Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/101

59 THE PICKWICK CLUB. 59

he stood on ; were he free and unfettered, a few minutes would place him by her side. He rushed to the gate, and, grasping the iron rails with the energy of desperation, shook it till it rang again, and threw himself against the thick wall as if to force a passage through the stone ; but the strong building mocked his feeble efforts, and he beat his hands together and wept like a child.

" I bore the mother's forgiveness and blessing to her son in prison ; and I carried his solemn assurance of repentance, and his fervent sup- plication for pardon, to her sick bed. I heard with pity and compas- sion, the repentant man devise a thousand little plans for her comfort and support, when he returned ; but I knew that many months before he could reach his place of destination, his mother would be no longer of this world.

" He was removed by night. A few weeks afterwards the poor woman's soul took its flight I confidently hope, and solemnly believe, to a place of eternal happiness and rest. I performed the burial service over her remains. She lies in our little churchyard. There is no stone at her grave's head. Her sorrows were known to man ; her virtues to God.

" It had been arranged previously to the convict's departure, that he should write to his mother so soon as he could obtain permission, and that the letter should be addressed to me. The father had positively refused to see his son from the moment of his apprehension ; and it was a matter of indifference to him whether he lived or died. Many years passed over without any intelligence of him ; and when more than half his term of transportation had expired and I had received no letter, I concluded him to be dead, as, indeed, I almost hoped he might be.

country on his arrival at the settlement ; and to this circumstance, perhaps, may be attributed the fact, that though several letters were despatched none of them ever reached my hands. He remained in the same place during the whole fourteen years. At the expiration of the term steadily adhering to his old resolution, and the pledge he gave his mother, he made his way back to England amidst innumerable difficulties, and returned, on foot, to his native place.
 * Edmunds, however, had been sent a considerable distance up the

" On a fine Sunday evening, in the month of August, John Edmunds set foot in the village he had left with shame and disgrace seventeen years before. His nearest way lay through the churchyard. The man's heart swelled as he crossed the stile. The tall old elms, through whose branches the declining sun cast here and there a rich ray of light upon the shady path, awakened the associations of his earliest days. He pictured himself as he was then, clinging to his mother's hand, and walking peacefully to church. He remembered how he used to look up into her pale face ; and how her eyes would sometimes fill with tears as she gazed upon his features — tears which fell hot upon his forehead as she stooped to kiss him, and made him weep too, although he little knew then what bitter tears hers were. He thought how often he had run merrily down that path with some childish play fellow, looking back ever and again, to catch his mother's smile, o^ hear her gentle voice ; and then a veil seemed lifted from his memory.