Gaskell, Elizabeth Cleghorn, 1810-1865 / 2008-11-01 00:00:00
She said at once she
would have a sum down; for she thought of her daughter, and how she
could bequeath the money to her, whereas an annuity would have died
with her. So the Squire left her her cottage for life, and a fair
sum of money. And then he died, with as ready and willing a heart
as, I suppose, ever any gentleman took out of this world with him.
The young Squire was carried off by his guardians, and Bridget was
left alone.
I have said that she had not heard from Mary for some time. In her
last letter, she had told of travelling about with her mistress, who
was the English wife of some great foreign officer, and had spoken of
her chances of making a good marriage, without naming the gentleman's
name, keeping it rather back as a pleasant surprise to her mother;
his station and fortune being, as I had afterwards reason to know,
far superior to anything she had a right to expect. Then came a long
silence; and Madam was dead, and the Squire was dead; and Bridget's
heart was gnawed by anxiety, and she knew not whom to ask for news of
her child. She could not write, and the Squire had managed her
communication with her daughter. She walked off to Hurst; and got a
good priest there--one whom she had known at Antwerp--to write for
her. But no answer came.
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