University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
SUSAN'S WEDDING—NED'S FIRST GLIMPSES OF THE WORLD—
SUMMERTON.

It was beautiful balmy May. Summerton was clothed
in its vernal green. Mr. Mulvany had leased an humble
dwelling in a half rural part of the town, and was making
preparations for his removal thither. In front were ornamental
trees; in the rear fruit trees, and an ample garden.
In view was the broad peaceful river. This was his Eden,
and thither he was soon to bring his Eve. But was any
subtle serpent to be an intruder there? He thought not.
He did not fear it.

And Susan's heart fluttered with happy anticipations.
She indulged no apprehension that other scenes, and different
circumstances, and new favorites, might diminish her
affection for Ned Lorn. On the contrary, when urged by
her scholar-lover, who as usual had no correct ideas of
practical economy, to expend certain sums in the purchase
of articles which might be dispensed with, she still repeated
her old motto, with a slight variation, “we can't afford it;
remember Ned.”

But poor Ned himself had been rendered very unhappy,
in the midst, too, of his joyous anticipations at the near
approach of the nuptials of Susan, and his removal from
the city. The blow came from the hands of Tom Denny

—the innocent hands of unconscious Tom. Mallex, his
evil genius, had concluded to prepare a written version of
Susan's conduct and Ned's spurious pretensions, with many
embellishments designed to shield the guilty and cover the
innocent with odium. The story was inserted in the newspapers,
and was read by the amazed and spirit wounded
boy. He could never revert to the cruel publication without
being the victim of a painful dejection.

Ned had the presence of mind not to mention what he
had seen to Susan; but he placed the paper in the hands
of Mr. Mulvany, who regarded the statement as a mere
bagatelle. He said that if the story were true, it would
be a serious and sinful matter for the guilty ones; but
being false, as he and Ned both knew it to be, why should
they pay any regard to it? He advised Ned to destroy
the paper and say nothing about it, and not to think of it
himself. Alas! this was impossible. Ned had already
read too many books, and mingled with too many people,
to be insensible to the effects of such a calumny. He had
not been endowed with the Christian fortitude, the philosophic
nonchalance, that Mr. Mulvany could boast. Nature,
which had made him good and truthful, had likewise made
him sensitive. He thought he had not been so warmly
welcomed as usual, nor so reluctantly parted with, at Mrs.
Dimple's mansion. No language had been used or omitted
from which to draw such an inference; nor could he describe
any action which was designed to express a diminution
of favor: but he felt it was so, and he believed it. It
might not have been that any one at the mansion was
capable of believing the statements in the vile publication;
but the notoriety of the fact that he was the object of the
writer's ridicule and condemnation, was sufficient to make
him suppose that his presence could not be so desirable as
formerly.

There were a few of the inhabitants of the alley who
exhibited symptoms of a disposition to be rudely malignant
on the occasion. Several of the boys with whom, for
their notorious bad characters, Susan would never permit
Ned to associate, had now their revenge. They never
suffered him to pass, or passed themselves within his hearing,
without taunting him as a pretender, and as one

claiming to be the son of respectable parents. Ned with
difficulty restrained himself from resenting such insults in
a summary manner. He had the inclination to do it; but
was withheld by his respect for Mr. Mulvany, who charged
him to pay no attention to such annoyances. He was soon
to leave them. But what if the story should spread even
to Summerton? Thus was Ned's anticipated happiness to
be mingled with painful anxieties.

Mr. D. L. Parke cheered him as well as he could, promising
that when Mr. Persever returned, they would together
concoct a counter-statement and have it published.

Mallex had skilfully, as he supposed, thrown into his
production several compliments to the aged lawyer, and
laboured to create an impression that he was altogether incredulous
respecting the wonderful tale of the rescue and
preservation of the son and heir of John Parke, his
brother.

For several weeks preceding the day appointed for the
celebration of the nuptials, Susan had been busily engaged
in the necessary preparations for so interesting an event.
Piece by piece, articles of her old furniture, and of her
cherished household goods, were sent off to the river, and
thence transported to Summerton. Nothing was to be left
behind; nothing to be sold; for that would involve a sacrifice,
and she “couldn't afford it.”

She and Ned had likewise become attached to many of
the old articles they had been so long accustomed to see
about the house; and although they might be worthless in
themselves, they determined not to part with them, for old
acquaintance sake. Thus by degrees the removal of her
little property was effected without attracting observation,
and when the day arrived for her final abandonment of the
dwelling, she had only to deliver the key to her landlord.

They were married in church. Mr. Parke, Ned Lorn,
Mrs. Dimple, Alice and Tim, were the witnesses. Separating
at the door after the ceremony, the parties retired
in different directions. Mulvany, his bride, and Ned, entered
a hackney coach and were driven down to the river.

Ned was pale and silent—but he could not be long cast
down in Susan's presence. She exerted all her powers to
dissipate his mysterious dejection, and succeeded. But

she was not aware of the extent of the consummation her
influence had accomplished. In her estimation Ned was
still the mere child, his desires bounded by considerations
of mere personal security. She had no conception of the
change which had taken place in the mind of the intelligent
boy. He was not only fond of reading, but had become
observant of the nature and tendency of the facts
revealed in his books. He had obtained an insight—yet
limited, but inviting to farther investigations—into the
worldly principles and motives of his species. The curtain
of life was rising slowly before his eyes. A portion
of the great picture had already been revealed. Endued
by nature with all the ardent longings of hopeful youth—
the desire of winning distinction, or of meriting applause
by the excellence of his conduct—he had already discovered
what he supposed, or feared, might be an insepaable
bar to the attainment of the objects of his youthful
ambition. He felt, at least, that however successful might
be his exertions on the vast field he was about to enter, the
ineffaceable stigma which the world would be likely to
brand upon his forehead, however innocent he might be,
would prove effectual in the destruction of his hopes of
happiness.

No matter. The scales of justice, like the surface of
mighty waters, evenly poised, though long in agitation,
finally assume a proper level and an exact equilibrium.
Wafted in ease upon the soft billows of time, one scans not
the inequalities of the world; beholds none of its sublimities;
appreciates none of its ineffable enjoyments; and
cannot comprehend its crimes, to which he may be made
at any moment, the irremediable victim. Hence the piercing
goad which rouses a brave heart from its slothful repose,
should not always be deemed a direful infliction. An
innocent man under the chastisement of injustice, having
the spirit to hold his brow erect, will find it encircled by
a celestial halo from the hand of God. No enemy shall
vanquish him; no difficulty deter him; no obstacle arrest
him. He who created him will vindicate his cause, and
furnish the means of final success; and his achievements
will be more substantial, the fruits of his labors infinitely

more valuable, than if he had suffered no wrongs and encountered
no obstacles.

It was in this school that Ned Lorn had received the first
lesson. The baleful shadows mingling with the sunlight of
his young existence, if they threw upon his brow a “pale
cast of thought,” did not subdue him. His energies, so
far from being repressed, were eagerly quivering for an
opportunity to assert their capacity. He had done nothing
to deserve the frowns and condemnation of the world; but
he might accomplish something to merit its admiration.
This was his hope; this his object; this his determination.
What else was there to live for? No father, no mother,
no relative; none whom he might claim as his kindred.
What was there for him to do but to repay the kindness of
Susan, and of his limited circle of friends? And how
might this be done but by the exertion of his energies of
body and mind? He resolved to make every effort in his
power. Oh, thought he, how sweet will be the tasks which
others deprecate! How impatient was he to begin!

There were fitful glimpses, besides, of another bright
thought in the ambitious heart of Ned. Might he not win
the approbation and secure the lasting esteem of Alice?
He was too young to be in love. The tender passion celebrated
by poets had not yet throbbed within his bosom. It
was affection of another kind. She had been the only child
of her sex with whom he had associated. Hers was not an
earthly, but a celestial image, which mingled in his dreams.
He had scarcely ever beheld her face without being greeted
by a smile; and he could understand by the expression of
her eyes that the innocent affection he felt was reciprocated.
That it might continue so through life, was another stimulation
to laudable exertion.