January 10th, 1827. - While
writing the above, yesterday
evening, I sat in the drawing-room.
Mr. Huntingdon was present, but,
as I thought, asleep on the sofa
behind me. He had risen, however,
unknown to me, and, actuated
by some base spirit of curiosity,
been looking over my shoulder
for I know not how long; for
when I had laid aside my pen,
and was about to close the book,
he suddenly placed his hand upon
it, and saying, - 'With your
leave, my dear, I'll have a look
at this,' forcibly wrested it
from me, and, drawing a chair
to the table, composedly sat
down to examine it: turning back
leaf after leaf to find an explanation
of what he had read. Unluckily
for me, he was more sober that
night than he usually is at such
an hour.
Of course I did not leave him
to pursue this occupation in
quiet: I made several attempts
to snatch the book from his hands,
but he held it too firmly for
that; I upbraided him in bitterness
and scorn for his mean and dishonourable
conduct, but that had no effect
upon him; and, finally, I extinguished
both the candles, but he only
wheeled round to the fire, and
raising a blaze sufficient for
his purposes, calmly continued
the investigation. I had serious
thoughts of getting a pitcher
of water and extinguishing that
light too; but it was evident
his curiosity was too keenly
excited to be quenched by that,
and the more I manifested my
anxiety to baffle his scrutiny,
the greater would be his determination
to persist in it besides it was
too late.
'It seems very interesting,
love,' said he, lifting his head
and turning to where I stood,
wringing my hands in silent rage
and anguish; 'but it's rather
long; I'll look at it some other
time; and meanwhile I'll trouble
you for your keys, my dear.'
'What keys?'
'The keys of your cabinet,
desk, drawers, and whatever else
you possess,' said he, rising
and holding out his hand.
'I've not got them,' I replied.
The key of my desk, in fact,
was at that moment in the lock,
and the others were attached
to it.
'Then you must send for them,'
said he; 'and if that old devil,
Rachel, doesn't immediately deliver
them up, she tramps bag and baggage
tomorrow.'
'She doesn't know where they
are,' I answered, quietly placing
my hand upon them, and taking
them from the desk, as I thought,
unobserved. 'I know, but I shall
not give them up without a reason.'
'And I know, too,' said he,
suddenly seizing my closed hand
and rudely abstracting them from
it. He then took up one of the
candles and relighted it by thrusting
it into the fire.
'Now, then,' sneered he, 'we
must have a confiscation of property.
But, first, let us take a peep
into the studio.'
And putting the keys into his
pocket, he walked into the library.
I followed, whether with the
dim idea of preventing mischief,
or only to know the worst, I
can hardly tell. My painting
materials were laid together
on the corner table, ready for
to-morrow's use, and only covered
with a cloth. He soon spied them
out, and putting down the candle,
deliberately proceeded to cast
them into the fire: palette,
paints, bladders, pencils, brushes,
varnish: I saw them all consumed:
the palette-knives snapped in
two, the oil and turpentine sent
hissing and roaring up the chimney.
He then rang the bell.
'Benson, take those things
away,' said he, pointing to the
easel, canvas, and stretcher;
'and tell the housemaid she may
kindle the fire with them: your
mistress won't want them any
more.'
Benson paused aghast and looked
at me.
'Take them away, Benson,' said
I; and his master muttered an
oath.
'And this and all, sir?' said
the astonished servant, referring
to the half-finished picture.
'That and all,' replied the
master; and the things were cleared
away.
Mr. Huntingdon then went up-stairs.
I did not attempt to follow him,
but remained seated in the arm-chair,
speechless, tearless, and almost
motionless, till he returned
about half-an-hour after, and
walking up to me, held the candle
in my face and peered into my
eyes with looks and laughter
too insulting to be borne. With
a sudden stroke of my hand I
dashed the candle to the floor.
'Hal-lo!' muttered he, starting
back; 'she's the very devil for
spite. Did ever any mortal see
such eyes? - they shine in the
dark like a cat's. Oh, you're
a sweet one!' So saying, he gathered
up the candle and the candlestick.
The former being broken as well
as extinguished, he rang for
another.
'Benson, your mistress has
broken the candle; bring another.'
'You expose yourself finely,'
observed I, as the man departed.
'I didn't say I'd broken it,
did I?' returned he. He then
threw my keys into my lap, saying,
- 'There! you'll find nothing
gone but your money, and the
jewels, and a few little trifles
I thought it advisable to take
into my own possession, lest
your mercantile spirit should
be tempted to turn them into
gold. I've left you a few sovereigns
in your purse, which I expect
to last you through the month;
at all events, when you want
more you will be so good as to
give me an account of how that's
spent. I shall put you upon a
small monthly allowance, in future,
for your own private expenses;
and you needn't trouble yourself
any more about my concerns; I
shall look out for a steward,
my dear - I won't expose you
to the temptation. And as for
the household matters, Mrs. Greaves
must be very particular in keeping
her accounts; we must go upon
an entirely new plan - '
'What great discovery have
you made now, Mr. Huntingdon?
Have I attempted to defraud you?'
'Not in money matters, exactly,
it seems; but it's best to keep
out of the way of temptation.'
Here Benson entered with the
candles, and there followed a
brief interval of silence; I
sitting still in my chair, and
he standing with his back to
the fire, silently triumphing
in my despair.
'And so,' said he at length,
'you thought to disgrace me,
did you, by running away and
turning artist, and supporting
yourself by the labour of your
hands, forsooth? And you thought
to rob me of my son, too, and
bring him up to be a dirty Yankee
tradesman, or a low, beggarly
painter?'
'Yes, to obviate his becoming
such a gentleman as his father.'
'It's well you couldn't keep
your own secret - ha, ha! It's
well these women must be blabbing.
If they haven't a friend to talk
to, they must whisper their secrets
to the fishes, or write them
on the sand, or something; and
it's well, too, I wasn't over
full to- night, now I think of
it, or I might have snoozed away
and never dreamt of looking what
my sweet lady was about; or I
might have lacked the sense or
the power to carry my point like
a man, as I have done.'
Leaving him to his self-congratulations,
I rose to secure my manuscript,
for I now remembered it had been
left upon the drawing- room table,
and I determined, if possible,
to save myself the humiliation
of seeing it in his hands again.
I could not bear the idea of
his amusing himself over my secret
thoughts and recollections; though,
to be sure, he would find little
good of himself therein indited,
except in the former part; and
oh, I would sooner burn it all
than he should read what I had
written when I was such a fool
as to love him!
'And by-the-by,' cried he,
as I was leaving the room, 'you'd
better tell that d-d old sneak
of a nurse to keep out of my
way for a day or two; I'd pay
her her wages and send her packing
to-morrow, but I know she'd do
more mischief out of the house
than in it.'
And as I departed, he went
on cursing and abusing my faithful
friend and servant with epithets
I will not defile this paper
with repeating. I went to her
as soon as I had put away my
book, and told her how our project
was defeated. She was as much
distressed and horrified as I
was - and more so than I was
that night, for I was partly
stunned by the blow, and partly
excited and supported against
it by the bitterness of my wrath.
But in the morning, when I woke
without that cheering hope that
had been my secret comfort and
support so long, and all this
day, when I have wandered about
restless and objectless, shunning
my husband, shrinking even from
my child, knowing that I am unfit
to be his teacher or companion,
hoping nothing for his future
life, and fervently wishing he
had never been born, - I felt
the full extent of my calamity,
and I feel it now. I know that
day after day such feelings will
return upon me. I am a slave
- a prisoner - but that is nothing;
if it were myself alone I would
not complain, but I am forbidden
to rescue my son from ruin, and
what was once my only consolation
is become the crowning source
of my despair.
Have I no faith in God? I try
to look to Him and raise my heart
to heaven, but it will cleave
to the dust. I can only say,
'He hath hedged me about, that
I cannot get out: He hath made
my chain heavy. He hath filled
me with bitterness - He hath
made me drunken with wormwood.'
I forget to add, 'But though
He cause grief, yet will He have
compassion according to the multitude
of His mercies. For He doth not
afflict willingly nor grieve
the children of men.' I ought
to think of this; and if there
be nothing but sorrow for me
in this world, what is the longest
life of misery to a whole eternity
of peace? And for my little Arthur
- has he no friend but me? Who
was it said, 'It is not the will
of your Father which is in heaven
that one of these little ones
should perish?'
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