Chapter Thirty Six.

Chapter Thirty Six.With those powerful agents, fire and water, we contrive to escape from a French prison.After more than an hour of confusion and loud talking it was at last proposed and agreed to,nem con, that the prisoners should be confined in the old church; the twelve invalids to be divided into two parties, who were to be sentinels over them, relieving each other every four hours. The mayor immediately went forward with the village blacksmith to examine the state of the church doors, and ascertain how they might be secured—while the prisoners, having been summoned out of the privateer, were escorted up between two files of the privateer’s men with their swords drawn, and followed by the whole population. As soon as we arrived at the church door the name of every prisoner was taken down by the mayor, attended by a notary, and then he was passed into the church. Bramble and I of course were marched up with the others, the captain of the privateer talking with us the whole way, through the young man who interpreted, informing us that an express had been sent over to Morlaix, to which town we should be escorted the next day, and then have better accommodation. As we stood at the huge doors of the church, which were opened for our reception, we perceived that the altar and all the decorations had been removed, and that, with the exception of the large wooden screen of carved oak near the altar, the church was completely bare. Bramble spoke to the interpreter, and said that he hoped the captain would request the mayor to allow the prisoners to have straw to lie down upon, as the pavement would be very cold. Although the mayor at first demurred at this demand, yet the captain of the privateer, probably out of good-will to Bramble, insisted, and the straw was ordered to be sent in. At last the mayor became impatient, we could delay no longer, and the doors were closed.I had surveyed the church as we were escorted up to it: it was very large, capable, I should think, of holding more than two thousand people. The walls of the church were very massive, and the windows had but very few panes of glass remaining in them, but they were so very high as to prevent our climbing out of them, even if there had not been six sentinels guarding us outside. At one corner, to the right of the end of the church where the altar-piece had been, was a narrow stone tower, apparently an addition made to the Lady’s Chapel long after the church had been originally built. When we were shut up we were enabled to survey the interior at our leisure. The whole was completely bare to the pavement until you came to the chancel part, near to which the altar had been, where the wooden screens and seats still remained, in a sad dilapidated state; but they must have once been very handsome, for the carving, where it was perfect, was very beautiful. A small thick wooden door, loaded with ironwork, communicated with the narrow tower, which had a flight of stone steps running up to the top, and narrow loopholes to give light as you ascended. While the majority of the prisoners were sitting down, here and there on the pavement, few of them entering into conversation, Bramble had, with me, taken a full survey of our locality.“I tell you what, Tom: if we once get to Morlaix, all chance is over,” said he: “we must either get out of this church this very night, or we must make up our minds to remain in prison Heaven knows how long.”“Have we any chance?”“I’ll tell you more about that in a little while.”The door of the church now opened, and the people brought in the straw for the beds, which they threw all in a heap in the centre of the church, and the doors were again closed.“I see daylight now,” said Bramble. “Tom, find the mate and boatswain, and bring them here to me quickly.”I did so, and Bramble asked them whether they were inclined to make an attempt to get clear.They replied that they would join us in anything—they did not care what it was, and against any odds.“Well, then,” said Bramble, “my idea is this. You see there are but twelve old soldiers to guard us; for you may be certain that, before long, all the privateer’s men will be as drunk as owls—that’s but natural; not that I think of coming to any fight with them, but I make the observation because, if we get out, we shall have little to fear afterwards. Now, you see, I asked for the straw because the idea came in my head that it might be useful. You see, what I propose is, as there is plenty of wood in this part of the church, that we should wait till about three hours after dark—that is, until ten or eleven o’clock—and then set fire to the church. They must come and let us out, you know; at least I take it for granted that they will before the roof comes down: if they don’t, we must force the doors ourselves—I’ve looked at them—and until we do, there is no fear of suffocating, for there are no panes to the windows; so, after all, it will only be a bonfire, without danger to anybody.”“Well, but what shall we gain by it?” said the mate: “we shall be walked out with the other prisoners, and how shall we then escape?”“There it is: we will not be walked out with the other prisoners; and, in the confusion and hurry of taking them away to one place or another, they will not be likely to miss us. We will all go up this narrow tower, where we may remain, till the church falls in, with perfect safety; and then, when all is quiet again, and the people have left the spot, we will make for the pier, get one of the fishing-boats and be off. How do you like the idea?”We all agreed that the plan was very feasible, and would attempt it.“Well, then, we must remain quiet for the present; all you have to do is to fetch as much straw this way as you can by degrees: I expect they will bring us something to eat before long.”We removed a large portion of the straw to the chancel; in half an hour afterwards the doors were opened and rations of bread were brought in. What still more assisted our plans was, that the captain of the privateer at the same time, very good-naturedly, brought a demijohn of brandy, which he gave to Bramble.Bramble thanked him through the interpreter, and told him that he would get well drunk that night.“Yes, drive away care, captain says,” replied the interpreter.Once more the doors were closed, and we had no chance of further interruption.By Bramble’s direction, the mate, assisted by me and the boatswain, cast loose the remaining bundles of straw and shook them down as beds for the prisoners at the end of the church nearest to the door; and as soon as they had eaten their bread, Bramble gave them all a portion of the brandy, advising them to turn in soon, as we were to march very early the next morning. We remained with them at first, having taken our seats on the straw as if we also intended to repose. At last it became dusk, and then dark; the prisoners settled themselves to sleep; we left them and joined Bramble. Having arranged our straw so as to secure ignition, and leaving the mate and boatswain down below, Bramble and I, now that there was no chance of our being seen by the sentinels, ascended the tower. It commanded a view of the town and harbour: we looked down upon the main street—all was mirth and revelry; fiddling and dancing and singing were to be heard from more than one house; women in the street laughing, and now and then running and screaming when pursued by the men.“This is all right,” observed Bramble; “in an hour or two you’ll see how quiet everything will be; but I shall not let them all go to bed before I set fire, for there may be some difficulty in waking them. I don’t see that there’s any lights down at the pier, where the vessels lie.”We stayed up there till about eleven o’clock, Bramble watching the lights and sounds; and when he considered that they had sufficiently decreased, he said, “Now we’ll try it, Tom, and may success attend us!”We descended and found the mate and boatswain anxiously waiting for us. Bramble struck a light with his flint, and we carried it to the screen where we had piled the straw under the seats and against the panels.“Now then, messmates,” said Bramble, “as long as the others sleep the better; but if they waken in the confusion, bring here all the straw you can collect, for we must not fail for want of fuel.”But of this there was no chance, for the wood of the screen and benches was so dry that it was alight immediately. For ten minutes the other prisoners and the guard outside did not appear to be aware of what was going on; but at last the church was so filled with smoke that they were roused up: still the principal smoke was in that portion of the church where we were; at the other end they were not much inconvenienced, as it found vent by the windows. What the invalids were about outside I do not know, but they did not perceive it; probably they had left their guard to go and carouse. At all events the flames had climbed up from the screen and had caught a portion of the roof before the Frenchmen knew that the church was on fire; the smoke was now exchanged for a bright clear flame, which had already found its way through the slating, and the prisoners were halloaing and screaming as loud as they could. We went to the part of the church where the others were, and joined the outcry. The voices of the people outside were now to be heard, for men and women had been summoned by the cry of the church being on fire: still there was no danger until the roof fell in, and that would not be the case for perhaps an hour, although it was now burning furiously, and the sparks and cinders were borne away to leeward, by the breeze. The screams of the prisoners now became dreadful: frightened out of their wits, they fully expected to be burnt alive; still the door was not opened, although we heard a loud consultation of many voices without.“Well,” said Bramble, “I hope they really don’t mean to let us burn here; at all events, if they do, I can save the poor devils, for there’s room enough on the stairs of the tower for twice as many. At all events we must hold on till the last moment.”As he said this we heard them outside put the key in the door, and immediately Bramble, the boatswain, mate, and I retreated from the crowd and gained the other portion of the church, which was most in flames. As the door opened we hastened to the tower door, and closing it after us, gained the staircase near the top, where we remained quiet; there was no want of smoke there, but still we could breathe pretty freely, as the fire from the roof was borne down by the wind from us and towards the people, who were at the front of the church. How they disposed of the other prisoners we do not know, as we dared not show ourselves; but in about half an hour the whole of the roof fell down upon the pavement, and nothing but the bare walls of the church were left standing.After the roof fell in the light from the flames was so small that we ventured to the top of the tower to look out. There were still many people standing about, but the major part of them were gone. As the fire sank down so did the people go away; at last there was no one to be seen: we remained more than half an hour watching; light after light disappeared, and all was quiet as death.“Now’s our time,” said Bramble, “but still we must be cautious; let us follow one another at about ten yards apart: if we meet with any one, pretend to be reeling as if drunk, and they may think we are privateer’s-men not yet gone to bed.”We followed him down the stairs, gained the church, and trod over the still burning embers; as soon as we were clear of the walls we turned to the right in our way down to the harbour, keeping in the gloom as much as possible. We arrived safely at the pier, for there was not a soul stirring; all our fear was that we should find some one keeping watch on board of the vessels, which we must pass after we had possession of one of the fishing-boats, as they laid inside of them. But fortune favoured us every way; the boat we selected had her sails bent, and was not fastened with a chain, we were, therefore, in the stream in a moment; the tide was also running out strong, and we passed the vessels without having occasion to use our oars. The battery at the entrance of the harbour was also without its usual sentry, for the men had been called up to guard the prisoners. In half an hour we were clear of the harbour, and steering with a fine breeze for the English coast; and when daylight broke the French land was but just perceptible.“Well,” said Bramble, “praised be Heaven for all things. I expected to have lost my precious liberty for years, and I have only lost two shirts, one pair of trousers, and three pairs of worsted stockings.”We had nothing to eat or drink, but that we cared little for, as the wind was fair. About ten o’clock that night we landed at Cawsand Bay near Plymouth, where we sat down to a hearty supper; and when we went to bed, I did not forget to thank Providence for my unexpected escape.

After more than an hour of confusion and loud talking it was at last proposed and agreed to,nem con, that the prisoners should be confined in the old church; the twelve invalids to be divided into two parties, who were to be sentinels over them, relieving each other every four hours. The mayor immediately went forward with the village blacksmith to examine the state of the church doors, and ascertain how they might be secured—while the prisoners, having been summoned out of the privateer, were escorted up between two files of the privateer’s men with their swords drawn, and followed by the whole population. As soon as we arrived at the church door the name of every prisoner was taken down by the mayor, attended by a notary, and then he was passed into the church. Bramble and I of course were marched up with the others, the captain of the privateer talking with us the whole way, through the young man who interpreted, informing us that an express had been sent over to Morlaix, to which town we should be escorted the next day, and then have better accommodation. As we stood at the huge doors of the church, which were opened for our reception, we perceived that the altar and all the decorations had been removed, and that, with the exception of the large wooden screen of carved oak near the altar, the church was completely bare. Bramble spoke to the interpreter, and said that he hoped the captain would request the mayor to allow the prisoners to have straw to lie down upon, as the pavement would be very cold. Although the mayor at first demurred at this demand, yet the captain of the privateer, probably out of good-will to Bramble, insisted, and the straw was ordered to be sent in. At last the mayor became impatient, we could delay no longer, and the doors were closed.

I had surveyed the church as we were escorted up to it: it was very large, capable, I should think, of holding more than two thousand people. The walls of the church were very massive, and the windows had but very few panes of glass remaining in them, but they were so very high as to prevent our climbing out of them, even if there had not been six sentinels guarding us outside. At one corner, to the right of the end of the church where the altar-piece had been, was a narrow stone tower, apparently an addition made to the Lady’s Chapel long after the church had been originally built. When we were shut up we were enabled to survey the interior at our leisure. The whole was completely bare to the pavement until you came to the chancel part, near to which the altar had been, where the wooden screens and seats still remained, in a sad dilapidated state; but they must have once been very handsome, for the carving, where it was perfect, was very beautiful. A small thick wooden door, loaded with ironwork, communicated with the narrow tower, which had a flight of stone steps running up to the top, and narrow loopholes to give light as you ascended. While the majority of the prisoners were sitting down, here and there on the pavement, few of them entering into conversation, Bramble had, with me, taken a full survey of our locality.

“I tell you what, Tom: if we once get to Morlaix, all chance is over,” said he: “we must either get out of this church this very night, or we must make up our minds to remain in prison Heaven knows how long.”

“Have we any chance?”

“I’ll tell you more about that in a little while.”

The door of the church now opened, and the people brought in the straw for the beds, which they threw all in a heap in the centre of the church, and the doors were again closed.

“I see daylight now,” said Bramble. “Tom, find the mate and boatswain, and bring them here to me quickly.”

I did so, and Bramble asked them whether they were inclined to make an attempt to get clear.

They replied that they would join us in anything—they did not care what it was, and against any odds.

“Well, then,” said Bramble, “my idea is this. You see there are but twelve old soldiers to guard us; for you may be certain that, before long, all the privateer’s men will be as drunk as owls—that’s but natural; not that I think of coming to any fight with them, but I make the observation because, if we get out, we shall have little to fear afterwards. Now, you see, I asked for the straw because the idea came in my head that it might be useful. You see, what I propose is, as there is plenty of wood in this part of the church, that we should wait till about three hours after dark—that is, until ten or eleven o’clock—and then set fire to the church. They must come and let us out, you know; at least I take it for granted that they will before the roof comes down: if they don’t, we must force the doors ourselves—I’ve looked at them—and until we do, there is no fear of suffocating, for there are no panes to the windows; so, after all, it will only be a bonfire, without danger to anybody.”

“Well, but what shall we gain by it?” said the mate: “we shall be walked out with the other prisoners, and how shall we then escape?”

“There it is: we will not be walked out with the other prisoners; and, in the confusion and hurry of taking them away to one place or another, they will not be likely to miss us. We will all go up this narrow tower, where we may remain, till the church falls in, with perfect safety; and then, when all is quiet again, and the people have left the spot, we will make for the pier, get one of the fishing-boats and be off. How do you like the idea?”

We all agreed that the plan was very feasible, and would attempt it.

“Well, then, we must remain quiet for the present; all you have to do is to fetch as much straw this way as you can by degrees: I expect they will bring us something to eat before long.”

We removed a large portion of the straw to the chancel; in half an hour afterwards the doors were opened and rations of bread were brought in. What still more assisted our plans was, that the captain of the privateer at the same time, very good-naturedly, brought a demijohn of brandy, which he gave to Bramble.

Bramble thanked him through the interpreter, and told him that he would get well drunk that night.

“Yes, drive away care, captain says,” replied the interpreter.

Once more the doors were closed, and we had no chance of further interruption.

By Bramble’s direction, the mate, assisted by me and the boatswain, cast loose the remaining bundles of straw and shook them down as beds for the prisoners at the end of the church nearest to the door; and as soon as they had eaten their bread, Bramble gave them all a portion of the brandy, advising them to turn in soon, as we were to march very early the next morning. We remained with them at first, having taken our seats on the straw as if we also intended to repose. At last it became dusk, and then dark; the prisoners settled themselves to sleep; we left them and joined Bramble. Having arranged our straw so as to secure ignition, and leaving the mate and boatswain down below, Bramble and I, now that there was no chance of our being seen by the sentinels, ascended the tower. It commanded a view of the town and harbour: we looked down upon the main street—all was mirth and revelry; fiddling and dancing and singing were to be heard from more than one house; women in the street laughing, and now and then running and screaming when pursued by the men.

“This is all right,” observed Bramble; “in an hour or two you’ll see how quiet everything will be; but I shall not let them all go to bed before I set fire, for there may be some difficulty in waking them. I don’t see that there’s any lights down at the pier, where the vessels lie.”

We stayed up there till about eleven o’clock, Bramble watching the lights and sounds; and when he considered that they had sufficiently decreased, he said, “Now we’ll try it, Tom, and may success attend us!”

We descended and found the mate and boatswain anxiously waiting for us. Bramble struck a light with his flint, and we carried it to the screen where we had piled the straw under the seats and against the panels.

“Now then, messmates,” said Bramble, “as long as the others sleep the better; but if they waken in the confusion, bring here all the straw you can collect, for we must not fail for want of fuel.”

But of this there was no chance, for the wood of the screen and benches was so dry that it was alight immediately. For ten minutes the other prisoners and the guard outside did not appear to be aware of what was going on; but at last the church was so filled with smoke that they were roused up: still the principal smoke was in that portion of the church where we were; at the other end they were not much inconvenienced, as it found vent by the windows. What the invalids were about outside I do not know, but they did not perceive it; probably they had left their guard to go and carouse. At all events the flames had climbed up from the screen and had caught a portion of the roof before the Frenchmen knew that the church was on fire; the smoke was now exchanged for a bright clear flame, which had already found its way through the slating, and the prisoners were halloaing and screaming as loud as they could. We went to the part of the church where the others were, and joined the outcry. The voices of the people outside were now to be heard, for men and women had been summoned by the cry of the church being on fire: still there was no danger until the roof fell in, and that would not be the case for perhaps an hour, although it was now burning furiously, and the sparks and cinders were borne away to leeward, by the breeze. The screams of the prisoners now became dreadful: frightened out of their wits, they fully expected to be burnt alive; still the door was not opened, although we heard a loud consultation of many voices without.

“Well,” said Bramble, “I hope they really don’t mean to let us burn here; at all events, if they do, I can save the poor devils, for there’s room enough on the stairs of the tower for twice as many. At all events we must hold on till the last moment.”

As he said this we heard them outside put the key in the door, and immediately Bramble, the boatswain, mate, and I retreated from the crowd and gained the other portion of the church, which was most in flames. As the door opened we hastened to the tower door, and closing it after us, gained the staircase near the top, where we remained quiet; there was no want of smoke there, but still we could breathe pretty freely, as the fire from the roof was borne down by the wind from us and towards the people, who were at the front of the church. How they disposed of the other prisoners we do not know, as we dared not show ourselves; but in about half an hour the whole of the roof fell down upon the pavement, and nothing but the bare walls of the church were left standing.

After the roof fell in the light from the flames was so small that we ventured to the top of the tower to look out. There were still many people standing about, but the major part of them were gone. As the fire sank down so did the people go away; at last there was no one to be seen: we remained more than half an hour watching; light after light disappeared, and all was quiet as death.

“Now’s our time,” said Bramble, “but still we must be cautious; let us follow one another at about ten yards apart: if we meet with any one, pretend to be reeling as if drunk, and they may think we are privateer’s-men not yet gone to bed.”

We followed him down the stairs, gained the church, and trod over the still burning embers; as soon as we were clear of the walls we turned to the right in our way down to the harbour, keeping in the gloom as much as possible. We arrived safely at the pier, for there was not a soul stirring; all our fear was that we should find some one keeping watch on board of the vessels, which we must pass after we had possession of one of the fishing-boats, as they laid inside of them. But fortune favoured us every way; the boat we selected had her sails bent, and was not fastened with a chain, we were, therefore, in the stream in a moment; the tide was also running out strong, and we passed the vessels without having occasion to use our oars. The battery at the entrance of the harbour was also without its usual sentry, for the men had been called up to guard the prisoners. In half an hour we were clear of the harbour, and steering with a fine breeze for the English coast; and when daylight broke the French land was but just perceptible.

“Well,” said Bramble, “praised be Heaven for all things. I expected to have lost my precious liberty for years, and I have only lost two shirts, one pair of trousers, and three pairs of worsted stockings.”

We had nothing to eat or drink, but that we cared little for, as the wind was fair. About ten o’clock that night we landed at Cawsand Bay near Plymouth, where we sat down to a hearty supper; and when we went to bed, I did not forget to thank Providence for my unexpected escape.

Chapter Thirty Seven.Another escape, more fortunate than the one recorded in the preceding chapter.From the time that I had passed my examination, and worked as a pilot on my own account, until the period of our escape, which I have narrated in the preceding chapter, I had continued to live in the cottage with Bramble, without contributing any share to the expenses. I had at first proposed it, but Bramble would not listen to any such arrangement; he considered me, he said, as his son, and who knowed, he added, but that the cottage would be mine after he was gone. The fact was that Bramble ardently wished that Bessy and I should be united. He continually hinted at it, joked with Bessy about me; and I believe that, in consequence, Bessy’s feelings towards me had taken the same bent. She was prepared for the issue; the regard naturally felt for me from her long intimacy, now that the indulgence of it was so openly sanctioned by him whom she considered as her father, was not checked on her part; indeed, there was no doubt but that it had ripened into love. She showed it in every little way that her maiden modesty did not interfere with, and old Bramble would at times throw out such strong hints of our eventual union as to make me feel very uncomfortable. They neither of them had any idea of my heart having been pre-engaged, and the strangeness of my manner was ascribed by Bramble to my feelings towards Bessy. Bessy, however, was not so easily deceived; my conduct towards her appeared, to say the best of it, very inconsistent. So often had I had opportunities, especially when I was at home and Bramble was away, of speaking on the subject, and so often had these opportunities been neglected, that it filled her mind with doubt and anxiety. After having accepted my addresses at first, Janet had once or twice written to me; latterly, however, she had not written herself—all her messages were through Virginia’s letters, or, perhaps, she would add a little postscript. Had letters arrived for me in any other handwriting than that of Virginia, Bessy, after her suspicions were roused, might have easily guessed the truth; but it was the absence of any clue to guide her as to the state of my feelings which so much puzzled her. She was fully convinced that my heart was not hers, but she had no reason to suppose that it was in the possession of another. Thus did my passion for Janet Wilson in every way prove to me a source of anxiety. I knew that it was my duty to undeceive Bramble and Bessy, yet the task was too painful, and I could not make up my mind to make them unhappy. I felt that I had no right to remain under Bramble’s roof and live at his expense, and, at the same time, I could not find an opportunity of telling him what my feelings and wishes were, the very mention of which would at once explain to him that the desire of his old age would never be accomplished. I often accused myself of ingratitude, and felt as if it were my duty to make every sacrifice to one who had been so kind a protector; but I was bound by vows to Janet Wilson, and how was it possible that I could retract?Virginia’s letters were not satisfactory: at first she told me how much she had been annoyed by the attentions of the young nobleman, and how very indelicate my mother had been in her conduct; eventually she informed me that she had been insulted by him, and that, upon complaining to my mother, the latter had, much to her surprise and indignation, not only laughed at his extreme forwardness, but pointed out to Virginia a line of conduct by which he might be entrapped into marriage; that her refusal to accede to such unworthy devices had created a serious breach between her mother and herself. She stated the young man to be extremely silly and weak, and that my mother had gained great influence over him; and were it not that the presence of the tutor, who seldom quitted the house, had proved a check, that there was little doubt but, as far as the young man was concerned, the disproportionate match would be readily acceded to; that the only person she had ventured to consult was her dear friend Mrs St. Felix, who had promised her, if the persecution did not cease, that she would make Mr Sommerville the tutor aware of what was going on. Virginia described the latter as an amiable modest young man, who did all in his power to instruct his pupil, but who was treated with anything but deference in return.Relative to Janet she said little, except that she generally called there every day to make inquiries after me: once or twice she did say that it was a pity that I was not able to come oftener to Greenwich, as Janet was not very steady; indeed, considering how young she was, without a mother, and so little controlled by her father, it was not to be wondered at.Such was the state of affairs when I made up my mind that I would speak to Bramble about my paying my share of the expenses, which I thought would open his eyes to the real state of my feeling towards Bessy: I did so; I pointed out to him that I was now earning money fast, and that I considered it but fair that I should support myself, and not put him to further expense; that perhaps it would be better that I should take a house for myself; as I must give a great deal of trouble to Bessy and Mrs Maddox.“Well, Tom,” said Bramble, “you’ve been at me about this before, and I believe it’s a proper feeling, after all, it certainly does seem to me to be a matter of little consequence, as things stand; however, I can’t consent to your leaving us. You have been with me ever since you were a lad, and I should feel like a fish out of water if I were to be without you or Bessy; so pay just what you please—I’ll take it since you wish it—and there’s an end of the matter.”This was not the end to which I was driving; but Bramble’s eyes would not be opened, and I could not help it. He had never directly spoken to me about an union with Bessy, and therefore it was impossible for me to say any more. Bramble, however, did not fail to communicate what I had said to her; and one evening when we were standing on the shingle beach, she said to me, “So Emerson has been convicted for smuggling, and sentenced beyond the seas.”“I am sorry for it,” replied I.“His house is to be let now, Tom; would it not suit you? for my father told me that you wished to leave us.”“Why should I live upon you when I am able to support myself?”“Certainly not. If it were not that I could not bear to see father miserable, I think it would be better if you did take Emerson’s house; but it would vex him, poor good man.”“But not you, Bessy; is it that you mean?”“Perhaps it is. Tell me yourself, Tom, would it not be better?”I made no reply.“Well,” replied Bessy, “think of me as you please; I will speak now, Tom. I am not considering you, Tom, nor am I thinking of myself; I am only induced so to do on account of my father. We have been brought up together as children, Tom, and, as children, we were great friends, and, I believe, sincerely attached to each other. I believe it to be very true that those who are brought up together as brothers and sisters do not change that affection for any other more serious in after life. It is therefore not our faults if we cannot feel as, you must know, Tom, my father wishes we should. Am I not right?”“You are, I believe, Bessy,” replied I.“My father, therefore, is deceiving himself with the hopes of what never can take place, but I know him even better than you do, Tom; it is the object of his daily thoughts—his only wish before he sinks into his grave. I cannot bear to undeceive him; no more can you, if I have truly judged your feelings.”“You have judged right, Bessy.”“The very circumstance of our knowing his wishes, the hints which he throws out, his joking on the subject, have been a source of annoyance to both of us; and not only a source of annoyance, Tom, it has estranged us—we no longer feel that affection which we should feel for each other, that kindness as between brother and sister which might exist; on the contrary, not being exactly aware of each other’s feelings, we avoid each other, and fearful that the least kindness might be misconstrued, we do not really treat each as we otherwise would; in fact, it has destroyed our mutual confidence. Is it not so?”“It is, I acknowledge, but too true, Bessy, and I thank you for having entered into this explanation—”“Which, as I said before,” continued Bessy, “I should not have done except for the sake of my father; but now that I have done so” (and here Bessy’s voice became tremulous), “let us consult at once how we shall act so as to secure his happiness, and that in future we may return to the former confidence and regard which should exist between us as brother and sister.”“Point out how this is to be done, Bessy, and I will cheerfully enter into your wishes.”“We must laugh when he laughs, Tom, even if not inclined; we must gain time—that is very easy: I may refuse as long as he lives—you may put it off; and then, Tom, circumstances may help us—who knows what even a day may bring forth?”“Very true,” replied I, “there’s only one thing—”“What is that?”“Suppose I was to marry?”“Then,” replied Bessy, in a voice half choked, as she turned away, “my father would be very unhappy.”I looked round to reply, but she had gone into the cottage. This conversation gave me great satisfaction. I felt convinced that if I had at one time formed the idea that Bessy was attached to me, I had been mistaken, and I was as indifferent to her as she was to me. I was just as anxious as she was not to vex Bramble, and equally glad that confidence was restored between us. Alas! I must have been very blind not to have perceived what was the true state of her feelings, but I did not, and after some reflection I determined that I would make her a confidant of my passion for Janet Wilson; and then I walked to the post-office to see if there were any letters from Virginia. There was a letter for me—a double one. As soon as I had paid the money, I opened it; it was very closely written, and evidently Virginia had much to communicate to me. I forgot for the moment Bessy and Bramble, thought only of Janet, and put the letter to my lips as I walked away, that I might go home and read it. I hurried past Bessy, who was in the parlour, and went up the stairs into my bed-room, where I took my letter out of my pocket and commenced it.“My dear Tom,—15th April.“I shall begin a letter to you now, and fill it up as a sort of a diary; as it is the best plan, I think, to narrate circumstances as they actually take place. It is unpleasant to say anything against my mother, the more so as I believe that she thinks she has been doing right, and has my interest sincerely at heart: she appears to consider that an alliance with people of rank cannot be purchased too dear, and that every attempt is justifiable to secure for me such an advantage. Little does she know me: if she forgets, I never shall, that I am the daughter of a Greenwich pensioner, and never would ally myself with those whose relations would look upon me as a disgrace to their family. No, Tom; even if I were so heedless as to allow my affections to be enthralled, I would at any sacrifice refuse to enter into a family much beyond my condition. I have thought of this often, and I confess that I am sometimes unhappy. I have been brought up and educated above my situation in life, and I do not think I ever could marry a person who was not more refined and educated than those who are really and truly my equals. But as, at the same time, I never will enter into a family who might look down upon my parentage, I presume your little Virginia must remain unmarried. If so, I am content—I have no wish to alter my present condition. I am happy and respected; and with the exception of the trifling annoyances which we all must expect and must submit to, I have no reason to be dissatisfied; on the contrary, I have to be grateful for many blessings, and I trust that I am so. My poor mother is the cause of all my present vexations. She tells me that my beauty, as she is partially pleased to call it, is sufficient for my aspiring to the hand of a duke, and that it will be my own fault if I do not make a high connection. Every night she has been overwhelming me with alternate reproaches and entreaties to permit the attentions of the gay gentleman who is now lodging at our house, stating that it was on my account only that he took the apartments, and that, if I play my cards well, he will be caught in his own trap, which, I presume, is as much as to say that he came here with different intentions, and finding that he cannot succeed, will secure his intended prize or victim by marriage rather than not obtain her at all. Very flattering, truly! and this is the man to whom my mother would induce me to confide my future happiness—a man who, independent of his want of probity, is a fool into the bargain. But the persecution—on his part and on that of my mother now becomes so annoying, that I have requested Mrs St. Felix to speak to Mr Sommerville the tutor, who, if he does his duty—and I have every reason to believe that he will do so—will take some measures to remove his pupil from our house.“17th. Mrs St. Felix and Mr Sommerville have had a meeting. He generally walks out every afternoon in the park; and Mrs St. Felix and he have already been introduced: she therefore went out and met him, and after exchanging a few words she introduced the subject, stating that she did so at my request. Mr Sommerville, although he had not been blind, had had no idea that things had proceeded so far; and he promised Mrs St. Felix that he would soon put an end to the persecution, or remove him from our house. Janet has been here to-day, and I told her what had passed; she very much approved of the steps which I had taken. I must, however, say that latterly she has not appeared to take that interest about you that she used to do, and I fear that your continual absence is injurious to your prospects. She is very young and very giddy, Tom: I wish she had been older, as, even when she is your wife, she will require much looking after, and a firm hand to settle her down into what a married woman in my opinion ought to be. Mr Sommerville has requested me to favour him with a few minutes’ conversation; and as I cannot do it in our house, for my mother never leaves me a minute to myself; I told him that I should be at Mrs St. Felix’s this afternoon, and he could speak to me then. He knows that I have no secrets from Mrs St. Felix; and although it is not pleasant to resort to such means, still there can be no impropriety in my hearing what he has to tell me in her presence.“I have seen Mr Sommerville—he thanked me very much for having communicated, through Mrs St. Felix, my mother’s plot against hisprotégé; and paid me many compliments upon my behaviour, which were quite unnecessary. He told me that he had spoken to his pupil, who had most positively denied his having any such intention, and stated that he was merely amusing himself; and he had pledged himself not to take the least notice of me for the future. ‘I am well aware,’ said he, ‘that what he has stated is not correct; he has not deceived me by his assertions; and were it not that I feel confidence in you, Miss Virginia,’ continued he, ‘I would write to his father that he might be immediately removed. I hardly need say, that should anything of this kind take place, I should be most severely blamed: it is not the first time that I have been compelled to interfere, for my pupil is of a very susceptible disposition, and has fancied himself in love with at least five young people since he has been under my charge. In this instance,’ continued he, making me a bow, ‘he has some extenuation to offer. Will you oblige me by informing me if he adheres to his promise? or do you wish that I should speak to your mother?’“Mrs St. Felix replied that it would be unnecessary; indeed, that if Lord — left the house I should only be subject to fresh persecution. Mr Sommerville, at her request, stayed to drink tea, and is certainly a very pleasant, well-informed, amiable young man.“23rd. I have received no molestation since the explanation with Mr Sommerville, except from my mother, who accuses me of having affronted Lord —; and although I deny it, she asserts that he never could have so changed his conduct towards both of us if I had not so done. I have not seen Janet this week—I cannot imagine what has become of her.“24th. You may imagine my joy, my dear Tom: Mr Sommerville has received a letter, stating that his lordship is to go down to his father’s seat in the country, as he will be of age in a month, and he is to make acquaintance with the tenants;—there are to be great rejoicings there upon his coming of age. I am sure no one can rejoice more than I shall when he leaves, which is to be next Saturday. I am also very glad to say that the Marquess has presented Mr Sommerville with a valuable living, now that he gives up his tutorship. I really think he will do justice to his profession, for I have seen more of him lately, and esteem him very much.“27th. They are gone, much to my mother’s mortification, and to my delight; and now, as I have written so much about myself; I shall leave this letter open till I see Janet, that I may tell you something about her, otherwise I know my letter will not be interesting to you.“31st. My dear Tom, you must prepare yourself for painful intelligence.“Janet has disappeared. She left her father’s house last night after the family had retired, but no one knows where: she left a few lines on her table, stating that they would hear from her soon. Poor Mr Wilson was here to-day—he is half distracted—and the whole town is full of the scandal. Mrs St. Felix told me this morning that she has discovered that within the last week she has been seen walking on the London Road with Lord —. Is it possible?“2nd May. It is all true—Mrs St. Felix has a letter from Mr Sommerville, stating that Janet was brought up to town and married to Lord — two days ago. It appears, that from the time that I repulsed his attentions, he fixed them upon Janet; that she encouraged him, and used to meet him every night, as Mrs St. Felix was informed. Mr Sommerville has seen his father, and fully exculpated himself; but the Marquess declares, as his son is a minor, that the marriage shall not be binding. How it will end Heaven only knows; but she is much to be pitied. This will account for her not coming to me as usual. Now, Tom, I do not suppose you will pay attention to me at present, but from what I knew of Janet, and which her conduct has fully proved, she was not worthy to be your wife, and could not have contributed to your happiness. I pity you from my heart, as I know what you will feel; but still I congratulate you, and eventually you will congratulate yourself at your fortunate escape.“I will say no more at present, except that I am, and ever will be,“Your truly attached sister,“Virginia.”I had courage to finish the letter, and then it dropped from my hands. I was bewildered, stupefied, maddened. As my sister said, I did indeed feel. Was it possible? Janet, who had—mercy on me! I threw myself on the bed, and there I remained till the next morning in a state most pitiable.It is only those who have been deceived in their first attachment who can appreciate my agony of feeling. For the first few hours I hated the whole world, and, had then the means been at hand, should in all probability have hastened into another; but gradually my excitement abated; I found relief in tears of sorrow and indignation. I arose at daylight the next morning, worn out with contending feelings, heavy and prostrated in mind. I went out—stood on the beach, the keen breeze cooled my fevered cheek. For hours I leant motionless upon an anchor, all hope of future happiness abandoned for ever.

From the time that I had passed my examination, and worked as a pilot on my own account, until the period of our escape, which I have narrated in the preceding chapter, I had continued to live in the cottage with Bramble, without contributing any share to the expenses. I had at first proposed it, but Bramble would not listen to any such arrangement; he considered me, he said, as his son, and who knowed, he added, but that the cottage would be mine after he was gone. The fact was that Bramble ardently wished that Bessy and I should be united. He continually hinted at it, joked with Bessy about me; and I believe that, in consequence, Bessy’s feelings towards me had taken the same bent. She was prepared for the issue; the regard naturally felt for me from her long intimacy, now that the indulgence of it was so openly sanctioned by him whom she considered as her father, was not checked on her part; indeed, there was no doubt but that it had ripened into love. She showed it in every little way that her maiden modesty did not interfere with, and old Bramble would at times throw out such strong hints of our eventual union as to make me feel very uncomfortable. They neither of them had any idea of my heart having been pre-engaged, and the strangeness of my manner was ascribed by Bramble to my feelings towards Bessy. Bessy, however, was not so easily deceived; my conduct towards her appeared, to say the best of it, very inconsistent. So often had I had opportunities, especially when I was at home and Bramble was away, of speaking on the subject, and so often had these opportunities been neglected, that it filled her mind with doubt and anxiety. After having accepted my addresses at first, Janet had once or twice written to me; latterly, however, she had not written herself—all her messages were through Virginia’s letters, or, perhaps, she would add a little postscript. Had letters arrived for me in any other handwriting than that of Virginia, Bessy, after her suspicions were roused, might have easily guessed the truth; but it was the absence of any clue to guide her as to the state of my feelings which so much puzzled her. She was fully convinced that my heart was not hers, but she had no reason to suppose that it was in the possession of another. Thus did my passion for Janet Wilson in every way prove to me a source of anxiety. I knew that it was my duty to undeceive Bramble and Bessy, yet the task was too painful, and I could not make up my mind to make them unhappy. I felt that I had no right to remain under Bramble’s roof and live at his expense, and, at the same time, I could not find an opportunity of telling him what my feelings and wishes were, the very mention of which would at once explain to him that the desire of his old age would never be accomplished. I often accused myself of ingratitude, and felt as if it were my duty to make every sacrifice to one who had been so kind a protector; but I was bound by vows to Janet Wilson, and how was it possible that I could retract?

Virginia’s letters were not satisfactory: at first she told me how much she had been annoyed by the attentions of the young nobleman, and how very indelicate my mother had been in her conduct; eventually she informed me that she had been insulted by him, and that, upon complaining to my mother, the latter had, much to her surprise and indignation, not only laughed at his extreme forwardness, but pointed out to Virginia a line of conduct by which he might be entrapped into marriage; that her refusal to accede to such unworthy devices had created a serious breach between her mother and herself. She stated the young man to be extremely silly and weak, and that my mother had gained great influence over him; and were it not that the presence of the tutor, who seldom quitted the house, had proved a check, that there was little doubt but, as far as the young man was concerned, the disproportionate match would be readily acceded to; that the only person she had ventured to consult was her dear friend Mrs St. Felix, who had promised her, if the persecution did not cease, that she would make Mr Sommerville the tutor aware of what was going on. Virginia described the latter as an amiable modest young man, who did all in his power to instruct his pupil, but who was treated with anything but deference in return.

Relative to Janet she said little, except that she generally called there every day to make inquiries after me: once or twice she did say that it was a pity that I was not able to come oftener to Greenwich, as Janet was not very steady; indeed, considering how young she was, without a mother, and so little controlled by her father, it was not to be wondered at.

Such was the state of affairs when I made up my mind that I would speak to Bramble about my paying my share of the expenses, which I thought would open his eyes to the real state of my feeling towards Bessy: I did so; I pointed out to him that I was now earning money fast, and that I considered it but fair that I should support myself, and not put him to further expense; that perhaps it would be better that I should take a house for myself; as I must give a great deal of trouble to Bessy and Mrs Maddox.

“Well, Tom,” said Bramble, “you’ve been at me about this before, and I believe it’s a proper feeling, after all, it certainly does seem to me to be a matter of little consequence, as things stand; however, I can’t consent to your leaving us. You have been with me ever since you were a lad, and I should feel like a fish out of water if I were to be without you or Bessy; so pay just what you please—I’ll take it since you wish it—and there’s an end of the matter.”

This was not the end to which I was driving; but Bramble’s eyes would not be opened, and I could not help it. He had never directly spoken to me about an union with Bessy, and therefore it was impossible for me to say any more. Bramble, however, did not fail to communicate what I had said to her; and one evening when we were standing on the shingle beach, she said to me, “So Emerson has been convicted for smuggling, and sentenced beyond the seas.”

“I am sorry for it,” replied I.

“His house is to be let now, Tom; would it not suit you? for my father told me that you wished to leave us.”

“Why should I live upon you when I am able to support myself?”

“Certainly not. If it were not that I could not bear to see father miserable, I think it would be better if you did take Emerson’s house; but it would vex him, poor good man.”

“But not you, Bessy; is it that you mean?”

“Perhaps it is. Tell me yourself, Tom, would it not be better?”

I made no reply.

“Well,” replied Bessy, “think of me as you please; I will speak now, Tom. I am not considering you, Tom, nor am I thinking of myself; I am only induced so to do on account of my father. We have been brought up together as children, Tom, and, as children, we were great friends, and, I believe, sincerely attached to each other. I believe it to be very true that those who are brought up together as brothers and sisters do not change that affection for any other more serious in after life. It is therefore not our faults if we cannot feel as, you must know, Tom, my father wishes we should. Am I not right?”

“You are, I believe, Bessy,” replied I.

“My father, therefore, is deceiving himself with the hopes of what never can take place, but I know him even better than you do, Tom; it is the object of his daily thoughts—his only wish before he sinks into his grave. I cannot bear to undeceive him; no more can you, if I have truly judged your feelings.”

“You have judged right, Bessy.”

“The very circumstance of our knowing his wishes, the hints which he throws out, his joking on the subject, have been a source of annoyance to both of us; and not only a source of annoyance, Tom, it has estranged us—we no longer feel that affection which we should feel for each other, that kindness as between brother and sister which might exist; on the contrary, not being exactly aware of each other’s feelings, we avoid each other, and fearful that the least kindness might be misconstrued, we do not really treat each as we otherwise would; in fact, it has destroyed our mutual confidence. Is it not so?”

“It is, I acknowledge, but too true, Bessy, and I thank you for having entered into this explanation—”

“Which, as I said before,” continued Bessy, “I should not have done except for the sake of my father; but now that I have done so” (and here Bessy’s voice became tremulous), “let us consult at once how we shall act so as to secure his happiness, and that in future we may return to the former confidence and regard which should exist between us as brother and sister.”

“Point out how this is to be done, Bessy, and I will cheerfully enter into your wishes.”

“We must laugh when he laughs, Tom, even if not inclined; we must gain time—that is very easy: I may refuse as long as he lives—you may put it off; and then, Tom, circumstances may help us—who knows what even a day may bring forth?”

“Very true,” replied I, “there’s only one thing—”

“What is that?”

“Suppose I was to marry?”

“Then,” replied Bessy, in a voice half choked, as she turned away, “my father would be very unhappy.”

I looked round to reply, but she had gone into the cottage. This conversation gave me great satisfaction. I felt convinced that if I had at one time formed the idea that Bessy was attached to me, I had been mistaken, and I was as indifferent to her as she was to me. I was just as anxious as she was not to vex Bramble, and equally glad that confidence was restored between us. Alas! I must have been very blind not to have perceived what was the true state of her feelings, but I did not, and after some reflection I determined that I would make her a confidant of my passion for Janet Wilson; and then I walked to the post-office to see if there were any letters from Virginia. There was a letter for me—a double one. As soon as I had paid the money, I opened it; it was very closely written, and evidently Virginia had much to communicate to me. I forgot for the moment Bessy and Bramble, thought only of Janet, and put the letter to my lips as I walked away, that I might go home and read it. I hurried past Bessy, who was in the parlour, and went up the stairs into my bed-room, where I took my letter out of my pocket and commenced it.

“My dear Tom,—15th April.“I shall begin a letter to you now, and fill it up as a sort of a diary; as it is the best plan, I think, to narrate circumstances as they actually take place. It is unpleasant to say anything against my mother, the more so as I believe that she thinks she has been doing right, and has my interest sincerely at heart: she appears to consider that an alliance with people of rank cannot be purchased too dear, and that every attempt is justifiable to secure for me such an advantage. Little does she know me: if she forgets, I never shall, that I am the daughter of a Greenwich pensioner, and never would ally myself with those whose relations would look upon me as a disgrace to their family. No, Tom; even if I were so heedless as to allow my affections to be enthralled, I would at any sacrifice refuse to enter into a family much beyond my condition. I have thought of this often, and I confess that I am sometimes unhappy. I have been brought up and educated above my situation in life, and I do not think I ever could marry a person who was not more refined and educated than those who are really and truly my equals. But as, at the same time, I never will enter into a family who might look down upon my parentage, I presume your little Virginia must remain unmarried. If so, I am content—I have no wish to alter my present condition. I am happy and respected; and with the exception of the trifling annoyances which we all must expect and must submit to, I have no reason to be dissatisfied; on the contrary, I have to be grateful for many blessings, and I trust that I am so. My poor mother is the cause of all my present vexations. She tells me that my beauty, as she is partially pleased to call it, is sufficient for my aspiring to the hand of a duke, and that it will be my own fault if I do not make a high connection. Every night she has been overwhelming me with alternate reproaches and entreaties to permit the attentions of the gay gentleman who is now lodging at our house, stating that it was on my account only that he took the apartments, and that, if I play my cards well, he will be caught in his own trap, which, I presume, is as much as to say that he came here with different intentions, and finding that he cannot succeed, will secure his intended prize or victim by marriage rather than not obtain her at all. Very flattering, truly! and this is the man to whom my mother would induce me to confide my future happiness—a man who, independent of his want of probity, is a fool into the bargain. But the persecution—on his part and on that of my mother now becomes so annoying, that I have requested Mrs St. Felix to speak to Mr Sommerville the tutor, who, if he does his duty—and I have every reason to believe that he will do so—will take some measures to remove his pupil from our house.“17th. Mrs St. Felix and Mr Sommerville have had a meeting. He generally walks out every afternoon in the park; and Mrs St. Felix and he have already been introduced: she therefore went out and met him, and after exchanging a few words she introduced the subject, stating that she did so at my request. Mr Sommerville, although he had not been blind, had had no idea that things had proceeded so far; and he promised Mrs St. Felix that he would soon put an end to the persecution, or remove him from our house. Janet has been here to-day, and I told her what had passed; she very much approved of the steps which I had taken. I must, however, say that latterly she has not appeared to take that interest about you that she used to do, and I fear that your continual absence is injurious to your prospects. She is very young and very giddy, Tom: I wish she had been older, as, even when she is your wife, she will require much looking after, and a firm hand to settle her down into what a married woman in my opinion ought to be. Mr Sommerville has requested me to favour him with a few minutes’ conversation; and as I cannot do it in our house, for my mother never leaves me a minute to myself; I told him that I should be at Mrs St. Felix’s this afternoon, and he could speak to me then. He knows that I have no secrets from Mrs St. Felix; and although it is not pleasant to resort to such means, still there can be no impropriety in my hearing what he has to tell me in her presence.“I have seen Mr Sommerville—he thanked me very much for having communicated, through Mrs St. Felix, my mother’s plot against hisprotégé; and paid me many compliments upon my behaviour, which were quite unnecessary. He told me that he had spoken to his pupil, who had most positively denied his having any such intention, and stated that he was merely amusing himself; and he had pledged himself not to take the least notice of me for the future. ‘I am well aware,’ said he, ‘that what he has stated is not correct; he has not deceived me by his assertions; and were it not that I feel confidence in you, Miss Virginia,’ continued he, ‘I would write to his father that he might be immediately removed. I hardly need say, that should anything of this kind take place, I should be most severely blamed: it is not the first time that I have been compelled to interfere, for my pupil is of a very susceptible disposition, and has fancied himself in love with at least five young people since he has been under my charge. In this instance,’ continued he, making me a bow, ‘he has some extenuation to offer. Will you oblige me by informing me if he adheres to his promise? or do you wish that I should speak to your mother?’“Mrs St. Felix replied that it would be unnecessary; indeed, that if Lord — left the house I should only be subject to fresh persecution. Mr Sommerville, at her request, stayed to drink tea, and is certainly a very pleasant, well-informed, amiable young man.“23rd. I have received no molestation since the explanation with Mr Sommerville, except from my mother, who accuses me of having affronted Lord —; and although I deny it, she asserts that he never could have so changed his conduct towards both of us if I had not so done. I have not seen Janet this week—I cannot imagine what has become of her.“24th. You may imagine my joy, my dear Tom: Mr Sommerville has received a letter, stating that his lordship is to go down to his father’s seat in the country, as he will be of age in a month, and he is to make acquaintance with the tenants;—there are to be great rejoicings there upon his coming of age. I am sure no one can rejoice more than I shall when he leaves, which is to be next Saturday. I am also very glad to say that the Marquess has presented Mr Sommerville with a valuable living, now that he gives up his tutorship. I really think he will do justice to his profession, for I have seen more of him lately, and esteem him very much.“27th. They are gone, much to my mother’s mortification, and to my delight; and now, as I have written so much about myself; I shall leave this letter open till I see Janet, that I may tell you something about her, otherwise I know my letter will not be interesting to you.“31st. My dear Tom, you must prepare yourself for painful intelligence.“Janet has disappeared. She left her father’s house last night after the family had retired, but no one knows where: she left a few lines on her table, stating that they would hear from her soon. Poor Mr Wilson was here to-day—he is half distracted—and the whole town is full of the scandal. Mrs St. Felix told me this morning that she has discovered that within the last week she has been seen walking on the London Road with Lord —. Is it possible?“2nd May. It is all true—Mrs St. Felix has a letter from Mr Sommerville, stating that Janet was brought up to town and married to Lord — two days ago. It appears, that from the time that I repulsed his attentions, he fixed them upon Janet; that she encouraged him, and used to meet him every night, as Mrs St. Felix was informed. Mr Sommerville has seen his father, and fully exculpated himself; but the Marquess declares, as his son is a minor, that the marriage shall not be binding. How it will end Heaven only knows; but she is much to be pitied. This will account for her not coming to me as usual. Now, Tom, I do not suppose you will pay attention to me at present, but from what I knew of Janet, and which her conduct has fully proved, she was not worthy to be your wife, and could not have contributed to your happiness. I pity you from my heart, as I know what you will feel; but still I congratulate you, and eventually you will congratulate yourself at your fortunate escape.“I will say no more at present, except that I am, and ever will be,“Your truly attached sister,“Virginia.”

“My dear Tom,—15th April.

“I shall begin a letter to you now, and fill it up as a sort of a diary; as it is the best plan, I think, to narrate circumstances as they actually take place. It is unpleasant to say anything against my mother, the more so as I believe that she thinks she has been doing right, and has my interest sincerely at heart: she appears to consider that an alliance with people of rank cannot be purchased too dear, and that every attempt is justifiable to secure for me such an advantage. Little does she know me: if she forgets, I never shall, that I am the daughter of a Greenwich pensioner, and never would ally myself with those whose relations would look upon me as a disgrace to their family. No, Tom; even if I were so heedless as to allow my affections to be enthralled, I would at any sacrifice refuse to enter into a family much beyond my condition. I have thought of this often, and I confess that I am sometimes unhappy. I have been brought up and educated above my situation in life, and I do not think I ever could marry a person who was not more refined and educated than those who are really and truly my equals. But as, at the same time, I never will enter into a family who might look down upon my parentage, I presume your little Virginia must remain unmarried. If so, I am content—I have no wish to alter my present condition. I am happy and respected; and with the exception of the trifling annoyances which we all must expect and must submit to, I have no reason to be dissatisfied; on the contrary, I have to be grateful for many blessings, and I trust that I am so. My poor mother is the cause of all my present vexations. She tells me that my beauty, as she is partially pleased to call it, is sufficient for my aspiring to the hand of a duke, and that it will be my own fault if I do not make a high connection. Every night she has been overwhelming me with alternate reproaches and entreaties to permit the attentions of the gay gentleman who is now lodging at our house, stating that it was on my account only that he took the apartments, and that, if I play my cards well, he will be caught in his own trap, which, I presume, is as much as to say that he came here with different intentions, and finding that he cannot succeed, will secure his intended prize or victim by marriage rather than not obtain her at all. Very flattering, truly! and this is the man to whom my mother would induce me to confide my future happiness—a man who, independent of his want of probity, is a fool into the bargain. But the persecution—on his part and on that of my mother now becomes so annoying, that I have requested Mrs St. Felix to speak to Mr Sommerville the tutor, who, if he does his duty—and I have every reason to believe that he will do so—will take some measures to remove his pupil from our house.

“17th. Mrs St. Felix and Mr Sommerville have had a meeting. He generally walks out every afternoon in the park; and Mrs St. Felix and he have already been introduced: she therefore went out and met him, and after exchanging a few words she introduced the subject, stating that she did so at my request. Mr Sommerville, although he had not been blind, had had no idea that things had proceeded so far; and he promised Mrs St. Felix that he would soon put an end to the persecution, or remove him from our house. Janet has been here to-day, and I told her what had passed; she very much approved of the steps which I had taken. I must, however, say that latterly she has not appeared to take that interest about you that she used to do, and I fear that your continual absence is injurious to your prospects. She is very young and very giddy, Tom: I wish she had been older, as, even when she is your wife, she will require much looking after, and a firm hand to settle her down into what a married woman in my opinion ought to be. Mr Sommerville has requested me to favour him with a few minutes’ conversation; and as I cannot do it in our house, for my mother never leaves me a minute to myself; I told him that I should be at Mrs St. Felix’s this afternoon, and he could speak to me then. He knows that I have no secrets from Mrs St. Felix; and although it is not pleasant to resort to such means, still there can be no impropriety in my hearing what he has to tell me in her presence.

“I have seen Mr Sommerville—he thanked me very much for having communicated, through Mrs St. Felix, my mother’s plot against hisprotégé; and paid me many compliments upon my behaviour, which were quite unnecessary. He told me that he had spoken to his pupil, who had most positively denied his having any such intention, and stated that he was merely amusing himself; and he had pledged himself not to take the least notice of me for the future. ‘I am well aware,’ said he, ‘that what he has stated is not correct; he has not deceived me by his assertions; and were it not that I feel confidence in you, Miss Virginia,’ continued he, ‘I would write to his father that he might be immediately removed. I hardly need say, that should anything of this kind take place, I should be most severely blamed: it is not the first time that I have been compelled to interfere, for my pupil is of a very susceptible disposition, and has fancied himself in love with at least five young people since he has been under my charge. In this instance,’ continued he, making me a bow, ‘he has some extenuation to offer. Will you oblige me by informing me if he adheres to his promise? or do you wish that I should speak to your mother?’

“Mrs St. Felix replied that it would be unnecessary; indeed, that if Lord — left the house I should only be subject to fresh persecution. Mr Sommerville, at her request, stayed to drink tea, and is certainly a very pleasant, well-informed, amiable young man.

“23rd. I have received no molestation since the explanation with Mr Sommerville, except from my mother, who accuses me of having affronted Lord —; and although I deny it, she asserts that he never could have so changed his conduct towards both of us if I had not so done. I have not seen Janet this week—I cannot imagine what has become of her.

“24th. You may imagine my joy, my dear Tom: Mr Sommerville has received a letter, stating that his lordship is to go down to his father’s seat in the country, as he will be of age in a month, and he is to make acquaintance with the tenants;—there are to be great rejoicings there upon his coming of age. I am sure no one can rejoice more than I shall when he leaves, which is to be next Saturday. I am also very glad to say that the Marquess has presented Mr Sommerville with a valuable living, now that he gives up his tutorship. I really think he will do justice to his profession, for I have seen more of him lately, and esteem him very much.

“27th. They are gone, much to my mother’s mortification, and to my delight; and now, as I have written so much about myself; I shall leave this letter open till I see Janet, that I may tell you something about her, otherwise I know my letter will not be interesting to you.

“31st. My dear Tom, you must prepare yourself for painful intelligence.

“Janet has disappeared. She left her father’s house last night after the family had retired, but no one knows where: she left a few lines on her table, stating that they would hear from her soon. Poor Mr Wilson was here to-day—he is half distracted—and the whole town is full of the scandal. Mrs St. Felix told me this morning that she has discovered that within the last week she has been seen walking on the London Road with Lord —. Is it possible?

“2nd May. It is all true—Mrs St. Felix has a letter from Mr Sommerville, stating that Janet was brought up to town and married to Lord — two days ago. It appears, that from the time that I repulsed his attentions, he fixed them upon Janet; that she encouraged him, and used to meet him every night, as Mrs St. Felix was informed. Mr Sommerville has seen his father, and fully exculpated himself; but the Marquess declares, as his son is a minor, that the marriage shall not be binding. How it will end Heaven only knows; but she is much to be pitied. This will account for her not coming to me as usual. Now, Tom, I do not suppose you will pay attention to me at present, but from what I knew of Janet, and which her conduct has fully proved, she was not worthy to be your wife, and could not have contributed to your happiness. I pity you from my heart, as I know what you will feel; but still I congratulate you, and eventually you will congratulate yourself at your fortunate escape.

“I will say no more at present, except that I am, and ever will be,

“Your truly attached sister,

“Virginia.”

I had courage to finish the letter, and then it dropped from my hands. I was bewildered, stupefied, maddened. As my sister said, I did indeed feel. Was it possible? Janet, who had—mercy on me! I threw myself on the bed, and there I remained till the next morning in a state most pitiable.

It is only those who have been deceived in their first attachment who can appreciate my agony of feeling. For the first few hours I hated the whole world, and, had then the means been at hand, should in all probability have hastened into another; but gradually my excitement abated; I found relief in tears of sorrow and indignation. I arose at daylight the next morning, worn out with contending feelings, heavy and prostrated in mind. I went out—stood on the beach, the keen breeze cooled my fevered cheek. For hours I leant motionless upon an anchor, all hope of future happiness abandoned for ever.

Chapter Thirty Eight.Which is all about love—Bramble confides to me all his acquaintance with the tender passion.To conceal from Bramble or Bessy the state of mind to which I was reduced was impossible. I was in a condition of prostration against which I could not rally; and I believe that there never was a person who had been disappointed in his first love who did not feel as I did—that is, if he really loved with a sincere, pure, and holy feeling; for I do not refer to the fancied attachments of youth, which may be said to be like the mere flaws of wind which precede the steady gale. I could not, for several days, trust myself to speak, I sat silent and brooding over the words, the looks, the smiles, the scenes which had promised me a store of future happiness—such as would probably have been the case, as far as we can be happy in this world, had I fixed my affections upon a true and honest, instead of a fickle and vain, woman; had I built my house upon a rock, instead of one upon the sand—which, as pointed out by the Scriptures, had been washed away, and had disappeared for ever! Bramble and Bessy in vain attempted to gain from me the cause of my dejection; I believe that they had many conversations upon it when I was absent, but whatever may have been their surmises, they treated me with every kindness and consideration. About a week after I had received the letter, Bramble said to me, “Come, Tom, we have had an easterly wind for ten days now, they are going off in a galley to-morrow—suppose we go too; it’s no use staying here moping and doing nothing. You’ve been out of sorts lately, and it will do you good.” I thought so too, and consented; but the other pilots were not ready, and our departure was deferred till the day after. Bramble had acquainted me in the morning with this delay; I was annoyed at it, for I was restless, and wished for change. My bundle had been prepared; I had passed the best part of the night in writing to Virginia, and was, as people very often are when under such oppressed feelings, in anything but a good humour at being obliged to remain another day at Deal. I had walked out to the beach after we had breakfasted, and had remained there some time. Bramble had gone out in the direction of the post-office, and I asked him to inquire if there was a letter for me, for I thought it very likely that Virginia might have written to me again. I had remained for an hour on the beach, when I recollected that my knife required to be sharpened, and I walked round the cottage to the back yard, where there was a small grindstone. I had not put my knife to it, when I heard Bramble come in and say to Bessy—“Well, girl, I’ve found it all out; for, you see, I thought old Anderson might know something about it, or, if he did not, he could inquire,—and I’ve got the whole story. Here’s Anderson’s letter. I thought there must be something of that sort.”Here there was a pause, as if Bessy was reading the letter.“Only to think—she’s run away with a young lord,” said Bramble. “So it seems,” replied Bessy. “I’m sorry for poor Tom, for he feels it severely.”“I’m not sorry,” rejoined Bramble; “she wasn’t deserving of him; and, Bessy, I’m glad for your sake.”“Don’t say that, father; Tom will never think of me, nor do I care about him.”“I don’t exactly believe that, Bessy, for all you say so. It’s my wish, and you know it, Bessy, to see you and Tom spliced before I die; and I thank Heaven, that this false girl is out of the way—I’ve more hopes now.”“Marriages are made in heaven, father,” replied Bessy; “so, pray don’t say anything more about it. It will be time enough for me to think of Tom when Tom appears to think of me. I shall always love him as a brother.”“Well, God’s will be done! We must now try and console him, poor fellow: and I’m very glad that we’re off to-morrow. Salt water cures love, they say, sooner than anything else.”“It may, perhaps,” replied Bessy; “but I feel that if I were once really in love the whole ocean itself could not wash my love out. However, women are not men.”“That’s true. You hug your love as you do your babies, all day long, and never tire. Now, you see, a man gets tired of nursing in no time;—I never was in love but once.”“Oh, father, I’ve heard that story so often.”“Well, then, you shan’t hear it again. Now, I’ll go out and see where Tom may be. I suppose he’s looking at the wind, and thinking how it changes like a woman. But I’ll light my pipe first.”“Do, father; and while Tom looks at the wind and thinks of women, do you just watch the smoke out of your pipe, and think of men and their constancy.”“Well, I will, if it pleases you. Put the letter by, Bessy, for I shouldn’t like Tom to see it. What have you got for dinner?”“I left that to Mrs Maddox, so I can’t tell. But there’s cold pudding in the larder; I’ll put it out for Tom.”“Nay, Bessy, you must not jest with him.”“Am I likely, think you, father?” replied Bessy; “can’t I feel for him?”“Come, come, dearest, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”“I’m not crying, but I’m very sorry for Tom, and that’s the truth. Now go away with your pipe, and leave me alone.”It was impossible for me to have returned without being perceived, and I therefore remained during the whole of this conversation. I was annoyed to discover that they knew my secret; and still more vexed at the remainder of this colloquy, by which I discovered that Bramble had so completely set his heart upon an union between me and Bessy, which I considered as impossible. I felt, as all do at the time, as if I never could love again. I walked away, and did not return home till dinner-time. Bramble and Bessy were very kind, although they did not talk much; and when I went away the next day I was moved with the affectionate farewell of the latter.It was a beautiful night, and we were running before the east wind, the Portland Light upon our starboard beam; the other men in the boat had laid down in their gregos and pilot jackets, and were fast asleep, while Bramble was at the helm steering; and I, who was too restless in my mind to feel any inclination to repose, was sitting on the stern-sheets beside him.“Do you see the line of theRace?” said Bramble; “it seems strong to-night.”Bramble referred to what is called by the mariners the Race of Portland, where the uneven ground over which the water runs creates a very heavy sea even in a calm. Small smuggling vessels and boats, forced into it in bad weather, have often foundered. The tide, however, runs so rapidly over it that you are generally swept through it in a few minutes, and then find yourself again in comparatively smooth water.“Yes,” replied I; “it is very strong to-night, from the long continuance of the easterly wind.”“Exactly so, Tom,” continued Bramble. “I’ve often thought that getting into that Race is just like falling in love.”“Why so?” replied I, rather pettishly, for I was not pleased at his referring to the subject.“I’ll tell you why, Tom,” said Bramble; “because, you see, when we get into the Race, it’s all boiling and bubbling and tossing about—rudder and sails are of no use; and you are carried along by a fierce tide, which there’s no resisting, with no small damage to the upper works, until you are fairly out again, and find breath to thank God for it. Now, aren’t that like love?”“I suppose it is as you say so; you know best.”“Well, I think I do know best; because, you see, I have long been clear of it. I never was in love but once, Tom; did I ever tell you about it?”“Never,” replied I.“Well, then, as ’twill pass time away, I’ll just give you the long and the short of it, as the saying is. When I was just about twenty, and a smart lad in my own opinion, I was on board of a transport, and we had gone round to Portsmouth with a load of timber for the dockyard. It was not my first trip there, for, you see, the transport was employed wholly on that service; and during my cruising on shore I had taken up my quarters at the Chequer Board, a house a little way from the common Hard, in the street facing the dockyard wall; for, you see, Tom, it was handy to us, as our ship laid at the wharf, off the mast pond, it being just outside the dockyard gates. The old fellow who kept the house was as round as a ball, for he never started out by any chance from one year’s end, to another; his wife was dead; and he had an only daughter, who served at the bar, in a white cap with blue streamers; and when her hair was out of papers, and she put on clean shoes and stockings, which she did every day after dinner, she was a very smart neat built little heifer; and, being an only daughter, she was considered as a great catch to any one who could get hold of her. She had quite the upper hand of her father, who dared not say a word; and with others she would give herself no few airs. At one time she would be as sweet as sugar, and the next, without any cause, she’d ‘wonder at your imperance.’ It was difficult to know how to take her: it’s a bad thing for a girl to have a great fortune; they get so much flattery that it turns their heads. Well, Tom, I wasn’t looking after the money, as you’ll believe when I tell you so; but as she was very chatty with me, and allowed me to come inside the bar, which was considered as a great favour, to help rinse the glasses, and so on, and as the other men used to joke with me, and tell me that I should carry off the prize, I began to think that she was fond of me, and so very naturally I became fond of her; and we met and we parted (and she would allow me to kiss her when we parted), until I was quite gone altogether, and did nothing but think of her all day and dream of her all night. Well, the last time that I was in the transport to Portsmouth, I had made up my mind to clench the business, and as soon as the sails were furled, I dressed myself in my best toggery, and made all sail for the old house. When I came in I found Peggy in the bar, and a very fancy sort of young chap alongside of her. I did not think so much of that, and I was going inside the bar to shake hands as usual, when says she, ‘Well, I should not wonder,’ pulling to the half-door, as if she were surprised at my attempting to come in.“‘Oh, ho!’ says I, ‘are you on that tack? what next?’ and then I looked more at the chap, and he was a very nice young man, as the saying is. As I afterwards found out, he was in the smuggling line between Cherbourg and our coast, and he had Frenchified manners, and he talked little bits of French, and he had French gloves for presents, and had ear-rings in his ears, and lots of rings on his fingers. So I took my seat at the wooden benches near the fire, just as sulky as a bear with a sore head, watching their manoeuvres: at last he walked out, kissing his hand as she smiles. As the coast was clear I went up to the bar.“‘Well,’ says I, ‘Peggy, so the wind’s shifted, is it?’“‘What do you mean?’ says she. ‘I suppose I may be civil to another person as well as to you.’“‘Yes, I see no objection,’ says I; ‘but why was he to be inside the bar, and I put out?’“‘Oh,’ replied she, ‘one at a time, you know, Mr Philip. I haven’t made any promises to you that I know of.’“‘That’s very true,’ replied I, ‘but—’“‘Oh, you mustn’t fret here,’ interrupted she. ‘I’m my own mistress, I suppose. However, I’ll tell you this much, that I don’t care a bit about him, and that’s the truth of it—but I did not like your coming inside the bar so quietly, as if you had a right there, for I don’t want people to make remarks.’“Well, the end of it was that she pacified me, and we were as great friends almost as ever: I say almost, for I had my eyes upon her and that chap, and did not much like it. A week after my arrival there was to be a fair over at Ryde, in the Isle of Wight, and I asked Peggy whether she would go with me; but she refused, saying that she was obliged to go to her aunt’s out at Limberhook, who was very old, and had sent for her, so I thought nothing more about the matter. Well, the day before the fair, as we were busy in the forenoon getting the timber out of the vessel, one of my shipmates, who went to the same house, says to me, ‘I say, Tom, when I was at the Chequers last night, I overheard Peggy promise to go to the Ryde Fair with that Frenchified smuggling chap.’“‘Did you?’ said I.“‘Yes,’ replied he, ‘and they agreed to start at twelve o’clock, just after the dockyard bell rang: I thought at the time it was just to give you the slip before you left the ship, and that she is turning you over.’“Well, when I heard this, did not my blood boil? for the hussy had told me a lie in saying that she was going to her aunt’s; and it was evident that she had done so, that she might go with this other fellow to the fair. I thought the matter over and over again, for, to tell you the truth, all I wanted then was revenge. I felt nothing but scorn for a woman who could act in so base a manner; at the same time I wished to punish both her and him by spoiling their day’s sport; so at last I determined that I would start right away for the fair myself, and not only put her to shame, but give her fancy man a good drubbing, which I was well able to do. So I walks down to Point and gets into a wherry, keeping a sharp look-out for their coming down from the Hard. At last I spied them, and then I made the waterman pull away, so as to keep about three cables’ length ahead of them, and thus I continued watching their billing and cooing, and grinding my teeth with rage, until we had come over to the other side. Now, you see, Tom, at that time there was no wooden pier at Ryde as there is now, and when the tide was out there was such a long flat of mud that there was no landing; so the way it was managed was, the wherries came in as far as they could, and were met by a horse and cart, which took out the passengers and carried them through the mud and water to the hard ground. Well, when I pulled in, the man was there with his horse and cart, and I paid my fare, and stepped out of the wherry, expecting the man to drive off and put me on shore; but he seeing that there was another wherry close at hand, says he must wait for her passengers, and make one trip of it. I did not care how soon we met, and waited very patiently until they pulled up to us. They were not a little surprised to see me, and not a little annoyed either. As for Peggy, she coloured to her elbows, and then tried to put up an impudent face on the matter. He looked both foolish and angry. They were both very smart. She had on a white gown with a yellow handkerchief on her shoulders, a green silk bonnet and blue feathers, and he was figged out as fine as five-pence, with white jean trousers, and rings and chains, and Lord knows what.“‘Well,’ says Peggy, as bold as brass, ‘who’d have thought to have seen you here?’“‘I did not say that I was going to see my aunt,’ replied I; ‘but as you did, who would have expected to see you here?’“‘Don’t talk to me, young man,’ said she, as red as fire, and turning away to her beau.“Just as she said this, the cart drove off, the horse floundering through the mud, which was about three feet deep, with a matter of six inches of water above it. As she turned away aft, I turned forward, thinking what I should do next, and then I cast my eyes down, and observed that it was a tilting cart as they use for carrying out manure; and that if I took the two pegs out it would fall right back. I thought this a capital trick. The carman was sitting on his horse, and it couldn’t matter to him, so I stepped out on the front of the cart, and standing on the shafts, I first pulled out one peg and then another, while they were busy talking to each other, with their heads so close that his face was under her bonnet. As soon as the second peg was out, I helped up the front of the cart a little, and back it went, shooting them out right headforemost in the mud. You never saw such a scramble, for they had caught hold of each other in their fright, and they rolled and floundered, and were half smothered before they could recover their feet; and then a pretty pickle they were in, wet to the skin, and covered with mud from one end to the other; they could not see out of their eyes. Peggy did nothing but scream and flounder—she was frightened out of her wits—while the carman and I laughed ready to split. I gave him half a crown to drive on shore without them, which he did, and we left them to make their way out how they could; and a pretty pickle they did come out at last. Thus was their day’s pleasure as well as their clothes all spoilt; and instead of dancing at the fair and seeing all the sights, they were shivering in their wet clothes, and the laughingstocks to all that saw them.“Depend upon it, I did not leave them after they had crawled out the beach. The fellow was, as you may suppose, as savage as a bull, and very saucy, so I took off my jacket that I might not dirty myself, and gave him a couple of black eyes and a bloody nose for his trouble; and as for Peggy, I pretended to be so sorry for her, and condoled with her so much, that at last she flew at me like a tigress,—and as I knew that there was no honour, and plenty of mud, to be gained by the conflict, I took to my heels and ran off to the fair, where I met some of my friends and told them what had happened, and then we had a very merry day of it, and I felt quite cured of my love: for, you see, Peggy looked so ugly and miserable when she was in the state I left her, that I had only to think of her as when I last saw her, and all my love was gone.”“Did you ever meet her again?”“I met her that very night; for, you see, she had gone to a cottage and taken off her clothes, having insisted upon her fancy man going back to Portsmouth to fetch her others to go home in. He dared not refuse, so off he went in the pickle that he was. But he didn’t come back again, for, you see, there was a warrant out against him for an affray at Bear Haven, in which a King’s officer was killed; and after he had changed his own clothes, and was proceeding to get some for her from the Chequers, he was met by the constable who had the warrant, and carried off handcuffed to gaol, and afterwards he was transported,—so she never saw him again. Well, Peggy, poor creature, had been waiting for him for hours, expecting his return; and it was past ten o’clock when I was coming down with some others, and saw her at the door of the cottage weeping.“‘Good night, Peggy,’ says I.“‘Oh, Philip, do be kind, do come to me; I’m frightened out of my life. I shall have to stay here all night.’“So, you see, I did feel some little pity for her, and I went up to her, and she told me how she had sent him, and he had never come back again.“‘The fact is,’ says I, ‘Peggy, you aren’t smart enough for such a Frenchified chap as he is. He don’t like to be seen in your company. Come, get up, and I will see you home, at all events;’ so I took charge of her, and saw her safe to her father’s door.“‘Won’t you come in?’ said she.“‘No, thank you,’ says I.“‘Won’t you forgive me, Philip?’ said she.“‘Yes,’ says I, ‘I’ll forgive you, for old acquaintance sake, and for one more reason.’“‘What’s that?’ says Peggy.“‘Why,’ says I, ‘for the lesson which you’ve learnt me. I’ve been made a fool of once, and it’s your fault; but if ever a woman makes a fool of me again, why, then it’s mine. And so, Peggy, good bye for ever.’“So I turned away on my heel, and as I left the transport the next trip, I never saw her again.”“Well, Bramble,” replied I, “I agree with you; and if ever a woman makes a fool of meagain, it will be my fault. You know what’s happened, so I don’t mind saying so.”“Why, Tom, in your present humour, you think so; but all do not keep to the same way of thinking as I did till it was too late to think about marrying; but still I do not think that I should have been happy as a single man, if it had not been for my falling in with Bessy. I should have been very lonely, I expect, for I began to feel so. When you come to your own door, Tom, home looks cheerless if there is no bright eye to welcome you, and the older a man gets the more he feels that he was not intended to live single. My yearning after something to love and to love me, which is in our nature, was satisfied, first by having Bessy, and then by having you—and I’m thankful.”“You might have married, and have been very unhappy.”“I might, and I might have been very happy, had I chosen a wife as a man should do.”“And how is that, pray, Bramble?”“Why, Tom, I’ve often thought upon it. In the first place look out for good temper: if you find that you may be happy, even if your wife is a silly woman; assure yourself first of her temper, and then you must judge her by the way in which she does those duties which have fallen to her lot; for if a girl is a dutiful and affectionate daughter there is little fear but that she will prove a loving and obedient wife. But I think we have had our spell here, Tom, and it’s rather cold: rouse up one of those chaps, and tell him to come to the helm. I’ll coil myself up and have a snooze till the morning, and do you do the same.”

To conceal from Bramble or Bessy the state of mind to which I was reduced was impossible. I was in a condition of prostration against which I could not rally; and I believe that there never was a person who had been disappointed in his first love who did not feel as I did—that is, if he really loved with a sincere, pure, and holy feeling; for I do not refer to the fancied attachments of youth, which may be said to be like the mere flaws of wind which precede the steady gale. I could not, for several days, trust myself to speak, I sat silent and brooding over the words, the looks, the smiles, the scenes which had promised me a store of future happiness—such as would probably have been the case, as far as we can be happy in this world, had I fixed my affections upon a true and honest, instead of a fickle and vain, woman; had I built my house upon a rock, instead of one upon the sand—which, as pointed out by the Scriptures, had been washed away, and had disappeared for ever! Bramble and Bessy in vain attempted to gain from me the cause of my dejection; I believe that they had many conversations upon it when I was absent, but whatever may have been their surmises, they treated me with every kindness and consideration. About a week after I had received the letter, Bramble said to me, “Come, Tom, we have had an easterly wind for ten days now, they are going off in a galley to-morrow—suppose we go too; it’s no use staying here moping and doing nothing. You’ve been out of sorts lately, and it will do you good.” I thought so too, and consented; but the other pilots were not ready, and our departure was deferred till the day after. Bramble had acquainted me in the morning with this delay; I was annoyed at it, for I was restless, and wished for change. My bundle had been prepared; I had passed the best part of the night in writing to Virginia, and was, as people very often are when under such oppressed feelings, in anything but a good humour at being obliged to remain another day at Deal. I had walked out to the beach after we had breakfasted, and had remained there some time. Bramble had gone out in the direction of the post-office, and I asked him to inquire if there was a letter for me, for I thought it very likely that Virginia might have written to me again. I had remained for an hour on the beach, when I recollected that my knife required to be sharpened, and I walked round the cottage to the back yard, where there was a small grindstone. I had not put my knife to it, when I heard Bramble come in and say to Bessy—

“Well, girl, I’ve found it all out; for, you see, I thought old Anderson might know something about it, or, if he did not, he could inquire,—and I’ve got the whole story. Here’s Anderson’s letter. I thought there must be something of that sort.”

Here there was a pause, as if Bessy was reading the letter.

“Only to think—she’s run away with a young lord,” said Bramble. “So it seems,” replied Bessy. “I’m sorry for poor Tom, for he feels it severely.”

“I’m not sorry,” rejoined Bramble; “she wasn’t deserving of him; and, Bessy, I’m glad for your sake.”

“Don’t say that, father; Tom will never think of me, nor do I care about him.”

“I don’t exactly believe that, Bessy, for all you say so. It’s my wish, and you know it, Bessy, to see you and Tom spliced before I die; and I thank Heaven, that this false girl is out of the way—I’ve more hopes now.”

“Marriages are made in heaven, father,” replied Bessy; “so, pray don’t say anything more about it. It will be time enough for me to think of Tom when Tom appears to think of me. I shall always love him as a brother.”

“Well, God’s will be done! We must now try and console him, poor fellow: and I’m very glad that we’re off to-morrow. Salt water cures love, they say, sooner than anything else.”

“It may, perhaps,” replied Bessy; “but I feel that if I were once really in love the whole ocean itself could not wash my love out. However, women are not men.”

“That’s true. You hug your love as you do your babies, all day long, and never tire. Now, you see, a man gets tired of nursing in no time;—I never was in love but once.”

“Oh, father, I’ve heard that story so often.”

“Well, then, you shan’t hear it again. Now, I’ll go out and see where Tom may be. I suppose he’s looking at the wind, and thinking how it changes like a woman. But I’ll light my pipe first.”

“Do, father; and while Tom looks at the wind and thinks of women, do you just watch the smoke out of your pipe, and think of men and their constancy.”

“Well, I will, if it pleases you. Put the letter by, Bessy, for I shouldn’t like Tom to see it. What have you got for dinner?”

“I left that to Mrs Maddox, so I can’t tell. But there’s cold pudding in the larder; I’ll put it out for Tom.”

“Nay, Bessy, you must not jest with him.”

“Am I likely, think you, father?” replied Bessy; “can’t I feel for him?”

“Come, come, dearest, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying, but I’m very sorry for Tom, and that’s the truth. Now go away with your pipe, and leave me alone.”

It was impossible for me to have returned without being perceived, and I therefore remained during the whole of this conversation. I was annoyed to discover that they knew my secret; and still more vexed at the remainder of this colloquy, by which I discovered that Bramble had so completely set his heart upon an union between me and Bessy, which I considered as impossible. I felt, as all do at the time, as if I never could love again. I walked away, and did not return home till dinner-time. Bramble and Bessy were very kind, although they did not talk much; and when I went away the next day I was moved with the affectionate farewell of the latter.

It was a beautiful night, and we were running before the east wind, the Portland Light upon our starboard beam; the other men in the boat had laid down in their gregos and pilot jackets, and were fast asleep, while Bramble was at the helm steering; and I, who was too restless in my mind to feel any inclination to repose, was sitting on the stern-sheets beside him.

“Do you see the line of theRace?” said Bramble; “it seems strong to-night.”

Bramble referred to what is called by the mariners the Race of Portland, where the uneven ground over which the water runs creates a very heavy sea even in a calm. Small smuggling vessels and boats, forced into it in bad weather, have often foundered. The tide, however, runs so rapidly over it that you are generally swept through it in a few minutes, and then find yourself again in comparatively smooth water.

“Yes,” replied I; “it is very strong to-night, from the long continuance of the easterly wind.”

“Exactly so, Tom,” continued Bramble. “I’ve often thought that getting into that Race is just like falling in love.”

“Why so?” replied I, rather pettishly, for I was not pleased at his referring to the subject.

“I’ll tell you why, Tom,” said Bramble; “because, you see, when we get into the Race, it’s all boiling and bubbling and tossing about—rudder and sails are of no use; and you are carried along by a fierce tide, which there’s no resisting, with no small damage to the upper works, until you are fairly out again, and find breath to thank God for it. Now, aren’t that like love?”

“I suppose it is as you say so; you know best.”

“Well, I think I do know best; because, you see, I have long been clear of it. I never was in love but once, Tom; did I ever tell you about it?”

“Never,” replied I.

“Well, then, as ’twill pass time away, I’ll just give you the long and the short of it, as the saying is. When I was just about twenty, and a smart lad in my own opinion, I was on board of a transport, and we had gone round to Portsmouth with a load of timber for the dockyard. It was not my first trip there, for, you see, the transport was employed wholly on that service; and during my cruising on shore I had taken up my quarters at the Chequer Board, a house a little way from the common Hard, in the street facing the dockyard wall; for, you see, Tom, it was handy to us, as our ship laid at the wharf, off the mast pond, it being just outside the dockyard gates. The old fellow who kept the house was as round as a ball, for he never started out by any chance from one year’s end, to another; his wife was dead; and he had an only daughter, who served at the bar, in a white cap with blue streamers; and when her hair was out of papers, and she put on clean shoes and stockings, which she did every day after dinner, she was a very smart neat built little heifer; and, being an only daughter, she was considered as a great catch to any one who could get hold of her. She had quite the upper hand of her father, who dared not say a word; and with others she would give herself no few airs. At one time she would be as sweet as sugar, and the next, without any cause, she’d ‘wonder at your imperance.’ It was difficult to know how to take her: it’s a bad thing for a girl to have a great fortune; they get so much flattery that it turns their heads. Well, Tom, I wasn’t looking after the money, as you’ll believe when I tell you so; but as she was very chatty with me, and allowed me to come inside the bar, which was considered as a great favour, to help rinse the glasses, and so on, and as the other men used to joke with me, and tell me that I should carry off the prize, I began to think that she was fond of me, and so very naturally I became fond of her; and we met and we parted (and she would allow me to kiss her when we parted), until I was quite gone altogether, and did nothing but think of her all day and dream of her all night. Well, the last time that I was in the transport to Portsmouth, I had made up my mind to clench the business, and as soon as the sails were furled, I dressed myself in my best toggery, and made all sail for the old house. When I came in I found Peggy in the bar, and a very fancy sort of young chap alongside of her. I did not think so much of that, and I was going inside the bar to shake hands as usual, when says she, ‘Well, I should not wonder,’ pulling to the half-door, as if she were surprised at my attempting to come in.

“‘Oh, ho!’ says I, ‘are you on that tack? what next?’ and then I looked more at the chap, and he was a very nice young man, as the saying is. As I afterwards found out, he was in the smuggling line between Cherbourg and our coast, and he had Frenchified manners, and he talked little bits of French, and he had French gloves for presents, and had ear-rings in his ears, and lots of rings on his fingers. So I took my seat at the wooden benches near the fire, just as sulky as a bear with a sore head, watching their manoeuvres: at last he walked out, kissing his hand as she smiles. As the coast was clear I went up to the bar.

“‘Well,’ says I, ‘Peggy, so the wind’s shifted, is it?’

“‘What do you mean?’ says she. ‘I suppose I may be civil to another person as well as to you.’

“‘Yes, I see no objection,’ says I; ‘but why was he to be inside the bar, and I put out?’

“‘Oh,’ replied she, ‘one at a time, you know, Mr Philip. I haven’t made any promises to you that I know of.’

“‘That’s very true,’ replied I, ‘but—’

“‘Oh, you mustn’t fret here,’ interrupted she. ‘I’m my own mistress, I suppose. However, I’ll tell you this much, that I don’t care a bit about him, and that’s the truth of it—but I did not like your coming inside the bar so quietly, as if you had a right there, for I don’t want people to make remarks.’

“Well, the end of it was that she pacified me, and we were as great friends almost as ever: I say almost, for I had my eyes upon her and that chap, and did not much like it. A week after my arrival there was to be a fair over at Ryde, in the Isle of Wight, and I asked Peggy whether she would go with me; but she refused, saying that she was obliged to go to her aunt’s out at Limberhook, who was very old, and had sent for her, so I thought nothing more about the matter. Well, the day before the fair, as we were busy in the forenoon getting the timber out of the vessel, one of my shipmates, who went to the same house, says to me, ‘I say, Tom, when I was at the Chequers last night, I overheard Peggy promise to go to the Ryde Fair with that Frenchified smuggling chap.’

“‘Did you?’ said I.

“‘Yes,’ replied he, ‘and they agreed to start at twelve o’clock, just after the dockyard bell rang: I thought at the time it was just to give you the slip before you left the ship, and that she is turning you over.’

“Well, when I heard this, did not my blood boil? for the hussy had told me a lie in saying that she was going to her aunt’s; and it was evident that she had done so, that she might go with this other fellow to the fair. I thought the matter over and over again, for, to tell you the truth, all I wanted then was revenge. I felt nothing but scorn for a woman who could act in so base a manner; at the same time I wished to punish both her and him by spoiling their day’s sport; so at last I determined that I would start right away for the fair myself, and not only put her to shame, but give her fancy man a good drubbing, which I was well able to do. So I walks down to Point and gets into a wherry, keeping a sharp look-out for their coming down from the Hard. At last I spied them, and then I made the waterman pull away, so as to keep about three cables’ length ahead of them, and thus I continued watching their billing and cooing, and grinding my teeth with rage, until we had come over to the other side. Now, you see, Tom, at that time there was no wooden pier at Ryde as there is now, and when the tide was out there was such a long flat of mud that there was no landing; so the way it was managed was, the wherries came in as far as they could, and were met by a horse and cart, which took out the passengers and carried them through the mud and water to the hard ground. Well, when I pulled in, the man was there with his horse and cart, and I paid my fare, and stepped out of the wherry, expecting the man to drive off and put me on shore; but he seeing that there was another wherry close at hand, says he must wait for her passengers, and make one trip of it. I did not care how soon we met, and waited very patiently until they pulled up to us. They were not a little surprised to see me, and not a little annoyed either. As for Peggy, she coloured to her elbows, and then tried to put up an impudent face on the matter. He looked both foolish and angry. They were both very smart. She had on a white gown with a yellow handkerchief on her shoulders, a green silk bonnet and blue feathers, and he was figged out as fine as five-pence, with white jean trousers, and rings and chains, and Lord knows what.

“‘Well,’ says Peggy, as bold as brass, ‘who’d have thought to have seen you here?’

“‘I did not say that I was going to see my aunt,’ replied I; ‘but as you did, who would have expected to see you here?’

“‘Don’t talk to me, young man,’ said she, as red as fire, and turning away to her beau.

“Just as she said this, the cart drove off, the horse floundering through the mud, which was about three feet deep, with a matter of six inches of water above it. As she turned away aft, I turned forward, thinking what I should do next, and then I cast my eyes down, and observed that it was a tilting cart as they use for carrying out manure; and that if I took the two pegs out it would fall right back. I thought this a capital trick. The carman was sitting on his horse, and it couldn’t matter to him, so I stepped out on the front of the cart, and standing on the shafts, I first pulled out one peg and then another, while they were busy talking to each other, with their heads so close that his face was under her bonnet. As soon as the second peg was out, I helped up the front of the cart a little, and back it went, shooting them out right headforemost in the mud. You never saw such a scramble, for they had caught hold of each other in their fright, and they rolled and floundered, and were half smothered before they could recover their feet; and then a pretty pickle they were in, wet to the skin, and covered with mud from one end to the other; they could not see out of their eyes. Peggy did nothing but scream and flounder—she was frightened out of her wits—while the carman and I laughed ready to split. I gave him half a crown to drive on shore without them, which he did, and we left them to make their way out how they could; and a pretty pickle they did come out at last. Thus was their day’s pleasure as well as their clothes all spoilt; and instead of dancing at the fair and seeing all the sights, they were shivering in their wet clothes, and the laughingstocks to all that saw them.

“Depend upon it, I did not leave them after they had crawled out the beach. The fellow was, as you may suppose, as savage as a bull, and very saucy, so I took off my jacket that I might not dirty myself, and gave him a couple of black eyes and a bloody nose for his trouble; and as for Peggy, I pretended to be so sorry for her, and condoled with her so much, that at last she flew at me like a tigress,—and as I knew that there was no honour, and plenty of mud, to be gained by the conflict, I took to my heels and ran off to the fair, where I met some of my friends and told them what had happened, and then we had a very merry day of it, and I felt quite cured of my love: for, you see, Peggy looked so ugly and miserable when she was in the state I left her, that I had only to think of her as when I last saw her, and all my love was gone.”

“Did you ever meet her again?”

“I met her that very night; for, you see, she had gone to a cottage and taken off her clothes, having insisted upon her fancy man going back to Portsmouth to fetch her others to go home in. He dared not refuse, so off he went in the pickle that he was. But he didn’t come back again, for, you see, there was a warrant out against him for an affray at Bear Haven, in which a King’s officer was killed; and after he had changed his own clothes, and was proceeding to get some for her from the Chequers, he was met by the constable who had the warrant, and carried off handcuffed to gaol, and afterwards he was transported,—so she never saw him again. Well, Peggy, poor creature, had been waiting for him for hours, expecting his return; and it was past ten o’clock when I was coming down with some others, and saw her at the door of the cottage weeping.

“‘Good night, Peggy,’ says I.

“‘Oh, Philip, do be kind, do come to me; I’m frightened out of my life. I shall have to stay here all night.’

“So, you see, I did feel some little pity for her, and I went up to her, and she told me how she had sent him, and he had never come back again.

“‘The fact is,’ says I, ‘Peggy, you aren’t smart enough for such a Frenchified chap as he is. He don’t like to be seen in your company. Come, get up, and I will see you home, at all events;’ so I took charge of her, and saw her safe to her father’s door.

“‘Won’t you come in?’ said she.

“‘No, thank you,’ says I.

“‘Won’t you forgive me, Philip?’ said she.

“‘Yes,’ says I, ‘I’ll forgive you, for old acquaintance sake, and for one more reason.’

“‘What’s that?’ says Peggy.

“‘Why,’ says I, ‘for the lesson which you’ve learnt me. I’ve been made a fool of once, and it’s your fault; but if ever a woman makes a fool of me again, why, then it’s mine. And so, Peggy, good bye for ever.’

“So I turned away on my heel, and as I left the transport the next trip, I never saw her again.”

“Well, Bramble,” replied I, “I agree with you; and if ever a woman makes a fool of meagain, it will be my fault. You know what’s happened, so I don’t mind saying so.”

“Why, Tom, in your present humour, you think so; but all do not keep to the same way of thinking as I did till it was too late to think about marrying; but still I do not think that I should have been happy as a single man, if it had not been for my falling in with Bessy. I should have been very lonely, I expect, for I began to feel so. When you come to your own door, Tom, home looks cheerless if there is no bright eye to welcome you, and the older a man gets the more he feels that he was not intended to live single. My yearning after something to love and to love me, which is in our nature, was satisfied, first by having Bessy, and then by having you—and I’m thankful.”

“You might have married, and have been very unhappy.”

“I might, and I might have been very happy, had I chosen a wife as a man should do.”

“And how is that, pray, Bramble?”

“Why, Tom, I’ve often thought upon it. In the first place look out for good temper: if you find that you may be happy, even if your wife is a silly woman; assure yourself first of her temper, and then you must judge her by the way in which she does those duties which have fallen to her lot; for if a girl is a dutiful and affectionate daughter there is little fear but that she will prove a loving and obedient wife. But I think we have had our spell here, Tom, and it’s rather cold: rouse up one of those chaps, and tell him to come to the helm. I’ll coil myself up and have a snooze till the morning, and do you do the same.”

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