A House to Let | Page 9

in the bank.
It became time for Alice to hear from her husband. One letter from the
Cape she had already received. The next was to announce his arrival in
India. As week after week passed over, and no intelligence of the ship's
arrival reached the office of the owners, and the Captain's wife was in
the same state of ignorant suspense as Alice herself, her fears grew
most oppressive. At length the day came when, in reply to her inquiry
at the Shipping Office, they told her that the owners had given up Hope
of ever hearing more of the Betsy-Jane, and had sent in their claim
upon the underwriters. Now that he was gone for ever, she first felt a
yearning, longing love for the kind cousin, the dear friend, the
sympathising protector, whom she should never see again,--first felt a
passionate desire to show him his child, whom she had hitherto rather
craved to have all to herself--her own sole possession. Her grief was,
however, noiseless, and quiet--rather to the scandal of Mrs. Wilson;
who bewailed her step-son as if he and she had always lived together in
perfect harmony, and who evidently thought it her duty to burst into
fresh tears at every strange face she saw; dwelling on his poor young
widow's desolate state, and the helplessness of the fatherless child, with
an unction, as if she liked the excitement of the sorrowful story.
So passed away the first days of Alice's widowhood. Bye-and-bye
things subsided into their natural and tranquil course. But, as if this
young creature was always to be in some heavy trouble, her ewe-lamb

began to be ailing, pining and sickly. The child's mysterious illness
turned out to be some affection of the spine likely to affect health; but
not to shorten life--at least so the doctors said. But the long dreary
suffering of one whom a mother loves as Alice loved her only child, is
hard to look forward to. Only Norah guessed what Alice suffered; no
one but God knew.
And so it fell out, that when Mrs. Wilson, the elder, came to her one
day in violent distress, occasioned by a very material diminution in the
value the property that her husband had left her,--a diminution which
made her income barely enough to support herself, much less
Alice--the latter could hardly understand how anything which did not
touch health or life could cause such grief; and she received the
intelligence with irritating composure. But when, that afternoon, the
little sick child was brought in, and the grandmother--who after all
loved it well--began a fresh moan over her losses to its unconscious
ears--saying how she had planned to consult this or that doctor, and to
give it this or that comfort or luxury in after yearn but that now all
chance of this had passed away--Alice's heart was touched, and she
drew near to Mrs. Wilson with unwonted caresses, and, in a spirit not
unlike to that of, Ruth, entreated, that come what would, they might
remain together. After much discussion in succeeding days, it was
arranged that Mrs. Wilson should take a house in Manchester,
furnishing it partly with what furniture she had, and providing the rest
with Alice's remaining two hundred pounds. Mrs. Wilson was herself a
Manchester woman, and naturally longed to return to her native town.
Some connections of her own at that time required lodgings, for which
they were willing to pay pretty handsomely. Alice undertook the active
superintendence and superior work of the household. Norah, willing
faithful Norah, offered to cook, scour, do anything in short, so that, she
might but remain with them.
The plan succeeded. For some years their first lodgers remained with
them, and all went smoothly,--with the one sad exception of the little
girl's increasing deformity. How that mother loved that child, is not for
words to tell!
Then came a break of misfortune. Their lodgers left, and no one
succeeded to them. After some months they had to remove to a smaller
house; and Alice's tender conscience was torn by the idea that she

ought not to be a burden to her mother-in-law, but ought to go out and
seek her own maintenance. And leave her child! The thought came like
the sweeping boom of a funeral bell over her heart.
Bye-and-bye, Mr. Openshaw came to lodge with them. He had started
in life as the errand-boy and sweeper-out of a warehouse; had struggled
up through all the grades of employment in the place, fighting his way
through the hard striving Manchester life with strong pushing energy of
character. Every spare moment of time had been sternly given up to
self- teaching. He was a capital accountant, a good French and German
scholar, a keen, far-seeing tradesman; understanding markets, and