University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

Scrap Book.

The peaceful and prudent Elias was of opinion
that it was preferable to shun danger by
flying from it, than run the risk of encountering
it by disregarding timely warning. When,
therefore, Mrs. Meredith had ended her narrative,
it was arranged that, for the present
night, strict watch should be kept by her servants,
and every suspicious or unknown person
prevented from approaching the house;
and that to-morrow she should proceed, escorted
by a number of friends, to Philadelphia, in the
midst of the dense population of which, she
would, by the exercise of common caution, be
more secure from personal danger than in the
comparative solitude where she lived. Elias
having given the necessary directions to the
servants whom Edward undertook to keep to
their duty during the night, returned to his
own house, in order to make preparations for
to-morrow's journey.

At an early hour in the morning, a stranger
approached the guarded premises, who requested

admission to the presence of their mistress.

“You must first declare your name and intentions,”
said Edward: “I am mistaken, if I
did not hear your voice in a conversation of no
very safe import yesterday evening in the
woods.”

“It may be so,” replied the stranger, not
in the least daunted. “Nevertheless I am the
friend of Mrs. Meredith. Tell her that Francis
Holmes wishes to see her. Show her that
piece of coin in token of my veracity, and she
will not refuse me admittance.”

Edward hastened with the message to his
mother. She immediately recognised the coin,
which was an ancient gold piece that her husband
had presented to Francis among other
tokens of his regard.

“Francis Holmes,” said she, “was once my
friend, and I trust he is so still. He is the
faithful footman who enabled me to escape from
a fearful danger. Let him be admitted.”

Edward accordingly introduced Francis.

“Francis,” said Mrs. Meredith, “you are
welcome. It is long since we have seen each
other. I doubt not that the motive of your
present visit, is as friendly as was your former
conduct.”

“Never,” returned Francis, “shall I be otherwise
than a friend to the daughter of my first

master, whose kindness snatched me from beggary,
and gave me education and a livelihood;
and the wife of the benevolent man whose
bounty saved my parents from ruin, when a
harsh landlord had seized their all. Happy
indeed am I once more to behold my young
mistress; for you will permit me still to call
you so—to be the friend of whom I pledged
myself to my first benefactor, when on leaving
her to go to India, he begged that I should,
for his sake and hers, remain as a servant in
the family, to whose protection he had committed
her. Yes, Mrs. Meredith, I am your
friend, and visit you now for a friendly purpose.”

“Well, I will believe you, Francis,” said
Mrs. Meredith, “notwithstanding language
well calculated to alarm me, was no later than
last evening, heard to pass between you and
the former troubler of my peace, Sir Robert
Radnor, in whose service, I find you still are.”

“No,” replied Francis, “I am not, properly
speaking, in his service. I am no longer a
menial. Your husband's liberality for the
share I had in effecting your escape, of which
Sir Robert, to this day, knows nothing, enabled
me to withdraw from servitude, and assist my
father in stocking and cultivating the little
farm which the same liberality had shortly before,
enabled him to retain. About two years

afterwards, my parents died; and having then
no person to provide for, I sold my farm and
resolved to live at my ease, in a species of
frugal independence, which I was soon the better
enabled to do by a legacy of a thousand
pounds bequeathed to me by your father.”

“Ah!” said Mrs. Meredith, “can you tell
me any particulars relative to my father's
death? It was long after it took place before
I heard of it. My husband had recently died,
and my whole attention was occupied in studying
the welfare of my infant son. Besides, not
knowing whether Sir Robert Radnor was married,
I was afraid to make my residence known,
lest I should be again persecuted by his addresses.
I, therefore, made no inquiry, and
I obtained no information on which I could
rely. I was merely told that he died on his passage
home from India, and that, in resentment
for my rejection of Sir Robert, he had bequeathed
me none of his property.”

“Part only of that information is true,” replied
Francis. “It was on his passage home
that he died. But he knew nothing of your
marriage at the time of his death; and with
the exception of a few legacies, he left you his
entire fortune, on condition that you should
marry Sir Robert. In the event of your rejecting
him, you were to receive only ten thousand
pounds, and in that case, Sir Robert

was to receive but five thousand. The residue
of his property was bequeathed to his brother,
Thomas Harris, of Liverpool, since deceased,
whose son now enjoys it.”

“Thank Heaven! he had not cast me so
far from his affections as I was informed,” said
Mrs. Meredith. “In death, imposed on as he
was by my persecutors, he still bore for me a
father's affection. By this information, you
have removed the load which has, of late years,
pressed most heavily on my feelings. But let
me ask, why am I again threatened with persecution
by Sir Robert Radnor?”

“To explain this is the main object of my
present visit. Hear me with patience while I
relate to you some of the events of Sir Robert's
career after you fled from his power. When your
flight became known, Sir Robert doubted not
that the young Quaker, with whom you had
become acquainted at Bath, had carried you
off. I and two or three other servants were
immediately summoned; and, with the enraged
baronet at our head, we started on fleet horses
in pursuit. I was aware of the road you had
taken and managed to lead our company into
another. Sir Robert was persuaded that you
would be heard of at Bath, and we hastened
thither. But gaining no intelligence there, we
were about setting off for Bristol, when I proposed
that we should disperse in different directions,

as the most probable means of succeeding
in our views. Sir Robert approved of the plan,
and offered a large reward to him who should
first bring satisfactory information respecting
you to Bath, where, as a central point, he proposed
to remain, until such information should
reach him. I volunteered to take the way to
Bristol; and was despatched thither, and was
much pleased to learn, that a ship had thence
sailed for America the day before my arrival.
I doubted not that you were in her, and were
consequently safe from our pursuit. I returned
to Bath. Sir Robert could not believe that
you had time to embark in the Bristol vessel.
I then suggested the probability of your concealment
in London, with the view of sailing
thence, as we had not been able to trace you
in the west of England. We, in consequence,
returned to the metropolis, and after
various ineffectual inquiries, Sir Robert began
to entertain the idea of following you to America.
It was a chimerical scheme from which
his mother and friends at that time with difficulty
dissuaded him. He still, however, entertained
the idea, if it were only, as he said,
to chastise the presumptuous Quaker who had
stolen you from him. In fact, all British eyes
were shortly afterwards turned to the western
continent on which an important war was raging,
and the gallant Wolfe and his compeers
in arms, were reaping immortal laurels.

“The imagination of Sir Robert, in every
thing enthusiastic, now took a military turn. He
purchased a captain's commission, and in April,
1758, embarked for New York. Shortly
after his arrival there, he, at a ball given by
the citizens to the military officers, met with
a beautiful girl of whom he became violently
enamoured, and after a few weeks' courtship,
led her to the altar. In a few weeks more, he
was obliged to join his regiment at Albany.
His wife accompanied him, and they remained
there during the winter. In the spring, he was
ordered to join the division of the army which
marched, under Sir William Johnson, against
the French forts on the lakes. The delicate
state of his wife's health prevented her from
attending him on this active service, and she
returned to New-York, to reside with her father,
who was a respectable merchant in that
city.

“The regiment to which Sir Robert belonged,
being detached to the assistance of General
Wolfe in his attack upon Quebec, arrived in
time to participate in the glory of the battle of
Abraham, in which the baronet was dangerously
wounded. During his confinement, which
was protracted many weeks, he received information
from New York, that his wife had
died in child-bed, and that the child, a daughter,
had survived its mother but a few hours. His

physicians now declared that the milder air of
his native country was necessary to accelerate
his recovery, and restore him to his former
health. He accordingly embarked for England,
where he soon recovered; and, becoming
smitten with the graces of a daughter of a country
gentleman, he married her. This lady died
about eighteen months ago, without leaving him
any offspring.

“Very recently his attention became again
directed towards you. Your uncle Harris of
Liverpool, to whom your father bequeathed
his fortune, had died, leaving to inherit
his vast wealth, only one son, a wild
youth who is likely soon to squander it
away by extravagance. Sir Robert, by some
means, became informed of the place of your
residence, and of your being a widow. He conceived
it possible, therefore, to induce you to
fulfil the letter of your father's will by marrying
him, and thereby become entitled to the
fortune now in possession of a spendthrift. It
is for this purpose he is at present in this
neighbourhood. Obvious reasons render him
unwilling to appear before you personally, until
he shall ascertain the state of your feelings
towards him, as well as your views in relation
to the proposal he wishes to make. To save
you both the pain of an interview, should your
feelings be opposed to one, I undertook the

task I have performed, of laying the subject
before you. I now leave the result to the decision
of your own judgment and feelings.”

“It is, indeed, a strange account of things
that you have given me,” said Mrs. Meredith.
“But let me ask, if Sir Robert be desirous of
making friendly overtures to me, what he
could mean by the threats he used yesterday,
to have me carried by force on ship-board?”

“Mrs. Meredith,” replied Francis, “I would
not be the friend of your welfare, which I profess
to be, if I were to deceive you in any respect.
I shall, therefore, acknowledge that Sir
Robert, having but little expectation that persuasion
will induce you to accede to his wishes,
builds his hopes of success chiefly on intimidation.”

“Francis,” said Mrs. Meredith, “your candour
and honesty convince me that you are
still my friend. I sincerely thank you for the
intelligence you have given me. My resolution
respecting Sir Robert requires no deliberation.
It is at once taken. The wealth of
worlds would not induce me to marry such a
man. Tell him so, I request you; and tell him
also to abandon his views of violence against
me, otherwise I shall appeal to the authorities
of the land for protection, and have him dealt
with, as a conspirator against my safety and
happiness.”

“Be assured, madam,” replied Francis, “I
shall convey to him your message, and enforce
his abandonment of this wild scheme with all
my influence. Believe me, when I say, that
my only reason for adhering to his society, at
present, is to frustrate as far as I can, any outrage
he may attempt against you.”

Francis then withdrew, resolved to continue
his friendly exertions in behalf of so deserving
a lady. The ill success of his negotiation
was precisely what he expected, and, perhaps,
what he approved. His chief object was
gained by the information he had given Mrs.
Meredith of her danger, and he was gratified
with the belief, that he had inspired her with
full confidence in his friendship. To communicate
the result to the testy and wayward baronet
at the White Buck, was now his task,
and it was far from being an agreeable one.
A paroxysm of rage and a storm of abuse, he
knew would be the consequence. But he was
prepared not only to witness, but, if necessary,
to endure it, in the performance of his duty.