There was no time to be lost; the Marquis de Fontanges, M. De Fontanges, and the crew, were hurried on board of theWindsor Castle(the pirate had taken care that they should not be delayed in packing up their baggage), and Newton, as soon as he returned on board, and hoisted up his boat, crowded every stitch of canvas in pursuit of the pirate, who was now more than four miles distant. But, although the wind gradually increased, and was thus far in their favour, as they first benefited by it, yet, as the sun went down, so did their hopes descend. At nightfall the pirate had increased her distance to seven miles. Newton pursued, watching her with a night-glass, until she could no longer be distinguished. Still, their anxiety was so great, that no one went to bed on board of theWindsor Castle. When the day broke, the pirate was not to be discovered in any quarter of the horizon from the mast-head of theWindsor Castle.
"She stood a moment as a PythonessStands on her tripod, agonised and fullOf inspiration gather'd from distress,When all the heart-strings, like wild horses, pullThe heart asunder; then, as more or lessTheir speed abated or their strength grew dull,She sunk down on her seat by slow degrees,And bow'd her throbbing head o'er trembling knees."
It was with deep regret that Newton gave directions for the ship's head to be again directed on her course to England; but the property under his charge was of too great value to warrant risking it by cruising after the pirates, the superior sailing of whose vessel afforded no hopes of success. The melancholy situation of Madame de Fontanges threw a gloom over the party, which was communicated even to the seamen; while the anguish of M. de Fontanges, expressed with all the theatrical violence characteristic of his nation, was a source of continual reminiscence and regret. They had been four days on their voyage, making little progress with the light and baffling winds, when they were shrouded in one of those thick fogs which prevail in the latitude of the Cape de Verds, and which was rendered more disagreeable by a mizzling rain.
On the sixth day, about twelve o'clock, the horizon cleared to the northward, and the fog in that quarter was rolled away by a strong breeze which rippled along the water. Newton, who was on deck, observed the direction of the wind to be precisely the reverse of the little breeze to which their sails had been trimmed; and the yards of theWindsor Castlewere braced round to meet it. The gust was strong, and the ship, laden as she was, careened over to the sudden force of it, as the top-gallant sheets and halyards were let fly by the directions of the officer of the watch. The fog, which had still continued thick to leeward, now began to clear away; and, as the bank dispersed, the Marquis de Fontanges, who was standing on the poop by the side of Newton, cried out, "Voilà un bâtiment!" Newton looked in the direction pointed out, and discovered the hull of a vessel looming through the fog, about a quarter of a mile to leeward of theWindsor Castle. One minute's scrutiny convinced him that it was the pirate, who, not having been expeditious in trimming his sails,laid in irons, as seamen term it, heeling over to the blast. TheWindsor Castlewas then running free, at the rate of four miles an hour.
"Starboard the helm—all hands to board—steady so. Be smart, my lads—it's the pirate—port a little. Hurrah! my lads—be quick, and she's all our own. Quartermaster, my sword—quick!"
The crew, who were all on deck, snatched their cutlasses from the capstern-head, in which they were inserted, and before three minutes elapsed, during which the pirate had not time to extricate himself from his difficulty, were all ready for the service. They were joined by the Flemish sailors belonging to the neutral vessel, who very deliberately put their hands in their breeches-pockets, and pulled out their knives, about as long as a carpenter's two-foot rule, preferring this weapon to anything else.
Monsieur de Fontanges, bursting with impatience, stood with Newton, at the head of the men. When the collision of the two vessels took place, theWindsor Castle, conned so as not to run down the pirate, but to sheer alongside, stove in the bulwarks of the other, and carried away her topmasts, which, drawn to windward by the pressure on the back-stays, fell over towards theWindsor Castle, and, entangling with her rigging, prevented the separation of the two vessels.
"No quarter, my friends!" cried Monsieur de Fontanges, who darted on board of the pirate vessel at the head of some men near the main-rigging, while Newton and the remainder, equally active, poured down upon his quarter.
Such had been the rapidity of the junction, and such the impetuosity of the attack, that most of the pirates had not had time to arm themselves, which, considering the superiority of their numbers rendered the contest more equal. A desperate struggle was the result;—the attacked party neither expecting, demanding, nor receiving quarter. It was blow for blow, wound for wound, death to one or both. Every inch of the deck was disputed, and not an inch obtained until it reeked with blood. The voices of Newton and Monsieur de Fontanges, encouraging their men, were answered by another voice,—that of the captain of the pirates,—which had its due effect upon the other party, which rallied at its sound. Newton, even in the hurry and excitement of battle, could not help thinking to himself that he had heard that voice before. The English seamen gained but little ground, so obstinate was the resistance. The pirates fell; but as they lay on the deck, they either raised their exhausted arms to strike one last blow of vengeance before their life's blood had been poured out, or seized upon their antagonists with their teeth in their expiring agonies. But a party, who, from the sedateness of their carriage, had hitherto been almost neutral, now forced their way into the conflict. These were the Flemish seamen, with their long snick-a-snee knives, which they used with as much imperturbability as a butcher professionally employed. They had gained the main-rigging of the vessel, and, ascending it, had passed over by the catharpins, and descended, with all the deliberation of bears, on the other side, by which tranquil manoeuvre the pirates were taken in flank; and huddled as they were together, the knives of the Flemings proved much more effective than the weapons opposed to them. The assistance of the Flemings was hailed with a shout from the English seamen, who rallied, and increased their efforts. Newton's sword had just been passed through the body of a tall, powerful man, who had remained uninjured in the front of the opposing party since the commencement of the action, when his fall discovered to Newton's view the captain of the vessel, whose voice had been so often heard, but who had hitherto been concealed from his sight by the athletic form which had just fallen by his hand. What was his astonishment and his indignation when he found himself confronted by one whom he had long imagined to have been summoned to answer for his crimes—his former inveterate enemy, Jackson!
Jackson appeared to be no less astonished at the recognition of Newton, whom he had supposed to have perished on the sand-bank. Both mechanically called each other by name, and both sprang forward. The blow of Newton's sword was warded off by the miscreant; but at the same moment that of Monsieur de Fontanges was passed through his body to the hilt. Newton had just time to witness the fall of Jackson, when a tomahawk descended on his head; his senses failed him, and he lay among the dead upon the deck.
There was a shriek, a piercing shriek, heard when Newton fell. It passed the lips of one who had watched, with an anxiety too intense to be pourtrayed, the issue of the conflict;—it was from Isabel, who had quitted the cabin at the crash occasioned by the collision of the two vessels, and had remained upon the poop "spectatress of the fight." There were no fire-arms used; no time for preparation had been allowed. There had been no smoke to conceal—all had been fairly presented to her aching sight. Yes! there she had remained, her eye fixed upon Newton Forster, as, at the head of his men, he slowly gained the deck of the contested vessel. Not one word did she utter; but, with her lips wide apart from intensity of feeling, she watched his progress through the strife, her eye fixed—immovably fixed upon the spot where his form was to be seen; hope buoyant, as she saw his arm raised and his victims fall—heart sinking, as the pirate sword aimed at a life so dear. There she stood like a statue—as white as beautiful—as motionless as if, indeed, she had been chiselled from the Parian marble; and had it not been for her bosom heaving with the agony of tumultuous feeling, you might have imagined that all was as cold within. Newton fell—all her hopes were wrecked—she uttered one wild shriek, and felt no more.
After the fall of Jackson, the pirates were disheartened, and their resistance became more feeble. M. de Fontanges carved his way to the taffrail, and then turned round to kill again. In a few minutes the most feeble-hearted escaped below, leaving the few remaining brave to be hacked to pieces, and the deck of the pirate vessel was in possession of the British crew. Not waiting to recover his breath, M. de Fontanges rushed below to seek his wife. The cabin door was locked, but yielded to his efforts; and he found her in the arms of her attendants in a state of insensibility. A scream of horror at the sight of his bloody sword, and another of joy at the recognition of their master, was followed up with the assurance that Madame had only fainted. M. de Fontanges took his wife in his arms, and carried her on deck, where, with the assistance of the seamen, he removed her on board of theWindsor Castle, and in a short time had the pleasure to witness her recovery. Their first endearments over, there was an awkward question to put to a wife. After responding to her caresses, M. de Fontanges inquired, with an air of anxiety very remarkable in a Frenchman, how she had been treated. "Il n'y a pas de mal, mon ami," replied Madame de Fontanges. This was a Jesuitical sort of answer, and M. de Fontanges required further particulars. "Elle avait temporisé" with the ruffian, with the faint hope of that assistance which had so opportunely and unexpectedly arrived. M. de Fontanges was satisfied with his wife's explanation; and such being the case, what passed between Jackson and Madame de Fontanges can be no concern of the reader's. As for Mimi and Charlotte, they made no such assertion; but, when questioned, the poor girls burst into tears, and, calling the captain and first lieutenant of the pirate vessel barbarians and every epithet they could think of, complained bitterly of the usage which they had received.
We left Newton floored (as Captain Oughton would have said) on the deck of the pirate vessel, and Isabel in a swoon on the poop of theWindsor Castle. They were both taken up, and then taken down, and recovered according to the usual custom in romances and real life. Isabel was the first tocome to, because, I presume, a blow on the heart is not quite so serious as a blow on the head. Fortunately for Newton, the tomahawk had only glanced along the temple, not injuring the skull, although it stunned him, and detached a very decent portion of his scalp, which had to be replaced. A lancet brought him to his senses, and the surgeon pronounced his wound not to be dangerous, provided that he remained quiet.
At first Newton acquiesced with the medical adviser, but an hour or two afterwards a circumstance occurred which had such a resuscitating effect, that, weak as he was with the loss of blood, he would not resign the command of the ship, but gave his orders relative to the captured vessel, and the securing of the prisoners, as if nothing had occurred. What had contributed so much to the recovery of Newton was simply this, thatsomehow or anotherMrs Enderby left him for a few minutes,tête-à-têtewith Isabel Revel: and, during those few minutes,somehow or another, a very interesting scene occurred, which I have no time just now to describe. It ended, however,somehow or another, in the parties plighting their troth. As I said before, love and murder are very good friends; and a chop from a tomahawk was but a prelude for the descent of Love, with "healing on his wings."
TheWindsor Castlelost five men killed and eleven wounded in this hard contest. Three of the Flemings were also wounded. The pirate had suffered more severely. Out of a crew of seventy-five men, as no quarter had been given, there remained but twenty-six, who had escaped and secreted themselves below, in the hold of the vessel. These were put in irons under the half-deck of theWindsor Castle, to be tried upon their arrival in England. As I may as well dispose of them at once, they were all sentenced to death by Sir William Scott, who made a very impressive speech upon the occasion; and most of them were hanged on the bank of the Thames. The polite valet of the Marquis de Fontanges hired a wherry, and escorted Mademoiselles Mimi and Charlotte to witness the "barbares" dangling in their chains; and the sooty young ladies returned much gratified with their interesting excursion.
It will be necessary to account for the reappearance of Jackson. The reader may recollect that he made sail in the boat, leaving Newton on the island which they had gained after the brig had been run on shore and wrecked. When the boat came floating down with the tide, bottom up, Newton made sure that Jackson had been upset and drowned; instead of which, he had been picked up by a Providence schooner; and the boat having been allowed to go adrift with the main-sheet belayed to the pin, had been upset by a squall, and had floated down with the current to the sand-bank where Newton was standing in the water. Jackson did not return to England, but had entered on board of a Portuguese slave-vessel, and continued some time employed in this notorious traffic, which tends so much to demoralise and harden the heart. After several voyages, he headed a mutiny, murdered the captain and those who were not a party to the scheme, and commenced a career of piracy, which had been very successful, from the superior sailing of the vessel, and the courage of the hardened villains he had collected under his command.
"Hopes, of all passions, most befriend us here;Joy has her tears, and Transport has her death:Hope, like a cordial, innocent, tho' strong,Man's heart at once inspirits and serenes;Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys,'Tis all our present state can safely bear:Health to the frame and vigour to the mind,And to the modest eye, chastised delight,Like the fair summer evening, mild and sweet,'Tis man's full cup—his paradise below."
With what feelings of delight did Newton Forster walk the deck of theWindsor Castle, as she scudded before a fine breeze across the Bay of Biscay! His happiness in anticipation was so great, that at times he trembled lest the cup should be dashed from his lips; and at the same time that he thanked God for blessings received, he offered up his prayer that his prospects might not be blighted by disappointment. How happy did he feel when he escorted Isabel on deck, and walked with her during the fine summer evenings, communicating those hopes and fears, recurring to the past, or anticipating the future, till midnight warned them of the rapidity with which time had flown away! The pirate vessel, which had been manned by the crew of the neutral and part of the ship's company of theWindsor Castle, under charge of the fourth mate, sailed round and round them, until at last the Channel was entered, and favoured with a westerly breeze, theWindsor Castleand her prize anchored in the Downs. Here Mrs Enderby and Isabel quitted the ship, and Newton received orders to proceed round to the river. Before theWindsor Castlehad anchored, the newspapers were put into his hands containing a report of the two actions, and he had the gratification of acknowledging that his countrymen were not niggardly in the encomiums upon his meritorious conduct.
Newton presented himself to the Court of Directors, who confirmed his rank, and promised him the command of the first ship which was brought forward, with flattering commendations for his gallantry in protecting property of so much value. Newton took his leave of the augustLeaden-allboard, and hastened to his uncle's house. The door was opened by a servant who did not know him: Newton passed him, and ran up to the drawing-room, where he found Amber in company with William Aveleyn, who was reading to her the despatch containing the account of the action with Surcoeuf.
Amberspranginto his arms. She had grown into a tall girl of nearly fifteen, budding into womanhood and beauty: promising perfection, although not yet attained to it. William Aveleyn was also nearly half a foot taller; and a blush which suffused his handsome face at being surprised alone with Amber, intimated that the feelings of a man were superseding those of boyhood.
"Where is my mother?" inquired Newton.
"She is not at home, dear Newton," replied Amber; "she walked out with your father. They are both well."
"And my uncle?"
"Quite well, and most anxious to see you. He talks of nobody but you, and of nothing but your actions, which we were just reading about when you came in. Pray,CaptainNewton, may I inquire after your French friends? What has become of them?"
"They are at Sablonniere's hotel, Miss Amber; they have obtained their parole at the Alien-office."
The conversation was interrupted by the return of Newton's father and mother, and shortly afterwards Mr John Forster made his appearance. After the first greetings and congratulations were over—
"Well, Newton," observed Nicholas, "so you beat off a pirate, I hear."
"No, my dear father, we boarded one."
"Ah! very true; I recollect—and you killed Surcoeuf."
"No, father, only beat him off."
"So it was; I recollect now. Brother John, isn't it almost dinner time?"
"Yes, brother Nicholas, it is; and I'm not sorry for it. Mr William Aveleyn, perhaps you'd like to wash your hands? A lad's paws are never the worse for a little clean water."
William Aveleyn blushed: his dignity was hurt: but he had lately been very intimate at Mr Forster's, and he therefore walked out to comply with the recommendation.
"Well, brother Nicholas, what have you been doing all day?"
"Doing all day, brother? really, I don't exactly know. My dear," saidNicholas, turning to his wife, "what have I been doing all day?"
"To the best of my recollection," replied Mrs Forster, smiling, "you have been asking when dinner would be ready."
"Uncle Nicholas," said Amber, "you promised to buy me a skein of blue silk."
"Did I, my dear? Well, so I did, I declare. I'm very sorry—dear me, I forgot, I did buy it. I passed by a shop where the windows were full of it, and it brought it to my mind, and I did buy it. It cost—what was it, it cost?"
"Oh! I know what it cost," replied Amber. "I gave you threepence to pay for it. Where is it?"
"If I recollect, it cost seven shillings and sixpence," replied Nicholas, pulling out, not a skein of blue silk, but a yard of blue sarsenet.
"Now, papa, do look here! Uncle Nicholas, I never will give you a commission again. Is it not provoking? I have seven shillings and sixpence to pay for a yard of blue sarsenet, which I do not want. Uncle Nicholas, you really are very stupid."
"Well, my dear, I suppose I am. I heard William Aveleyn say the same, whenI came into the room this morning, because—let me see—"
"You heard him say nothing, uncle," interrupted Amber, colouring.
"Yes, I recollect now—how stupid I was to come in when I was not wanted!"
"Humph!" said John Forster; and dinner was announced.
Since the recognition of Mrs Forster by her husband, she had presided at her brother-in-law's table. The dinner provided was excellent, and was done ample justice to by all parties, especially Nicholas, whose appetite appeared to increase from idleness. Since Newton had left England he had remained a pensioner upon his brother; and, by dint of constant exertion on the part of Mrs Forster, had been drilled out of his propensity of interfering with either the watch or the spectacles. This was all that was required by Mr John Forster; and Nicholas walked up and down the house, like a tame cat, minding nobody, and nobody paying any attention to him.
After dinner the ladies retired, and shortly afterwards William Aveleyn quitted the room.
Newton thought this to be a good opportunity to acquaint his uncle with his attachment to Miss Revel, and the favourable result. Mr John Forster heard him without interruption.
"Very nice girl, I daresay, nephew, but you are too young to marry. You can't marry and go to sea. Follow your profession, Newton; speculate in opium—I'll find the means."
"I trust, sir, that I should never speculate in marrying: but, had I acted on that plan, this would prove the best speculation of the two. Miss Revel has a very large fortune."
"So much the worse: a man should never be indebted to his wife for his money—they never forget it. I'd rather you had fallen in love with a girl without a shilling."
"Well, sir, when I first fell in love she had not a sixpence."
"Humph!—well, nephew, that may be very true; but, as I said before, follow your profession."
"Marriage will not prevent my so doing, uncle. Most captains of Indiamen are married men."
"More fools they! leaving their wives at home to be flattered and fooled by the Lord knows who. A wife, nephew is—a woman."
"I hope that mine will be one, sir," replied Newton, laughing.
"Nephew, once for all, I don't approve of your marrying now—-that's understood. It's my wish that you follow your profession. I'll be candid with you; I have left you the heir to most of my fortune; but—I can alter my will. If you marry this girl I shall do so."
"Alter your will, brother?" said Nicholas, who had been attentive to the conversation. "Why, who have you to leave your money to, except to Newton?"
"To hospitals—to pay off the national debt—to anything. Perhaps I may leave it all to that little girl, who already has come in for a slice."
"But, brother," replied Nicholas, "will that be just, to leave all your money away from your family?"
"Just! yes, brother Nicholas, quite just. A man's will is hiswill. If he makes it so as to satisfy the wishes or expectations of others, it is no longerhis will, but theirs. Nephew, as I said before, if you marry against my consent, I shall alter my will."
"I am sorry, sir, very sorry, that you should be displeased with me; but I am affianced to this lady, and no worldly consideration will induce me not to fulfil an engagement upon which, indeed, my future happiness depends. I have no claim upon you, sir; on the contrary, I have incurred a large debt of gratitude, from your kind protection. Anything else you would require of me—"
"Humph! that's always the case; anything else except what is requested. Brother Nicholas, do me the favour to go upstairs; I wish to speak with my nephew alone."
"Well, brother John, certainly, if you wish it—if you and Newton have secrets;" and Nicholas rose from his chair.
"Surely, sir," observed Newton, not pleased at the abrupt dismissal of his father, "we can have no secrets to which my father may not be a party."
"Yes, but I have, nephew. Your father is my brother, and I take the liberty with my brother, if you like that better—not with your father."
In the meantime Nicholas had stalked out of the room.
"Nephew," continued Mr John Forster, as the door closed, "I have stated to you my wish that you should not marry this young woman; and I will now explain my reasons. The girl left in my charge by my brother Edward has become the same to me as a daughter. I intend that you shall make three or four voyages as captain of an Indiaman; then you shall marry her, and become the heir to my whole fortune. Now you understand me. May I ask what are your objections?"
"None, sir, but what I have already stated—my attachment and engagement to another person."
"Is that all?"
"Is it not enough?"
"It appears that this young woman has entered into an engagement on board ship, without consulting her friends."
"She has no father, sir. She is of age, and independent."
"You have done the same."
"I grant it, sir; but even were I inclined, could I, in honour or honesty, retract?"
"Humph!"
"Perhaps, sir, if you were acquainted with the young lady you might not be averse to the match."
"Perhaps, if I saw with your eyes, I might not; but that is not likely to be the case. Old men are a little blind and a little obstinate. After toiling through life to amass a fortune, they wish to have their own way of disposing of it. It is the only return they can receive for their labour. However, nephew, you will act as you please. As I said before, if you marry against my consent, I shall alter my will. Now, empty the bottle, and we'll go upstairs."
"And, Betty, give this cheek a little red."
The departure of Isabel in theWindsor Castle, so immediately after the death of Colonel Revel, prevented her communicating to her mother the alteration which had taken place in her circumstances, and her intended return to England. The first intimation received by Mrs Revel was from a hurried note sent on shore by a pilot-boat off Falmouth, stating Isabel's arrival in the Channel, and her anticipation of soon embracing her mother. Isabel did not enter into any particulars, as she neither had time, nor did she feel assured that the letter would ever reach its destination.
The letter did however come to hand two days before Isabel and Mrs Enderby arrived in the metropolis, much to the chagrin of Mrs Revel, who imagined that her daughter had returned penniless, to be a sharer of her limited income. She complained to Mr Heaviside, who as usual stepped in, not so much from any regard for Mrs Revel, but to while away the time of afar nienteold bachelor.
"Only think, Mr Heaviside," said the lady, who was stretched on a sofa, supported on pillows, "Isabel has returned from India. Here is a letter I have just received, signed by her maiden name! Her sisters so well married too! Surely she might have stayed out with one of them! I wonder how she got the money to pay her passage home! Dear me, what shall I do with her?"
"If I may be allowed to see the letter, Mrs Revel," said the old gentleman—
"Oh, certainly, it's nothing but a note."
Mr Heaviside read the contents.
"There is very little in it indeed, Mrs Revel; not a word about the colonel, or why she left India. Perhaps the colonel may be dead."
"Then she might have gone to live with one of her sisters, Mr Heaviside."
"But perhaps he may have left her some property."
"And do you, a sensible man, think that if such was the case, my daughter would not have mentioned it in her note? Impossible, Mr Heaviside!"
"She may intend to surprise you, Mrs Revel."
"She has surprised me," replied the lady, falling back upon the pillows.
"Well, Mrs Revel, you will soon ascertain the facts. I wish you a good-morning, and will pay my devoirs in a day or two to inquire after your health, and hear what has taken place."
To defray the expenses attending the "consignment" of the three Miss Revels to India, Mrs Revel had consented to borrow money, insuring her life as a security to the parties who provided it. Her unprincipled husband took this opportunity of obtaining a sum which amounted to more than half her marriage settlement, as Mrs Revel signed the papers laid before her without examining their purport. When her dividends were become due, this treachery was discovered; and Mrs Revel found herself reduced to a very narrow income, and wholly deserted by her husband, who knew that he had no chance of obtaining further means of carrying on his profligate career. His death in a duel, which we have before mentioned, took place a few months after the transaction, and Mrs Revel was attacked with that painful disease, a cancer, so deeply seated as to be incurable. Still she was the same frivolous, heartless being; still she sighed for pleasure, and to move in those circles in which she had been received at the time of her marriage. But, as her income diminished, so did her acquaintances fall off; and at the period of Isabel's return, with the exception of Mr Heaviside and one or two others, she was suffered to pine away in seclusion.
Isabel was greeted with querulous indifference until the explanation of the first ten minutes; then, as an heiress, with the means as well as the desire of contributing to her mother's comforts, all was joy and congratulation. Her incurable disease was for the time forgotten; and although pain would occasionally draw down the muscles of her face, as soon as the pang was over, so was the remembrance of her precarious situation. Wan and wasted as a spectre, she indulged in anticipation of again mixing with the fashionable world, and talked ofchaperoningIsabel to private parties and public amusements, when she was standing on the brink of eternity. Isabel sighed as she listened to her mother, and observed her attenuated frame; occasionally she would refer to her mother's state of health, and attempt to bring her to that serious state of mind which her awful situation demanded; but in vain: Mrs Revel would evade the subject. Before a week had passed, she had set up an equipage, and called upon many of her quondam friends to announce the important intelligence of her daughter's wealth. Most of them had long before given orders not to be "at home to Mrs Revel." The few to whom, from the remissness of their porters, she obtained admittance, were satisfied at their servants' negligence when they heard the intelligence which Mrs Revel had to communicate. "They were so delighted; Isabel was always such a sweet girl; hoped that Mrs Revel would not be such a recluse as she had been, and that they should prevail upon her to come to their parties!" An heiress is of no little consequence when there are so many younger brothers to provide for; and, before a short month had flown away, Mrs Revel, to her delight, found that the cards and invitations of no inconsiderable portion of thebeau mondecovered the table of her confined drawing-room. To Isabel, who perceived that her mother was sinking every day under the exertion she went through, all this was a source of deep regret. It occurred to her that to state her engagements with Newton Forster would have some effect in preventing this indirect suicide. She took an opportunity of confiding it to her mother, who listened to her with astonishment.
"Isabel! what do I hear? What! that young man who calls here so often! You, that can command a title, rank, and fashion, engage yourself to a captain of an Indiaman! Recollect, Isabel, that now your poor father is dead, I am your legal protector; and without my permission I trust you have too much sense of filial duty to think of marrying. How you could venture to form an engagement without consulting me is quite astonishing! Depend upon it, I shall not give my consent; therefore, think no more about it."
How often do we thus see people, who make no scruples of neglecting their duties, as eagerly assert their responsibility, when it suits their convenience.
Isabel might have retorted, but she did not. In few words, she gave her mother to understand that she was decided, and then retired to dress for a splendid ball, at which, more to please her mother than herself, she had consented to be present.
It was the first party of any consequence to which Mrs Revel had been invited. She considered it as her re-entréeinto the fashionable world, and the presentation of her daughter; she would not have missed it for any consideration. That morning she had felt more pain than usual, and had been obliged to have recourse to restoratives; but once more to join the gay and fashionable throng—the very idea braced her nerves, rendered her callous to suffering, and indifferent to disease.
"I think," said Mrs Revel to her maid—"I think," said she, panting, "you may lace me a little closer, Martyn."
"Indeed, madam, the holes nearly meet; it will hurt your side."
"No, no, I feel no pain this evening—there, that will do."
The lady's-maid finished her task, and left the room.
Mrs Revel rouged her wan cheeks, and, exhausted with fatigue and pain, tottered to an easy-chair, that she might recover herself a little before she went downstairs.
In a quarter of an hour Isabel, who had waited for the services of Martyn, entered her mother's room, to announce that she was ready. Her mother, who was sitting in the chair, leaning backwards, answered her not. Isabel went up to her, and looked her in the face—she wasdead!
"My dearest wife was like this maid,And such my daughter might have been."
The reader may be surprised at the positive and dictatorial language of Mr John Forster, relative to Newton's marriage, as detailed in a former chapter; but, as Mr John Forster truly observed, all the recompense which he had to expect for a life of exertion was to dispose of the fruits of his labour according to his own will. This he felt; and he considered it unreasonable that what he supposed a boyish attachment on the part of Newton was to overthrow all his preconcerted arrangements. Had Mr Forster been able to duly appreciate the feelings of his nephew, he probably would not have been so decided; but Love had never been able to establish himself as an inmate of his breast. His life had been a life of toil. Love associates with idleness and ease. Mr Forster was kind and cordial to his nephew as before, and the subject was not again renewed; nevertheless, he had made up his mind, and having stated that he would alter his will, such was his intention, provided that his nephew did not upon mature reflection accede to his wishes. Newton once more enjoyed the society of Isabel, to whom he imparted all that had occurred. "I do not wish to play the prude," answered Isabel, "by denying that I am distressed at your uncle's decision; to say that I will never enter into his family without having received his consent, is saying more than my feelings will bear out; but I must and will say that I shall be most unwilling so to do. We must, therefore, as Madame de Fontanges did with the pirate captain,temporise, and I trust we shall be as successful." Newton, more rational than most young men in love, agreed with Isabel on the propriety of the measure, and, satisfied with each other's attachment, they were by no means in a hurry to precipitate their marriage.
It may be recollected that Newton Forster felt convinced that the contents of the trunk which he picked up at sea, when mate of the coasting vessel, was the property of the Marquis de Fontanges. During their passage home in theWindsor Castle, he had renewed the subject to M. de Fontanges, and from the description which he gave from memory, the latter appeared to be of the same opinion. The conversation had not been revived until some time after their arrival in England, when Newton, anxious to restore the articles, desired M. de Fontanges to communicate with the marquis, and request that he would appoint a day upon which he would call at his uncle's and identify the property. The marquis, who had never been informed by M. de Fontanges that any supposed relics of his lost wife remained, sighed at the memory of his buried happiness—buried in that vast grave, which defrauds the earth of its inherent rights—and consented to call upon the ensuing day. When the marquis arrived, accompanied by M. and Madame de Fontanges, he was received in the drawing-room by Mr John Forster, who had brought from his chamber the packet in question, which had remained locked up in the iron safe ever since Newton had first committed it to his charge. After their introduction to each other, the marquis observed, in English—
"I am giving you a great deal of trouble; unavailing indeed; for, allowing that the articles should prove to be mine, the sight of them must be a source of renewed misery."
"Sir," replied Mr John Forster, "the property does not belong to my nephew, and he has very properly reserved it until he could find out the legal owner. If the property is yours, we are bound to deliver it into your hands. There is an inventory attached to it," continued the old lawyer, putting on his spectacles, and reading, "one diamond ring—but perhaps it would be better that I should open the packet."
"Will you permit me to look at the diamond ring, sir?" observed M. deFontanges. "The sight of that will identify the whole."
"There it is, sir," replied Mr John Forster.
"It is, indeed, that of my poor sister-in-law!" said M. de Fontanges, taking it up to the marquis. "My brother, it is Louise's ring!"
"It is," cried the marquis, passionately, "the ring that I placed in the centre of hercorbeille de mariage. Alas! where is the hand which graced it?" and the marquis retreated to the sofa, and covered his face.
"We have no occasion then to proceed further," observed Mr John Forster, with emotion. "The other articles you, of course, recognise?"
"I do," replied Monsieur de Fontanges. "My brother had taken his passage in the same vessel, but was countermanded. Before he had time to select all his own baggage, which was mixed with that of his wife, the ship was blown out to sea, and proceeded on her voyage. These orders of merit were left with her jewels."
"I observe," said the old lawyer, "which I did not when Newton entrusted the packet to my charge, that the linen has not all the same marks; that of the adult is marked L. de M., while that which belonged to the child is marked J. de F. Was it the marquis's child?"
"It was; the linen of the mother was some belonging to her previous to her marriage. The maiden name was Louise de Montmorenci; that of the child has the initials of its name, Julie de Fontanges."
"Humph! I have my reasons for asking that question," replied the old lawyer. "Newton, do me the favour to step to my chambers and open the safe. You will find in it, on the right-hand side, another small bundle of linen: bring it here. Stop, Newton, blow the dust out of the pipe of the key before you put it in, and be careful that it is well inserted before you turn it, or you may strain the wards. In all other points, you may be as quick as you please. My lord Marquis', will you allow me to offer you some refreshment?—a glass of wine will be of service. Brother Nicholas, do me the favour to call Amber."
Newton and Nicholas both departed on their respective missions. Amber made her appearance.
"Papa," said Amber, "do you want me?"
"Yes, my dear," said Mr Forster, handing her the keys; "go down to the cellaret and bring up some wine. I do not wish the servants to come in just now."
Amber reappeared with a small tray. She first handed it to the marquis, who was roused at her voice.
"Papa requests that you will take some wine, sir. It will be of service to you."
The marquis, who had looked earnestly in her face when she had spoken, took the wine, and drinking it off, bowed as he replaced the glass. He then sunk back on the sofa.
When the rap at the door announced the return of Newton, Mr John Forster requested M. de Fontanges, in a low voice, to follow him, and directing Newton, whom they met on the stairs, to return, they proceeded to the dining-parlour.
"I have requested you to come down, sir," said Mr John Forster, "that I might not, without being certain, raise hopes in your brother the marquis, which, if not realised, would create bitter feelings of disappointment; but I remarked the initials on the linen of the child; and if my memory, which is not very bad, fails me not, we shall find corresponding ones in the packet now before us;" and the old lawyer opened the bundle and displayed the contents, which proved to be marked as he had surmised.
"Most true," replied Monsieur de Fontanges. "They are the same, and of course part of the property which was picked up."
"Yes; but not picked up at the same time, or at the same spot, or by the same person. Those above stairs were, as you know, picked up by my nephew; these by a brother, who is since dead: and in these clothes an infant was also washed upon the beach."
"His child!" exclaimed Monsieur de Fontanges. "Where was it buried?"
"The child was restored to life, and is still living."
"If it is," replied Monsieur de Fontanges, "it can be no other than the young lady who just now called you father. The likeness to Madame la Marquise is most astonishing."
"It is as you suppose, sir," replied Mr John Forster. "At my brother's death, he bequeathed the little girl to my protection; and I trust I have done justice to the deposit. Indeed, although an alien by blood, she is as dear to me as if she were my own daughter: and," continued the old lawyer, hesitating a little, "although I have the satisfaction of restoring her to her father's arms, it will be a heavy blow to part with her! When my brother spoke to me on the subject, I told him it was trouble and expense enough to bring up a child of one's own begetting. I little thought at the time how much more I should be vexed at parting with one of another's. However, with the bundle, she must be returned to the lawful owner. I have one more remark to make, sir. Do me the favour to look at that drawing of my poor brother's, which hangs over the sideboard. Do you recognise the portrait?"
"Triton!" cried Monsieur de Fontanges; "the dog which I gave my poor sister-in-law!"
"You are indebted to that dog for the life of your niece. He brought her on shore, and laid her at my brother's feet; but I have all the documents, which I will send for your perusal. The facts I consider so well established as to warrant a verdict in any court of justice; and now, sir, I must leave you to make the communication as soon, and, at the same time, as cautiously as you please. Newton, send Amber down to me."
We will pass over the scenes which followed in the dining-parlour and drawing-room. The Marquis de Fontanges discovered that he was blest with a daughter, at the same time that Amber learnt her own history. In a few minutes Amber was led upstairs to the arms of her father, whose tears of sorrow at the loss of his wife were now mingled with those of delight, as he clasped his daughter to his heart.
"What obligations do I owe to your whole family, my dear friend!" said theMarquis to Newton.
"I will not deny it, sir," replied Newton; "but allow me to observe, that for the recovery of your daughter you are equally indebted to the generosity of your own relatives and your own feeling disposition. Had not Monsieur and Madame de Fontanges protected and assisted me in my distress; had not you, instead of throwing me into prison, set me at liberty, you never would have known where your daughter was to be found. Had not one of my uncles hastened to the relief of the vessel in distress, and the other protected your little girl after his death, she would not have been now in existence. My gratitude for your kindness induced me to remain by your ship, and subsequently to rescue you from the pirate, or you would not have now been a prisoner in this country—an evil which, under divine Providence, has been changed to a blessing, by restoring to you your daughter. We have all, I trust, done our duty, and this happy issue is our full reward."
"Humph!" observed the old lawyer.
"Thus far our chronicle—and now we pause,Though not for want of matter, but 'tis time."
Amber, or Julie de Fontanges, as we must now call her, quitted the abode of her kind protector in such distress, that it was evident she regretted the discovery which had been made. She was too young to be aware of the advantages of high birth, and her removal was for some time a source of unfeigned regret. It appeared to her that nothing could compensate for the separation from her supposed father, who doted on her, from Mrs Forster, who had watched over her, from Nicholas, who amused her, and from Newton, whom she loved as a brother. But the idea of going to a foreign country, and never seeing them or William Aveleyn again, and, though last, not least, to find that she was not an Englishwoman, and in future must not rejoice at their victories over her own nation, occasioned many a burst of tears when left alone to her own meditations. It was long before the devotion of her father, and the fascinating attentions of M. and Madame de Fontanges, could induce her to be resigned to her new condition. Mr John Forster felt his bereavement more deeply than could have been supposed. For many days after the departure of Julie, he seldom spoke, never made his appearance, except at dinner-time, and as soon as the meal was finished, hastened to his chambers, where he remained very late. Intense application was the remedy which he had selected to dispel his care, and fill up the vacuum created by the absence of his darling child.
"Newton," said he, one evening, as they discussed a bottle of port, "have you considered what I proposed? I confess to you that I am more than ever anxious for the match; I cannot part with that dear child, and you can bring her back to me."
"I have reflected, sir; but the case must be viewed in a very different light. You might affiance your adopted daughter at her early age, but the Marquis de Fontanges may not be so inclined; nay, further, sir, it is not impossible that he may dislike the proposed match. He is of a very noble family."
"I have thought on that subject," replied Mr John Forster; "but our family is as well descended, and quite well enough for any Frenchman, let him be a marquis, or even a duke. Is that the only obstacle you intend to raise —or, if this is removed, will you again plead your attachment to another?"
"It is the only one which I mean to raise at present, sir. I acknowledge Julie de Fontanges to be a sweet girl, and, as a relation, I have long been much attached to her."
"Humph!" replied the old lawyer; "I always thought you a sensible lad—we shall see."
Now, be it observed, that there was a certain degree of the jesuitical on the part of our friend Newton on this occasion,—excusable only from his wish that the mortification of his uncle at the disappointment of his hopes should not be occasioned by any further resistance on his part.
To M. de Fontanges, who was aware of Newton's attachment to Isabel, he had, previous to the discovery which had taken place, communicated the obstacle to his union, raised by the pertinacity of his uncle. After the removal of Julie, M. de Fontanges acquainted his brother with the wishes of Mr John Forster, and explained to him how much they were at variance with those of Newton.
The first time that Newton called upon the marquis, the latter, shaking him warmly by the hand, said,—"I have been informed, my dear Newton, by my brother, of the awkward predicament in which you are placed by the wish of your uncle that you should marry my Julie when she grows up. Believe me, when I say it, there is no man to whom I would sooner confide the happiness of my daughter, and that no consideration would induce me to refuse you, if you really sought her hand; but I know your wishes, and your attachment to Miss Revel, therefore be quite easy on the subject. Your uncle made his proposition when Julie had no father to be consulted: the case is now different; and, for your sake, I intend, for a time, to injure myself in the opinion of your good relation. I shall assume, I trust what, if ever I had it, would be immediately sacrificed to gratitude,—I mean, high aristocratical pride; and should your uncle make the proposal, refuse it upon the grounds that you are not noble bydescent. No one will deny your nobility on any other point. Do you understand me, Newton? and will my so doing be conformable to your wishes?"
"It will, Monsieur le Marquis, and I thank you most sincerely."
"Then make no objection when he proposes the match a second time; leave all the obloquy on my shoulders," said the marquis, smiling.
This arrangement having been made, it was not surprising that Newton heard his uncle's renewal of the proposition with such calmness and apparent acquiescence.
"We dine with the marquis to-morrow, Newton," observed Mr John Forster; "I shall take an opportunity after dinner of requesting a few minutes' interview, when I shall put the question to him."
"Certainly, sir, if you think right," replied Newton.
"Well, I'm glad the dear girl has changed that foolish name of Amber. What could possess my brother? Julie is very fine, nevertheless; but then she was christened by French people."
The next day the parties met at dinner. Isabel Revel had been asked; and, having heard from Madame de Fontanges of the plan agreed upon, and anxious to see the old lawyer, she had consented to join the party. The dinner passed off as most dinners do when the viands and wines are good, and everybody is inclined to be happy. Isabel was placed next to Mr Forster, who, without knowing who she was, felt much pleased with the deference and attention of so beautiful a young woman.
"Newton," said his uncle, when the ladies retired, and the gentlemen packed up their chairs, "who was that young lady who sat next to me?"
"The young lady, my dear uncle, whom I did wish to introduce to you as my intended wife—Miss Isabel Revel."
"Humph!—why, you never spoke to her before dinner, or paid her any common civility!"
"You forget, sir, your injunctions, and—"
"That's no reason, nephew, why you should forget common civility. I requested that you would not marry the young lady; but I never desired you to commit an act of rudeness. She is a very nice young person; and politeness is but a trifle, although marriage is a very serious thing."
In pursuance of his plans, when the gentlemen rose, Mr John Forster requested a few minutes' conversation with the marquis, who, bowing politely, showed the way to a small study on the same floor.
Mr Forster immediately stated his wish that an engagement should be formed between his nephew and Julie de Fontanges.
"Mr Forster," replied the marquis, drawing up proudly, "the obligations I am under to your family are so great, that there are but few points in which I could refuse you; and I therefore am quite distressed that of this proposal I am obliged to decline the honour. You may be ignorant, Mr Forster, that the family of the De Fontanges is one of the oldest in France; and, with every respect for you and your nephew, and all gratitude for your kindness, I cannot permit my daughter to form amésalliance."
"Amésalliance!—humph! I presume, sir, in plain English, it means marrying beneath her rank in life?"
The marquis bowed.
"I beg to observe, sir," said Mr John Forster, "that our family is a very old one. I can show you our pedigree. It has lain for some years by the side of your daughter's bundle in the iron safe."
"I have no doubt of the excellence of your family, Mr Forster. I can only express my deep regret that it is not noble. Excuse me, Mr Forster; except you can prove that—"
"Why, I could prove it by purchasing a dozen marquisates, if I thought proper!"
"Granted, Mr Forster. In our country they are to be purchased; but we make a great difference between the parvenus of the present day and theancienne noblesse."
"Well, Mr Marquis, just as you please; but I consider myself quite as good as a French marquis," replied Mr Forster, in a tone of irritation.
"Better than many, I have no doubt; but still, we draw the line. Noble blood, Mr Forster."
"Noble fiddlestick! Monsieur le Marquis, in this country, and the inhabitants are not fools, we allow money to weigh against rank. It purchases that, as it does everything else, except heaven. Now, Monsieur le Marquis—"
"Excuse me, sir; no money will purchase the hand of Julie de Fontanges," replied the marquis.
"Well, then, Monsieur le Marquis, I should think that the obligations you are under in restoring your daughter to your arms—"
"Warrants your asking for her back again, Mr Forster?" replied the marquis, haughtily. "A labourer might find this diamondsolitairethat's now upon my finger. Does it therefore follow that I am to make him a present of it?"
"Humph!" ejaculated Mr Forster, much affronted with the comparison.
"In short, my dear sir, anything which you or your family can think of, which it is in our power to grant, will make us most happy; but tosullythe blood of the most ancient—"
John Forster would hear no more; he quitted the room and walked upstairs before the marquis had completed his speech. When he entered the drawing-room, his countenance plainly expressed his disappointment. Like all men who have toiled for riches, he had formed plans, in which he considered his wealth was to command success, and had overlooked every obstacle which might present itself against the completion of his wishes.
"Newton," said he, as they stood apart near the window, "you have been a good lad in not persisting to thwart my views, but that French marquis, with his folly and his 'ancienne noblesse,' has overthrown all my plans. Now, I shall not interfere with yours. Introduce me to Miss what's her name; she is a very fine girl, and from what I saw of her during dinner, I like her very much."
Isabel exerted herself to please, and succeeded.
Satisfied with his nephew's choice, flattered by his previous apparent submission, and disgusted with the marquis, Mr John Forster thought no more of Mademoiselle de Fontanges. His consent was voluntary, and in a short time Isabel Revel changed her name.
It was about five months after Newton's marriage that he received a letter from the Board, appointing him to the command of a ship. Newton handed the letter over to Mr Forster.
"I presume, sir, it is your wish that I should accept the offer?"
"What offer?" said the old lawyer, who was reading through a case for counsel's opinion. "Melville—for Madras and China.—Why, Newton, I really do not see any occasion for your going afloat again. There is an old proverb—'The pitcher that goes often to the well is broken at last.' You're not tired of your wife already?"
"I hope not, sir; but I thought it might be your wish."
"It's my wish that you should stay at home. A poor man may go to sea, because he stands a chance to come home rich; but a man who has money in hand, and in prospect, if he goes to sea, he is a fool. Follow your profession as long as you require it, but no longer."
"Why, then, do you work so hard, my dear sir," said Isabel, leaning over the old gentleman, and kissing him, in gratitude for his decision. "Surely you can afford to relax a little now?"
"Why do I work so hard, Isabel?" replied Mr Forster, looking up at her through his spectacles. "Why, you expect to have a family, do you not?"
Isabel blushed; the expectation was undeniable.
"Well, then, I presume the children will have no objection to find a few thousands more to be divided among them by-and-bye—will they, daughter?"
The conversation was interrupted by the entry of a servant with a letter;Mr Forster broke the seal, and looked at the signature.
"Humph! from the proud old marquis. 'Very sorry, for a short period, to have fallen in your good opinion—should have rejoiced to have called Newton my son-in-law! '—Humph! 'Family pride all assumed—Newton's happiness at stake—trust the deceit will be pardoned, and a renewal of former intimacy.' Why, Newton, is all this true?"
"Ask Isabel, sir," replied Newton, smiling.
"Well, then, Isabel, is all this true?"
"Ask Newton, sir," replied Isabel, kissing him. "The fact is, my dear sir, I could not afford to part with Newton, even to please you, so we made up a little plot."
"Humph!—made up a little plot—well—I sha'n't alter my will, nevertheless;" and Mr Forster recommenced the reading of his brief.
Such is the history of Newton Forster, which, like most novels or plays, has been wound up with marriage. The last time that I appeared before my readers, they were dissatisfied with the termination of my story; they considered I had deprived them of "a happy marriage," to which, as an undoubted right, they were entitled, after wading through three tedious volumes. As I am anxious to keep on good terms with the public, I hasten to repair the injury which it has sustained, by stating that about three years after the marriage of Newton Forster, the following paragraph appeared in the several papers of the metropolis:
"Yesterday, by special license, the Right Honourable William Lord Aveleyn to Mademoiselle Julie de Fontanges, only daughter of the Marquis de Fontanges, late Governor of the Island of Bourbon. The marriage was to have been solemnised in December last, but was postponed, in consequence of the death of the late Lord Aveleyn. After the ceremony, the happy couple," &c. Sec. &c.
* * * * *
And now, most arbitrary public, I consider that I have made theamende honorable, and that we are quits; for, if you were minus a happy marriage in the last work, you have a couple to indemnify you in the present.