I bore in my arms the being whom I
had known and loved, through the whistling gale and intense darkness of
a winter's night; I heaped earth upon her limbs, and covered them from
human observation, without fluctuations or tremors, though not without
feelings that were awful and sublime. Perhaps some part of my steadfastness was owing to my late experience,
and some minds may be more easily inured to perilous emergencies than
others. If reason acquires strength only by the diminution of
sensibility, perhaps it is just for sensibility to be diminished. CHAPTER XXXI. The safety of Eliza was the object that now occupied my cares. To have
slept, after her example, had been most proper; but my uncertainty with
regard to her fate, and my desire to conduct her to some other home,
kept my thoughts in perpetual motion. I waited with impatience till she
should awake and allow me to consult with her on plans for futurity. Her sleep terminated not till the next day had arisen. Having recovered
the remembrance of what had lately happened, she inquired for her
sister. She wanted to view once more the face and kiss the lips of her
beloved Susan. Some relief to her anguish she expected to derive from
this privilege. When informed of the truth, when convinced that Susan had disappeared
forever, she broke forth into fresh passion. It seemed as if her loss
was not hopeless or complete as long as she was suffered to behold the
face of her friend and to touch her lips. She accused me of acting
without warrant and without justice; of defrauding her of her dearest
and only consolation; and of treating her sister's sacred remains with
barbarous indifference and rudeness. I explained in the gentlest terms the reasons of my conduct. I was not
surprised or vexed that she, at first, treated them as futile, and as
heightening my offence. Such was the impulse of a grief which was
properly excited by her loss. To be tranquil and steadfast, in the midst
of the usual causes of impetuosity and agony, is either the prerogative
of wisdom that sublimes itself above all selfish considerations, or the
badge of giddy and unfeeling folly. The torrent was at length exhausted. Upbraiding was at an end; and
gratitude, and tenderness, and implicit acquiescence in any scheme which
my prudence should suggest, succeeded. I mentioned her uncle as one to
whom it would be proper, in her present distress, to apply. She started and betrayed uneasiness at this name. It was evident that
she by no means concurred with me in my notions of propriety; that she
thought with aversion of seeking her uncle's protection. I requested her
to state her objections to this scheme, or to mention any other which
she thought preferable. She knew nobody. She had not a friend in the world but myself. She had
never been out of her father's house. She had no relation but her uncle
Philip, and he--she could not live with him. I must not insist upon her
going to his house. It was not the place for her. She should never be
happy there. I was, at first, inclined to suspect in my friend some capricious and
groundless antipathy. I desired her to explain what in her uncle's
character made him so obnoxious. She refused to be more explicit, and
persisted in thinking that his house was no suitable abode for her. Finding her, in this respect, invincible, I sought for some other
expedient. Might she not easily be accommodated as a boarder in the
city, or some village, or in a remote quarter of the country? Ellis, her
nearest and most opulent neighbour, had refused to receive her; but
there were others who had not his fears. There were others, within the
compass of a day's journey, who were strangers to the cause of Hadwin's
death; but would it not be culpable to take advantage of that ignorance? Their compliance ought not to be the result of deception. While thus engaged, the incidents of my late journey recurred to my
remembrance, and I asked, "Is not the honest woman, who entertained
Wallace, just such a person as that of whom I am in search? Her
treatment of Wallace shows her to be exempt from chimerical fears,
proves that she has room in her house for an occasional inmate." Encouraged by these views, I told my weeping companion that I had
recollected a family in which she would be kindly treated; and that, if
she chose, we would not lose a moment in repairing thither. Horses,
belonging to the farm, grazed in the meadows, and a couple of these
would carry us in a few hours to the place which I had selected for her
residence. On her eagerly assenting to this proposal, I inquired in
whose care, and in what state, our present habitation should be left. The father's property now belonged to the daughter. Eliza's mind was
quick, active, and sagacious; but her total inexperience gave her
sometimes the appearance of folly. She was eager to fly from this house,
and to resign herself and her property, without limitation or condition,
to my control. Our intercourse had been short, but she relied on my
protection and counsel as absolutely as she had been accustomed to do
upon her father's. She knew not what answer to make to my inquiry. Whatever I pleased to do
was the best. What did I think ought to be done? "Ah!" thought I, "sweet, artless, and simple girl! how wouldst thou have
fared, if Heaven had not sent me to thy succour? There are beings in the
world who would make a selfish use of thy confidence; who would beguile
thee at once of innocence and property. Such am not I. Thy welfare is a
precious deposit, and no father or brother could watch over it with more
solicitude than I will do." I was aware that Mr. Hadwin might have fixed the destination of his
property, and the guardianship of his daughters, by will. On suggesting
this to my friend, it instantly reminded her of an incident that took
place after his last return from the city. He had drawn up his will, and
gave it into Susan's possession, who placed it in a drawer, whence it
was now taken by my friend. By this will his property was now found to be bequeathed to his two
daughters; and his brother, Philip Hadwin, was named executor, and
guardian to his daughters till they should be twenty years old. This
name was no sooner heard by my friend, than she exclaimed, in a tone of
affright, "Executor! My uncle! What is that? What power does that give
him?" "I know not exactly the power of executors. He will, doubtless, have
possession of your property till you are twenty years of age. Your
person will likewise be under his care till that time." "Must he decide where I am to live?" "He is vested with all the power of a father." This assurance excited the deepest consternation. She fixed her eyes on
the ground, and was lost, for a time, in the deepest reverie. Recovering, at length, she said, with a sigh, "What if my father had
made no will?" "In that case, a guardian could not be dispensed with, but the right of
naming him would belong to yourself." "And my uncle would have nothing to do with my affairs?"