She and I Volume II Part 24

I think that Lord Byron's recollection of his trusty dog must have absolved him from a hundred character blots. Do you remember those lines he wrote to the memory of "Boatswain," on the monument he erected in his honour at Newstead Abbey? I would like them on Catch's tomb, if I only knew where the dear old fellow lies; for, what "Boatswain" was to Byron, so was he to me:--

"In life the foremost friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth!"

Min's news did not come all at once.

It was spread over an expanse of many months, during which I was rambling over the States;--reporting this speaker and that;--studying "life and character" in every way--from the inspection of negro camp- meetings, where coloured saints expounded doctrinal views that would have made Wilberforce shudder, to partic.i.p.ating in a presidential election, wherein I had the opportunity of seeing the inherent rottenness of the Transatlantic "inst.i.tution" thoroughly exposed.

When I was thus bustling about, amidst so many varied phases of life, I could not very well sympathise with the quiet doings of Saint Canon's.

But, on my return to my Brooklyn lodgings, when once more appointed to regular newspaper work at the office of the journal with which I was connected in New York, the old home longings returned also as strong as ever--stronger, as time went on!

I got in the habit of again marking my almanack, as Robinson Crusoe notched his post, every day; saying to myself the while, that I was brought one day nearer to my darling as the sun went down; one day nearer as it rose on the morrow:--one day nearer to the date of my exile being ended!

I remained in America much longer than I intended.

However, as Mrs Clyde did not carry out her threat of closing our correspondence at the end of the first year of our quasi-engagement, I had still Min's dear letters to encourage me and cheer me on.

I do not know what I should have done without them.

There was no benefit to be derived from my going back until the Government appointment, which the vicar had the promise of for me, should be vacant. But, this, the wretched old gentleman who continued to hold it, would not give up until he reached the age of superannuation, when he would be forced to retire--in which respect he was not unlike many old field officers in the army, and "flag" ditto in the navy, who _will_ persist in remaining on the "active list" of both services long past the age of usefulness, to the prevention of younger men from getting on!

O "seniority!"

Thou art the curse of all cla.s.ses of officialdom in England--"civil" and "military" alike!

By-and-by, however, when my patience had become exhausted, and I was seriously thinking of starting home with the few hundred dollars I had made on the American press, the vicar wrote for me to come.

The old gentleman--might his "shadow never be less," I devoutly wished-- had betaken himself to his plough after an arduous official service of forty years. He only retired, however, because he received a pension amounting to his full salary, for which he had striven and kept me out of his shoes so long. Putting the thought of this on one side, the secretaryship was now mine, as soon as I arrived to claim it--the sooner that was, the better, the vicar added, as if I needed any stimulus to return to home and my darling!

What a delightful, darling letter Min sent to me, too!

She told me that I was to start off immediately--"at once, sir,"--on receipt of her tender little missive. She was expecting me, looking for me, awaiting me!

She had learnt all the songs I liked; had prepared the dresses in which I had said she looked best; would greet me, oh, so gladly!

I was to keep my promise and arrive on Christmas-eve, when her mother would be happy to see me; and she--well, she didn't know yet whether _she_ would speak to me or not:--it, really, depended whether I was "good!"

I took my pa.s.sage in a steamer leaving the next day; but, instead of getting home on Christmas-eve, I only arrived at Liverpool a day before the close of the year--six days late! However, I was in England at last, in the same dear land that held my darling; and she would forgive me, I knew, when she saw how glad I was to get back to her dear little self. "Naughty Frank!" she would say--"I won't speak to you at all, sir!"

And, wouldn't she?

Oh, dear no!

All the way up to town from the fair city on the Mersey, the railway nymphs, whom I had previously noticed on my journey to Southampton, were as busy as then, with their musical strains.

The burden of their present song, echoing through my heart, was,--

"Going to see Min! Going to see Min!

Going to see Min, without delay!

Going to see Min! Going to see Min!

Soon! Soon!! Soon!!"

The last bars chiming in when the buffers joined the chorus with a "jolt, jolt, jolt."

As the train glided, at length--after some six hours of reeling and b.u.mping and puffing along, the railway nymphs never slackening their song for an instant, into the Euston-square station--I saw the kind vicar and dear little Miss Pimpernell awaiting me on the platform.

It was just like their usual kindness to come and meet me thus!

I had telegraphed to them from Liverpool, telling them the time when I might hope to be in London; and, there they were to the minute, although I had never expected them, having only informed them of my coming, in order that they might let my darling know that I was on my way to her.

I jumped out of the carriage before it stopped, in defiance of all the company's bye-laws; and, advanced to clasp their outstretched hands.

But--

What was it, that I could read in the grave kind face of the one, the glad yet sorrowful eyes of the other, before a word had pa.s.sed on either side? What was it, that congealed the flood of joyful questionings, with which I went forward to meet them, in an icy lump pressing down upon my brain; and, that snapped a chord in my heart that has never vibrated since?

Min was dead!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

"DEATH."

O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done, The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun-- For ever and for ever with those just souls and true-- And what is life, that we should moan? Why make we such ado?

What! Min dead--my darling whom I had hurried home to see once more, the whisper of whose calling I had heard across the expanse of vast Atlantic in eager entreaty; and whose tender, clinging affection I had looked forward to, as the earnest of all my toils and struggles, my longing hopes, my halting doubts, my groans, my tears!

It could not be.

I would not believe it. G.o.d could not be so cruel as man; and what man would do such a heartless deed?

It was false. Could I not hear her merry, rippling laughter, as she came forth heart-joyous to greet me; see the dear, soul-lit, grey eyes beaming with happiness and love; feel her perfumed violet breath as she raised her darling little rosebud of a mouth to mine--as I had fancied, and pictured it all, over and over again, a thousand times and more?

Hark! was not that her glad voice speaking now in silvery accents--"O, Frank!" nothing more; but, a world of welcome in the simple syllables?

Dead!

How could she be dead, when I was waiting to hear from her truth- telling, loving lips what she had written to tell me already--that she trusted me again, as she had trusted me in those old, old days that had pa.s.sed by never to return; and, loved me still in spite of all?

Dead! It was a lie. They wanted to deceive me. They were joking with me!

Min, my darling, dead? It could not be. It was impossible!

Did they take me for a fool?

I could laugh at the idea.--What did they mean by it?

Min, dead!--G.o.d in heaven--how _could_ they torture me so!