_ "About her neck a packet-mail
Fraught with advice, some fresh, some stale,
Of men that walked when they were dead."
HUDIBRAS.
Scarcely a word had passed between Dr. Melmoth and Ellen Langton, on
their way home; for, though the former was aware that his duty towards his
ward would compel him to inquire into the motives of her conduct, the
tenderness of his heart prompted him to defer the scrutiny to the latest
moment. The same tenderness induced him to connive at Ellen's stealing
secretly up to her chamber, unseen by Mrs. Melmoth; to render which
measure practicable, he opened the house-door very softly, and stood
before his half-sleeping spouse (who waited his arrival in the parlor)
without any previous notice. This act of the doctor's benevolence was not
destitute of heroism; for he was well assured that, should the affair come
to the lady's knowledge through any other channel, her vengeance would
descend not less heavily on him for concealing, than on Ellen for
perpetrating, the elopement. That she had, thus far, no suspicion of the
fact, was evident from her composure, as well as from the reply to a
question, which, with more than his usual art, her husband put to her
respecting the non-appearance of his ward. Mrs. Melmoth answered, that
Ellen had complained of indisposition, and after drinking, by her
prescription, a large cup of herb-tea, had retired to her chamber early in
the evening. Thankful that all was yet safe, the doctor laid his head upon
his pillow; but, late as was the hour, his many anxious thoughts long
drove sleep from his eyelids.
The diminution in the quantity of his natural rest did not, however,
prevent Dr. Melmoth from rising at his usual hour, which at all seasons of
the year was an early one. He found, on descending to the parlor, that
breakfast was nearly in readiness; for the lady of the house (and, as a
corollary, her servant-girl) was not accustomed to await the rising of the
sun in order to commence her domestic labors. Ellen Langton, however, who
had heretofore assimilated her habits to those of the family, was this
morning invisible,--a circumstance imputed by Mrs. Melmoth to her
indisposition of the preceding evening, and by the doctor, to
mortification on account of her elopement and its discovery.
"I think I will step into Ellen's bedchamber," said Mrs. Melmoth, "and
inquire how she feels herself. The morning is delightful after the storm,
and the air will do her good."
"Had we not better proceed with our breakfast? If the poor child is
sleeping, it were a pity to disturb her," observed the doctor; for,
besides his sympathy with Ellen's feelings, he was reluctant, as if he
were the guilty one, to meet her face.
"Well, be it so. And now sit down, doctor; for the hot cakes are cooling
fast. I suppose you will say they are not so good as those Ellen made
yesterday morning. I know not how you will bear to part with her, though
the thing must soon be."
"It will be a sore trial, doubtless," replied Dr. Melmoth,--"like tearing
away a branch that is grafted on an old tree. And yet there will be a
satisfaction in delivering her safe into her father's hands."
"A satisfaction for which you may thank me, doctor," observed the lady.
"If there had been none but you to look after the poor thing's doings, she
would have been enticed away long ere this, for the sake of her money."
Dr. Melmoth's prudence could scarcely restrain a smile at the thought that
an elopement, as he had reason to believe, had been plotted, and partly
carried into execution, while Ellen was under the sole care of his lady,
and had been frustrated only by his own despised agency. He was not
accustomed, however,--nor was this an eligible occasion,--to dispute any
of Mrs. Melmoth's claims to superior wisdom.
The breakfast proceeded in silence, or, at least, without any conversation
material to the tale. At its conclusion, Mrs. Melmoth was again meditating
on the propriety of entering Ellen's chamber; but she was now prevented by
an incident that always excited much interest both in herself and her
husband.
This was the entrance of the servant, bearing the letters and newspaper,
with which, once a fortnight, the mail-carrier journeyed up the valley.
Dr. Melmoth's situation at the head of a respectable seminary, and his
character as a scholar, had procured him an extensive correspondence among
the learned men of his own country; and he had even exchanged epistles
with one or two of the most distinguished dissenting clergymen of Great
Britain. But, unless when some fond mother enclosed a one-pound note to
defray the private expenses of her son at college, it was frequently the
case that the packets addressed to the doctor were the sole contents of
the mail-bag. In the present instance, his letters were very numerous,
and, to judge from the one he chanced first to open, of an unconscionable
length. While he was engaged in their perusal, Mrs. Melmoth amused herself
with the newspaper,--a little sheet of about twelve inches square, which
had but one rival in the country. Commencing with the title, she labored
on through advertisements old and new, through poetry lamentably deficient
in rhythm and rhymes, through essays, the ideas of which had been trite
since the first week of the creation, till she finally arrived at the
department that, a fortnight before, had contained the latest news from
all quarters. Making such remarks upon these items as to her seemed good,
the dame's notice was at length attracted by an article which her sudden
exclamation proved to possess uncommon interest. Casting her eye hastily
over it, she immediately began to read aloud to her husband; but he,
deeply engaged in a long and learned letter, instead of listening to what
she wished to communicate, exerted his own lungs in opposition to hers, as
is the custom of abstracted men when disturbed. The result was as
follows:--
"A brig just arrived in the outer harbor," began Mrs. Melmoth, "reports,
that on the morning of the 25th ult."--Here the doctor broke in,
"Wherefore I am compelled to differ from your exposition of the said
passage, for those reasons, of the which I have given you a taste;
provided"--The lady's voice was now almost audible, "ship bottom upward,
discovered by the name on her stern to be the Ellen of"--"and in the same
opinion are Hooker, Cotton, and divers learned divines of a later date."
The doctor's lungs were deep and strong, and victory seemed to incline
toward him; but Mrs. Melmoth now made use of a tone whose peculiar
shrillness, as long experience had taught her husband, augured a mood of
mind not to be trifled with.
"On my word, doctor," she exclaimed, "this is most unfeeling and
unchristian conduct! Here am I endeavoring to inform you of the death of
an old friend, and you continue as deaf as a post."
Dr. Melmoth, who had heard the sound, without receiving the sense, of
these words, now laid aside the letter in despair, and submissively
requested to be informed of her pleasure.
"There, read for yourself," she replied, handing him the paper, and
pointing to the passage containing the important intelligence,--"read, and
then finish your letter, if you have a mind."
He took the paper, unable to conjecture how the dame could be so much
interested in any part of its contents; but, before he had read many
words, he grew pale as death. "Good Heavens! what is this?" he exclaimed.
He then read on, "being the vessel wherein that eminent son of New
England, John Langton, Esq., had taken passage for his native country,
after an absence of many years."
"Our poor Ellen, his orphan child!" said Dr. Melmoth, dropping the paper.
"How shall we break the intelligence to her? Alas! her share of the
affliction causes me to forget my own."
"It is a heavy misfortune, doubtless; and Ellen will grieve as a daughter
should," replied Mrs. Melmoth, speaking with the good sense of which she
had a competent share. "But she has never known her father; and her sorrow
must arise from a sense of duty, more than from strong affection. I will
go and inform her of her loss. It is late, and I wonder if she be still
asleep."
"Be cautious, dearest wife," said the doctor. "Ellen has strong feelings,
and a sudden shock might be dangerous."
"I think I may be trusted, Dr. Melmoth," replied the lady, who had a high
opinion of her own abilities as a comforter, and was not averse to
exercise them.
Her husband, after her departure, sat listlessly turning over the letters
that yet remained unopened, feeling little curiosity, after such
melancholy intelligence, respecting their contents. But, by the
handwriting of the direction on one of them, his attention was gradually
arrested, till he found himself gazing earnestly on those strong, firm,
regular characters. They were perfectly familiar to his eye; but from what
hand they came, he could not conjecture. Suddenly, however, the truth
burst upon him; and after noticing the date, and reading a few lines, he
rushed hastily in pursuit of his wife.
He had arrived at the top of his speed and at the middle of the staircase,
when his course was arrested by the lady whom he sought, who came, with a
velocity equal to his own, in an opposite direction. The consequence was a
concussion between the two meeting masses, by which Mrs. Melmoth was
seated securely on the stairs; while the doctor was only preserved from
precipitation to the bottom by clinging desperately to the balustrade. As
soon as the pair discovered that they had sustained no material injury by
their contact, they began eagerly to explain the cause of their mutual
haste, without those reproaches, which, on the lady's part, would at
another time have followed such an accident.
"You have not told her the bad news, I trust?" cried Dr. Melmoth, after
each had communicated his and her intelligence, without obtaining audience
of the other.
"Would you have me tell it to the bare walls?" inquired the lady in her
shrillest tone. "Have I not just informed you that she has gone, fled,
eloped? Her chamber is empty; and her bed has not been occupied."
"Gone!" repeated the doctor. "And, when her father comes to demand his
daughter of me, what answer shall I make?"
"Now, Heaven defend us from the visits of the dead and drowned!" cried
Mrs. Melmoth. "This is a serious affair, doctor, but not, I trust,
sufficient to raise a ghost."
"Mr. Langton is yet no ghost," answered he; "though this event will go
near to make him one. He was fortunately prevented, after he had made
every preparation, from taking passage in the vessel that was lost."
"And where is he now?" she inquired.
"He is in New England. Perhaps he is at this moment on his way to us,"
replied her husband. "His letter is dated nearly a fortnight back; and he
expresses an intention of being with us in a few days."
"Well, I thank Heaven for his safety," said Mrs. Melmoth. "But truly the
poor gentleman could not have chosen a better time to be drowned, nor a
worse one to come to life, than this. What we shall do, doctor, I know
not; but had you locked the doors, and fastened the windows, as I advised,
the misfortune could not have happened."
"Why, the whole country would have flouted us!" answered the doctor. "Is
there a door in all the Province that is barred or bolted, night or day?
Nevertheless it might have been advisable last night, had it occurred to
me."
"And why at that time more than at all times?" she inquired. "We had
surely no reason to fear this event."
Dr. Melmoth was silent; for his worldly wisdom was sufficient to deter him
from giving his lady the opportunity, which she would not fail to use to
the utmost, of laying the blame of the elopement at his door. He now
proceeded, with a heavy heart, to Ellen's chamber, to satisfy himself with
his own eyes of the state of affairs. It was deserted too truly; and the
wild-flowers with which it was the maiden's custom daily to decorate her
premises were drooping, as if in sorrow for her who had placed them there.
Mrs. Melmoth, on this second visit, discovered on the table a note
addressed to her husband, and containing a few words of gratitude from
Ellen, but no explanation of her mysterious flight. The doctor gazed long
on the tiny letters, which had evidently been traced with a trembling
hand, and blotted with many tears.
"There is a mystery in this,--a mystery that I cannot fathom," he said.
"And now I would I knew what measures it would be proper to take."
"Get you on horseback, Dr. Melmoth, and proceed as speedily as may be down
the valley to the town," said the dame, the influence of whose firmer mind
was sometimes, as in the present case, most beneficially exerted over his
own. "You must not spare for trouble, no, nor for danger. Now--Oh, if I
were a man!"--
"Oh, that you were!" murmured the doctor, in a perfectly inaudible voice,
"Well--and when I reach the town, what then?"
"As I am a Christian woman, my patience cannot endure you!" exclaimed Mrs.
Melmoth. "Oh, I love to see a man with the spirit of a man! but you"--And
she turned away in utter scorn.
"But, dearest wife," remonstrated the husband, who was really at a loss
how to proceed, and anxious for her advice, "your worldly experience is
greater than mine, and I desire to profit by it. What should be my next
measure after arriving at the town?"
Mrs. Melmoth was appeased by the submission with which the doctor asked
her counsel; though, if the truth must be told, she heartily despised him
for needing it. She condescended, however, to instruct him in the proper
method of pursuing the runaway maiden, and directed him, before his
departure, to put strict inquiries to Hugh Crombie respecting any stranger
who might lately have visited his inn. That there would be wisdom in this,
Dr. Melmoth had his own reasons for believing; and still, without
imparting them to his lady, he proceeded to do as he had been bid.
The veracious landlord acknowledged that a stranger had spent a night and
day at his inn, and was missing that morning; but he utterly denied all
acquaintance with his character, or privity to his purposes. Had Mrs.
Melmoth, instead of her husband, conducted the examination, the result
might have been different. As the case was, the doctor returned to his
dwelling but little wiser than he went forth; and, ordering his steed to
be saddled, he began a journey of which he knew not what would be the end.
In the mean time, the intelligence of Ellen's disappearance circulated
rapidly, and soon sent forth hunters more fit to follow the chase than Dr.
Melmoth. _