CHAPTER XVI

Gloomy Forebodings--The Postman's Mother--The Letter--Bears and

Barons--The Best of Advice.

Nothing occurred to me of any particular moment during the following day.

Isopel Berners did not return; but Mr. Petulengro and his companions came

home from the fair early in the morning. When I saw him, which was about

midday, I found him with his face bruised and swelled. It appeared that,

some time after I had left him, he himself perceived that the jockeys

with whom he was playing cards were cheating him and his companion; a

quarrel ensued, which terminated in a fight between Mr. Petulengro and

one of the jockeys, which lasted some time, and in which Mr. Petulengro,

though he eventually came off victor, was considerably beaten. His

bruises, in conjunction with his pecuniary loss, which amounted to about

seven pounds, were the cause of his being much out of humour; before

night, however, he had returned to his usual philosophic frame of mind,

and, coming up to me as I was walking about, apologized for his behaviour

on the preceding day, and assured me that he was determined, from that

time forward, never to quarrel with a friend for giving him good advice.

Two more days passed, and still Isopel Berners did not return. Gloomy

thoughts and forebodings filled my mind. During the day I wandered about

the neighbouring roads in the hopes of catching an early glimpse of her

and her returning vehicle; and at night lay awake, tossing about on my

hard couch, listening to the rustle of every leaf, and occasionally

thinking that I heard the sound of her wheels upon the distant road. Once

at midnight, just as I was about to fall into unconsciousness, I suddenly

started up, for I was convinced that I heard the sound of wheels. I

listened most anxiously, and the sound of wheels striking against stones

was certainly plain enough. "She comes at last," thought I, and for a

few moments I felt as if a mountain had been removed from my

breast;--"here she comes at last, now, how shall I receive her? Oh,"

thought I, "I will receive her rather coolly, just as if I was not

particularly anxious about her--that's the way to manage these women."

The next moment the sound became very loud, rather too loud, I thought,

to proceed from her wheels, and then by degrees became fainter. Rushing

out of my tent, I hurried up the path to the top of the dingle, where I

heard the sound distinctly enough, but it was going from me, and

evidently proceeded from something much larger than the cart of Isopel. I

could, moreover, hear the stamping of a horse's hoof at a lumbering trot.

Those only whose hopes have been wrought up to a high pitch, and then

suddenly cast down, can imagine what I felt at that moment; and yet when

I returned to my lonely tent, and lay down on my hard pallet, the voice

of conscience told me that the misery I was then undergoing I had fully

merited, for the unkind manner in which I had intended to receive her,

when for a brief moment I supposed that she had returned.

It was on the morning after this affair, and the fourth, if I forget not,

from the time of Isopel's departure, that, as I was seated on my stone at

the bottom of the dingle, getting my breakfast, I heard an unknown voice

from the path above--apparently that of a person descending--exclaim,

"Here's a strange place to bring a letter to;" and presently an old

woman, with a belt round her middle, to which was attached a leathern

bag, made her appearance, and stood before me.

"Well, if I ever!" said she, as she looked about her. "My good

gentlewoman," said I, "pray what may you please to want?" "Gentlewoman!"

said the old dame, "please to want--well, I call that speaking civilly,

at any rate. It is true, civil words cost nothing; nevertheless, we do

not always get them. What I please to want is to deliver a letter to a

young man in this place; perhaps you be he?" "What's the name on the

letter?" said I, getting up, and going to her. "There's no name upon

it," said she, taking a letter out of her scrip, and looking at it. "It

is directed to the young man in Mumper's Dingle." "Then it is for me, I

make no doubt," said I, stretching out my hand to take it. "Please to

pay me ninepence first," said the old woman. "However," said she, after

a moment's thought, "civility is civility, and, being rather a scarce

article, should meet with some return. Here's the letter, young man, and

I hope you will pay for it; for if you do not I must pay the postage

myself." "You are the postwoman, I suppose," said I, as I took the

letter. "I am the postman's mother," said the old woman; "but as he has

a wide beat, I help him as much as I can, and I generally carry letters

to places like this, to which he is afraid to come himself." "You say

the postage is ninepence," said I, "here's a shilling." "Well, I call

that honourable," said the old woman, taking the shilling, and putting it

into her pocket--"here's your change, young man," said she, offering me

threepence. "Pray keep that for yourself," said I; "you deserve it for

your trouble." "Well, I call that genteel," said the old woman; "and as

one good turn deserves another, since you look as if you couldn't read, I

will read your letter for you. Let's see it; it's from some young woman

or other, I dare say." "Thank you," said I, "but I can read." "All the

better for you," said the old woman; "your being able to read will

frequently save you a penny, for that's the charge I generally make for

reading letters; though, as you behaved so genteelly to me, I should have

charged you nothing. Well, if you can read, why don't you open the

letter, instead of keeping it hanging between your finger and thumb?" "I

am in no hurry to open it," said I, with a sigh. The old woman looked at

me for a moment--"Well, young man," said she, "there are some--especially

those who can read--who don't like to open their letters when anybody is

by, more especially when they come from young women. Well, I won't

intrude upon you, but leave you alone with your letter. I wish it may

contain something pleasant. God bless you," and with these words she

departed.

I sat down on my stone, with my letter in my hand. I knew perfectly well

that it could have come from no other person than Isopel Berners; but

what did the letter contain? I guessed tolerably well what its purport

was--an eternal farewell! yet I was afraid to open the letter, lest my

expectation should be confirmed. There I sat with the letter, putting

off the evil moment as long as possible. At length I glanced at the

direction, which was written in a fine bold hand, and was directed, as

the old woman had said, to the young man in "Mumpers' Dingle," with the

addition, near ---, in the county of-- Suddenly the idea occurred to me,

that, after all, the letter might not contain an eternal farewell; and

that Isopel might have written, requesting me to join her. Could it be

so? "Alas! no," presently said Foreboding. At last I became ashamed of

my weakness. The letter must be opened sooner or later. Why not at

once? So as the bather who, for a considerable time, has stood shivering

on the bank, afraid to take the decisive plunge, suddenly takes it, I

tore open the letter almost before I was aware. I had no sooner done so

than a paper fell out. I examined it; it contained a lock of bright

flaxen hair. "This is no good sign," said I, as I thrust the lock and

paper into my bosom, and proceeded to read the letter, which ran as

follows:--

"TO THE YOUNG MAN IN MUMPERS' DINGLE.

"SIR,--I send these lines, with the hope and trust that they will find

you well, even as I am myself at this moment, and in much better

spirits, for my own are not such as I could wish they were, being

sometimes rather hysterical and vapourish, and at other times, and

most often, very low. I am at a sea-port, and am just going on

shipboard; and when you get these I shall be on the salt waters, on my

way to a distant country, and leaving my own behind me, which I do not

expect ever to see again.

"And now, young man, I will, in the first place, say something about

the manner in which I quitted you. It must have seemed somewhat

singular to you that I went away without taking any leave, or giving

you the slightest hint that I was going; but I did not do so without

considerable reflection. I was afraid that I should not be able to

support a leave-taking; and as you had said that you were determined

to go wherever I did, I thought it best not to tell you at all; for I

did not think it advisable that you should go with me, and I wished to

have no dispute.

"In the second place, I wish to say something about an offer of

wedlock which you made me; perhaps, young man, had you made it at the

first period of our acquaintance, I should have accepted it, but you

did not, and kept putting off and putting off, and behaving in a very

strange manner, till I could stand your conduct no longer, but

determined upon leaving you and Old England, which last step I had

been long thinking about; so when you made your offer at last,

everything was arranged--my cart and donkey engaged to be sold--and

the greater part of my things disposed of. However, young man, when

you did make it, I frankly tell you that I had half a mind to accept

it; at last, however, after very much consideration, I thought it best

to leave you for ever, because, for some time past, I had become

almost convinced, that though with a wonderful deal of learning, and

exceedingly shrewd in some things, you were--pray don't be offended--at

the root mad! and though mad people, I have been told, sometimes make

very good husbands, I was unwilling that your friends, if you had any,

should say that Belle Berners, the workhouse girl, took advantage of

your infirmity; for there is no concealing that I was born and bred up

in a workhouse; notwithstanding that, my blood is better than your

own, and as good as the best; you having yourself told me that my name

is a noble name, and once, if I mistake not, that it was the same word

as baron, which is the same thing as bear; and that to be called in

old times a bear was considered a great compliment--the bear being a

mighty strong animal, on which account our forefathers called all

their great fighting-men barons, which is the same as bears.

"However, setting matters of blood and family entirely aside, many

thanks to you, young man, from poor Belle, for the honour you did her

in making that same offer; for, after all, it is an honour to receive

an honourable offer, which she could see clearly yours was, with no

floriness nor chaff in it; but, on the contrary, entire sincerity. She

assures you that she shall always bear it and yourself in mind,

whether on land or water; and as a proof of the good-will she bears to

you, she sends you a lock of the hair which she wears on her head,

which you were often looking at, and were pleased to call flax, which

word she supposes you meant as a compliment, even as the old people

meant to pass a compliment to their great folks, when they called them

bears; though she cannot help thinking that they might have found an

animal as strong as a bear, and somewhat less uncouth, to call their

great folks after: even as she thinks yourself, amongst your great

store of words, might have found something a little more genteel to

call her hair after than flax, which, though strong and useful, is

rather a coarse and common kind of article.

"And as another proof of the good-will she bears to you, she sends

you, along with the lock, a piece of advice, which is worth all the

hair in the world, to say nothing of the flax.

"_Fear God_, and take your own part. There's Bible in that, young

man: see how Moses feared God, and how he took his own part against

everybody who meddled with him. And see how David feared God, and

took his own part against all the bloody enemies which surrounded

him--so fear God, young man, and never give in! The world can bully,

and is fond, provided it sees a man in a kind of difficulty, of

getting about him, calling him coarse names, and even going so far as

to hustle him: but the world, like all bullies, carries a white

feather in its tail, and no sooner sees the man taking off his coat,

and offering to fight its best, than it scatters here and there, and

is always civil to him afterwards. So when folks are disposed to ill-

treat you, young man, say, 'Lord have mercy upon me!' and then tip

them to Long Melford, which, as the saying goes, there is nothing

comparable for shortness all the world over; and these last words,

young man, are the last you will ever have from her who is

nevertheless,

"Your affectionate female servant,

"ISOPEL BERNERS."

After reading the letter I sat for some time motionless, holding it in my

hand. The daydream in which I had been a little time before indulging,

of marrying Isopel Berners, of going with her to America, and having by

her a large progeny, who were to assist me in felling trees, cultivating

the soil, and who would take care of me when I was old, was now

thoroughly dispelled. Isopel had deserted me, and was gone to America by

herself, where, perhaps, she would marry some other person, and would

bear him a progeny, who would do for him what in my dream I had hoped my

progeny by her would do for me. Then the thought came into my head that

though she was gone, I might follow her to America, but then I thought

that if I did I might not find her; America was a very large place, and I

did not know the port to which she was bound; but I could follow her to

the port from which she had sailed, and there possibly discover the port

to which she was bound; but I did not even know the port from which she

had set out, for Isopel had not dated her letter from any place. Suddenly

it occurred to me that the post-mark on the letter would tell me from

whence it came, so I forthwith looked at the back of the letter, and in

the post-mark read the name of a well-known and not very distant

sea-port. I then knew with tolerable certainty the port where she had

embarked, and I almost determined to follow her, but I almost instantly

determined to do no such thing. Isopel Berners had abandoned me, and I

would not follow her; "Perhaps," whispered Pride, "if I overtook her, she

would only despise me for running after her;" and it also told me pretty

roundly, provided I ran after her, whether I overtook her or not, I

should heartily despise myself. So I determined not to follow Isopel

Berners; I took her lock of hair, and looked at it, then put it in her

letter, which I folded up and carefully stowed away, resolved to keep

both for ever, but I determined not to follow her. Two or three times,

however, during the day, I wavered in my determination, and was again and

again almost tempted to follow her, but every succeeding time the

temptation was fainter. In the evening I left the dingle, and sat down

with Mr. Petulengro and his family by the door of his tent; Mr.

Petulengro soon began talking of the letter which I had received in the

morning. "Is it not from Miss Berners, brother?" said he. I told him it

was. "Is she coming back, brother?" "Never," said I; "she is gone to

America, and has deserted me." "I always knew that you two were never

destined for each other," said he. "How did you know that?" I inquired.

"The dook told me so, brother; you are born to be a great traveller."

"Well," said I, "if I had gone with her to America, as I was thinking of

doing, I should have been a great traveller." "You are to travel in

another direction, brother," said he. "I wish you would tell me all

about my future wanderings," said I. "I can't, brother," said Mr.

Petulengro, "there's a power of clouds before my eye." "You are a poor

seer, after all," said I; and getting up, I retired to my dingle and my

tent, where I betook myself to my bed, and there, knowing the worst, and

being no longer agitated by apprehension, nor agonized by expectation, I

was soon buried in a deep slumber, the first which I had fallen into for

several nights.