"But there _is_ the will," maintained Sarah Bond.

"I am very sorry to wound you; but cannot you understand?"

"Speak plainly if you can, sir," said Sarah Bond sternly; "speak plainly if you can; I listen."

"He maintains, on the part of his client, that the will is a forgery."

"He maintains a falsehood, then," exclaimed Miss Bond, with a firm determination and dignity of manner that astonished Mr. Cramp. "If the will be forged, who is the forger? Certainly not my father; for he inherited the property from his elder brother, who died insane. The will is in _his_ favour, and not in my father's. Besides, neither of them held any correspondence with the testator for twenty years; he died abroad, and the will was sent to England after his death. Would any one there do a gratuitous service to persons they had never seen? Where could be the reason--the motive? How is it, that, till now, Alfred Bond urged no claim. There are reasons," she continued, "reasons to give the world. But I have within me, what pa.s.ses all reason--a feeling, a conviction, a true positive knowledge, that my father was incapable of being a party to such a crime. He was a stern man, loving money--I grant that--but honest in heart and soul. The only creature he ever wronged was himself. He did _that_, I know. He despoiled himself of peace and comfort, of rest and repose. In _that_ he sinned against G.o.d's dispensation, who gives that we may give, not merely to others, but lawfully to ourselves. After all, it would have been but a small thing for him to have been without this property, for it gave him no one additional luxury. I wonder, Mr. Cramp, that you, as a man, have courage to stand before me, a poor unprotected woman, and dare to say, that will is forged."

While she spoke, Sarah Bond stood forth a new creature in the astonished eyes of the sleek attorney. He absolutely quailed before the vehemence and fervour of the usually mild woman. He a.s.sured her she was mistaken; that _he_ had not yielded to the point that the will was a forgery; that he never would confess that such was the case; that it should be his business to disprove the charge; that he hoped she did not suppose he yielded to the plaintiff, who was resolved to bring the matter into a court of justice. He would only ask her one little question; had she ever seen her father counterfeit different hands? Yes, she said, she had; he could counterfeit, copy, any hand he ever saw, so that the real writer could not tell the counterfeit from the original. Mr. Cramp made no direct observation on this, except to beg that she would not mention that "melancholy circ.u.mstance" to any one else.

Sarah Bond told him she should not feel bound to make this talent of her father's a crime, by twisting into a _secret_ what he used to do as an amus.e.m.e.nt. Mr. Cramp urged mildly the folly of this, when she had a defence to make; but she stood all the more firmly upon what she fearlessly considered the dignity of right and truth; at the same time a.s.suring him, she would to the last contest that _right_, not so much for her own sake, or the sake of one who was dear to her beyond all power of expression, but for the sake of _him_ in whose place she stood, and whose honour she would preserve with her life. Mr. Cramp was a good, shrewd man of business. He considered all Miss Bond's energy, on the subject of her father's honour, as romance, though he could not help believing _she_ was in earnest about it. He thought it was perfectly in accordance with the old miser's character, that he should procure or make such a doc.u.ment; though he considered it very extraordinary, for many reasons, that it should have imposed upon men more penetrating and learned than himself.

Sarah Bond, after his departure, endeavoured to conceal her anxiety from her niece; but in vain. Mabel was too clear-sighted; and it was a relief, as much as an astonishment to her aunt, to see how bravely she bore up against the evil news. Miss Bond did not remember that the knowledge of the _power_ of wealth does not belong to sixteen summers.

Mabel knew and thought so little of its artificial influence, that she believed her happiness sprang from birds and flowers, from music, and dancing, and books--those silent but immortal tongues that live through centuries, for our advantage; besides, her young heart welled forth so much hope, that she really did not understand, even if they lost their fortune, their "troublesome fortune," as she called it, that it would seriously affect their happiness. There was no philosophy, no heroism in this; it was simply the impulse of a bright, sunny, beautiful young mind.

The course of events promised soon to strip Mabel of all except her own bright conceptions. Mr. Alfred Bond urged on his plea with all the energy and bitterness of one who had been for many years despoiled of his right. His solicitor, soon after his claim was first declared, made an offer to Sarah Bond to settle an annuity on her and her niece during the term of their natural lives; but this was indignantly spurned by Sarah; from him she would accept no favour; she either had or had not a right to the whole of the property originally left to her uncle. Various circ.u.mstances, too tedious to enumerate, combined to prove that the will deposited in Doctors Commons was not a true doc.u.ment; the signature of Cornelius Bond Hobart was disproved by many; but second only to one incident in strangeness was the fact, that though sought in every direction, and widely advertised for in the newspapers of the day, the witnesses to the disputed doc.u.ment could not be found--they had vanished.

The incident, so strange as to make more than one lawyer believe for a time that really such a quality as honesty was to be found in the world, was as follows:--Sarah Bond, be it remembered, had never seen the disputed will; she was very anxious to do so; and yet, afterwards, she did not like to visit Doctors Commons with any one. She feared, she knew not what; and yet, above all things, did she desire to see this will with her own eyes.

Mr. Cramp was sitting in his office when a woman, m.u.f.fled in a cloak, and veiled, entered and seated herself without speaking. After a moment she unclasped her cloak, loosened the wrapping from her throat, threw back her veil, and asked for a gla.s.s of water.

"Bless me, Miss Bond, is it you? I am sure I am much honoured--very much!"

"No honour, sir," she replied, "but necessity. I have been to Doctors Commons; have seen the will--it is my father's writing!"

"You confess this to me?" said Mr. Cramp, drawing back on his chair, and almost gasping for breath.

"I do," she answered; "I proclaim it; it is my father's _copy_ of the original will. But how the copy could have been subst.i.tuted for the real will, I can only conjecture."

"Surmise is something," replied the lawyer, a little relieved; "conjecture sometimes leads to proof."

"My father and uncle lived together when the will came into their possession. They were in partnership as farmers. My father's habits were precise: he always copied every writing, and endorsed his copies with a large _C_; the very _C_ is marked upon the will I have just seen at Doctors Commons."

"That is singular," remarked Cramp; "but it does not show us the way out of the difficulty; on the contrary, that increases. _Somebody_--I don't for an instant suppose Mr. Jacob Bond--in proving the will must have sworn that, to the best of their knowledge and belief, those were the real, which are only copies of the signatures."

"True--and such a mistake was extremely characteristic of my uncle, who performed many strange acts before he was known to be insane. This was doubtless one of them."

"But _where_ is the original?" inquired the man of business.

"Heaven knows! I cannot find it; but I am not the less a.s.sured of its existence."

"Then we must persist in our plea of the truth of the doc.u.ment in Doctors Commons."

"Certainly not," said Sarah; "you must not persist in a falsehood in my name. If you do, I shall rise up in court, and contradict you! I feel it my duty, having seen the will, to state my firm belief that it is a copy of the original will, and nothing more."

Poor Mr. Cramp was dreadfully annoyed. He could, he thought, manage all sorts of clients. He reasoned, he proved, he entreated, he got her counsel to call upon her, but all was in vain. She would go into court, she said, herself, if her counsel deserted her. She would _not_ give up the cause; she would plead for the sake of her father's honour. She was well a.s.sured that the real will was still in existence, and would be discovered--found--sooner or later--though not, perhaps, till she was in her grave.

The senior counsel was so provoked at what he called his client's obstinacy, that he threw up his brief, and the junior took advantage of the circ.u.mstance to make a most eloquent speech, enlarging upon the singularity of no appeal having been previously made by the plaintiff--of the extraordinary disappearance of the witnesses--of the straight-forward, simple, and beautiful truthfulness of the defendant; in short, he moved the court to tears, and laid the foundation of his future fortune. But after that day, Sarah Bond and her niece, Mabel, were homeless and houseless. Yet I should not say that; for the gates of a jail gaped widely for the "miser's daughter," but only for a few days; after which society rang with praises, loud and repeated, of Mr.

Alfred Bond's liberality, who had discharged the defendant's costs as well as his own. In truth, people talked so much and so loudly about this, that they altogether forgot to inquire what had become of Sarah and Mabel.

CHAPTER IV.

The clergyman of the parish was their first visiter. He a.s.sisted them to look into the future. It was, he who conveyed to Sarah Bond Alfred's determination that she should be held scatheless. The good man delivered this information with the manner of a person who feels he comes with good news, and expects it will be so received; but Sarah Bond could only regard Alfred as the calumniator of her father's memory, the despoiler of her rights. The wild expression of joy in Mabel's face, as she threw herself on her aunt's bosom, gave her to understand that she ought to be thankful for what saved her from a prison.

Words struggled for utterance. She who had borne so much and so bravely, was overcome. Again and again she tried to speak, but for some hours she fell from one fainting fit into another. She had borne up against all disasters, until the power of endurance was overwhelmed; and now, she was attacked by an illness so violent, that it threatened dissolution. At this very time, when she needed so much sympathy, a stern and severe man, in whom there was no pity, a man who had received large sums of money from Miss Bond as a tradesman, and whose account had stood over from a particular request of his own, believing that all was gone, and that he should lose, took advantage of her illness to levy an execution upon the goods, and to demand a sale.

At this time her reason had quite deserted her, and poor Mabel was incapable of thought beyond her duty to her aunt, which made her remove her to a cottage-lodging from the turmoil of the town. No one distinctly knew, except Mabel, why Sarah Bond was so attached to the old furniture, and few cared. And yet more than one kind heart remembered how she had liked the "rubbishing things," and bought in several, resolved that, if she recovered, and ever had "a place of her own again," they would offer them for her acceptance. Her illness was so tedious, that except the humble curate and the good rector, her inquirers had fallen off--for long sickness wears out friends.

Some would pause as they pa.s.sed the cottage window, where the closely-pinned down curtain told of the caution and quiet of sickness; and then they would wonder how poor Miss Bond was; and if they entered the little pa.s.sage to inquire, they could scarcely recognise in the plainly-dressed, jaded, bent girl, whose eyes knew no change but from weeping to watching, and watching to weeping, the buoyant and beautiful heiress whose words were law, and who once revelled in luxury. The produce of the sale--though everything, of course, went below its value--left a small surplus, after all debts and expenses were paid; which the clergyman husbanded judiciously, and gave in small portions to Mabel. Alfred Bond himself called to offer any a.s.sistance that might be required, which Mabel declined, coldly and at once.

Patiently and devotedly did she watch beside the couch of her poor aunt; one day suffering the most acute anxiety if the symptoms became worse than usual; the next full of hope as they abated. Did I say that one day after another this was the case? I should have written it, one hour after another; for truly, at times she fluctuated so considerably, that no one less hopeful than Mabel could have continued faithful to hope. As Sarah Bond gained strength, she began to question her as to the past. Mabel spoke cautiously; but, unused to any species of dissimulation, could not conceal the fact, that the old furniture, so valued by her uncle, and bequeathed with a conditional blessing, was gone--sold! This had a most unhappy effect on the mind of Sarah Bond. She felt as if her father's curse was upon her. She dared not trust herself to speak upon the subject. When the good rector (Mr. Goulding) alluded to the sale, and attempted to enter into particulars, or give an account of the affairs he had so kindly and so ably managed, she adjured him in so solemn a manner never to speak of the past, if he wished her to retain her reason, that he, unconscious of the motive, and believing it arose entirely from regret at her changed fortunes, avoided it as much as she could desire; and thus she had no opportunity of knowing how much had been saved by the benevolence of a few kind persons. Sarah Bond fell into the very common error of imagining that persons ought to _know_ her thoughts and feelings, without her explaining them. But her mind and judgment had been so enfeebled by illness and mental suffering, that, even while she opposed her opinions, she absolutely leaned on Mabel--as if the oak called to the woodbine to support its branches. What gave Mabel the most uneasiness, was the determination she had formed to leave the cottage as soon as she was able to be removed; and she was seriously displeased because Mabel mentioned this intention to Mr. Goulding. Despite all poor Mabel could urge to the contrary, they quitted the neighbourhood--the sphere of Sarah Bond's sudden elevation, and as sudden depression--alone, at night, and on foot. It was a clear, moonlight evening, in midsummer, when the twilight can hardly be said to give place to darkness; and when the moon shines out so very brightly, that the stars are reduced to pale lone sparks of _white_ rather than _light_, in the blue sky. It was a lovely evening; the widow with whom they had lodged was not aware of their intention until about an hour before their departure. She was very poor and ignorant, but her nature was kind; and when Sarah Bond pressed upon her, out of her own scanty store, a little present of money beyond her stipulated rent, she would not take it, but accompanied them to the little gate with many tears, receiving charge of a farewell letter to the rector. "And haven't you one to leave me for the curate?" she inquired. "Deary me! but I'm sure for every once the old gentleman came when Miss Bond was so bad, the curate came three times; and no letter for him! deary, oh, deary me!"

"Why did you not put me in mind to write to Mr. Lycight, Mabel?"

inquired her aunt, after the gate, upon which the poor woman leaned, had closed.

Mabel made no reply; but Sarah felt the hand she held tightly within hers tremble and throb. How did she then remember the days of her own youth, as she thought, "Oh! in mercy _she_ might have escaped from what only so causes the pulses to beat or the hand to tremble!"

Neither spoke; but Sarah had turned over the great page of Mabel's heart, while Mabel did not confess, even to herself, that Mr.

Lycight's words, however slight, were more deeply cherished than Mr.

Goulding's precepts. They had a long walk to take that night, and both wept at first; but however sad and oppressed the mind and spirits maybe, there is a soothing and balmy influence in nature that lulls, if it does not dispel, sorrow; every breeze was perfumed. As they pa.s.sed the hedges, there was a rustling and murmuring of birds amongst the leaves; and Mabel could not forbear an exclamation of delight when she saw a narrow river, now half-shadowed, then bright in the moonbeams, bounding in one place like a thing of life, then brawling around sundry large stones that impeded its progress, again subsiding into silence, and flowing onward to where a little foot-bridge, over which they had to pa.s.s, arched its course; beyond this was the church, and there Mabel knew they were to await the coach which was to convey them to a village many miles from their old homes, and where Sarah Bond had accidentally heard there was a chance of establishing a little school. Mabel paused for a moment to look at the venerable church standing by the highway, the clergyman's house crouching in the grove behind. The hooting and wheeling of the old owls in the ivied tower was a link of life. Sarah Bond pa.s.sed the turn-stile that led into the church-yard, followed by Mabel, who shuddered when she found herself surrounded by damp gra.s.s-green graves, and beneath the shadows of old yew-trees.

She knew not where her aunt was going, but followed her silently.

Sarah Bond led the way to a lowly grave, marked by a simple head-stone. She knelt down by its side, and while her bosom throbbed, she prayed earnestly, deeply, within her very soul--she prayed, now a faded, aged woman--she prayed above the ashes, the crumbling bones of him she had loved with a love that never changes--that is green when the head is gray--that Mabel might never suffer as she had suffered.

Relieved by these devotional exercises, Sarah rose, and the humble and stricken pair bade adieu to the melancholy scene, and betook themselves to their toilsome journey. Fortunately the stage soon overtook them, and having, with some difficulty, obtained seats, they were in due time deposited in a village, where Sarah felt there would be no eyes prying into their poverty, no ears to hear of it, no tongue to tell thereof, and point them out "as the poor ladies that once were rich." This was a great relief, though it came of pride, and she knew it; and she said within herself, When health strengthens my body, I will wrestle with this feeling, for it is unchristian. She never even to Mabel alluded to what was heaviest on her mind--the loss of the old furniture; though she cheered her niece by the a.s.surance that, after a few months, if the Almighty blessed the exertions they must make for their own support, she would write to their friend Mr. Goulding, and say where they were; by "that time," she said, she hoped to be humble, as a Christian should be. After this a.s.surance was given, it was astonishing to see how Mabel revived. Her steps recovered their elasticity, her eyes their brightness. Sarah Bond had always great superiority in needlework, and this procured her employment; while Mabel obtained at once, by her grace and correct speaking, two or three day pupils. Her wild and wayward temper had been subdued by change of circ.u.mstances; but if she had not found occupation it would have become morose Here was not only occupation, but success; success achieved by the most legitimate means--the exertion of her own faculties; there were occasionally bitter tears and many disappointments; and the young soft fingers, so slender and beautiful, were obliged to work in earnest; and she was forced by necessity to rise early and watch late; and then she had to think, not how pounds could be spent, but pennies could be earned. We need not, however, particularize their labours in this scene of tranquil usefulness. It is sufficient to say that Mabel's little school increased; and both she and her aunt came at length to feel and speak thankfully of the uses of adversity, and bless G.o.d for taking as well as for giving.

CHAPTER V.

Though Sarah Bond had used every means within her power to conceal her place of retreat, yet she often felt bitterly pained that no one had sought her out. She said she wished to be forgotten, unless she had the power to clear away the imputation on her father's name. And yet, unknown to herself, she cherished the hope, that some one would have traced them, though only to say one cheering word of approbation regarding their attempt at self-dependence. Sarah thanked the Almighty greatly for one thing, that Mabel's cheerfulness was continued and unfluctuating, and that her mind seemed to have gathered strength by wholesome exercise. She believed her affections, if not free, were not entangled, and that her pride had risen against her imagination; and it was beautiful to see how, watching to avoid giving each other pain, striving continually to show the bright side of every question, the one to the other, and extract sweets instead of bitters from every little incident, led to their actually enjoying even the privations which exercised their tenderness towards each other.

Time wore away many of their sorrows, which old father Time always does; a kindness we forget to acknowledge, though we often arraign him for spoiling our pleasures. Sarah and Mabel had been taking an evening walk, wondering how little they existed upon, and feeling that it was a wide step towards independence to have few wants.

"I can see good working in all things," said Mabel; "for if I had obtained the companionship of books, which I so eagerly desired at first, I should not have had the same inducement to pursue my active duties, to read my own heart, and the great book of nature, which is opened alike to peer and peasant; I have found so much to learn, so much to think of by studying objects and persons--reading persons instead of books."

"Yes," added Sarah Bond; "and seeing how much there is to admire in every development of nature, and how much of G.o.d there is in every human being."

As they pa.s.sed along the village street, Mabel observed that the cottagers looked after them, and several of her little pupils darted their heads in and out of their homes, and laughed; she thought that some village fun was afloat, that some rural present of flowers, or b.u.t.ter, or eggs, had been sent--a little mysterious offering for her to guess at; and when she turned to fasten the wicket gate, there were several of the peasants knotted together talking. A sudden exclamation from her aunt, who had entered the cottage, confirmed her suspicion; but it was soon dissipated. In their absence, their old friends Mr.

Goulding and the curate had arrived by the coach, and entered their humble dwelling. From a wagon at the same time were lifted several articles of old furniture, which were taken into the cottage, and properly arranged. There were two old chairs, an embroidered stool, a china vase, a cabinet, a table, and the spinnet. Strangely the furniture looked on the sanded floor, but never was the spiciest present from India more grateful to its receiver than these were to the eyes of Sarah Bond. She felt as if a ban was removed from her when she looked upon the old things so valued by her father. Absorbed in the feelings of the moment, she did not even turn to inquire how they had so unexpectedly come there. Nor did she note the cold and constrained greeting which Mabel gave to Mr. Lycight. She herself, after the first self-engrossed thoughts were past, turned to give both gentlemen the cordial reception which their many former kindnesses, not to speak of their apparent connexion with the present gratifying occurrence, deserved. From Mr. Goulding she learnt that the furniture had been bought up by a few old friends, and committed to him to be sent to her as a mark of their goodwill; he had only delayed bringing it to her, till she should have proved, as he knew she would, superior to her misfortunes, by entering upon some industrious career.

As the evening closed in, and the astonishment and feelings of their first meeting subsided, Sarah Bond and Mr. Goulding conversed apart, and then, indeed, she listened with a br.i.m.m.i.n.g heart and br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes. He told of his young friend's deep attachment to Mabel; how he had prevailed upon him to pause before he declared it; to observe how she endured her changed fortune; and to avoid engaging her affections until he had a prospect of placing her beyond the reach of the most harrowing of all poverties, that which keeps up an appearance above its means. "Her cheerfulness, her industry, her goodness, have all been noted," he continued. "She has proved herself capable of accommodating herself to her circ.u.mstances; the most difficult of all things to a young girl enervated by luxury and indulgence. And if my friend can establish an interest in her affections, he has no higher views of earthly happiness, and I think he ought to have no other. You will, I am sure, forgive me for having counselled the trial. If deep adversity had followed your exertions--if you had failed instead of succeeded--I should have been at hand to succour and to aid."

Sarah Bond had never forgotten the emotion of Mabel, caused by the mention of the curate's name when they quitted their old neighbourhood, and the very reserve Mabel showed proved to Sarah's searching and clear judgment, that the feeling was unchanged. Truly in that hour was her chastened heart joyful and grateful. "Mabel must wait," she said, "until the prospect of advancement became a reality; for it would be an ill return of disinterested love for a penniless orphan to become a burden instead of a blessing. Mabel would grow more worthy every day; they were doing well; ay, he might look round the white-washed walls and smile, but they _were_ prosperous, healthful, happy, and respected; and if she could only live to see the odium cast upon her father's memory removed, she would not exchange her present poverty for her past pride." She frequently afterwards thought of the clergyman's rejoinder--"That riches, like mercy, were as blessed to the giver as to the receiver, and that they only created evil when h.o.a.rded, or bestowed by a heedless hand."