Turns of Fortune | Page 4

look after the gardens;

but after his daughter's elopement and his wife's death, three were
discharged, and he let the lands and gardens; and then another went,
and Sarah felt the loneliness so great, that she made the remaining one
sleep in her own room. The house had been frequently attacked; once,
in a fit of despair, her brother-in-law had forced his way in the night to
the old man's side, and but for her prompt interference, murder would
have been done. No wonder, then, that her shattered nerves trembled as
she watched the shortening candle, and heard the raving of the wind,
saw the spectral shadows the broken plumes that ornamented the
canopy of the bed cast upon the fantastic walls, felt that his hour was at
hand, and feared that "he would die and make no sign;" still, while
those waving fantasies passing to and fro through her active but
weakened mind, made her tremble in every limb, and ooze at every
pore; and though unable to read on steadily, her eyes continued fixed
upon the book which her hand grasped, with the same feeling that made
those of old cling to the altar of their God for sanctuary. Suddenly her
father called--and she started as from a dream--"Sarah!"
She hastened to his side; "Dear father, what do you want?"
"Child, the room is dark; and you had so much light just now. All is
dark. Where are you? But it was better, after all, to put out the light;
wilful waste makes"--
Before the miser had concluded his proverb, the light of his existence
was extinguished for ever!

CHAPTER II.
Several weeks elapsed before Sarah Bond recovered sufficiently from
the shock, ay, and genuine grief, occasioned by her father's death, so as
to investigate her affairs; the hardness and the tyranny she had borne
for so many years had become habitual, and her own will was
absolutely paralysed by inaction. Jacob Bond had always treated his
daughter as if she were a baby, and it was some time before she could
collect herself sufficiently to calculate upon her future plans. She had

no friends; and the sister to whom, despite her father's cruel words, her
heart clung so fondly, was far from her, she knew not where. The
mourning for herself and her servant was ordered from a neighbouring
shop, with a carelessness as to expense which made people say that
Sarah was of habits different from her father.
The rector and curate of the parish both called, but she shrunk from
strangers. The very first act, however, of her liberty, was to take a pew
at church, a whole pew, to herself, which she ordered to be curtained all
round. Some said this indicated pride, some said ostentation; but it was
simply shyness. And soon after she placed in the aisle a white marble
tablet, "To the memory of Jacob Bond, who died in the seventy-eighth
year of his age, deeply lamented by his sorrowing daughter."
Some ladies connected with a society for clothing the poor, called upon
and explained to her their object; she poked five old guineas into the
hands of the spokeswoman, but forbade the insertion of her donation in
the visitor's book. During the following week she had numerous
applications from various charitable bodies, to whom she gave
generously, they said, while she reproached herself with narrowness; to
all, however, she positively refused to become a yearly subscriber; and
when closely urged by the rector to be one of the patrons of his school,
she answered, "Sir, my father received his property suddenly, and I
may be as suddenly deprived of it. I will give, but I will not promise."
Her impulse was to give, her habit to withhold.
She added one more servant to her establishment; and as she did not
send out cards returning thanks for the 'inquiries,' which increased daily,
Sarah Bond was a very lonely woman; for though some, from curiosity,
others from want of occupation, others, again, from the unfortunately
universal desire to form acquaintance with the rich, would have been
glad, now the solitary old miser was gone, to make fellowship with his
gentle-looking and wealthy daughter, yet her reserve and quietness
prevented the fulfilment of their wishes. Weeks and months rolled on;
the old house had been repaired and beautified. Mr. Cramp, Sarah's law
agent and 'man of business,' advised her to let the house, of which she
occupied about as much as a wren could fill of the nest of an eagle; and,

strangely enough, finding that the house of her childhood was to let,
she took it, removing thither all the furniture which her father made her
promise never to part with. The ceiling of the best bed-room was
obliged to be raised to admit