and Mrs.Knifton had been so shocked at the danger I had run--for which they blamed their own want of thoughtfulness in leaving the pocketbook in my care--that they had insisted on my father's removing from our lonely home to a cottage on their land, which we were to inhabit rent free.The bank-notes that I had saved were given to me to buy furniture with, in place of the things that the thieves had broken.These pleasant tidings assisted so greatly in promoting my recovery, that I was soon able to relate to my friends at the farmhouse the particulars that I have written here.They were all surprised and interested, but no one, as I thought, listened to me with such breathless attention as the farmer's eldest son.Mrs.Knifton noticed this too, and began to make jokes about it, in her light-hearted way, as soon as we were alone.I thought little of her jesting at the time; but when I got well, and we went to live at our new home, "the young farmer," as he was called in our parts, constantly came to see us, and constantly managed to meet me out of doors.I had my share of vanity, like other young women, and I began to think of Mrs.Knifton's jokes with some attention.To be brief, the young farmer managed one Sunday--I never could tell how--to lose his way with me in returning from church, and before we found out the right road home again he had asked me to be his wife.
His relations did all they could to keep us asunder and break off the match, thinking a poor stonemason's daughter no fit wife for a prosperous yeoman.But the farmer was too obstinate for them.
He had one form of answer to all their objections."A man, if he is worth the name, marries according to his own notions, and to please himself," he used to say."My notion is, that when I take a wife I am placing my character and my happiness--the most precious things I have to trust--in one woman's care.The woman Imean to marry had a small charge confided to her care, and showed herself worthy of it at the risk of her life.That is proof enough for me that she is worthy of the greatest charge I can put into her hands.Rank and riches are fine things, but the certainty of getting a good wife is something better still.I'm of age, I know my own mind, and I mean to marry the stone-mason's daughter."And he did marry me.Whether I proved myself worthy or not of his good opinion is a question which I must leave you to ask my husband.All that I had to relate about myself and my doings is now told.Whatever interest my perilous adventure may excite, ends, I am well aware, with my escape to the farmhouse.I have only ventured on writing these few additional sentences because my marriage is the moral of my story.It has brought me the choicest blessings of happiness and prosperity, and I owe them all to my night-adventure in _The Black Cottage_.
THE SECOND DAY.
A CLEAR, cloudless, bracing autumn morning.I rose gayly, with the pleasant conviction on my mind that our experiment had thus far been successful beyond our hopes.
Short and slight as the first story had been, the result of it on Jessie's mind had proved conclusive.Before I could put the question to her, she declared of her own accord, and with her customary exaggeration, that she had definitely abandoned all idea of writing to her aunt until our collection of narratives was exhausted.
"I am in a fever of curiosity about what is to come," she said, when we all parted for the night; "and, even if I wanted to leave you, I could not possibly go away now, without hearing the stories to the end."So far, so good.All my anxieties from this time were for George's return.Again to-day I searched the newspapers, and again there were no tidings of the ship.
Miss Jessie occupied the second day by a drive to our county town to make some little purchases.Owen, and Morgan, and I were all hard at work, during her absence, on the stories that still remained to be completed.Owen desponded about ever getting done;Morgan grumbled at what he called the absurd difficulty of writing nonsense.I worked on smoothly and contentedly, stimulated by the success of the first night.
We assembled as before in our guest's sitting-room.As the clock struck eight she drew out the second card.It was Number Two.The lot had fallen on me to read next.
"Although my story is told in the first person," I said, addressing Jessie, "you must not suppose that the events related in this particular case happened to me.They happened to a friend of mine, who naturally described them to me from his own personal point of view.In producing my narrative from the recollection of what he told me some years since, I have supposed myself to be listening to him again, and have therefore written in his character, and, w henever my memory would help me, as nearly as possible in his language also.By this means I hope I have succeeded in giving an air of reality to a story which has truth, at any rate, to recommend it.I must ask you to excuse me if Ienter into no details in offering this short explanation.
Although the persons concerned in my narrative have ceased to exist, it is necessary to observe all due delicacy toward their memories.Who they were, and how I became acquainted with them, are matters of no moment.The interest of the story, such as it is, stands in no need, in this instance, of any assistance from personal explanations."With those words I addressed myself to my task, and read as follows: