"Yes, ma'am, please, I want to give warning; I wish to leave the service,
ma'am;" replied he, respectfully, but doggedly. "To leave us, Merton!" echoed his mistress, both surprised and sorry for
the man had been long her servant, and had been much liked and trusted. "Yes, ma'am," he repeated. "And why do you wish to do so, Merton? Has anything occurred to make the
place unpleasant to you?" urged the lady. "No, ma'am--no, indeed," said he, earnestly, "I have nothing to complain
of--nothing, indeed, ma'am." "Perhaps, you think you can do better, if you leave us?" suggested
his mistress. "No, indeed, ma'am, I have no such thought," he said, and seemed on the
point of bursting into tears; "but--but, somehow--ma'am, there is
something come over me, lately, and I can't help, but think, if I stay
here, ma'am--some--some--misfortune will happen to us all--and that is the
truth, ma'am." "This is very foolish, Merton--a mere childish fancy," replied Mrs.
Marston; "you like your place, and have no better prospect before you;
and now, for a mere superstitious fancy, you propose giving it up, and
leaving us. No, no, Merton, you had better think the matter over--and if
you still, upon reflection, prefer going away, you can then speak to
your master." "Thank you ma'am--God bless you," said the man, withdrawing. Mrs. Marston rang the bell for her maid, and retired to her room. "Has
anything occurred lately," she asked, "to annoy Merton?" "No, ma'am, I don't know of anything; but he is very changed, indeed, of
late," replied the maid. "He has not been quarreling?" inquired she. "Oh, no, ma'am, he never quarrels; he is very quiet, and keeps to himself
always; he thinks a wonderful deal of himself," replied the servant. "But, you said that he is much changed--did you not?" continued the lady;
for there was something strangely excited and unpleasant in the man's
manner, in this little interview, which struck Mrs. Marston, and alarmed
her curiosity. He had seemed like one charged with some horrible
secret--intolerable, and which he yet dared not reveal. "What," proceeded Mrs. Marston, "is the nature of the change of which
you speak?" "Why, ma'am, he is like one frightened, and in sorrow," she replied; "he
will sit silent, and now and then shaking his head, as if he wanted to
get rid of something that is teasing him, for an hour together." "Poor man!" said she. "And, then, when we are at meals, he will, all on a sudden, get up, and
leave the table; and Jem Boulter, that sleeps in the next room to him,
says, that, almost as often as he looks through the little window between
the two rooms, no matter what hour in the night, he sees Mr. Merton on
his knees by the bedside, praying or crying, he don't know which; but,
any way, he is not happy--poor man!--and that is plain enough." "It is very strange," said the lady, after a pause; "but, I think, and
hope, after all, it will prove to have been no more than a little
nervousness." "Well, ma'am, I do hope it is not his conscience that is coming against
him, now," said the maid. "We have no reason to suspect anything of the kind," said Mrs.
Marston, gravely, "quite the reverse; he has been always a
particularly proper man." "Oh, indeed," responded the attendant, "goodness forbid I should say or
think anything against him; but I could not help telling you my mind,
ma'am, meaning no harm." "And, how long is it since you observed this sad change in poor Merton?" persisted the lady. "Not, indeed, to say very long, ma'am," replied the girl; "somewhere
about a week, or very little more--at least, as we remarked, ma'am." Mrs. Marston pursued her inquiries no further that night. But, although
she affected to treat the matter thus lightly, it had, somehow, taken a
painful hold upon her imagination, and left in her mind those
undefinable and ominous sensations, which, in certain mental
temperaments, seem to foreshadow the approach of unknown misfortune. For two or three days, everything went on smoothly, and pretty much as
usual. At the end of this brief interval, however, the attention of Mrs.
Marston was recalled to the subject of her servant's mysterious anxiety
to leave, and give up his situation. Merton again stood before her, and
repeated the intimation he had already given. "Really, Merton, this is very odd," said the lady. "You like your
situation, and yet you persist in desiring to leave it. What am I
to think?" "Oh, ma'am," said he, "I am unhappy; I am tormented, ma'am. I can't tell
you, ma'am; I can't indeed ma'am!" "If anything weighs upon your mind, Merton, I would advise you to consult
our good clergyman, Dr. Danvers," urged the lady. The servant hung his head, and mused for a time gloomily; and then said
decisively--"No, ma'am; no use." "And pray, Merton, how long is it since you first entertained this
desire?" asked Mrs. Marston. "Since Sir Wynston Berkley came, ma'am," answered he. "Has Sir Wynston annoyed you in any way?" continued she. "Far from it, ma'am," he replied; "he is a very kind gentleman." "Well, his man, then; is he a respectable, inoffensive person?" she inquired. "I never met one more so," said the man, promptly, and raising his head. "What I wish to know is, whether your desire to go is connected with Sir
Wynston and his servant?" said Mrs. Marston. The man hesitated, and shifted his position uneasily. "You need not answer, Merton, if you don't wish it," she said kindly. "Why, ma'am, yes, it has something to say to them both," he replied, with
some agitation. "I really cannot understand this," said she. Merton hesitated for some time, and appeared much troubled. "It was
something, ma'am--something that Sir Wynston's man said to me; and there
it is out," he said at last, with an effort. "Well, Merton," said she, "I won't press you further; but I must say,
that as this communication, whatever it may be, has caused you,
unquestionably, very great uneasiness, it seems to me but probable that
it affects the safety or the interests of some person--I cannot say of
whom; and, if so, there can be no doubt that it is your duty to acquaint
those who are so involved in the disclosure, with its purport." "No, ma'am, there is nothing in what I heard that could touch anybody but
myself. It was nothing but what others heard, without remarking it, or
thinking about it. I can't tell you anymore, ma'am; but I am very
unhappy, and uneasy in my mind." As the man said this, he began to weep bitterly. The idea that his mind was affected now seriously occurred to Mrs.
Marston, and she resolved to convey her suspicions to her husband, and to
leave him to deal with the case as to him should seem good. "Don't agitate yourself so, Merton; I shall speak to your master upon
what you have said; and you may rely upon it, that no surmise to the
prejudice of your character has entered my mind," said Mrs. Marston,
very kindly. "Oh, ma'am, you are too good," sobbed the poor man, vehemently. "You
don't know me, ma'am; I never knew myself till lately.