61

They have prepared Kit for this, all day. He is not to be carried off tomorrow with the rest, they tell him first. Then they let him know that doubts have arisen, and perhaps he may be pardoned after all. At last, they brought him to a room where some gentlemen are assembled. Foremost among them is his good old master, who comes and takes him by the hand. He hears that his innocence is established, and that he is pardoned. Mr. Garland thinks, if he feels better, it is time they went away. The gentlemen cluster round him, and shake hands with him. He feels very grateful to them for the interest they have in him, and for the kind promises they make.

“Thank you very much, gentlemen,” says Kit. “It’s a great pleasure to be free again! But let me ask: is there any information about Nell and her grandfather?”

“The place of their retreat is discovered,” said Mr. Garland, “at last. And that is our journey’s end.”

Kit asked, where was it, and how had it been found, and how long since, and was she well and happy?

“Happy she is, beyond all doubt,” said Mr. Garland. “And well, I trust she will be soon. She has been weak and ailing, as I know, but she was better when I heard this morning, and they were full of hope. Sit you down, and you will hear the rest.”

Mr. Garland then related to him, how he had a brother, and how this brother lived a long way off, in a country-place, with an old clergyman who had been his dear friend. The brothers had not met for many years, but had communicated by letter from time to time. Mr. Garland’s brother is very mild and quiet, he seldom told him of his village friends. But in a letter received a few days before he wrote about the child and the old man. They must be the very wanderers for whom so much search had been made, and whom Heaven had directed to his brother’s care.

“So this is the immediate cause of the journey we plan,” said Mr. Garland. “and we leave tomorrow.”

62

Next morning, Kit began to prepare for the expedition. It had troubled his sleep through the long dark hours, and summoned such uneasy dreams about his pillow that it was rest to rise.

Everybody hurried to do something. The single gentleman overlooked everybody else and was more locomotive than anybody.

It was a bitter day. A keen wind was blowing, and rushed against them fiercely. There was a freedom and freshness in the wind. All day long, it blew without cessation. The night was clear and starlight, but the wind had not fallen, and the cold was piercing.

Meantime the two gentlemen inside beguiled the time with conversation. The single gentleman, who had gradually become more and more silent and thoughtful, turned to his companion and said abruptly:

“Are you a good listener?”

“Like most other men, I suppose,” returned Mr. Garland, smiling. “I can be, if I am interested; and if not interested. Why do you ask?”

“I have a short narrative on my lips,” rejoined his friend, “It is very brief.”

He laid his hand on the old gentleman’s sleeve, and proceeded thus:

“There were once two brothers, who loved each other dearly. There was a disparity in their ages some twelve years. But they became rivals too soon: the reason is the girl. The youngest had been a sickly child. His brother was sitting beside his couch, telling him old stories till his pale face lighted up; he carried him in his arms to green spots. The youngest left his brother to be happy, he quitted the country. The elder brother married that girl. She died and left him with an infant daughter. In this daughter the mother lived again. She grew and met a man, she fell in love. All the misery followed this union! She died, leaving to her father’s care two orphans; one a son of ten or twelve years old; the other a girl.

The elder brother, grandfather to these two children, was now a broken man; crushed and borne down. He began to trade curious ancient things. The boy grew like his father in mind and person; the girl so like her mother. The wayward boy soon left him, the old man and the child dwelt alone together.

The younger brother had been a traveller in many countries. The communication between him and the elder was difficult and uncertain, and often failed. The he settled his affairs; converted into money all the goods he had; and, with wealth enough for both, with open heart and hand, arrived one evening at his brother’s door.”

The narrator stopped.

“The rest,” said Mr. Garland, pressing his hand after a pause, “I know.”

“Yes,” rejoined his friend, “You know the poor result of all my search. We found they had been seen with two poor travelling showmen and we discovered the actual place of their retreat; but we were too late. Pray God we are not too late again!”

“We cannot be,” said Mr. Garland. “This time we must succeed!”

63

Kit descended slowly from his seat, when they arrived at a lone posting-house. They inquired how far they had to go to reach their journey’s end. A voice answered from an upper window, “Ten miles.” After brief delay they were again in motion.

The road wound gently downward. The old church tower rose up before them, and a few moments brought them close beside it. A wicket-gate was close at hand.

Soon they arrived before the parsonage wall. Turning round, among some ruined buildings at a distance, they saw one single solitary light. It shone from an old oriel window.

“What light is that?” said the younger brother.

“It is surely,” said Mr. Garland, “in the ruin where they live. I see no other ruin hereabouts.”

Kit went straight towards the house. He approached as softly as he could and listened. There was no sound inside. A curtain was drawn across the lower portion of the window, and he could not see into the room.

He came to the door and knocked. No answer. But there was a curious noise inside. It was difficult to determine what it was. It was something fearful, chilling, and unearthly.

Kit knocked again. There was no answer, and the sound went on without any interruption. He laid his hand softly upon the latch, and put his knee against the door. Kit saw the glimmering of a fire upon the old walls, and entered.

64

He saw a figure, seated on the hearth with its back towards him. The heavy door had closed behind Kit on his entrance, with a crash. The figure neither spoke, nor turned to look. It was the old he knew very well!

“Master!” cried Kit, stooping on one knee and catching at his hand. “Dear master. Speak to me!”

The old man turned slowly towards him; and muttered in a hollow voice.

“This is another! How many of these spirits there have been tonight!”

“No spirit, master. No one but your old servant. You know me now, I am sure? Miss Nell, where is she where is she?”

“They all say that!” cried the old man. “They all ask the same question. A spirit!”

“Where is she?” demanded Kit. “Oh tell me that, dear master!”

“She is asleep.”

“Thank God!”

“Aye! Thank God!” returned the old man. “I have prayed to Him, when she has been asleep, He knows. Hark! Did she call?”

“I heard no voice.”

“You did. You hear her now. Do you tell me that you don’t hear that?”

He started up, and listened again.

“Nor that?” he cried, with a triumphant smile. “Can anybody know that voice so well as I! Hush! Hush!”

He went away into another chamber. After a short absence he returned, bearing in his hand a lamp.

“She is still asleep,” he whispered. “You were right. She did not call. She has called to me in her sleep before now, sir; I have seen her lips move, she spoke of me. I feared the light might dazzle her eyes and wake her, so I brought it here.”

He spoke rather to himself than to the visitor, and he had put the lamp upon the table.

“She is sleeping soundly,” he said; “but no wonder. Hush. Even little children, her friends, are silent. She was always gentle with children. Indeed she was!”

Kit had no power to speak. His eyes were filled with tears.

“Who is that? Shut the door. Quick!”

The door was indeed opened, for the entrance of Mr. Garland and his friend, accompanied by the schoolmaster. The former held a light in his hand.

“Another night, and not in bed!” said the schoolmaster softly; “Why do you not take some rest?”

“Sleep has left me,” returned the old man. “It is all with her! She was always cheerful very cheerful, I remember, from the first; but she was of a happy nature.”

“Dear brother!” said the single gentleman, “Do you recognise me?”

The old man looked from face to face, and his lips moved; but no sound came from them in reply. By little and little, the old man had drawn back towards the inner chamber. He pointed there, as he replied, with trembling lips:

“I have no relative or friend but her, I never had I never will have. She is all, in all, to me.”

Waving them off with his hand, and calling softly to her as he went, he stole into the room. They who were left behind, drew close together, and followed him.

Nell was dead. There, upon her little bed, she lay at rest. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues? All gone. Peace and perfect happiness were born.