The Black-Sealed Letter | Page 7

to
struggle alone against the adversities of this world, while the finger of
scorn is directed toward me, and also toward my child, whose
innocence will neither soften the harshness of the world's tongue nor
justify the errors of those who gave to it an existence."
"Why, Clara," exclaimed Fred somewhat irritated, "you are really
sarcastic and condemnatory in your remarks. Is this the sort of
complimentary welcome I receive from you at my return? If so, I shall

have to shorten my visit."
"Well, Fred, consider the matter judiciously, and you will not think me
unreasonable in my accusations," replied Clara.
"Pooh, pooh," retorted Fred, "never allow your imagination to soar
higher than your reason; curb down the irritable nerves of your temper;
turn the dark side of life's picture towards the past, and keep always the
bright side uppermost."
"It is easier said than done," she replied. "Had you rendered me the
assistance in reality instead of broken promises, I might have been
looking to-day upon the bright side of life."
"For goodness sake, Clara, do not tantalize me so unmercifully. I tell
you that I have decided upon going to Canada, and I shall go. That
country offers advantages unknown to England. Better hazard an
adventure than remain forever riveted to hard labor here, and then die at
last in the harness. Were I to marry you now I have no home but my
father's to which I could remove you; better then to remain where you
are, unmarried, than otherwise, for, I feel certain that Collins would
turn you out as soon as he had discovered that I had both married and
left you. But let me tell you but once and forever that I intend to
become a husband to you as soon as I can find it convenient to procure
a comfortable home."
"The old story again," ejaculated Clara, "and let me tell you, Fred, that
if you go to Canada you will never make your circumstances
convenient to fulfil your promise--no, never, never, Fred."
"I don't want to hear any more of such botheration," retorted Fred,
irritably; and springing up from his seat, made his exit abruptly, leaving
Clara to sigh out alone the sorrows of her heart in the solitude of her
own reflections.
Mr. Collins, as I said before was a man possessed of a degraded nature,
being much addicted to intemperance. Widow Hazledon had married
him after a brief acquaintance. She had felt the necessity of a fatherly

assistance and protection in the rearing of her young family; but in
Collins she discovered when too late that she had mistaken his
character. She, however, continued to make the best of a bad bargain.
He was a carver by trade, and commanded good wages; but every
Saturday night, he got drunk. His Sabbaths were generally devoted to
the worship of Bacchus. Sometimes he would continue drinking for
several days, until every penny was exhausted. Then he would make
demands at home for more money, which if refused, he was sure to
abuse his wife and family. He was not only a drunkard; he was a
scoffer at religion, and considered it a mark of honor to take the name
of God in vain.
On the following day after Frederick's interview with Clara, Collins
came home partly intoxicated, and demanded more money to help him,
as he said, to finish off a spree with an old comrade whom he had not
seen for several years. Mrs. Collins expostulated with him, but to no
purpose. He became, at length, exasperated, and threatened to turn
them all out upon the street, and burn the house down. Clara attempted
to pacify him, which only made him the more outrageous. He swore
every oath imaginable at her, insolently ordering her to be off with her
child, and find lodgings with the villain to whom she had prostituted
herself, or else he would soon pitch her and her little bratling into the
Thames.
"Here, Tom, take this, 'tis the last shilling I have in the house. Now,
dear Tom, like a good husband, keep quiet, and don't abuse Clara and
me so much as you do," said Mrs. Collins with a pitiable sort of tone,
the tears trickling down her grief furrowed cheeks.
"Well, Annie, but you're a good sort of wife after all," replied Collins,
in a somewhat subdued tone. "As for Clara, I like her well enough! but
I have resolved that I shall not labor any longer to support the child of
that blackguard of a fellow, who, as I have been informed, has
absconded to Canada. I hate him, and I detest his child--the dirty,
yelping thing that it is. If it is not instantly removed from here, I shall
make short work of it