"He walked down the hill, and through the village.The weather was warm, and the people were sitting at their doors, or strolling in their little gardens as he passed, enjoying the serenity of the evening, and their rest from labour.Many a look was turned towards him, and many a doubtful glance he cast on either side to see whether any knew and shunned him.There were strange faces in almost every house; in some he recognised the burly form of some old schoolfellow--a boy when he last saw him--surrounded by a troop of merry children; in others he saw, seated in an easy-chair at a cottage door, a feeble and infirm old man, whom he only remembered as a hale and hearty labourer; but they had all forgotten him, and he passed on unknown.
"The last soft light of the setting sun had fallen on the earth, casting a rich glow on the yellow corn sheaves, and lengthening the shadows of the orchard trees, as he stood before the old house--the home of his infancy--to which his heart had yearned with an intensity of affection not to be described, through long and weary years of captivity and sorrow.The paling was low, though he well remembered the time when it had seemed a high wall to him;and he looked over into the old garden.There were more seeds and gayer flowers than there used to be, but there were the old trees still--the very tree, under which he had lain a thousand times when tired of playing in the sun, and felt the soft mild sleep of happy boyhood steal gently upon him.There were voices within the house.He listened, but they fell strangely upon his ear; he knew them not.They were merry too; and he well knew that his poor old mother could not be cheerful, and he away.The door opened, and a group of little children bounded out, shouting and romping.
The father, with a little boy in his arms, appeared at the door, and they crowded round him, clapping their tiny hands, and dragging him out, to join their joyous sports.The convict thought on the many times he had shrunk from his father's sight in that very place.He remembered how often he had buried his trembling head beneath the bed-clothes, and heard the harsh word, and the hard stripe, and his mother's wailing; and though the man sobbed aloud with agony of mind as he left the spot, his fist was clenched, and his teeth were set, in fierce and deadly passion.
"And such was the return to which he had looked through the weary perspective of many years, and for which he had undergone so much suffering! No face of welcome, no look of forgiveness, no house to receive, no hand to help him--and this too in the old village.What was his loneliness in the wild thick woods, where man was never seen, to this!
"He felt that in the distant land of his bondage and infamy, he had thought of his native place as it was when he left it; not as it would be when he returned.The sad reality struck coldly at his heart, and his spirit sank within him.He had not courage to make inquiries, or to present himself to the only person who was likely to receive him with kindness and compassion.He walked slowly on; and shunning the roadside like a guilty man, turned into a meadow he well remembered; and covering his face with his hands, threw himself upon the grass.
"He had not observed that a man was lying on the bank beside him; his garments rustled as he turned round to steal a look at the new-comer; and Edmunds raised his head.
"The man had moved into a sitting posture.His body was much bent, and his face was wrinkled and yellow.His dress denoted him an inmate of the workhouse: he had the appearance of being very old, but it looked more the effect of dissipation or disease, than length of years.He was staring hard at the stranger, and though his eyes were lustreless and heavy at first, they appeared to glow with an unnatural and alarmed expression after they had been fixed upon him for a short time, until they seemed to be starting from their sockets.Edmunds gradually raised himself to his knees, and looked more and more earnestly upon the old man's face.They gazed upon each other in silence.
"The old man was ghastly pale.He shuddered and tottered to his feet.
Edmunds sprang to his.He stepped back a pace or two.Edmunds advanced.
"`Let me hear you speak,' said the convict, in a thick broken voice.
"`Stand off!' cried the old man, with a dreadful oath, The convict drew closer to him.
"`Stand off!' shrieked the old man.Furious with terror he raised his stick, and struck Edmunds a heavy blow across the face.
"`Father--devil!' murmured the convict, between his set teeth.He rushed wildly forward, and clenched the old man by the throat--but he was his father; and his arm fell powerless by his side.
"The old man uttered a loud yell which rang through the lonely fields like the howl of an evil spirit.His face turned black: the gore rushed from his mouth and nose, and dyed the grass a deep dark red, as he staggered and fell.He had ruptured a blood-vessel: and he was a dead man before his son could raise him.
"In that corner of the churchyard," said the old gentleman, after a silence of a few moments, "in that corner of the churchyard of which Ihave before spoken, there lies buried a man, who was in my employment for three years after this event: and who was truly contrite, penitent, and humbled, if ever man was.No one save myself knew in that man's lifetime who he was, or whence he came:--it was John Edmunds the returned convict."[Next Chapter] [Table of Contents]The Pickwick Papers: Chapter 7[Previous Chapter] [Table of Contents]