A heart that has tasted life's bitter waters is able to administer suitable solace to an afflicted soul; and hence it was that Grace Lloyd approved herself such an angel of mercy to Mary Stauncy when the news of the captain's execution reached the village. 'I'll step in,' she said to herself, 'before Mary hears of it from rougher tongues, and it may be that a little tender womanly comfort will prove a balm to her wounded spirit.'
On entering the house, she found her seated in the captain's arm-chair, with her children on 'crickets' beside her, reposing their heads on her lap, and looking up occasionally for a smile, which played mechanically for a moment around her lips, and then disappeared before a settled sadness, which had already given a new impression to her features. Cautiously and kindly did the good woman reveal to her the melancholy fact that she was a widow, and endeavoured to break the force of the shock by referring to her own trying experiences when left with six little ones to struggle for life. To her great surprise no very extraordinary emotion was manifested. The heart of the bereaved one seemed stunned; and when Grace bade her good-night, it was with the reflection, 'Would that she had wept! the strands of that fine mind will begin to unravel, unless she is wonderfully supported from above.'
And truly her vigorous nature, strengthened by a Divine hand, bore up marvellously. It is true she became, as people were pleased to call her, 'the melancholy widow,' so fixed and habitual was her dejection, so silent and reserved her demeanour; but every one respected as well as pitied her, and no one thought of treating her less considerately because of the stigma of the captain's end. In all probability she would have recovered something of her former cheerfulness in time, if the clouds had not returned again after the rain, and the sorrows of bereavement, like chasing billows, swept over her head once more. Her children sickened and died. Scarce three months had elapsed from the time of her great trouble, when the youngest fair one was taken away, and ten days after her sister followed her.
The afflicted woman was stricken to the earth, and the trembling balance which had given promise of adjustment was unable to right itself. Her reason reeled, and from that time forth she was all weakness or all wildness. At first, and for more than a twelve-month, she seemed constantly elevated, courting conversation, and carrying herself with an appearance of gaiety more pitiable than her previous despondency. There appeared to be no intermission to the pleasing fancies of her unsettled mind, and day after day was passed amid the imaginary life pictures which her disordered brain created. Every evening she arranged the tea-table, in expectation of Stauncy's return, and would converse with him, just as though he were present, until the church clock struck eleven, the hour at which he left her for his last voyage; when, bidding him farewell, she would retire to rest satisfied and happy.
In course of time, however, a change, a great change, took place. The smile departed from her countenance, and she became irritable and restless. Her conversation, instead of being marked by strange and even amusing fancies, became sarcastic and bitter. She looked on all around her as enemies, and treated them as such, scarcely tolerating the presence even of her old and faithful friend Grace Lloyd. Though comparatively young, she began to wear the appearance of an old woman; and as she talked to herself when walking abroad, and had a wild and threatening eye, the children shunned her as something to be dreaded. In one sense the strength and acuteness of her mind returned, but it was power displaced, and wielded by a nature that had become completely inverted. So smart, so truthful and revealing, so charged with knowingness and pungency, in many cases so personal were her utterances, that, amongst a people superstitiously disposed, she came at length to be regarded as a witch. They both courted and feared her; and when ten long years had passed away from the time of her husband's death, no one would have recognised in that sallow, shrunken, scowling woman, who kept every one at bay, the blithe, generous, high-minded wife of Captain Stauncy.
During the whole of those years Mr. Benjamin Phillipson most faithfully kept his father's charge. A weekly sum was allowed to the widow, sufficient to provide both necessaries and comforts; but suddenly the supply ceased, without any explanation being given. It was currently reported that, as the gentleman had married, the change was effected by his wife, who, ignorant of the facts of the case, considered that parish pay would be amply sufficient. Be that as it may, the lonely and avoided widow was left destitute at a time she especially needed assistance, and a change of residence was the first thing rendered necessary. A small cottage at the top of the village was taken for her by Grace Lloyd, who made herself responsible for the rent, and managed, by appealing to a few well-disposed friends, to add something to the workhouse allowance.
The wrong which had been done her was keenly felt by the forlorn widow, and bitterly did she execrate the name of Phillipson. Unfortunately everything went wrong with Mary in her new abode. She disliked it thoroughly, and, having the strongest repugnance to parish pay, would pass whole days without tasting food of any kind. From no han............