Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/495

482 swallow, one by one, with much apparent satisfaction. Finding herself considerably refreshed by this slight repast, Parish dived deep into her capacious pocket, and produced therefrom a small dog’s-eared, not over clean book of hymns, which, with the exception of one other Book, and now and then a broadsheet of ballads, or a last dying speech and confession, was the sole literature with which she was acquainted. Having read over slowly, and word by word, two or three short hymns—with which, indeed, she was so well acquainted that she had known them by heart any time these twenty years; but that made no difference, they must be read just the same—she closed the book, replaced it in her pocket, and took up her candle to go to bed. Before going up-stairs, however, she thought she would take another glance round the area, and see that the door of the coal-hole was properly secured; so, unfastening the door with as little noise as possible, she stepped out into the darkness, leaving the candle burning on the table inside. But hardly had she crossed the threshold, when a hollow voice whispered suddenly:

“Jane Parish!”

It was all she could do to keep from screaming, as she stepped back into the house and bolted the door. A momentary glance had revealed to her a dark figure standing with folded arms, looking down at her over the area railings. Her heart was still panting with the fright, when she was again startled by hearing herself called a second time.

“Who are you?” asked Parish through the keyhole, grasping the poker in one hand. “You are not known here. We are strangers, and know nobody. If you stay here another minute I’ll call the police.”

“Cruel fair one!” replied the voice outside. “Know that I am desperately in love with you. Oh, relieve my suspense, and say that you will be mine!”

Parish’s brow grew dark and her eyes flashed as she listened to these audacious words.

“Begone, sir, or it will be worse for you! You are not known here,” she exclaimed, in great wrath.

“Send me not away with such cruel words,” replied the stranger, “or I shall do some desperate deed that you will read of in the penny papers.”

“Who are you, sir?—who are you? What’s your name?” screamed the irate Parish.

“My name is Proggins. I am a young man, and have a little money in the bank.”

“You scamp!” said Parish, shaking the poker as though he could see her through the door. “Begone this instant, or I will call my master, and I warn you he’ll shoot you like a dog!”

A low, peculiar laugh was the only reply, but Parish recognised it in an instant, and flung the door open the moment she heard it.

“Mr. Henry Welford, sir, for shame!” she cried. “I think you might have found some other way of letting us know of your return, without frightening an old woman like me.”

“Parish, old girl, don’t be angry with me,” exclaimed a tall, sunburnt young man, springing nimbly over the railings, and then jumping down and grasping the housekeeper’s hand.

“It was not kind of you, Harry. But you never did things like anybody else.”

“Nonsense, old friend. I meant no harm, I assure you. In fact, you ought to feel highly gratified, for when you next write home to your friends, you may say with truth that you have had an advantageous offer of marriage, but that you didn’t choose to accept it. And now tell me how the captain and Carry both are. I have heard no news of them for an age.”

“Before I answer your question,” said Parish, “tell me how you found us out. The captain thinks we are concealed from all the world.”

“Oh, that’s a very simple matter,” replied Welford. “On landing from the vessel I found a note from Captain Luard, dated only two days ago, informing me of his change of residence. I set off as soon as I could, found the street and the house, but, seeing no light in any of the windows, was afraid of disturbing you, and was just about to retire when you opened the area door.”

“And you have been away three years?” said Parish, interrogatively.

“Three years and nine days. But tell me how Carry and the captain are?”

Parish shook her head sadly; and, while she set about preparing him some coffee, opened to him a full budget of news concerning the family: how poor they were; how the captain’s property had dwindled away in law expenses incurred in contesting a hopeless suit, till but a mere trifle of it remained; of the captain’s present infatuation; and of the gloomy prospect before them. They sat up talking far into the night; after which, Parish prepared a shakedown for Harry before the kitchen fire, and then bade him good night.

Welford’s presence there was a glad surprise next morning both to Carry and her father, for he was dear to both. He was the son of Captain Luard’s oldest friend; and when that friend died, a poor man, the captain took the lad home, educated him, and, when he was old enough, in accordance with Harry’s own wish, obtained for him a situation with an eminent mercantile firm abroad. Carry and he had grown up together like brother and sister; and when the time came for them to part, although they entered into no engagement, they separated without fear, confident that neither of them would forget the other. It seemed an understood thing in the family that they two should marry as soon as the proper time should come; and though the captain had never said a word to countenance such a scheme, he could hardly have been blind to the facts; and the two people most concerned in the matter never had a doubt as to the result.

Carry and Welford went out after breakfast for a walk, and a very interesting one, doubtless, it proved, they having been so long separated, and having so much to tell one another. Harry’s love, hitherto unspoken, now found winged words; and he determined to take an early opportunity of speaking to the captain on the subject of his marriage.

Captain Luard invited Welford up into his study after dinner.

“Only a poor place this to receive you in, Harry, my boy,” he said; “but the next time