robbery to Mr. Fielding's oflicers, and
 
 FERRERS. 91 
 
 bring a surgeon, though a glance at the body of 
 our benevolent guardian told me, that human 
 aid was useless in her instance. It still wanted 
 some time of dawn ; and it was with a melan- 
 choly and terrified feeling that I walked along 
 our lonesome lane, having left Dorothy and 
 Judith by themselves in the house of blood. 
 
 '' Ha\dng given particulars of the outrage in 
 the proper quarter, I procured surgical assist- 
 ance, but, as I anticipated, aU was in vain ! 
 Mrs. HoUis was dead ! 
 
 " The very day after the Coroner's Jury had 
 given their verdict, Foxston, who now declared 
 himself to be a brother of the deceased, came 
 to the cottage, accompanied by his lawyer. He 
 looked more pale, more haggard, more like a 
 victim of the drink-disease, delirium tremens, 
 than usual, though his appearance, since I had 
 knowTi him, had been always that of a lost and 
 desperate man. 
 
 " The first step taken by him and his at- 
 torney was to search the house for a will — at 
 least such was their pretence ; though had they
 
 92 FERRERS. 
 
 found one, and had it not been to their pur- 
 pose, it would I am now confident, have been 
 destroyed, for they had none to overlook them. 
 One thing, however, young as I was, I could 
 not help observing, namely, that Foxston care- 
 fully shunned the room in which Mrs. HoUis 
 had been murdered. This could hardly have 
 arisen from grief at the dreadful fate of his re- 
 lative, inasmuch as the wretchedness depicted 
 in his countenance was beyond grief — it was 
 fear bordering on despair. 
 
 " At length Judith and I were told by Fox- 
 stones lawyer that we must leave the house and 
 go to our friends — our friends ! — we, who were 
 friendless ! and Dorothy received warning to 
 leave her place. We were thus thrown upon 
 the world, helpless beggars, and knew not 
 where to apply even for advice in our ex- 
 tremity. Ignorant of the world and the world's 
 ways, our desolation was complete. 
 
 ^ In this desperate emergency, poor Dorothy 
 TuU befriended us. She took this hiit, bought 
 some humble furniture with her hard savings.
 
 FERRERS. 93 
 
 and got employment as a laundress. Judith, 
 tenderly nurtured as she had been, cheerfully 
 assisted her friend in her daily drudgery, and 
 further strove to earn her living as a seam- 
 stress ; while I, being somewhat skilled in 
 scholarship, obtained a situation as assistant 
 usher at a boarding-school in the suburbs. In 
 this miserable employment, fit only for the 
 destitute, I continued two years, during which 
 time I was remorselessly tasked, not only in 
 the work of tuition, but in almost all kind of 
 menial offices. I was wretchedly fed, badly 
 lodged, worse paid, and had moreover to brook 
 innumerable taunts, and submit to every variety 
 of mortification. 
 
 " At length, a brother of Dorothy who was a 
 seaman in the merchant service recommended 
 me to his captain as a clerk. A change from 
 the misery of the boarding-school was hailed 
 with rapture, and my pretensions being ap- 
 proved, I joined the ship which was bound for 
 Jamaica. Any detail of what happened to me 
 in my occupation afloat will hardly afford you 
 amusement. My life was monotonous, my
 
 94 FERRERS. 
 
 duties were trifling. I passed through the 
 invariable routine of sea sickness, storms, in- 
 tolerable calms, bad food. West India fever, &c. 
 Still the captain was kind to me, and I thought 
 1 once more had a friend ; but his speculations 
 were all unsuccessful, and, on our second 
 voyage he died at Kingston, more I believe from 
 depressed spirits than from the influence of 
 the climate. It is my fate always to be asso- 
 ciated with the unfortunate. 
 
 " From Kingston, I travelled to Spanish 
 Town, in which, it being the seat of the govern- 
 ment, I thought I might have a chance of 
 turning my acquirements to account as an 
 amanuensis to some member of the Assembly. 
 One day, while I was strolling about the streets, 
 I perceived that I attracted the observation of 
 a man in whom, after I had scrutinised him for 
 some time, I thought I recognised the brother 
 of Mrs. Holhs. His appearance was now 
 worse than ever. His dress was beggarly ; his 
 visage was hollow ; in his whole bearing he 
 looked like a mendicant, and he presented that
 
 FERRERS. 95 
 
 pitiable sight — an inveterate drunkard in a 
 state of constrained sobriety. He evidently- 
 wished to accost me, though he seemed unable 
 to summon the necessary resolution. 
 
 " Moved by sympathy towards one who 
 was apparently more wretched even than my- 
 self, I spoke to him and asked if his name was 
 Foxston. 
 
 " ' Yes, yes/ replied he ; ^ and I thought I 
 could not be mistaken in Hugh Bernard, 
 though I little expected to meet him here. 
 But you are just in time to do me a httle ser- 
 vice. You owe me no favour it is true, Master 
 Bernard, and perhaps you may cherish a Httle 
 animosity against me. It's natural enough that 
 you should, all things considered. A fallen 
 man however, is, not worth the trouble of re- 
 sentment; and in short, when I tell you that 
 I am a perfect stranger here, and that I am 
 without a single rap in my pocket, you may 
 not object to give me a drop of rum, (it's cheap 
 enough, you know) just to thaw the ice that, 
 even in this infernally hot place, is freezing
 
 96 TERRERS. 
 
 my vitals. Give me a glass, that's a good lad, 
 and 1^11 acquaint you with something that will 
 surprise you/ 
 
 " I could not but pity the wretch, and, feel- 
 ing inclined to offer him some little relief for 
 the moment, I told him he should immediately 
 have a meal at my charge. 
 
 " ' No, no,' returned he ; 'I care not for 
 any thing to eat — drink, drink, is all I crave. 
 I can do well enough, like a fish, upon suction 
 — my stomach ^s gone for solids. The drams 
 are killing me, I know; but what does it 
 signify ? A man can die only once ; and I,^ 
 he continued, striking his forehead violently, 
 ' ought to have died long ago. Here, however, 
 I am alive, and should find no time for repent- 
 ance if I could only get a little rum. Nothing 
 like that for enabling a man to live in the hell 
 of tormenting thoughts. And see, my lad,^ he 
 added with an eager glare towards a spirit- 
 shop — ^ see, here is a liquor-store close at 
 hand. Let us in — the very odour that breathes 
 through the door is more consoling than the
 
 FERRERS. 97 
 
 spicy breeze which blows far out into the sea 
 from the cinnamon shores of Ceylon. Come, 
 come, Master Bernard, let me bathe my heart 
 in this Nepenthe of Jamaica — this blessed new 
 rum/ 
 
 " We entered : the fiery spirit was soon 
 placed before him, and he drank the first glass 
 or two with the savage eagerness of a parching 
 traveller in the desert, when he quaffs water 
 from an unexpected spring. 
 
 '^ Having appeased his fierce longing for 
 liquor, he drew near me, and said, ' I have 
 some news for you. Master Bernard. It's not 
 of the pleasantest kind, but it's fit you should 
 know it, and it is also fit that a villain should 
 be punished. Your sister !' 
 
 " ' Good God !' I exclaimed, ' what of her ? 
 You torture me — speak !^ 
 
 *^ Foxston then told me that Judith had fallen 
 into the snares of a profligate nobleman, upon 
 whose head he heaped all manner of maledic- 
 tions for some 'v\Tong which he said had been 
 perpetrated upon himself. He acquainted me 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 FERRERS. 
 
 with the name of the Hbertine, and found no 
 difficulty in urging me to return to England, 
 and seek revenge for the ruin of my sister. In 
 listening to my threats, Foxston seemed to 
 chuckle with a fierce delight, as if he antici- 
 pated some glorious mischief. 
 
 "I hastened to England by the earliest oppor 
 tunity, and on arriving in London lost no time 
 in applying for further information to Dorothy 
 Tull, who, however, could tell me nothing more 
 than that Judith had disappeared from her 
 home, and that she (Dorothy) had heard the 
 rumour which reached me abroad. I now re- 
 solved to seek out Judith's betrayer, but, not- 
 withstanding his high rank, I could not discover 
 whether he was in London or not. 
 
 "The distress of my mind was aggravated by 
 the wretchedness of my circumstances : 1 was 
 almost without the means of life. Had not 
 Dorothy given me a room in this hut, I know 
 not where I could have lain my head. I grew 
 tired of existence ; and so helpless did my state 
 appear, and so unremitting the persecutions of
 
 FERRERS. 99 
 
 misfortune;, that I have often wandered about 
 the streets of London at night meditating self- 
 destruction/^ 
 
 " Lift up your voice, young man, and thank 
 the Great Preserver that you have been mer- 
 cifully withheld from the commission of this 
 deadly sin !'^ exclaimed Gregory Skrymster. 
 " Yea, glorify with thanksgiving the name of 
 the Most High, who, in His bountiful kindness 
 protects us even then when madly we for- 
 sake ourselves, and when we do not remember 
 that pain is of brief duration, while heaven is 
 eternal." 
 
 Moved by this solemn entreaty, Hugh Ber- 
 nard fell on his knees, and^ in a faltering voice, 
 ejaculated, '^ Receive, O God, the thanks of a 
 sinner's heart !" 
 
 A pause ensued. The trooper held his 
 hand over Bernard's head, and uttered a few- 
 words in benediction. Mr. Johnson was af- 
 fected even to tears. 
 
 "My story approaches its end," at length 
 resumed the young man. "Roused by the 
 
 F 2
 
 100 FERRERS. 
 
 shock of the earthquake this morning, I sud- 
 denly left my bed, and having ascertained that 
 poor Dorothy continued to rest through all, 
 (for there is no sleep like that of the hard-liv- 
 ing and hard-working,) I strolled into town. 
 As I passed the upper corner of Sackville 
 Street, I saw, lying on the pavement, a woman, 
 bleeding and insensible. I supposed she had 
 suiFered in the earthquake. In the hope of 
 rendering assistance, I raised her head, and 
 while I removed the blood from her wan 
 features, recognized my lost sister. After a 
 long separation, it was my fate to meet her 
 dead or dying on the cold stones — destitute 
 and companionless ! You know the rest."
 
 FERRERS. 101 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ncoH Bernard's despair — compact betweew him axd mr. 
 
 JOHNSON — A FRIEND IN NEED — FRESH PERPLEXITY — INTERVIEW 
 BETWT5EN HUGH AND HIS SISTER — THE CHILD — RETURN OF MR. 
 KIRKLAND, THE SURGEON. 
 
 But at the last to speken she began, 
 And mekely she to the sergeant praid 
 (So as he was a worthy gentilman) 
 That she might kisse hire child. 
 
 The young man ceased to speak. By calling 
 up the memory of misfortunes already endured^ 
 his despair, which had been a little alleviated by 
 the kindness of Mr. Johnson, and by the pious 
 words of the poor trooper, seemed to return 
 upon him in its strength, and to be for ever 
 confirmed. How could he dare to hope, who 
 had, for four long years, been under one
 
 102 FERRERS. 
 
 uniform pressure of grief? in whose life, for 
 that period, there had been no variety except 
 in the change from one misery to another? 
 And now, as a crowning affliction, he was sitting 
 close to the chamber of a dear sister, who had 
 been betrayed and ruined by a selfish libertine, 
 and who was wounded and dying ! With his 
 eyes cast up in piteous supplication to Heaven, 
 he looked, as he sat movelessly in his chair, 
 like one of those gaunt images of stone which we 
 read of in old fable, placed as melancholy ward- 
 ers before the dungeon of Care. His hearers, 
 silent and sad from sympathy, seemed fitting 
 adjuncts to so dolorous a figure. 
 
 At length words came to his relief, and the 
 unhappy trance was ended. 
 
 "I have been so perpetually haunted by 
 disasters,'^ said he, with a heavy sigh, " and 
 am so broken in spirit — so utterly miserable — 
 that I have ceased to cherish hope. Terrible 
 as is the thought, I am convinced it would be 
 better for my sister that she should die ; and 
 were it not for one intense wish, that for four
 
 FERRERS. 103 
 
 years has clung to me, and which will not, even 
 now, depart, I should count it happiness to be 
 laid with her in the grave, where ' the wicked 
 cease from troubhng, and where the weary are 
 at rest/'' 
 
 " I think I know to what you allude,'^ ob- 
 served Mr. Johnson. " You long to ascertain 
 who were your parents. '^ 
 
 ^^ Yes,'' answered Hugh Bernard. " This 
 insatiable desire haunts me day and night. O 
 that I could devote my whole life to the dis- 
 covery of the secret ! I sometimes think that 
 Dorothy Tull knows it ; but she turns a deaf 
 ear to my most passionate entreaties, and I am 
 fated in this, as in everything else, to be 
 blighted by disappointment and woe." 
 
 " Your story is, indeed, a tragical one," said 
 Mr. Johnson to Hugh -Bernard. " It is plain 
 that your sister has been made the prey of some 
 abandoned villain ; but, in fixing the guilt on 
 Lord Ferrers, you are warranted by nothing 
 but mere hearsay, which we all know is more 
 frequently wrong than right. I appeal to your
 
 104 FERRERS. 
 
 common sense no less than to your sense of 
 justice, whether you were not bound to inquire 
 into the truth of what you had been told, before 
 you resolved to act upon it }" 
 
 " I am sensible of the rashness of my con- 
 duct/' said Hugh Bernard, colouring ; " but you 
 must make some allowance for misery and 
 distraction/^ 
 
 " I do, I do,^' replied Mr. Johnson. " Now, 
 listen to me. Since my youth I have been em- 
 ployed in the family of Lord Ferrers, and it is 
 therefore natural that I should wish to stand 
 between him and harm. You see, as I have 
 already told you, that I am not disinterested. 
 If, after due investigation, you find that what 
 you have heard respecting Lord Ferrers and 
 your sister is correct, will you pledge me your 
 most sacred word that you will seek other 
 modes of redress for the poor girl than those 
 of personal revenge ?'' 
 
 The young man's fierceness returned upon 
 him. " He has brought perdition on my sister, 
 and broken my heart !'^ he exclaimed im-
 
 FERRERS. 105 
 
 petuously ; " and I have vowed to take his 
 blood V 
 
 " Such vows are impious^*' observed the 
 trooper. " They pass not into the registry of 
 heaven : to fulfil them is to increase the sin 
 of making them. They are the promptings of 
 Satan. Beware, young man, beware !" 
 
 " There can be no doubt as to the wicked- 
 ness of such resolves,^* pursued Mr. Johnson; 
 " and I am persuaded you will renounce them, 
 without any other inducement than your own 
 conviction of their folly and profaneness. 
 Come, come ; I see in your countenance the 
 workings of a better spirit. Give me your 
 hand.'^ 
 
 Hugh Bernard clasped Mr. Johnson's ex- 
 tended hand, and, hiding his face, sobbed 
 audibly. 
 
 "Poor youth r^ exclaimed Gregory: ^'his 
 heart is melted. The Holy Spirit has touched 
 him, and lo ! his unrighteous thoughts are 
 gone.'^ 
 
 f3
 
 J 06 FERRERS. 
 
 '^ Will you promise what I have asked, my 
 dear young friend ?" said Mr. Johnson. 
 
 ^a will.'' 
 
 "Without reserve?" 
 
 "I call upon heaven to witness my sin- 
 cerity." 
 
 '^Enough/' rejoined Mr. Johnson. " 1 may 
 now say, that in winning you to the abandon- 
 ment of your rash purpose, I have meditated 
 your worldly good, no less than the safety of 
 your soul. For your present mode of life you 
 are evidently unfitted, not to mention that it 
 appears inadequate to your subsistence. I 
 will bestir myself to procure for you some 
 pleasanter and more lucrative occupation, and, 
 until I succeed, will furnish you with the means 
 of life. I did not mention this at first, because 
 it would not become you to receive a bribe to 
 do what is right, nor me to offer it. We now 
 understand each other. Be comforted. You 
 may some day have more reason than now ap- 
 pears to be thankful that your arm was stayed.''
 
 FERRERS. 10/ 
 
 Poor Hugh Bernard could only look his 
 thanks : he was past speaking : surprise at 
 this unlooked-for protection in his desolate 
 state, together with the dreadful occurrences of 
 the morning, had almost bereft him of his 
 faculties, and he scarcely heard the concluding 
 words of Mr. Johnson^s speech. 
 
 "Alas!" thought the trooper, "that the 
 day of doom should be so near, when good and 
 pious men walk the earth, whose deeds reclaim 
 the desperate from their evil purposes. One 
 little month, and all will be over ! Alas, 
 alas !" 
 
 " If, happily, your ill-fated sister should re- 
 cover,'^ pursued Mr. Johnson, " and it should 
 appear that her ruin is attributable to my Lord, 
 I will use my influence to induce him to make 
 what reparation is in his power. Nay, T will 
 enlist on her behalf the agency of his cousin, 
 the good Lady Huntingdon/' 
 
 " She is an earthly angel," said Gregory. 
 " Every cause must prosper in her pious 
 hands. ''
 
 108 FERRERS. 
 
 All further conversation was prevented by 
 Dorothy Tull, who now rushed into the room, 
 exclaiming — 
 
 " O;, Master Hugh, come to your poor sister. 
 She has just awoke out of her trance, and is 
 asking, in a frenzy, for her child." 
 
 '^ Her child!'' echoed the young man, strik- 
 ing his forehead in dismay ; " her child ! Mer- 
 ciful heaven V' 
 
 " Go to her,^' said Mr. Johnson, addressing 
 Bernard. " This is, indeed, an increase of the 
 misery ; but care shall be taken of all. I will 
 see you again to-morrow. The surgeon will 
 soon be here. There is hope for your sister. 
 Take comfort.^^ 
 
 So saying, Mr. Johnson, having left a sum 
 of money with old Dorothy, withdrew with the 
 trooper, who had sunk into a fit of profound 
 musing. 
 
 On entering the room where his ill-fated 
 sister lay, Hugh Bernard was amazed to see 
 that she had raised herself on her elbow, and 
 was looking with wandering eyes about her.
 
 FERRERS. 109 
 
 Over her face, which, up to this time, had been 
 pale as the statuary's marble, a vivid flush was 
 spread, so that, though the blood still slowly 
 oozed from beneath the bandage on her fore- 
 head, its colour was no longer so conspicuous 
 as before, when it had shewn like a crimson 
 stain on a white ground. Notwithstanding the 
 distracted expression of Judith's countenance 
 — her piercing looks — the restless motion of 
 her deep-seated eyes — and the incoherent ex- 
 pressions which escaped her, her brother con- 
 ceived hopes of her recovery, merely because 
 her former death-like aspect had passed away. 
 
 " My child ! my child ! why do they not 
 bring me my child r^' exclaimed the forlorn 
 creature. " How came I here ? My child will 
 die if they do not bring him to me. Would 
 they separate a mother from the babe at her 
 breast ? O, how my heart aches V 
 
 Then seeing Hugh Bernard at the bed-side, 
 her tone altered, and she said, " Why do you 
 intrude into my apartment ? Leave the room. 
 Sir. Yet stay a moment. Where is the woman
 
 110 FERRERS. 
 
 who was with me just now ? For the love of 
 God send her in again^ and she will help me to 
 get up, that I may go for my child. 1 know 
 where I left him. But I am in great pain in 
 all my limbs ; my forehead is terribly hurt, and 
 I can hardly move, otherwise I should not need 
 assistance to rise and go after my child — my 
 own poor child.^^ 
 
 Bernard remained motionless at the bed-side, 
 fixing a steady gaze on the poor victim. 
 
 ^^Why do you so scare me with your eager 
 looks ?" she resumed. ^^ Pray, Sir, leave me 
 and send the woman. I am a poor, suffering 
 creature, and have passed a dreadful night — a 
 very, very dreadful night — in the open streets. 
 What house is this ? Alas ! Sir, take pity on 
 me, and send the woman. I must have my 
 child V' 
 
 " Judith, dear Judith ?' said Hugh Bernard 
 in a soothing voice. " Do you not know me ? 
 I am your brother.'' 
 
 The poor woman gazed wistfully at him — 
 then, hiding her face in her hands, sank back
 
 FERRERS. Ill 
 
 on her pillow, exclaiming, ^^ I dare not look 
 upon you again/' 
 
 " Why not, beloved sister?" said he. 
 
 "Ah V ejaculated Judith, " that voice — that 
 gentle voice — that name, too ! But you must 
 not utter it again ! You must never more call 
 me sister ! I am lost ! — lost ! — lost V 
 
 And the unhappy young creature relapsed 
 into total insensibility. 
 
 To witness this over-mastering remorse was 
 a new trouble to Hugh Bernard. He busied 
 himself to make the sufferer's pillow more 
 easy ; drew back the hair which had straggled 
 over her face, and endeavoured to recall her 
 vanishing perceptions. But in vain ; for though 
 her bosom moved convulsively, her eye-lids 
 remained closed, and her limbs changed not 
 their position. 
 
 The young man was so absorbed in painful 
 contemplation of his sister, and in endeavouring 
 to soothe her, that he was not aware of the en- 
 trance of the surgeon, accompanied by Dorothy 
 Tull, tbe former of whom advanced to the bed.
 
 ] 1 2 FERRERS. 
 
 and having felt liis patient's pulse, said, ^* It is 
 as I expected — fever has come on rapidly — she 
 must be kept in perfect quiet after she has 
 taken the medicine I have brought." 
 
 "To keep her quiet will be impossible, I 
 fear. Sir/' observed Mrs. Tull. " She has been 
 raving for her child; and who shall still the 
 yearnings of a mother's heart ?'' 
 
 " A child, eh ? Where is it ?" asked Mr. 
 Kirkland. 
 
 "I know not," replied Mrs. Tull. "She 
 wants to get up and go for it herself." 
 
 A mournful smile passed over the surgeon's 
 face, as he heard of this desire on the part of 
 his patient. 
 
 " Perhaps she has told master Hugh," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Tull. I left them together." 
 
 "No," answered Bernard. "Our meeting 
 has been disastrous, and has made her worse, 
 as you see. She was fearfully agitated when 
 she knew me." 
 
 " Your going into the room, at present, was 
 ill-judged," observed Mr. Kirkland. "You
 
 FERRERS. 113 
 
 must leave her, my young friend, to me and 
 Dorothy. I shall find means to induce her to 
 tell me where the child is, for it is absolutely 
 necessary to quiet her mind on that score. 
 When I have learned all about the infant, I will 
 administer some medicine, which I hope may 
 be beneficial, though I like not this fever. I 
 have brought a draught for you, too,'^ he added, 
 addressing Bernard ; " but you must go to bed 
 as soon as you have taken it, or I shall have 
 you also on the sick list. There ; good bye ; 
 leave your sister to me and Mrs. Tull." 
 
 And the young man, fairly worn out with 
 grief and terror, withdrew to seek repose.
 
 1 1 4 FERRERS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PATRICIAN PIETY— WHITEFI ELD THE PREACHER, tADY HUNTINGUON, 
 AND THE COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK — DEVOTION INTERRUPTED — " THE 
 CAP FITS"-^A SCENE — WHITEFIELD AND HIS TITLED AUDITORS — 
 SECOND INTERRUPTION OF THE WORSHIP, AND SUDDEN INTRUSION 
 OF LORD FERRERS— ALTERCATION — HIS LORDSHIP'S PURSUIT OF A 
 YOUNG BEAUTY— A CHALLENGE. 
 
 But now devotion, fond enthusiasts say, 
 Diffuses all around a brighter day, 
 Zealots blow loud the woe-trumpet, then urge 
 Denunciations, rising surge o'er surge 
 Against their weaker bi'ethren. 
 
 LORD LEIGH, 
 
 Late in the day on which the foregoing 
 incidents occurred, and in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood where they had transpired, namely, 
 Park Street, Grosvenor Square, a meeting 
 was held in the drawing-room of one of the 
 most splendid houses in the place. The com-
 
 FERRERS. 115 
 
 pany, which consisted chiefly of titled persons, 
 male and female, was seated at both sides of 
 a long table, at the head of which, with a Bible 
 spread out before him, stood a clergyman in 
 powdered wig, and full canonical robes. He 
 seemed to be under forty years of age, and, 
 except that he squinted very much, was a 
 comely personage. His figure inchned rather 
 to fulness, and his round face had something of 
 a feminine smoothness ; but his attitude was so 
 commanding, and his manner, when he spoke, 
 so energetic — so manly — so dictatorial— that the 
 eifect produced by his somewhat sleek person 
 was immediately obliterated, and the beholder 
 could not fail to recognize in him one of the 
 master spirits of the age. 
 
 At the other end of the table, and of course 
 immediately facing the presiding minister, sat 
 a lady apparently of middle age, dressed form- 
 ally, not to say puritanically. Her gown, 
 which was made in the plainest taste, was of 
 black silk ; her throat and bosom were cover- 
 ed by a simple white muslin neck-hand-
 
 1 16* FERRERS. 
 
 kerchief^ and she wore a sort of widow's 
 cap which almost concealed her hair. Her 
 face was thin and oval^ with a long aquiline 
 nose, melancholy eyes, and a mouth of which 
 the expression betokened an unvarying sedate- 
 ness mingled with a certain steadfastness of 
 purpose. Her general bearing, in spite of an 
 assumed humility, Avas dignified and aristo- 
 cratical. 
 
 Very different in personal characteristics and 
 attire were the other females of the assembly, 
 conspicuous among whom was an elderly and 
 very lady-like woman who, though her eyes 
 were fixed on the preacher, seemed to be a 
 little annoyed while listening to his exhorta- 
 tion. She must have been a great beauty in 
 her youth, for even now, when her age ap- 
 proached sixty years, the regularity of her 
 features, the softness of her eyes, her finely 
 marked eye-brows, clear forehead, and light 
 brown hair (in which there was not the slighest 
 admixture of grey,) were not without a certain 
 attraction. She was dressed with taste and
 
 FERRERS. 117 
 
 simplicity, and, being deaf, held a trumpet to 
 her ear, with considerable grace. 
 
 By the side of this distinguished-looking 
 woman, sat a young lady of the most perfect 
 beauty, if beauty can be called perfect without 
 some indication of the charm of mind. Soft- 
 ness and grace beamed from her gentle face 
 and rounded figure ; but her half-opened mouth, 
 and gaze of somewhat silly wonderment at 
 all she saw, gave evidence of a certain passive- 
 ness of character, and weak amiability. Her 
 personal attractions were nevertheless, as we 
 have said, quite irresistible. 
 
 The four personages, thus shghtly sketched, 
 were Whitefield, the great preacher of the Me- 
 thodists ; the Countess of Huntingdon ; the 
 Countess of Suffolk whom Pope eulogized under 
 her first name of Mrs. Howard ; and Miss Mere- 
 dith, daughter of Sir William Meredith, of 
 Cheshire. This young lady, chaperoned by the 
 Countess of Suffolk, to whom she was on a 
 visit, had, with many others of high rank, at- 
 tended at the house of Lady Huntingdon about 
 eight or nine hours after the shock of the earth-
 
 118 FERRERS. 
 
 quake^ in order to listen to Whitefield^s prayers 
 and preaching relative to the event, — a hurried 
 announcement that he would " improve the oc- 
 casion/^ having gone forth among the hostess's 
 fashionable friends. 
 
 Whitefield's discourse, on this day, was 
 exceedingly emphatic, and searching. His 
 sonorous voice — the originahty of his manner 
 — the fervour of his declamation — the unflinch- 
 ing boldness of his language — and the sublimity 
 of his theme, absorbed the attention of even 
 the most volatile of his hearers. He told them 
 that the earthquake was not so much a punish- 
 ment, as a merciful warning to prepare men 
 for the final wreck of nature, when the eternal 
 state of every son and daughter of Adam 
 would be fixed. The wickedness of the age 
 was a more dreadful sign and prognostica- 
 tion of Divine anger than even the tremb- 
 ling of the earth, terrific and portentous as that 
 had been. He spoke of the careless profligacy 
 of the people — of the general depravity of men's 
 minds — and particularly of the carnal love of 
 pleasure and sinful luxury prevalent among
 
 FERRERS. 119 
 
 the great. In pursuing his animadversions, 
 he expatiated with singular and fearful energy 
 upon the sin denounced in the seventh com- 
 mandment, which he affirmed to be shame- 
 lessly countenanced at court, and which must, 
 he said, sooner or later, bring perdition on 
 the realm. 
 
 Lady Suffolk became restless, and her eyes 
 were rivetted on the preacher. She arose ; 
 sat down again ; appeared faint ; and, at length, 
 as Whitefield grew more and more emphatic, 
 exclaimed, in a tone foreign from the meek- 
 ness of her appearance, 
 
 " I am insulted — this has been a plot — Lady 
 Huntingdon, I appeal to you.'^ 
 
 Lady Huntingdon, amazed and annoyed, 
 begged to be informed in what manner her 
 noble guest had been offended. No reply was 
 immediately given. A dead silence ensued, as 
 meaning glances were interchanged between 
 the other ladies. 
 
 " Yes," at length vociferated Lady Suffolk, 
 stamping on the floor, '• I have been insulted. 
 How dare you," she added, looking towards the
 
 120 FERRERS. 
 
 minister, "level your methodistical, cant at 
 
 Whitefield gazed on the speaker with min- 
 gled surprise and pity, while Lady Huntingdon, 
 to whom the affair now grew very painful, 
 requested the Countess to state exphcitly the 
 nature of the offence. 
 
 " Your affected unconsciousness makes the 
 matter a hundred times worse,'^ replied Lady 
 Suffolk. " But 1^11 never enter your house 
 again to be run down by ^^our impertinent 
 chaplain. You shall repent this, be assur- 
 ed.'^ 
 
 " God grant we may all repent !" ejaculated 
 the preacher. 
 
 The utterance of this pious aspiration, un- 
 fortunately made matters worse. It was adding 
 fuel to fire. The eyes of the Countess flashed 
 with indignant fury against Whitefield, 
 and she was sweeping out of the room in 
 a towering passion, when her sister-in-law. 
 Lady Betty Germain, interposed and endea- 
 voured, though in vain, to appease her fury. 
 Whitefield, meanwhile, looked thoroughly 
 
 ■^
 
 FERRERS. 121 
 
 mystified; but in Lady Huntingdon's coun- 
 tenance, there was an expression indicating 
 that she was not so much in the dark as her 
 chaplain, as to the cause of Lady Suflfolk's 
 annoyance. 
 
 " Upon my word, Henrietta,'^ said Lady 
 Betty, who was backed by the old Duchess 
 of Ancaster, both of whom had drawn their 
 offended relative from the general com- 
 pany — "upon my word, my dear, you have 
 made a pretty scene ! What unaccountable ca- 
 price has got into your head ? You owe it to 
 our good hostess to explain your accusations 
 against her. Depend on it, you are in a mistake 
 which a word or two will clear up." 
 
 ^^Why,'' returned Lady Suffolk, "has not 
 the whole sermon of that excessively stupid 
 and impertinent chaplain of hers, been a deli- 
 berate attack on me ? And do either of you 
 imagine he would have dared to do it, if she had 
 not encouraged him ?" 
 
 " In what respect, my love," asked the 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 FERRERS. 
 
 Duchess of Ancaster, " could the sermon have 
 particularly glanced at you ? Mr. Whitelield 
 has spoken strongly^ I must admit, against 
 drinking, gluttony, gaming and blasphemy; 
 but I have taken none of it to myself. Why 
 then should you?'' 
 
 "Drinking and gaming!" echoed Lady 
 Suffolk. " How you talk ! You can't forget 
 his long tirade about the court and the seventh 
 commandment. And all this before my young 
 companion here !" 
 
 " Hush, my dear !" interposed the dowager, 
 "or Lord Chesterfield and the other men will 
 hear us. They're straining their ears to catch 
 every word we say." 
 
 " I now understand the source of your dis- 
 pleasure," observed Lady Huntingdon, advanc- 
 ing with calmness and dignity. " But you must 
 permit me to tell your Ladyship that, what- 
 ever cause you may have for self-reproach, your 
 inferences are egregiously wrong as regards 
 myself, and absolutely unwarrantable as regards
 
 FERRERS. 123 
 
 good Mr. Whitefield who never saw you before, 
 and, even at the present moment, knows not 
 who you are/' 
 
 " I don't beheve a word of it/^ replied Lady 
 Suffolk, with a provoking toss of the head. 
 " I wish I had never entered your house/^ 
 
 " I partake in that wish,^^ returned the noble 
 hostess. " When I yielded to Lady Rocking- 
 ham's earnest persuasions to admit your Lady- 
 ship to our solemn service after the terrible 
 event of this morning, I Httle thought I should 
 be introducing one who would impiously dis- 
 turb our devotions — outrage the feelings of 
 the minister — insult me, and bring confusion 
 on all. Excuse my plain language. Never- 
 theless, you may be assured. Lady Suffolk, that 
 I pity and forgive you." 
 
 '^ Pray, Madam, be not so la\'ish of that which 
 I do not crave. Reserve your pity and for- 
 giveness for those who may esteem them. As 
 to your plain language, I despise it as I do 
 everything else belonging to a methodist. Per- 
 mit me to wish your Ladyship good day.'' 
 
 G 2
 
 124 FERRERS. 
 
 So saying the quondam favorite of George II, 
 making an ironically humble curtsey at the 
 door, left the room, accompanied by her young 
 visiter, Miss Meredith. Her three relatives. 
 Lady Betty Germain, Lady Eleanor Bertie, 
 and the Duchess Dowager of Ancaster, having, 
 with one voice, apologized for the extreme 
 rudeness of Lady Suffolk, followed, in order, 
 as they said, that they might remonstrate 
 wdth, and undeceive her. 
 
 Lady Huntingdon then advanced to the 
 table, and bidding the company, which by 
 this time had risen in some confusion, to be 
 reseated, addressed herself to the minister : — 
 
 " I know not, reverend Sir," she commenced, 
 "how to apologise to you for the outrage, to 
 which, through my innocent agency, you 
 have been this day exposed. If I had no 
 reason to expect Christian meekness and for- 
 bearance under suffering, from the individual 
 who has so strangely demeaned herself, I 
 should have imagined her high breeding would 
 have secured us from such an outbreak as we
 
 FERRERS. 125 
 
 have just witnessed. But we must take her 
 revilings in patience. Many are our enemies. 
 Let us, however, endeavour that our prayers 
 and labours become useful in obtaining 
 crowns of pure gold for our most cruel foes ; 
 and in proportion as they treat us despitefuUy, 
 let us raise our hearts to heaven for their 
 inBnite good." 
 
 " I assure your Ladyship/' returned White- 
 field, bowing to his hostess, " that I entertain 
 not the sHghtest resentment against the lady 
 who has interrupted the devotions of this 
 morning in so unseemly a manner. It is part 
 of our vocation to bear the scoffs, and submit 
 to the misunderstanding and misrepresenta- 
 tions of a world wl.ich is wicked only because 
 it is ignorant. This ignorance we must labour 
 to dissipate ; and I humbly bless the Eternal, 
 whose warning voice this morning has made 
 the solid earth to quake, that the rich and 
 great begin to have hearing ears, and that 
 they are not all spiritually deaf like the lady.
 
 126 FERRERS. 
 
 deaf in mind as well as in body, who has just 
 departed this room. How wonderfully does 
 the Great Shepherd deal with souls ! If they 
 will hear the Gospel only in splendid rooms 
 such as these, lo ! here, unworthy as I am, 
 stand 1 to proclaim the glorious reward of 
 faith, and the unutterable agony and ghastly 
 punishment that waits on sin." 
 
 As he uttered these words, the speaker 
 shuddered. 
 
 " As Paul preached privately to those that 
 were of reputation,'^ he resumed, "even so 
 will I; for since the doors of the churches 
 have been closed against us, there is no other 
 way, I presume, of deahng with the nobihty 
 who yet know not the faith. O, that I may 
 be enabled to win the souls of those that now 
 hear me — the souls of the noble and the 
 mighty, to the saving knowledge of the new 
 Jerusalem 1" 
 
 "You will, you willl" was eagerly re- 
 sponded.
 
 FERRERS. 127 
 
 " Our devotions have been unexpectedly 
 disturbed/' he continued, addressing Lady- 
 Huntingdon ; " let us nowj that the cause has 
 ceased, resume them in the full and confident 
 hope of that peace which generally broods 
 over your Ladyship's mansion/^ 
 
 Mr. Whitefield had no sooner spoken thus, 
 than a violent knocking was heard at the hall- 
 door, followed by a loud altercation, a sudden 
 rush of more than one person up the stairs, 
 and a heavy fall of somebody to the bottom 
 of the steps. 
 
 "Mercy on us!'' exclaimed Lady Hunting- 
 don ; " this is worse than ever V 
 
 The preacher and the few gentlemen present 
 darted towards the door, which, before they 
 could reach it, was thrown open frcm without, 
 and Lord Ferrers, flushed with rage and drink, 
 stalked into the room, and stood with folded 
 arxus gazing on the assembly: 
 
 " Laurence,^' said Lady Huntingdon, looking 
 at her cousin sorrowfully, but not without
 
 128 FERRERS. 
 
 something of sternness in her aspect, " is it 
 thus you intrude upon my privacy ? Did not 
 the servant tell you that I could not see you ?" 
 
 " Yes, he did," replied Ferrers ; " he even 
 attempted to hinder me from mounting the 
 stairs; therefore I knocked the fellow down, 
 and, probably, have fractured his skull. See 
 what you have brought upon your mart. 
 You talk of my intruding on your privacy. 
 What sort of privacy do you call this }" he 
 continued, glancing at the numerous company. 
 
 "Laurence, I am ashamed of you!" ex- 
 claimed Lady Huntingdon. 
 
 " I am excessively obliged to you, Selina,*' 
 retorted he. '^If you were not ashamed of 
 me, I should begin to fear I had given you 
 some reason to suspect me of methodism, and 
 then I should be ashamed of myself.' ' 
 
 Whitefield was now about to interfere, and 
 take up the cudgels in behalf of his excellent 
 patroness, when she stopped him, and, in a 
 whisper, called his attention to the Earl's
 
 FERRERS. 129 
 
 intoxicated state. The other gentlemen pre- 
 sent, stood aloof, knowing the utter useless- 
 ness of remonstrance, nay, that it would only 
 make matters worse. '- Whenever his Lord- 
 ship was in liquor,'* says one who was ac- 
 quainted with him, " he became guilty of the 
 strangest enormities : this, added to an habitual 
 haughtiness, and arrogance, which liquor, by 
 making him throw off all regard to decorum 
 and good breeding, made him constantly dis- 
 cover, deterred all persons of rank from ex- 
 posing themselves to the disagreeable conse- 
 quences of keeping him company.*** 
 
 " To what do I owe the annoyance of this 
 visit?" asked Lady Huntingdon. 
 
 " I'll tell you to what it is not owing," re- 
 plied the Earl. " It is not out of any desire 
 
 to hear your d d methodist preachments, or 
 
 to pry into your selfish plans to secure yourself 
 a capital situation in another place. I detest 
 
 * Memoirs of the Life of Laurence, Earl Ferrers, 176O. 
 
 G 3
 
 130 FERRERS. 
 
 such things, and would do my best to avoid 
 them." 
 
 " Why then," returned the Countess, " do 
 you inflict pain on yourself and on me ? Your 
 Lordship will do me a great favour by leaving 
 my house/^ 
 
 " It shall willingly be granted," said Ferrers, 
 " since the object of my pursuit, the ' metal 
 more attractive^ than anything I find here, is 
 gone. Nay, 1^11 bargain never to come near 
 your Ladyship again, if, in return for that 
 signal advantage, you will do me one favour.'^ 
 
 " Name it." 
 
 *^Tell me where I shall find Miss Meredith, 
 who has been tracked here to-day in a 
 plain barouche. I have fixed on her for my wife, 
 Selina, and am resolved to win her, in spite 
 of the blockhead, her father. Where is she r" 
 
 " Never," replied the Countess, '^ will I be 
 instrumental in inflicting so wretched a doom on 
 that young creature." 
 
 "Then here I stay for the present,'' said
 
 FERRERS. 131 
 
 Ferrers, coolly taking a seat ; " unless, indeed, 
 any of the gentlemen in the room would like 
 to remove me.'' 
 
 Whitefield now advanced towards the Earl, 
 and fixing a grave and indignant look upon 
 him, said, in deh'oerate and measured words : — 
 
 " Your Lordship must submit to my telling 
 you that I suspect you of cowardice in thus 
 playing the bully in presence of so many 
 ladies.'^ 
 
 Ferrers seemed for a moment utterly con- 
 founded by the preacher's boldness. But soon 
 recovering from his surprise, he arose, and, 
 vociferating an impious oath, aimed his 
 clenched fist at Whitefield's head. The latter 
 stood erect, moveless, and undismayed, and 
 would have received the blow, had not Lady 
 Huntingdon, stepping before her chaplain, 
 arrested her cousin^s arm. 
 
 "Let me entreat your Ladyship,^^ said 
 Whitefield, " not to distress yourself by inter- 
 posing between me and this man's violence. 
 I fear him not. Nay, I defy him. He whom
 
 132 FERRERS. 
 
 I serve, will graciously protect me. Loosen 
 your cousin^s arm, I beseech you." 
 
 The whole room was now in a state of com- 
 motion. One or two ladies had fainted. 
 Several gentlemen were pressing towards the 
 aggressor, whose arms were still held in the 
 feeble grasp of the Countess. 
 
 At this moment, a gentleman forced his way 
 through the group, and said, ^^I take this 
 quarrel on myself. My name, Lord Ferrers, 
 is Stapleton — Sir Thomas Stapleton. I can- 
 not say more in this place. Will you follow 
 me, Lord Ferrers ?'^ 
 
 " Willingly ?' was the reply. 
 
 And the two left the room together. 
 
 " After them ! after them, for the love of 
 Heaven ?' shrieked the Countess. " Alas ! he 
 has been drinking. Quick, quick ! Some terrible 
 mischief will be done. Prevent it, if possible. 
 I die of terror V 
 
 So saying, she fainted, and sank to the floor, 
 while several of the gentlemen rushed after 
 the intended combatants.
 
 FERRERS. 133 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MORVIVG IX THE TTBUR.V HUT — MR. KIRKLAXD AVD THE CHILl)- 
 JL'DITH'S dismay— her story — ARRIVAL OF THE CHILD — JUDITH* 
 DEATH. 
 
 If we could see how many people there are that weep with 
 want, and are mad with oppression, or are desperate by a too 
 quick sense of a constant infelicity ; in all reason we should 
 be glad to be out of the noise and participation of so many 
 evils and constant calamities. 
 
 JEREMY Taylor's " Holy Living and Dying." 
 
 Let us now return to the hut in Tyburn 
 Fields. 
 
 A day and a night had passed since the 
 brief but painful interview between Judith and 
 her brother. Under the influence of Mr. 
 Kirkland^s prescription, Hugh had slept a long 
 sleep, and his nerv^es, fearfully unstrung by the 
 occurrences of the preceding day, were calmed.
 
 131 FKRRKRS. 
 
 He arose with recruited strength ; and^ under 
 the peace-inspiring sun-rise, offered to the 
 Great Supreme the lowly homage and grati- 
 tude of his heart. Still, though his distraction 
 had abated, he looked woe-begone, like the 
 victim of an unparalleled combination of ca- 
 lamities. He had been too long stricken by 
 misery to cease to bear its impress on his brow. 
 He had forgotten to smile, and his respiration 
 was familiar with sighs. Nevertheless, as 
 within the last few hours he had been blessed 
 with the sympathy of three of his fellow crea- 
 tures, a boon the more precious to him from 
 its infrequency, he dared to cherish in his 
 morning thoughts, something of hope for him- 
 self and for his sister. 
 
 On going into the outer apartment of the 
 hut, which opened into the fields^ and was at 
 once laundry and sitting-room, (the house con- 
 taining only three narrow chambers) Hugh 
 was joined by old Dorothy, who had sat up 
 with Judith, and watched and soothed her 
 broken slumbers, for she also had been drugged
 
 FERRERS. 135 
 
 to rest. He was greeted with an assurance 
 that the patient had passed the night with 
 something of quiet, under the expectation that 
 her child would be brought to her in the morn- 
 ing ; inasmuch as Mr. Kirkland — having learned 
 where the infant had been left, when the young 
 mother, mad with weeping and watching, with 
 hunger and thirst, went forth, urged by a des- 
 perate resolve into the streets — had undertaken 
 to seek out the child, and to take care of it 
 till rest should, in some degree, have fitted the 
 heart-broken parent to receive it. This ex- 
 pectation, even more than the opiate, had 
 lulled the agony of Judith's heart. 
 
 By the time Hugh had taken the morning meal 
 prepared for him by the neat and busy hands of 
 Mrs. TuU, Mr. Kirkland arrived with news 
 that he had found the child in the place indi- 
 -cated by its mother — a squalid lodging in a 
 court in Drury Lane. The old woman who 
 had been charged with the temporary care of 
 the babe was glad to be rid of it, especially, as 
 she imagined she was resigning it to its father.
 
 136 FERRERS. 
 
 Heedless of this uncharitable suspicion^ Mr. 
 Kirkland caused the infant to be conveyed to 
 his own house, and procured a proper nurse 
 for it. 
 
 Having asked Dorothy a few questions res- 
 pecting his patient, the surgeon, whose heart 
 was heavy with sad forebodings, passed into 
 Judith's room, and communicated to her his in- 
 telhgence of the safety and well-being of her 
 infant. 
 
 " Might I not see him. Sir ?" she asked. 
 
 *' Certainly,'' replied Mr. Kirkland, '^ as soon 
 as you are strong enough." 
 
 " To-day, to-day— let it be to-day, I beseech 
 you !" she ejaculated in a faint voice, though 
 with marked emphasis, and an imploring and 
 significant earnestness. 
 
 " Well, well, we will see about it," was the 
 answer ; " but you know you are placed in my 
 care by a kind friend, and you must submit to 
 my direction." 
 
 «-A kind friend!" echoed Judith. ''1 
 thought the wide world did not contain so
 
 FERRERS. 137 
 
 wretched a creature as I -, and I know that the 
 wretched have no friends. Who can it be 
 whom heaven has touched with pity for me in 
 the extremity of my suffering ? Ah !" she con- 
 tinued, as a sudden thought, covering her pallid 
 face with a red flush, struck her — ^' I recollect 
 whom I saw, or fancied I saw, yesterday ; but 
 my brain is so light and perplexed that it 
 might have been a dream. I hope it ivas so, 
 or else there is more bitterness for me — more 
 gall and wormwood still.^' 
 
 ^^To whom do you allude?" asked Mr. 
 Kirkland. 
 
 '* To my brother ! But if it was^ indeed, a 
 dream, or if I have been delirious, I thank 
 Heaven for its mercy. My brother must be 
 abroad. You could not, Sir, have meant my 
 brother — tell me you could not, and give me 
 peace.'' 
 
 " I did not mean your brother when I spoke 
 of a kind friend who placed you under my 
 care," replied Mr. Kirkland. '^ Still, it is my
 
 138 FERRERS. 
 
 duty to say that you were 7iot deceived in 
 imagining you saw your brother yesterday." 
 
 " Then may God support me ! for I must 
 tell him the truth !" exclaimed Judith. 
 
 '^ But why should you so fear your brother ?" 
 said Mr. Kirkland. 
 
 '^Because I have done v/rong/' she replied. 
 " O, Sir ! though I love him so dearly, I would 
 rather die — much rather — than he should see 
 me again, stained as I am with infamy. I 
 thought he was abroad, and except that what I 
 have undergone for the last two years is fixed 
 too deeply on my heart and on my brain, I 
 should fancy that I had just waked from a 
 hideous dream, for it was in this very cottage 
 that I formerly lived and toiled, and it was my 
 brother — my dear brother — who used to watch 
 over me, as, it seems, he does now. Though, 
 how I came here at this present time, and how 
 he whom I imagined was beyond the seas, 
 should be now in England, passes my poor 
 comprehension. I know this is Mrs. Tull's
 
 FERRERS. 139 
 
 house^ because I saw Dorothy herself^ when I 
 started last night from one of my wretched 
 snatches of slumber ; but I am still strangely 
 confused, and perhaps I talk wildly." 
 
 " You will know all in time/' replied the 
 surgeon. ^' Meanwhile, you must endeavour 
 to compose yourself.^^ 
 
 ^^Alas! Sir," rejoined Judith, "my woes 
 are too great for composure. Constant want, 
 and constant shame, and constant agony — 
 bitter disappointment, and worse insult — added 
 to the fears of a mother for a friendless infant, 
 have so poisoned my blood, and this wound in 
 ray forehead is so torturing, that I feel it is 
 impossible I should live under it all. You 
 cannot think how much I suffer ! my time in 
 this world is short ! For pity's sake let me 
 see my child once more, and I will bless you. 
 Sir, with my dying gasp.^' 
 
 Mr. Kirkland feared that his unhappy pa- 
 tient was but too correct in the estimate she 
 made of her own case. Her words, uttered 
 with painful effort — her glassy eyes, and her
 
 140 FERRERS. 
 
 quick panting — were symptoms betokening a 
 '^ speedy deliverance out of all her affliction/^ 
 Under this persuasion^ he felt it would be use- 
 less to deny her the gratification of any wish 
 she might express ; and he, therefore, promised 
 that the child should be brought to her in the 
 course of the day. 
 
 " But," added he, " you must conquer your 
 aversion to see your brother. I know imper- 
 fectly what has passed ; but I know full well 
 that his heart yearns to see you/' 
 
 " Aversion ! did you say aversion ? Oh, 
 Sir! you little know how I love himl" ex- 
 claimed the unhappy girl. "ButI must not 
 forget that I have been wicked, and have 
 brought disgrace on his name. I know he 
 would look kindly upon me ; but it is that 
 very kindness that would torture me. I could 
 not bear it. Sir, indeed I could not !" 
 
 " Do not allow such thoughts to disturb 
 you,^' observed Mr. Kirkland. " Let me bring 
 your brother to you.^^ 
 
 ^^What! Is he here now?'^ interrogated
 
 FERRERS. 14 1 
 
 Judith^ as her voice, which up to this time she 
 had preserved in tolerable steadiness, loosened 
 itself into convulsive sobs. 
 
 "He is/' replied the surgeon. "Will you 
 see him }" 
 
 " How shall I live under his glance ?" said 
 the poor girl. " But the trial must be made. 
 First, however, tell me who is the kind friend 
 to whom you have alluded ? It cannot, surely, 
 
 be . Oh, no ! he is incapable of any act 
 
 of kindness, or even of justice.^' 
 
 " Your friend is a venerable man, a stranger 
 to you." 
 
 "A stranger!'^ echoed Judith. "May 
 the All-merciful bless him ! How came he to 
 know of my terrible distress ?" 
 
 " Your brother will tell you everything. He 
 is in the next room ; prepare yourself to see 
 him, while I go for the child." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Kirkland left his patient, and 
 having made a signal to Hugh Bernard that he 
 might go to his sister's apartment, the twins 
 — twins alike in misery and in birth — were 
 in a moment folded in each other's arms.
 
 142 FKRRERS. 
 
 Hugh first found utterance. " Dear Juditli !'^ 
 said he, endeavouring to cheer her, " dear, dear 
 Judith, look up. Happiness is still in store 
 for us." 
 
 She shook her head mournfully. 
 
 ^' Nay," resumed her brother, " you must 
 not look so despairingly. See,'^ he continued, 
 as a burst of sunshine penetrated the room, and 
 bathed in its golden light the stretched- out 
 figure, and sunken visage of the invalid—" see, 
 the great eye of the morning casts its rays upon 
 you, and bids you hope. A few minutes ago it 
 was obscured by a black cloud : even thus may 
 joy beam on us after our sorrow.^^ 
 
 " The sun will soon rise upon my grave '/' 
 was the only reply. 
 
 " You must not talk so,^' rejoined Bernard ; 
 "though, after all you have gone through, I can 
 scarcely wonder at your despondency. I have, 
 myself, been sunk deeply in despair ; but boun- 
 tiful Heaven has raised up a friend both for 
 you and me.'' 
 
 " I have heard this already,^' observed Ju- 
 dith. " TeU me our benefactor's name, and
 
 FERRERS. 143 
 
 tell me too, I implore you, how I came here, in 
 the house which I so wickedly deserted two 
 years ago ; and how it happens that you should 
 at this time be in England." 
 
 Being thus earnestly requested, Hugh told 
 his sister all of which the reader is already in 
 possession, touching the events of the preceding 
 morning. Vain would be any attempt to des- 
 cribe the agitation of the sufferer at the mention 
 of Lord Ferrer s's name, and particularly at that 
 part of the recital which described the dangerous 
 fracas in Tyburn Lane. When Hugh had 
 finished his narrative,' the twins, with one ac- 
 cord, lifted up their voices in praise of Mr. 
 Johnson^s generosity, and in thanksgiving to 
 the Supreme, that Bernard had been prevented 
 from the perpetration of murder. 
 
 " Oh, Hugh \" hysterically exclaimed Judith, 
 "you must now hate your poor, lost sister, 
 who is — Heaven pardon her! — an uuwedded 
 mother !" 
 
 "Hate you !'^ echoed the young man; "I 
 love you better than ever, dear Judith, since
 
 144 FERRERS. 
 
 your sufferings have made affection more need- 
 ful to you. I shall be able now, through Mr. 
 Johnson's friendliness in getting an occupation 
 for me, to take you from the power of your 
 cruel enemy ; and you, and T, and your child — 
 nay do not hide your face and tremble so — 
 will live in quiet privacy, and, with the blessing 
 of Providence, forget our griefs .^^ 
 
 " That day will never arrive, Hugh,'^ answered 
 Judith, looking mournfully and solemnly in her 
 brother's face. '^But," she continued, ^^lest 
 you should think me more abandoned than I 
 really am, let me, while I have strength enough, 
 acquaint you with what led to my fall, and you 
 will find that I have been sorely tried — tried 
 oeyond my strength. When you have heard 
 the history of my wrongs, perhaps, you will for- 
 give me.'' 
 
 " Your betrayer, my poor Judith, needs for- 
 giveness more than you," replied Bernard. 
 ** But we all stand in need of pardon, and must 
 make allowance for each other's frailty. Com- 
 pose yourself, dear sister ; I say again that all
 
 FERRERS. X45 
 
 may still be well. Our whole care must now 
 be devoted to your recovery.'^ 
 
 "It is too late— I feel that I must die! 
 though I could wish to stay a little longer in 
 this world of misery for your sake, dear brother, 
 and for the sake of the poor child. But I am 
 sinking, Hugh, sinking fast. This wound in 
 my forehead will soon do its work.'" 
 ^'^ How came you by it V 
 "Promise me/^ Judith repHed, ^^that you 
 will religiously fulfil the compact you hare 
 made with Mr. Johnson, and nothing shall be 
 concealed from you.^' 
 
 Hugh Bernard started from his chair by the 
 bed-side. "What!'^ he exclaimed fliriously, 
 " is that ruffian lord a murderer and a seducer 
 too ? I repent me of my promise.'' And he 
 strode, with frenzied gestures, up and down the 
 room. 
 
 " Hugh, Hugh ! you will kill me now at this 
 instant, if you do not stifle your passion," faintly 
 ejaculated Judith. '' I would be calm when I 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 146 FERRERS. 
 
 die — do not scare me out of life. Consider 
 how deplorably weak I am, dear Hugh." 
 
 These words moderated the fiery tumult of 
 the young man's soul, and, breathing a heavy 
 sigh J he sat down again by his sister, calmer, 
 indeed, than when he arose under the first 
 monstrous conception of Ferrers's brutality, but 
 with his heart still trembling at the sense of 
 Judith's wrongs — of her helplessness and mor- 
 tal suffering. And she must be unavenged ! 
 
 "Thank you, dear Hugh, thank you,^* 
 breathed the poor girl. " Nov/, listen quietly 
 to what may be my last words. They shall be 
 calmly uttered : I have done with resentment, 
 and must now regard my enemy in no other 
 light than as the father of my child. He will 
 not protect him; 1 know that; but I hope you 
 will, dear brother, though the boy must be a 
 living witness of your sister's shame." 
 
 " You and I will both cherish him," replied 
 Hugh, " and keep him from the evil^ of his 
 father's ways."
 
 FERRERS. 147 
 
 "Thank you, thank you 1" was feebly ejacu- 
 lated by Judith. "When you went to sea, 
 dear brother, you recollect that you left me 
 here with Dorothy, and that I worked with her 
 in her day labour. For a time we were able to 
 earn our food and pay our rent; and though 
 we laid down every night in exhaustion from 
 over-much toil, and rose every morning to a 
 renewal of our slavery, we were not without 
 moments of content, for our exertions kept off 
 hunger and thirst. 
 
 "But winter came on— winter, always dread- 
 ful to the poor, and in that year more than 
 commonly dreadful.* Our earnings could not 
 purchase bread enough to sustain us ; and, to 
 
 * It was in the winter of 1747-8 (the year iu question,) 
 that above a hundred persons perished by cold iu ihe streets 
 of Petersburgh ; and in many of the villages in the more 
 northern parts of Russia, every living creature was frozen to 
 death. Many of the sufferers, in this ghastly visitation, were 
 found by travellers after the frost had broken up, lying 
 stone dead in their rooms, wrapped up in furs. But alJ 
 would not avail against the merciless rigour ! The incle- 
 mency was fearfully felt in this country. 
 
 H 2
 
 148 FERRERS. 
 
 add to our hardships, fuel, without which we 
 could not labour, could only be procured at a 
 price utterly beyond our means. We were 
 aismayed, for starvation was before us. 
 
 " In this fearful season, I was haunted by the 
 thought that I was a burden on Dorothy — 
 that if 1 was away, she could provide better for 
 herself. Not that she ever murmured, or 
 looked coldly on me ; but when we divided the 
 scanty meal, which, had Dorothy been without 
 a dependant, might have sufficed for her, her 
 sweet jDatience almost broke my heart, and I 
 longed to relieve her from the load I had cast 
 upon her. Do you hear me, dear Hugh ? My 
 voice seems very weak.^^ 
 
 ^' Every word you utter sinks into my heart, 
 Judith ; but you had better take some rest now, 
 and then, you know, you may be stronger to- 
 morrow, and we can talk again. '^ 
 
 "Suppose, dear Hugh, '^ said the poor girl, 
 with a searching look into her brother's face, 
 " suppose I should never see to-morrow !^' 
 
 "Do not talk so, I beseech you,^' replied
 
 FERRERS. 149 
 
 Bernard; ^^ with Mr. Johnson's care^ Dorothy's 
 good nursings and my love, you shall see how 
 soon we will build you up." 
 
 ^' Heaven bless you all V' faintly ejaculated 
 Judith. ^^ But I feel that death is coming 
 fast upon me. I shall not be afraid to die, dear 
 Hugh, if I can only see my child once more.*' 
 
 '' Have 'n't they told you, Judith, that Mr. 
 Kirkland is gone to fetch the little fellow ? I 
 expect his return every moment. Be happy 
 on that score, and compose yourself to rest.*' 
 
 ^^ No, no," returned Judith ; ^^ I have begun 
 to tell you of my sufferings, and I wish you to 
 hear all now — now, dear Hugh, before my voice 
 shall be gone for ever." 
 
 And the afflicted girl sobbed under the sharp 
 pressure of her sorrow and her shame. 
 
 " I have said," she at length resumed, with a 
 strong effort, "that I longed to relieve poor 
 Dorothy from the toil, far beyond her strength, 
 of supporting me. But what could I do ? I 
 had no acquaintance — not one. The few we 
 used to possess when Mrs. Hollis was living,
 
 ] 50 FERRERS. 
 
 hacl^ as if by one compact^ forsaken you and 
 me on the first approach of our misfortune. 
 Even our oldest and steadiest friend — you re- 
 collect him — had ceased to notice us. Misery 
 makes strange solitude. I longed for death, 
 and Heaven knows that the only consoling 
 thought left me was of the grave \'' 
 
 " I, toO;, beloved sister/' interposed Hugh^ 
 " have undergone the stubborn horror of that 
 feeUng. But we must both cheer up -, brighter 
 days are in store for us.^^ 
 • The poor^ wounded girl shook her head 
 incredulously. 
 
 " It is too late/^ she said. " How often 
 have I sat in this hut, oppressed with gloom;, 
 and seen, with envy, the miserable convicts 
 hanged not far from our door! They had 
 shaken off all turmoil, at least of this life : with 
 them the last of earthly ills was over — the final 
 pang endured. Two years of evil days — two 
 long years of consuming toil, and hopeless 
 battling with want, had worn me out; and 
 Dorothy and I were sunk too low to receive
 
 FERRERS. 151 
 
 from human hands the consolations of religion. 
 How were ive to get pious books? What 
 pastor would visit our bare hut ? We could 
 not join in pubhc worship, for we felt that our 
 rags would disgrace the Sabbath church. I 
 was frantic with misery.'^ 
 
 '^ Poor, poor sister 1" exclaimed Hugh^ with 
 a heavy sigh. 
 
 "About this time," resumed Judith, "Do- 
 rothy and I were surprised one day by a visit 
 from Mr. Foxston, the person who used to per- 
 secute Mrs. HolUs at West End. To me he 
 behaved with singular attention ; and, as if to 
 make up for his former cruelt}-, (so at least it 
 seemed at first) presented us with small sums 
 of money. Here was a change in our existence ! 
 But I little guessed his purpose.^^ 
 
 " You amaze me 1^^ said Bernard. " It was 
 
 from this very man that I heard in Jamaica of 
 
 your T;\Tongs. He was then penniless, and 
 
 •loud in his denunciations of the libe'tine 
 
 peer.^' 
 
 " Listen, and your wonder will cease,'^ re^
 
 152 FERRERS. 
 
 plied Judith. "After he had continued his 
 visits for some weeks^ he told Dorothy that he 
 would obtain employment for her as laundress 
 to a nobleman who had just arrived in one of 
 the great hotels from the country. It was 
 settled that I was to call on his Lordship j and 
 Mr. Foxston furnished me with means to make 
 a neat appearance. I went^, accordingly, to the 
 hotel, and saw Lord Ferrers, who tempted me 
 with his gold and with his flattery. Long suf- 
 fering had beaten down my sense of right and 
 wrong; and I fled from Dorothy^s hut to a 
 gaudy lodging, provided by his Lordship. Fox- 
 ston and he have since quarrelled with bitter 
 animosity, and I believe each would rejoice in 
 the other's death .^' 
 
 " Unutterable villains \'^ exclaimed Bernard. 
 '^^ I have sworn to abstain from revenge as re- 
 gards the chief off'ender; but I may one day 
 meet with his infamous agent, if drink has not 
 yet killed him.^^ 
 
 " Revenge will not benefit me, dear brother, 
 nor you,'^ returned Judith. " Think not of it.
 
 FERRERS. 153 
 
 My sin was not to be redeemed, and it was 
 quickly punished. No sooner was I a mother, 
 than I became the object of scorn and hate to 
 him who had professed everlasting fidehty to 
 me. In the awful morning of yesterday — 
 was it not yesterday ? — while roaming about in 
 despair, I accidentally encountered Lord Fer- 
 rers before day-light in the streets, who, after 
 heaping curses on me, threw me with violence 
 on the pavement, giving me this wound on my 
 forehead, which I feel will be my death. It is 
 even now throbbing with agony too great to 
 bear. My brow seems bursting." 
 
 The unfortunate creature closed her eyes, 
 and lifted her wan hand to her forehead. A 
 tremor came over her. She removed her lin- 
 gers from tlie bandage, and, holding her red 
 palm out to her brother, said, with a meek 
 smile, 
 
 " See, Hugh, how fast the wound bleeds 
 again ! I have exerted myself too much, and 
 feel, on a sudden, deadly faint and dizzy. Kiss 
 me, dear Hugh ! Pray with me, and for me 1" 
 
 h3
 
 154 FERRERS. 
 
 Bernard looked into his sister's face, down 
 which the blood was rapidly coursing. The 
 expression of the countenance had changed on 
 a sudden : it had become a visage of earth. 
 
 "Alas !" exclaimed Judith, with a struggling 
 and gasping utterance, "I shall never more 
 see my child ! These pangs are mortal ! I 
 die 1'' 
 
 " Mrs. Tull ! Mrs. Tull ! come in quickly, 
 for Heaven's sake !" ejaculated Hugh. 
 
 The door was opened, and Dorothy appeared 
 carrying an infant. Judith's quick eye, blood- 
 bedabbled as it was, caught sight of the child. 
 
 " Ah \" she cried, in a convulsive voice, as 
 she rose in the bed and held out her arms, 
 " my babe ! Put him to me — quick ! On 
 my heart ! — on my heart ! — ^there — there V 
 
 And, clasping the child, she sank backwards 
 on her pillow. 
 
 " Help help !" shouted Hugh Bernard. 
 
 Mr. Kirkland, who, in compliance with his 
 promise, had brought the child from his house, 
 now entered the room, summoned thither by
 
 FERRERS. 155 
 
 Hugh Bernard^s cries ; and, having looked at 
 his patient, motioned her brother to leave the 
 chamber, saying, " This is no sight for you/' 
 
 " Let me stay with her even to the last, I 
 implore you, if the last be indeed so near," was 
 Hugh's reply. "Recollect, Sir, she is my only re- 
 lative — my sister — my twin sister. I cannot leave 
 her — indeed I cannot, let me suffer what I may." 
 
 " Be silent, then, young man,'^ said Mr. 
 Kirkland ; " we are in the presence of death ! 
 Hush V he continued, addressing Dorothy, who 
 had burst into a paroxysm of weeping — ''do 
 not vex her parting spirit ! She is going ! 
 This sudden burst of blood has been too much 
 for her remaining strength. So young too !'^ 
 
 The sufferer's eyes now grew white and 
 glassy, and Dorothy, careful of the child, 
 stooped over the bed to remove it from its 
 mother's breast. 
 
 " Nay," interposed Mr. Kirkland, " do not 
 take away the infant, but just put your hand 
 to its side, lest it fall from its mother's 
 relaxing arms. See, they are face to face.
 
 156 FKRRERS. 
 
 The blood will not hurt the child— let it lie 
 just as it is. This is indeed a dismal sight ! 
 Hush 1'^ 
 
 In a few minutes, a long-drawn, heavy^ con- 
 vulsive sigh, followed by a shuddering of all the 
 limbs, and by that unutterably horrid fixture 
 of the open mouth, which is never seen but in 
 death, told that the sufferings of the poor girl 
 were over ! She died with her arms around 
 the child.
 
 FERRERS. 157 
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 BVCOUNTER IN HYDE FARK PREVENTED — A PUZZLE FOR THE OB- 
 SERVERS OF CHARACTER — THE BELLIGERENTS IN CUSTODY — " THE 
 COURSE OF TRUE LOVE NEVER DOES RUN SMOOTH" — ACCIDENTAL 
 DISCOVERY — ITS EFFECTS. 
 
 Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me ; 
 Let's purge this choler without letting blood : 
 Our doctors say this is no time to bleed. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The shadows of a March evening were fast 
 descending as Lord Ferrers and Sir Thomas 
 Stapleton left the house of the Countess of 
 Huntingdon, for the purpose of settling the 
 quarrel, which the violent and insulting conduct 
 of the former had provoked. 
 
 No time could have been more favourable 
 for such a purpose. Scarcely a person was 
 moving about, for — not to mention that since 
 the earthquake in the morning, the weather
 
 158 FERRERS. 
 
 had resumed the usual bleak character that 
 distinguishes it in the spring, and that a bitter 
 north-east wind rushed, like an assassin, 
 against the pedestrian at every corner — the 
 people felt worn out with the excitement and 
 alarm, which had startled them from their 
 sleep before dawn^ and were now, for the most 
 part, reposing at home. 
 
 Sir Thomas, being a young man of rather 
 uncontrollable spirit, might probably have re- 
 sented the brutal behaviour of Lord Ferrers 
 without any other motive than indignation 
 against the vapourings of a bully in the pre- 
 sence of ladies, and on a solemn occasion ; but, 
 when to this was added a passion which he 
 had many months cherished for Miss Meredith, 
 to whom the Earl had made such insolent 
 pretensions, his exasperation knew no bounds^ 
 and he led his opponent on with feelings of 
 deadly hatred. 
 
 It will scarcely be necessary to remind the 
 reader, that in those days, and indeed long 
 after, gentlemen wore swords, so that
 
 FERRERS. 159 
 
 Lord Ferrers and Sir Thomas were fully- 
 equipped for the conflict they meditated. 
 
 After having proceeded a short distance, and 
 turned the corner of Chesterfield Street, Sir 
 Thomas stopped, and, accosting Ferrers, said, 
 
 " As I have challenged you, my Lord, you 
 have a right to mention your own place 
 for the adjustment of this affair. But if, 
 as I fear, you are not sober, and may 
 require time and calmer thoughts, either to 
 meet me when you shall be perfectly yourself, 
 or else to make an apology to the company of 
 which I formed a part, and which, even while 
 engaged in their devotions, have been exposed 
 to your outrageous conduct, I will hsten to 
 what you have to say, provided you speak 
 promptly.'' 
 
 " I have no other answer to make,^' repUed 
 the peer, "than that you are an infernal 
 scoundrel, and that Hyde Park is at hand.^' 
 
 '• Come on then,^' rejoined Sir Thomas. *^ I 
 shall not bandy abusive words with you. Quick !
 
 1 60 FERRERS. 
 
 we have no time to lose —twiliglit is growing 
 upon us. Follow me." 
 
 The opponents accordingly hurried along 
 Chesterfield Street, and soon passed through 
 the gate into the Park. 
 
 In the hurry and confusion of the moment,, 
 the gentlemen who had left Lady Huntingdon's 
 house with a view of preventing the rencontre, 
 had taken a wrong direction, and, for a time, 
 lost sight of the combatants, who, in a few 
 minutes more would have been hotly engaged. 
 
 But other eyes were upon them, and another 
 interruption was at hand. 
 
 Lounging about before the Countess's door, 
 a singular looking personage might have been 
 seen. He was a tall old man, apparently near 
 seventy years of age. His complexion was 
 yellow, like one in the last stage of the jaun- 
 dice : he stooped very much, and, as he limped 
 along, supported his steps by a short crutch- 
 stick. Over one of his eyes he wore a black 
 patch: his wig was white and full-bottomed.
 
 FERRERS. IGl 
 
 and his low- crowned and broad-brimmed hat 
 flapped over his forehead. He was enveloped 
 in a camblet great coat^, the large cape of which 
 was so placed as to hide the lower part of 
 his face, while his legs were wrapped up in 
 flannel, hanging over his shoes so as to conceal 
 the little narrow silver buckles which fastened 
 them. 
 
 This tottering valetudinarian had no sooner 
 seen the furious couple hasten towards the 
 Park, than he quickened his pace, with extra- 
 ordinary vigour for so old a gentleman, 
 and came up with the opponents, just as 
 they had selected a spot and had drawn their 
 swords. Whatever the suspicions of the aged 
 invalid might already have been, there was now 
 no possibility of mistaking the purpose of the 
 belligerents ; seeing which, he quickened his 
 steps to a run, and planted himself between 
 Ferrers and Stapleton just as they were making 
 their first pass at each other. 
 
 " What are ye about ?^' said he in a feeble 
 voice, the utterance of which seemed to bring
 
 162 FERRERS. 
 
 on a short and hectic cough. " Are ye chris- 
 tians or savages, thus to let blood on such an 
 evening as this ? This north-easter will 
 pierce you enough without cold iron. Put up 
 your swords." 
 
 Ferrers,, who seemed not in the least sur- 
 prised at the interposition of the infirm old 
 gentleman, answered not a word ; but Sir 
 Thomas, enraged at being interrupted at such a 
 moment, exclaimed — 
 
 ^^Go home, go to bed, and warm your- 
 self, old dotard ! or I'll quicken the circulation 
 of your blood with the flat side of my sword 
 across your shoulders. Go ?' 
 
 The old man grasped his stick with a con- 
 vulsive pressure. 
 
 "You shan't fight^ I tell you that," said he ; 
 ^^ and I tell you, furthermore, my young blade, 
 that if you offer to touch me with your sword, 
 Vl\ break it into shivers across my knee, and 
 beat you with my stick, if I don't I'm — '' 
 
 And the feeble old gentleman's dry cough 
 came on again.
 
 FERRERS. 163 
 
 Sir Thomas Stapleton, enraged as he was, 
 could hardly suppress a laugh at the mock- 
 heroics of the almost bed-ridden invalid. But 
 soon dismissing this emotion, he called on the 
 Earl to accompany him into the more wooded 
 recesses of the Park, telling the intruder that 
 if he presumed to follow them, he would not 
 answer for the consequences, unwilling as he 
 might be to hurt one who was apparently on 
 the brink of the grave. 
 
 " Bah ?' exclaimed the old gentleman, with 
 a mischievous twinkle of his one eye. 
 
 Sir Thomas now grew more and more furious. 
 " Why do you pause, my Lord ?" said he to 
 the Earl. '^ If you do not instantly come with 
 me, I shall suspect you are glad of the impo- 
 tent interposition of this grey-beard, and shall 
 brand you, as Mr. Whitefield has already done, 
 with the name of coward." 
 
 Turning towards Ferrers, who continued 
 mute, the old man seized him by the collar, 
 with a remarkably firm grasp for so reverend and 
 sickly a personage, and said, " You donH stir
 
 164 FERRERS. 
 
 one step ! It's no use struggling, you know. 
 And as for you^ my young fighting-cock/' ad- 
 dressing Stapleton, who was now too much as- 
 tonished to speak, *^ you may go and play at 
 carte and tierce with the trees if you like, for 
 you see your man can't follow you. Ah ! ha ! 
 what a couple of fools !" 
 
 At this moment a group of eight or ten per- 
 sons was discerned in the twilight, running 
 with all possible speed towards the spot. 
 
 " Well done, Jem !" whispered Ferrers to 
 the old gentleman. ^^ I knew you as soon as 
 you spoke. I'm always lucky. You had 
 better be off now. These people are Lady 
 Huntingdon's friends. I've missed the girl." 
 
 " No you hav'n't," returned the other. " I 
 know who she went away with. I got it out 
 of the footman." 
 
 " Good ! My usual luck. Be off." 
 
 The old valetudinarian, accordingly, having 
 waited till the pursuers were close at hand, 
 slunk away in the confusion, and, creeping 
 round the circular wall which encloses a large
 
 FERRERS. 165 
 
 basin in that part of the park, was soon lost to 
 \dew. 
 
 The party of gentlemen^ bringing one of the 
 gate-keepers who officiated as constable^ now 
 came close to the hostile pair, who were forth- 
 with taken into custody, carried before Mr. 
 Fielding, and bound over to keep the peace to- 
 wards each otlier fur twelve calendar months. 
 Sir Thomas resolving, wlien that period should 
 expire, to call his rival to a strict account, 
 whether Miss Meredith should at that time 
 continue unmarried, or have become Lady 
 Ferrers or Lady Stapleton. 
 
 Miss Meredith, who, as has been already 
 hinted^ was a weak-minded and rather silly 
 girl, had attracted the ardent notice of Lord 
 Ferrers at the Derby races of the preceding 
 summer. Her vanity was gratified by the ad- 
 miration of an Earl^ and his advances were 
 met with as much encouragement as was con- 
 sistent with maidenly propriety, in which, as 
 the world goes^ she was not in the remotest 
 degree deficient. She had, indeed, previously
 
 166 FERRERS. 
 
 to this, permitted the attentions of Sir Thomas 
 Stapleton, though the acquaintance between her 
 ancj this gentleman had not sufficiently ripened 
 to allow of any distinct declaration or proposal 
 on his part. 
 
 But the chance of becoming a peeress was 
 too grand a thing to be forfeited out of any 
 feeling towards her first admirer ; so that Sir 
 Thomas, from the time of the races, met only 
 blank looks, while the smiles of the young 
 beauty were reserved for the man who could 
 encircle her brow with a coronet. Not that 
 she was in love with, or even fancied she could 
 ever love Lord Ferrers : neither his person, his 
 manners, nor the habits of his life were to her 
 taste ; while, on the contrary, those of Sir 
 Thomas met her entire approval. But, alas ! 
 he was only Sir Thomas, and his rival was an 
 Earl. 
 
 Ferrers, who was very sensible to the charms 
 of beauty, had scarcely been in company 
 with Miss Meredith a dozen times, be- 
 fore he became irresistibly fascinated. He
 
 FERRERS. 1G7 
 
 soon found an opportunity of declaring his 
 passion, and was referred by the young lady 
 to her father. In endeavouring to secure the 
 gratification of any of his wishes, the Earl was 
 not idle. He lost no time, therefore, in seeing 
 Sir William Meredith, and in making to him 
 his proposal in due form, when, to his utter 
 surprise, he was met by a cool and determined 
 refusal. Sir William knew his character, and 
 would not compromise the happiness of his 
 child by any such alHance, however brilliant it 
 might seem. 
 
 The only effect of this, however, was to inspire 
 in the breast of Ferrers a bitter hatred pf Sir Wil- 
 liam, and a resolution to possess the daughter 
 in defiance of him. He accordingly continued 
 his visits at the house of the Baronet with un- 
 remitting perseverance, until, at length, he w^as 
 forbidden the place, and the servants received 
 orders not to admit him, on any pretence. To 
 secure more effectually the exemption of Miss 
 Meredith from the EarPs addresses, Sir Wil- 
 liam took her to London, and placed her with
 
 1 68 FERRERS, 
 
 such caution and secrecy under the care of his 
 friend, the Countess of Suffolk, that none of 
 his servants, nor even his intimate connexions 
 knew whither she had gone. 
 
 Matters were in this position when, rather 
 late on the day of the earthquake, one of Lord 
 Ferrers's disreputable hangers-on, a fellow 
 who had been with him at the Derby races 
 when he first met Miss Meredith, and 
 whose black and desperate character not even 
 the Earl had thoroughly fathomed, saw the 
 young beauty in company with an elderly lady, 
 in a barouche crossing Grosvenor Square. 
 This man who was prowling about town in 
 disguise, it not being altogether advisable or 
 convenient that he should aj^pear in his proper 
 person, thought it not unlikely that the carriage 
 would set down its freight somewhere in the 
 fashionable neighbourhood in which he saw it, 
 and accordingly he ran after it with his utmost 
 speed. He was not disappointed. The ladies 
 were deposited at the house of the Countess of 
 Huntingdon in Park Street, before Vrhicli a
 
 FERRERS. 169 
 
 great many carriages were standing, and, out 
 of breath, the myrmidon hastened to his master 
 with the welcome intelligence. 
 
 Unluckily my Lord was not at the hotel ; but 
 as his valet expected him soon, the spy left an 
 ambiguous message, which he felt pretty certain 
 Lord Ferrers would understand ; and, rapidly 
 making a few alterations in his personal ap- 
 pearance, so that he should not be recognized 
 by the footman who had, an hour before, ob- 
 served him running in the same direction with 
 the carriage, he repaired again to Park Street, 
 fearing that the visit of the ladies might terminate 
 before Lord Ferrers could arrive, and that then 
 all trace of them might be lost. To his great 
 satisfaction he still found the coach he sought, 
 standing with the rest at the door ; but he had 
 not long taken up his post, and ascertained 
 to whom the carriage belonged, before the 
 coachman was ordered to draw up, and Lady 
 Suffolk and Miss Meredith issued from the 
 house and were driven homewards. 
 
 Our spy had now learned all that he wished 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 FERRERS. 
 
 to know : there was no further necessity that 
 he should hirk about the place. Just, however, 
 as he was taking his departure, he saw the 
 Earl on foot making, with a furious pace, to- 
 wards the house. It was in vain that the myr- 
 midon sought his master's eye ; either he did 
 not recognize his agent in the new disguise he 
 had assumed, or he was so pre-occupied by the 
 glorious opportunity now afforded him of seeing 
 Miss Meredith in his cousin's house, as to ob- 
 serve nothing in the street along which he 
 paced. 
 
 The hall-porter's hesitation to admit his 
 Lordship, and the violence with which the 
 latter pushed his way into the house, did not 
 escape the notice of our watchful spy, who 
 determined to wait till Ferrers should re- 
 appear. Hence the interposition, which, in all 
 probability, saved the life either of Lord Fer- 
 rers or of Sir Thomas Stapleton. It would by 
 no means have answered the purpose of the 
 pretended old gentleman to see the individual 
 slain by whom he was employed in certain
 
 FERRERS. 171 
 
 contrivances connected with betting at races, 
 prize-fights, &c. ; and through whom, in this 
 respectable way, he derived the means of 
 subsistence. 
 
 I 2
 
 ] 72 FERRERS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 JUDIIH'S funeral — rADDlNGTON OLD CHURCH AND CHURCH-YARD 
 — THE INTERMENT — SINGULAR CONDUCT OF A STRANGER — A DIS- 
 COVERY — MR. JOHNSON AND HUGH BERNARD LEAVE LONDON FOR 
 THE LOUNT— THEIR ARRIVAL THERE — MISS JOHNSON. 
 
 In this world, the Isle of dreames. 
 While we sit by sorrowe's streames, 
 Teares and terrors are our theames, 
 Reciting : 
 
 But when once from hence we flie, 
 More and more approaching nigh 
 Unto young eternitie, 
 
 Uniting : 
 
 There no monstrous fancies shall 
 Out of hell a horrour call, 
 To create, or cause at all, 
 
 Affrighting. 
 
 HERRICK. 
 
 What spectacle of death assaults me ? Oh I 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER, 
 
 It was a weeping, moaning forenoon on the 
 1 5th of March when Judith Bernard was
 
 FERRERS. 1^3 
 
 carried to her earthy bed. One low, leaden, 
 spongy cloud seemed spread over the whole 
 firmament: a sharp, horizontal rain, driven 
 before a wind which howled from the west, 
 almost bUnded the wayfarer as he pushed 
 along with stooping head and dripping hat : 
 the air, though not foggy, was dim and dirty, 
 and the church-path in the fields through 
 which the walking funeral passed on its road 
 to the burial-place of St. Mary's Paddington, 
 was slippery with sodden clay and mire. 
 
 A more wretched day could hardly be con- 
 ceived : it was in unison with the melancholy 
 business to be then transacted. The cottagers 
 in Tyburn Fields, anxious as they were, like 
 all people in that class of hfe, to view what 
 they call a " bur)ing,'^ were unable to stand at 
 their doors, the slant rain coming against them 
 with such rushing force; and from their windows 
 nothing could be seen, as the panes were blinded 
 with clinging humidity through which the wet 
 and hazy sky could not penetrate. Every thing 
 at a little distance looked of one ashy colour
 
 174 FERRERS. 
 
 — houses, grass and leafless trees. Even the 
 line which separates earth and sky could not 
 be distinguished. 
 
 The idle women, and ragged girls and boys, 
 who had reckoned on the pleasure of following 
 a corpse to the grave — especially the corpse of 
 a murdered woman (a report to that efFecthaving 
 got about the neighbourhood) — were compelled, 
 against their will, to stay at home; and the 
 simple procession went on its course without 
 observers. 
 
 The church-yard of Paddington, even now 
 when a comparatively new, formal, unpic- 
 turesque, square, brick edifice is built in it, 
 and when it is surrounded by streets, is still 
 the most beautiful of all the parish cemete- 
 ries near the metropolis. What then must 
 it have been in 1750, when with its humble, 
 antiquated village church, it stood in holy quiet 
 with fields about it ? The burial-ground, though 
 not so large as at present, was nevertheless 
 extensive, and, particularly towards its northern 
 boundary, umbrageous with many trees : the
 
 FERRERS. 175 
 
 dark and solemn yew — the cypress-looking 
 poplar — the broad-leaved and branch-spread- 
 ing sycamore — the drooping and grave-loving 
 willow — and the towering elm. 
 
 To this humble and, in those days, rustic 
 fane, was the coffin of Judith Bernard borne. 
 It was followed by her brother, as chief mour- 
 ner, and by Mr. Johnson and Mr. Kirkland, 
 both of whom, heedless of the weather, had 
 resolved to pay the last tribute of sympathy to 
 the memory of the poor girl. 
 
 As the bearers of the coffin entered the 
 burial-ground, the priest came forth from the 
 church porch and commenced the awful cere- 
 mony for the Burial of the Dead. '• I am the 
 resurrection and the life, saith the Lord.^' 
 
 This service, Uke all the rest of our grand 
 Liturgy, is of so solemn a nature, with its 
 union of saintly simphcity, overwhelming 
 pathos, and irresistible power, that one cannot 
 but wonder at the strength of custom, or the 
 deadening eflfect of familiarity, which enables 
 clergymen to read it with a steady voice. To 
 one of mature age who should peruse it for the
 
 176 FERRERS. 
 
 first time, even in his comfortable room, the 
 effect would be impressive and absorbing in 
 no slight degree^ what then must it be to those 
 who listen to the words with the coffin before 
 their eyes, in which the body of a relative or 
 friend, is for ever nailed down in darkness ? 
 Oh ! what must be their emotions ! 
 
 It is perhaps fortunate rather than other- 
 wise that this overwhelming ceremony should 
 generally be performed in a tone of indifference 
 by the officiating minister. Were this not the 
 case, and were the words pronounced with due 
 emphasis, such as that of Whitefield or Wesley, 
 the utterance of them would be stopped by the 
 shrieks and hysterical sobs of the mourners. 
 
 The men who wrote and compiled our 
 Liturgy must have been persons of giant 
 faculties. Except in the Scriptures them- 
 selves, language has never approached the 
 divine formularies of our Book of Common 
 Prayer, either in intensity of purpose, in the 
 power of searching hearts, or in the awful 
 strength whereby the evil-minded are adjured 
 to " turn from their wickedness and live."
 
 FERRERS. 177 
 
 The Communion Service, in which the partakers 
 of the Sacramental mystery, are admonished 
 to repent of any wrong they may have per- 
 petrated against their neighbours, and to make 
 restitution and satisfaction for such injury, or 
 not to presume to approach the table — the 
 Order for the Visitation of the Sick — the 
 Burial Service — and the Thanksgi^-ing of 
 Women, are rituals of subUme force, and sub- 
 duing pathos. Then the Litany with its tearful 
 supplications for deliverance ^' in all time of 
 our tribulation, and m all time of our wealth;'' 
 and its petitions to the Most High that He 
 will " comfort and help the weak-hearted, and 
 raise up them that fall, and succour all that 
 are in danger, necessity, and tribulation, and 
 provide for fatherless children and widows, and 
 all that are desolate and oppressed.'^ — Oh ! 
 who can join Sunday after Sunday, in such 
 upliftings of the heart — in such pious, lov- 
 ing, and purifying appeals to God — and go 
 abroad in other days of the week to circum- 
 vent, cheat, persecute with legal fraud, pur- 
 sue with unrelenting cruelty, violate all social 
 
 i3
 
 1 78 FERRERS. 
 
 ties and human feelings out of an accursed 
 love of self, and lust for gold^ ruin and 
 break the hearts of their fellow-creatures, es- 
 pecially such of them as are threatened with 
 adversity? and yet nothing is more common. 
 It cannot be that our noble Liturgy is too 
 weak, but that our hard vices are too strong.- 
 
 On the occasion of Judith's interment, the 
 service was read with unusual emphasis by the 
 good pastor, who, perhaps had heard something 
 of the dead woman's story, or was himself 
 " acquainted with grief." Every word fell 
 from his lips with holy solemnity, and his 
 hearers were deeply affected. Hugh Bernard 
 trembled when he heard the Psalmist's words, 
 '' Take thy plague away from me ; I am even 
 consumed by means of thy heavy hand. Hear 
 my prayer, O Lord, and with thine ears con- 
 sider my calling; hold not thy peace at my tears." 
 
 But altogether, the ceremony within the 
 church was comforting, and the mourning 
 party followed the corpse to the grave with 
 more serenity than they had yet felt. 
 
 After the coffin had been lowered into the
 
 FERRERS. 179 
 
 ground, and while the sprinkling of mould was 
 cast upon it, as the words '^ Earth to earth, 
 ashes to ashes, dust to dust ?' were ejaculated, 
 a man muffled up to his face in a cloak, and 
 who had been observed when the body was 
 borne towards the grave, to be hngering about 
 among the crowded tomb-stones, suddenly- 
 advanced, and looking down on the coffin, 
 which had now reached its final resting place, 
 exclaimed, " O God ! mercy, mercy 1'^ 
 
 The clergyman directed his eyes " more in 
 sorrow than in anger'^ towards the person who 
 had thus interrupted the ceremony ; but he 
 moved quickly away, and seemed anxious not to 
 be observed, as he kept his tattered cloak 
 closer to his face than would have been requi- 
 site merely on account of the rain. 
 
 Mr. Johnson and Hugh Bernard had no time 
 to meditate on the occurrence, for the minister 
 again fixed their minds on the ceremony by 
 the utterance of the benediction commencing 
 with the words, *^ I heard a voice from heaven.^^ 
 
 Before the conclusion of the rite, the stranger
 
 180 FERRERS. 
 
 had entirely disappeared. But a singular dis- 
 covery awaited the friends in returning towards 
 the church, A tomb-stone was observed by Mr. 
 Johnson, close to where Judith had been in- 
 terred, and which bore the name of ^'^ Jane 
 Mollis.^* He mentioned this to Hugh Ber- 
 nard ; and, on subsequent inspection, it was 
 found to indicate the spot where the earthly 
 part of Hugh's late friend w^as deposited. The 
 following was the inscription : 
 
 " HERE LIETH THE REMAINS OP JANE HOLLIS, 
 RELICT OF WILLIAM HOLLIS, LATE OF ST. ANNE's 
 SOHO, WESTMINSTER. SHE DEPARTED THIS LIFE 
 ON THE 1ST OCTOBER, 1746." 
 
 " What a singular and Ijlessed circum- 
 stance,^^ exclaimed Bernard, ^^ that the bodies 
 of my sister and her steadfast guardian, should, 
 by the merest chance, rest so near together ! 
 Till now, I never knew where the remains of 
 our dear Mrs. Hollis had been laid. Yes, this 
 is her grave ! here, until doomsday, will sleep 
 two friends who loved each other, and who, 
 though cruelly separated, are now united in
 
 FERRERS. 181 
 
 the same spot. Both women^ and both mur- 
 dered !" 
 
 ^^ May they rest in peace !" was fervently 
 ejaculated by Mr. Johnson. 
 
 Mr. Kirkland now took leave of his compa- 
 nions, with an expression of good ^^shes to- 
 w^ards Hugh Bernard, and an acknowledgment 
 of the disinterested kindness of Mr. Johnson. 
 
 " Farewell !^' said Mr. Johnson, " we shall, 
 I trust, see each other again." 
 
 « Often, I hope," replied Mr. Kirkland ; " but 
 with the blessing of Heaven, never on so me- 
 lancholy an occasion as this. Farewell to both." 
 
 When the surgeon had departed, Hugh said 
 to Mr. Johnson, " Had my mind not been 
 excited by the discovery of this tomb-stone, 
 I should, before now, have asked whether you 
 have any suspicion as to the man who during 
 the ceremony made so strange an exclama- 
 tion." 
 
 '* No, I cannot form the slightest guess as 
 to him," replied Mr. Johnson, " I meant to 
 have put the same question to you." 
 
 ^^ Are you sure it was not Lord Ferrers ?"
 
 182 FERRERS. 
 
 " Quite sure. The man we saw just now 
 was taller and thinner than my Lord/^ \ 
 
 " The circumstance was a curious one,'^ 
 pursued Hugh. " In all probability, the 
 stranger was mistaken as to the deceased ; his 
 feelings, however, must have been intensely 
 excited, for the sigh which accompanied his 
 words came from the very depth of his heart. 
 I am not alone unhappy .^^ 
 
 " Let us think no more of it,'^ rejoined Mr. 
 Johnson. '^ To-morrow, I shall leave town 
 for my own house, near Stanton Harold. You 
 shall go with me, Bernard, and change the 
 scene, and taste the country." 
 
 '^ Does not Lord Ferrers live at Stanton 
 Harold ?" inquired Hugh Bernard. 
 
 " He does ; but this need make no difference 
 in my intention. His Lordship will not be at 
 Stanton till May. Meanwhile at my farm, 
 the Lount, you can recruit yourself with peace, 
 fresh air, and cheerful scenes. Come, Bernard, 
 I must have it so ; besides, during your visit 
 to me, we shall have time to deliberate as to 
 our plans for your future subsistence.''
 
 FERRERS. 183 
 
 '*• Heaven bless you for all your goodness !^' 
 ejaculated Hugh. 
 
 Accordingly, on the next day, Mr. Johnson 
 and Bernard, ha^^ng bidden farewell to Dorothy, 
 to whom Mr. Johnson made a parting gift, 
 set out for Leicestershire, taking Judith^s child 
 with them, and arrived after two days^ journey, 
 at the Lount, where they were received with a 
 smiling welcome by Miss Johnson who, though 
 young, acted as mistress of the house, her 
 mother havmg died some years before. 
 
 The sight of Mr. Johnson^s daughter, happy, 
 gay, innocent, and surrounded by every com- 
 fort under the eyes of a kind and watchful 
 parent, furnished a striking contrast in Hugh's 
 mind, to his lost sister who perished in misery, 
 self-reproach and bitter want. And yet much 
 of Judith's suflfering had been endured while 
 she was as pure and guiltless as the joyous 
 creature at the Lount ! Unwonted thoughts 
 arose in Bernard as to the mysterious dispen- 
 sations of Pro^'idence.
 
 184 FERRERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THIRD EARTHQUAKE EXPECTED— CONSTERNATION OP THE PEOPLE- 
 PROFLIGATE EXCESSES— WHITEFIELD AT MIDNIGHT IN HYDE PARK 
 — OUTRAGE BY LORD FERRERS — A CHURCH-YARD CHASE — THE OLD 
 MANOR HOUSE OF PADDINGTON — UNEXPECTED MEETING. 
 
 I return to the expected earthquake, which is to be to-day, 
 (8th April.) This frantic terror prevails so much, that within 
 these three days seven hundred and thirty coaches have 
 been counted passing Hyde Park corner, with whole parties 
 removing into the country. The prophet of all this, next 
 to the Bishop of London, is a trooper of Lord Delawar's. 
 
 HORACE WALPOLE. 
 
 God speed you well, old stranger, 
 
 And grant you His good grace ! 
 What do you fear of danger. 
 
 That sadly thus you pace, 
 A gaunt and lonely ranger, 
 
 In this decaying place ? 
 
 OLD BALLAD. 
 
 The day had now arrived, when, according to 
 the prediction, the third earthquake was to hap- 
 pen. On the night of Sunday the 8th of April, 
 London was to be swallowed up, and the con-
 
 FERRERS. 185 
 
 sternation was accordingly great and uncontrol- 
 lable. A day of public humiliation had been 
 ordered about a fortnight before the present 
 time, but this only increased the mischief; for 
 while some of the people, in the middle ranks, 
 particularly the women, who supposed the 
 earthquakes to have been judgments, observed 
 the fast devoutly, hundreds of the lower orders, 
 who were either incredulous or desperate, dese- 
 crated the day mth drunkenness, and the 
 streets presented scenes of abandoned profli- 
 gacy and outrage. 
 
 Every thing was in extremes. On the night 
 preceding that whereon the third earthquake 
 was to take place, an abandoned revel, called a 
 Venetian ball, in which all the refinements of 
 modern luxury were to be enjoyed, was held 
 by some of the most shameless among both 
 sexes in the upper gradations of life. Though 
 this violation of the Sabbath-eve was solemnly 
 forbidden by the magistrates, the revellers, one 
 of whom was Lord Ferrers, went on with their 
 avowed design.
 
 186 FERRERS. 
 
 The dissolute of the lower orders met on the 
 eve of the dreaded event in suburban ale- 
 houses, the illuminated gardens of which re- 
 sounded with music. In these, intemperance 
 and other vices had their full swing. 
 
 On the other hand, the terror inspired by 
 the predicted earthquake converted many from 
 their profligacy. Having long been dead in 
 trespasses and sins, in idleness, luxury, extra- 
 vagance and debauchery, they were quickened 
 to righteousness by the spasms of intolerable 
 fear, even as Belshazzar was startled into agony 
 from the voluptuous pleasures of his great 
 feast by the dreadful hand- writing, on the wall. 
 
 " Places of worship,^' says a writer who re- 
 cords the event, ^' were thronged with sinners, 
 especially the chapels of the methodists, where 
 multitudes came all night knocking at the 
 doors, and begging admittance for God's sake. 
 Thousands fled from the city for fear of being 
 suddenly overwhelmed, and repaired to the 
 fields where they continued all night in mo- 
 mentary expectation of beholding the trooper's
 
 FERRERS. 187 
 
 prophecy fulfilled ; whilst thousands ran about 
 the streets in the most wald and frantic state, 
 quite certain that the day of judgment was 
 about to commence. Mr. Whitefield, animated 
 with that burning charity which shone so cons- 
 picuously in him, ventured out at midnight to 
 Hyde Park, where he proclaimed to the af- 
 frighted and astonished multitude the most 
 essential and important tidings that ever as- 
 sailed the ears of mortals. The impressive 
 manner in which he addressed the careless 
 sinner, the sublimity of the discourse, and the 
 appearance of the place, added to the gloom 
 of night, the ghastly glare of the torches and 
 the awful horrors of a supposed approaching 
 earthquake, rendered the event solemn and 
 memorable in the highest degree.^'* 
 
 At this time, Mr. Romaine also assisted in 
 improving these fearful warnings, by publishing 
 his '^ Alarm to a Careless World,^^ and " The 
 Duty of Watchfulness Enforced." 
 
 * Life of Lady Huntingdon.
 
 188 FERRERS. 
 
 Nor were the prelates and other clergymen 
 of the Established Church behind-hand in 
 their endeavours for the spiritual good of their 
 countrymen. Earthquake-sermons were heard 
 in all the churches; the Bishop of Oxford, 
 (Seeker J was eloquent in his exhortations, and 
 Sherlock, the Bishop of London, wrote a pas- 
 toral letter of which fifty thousand were sold. 
 
 The absurdity of flight was vainly insisted 
 on. People were asked whether they could 
 hope, by change of place, to fly from the face 
 of that Creator who is every where present ? 
 and whether they thought the Divine displea- 
 sure, expressed in the convulsions of nature, 
 was against the spot of ground on which 
 London stands, or against the wickedness of 
 the persons who generally reside there ? 
 
 All, however, was of no avail; incredible 
 numbers flew to the open country, or lay in 
 boats all night, or travelled, scarcely knowing 
 w^hither, in their coaches till day-break. 
 
 But Lord Ferrers, as has been already said, 
 was skilled in the symptoms of earthquakes,
 
 FERRERS. 189 
 
 having been present at many in Calabria. 
 When the day arrived on which it was pre- 
 dicted that the shock which was to swallow 
 up London, would take place, he knew well 
 enough, by certain meteorological observations, 
 that nothing was more unlikely than such an 
 event. He, therefore, resolved to enjoy him- 
 self by witnessing the terrors of the deluded 
 people, on whom he determined to perpetrate 
 what he called a good joke, namely, to go 
 about the quietest streets of the West End on 
 the approach of morning, and knocking at 
 many of the doors, to call out in a watchman^s 
 voice, " Past four o'clock, and a dreadful earth- 
 quake V 
 
 InvaUds and old women were thus frightened 
 almost to death ; windows were thrown up in 
 dismay, screams were heard, and there was a 
 rush into the streets of many terrified and 
 shivering creatures. This was no doubt ca- 
 pital fun — good, manly, clever sport, worthy 
 the accomplishments and genius of a peer of 
 England. The house of his cousin, Lady Hun-
 
 190 FERRERS. 
 
 tingdon was not forgotten ; he had a little spite 
 to gratify against her on account of the dispute 
 about Miss Meredith; but in this instance^ he 
 was doomed to be disappointed, as her Lady- 
 ship and family had left town for Ashby. 
 
 After waiting some time in view of the 
 door^ and finding to his great mortification 
 that his trick made no impression, and that 
 neither his cousin nor her daughters rushed 
 half dressed into the streets, a suspicion of 
 the truth came on him, and bestowing a hearty 
 malediction on the good Lady Huntingdon, 
 he wandered up the Edgeware Road, with a 
 view of continuing his fun in the then quiet 
 village of Paddington w^hich, though it now 
 forms an integral portion of mighty London, 
 had, in those days, scarcely any other dwelling- 
 houses than a few at the eastern extremity of 
 the Harrow Road, and some of a better sort on 
 the Green, near the Church. 
 
 These latter were precisely the kind of houses 
 adapted for the mischievous purpose of the 
 peer, inasmuch as for the most part, they were
 
 FERRERS. 191 
 
 tenanted by elderly people — retired tradesmen, 
 and old lady annuitants — individuals timid 
 through age, and, therefore, exactly the per- 
 sons to be easily frightened, and from whose 
 resentment nothing was to be apprehended. 
 
 But no time was to be lost ; morning would 
 soon be at hand, and the frolic would then be 
 obstructed. Ferrers accordingly hastened to 
 the Green, and commenced his uproarious 
 knockings at the doors, the noise of which, in 
 that hushed place sounded far and wide. It 
 would be impossible to describe the conster- 
 nation excited by this outrage 3 the houses 
 poured out their feeble occupants, and his 
 Lordship^s dehght at the success of his inge- 
 nious manoeuvre, knew no bounds. 
 
 He had, however, rather miscalculated the 
 fitness of the locality for such a proceeding. 
 At the corner of the lane leading to the nor- 
 thern side of the Green, stood a little public 
 house called the Wheatsheaf.* This humble 
 
 * This little rustic and formerly solitary ale-house, in a
 
 192 FERRERS. 
 
 hostel was a place of resort for early day la- 
 bourers— hedgers, ditchers and other workers 
 in the fields, who could there cook their rasher 
 of bacon for breakfast, replenish their beer-keg 
 for the day's consumption, and sharpen the im- 
 plements with which they toiled ; a grind-stone 
 for that purpose standing before the door. 
 
 Four or five of these labourers were sitting 
 round the Wheatsheaf tap-room when the 
 loud knocking and shouting of Lord Ferrers, 
 and the shrieks of the inhabitants in the Green 
 were distinctly heard. They immediately 
 hastened in a body to the scene of action, and, 
 having learned the cause of the disturbance, 
 were not long in arriving at a just conclusion 
 as to the matter. One and all soon saw that 
 a hoax had been played off on the frightened 
 people : they thought it would be no bad thing 
 to have a little sport in their turn, and if they 
 
 barn belonging to which, according to an old tradition, 
 Shakspeare, Burbage and others performed in Ben Jon- 
 son's " Every Man in his Humour," has now been con- 
 verted into a gin-palace.
 
 FERRERS. 1 93 
 
 could catch the disturber, to abate the salUes 
 of his wit, by the application of some cold 
 water ; in short, to give him a good ducking in 
 the horse-pond then standing at the south- 
 west angle of the Green. 
 
 " We^U soon clapper-claw him, Joey,'' said 
 one of the fellows. " Take Bob along with 
 you, and run along the road by the Alms-houses 
 — you'll twig him in no time, if so be as how- 
 he's took that line. Dick and me '11 go into the 
 church-yard and hunt a bit among the stones. 
 I'm blamed if we don't have him." 
 
 " To be sure," said another ; " and then if 
 he's a gen'l'man, he must come down with the 
 dibs, you know, and that '11 be all right. No- 
 body don't ought to do nothing agen a gen'l'- 
 man as comes down. If he an't a gen'l'man, 
 why he must be ducked in course." 
 
 And the chase commenced in good earnest. 
 
 Ferrers, who saw the men as they rushed 
 from the httle pubHc-house, and who subse- 
 quently overheard some of their expressions, 
 had, as one of them conjectured, betaken him- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 FERRERS. 
 
 self to the burial-ground, thinking to be secure 
 from observation among the tombs ; but hear- 
 ing the noise of pursuit in that direction, he 
 became doubtful of the security of his place of 
 ambush, especially as the dawn was now giving 
 out its faint light. It would not do to trust 
 himself to the mercy of such rough fellows, and 
 he was too mean to think of pacifying them 
 by a bribe. How was he to escape them ? 
 
 Looking towards the most remote part of 
 the church-yard, lying at its northern extre- 
 mity, the peer discerned a high wall which di- 
 vided the garden of the old Manor House from 
 the burial-ground. If he could reach this 
 place undetected, he did not doubt that he 
 could scale it and so put an end to the pursuit. 
 With this intention, he dodged about among 
 the grave-stones in a stooping position, gained 
 the wall, and in less than a minute, for he was 
 agile and strong, surmounted it and dropped 
 on the other side. 
 
 The men witnessed this manoeuvre, but did 
 not care to follow the fugitive. The trouble
 
 FERRERS. 195 
 
 and risk were hardly worth their while, even 
 had another reason not interposed against the 
 plan, 
 
 " I say, Dick/' observed one of the fellows 
 who had spoken before, " the chap has jumped 
 right into the garden of the haunted house. I 
 wonder whether he'll frighten the ghosts or 
 whether they^ll frighten him. There an't no use 
 in following no further ; besides it^s time to go 
 to work, and I don't much Hke that tumble- 
 down place.'' 
 
 So saying, the pursuers separated, and took 
 each his course. 
 
 The peer looked about him in his new place 
 of concealment. It was an old fashioned spa- 
 cious garden, overgrown with weeds ; but, in 
 the drowsy and half- veiled light of an April 
 dawn, looking almost as beautiful as if it had 
 been kept in trim order. The gravel-walks 
 were green with moss and grass, and the fruit- 
 trees, trained against the wall, had shot out a 
 plenteous overgrowth of wild branches which 
 hung unprofitably over the borders. A rank 
 
 K 2
 
 196 FERRERS. 
 
 crop of thistles, bind-weed, and groundsel 
 choked the beds, over which the slimy trace of 
 slugs and snails shone in the horizontal gleam 
 of the uprising sun. The noble elms, which 
 stood about the lawn in groups, were the only 
 objects that did not bear the melancholy evi- 
 dence of neglect. These "giants of the wood" 
 thrive best when not interfered with by man. 
 
 " What sort of place is this I've got to ?'^ 
 mused the Earl ; " they^re not good gardeners 
 here, that's quite evident. The house too, 
 looks uninhabited, and seems to be as much 
 neglected as the grounds. Never mind ; I shall 
 stay here a little, for I dare say those fellows 
 are still lurking about. They are not going 
 to extort any money from me, I can tell 'em. 
 No, no; I'm too lucky for that; they^ve missed 
 their prize, ha ! ha \" 
 
 The sunlight now grew stronger, and the 
 dilapidated state of the old house became more 
 evident. Scarcely a single window-pane was 
 unbroken; the roof was untiled; the brick-work, 
 at the lower part of the building was without
 
 FERRERS. 197 
 
 mortar and seemed crumbling with damp; and 
 many of the shutters, which in the dwelUngs 
 of that date were fixed outside the windows, 
 hung danghng upon one rusty hinge. The 
 entrance-door of which the Untel had either 
 dropped from its socket, or been forced away, 
 was fastened to the side frame by a padlock. 
 
 All was silent, deserted, desolate ; nor did the 
 aspect of the tenement tend to dissipate, by any 
 exhibition of beauty, either in outhne, colour, 
 or detached parts, the heavy, unimaginative 
 melancholy, which the \'iew of it inspired. It 
 was a square, red brick house, large enough 
 indeed to contain many rooms, and, were it in 
 good repair, to accommodate even a wealthy 
 family ; but it was utterly destitute of external 
 interest. It had no pointed roof, no fantastic 
 gables, no grotesque projections, no pleasant 
 porch, in the angles of which the rose and 
 honey-suckle could ascend, or the ivy cHng, 
 nor any twisted and spiral chimnies, like those 
 which surmounted the truly English and pic- 
 turesque homes built in the Elizabethan era,
 
 198 FERRERS. 
 
 and which, together with the rich and glorious 
 poetry of that time, gave way to the smooth 
 neatness cultivated during the reign of Wil- 
 liam and Mary, to which epoch the Padding- 
 ton Manor House* might be referred. 
 
 The Earl now thought of returning home- 
 wards y but not liking to scale the wall again 
 lest some persons might be still lying in wait 
 for him in the church-yard, he w^alked round 
 the garden in the hope of finding a more regu- 
 lar outlet. He soon reached the gate which di- 
 vides the premises from the little private road 
 now called Manor Place. This gate, however, 
 would not yield to his efforts : it was evidently 
 
 * This house was pulled down some few years ago, and 
 its garden has been added to the church-yard. An old 
 winding gravel walk, probably co-eval with the building, 
 still remains at the eastern boundary of the garden j and so 
 do several of the ornamental shrubs, which, having so long 
 been suffered to grow wildly, have attained great height and 
 size. It was in this garden, which you enter from the older 
 part of the cemetery by a gate bearing the inscription 
 <' MORS JANUA VIT^,'* that, soon after its consecration 
 as a place of interment, the late Mrs. Siddons was buried.
 
 FERRERS. 199 
 
 fastened on the outside, and it was too high and 
 too smooth to be climbed. The wooden fence 
 in this part was so thickly studded on its top 
 with iron hooks and spikes as to forbid the 
 idea of mounting it. Nothing, therefore, was 
 left but the church-yard wall, to which Ferrers 
 now retraced his steps. 
 
 As he paced along the garden with his eyes 
 towards the house, a man's head was thrust 
 cautiously out of one of the lower windows, 
 and quickly drawn in again at sight of an un- 
 expected visitant. 
 
 The Earl was at first a little alarmed at this 
 apparition. That so forlorn and dusty a ruin 
 should contain an inhabitant was remarkable 
 enough ; and the furtive glance of the man, as 
 he peered out at the window seemed to betoken 
 no good. Still w^hat harm could happen so 
 near London, and in the light of sunrise ? It 
 was not improbable, though, that he might be 
 roughly treated as an intruder, especially at so 
 early an hour ; but then again when he thought
 
 200 FERRERS. 
 
 of the crumbling, neglected and dismantled 
 place, into which there could be no temptation 
 to enter — no property to be injured — no com- 
 fortable family to be disturbed — his apprehen- 
 sions were quieted; the more so, when he 
 recollected the miserable aspect of the man 
 who had momentarily betrayed himself at the 
 window, and who looked like one depressed 
 with fear, rather than an object capable of ins- 
 piring that emotion. 
 
 Thinking thus, and still not liking to depart 
 via the burial-ground (as he continued to be 
 haunted with the idea of the rough and ready 
 fellows who had chased him,) he resolved to 
 call forth the apparently solitary tenant of the 
 forlorn Manor House. 
 
 ^^ Hollo, you Sir ! show yourself again. Vye 
 got into this d — d place against my will, and I 
 want some one to help me out. Open the gate; 
 here's a shilling for you.^^ 
 
 These words had no sooner been spoken, 
 than the man appeared again at the window.
 
 FERRERS. 201 
 
 and throwing his leg over the sill, soon stood 
 on the long grass of the lawn, and fronted his 
 summoner. 
 
 He was a tall, gaunt man, squalid in attire, 
 and cadaverous in visage. Misery, however, 
 had not so changed nim, but that he still bore 
 in the expression of his face, and in his general 
 demeanour, an evidence that he was above 
 the lower order. 
 
 " Lord Ferrers ?' exclaimed he, as a bitter 
 smile curled his lip. 
 
 " Foxston !'^ returned the peer. '^ I thought 
 you were in Jamaica.'^ 
 
 " I could do no good there," replied the 
 latter. " I came home to die — to die by 
 my own hand ! I could have done that in 
 Jamaica well enough, it is true. But I had to 
 settle a few things here first of all, and relieve 
 my conscience. After which, I meant to take 
 the leap in the dark. But I am changed ; and 
 will not add the sin of suicide to my other 
 oflPences." 
 
 These words were full of an ominous signi- 
 
 k3
 
 202 FERRERS. 
 
 ficance as regarded certain affairs connected 
 with the Earl, who was now indeed alarmed. In 
 contriving that Foxston should go to Jamaica, 
 his Lordship fully calculated that he would 
 soon die there, and that with him would be 
 buried all that it was desirable to conceal. 
 
 " I am glad you don't mean to do anything 
 rash, Foxston,^' said Ferrers. '' If you want 
 money, you shall be supplied by me.'' 
 
 " It is too late," replied the other. " 1 want 
 to get rid of »the scorpions of thought. Will 
 money do that?" 
 
 " To be sure it will,'^ returned the Earl. 
 " Will not money buy a cheerful glass ? Hang 
 care, my boy; drown it in the bowl, as the 
 song says.'' 
 
 " I've tried drinking long enough, my Lord," 
 said Foxston. " But I find that the demon. 
 Conscience, returns in the morning with greater 
 fury after a night's debauch. Then, w^ith split- 
 ting head, and unstrung nerves, and trem- 
 bling limbs, we are a helpless prey to the 
 worm that dieth not."
 
 FERRERS. 203 
 
 " Bugbears, bugbears, Foxston !'^ exclaimed 
 the Earl. 
 
 " I am glad you find it so, my Lord," said 
 Foxston ; " though I rather wonder at it, all 
 things considered." 
 
 '^ Give yourself no concern about me," re- 
 plied Ferrers. " 1 am inclined to serv^e you 
 now, if you will let me do it.'* 
 
 " Never ! had you made this offer four years 
 ago, and acted upon it (for your kindness, excuse 
 me, my Lord, is mostly only lip-deep), I might 
 have been saved from acts which I fear will 
 damn me everlastingly. I was never a good 
 man ; but had you not been an ungrateful vil- 
 lain — nay, start not, nor put your hand to your 
 sword — I should not have been the fiend- 
 haunted wretch now standing before you. I am 
 conscience-stricken — mad — hell is around me 
 night and day, and I cannot fly from it. See 
 what a miserable doom you might have averted 
 from me. It is not in your power now to 
 snatch me from perdition. Bitter repentance 
 alone can save me."
 
 204 FERRE^lS. 
 
 The Earl shook from head to foot as he 
 listened to the ravings of the miserable 
 man. 
 
 " You must not talk in this way/^ he said 
 in a conciliatory tone. " You may be over- 
 heard." 
 
 '^ What then ?^' returned the other fiercely. 
 
 " Why you might excite suspicion, and so 
 get me into some scrape." 
 
 "I thought it was not for me that you 
 spoke/' said Foxston. " Self, self, is all you 
 care for. Beware ! or even self may ruin you, 
 as it has destroyed me. But,'' continued the 
 unhappy man, passing his hand over his face, 
 as if with an endeavour to change the current 
 of his thoughts, " you said you wished to leave 
 this place, into which you had been forced 
 against your will. Follow me." 
 
 No," replied Ferrers, " I must talk with you 
 first. You must tell me how you came here, 
 and be more explicit as to what you mean to 
 do. I shall not leave you, Foxston, in your 
 present mood. Is there no place, where we
 
 FERRERS. 205 
 
 can speak more privately than here in the 
 open garden ?^' 
 
 '^ Yes, in my room — your Lordship will find 
 it daintily furnished. But we must enter it by 
 the window. The doors of a haunted house 
 are always closed, you know.'^ 
 
 " A haunted house '/' exclaimed the peer ; 
 " so much the better. We are less likely to 
 be interrupted in our conference. Lead on T'
 
 206 FERRERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE FORLORN CHAMBER — A MYSTERY— CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE 
 EARL AND FOXSTON. 
 
 He hath broke my bones, worn out my flesh and skin ; 
 Built up against nie ; and hath girt me in 
 With hemlock, and with labour ; and set me 
 In dark, as they who dead for ever be. 
 
 DONNE's JEREMIAH, 
 
 The apartment into which the peer and 
 Foxston entered was a spacious room, for- 
 merly wainscoted, but the wood-work had 
 been stripped away from the walls ; the door 
 opening into the hall had also been car- 
 ried off; and the window-frames like those 
 of other parts of the house, were mostly 
 without glass. The flooring, decayed by damp,
 
 FERRERS. 207 
 
 was full of holes which laid bare the joists; 
 while the wide hearth, without a stove, yawned 
 like a black and dismal cavern. From the 
 ceihng, almost all the plaster had dropped 
 away, leaving chasms through which the 
 
 "Foul bati of bird and beast first bred, 
 Flitted with little leathern sails dispread." 
 
 Of anything in the shape of furniture, the 
 room was of course entirely denuded. 
 
 '^ This is a gloomy sort of place you've 
 brought me to, Master Foxston^" said the 
 Earl. " Is there no seat ? I'm tired." 
 
 "None, my Lord; I'm obliged to be content 
 without chair, table or bed ; unless you can 
 dignify by the name of bed, the wTetched heap 
 there in the corner,^^ and Foxston pointed to 
 some straw in the farther part of the room, 
 covered by an old sack. 
 
 " There is my couch,'^ he continued. " A 
 delicate place of repose for Squire Foxston. 
 But what matters it ? I may as well lie there 
 as anywhere else, fur sleep is impossible. Had
 
 208 FERRERS. 
 
 I the safest room and softest bed, sleep would 
 not come to me." 
 
 " But how, man, do you keep yourself 
 warm in these cold nights ?'^ asked the 
 Earl. 
 
 " By crouching under that sack, where I 
 lie in my clothes till morning, with no other 
 company than my own haggard and torturing 
 thoughts ; unless, indeed, when the footsteps — 
 Hush ! did you hear anything ?^' 
 
 « Where ?'^ 
 
 " Close by, in the next room." 
 
 " No.'' 
 
 ^^ Ah ! I thought it could not be ; tliey only 
 come at night,'' said Foxston, glaring round 
 the apartment with a kind of maniac expres- 
 sion. 
 
 '^ They 1" echoed Ferrers, " who do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 Foxston was silent. 
 
 " Come, come," pursued the Earl, " I see 
 how it is — you are too low — fasting and want 
 of sleep will fill a man with strange notions.
 
 FERRERS. 209 
 
 How the devil came you to fix on this gloomy 
 place for a lodging V 
 
 " I had no choice/' replied Foxston. " Were 
 it not for this dismal room which circumstances 
 have left open to me, I should have no place 
 where I could stretch my limbs — no shelter 
 from the night wind and rain. I creep here in 
 the dark through the old church-yard, and lay 
 myself down on my straw ; but, though there 
 is plenty of wood here in the garden, I dare 
 not light a fire to warm me, nor even close the 
 crazy shutters, lest I might attract observa- 
 tion, and be ejected even from this miserable 
 place.'' 
 
 " When did you leave Jamaica ?" asked 
 Ferrers, who was desirous of changing the 
 conversation, inasmuch as he felt that the 
 decay of Foxston to so low an ebb as to make 
 so wretched a place of shelter as the dilapidated 
 Manor House necessar)^ to him, was a reproach 
 on himself (the Earl). " Tell me, Foxston, 
 he continued, " how long you have been in 
 England r"
 
 210 FERRERS. 
 
 ^^ I scarcely know, but I believe about two 
 months/^ 
 
 " Why did you not send to me on your 
 arrival V' said the Earl. 
 
 " To you ! to you, my Lord ! what was I to 
 expect from such an application ? You had 
 gained from my services all you wanted, 
 and then I was discarded., Do you think me 
 so ignorant of your character, as to subject 
 myself to fresh insult, by asking for anything 
 at your hands }" 
 
 "You speak rudely Foxston." 
 
 " My rudeness is better than your baseness, 
 my Lord. Recal to your mind the passages 
 of the last few years, and ask if your desertion 
 of me is commonly honest. Your own con- 
 science must condemn your conduct to me. 
 But self-rebuke makes no impression on you. 
 I know full well, such is your all-absorbing 
 selfishness, that, even under the strongest con- 
 viction of your own turpitude, you would per- 
 petrate over again, any similar acts of dastardly 
 cruelty, to which you might be tempted by
 
 FERRERS. 211 
 
 meanness, and paltry resentment. No, no, 
 my Lord, you shall not again wrong me." 
 
 Ferrers felt abashed and mortified at the 
 boldness with which Foxston taunted his 
 heartless character. But at that particular 
 juncture, it was not quite safe to exasperate his 
 companion, by any show of resentment. It 
 would be more to his interest to assuage Fox- 
 ston's irritation. 
 
 " You are not warranted," said he, " in the 
 estimate you have formed of my character. I 
 do not wish to deal unfairly by you or any 
 man.^' 
 
 " Or any woman, I suppose you would add,'^ 
 rejoined Foxston. " What has become of 
 Judith Bernard ?'* 
 
 This was a starthng question. But the peer 
 disguised his emotion, and coolly replied, " I 
 know not.^' 
 
 " Then you shall know before we part," re- 
 turned Foxston. 
 
 It has already been said, that Lord Ferrers 
 hoped Foxston was no longer in the land of the
 
 212 FERRERS. 
 
 living. The present singular encounter with that 
 person in the old Manor House, had filled the 
 peer^s mind with painful misgivings. Fearful 
 lest Foxston should have seen any person 
 either in Jamaica, or since his return to England, 
 to whom it might be probable that the secrets 
 between him and Lord Ferrers might have 
 been divulged, the latter was anxious to scruti- 
 nize the daily actions, if possible, of his former 
 friend since his departure for the West Indies. 
 
 " Well, well, Foxston,^' said the Earl, '^ we 
 will not quarrel. I repeat that it is my wish to 
 serve you. Tell me what you have been doing 
 since we parted." 
 
 " Perishing in the fiery climate of Jamaica,^^ 
 was Foxston's reply. 
 
 " Could you get nothing to do V 
 
 " Nothing ! I was fit for nothing. My con- 
 science tortured me, and I drank hard ; so 
 none would employ me. I never gave way to 
 that accursed habit till 1 knew you. Evil ex- 
 ample and base treatment made me a drunk- 
 ard.'^
 
 FERRERS. 213 
 
 '^ I ask you for intelligence, Foxston, not 
 for reflections/^ said the Earl. 
 
 " You must let me go on in my own way," 
 replied Foxston, " if your fears make you cu- 
 rious to learn of my whereabouts/' 
 
 " My fears !'' 
 
 "Ay, my Lord; I can trace the crooked turns 
 of your mind easily enough. But my story 
 shall soon be told. During my stay in Ja- 
 maica, I met the brother of Judith Bernard — 
 I told him of your perfidy towards his sister — 
 I stimulated him to revenge. Having declared 
 his determination to go to England in the first 
 vessel that should sail, and seek out your Lord- 
 ship, he left me. I drank deeply that night j 
 and, in the morning awoke in a burning fever. 
 Delirium tremens was on me ; my late actions 
 passed before me in ghastly review. I was 
 scared to madness ; and I swore that if my life 
 should be spared, I would dedicate the remain- 
 der of it to purposes of atonement. I resolved, 
 moreover, to abjure the vice-creating use of ar-
 
 214 . FERRERS. 
 
 dent spirits, and I have fulfilled my resolu- 
 tion. 
 
 '^ Fearful of the consequences of a meeting 
 between you and that poor young man, I ac- 
 cused myself of having plotted the shedding of 
 blood. Yes, I, the God-forsaking, God-for- 
 saken wretch, was made at last to tremble. I 
 learned that Hugh Bernard had already sailed, 
 and that another vessel would soon follow. In 
 this latter, I offered to work as a common man 
 for my passage home, and, I believe, reached 
 England within a week of the young man's ar- 
 rival. But I could not trace him." 
 
 " So, Foxston," interposed the Earl, " it is to 
 your thoughtful agency that I am indebted for 
 the attempt on my life, made by that young 
 scoundrel. '^ 
 
 ^'What, then, you have met him ?'' said 
 Foxston with a gasping earnestness. " Has he 
 suffered any harm ?" 
 
 " None ; for the present he has esca^Ded
 
 FERRERS. 215 
 
 " Thank heaven !'^ fervently ejaculated Fox- 
 ston. 
 
 " Well, what has happened since your arrival 
 here ?'* inquired Lord Ferrers. '^ Have you 
 seen any one that knows me ?" 
 
 " Be quieted on that score/' replied Foxston. 
 " My life has been past in utter solitude. 
 Besides, as I have told you, I mean to dedicate 
 the remainder of my days to repentance, and 
 not even ingratitude shall tempt me to trea- 
 chery, unless, indeed, the wretch Gabel, with 
 whom I have heard your Lordship still asso- 
 ciates — '^ 
 
 '^ Ha V exclaimed Ferrers, interrupting his 
 companion, " How know you that?'^ 
 
 "You think you walk concealed in clouds, 
 my Lord,^^ returned Foxston . " But to me 
 they are transparent. Keep Gabel quiet, as 
 you love yourself, an adjuration which I know 
 will bind you.^' 
 
 " You shall have nothing to fear from him, 
 Foxston," said the Earl in a voice tremulous
 
 216 FERRERS. 
 
 with shame and apprehension. ^' He dare not 
 disobey me.^' 
 
 ^' Good," rejoined the other. " Unless your 
 own rashness should compromise you, I shall 
 be silent.^' 
 
 The Earl breathed more freely, muttering 
 to himself his old phrase, '' I'm always 
 lucky.^^ 
 
 " The first place I visited on my coming 
 to London/' resumed Foxston, " was the 
 grave of my sister, who was buried in the 
 church-yard, adjoining this place — my mur- 
 dered sister ! I go to it every day, though 
 my senses reel with hideous throbbings as 
 I stand on the earth which hides her re- 
 mains. In the expectation that I shall soon 
 be in the narrow house appointed for all living, 
 I have found a melancholy satisfaction in prying 
 into graves, and in seeing, as the sexton delved 
 the ground, the grim relics of mortality — bones 
 and pieces of old mouldered coffins — which his 
 spade gave once more to the light of day.
 
 FERRERS. 217 
 
 " From this man, I learned the story of this 
 forlorn tenement — the old Manor House of 
 Paddington. You have asked me how I hap- 
 pened to choose it as a place of refuge in my 
 need. Listen, and you will hear why the house 
 has been abandoned, and why a cast- away, like 
 myself, can steal at nights unmolested into its 
 dismal chambers. 
 
 VOL. r.
 
 218 FERRERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 STORY OF THE HAUNTED MANOR-HOUSE— THE CHURCH-YARD, AND 
 THE TWO GRAVES. 
 
 SER. What's that ? 
 ALG. Where ? 
 SER. Did you hear nothing ? 
 
 ALG. Where, where? dost see anything ? We are hard 
 by the church-yard. Hark ! d'ye hear nothing ? 
 
 THE NIGHT WALKER. 
 
 " Ten years ago/' said Foxston, " there 
 dwelt in this house a man of high repute for 
 virtue and piety. He had no wife nor chil- 
 dren, but he lived with much liberality, and 
 kept many servants. He was constant in his 
 attendance at church, and gladdened the hearts 
 of the neighbouring poor by the frequency of 
 his alms-giving.
 
 FERRERS. 2V.) 
 
 " His fame among his neighbours was in- 
 creased by his great hospitality. Scarcely a 
 day passed -^dthout his entertaining some of 
 them with feasts at his house, when his con- 
 versation \\'as admired, his judgment appealed 
 to as something more than ordinarily -^^se, his 
 decisions considered final, and his jokes re- 
 ceived Avith hearty laughter ; according to the 
 time-hallowed and dutiful practice of guests at 
 the tables of rich men. 
 
 "Nothing could exceed the costliness and 
 rarity of this man's wines, the lavish profusion 
 of his plate, nor the splendour of his rooms — 
 these very rooms ! — which were decorated with 
 the richest furniture, the most costly speci- 
 mens of the Italian and Flemish schools of 
 painting, and resounded nightly with the har- 
 mony of dainty madrigals. 
 
 " One summer-evening, after a sumptuous 
 dinner had been enjoyed by himself and a nu- 
 merous party, the weather being very sultry, 
 a proposal was made by the host that the wine 
 and dessert should be taken to the lawn, and 
 
 L2
 
 220 FERRERS. 
 
 that the revelry should be prolonged under the 
 shade of the leafy elms which stood about the 
 garden in groups as now you see them. The 
 company accordingly adjourned thither, and 
 great was the merriment beneath the green 
 boughs which hung over the table in heavy 
 masses, and loud the songs in the sweet air 
 of evening. 
 
 ^' Twilight came on j but still the happy re- 
 vellers were loth to leave the spot, which 
 seemed sacred to wine and music and indolent 
 enjoyment. The leaves which canopied them, 
 were motionless ; even those which hung on 
 the extreme point of the tenderest sprays, qui- 
 vered not. One shining star, poised in the 
 clear ether, seemed to look down with curious 
 gaze on the jocund scene ; and the soft west 
 wind had breathed its last drowsy evening 
 hymn. The calm, indeed, was so perfect that 
 the master of the house ordered lights to be 
 brought there where they sat, that the out-of- 
 door carouse might be still enjoyed. 
 
 ^^ ' Hang care !^ exclaimed he. ^ This is a
 
 FERRERS. 221 
 
 delicious evening : the wine has a finer relish 
 here than in the house, and the song is more 
 exciting and melodious under the tranquil sky 
 than in the close room, where sound is stifled. 
 Come, let us have a Bacchanalian chant — let 
 us, with old Sir Toby, make the welkin dance, 
 and rouse the night-owl with a catch. I am 
 right merry. Pass the bottle and tune your 
 voices —a catch, a catch ! The hghts will be 
 here anon.^ 
 
 " Thus he spoke ; but his merriment seemed 
 forced and unnatural. A grievous change 
 awaited him. 
 
 ^^As one of the servants was proceeding 
 from the house with a flambeau in his hand to 
 hght the tapers already placed on the table, he 
 saw, in the walk leading from the outer gate, 
 a matron of lofty bearing, in widow's weeds, 
 whose skin, as the rays of the torch fell on it, 
 looked white as a monumental efl&gy, and made 
 a ghastly contrast with her black robe. Her 
 face was like that of the grisly phantom, 
 Death-in-Life : it was rigid and sunken ; but
 
 222 FERRERS. 
 
 her eyes glanced about from their hollow 
 sockets with a restless motion, and her brow 
 was knit as if in anger. A corpse-like infant 
 was in her arms ; and she paced with proud 
 and stately tread towards the spot where the 
 master of the house, 
 
 • Merry in heart, and filled with swelling wine/ 
 
 was sitting amongst his jovial friends. 
 
 "The servant shuddered as he beheld the 
 strange intruder; but he, too, had partaken 
 of the good cheer, and felt bolder than usual. 
 Mustering up his courage, he faced the awful 
 woman and demanded her errand. 
 
 " ' I seek your master,^ said she. 
 
 " ^ He is engaged, and cannot be inter- 
 rupted,' replied the man. ^ Ugh ! Turn your 
 face from me — I like not your looks. You 
 are enough to freeze one's very blood.' 
 
 " ' Fool !' returned the woman. * Your 
 master must see me.' And she pushed the 
 servant aside. 
 
 " The menial shivered at the touch of her
 
 FERRERS. 223 
 
 hand, which was heavy and cold, Hke marble. 
 He felt as if rooted to the spot : he could not 
 move to follow her as she walked on to the 
 scene of the banquet. 
 
 " On arriving at the spot, she drew herself 
 up beside the host, and stood there without 
 uttering a word ! He saw her, and shook in 
 every joint. The song ceased; the guests were 
 speechless ^vith amazement, and sat like pe- 
 trifactions, bending their gaze one way to- 
 wards the strange and solemn figure which 
 confronted them. 
 
 ^^ ^ Why comest thou here r' at length de- 
 manded the rich man in low and gasping ac- 
 cents. ^ Vanish ! Who opened the vault to 
 let thee forth ? Thou shoulds't be a hundred 
 miles away. Sink again into the earth ! Hence, 
 horrible thing ! Delusion of hell 1 Dead crea- 
 ture ! Ghost ! Hence ! What seekest thou ? 
 What can I do to keep thee in the grave ? I 
 will resign thy lands ; to whom shall they be 
 given ? Thy child is dead. Who is now thy 
 heir ? Speak 1 and be invisible !' 
 
 "The pale woman stooped with unseemly
 
 224 FERRERS. 
 
 effort, as if an image of stone were to bend, 
 and whispered something in the ear of her 
 questioner which made him tremble still 
 more violently. Then beckoning him, she 
 passed through the deepening twilight towards 
 the house, while he, with bristling hair and 
 faltering gait, followed her. The terror- 
 stricken man, the gaunt woman, and white 
 child, looked like three corpses moving in the 
 heavy and uncertain shades of evening, against 
 the order of nature. 
 
 ^' After waiting an hour for their friend's 
 return, the guests, who had now recovered 
 from their first panic, became impatient to 
 solve the mystery, and determined to seek the 
 owner of the house, and offer such comfort as 
 his evident trepidation required. They ac- 
 cordingly directed their steps towards the 
 room into which they were informed the wo- 
 man and child and their host had entered. 
 
 " On approaching the door, piteous groans, 
 and incoherent exclamations were heard ; above 
 which these words were plainly audible in a 
 female voice : ^ Remember what I have said !
 
 FERRERS. 225 
 
 Think of my slaughtered husband ! A more 
 terrible intruder ■will some night come to thy 
 house ! Thou shalt perish here and here 
 after !' 
 
 ^^ Hearing these groans and these menaces, 
 the party instantly burst into the room fol- 
 lowed by a servant with a light. The man, 
 whose face was buried in his hands, was stand- 
 ing alone ! But as his friends gazed around 
 in amazement, a shadow of the woman with 
 the infant in her arms was seen to flicker on the 
 wall, as if moved about uncouthly by a faint 
 wind. By degrees it faded entirely away. No 
 one knew how the stately widow herself had 
 disappeared, nor by what means she had ob- 
 tained admittance through the outer gate. 
 
 '^ To the earnest inquiries of his friends, the 
 host would give no answer -, and the party left 
 the place perplexed with fearful thoughts. 
 From that time no feasts were given in the 
 Manor House. The apartment where the secret 
 interview took place, and which is, to this 
 day, called * The Room of the Shadow,' 
 
 L 3
 
 226 FERRERS. 
 
 was closed, and, it is said has never since 
 been opened. It is the chamber immediately 
 above this, and is now the hamit of bats, 
 and other night-birds. 
 
 "After having lived here several years in 
 comparative solitude, a mortal sickness came 
 upon the owner of the house. But if his bodily 
 sufferings were grievous to behold, the agony 
 of his mind seemed tenfold greater, so that the 
 friends who called to cheer him in his malady, 
 were amazed to see one of so pure a life (as 
 they thought) given over to the torture of re- 
 morse. He felt that he must shortly appear 
 before the Supreme Judge; and the anticipated 
 terrors of the judgment were already upon his 
 spirit. His countenance underwent many 
 ghastly changes, and the sweat of dismal suf- 
 fering poured in heavy beads from his face 
 and breast. 
 
 "The throes of his conscience were too 
 strong to be any longer endured and hidden ; 
 and, summoning one or two of his neigh- 
 bours to his bed-side, he confessed many sins
 
 FERRERS. 227 
 
 of which he had been guilty in another part 
 of England; he had, he said, enriched him- 
 self by the ruin of widows and orphans ; 
 and, he added, that the accursed lust for gold 
 had made him a murderer. 
 
 " It was in vain that the pastor of the parish, 
 who saw his bitter agony, strove to absolve him 
 of his manifold crimes. He could not be com- 
 forted. ^ His works, and alms, and all the good 
 endeavour' of the latter years of his life were 
 of no avail. They were as chajff, and flew 
 off from the weight of his transgressions. 
 The vengeance of eternal fire haunted him 
 while Hving, and he did not dare even to pray. 
 ' Alas ! my friends/ said he, to those who 
 besought him to lift up his voice in supplication 
 to the Most High, ^ I have no heart to pray, 
 for I am already condemned ! Hell is even 
 now in my soul, there to burn for ever. Re- 
 sign me, I pray you, to my lost condition, 
 and to the fiends hovering around to seize me.' 
 
 " The menace of the strange woman was 
 now about to be fulfilled.
 
 228 FERRERS. 
 
 " On the last night of this person's miserable 
 life, one of his neighbours, a benevolent and 
 pious man, sat up with the expiring wretch 
 by his bed-side. He had for some time fallen 
 into a state of stupor, being afraid to look any 
 human being in the face or even to open his 
 eyes. He slept, or seemed to sleep for awhile ; 
 then suddenly arousing himself, he appeared 
 to be in intolerable agitation of body and 
 mind, and with an indescribable expression 
 of countenance, shrieked out, ^ Oh the intole- 
 rable horrors of damnation !' 
 
 ^^ Midnight had now arrived. The servants 
 were in bed, and no one was stirring in the 
 house, but the old nurse, and the friend who 
 watched the last moments of the sufferer. All 
 was in quiet profound as that of the sepulchre; 
 when suddenly the sound of loud and impa- 
 tient footsteps were heard in the room adjoin- 
 ing the forlorn man's bed-chamber. 
 
 " ^ What can that be ?' said the nurse under 
 her breath, and with an expression of ghastly 
 alarm, ' Hark ! the noise continues l' .
 
 FERRERS. 229 
 
 " ' Is any one up in the house ?' inquired the 
 friend. 
 
 " ' No : besides, would a servant dare to 
 tramp ^dth such violence about the next room 
 to that of his dying master ?^ 
 
 " The gentleman snatched up a lamp, and 
 went forth into the next chamber. It was 
 empty ! but still the footsteps sounded loudly 
 as those of a person waiting in angry impa- 
 tience. 
 
 " Bewildered and aghast, the friend returned 
 to the bedside of the wretch, and could not 
 find utterance to tell the nurse what had been 
 the result of his examination of the adjoining 
 room. 
 
 " ^ For the love of Heaven ? exclaimed the 
 woman, ^ speak ! tell me what you have seen 
 in the next chamber. Who is there ? Why 
 do you look so pale? What has made you 
 dumb? Hark! The noise of the footsteps 
 grows louder and louder. Oh ! how I wish 
 I had never entered this accursed house — 
 this house abhorred of God and man !'
 
 230 FERRERS. 
 
 " Meanwhile^ the sound of the horrid foot- 
 steps grew not only louder, but quicker and 
 more impatient. 
 
 " The scene of their tramping was, after a 
 time changed. They approached the sick man's 
 room, and were heard — plainly heard — close by 
 the bed-side of the dying wretch, whose nurse 
 and friend stared with speechless terror upon 
 the floor which sounded and shook as the in- 
 visible foot-falls passed over it. 
 
 " ^ Something is here — something terrible — 
 in this very room, and close to us, though we 
 cannot see it P whispered the gentleman in pant- 
 ing accents to his companion. ' Go up stairs, 
 — and call the servants — and let all in the 
 house assemble here.' 
 
 " ^ I dare not move,^ exclaimed the trembhng 
 woman. ^ My brain — my brain ! I am faint — 
 I shall go mad ! Let us fly from this place — the 
 fiend is here. Help ! help ! in the name of the 
 Almighty.^ 
 
 " ' Be composed, 1 beseech you,^ said the gen- 
 leman in a voice scarcely audible. ^ Recall your
 
 FERRERS. 231 
 
 scattered senses. I too should be scared to 
 death, did I not with a strong eflfort, keep 
 down the mad throbbings that torment me. 
 Recollect our duty. We are Christians, and 
 must not abandon the expiring man. God 
 will protect us. Merciful Heaven '/ he con- 
 tinued, with a frenzied glance into the 
 shadowy recesses of the chamber, ' Listen ! 
 the noise is stronger than ever — those iron 
 footsteps ! — and still we cannot discern the 
 cause ! Go and bring some companions — some 
 human faces — our own are transformed V 
 
 " The nurse, thus adjured, left the demon- 
 haunted apartment with a visage white as snow ; 
 and the benevolent friend, whose spirits 
 had been subdued by long watching' in the 
 chamber of death, and by witnessing the 
 sick man's agony and remorse, became, now 
 that he was left alone, wild and frantic. 
 Assuming a courage from the very inten- 
 sity of fear, he shrieked out in a voice which 
 scarcely sounded hke his own, ' What art 
 thou, execrable thing 1 that comest at this
 
 232 FERRERS. 
 
 dead hour ? Speak, if thou can'st — show thy- 
 self, if thou darest !^ 
 
 " These cries roused the dying man from the 
 miserable slumber into which he had fallen. 
 He opened his glassy eyes — gasped for utter- 
 ance, and seemed as though he would now have 
 prayed — prayed in mortal anguish 5 but the 
 words died in his throat. His lips quivered 
 and seemed parched, as if by fire ; they stood 
 apart, and his clenched teeth grinned horribly. 
 It was evident that he heard the footsteps ; for 
 an agony, fearful to behold, came over him. 
 He arose in his bed — held out his arms, as if 
 to keep off the approach of some hateful thing ; 
 and, having sat thus for a few moments, fell 
 back and with a dismal groan, expired ! 
 
 " From that very instant, the sound of the 
 footsteps was heard no more ! Silence fell 
 upon the room ; and when the nurse re- 
 entered, followed by the servants, they found 
 the sick man dead with a face of horrible 
 contortion — and his friend stretched on the 
 floor in a swoon.
 
 FERRERS, 233 
 
 " The mortal part of the wretch was soon bu- 
 ried ; and, after that time, (the dismal story be- 
 coming generally known) no one would dare 
 to inhabit the house which gradually fell into de- 
 cay, got the fatal reputation of being haunted, 
 and in its ruinous state, has afforded shelter for 
 another creature of despair/' 
 
 " A grim, wild sort of story, you've told me 
 Foxston," said the Earl, as his companion 
 finished the recital. " You seem to have got it 
 perfectly by heart, and tell the tale as if you 
 believed it. But you don^t surely }" 
 
 " No. Not in all its particulars. My incre- 
 duhty exists, however, only in the day-time ; 
 but, in the dreary night-season — in these bare 
 and echoing rooms, surrounded by darkness, 
 without comfort, and dismayed by conscience, 
 the tradition fastens itself upon me, and I some- 
 times fancy that I hear the awful footsteps 
 as if the fiend were waiting too for me." 
 
 " How long did you say you had been here }" 
 inquired the Earl. 
 
 "Between one and two months," replied
 
 234 FERRERS. 
 
 Foxston. " I was lurking in this wretched co- 
 verture in March^ during the fearful night of 
 the earthquake, when these crazy walls tottered 
 with the shock. Oh ! how I hoped they would 
 fall and bury me ! But in the midst of the dire 
 commotion, I fancied I heard the ghostly pac- 
 ing of the fiend; and then, while the old 
 mouldering house rocked with the throes of the 
 earthquake, I lifted up my voice to the Creator 
 and supplicated Him to spare my life yet a lit-- 
 tie longer, that my contrition might be more 
 perfect in His eyes/' 
 
 " Did you hear of the prophecy that was to 
 come to pass last night ?'^ 
 
 " Yes ; and I thought I could meet the 
 event with calmness ; but as darkness set in, 
 my nerves deserted me. I owe this cowardice 
 to my former accursed indulgence in drink. 
 Sleep would not come near me. I lay trem- 
 bling under a dread of the shock, and under a 
 morbid fear of the fiendish visitation. 
 
 " During this unhappy state of watchfulness, 
 the bed of the dying wretch shaped itself out in
 
 Ff.RRERS. 235 
 
 the gloom. I saw him as he lay upon his pil- 
 low^ and beheld his distorted visage, and fren- 
 zied looks. There too, sat his friend, mute 
 with fear, and the shuddering woman crouch- 
 ing beside him. I closed my eyes in vain — the 
 vision would not be excluded ; and all the time 
 the footsteps sounded with terrible distinctness 
 in my ears. I knew this to be a delusion ; but 
 I did not suffer the less on that account. As 
 dawn came on, I hastened to go forth into the 
 garden, and endeavour to escape from tire tem- 
 pest of ray agony. It was then, that to my in- 
 expressible surprise, I saw you. 
 
 '•' But come : it is now broad day-hght. I 
 will lead your Lordship out through my place 
 of entrance, which is known to me only." 
 
 Passing to a remote part of the garden, 
 Foxston drew back the branches of some light 
 shrubs, and discovered a gap in the wall, con- 
 cealed on the churchyard side by a tall monu- 
 ment surmounting the sepulchral vault of 
 the last owner of the Manor- House. 
 
 After the peer and his companion had tra-
 
 236 FERRERS. 
 
 versed part of the burial-ground, Foxston 
 stopped at his sister's humble tomb-stone, and 
 called the peer's attention to it. 
 
 " A mystery is hidden here 1" he exclaimed, 
 "which shall some day come to light. And, 
 see,'' he added, pointing to Judith's grave 
 " here is matter for another direful reckoning !" 
 
 " What !" ejaculated the Earl, as he read the 
 inscription, " she then is dead !" 
 
 "Yes !" replied Foxston, with a heavy sigh. 
 " But how happens it that, until now, you 
 should have been ignorant of her death ?" 
 
 Lord Ferrers shrank from the eager glance 
 which accompanied this question ; and averting 
 his face, muttered, " It is a month since 1 saw 
 her." 
 
 ^^ Was that her fault, or yours, my Lord ?" 
 
 This close kind of examination was annoying 
 to the peer ; but, for once, his conscience smote 
 him : he felt cowed, and dared not resent the 
 unwelcome importunity of his companion, to 
 whose question he made an evasive answer. 
 
 " Prevaricator !" shouted Foxston. " Is it
 
 FERRERS. 237 
 
 likely that a young, friendless, and, till she knew 
 you and me (consummate villains that we are !) 
 innocent girl, would keep away from the father 
 of her child, and endure shame and want if she 
 had not known that he would not succour and 
 hide her from the world ? Murderer ! she has 
 perished through your brutal neglect.'^ 
 
 " Foxston V' 
 
 " I ivill speak and speak plainly,'' pursued 
 Foxston. " Oh ! Omnipotent judge \" he con- 
 tinued with upcast eyes, ^' it must be owing to 
 Thy everlasting mercy that this man and I are 
 not smitten by Thy vengeance, and cast to 
 earth, dead things on the grave of our victim ?' 
 
 The pause that ensued was broken by 
 Foxston who turned fiercely upon the Earl, 
 ejaculating, " Where is the child ? On your life 
 answer me. Where is the child ? 
 
 ^^As I live, I know not/^ replied Ferrers, 
 trembhng, not with shame, but fear. ^^ See, 
 somebody approaches : I must go.^' And he 
 hastened abruptly away, leaving Foxston stand- 
 ing in a state of abstraction over the two graves.
 
 238 FERRERS. 
 
 What would have been the unhappy man's sen- 
 sations had he known that Judith had received 
 her death-blow from the EarPs violence ? 
 
 By order of Mr. Johnson, a head- stone and 
 foot-stone had been set up over the grave of 
 Judith Bernard. Though the ground about 
 them has been hollowed in every directiouj so 
 that the very earth seems heaving and sinking 
 over its horrid chambers, like troubled water, 
 these memorials may still be discerned. The 
 head-stone has lost half its height by settling 
 deeply and slantingly into the infirm ground ; 
 and its inscription is almost obliterated by moss, 
 and the effects of the weather : in order to de- 
 cipher the words, it is necessary to push aside 
 the rank grass, which, in the course of time, 
 has encroached upon that part of the stone still 
 remaining above ground. Very different is 
 the state of the foot-stone, which seems to 
 have kept its position, and whereon, the 
 initials, " J. B.^^ may still be plainly seen.
 
 FERRERS. 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND- 
 
 1756—1759. 
 
 HUt f^arriage, ants ?3tbovce. 
 
 'Tis love, but with such fatal weakness made, 
 That it destroys itself with its own shade. 
 
 DOVNE.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND 
 
 CHAPTER I, 
 
 MITTLAL JEALOUSY — LIFE AT STAVTON HAROLD MATRIMO.VIAL DIS- 
 PUTES A SCENE FORTUNATE INTRUSION. 
 
 No sign of love in jealousy remains. 
 
 But that which sick men have of life, their pains. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 Six years had elapsed since the event 
 described in the foregoing chapter. Finding 
 that Foxston had not betrayed any of the trans- 
 actions^ wherein both he and the Earl were 
 equally implicated^ and that the unhappy man 
 seemed steadfast in his penitence, Lord Ferrers 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 FERRERS. 
 
 liad again shaken him off as being no longer ser- 
 viceable in the schemes to which he, (Ferrers,) 
 continued to be addicted. Foxston was no 
 more to be feared. He had been so long out 
 of the world, and had fallen into so deplorable 
 a way of life, that his late employer felt secure 
 in the belief, that even were the wretched man 
 inclined to denounce him, no one would listen 
 to his accusations. 
 
 Amidst all the profligate schemes in which the 
 Earl indulged, such as those connected with 
 gaming, horse-racing, cock-fighting, &c. res- 
 pecting which his wagers were always governed 
 by dishonest connivance, he never relaxed in his 
 pursuit of Miss Meredith, to whom, after he 
 had discovered where she was visiting, he was 
 unremitting in his attentions. It has already 
 been observed that the young lady favoured the 
 suit of her lordly admirer — a prepossession 
 wdiich, although she knew it to be distasteful 
 to Miss Meredith's father,was encouraged by the 
 Countess of Suffolk. Like the greater portion 
 of her sex. Lady Suffolk thought a title in the
 
 FERRERS. 243 
 
 peerage should be the highest summit of a 
 young lady^s ambition; and accordingly the 
 Earl was welcomed by the Countess and her 
 young charge whenever he presented himself 
 at the villa of Marble Hill, Twickenham. 
 
 The precautions of Sir Wilham Meredith 
 were thus rendered vain, and his determination 
 frustrated. The courtship of Lord Ferrers had 
 proceeded too far and too favourably, to be 
 turned aside ; and though Sir William informed 
 his daughter, that should she persist in her de- 
 sign of marrying the Earl, he would give her 
 no fortune — thoudi he reminded her of the en- 
 couragement with which she had formerly re- 
 ceived the advances of Sir Thomas Stapleton, 
 nothing could shake the resolution of the young 
 lady, who at length became Countess Ferrers. 
 
 But, too soon, alas ! she discovered her error. 
 She had married a furious debauchee — a man 
 with whom it was impossible to pass a joyous 
 or a placid hour. Though the conduct of Lady 
 Ferrers was unimpeachable, the Earl, probably 
 because he himself found so little difficulty in 
 
 M 2
 
 244 FERRERS. 
 
 alienating her first-engaged affections, became 
 jealous of her with almost every male visiter at 
 his house, and vrould hardly suiFer her to go 
 out unaccompanied by himself, lest she should, 
 either by chance or design, meet Sir Thomas 
 Stapleton. Lady Ferrers did not deserve that 
 such doubts should be entertained with respect 
 to her purity ; but neither the thoughts nor acts 
 of her husband were amenable to reason. Self- 
 will, passion, hatred, and suspicion were the 
 elements of his character. 
 
 Finding, at length, that it was impossible in 
 London to conceal her beauty from admiration, 
 and that, wherever she went, some flatterer was 
 sure to buzz at her elbow. Lord Ferrers resolved 
 upon residing longer than usual at his mansion 
 in Leicestershire called Stanton Harold. To this 
 place, he accordingly removed himself and his 
 Countess in the very midst of one of the gayest 
 seasons that had been known in town for many 
 years. 
 
 The coarse and tedious kind of life at Stanton 
 Harold was insupportable to the young peeress.
 
 FERRERS. 245 
 
 Neither the house nor the neighbourhood 
 were to her taste ; the former being a plain, and 
 rather mean, though spacious mansion; and 
 the latter having nothing to recommend it, but 
 its fertiUty as a grazing district. Scarcely any 
 other -vdsiters came to the house, than country 
 squires, sportsmen, and gamblers. The conver- 
 sation of my Lord and his friends was wholly 
 engrossed by topics connected with horses, 
 dogs, and guns ; and no people were in such 
 great request as grooms, huntsmen, and horse* 
 jockeys. 
 
 It was now that Lady Ferrers began seriously 
 to repent the step she had taken, and tc 
 lament that she had rejected the hand- 
 some, fashionable, and devoted Sir Thomas 
 Stapleton, for the ill-looking, coarse-mannered, 
 and contumelious peer. Her hfe, too, was 
 passed almost in solitude as regarded persons 
 of her own sex, and she was, in great measure, 
 confined to a large dull house, fitter for a farm 
 than for a nobleman's mansion. Oh ! how she 
 sighed for London — for routs and balls, and 
 operas ; for the envy of women, and the flattery
 
 246 FERRERS. 
 
 of men ; for court drawing-rooms^ and court- 
 scandal — from all of which she was now effect- 
 ually secluded. 
 
 But feelings such as these, did not constitute 
 her only annoyance. The heartless insolence 
 of Ferrers grew daily worse and worse. Bitter 
 taunts — unjust reproaches — fierce and unwar- 
 rantable jealousy— false accusations — mortify- 
 ing comparisons, and unmanly threats^ charac- 
 terised the peer's daily intercourse with his 
 weak-minded, and timid wife, towards whom 
 his anger was aggravated by her having borne 
 him no children. The misery of Lady Ferrers 
 was further increased by the report prevalent 
 in the neighbourhood, and which could not fail 
 to reach her ears, that a former mistress of 
 his Lordship, by whom he had several children, 
 was still living close to Stanton-Harold, and 
 that the EarJ frequently saw her. 
 
 On both sides, therefore, jealousy existed, 
 though there was but little love — a passion 
 which is generally thought to be essential 
 to jealousy. The truth is, however, that the 
 latter emotion can hardly co-exist with love.
 
 FERRERS. 247 
 
 except indeed the love of ourselves, which is 
 wounded by any preference, real or suspected, 
 paid to another. It is this that renders jea- 
 lousy so hard to be borne. In other evils, we 
 can call our pride to assist in sustaining us; in 
 this, our pride is of no use, seeing that it is it- 
 self in a state of mortification. 
 
 One day, after a tete-a-tete dinner. Lady 
 Ferrers ventured to express a hope that his 
 Lordship would soon take her to town : she 
 spoke, though in timid accents, of the monotony 
 and seclusion of Stan ton-Harold, and declared 
 that he would make her very happy, were he 
 to say that they should soon pay London a 
 visit, as she greatly felt the desireableness of a 
 change of scene, and a renewed intercourse 
 with her friends. 
 
 " Sir Thomas Stapleton, among the number, 
 eh. Madam ?' said the Earl, with a bitter 
 sneer. 
 
 " Nay, my dear Lord Ferrers,^' replied the 
 Lady, as tears gushed suddenly into her eyes, 
 " you ought not to taunt me thus. You know
 
 248 FERRERS. 
 
 that I have not seen Sir Thomas Stapleton 
 for more than four years/' 
 
 " So you have said before ; but how should 
 / know it? You wouldn't send for me, 
 I suppose, to make a third at your meet- 
 ings/' 
 
 "Really, my Lord," responded Lady Fer- 
 rers, drying her eyes, and assuming an air of 
 oiFended pride, " really this is unjustifiable, and 
 does not deserve an answer.'^ 
 
 In an altercation with Lord Ferrers, there 
 was this peculiar awkwardness. If, intolerably 
 stung with his taunts, his opponent should re- 
 tort upon him, his fury knew no bounds ; and, 
 on the contrary, if his gross acts of provocation 
 did not succeed in arousing a due measure of 
 anger — if his opponent was cool when he 
 should be provoked — the Earl was equally 
 inflamed with rage. 
 
 On the present occasion he was irritated be- 
 yond endurance by the quietude of Lady Fer- 
 rers's manner ; for he expected, from her first 
 burst of tears, that she would at least have gone
 
 FERRERS. 249 
 
 into hysterics on his persisting in his insinua- 
 tions against her character as a wife. 
 
 *^D — n you, Madam/' vociferated he ; 
 '^ what do you mean by saying that I do not 
 deserve an answer ? Things are come to a 
 pretty extremity, if a husband is not to have 
 an answer when he is investigating the conduct 
 of his wife. If you ever let me hear you say 
 that again, 1^11 confine you to your own cham- 
 ber, here in this pleasant house of Stanton 
 which you admire so much.^' 
 
 The lady continued silent under the threat- 
 ened indignity. 
 
 " It was my intention to go to town,^^ he 
 added, wishing to mortify his lady still further, 
 and teUing a falsehood suddenly invented, " had 
 not your presumption induced me to change 
 my mind. Thank yourself, therefore, that you 
 do not see London at present. You have too 
 much of your father in you. Madam, the 
 which I shall take care to eradicate." 
 
 Though bursting at heart, Lady Ferrers still 
 
 M 3
 
 250 FERRERS. 
 
 maintained her silence, and^ rising, walked 
 towards the door. 
 
 '^ Stay where you are !" roared the Earl. 
 *^ It is my pleasure that you do not leave the 
 room yet. What ! do you think I am to be 
 treated like a cypher ? to be answered, or not, 
 and to have your company, or not, just as you 
 please ? No, no : sit down again my Lady 
 Ferrers, and speak, or I'll make you — I will 
 by Heaven !" 
 
 The young wife seemed bewildered at this 
 treatment, which was more outrageous than 
 any she had yet suffered. She stood motion- 
 less in the middle of the room, scarcely knowing 
 where she was, and too much amazed to com- 
 prehend clearly the extent of the Earl's violent 
 words. 
 
 Seeing that Lady Ferrers did not obey his 
 mandate, but that she remained in the position 
 into which it might be said his words had fixed 
 her, the Earl again vociferated, " Sit down, 
 I say ; let me have none of your affected airs — 
 your tragedy-queen postures. Do you think
 
 FERRERS. 25 1 
 
 I am going to submit to such whims for the 
 sake of a pretty face ? I have sacrificed enough 
 already for the toy, and have been trepanned 
 by you — innocent and simple as you seem — 
 into marriage. You have been your own 
 match-maker, madam, and have manoeuvred 
 dexterously enough to trick me into an union 
 with a beggar.'^ 
 
 Lady Ferrers continued to look like one in 
 a trance. Word after word, as they fell from 
 her Lord^s hps, seemed to increase the stupor 
 of her bewilderment. Language so rude, un- 
 manly and cruel, had never before been ad- 
 dressed to her ; she could scarcely believe her 
 own ears ; for she had not only been tenderly 
 nurtured, but used to flattery all her life, and 
 had never anticipated the bare possibihty of 
 being so insulted as she was at the present 
 moment. 
 
 The lady's involuntary silence was ascribed 
 by Lord Ferrers to obstinacy. " Why don't 
 you speak, and be cursed to you?'* he ex- 
 claimed furiously. " None of your d — d sul-
 
 252 FERRERS. 
 
 lenness for me. Your tongue was not so locked 
 up when you wheedled me into a sudden mar- 
 riage. I was drunk at the time, or I might 
 have held off, and by offering to settle some- 
 thing a year on you '' 
 
 " Hold, Lord Ferrers !" cried the lady, sud- 
 denly roused into action. " You forget to 
 whom you speak. My family is as good as 
 your's. Your insinuation is brutal, cowardly, 
 unworthy of a gentleman to any woman, but 
 more especially so to one whose blood is as good 
 as his own. Had I a brother you would 
 not have dared to address me thus. I never 
 thought I could be wanting in the humble 
 duty of a wife, but you goad me till I am 
 almost mad. It is not fit that I live here any 
 longer. Send me to my father.'^ 
 
 Ferrers writhed under the unexpected retort 
 of his wife. Forgetting that no woman, of 
 whatever temperament, will quietly submit to 
 be charged with a mercenary disposal of her- 
 self, he had ventured too far in his insults, and 
 calculated too securely on the forbearance of
 
 FERRERS. 253 
 
 her meek character. Designing, nevertheless, 
 to terrify her into passive submission to any 
 insolence on his part, he ejaculated : 
 
 ^* You are almost mad are you, madam? 
 I'll cure you without sending you back to 
 your fool of a father, who, I doubt not, would 
 return you on my hands like a bad shilling/^ 
 
 " Wretch !" exclaimed Lady Ferrers. 
 
 " Curse your insolence I" roared the Earl. 
 " But Pllput an end to your Billingsgate,^' he 
 continued snatching up a knife, and running 
 at his Countess, who cowered at his feet and 
 shrieked for mercy. 
 
 At this moment, a tap was heard at the 
 door. 
 
 ^^ Come in,'' said Ferrers, letting the knife 
 fall to the floor, and raising his wife. 
 
 The door was now opened, and a tall man, 
 whose face was carefully muffled up, entered 
 looking cautiously about him. 
 
 " Ah, it's you, Jem, is it ? I didn't expect 
 you yet," said the Earl, endeavouring to look 
 composed. *^ Sit down. You may go to the 
 drawing-room, Lady Ferrers."
 
 254 FERRERS. 
 
 The Countess gladly left the room, and 
 Ferrers, panting with ill-suppressed rage, re- 
 sumed his seat at the table. Having swallowed 
 in rapid succession three or four glasses of wine, 
 his fury seemed to subside, and addressing his 
 strange-looking companion, he said, 
 
 '' Now, Jem, you seem big with news, 
 what have you got to tell me ?^' 
 
 *^ Something of all sorts,^* returned the 
 man, " good and bad.'^ 
 
 ^^ We'll have it all out, by and by," said the 
 Earl 3 " but I'm a little flurried at present. 
 Take a glass of wine, Jem ; or, perhaps, you'd 
 prefer brandy. I see you would. Touch the 
 bell.^' 
 
 *^ A little brandy, my Lord, will do neither 
 of us any harm,^' observed the man, with a 
 significant leer at the Earl. 
 
 " Were you aware that I was sitting alone 
 with my Lady, when you tapped at the door ?" 
 enquired Lord Ferrers. 
 
 ^^ Yes, my Lord ; but you know, you tell 
 me always to come in direct, and never send 
 the footman. When I heard her Ladyship
 
 FERRERS. 255 
 
 shriek for mercy, I had a great mind not to 
 come in, for I thought I might be in the way ; 
 but my knuckles was close to the door and 
 they rapped a'raost of theirselves. I hope 
 your Lordship ^11 excuse me." 
 
 ^^ Never mind, Jem. Don't make any apo- 
 logies, I'm rather glad you came in as you did. 
 Ah, here's the brandy. A glass or two will 
 settle me, and then for your news. Mean- 
 while you may as well take that wrapper from 
 your mouth. You can^t drink comfortably in 
 it, and nobody more will come into this room 
 to night till I ring.'*
 
 256 FERRERS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 RBTROSFECT — HUGH BERNARD AT THK LOUNT IN 1750 — MISS JOHN- 
 SON — Hugh's hopeless love — his resolution — all in the 
 
 WRONG— A SURPRISE AND ITS EFFECTS— HUGH PREPARES TO LEAVE 
 THE LOUNT. 
 
 For though sweet love to conquer glorious be, 
 Yet is the pain thereof, much greater than the fee. 
 
 SPENSER. 
 
 After Hugh Bernard had endured, as our 
 readers have seen, ahnost every variety of 
 wretchedness to which human nature can be 
 subjected. Fortune began to dawn on him, 
 though its gleams were still a little clouded by 
 a new and unexpected source of agitation. 
 
 To explain this, we must turn from the on- 
 ward path of our story, and make a short re- 
 trospect to the year 1750.
 
 FERRERS. 257 
 
 Early in this year, we left the young man at 
 Mr. Johnson's residence near Stanton Harold, 
 to which place he and his kind patron had re- 
 moved, with the orphan child, soon after the 
 burial of its mother in Paddington Church 
 Yard. 
 
 Bearing in mind the savage hostility avow- 
 edly cherished by Lord Ferrers against Hugh 
 Bernard, and his threats of vengeance, Mr. 
 Johnson resolved that the stay of the latter at 
 the Lount, should terminate in the Earl's 
 anival at Stanton, which was expected to take 
 place early in May. In order that this freedom 
 from danger, should be more readily and more 
 beneficially accomplished, the good steward, 
 with his usual foresight, had solicited on Ber- 
 nard's behalf, a place of employment in a dis- 
 tant county. The young man's visit to the 
 farm-house, could not, therefore, extend beyond 
 two months. 
 
 Unlooked for circumstances, however, tended 
 to abridge this interval of recreation. But 
 short as his sojourn at the Lount, eventually
 
 258 FERRERS. 
 
 proved, it was long enough to inspire him with 
 a sentiment, which became the ruUng principle 
 of his thoughts and actions. With his ill-fated 
 sister, and his ever-kind guardian, (Mrs. HoUis,) 
 all that made life dear to him had been buried; 
 his heart, as regarded the affections it was ca- 
 pable of entertaining, had become a mere void; 
 but though this seemed, at first, to incline him 
 to a stoical indifference to life and all its blan- 
 dishments, the result presented a direct con- 
 trast to what he expected. The absence of all 
 other love had, in fact, only prepared him for 
 the reception of a mightier passion — one which 
 was to reign paramount and alone. 
 
 Deeply and firmly does he love, who has been 
 tutored in the school of Adversity. " Stern, 
 rugged nurse, '^ though she be, her office is a 
 kindly one. It is not only to humanize the 
 heart, and make it tender, but to enlarge the 
 sphere of its knowledge : — to teach it to 
 know the real from the false — the flatterer 
 from the friend; to discover amid the ful- 
 some pretences of the hypocrite, ' the selfish
 
 FERRERS. 259 
 
 lures of the petty and unprincipled despot ; to 
 detect the specious lie and the pitiful cheat 
 practised under the cant of straight-forward 
 frankness ; to see the small and callous heart 
 lurking beneath a clumsy assumption of sym- 
 pathy, — and to trace in its secret workings, tbe 
 long and intricate plot of a cold-blooded ma- 
 noeuvrer, who designs that some vile mischief 
 should arrive at maturity in years to come, 
 when the dirty trails of his progress, should, 
 perhaps, be obliterated. Without experience 
 such as this, love may be misplaced, and, 
 in time, will totter and fall. With it, the 
 aifections can be guided and established in 
 safety. 
 
 It has been mentioned that when Mr. John- 
 son, Hugh Bernard, and the child arrived at 
 the Lount, they were received by the steward's 
 daughter ; who, radiant with youth, beauty and 
 cheerfulness, greeted her father and the two 
 strangers with a true country welcome. 
 Health, happiness, innocence and competence 
 were hers ; and to these were superadded all
 
 260 FERRERS. 
 
 the advantages that a careful, and not inele- 
 gant, education could bestow. Her summers 
 had not yet numbered sixteen ; yet, so perfect 
 were the innocent pleasures of her life — so ex- 
 empt was she from the blighting effects of 
 anxiety — so joyous were her days in the pure 
 air, and so tranquil her night- slumbers, as if an 
 angel hovered over and blessed them, that the 
 faculties of her mind, and the beauty of her 
 frame, having no check, were early developed, 
 and the loveliness of her adolescence gave rich 
 promise of a glorious womanhood. 
 
 Sarah Johnson was, indeed, a graceful and a 
 winning creature. To look into her face, was 
 to be happy ; for it was impossible to shun the 
 sweet contagion of gladness sparkling amid 
 smiles which invested her countenance with light, 
 serene and tender as that of Aurora. Her 
 blue eyes glanced hither and thither, as if luxu- 
 riating in their own playfulness ; and, though 
 her figure was as yet slight and bending, the 
 hints of its future rich symmetry, as she ran 
 in the sunlight across the garden lawn, could
 
 FERRERS. 261 
 
 not be regarded, even by age, without some- 
 thing of passionate admiration. 
 
 What, then, must have been the effect of 
 this fascinating specimen of '^ divine nature" 
 on Hugh Bernard ? — on him who had suddenly 
 been awakened from a dream of want, misery 
 and terror, and opened his eyes on a transport- 
 ing vision of tranquihty, and surpassing love- 
 liness } The long-sealed emotions of his heart 
 were touched, and they opened and trembled 
 under the spell. Spring, too, was coming on 
 fast — young spring — the season of hope, pro- 
 mise, and enchantment. It could not be other- 
 wise than that the grief-torn, but still youthful 
 soul of Bernard, now newly reposing from its 
 sorrows, should respond to the bland influen- 
 ces around him. 
 
 It so happened that during Mr. Johnson's 
 frequent absence on business, his daughter and 
 Hugh were left for hours together. They were 
 ?iappy in the company of each other, for there 
 was an intimate sympathy in their taste, and 
 opinions. Sometimes, in the brief visits of an
 
 262 FERRERS. 
 
 April sun, they walked in the fields surround- 
 ing the farm-house, intent either in watching 
 the silent progress of the wild flowers and the 
 rich herbage, or else absorbed in the pages of 
 some old English poet — -romantic Spenser — 
 pastoral Browne — lofty-minded, yet tender, 
 Marvell — deep-thoughted Cowley, or divine 
 Milton. 
 
 O, how these walks and readings, dwelt in 
 the memory of Bernard ! In the silence of his 
 own room at night, every particular ramble was 
 re-traced, and each incident, however trivial, 
 acted over again. SaraVs favourite passages 
 in the poets they had read togetlier, became 
 to Bernard sacred words, to live for aye 
 
 "Within the book and volume of his brain, 
 Unmixed with baser matter." 
 
 Often when the steward^s daughter was en- 
 gaged in household affairs, would Bernard steal 
 out alone, and revisit her favourite haunts. 
 These solitary stroUings were mostly at the close 
 of day, when, as the many-figured clouds floated 
 dreamily over the west, bringing with them the
 
 FERRERS. 2(J3 
 
 shades of evening, eyery sigh of the soft wind 
 seemed to waft her voice to his ear, and every 
 dimly- seen object to present her figure. The 
 works of nature seemed made to be the mi- 
 nisters of love ; and all love was centered in 
 the young mistress of the Lount. 
 
 The heart of the youth was, in fact, irrevo- 
 cably lost, though he dared not, even by a 
 single look, betray his passion. To attempt 
 to win the daughter's affections, Hugh thought 
 would be a base return for all the kind and 
 essential services he had received at the hand 
 of the father. How could he, destitute as he 
 was — the victim of misfortune — a mere weed 
 on the earth's surface — presume to lift his 
 eyes to the cherished and happy being in 
 whose home he had been graciously permitted 
 to find an asylum ? No. If he could not 
 resist the fascination, he was bound, by every 
 consideration, to conceal its effect on him, even 
 though he should suffer a worse martyrdom 
 than honour had ever yet inflicted on its votary. 
 His motive was more imperative than that of
 
 264 FERRERS. 
 
 the famous Spartan boy, and he resolved with 
 equal constancy to endure and hide his tor- 
 ment. 
 
 In this state of mind, poor Bernard longed 
 for the time when he should leave the Lount, 
 and be freed from the presence of one whom 
 it seemed a crime to love, and yet whom it was 
 impossible to behold without adoration. It 
 was not alone the consummate beauty of 
 Sarah that attracted his passionate regard, but 
 her moral and intellectual graces, the purity of 
 her heart, and her affectionate devotion to her 
 father. In proportion, however, to the richness 
 of the treasure, was his despair of ever attain- 
 ing it, and his conviction that it would be cul- 
 pable, even in thought, to aspire, from the 
 depth and darkness of his suffering, to so 
 radiant a height. He resolved, therefore, if 
 possible, to tear her image from his soul. 
 
 Love, such as this, is not often an inhabitant 
 of earth. It is, for the most part, too selfish 
 — too careless of wounding the feelings of 
 others in the pursuit of its own gratification.
 
 FERRERS. 265 
 
 Its impulses are vulgar, debased, presumptuous ; 
 seldom self-sacrificing, considerate, and just. 
 No beautiful dreams of the imagination mingle 
 with its idea, and sanctify it in the soul. 
 The generosity of its nature is perv^erted by the 
 headlong force of unhallowed wishes, or stifled 
 by the pressure of sordid interest. 
 
 Hugh Bernard shrank not from what he 
 conceived to be his duty. He summoned his 
 fortitude to his aid, and, for a time, thought he 
 was victorious ; but the powerful spell would, 
 at intervals, return upon him, even in his most 
 confident moments. His energies quailed in 
 the presence of the unconscious object against 
 whom they struggled ; and thus finding the 
 inefficiency of all moral aid, he learned that 
 his only resource from hopeless suffering was 
 in flight. But how was this to be accomplish- 
 ed ? and whither could he go until Mr. Johnson 
 should have succeeded in his application ? 
 
 One day, as be and his friend were walking 
 together among the green and fertile meadows 
 of the farm, Hugh Bernard said, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 2G6 FERRERS. 
 
 '^ I earnestly hope, my dear Sir, that you 
 ^^ ill not think me impatient in the midst of the 
 hlessings with which your goodness has sur- 
 rounded me, if I ask v/hat prospect there is of 
 success, in the supplication you have made on 
 my behalf to your friend in Bath ?" 
 
 " I have not yet heard from Mr. Rowe,'^ was 
 the reply. " But there is no hurry, Hugh. 
 You have been here only a month, and I wish 
 to set you up in health and strength, before 
 you go into the world again. As you tell me 
 you have no friend in the world but myself, I 
 must be the more careful in promoting your 
 happiness, and this, it strikes me, may be best 
 secured by your reposing awhile here in the 
 fresh country air, and among these quiet scenes. 
 No, Hugh; even were Mr. Rowe to say he 
 was ready to receive you, I should hesitate to 
 let you go till I thought you had recovered 
 from your late sufferings, and become tranquil, 
 if not cheerful. '^ 
 
 Hugh Bernard sighed heavily. 
 
 *^ There !'^ resumed Mr. Johnson, "that
 
 FERRERS. 267 
 
 sigh tells me I am right. You must stay with 
 me yet a little longer, my young friend, and 
 then all will be well/' 
 
 '^ I am deeply sensible of your great kind- 
 ness, Sir,'' responded Hugh ; " yet I cannot 
 but feel I am a burden on you. It is not want 
 of gratitude ; for I should despise myself if I 
 were not ready and willing to lay down my 
 life in your ser\ace -, but indeed, indeed, I am 
 anxious to trespass no further on your hospi- 
 tality, especially after the great expense and 
 trouble you have undergone on account of my 
 poor sister." 
 
 " You must not talk so, Bernard,'' returned 
 Mr. Johnson. " Under all the circumstances, it 
 was my duty, I believe, to afford you and 
 your sister, the assistance that was in my 
 power. You know not yet all my motives, 
 and you must not at present ask to know them. 
 Suffice it, that I am your friend. As to expense 
 it is idle to speak of it. Look around you. My 
 possessions are not large, to be sure ; yet with 
 
 n2
 
 268 FERRERS. 
 
 my oxen, my sheep, my fowls, my granary, and 
 my dairy, you will hardly think that the addition 
 of one at my table can make any sensible diffe- 
 rence. Hospitahty indeed ! nonsense ! I have 
 enough and to spare w^ithout missing it, Ber- 
 nard, So let us talk no more on that sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " May Heaven perpetuate its blessings on 
 you, Sir !'" ejaculated Bernard. " Still '' 
 
 " I'll hear no more," interrupted Mr. John- 
 son. '^ What !^' continued he, looking hard 
 into Bernard's face, " surely my young friend 
 is not tired of his visit already." 
 
 Hugh seized Mr. Johnson^s hand and pressed 
 it warmly, but without speaking. His heart 
 was full, and tears stood in his eyes. 
 
 " I said it only to try you, Bernard,^* conti- 
 nued the good old man ; " you must, however, 
 wear a less anxious face, or I shall by and by 
 begin to think in right earnest that you are 
 not pleased with our endeavours to make 
 you happy."
 
 FERRERS. 269 
 
 At this moment, Miss Johnson was seen 
 traversing the meadow path with the little 
 orphan in her arms. 
 
 *^ Here comes my daughter," said the 
 steward. " Now if you do not get rid of that 
 rueful countenance, I shall tell her to scold you, 
 though in truth, she is not a good hand at 
 finding fault." 
 
 " O, father,'^ said Miss Johnson, " I have 
 been looking every where for you. They are 
 in a rare bustle at Stanton. My Lord has 
 arrived sooner than he was expected, and the 
 groom has ridden over to say his Lordship will 
 call at the farm to see you to morrow." 
 
 Hugh Bernard started, and turned pale. 
 
 "What is the matter?" said Sarah in a voice 
 of tender solicitude. ^^ Are you not well, Mr. 
 Bernard?'^ 
 
 The words, the tone in which they were 
 uttered, and the anxious look which accom- 
 panied them, struck to Hugh's heart. The 
 blood returned with a sudden rush to his face ; 
 but his embarrassment was increased 5 and, after
 
 270 FERRERS. 
 
 stammering a few incoherent words, and then 
 pausing awhile, he said, *^ Pardon me ! I know 
 not what I have spoken. A tremor came over 
 me on a sudden ; but it is past.^' 
 
 " No, no ! you are ill,^' said the frank-hearted 
 and innocent girl. " I see it plainly enough. 
 Father, let us go home. Poor Mr. Bernard ! 
 The damp of these wet meadows has struck to 
 him. He is not used to our country habits. 
 Come, there is a nice fire at the farm, and FU 
 make you a warm posset, Mr. Bernard.'* 
 
 The uneasiness which the young man felt, 
 not on his own account, but as regarded Mr. 
 Johnson, on the sudden announcement of Lord 
 Ferrers^s return to Stanton, was as nothing 
 compared with the emotion which agitated his 
 heart at the earnest kindness manifested to- 
 wards him by the young mistress of the 
 Lount. 
 
 The party now bent their steps to the house ; 
 and, during their short progress, the abstrac- 
 tion of Hugh Bernard as he meditated on what 
 had past, was attributed by both father and
 
 FERRERS. 271 
 
 daughter to sudden illness. They little guessed 
 what dazzlino^ visions had at first been con- 
 jured up in his mind by the words of Sarah 
 Johnson ; nor what a conflict the alternation 
 of hope and doubt — hope which seemed chi- 
 merical the more he pondered on it — and doubt 
 which grew stronger and stronger every ins- 
 tant, — was raging in his breast. A settled 
 melancholy soon again took possession of him, 
 and he hailed the unexpected appearance of 
 the Earl at Stanton as a signal for his own 
 speedy departure from the Lount. 
 
 ^^ I think I know the cause of my Lord's 
 sudden visit to the countr}^/' said Mr. John- 
 son, breaking the silence in which the whole 
 party was wrapped. '' He is in want of money ; 
 and is come to see what Lady-day rents I 
 have received. Depend on it, he will soon 
 return to London. Meanwhile, be not afraid, 
 Bernard. We can conceal you easily enough 
 for a few days.^' 
 
 " Afraid 1^' echoed Sarah. " What should 
 Mr. Bernard fear ? Why should he be con-
 
 272 FERRERS. 
 
 cealed ? He can have done nothing wrong, I 
 am sure. He is too good.*' 
 
 Here was new food for the young man's 
 passion. He looked his thanks to the inno- 
 cent and lovely speaker, and treasured the 
 words in his heart of hearts as precious sub- 
 jects for contemplation in his solitary hours. 
 
 On the arrival of the party at the house, 
 Mr. Johnson received a letter from his friend 
 at Bath, acquiescing in the proposal which had 
 been made on behalf of Hugh Bernard, and 
 desiring he might set out with all convenient 
 speed to take the situation of assistant at one 
 of the libraries in that fashionable city. 
 
 " See, my young friend,^' said Mr. Johnson, 
 handing the letter to Bernard, " your wishes 
 are fulfilled. Mr. Rowe is ready to receive 
 you, and you may enter on your post without 
 delay, though, as I said before, I hardly think 
 you stout enough yet for removal from us.^' 
 
 Hugh would now have been glad to remain 
 a little longer in the sphere of his fascination ; 
 but consistency forbade it; and, after some dis-
 
 FERRERS. 273 
 
 suasion on the part of Miss Johnson, it was 
 finally arranged that he should proceed to Bath 
 early in the following week. 
 
 Mr. Johnson's conjecture as to the motive 
 of Lord Ferrers's visit to Stanton was correct. 
 He wanted money for his use in London ; and, 
 having received all that his steward had col- 
 lected, he returned to the metropolis in pur- 
 suit of his pleasures 
 
 n3
 
 274 FERRERi 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BUGH BERNARD AT BATH — LADY HUNTINGDON AND lADY FANNY 
 SHIRLEY — OLD BATH AND NEW BATH — LADY FANNY'S STJIANGE 
 KKMARES TOUCHING HUGH BERNARD, 
 
 For balls, and fine concerts, fine buildings and springs. 
 Fine walks, and fine views, and a thousand fine things, 
 Not to mention the sweet situation and air, 
 What place, my dear mother, with Bath can compare ? 
 
 ANSIEY. 
 
 We now restune the progressive course of 
 our narrative. At the present period (1756), 
 Hugh had been in Bath six years ; and, while 
 fulfilhng the duties of his post in Mr. Rowe's 
 library in the Orange Grove, had become 
 known to most of the visiters of the gay and 
 fashionable city. His attention and respectful 
 demeanour, added to his general intelligence, 
 and his acquaintance not only with the modish
 
 FERRERS. 275 
 
 literature of the day, but with the finest of 
 our old authors, secured him many friends 
 among his own sex, while his good looks and 
 urbanity, won the favorable opinion of the 
 fair. 
 
 Hugh's services, indeed, had been of the 
 greatest importance to his employer. From a 
 shop of comparatively small business, Mr. 
 Rowe's library had become the most fre- 
 quented in the town, and its hst of subscri- 
 bers could boast of more aristocratical names 
 than the lists of all the other booksellers 
 united. The Countess of Huntingdon, who 
 was often at Bath, and who built a chapel 
 there, frequented Mr. Rowe's shop, and so did 
 her aunt Lady Fanny Shirley, who, from 
 having been the reigning beauty of the court 
 of George 1, when she had received the ho- 
 mage of Pope's poetry, and the adulation of 
 Lord Chesterfield, had now abjured the vani- 
 ties of youth, and settled down into a pious 
 old maid, the patroness, jointly with her 
 niece, of Wesley, Whitefield, Hervey, Venn,
 
 276 FERRERS. 
 
 Fletcher, Dr. Doddridge, and other distin- 
 guished EvangeHcal Divines. 
 
 It was often Hugh Bernard's duty to attend 
 on Lady Fanny Shirley and the Countess ; 
 to take their orders for religious tracts, and 
 for the frequent reprinting of the hymn-books 
 in use at Lady Huntingdon's chapel. He 
 knew, of course, that both these noble dames, 
 were nearly related to Lord Ferrers ; and, 
 though he had no reason to suspect that they 
 were acquainted with his lordship's conduct to 
 him and to his sister, he nevertheless was 
 greatly embarrassed in his first interviews with 
 them, and felt, while standing in their pre- 
 sence, almost as if he had been the perpe- 
 trator, rather than the victim of wrong. So de- 
 basing is injustice, that even the innocent who 
 suffer from it, feel not only outraged, but 
 contaminated by its touch. 
 
 The embarrassment of the young man soon, 
 however, wore off; and though he did not 
 attend the Countess's chapel, but preferred 
 the sedate and dignified forms of the estab-
 
 FERRERS. 277 
 
 lished religion of which he gave full evidence 
 by his regular appearance at Divine Worship 
 every Sunday at the Abbey church, his titled 
 patronesses did not, on that account, cease 
 to notice him, nor to preserve their high opi- 
 nion of his intelligence and general worth, 
 which could not be shaken by the unremitting 
 efforts of another bookseller in the town — a 
 mean slavish, treacherous, lying, manoeuvring 
 fellow, who, in order to obtain the custom of 
 such distinguished persons as the Countess 
 and Lady Fanny Shirley, was prepared to go 
 any lengths which fraud and sycophancy could 
 suggest, and to desert his parish church for 
 the conventicle. But the good Lady Hun- 
 tingdon was not deficient in penetration, and 
 the under-handed schemer was foiled. 
 
 In those days, Bath was the most enchant- 
 ing town the imagination could conceive. 
 Poetry cannot depict any thing more lovely 
 than its situation in a fertile valley closely 
 surrounded by pine-clad heights, with the 
 translucent Avon flowing at their feet. The
 
 278 FERRERS. 
 
 peculiar charms of the locaUty added to the 
 Palladian buildings of white stone, of which 
 the city is composed, gave to it the aspect of 
 an Italian town, an effect increased by the 
 utter absence of manufactories, or indeed of 
 any other trades than those which adminis- 
 tered to the luxury of its visitants. Bath was 
 then, even more than London, the centre of 
 fashion. The Parades, the noble Crescent 
 (unrivalled in modern Europe), the Orange 
 Grove, and the Pump-Room, were thronged 
 with beautiful women of high rank, and men 
 distinguished for wit and fashion, who lounged 
 there as if ease and pleasure constituted the 
 sole pursuits of life which was to be passed in 
 one long dream of elegance and enjoyment. 
 
 The climate, too, favoured the dolce-far- 
 mente in which the town seemed steeped. In 
 few parts of England is the temperature so 
 hot and so equable ) a circumstance to be 
 attributed to the reverberation on the city of 
 the sun's rays from the closely surrounding 
 hills. In the neighbourhood of Bath, the
 
 FERRERS. 297 
 
 lauro-cerasus, or common laurel, bears its 
 fruit in great abundance ; the myrtle attains a 
 gigantic height and blossoms profusely ; and 
 here also the fir, or pine, thrives abundantly, 
 filling the air with its aromatic exhalations. 
 
 It was in some respect to the frequency of 
 these groves of pine that the peculiar and Italian- 
 like beauty of the views about Bath might be 
 referred; but this is not so obvious a feature of 
 the landscape now-a-days, as it was in the 
 period of which we write. The desolating 
 spirit of modern " improvement^^ has levelled 
 many of these Arcadian groves and wooded 
 solitudes, to make room for crowded buildings 
 which stretch their stony fronts beyond the 
 natural confines of the city, and climb the 
 downy hills in all directions. 
 
 A few of the plantations, however, still 
 exist in the vicinity of Combe Down, the road 
 to which, through the high, over-arched avenue 
 (a mile in length) then called "Allen^s 
 Walk,'' was enchanting beyond description. 
 This beautiful walk up the side of a steep hill.
 
 280 FERRERS. 
 
 opening here and there upon ghmpses into a 
 valley more lovely, green, and fairy-like, than 
 any ever dreamed of by Claude or Gaspar 
 Poussin, was planted by the celebrated Mr. 
 Allen (the AUworthy of " Tom Jones,'^ and 
 friend of Pope and Warburton) as an entrance 
 from Widcombe to Prior Park, Allen's man- 
 sion. 
 
 Up this romantic steep. Fielding and War- 
 burton, have often paced, and Pope been 
 carried in his sedan, to enjoy the refined hos- 
 pitality of Prior Park ; and at the foot of the 
 acclivity, nestling in a leafy grove, stands the 
 house assigned by the great novelist to the 
 occupancy of Squire Western. 
 
 The description, however, given by Fielding 
 in " Tom Jones '^ of this exquisite region, is not 
 good, because it is not true nor natural. With all 
 his prodigious genius. Fielding was not a poet. 
 He was deficient in that range of the imagina- 
 tion which can feel, depict, and illustrate the 
 beauties of the external world. Whenever he 
 attempted this, he became laboured and arti-
 
 FERRERS. 281 
 
 ficial ; and accordingly while he has omitted 
 many of the most striking features of the 
 landscape in question, he has added others 
 which do not belong to it, and which rob it of 
 its nature and grace. He has, in short, made 
 a "composition^' after the balanced style of 
 Smith of Chichester, or Wright of Derby, in- 
 stead of draT;\nng the scene in the spirit of 
 Poussin, or of our own Turner or Callcott. 
 
 In the days of which we write, Bath exhi- 
 bited more of the out-of-door spirit of enjoy- 
 ment — that spirit which is so common in 
 France and Italy — than any other part of Eng- 
 land. Seats were placed in the open air in the 
 Orange Grove, and in the neighbouring North 
 and South Parades, then sacred from the ap- 
 proach of wheel-carriages; and here sat the 
 ladies in their brocaded farthingales and sac- 
 ques reading "Pamela^' or ''Clarissa/' and 
 waited on by beaux in bag-wigs, powdered 
 toupees, embroidered coats and waistcoats, 
 and three cornered hats, not worn on the head.
 
 282 FERRERS. 
 
 but carried under the arm. All was ease, fa- 
 shion, gaiety, coquetry, and indolent and 
 harmless coxcombry. 
 
 But now every thing is changed : the Bath of 
 present day is altogether another affair. The 
 spirit of Beau Nash has ceased to reign, and 
 the dolce-far-niente has given way to activity 
 and speculation. Visiters, indeed, go there, as 
 before, to drink the medicinal waters, and 
 leave their diseases behind them ; but they are 
 too busy to remain and lose the days in gossip, 
 and the nights in picquet as formerly. Utilita- 
 rianism has obtruded into the quiet, refined 
 and holiday recesses of Bath, which is no 
 longer what Anstey represented to be in 1766. 
 The smooth pavements- of the Parades are now 
 broken up, and intersected by carriage-roads ; 
 the out-of-door seats have disappeared ; the 
 bowling-green of the Assembly-rooms is des- 
 troyed ; AUen^s sequestered walk has become 
 a vulgar road ; the dreamy haunts of Combe 
 Down are profaned with streets and shops ;
 
 FERRERS. 283 
 
 the pleasant meadows on the banks of the 
 Avon are built over ; and the theatre cannot 
 find a lessee. 
 
 The change in the holiday spirit of the town, 
 may, however, be remotely traced to the in- 
 troduction, by Lady Huntingdon, of the reli- 
 gious doctrine and discipline of Wesley and 
 Whitefield. In attacking Bath with this puri- 
 tanical fervour, the Countess was assailing the 
 head-quarters of fashionable dissipation ; and 
 the success with which she carried on her holy 
 warfare among the thoughtless idlers congre- 
 gated there, must have surprised even her own 
 enthusiasm. Into whatever company she went, 
 her conversation was on one theme : she spoke 
 of the sins and errors of her former life, her 
 conversion, and the consequent change in her 
 heart and conduct. She said plainly to all, it 
 was absolutely necessary that the same change 
 should take place in them if they would have 
 any hope in death.* Thus, a srious spirit 
 
 • Life of the Countess of Huntinqrdon.
 
 284 FERRERS. 
 
 began to prevail over the former levity of the 
 Bath visitants. 
 
 This apostolic zeal gave great offence in 
 many quarters. The celebrated Warburton 
 pronounced her ladyship to be an incurable 
 enthusiast; Lavington, the bitter Bishop of 
 Exeter, reviled her to his heart's content : 
 and Beau Nash, who saw that if the " new 
 light '^ should prevail, his vocation would be at 
 an end, circulated a series of absurd lampoons 
 against her. 
 
 To no opposition, however, whether serious- 
 ly enforced, or aided by ridicule, would the 
 amiable enthusiast yield. She went on making 
 converts, and building and endowing chapels 
 in various parts of the kingdom, among which 
 that at Bath was one of the largest. To this 
 chapel the unrivalled wit, Horace Walpole, 
 paid a visit, of which in his brilliant letters he 
 has given a most amusing account. 
 
 Having taken some interest in poor Hugh 
 Bernard, and having failed in her design of 
 withdrawing him from his adherence to the
 
 FERRERS. 285 
 
 national church, it cannot be matter of asto- 
 nishment that the young man should occa- 
 sionally become a subject of conversation 
 between the Countess and Lady Fanny 
 Shirley. 
 
 " There is an expression in that young man^s 
 countenance," said Lady Fanny, "that often 
 surprises me, and I am often positively startled 
 by the tones of his voice. Though no one can 
 be more humble and respectful than he, there 
 is nevertheless something in his manner that 
 betokens a careful education, if not a better 
 origin than his present situation would seem 
 to indicate. Is he of this town }'' 
 
 " I know not/^ replied the Countess ; " but 
 as he seems to have attracted your curiosity, 
 I have a new motive for endeavouring to win 
 him from the cold, heartless forms of the old 
 church, to the true, spiritual, experimental 
 faith, that illuminates, converts, and comforts 
 the elect." 
 
 "I fear," rejoined Lady Fanny, "we shall 
 not succeed. With all his humility, there is a
 
 286 FERRERS. 
 
 steadfastness in his character, (let us not call it 
 obstinacy, poor young man !) that will render 
 it not easy to convert him. I should like to 
 knoV his history ; and 1^11 tell you what it is 
 that has roused my curiosity. You w^ll smile, 
 I know, when I say that I have observed in 
 him an extraordinary resemblance to our fa- 
 mily. The flash of the eye — the haughty car- 
 riage of the head (unconscious on his part, 
 but still very striking) — and the peculiar tone 
 of the voice, are all perfect characteristics of 
 our race. Did I not see him where he is, I 
 should almost take him for a Shirley.'^ 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear aimt I'^ was the Coun- 
 tess's only reply. 
 
 ^^ I know it is nonsense, Selina,^^ pursued 
 Lady Fanny. " But you must admit that so 
 strange a resemblance in one filling such a 
 situation as his, would naturally make him no- 
 ticeable to me. Plebeian as he is, this young 
 man has contrived to ^ snatch a grace,' from 
 an order infinitely above him.'' 
 
 " Upon my word, aunt," rejoined the Coun-
 
 FERRERS. 287 
 
 tess, " you are getting quite romantic. Shall 
 I ask Mr. Whilefield to make some enquiries 
 about the young man }" 
 
 " Not on any account/^ replied Lady Fanny. 
 " It would be wasting the time of the good 
 minister, which is needed for far nobler pur- 
 poses in this city of dissipation. Having ex- 
 plained to you the source (foolish enough) of 
 the iaterest I take in young Bernard, the 
 subject may easily be dismissed from my 
 mind." 
 
 " Have you heard any thing lately of Lau- 
 rence }'' enquired the Countess. 
 
 " O, yes ! His brother Walter has sent me 
 a dreadful account of him. He is lost in sin 
 His treatment of Lady Ferrers is dreadful 
 beyond description. Then he is perpetually 
 intoxicated — keeps the lowest company in 
 his house — is often transported with fury, 
 and, on a recent occasion, threatened to mur- 
 der his wife !" 
 
 " Poor young lady !" ejaculated the Coun- 
 tess. " T did all in my power to prevent that
 
 28 S FERRERS. 
 
 ill-starred match. Had she been placed under 
 my care, instead of that of the vain Lady 
 Suffolk, this would never have happened. But 
 who can scan the Inscrutable ?"
 
 FERRERS. 289 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THB MEMORY OF THE DEAD — SARAH JOHNSON'— A LOVELY RAMBLE — 
 DAVGER0U5 COMPAVIOXS — A CHASE— ST. GILES'S IX THE PRO' 
 VIWCBS— HOW BEBXA&D WAS CAUGHT IN A TRAP. 
 
 The door so fast shut up, the profound silence, the bar 
 walls — all this looked very ominous, and made me fancy I 
 had got into a fearful den. 
 
 LAZARILLO DE TORMES. 
 
 Hugh Bernard had passed the last six 
 years in tranquiUity. The cheerfulness of his 
 boyhood was not, indeed^ regained (how could 
 it be after all he had endured ?) ; but his mind 
 was calmed, and the meditations he indulged 
 in were of a soothing and elevating nature. 
 He thought of his kind guardian, Mrs. HoUis, 
 and of his lost sister 3 and if the dreadful fate, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 FERRERS. 
 
 which had hurried both those dear ones to the 
 grave, appalled his recollection, he was soon 
 consoled by the hope, that, in " resigning this 
 earthly load of death, called life,'^ they had 
 passed into a region where neither sorrow nor 
 persecution are permitted to enter. Thus 
 there was comfort even in the melancholy me- 
 mory of the beloved creatures whose sufferings 
 had terminated only in death. They were 
 hallowed in his thoughts ; and he believed their 
 spirits, absolved by the All-Merciful, were re- 
 posing in bliss, 
 
 With these tender and sacred meditations 
 were mingled others equally precious — equally 
 to be treasured in silence and solitude — in 
 day-dreams, and in the vigils of the night. 
 But, whatever might be the enchantment of 
 these latter contemj^lations, they were not 
 without alloy. Sometimes they came he- 
 ralded by hope ; at others, doubt clung to 
 them like an inseparable shadow. Hugh's 
 love for Sarah Johnson was his master pas- 
 sion, and swayed every action of his life. The
 
 FERRERS. 291 
 
 few words she had involuntarily uttered, when 
 her father talked of concealing Bernard from 
 Lord Ferrers, were ever present to the young 
 man's mind. He repeated them over and over 
 again to himself, and drew from them an 
 augury, which, however faint and remote, made 
 his heart bound with irrepressible ecstacy. 
 
 Hugh had not, however, dared to reveal 
 this passion to any one — no, not to the be- 
 loved object herself. He feared, by any be- 
 trayal of his secret, to risk the violent dis- 
 placement of the idol he had set up to worship 
 in his heart of hearts. He would wait till 
 time should so far improve his position in life 
 as to render his advances, if not more likely to 
 succeed, at least less absurd in their preten- 
 sions, than they might at present seem. And 
 this improvement seemed to await him. 
 
 For six years, then, he had heard little or 
 nothing of her, who, hke a goddess, was ever 
 present to him — ever adored. From her kind- 
 hearted father, Bernard received letters from 
 time to time, expressive of an almost parental 
 
 o 2
 
 292 FERRERS. 
 
 solicitude for his welfare. These letters abound- 
 ed in interesting gossip about Judith's child . 
 but seldom contained any allusion to Sarah, and 
 even when her name was mentioned, it was 
 only in the most slight and vague manner. He 
 knew not even if Miss Johnson was still at the 
 home in which he had left her : she might 
 have been wooed, and won, and married ; for 
 with his own estimate of her perfections, he 
 conceived it scarcely possible that she should 
 not have attracted love in some one who was 
 so happy as to live within the sphere of her 
 virtues and attractions. Still, had this been 
 the case, he thought her father would have 
 mentioned it in some of his letters. And so, 
 he lived and hoped. 
 
 It was Hugh's invariable custom, after the 
 duties of the day, to ramble about the hills 
 and woody glades surrounding the beautiful 
 city in which he lived. He had wandered one 
 summer evening to the downy uplands of Cla- 
 verton, and had strolled there ruminating on 
 the bygone passages of his life, and, above 
 all, on his love for the divinity at the Lount ;
 
 FERRERS. 293 
 
 till, "chewing the cud of sweet and bitter 
 melancholy/' night stole on him unawares; 
 and so occupied had he been with his own 
 thoughts in his lonely ramble, that he had not 
 observed the transfer of light from the setting 
 sun to the uprisen moon which was now pour- 
 ing her beams over the sleeping landscape. 
 No sooner did he become aware of the progress 
 time had made during his wanderings, than he 
 hastened to return homewards, and accordingly 
 commenced his descent of the steep hill lead- 
 ing to Bath. 
 
 He had not made many paces, when he was 
 overtaken by two men, one of whom, from the 
 colour of his clothes, looked like a worker in 
 the quarries — one of those mechanics, whose 
 labour consists in excavating the mines of free- 
 stone which abound in the neighbourhood of 
 the town, the blocks of w^hich being soft and 
 white when first taken from the caverns, give 
 to the labourers employed in hewing and 
 shaping them, something of the appearance of 
 millers.
 
 29'1 FERRERS. 
 
 The companion of this man bore a very- 
 different appearance. He was as tall and 
 seemed to be as athletic as the other ; but his 
 dress forbade the notion of his being a fellow- 
 labourer. Though it was summer, the stran- 
 ger was wrapped in a long great coat, the col- 
 lar of which was turned up over his face as 
 with an intention of concealment. Altogether, 
 the twain looked very like ruffians, and, in 
 the loneliness of the place, Hugh would 
 have been exceedingly glad to dispense with 
 their company. He accordingly quicken- 
 ed his steps, and soon came in view of 
 the lights of the town at the bottom of the 
 hill. 
 
 It was evident to Bernard that he was the 
 object of attention on the part of the men, 
 for, quickly as he walked, they passed him 
 once or twice ; and then dropping again to the 
 rear, seemed, as the indistinct sound of their 
 voices caught his ear, to be deliberating in re- 
 ference to him. Still they made no open ma- 
 nifestation, and Hugh's apprehensions were
 
 FERRERS. 295 
 
 soon quieted by his reaching the httle suburb 
 of Widcombe. 
 
 Here he thought he should lose his pursuers -, 
 but no ; they still kept near him^ sometimes 
 coming at his side and looking him in the face, 
 and then again dropping behind, but always 
 keeping close to him. 
 
 " This is very strange/^ thought Hugh ', " I 
 like not to be dogged in this way. I'll put an 
 end to this shortly by coming to a dead stop, 
 and facing the fellows. Though they are two 
 to one, there can be no danger in the streets.^^ 
 
 An opportunity soon occurred for putting 
 this design in execution. Since their arrival 
 in Widcombe, the light of the moon had been 
 obstructed by the houses at the side of which 
 Hugh and his pursuers walked ; but on reach- 
 ing the bridge across the Avon which divides 
 the suburb from Horse Street, there was no 
 longer any object to intercept the beams, and 
 Hugh, turning suddenly round, confronted the 
 two men. They were not prepared for this 
 manoeuvre, and during their momentary con-
 
 296 FERRERS. 
 
 fusion, Hugh plainly saw the face of the man 
 in the great coat. 
 
 What was his surprise when the hideous 
 and discordant features of Jem Gabel were re- 
 vealed to him ! He could not be mistaken ; 
 the face was such as he had never seen before, 
 nor since, in any human being. 
 
 In an instant^ the terrible events of that 
 fatal night at the West-End flashed before his 
 eyes. But he soon collected his faculties ; the 
 vision passed away ; his presence of mind re- 
 turned ; and he determined to make an effort 
 to bring the ruffian to justice. From being 
 the pursued, Hugh now became the pursuer^ 
 and followed the men with the intention 
 of giving Gabel into custody of the first 
 watchman he should meet — a desperate design 
 in those times of feeble police, and in a coun- 
 try town. 
 
 It happened, however, as it often does even 
 now, that when they are most wanted, the 
 guardians of the night are never to be found. 
 Not one watchman crossed HugVs path. He
 
 FERRERS. 297 
 
 nevertheless did not lose sight of Gabel, who, 
 with his companion, passed along the Quay, 
 which skirts the city side of the river. Then 
 turning to the right they reached the end of 
 Avon Street, up which they darted. 
 
 " Damnation ?' muttered Gabel to his com- 
 panion. "The lad has seen my face, and 
 knows me. I know him too. But if he fol- 
 lows us many steps further, we have him safe 
 enough. You'll know what to do, Jack. Lug 
 hini into your place; bind him; and we'll do 
 the rest at our leisure. But I must get a 
 thing or two out of him first.'' 
 
 In no town in England, not even in Lon- 
 don, could be found a more low and desperate 
 neighbourhood than that of Avon Street, Bath. 
 It was, and is, we believe, to the present day, 
 a squalid district, tenanted by pick-pockets, 
 housebreakers, and other ruffians. Vice and 
 misery had there located themselves, sur- 
 rounded by loathsome and pestilential ad- 
 juncts. In the vile dens in the courts leading 
 out of Avon Street, lurked the most abandoned
 
 298 FERRERS. 
 
 characters — wretches ready to perpetrate any 
 crime, however monstrous. The street itself, 
 in the days of which we write, was one of the 
 longest in the town, leading from the banks of 
 the Avon to Kingsmead Street. It would 
 have been a rash undertaking, even in mid- 
 day, for any decent person to venture through 
 it ; and scarcely a week passed without some 
 deed of violence — too often of murder — being 
 committed in its borders. To such a daring 
 extent were the atrocities of the Avon Street 
 desperadoes carried, that the city constables 
 were intimidated, and many a criminal, by 
 keeping for a time within those horrid pur- 
 lieus, escaped with impunity. The professed 
 thieves and cracksmen of the place disbursed 
 part of their spoils in the low ale-houses which 
 thickly studded the neighbourhood ; and here 
 they treated with liquor the gigantic and si- 
 newy quarry-men, and the fellows who navi- 
 gated the barges which conveyed heavy goods 
 between Bath and Bristol. They could thus 
 calculate on the assistance of those formid-
 
 FERRERS. 299 
 
 able auxiliaries in the event of any incursion 
 by the police. 
 
 Nor were the women of Avon Street less 
 useful as allies in defending the violaters of 
 the law. Reckless, abandoned, cruel, and 
 it might almost be said unsexed, these low 
 Somersetshire females presented a fearful 
 phalanx to the officers of justice. From 
 their tongues proceeded language of the most 
 revolting description, and they were not slow, 
 by the use of the knife, in which they 
 were expert, to carry their threats into ex- 
 ecution. If possible, they were worse than 
 the men. 
 
 Hugh Bernard knew well enough the cha- 
 racter of the neighbourhood, and the reckless 
 and savage conduct of its inhabitants. On 
 seeing the men advance up the street, he 
 paused for a moment irresolutely at the corner 
 of the quay ; but then arose once more in his 
 mind^s eye the murdered body of Mrs. Hollis ; 
 and his determination to avenge her death 
 returned. He accordingly followed Gabel and
 
 300 FERRERS. 
 
 the other man, intending should he fail in 
 getting the former apprehended immediately, 
 to track him to some house, so that he might 
 be able to return with assistance, and take 
 him into custody. 
 
 Keeping the men in sight, Bernard quick- 
 ened his steps to make up for the moments 
 lost during his irresolution, and soon came 
 within a few paces of them. On a sudden, 
 Gabel turned into one of the dark courts al- 
 ready mentioned ; Bernard, almost pushing 
 down a slatternly-looking woman, who stood 
 at the corner, and whom he did not recognize, 
 though she knew him well enough, darted 
 after the ruffian and saw the house into which 
 he entered. 
 
 So far Hugh's purpose seemed to be gained. 
 But, while he was making such observations 
 as would enable him to know the house on his 
 intended return to the spot, he was seized by 
 the powerful grasp of some one behind him, 
 and suddenly thrust into the dark passage of 
 the hovel, the door of which was instantly
 
 FERRERS. 301 
 
 closed. A rope was now passed round his 
 body with the quick dexterity of one used to 
 such doings, and at the moment that his arms 
 were thus pinioned^ another man succeeded 
 in gagging him, so that he could neither re- 
 sist, nor cry out for help. 
 
 In this disabled condition, he was dragged 
 up a flight of stairs and locked into a miserable 
 room, where he was left by himself. By a 
 hurried glance towards the window through 
 which the moon-beams faintly penetrated, he 
 saw that it was guarded by strong bars of iron, 
 so that escape was rendered impossible by that 
 mode of egress, even had he made up his mind, 
 helpless and manacled as he was, to drop into 
 the court below. 
 
 Though he could not shout for aid, his hear- 
 ing was still acute. Placing himself close 
 against the door, he listened to catch any 
 sound or word which might indicate his fate. 
 In a short time, the cautious tread of feet was 
 heard on the stairs. Bernard^s heart stood 
 still as the steps approached.
 
 302 FERRERS. 
 
 " Well done, Jack \" growled a low voice. 
 " The cove is safe enough now.^' 
 
 '' Shall we go into the room, and make him 
 safer }" said the other. 
 
 " No/' replied the first speaker. " Where's 
 the old woman ?^^ 
 
 ^^Out.^' 
 
 ^' Damnation !'^ exclaimed the fellow, whose 
 voice sounded to Bernard like that of Gabel. 
 "She^s never in the way when she's wanted. 
 Where is she gone ?" 
 
 " With Mother Perkins to see her daughter 
 as is dying.'^ 
 
 *^ If" rejoined Gabel, " she wanted to see 
 a bit of dying, she should have staid here." 
 
 " How was she to know we was to have a 
 job to-night ?" returned the other ruffian. " I 
 call this here, chance custom. The old girl 
 an't no witch to foresee what's to come." 
 
 " True," said Gabel '' but its nat'ral to be 
 vexed at missing her when she might be so 
 handy." 
 
 What ensued, was spoken in too low a tone
 
 FERRERS. 303 
 
 to be audible ; and poor Hugh was left in his 
 squalid prison, incapable of defence, and ex- 
 pecting, as every movement below reached 
 his ears, that the last hour of his existence 
 had arrived . 
 
 Nothing seemed left him but to pray, 
 which he did with his heart, though utterance 
 was denied to his lips. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LOXDOX: 
 PRIXTED By SCHULZK AND CO. 13, POLAND STREET.