HEN I returned to my Reason, it was with an inexpressible Sense of Weakness and Weariness. The first Thing I saw was dear Violet’s Face close to mine, her large, dark Eyes fixed full upon me; and as soon as she saw that I knew her, she exclaims, “Cherry, dear Cherry! I thought I had no more Tears left to shed, but I must cry again with Pleasure now—” and wept over me.
I said, “Is he come back yet?” She said, “You must only think of getting well now.”
168“Ah,” I said, “I know he is not,” and turned my Head away, and still felt her warm Tears dropping over me. They seemed to heal where they fell; and presently, I shed Tears too, which cleared my Head, and somewhat relieved me; but oh! the Weakness!—
I was very slow getting well. All the While, dear Violet kept with me, read to me, cheered me, cherished me ... oh, what a Friend! How Trouble brings out the real Good in People’s Characters, if there be any!
Before I was well able to sit up, Master Benskin sent in Word he had Something important to say to me as soon as I was equal to hearing it. I thought he might have got some Clue to my Father, and said I was quite equal to hearing Anything he had to tell. Then he came in, treading on Tip-toe, and 169looking very awe-stricken; and, says he, “Mistress Cherry,”—taking a Chair as he spoke, a good Way off from me,—“the lamented Event which we may now consider to have taken place....”
“No, Master Benskin, no,” interrupted I, faintly; “I still hope there has been no lamented Event——”
“Makes it my Duty,” continued he, without minding me, “to tell you that you need be under no Uneasiness about pecuniary Circumstances.”
“I am not, I assure you,” said I. “Oh that I had nothing worse to be uneasy about!”
“This House,” continued he, “was your Father’s for ninety-nine Years, and is now yours; and he moreover had saved six hundred Pounds, three hundred of which he lent me, and three hundred Hugh Braidfoot, we paying 170him five per Cent., which we will continue to pay you, or hand over to you the Principal, whichever you like.”
“Thank you, Master Benskin,” said I; “I should wish Everything to continue just as it is.... I am sure my Father’s Money can’t be in better Hands; and I shall recommence inquiring for him directly I am strong enough, which I almost am already.”
“Ah,” said he, with a sorrowful Smile and a Shake of the Head, “how slow Women are to give up Hope!... Sure enough, ’tis one of the cardinal Virtues; but they practise it as if ’twere their Nature, without making a Merit of it. I wish you well from my Heart, Miss Cherry.”
All this While I was fretting to see Master Blower. I said often to Violet, “I wish Master Blower would look in 171to see me, and talk to me and pray with me as he used to do with my Mother. Sure, I’m sick enow! and he might, for as long as he has known me, count me the same as one of his own Congregation.”
And Violet would make Answer, “Indeed, Cherry, if you consider how the good Man is wearing himself out among his own Flock, going hither and thither without setting his Life at a Pin’s Purchase, spending all his Time in Visitation that is not taken up with the Services of the Church, you need not be surprised he comes not so far as this, especially as he knows not of your Affliction nor your Illness.”
“How do you, that are not a Church-woman, know he does all you say?” said I.
“I had it from the old Woman that 172brings the Curds and Whey,” returned Violet; “she, you know, is one of his Parishioners; and, from what she says of him, it appears he could not do more if he were a Dissenter.”
“A Dissenter, indeed! I admire that!” said I. “If he were a slothful, timid, self-indulgent Person, you would bestow all his Faults on his Church; but because his Light shines before Men, so that they cannot help glorifying his Father which is in Heaven, you say he could hardly do more if he were a Dissenter!—I shall go to him as soon as ever I get well.”
And so I did; while, indeed, I was hardly strong enough for so long a Walk; for I had a Notion he would tell me where to find my Father; or comfort me, maybe, if he thought he could not be found. It was now late in September.—His 173Parish was one of the worst in Whitechapel,—he lived in a roomy, gloomy old Parsonage-house, too large for a single Man, in a Street that was now deserted and grass-grown. The first Thing I saw was a Watchman asleep on the Steps, which gave me a Pang; for, having heard Master Blower was so active in his Parish, I somehow had never reckoned on his being among the Sick, though that was a very just Reason why he should be. I had thought so good a Man would lead a charmed Life, forgetful that in this World there is often one Event to the Righteous and to the Wicked, and that if the Good always escaped, no Harm would have befallen my Father. However, this sudden Shock, for such it was, brought Tears into my Eyes, and I began to be at my Wits’ End, who should tell me now where to find my Father, and to 174lament over the Illness of my good and dear Friend, Master Blower. Then I bethought me,—Perhaps he is not in the House, but may have left it in Charge of some Woman, who is ill,—if I waken the Watchman, he certainly will not let me in; the Key is grasped firmly in his Hand, so firmly that I dare not try to take it, but yet I must and will get in.—
Then I observed that, in carelessly locking the Door, the Lock had overshot it, so that, in Fact, the Door, instead of being locked, would not even shut. So I stept lightly past the Watchman and into the House; and the first Thing within the Threshold was a Can of Milk, turned quite sour, which shewed how long it must have stood without any Body’s being able to fetch it. I closed the Door softly after me, and went into all the ground-floor Rooms; they were 175empty and close shuttered: the Motes dancing in the Sunbeams that came through the round Holes in the Shutters. Then I went softly up Stairs, and looked timidly into one or two Chambers, not knowing what ghastly Sight I might chance upon; but they were tenantless. As I stood at pause in the Midst of one of them, which was a Sitting-room, and had one or two Chairs out of their Places, as if it had been never set to rights since it was last in Occupation, I was startled by hearing a Man in the Room beyond giving a loud, prolonged Yawn, as though he were saying, “Ho, ho, ho, ho, hum!” Then all was silent again: I thought it must be Master Blower, and went forward, but paused, with my Hand on the Lock. Then I thought I heard a murmuring Voice within; and, softly opening the Door and looking in, perceived 176a great four-post Bed with dark green Curtains drawn close all round it, standing in the Midst of a dark oaken Floor that had not been bees-waxed recently enough to be slippery. Two or three tall, straight-backed Chairs stood about; a Hat upon one, a Boot upon another, quite in the Style of Master Blower; and close to the Bed was a Table with Jugs, Cups, and Phials, and a Night-lamp still burning, though ’twas broad Day. The Shutters also were partially shut, admitting only one long Stream of slanting Light over-against the Bed; but whether any one were in the Bed, I could not at first make out, for all was as still as Death. Presently, however, from within the Curtains came a somewhat thick Voice, exclaiming, “Oh Lord, my Heart is ready, my Heart is ready! I will sing and give Praise 177with the best Member that I have! Awake, Lute and Harp! I myself will awake right early!”
Here the dear good Man fell a-coughing, as if Something stuck in his Throat; and I tip-toeing up to the Bedside, withdrew the Curtains and softly said, “Master Blower!”
178Never shall I forget my first Sight of him! There he lay on his Back, with Everything quite clean and fresh about him, not routed and tumbled as most Men’s would have been, but as smooth as if just mangled:—his Head, without e’er a Nightcap, lying straight on his Pillow, his Face the Mirror of Composedness and Peaceification, and his great, brown Eyes, glowing with some steady, not feverish Light, turned slowly round upon me, as if fresh from beholding some beatific, solemnifying Sight.
“Why, Cherry,” says he, looking much pleased, “are you come to look on me before I die? I thought I had taken my last Sight of all below,”—and reaching out his Hand to me from under the Bedclothes, I was shocked to perceive how it was wasted: every Knuckle a perfect Knob.
179“Don’t touch me!” cries he, plucking it away again, and burying it out of Sight,—“I forgot you hadn’t had the Plague. What a selfish Fellow I am!—How’s your dear Father, Cherry?”
I could not withhold myself from weeping, and was unable to answer.
“Ah, I see how it is,” says he kindly; “poor Cherry! poor Cherry! ‘the Righteous perish and no Man layeth it to Heart,’—I heard a Voice say, ‘Write: Blessed are the Dead which die in the Lord. Yea, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their Labours.’... I shall see him before you will, Cherry. Go Home, Child, go Home, ... this Air is fraught with Danger.”
I said, “I am not afraid of it, Sir,—I would rather stay a While with you.”
“Well, then,” said he, “just give me a Drink of Water, or Anything liquid 180you can find; for I have had Nothing but what I could help myself to, these twenty-four Hours. My Throat is so bad, I cannot swallow Anything solid.... Oh! Oh!—” And as he held back his Throat to drink, I noticed the Plague Swellings.
“That will do nicely, now,” sighed he, when I had smoothed his Pillow; “and now go, I prithee, dear Cherry, and look after poor Dorcas, who, I fear, must be dead or dying somewhere about the House.”
So I did as he bade me; and, as I knew she was not on the Floor below, I went in quest of her up Stairs. Dorcas had lived with Master Blower ever since he commenced Housekeeping; and had had the Help of a younger Maid, who now, it seemed, had left, or died. She was a Widow-woman in her third score, 181eccentric, like her Master, in some Matters; but withal, of the sweetest, pleasantest Countenance! and of pleasant Conditions too, so that they were well matched. She preferred being called Mistress Peach; but Master Blower liked calling her Dorcas, and carried his Point.
I found her in the upper Story, lying all across her Bed, dressed, but more dead than alive. “Alas! young Woman,” says she.... “What! is it Mistress Cherry? Heaven be praised! How is my Master? Doth he live yet?”
I said, Yes, and I hoped was going on well.
“Ah,” says she, “I left him at Death’s Door, but could no longer keep about myself; so, set him straight as well as I could, and then crawled up here, thinking to bundle my Mattress down Stairs, and at all events die within 182hearing of him. But ’twas quite beyond my Strength.... I fell all along, and here I’ve been ever since.”
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