Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone

I became better satisfied with my proceedings when I reflected that they would lead to my finding Lenore, and once more looking upon her.

I knew that by so doing my unhappiness might only be increased; but I fancied that even this would be a change from the dull aching misery, I had been so long enduring.

My railroad journey by Liverpool was not without an incident that interested me. In the carriage in which I had taken my seat, was a man – accompanied by his wife, their child, and a servant girl who nursed the “baby.” I had not been ten minutes in the company of this interesting group, before I became convinced that it was worthy of being studied, although like a Latin lesson, the study was not altogether agreeable.

The husband was a striking example, of how a sensible man may sometimes be governed by a silly woman. The child was about two years and a half old; and the fact, that it had already learnt to cry, seemed to its mother something to be surprised at!

The selfishness which causes that painful reserve, or want of sociability, observable amongst the travelling English of the middle class, was in the case of the woman in question, subdued by a silly conceit about her child – which she appeared to regard as a little lump of concentrated perfection. Before we had been in the carriage half-an-hour, she had told me its age, the number of its teeth, what it did, and did not like to eat, along with several remarkable things it had been heard to say.

“But is it not strange,” asked she, after a long speech in manifestation of its many virtues, “that a child of its age cannot walk?”

“There is nothing strange about it,” muttered the husband, “how can the child learn to walk, when it never has an opportunity of trying? It’ll never have a chance to try, as long as there is a servant girl in the United Kingdom strong enough to carry it about. I’ll answer for that.”

“John, dear, how can you talk so?” exclaimed the mother of the blessed baby, “you have not the least consideration, or you would not expect an infant to be a man.”

During the two hours I shared the carriage with this interesting family, I heard that mother use to her child about one-fourth of all the words in the English language – adding to each word the additional syllable “ee.”

When the father ventured to open his mouth, and speak to the child in plain English, the mother would accuse him of scolding it; and then the little demon would set up a loud yelling, from which it would not desist, until mother and nurse had called it every pet name they could think of – adding to each the endearing syllable “ee.”

Becoming perfectly satisfied at the observations I had made of the peculiarities of this pleasant family, I took the first opportunity of “changing carriages;” and left the fond mother to enjoy, undisturbed, the caresses of her spoilt pet. Perhaps, had Fortune been a little kinder to myself, I might have felt less afflicted in such society. But as I had no intention of ever becoming a family man, I thought the knowledge of “what to avoid,” was hardly worth acquiring – at the expense of being submitted to the annoyance that accompanied the lesson.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Nine.

Brown of Birmingham

On my way to Liverpool, I took the route by Birmingham – with the intention of breaking my journey in the latter city.

I had two reasons for this. I wanted to see the great city of iron foundries; and, still more, my old mate – Brown, the convict – who had worked along with me on the diggings of Avoca.

The morning after reaching Birmingham, I went in search of the place, where Brown had told me to enquire for him.

Just before his departure from the diggings, he had seen a man fresh from Birmingham; and had learnt from him, that a young fellow – with whom he had once been acquainted – was then keeping a public-house formerly much frequented by his father.

The old convict had said, that from this tavern keeper he should be able to learn all about his family; and had directed me, in case of my ever coming to Birmingham, to inquire for himself at the same address.

I found the tavern without much trouble. It was what might be called, either in Birmingham or Glasgow, a “third class” public-house; but would not have been licensed for such a purpose in any other city.

I saw the landlord; and requested him to give me the address of “Richard Brown.” After some hesitation, my request was complied with.

On proceeding to the place, I had the good fortune to find my old mate at home.

I had no occasion to regret paying him this visit: for the happiness it seemed to cause him, was worth making a long journey to confer.

“You are the only one,” said he, “to whom I told my story in the colonies. You remember with what little hope I returned home; and I know you are just the man to be pleased at what I have to tell you.”

“I am certainly pleased,” said I, “at what I already see. I find you living in a quiet, comfortable home; and, to all appearance, contented.”

“Yes,” joyfully answered Brown, “and I am all that I appear, even more happy than you can imagine. But I must tell you all about it. On my return, I found my mother still living, and in a workhouse. My brother was married; and had a large family – fighting, as he and I used to do, against death from starvation. I did not go to my mother in the workhouse. I did not wish to meet her there, in presence of people who could not have understood my feelings. After learning that she was there, I took this house; and furnished it on the same day. My brother then went to the workhouse, took our mother out of it, brought her here, and told her it was her own home, and that everything she saw belonged to her. He then explained the puzzle – by bringing us together. The poor old lady was nearly mad with joy; and I believe that I was at that moment the happiest man in England. I am not certain, but that I am so yet. The pleasure I have had in placing my mother beyond the reach of want, and in aiding my brother – who only required the use of a few pounds, to enable him to make a comfortable living – has far more than repaid me, for all the hardships and sorrows of the past.”

Before I parted from him, Brown opened a door, and called to his mother, requesting her to come in.

When she entered the room, I was introduced to her, as a friend who had known her son in Australia. She was a respectable-looking woman, about sixty-eight years of age; and her features bore an expression of cheerfulness and contentment that was pleasant to behold.

“I am greatly pleased to see thee,” said she, addressing herself to me, “for thy presence here tells me, that my son had friends amongst respectable people when far away.”

I took this as a compliment; and was as polite to her, as I knew how to be.

Brown informed me, that he was then engaged in the hay and corn business; and was making a little money – enough, he said, to prevent the gold-dust he had brought home with him from getting scattered. Notwithstanding what he had done for his mother and brother, he expected to find himself at the end of the year worth as much money, and a little more, than when he landed in England.

I know not what others may think of the incident here described; but I felt upon parting from Brown, that it had been worth all the trouble I had taken to call upon him; and I will, at any time, again undergo the same trouble to be present at a similar spectacle.

Under the guidance of my old mining partner, I visited many of the great manufacturing establishments of Birmingham; and, after seeing much to cause me both wonder and admiration, I proceeded on my journey to Liverpool.

Volume Three – Chapter Thirty.

In Search of Lenore

From having resided so long in Captain Hyland’s family, I was familiar, as already stated, with the names of many of their acquaintances. Amongst others, I remembered a Mrs Lanson, who had been on very intimate terms with Mrs Hyland and Lenore.

I knew her address; and from her, would be sure to obtain the information I desired. After arriving in Liverpool, I proceeded almost direct to her residence. At Captain Hylands house, I had often met Mrs Lanson; and on presenting myself, had no trouble in getting recognised. I was received with courtesy – even cordiality.

“I am very anxious,” said I, “too see my old friends – Mrs Hyland and her daughter. Having been so long abroad, I have lost all knowledge of them. I knew that you could inform me, where they are to be found; and it is for that purpose I have taken the liberty of calling upon you.”

“No liberty at all, Mr Stone,” said the lady; “on the contrary, I’m very glad to see you. Of course, you’ve heard of the change that has taken place in Mrs Hyland’s family; and that they are now living in London?” I answered in the affirmative. “The address is Number – , Denbigh Street, Pimlico. That is Captain Nowell’s residence. Please remember me to them!”

Not many more words passed between Mrs Lanson, and myself. I know not whether she noticed my confusion, as I stammered out some common-place, leave-taking speech. I was too much excited to know what I did; or whether my behaviour was remarked upon.

It was not necessary for me to make a memorandum of the address thus given me. I had one already in my possession – which I had been carrying in my pocket for weeks. More than that, I had called at the house itself – on that occasion, when Captain Nowell accompanied me to the Bank.

I know not why this discovery should have given my mind such a painful shock. Why should the thought, that Lenore had married a man with whom I was acquainted, cause me a more bitter pain than any I had yet experienced?

Captain Nowell was a person, for whom I felt a sincere respect – amounting almost to regard. Why then was I so disagreeably surprised, to discover that he was the man who had found the happiness, I had myself lost? I knew not; and I only sought an answer to this mental interrogatory – in the hope, that, by finding it, I might be able to correct some fault that existed in my own mind. I had accomplished the object of my journey; and yet I returned to London with a heart aching from disappointment. I had learnt where Lenore could be seen; and had gone all the way to Liverpool to obtain that information, which might have been mine at an earlier period – had I but hearkened to the request of Captain Nowell to visit him at his house.

My reasons for keeping away from Denbigh Street were now ten times stronger than ever. I no longer felt a desire to see Lenore; and never wished to see Captain Nowell again.

My desire to depart from London was greatly strengthened by the discovery I had made; and, much as I disliked Liverpool, I resolved to return to it – for the purpose of taking passage thence to Melbourne: as I had learnt that there were several Melbourne ships soon to sail from that port.

On conferring with my brother William, he expressed his determination to remain in London. He had bought shares in a brewery; and had every prospect of doing well. He endeavoured to persuade me against returning to the colonies – urging me to go into some business in London, get anchored to a wife, and live happily like himself! Little did William suspect how impossible it would have been for me to follow his counsels.

The arguments he used, only increased my desire to be gone; and I determined to start next day for Liverpool.

Common politeness would not allow me to leave, without writing Captain Nowell a note. It was necessary I should let him know, that I had changed my mind about returning to the colonies in his ship.

On the morning after this last duty had been fulfilled – before I had taken my departure for the train – Captain Nowell was announced; and I could not well avoid seeing him.

“I have come after you,” said he, as soon as he entered the room. “I’m sent to take you prisoner; and bring you before two ladies, whom you should have called upon long ago. You cannot escape – so come along immediately!”

“It is impossible for me to go with you, Captain Nowell,” protested I, “I start for Liverpool by the next train; and I shall have scant time to get to the station.”

“I tell you,” said the Captain, “that I can take no refusal. Why – do you know what I have just learnt? My wife, and her daughter, are old acquaintances of yours. Don’t you remember Mrs Hyland, and little Lenore? I happened to mention the name of Rowland Stone this morning – on reading your note of last night – and there was a row in the house instantly. My wife sent me off to bring you, as fast as a cab can carry us. Unless you go with me, we shall have a fight. I daren’t go back, without you.”

“Stop a minute!” I cried, or rather stammered out the words. “Let me ask you one question! What did you say about your wife?”

“I said that my wife, and her daughter, were old acquaintances of yours. I married the widow of Captain Hyland.”

“Great heaven!” I exclaimed, “did you not marry his daughter?”

“No. What the devil makes you ask that? Marry Lenore Hyland! Why, Stone, I’m old enough to be the young lady’s father; and I am that: since I married her mother.”

“Come on!” I exclaimed, rushing towards the door. “Come on! I must see her immediately.”

I hurried bare-headed into the street – followed by Captain Nowell, who brought my hat in his hand, and placed it on my head.

We hailed a cab; and ordered the driver to take us to Number – , Denbigh Street, Pimlico.

I thought that a horse had never moved so slow. I said everything I could, to induce cabby to drive faster. I did more than talk to him: I bribed him. I threatened, and cursed him – though the man seemed to make every endeavour to satisfy my impatience. The horse appeared to crawl. I thought of jumping out of the cab – in the belief that I could go faster afoot; but my companion prevented me.

We did reach Denbigh Street at last; but after a drive that seemed to me as long as any voyage I had ever made across the Atlantic Ocean.

I could not wait for the Captain to ring his own bell; but rang it myself.

On the instant that a servant girl answered the summons, I put the question:

“Where is Lenore?”

The girl’s face assumed an expression of surprise; but, seeing me in the company of her master, she opened the door of a drawing-room; and I walked in.

Lenore Hyland was before me – more beautiful, if possible, than ever!

I was, no doubt, taking a great liberty, in the ardent demonstrations I at that moment made towards her; but my consciousness of this could not restrain me from doing as I did – though I may have acted like a madman.

“Lenore,” I exclaimed, clasping her in my arms, “are you free? Is it true, that I have not lived and toiled in vain?”

The young lady made no answer – at least not in words; but there was something in her silence, that led me to think, she was not offended at my rudeness.

Gradually I recovered composure, sufficient to conduct myself in a more becoming manner, when the Captain called my attention to Mrs Nowell – in whom I recognised Mrs Hyland, the mother of Lenore.

My long continued misapprehension – so near leading to a life-long misery – was soon fully explained. Mason, whom I had met in Sydney – and with whom the error originated – had been himself the victim of a mistake.

He had called to see Captain Nowell on business; and the latter, not being at home, the old steward had asked to see his wife. Mrs Nowell being engaged at the time, her daughter had come out to receive him; and, as Mason had been formerly acquainted with Captain Hyland and his family, of course he recognised Lenore. This circumstance – along with something that had occurred in the short conversation between her and the steward – had led to the misapprehension; and Mason had left the house under the belief that Lenore Hyland was Captain Nowell’s wife!

I never passed a more happy evening, than that upon which I again met Lenore – though my happiness did not spring, from the “disenchantment” promised by Cannon. I did not think of poor Jessie; and also forgot all about my intention of returning to the colonies, until reminded of it by Captain Nowell – as I was about to take leave of him and his family for the night.

“Stone,” he said, “now that you have found your old friends, you must give them as much of your time as possible: for you know, in a few days, we are to sail for Australia.”

This speech was accompanied by a glance, that told me the Captain did not expect my company upon his next voyage.

I proudly fancied that Lenore interpreted it, in the same sense as I had done: for the blush that broke over her beautiful cheeks, while adding bloom, at the same time led me to believe that my remaining in London would be consonant with her wishes.

Volume Three – Chapter Thirty One.

A Child of Nature

One morning as I sat in my room, impatiently waiting for the hour when I could call upon Lenore; and pondering over the events of my past life – especially that latest one that had given such a happy turn to it – I was informed by Mrs Nagger that a lady was downstairs, who wished to see me.

“What is the ladylike?” I inquired, still thinking of Lenore.

“Like an angel in some great trouble,” replied Mrs Nagger; “and more’s the pity! sir, for she’s a very nice young lady, I’m sure.”

“Did she give any name?”

“No, sir; and more’s the pity, for I should like to know it, but she seems very anxious to see you, and more’s the pity, that she should be kept so long waiting.”

I descended the stairs, entered the parlour, and stood face to face with Jessie H – .

She appeared to be suffering from some acute mental agony; and when I took her hand I could feel her fingers trembling in my grasp. A hectic flush overspread her cheeks; and her eyes looked as though she had been weeping. Her whole appearance was that of a person struggling to restrain the violent expression of some overwhelming sorrow.

“Jessie! What has happened?” I asked. “There is something wrong? You look as if there was – you look ill, Jessie.”

“Yes,” she made answer. “Something has happened; something that has destroyed my happiness for ever.”

“Tell me what it is, Jessie. Tell me all. You know that I will assist you, in any way that is in my power.”

“I do not know that, Rowland. There was a time when you might have saved me; but now it is too late – too late to appease my aching heart. I have waited a long while in anxious doubt; and, perhaps, would have died with the secret in my breast, had I not met you again. It would have been better so. Oh! Rowland, after meeting you once more in this strange land, all the memories of the past came over me, only to fill my soul with sadness and despair. Then it was that my long pent-up grief gave way; and my heart felt shattered. Rowland! I have come to you in my misery, not to accuse you of being its cause; but to tell you that you alone could have prevented it. No mortal could live with more happiness than I, did I but know that you had the slightest love for me. Even should we never meet again, there would be joy in the thought that your love was, or had been mine.”

“Jessie! Can you speak thus when – ”

“Peace, Rowland! hear me out. I am nearly mad. I will tell you all – all that I have suffered for you. For that reason have I come here. They want me to marry a man I do not love. Give me your counsel, Rowland! Is it not wrong for me to marry him, when I cannot love him – when I love only you?”

“Jessie, I cannot hear you talk thus. I told you, when we parted in Australia that I loved another. I have met that other since; and I find that she is still true to me. I hope never to hear you speak so despondingly again. To all, life is sorrow; and we should pray for strength to bear it. Fulfil cheerfully the promises you have made. We can still be friends and you may yet be happy.”

I could perceive, by the quick heaving of her bosom, that her soul was agitated by powerful emotions, that only became stronger as I continued.

At length this agitation seemed to reach a climax, her arms were thrown wildly outwards; and without a word escaping from her lips, she fell heavily upon the floor. She had fainted!

I rang the bell, and called loudly for assistance. Mrs Nagger came hurrying into the room. I raised the insensible form; and held it in my arms – while the old housekeeper rubbed her hands, and applied such restoratives as were near. It seemed as if Jessie H – was never again to be restored to life. She lay against my bosom like a piece of cold white marble with not a movement to betoken that she was breathing.

I gently placed her on a couch – resting her pale cheek upon the pillow. I then requested Mrs Nagger to summon a doctor.

“It’s no use, sir,” said the woman, her words causing me a painful apprehension: for I thought that she meant to say there was no hope of recovery.

“It’s no use, sir,” repeated Mrs Nagger, “she’ll be over it before the doctor could get here. She’s only fainting; and more’s the pity, that such a dear pretty creetur should know the trouble that’s causing it. More’s the pity! that’s all I can say.”

Mrs Nagger’s prognosis proved correct, for Jessie soon recovered, and as she did so, my composure became partially restored.

I began to breathe more freely: for not being used to scenes of this kind, I had felt not only excited, but very much alarmed.

“Jessie,” said I, as I saw her fix her eyes upon me, “you are ill – you have been fainting?”

“No,” she answered, “I have only been thinking – thinking of what you have said. It was something about – ”

She interrupted herself at sight of Mrs Nagger – whom she now noticed for the first time. The presence of the housekeeper appeared to make her conscious of what had occurred; and for some moments she remained silent – pressing her hands against her forehead.

Mrs Nagger perceiving, that she was the cause of some embarrassment, silently retired from the room.

“Rowland,” said Jessie, after the woman had gone, “I have but a few words more to say. To-morrow I am to be married to Mr Vane. It is my father’s wish; and, as I have been told that his wishes should be my own, I have consented to obey him. I have tried to love this man but in vain: for I love another. I love you, Rowland. I cannot govern my feelings; and too well do I remember your own words, when you said, we could only love one. I will leave you now, Rowland: I have told you all.”

“Jessie,” said I, “I am truly sorry for you; but I trust that after your marriage you will think differently; and will not allow any memories of the past to affect your happiness.”

“I thank you for your good wishes,” she answered, “I will, try to bear my cruel fate with composure. Farewell, Rowland! I shall now leave you. I shall go as I have come – alone.”

As I took her hand in mine – to speak that parting, which was to be our last – she fixed her eyes upon me in a glance I shall not forget till my dying hour.

In another instant she was gone.

To me there was something more than painful in this visit from Jessie. It surprised me – as did also her bearing and language. Had she been at all like any other girl, the singularity would have been still more apparent; but she was not. Her conduct was not to be judged by the same standard, as if she had been a young lady educated in the highly civilised society of Europe. She was a child of Nature; and believed that to conceal her thoughts and affections, was a sin against herself – as well as against all whom they might regard. In all likelihood she fondly loved me; and regretted the promise she had given to become the wife of Vane. Such being the case, she may have deemed it her duty to make known to me the state of her mind, before she became irrevocably united to another; and this she had done regardless of consequences. In acting thus, Jessie H – might have been conscious of no wrong, nor could I see any, although had another behaved in a similar manner, my opinion would have been different.

A young lady, brought up in English society, that teaches her rigidly to conceal every warm affection and impulse of the heart, would have been acting wrong in doing as Jessie H – had done. In her betrothal to Vane, she had undoubtedly yielded to the wishes of her father, instead of following the dictates of her own mind; but such was not the case in her making that visit to me.