Lizzie Leigh , livre ebook

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24 pages

English

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. When Death is present in a household on a Christmas Day, the very contrast between the time as it now is, and the day as it has often been, gives a poignancy to sorrow- a more utter blankness to the desolation. James Leigh died just as the far-away bells of Rochdale Church were ringing for morning service on Christmas Day, 1836. A few minutes before his death, he opened his already glazing eyes, and made a sign to his wife, by the faint motion of his lips, that he had yet something to say. She stooped close down, and caught the broken whisper, "I forgive her, Annie! May God forgive me!

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819941316
Langue	English

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CHAPTER I.
When Death is present in a household on a ChristmasDay, the very contrast between the time as it now is, and the dayas it has often been, gives a poignancy to sorrow— a more utterblankness to the desolation. James Leigh died just as the far-awaybells of Rochdale Church were ringing for morning service onChristmas Day, 1836. A few minutes before his death, he opened hisalready glazing eyes, and made a sign to his wife, by the faintmotion of his lips, that he had yet something to say. She stoopedclose down, and caught the broken whisper, “I forgive her, Annie!May God forgive me! ”
“Oh, my love, my dear! only get well, and I willnever cease showing my thanks for those words. May God in heavenbless thee for saying them. Thou’rt not so restless, my lad! maybe— Oh, God! ”
For even while she spoke he died.
They had been two-and-twenty years man and wife; fornineteen of those years their life had been as calm and happy asthe most perfect uprightness on the one side, and the most completeconfidence and loving submission on the other, could make it.Milton’s famous line might have been framed and hung up as the ruleof their married life, for he was truly the interpreter, who stoodbetween God and her; she would have considered herself wicked ifshe had ever dared even to think him austere, though as certainlyas he was an upright man, so surely was he hard, stern, andinflexible. But for three years the moan and the murmur had neverbeen out of her heart; she had rebelled against her husband asagainst a tyrant, with a hidden, sullen rebellion, which tore upthe old landmarks of wifely duty and affection, and poisoned thefountains whence gentlest love and reverence had once been for everspringing.
But those last blessed words replaced him on histhrone in her heart, and called out penitent anguish for all thebitter estrangement of later years. It was this which made herrefuse all the entreaties of her sons, that she would see thekind-hearted neighbours, who called on their way from church, tosympathize and condole. No! she would stay with the dead husbandthat had spoken tenderly at last, if for three years he had keptsilence; who knew but what, if she had only been more gentle andless angrily reserved he might have relented earlier— and intime?
She sat rocking herself to and fro by the side ofthe bed, while the footsteps below went in and out; she had been insorrow too long to have any violent burst of deep grief now; thefurrows were well worn in her cheeks, and the tears flowed quietly,if incessantly, all the day long. But when the winter’s night drewon, and the neighbours had gone away to their homes, she stole tothe window, and gazed out, long and wistfully, over the dark greymoors. She did not hear her son’s voice, as he spoke to her fromthe door, nor his footstep as he drew nearer. She started when hetouched her.
“Mother! come down to us. There’s no one but Willand me. Dearest mother, we do so want you. ” The poor lad’s voicetrembled, and he began to cry. It appeared to require an effort onMrs. Leigh’s part to tear herself away from the window, but with asigh she complied with his request.
The two boys (for though Will was nearly twenty-one,she still thought of him as a lad) had done everything in theirpower to make the house-place comfortable for her. She herself, inthe old days before her sorrow, had never made a brighter fire or acleaner hearth, ready for her husband’s return home, than nowawaited her. The tea-things were all put out, and the kettle wasboiling; and the boys had calmed their grief down into a kind ofsober cheerfulness. They paid her every attention they could thinkof, but received little notice on her part; she did not resist, sherather submitted to all their arrangements; but they did not seemto touch her heart.
When tea was ended— it was merely the form of teathat had been gone through— Will moved the things away to thedresser. His mother leant back languidly in her chair.
“Mother, shall Tom read you a chapter? He’s a betterscholar than I. ”
“Ay, lad! ” said she, almost eagerly. “That’s it.Read me the Prodigal Son. Ay, ay, lad. Thank thee. ”
Tom found the chapter, and read it in thehigh-pitched voice which is customary in village schools. Hismother bent forward, her lips parted, her eyes dilated; her wholebody instinct with eager attention. Will sat with his headdepressed and hung down. He knew why that chapter had been chosen;and to him it recalled the family’s disgrace. When the reading wasended, he still hung down his head in gloomy silence. But her facewas brighter than it had been before for the day. Her eyes lookeddreamy, as if she saw a vision; and by-and-by she pulled the Bibletowards her, and, putting her finger underneath each word, began toread them aloud in a low voice to herself; she read again the wordsof bitter sorrow and deep humiliation; but most of all, she pausedand brightened over the father’s tender reception of the repentantprodigal.
So passed the Christmas evening in the UpcloseFarm.
The snow had fallen heavily over the dark wavingmoorland before the day of the funeral. The black storm-laden domeof heaven lay very still and close upon the white earth, as theycarried the body forth out of the house which had known hispresence so long as its ruling power. Two and two the mournersfollowed, making a black procession, in their winding march overthe unbeaten snow, to Milne Row Church; now lost in some hollow ofthe bleak moors, now slowly climbing the heaving ascents. There wasno long tarrying after the funeral, for many of the neighbours whoaccompanied the body to the grave had far to go, and the greatwhite flakes which came slowly down were the boding forerunners ofa heavy storm. One old friend alone accompanied the widow and hersons to their home.
The Upclose Farm had belonged for generations to theLeighs; and yet its possession hardly raised them above the rank oflabourers. There was the house and out-buildings, all of anold-fashioned kind, and about seven acres of barren unproductiveland, which they had never possessed capital enough to improve;indeed, they could hardly rely upon it for subsistence; and it hadbeen customary to bring up the sons to some trade, such as awheelwright’s or blacksmith’s.
James Leigh had left a will in the possession of theold man who accompanied them home. He read it aloud. James hadbequeathed the farm to his faithful wife, Anne Leigh, for herlifetime, and afterwards to his son William. The hundred and oddpounds in the savings bank was to accumulate for Thomas.
After the reading was ended, Anne Leigh sat silentfor a time and then she asked to speak to Samuel Orme alone. Thesons went into the back kitchen, and thence strolled out into thefields regardless of the driving snow. The brothers were dearlyfond of each other, although they were very different in character.Will, the elder, was like his father, stern, reserved, andscrupulously upright. Tom (who was ten years younger) was gentleand delicate as a girl, both in appearance and character. He hadalways clung to his mother and dreaded his father. They did notspeak as they walked, for they were only in the habit of talkingabout facts, and hardly knew the more sophisticated languageapplied to the description of feelings.
Meanwhile their mother had taken hold of SamuelOrme’s arm with her trembling hand.
“Samuel, I must let the farm— I must. ”
“Let the farm! What’s come o’er the woman? ”
“Oh, Samuel! ” said she, her eyes swimming in tears,“I’m just fain to go and live in Manchester. I mun let the farm.”
Samuel looked, and pondered, but did not speak forsome time. At last he said—
“If thou hast made up thy mind, there’s no speakingagain it; and thou must e’en go. Thou’lt be sadly pottered wi’Manchester ways; but that’s not my look out. Why, thou’lt have tobuy potatoes, a thing thou hast never done afore in all thy bornlife. Well! it’s not my look out. It’s rather for me than again me.Our Jenny is going to be married to Tom Higginbotham, and he wasspeaking of wanting a bit of land to begin upon. His father will bedying sometime, I reckon, and then he’ll step into the Croft Farm.But meanwhile— ”
“Then, thou’lt let the farm, ” said she, still aseagerly as ever.
“Ay, ay, he’ll take it fast enough, I’ve a notion.But I’ll not drive a bargain with thee just now; it would not beright; we’ll wait a bit. ”
“No; I cannot wait; settle it out at once. ”
“Well, well; I’ll speak to Will about it. I see himout yonder. I’ll step to him and talk it over. ”
Accordingly he went and joined the two lads, and,without more ado, began the subject to them.
“Will, thy mother is fain to go live in Manchester,and covets to let the farm. Now, I’m willing to take it for TomHigginbotham; but I like to drive a keen bargain, and there wouldbe no fun chaffering with thy mother just now. Let thee and mebuckle to, my lad! and try and cheat each other; it will warm usthis cold day. ”
“Let the farm! ” said both the lads at once, withinfinite surprise. “Go live in Manchester! ”
When Samuel Orme found that the plan had neverbefore been named to either Will or Tom, he would have nothing todo with it, he said, until they had spoken to their mother. Likelyshe was “dazed” by her husband’s death; he would wait a day or two,and not name it to any one; not to Tom Higginbotham himself, or maybe he would set his heart upon it. The lads had better go in andtalk it over with their mother. He bade them good-day, and leftthem.
Will looked very gloomy, but he did not speak tillthey got near the house. Then he said—
“Tom, go to th’ shippon, and supper the cows. I wantto speak to mother alone. ”
When he entered the house-place, she was sittingbefore the fire, looking into its embers. She did not hear him comein: for some time she had lost her quick perception of outwardthings.
“Mother! what’s this about going to Manchester?