CHAPTER XIII.
We are now going to relate an event, in which our heroine had need ofall the exertion and fortitude which the education she had receivedhad so forcibly inculcated. Her mother's grave was always an object ofattention to her; and though no pompous monument adorned the place, orflattering eulogy appeared on the simple stone which stood at its head(her name, and age, with the date of the year in which she died, beingall that was engraved there), Anna regarded it with interest, because itwas all she had ever known of her parent; and never passed it withoutreflecting on her birth, and thinking of her father; and it was on thisvery spot she was destined to meet him, whom she had so often wished tohear of, and who for twenty years had made no inquiry after her.
She was one autumnal evening walking through the church-yard ratherlater than usual, and alone; having left Betty, who had come out withher, at her father's, to assist in preparing her younger sister'sclothes, who was just then going out to service for the first time; itwas twilight, and she stepped out of the path on perceiving somethingnear her mother's grave, which she could not distinguish withoutapproaching nearer. As she advanced she saw a man stooping down, as ifto read what was written on the stone, and which the dimness of theevening scarcely allowed him to see. His whole attention was engrossed,and he did not hear her footstep.
"Anna Eastwood," said he, "daughter of William and Mary Campbell;--Ah!that is her. But is there no other name? Is there not another AnnaEastwood? Did I not hasten the death of my child also?"
Anna heard no more, but overcome by the suddenness of the discovery,uttered a faint scream and fell senseless on the turf. The man startedfrom his reverie; and perceiving by her white dress where she lay,at that moment lost to all animation as the dead by which she wassurrounded; he hastened to her relief, and raising her in his arms,without the least idea how near she was allied to him. He supported herand himself against the tombstone, till her faint breathings informedhim she revived. At this moment a labouring man passed along the path;and Eastwood called to him.
"Come here, my friend," said he, "and assist this young lady."
"Gracious me!" exclaimed the man, on perceiving who she was, "it is MissMeridith! How did she come here at this time of the night? Is she verybad?" continued he, on observing her tremble, and looking wildly around.
"Don't you know me, Miss--poor Thomas?--Don't be frightened, nobodyshall hurt you; did this man attempt it?"
"Oh, no," replied Anna, who had now gained her recollection, andscarcely able to refrain from declaring he was her father; butreflecting on Mrs. Meridith's uneasiness at her stay, she expressed awish to go home.
"Can you walk, Madam?" said the stranger, gathering from her appearance,and the manner in which the labourer regarded her, that she was in asuperior situation. "Will you allow me to assist you? I am a strangerhere, or I would offer to call some one, but perhaps this man canprocure you a conveyance?"
"I shan't leave her alone with a stranger," said Thomas; "who knows whatyou may be?" ("Who, indeed!" thought Anna, with a heavy sigh;) "orwhat you have done to her? She a'n't used to be soon frightened! MissMeridith is none of your timid-hearted young ladies."
"Indeed I am not," returned Anna; "I am able to walk now, and if youwill accompany me to Rosewood, I will thank you, Thomas."
"That I will, Miss," replied he, "I will see you safe home; and be gladyou _be_ a little more like yourself again."
"And will you not permit _me_, Madam, to assist you?" repeated thestranger; "I do not think you can walk without support."
"I would wish,--I should be obliged;" returned Anna, in hurried accents,and her agitation became again so great, that she involuntarily restedon his arm to recover herself.
"I fear I have greatly alarmed you," said he, "but I am sure it wasunintentionally."--"I hope that's true," thought Thomas, who stoodwatching him as narrowly as the twilight would permit.
"How far are we from this lady's home?" asked the stranger.
"Oh not above a quarter of a mile," said Thomas, "if she could but walk."
"I can now," said Anna, "and I will accept your offer, Sir." She thenadvanced, leaning on her father's arm, her heart beating all the waywith an emotion not to be expressed, and Thomas on the other side of her.
Neither of them spoke a word, till, as they entered the gate which ledto the house, they met Syphax coming out in search of his young lady.
"O! my dear Miss," said he, "I am glad you are come; we have been quiteuneasy at your staying so late."
Thomas was the only one who could speak, so as to account for it, andhis relation was so unconnected, and so full of his surprise at findingMiss Meridith in the church-yard alone with a strange man, that littlecould be learnt from it, except that as he said he was determined notto leave him with her again, or he would have ran and called somebody;for which he was rewarded with some good ale by Syphax, and a handsomepresent from Mrs. Meridith.
When they entered the hall, where the lamp was already lighted, Annaand her conductor first saw the faces of each other; but without thatemotion on his side which it occasioned on her's. "And _is_ this myfather?" she was ready to exclaim; but checking herself, she desiredSyphax to shew him into the parlour; and begging him to wait till shesaw him again, she ran, or rather flew up stairs into Mrs. Meridith'sapartment, who was anxiously waiting her return; and without giving hertime to say a word, she threw her arms about her neck, and exclaimed,"Oh! Mamma, I have seen my father!"
For a moment Mrs. Meridith was apprehensive that her senses wereaffected, but when she saw the tears which accompanied her declaration,and her pale, yet expressive face, she could not disbelieve her; butbegging her to be composed, she placed her on the sofa, and thenshutting the door of the room, she seated herself by her side, anddesired to hear more of what had passed.
"This is an event," said she, "which was not unlikely to happen, ifyour father yet lived; but tell me where did you meet? and are you sureit was him?" The calmness with which Mrs. Meridith spoke, extendeditself in a little time to Anna, and she related what had passed at hermother's grave, with as much composure as could be expected.
"Then he does not know you as his daughter?" said Mrs. Meridith, "Youhad great resolution not to discover yourself, and I am glad of it. Ishe now below?"
"Yes," replied Anna, "and what _shall_ I do? If he makes any inquiry inthe village he will soon find out who I am; and then--"
"What then?" said Mrs. Meridith, "he may be a reformed man, and what youhave already witnessed seems to promise it; I will go and talk to him,and if by his conversation I find him a different man from what he oncewas, you may yet have reason to rejoice in your father."
"And may not I go too?" asked Anna.
"If you can command your feelings to hear the account he may give ofhimself, without discovery, I have no objection," replied Mrs. Meridith.
"I think I can, after what has already passed," said Anna: "pray let mego; I will not say a word;" and they descended to the parlour together.
The Stranger rose at their entrance; while Anna shrunk behind herprotectress. His appearance was not uninteresting, and though a deepmelancholy sat upon his features, it might be seen he had once beenhandsome; he looked older than he really was, and his clothes andaddress evinced him to be above a common person.
"Pray be seated, Sir," said Mrs. Meridith, "I am come to thank you foryour assistance to Miss Meridith; I hope my servant has not neglectedto offer you some refreshment," and she rang the bell. The Strangerbowed, and declined taking any thing; and hoped the young lady was quiterecovered.
Anna's lips moved, but her pale and agitated countenance told him shewas not. When Syphax entered, he replenished the fire, and placedsomething to eat and drink on the table, but still the Stranger refusedit.
"Are you quite unknown in the village, Sir?" asked Mrs. Meridith.
"At present I am, Madam; but I expect to meet--I _have_ beenacquainted"--here he hesitated, and was again silent.
"You will think my quest
ions very impertinent, Sir," resumed Mrs.Meridith, "if I do not tell you that I take your name to be Eastwood."
"And is it possible any one can know me?" exclaimed the man, andcovering his face with his hand: "Oh! do not say you do; for I am trulyashamed of what I have been."
"You _are_ the person I took you for," replied Mrs. Meridith, lookingaffectionately at Anna, whose tears flowed afresh; "yet as much altered,perhaps, in mind as in person."
"More, more, I hope, Madam," replied he with emotion; "I am ashamed ofwhat I have been; but how could you know me? I do not recollect any onelike you."
"Perhaps not," replied she; "but I have heard of you from Mr. Campbell."
"Oh! then you must despise and hate me!" said he, again hiding hisface. "But indeed I am not what I was: and can you tell me," added he,"who are alive of that family? Is there any of my name among them?" andhe looked with eager attention for her answer.
"None that I know of," replied Mrs. Meridith; "the old farmer and hiswife are both dead; and their eldest son is married, and has a largefamily."
"But are they _all_ his own children?" repeated the man with greatearnestness; "has he not _one_ of mine?" His distress was so great thatMrs. Meridith, forgetting the caution she had given Anna, could not helpendeavouring to relieve it by replying--
"No, but _I_ have;--_that_ is _her_."
It was now Anna's turn to support her father, for he sunk backmotionless in the chair, only uttering, "It is impossible!"
She flew towards him, and bathed his face with her tears while shehung over him with inexpressible pleasure and emotion. When a littlerevived, he exclaimed, "and have you been a mother to her, when, throughmy inhumanity, she had lost her own? Oh, what a merciful Providence haswatched over my child! when I, wretch that I was, was totally unmindfulof her!" In this way he kept soliloquizing, while he looked first at oneand then the other, and then repeated his thanks to the Almighty.
"But can my child forgive me?" continued he, very impassionately.
"Do not ask it, my father!" said Anna, then first venturing to throwher arms around him, and calling him by that endearing name; "do notask it,--I am only thankful that I am permitted to see you as you are;I have now no other wish but to evince my ardent gratitude to Mrs.Meridith for all her kindness to me; you must help me to do it, myfather."
"And you, my child, must instruct me how," said he; "for till verylately I have been little used to any thing commendable. Suffer me toembrace you, and receive a father, who, though he has but little tooffer you, has an earnest desire to make you all the recompense in hispower for his former conduct towards you."
Anna could only answer him with tears, and while the whole party werethus engaged, Mr. Campbell entered the room, having heard part of Anna'sadventure from Thomas, who, on his return home, reported it through thevillage, "how he had met Miss Meridith in the church-yard almost as deadas a stone, and a strange man with her;" and he hastened up to know thetruth of it.
On his entrance, Anna looked at Mrs. Meridith to announce her father,and then at him, to observe if he recollected her uncle: which heimmediately did, and turning away his face, he uttered, in a low voice,"How richly have I deserved this shame! Oh, how shall I bear it!" Mr.Campbell's countenance was all astonishment and anxiety.
"Pardon my intrusion, Madam," said he, to Mrs. Meridith, "but hearingAnna was ill, I came to see if it was so; I did not know you hadcompany."
"A stranger," replied Mrs. Meridith, evidently much embarrassed.
"Him who was with Anna?" asked Mr. Campbell, scarcely knowing what tothink. "Good Heavens! what can be the matter?"
"Oh, my father!" exclaimed Anna, perceiving him almost sinking withshame and confusion.
"Your father!" repeated Mr. Campbell in amazement, "can it be him? is itEastwood?"
"Oh, look not on me!" said the humiliated man, "I know you must detestme!"
"Mr. Campbell can _forgive_," said Mrs. Meridith, feeling much at hisdistress.
"Not _me_, not _me_," replied he, "I cannot forgive myself."
The farmer stood in silent astonishment, while Anna took his hand, andwith an imploring look said, "my father is not what he was, my dearuncle, he is sensible of his faults; can you desire more?"
"No, my child, I am not appointed his judge, or his punisher; his crimeshave been their own punishment, I doubt not;" here a sigh, or rathergroan, from the poor man, witnessed the truth of his remark.
"Let me then join your hands," said Anna, with emotion, and drawing themtowards each other; "my dear uncle, you have supplied the place of afather to me, and now my father thanks you."
"On my knees I do!" said Eastwood; "may your kindness meet with its duereward."
"And are you indeed an altered man?" replied Campbell, overcome by hiscontrition, "then to my heart I can receive you; and let all that ispast be forgotten."
"Unless my future conduct should remind you of it," said Eastwood, "andthen banish me from your society for ever."
The rest of the evening was spent in mutual inquiries, and Anna listenedwith an agitated mind to the brief account her father gave of his formerlife.