MABEL.
A Novel,
BY EMMA WARBURTON.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER,
30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE.
1854.
MABEL.
CHAPTER I.
Oh, tell me where to fly!
Oh, tell me if there can be hope,
For one so lost as I!
The grey dawn was slowly and faintly breaking, with the calm, dull lightof a winter's morning. The stormy wind had sunk to rest, the fire, nolonger fanned by its heavy gusts, had nearly abated, and what more wasrequired to extinguish it, was afforded by the arrival of the fireengine, which had been forwarded with the usual promptitude, though fromthe distance it had to travel, it arrived too late to be of anyeffectual service.
Mrs. Lesly's house had been the last to take fire, and was not socompletely destroyed, as the smaller cottages in the more thicklypopulated parts of the village. Mr. Ware was rejoiced to see that thechurch remained uninjured—his own house, too, had escaped, and no fearswere entertained for the Manor. Yet, in many parts, the fire stillsmouldered, though its fury was spent, and gave a light to thelandscape, which rivalled that of the wintry dawn.
There was a small and pleasant nook by the road side, where on summerevenings, children would assemble to play. Here a group had collected,composed of men and women, surrounding the prostrate form of the unhappybailiff. Mr. Ware was supporting his head, with that pity for thewretched and suffering which his sacred character made as necessary ashis natural feelings rendered it pleasant. Satisfied, as he believed, ofthe safety of Mrs. Lesly and her children, he had not been tempted fromthe side of the man, whose remorse called for all that attention whichhe only could give, and who, if he moved, piteously entreated him notto leave him. Well indeed might he beg him to remain, for in the variousgroups which surrounded him, he could not discover a single friend.Subject to his tyranny during his day of power, each among them mighthave stood forward to convict him of some harsh unkindness, if not ofactual cruelty and oppression. Amongst others was Martin, his shaggyeyebrows bent in triumph on the man who, unable to display his usualbearing of conscious authority, lay weak and powerless before him.
The stranger was seen advancing slowly across the green, with his hatslouched over his face, and his arms crossed upon his chest. Allslightly moved to make room for him, and allowed him to stand withoutbeing too closely pressed—but, whether from a sense of his personalbravery in their service, or from an unconscious respect to hiscommanding manner—few stopped to enquire. On his pale countenance weremarks of agitation—he looked indeed almost faint—and Mr. Ware,fearing he might have sustained some injury in his many daring exploits,offered him some of the brandy, which he had been giving to the mostweary. He eagerly accepted the offer, and then, seeing that the grouphad become silent since he joined it, he turned to Mr. Ware.
"As a minister of holy peace, sir," he said, "let me suggest to you,that some means be taken to find out by whom this foul deed has beencommitted, for the intention may well meet with as much condemnation