a coarse-tempered, improvident man; and like too
many of his class, in those days at least, dissipated the whole of his
large earnings in present sensuous indulgence, utterly careless or
unmindful of the future. Esther Woodford, who, at the time of her
husband's death, scarcely numbered five-and-twenty years, was still a
remarkably comely, as well as interesting, gentle-mannered person; and
moreover had, for her station in life, received a tolerable education.
Her rash, ill-assorted marriage with Woodford had been hastily contracted
when she was barely seventeen years of age, in consequence of a jealous
pique which she, for some silly reason or other, had conceived regarding
Henry Mason, an intelligent, young seafaring man, of fair prospects in
life, and frank disposition, with whom she had for some time previously,
as the west-country phrase has it, "kept company," and who was, moreover,
tenderly attached to her. Esther's married life was one long repentance
of the rash act; and the severance of the tie which bound her to an
ungenial mate--after the subsidence of the natural horror and compassion
excited by the sudden and frightful nature of the catastrophe--must have
been felt as a most blessed relief. A few weeks afterwards, she accepted
an asylum with her brother-in-law, Davies, a market-gardener in the
vicinity of Plymouth, where, by persevering industry with her needle, and
thrifty helpfulness in her sister's household duties, she endeavored to
compensate her kind-hearted relatives for the support of herself and
helpless, half-witted child. Mason she had never seen since the day
previous to her marriage; but she knew he was prospering in the busy
world, and that, some time before her husband's death, he had been
appointed chief-mate in a first-class merchant-ship trading to the
Pacific. He had sailed about a fortnight previous to that event; and now,
ten lazy months having slowly floated past, the lover of her youth, with
whom, in that last sunny day of her young life--how distant did it seem,
viewed through the long intervening vista of days and nights of grief and
tears!--she had danced so joyously beneath the flowering chestnut-trees,
was once more near her; and it was--oh happiness!--no longer a sin to
think of him--no longer a crime to recall and dwell upon the numberless
proofs of the deep affection, the strong love, he had once felt for her.
_Once_ felt! Perhaps even now!--How swiftly had the intelligence
com