Page:ONCE A WEEK JUL TO DEC 1860.pdf/441

13, 1860.] Esmeralda’s people, and started for the north in a steamer, taking the boy with me.

“We saw the owner, and found that the Captain of the Belle of Aberdeen had written home, and that they’d given us up for lost. Sleepy Sam reached the ship the day after he left us.

“The owner was so pleased with me that he gave me 500l. for taking care of his son. I said I’d only done my duty, but he would have me take it, so at last I did.

‘And,’ says he, ‘Ben, my boy’ (they always call us boys), ‘Ben, my boy,’ says he, ‘if ever you want a friend, you know where to come for one. I should have been a broken-hearted man, Ben, if it hadn’t been for you taking care of him. God bless you, Ben. But you must come and see his mother before you go.’

“Well, I went up to the house, and saw a fine, handsomely-dressed old lady. You see they weren’t likely to have any more, and that made them all the fonder of the boy.

‘Mr. Stevens, my dear,’ says he to her.

“You’d hardly think it, but it’s as true as I stand here—the old lady went down on her knees to me and kissed my hand, and cried fit to break her heart.

‘God bless you, Mr. Stevens,’ says she, ‘God bless you, for your kindness to my poor boy. I’ll never forget you. You must take this to think of me sometimes. I shall always pray for you.’

“It was a ring. That’s it,” said Ben, showing me a solid-looking gold ring with a large diamond in it.

“Well, I took it, for I was getting quite uncomfortable at her taking on so; but, Lord bless you, it seemed to do her good to have her cry out, and the owner, he looked on and wiped his eyes now and then. Last of all, I was obliged to say I’d only done my duty by the boy. But she wouldn’t listen, but kept saying, ‘God bless you,’ and crying over my hand, and then she seemed to go off faint, so I got away then. Of course, as soon as I could, I came home.

“I found mother all right. ‘How’s Esther?’ says I, as jaunty as if I didn’t care a button about her. Mother looked pretty hard at me.

‘Oh, she’s well enough.’

‘Fitzjames come back?’ says I.

‘No, he’ll never come back—a villain!’ says mother. She was always down on him when she had a chance. Of course I knew he’d never come back better than she did.

“I went to see Esther next day. She shook hands and kissed me, said I looked ill, then says, ‘Have you got anything to tell me?’ I don’t know how it was she asked this—sort of what you call presentiment, or instinct, same as dogs have. Lord, sir, a woman or a dog can always tell what you mean before you speak—in things about the feelings. Some children, too, have this kind of thing very strong. Perhaps, after all, I looked as if I knew something.

‘Have you seen him?’—‘him,’ you know, as if there wasn’t other hims—and asking me, too, just as if I cared as much about it as she did; but Lord, sir, they don’t think anybody’s a right to think of anybody but their ‘him.’

‘Yes,’ says I, ‘I have seen him, Esther.’

‘Where is he? Take me to him!’ She looked at me a minute. ‘No, Ben,’ says she, ‘he’s dead! I know he is! I see he is! Oh, my God! my own Fitzjames is dead!’ And she gripped my hand so hard, and sank back in the chair, and shut her eyes.

“After a little she says, ‘Ben, tell me all about it. Poor fellow! dead!’

“I told her as much as I could about it; and then I told her about the sixpence.

‘Give it me,’ she said, ‘give it me, Ben. It’s the last thing I gave him before—give it me.’

“I gave it her, and she kissed it quite solemn like, just as tho’ it had been his dead forehead.

“Then I told her what he said about his not meaning to leave her.

‘Did he say that?’

‘He did Esther—he swore it; and I believe it.’

“She looked hard at me for a little, and then said,

‘Thank you, Ben, for that; I’m so glad you believe it. I knew he didn’t mean to leave me;’ and she got up and called her father, and says,

‘Father, he didn’t mean to leave me. Ask Ben here; he said so with his dying breath. He swore it, Ben, didn’t he? and Ben believes it himself, don’t you, Ben? Tell father, do.’

“I told the old man.

‘Ah,’ says he, ‘poor fellow! Dead too! He’s rightly punished.’

‘But,’ says she, ‘he told Ben he didn’t mean to wrong me—he did;’ and she seemed as if she was quite glad. ‘I knew he never did.’

‘Don’t see,’ said the father, ‘it makes much difference whether he did or not. He did it, and you’ve lost your good name,—and ours too, for that matter, Esther.’

‘I know it, I know it; but still he told Ben that he didn’t mean to leave me. God bless him!’ And she fell to kissing the bit of sixpence like mad.

“I saw she was going off into hysterics, so I called her mother, and left; for it’s no use a man’s fussing about at them times; you can’t do any good, and get in the way a good deal.

“Next day she came down to mother’s.

‘Ben,’ says she, ‘here’s the pound I owe you; it’s the first I’ve saved out of the shirts. The curate’s been very good to me, and so has his wife. She always shakes hands with me; and one day I was crying when she came, for baby was so ill, and she kissed me, Ben, on the forehead, and said, “Poor child.” I feel just like as if she was my mother, Ben, she’s been so good to me.’

“I took the pound, and gave her the paper, and I didn’t see any more of her for some week or so.

“One day I had a letter from the owner’s wife, asking me if she could do anything for Sands’ relations; for the boy, you see, had told her about Sands. So I went down to Esther, and showed her the letter, and asked her what I should say.

‘Did the young gentleman see much of him, Ben?’

‘Of course,’ says I, ‘was there all the time—took his turn of lighting the lamps when Sands was bad.’