Well! the Day was fine, the Water looked lovely, there was Nothing to prevent their having a most charming Party of Pleasure, unless it were their own Fault. I thought of them many Times, as I sat quietly weaving Hair at my Mother’s Bedside; and fancied them floating on the River, landing under tall Trees, rambling among Meadows, sitting on the Grass, eating and drinking in the Shade, and scattering in small Parties. I fancied what I should do and feel if I were Violet, and how Mark would comport himself, and what he would say: but, when I looked on my Mother’s pain-worn Face, I did not wish to change Places.

They did not come Home till very late; much too late. I had persuaded my Father to go to Bed, and let me sit up for Mark, for Fear of disturbing my Mother. He said Dolly might as well sit up too; however, she proved heavy to sleep, so I sent her to Bed.

Then I sat at my Window, which was over Master Blower’s Sitting-room, and looked out on the Bridge. The Harvest-moon, brightly shining, made our Side of the Way as light as Day, but Master Armytage’s Side was in deep Shade. I heard St. Magnus’s Clock, and St. Paul’s, and St. Mary Overy’s, strike Eleven. Then I saw some dark Figures coming along in the Shade, and stop at Master Armytage’s Door, and knock up the Maid, who, after long Delay, came sleepily to the Door with a Candle. Then the others, who had been talking, but not much, like People who were very tired after too long a Day’s Pleasure, said “Good-night;” and I saw Hugh Braidfoot shake Hands with the Girl on his Arm, and step across to his own Door in the broad Moonshine. Master and Mistress Benskin had gone Home before, and let themselves in with the House-key. I counted those that entered Master Armytage’s, and only made out his own Family. Mark had doubtless seen Mistress Glossop to her own Door, as was right and fitting. For him, then, I must expect to wait a good While longer: and I did wait a good While; till all the Clocks struck Twelve. Just as they had done striking, I heard and knew his Step, and opened the Door without his knocking.

“Have you had a pleasant Day?” said I.

I looked at him as I spoke, and shall never forget his Face!

—“Good-night,” said he shortly; “we’ll talk it over to-morrow,”—

And impatiently took from my Hands his Candle, which I was trying to light for him at mine. But it had been snuffed too short, and would not light as readily as he wished; which made him curse it in a low, deep Voice. I had never heard him swear before.

“Mark,” said I, looking anxiously at him, “you are ill.”

“No, I’m not,” said he abruptly; “Good-night. Thank you for sitting up for me.”

“I’m not at all tired,” said I, “and there’s some Supper for you in the Kitchen. Let us go there, and have a little Chat over the Pleasures of the Day—you don’t look sleepy.”

From white he turned to deep red.

“The Day has not been so pleasant as you suppose,” said he huskily; “you have been better and happier at your Mother’s Bedside. I wish there were more such as you in the World. Good-night, dear, good Cherry!”

—And sprang up Stairs without another Word, taking two Steps at a Time. I went to Bed, but not to sleep; I could not get his strange Look and Manner out of my Head.

The next Morning, at Breakfast-time, Mark did not appear. Dolly said he had gone out early. My Father was angry, and sent across the Way for him, knowing he was but too often at Master Armytage’s. But Dolly brought back Word they had seen Nothing of him. Then we concluded he had gone for an early Walk, as was often his Custom, and had outstayed his Time. However, we breakfasted without him at length, and still he did not come back.

“Confound that Boy,” said my patient Father at last—(thus, the Fault of one Party provoked the Sin of another,)—“it’s plaguy tiresome of him to be playing Truant this Morning, of all Days in the Year, for I have pressing Business in Eastcheap.”

“Leave me in Charge of the Shop, Father,” said I,—“my Mother’s Cough is quiet, now she is dozing; and I shall hear her Bell.”

“Well, I suppose I must,” said he very reluctantly; “but I shall trounce Master Mark well for his Conduct when I see him next, he may rely upon it!”

So he left me in Charge; and my loved Mother being in a Kind of lethargic Slumber, which often lasted many Hours, I left the Doors open between us, and sat in the Shop. As Fate would have it, not a single Customer looked in the whole Time my Father was away; which was lucky, though we did not feel very thankful, in usual, for this Falling-off in Business. Before he returned, Mark came in, and beckoned me into the Parlour.

“What is the Matter?” said I, with a violently beating Heart.

“I’ve done it!” said he breathlessly.

“Done what?” said I.

“Married!” said he: and hid his Face in his Hands.

“Dear Mark, how imprudent!” I exclaimed affectionately; “what will the Armytages say?”

“What will they, indeed!” repeated he, “Violet especially! She drove me to it!”

“Violet? Drove you to marry her?” I cried.—It sounded so strange!

“Oh, Cherry! what will you say? It makes me shudder to tell you!” he rapidly said; “Nothing but that Girl’s incorrigible Coquetry could have made me break with her as I did; and then Reproaches led to Taunts, and Taunts to Threatenings, till bad led to worse, and she twitted me with my Poverty, and I told her I could be a richer Man in twenty-four Hours than her Father, and look down upon them all, and she dared me to it, and said a better Man than me was waiting for her, and so—Temptation to be revenged on her came in my Way, and—I’ve married Mistress Glossop!”

“Oh, Mark!”

—“Nay, Cherry, don’t give way so,” said he, beginning to shed Tears himself when he saw me weeping bitterly,—“Love is not a Man’s whole Life, and what I’ve tasted of it hasn’t made me very happy. I’ve stepped into a famous Business, and I shall have a quiet Fireside, and a capital Table, and kind Looks if not pretty ones, and—a done Thing can’t be undone: so there’s an End on’t!”

Then, fancying he heard my Father’s Step, though ’twas only Master Blower’s, he hastily exclaimed, “You must tell my Uncle—Good-bye, Cherry!” and hurried out of the House.

When he was gone, I sat in a Kind of Stupor.... Married? and to such a Wife!—How could he?—how could she? ... and this increased my Amazement, for he had been beside himself with Anger and Jealousy, and hardly knew what he was doing,—but that she, cool, collected, and at her Time of Life, could have closed with his Proposals without the Delay of a single Day!—how disgusting!—Ah, she was afraid of losing him!

—Immersed in these sad Thoughts, with my Hands clasped on my Lap, I was unaware of my Father’s Return till he stood before me. I started.

“Has Mark returned?” cried he.

“He came back, and is again gone,” said I.

“The young Rascal!” exclaimed my Father very passionately; “what does he mean by this outrageous Conduct? I’ve a great Mind to lock the Door against him when he comes back!”

“Father, he will never come back!—He is married! ... married to Mistress Glossop.”

And, trying to speak composedly, all would not do; the Tears rained from my Eyes.

My Father remained perfectly mute. I could understand his Amazement, his Vexation, by my own; accompanied, as I knew it must be in his Case, by great Anger. I expected every Moment to hear some violent Expression of Indignation: he had been so unusually displeased with him already for what was comparatively a Trifle.

All at once, I found myself folded in his Arms. He did not say a Word; but the longer he held me, the more and more I felt that his Hopes for me had been ruined as well as mine, that his Schemes and Visions of the Future were all dispersed and overclouded, that he knew Something of what was passing within me, and felt Sympathy without having the Power of expressing it.

“Well,—” said he, releasing me at last,—and I saw that his Eyes were wet,—“Man proposes, but God disposes. We’ve had an Escape from this young Man. Ungrateful young Fellow! And blind to his own Interest, too, for I could have done better for him, Cherry, than he knows of. But—he deserves his Fate. A miserable one it will be! He’ll never prosper!”

“Oh, Father! don’t prophesy against him! We need not wish him ill.”

“I don’t wish him ill,” returned he, “but he’ll come to no Good. He has done for himself in this Marriage. And so, Cherry, you’ll see!”