The very honest fellow was soon upon horseback, muttering to himself, "Ten thousand pounds short!--that would never do!--but I must mind what I am about, else he will go back and pay the money to this young chap, and then the whole business will be spoilt. Let me see;" and he set himself seriously to consider the best means of getting Burrel either to intrust him with the money--in which case he thought he might be able to cheat his accomplice, and appropriate the whole of that part of the spoil--or to pay it at once to Mr. Tims; and in that event, Harding still calculated on coming in for a share. It was yet early in the day; but, nevertheless, Master Harding rode as if for life; for being one of those personages who calculatedalmostevery chance--thealmostis very necessary, for he did not calculate all--he foresaw that it would be necessary for Burrel, who could not be supposed to have so large a sum about him, to procure the money from some other source, and, knowing that Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson, his master's agents, were part proprietors of a county bank at about twenty miles distance from Emberton, he concluded that Burrel's first application would be there, where his means of payment would be best known.
The reason why things seldom answer, which are so beautifully calculated before hand, is probably, because the smallest event in the world is brought about by such a compound piece of machinery, that the most minute wheel going wrong--a pin, a pivot, a spring, a link of the chain, a cog, a catch, a lever, a balance wheel, getting the least out of place--the whole machine falls into a different train of action, and strikes six when we thought it was about to strike seven. This trite fact was beautifully exemplified in the case of Harding, who had calculated to a word what he was to say to his master, and how soon either he himself or his said master was to set out for the bank at ---- --how long it would take to go, so as to arrive during banking hours--how long it would take to settle the business with the partners, and at what precise moment of time either he himself or Burrel could be back in Emberton. It so happened, however, that, on reaching the rectory, to his horror and astonishment, he found that Mr. Burrel, on arriving at that place before him, had got into Dr. Wilton's carriage, which had been standing at the door, and had gone out with the worthy clergyman.
How soon they would be back, no one could tell, and where they were gone to, was as little known, so that worthy Master Harding had to remain at the rectory, suffering pangs of impatience, that were not the less severe because he covered them over as usual with a face of calm indifferent gravity. Nevertheless, in order to lose no time, he immediately proceeded to the stable, and there put his master's horse in a complete state of preparation to start again at a moment's notice, while, at the same time, he supplied the beast that brought him thither liberally with oats, feeling, like Mr. Tims, a sort of Diogenesian satisfaction at feeding either his horse or himself at another person's expense. Still he was called upon to practise the copy-line virtue of patience for no inconsiderable length of time; for, notwithstanding all his aspirations, Mr. Burrel, or rather Mr. Beauchamp, did not appear for at least two hours; and the vision of the banking-house, and its speedy arrangements--the transfer of the money, and the ultimate ten thousand pounds--floated faint and more faint before his mental view. "He's a devil of a goer, however, that Mr. Beauchamp when he has a mind!" thought the man, consoling himself with the usual straw-catching delusions of hope, as probability waxed weakly. "He's a devil of a goer when he has a mind! No man gets over his miles sooner; and as for Martindale, give him but easy ground, and the beast would do it well in the time without turning a hair."
As he thus cogitated, the roll of wheels sounded past the stable; and, on looking out, Harding saw the plain chariot of the divine glide forward with merciful slowness to the door. The step descended with the same quiet and tranquil movement, and Henry Beauchamp, with deep and unusual gravity on his countenance, got out, and entered the house, followed by Dr. Wilton.
Harding lost no time; but immediately made his arrival known to his master, and, in a private audience, informed him of Mr. Tims's betrayal of his secret, and of all he had gathered from Captain Delaware, at the same time, throwing in dexterously a few of those apparently casual words which he judged most likely to prevent Mr. Beauchamp from holding any direct communication with the family at Emberton. He still took care, however, to insinuate the necessity of immediately supplying the deficiency in the sum promised, and clenched the impression by directing his master's suspicions towards Lord Ashborough, and Peter Tims, Esq. of Clement's Inn, solicitor, &c. All that he dared not urge, on his own part, lest he should ruin his particular plans by the appearance of impudent intrusion, he allowed Beauchamp by implication--which is generally a sort of semi-lie--to attribute to Captain Delaware, trusting that any want of vraisemblance would be covered by the agitation of his master's mind. In all this he was wonderfully successful; and the more so because every thing that he said was fundamentally true, and therefore Henry Beauchamp had no difficulty in believing it to be so. That gentleman, however, expressed no surprise. In fact, he had been lately troubled with a great deal more surprise than he liked; and he was returning fast to his old habit of taking every thing as a matter of indifference, or, at least, of seeming to do so. Beauchamp thought calmly for a few minutes, and then asked, "How far is it to ----?" naming the town where the county bank was situated.
"About twenty miles from Emberton, sir," replied the man; "sixteen or seventeen from this place."
"What is o'clock?" demanded his master, who, in the agitation of the preceding night, had forgotten to wind up his watch.
The man drew a fine French repeater from his pocket, and examined its face; but it lied like himself. Hope backed him against time for ten thousand; and though the watch was too slow by quarter of an hour, he took off ten minutes more from the hour it noted.
"Saddle Martindale!" said Mr. Beauchamp, when he had pondered the man's reply. "Bring him up directly! Then go back to Emberton, and to-morrow to London, where, do as I bade you before. If you have not sent over my dressing-cases here, you need not send them--If you have--have them brought back, and take them up with the other things."
The man bowed and withdrew; and Burrel, after another moment's thought, descended to Dr. Wilton's library, and informed his worthy tutor that he had received a sudden call to a different place, which compelled him to set out immediately. The cause of his departure he did not disclose, as he felt a great repugnance to make even so intimate a friend of all the parties as Dr. Wilton, acquainted with the circumstances of his cousins' difficulties, although he had not scrupled, during their drive, to inform the good clergyman, that there was no longer any probability--if there had indeed ever existed any--of an alliance between his own family and that of Sir Sidney Delaware. The cause of his different conduct, in regard to these two affairs, might perhaps be, that generosity is always taciturn where it is real--love is always loquacious where it is sure of not being laughed at.
Whether, in a longer conversation, the good doctor might or might not have seduced Beauchamp into telling him more, can hardly be ascertained; for scarcely had he announced his intended departure, when he was informed that his horse was at the door. Dr. Wilton had no time to express his surprise; but grasping his young friend's hand, he repeated twice, "Now mind, my dear Harry, mind! I tell you, I am sure there is some mistake, or some very base manœuvre, and you have promised not to quit London till you hear from me."
Beauchamp shook his head mournfully. "It is no use, my dear sir," he replied; "but, nevertheless, of course I will keep my word."
At the door his servant, while holding the stirrup, demanded, in a peculiarly humble tone, "Pray, sir, may I expect to see you at Emberton to-night, for there are several things"----
"I shall be at Ryebury, but certainly not at Emberton," answered Beauchamp. "If there be any thing unsettled when you come to London, it must be done afterwards."
The man bowed low, perfectly satisfied; and Beauchamp and his horse went off at a gallop. "That will do it!" said Harding, as he saw his master depart; and, mounting his own beast, he returned calmly to Emberton, calculating to a nicety, at what hour his master would have paid the money into the hands of Mr. Tims.
In the mean time, Beauchamp rode on, with a light hand and an easy seat. He was one of those men who bring in their horses quite fresh, when every other horse in the field is dead beat; and feeling confident that he could arrange the whole business and return to Ryebury before night, he did not put Martindale to the top of his speed. What was his surprise, however, on passing a village church, after an hour and a half's riding, to find the hand of the dial--that fatal indicator, which, in every land, has pointed out from age to age the dying moment of hopes, and wishes, and enjoyments--demonstrating, beyond a doubt, that the hour was past, and his journey of no avail.
He rode on to the town of ----, however, but the bank was shut. He enquired for the partners, but there was only one in the town, and he was nowhere to be found.
Beauchamp bit his lip, and asked himself, "What is to be done now?" Some men would have thought, that, having exerted themselves so far, they had done enough, and would have let matters take their course; but he was not one of that class. The idea crossed his mind, indeed; and, to use one of his own expressions, he let it strike against his heart, to see whether it would ring with the sharp, cold, brazen sound of worldly feelings; but his heart was of a different metal, a great deal too soft to respond to such hard selfishness. "For his sake, for her sake, for all their sakes," he thought, "I must save them from disappointment and disgrace. This Ryebury miser may very likely have the money with him, and if not, he is, as he informed me, a proprietor in the neighbouring bank, and therefore can easily arrange the matter. I will tell him who I really am, and give him a power of attorney to sell out and pay himself."
With this resolution, he gave his horse half an hour's rest, and then turned his rein once more towards Ryebury, where, we have already seen, that the way was prepared for his purpose, by the previous knowledge of his rank and fortune, which the miser had obtained from Lord Ashborough's lawyer. As we have endeavoured to show, in the preceding pages, Henry Beauchamp had his full share of weaknesses, amongst which was a very tolerable portion of irritable pride. A certain modification of this feeling had made him determine, from the first, not to set his foot in the streets of Emberton again. That place, it is true, had likewise, in his mind, a painful association of ideas as connected with a bitter disappointment; and although he was always ready to meet such regrets boldly, if they came alone, yet as they were mingled, in this case, with mortified pride, his resolution gave way. He was a rejected suitor--a disappointed lover. He who had fancied that his heart was proof, had been captivated by a simple country girl, had danced attendance upon her for several weeks, and had ultimately been rejected. From the words that his servant had purposely let fall, he felt sure that the whole town of Emberton were by this time aware of his disappointment; and if ever you have been skinned alive, reader, you may have some idea of the irritable fear which he felt of running against the rough and rasping pity, even of the insignificant animals of a country town.
Two miles, therefore, before he reached Emberton, he turned off from the high-road, and having by this time refreshed all his boyish recollections of the country round, he directed his course to a hamlet, which lay at the distance of about a mile and a half from Ryebury, and which was possessed of a little public-house, in the stable of which he could put up his horse, while he himself proceeded on foot to the dwelling of the miser. The sun was just down as he reached the hamlet; and after having examined, with habitual care, the accommodation for his horse, he walked out, and took his way towards Ryebury, in the midst of as splendid an evening as ever poured through the autumnal sky. A flood of rich purple was gushing from the west, with two or three soft clouds of rose colour, and gold, hanging about the verge of the sky, while all the rest was blue, "with one star looking through it, like an eye." On his right, lay the rich cultivated lands between Emberton and Ryebury; so full of tall trees, hedgerows, masses of planting and park, that the yellow stubble fields, or the fresh ploughed fallow, could hardly be perceived amidst the warm, though withering greens of the foliage. On his left, lay a high wooded bank, above which, peered up the edge of a more distant field; and beyond it again the hills, and wide downs, that stretched away towards the sea-side, in the dim purple shadow, that covered all that part of the prospect, taking an aspect of wide and dreary solitude, very different from the gay sunshiny look the whole assumed in the daytime. Yet the scene, though full of repose, was any thing but melancholy. The partridges were calling in the fields round about, the blackbirds were flying on, from bush to bush, before the passenger, with that peculiar note, something between a twitter and song, with which they conclude their melody for the year, and some gay laughing voices in the hamlet, which he had just left behind, came mellowed by the distance, and seemed to speak of hearts at rest, and the day's labour done. As Beauchamp walked slowly on, with feelings in his bosom which harmonized indeed with the scene, but which carried all that was solemn in the aspect of the dying day into a sense of profound dejection, the light waned; and though the purple became of a still richer hue, the blue assumed also a deeper shade; the stars looked out as if to supply the place of the glory that was passing away, and the long shadows of the high grounds around, spread something more than twilight through the valley.
I wish it were possible to tell all the mingled feelings that were then to be found in the wayfarer's heart, as he walked on; and to point out how weaknesses, and virtues, and fine and generous sentiments, and human perversities, all linked arm in arm together, walked along with him on the way: how he felt that life was to him a blank--that the heart had grown old--that the bubble had burst--that the toy had lost its splendour: how he felt a pride in the very idea of serving her and hers, whose conduct had dashed the cup of happiness from his lip for ever--and how he thought that his affection might have been worthy of a higher estimation; and how he cursed his own folly, for ever suffering his heart to become the debased thing that a woman could trample upon. But his feelings were infinite, and not to be defined; for in the rainbow of the human heart, the colours and the shades are so blended together, and softened away into each other, that it is impossible to say where one ends and the other begins.
Deep thoughts are most beguiling companions.--Why wilt thou write such truisms, oh, my pen?--But deep thoughts are most beguiling companions, and Beauchamp found himself within a hundred and fifty yards of the miser's house, ere he thought that he had threaded half the way. It was just where the path he had been following joined the little wooded lane that led from Emberton, and rose up the high bank on which the house was situated. The increasing elevation brought a little more light; and, as Henry Beauchamp advanced, he saw a man and woman--who had been apparently walking together--part as he came near. The male figure turned hastily towards the little town; the woman glided away in the direction of the miser's house, and was lost in the obscurity. All was again still; but a moment after there was a low plaintive whistle, which called his attention for an instant. He heard it again, but at a greater distance, and thought, "It is the curlews upon the downs;" and, without giving it any farther heed, he walked on, and rang the bell of Mr. Tims's house, in such a manner, as to insure that his visit would not be long unknown to the inmates.
A bustle within immediately succeeded; and, from the very highest window in the house, the head of Mr. Tims himself was thrust cautiously forth, like that of a tortoise from its shell, or a hedgehog beginning to unroll. The next moment he retreated, and his voice was heard calling from the top of the stairs to the bottom, "Don't open the door, Sarah! Don't open the door! It can be nobody on any good errand at this time of night! Don't open the door on any account!" and again he came to the window to examine once more the aspect of his nocturnal visitant.
As soon as Beauchamp perceived the black ball, which he conceived to be the crowning member of Mr. Tims's person once more protruded from the flat front of the house, he raised his voice sufficiently to convey the sounds to the elevated point from which the miser was reconnoitring, and desired him to come down, and give him admission, adding, "It is I, Mr. Burrel!"
"Mr. Burrel!--No, no!" cried the incredulous miser. "That is not Mr. Burrel's voice--No, no--I'm not to be done--Go along, sir!"
"Mr. Tims," said Beauchamp, quietly, "come down to me directly. I tell you again, I am Mr. Burrel--and having heard that a part of the sum that Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson"----
"Hush, hush!" cried the miser, now convinced, "Hush, hush!--I will come down, sir; I will come down directly. I did not know you at first; but I will come down in a minute. Sarah, get a light there."--No reply.--"Sarah, get a light!" again shouted Mr. Tims; and a moment after, Sarah's voice was heard, demanding what was the matter.
Mr. Tims now speedily descended; but, before he would admit his visiter, he again made him speak through the door, and took a view of his person by means of a little grated aperture, practised in the upper part thereof. The examination was satisfactory, and speedily bars fell and bolts were withdrawn, and Henry Beauchamp was admitted within the walls of a place, whose precautionary fastenings were exactly like those of a prison, with the only difference of being intended to keep people out, rather than to keep them in. He was instantly ushered into the invariable parlour, where, by the light of a solitary tallow candle--white and perspiring under its efforts to give light in a warm autumn evening--he explained to Mr. Tims the purpose of his visit.
Mr. Tims, as we have already seen, well knew who Burrel, as he called himself, really was, even before he told him; and he had also employed means to ascertain the amount of his property; but, in the present instance, the prospect of deriving some usurious benefit from his companion's evident anxiety to furnish the money to Sir Sidney Delaware, forthwith made him take good care to be utterly ignorant of every thing concerning him, except that he had drawn upon his agents for a sum which they had not sufficient assets to pay.
He hummed and he hesitated for a considerable time--declared that he did not doubt that he was Mr. Beauchamp; but, nevertheless, he must remind him that he had drawn in the name of Burrel--he might be perfectly solvent; but such things were never safe without good and sufficient security. He was quite ready to hand over to him the sum he had received from Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson; but as to advancing the ten thousand pounds more, really he did not see his way in the business clearly.
Mr. Beauchamp, who was not to be deceived by all this, reasoned with him for some time; but at length he assumed another tone, and rising, took up his hat and stick.
"Since this is the case, Mr. Tims," he said, "the matter must be arranged otherwise. I had proposed to ride on towards London to-night in the cool; but, as you doubt my respectability, I shall return to Emberton, and by daylight to-morrow set out for the town of ----, where, you know very well, that my agents, to whom I before referred you, are part proprietors of the bank. There the matter will be done at once, and I shall be back again before Lord Ashborough's lawyer can arrive. You will therefore be so good as to give me the money which you have already received; we will exchange all vouchers on the subject; and we will do without you in the farther transaction of this business."
This plan, of course, was not that which Mr. Tims proposed to himself, and the very mention thereof at once brought him to his senses. He declared that he had no doubt of Mr. Beauchamp's identity, and respectability, and solvency; and he should be very glad indeed to accommodate him; but, of course, Mr. Beauchamp would not object to give him a trifling commission in addition to the ordinary interest, in order to cover the risk.
"There is no risk at all, sir!" replied Beauchamp, somewhat sharply; "and you are just as much convinced at this moment that I am the person I represent myself to be, as I am myself. However, name the commission you require; and if, when weighed against a ride of forty miles, I find it the least troublesome of the two, you shall have it."
After undergoing a slight convulsion in his anxiety to gain all he could, and yet not to break off the negotiation, Mr. Tims named the sum; and although, at another time, Henry Beauchamp would have ridden ten times the distance sooner than yield to his exaction, yet the bitter disappointment he had received that morning, and the sort of mental lassitude that it had left, made him agree to the miser's demand, though he did it with a sneer. This, however, by no means concluded the business; for Mr. Tims, calculating on the bonus promised him by Sir Sidney Delaware, proposed to pay the money over himself the next day; while Beauchamp--who, from the shuffling he observed, and a strong suspicion of some foul play on the part of his uncle's lawyer, did not choose to trust him--required that it should be immediately given into his own hands. On this point Mr. Tims fought inch by inch most gallantly. First, he declared that he had not so much money in the house; next, the necessary stamps could not be procured; and lastly, when he saw that he had fairly worn his opponent out, he acknowledged that he expected a commission from Sir Sidney Delaware for raising the money; and, showing Beauchamp a letter from the baronet to that effect, he prevailed upon him to add that sum also to his note of hand for the ten thousand pounds, trusting to his own ingenuity to be able to wring it a second time from Sir Sidney himself. As soon as this was done, there was no longer any difficulty about the money; and while Beauchamp, furnished with pen and ink, remained writing in the parlour, with every now and then passing over his countenance a sneer at himself for having yielded so tamely to the miser's exactions, Mr. Tims visited some far distant part of his dwelling, and, after a considerable interval, returned with the whole of the sum required, which, thanks to the blessed invention of paper, now lay in a very small compass.
The rest of the business was soon settled, except the matter of a stamp; and as the miser--although he now frankly admitted that he knew the quondam Mr. Burrel to be Henry Beauchamp, nephew and heir to Lord Ashborough--seemed not a little anxious upon this matter, alleging sagely that Mr. Beauchamp might die, might be thrown from his horse and killed,et cœtera, et cœtera; his young visiter both drew up such an acknowledgement as might be afterwards stamped if necessary, and desired him to send down to Emberton for what was farther required, promising that he himself would return in an hour and sign the document, which was still more cautiously to insure the miser against loss.
He then rose and departed--Mr. Tims viewing, with that mixture of pity, wonder, and admiration, wherewith cowards regard heroes, the young gentleman issue forth into the dark night air, loaded with so large a sum, and armed with nothing but a small ash twig not thicker than his little finger. Burrel, however, like a great many other heroes, never suspected for a moment that he was in any danger, and walked on quite calmly, though he could not help noticing the same peculiar whistle which he had heard before. Nothing, however, occurred to interrupt him. A bright moon was now rising up; and, at the distance of a little more than a mile from the miser's house, just where the lane opened out upon a wide upland field, he perceived the figure of a man coming rapidly over the rise. He himself was hid by the bushes and trees; but, by the walk and air, he immediately recognized Captain Delaware in the person who now approached. There would be no use of staying here, at the fag-end of a chapter, to analyze or scrutinize the train of feelings or of reasonings that made Beauchamp at once determine to avoid an interview. Suffice it that his resolution was instantaneous; and pushing through the hedge, near which he stood, at the cost both of gloves and hands, he walked forward on the other side of the hedgerow, while William Delaware passed him within a couple of yards' distance.
We must now return for a moment to the morning of that day, whose sun we have just seen go down, and to Blanche Delaware, who sat in her solitary chamber, with the world feeling all a wide lonely desert around her. Not a month before, there had not been a happier girl upon the earth. She had been contented; she had possessed her own little round of amusements and occupations. She had music, and books, and flowers, and nature, and two beings that she dearly loved, constantly beside her, and she had never dreamed of more. The buoyancy of health, and a happy disposition, had raised her mind above the low estate to which her family had been reduced; and a refined taste, with that noblest quality of the human mind, which may be called the power of admiration, had taught her, like the bee, to extract sweetness and enjoyment from every flower that Heaven scattered on her way. But since that time, she had been taught another lesson--She had been taught to love! That passion had given a splendour to the world that it had never before possessed. It had painted the flowers with richer colours--it had spread a sunshine of its own over the face of nature--it had given new soul to the music that she loved. The dream had been broken--the adventitious splendour had passed away; but it left not the flowers, or the music, or the face of nature, as they were before. It took from them their own beauties, as well as that which it had lent them. All had withered, and died; and the world was a desert.
She had wept long, and bitterly; but she had dried her eyes, and bathed away the traces of her tears, when her father entered her room, and enquired tenderly after her health. "You do not look well, indeed, my dear Blanche," he said. "I wish you would send to Emberton for Mr. Tomkins."
Blanche assured him, however, that it was nothing but a headach--that she would be better soon--that she was better already--and that she was just thinking of coming down stairs. There was, indeed, a sort of trembling consciousness at her heart, which made her fear, at every word, that her father was going to touch upon the subject most painful to her heart; but she soon perceived that no suspicion had been awakened in his bosom; and she trusted that her brother would share in her fathers blindness, especially as he had been absent so long in London. In this hope, and as far as possible to remove all cause for doubt, at least, till she was able to bear an explanation, Blanche nerved her mind to restrain her feelings, and soon followed her father to the library. It was some time, as we have seen, before William Delaware returned, and Sir Sidney had walked out a little way towards Ryebury to meet him; but as he had been since at Emberton, he came of course by a different path, and arrived alone. His mind was in no slight degree irritated and impatient, from all that had passed; and poor Blanche had unfortunately so far fallen under his displeasure, from the facts which the servant had communicated to him, that he was prepared, as he mentally termed it, to give her a severe scolding; but when he entered the library, he found her looking so sad and woebegone, that his heart melted; and sitting down beside her on the sofa, where she had been reading, he took her hand kindly in his, and asked her after her health, with a look full of fraternal affection. Blanche fancied that he too was deceived, and answered, that her complaint was only a headach, which would soon pass away.
"Are you sure, my sweet sister," asked Captain Delaware, "that it is not a heartach, which may be long ere it leave you, if you do not take the advice of some one who has a right to counsel you?"
The blood rushed burning into Miss Delaware's cheek, and she trembled violently; but her brother folded his arm round her waist, and still speaking gently and kindly, he went on:--"Hear me, dearest Blanche--We have been brought up as brother and sister seldom are--shut out the greater part of our lives from the rest of the world--loving each other dearly from the cradle--I, seeing little of mankind, except within the sphere of my own vessel; and you, seeing nothing of mankind at all. I believe that I have been the only confidant you have had from childhood, and I do not intend, dearest, that you should withdraw that confidence from me, till I put this little hand into that of the only man who ought to be your confidant from that moment."--The tears rolled rapidly over Blanche Delaware's cheeks.--"Although it may seem strange," continued her brother, "that you should be expected to make a confidant of any man at all in love matters, yet, for want of a better, Blanche, you must tell me all about it; and, perhaps, I shall not make the worse depository of a secret, for being a sailor.--We are all tender-hearted, Blanche," he added, with a smile; "at least when we are on shore. So now tell me--has Mr. Burrel offered you his hand?"
Blanche was silent, though her brother waited during more than one minute for a reply; but the blood again mounted into her cheek, and the tears dropped thicker than before. "Well, well," he continued, "if you cannot answer by words, dear sister, I must try and make out your signals, though I have not, perhaps, the most correct code myself--Burrel has offered you his hand?" Blanche gently bent her head. It could scarcely be called an assent; but it was enough for her brother, and he went on. "Well, then, what was the difficulty? He loved you, and you loved him."
Blanche would have started up, but her brother's arm held her firmly, and, as her only resource, she hid her glowing face upon his shoulder, and sobbed aloud. "Nay, nay, dear girl!" he cried, "Where is the shame or the harm of loving a man who has long loved you? Do you think I have not seen your love, my dear sister? And do you think that I would suffer your heart to be won, unless I knew that the man who sought it, really loved you and was worthy of you? But tell me, Blanche, where is the difficulty--what is the obstacle? Some trifle it must be--I will not call it a caprice, for my sister is above that--but some idle delicacy--some over-retiring modesty, I am afraid."
"No, no, William, I can assure you!" replied Blanche Delaware, raising her head, "I could be above all that too--but it cannot be."
"But, my dear Blanche," said Captain Delaware, more seriously than he had hitherto spoken--for he had endeavoured to mingle a playfulness with his tenderness. "But, my dear Blanche, you must assign some reason--at least to me. Burrel will think that we have all trifled with him. I stood virtually pledged to him for your hand, on condition that he won your love. That he must have felt he has done, or that you have been sporting with him--and such an imputation must not lie on you, nor must he think that I have deceived him."
"Do you know who he really is?" demanded Blanche suddenly.
"Yes, Blanche, as well as you do," replied her brother. "He is your cousin and mine, Henry Beauchamp, whom we have both played with on that carpet in our childhood."
"It is useless, William--it is all useless!" replied Blanche, with a deep and painful sigh. "But there is my fathers step in the hall--Let me go, William, if you love me--and oh, do not, for Heaven's sake, increase his anxiety just now, by letting him know any thing of all this!--Let me go, my dear brother, I beseech you!" and struggling free, she made her escape by the door opposite to that by which Sir Sidney Delaware was just about to enter the library.
Captain Delaware had a painful task before him, in the necessity of communicating to his father, the result of the enquiries he had set out in the morning to make, although he could not find in his heart to tell him explicitly upon what doubtful chances his hope of receiving the money ere the next morning, was founded. He confined his information, therefore, as much to general terms as possible; and informed Sir Sidney that Mr. Tims had not yet indeed received the money, which was to be furnished by a third party, but that he doubted not it would be paid that night, or early the next morning, before Lord Ashborough's lawyer could arrive.
These tidings stopped any farther enquiries from Sir Sidney Delaware, though they did not satisfy or quiet his mind; and he concluded that his son had told him all he knew, although that all but served to render him anxious and impatient. He remained restless and disturbed through the whole of the day; raised a thousand aerial hypotheses in regard to Mr. Tims's delay--drew a general picture of all misers, lawyers, and usurers, which might have ornamented the scrap-book of Eblis--and more than once threatened to visit the worthy proprietor of Ryebury himself, from which feat he was with difficulty dissuaded by his son, who, in fact, was but little less anxious than himself.
Perhaps, indeed, Captain Delaware's anxiety was the more keen and corroding, because he forced himself to conceal it, and to appear perfectly confident and careless. Blanche, on her part, avoided all communication with her brother, except that, when they met at dinner and at tea, her eyes besought him to spare her. The moments waned; neither Mr. Tims nor Burrel, nor any messenger from either, appeared during the evening; and, as night began to fall, Captain Delaware's impatience gradually got the better of his self-command; and finding himself in the situation of a shell, the fuse of which was rapidly burning down to the powder, and which must consequently explode in a short time, he thought it better to carry himself away, and let his heat and disappointment reck itself upon any other objects than his friends and relations.
As the most natural vent for such feelings, he took his way towards Ryebury; but when he returned, after about an hour's absence, he appeared to the eyes of his sister--who strove to read his looks with no small apprehension--more heated and irritable than before.
"Well, William, what does Mr. Tims say now?" demanded Sir Sidney Delaware, whose own anxiety had at once told him whither his son had turned his footsteps, although Captain Delaware had given no intimation of his purpose.
"I have not seen him, sir!" was the reply. "The old dotard would not let me in. Afraid ofrobbers, I suppose. I rang till I was tired, and then came away. But it is no matter; the money will be forthcoming to-morrow, I have no doubt. The coach does not arrive till the afternoon; and Lord Ashborough's solicitor did not come by it to-night, for I enquired at the inn."
Things which, buoyed up on the life-preserver of a light heart, float like feathers over all the waves of adversity that inundate this briny world, sink the soul down to the bottom of despair the moment that the life-preserver, dashed against some sharp rock, or beaten by some more violent surge, suffers the waters to flow in, and the fine elastic air to escape. Not many weeks before, Blanche Delaware would have wondered, in the happy contentedness of her own heart, at the anxiety and disappointment of her brother and her father, and would have looked upon the events which they seemed to regret so bitterly, but as a very small and easily borne misfortune. But in the present depression of her spirits, it overwhelmed her even more than it did them. Her own grief was so deep, that she could not well bear any more; and, soon after her brother's return, she retired to her chamber to weep.
The night went by, and Blanche and her father descended to the breakfast-table somewhat earlier than usual; for care makes light sleepers.
"Is William out?" demanded Sir Sidney Delaware, as he met his daughter. "I wished to have gone to Ryebury with him."
"I do not think he is down yet!" she replied. "I have not seen him, and yet it is odd he should be the last up to-day."
"Send up and see, my love!" said her father; which was accordingly done, and the result was, that Captain Delaware was found just dressing. Blanche thought it very strange, that on such an occasion her brother should yield to a laziness he did not usually indulge; but Captain Delaware seemed in no hurry to come down, and the breakfast proceeded without him. Before it was concluded, however, and before he had made his appearance, the sound of wheels coming up the avenue was heard, and a hack post-chaise drove to the door. The whole proceedings of its occupants were visible from the breakfast-parlour; and, as Sir Sidney sat, he could perceive that the first person who got out was a stout unpleasant-looking man, in whom, although greatly changed since last he saw him, he recognized Lord Ashborough's lawyer. The next that followed was evidently a clerk, and he carried in his hand one of those ominous-looking bags of green serge, Mr. Peter Tims, immediately after the descent of the clerk, turned back to the chaise door, and spoke a few words to some one who remained within, and then followed the servant up the steps of the terrace.
Blanche looked at her father. He was very pale. "I wish you would call William, my love!" he said, with a faint effort to smile; "We may want his presence in dealing with these gentlemen."
Blanche hastened to obey, and, almost as she left the room, Mr. Peter Tims was announced. He entered with a low bow, but a face full of cool effrontery, which gave the lie to his profound salutation. He immediately informed Sir Sidney that he now had the pleasure of waiting upon him to settle the little business between him and his noble client, Lord Ashborough; and he ended by presenting the bill for twenty-five thousand pounds, which had now been due nearly two days.
Sir Sidney Delaware begged him to be seated, and then, in an embarrassed but gentlemanly manner, explained to him that the money which he had expected to receive, had not yet been paid; but that he trusted that it would be so in the course of the day.
The face of Mr. Peter Tims grew dark; not that he did not anticipate the very words he heard, but that he thought fit to suit his looks to his actions. "Ha! then," he cried, "my lord was right, sir!--my lord was right when he said he was sure that the annuity would never be redeemed, and that the only object was to reduce the interest. But I can tell you. Sir Sidney, that such conduct will not do with us!" and he made a sign to his clerk, who instantly left the room. "We had heard something of this yesterday, and that made me come as far as ---- last night."
Sir Sidney Delaware's cheek grew red, and his lip quivered, but it was with anger. "What is the meaning of this insolence, sir?" he demanded, in a tone that changed Mr. Tims's manner at once from the voluble to the dogged. "You seem to me to forget yourself somewhat strangely!"
"Oh no, sir, no!" replied the lawyer. "All I have to say is--This, I think, is your bill--now more than due. Are you ready to take it up? If not, I must proceed as the law directs!"
"And pray, sir, what does the law direct you to do," demanded Sir Sidney Delaware, "when the payment of a sum of money is delayed for a few hours, by some accidental circumstance?"
"It is all very well talking. Sir Sidney!" said the man of law; and was proceeding in the usual strain when Captain Delaware entered the room, and, passing behind his father, whispered something in the baronet's ear that made him start. Almost at the same moment, the lawyer's clerk returned, followed by one of those ill-looking fellows, who, as poor Colley Cibber declared, were "fitted by nature for doing ugly work," and, consequently, engaged by the sheriffs for that purpose.
"Which is the gemman, Mr. Tims?" cried the bailiff, for such was the personage now introduced. "Is't the ould un, or the young un? for we must not be after mistaking."
"Stop a moment!" cried Captain Delaware. "Pray, who are these persons, sir?" he continued, addressing Mr. Tims.
"Merely my clerk, sir, my clerk!" replied Mr. Tims, who did not particularly approve the flashing of Captain Delaware's eye. "Merely my clerk, and an officer of the sheriff's court, instructed to execute a writ upon the person of Sir Sidney Delaware, at the suit of my noble lord the Earl of Ashborough. You know, Captain Delaware," he added, edging himself round the table to be out of reach of the young officer's arm; "you know, you yourself assured me that the money would be ready before the time, and now two days have elapsed, so that it is clear sir--it is clear, I say, that all this is nothing but trifling."
"Pray, Mr. Tims," said Captain Delaware in a milder tone than the other expected, "answer me one question, as you are a shrewd and clever lawyer, and I want my mind set at rest."
"Certainly, sir, certainly!" replied Mr. Tims; "very happy to answer any legal question, provided always, nevertheless, that it does not affect the interests of my client."
"My question is merely this, sir," answered the young officer, whose mind--both from what Burrel's servant had let fall, and from his own observations--had come to the conclusion, that the Messieurs Tims, uncle and nephew, had combined to prevent the payment of the money. "My question is merely this--Suppose two or three men were to enter into an agreement for the purpose of delaying the payment of a sum of money, in order to arrest a person on a bill they had obtained from him, would they not be subject to indictment for conspiracy?"
The countenance of Mr. Tims fell; but the moment after it kindled again with anger, and he replied, "I will answer that question in another time and place; and, in the mean time, officer do your duty!"
"Stand back, sir!" said Captain Delaware, sternly, as the man advanced. "Mr. Tims, youshallanswer that question in another time and place, and that fully. In the mean time, as you say, be so good as to present your bill. I shall only observe upon your conduct, that the fact of your having obtained this very writ, before you had ever presented the bill for payment, gives a strong presumption that you had taken means to prevent the money being ready, and concluded that those means had been successful."
Mr. Tims turned very pale; but he was not one of those unfortunate men whose impudence abandons them at the moment of need, and he almost instantly replied, "No, sir, no! It affords no presumption. The fact is, we never thought the money would be paid. We always knew that the whole business was an artifice--that you had no honest means of coming by the money--and, after having allowed one whole day, and a part of another, to elapse, that there might be no excuse, we came prepared to make the artifice fall upon the heads of those that planned it. Officer, why do you not execute the writ?"
"Because the gemman demands you should present the bill!" replied the man.
"The bill matters nothing--the debt has been sworn to," answered Mr. Tims; "but, that there may be no farther quibble--there--there, sir, is a bill signed by Sir Sidney Delaware for the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds, which became due the day before yesterday. Are you ready to pay it? Can you take it up? Are you prepared to discharge it?"
"We are, sir!" replied Captain Delaware; "and, when we have done so, I shall take the liberty of caning you for the words you have had the impudence to use, and the imputations you have been shameless enough to utter, till you shall have as good an action of battery against me, as I shall have an indictment for conspiracy against you."
"No, no, William!" said Sir Sidney Delaware. "There is not an instrument of castigation in the house, from the dog-whip to the stick with which the boy cudgels the jackass, that would not be disgraced by touching the back of that man or his instigator."
"First, sir, let us see the money," cried Mr. Tims; "and then let any man touch me if he dare. The money, sir! Where is the money, I say?"
"Here, sir!" replied Captain Delaware, drawing out a pocket-book. "Here is the money that you require; and, therefore, before proceeding to any thing else, we will terminate this business."
It would be difficult, in that confused gabble of a thousand depraved dialects which the reviews call "good manly English," to express the horror and despair of Mr. Peter Tims, at finding that--notwithstanding all the arts and artifices he had used, and which were a thousandfold more in number than we have had space to put down--the money had been obtained; and, therefore, that the patronage and business of Lord Ashborough might be looked upon as lost to him for ever.
Nothing, however, could be done; and he was obliged to sit down and transact the receipt of the money, and all the other formal business incident to the occasion, with a bitter heart and a gloomy countenance. The notes, indeed, which Captain Delaware handed to him, in discharge of his father's bill, he examined with scrupulous attention; and had he been able to detect even a suspicious look about any of them, would probably have made it a plea to delay the acceptance of the payment; but all was fair and clear; and in half an hour the bill was paid, and Sir Sidney Delaware's estate was delivered from the burden which had kept his family in poverty for so many years. Mr. Tims, indeed, took care to conduct himself with a degree of irritating insolence, intended, beyond doubt, to tempt the young officer to strike him as he had threatened, which would probably have been the case, had not Sir Sidney Delaware pointed out to his son, in a calm bitter tone, the real object of the lawyer, observing aloud, that pettifogging attorneys often made considerable sums by carrying actions of assault into a peculiar court, where the costs to the offender were very severe.
This turned the scale; and, when the whole was concluded, the lawyer was suffered to depart, loaded with nothing but disappointment and contempt.