University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

Some — years after the circumstances related
in the foregoing pages, when many of the
persons to whom they were known had sunk to
rest for ever,—when Mr. Moreton and my grandfather
had both paid the last debt of nature, and
taken final leave of their earthly animosities,—
when my father had grown to man's estate, and
been married some time,—when I was a little girl
just beginning to run about my father's house,—
there appeared one day at the village tavern a
pedestrian traveller, who excited little more notice
at the time than such travellers usually do. He
attended worship on Sundays in the only church
in the place, being the one so often before mentioned;
with this solitary exception, he kept himself
secluded, and seemed desirous to make no acquaintances.
He traversed the hills and dales
through the neighbourhood with the zeal of a geologist,
and seemed altogether quite domesticated
at the village inn. At length it was announced in
the village newspaper that the estate of the Moretons
was for sale; the younger Moreton announcing
in the advertisement that he was desirous
of emigrating to the west. The day of sale arrived,
when, to the amazement of all, the pedestrian of

the inn became the purchaser. Few people believed
him able to comply with the terms, until he
actually paid the money.

The Moretons moved away to the far west, and
nothing more was heard of them at that time.
The mansion-house of the family, which had so
long rivalled my grandfather's in their pride and
their pretensions, was at length closed for ever,
and its classic columns and architectural device
were destined to sink into ruins, overrun by those
vines and flowers which were once obedient to
the training of many a fair hand. The farm was
let out in small parcels to the poorest people in
the neighbourhood, and, with exceptions to fixtures
and improvements to the land, at a mere nominal
rent. This strange and unaccountable being at
length paid my father a visit. He was an old
bachelor, apparently about fifty-five or sixty years
of age; a full, round-chested man, with dark hazel
eyes. He wore a black wig, though it was easy
to be seen that his hair had originally been light
brown. His complexion was between a bilious
and a cadaverous hue, which, with his great corporeal
bulk, gave him an appearance of unsound
health. He was sad and even melancholy in his
temperament; but abstemious in his habits, and
as generous as a prince in his disposition. He
was remarkably fond of children; at least he
showed great fondness for me, and took great delight
in directing my youthful lessons.

Thus were things moving on in the neighbourhood

of the village of H—, when, on a stormy
and terrible night, a messenger arrived with a summons
to the dying bed of Mr. Thornton, as the
“old bachelor” was called, and my father immediately
obeyed the call. The next morning he returned
unusually dejected, which was accounted
for, in some measure, by informing my mother of
the death of Mr. Thornton; but the sadness lasted
much longer, and seemed to be much more profound
in its nature than was called for by the death
of a mere stranger. Our family attended the
funeral, which, for a time, closed all further particulars
relating to this narrative.