University of Virginia Library

1. CHAP. I.
THE COTTAGE FIRE SIDE.

“But who knows, my dear father,” cried Rebecca
Littleton, laying her hand on that of her
father, “who knows but something yet may be done
to reward a veteran grown grey in his country's service?”

“I hope there will, my child,” said Mr. Littleton;
“and if there is not we must be content, for his Majesty,
God bless him, cannot provide for all. I wish,
my girl, it was in my power to convince him, that I
am still willing to fight for him, though the bread I
eat from his bounty is but brown: but with this poor
stump,” looking at all that remained of his right arm,
“and this disabled leg,” stretching it out as well as
he could, “all my fighting days are over; I can only
talk now, my child.”

“But you have fought bravely once,” said Mrs.
Littleton, while a beam of exultation darted from her
eyes.

“And after all,” cried Rebecca, “it is hard to be
distressed for fifteen pounds.”

It was a clear frosty evening, in the beginning of
January, when, in a little cottage, on the sea coast of
Lincolnshire, Mr. Littleton, an old superannuated lieutenant
in the army, his wife, daughter, and two or
three neighbours, were comfortably seated round a

cheerful fire, the brown jug was just replenished by the
fair hands of Rebecca, and the song, the joke, and
the tale went cheerfully round, when an unwelcome
though not unexpected, visitor made his appearance,
and threw a damp over their harmless mirth.

This was no other than their landlord's steward, who
came to demand the rent, in paying which they had
been, from various disagreeable reasons, more backward
than usual; it amounted to fifteen pounds, and
the poor old man had no method whatever to raise the
money. He had often made his distresses known to
people in power, who had once styled themselves his
friends, but never received any thing more than promises
that something should be done; but hope had so
often deceived him, that he now ceased to listen to her
flattering voice, and was sinking into despondency,
when the lovely Rebecca cheered him with the sentence
at the beginning of the chapter.

Rebecca was the youngest of seven children, and
the only one who lived to years of maturity. She was
at this time just sixteen, and had combined in her person
all the beauty of a Venus, and the simplicity of a
Grace. She possessed a striking figure, just tall enough
to be elegant. Her shape was perfect symmetry, and
her countenance one of those which may safely be pronounced
more than beautiful; for, to the softest blue
eyes, flaxen hair, and a complexion that out vied the
lilies, was added such an inexpressible look of benevolence
and candour, that it was impossible to see and
not love her. She had been taught by her father to
read and write her own language correctly, by her mother
some little knowledge of the French, and by the
vicar's lady, who was extremely fond of her, she had
learned to play, with a considerable degree of taste, on
the lute; but being educated intirely in the family way,
and never having past the boundaries of her native village,
except once or twice to a neighbouring fair, there
was about her such an air of modest timidity, that, by
the unobserving, might be mistaken for rustic bashfulness.

Though considered by her young companions as the

belle of the village, in her own opinion she was ever the
meanest, the least worthy notice of any. Brought up
in the strictest notions of the protestant religion, such
universal charity pervaded her soul, that she never suspected
the worth and integrity of her fellow creatures;
but implicitly believed, that every one, who prosessed
to love or esteem her, spoke the genuine feelings of
their hearts.

She harboured no ideas which fear or shame prevented
her revealing, for this reason, her actions, her sentiments,
were often open to the malevolent misconstructions
of those, who, having art sufficient to conceal
the real impulse of their natures, assume the semblance
of those virtues, the reality of which is possessed only
by the genuine children of simplicity.

In giving the character of Mr. Littleton, we require
but few words; he was honest, possessed of valour,
good sense, and a liberal education.

Mrs. Littleton was twenty years younger than her
husband, and was, when he married her, remarkably
beautiful. She was the daughter of an exciseman, and
at a country boarding school had picked up a few showy
accomplishments, but her mind had been totally neglected;
her sentiments were therefore narrow and illiberal,
and she possessed that kind of worldly knowledge,
which rendered her suspicious of the integrity
of every human being.

The little knowledge Rebecca possessed of mankind,
she had gleaned from a small, but not ill-furnished, circulating
library, to which all the inhabitants of the
village subscribed. Her mind was highly tinctured
with the romantic, but withal was enlightened with
such a high sense of honour, virtue and piety, that it
was almost impossible to lead her to a wrong action;
yet there were times when the fortitude of Rebecca
was vulnerable. She could stand unmoved in a right
cause against entreaty, persuasion, and even the severest
threats; but she was not proof against the shaft
of ridicule.

We have said that Mrs. Littleton had been handsome
indeed, she was so still, being at this period but forty

seven years old; for piercing black eyes, chesnut hair,
and a florid complexion, gave her greatly the look of
youth. This juvenile appearance of her mother was a
great misfortune to Rebecca, for Mrs. Littleton was
ever more pleased with being told she looked like her
eldest sister, than in being complimented with being
the mother of so lovely a young woman; indeed, she
considered every compliment paid to her daughter as
derogating something from her own merit. She considered
her more as a rival than a child, and was happy
in every opportunity to ridicule the feelings of a heart,
of whose intrisic worth she had no idea.

Rebecca could not sometimes help feeling the unkindness
of her mother; but whatever those feelings
were, she suffered in silence; no complaint ever escaped
her lips, but she endeavoured, by the mildest acquiescence
in her every wish, to conciliate that affection
which she would have considered as her greatest comfort.

“It is hard, indeed, to be so distressed for fifteen
pounds,” said Rebecca: “I wish I could hit on any
plan by which my dear father might be relieved from
this embarrassment. I have a great mind, if you will
give me leave, to go to-morrow morning to Lady Mary
Worthy; I saw her last week at the vicar's when she
asked me to come and see her, and said she should be
happy to render me any service in her power.”

“And do you think she really meant what she said?”
cried Mrs. Littleton.

“To be sure I do,” replied Rebecca.

“Then you are a fool, retorted the mother, “not
to take it, as it was designed, a mere compliment,
which she paid in respect to Mrs. Alton, who, she saw,
was rather partial to you.”

“Dear mamma” said Rebecca, in an accent of surprise,
“how can you think so? There was no necessity
for her to ask me, if she had not wished me to come,
for, you know, I am greatly her inferior.”

“Don't talk so silly, child! do you suppose I wish
every body to come to my house whom politeness obliges
me to ask?”

“I can only say, mamma, that I would never ask
any person whom I should not be really glad to see
when they came.”

“I think, my dear,” said Mr. Littleton (though I
have the greatest respect imaginable for your opinion)
“that it would not be amiss for Rebecca to go to Lady
Mary; when she knows our situation she may be
prevailed with to request her son, Sir George, to wait
till we can make up the sum: I will, in the mean time,
write to my old friend, Lord Antrim, perhaps, he
may get my small pension enlarged,

Mrs. Littleton remained silent, and it was agreed
between Rebecca and her father, that the next morning
she should visit Audley Park.