The peroration, however, was different. Wallace was admitted, and
suitable attention paid to his wants. Happily, the guest had nothing to struggle with but extreme weakness. Repose, nourishing diet, and salubrious airs restored him in a short
time to health. He lingered under this roof for three weeks, and then,
without any professions of gratitude, or offers of pecuniary
remuneration, or information of the course which he determined to take,
he left them. These facts, added to that which I had previously known, threw no
advantageous light upon the character of Wallace. It was obvious to
conclude that he had gone to Malverton, and thither there was nothing to
hinder me from following him. Perhaps one of my grossest defects is a precipitate temper. I choose my
path suddenly, and pursue it with impetuous expedition. In the present
instance, my resolution was conceived with unhesitating zeal, and I
walked the faster that I might the sooner execute it. Miss Hadwin
deserved to be happy. Love was in her heart the all-absorbing sentiment. A disappointment there was a supreme calamity. Depravity and folly must
assume the guise of virtue before it can claim her affection. This
disguise might be maintained for a time, but its detection must
inevitably come, and the sooner this detection takes place the more
beneficial it must prove. I resolved to unbosom myself, with equal and unbounded confidence, to
Wallace and his mistress. I would choose for this end, not the moment
when they were separate, but that in which they were together. My
knowledge, and the sources of my knowledge, relative to Wallace, should
be unfolded to the lady with simplicity and truth. The lover should be
present, to confute, to extenuate, or to verify the charges. During the rest of the day these images occupied the chief place in my
thoughts. The road was miry and dark, and my journey proved to be more
tedious and fatiguing than I expected. At length, just as the evening
closed, the well-known habitation appeared in view. Since my departure,
winter had visited the world, and the aspect of nature was desolate and
dreary. All around this house was vacant, negligent, forlorn. The
contrast between these appearances and those which I had noticed on my
first approach to it, when the ground and the trees were decked with
the luxuriance and vivacity of summer, was mournful, and seemed to
foretoken ill. My spirits drooped as I noticed the general inactivity
and silence. I entered, without warning, the door that led into the parlour. No face
was to be seen or voice heard. The chimney was ornamented, as in summer,
with evergreen shrubs. Though it was now the second month of frost and
snow, fire did not appear to have been lately kindled on this hearth. This was a circumstance from which nothing good could be deduced. Had
there been those to share its comforts who had shared them on former
years, this was the place and hour at which they commonly assembled. A
door on one side led, through a narrow entry, into the kitchen. I opened
this door, and passed towards the kitchen. No one was there but an old man, squatted in the chimney-corner. His
face, though wrinkled, denoted undecayed health and an unbending spirit. A homespun coat, leathern breeches wrinkled with age, and blue yarn
hose, were well suited to his lean and shrivelled form. On his right
knee was a wooden bowl, which he had just replenished from a pipkin of
hasty pudding still smoking on the coals; and in his left hand a spoon,
which he had, at that moment, plunged into a bottle of molasses that
stood beside him. This action was suspended by my entrance. He looked up and exclaimed,
"Heyday! who's this that comes into other people's houses without so
much as saying 'by your leave'? What's thee business? Who's thee want?" I had never seen this personage before. I supposed it to be some new
domestic, and inquired for Mr. Hadwin. "Ah!" replied he, with a sigh, "William Hadwin. Is it him thee wants? Poor man! He is gone to rest many days since." My heart sunk within me at these tidings. "Dead!" said I; "do you mean
that he is dead?" --This exclamation was uttered in a tone of some
vehemence. It attracted the attention of some one who was standing
without, who immediately entered the kitchen. It was Eliza Hadwin. The
moment she beheld me she shrieked aloud, and, rushing into my arms,
fainted away. The old man dropped his bowl; and, starting from his seat, stared
alternately at me and at the breathless girl. My emotion, made up of
joy, and sorrow, and surprise, rendered me for a moment powerless as
she. At length he said, "I understand this. I know who thee is, and will
tell her thee's come." So saying, he hastily left the room. CHAPTER XXX. In a short time this gentle girl recovered her senses. She did not
withdraw herself from my sustaining arm, but, leaning on my bosom, she
resigned herself to passionate weeping. I did not endeavour to check
this effusion, believing that its influence would be salutary. I had not forgotten the thrilling sensibility and artless graces of this
girl. I had not forgotten the scruples which had formerly made me check
a passion whose tendency was easily discovered. These new proofs of her
affection were, at once, mournful and delightful. The untimely fate of
her father and my friend pressed with new force upon my heart, and my
tears, in spite of my fortitude, mingled with hers. The attention of both was presently attracted by a faint scream, which
proceeded from above. Immediately tottering footsteps were heard in the
passage, and a figure rushed into the room, pale, emaciated, haggard,
and wild. She cast a piercing glance at me, uttered a feeble
exclamation, and sunk upon the floor without signs of life. It was not difficult to comprehend this scene. I now conjectured, what
subsequent inquiry confirmed, that the old man had mistaken me for
Wallace, and had carried to the elder sister the news of his return. This fatal disappointment of hopes that had nearly been extinct, and
which were now so powerfully revived, could not be endured by a frame
verging to dissolution. This object recalled all the energies of Eliza, and engrossed all my
solicitude. I lifted the fallen girl in my arms; and, guided by her
sister, carried her to her chamber. I had now leisure to contemplate the
changes which a few months had made in this lovely frame. I turned away
from the spectacle with anguish, but my wandering eyes were recalled by
some potent fascination, and fixed in horror upon a form which evinced
the last stage of decay. Eliza knelt on one side, and, leaning her face
upon the bed, endeavoured in vain to smother her sobs. I sat on the
other motionless, and holding the passive and withered hand of the
sufferer. I watched with ineffable solicitude the return of life. It returned at
length, but merely to betray symptoms that it would speedily depart
forever.