Turns of Fortune | Page 2

as much wood as would roast an ox."
"It is so very cold, father."

"Still, we must not be wasteful, Sarah," he answered; "wilful waste
makes woful want." Sarah Bond covered the old man carefully over,
while he laid himself stiffly down upon his pallet, re-muttering his
favourite proverb over and over again.
She then drew the curtains more closely, and seated herself in an
old-fashioned chair beside a little table in front of the fire.
The room had been the drawing-room of the old house in which Mr.
Bond and his daughter resided, but for the sake of saving both labour
and expense, he had had his bed removed into it; and though anything
but comfortable, a solitary, impoverished, and yet gorgeous appearance
pervaded the whole, such as those who delineate interiors, loving small
lights and deep shadows, would covet to convey to their canvass. The
bed upon which the old man lay was canopied, and of heavy crimson
damask. In the dim light of that spacious room, it looked to the
worn-out eyes of Sarah Bond more like a hearse than a bed. Near it was
an old spinnet, upon which stood a labelled vial, a tea-cup, and a spoon.
When Sarah seated herself at the table, she placed her elbows upon it,
and pressed her folded hands across her eyes; no sigh or moan escaped
her, but her chest heaved convulsively; and when she removed her
hands, she drew a Bible toward her, trimmed the lamp, and began to
read.
The voice of an old French clock echoed painfully through the chamber.
Sarah longed to stop it, and yet it was a companion in her watchings.
Once, a shy, suspicious, bright-eyed mouse rattled among the cinders,
and ran into the wainscot, and then came out again, and stared at Sarah
Bond, who, accustomed to such visits, did not raise her eyes to inquire
into the cause of the rustling which in a few more moments took place
upon a tray containing the remnants of some bread and cheese, her
frugal supper.
"Sarah," croaked Mr. Bond; "what noise is that?"
"Only the mice, father, as usual; do, father, try to sleep. I watch
carefully; there is nothing to fear."

"Ay, ay, men and mice all the same; nothing but waste. When I am
gone, Sarah, keep what you will have; it won't be much, Sarah, my
poor girl, it won't be much; just enough to need care; but KEEP IT;
don't lend it, or give it, or spend it; you are fond of spending, my poor
girl; see that huge fire, enough for three nights; early bad habits. When
we lived in a small house and were poor, it was then you learned to be
extravagant; I had no money then, so did not know its value."
"But we were happier then, father," said Sarah Bond; "we were so
cheerful and happy then, and so many poor people blessed my dear
mother, and Mary"--
"Hiss--ss," uttered the dying miser; "don't dare mention your sister,
who disgraced me by marrying a pauper; a pauper who threatened my
life, because I would not give him my money to save him from starving;
but he did not get the old father-in-law's gold; no; he _starved, and_"--
The words thus uttered by her father, who she knew had not many
hours to live--uttered, too, with such demoniac bitterness--forced the
gentle, patient woman to start from her seal, and pass rapidly across the
room to the side of his bed, where she sank upon her knees, and seized
his shrunken hands in hers. "Father!" she exclaimed, "I have been your
child for forty years, and you have said, that during that period, by no
act of my own, have I ever angered you. Is it not so?" The old man
withdrew one hand gently, turned himself round, and looked in her face:
"Forty years! Is it forty years?" he repeated; "but it must be; the fair
brow is wrinkled, and the abundant hair grown thin and gray. You were
a pretty baby, Sarah, and a merry child; a cheerful girl, too, until that
foolish fancy. Well, dear, I'll say no more about it; good, dutiful girl.
You gave it up to please your father full twenty years ago, and when he
dies, you shall have all his gold--there's a good father! You must keep it,
Sarah, and not give it, nor lend it. I know you won't marry, as he is
dead; nor see your sister--mind that; if you see her, or serve her, the
bitterest curse that ever rose from a father's grave will compass you in
on every side."
"My father!" she said, "oh! in mercy to yourself, revoke these words.
She knew nothing of her husband's conduct; he used her even worse

than