harvest more than the seed-time. You do so in me.'
In truth his pale and haggard face, and gloomy bearing, had so
far influenced the remark, that Edward was, for the moment, at a
loss to answer him.
'Tut, tut,' said Mr. Haredale, ' 'twas not very difficult to read a
thought so natural. But you are mistaken nevertheless. I have had
my share of sorrows ā more than the common lot, perhaps, but I
have borne them ill. I have broken where I should have bent; and
have mused and brooded, when my spirit should have mixed with
all God's great creation. The men who learn endurance, are they
who call the whole world, brother. I have turned jrom the worlds
and I pay the penalty.'
Edward would have interposed, but he went on without giving
'It is too late to evade it now. I sometimes think, that if I had to
live my life once more, I might amend this fault ā not so much, I
discover when I search my mind, for the love of what is right, as for
my own sake. But even when I make these better resolutions, I in-
stinctively recoil from the idea of suffering again what I have under-
gone ; and in this circumstance I find the unwelcome assurance that
BARNABY RUDGE 617
I should still be the same man, though I could cancel the past, and
begin anew, with its experience to guide me.'
'Nay, you make too sure of that,' said Edward.
You think so,' Mr. Haredale answered, 'and I am glad you do.
I know myself better and therefore distrust myself more. Let us
leave this subject for another ā not so far removed from it as it
might, at first sight, seem to be. Sir, you still love my niece, and
she is still attached to you.'
'I have that assurance from her own lips,' said Edward, 'and
you know ā I am sure you know ā that I would not exchange it for
any blessing life could yield me.'
'You are frank, honourable, and disinterested,' said Mr. Hare-
dale; 'you have forced the conviction that you are so, even on my
once-jaundiced mind, and I believe you. Wait here till I come
He left the room as he spoke ; but soon returned with his niece.
'On that first and only time,' he said, looking from the one to the
other, 'when we three stood together under her father's roof, I told
you to quit it, and charged you never to return.'
'It is the only circumstance arising out of our love,' observed
Edward, 'that I have forgotten.'
'You own a name,' said Mr. Haredale, 'I had deep reason to re~
member. I was moved and goaded by recollections of personal
wrong and injury, I know, but, even now I cannot charge myself
with having, then, or ever, lost sight of a heartfelt desire for her
true happiness; or with having acted ā however much I was mis-
taken ā with any other impulse than the one pure, single, earnest
wish to be to her, as far as in my inferior nature lay, the father she
*Dear uncle,' cried Emma, 'I have known no parent but you. I
have loved the memory of others, but I have loved you all my life.
Never was father kinder to his child than you have been to me,
without the interval of one harsh hour, since I can first remember.*
'You speak too fondly,' he answered, 'and yet I cannot wish you
were less partial; for I have a pleasure in hearing those words, and
shall have in calling them to mind when we are far asunder, which
nothing else could give me. Bear with me for a moment longer,
Edward, for she and I have been together many years; and al-
618 BARNABY RUDGE
though I believe that in resigning her to you I put the seal upon
her future happiness, I find it needs an effort.'
He pressed her tenderly to his bosom, and after a minute's pause,
'I have done you wrong, sir, and I ask your forgiveness ā in no
common phrase, or show of sorrow; but with earnestness and sin-
cerity. In the same spirit, I acknowledge to you both that the time
has been when I connived at treachery and falsehood ā which if I
did not perpetrate myself, I still permitted ā to rend you two
'You judge yourself too harshly,' said Edward. 'Let these things
'They rise in judgment against me when I look back, and not
now for the first time,' he answered. 'I cannot part from you with-
out your full forgiveness ; for busy life and I have little left in com-
mon now, and I have regrets enough to carry into solitude, without
addition to the stock.'
You bear a blessing from us both,' said Emma. 'Never mingle
thoughts of me ā of me who owe you so much love and duty ā with
anything but undying affection and gratitude for the past, and
bright hopes for the future.'
'The future,' returned her uncle, with a melancholy smile, 'is a
bright word for you, and its image should be wreathed with cheer-
ful hopes. Mine is of another kind, but it will be one of peace, and
free, I trust, from care or passion. When you quit England I shall
leave it too. There are cloisters abroad; and now that the two
great objects of my life are set at rest, I know no better home. You
droop at that, forgetting that I am growing old, and that my course
is nearly run. Well, we will speak of it again ā not once or twice,
but many times; and you shall give me cheerful counsel, Emma.'
'And you will take it?' asked his niece.
'I'll listen to it,' he answered, with a kiss, 'and it will have its
weight, be certain. What have I left to say? You have, of late,
been much together. It is better and more fitting that the circum-
stances attendant on the past, which wrought your separation, and
sowed between you suspicion and distrust, should not be entered
on by me.'
'Much, much better,' whispered Emma,
BARNABY RUDGE 619
'I avow my share in them,' gaid Mr. Haredale, 'though I held it,
at the time, in detestation. Let no man turn aside, ever so slightly,
from the broad path of honour, on the plausible pretence that he is
justified by the goodness of his end. All good ends can be worked
out by good means. Those that cannot, are bad; and may be count-
ed so at once, and left alone.'
He looked from her to Edward, and said in a gentler tone:
'In goods and fortune you are now nearly equal. I have been her
faithful steward, and to that remnant of a richer property which
my brother left her, I desire to add, in token of my love, a poor
pittance, scarcely worth the mention, for which I have no longer
any need. I am glad you go abroad. Let our ill-fated house remain
the ruin it is. When you return, after a few thriving years, you will
command a better, and a more fortunate one. We are friends?'
Edward took his extended hand, and grasped it heartily.
'You are neither slow nor cold in your response,' said Mr. Hare^
dale, doing the like by him, 'and when I look upon you now, and
know you, I feel that I would choose you for her husband. Her
father had a generous nature, and you would have pleased him well.
I give her to you in his name, and with his blessing If the world
and I part in this act, we part on happier terms than we have lived
for many a day.'
He placed her in his arms, and would have left the room, but that
he w^as stopped in his passage to the door by a great noise at a dis-
tance, which made them start and pause.
It was a loud shouting, mingled with boisterous acclamations,
that rent the very air. It drew nearer and nearer every moment,
and approached so rapidly, that, even while they listened it burst
into a deafening confusion of sounds at the street corner.
'This must be stopped ā quieted,' said Mr. Haredale, hastily.
'We should have foreseen this, and provided against it. I will go
out to them at once.'
But, before he could reach the door, and before Edward could
catch up his hat and follow him, they were again arrested by a loud
shriek from above-stairs: and the locksmith's wife, bursting in, and
fairly running into IMr. Haredale's arms, cried out:
'She knows it all, dear sir! ā she knows it all! We broke it out
to her by degrees, and she is quite prepared.' Having made this
620 BARNABY RUDGE
communication, and furthermore thanked Heaven with great fer-
vour and heartiness, the good lady, according to the custom of
matrons, on all occasions of excitement, fainted away directly.
They ran to the window, drew up the sash, and looked into the
crowded street. Among a dense mob of persons, of whom not one
was for an instant still, the locksmith's ruddy face and burly form
could be descried, beating about as though he was struggling with
a rough sea. Now, he was carried back a score of yards, now on-
ward nearly to the door, now back again, now forced against the
opposite houses, now against those adjoining his own: now carried
up a flight of steps, and greeted by the out-stretched hands of half
a hundred men, while the whole tumultuous concourse stretched
their throats, and cheered with all their might. Though he was real-
ly in a fair way to be torn to pieces in the general enthusiasm, the
locksmith, nothing discomposed, echoed their shouts till he was as
hoarse as they, and in a glow of joy and right good-humour, waved
his hat until the daylight shone between its brim and crown.
But in all the bandyings from hand to hand, and strivings to and
fro, and sweepings here and there, which ā saving that he looked
more jolly and more radiant after every struggle ā troubled his
peace of mind no more than if he had been a straw upon the water's
surface, he never once released his firm grasp of an arm, drawn tight
through his. He sometimes turned to clap this friend upon the back,
or whisper in his ear a word of staunch encouragement, or cheer him
with a smile ; but his great care was to shield him from the pressure,
and force a passage for him to the Golden Key. Passive and timid,
scared, pale, and wondering, and gazing at the throng as if he were
newly risen from the dead, and felt himself a ghost among the liv-
ing, Barnaby ā not Barnaby in the spirit, but in flesh and blood,
with pulses, sinews, nerves, and beating heart, and strong affections
ā clung to his stout old friend, and followed where he led.
And thus, in course of time, they reached the door, held ready
for their entrance by no unwilling hands. Then slipping in, and
shutting out the crowd by main force, Gabriel stood between Mr.
Haredale and Edward Chester, and Barnaby, rushing up the stairs,
fell upon his knees beside his mother's bed.
'Such is the blessed end, sir,' cried the panting locksm'ith, to Mr.
Haredale, 'of the best day's work we ever did. The rogues! it's
BARNABY RUDGE 621
been hard fighting to get away from 'em. I almost thought, once
or twice, they'd have been too much for us with their kindness!'
They had striven, all the previous day, to rescue Barnaby from
his impending fate. Failing in their attempts, in the first quarter
to which they addressed themselves, they renewed them in an-
other. Failing there, likewise, they began afresh at midnight; and
made their way, not only to the judge and jury who had tried him,
but to men of influence at court, to the young Prince of Wales, and
even to the ante-chamber of the King himself. Successful, at last,
in awakening an interest in his favour, and an inclination to in-
quire more dispassionately into his case, they had had an inter-
view with the minister, in his bed, so late as eight o'clock that
morning. The result of a searching inquiry (in which they, who
had known the poor fellow from his childhood, did other good ser-
vice, besides bringing it about) was, that between eleven and twelve
o'clock, a free pardon to Barnaby Rudge was made out and signed,
and entrusted to a horse-soldier for instant conveyance, to the place
of execution. This courier reached the spot just as the cart ap-
peared in sight; and Barnaby being carried back to jail, Mr. Hare-
dale, assured that all was safe, had gone straight from Bloomsbury
Square to the Golden Key, leaving to Gabriel the grateful task of
bringing him home in triumph.
T needn't say,' observed the locksmith, when he had shaken
hands with all the males in the house, and hugged all the females,
five-and-forty times, at least, 'that, except among ourselves, / didn't
want to make a triumph of it. But, directly we got into the street
we were known, and this hubbub began. Of the two,' he added, as
he wiped his crimson face, and after experience of both, I think
I 'd rather be taken out of my house by a crowd of enemies, than
escorted home by a mob of friends! '
It was plain enough, however, that this was mere talk on Gab-
riel's part, and that the whole proceeding afforded him the keenest
delight; for the people continuing to make a great noise without,
and to cheer as if their voices were in the freshest order, and good
for a fortnight, he sent upstairs for Grip (who had come home at
his master's back, and had acknowledged the favours of the multi-
tude by drawing blood from every finger that came within his
reach), and with the bird upon his arm presented himself at the
622 BARNABY RUDGE
first-floor window, and waved his hat again until it dangled by a
shred, between his finger and thumb. This demonstration having
been received with appropriate shouts, and silence being in some
degree restored, he thanked them for their sympathy; and taking
the liberty to inform them that there was a sick person in the
house, proposed that they should give three cheers for King George,
three more for Old England, and three more for nothing particu-
lar, as a closing ceremony. The crowd assenting, substituted Gab-
riel Varden for the nothing particular; and giving him one over,
for good measure, dispersed in high good-humour.
What congratulations were exchanged among the inmates at the
Golden Key, when they were left alone; what an overflowing of joy
and happiness there was among them ; how incapable it was of ex-
pression in Barnaby's own person; and how he went wildly from
one to another, until he became so far tranquillised, as to stretch
himself on the ground beside his mother's couch and fall into a
deep sleep; are matters that need not be told. And it is well they
happened to be of this class, for they would be very hard to tell,
were their narration ever so indispensable.
Before leaving this bright picture, it may be well to glance at a
dark and very different one which was presented to only a few eyes,
that same night.
The scene was a churchyard; the time, midnight; the persons,
Edward Chester, a clergyman, a grave-digger, and the four bearers
of a homely coffin. They stood about a grave which had been newly
dug, and one of the bearers held up a dim lantern, ā the only light
there ā which shed its feeble ray upon the book of prayer. He
placed it for a moment on the coffin, when he and his companions
were about to lower it down. There was no inscription on the lid.
The mould fell solemnly upon the last house of this nameless
man; and the rattling dust left a dismal echo even in the accus-
tomed ears of those who had borne it to its resting-place. The grave
was filled in to the top, and trodden down. They all left the spot
'You never saw him, living?' asked the clergyman, of Edward.
'Often, years ago; not knowing him for my brother.'
BARNABY RUDGE 623
'Never. Yesterday, he steadily refused to see me. It was urged
upon him, many times, at my desire.'
'Still he refused? That was hardened and unnatural.'
'Do you think so?'
'I infer that you do not?'
You are right. We hear the world wonder, every day, at mon-
sters of ingratitude. Did it never occur to you that it often looks
for monsters of affection, as though they were things of course?'
They had reached the gate by this time, and bidding each other
good-night, departed on their separate ways.
That afternoon, when he had slept off his fatigue; had shaved,
and washed, and dressed, and freshened himself from top to toe;
when he had dined, comforted himself with a pipe, an extra Toby, a
nap in the great arm-chair, and a quiet chat with Mrs. Varden on
everything that had happened, was happening, or about to hap-
pen, within the sphere of their domestic concern; the locksmith
sat himself down at the tea-table in the little back-parlour: the
rosiest, cosiest, merriest, heartiest, best-contented old buck, in
Great Britain or out of it.
There he sat, with his beaming eye on Mrs. V., and his shining
face suffused with gladness, and his capacious waistcoat smiling in
every wrinkle, and his jovial humour peeping from under the table
in the very plumpness of his legs; a sight to turn the vinegar of
misanthropy into purest milk of human kindness. There he sat,
watching his wife as she decorated the room with flowers for the
greater honour of Dolly and Joseph Willet, who had gone out walk-
ing, and for whom the tea-kettle had been singing gaily on the hob
full twenty minutes, chirping as never kettle chirped before; for
whom the best service of real undoubted china, patterned with
divers round-faced mandarins holding up broad umbrellas, was
now displayed in all its glory; to tempt whose appetites a clear,
624 BARNABY RUDGE
transparent, juicy ham, garnished with cool green lettuce-leaves
and fragrant cucumber, reposed upon a shady table, covered with
a snow-white cloth; for whose delight, preserves and jams, crisp
cakes and other pastry, short to eat, with cunning twists, and cot-
tage loaves, and rolls of bread both white and brow^n, were all set
forth in rich profusion; in whose youth Mrs. V. herself had grown
quite young, and stood there in a gown of red and white: symmet-
rical in figure, buxom in bodice, ruddy in cheek and lip, faultless in
ankle, laughing in face and mood, in all respects delicious to behold
ā there sat the locksmith among all and every these delights, the
sun that shone upon them all ; the centre of the system : the source
of light, heat, life, and frank enjoyment in the bright household
And when had Dolly ever been the Dolly of that afternoon? To
see ho\7 she came in, arm-in-arm with Joe; and how she made an
effort not to bkish or seem at all confused; and how she made be-
lieve she didnt care to sit on his side of the table; and how she
coaxed the locksmith in a whisper not to joke ; and how her colour
came and went in a little restless flutter of happiness, which made
her do everything wrong, and yet so charmingly wrong that it was
better than right! ā why, the locksmith could have looked on at this
(as he mentioned to Mrs. Varden when they retired for the night)
for four-and-twenty hours at a stretch, and never wished it done.
The recollections, too, with which they made merry over that
long protracted tea! The glee with which the locksmith asked Joe
if he remembered that stormy night at the Maypole when he first
asked after Dolly ā the laugh they all had, about that night when
she was going out to the party in the sedan-chair ā the unmerciful
manner in which they rallied Mrs. Varden about putting those
flowers outside that very window ā the difficulty Mrs. Varden
found in joining the laugh against herself, at first, and the extraor-
dinary perception she had of the joke when she overcame it ā the
confidential statements of Joe concerning the precise day and hour
when he was first conscious of being fond of Dolly, and Dolly's
blushing admissions, half volunteered and half extorted, as to the
time from which she dated the discovery that she 'didn't mind' Joe
ā here was an exhaustless fund of mirth and conversation.
BARNABY RUDGE 625
Then, there was a great deal to be said regarding Mrs. Varden's
doubts, and motherly alarms, and shrewd suspicions; and it ap-
peared that from INIrs. \^arden's penetration and extreme sagacity
nothing had ever been hidden. She had known it all along. She had
seen it from the first. She had always predicted it. She had been
aware of it before the principals. She had said within herself (for
she remembered the exact words) 'that young Willet is certainly
looking after our Dolly, and / must look after him' Accordingly,
she had looked after him, and had observed many little circum-
stances (all of which she named) so exceedingly minute that no-
body else could make anything out of them even now; and had, it
seemed from first to last, displayed the most unbounded tact and
most consummate generalship.
Of course the night when Joe would ride homeward by the side
of the chaise, and when Mrs. Varden would insist upon his going
back again, was not forgotten ā nor the night when Dolly fainted
on his name being mentioned ā nor the times upon times when Mrs
Varden, ever watchful and prudent, had found her pining in het
own chamber. In short, nothing was forgotten; and everything by
some means or other brought them back to the conclusion, that
that was the happiest hour in all their lives; consequently, that
everything must have occurred for the best, and nothing could be
suggested which would have made it better.
While they were in the full glow of such discourse as this, there
came a startling knock at the door, opening from the street into the
workshop, which had been kept closed all day that the house might
be more quiet. Joe, as in duty bound, would hear of nobody but
himself going to open it; and accordingly left the room for that
It would have been odd enough, certainly, if Joe had forgotten
the way to this door; and even if he had, as it was a pretty large
one and stood straight before him, he could not easily have missed
it. But Dolly, perhaps because she was in the flutter of spirits be-
fore mentioned, or perhaps because she thought he would not be
able to open it with his one arm ā she could have no other reason ā
hurried out after him ; and they stopped so long in the passage ā no
doubt owing to Joe's entreaties that she would not expose herself
626 BARNABY RUDGE
to the draught of July air which must infallibly come rushing in on
this same door being opened ā that the knock was repeated, in a
yet more startling manner than before.
'Is anybody going to open that door?' cried the locksmith. 'Or
shall I come?'
Upon that, Dolly went running back into the parlour, all dim-
ples and blushes; and Joe opened it with a mighty noise, and other
superfluous demonstrations of being in a violent hurry.
'Well,' said the locksmith, when he reappeared: 'what is it? eh,
Joe? what are you laughing at?'
'Nothing, sir. It's coming in.'
'Who's coming in? what's coming in?' Mrs. Varden, as much at
a loss as her husband, could only shake her head in answer to his
inquiring look: so, the locksmith wheeled his chair round to com-
mand a better view of the room-door, and stared at it with his eyes
wide open, and a mingled expression of curiosity and wonder shin-
ing in his jolly face.
Instead of some person or persons straightway appearing, divers
remarkable sounds were heard, first in the workshop and after-
wards in the little dark passage between it and the parlour, as
though some unwieldy chest or heavy piece of furniture were being
brought in, by an amount of human strength inadequate to the
task. At length after much struggling and bumping, and bruising
of the wall on both sides, the door was forced open as by a batter-
ing-ram; and the locksmith, steadily regarding what appeared be-
yond, smote his thigh, elevated his eyebrows, opened his mouth,
and cried in a loud voice expressive of the utmost consternation:
'Damme, if it an't Miggs come back! '
The young damsel whom he named no sooner heard these words,
than deserting a small boy and a very large box by which she was
accompanied, and advancing with such precipitation that her bon-
net flew off her head, burst into the room, clasped her hands (in
which she held a pair of pattens, one in each), raised her eyes de-
votedly to the ceiling, and shed a flood of tears.
'The old story!' cried the locksmith, looking at her in inexpres-
sible desperation. 'She was born to be a damper, this young wom-
an! nothing can prevent it!'
'Ho master, ho mim!' cried Miggs, 'can I constrain my feelings
BARNABY RUDGE 627
in this here once agin united moments! Ho Mr. Warden, here's
blessedness among relations, sir! Here's forgivenesses of injuries,
The locksmith looked from his wife to Dolly, from Dolly to Joe,
and from Joe to Miggs, with his eyebrows still elevated and his
mouth still open. When his eyes got back to Miggs, they rested on
'To think,' cried IMiggs with hysterical joy, 'that Mr. Joe, and
dear Miss Dolly, has raly come together after all as has been said
and done contrairy! To see them two a-settin' along with him and
her, so pleasant and in all respects so affable and mild ; and me not