CHAPTER VII.

_The Soldier takes leave of our young Hero. Delivers to him a Pacquet he was entrusted with, and dies._

Next morning, when the sun had risen, and old Robert De Lancaster was attended upon, as usual, by David Williams, he enquired after the sick soldier, which he understood had been taken into the house by the order of his grand-son John. This drew from Williams a recital, much more circumstantial, than had yet been made to him of that event. He gave the very words, that John had uttered in resentment of young Owen’s inhumanity, and they were deeply felt. De Lancaster remained silent for a time, and gave no signal to the blind musician; at length he said--Williams, my mind is agitated: give me something soothing, and let it be a simple melody--I have hastily put together a kind of ballad-melody of that very sort, replied the minstrel, which occurred to me whilst reflecting upon young Mr. Owen’s want of charity to the poor soldier, and, if it is your pleasure, I will recite it to the harp--Let me hear it, said the master, and the minstrel sung as follows--

“I’m sick, said the soldier, and cover’d with scars, “Behold the sad fruit I have reap’d in your wars! “Have pity, good master, I’m feeble and old, “I’m weary, and starving with hunger and cold.

“Begone from my door, and appeal to the laws, “I am not of your country, nor friend to your cause:-- “Thus answer’d the merciless squire in his pride, “And thus with disdain a young angel replied--

“What ails thee, what ails thee, thou miserly elf, “To be hoarding and hugging thy rascally pelf? “See where old father care strews his thorns in thy bed, “And terrible death waves his dart o’er thy head.

“Let thy cash buy the blessing and pray’r of the poor, “And let them intercede when death comes to thy door; “They perhaps may appease that importunate pow’r, “When thy coffers can’t buy the reprieve of an hour.

“Foolish man, don’t you know ev’ry grain of your gold “May give food to the hungry and warmth to the cold? “A purchase in this world shall soon pass away, “But a treasure in Heaven will never decay.

“Now tell me what pleasure you reap from your hoard, “And I’ll tell you what rapture your dross might afford; “Amid numberless joys I will name only these-- “Gay days, happy nights and a conscience at ease.

“Do you think, sordid wretch, when you turn a deaf ear “To the suit of the orphan that God does not hear? “Do you hope to escape from the searcher of hearts, “When the tear of the widow no pity imparts?

“When the ag’d and infirm vainly put up their pray’r “For that mite, which your mass without missing could spare, “The angel of vengeance your crime will enroll “Amongst those of the demons, who murder the soul.

“Give a shilling to-day, and the joy you’ll derive, “To-morrow shall swell your small tribute to five; “Progressive delight ev’ry hour shall encrease, “And at length a few guineas shall purchace your peace.

“If you spurn my advice, you’re a blockhead and dunce, “You cannot serve God and your Idol at once; “Who traffics with Mammon will find in the end, “He has made a bad bargain, and lost a good friend.”

De Lancaster had always a kind word upon his lips for his old blind minstrel, and having told him that he had added another leaf to his laurel, went down to his family assembled in the breakfast room with all that charity in his heart, which the ditty had recommended.

When the story of the soldier had been heard by Mr. Philip De Lancaster, he coolly observed, that it was a trick to extort money; he would not take the soldier’s word for a farthing, and did not believe young Owen capable of any thing cruel or uncharitable.

When it was related to Cecilia, she threw her arms about the neck of the benevolent boy, pressed him to her bosom, and prayed Heaven to preserve him from the malice of that spiteful imp, whose evil-boding visage haunted her both day and night.

When the mother of John was informed of the circumstance, and understood that the man, who laid sick in the house was a soldier, she sent Betty Wood to enquire of him what regiment he belonged to, and when answer was brought that he was invalided from the 15th foot in the West Indies, and private in the company of the late Captain John Jones, whom he should ever bewail as the kindest master and the best of friends, it seemed as if the fountain of her tears was never to be exhausted. An irresistible desire possessed her to see the man, and, after certain preparatory manœuvres, conducted by faithful Betty, she actually carried her resolution into effect, and entered the chamber of the soldier, planting Betty at the door to prevent interruption. As he had been selected from the ranks by Captain Jones, as his domestic servant, he had many anecdotes to relate, highly interesting to the hearer, and very honourable to his late master: he spoke also warmly in the praise of his deceased lady, and in raptures of his dear little Amelia, with whom it seems he had come over to England in the pacquet, and, after many adventures and misfortunes, was on his way to visit her at Denbigh, when sickness overtook and reduced him to the condition, in which the charity of her angel son had found him.

He was now exhausted, and Mrs. De Lancaster forbore to press upon him any more enquiries: she bade him be assured that he should never want; she would pension him for life; she would settle him at Glen-Morgan in the neighbourhood of Denbigh, and, if ever she became possessed of that estate, he should be taken into her house, and pass the remainder of his days in ease and competency.

Alas, good lady, feebly he replied, I have but few more days on this side the grave, and them I must employ in asking mercy of my God, and imploring blessings on your son, who has been to me as an angel before death.

This said, she left him, and retired unseen to her chamber. John was soon after heard, as usual, at her door, and admitted.

Come to my arms, she cried, my dear, my noble boy! Did you but know how I feel and why I feel your charity to that poor soldier, you would not wonder at the tears I shed, whilst thus I press you to a breaking heart. But you will know me after I am dead, and that time is not far off. Leave me, my child; I shall not often send for you; my sorrows must be only to myself. Go, go, be happy! I am very ill. Send Wood; and leave the room.

In the forenoon of the day next ensuing, young John De Lancaster visited the poor soldier; he was dying, but found strength to say--God bless you and farewell! Had I been relieved when I begged charity of that neighbouring gentleman, who turned me from his door, I think I might have lived, but I fainted soon after, and all your goodness could not save me. He then reached out his hand, and delivered to John a small leathern purse, which he prayed him to open. It contained a plain gold ring, which Captain Jones had given him in charge for his daughter Amelia, being the wedding ring of her mother: could he have reached Denbigh, he had delivered it to her: he had been strongly beset by hunger more than once, but he had resisted every impulse to part from it, and had fulfilled his trust at the expence of his life: he now committed the deposit to the care of one, who he was sure would faithfully convey the legacy to its proper owner, and he devoutly prayed to heaven, that it might prove a blessing to the wearer--John took the ring, and assured him it should never pass from any other hands but his into those of Amelia Jones.

In the evening of that day the soldier died.

* * * * *

Have patience with me, kind and courteous reader! I am not leading you into the regions of romance: I aim not to surprise you; but I am aiming to find out, (if haply nature shall direct my hand) that clue, which, rightly followed, may empower me to unravel the recesses of your heart. This is my object; in attempting this, success, however short of triumph, will repay me; but, if I wholly fail, my labour’s lost; I have no second hope.

END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

BOOK THE THIRD.