Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 1, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 February 1882 — BOUGHT OFF. [ARTICLE]

BOUGHT OFF.

BY G. MANVILLE FENN.

I’m afraid I was very f oliah, but if a woman is not trustjng toward the man she loves, wh<-re is her love? In those ear y days, before time a id trouble have made me the faded old young woman that you see, people sail I was pretty, and I was very, very glad. Not from any weak, coquettish reasons, or from fondness of admiration. but simply on account of Harry, who liked me the better, I know, because I had a handsome face. People tell me T was foolish to care for him, and that I had better look elsewhere; but my choice was made, and, though my own father and mother shook their heads at me aud said it was a mis take, I pleaded so hard on his behalf that they censed to find fault, aud so matters went on. I was in service in those days in a place that my mistress made quite a homo for me, and T should have been very happy indeed but for my love-affair with Harry. His troubles were, of course, my troubles, and when he used to run across from the town twice a week to see me, and tell me about how harsh and bitter his father was to him, I used to have many a good cry on his account. “ I’m about the unluckiest fellow under the sun, Kitty,” he used to say. “ Father says I’m no good, and the sooner I go across the seas the better. ” “But, Harry,” I said, “ why not be patient? Your father is old, and has had endless troubles; it makes him peevish and fretful. You should bear with him. Do, pray, for my sake try.” “Try! I’ve tried till lam sick of it. Everything I make in the workshop is wrong, no ma ter how it’s done, and the more paius I take, the m >ro ho grumbles.”

I whispered such comfort as I could, and, full of pity for the man I loved, sympathized with him most thoroughly, thinking that he was hardly dealt with, but still urging patience and forbearance witli those who, perhaps, were unduly tried. One summer evening I had permission to go out, for Harry was to fetch me, and take me tu his home to tea and to spend the evening. I was very much flushed aud excited, for I dreaded meeting the old people, his father in particular, who was always so stern and harsh with Harry. It was a delicious evening,, and all seemed so bright and beautiful as I walked across the fields with Harry that mine seemed to be quite anew existence, and I laughed merrily when he turned to me and began to say that my cheeks were quite flushed, and that *he was very glad, because he wanted me to look my best and make a pleasant impression upon the old folks. Harry’s father was a carpenter and builder in a small way of business, and a tradesman seemed so high above mo as a servant that, as I reached the house, tiie color faded from my cheeks, and I grew quite pok as I felt sare that Harry’s people would think I was not good enough for their son. And so it seemed, when I entered the snug parlor where tea was set out, and the evening sunshine was making the china and silver spoons glisten on the jetty-black tray. Everything, from the flowers to the furniture, looked so bright that for the moment I could do nothing but admire the place. There I was, gazing in a half-shrinking fashion at the stern-looking gray old man with such keen blue eyes, and at the gentie sweet-faced old lady who came to meet me at the door.

They were both very kind and polite to me, but it seemed as if they hardly liked my coming, and were distant and cold. Of course this made me nervous, and I sat there trembling in spite of the rather boisterous way in which Harry kept on talking and bantering mo for being so quiet and dull. “Why, mother,” he said, “she’s generally as merry as a cricket, and goes about the house singing like a lark.” “Let the young woman bide, Harry,” said his father quietly. “ She’s eating her meal, and behaving nicely enough. What more do you want ? ” “I don’t want her to be glum, as a girl with the toothache,” said Harry, “and I want you to see her as she really is.” “ We can see plainly enough, Harry,” said his mother, in rather a cold way ; and, of course, all this made me more uncomfortable than I was before, so that when, twice over, Harry began joking and making fun of me again, I looked at him so appealingly, silently asking him to leave off, that old Mr. Smith noticed it and frowned ; while an hour later, when I was quietly talking to Harry’s mother as I sat by her side doing some needlework, Hany wits really so foolishly bent on making me chatter and sing or laugh, old Mr. Smith, who was smoking his pipe by the window, said sharply: “ Harry, lad, I think you ought to try and get some more brains before thou takest a wife. ” I looked appealingly at Harry, but he jumped up in a passion, snatched his cap from a peg in the passage, and went out and banged the door. “Ah,” said old Mr. Smith sharply, “ that’s Harry all over, and just what he wanted—an excuse to get out. ” Mrs. Smith looked sharply at me as the tears gathered in my eyes, and, evidently on my account, said quickly : Don’t be so hard on Harry, father.” “ Hard ? who’s hard on him ? ” he cried angrily; “isn’t he always getting hold of some excuse or another to shirk what he ought to do. He might have stopped in the night he brought his sweetheart.” “You’re too hard on him, father,” said Mrs. Smith again. “Yes—yes—yes— indeed, you are,” I cried, indignantly, in a passion of weeping, for I could not bear to hear him speak of Harry like that, and not say a word on his behalf. “ You don’t., know him, Mr. Smith, as I do, for he’s one of

the best and truest of men, and, if you would only be a little kind to him, I am sure he would try so hard.” I saw the old man flush with anger, and shrank back in affright at what I had said, and read, as I thought, that Harry’s mother also looked very much put out “I don’t behave half hard enough to him,” said Harry’s father; “and as to not knowing him, seeing that I nursed him when he was a bairn, and his mother sits there, I think, young woman, that we ought to know something about him.” I felt so hurt that I got up and wanted to put on my things and go, but the old people wouldn’t hear of it; and, as Harry’s father cooled down, he lit his pipe again,, and begged me to come and sit by him at the window, and wouldn’t let me work any more, while Harry’s mother came and sat on the other side, and held my hand till it was time to get out supper, but still Harry did not come back. I jumped up and helped Mrs. Smith lay the supper-table, and Harry’s father would not wait, so we had supper, though I was so miserable I could hardly eat a bit, and kept glancing at the old man as if to ask his i>ardou for speaking as I had. I had to be back at 10, aud there were two miles to walk, so Mrs. Smith begged me stay all night. “Oh, no,” I said, “I must be back.’’ “ Well,mydear, perhapsyou are right,’ she said. “Father, as Harry hasn't come, will you walk home with her ?” “ I was just going to offer to, mother,” he said, gruffly. “ Oh, no,” I cried. “I can find my way back quite right, and there’s nothing to mind though all the time I was trembling with dread at having to go alone. “ If the young fellows don’t know how to behave themselves, the old fellows do, don’t they, mother?” he said, in quite a cheery tone. “ No, my dear, I’m not going to let you cross them fields alone, nor to leave you till you are safe indoors.” I resisted feebly but Harry’s mother took her husband’s side, and to my great delight she kissed me warmly aud affectionately when I left, while the old man took his stick, drew my arm through his, and trudged along by my side, chatting away pleasantly about the changes that had taken place since he was a boy. He kept this on until we were nearly at my mistress’ house, when he stopped speakirg for a moment, and then began again, talking in a very firm and serious tone. “We didn't think much of your coming, my dear—the wife aud I—for Harry’s such a flighty fellow that we expected trie girl he chose would be about the same. But lam glad you did come, my dear, and I am sorry I spoke so hot about Harry.” “And so am I, sir,” I faltered. “Then you needn’t be,” he said, quickly. “ I like you for it, and it was very nice, and you are a good, brave, little woman. But, look here, my dear, don’t be in a hurry. lam sorry to say it, but my Harry is not the man to make a girl like you happy. Now take my advice—don’t be in a hurry. ” “Oh, Mr. Smith,” I sobbed, for his words cut me to the heart.

“I can’t help saying it, my dear, and now good night and God bless you. You’re a very nice and good little girl.” He drew me toward him and kissed my cheek very affectionately, just as if I bad been his own child. Then he waited till he heard the side door opened aud closed, and as soon as I could I went to my room aud cried till my heart was ready to break. The months went by, and Harry seemed no happier at home, while when I took the old people’s part he grew angry and reproached me for not caring for him and leaning to the other side. Old Mr. Smith came to fetch me home once, and Harry fetched me two or three times, and I used to wonder how I could have been so mistaken in people who seemed to like me better every time I went. I know one day that there had been a terrible upset at home, for, as Mrs. Smith had told me, Harry had been neglecting his work terribly, and taken to going to the public house. Then a couple of days passed, and I heard nothing, while the next there was a letter for me which seemed at the time as if it would nearly drive me mad, for it was from Harry, telling me that he could not put up with their ways any longer, and that he had enlisted in the —tii regiment of font. I asked leave to go out, and went over to the town to find out that neither Mr. Smith nor Harry’s mother had heard of the step he had taken, while, when I put the letter in their hands aud watched their faces, I threw my arms around Mrs. Smith’s neck and we mingled our tears.

“It’s very hard, very hard,” we heard the old man say. ‘‘ I began as a laborer, and I’ve worked up a nice business of which I’m master, and there it is for my son when I die, but he prefers to be a scamp. ” It was a miserable night that, and the old man walked home with me almost in silence. “Don’t fret about it, my lass,” he said ; “perhaps it’s all for the best.” Not fret ? How could I help fretting. Harry had his faults, I Knew, but he was my sweetheart, and who, I asked, myself, was perfect? Are you surprised, then, when I tell you that, after six months’ service with his regiment, when he kept on sending me letter after letter, telling me how bitterly he repented the step he had taken and how miserable a life he led, that I should listen to his prayers to find the money to buy him off? He knew -I had a few savings, and I told myself that they were his, and paid the money willingly, for he told me that he could not exist away from me any longer, and that if I did not buy him off he should desert. Yes ; I paid the money, and he came back home to work, on and off, with a little more steadiness, while, poor, weak girl that I was, I refused to see how he was changed, and loved him more than ever.

Then he began to talk of our being married, and, though old Mr. Smith opposed it, Harry’s mother was quite eager that we should be wed. She thought that, once he was settled down, he would be steady and keep to his work, and I thought the same. Just at that time my mother died—my father had gone years before—and this put off our wedding for six months, though it gave me a comfortable little, well-furnished residence to offer as my portion to my husband, and very proud I was, for his sake, of my possession. Shall I tell you more, or hide the rest, screening my husband’s faults ? I would, but that I think my unhappy life may prove a warning to those who acted as foolishly as I did, in refusing to listen to the good advice I received, and in blinding myself so thoroughly to the weaknesses of the man I was so soon to make my own for life. For, in opposition to Mr. Smith’s will, we were married, Harry and I. The old man was not angry with me, but most kind all through. “No, my dear child," he said, “I feel as if I should be doing you a wrong if I gave my consent. You know Harry, now, as well as I do, and your marrying him will not make him a better man. ” “Oh, yes, indeed—indeed it will,” i cried. “ God bless you, my dear,” he said, kissing me tenderly, “I hope it will, but I won’t be a party to the matter. ” “But you won’t be angry with us, Mr. Smith ?” I said, imploringly. “With you ? No, my dear,” he said. “Nor with Harry?” “We’vebeen angry with Harry for

five years, and I shall keep on being angry with him until he drops the public house and sticks like a mon to his work.” So we were wed, and—l almost shame to own it—that day for the first time I saw my husband so helplessly drunk that, in my agony of mind, I believe that if I could have been unmarried then I should have left him for good. But I was his wife, and he was my husband, my master, whose willing slave I became, wording for him when he would not work, striving ever to win him to our home, but striving in vain. Before we had l>een married a year I was very ill with an ailment brought on by grief and anxiety, Mid when our little one was born and I looked upon its little face as that of a tiny angel sent, perhaps, to win my husband’s love more to me and home, that little lace was still, the eres were closed, for my child had never breathed and never saw the light of day. It was a great grief of mind to me, but time passed on, and a couple of years later I held our little girl to his lips that he might kiss our child, aud then shrank away in misery and despair, finding out, as*l did,'that there was something which he loved better than his child and me—the base indulgence of self. It may seem hard to speak of him us I do, but a long career of misery makes me outspoken. Was J not left alone that he might drink, when our little one lay sick unto death, and I hard pressed for money to obtain the necessaries that might save its life? The few pounds my mother had left me had gone long enough before—every penny spent in drink—and I had not complained, only strove on, day after day, to win him to my side, where poor old Mrs. Smith wvuld often be watching all night long, sometimes by the baby’s cot, after insisting that I should take some rest. It all seems now, in the dim distance, like some terrible dream of miseiy, wherein J see myself, with Harry’s father and mother, following the little girl to the grave, and they coming weeping back to try and comfort me, for Harry had gone away. Where ? I never knew, only that lie would go away for days. I see, too, *as in a dream, myself growing thin and weary, and so ill that Harry, who was back now, and very kind,* persuaded me to go away aud stay at the s.-aside with my old mistress, who had gone there for her health, and proposed that 1 should go and wait upon her for a month.

Harry’s mother joined in persuading me, and Harry’s father said it would be wise, so 1 went, and at the end of the month returned to find that I had no home, for Harry had so'd all our little belongings for a miserable sum, and the money was all gone in drink. I sat down in the empty room by the bare hearth, upon the little box that had been my companion at the seaside, and asked myself what I should do. For a few moments a hot feeling of indignation came over me, and I recalled too much, for I vo ,ved that I would leave him now, never to return ; but the next minute the memory of his old love came back, and my vow to be his iaithful wife; and the cruel thoughts were cast away and I stayed. Ten ! Ay, fifteen years are gone, and I still drudge on, patiently bearing my lot. A few kind words and a smile are tlie rewards I pray for, but they seldom come now, since he’s so much changed. I see the change nt times, but not often, for I blindly cling to the old memory of our love, aud, come what may, I nightly pray for the strength that shall make me his patient, forbearing wife unto the end.