the poor clare-第2章

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ould　never　have　wearied　of　home　as　she　did；　and　prayed　her　mistress　to　obtain　for　her　some　situationas　waiting　maidbeyond　the　seas；　in　that　more　cheerful　continental　life；　among　the　scenes　of　which　so　many　of　her　happiest　years　had　been　spent。　　She　thought；　as　youth　thinks；　that　life　would　last　for　ever；　and　that　two　or　three　years　were　but　a　small　portion　of　it　to　pass　away　from　her　mother；　whose　only　child　she　was。　　Bridget　thought　differently；　but　was　too　proud　ever　to　show　what　she　felt。　　If　her　child　wished　to　leave　her；　whyshe　should　go。　But　people　said　Bridget　became　ten　years　older　in　the　course　of　two　months　at　this　time。　　She　took　it　that　Mary　wanted　to　leave　her。　　The　truth　was；　that　Mary　wanted　for　a　time　to　leave　the　place；　and　to　seek　some　change；　and　would　thankfully　have　taken　her　mother　with　her。　　Indeed　when　Madam　Starkey　had　gotten　her　a　situation　with　some　grand　lady　abroad；　and　the　time　drew　near　for　her　to　go；　it　was　Mary　who　clung　to　her　mother　with　passionate　embrace；　and；　with　floods　of　tears；　declared　that　she　would　never　leave　her；　and　it　was　Bridget；　who　at　last　loosened　her　arms；　and；　grave　and　tearless　herself；　bade　her　keep　her　word；　and　go　forth　into　the　wide　world。　　Sobbing　aloud；　and　looking　back　continually；　Mary　went　away。　　Bridget　was　still　as　death；　scarcely　drawing　her　breath；　or　closing　her　stony　eyes；　till　at　last　she　turned　back　into　her　cottage；　and　heaved　a　ponderous　old　settle　against　the　door。　　There　she　sat；　motionless；　over　the　gray　ashes　of　her　extinguished　fire；　deaf　to　Madam's　sweet　voice；　as　she　begged　leave　to　enter　and　comfort　her　nurse。　　Deaf；　stony；　and　motionless；　she　sat　for　more　than　twenty　hours；　till；　for　the　third　time；　Madam　came　across　the　snowy　path　from　the　great　house；　carrying　with　her　a　young　spaniel；　which　had　been　Mary's　pet　up　at　the　hall；　and　which　had　not　ceased　all　night　long　to　seek　for　its　absent　mistress；　and　to　whine　and　moan　after　her。　　With　tears　Madam　told　this　story；　through　the　closed　doortears　excited　by　the　terrible　look　of　anguish；　so　steady；　so　immovableso　the　same　to…day　as　it　was　yesterdayon　her　nurse's　face。　　The　little　creature　in　her　arms　began　to　utter　its　piteous　cry；　as　it　shivered　with　the　cold。　Bridget　stirred；　she　movedshe　listened。　　Again　that　long　whine；　she　thought　it　was　for　her　daughter；　and　what　she　had　denied　to　her　nursling　and　mistress　she　granted　to　the　dumb　creature　that　Mary　had　cherished。　　She　opened　the　door；　and　took　the　dog　from　Madam's　arms。　Then　Madam　came　in；　and　kissed　and　comforted　the　old　woman；　who　took　but　little　notice　of　her　or　anything。　　And　sending　up　Master　Patrick　to　the　hall　for　fire　and　food；　the　sweet　young　lady　never　left　her　nurse　all　that　night。　　Next　day；　the　Squire　himself　came　down；　carrying　a　beautiful　foreign　pictureOur　Lady　of　the　Holy　Heart；　the　Papists　call　it。　　It　is　a　picture　of　the　Virgin；　her　heart　pierced　with　arrows；　each　arrow　representing　one　of　her　great　woes。　　That　picture　hung　in　Bridget's　cottage　when　I　first　saw　her；　I　have　that　picture　now。

Years　went　on。　　Mary　was　still　abroad。　　Bridget　was　still　and　stern；　instead　of　active　and　passionate。　　The　little　dog；　Mignon；　was　indeed　her　darling。　　I　have　heard　that　she　talked　to　it　continually；　although；　to　most　people；　she　was　so　silent。　　The　Squire　and　Madam　treated　her　with　the　greatest　consideration；　and　well　they　might；　for　to　them　she　was　as　devoted　and　faithful　as　ever。　　Mary　wrote　pretty　often；　and　seemed　satisfied　with　her　life。　　But　at　length　the　letters　ceasedI　hardly　know　whether　before　or　after　a　great　and　terrible　sorrow　came　upon　the　house　of　the　Starkeys。　　The　Squire　sickened　of　a　putrid　fever；　and　Madam　caught　it　in　nursing　him；　and　died。　　You　may　be　sure；　Bridget　let　no　other　woman　tend　her　but　herself；　and　in　the　very　arms　that　had　received　her　at　her　birth；　that　sweet　young　woman　laid　her　head　down；　and　gave　up　her　breath。　　The　Squire　recovered；　in　a　fashion。　　He　was　never　stronghe　had　never　the　heart　to　smile　again。　　He　fasted　and　prayed　more　than　ever；　and　people　did　say　that　he　tried　to　cut　off　the　entail；　and　leave　all　the　property　away　to　found　a　monastery　abroad；　of　which　he　prayed　that　some　day　little　Squire　Patrick　might　be　the　reverend　father。　　But　he　could　not　do　this；　for　the　strictness　of　the　entail　and　the　laws　against　the　Papists。　　So　he　could　only　appoint　gentlemen　of　his　own　faith　as　guardians　to　his　son；　with　many　charges　about　the　lad's　soul；　and　a　few　about　the　land；　and　the　way　it　was　to　be　held　while　he　was　a　minor。　　Of　course；　Bridget　was　not　forgotten。　　He　sent　for　her　as　he　lay　on　his　death…bed；　and　asked　her　if　she　would　rather　have　a　sum　down；　or　have　a　small　annuity　settled　upon　her。　　She　said　at　once　she　would　have　a　sum　down；　for　she　thought　of　her　daughter；　and　how　she　could　bequeath　the　money　to　her；　whereas　an　annuity　would　have　died　with　her。　　So　the　Squire　left　her　her　cottage　for　life；　and　a　fair　sum　of　money。　　And　then　he　died；　with　as　ready　and　willing　a　heart　as；　I　suppose；　ever　any　gentleman　took　out　of　this　world　with　him。　The　young　Squire　was　carried　off　by　his　guardians；　and　Bridget　was　left　alone。

I　have　said　that　she　had　not　heard　from　Mary　for　some　time。　　In　her　last　letter；　she　had　told　of　travelling　about　with　her　mistress；　who　was　the　English　wife　of　some　great　foreign　officer；　and　had　spoken　of　her　chances　of　making　a　good　marriage；　without　naming　the　gentleman's　name；　keeping　it　rather　back　as　a　pleasant　surprise　to　her　mother；　his　station　and　fortune　being；　as　I　had　afterwards　reason　to　know；　far　superior　to　anything　she　had　a　right　to　expect。　　Then　came　a　long　silence；　and　Madam　was　dead；　and　the　Squire　was　dead；　and　Bridget's　heart　was　gnawed　by　anxiety；　and　she　knew　not　whom　to　ask　for　news　of　her　child。　　She　could　not　write；　and　the　Squire　had　managed　her　communication　with　her　daughter。　　She　walked　off　to　Hurst；　and　got　a　good　priest　thereone　whom　she　had　known　at　Antwerpto　write　for　her。　　But　no　answer　came。　　It　was　like　crying　into　the'　awful　stillness　of　night。

One　day；　Bridget　was　missed　by　those　neighbours　who　had　been　accustomed　to　mark　her　goings…out　and　comings…in。　　She　had　never　been　sociable　with　any　of　them；　but　the　sight　of　her　had　become　a　part　of　their　daily　lives；　and　slow　wonder　arose　in　their　minds；　as　morning　after　morning　came；　and　her　house…door　remained　closed；　her　window　dead　from　any　glitter；　or　light　of　fire　within。　　At　length；　some　one　tried　the　door；　it　was　locked。　　Two　or　three　laid　their　heads　together；　before　daring　to　look　in　through　the　blank　unshuttered　window。　　But；　at　last；　they　summoned　up　courage；　and　then　saw　that　Bridget's　absence　from　their　little　world　was　not　the　result　of　accident　or　death；　but　of　premeditation。　　Such　small　articles　of　furniture　as　could　be　secured　from　the　effects　of　time　and　damp　by　being　packed　up；　were　stowed　away　in　boxes。　　The　picture　of　the　Madonna　was　taken　down；　and　gone。　　In　a　word；　Bridget　had　stolen　away　from　her　home；　and　left　no　trace　whither　she　was　departed。　　I　knew　afterwards；　that　she　and　her　little　dog　had　wandered　off　on　the　long　search　for　her　lost　daughter。　　She　was　too　illiterate　to　have　faith　in　letters；　even　had　she　had　the　means　of　writing　and　sending　many。　But　she　had　faith　in　her　own　strong　love；　and　believed　that　her　passionate　instinct　would　guide　her　to　her　child。　　Besides；　foreign　travel　was　no　new　thing　to　her；　and　she　could　speak　enough　of　French　to　explain　the　object　of　her　journey；　and　had；　moreover；　the　advantage　of　being；　from　her　faith；　a　welcome　object　of　charitable　hospitality　at　many　a　distant　convent。　　But　the　country　people　round　Starkey　Manor…house　knew　nothing　of　all　this。　　They　wondered　what　had　become　of　her；　in　a　torpid；　lazy　fashion；　and　then　left　off　thinking　of　her　altogether。　　Several　years　passed。　　Both　Manor…house　and　cottage　were　deserted。　　The　young　Squire　lived　far　away　under　the　direction　of　his　guardians。　　There　were　inroads　of　wool　and　corn　into　the　sitting…rooms　of　the　Hall；　and　there　was　some　low　talk；　from　time　to　time；　among　the　hinds　and　country　people　whether　it　would　not　be　as　well　to　break　into　old　Bridget's　cottage；　and　save　such　of　her　goods　as　were　left　from　the　moth　and　rust　which　must　be　making　sad　havoc。　　But　this　idea　was　always　quenched　by　the　recollection　of　her　strong　character　and　passionate　anger；　and　tales　of　her　masterful　spirit；　and　vehement　force　of　will；　were　whispered　about；　till　the　very　thought　of　offending　her；　by　touching　any　article　of　hers；　became　invested　with　a　kind　of　horror：　　it　was　believed　that；　dead　or　alive；　she　would　not　fail　to　avenge　it。

Suddenly　she　came　home；　with　as　little　noise　or　note　of　preparation　as　she　had　departed。　　One　day　some　one　noticed　a　thin；　blue　curl　of　smoke　ascending　from　her　chimney。　　Her　door　stood　open　to　the　noonday　sun；　and；　ere　many　hours　had　elapsed；　some　one　had　seen　an　old　travel…and…sorrow…stained　woman　dipping　her　pitcher　in　the　well；　and　said；　that　the　dark；　solemn　eyes　that　looked　up　at　him　were　more　like　Bridget　Fitzgerald's　than　any　one　else's　in　this　world；　and　yet；　if　it　were　she；　she　looked　as　if　she　had　been　scorched　in　the　flames　of　hell；　so　brown；　and　scared；　and　fierce　a　creature　did　she　seem。　　By…　and…by　many　saw　her；　and　those　who　met　her　eye　once　cared　not　to　be　caught　looking　at　her　again。　　She　had　got　into　the　habit　of　perpetually　talking　to　herself；　nay；　more；　answering　herself；　and　varying　her　tones　according　to　the　side　she　took　at　the　moment。　　It　was　no　wonder　that　those　who　dared　to　listen　outside　her　door　at　night　believed　that　she　held　converse　with　some　spirit；　in　short；　she　was　unconsciously　earning　for　herself　the　dreadful　reputation　of　a　witch。

Her　little　dog；　which　had　wandered　half　over　the　Continent　with　her；　was　her　only　companion；　a　dumb　remembrancer　of　happier　days。　　Once　he　was　ill；　and　she　carried　him　more　than　three　miles；　to　ask　about　his　management　from　one　who　had　been　groom　to　the　last　Squire；　and　had　then　been　noted　for　his　skill　in　all　diseases　of　animals。　　Whatever　this　man　did；　the　dog　recovered；　and　they　who　heard　her　thanks；　intermingled　with　blessings　（that　were　rather　promises　of　good　fortune　than　prayers）；　looked　grave　at　his　good　luck　when；　next　year；　his　ewes　twinned；　and　his　meadow…grass　was　heavy　and　thick。

Now　it　so　happened　that；　about　the　year　seventeen　hundred　and　eleven；　one　of　the　guardians　of　the　young　squire；　a　certain　Sir　Philip　Tempest；　bethought　him　of　the　good　shooting　there　must　be　on　his　ward's　property；　and　in　consequence　he　brought　down　four　or　five　gentlemen；　of　his　friends；　to　stay　for　a　week　or　two　at　the　Hall。　From　all　accounts；　they　roystered　and　spent　pretty　freely。　　I　never　heard　any　of　their　names　but　one；　and　that　was　Squire　Gisborne's。　　He　was　hardly　a　middle…aged　man　then；　he　had　been　much　abroad；　and　there；　I　believe；　he　had　known　Sir　Philip　Tempest；　and　done　him　some　service。　　He　was　a　daring　and　dissolute　fellow　in　those　days：　careless　and　fearless；　and　one　who　would　rather　be　in　a　quarrel　than　out　of　it。　　He　had　his　fits　of　ill…temper　besides；　when　he　would　spare　neither　man　nor　beast。　　Otherwise；　those　who　knew　him　well；　used　to　say　he　had　a　good　heart；　when　he　was　neither　drunk；　nor　angry；　nor　in　any　way　vexed。　　He　had　altered　much　when　I　came　to　know　him。

One　day；　the　gentlemen