CHAPTER CXLII.

THE DRESS-MAKER: A LOVE STORY.

“It was between nine and ten o’clock on a dark and rainy night, in the

month of November, 1834, that a young female, plainly but decently

attired, was wending her way along Oxford Street. She had a large

parcel beneath her cloak;--and this parcel she protected against the

rain with the most jealous care,--thinking more, in fact, of the object

of her solicitude than of picking her path with sufficient nicety to

enable her to avoid the puddles of water that were ankle-deep in some

parts of the pavement--but more especially at the crossings. For, in

sooth, it was a bitter--bitter night:--the windows of heaven appeared

to be indeed opened, and the rain fell in torrents. The streets seemed

to be positively covered in with an arcade of umbrellas, on which the

quick drops rattled down with the violence of hail. The young female

whom I have mentioned, had an umbrella;--but she found it rather a

difficult task to hold it comfortably with one hand, while her left arm

encircled as it were the precious parcel beneath her cloak. For the

passengers in the streets of London are never over remarkable for their

civility to each other--still less so on such a night as the one I am

describing. The consequence was that there was an incessant struggle

amongst the strong to push their umbrellas safely through the mass, and

amongst the weak to prevent their own umbrellas from being dragged out

of their hands;--but it naturally happened that the latter fared the

worst.

“The young female was meek, timid, and unobtrusive. She only sought to

be permitted to pursue her way in peace, without being molested;--for,

heaven knows! she had not the least desire on her part to inconvenience

a soul. But first some rude, hulking fellow would thrust her against

the houses--almost through the shop windows; then, if she moved over

to the kerb-stone of the pavement, she found herself speedily pushed

into the mud. To pursue a middle course was impossible; because the two

streams of persons carrying umbrellas were the monopolists there;--and

so the young female began to lament the necessity which had sent her

forth into the streets on such a night as this. At length she reached

the iron gates leading into Hanover Square; and she rejoiced--for she

thought within herself that she had now got clear of the crowd, and

need entertain no farther apprehension of having the precious parcel

knocked out of her hands. But just as she entered the Square, a rude,

coarse fellow rushed against her as he was running hastily round the

corner; and such was the violence of the concussion, that the parcel

was knocked from beneath her arm. The ruffian who had caused the

accident, burst into a ferocious laugh, as if he had just performed a

most humorous or clever feat, and darted away. But the young female

was disconsolate at what had occurred; and tears started into her

eyes. Though bruised and hurt by the man’s violence, she thought not

of herself--she felt no pain:--it was on account of the parcel that

she was so deeply grieved. Hastily picking it up, she hurried to the

nearest lamp; and the moment she examined the packet beneath the

gas-light, she found her worst apprehensions confirmed. For the parcel

contained a costly silk dress, well wrapped up in brown paper;--but the

side on which it had fallen was dripping wet and covered with mud!

“‘O heavens! no food _again_ to-night!’ exclaimed the young female

aloud--for in her despair she paused not to notice whether she were

noticed or overheard. And she _was_ both noticed and overheard,--and by

a tall, handsome individual, of gentlemanly appearance, and muffled in

a capacious cloak. He had issued from the nearest house at the moment

the accident occurred; and, perceiving the brutality of the encounter,

though too late to prevent it or to chastise the perpetrator, he stood

still to observe the young female, whose countenance, as the rays of

the lamp fell upon it, struck him as being remarkably beautiful. In

that rapid survey, partial as it was by the flickering light, which

was moreover dimmed by the mist of the falling rain, the stranger

fancied that he perceived--independently of the despair which that

countenance now wore--a certain settled melancholy expression, that

at once rivetted his interest and excited his sympathies. But when

those words--so terrible in their meaning,--‘O heavens! no food

_again_ to-night!’ fell upon his ears, he accosted the young female,

and said, in a tone of respectful though somewhat condescending pity,

‘My poor girl, it appears that a sad accident has befallen you.’--The

young woman, or rather girl--for she was not more than eighteen years

of age--looked up into the face of the individual who thus addressed

her; and, perceiving that it was no insolent coxcomb who spoke, she

replied in a tone of deep melancholy, ‘Yes, sir: it is to _me_ a

great misfortune!’--The stranger read, or fancied he read, an entire

history in those few and plaintively uttered words,--how, perhaps, a

young dress-maker had toiled to finish a particular piece of work in

the hope of receiving instantaneous payment on taking it home,--how

the article had been thrown down, soiled, and rendered at least

unfit to be delivered that night to its owner, even if it were not

spoilt altogether,--and how the poor girl had lost her only chance of

obtaining the wherewith to procure a meal. Upon more closely, though

still with great delicacy, questioning the young female, the stranger

found all his surmises to be correct; but she could not tell whether

the silk dress were injured beyond redemption or not. ‘In any case,’

she added, still weeping bitterly, ‘I shall tell the lady the truth

when I take home the dress to-morrow.’--These words, uttered with

the most unquestionable sincerity, made a deep impression upon the

gentleman who was addressing her; for they denoted an unsophisticated

uprightness of character which augmented the interest he already

felt in the poor young creature.--‘And who is the lady you speak

of?’ he enquired.--‘The Dowager Marchioness of Wilmington,’ was the

reply.--‘Ah!’ ejaculated the stranger: then, after a moment’s pause, he

said, ‘Pardon me, young woman, for having asked you so many questions:

but it has not been through motives of idle curiosity. Here is a small

sum that will procure you immediate necessaries;’--and thrusting a coin

into her hand, he hurried away. The deed took the poor girl completely

by surprise;--for although it has occupied me some time to relate all

that passed between her and the generous stranger, yet in reality

their dialogue was of scarcely more than two minutes’ duration; and

the dress-maker had not yet recovered from the grief into which the

accident to her parcel had plunged her. When, therefore, the light

of the lamp flashed upon a bright yellow coin, she could scarcely

believe her eyes:--she fancied that her benefactor had made a mistake,

and intended to give her a shilling,--and then, in spite of the cold

night, the warm blood rushed to her cheeks, at the idea of any one

treating her as a mendicant--for she had her little feelings of pride,

poor though she were! But her next thought was that the stranger might

really have intended to present her with a sovereign; and--so strange

a sentiment is human pride, even in the most virtuous bosoms--her

soul revolted not from receiving that amount. And now, lest this

circumstance should induce you to form an evil opinion of my heroine,

I must inform you that it was no selfish nor avaricious feeling that

made her draw a distinction between the gift of a shilling and that of

a sovereign:--but she had been tenderly and genteelly brought up--and

the comparison which her mind drew, was simply as between the alms that

one would toss to a mendicant, and the pecuniary aid which a delicate

benevolence would administer to a person in temporary embarrassment.

“Of all these things she thought as she retraced her way along Oxford

Street,--holding her umbrella with her right hand, and with her left

arm encircling the parcel more carefully than before. She came to

the conclusion that the sovereign was not given by mistake; and she

resolved to avail herself of the bounty which Providence itself had

appeared to bestow upon her in the hour of her bitterest need. She

thought of the little brother who was anxiously expecting her return,

and who had fared so scantily for the last few days,--that little

brother of only eight years old, whom the sudden, premature, and almost

simultaneous death of their parents, about two years previously, had

left so completely dependant upon her! As she drew near the street in

which she lived, she stopped at the baker’s where she was accustomed

to deal, and purchased some nice buns;--and then she hurried on until

she reached the house wherein she rented a small back room on the third

floor. On entering the little chamber, which, though poorly furnished,

was very clean and neat, a beautiful boy, with light brown curly hair

and fine blue eyes, but with cheeks somewhat pale, sprang towards her,

exclaiming ‘Oh! dear sister Julia, I am so glad you have come back: for

I cannot bear to be left alone so long!’--‘I have brought you something

nice, Harry,’ said the kind girl, smiling sweetly upon him; and, she

placed the bag containing the buns in his hand. Joy sparkled in his

eyes;--but in another moment he observed that his sister had brought

back the parcel, which she had opened, and was carefully examining the

silk-dress to ascertain the amount of injury done to it. Throwing the

cakes upon the table, the boy hastened to question her; but poor Julia

could not answer him--scalding tears were trickling down her cheeks--a

suffocating grief filled her bosom,--for she found, to her dismay, that

the dress was completely spoilt!

“She sate down, and gave full vent to her anguish;--and then little

Harry threw his arms round her neck, and endeavoured to console her.

The flood of tears which she shed, and the affectionate conduct of

her little brother at length considerably soothed her;--and the poor

girl made up her mind to meet her misfortune with resignation. ‘You

are dripping wet, dear Julia,’ said Harry: ‘and there is not a morsel

of coal left,’ he added, looking at the miserable remnant of a fire

which was fast extinguishing in the grate.--‘Poor boy! you have been

cold,’ exclaimed the dress-maker, not thinking of herself.--‘No, dear

Julia,’ he answered; ‘for I have been walking up and down the room, to

keep myself awake till you came back. I was only afraid that the candle

would not last.’--‘Nor will it many minutes longer, Harry!’ cried

Julia, starting from her seat. ‘But do not be afraid, my dear little

fellow; for I have plenty of money to buy all we want for the moment. A

good kind gentleman took compassion upon me, and--and----’; she did not

choose to say, ‘_and gave me some money_;’--for, somehow or another,

her pure soul revolted from the idea that she had been the object of

eleemosynary benevolence on the part of a stranger:--so, cutting the

matter short, she kissed her little brother tenderly, bade him eat his

cakes, and, promising to return in a few minutes, hurried away. She

ordered up coals and wood from the nearest shed,--thence she repaired

to the grocer’s, where she purchased a few articles,--and lastly, she

sped to the baker’s, to buy bread. But the moment she entered this

shop, the master rushed from behind the counter, seized her rudely,

called her by many opprobrious names, and, raising an alarm, attracted

the attention of a policeman who was passing by. The constable entered

the shop, and enquired the cause of the disturbance; but poor Julia

had fainted;--and she, therefore, heard not the charge that was made

against her. When she came to her senses, she gazed wildly around,

thinking that she had just awoke from a horrid dream;--but, alas!

it was all too true! She was seated in a chair in the middle of the

shop--a policeman standing near her--and a gaping, curious crowd

collected at the door. ‘Now, young woman,’ said the officer, ‘come

along with me!’--Julia cast upon him a look so full of horror and

amazement, that the man’s heart was for an instant touched;--but, being

accustomed to endless varieties of imposture on the part of offenders,

he speedily recovered the cold indifference so characteristic of his

class, and said sternly, if not brutally, ‘None of this nonsense: you

must tramp off to the station-house!’--‘But what have I done? what

offence have I committed?’ asked Julia, in a tone of the most pathetic

entreaty. ‘Oh! there must be some dreadful mistake in all this!’--‘No

mistake at all,’ said the officer; ‘and you’ll know all about it in

the morning, when you go before the magistrate!’--‘The magistrate!’

repeated the girl, with the emphasis of despair. ‘But my poor little

brother, what will become of him?’--‘That’s no business of mine,’

returned the constable: ’come along!’--and he dragged the half-fainting

Julia from the shop.

“Away to the nearest station-house was the unhappy young woman rather

borne than conducted;--and so stunned--so stupefied was she by this

sudden, unaccountable, and overwhelming misfortune, that her tongue

refused to give utterance to the questions which her suspense prompted

her lips to frame. The station was close by; and thus was it that

before she had leisure to recover from her bewilderment and terror,

she found herself thrust into a dark cell--all dripping wet from head

to foot as she was. When full consciousness returned, and she was

enabled to look her misfortune in the face, she found that all the

articles she had purchased at the grocer’s and all the remainder of her

money were gone. Yet she could not possibly conceive on what charge

she had been thus rudely treated;--and her conscience inspired her

with the hope that her complete innocence must become apparent in the

morning. But the thought of her little brother excited the most painful

sensations in her bosom:--her heart was rent with pangs that seemed to

threaten her very existence! The poor little fellow!--she fancied she

saw him sitting in the cold, lonely chamber, crying bitterly at his

sister’s prolonged absence:--and then a thousand fears haunted her--all

distracting in the extreme. Might he not take it into his head to go

out to look after her?--he, who was so ignorant of London!--and then

might he not be lost in the mazes of the mighty metropolis, and on a

night when it would be almost death to him to wander about the flooded

streets? Oh! all these fears--these thoughts were terrible;--for

she dearly loved her little brother--loved him, perhaps, the more

affectionately, the more tenderly, because their orphan condition

rendered him so completely dependant upon her,--and because he was so

much attached to her, and his ways were so winning--his disposition so

cheerful!

“In the midst of these harrowing meditations a policeman opened the

trap in the door of the cell, and called her by name--‘_Julia Murray!_’

She answered in a faint and feeble tone; and the officer was about

to close the trap, satisfied that his prisoner was not ill nor had

attempted suicide,--when the young woman suddenly exclaimed, ‘Stop

one moment!’--‘Well, what is it?’ demanded the constable.--In a few

hurried words Julia explained to him how she had a little brother

expecting her return, how he would be overwhelmed with grief at her

unaccountable absence, and how grateful she should feel if any one

could be sent to inform the child that his sister would be certain

to return in the morning. The constable, who was a kind-hearted

man, promised that her request should be complied with; and he was

about to depart when, a thought striking him, he said, ‘But are you

so sure, young woman, of getting off so easy as you imagine. The

charge is a serious one, mind!’--‘The charge!’ she repeated: ‘I do

not even yet know what it is!’--‘Oh! that’s all gammon,’ cried the

constable, closing the trap abruptly; and now, his opinion of the

prisoner being that she was a hardened impostor, and had some sinister

motive in view in sending a message to her lodgings, determined to

trouble himself no more concerning the matter. It was, however, some

consolation to the poor girl to believe that her commission would be

duly executed;--for, though she had heard the officer’s unfeeling,

cutting observation relative to her ignorance of the accusation against

her, she could not for an instant suppose that he would neglect to

fulfil his promise regarding her little brother. But wearily--wearily

passed away that night--not once did the poor dress-maker close

her eyes--and she counted every hour that was proclaimed from the

neighbouring church-clock--often saying to herself that never, never

had time travelled with such leaden pace before! She had not tasted

food for many hours--and yet she was not hungry; but she experienced a

terrible faintness at the chest, and an oppressiveness on the brain,

that at intervals made her mind wander. Her cloak was dripping wet

when she had been locked up, and her shoes, stockings, and the lower

part of her dress were saturated;--but she had thrown her cloak aside,

and her garments had dried upon her;--and now she felt not positively

cold--only a numbness in her limbs, which gave her however no pain.

“At length the dull, misty, wintry morning dawned upon the

metropolis--though all was still dark in her gloomy cell. Presently

an officer entered, and gave her a cup of hot coffee and a piece of

bread. She asked him if the message had been sent to her brother;--but

he was not the same constable who had made the round of the cells at

midnight, and therefore knew nothing about the matter. Moreover, he

was a stern, sulky man; and she dared not speak farther to him--much

as she longed to ascertain the real nature of the charge against her.

She drank the coffee, which seemed to do her good;--but she could

not force a single mouthful of the bread down her throat--though the

cravings of hunger now began to oppress her cruelly. But, to use a

common phrase, her heart heaved against food. A couple of hours more

passed away, and then the same policeman who had arrested her on the

preceding evening came to conduct her to the police-office. While

they were proceeding thither, Julia enquired the nature of the charge

against her; and she now learnt for the first time that the coin which

she had changed at the bakers, and which she had believed to be a

sovereign, was only a gilt counter, of the kind used at card tables

in genteel society. She was cruelly shocked at this information, and

frankly and candidly explained to the officer the manner in which she

had become possessed of it; but he only shook his head, and seemed

to put but little faith in her story. Julia was, however, too much

absorbed in the vexation and ignominy she had thus been subjected to,

and was still enduring, to notice the man’s incredulity;--but she clung

to the hope that her tale would be believed by the magistrate before

whom she was about to appear. It happened that the usual charges of

drunkenness were just disposed of, at the moment when the young female

entered the court; and she was accordingly at once placed at the

bar--the baker being already in attendance to prefer his charge against

her. This he did in a plain and straight-forward manner,--showing no

ill-feeling against the prisoner--but, on the contrary, alleging that

he had always believed her to be a highly respectable, industrious, and

praise-worthy young woman until the present transaction took place. He

added that he had given her into custody in a moment of irritation,

believing himself to have been duped; and that he should be truly

delighted if she could make her innocence apparent. Julia’s courage

was somewhat restored by the forbearing conduct of the baker--for her

own good sense told her that the case was really one involving much

unpleasant suspicion;--and she now told her tale with an artlessness

and sincerity that produced no inconsiderable effect upon the bench.

Nevertheless, as the magistrate observed, it certainly appeared strange

that a gentleman should have given her a gilt counter in mistake for a

sovereign,--strange also that a mere stranger should have intended to

bestow upon her a sovereign at all. The magistrate proceeded to state

that the prisoner must be remanded, in order that the gentleman of whom

she spoke--if her story were true--might come forward, upon seeing

the report of the case in the newspapers, and tender his evidence.

Julia burst out into an agony of weeping, when she heard that she

must go to prison for a week; and the baker requested the magistrate

to re-consider his decision. This appeal was, however, made in vain;

but it was intimated that bail would be received for the prisoner’s

re-appearance. The baker gave a whispered assurance to the unhappy

girl that he would get two of his friends to become security for her;

and this promise consoled her. When she was removed from the office,

on her way to a cell in the rear of the establishment, the baker told

her that his wife had taken care of her brother, who had passed the

night at their house: and he expressed his deep regret that he should

have proceeded against her, as he had learnt from her landlady that she

was a young woman of most exemplary character. To be brief, the baker

performed his promise of procuring bail for the prisoner; and at about

two o’clock in the afternoon she was enabled to return home.

“Little Harry was speedily brought back to her by the baker’s wife,

who, it appeared, had bitterly reproached her husband on the preceding

evening for his conduct towards Miss Murray, and, with considerate

kindness, had at once sent for her brother, whom the good woman

consoled with some plausible tale accounting for his sister’s absence.

Julia was not however happy, even though restored to liberty; for the

charge still hung over her--and so much depended on the chance of the

appearance of her unknown benefactor, who, she still firmly believed,

had accidentally and most unintentionally given her the gilt counter

which had led to so much wretchedness and serious embarrassment.

Her first care was now, however, to proceed to the house of the old

Marchioness of Wilmington, with the silk-dress, which was completely

spoiled; and Julia’s heart was heavy as she hurried along Oxford

Street. The weather was dull and gloomy; but the rain had ceased,

and the two streams of people flowed on, in different directions,

without the hurry, bustle, and struggling that had prevailed on the

preceding evening. Julia’s bosom palpitated nervously when she reached

the spot where the accident had occurred--that accident to which

her present sorrows might be traced. On reaching the house of that

marchioness in Hanover Square, the poor girl was conducted into the

presence of the dowager--a proud, stately dame whose age exceeded

fifty, but who endeavoured by means of rouge, false hair, false teeth,

and the appliances of the toilette, to appear at least twenty years

younger. Her ladyship was seated in a small, but elegantly furnished

parlour, and was occupied in reading--no, in skimming--the last new

novel, which, according to the usual fashion, had been carefully spun

out into three volumes, though all the incidents it contained might

with advantage have been condensed into one. At a beautiful little

work-table, sate a lovely creature of two-and-twenty, with hair as

dark as jet, fine large black eyes, and a tall symmetrical, but rather

robust figure. On this fair young lady’s countenance there was a slight

shade of melancholy; and her cheeks were somewhat pale--but apparently

through a secret care, and not ill-health. This was Lady Caroline

Jerningham, the only daughter of the marchioness, and consequently

sister to the Marquis of Wilmington, her ladyship’s only son.

“On entering the presence of these ladies, Julia, who had previously

arranged in her own imagination the precise terms in which she proposed

to tell her tale,--with a strict adherence to truth,--forgot all her

studied task, and became overwhelmed with confusion. The marchioness

looked so stately--so prim--so queen-like in her deportment, not to

say positively austere, that the poor girl was seized with vague

apprehensions and unknown terrors, as if she had committed a great

and grievous fault. Lady Caroline, however, cast upon her a look

of such kind encouragement, and also of such significance, that it

almost struck Julia at the moment that the young patrician lady had a

fore-knowledge of the disaster which had occurred to the dress. Yet how

was that possible?--and as the absurdity of such an idea forced itself

upon the girl’s mind the instant after the idea itself was entertained,

her confusion and embarrassment were increased, and she burst into

tears. The dowager uttered an ejaculation of surprise; and Julia,

hastily wiping her eyes, cast an appealing glance on Lady Caroline,

who, to her relief and amazement, she beheld gazing upon her with an

expression of reassurance and deep--almost tender interest. Encouraged

by the evident graciousness of the young lady, Julia proceeded to

open the parcel; and, while so doing, she began an explanation of

the accident which had occurred to the dress. The countenance of the

marchioness, to whom she glanced timidly, lowered and contracted;--but

Lady Caroline hastened to observe, in a kind and condescending manner,

‘Whatever has happened to the dress, Miss Murray, I am confident my

mother will attribute to a misfortune, and to no blameable neglect

on your part.’--‘Permit me to answer for myself, Lady Caroline,’

said the dowager, in a tone of haughty remonstrance to her daughter,

and with an austere look at the trembling Julia. ‘Young woman,’ she

continued, now addressing herself direct to the poor girl, ‘you were

recommended to me by Lady Lumley, as an efficient, honest, careful,

and deserving person,--one, who, having been brought up tenderly and

by parents moving in a genteel sphere until the time of their decease,

was suddenly compelled to have recourse to the needle to earn a

subsistence. Under such circumstances, and with this recommendation,

I sent for you--I agreed to give you a trial--and, as I perceive, you

have spoilt for me a dress that will cost me ten guineas to replace

it.’--‘I admit, my lady,’ said Julia, ‘that you have great cause to be

dissatisfied. But heaven is my witness that it was an accident; and if

your ladyship will permit me, I will toil day and night until I shall

have obtained the wherewith to make good the loss.’--‘No, young woman,’

observed the marchioness, somewhat mollified by the artlessness and

respectful demeanour of Julia Murray; ‘I cannot, being rich, oppress

you, who are poor. All that I can do in the case is to decline giving

you any farther employment. You may retire:’ and, having thus spoken

with a sententious pomposity that would have become a statesman, the

noble lady waved her hand authoritatively.

“Julia’s eyes filled with tears, which nearly blinded her--so that she

observed not how peculiar was the interest with which Lady Caroline

Jerningham was surveying her:--but, having vainly endeavoured to

stammer forth a few words imploring a continuance of the patronage of

the marchioness, she hurried from the room. On the landing outside she

paused for a few moments to wipe away the traces of tears from her

countenance and somewhat compose herself; for she shrank from the idea

of attracting unpleasant notice on the part of the lacqueys lounging in

the hall through which she must pass to reach the street-door. Suddenly

she felt a gentle touch upon the shoulder; for she had seated herself

in a chair on the landing, being overcome with grief and physical

exhaustion;--and starting up, she beheld Lady Caroline standing by her

side. ‘Hush!’ said the fair patrician, placing her finger upon her

lip, and glancing towards the parlour-door, as much as to imply that

she had stolen away from her mother’s presence and would not have her

motive suspected: ‘here, my poor girl, take this--and, when you require

a friend, fear not to apply to me--but by letter, remember, in the

first instance!’--Thus speaking, Lady Caroline thrust five sovereigns

into Julia’s hand, and instantly returned to the parlour, not waiting a

moment to receive the thanks of the astonished and delighted girl.

“Julia Murray now hurried home, and found little Harry anxiously

expecting her return;--for, although he was too young to comprehend the

nature of the alarms which she had experienced, when sallying forth, on

account of the spoilt dress, yet he was fearful lest she might remain

away from him for several hours again. He had no cares--that poor

little fellow--when his sister was with him; and he now asked her, in

so sweet yet earnest a manner, not to leave him any more during a whole

night, that she felt as if she would go through fire and water for that

darling boy. But she had no work in hand; and though she possessed five

sovereigns,--real sovereigns, and no gilt counters this time,--yet she

could not bear the idea of being idle. She however promised to remain

at home all that day; and she prepared a nice little dinner, which

made Harry so happy that she wished--Oh! how sincerely she wished--she

could always provide for him in the same manner. She endeavoured to

appear as cheerful as she could;--but there was a weight upon her

spirits--for the accusation still hung over her head, and she was in

suspense whether the unknown would see her case in the papers, and

appear to justify her. Besides, would not the publicity given to the

affair injure her with those kind patronesses who had hitherto taken

such an interest in the orphan girl? and, should the stranger-gentleman

not be forthcoming, would not a stigma be affixed upon her character,

even though the magistrate (as the baker assured her must be the

alternative) should dismiss the case? Of all these things she

thought;--and when Harry noticed her not, a pearly tear would trickle

down her pale but beauteous face. For Julia _was_ very beautiful. Her

hair was of a rich dark brown--her eyes of melting blue--her teeth of

pearly whiteness--and her shape elegant, graceful, and sylph-like.

“On the ensuing morning, after breakfast, Julia had just put on her

bonnet and shawl to go out for the purpose of calling upon her various

patronesses and enquiring whether they needed her services, when the

landlady of the house in which she lodged, entered the room and said,

‘Miss Murray, a gentleman wishes to speak to you: he will not walk

up to your apartment, as he does not know whether you may choose to

receive him here; and he is accordingly waiting in my parlour.’--A

ray of hope flashed to the mind of the young woman: what if it were

the unknown who had given her the gilt counter? The suspicion was

strengthened by the delicacy of his behaviour in not ascending to her

chamber; for, during the brief discourse which she had with him on

the night so fatal to her, he had manifested a disposition quite in

accordance with the propriety of conduct and considerate proceeding

adopted by the individual who now waited to see her. Telling Harry that

she should not be long, Julia hurried down stairs; and in a few moments

she found herself in the presence of the individual who was uppermost

in her thoughts. Yes:--it was indeed he--the unknown,--the same tall,

handsome man,--and enveloped, too, in a cloak richly lined with sables.

He was about eight-and-twenty years of age; and there was something

noble and commanding, though gracious and encouraging, in his air and

demeanour. The moment Julia made her appearance, he rose from the chair

in which he had been seated, and taking her hand, said in a tone of

the most earnest sincerity, ‘Miss Murray, I know not in what terms to

express the shame and grief which I experience at the misfortune that

has overtaken you. It was not until I saw this mornings newspaper,

that I even dreamt of the mistake--the dreadful mistake I had made: and

the instant the case met my eyes, I hurried hither. The explanation

which I have to give, you can of course anticipate:--I had purchased

some gilt counters only half-an-hour before I met you in Hanover

Square, and I put them loose into the same pocket which contained my

money.’--‘I never for an instant imagined, sir,’ said Julia, ‘that

you had purposely trifled with my feelings.’--‘Generous young woman,

to put such a construction upon a matter which has caused you so much

suffering!’ exclaimed the unknown. ‘But it is now my duty to accompany

you at once to the police-court, and place your character in the same

honourable light in which it originally stood.’--Julia was overjoyed

at this announcement; and the gentleman, giving her his arm, escorted

her to the police-court, calling however on the baker in their way to

desire him to attend immediately before the magistrate. During the

walk, the stranger asked the young woman a great many questions--not

of an impertinent nature, nor denoting an idle curiosity,--but rather

evincing an interest in the orphan girl. It however struck Julia as

somewhat singular that he did not put a single query to her relative to

the spoilt dress: it seemed as if he had quite forgotten that incident!

“On their arrival at the police-office, the gentleman immediately

handed his card to the magistrate, to whom he whispered a few words at

the same time; and his worship became all civility and politeness. The

case was called on without a moment’s delay: the gentleman concisely

but effectually explained the affair of the gilt counter; and the

magistrate, on declaring Julia to be discharged, assured her that she

would leave the court without the slightest stain on her character.

The stranger placed ten pounds in the magistrate’s hands for the

use of the poor-box, and then departed in company with Julia, whom

he escorted back to the house in which she dwelt. On reaching the

door, he paused, and taking her hand, said, ‘Miss Murray, I shall not

insult you by offering a pecuniary recompense for the mortification,

annoyance, and distress you have undergone through that gilt counter.

But I shall endeavour to serve you in another way. Farewell for

the present: you will shortly see me again; for, be assured,’ he

added, gazing earnestly upon her for a moment, ‘I shall never forget

you.’--Thus speaking, he pressed her hand and hurried away;--and it

was not until he had disappeared from her view that she remembered she

was still in profound ignorance of who or what he was. It, however,

struck her that the case would be again reported in the newspapers;

and she therefore hoped that the morrow would clear up the mystery.

But it was with some degree of anxiety and painful suspense that she

thus awaited the publication of the journals of the ensuing day;--and

she could not account to herself for the feelings that thus agitated

her. Although her character had been completely cleared from the

imputation thrown upon it, and her innocence was made unquestionably

apparent,--although she had ample funds, through the generosity of Lady

Caroline Jerningham, to provide for all present wants,--and although

a secret voice seemed to whisper in her soul that she possessed a

good friend in the stranger-gentleman,--yet, somehow or another, poor

Julia was not entirely contented. Was it that the handsome countenance

of her unknown benefactor had made any impression on her heart?--was

it that his kind and sympathising conduct had touched a tender chord

in her pure and innocent bosom? It is impossible to answer these

questions at present: but it is very certain that Julia experienced a

disappointment almost amounting to a positive shock, when she found

that the morning papers seemed to be in as much ignorance as herself

relative to her unknown benefactor. The report merely alluded to him

as ‘_a gentleman whose name did not transpire_;’--and this mystery in

which her friend evidently wrapped himself, became a source of secret

trouble to the young dress-maker. Wherefore had he not revealed his

name to her? Disreputable that name could not be; else how could it

have produced so magical an effect upon the magistrate? Was it, then,

a great--a famous--or a noble name? Julia sighed--and dared not hazard

any conjectures: but in her heart there suddenly appeared to arise a

hope--a secret wish, that the stranger was _not_ so very highly exalted

above her own social sphere!

“Again was Julia preparing to sally forth and visit the various ladies

for whom she was accustomed to work, when her landlady brought her up a

note. It was from Lady Caroline Jerningham, requesting Miss Murray to

call upon her in the evening at a stated hour, as her ladyship had a

quantity of work to place in her hands. The young maiden was overjoyed

at the receipt of this missive, which not only promised her employment,

but likewise seemed to be an assurance of the tender interest which

the charming Lady Caroline had taken in her. She did not therefore

stir out until the evening;--and little Harry was delighted that his

sister remained at home with him. But when the appointed hour drew

near, she tranquillised her brother with a promise of a speedy return;

and away she sped, with a heart full of hope, towards Hanover Square.

On reaching the splendid mansion occupied by the Dowager-Marchioness,

Julia was received by Lady Caroline’s own maid, and was forthwith

conducted to the chamber of her fair patroness, who treated her in

the most kind and condescending manner. ‘I regret, Miss Murray,’ she

said, ‘that I am forced to admit you thus stealthily into the house;

but my mother is of a peculiar temper, although in reality possessed

of a good heart.’--‘I understand your ladyship,’ returned Julia: ‘the

Marchioness cannot forgive me for what she considers neglect. I am

however deeply grateful to your ladyship for thinking otherwise, and

for giving me such substantial proofs that you entertain so favourable

an opinion.’--‘My dear Miss Murray,’ observed Lady Caroline, ‘I will

do any thing I can to serve you; for I can well imagine how grateful

must be the sympathy of a friend to one who is acquainted with

sorrow!’--These words were uttered with almost a mournful emphasis, as

if the fair speaker craved that sympathy and friendship for herself

which she proffered to another;--and Julia could not help regarding her

with mingled surprise, gratitude, and tender interest. They were alone

together--that elegant patrician lady and that beautiful milliner,--the

maid having retired; and it appeared as if a species of sisterly

feeling suddenly sprang up between them, inspiring them with mutual

confidence, and for the time annihilating the barrier that social

distinctions had raised up between them in the eyes of the world.

Thus was it that when Lady Caroline saw Julia’s looks fixed upon her

in so earnest and plaintive a manner, she felt herself irresistibly

urged to respond to that tacit yet eloquent proffer of sympathy and

affection. ‘Ah! my dear Miss Murray,’ she said, ‘you must not imagine

that unhappiness exists only with those who have to toil for their

daily bread. Perhaps, indeed, their lot is preferable to that of the

rich who have causes of grief;--for _you_ have a constant occupation

which allows little leisure for disagreeable reflection; whereas _I_

have so much time----’.--Lady Caroline checked herself, turned away,

and hastily passed a handkerchief across her face. She had perhaps

said more than she intended: for, from speaking of the richer and

poorer classes in general terms, she had been carried into personal

illustration of the truth of her remarks by pointedly placing herself

and Julia in juxta-position. Miss Murray, though totally devoid of

artfulness, was yet endowed with an intellect keen enough to perceive

this fact: and she now learnt, then--as indeed she had previously

suspected--that Lady Caroline was unhappy. But it was not for her

to invite a revelation of the fair patrician’s cause of sorrow: she

therefore remained silent.

[Illustration]

“‘Julia,’ said her ladyship, suddenly turning towards her again, and

taking her hand as she thus spoke,--‘Julia,’ she repeated, in an

earnest, appealing tone, ‘I will be a friend to you; but it may happen

that I also shall require the aid and sympathy of a friend----’; and,

once more checking herself, she sighed profoundly.--‘I would serve

you night and day, dear lady!’ exclaimed the young milliner, pressing

to her lips the hand which still grasped her own.--‘I have not read

your disposition inaccurately, dearest girl,’ responded Lady Caroline:

then, assuming a more cheerful tone, she said, ‘Be it understood, we

are friends! And now you must leave me, as my mother will be enquiring

after me.’--Julia received a parcel containing a variety of costly

stuffs, which she was to make up into dresses for her fair patroness,

and which would furnish her with work for at least a month; and,

as she was leaving the room, Lady Caroline said, ‘My own maid will

call upon you every Saturday evening and bring away whatever you may

have finished, until the whole be complete.’--They then separated,

Lady Caroline pressing Julia’s hand warmly at parting; and the young

dressmaker hurried homeward, her heart beating with joy at the kindness

which she had experienced and the friendship she had formed. ‘After

all,’ she murmured to herself, as she ascended the stair-case to her

chamber, where little Harry was sitting up to await her return.--‘after

all, the adventure of the spoilt dress has proved a service, rather

than an injury, to me: and perhaps,’ she added,--but it was her heart,

and not her lips, that now spoke,--‘the affair of the gilt counter may

likewise bring me good luck!’

“Julia now addressed herself to the work of which she had such

profusion; and while she sate plying her needle, with little Harry

playing about the room, she often thought of the handsome unknown.

Every day, after the frugal dinner, she took her brother out to walk

for an hour, that a little exercise and fresh air might benefit them

both; and, of an evening, when she laid aside her work, she gave him

instruction in many useful branches of education. During the day,

too, he learnt his lessons; and never did she suffer him to go out

alone into the streets--no, not even on the slightest errand. In fact,

this excellent young woman took as much care of her little orphan

brother as if she had been his parent, instead of his sister; and it

was a charming as well as touching sight to behold them repairing to

the parish church on a Sabbath-morning,--each attired with so much

neatness, and yet in a plain and unobtrusive manner. Well, three

weeks had passed since the interview between Julia and Lady Caroline;

and on each Saturday evening her ladyship’s maid called to receive

and pay for the work that was finished. The domestic was sure to

have some pretty present from her mistress for Julia, and a handsome

toy--such as a transparent slate, or puzzle, or a miniature carpenter’s

tool-box--for Harry; and the grateful milliner sent back her kindest

but most respectful regards to her good patroness. But during those

three weeks she had neither seen nor heard any thing of the handsome

stranger;--and yet, had he not promised that he would shortly call

again? Wherefore should he call? Julia never paused to ask herself that

question;--but she did sometimes admit, within the secret recesses of

her own heart, that she thought it somewhat unkind he did not fulfil

his promise, after the distress she had endured in consequence of the

mistake he had made respecting the gilt counter. One day the landlady

tapped at Julia’s door; and, on being desired to enter, the good woman

informed her that ‘_the gentleman in the cloak_,’ was waiting in the

parlour below. A blush instantly spread itself over Julia’s cheeks;

whereupon the landlady said in a low but impressive tone, ‘you need

not be ashamed of an honest attachment, Miss; and I know you are too

good a girl to form any other. In fact, I told the gentleman what an

excellent creature you were, and how well you behaved to your little

brother.’--‘You told him all _that_?’ exclaimed Julia, looking up in

a surprise mingled with secret pleasure, while the blush upon her

beauteous countenance deepened.--‘Certainly I did, Miss,’ replied the

landlady: ‘but not to-day. It was when he called on account of that

unpleasant little affair, you know; and before he sent me up to fetch

you down, he asked no end of questions about you; and he seemed so

pleased when I told him that you were such a good, industrious young

person, and so kind to your orphan brother; and how you kept yourself

so quiet and respectable, having no acquaintances scarcely, and

certainly no visitors except your lady-customers or their maids.’--‘But

the gentleman did not ask all those questions?’ said Julia, in

a hesitating manner and with a tremulous voice, while her heart

palpitated with emotions of unknown pleasure.--‘Indeed he did, Miss,’

returned the landlady. ‘But, dear me! now I think of it, he charged me

not to tell you that he had asked any thing at all concerning you: and

by the same token, he gave me a sovereign to hold my tongue in this

respect; and therefore, Miss, you must not even _look_ as if you knew

a syllable of what occurred on that occasion. I am sure he is some

great person in disguise; and I am also certain that he has fallen in

love with you.’--Julia’s countenance now became scarlet; and she was

about to make a remonstrative reply, when little Harry, who began to

grow impatient of so much mysterious whispering between his sister and

the landlady, approached them, saying, ‘Is any thing the matter, dear

Julia?’--‘Nothing, my darling boy,’ was the cheerful reply: ‘I shall

return in a few minutes;’--and Julia hastened down stairs, the landlady

remaining with Harry.

“Though the young maiden endeavoured to compose herself as much as

possible, yet all that the landlady had told her rushed to her mind

with renewed force and stronger significancy just as she crossed the

threshold of the parlour and appeared in the presence of _the gentleman

in the cloak_. He observed her confusion--noticed the blush that

mantled on her cheeks--and, mistaking the cause said, as he took her

hand, ‘I am afraid, Miss Murray, that you consider it indiscreet for

me thus to pay my respects to you; and indeed, that fear has prevented

me from calling sooner.’--Julia started, cast down her eyes, and made

no reply; for in her artless innocence, it had never before struck

her that, an evil construction might be placed upon the visits of the

gentleman: but now the conviction that such was indeed the result to

be apprehended, was forced--yes, painfully forced--upon her sensitive

mind. The stranger read what was passing in her imagination; and if

he were delighted to observe that the danger which he had specified

was previously unsuspected by her ingenuous soul, he was not the

less gratified to acquire the certainty that her pure thoughts were

shocked by the idea of compromising her reputation.--‘Fear not, Miss

Murray,’ he continued, again taking her hand; ‘I should be the last

person on the face of the earth to do you a wilful injury in any way.

I have merely called, as in duty bound, to assure myself that you have

perfectly recovered from the effects of the distressing ordeal through

which you were compelled to pass in consequence of my carelessness.

But innocence, Miss Murray,’ he added, emphatically, ‘will invariably

triumph in the long run; and virtue will not ever languish unrewarded.

Your exemplary conduct, Miss Murray, must sooner or later be adequately

recompensed: your tenderness towards your orphan brother must ensure

for you the esteem and respect of all liberal and honest persons. May

I request, as a particular favour, that you will presently call on Mr.

Richardson, the solicitor, in Berners Street, close by; as I know that

he has some tidings, of rather an agreeable character, to impart to

you.’--With these words, the stranger pressed the young maiden’s hand,

and respectfully took his leave of her.

“Julia hastened back to her own chamber, and related to the worthy,

well-meaning, but garrulous landlady, every thing that _the gentleman

in the cloak_ had said to her. ‘Ah! Miss,’ cried the woman, ‘I seemed

to have a fore-knowledge that something good was to happen to you;

and now I am sure of it. But pray make haste and see what the lawyer

wants with you.’--Julia did not require to be pressed upon this point:

she herself was too anxious to solve this new mystery to permit any

unnecessary delay to take place; and, having dressed little Harry in

his Sunday apparel, she put on her best bonnet and shawl, and away

the sister went with her little brother to the lawyer’s. They entered

an office in which there were a great many clerks, who all left off

writing to turn round and have a look at the pretty young lady--for a

lady did Julia really seem, as she actually was by birth, education,

and manners;--but when she timidly mentioned her name, she found

herself the object of the most respectful attention. The head clerk

ushered her and her brother into a handsome apartment, where an elderly

gentleman, with a benevolent countenance, was seated at a desk covered

with papers; and the reception which he gave Julia Murray was more

than courteous--it was cordial and, as it were, paternally kind. ‘Sit

down, young lady,’ he said, handing her to a chair: ‘and you, my little

fellow, place yourself near your sister. And now, Miss Murray,’ he

continued, raising his large silver spectacles from his eyes to his

forehead, ‘I have some good news to communicate to you; and I am sure,

after all I have heard of you, I am proud and happy to be the medium

of conveying any thing agreeable to your ears.’--‘You are very kind,

sir,’ murmured the young maiden, still in the deepest suspense.--‘Did

you ever hear your late father speak of any one who owed him a sum of

money?’ enquired the lawyer.--Julia reflected for a few moments, and

then replied in the negative.--‘Well, perhaps he did not mention his

private affairs before you,’ observed the lawyer; ‘it is nevertheless

a fact, that many years ago he advanced a certain sum to a friend who

was in difficulties; but these embarrassments continued, ending in

bankruptcy or something of the sort; and so your poor father lost the

whole amount thus advanced. The friend went abroad; and he has latterly

returned to England, a rich man--having retrieved his fortunes in a

foreign clime. He made enquiries after your parents, and to his sorrow

learnt that they were no more; but he could not succeed in tracing you

out. At length he saw a report of a certain case in the newspaper, and

ascertained that you were the young lady therein mentioned. His sorrow

at the first appearance of the affair was only equalled by his joy when

he beheld the result; for he has your interest deeply at heart. He has,

however, been compelled to leave London in a great hurry;--but before

he went away, he gave me certain instructions, which I have fulfilled

with all possible despatch. The sum which he borrowed of your father,

with compound interest, amounts to six hundred pounds; and this money

I have laid out for you in the purchase of a neat little house, with

good, serviceable furniture, in Camden Town. There is an excellent

young gentlemen’s school close by; and my client has paid a year in

advance for Master Harry’s tuition. He also intends that you shall be

at no expense for the boy’s education. Over and above all this, I am

instructed to place these fifty pounds in your hands; and if my client

has thus done more than his actual liability to your father required,

it is simply as a recompense for the long delay which has occurred

in refunding a loan so generously advanced and so vitally necessary

to him at the time. Now, my dear young lady, I have no more to say,

farther than that this card furnishes the address of your house, of

which I likewise present you the key; and may this little gleam of good

fortune encourage you to pursue the course which has hitherto won for

you so much esteem, and which may yet lead you to the highest pinnacle

of happiness and prosperity.’--With these words, the kind-hearted man

shook Julia warmly by the hand; the young maiden endeavoured to express

her heart-felt gratitude for the unexpected benefits thus showered upon

her: but tears--tears of happiness flowed down her cheeks--and her

bosom was so full of strange and conflicting emotions, that her powers

of utterance were suspended. Even as she took up the bank notes, the

key, and the card, and thrust them all together into her little silk

bag, her hands trembled so that she could scarcely perform those simple

acts; and when in a few minutes she found herself walking along the

street, with little Harry by her side, she could not remember leaving

the lawyer’s office. She fancied that she had been giving way to some

wild hallucination--some absurd delusion of the brain: but when she

felt in her bag, _there_ were the proofs of the reality!

“It was no easy task to make little Harry comprehend the altered

nature of their circumstances. He could not conceive how his sister

had possibly obtained a house of her own, and fancied that she was

joking with him; for he had not been able to understand very much of

what the lawyer had said to Julia. However, all doubts on the boy’s