My aunt's favourite musical pieces were on the piano.I slipped in two more books among the music.I disposed of another in the back drawing-room, under some unfinished embroidery, which I knew to be of Lady Verinder's working.A third little room opened out of the back drawing-room, from which it was shut off by curtains instead of a door.My aunt's plain old-fashioned fan was on the chimney-piece.I opened my ninth book at a very special passage, and put the fan in as a marker, to keep the place.The question then came, whether I should go higher still, and try the bedroom floor--at the risk, undoubtedly, of being insulted, if the person with the cap-ribbons happened to be in the upper regions of the house, and to find me out.But oh, what of that? It is a poor Christian that is afraid of being insulted.
I went upstairs, prepared to bear anything.All was silent and solitary--it was the servants' tea-time, I suppose.My aunt's room was in front.The miniature of my late dear uncle Sir John, hung on the wall opposite the bed.It seemed to smile at me; it seemed to say, `Drusilla! deposit a book.'
There were tables on either side of my aunt's bed.She was a bad sleeper, and wanted, or thought she wanted, many things at night.I put a book near the matches on one side, and a book under the box of chocolate drops on the other.Whether she wanted a light, or whether she wanted a drop, there was a precious publication to meet her eye, or to meet her hand, and to say with silent eloquence, in either case, `Come, try me! try me!' But one book was now left at the bottom of my bag, and but one apartment was still unexplored--the bathroom, which opened out of the bedroom.I peeped in; and the holy inner voice that never deceives, whispered to me, `You have met her, Drusilla, everywhere else; meet her at the bath, and the work is done.' I observed a dressing-gown thrown across a chair.It had a pocket in it, and in that pocket I put my last book.Can words express my exquisite sense of duty done, when I had slipped out of the house, unsuspected by any of them, and when I found myself in the street with my empty bag under my arm? Oh, my worldly friends, pursuing the phantom, Pleasure, through the guilty mazes of Dissipation, how easy it is to be happy, if you will only be good!
When I folded up my things that night--when I reflected on the true riches which I had scattered with such a lavish hand, from top to bottom of the house of my wealthy aunt--I declare I felt as free from all anxiety as if I had been a child again.I was so light-hearted that I sang a verse of the `Evening Hymn.' I was so light-hearted that I fell asleep before I could sing another.Quite like a child again! quite like a child again!
So I passed that blissful night.On rising the next morning, how young I felt! I might add, how young I looked, if I were capable of dwelling on the concerns of my own perishable body.But I am not capable--and Iadd nothing.
Towards luncheon-time--not for the sake of the creature-comforts, but for the certainty of finding dear aunt--I put on my bonnet to go to Montagu Square.Just as I was ready, the maid at the lodgings in which I then lived looked in at the door, and said, `Lady Verinder's servant, to see Miss Clack.'
I occupied the parlour-floor, at that period of my residence in London.
The front parlour was my sitting-room.Very small, very low in the ceiling, very poorly furnished--but, oh, so neat! I looked into the passage to see which of Lady Verinder's servants had asked for me.It was the young footman, Samuel--a civil fresh-coloured person, with a teachable look and a very obliging manner.I had always felt a spiritual interest in Samuel, and a wish to try him with a few serious words.On this occasion, I invited him into my sitting-room.
He came in, with a large parcel under his arm.When he put the parcel down, it appeared to frighten him.`My lady's love, miss; and I was to say that you would find a letter inside.' Having given that message, the fresh-coloured young footman surprised me by looking as if he would have liked to run away.
I detained him to make a few kind inquiries.Could I see my aunt, if I called in Montagu Square? No; she had gone out for a drive.Miss Rachel had gone with her, and Mr.Ablewhite had taken a seat in the carriage too.
Knowing how sadly dear Mr.Godfrey's charitable work was in arrear, I thought it odd that he should be going out driving, like an idle man.I stopped Samuel at the door, and made a few more kind inquiries.Miss Rachel was going to a ball that night, and Mr.Ablewhite had arranged to come to coffee, and go with her.There was a morning concert advertised for to-morrow, and Samuel was ordered to take places for a large party, including a place for Mr.Ablewhite.`All the tickets may be gone, miss,' said this innocent youth, `if I don't run and get them at once!' He ran as he said the words--and I found myself alone again, with some anxious thoughts to occupy me.
We had a special meeting of the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-Conversion Society that night, summoned expressly with a view to obtaining Mr.Godfrey's advice and assistance.Instead of sustaining our sisterhood, under an overwhelming flow of Trousers which quite prostrated our little community, he had arranged to take coffee in Montagu Square, and to go to a ball afterwards! The afternoon of the next day had been selected for the Festival of the British-Ladies'-Servants'-Sunday-Sweetheart-Supervision Society.Instead of being present, the life and soul of that struggling Institution, he had engaged to make one of a party of worldlings at a morning concert! I asked myself what did it mean? Alas! it meant that our Christian Hero was to reveal himself to me in a new character, and to become associated in my mind with one of the most awful backslidings of modern times.
