CHAPTERXVI.
Meanwhilethe baronet was almost constantly with him and Mortimer; and becoming acquainted with Dr. Scribble, and having a genuine taste for humour, he entered thoroughly into the character of arrogant emptiness, and literary scrap-writing. The doctor was very vain of this acquaintance, as in discourse with his friend Nincompoop, or with any of his fellow journeymen employed on Nin’s manufactures, he could talk of “my friend the baronet,” as I observed to Sir Edward, who was greatly struck with the depth of the observations. Scribble had taken it into his head that no employment could be more suitable to his capacity and fulness, than makingspeeches for members of parliament. One day, as the Baronet was walking alone on the Steyne, expecting our hero and the Mortimers, the Doctor accosted him, and, after the first salutations, requested the honour of some private discourse. Accordingly, they walked along Eastcliff, and the doctor began: “Sir Edward Hamden, I deem myself happy in the honour of your acquaintance, and should rejoice very much in an opportunity of rendering myself beneficial to a young gentleman, whom I think destined to be an orator and a statesman.” “Sir,” said Sir Edward, “praise from Dr. Scribble, must be always adequately valued, by every one who has discernment to appreciate his character, which is too strongly marked, not to be easily comprehended.” “Sir,” said the doctor, “you do me infinite honour; you have heard of me then before;—youhave, I presume, read my history of Jack the giant killer.” “Oh! undoubtedly;” “which part of it do you think most striking?” “It is all so conspicuous,” replied the baronet, “that I find it difficult to select one part, more characteristic of the author, than another: which do you think the best yourself?” “Why, I think the dissertations upon dress, and especially shoe-strings in the time of the ancient Britons, is one of the most profound; but the most pathetic, is the Hero’s Adventure in the house of the two giant misers; I think that is fully equal to Livy’s story of the Horatii and Curatii, far surpassing any modern historian. This hero’s reception from his uncle, is chiefly to be admired, for exhibiting my powers of moral precept and inculcation. An insolent reviewer charged me with borrowing from Mother Goose’s tales, especially from Bluebeard,and Little Thumb and the Ogre, but it was all false. History, however, is not my only fort; indeed I can write every thing, for instance, what a fuss there is about that fellow Moore’s Travels; I can write travels better than he;—I have brought you a specimen of a new work I am bringing out for Mr. Nincompoop, the famous bookseller. It’s title is, A curious and interesting Tour to Maidenhead; back by Windsor, Stains, Sunbury, Hampton-Court, Kingston, Twickenham, and home by Richmond. I flatter myself, you will find novelty, ingenuity, and humour.” Accordingly, the Baronet read: “Tuesday, June 24th, we set off on horseback from the Black Bear-inn, Piccadilly, before Six; when we passed St. James’s church, the clock wanted seven minutes; meet turnip carts coming to market; arrive before the Duke of Queensberry’s house;—fineprospect of St. James’s park and the Surrey hills.” “You see I make observations as I go along, sir.” “Arrive at the turnpike—find it is exactly six; compare our watches with the clocks;—we have taken seven minutes from St. James’s church. N. B. A wise man rides more slowly over the stones, than on the road. Proceed on our tour—arrive at Knightsbridge; to the left, there turns off a new street, called Sloane-street, from Sir Hans Sloane.—N. B. He was a great naturalist.” “Biography, you observe, sir,” said the doctor. “Oh yes,” answered the baronet. “Another road turns off to Fulham;—Latin pun on two soldiers went to Putney: ‘Ibant tinctores animæ duo ponere juxta. Explanation: duo two, animæ soul, tinctores diers, ibant went, ponere to put, juxta nigh,’ A little farther on, is the pound,”—“Yes,” said the doctor,“curiosities.” “Beyond Knightsbridge, Hyde Park wall,—crowds of strawberry girls in the foot-path;—meet long coaches. N. B. That road a great thoroughfare;—Kensington George II. died here.” “I give my companion a sketch of his history: Holland-house not in the modern style of building;—dissertation upon architecture;—my companion observes I know every thing. Attending too earnestly to my subject, run against a carter—scoundrel hits me with his whip;—I turn about and swear at him. He comes back;—I ride on.” Dipping into another page, the Baronet found “Brentford, said to be a royal city; entrance not remarkable for royal magnificence.” “You observe,” said the Doctor, looking with arch sarcasm, “my friend advises me, as a great antiquarian, to write the history of the monarchs of Old and New Brentford. Sion-house,my remarks on the Percies, and the battle of Chevy Chase. Approach Smallberry-green; inform my companion of my extreme intimacy with Sir Joseph Banks; my comrade happens to know him a little. Observe a person before his house, whom he insists to be, I, not to be Sir Joseph;—I ride on—my companion certainly mistaken.” The Baronet, rather tiring of this, turned over a good many pages, and found “Chertsea, St. Ann’s hills, house of Charles James Fox,—Fox no orator.” “Original discovery,” said the Doctor, “hem.” “I perfectly agree with you sir, it is,” “The world is totally mistaken in him.” “Demonstrate to my companion, that I surpass Fox in every thing;—comrade hard-headed won’t be convinced,—less agreeable than I thought him.” The Baronet skipping again, dipped into “Hampton Fishery, they catchGudgeons here; I observe they also catch Gudgeons in town.Bon motsfor you,—I excel in wit, as much as in philosophy.” “That I can perceive,” said the Baronet; “I see, sir, this is just such a performance, as I should have expected from Dr. Scribble.” “Since you do me the honour to entertain so very high an opinion of my abilities; how happy I should be, in devoting them to your information and instruction. I should, with much pleasure, sir, on any important question, make such speeches, as would astonish the senate, if you were to speak them.” “That sir, I am convinced you could,” “and in any manner that you chuse.” “I am very happy in imitating Burke; but that’s not difficult; Burke is, after all, only shallow. I could enliven a speech with better wit than Sheridan’s;—indeed, that’s no great matter. His School forScandal, that the world so much admired, is but a poor performance; I, myself, could far surpass it, were I todescendto writing for the stage, but that I despise.” “Did you never write for the stage, doctor?” “I once wrote a tragedy.” “What was the subject?” “The death of Colebrand, or the history of Guy, Earl of Warwick.” “And how was it received, doctor?” “Whatever I write, has numberless enemies;—they had the insolence to damn it. Pit, boxes, galleries, all hired to join against poor Guy;—there was a great deal of nature and of wit in the dialogue, for it made them laugh a good deal; but it was damned. The whole world were in a confederacy against me; but I wrote and published an address, which proved every one that spoke or hissed against me, to be a dunce.” “How did you prove that,doctor?” “How did I prove that;—how do I prove any thing? but by giving my own judgment, that it is so. I declare they were all dunces, and God confound them all for dunces. They had the insolence to say Dr. Scribble was a dunce;—the whole audience called out, Dicky was a dunce:—could flesh and blood bear it? Was it not a libel?—I believe Lord Mansfield would declare it so.” Without attending to this legal illustration, the doctor proceeded; “I published a work a few days after, proving them all to be in a conspiracy against me, for my superior genius; but to return, I again proffer you, Sir Edward, my political services.” “Doctor Scribble,” replied the Baronet, “I have a just sense of the importance of your offer; but I am sorry, that I cannot think of shining by a borrowed light, and must make the best of my own powers and knowledge;—butthere comes your friend Sir Joseph, shall we go and meet him?” “Not at present,” said the Doctor, “being engaged very particularly on the other side of the town.” Sir Edward now joined the other baronet, and after the common salutations, “I have just parted with your friend, Dr. Scribble.” “My friend!” returned Sir Joseph, “I do not know him;—I know there is such a man, and that he pretends to be a kind of an antiquarian.” “I thought you had been extremely intimate,” said Sir Edward. “Oh no, I have not the least acquaintance with the man.” Not long after the baronet was joined by our hero, and communicated the discourse that had passed between him and Dr. Scribble. Our hero was amused by the oratorial propositions of this learned person; but soon forgot the doctor and all his concerns, in subjects that concerned himselfmuch more nearly. Sir Edward and he happening to pass near the lodgings of Miss Primrose, the baronet expressed his opinion, that the young lady was passionately in love with Hamilton; that she was a charming girl; would bring him an ample fortune; and he was assured that Hamilton might soon obtain a seat in parliament, and must rise to distinguished eminence. “I hope, Hamilton,” he continued, “that my beloved Mortimer will cease to be so insensible, at least so inflexible, as I have now experienced; how happy, my dear friend, for short as is our acquaintance, so I consider you, if our respective nuptials could take place at the same time; and if the two families continued to cultivate the intimacy that their respective masters would wish. Your inamorata and mine appear extremely attached to each other,” Our hero thinking thepresent a favourable opportunity of opening his mind to Sir Edward, proposed to walk a short way from town, “wishing,” he said, “to have the pleasure of a very particular conversation.” The baronet, not doubting that our hero wished to give him his confidence, particularly on the subject of Miss Primrose, and equally desirous of consulting with him concerning Miss Mortimer, most readily agreed; and they were preparing to take a turn to the race ground, when a servant came to inform Sir Edward, that a gentleman, whom he named, and who was of great consequence, in the county represented by the baronet, had called at his lodgings, and was very desirous of seeing him immediately. Sir Edward accordingly went in quest of him, and found it was necessary, for the present, to relinquish the engagement with Hamilton. That day the Mortimers, oldand young, had gone to the captain’s cottage, which the old gentleman wished to visit, in order to give directions, and was to return in the evening. Our hero, after dinner, strolled along the Arundel road, not without secret hopes of meeting the company, of which his beloved Maria was one. The Mortimer family, by taking a different road, did not meet with our hero, and having returned to Brighton, learned that Hamilton had taken an afternoon-walk, and was not returned. John concluded he had met with some engagement, and his own family conceiving the same opinion, the Mortimers and Hamiltons parted for the night, and the former had supped, and were preparing to go up stairs to bed, when the servant, a simple country lad, ran into the parlour with terror and consternation, and addressing his master, exclaimed, “Oh, zir, this be a terriblepleace; there is a murder just done by the church; the two poor gentlemen that comes so often here, the baronight.” “Who,” said Captain Mortimer, “and ’Squire Hamilton, are lying a corpse.” Maria, in the most terrible apprehensions, from the exordium of this narration, at its conclusion, fell lifeless on the ground. The captain and his brother, both imputing this paroxysm of grief to her love for Hamden, recommended to young Mortimer the care of his sister; ran towards the place which the servant mentioned, hoping that the accounts might be false; yet, in their agitation, took no pains to examine the man, as to the source and particulars of his information. Mortimer, with the assistance of Maria’s maid, at length brought her to her senses, but only to open to her visions of despair. She instantly conceived that Hamilton had unbosomedhimself to his rival, and that the pride of disappointment overpowering the generosity of the baronet’s disposition, they had quarrelled and fought, and that she was the cause of her beloved Hamilton’s death. She called on his name in the phrenzy of desperation; vowing, that she would follow him, and be buried in the same grave. Mortimer, though extremely anxious to inquire more particularly into the fate of his friend, could not leave his sister, who exhibited symptoms of distraction, that he was afraid might terminate in insanity. A physician being immediately sent for, and hearing the case, administered a composing draught, which gave to Miss Mortimer a temporary oblivion of her grief. Young Mortimer now sallied forth, anxious to learn the particular circumstances of the death of his friend; wishing, yet fearing, to minglehis sorrow with the grief of Charlotte; he betook himself, to the house of Mrs. Hamilton. Approaching the door, all was dark; listening in expectation to catch the sounds of mourning, all was still, and wore the appearance of sleep undisturbed; perhaps it was the tranquillity of exhausted nature, obtaining some repose, after the paroxysms of lamentation; should he interrupt the short intermission of woe, soon enough would mother and sister be fully awake to the sense of irretrievable loss. Now he would indulge the melancholy pleasure of contemplating his fallen friend, so soon to be mingled with primeval dust. The clock had struck twelve; it was the gloomy stillness of departing October, without a breath of wind, or any sound to be heard, except the hollow murmur of the becalmed sea. As Mortimer walked up the Downs, tothe reported scene of his friend’s assassination, he reached the church, there expecting to find a crowd, seeking or bearing the corpse. He thought he heard voices at a distance;—he moved towards the place whence they issued; a tall figure approached by the pale and twinkling light of the fading stars; it appeared, either to his senses or fancy, to resemble the murdered Hamilton. Mortimer, though a young man of vigorous understanding, sound and rational piety, without any consciousness of superstition, yet, believing in the immortality of the soul, could see no impossibility in the appearance of disembodied spirits: what was possible, though not probable, might exist. He was riveted to the spot; from the approaching figure a voice issued, “Keep your distance, as you value your life.” The voice was Hamilton’s; he could not disobey the awful intermination;strong as his nerves were, they were not a match for his sensations; the figure passed on,—Mortimer sank to the ground; at length recovering, he, with slow and trembling steps, crept homewards: meeting a watchman at the outskirts of the town, he begged for his arm and assistance, and was conducted to his house; entering, he found his father and uncle just returned, after a search entirely unsuccessful: still leaning upon the watchman’s shoulder, with his knees tottering, his face staring, wild, and bloodless, he presented himself to his astonished friends. “Good Heavens! what is the matter?” said his father. “I have seen him,” replied he, in a hollow voice. “Seen whom?” said his uncle. “My dear deceased friend, William Hamilton.” The hearers eagerly inquired, when, where, how: before hecould answer, there was a tap at the parlour window;—one light only glimmered on the table, in crowding too near which, some person overturned it, and it blew out; the tap was repeated, and a voice, pronouncing John Mortimer, was distinctly heard: the company, which had received the addition of Hodge, the footman, made no answer; a soft knock was heard at the street-door,—no attention was paid; the watchman declared his inability to return alone to his station, and the dawning morn found them all assembled in the same spot. The reflection of John at length operating, he imputed his apprehensions to some accidental resemblance, and he retired to rest;—after broken and confused slumbers, finding it in vain to hope for comfortable sleep, he was preparing to rise about ten, when the voice of hissister assailed his ears, calling, with phrenzy, upon her murdered Hamilton. As he was hastily equipping himself, he heard a loud scream at the door of his apartment, which quickly opened, and there appeared the very image which he had seen on the Downs the night before. Gazing intently, he faultered, “you certainly are Hamilton’sapparition.” “Apparition!” replied the figure; when the voice of Maria through a thin partition assailed his ears:—“my only love,—my murdered Hamilton, I will follow him to the grave.” Mortimer was staring on his visitant, but on the last words that issued from the next room, hastily rushed thither. Maria perceiving the spectre, stretched out her hands, but sank into insensibility. Mortimer rushed in, saw his sister again lifeless, and heard from the spectre the mildest tones ofimpassioned love; still, under the impression which had been conveyed so deeply the former night, he approached the figure—not without fear and trembling; but the spectre asking him, in a tone at once calm and pathetic, what caused the illness of his beloved Maria, and happening accidentally to touch him, John was convinced it was not only a visible, but a tangible spirit. “Good Heavens!” said Mortimer, “my dearest friend, Hamilton, you you—are are alive.” The figure, without answering this application, continued addressing Maria, who, opening her eyes, and again beholding Hamilton, relapsed into insensibility. At this instant, Charlotte Hamilton hastily entering the room, said to him, “Good God, William, what a strange report there is through the town, that you were murderedlast night, and that your ghost appeared near the church.” Mortimer, eagerly taking hold of the figure that stood before him, and feeling the same hard muscular arms, and examining him with an accuracy that evidently surprized the object of scrutiny; “do you know, Hamilton, I thought you was dead: this notion operated so strongly upon me, that I was convinced I had seen your ghost.” “But,” replied the other, “my dearest Charlotte, administer to my beloved angel.” “The same idea,” said Mortimer, now more master of himself, “operated upon my sister.” Charlotte now reminded them of their being in Maria’s apartment, in circumstances, which from her suggestion, they first recollected; and on seeing marks of re-animation, before Maria could again distinguish her lover, they withdrew. Mortimer,satisfied that his identical friend was now by his side, alive and well, before he thought of entering on the particulars of the report, or it’s foundations, somewhat impressed with the apprehensions of his sister, that a fatal quarrel had taken place between Hamilton and Hamden; “poor Hamden,” he said, “was an amiable and accomplished man, and I lament his death.” “Death,” said Hamilton, “I do not think his wound is dangerous.” “I am surprized, my dear friend,” said Mortimer, “that being to have such an encounter, you did not apply to me.” “How could I?” said the other, “when it was so unexpected.” “Did you fight with sword or with pistols?” “First sword, and then pistols.” “Did you wound Sir Edward with a ball?” “I wound Sir Edward,” said Hamilton, “what do youmean?” At this instant a note was brought to our hero, which opening, he read as follows:
“My brave deliverer,I am just able to inform you, that the Surgeon this morning pronounces me out of danger; but, as writing somewhat pains me, I can only say, that I owe my life to you. Your most gratefulEdward Hamden.”
“My brave deliverer,
I am just able to inform you, that the Surgeon this morning pronounces me out of danger; but, as writing somewhat pains me, I can only say, that I owe my life to you. Your most grateful
Edward Hamden.”
Hamilton having shewed Mortimer this letter, he informed him of the circumstances, which it seems were as follow:
Being now the end of October, and the evenings soon closing in, night overtaking him, first reminded him of the expediency of returning; finding, however, that he was not far from Shoreham-bridge, where there was acomfortable inn, he walked thither, and ordered some coffee, which was brought him in a public room; there were several persons in the apartment, and the conversation happened to turn upon footpad-robberies, which, though in that neighbourhood very unusual before, had taken place the preceding evening near Arundel, and were ascribed to part of a gang of smugglers, whose contraband goods had been seized a few nights before, by the custom-house officers, and a party of dragoons. The banditti being thereby ruined, and desperate, had taken to a course, with which the fraternity is well acquainted. Two or three very suspicious fellows had passed eastwards in the dusk of the evening; our hero hearing this account, thought it would be necessary for him, in his return, to be cautious, and resolved to take the upper, instead of the lower road, because,though solitary, he thought it less dangerous than a path that led along the precipitate cliffs; conscious of his own strength and courage, and generally walking with a strong sword-cane, he resolved to take his chance. A little before his departure, he observed one person in company eyeing him, rather sternly; he returned the examination, and saw, that in point of muscular strength, there could be little danger, if he had to encounter this fellow alone; and the person going out, he soon after sallied forth, that he might pass him, before he could be far enough from the houses to attempt an attack, or could join companions who were likely to be on the road; at a shed near the house, he saw sitting on a bench, a tall stout soldier, in the Highland dress, with the forty-second regiment on his buttons; he asked him which way he was bound;the other answered in a Scotch accent, for Brighton, please your honour; I am come from Hilsea barracks, with a message from the Colonel to Captain Malcolm Macniel of our regiment. Hamilton informing him he himself was going to Brighton, said he would be very glad of his company; the soldier, with much pleasure, embracing this proposal, they set off. Hamilton, thoroughly confiding in the honest and intrepid countenance of his companion, asked him if he saw a fellow pass a little before he spoke; the other answered in the negative; but said, that though he had nothing to lose himself, hearing there were smugglers and footpads on the road between Hilsea and Arundel, he had brought a bayonet as well as a broad-sword, and that either of them were at his honour’s service. Hamilton thanked him; but said, he trustedthe sword which he had would be sufficient, if there was any danger. When they had walked about half a mile, they heard a whistle; they moved cautiously, but firmly on. A little after, two villains sprang upon our hero, and presenting pistols, demanded his money and watch. The soldier, whom not expecting, they had not observed, advancing softly with his bayonet, ran it into one of the ruffians; the other fired a pistol, which luckily missing Hamilton, he wrested it from his hand, and felled the villain to the ground. Searching the ruffians, the conquerors found two brace of pistols on each, all loaded except the one that had been fired; of these they possessed themselves, as a further security upon the road; and leaving the fallen assailants, resolved to proceed with all possible dispatch to the first inhabited place, to procure assistance, which might at onceattend to the wounds of the robbers, and secure their persons. With this intent they walked forward till they came to a cross road that turns to the north; and they were in a declivity, descending into a hollow between two hedges: here they heard a voice, calling, kill him; moving softly forward, they saw a postchaise standing, and heard a person praying they would spare his master. “I will be d—— if we do,” said the voice that they had first heard; the soldier whispered “Let us proceed, sir, by surprise, as we once did in America, when six of us at night pretending to be a large party, took twenty prisoners;” and immediately called out, “surround the fellows—fire,” Hamilton obeyed the order; two men were wounded at the first round, the others being still three in number; but supposing their adversaries twice as many, ran different ways. Our heronow coming to a gentleman that was lying on the ground, called to his servant and the postillion to assist in carrying him to a house, whilst they should watch against the return of the robbers; The servant, on hearing the voice of Hamilton, immediately said to him with great eagerness, “Oh sir, you are a friend of my poor master!” “Who is he?” The other answered, “Sir Edward Hamden.” “Good Heavens!” said our hero, “I left him at Brighton only a few hours ago.” Endeavouring to stop the blood, they directed the postboy to run for assistance to an adjoining farm-house, as it would be impossible for him to bear the jolting of the chaise. Help was immediately procured, and the wounded gentleman was carefully borne to the hamlet. Hamilton having some slight knowledge of surgery, foundmeans, with the assistance of the farmer’s wife, to stop the further effusion of blood, and a messenger was dispatched for the most skilful surgeon in Brighton; but with strict orders not to mention the name of the gentleman, least his friends should be prematurely alarmed. The surgeon soon arrived, and found that the wound did not proceed from a ball, as had been apprehended, but from a cutlass; and that, though the patient was faint from loss of blood, there would be no danger, unless from a fever, the prevention of which would be the chief object of his regimen and medicinal applications; it was necessary in the first place, to keep the patient quiet. Leaving the room for that purpose, Hamilton had now an opportunity of learning the circumstances of the accident, which were briefly these: After parting withHamilton, Sir Edward had joined the gentleman that was in quest of him, found that he was about to leave Brighton upon county business of considerable importance to Sir Edward’s interest, but in which the baronet could not appear himself. Sir Edward, to converse fully on the subject, accompanied him the first stage on his road to town, and having dined with him at Henfield, returned in the evening; the postboy having taken the circuitous, instead of the direct road, they were met by six fellows, who surrounded the chaise, demanding his money: Hamden at first offered them his purse; they insisted also for his watch; this having descended to him from his father, he was reluctant to part with it, and pledged his honor, that the following morning he would pay one hundred guineas to any person that theyshould send to Sir Edward Hamden, and that no questions should be asked. One or two of the fellows, who were young in the gang, proposed to accept this offer; but the more experienced villains regarding it as a present evasion, and future trap, not only refused to consent, but were enraged against the proposer; and while he still urged his request, one of the most desperate called, “d—— your palaver, I’ll put an end to that,” and fired into the carriage. The Baronet, conceiving that their intention was now to murder him, determined it should not be with impunity, returned the fire, which brought the ruffian to the ground; all the fellows had not pistols, and though those that had used them, yet, fortunately, the Baronet escaped; and while two kept the servant-boy, and another the postillion, the tworemaining fellows pulled Hambden out of the carriage; one of them hit him with a cutlass, and they were about to perpetrate the murder, when the intervention of Hamilton and his gallant comrade effected his delivery. The messenger that had sent the surgeon, though expeditious in executing that part of his commission, had not equally attended to the charge of secrecy; going in to take a social pot with one of his acquaintances, he had given a most tremendous account of the exploit that had been atchieved; he said, several gentlemen, however, had been murdered; he did not know the names of the rest, but two were Hambden and Hamilton. After this information, he left his friend, and returned home; the other quickly joining a party of acquaintances, informed them of the dreadful doings that hadbeen going on on the Church Downs, (for he brought the scene two miles nearer to Brighton) and that Sir Edward Hambden and Mr. Hamilton and six more were murdered; as it was yet hardly ten, the news soon spread through the whole place, and among others, reaching the footman of Mr. Mortimer, had caused the dreadful alarm which we have seen. Hamilton, having waited till Sir Edward’s wound was dressed, had returned to town, and seeing a man at so late an hour, had used the words which John imputed to the spirit of his murdered friend. Having perceived a light in Mr. Mortimer’s house, and heard the voice of John, he had knocked at the door, tapped at the window, called on his friend’s name, and thereby caused such consternation: thus the mystery was solved, and the ghost, likeother ghosts, proved to be flesh and blood.
Just as Hamilton had finished his narrative, they heard, in the adjoining room, Maria eagerly addressing her friend Charlotte: “Do not flatter my hope, my dear Charlotte, but is my William alive?” “Alive? he is, and has never been hurt.” Hamilton, regardless of his dear Maria’s situation, rushed into her apartment, and in a fond embrace, enjoyed the delight with which she received him, as if recovered from the dead: her father and uncle were soon informed of the actual circumstances of the encounter, and with the sincerest pleasure, learned that both Hamilton and Hamden were alive, and in no danger.
Hamden was brought to Brighton in a litter, and gradually recovered.During his convalescence, our hero and Maria thought it would be unwise to explain to him the footing on which they were, and the time arrived for leaving Brighton before any eclaircissement took place.