The Complete Novels of Elizabeth Gaskell. Elizabeth Gaskell
and his wish that Edward should go to America.
“To America!” said Mrs. Browne. “Why that’s as far as Botany Bay. It’s just like transporting him. I thought you’d done something for us, you looked so glad.”
“Dearest mother, it is something. He is not to be subjected to imprisonment or trial. I must go and tell him, only I must beckon to Mr. Buxton first. But when he comes, do show him how thankful we are for his mercy to Edward.”
Mrs. Browne’s murmurings, whatever was their meaning, were lost upon Maggie. She ran through the court, and up the slope, with the lightness of a lawn; for though she was tired in body to an excess she had never been before in her life, the opening beam of hope in the dark sky made her spirit conquer her flesh for the time.
She did not stop to speak, but turned again as soon as she had signed to Mr. Buxton to follow her. She left the house-door open for his entrance, and passed out again through the kitchen into the space behind, which was partly an uninclosed yard, and partly rocky common. She ran across the little green to the shippon, and mounted the ladder into the dimly-lighted loft. Up in a dark corner Edward stood, with an old rake in his hand.
“I thought it was you, Maggie!” said he, heaving a deep breath of relief. “What have you done? Have you agreed to write the letter? You’ve done something for me, I see by your looks.”
“Yes! I have told Mr. Buxton all. He is waiting for you in the parlor. Oh! I knew he could not be so hard!” She was out of breath.
“I don’t understand you!” said he. “You’ve never been such a fool as to go and tell him where I am?”
“Yes, I have. I felt I might trust him. He has promised not to prosecute you. The worst is, he says you must go to America. But come down, Ned, and speak to him. You owe him thanks, and he wants to see you.”
“I can’t go through a scene. I’m not up to it. Besides, are you sure he is not entrapping me to the police? If I had a farthing of money I would not trust him, but be off to the moors.”
“Oh, Edward! How do you think he would do anything so treacherous and mean? I beg you not to lose time in distrust. He says himself, if Mr. Henry comes before you are off, he does not know what will be the consequence. The packet sails for America in two days. It is sad for you to have to go. Perhaps even yet he may think of something better, though I don’t know how we can ask or expect it.”
“I don’t want anything better,” replied he, “than that I should have money enough to carry me to America. I’m in more scrapes than this (though none so bad) in England; and in America there’s many an opening to fortune.” He followed her down the steps while he spoke. Once in the yellow light of the watery day, she was struck by his ghastly look. Sharp lines of suspicion and cunning seemed to have been stamped upon his face, making it look older by many years than his age warranted. His jaunty evening dress, all weather-stained and dirty, added to his forlorn and disreputable appearance; but most of all — deepest of all — was the impression she received that he was not long for this world; and oh! how unfit for the next! Still, if time was given — if he were placed far away from temptation, she thought that her father’s son might yet repent, and be saved. She took his hand, for he was hanging back as they came near the parlor-door, and led him in. She looked like some guardian angel, with her face that beamed out trust, and hope, and thankfulness. He, on the contrary, hung his head in angry, awkward shame; and half wished he had trusted to his own wits, and tried to evade the police, rather than have been forced into this interview.
His mother came to him; for she loved him all the more fondly, now he seemed degraded and friendless. She could not, or would not, comprehend the extent of his guilt; and had upbraided Mr. Buxton to the top of her bent for thinking of sending him away to America. There was a silence when he came in which was insupportable to him. He looked up with clouded eyes, that dared not meet Mr. Buxton’s.
“I am here, sir, to learn what you wish me to do. Maggie says I am to go to America; if that is where you want to send me, I’m ready.”
Mr. Buxton wished himself away as heartily as Edward. Mrs. Browne’s upbraidings, just when he felt that he had done a kind action, and yielded, against his judgment, to Maggie’s entreaties, had made him think himself very ill used. And now here was Edward speaking in a sullen, savage kind of way, instead of showing any gratitude. The idea of Mr. Henry’s stern displeasure loomed in the background.
“Yes!” said he, “I’m glad to find you come into the idea of going to America. It’s the only place for you. The sooner you can go, and the better.”
“I can’t go without money,” said Edward, doggedly. “If I had had money, I need not have come here.”
“Oh, Ned! would you have gone without seeing me?” said Mrs. Browne, bursting into tears. “Mr. Buxton, I cannot let him go to America. Look how ill he is. He’ll die if you send him there.”
“Mother, don’t give way so,” said Edward, kindly, taking her hand. “I’m not ill, at least not to signify. Mr. Buxton is right: America is the only place for me. To tell the truth, even if Mr. Buxton is good enough” (he said this as if unwilling to express any word of thankfulness) “not to prosecute me, there are others who may — and will. I’m safer out of the country. Give me money enough to get to Liverpool and pay my passage, and I’ll be off this minute.”
“You shall not,” said Mrs. Browne, holding him tightly. “You told me this morning you were led into temptation, and went wrong because you had no comfortable home, nor any one to care for you, and make you happy. It will be worse in America. You’ll get wrong again, and be away from all who can help you. Or you’ll die all by yourself, in some backwood or other. Maggie! you might speak and help me — how can you stand so still, and let him go to America without a word!”
Maggie looked up bright and steadfast, as if she saw something beyond the material present. Here was the opportunity for self-sacrifice of which Mrs. Buxton had spoken to her in her childish days — the time which comes to all, but comes unheeded and unseen to those whose eyes are not trained to watching.
“Mother! could you do without me for a time? If you could, and it would make you easier, and help Edward to”— The word on her lips died away; for it seemed to imply a reproach on one who stood in his shame among them all.
“You would go!” said Mrs. Browne, catching at the unfinished sentence. “Oh! Maggie, that’s the best thing you’ve ever said or done since you were born. Edward, would not you like to have Maggie with you?”
“Yes,” said he, “well enough. It would be far better for me than going all alone; though I dare say I could make my way pretty well after a time. If she went, she might stay till I felt settled, and had made some friends, and then she could come back.”
Mr. Buxton was astonished at first by this proposal of Maggie’s. He could not all at once understand the difference between what she now offered to do, and what he had urged upon her only this very morning. But as he thought about it, he perceived that what was her own she was willing to sacrifice; but that Frank’s heart, once given into her faithful keeping, she was answerable for it to him and to God. This light came down upon him slowly; but when he understood, he admired with almost a wondering admiration. That little timid girl brave enough to cross the ocean and go to a foreign land, if she could only help to save her brother!
“I’m sure Maggie,” said he, turning towards her, “you are a good, thoughtful little creature. It may be the saving of Edward — I believe it will. I think God will bless you for being so devoted.”
“The expense will be doubled,” said Edward.
“My dear boy! never mind the money. I can get it advanced upon this cottage.”
“As for that, I’ll advance it,” said Mr. Buxton.
“Could we not,” said Maggie, hesitating from her want of knowledge, “make over the furniture — papa’s books, and what little plate we have, to Mr. Buxton — something like pawning them — if he would