"Sir John listened to this address with some surprise; then, shaking his head at me, pointed his finger to his forehead, as implying he thought the young wanderer impaired in his intellects.
"Lady Corbet, whose emotions had at first hurried her into the little indignant reproof I have related, with tenderness replied—she had indeed, with concern, beheld his dejection before he quitted the hall; but if any thing there had disgusted, or been the means of rendering him unhappy, she would readily consent to reside at Holly seat, or any other of her estates he chose to name, provided he would return to her protection.
"To this Sir Henry did not deign to return an answer, but, folding his arms, sat with his brow contracted, and his eyes fixed on the floor, deaf alike to the solicitations of his mother and the chidings of Sir John; nor was it till afterwe were joined by Lady Dursley, that he yielded an unwilling assent to our united entreaties.
"Lady Corbet's satisfaction at thus regaining her fugitive, expressed itself more in her countenance than her words: Sir Henry's was overspread with gloom; he scarcely spoke, but in the evening wrote a farewell letter to his friend St. Ledger, and early the next morning attended his mother from the metropolis.
"You will not, perhaps, Howard, wonder that the admiration I formerly evinced for Lady Corbet, should give rise to more tender sentiments, on finding her released from her vows, and at libertyto select a partner better calculated to ensure her happiness, than the one her father had chosen. I accordingly followed her to Wales, and sought the earliest opportunity to avow the state of my heart. She answered my declaration with a frankness which endeared her still more to me, though discouraging to my addresses. She never, she acknowledged, entertained but one idea of affection, and that had long since been blighted and destroyed: the happiness of her son was the only thing in which she then looked forward for her own. As a lover she could not receive me, but, as a friend, I should ever be welcomed to the hall.
"As a friend then I have visited,and am not without hopes of one day obtaining her hand. The assistance I have been able to render her in the disposal of her property, has imperceptibly worn away the reserve of our earlier acquaintance; and as I have purchased a considerable estate adjoining Sir Henry's, I have every opportunity of increasing the esteem of this valuable woman. Sir Henry I have rarely beheld; his reserve to me has ever been in the extreme, and baffled all my endeavours to gain his friendship or confidence.
"On their return from London, Lady Corbet endeavoured to develope the cause of his conduct, but in vain. Sir Henry became again the prey of mysteryand melancholy, till the arrival of some gypsies in those parts; with them he had several times been seen to converse, and, notwithstanding the vigilance of his mother, who, suspecting his intention, had appointed several of the domestics to watch him, he again, about two months since, eloped, and as it was supposed, with those itinerant outcasts!
"Lady Corbet's grief, on this second elopement of her son, was calm, but deeper than on the former occasion; all her attempts to discover him proved ineffectual, and, as a last resource, she determined on going to London to the young St. Ledger, who being the bosom friend of Sir Henry, she thought might perhaps be acquainted with his proceedings.As I was likewise going to London, I accompanied Lady Corbet, and, at her request, went with her to St. Ledger's: but that family was in equal confusion—young St. Ledger had likewise absconded!
"At that time I was obliged to leave England, therefore am ignorant how their search after the fugitives has ended. This, however, Howard, I think you must acknowledge, that Lady Corbet has far greater cause for unhappiness than yourself. You still may indulge the hope of again seeing your Ellenor—a fatal certainty assures her, she is deprived of the man she loved for ever! You never knew your son; and though you may regret the deprivation of thoseattentions and endearments filial affection bestows; yet you, like her, never experienced the bitter pang of having those blessings changed to unkindness and neglect!"
The Captain sighed—thanked Talton for his admonition—"which, if it do not carry conviction to my reason," he continued, "has at least given a clue to my ideas on another subject, and may perhaps be the means of gaining you intelligence concerning the son of Lady Corbet. Young St. Ledger, if I mistake not, is now on board, and I doubt not will give you any information in his power."
Mr. Talton expressed his surprise, and earnestly entreated to see him. St. Ledger was accordingly summoned.
On his entering the cabin, the surprise in Mr. Talton's countenance increased to the highest degree.
"Sir Henry Corbet!" he exclaimed—starting from his seat, "Good God! what is the meaning of this?"
The fictitious St. Ledger appeared equally amazed at the sight of Mr. Talton, whose name he faintly articulated, and, staggering a few paces, sunk on a chair! Mr. Talton soon recollected himself, and going to him—
"Little did I think, Sir Henry, of seeing you on board the Argo; however, as fortune has given me the opportunity, excuse me if I endeavour to convince you of the impropriety—the cruelty I must term it, of your conduct! The friendship your worthy mother honours me with, authorises me in thus speaking, independently of the duty I feel incumbent on myself, as a man whose years and experience claim the privilege of dictating to unwary youth. Beside rendering the declining days of your mother unhappy, you do not recollect the idea you are implanting in the minds of the world! In the enjoyment of every blessing affluence could obtain—every wish gratified—what could be the reason of your clandestine procedure?This is not the age of romance, Sir Henry! Your conduct, then, can claim only the excuse of lunacy!—a charge which, if authorised by a continuance of your mysterious behaviour, may, in the end, deprive you of those possessions you now appear to slight and contemn! For your own sake, I conjure you, stop ere it be too late. I shall shortly return to London; go with me, and restore the peace of your mother, whose early days, you are well convinced, were too much embittered by your father, to need an additional pang from his son!"
"He shall return," said the Captain; "at least he shall not remain with me! As St. Ledger, the victim of misfortune,I received him; as such, Sir Henry, you should ever have been welcome to my purse, my interest, and protection! As Sir Henry Corbet, the regard due to my own name obliges me to insist on your returning to your friends!"
Sir Henry's countenance underwent various changes during the speech of Mr. Talton: but the Captain's positive renunciation awakened every painful sensation. He precipitately rose, and seizing his hand—"Give not your judgment too hastily, Sir; nor deprive me of your protection before you are certain I am in reality undeserving of it!" Then turning to Mr. Talton, with a modest spirit that glowed on his cheek—
"I am well aware, Mr. Talton, of the censure to which I expose myself in the opinions of the world; but as the world cannot give me happiness, neither shall it altogether bias my conduct! You, sir, have questioned me with freedom, and now excuse me if I answer you in the same style. Your friendship for my mother, I am well assured, will induce you to acquaint her with this rencounter: I do not wish it to be concealed. Of my regard—my love, she is well convinced; and the name of mother will never let the force of those ties diminish; but tell her, till authorised by the will of my father, no power on earth shall induce me to return! Ask me not—why, Mr. Talton. There is a reason, to me a dreadful one! one—whichdrove me from my home, an outcast—a wretched mysterious wanderer!"
"Romance! Sir Henry," exclaimed Mr. Talton. "Your conduct has been mysterious, but you need not be a wanderer. Return to your mother—."
"Mr. Talton," interrupted Sir Henry solemnly, "urge me not! I am neither so ignorant nor weak, as to be influenced by a childish romance. I again repeat—there is a cause! If the sacrifice of my life could secure my mother's happiness, freely would I resign it: but I must not—dare not see her! My wish is to remain with Captain Howard."
"At present, Sir Henry," said theCaptain, "I think it more eligible for you to be under the immediate care of the guardian appointed by your father."
"Be you my guardian," said Sir Henry, again eagerly clasping his hand. "My heart acknowledged you as such, the first moment I beheld you; when, not knowing you were the Captain Howard whom I sought, I told you my name was St. Ledger. Can you forgive the falsehood? When informed who you were, a false shame withheld me from retracting the assertion, especially as you had given that protection, as Sir Henry Corbet I should have entreated! Under that protection let me still remain! It is a child of sorrow,Captain Howard," he continued, sinking on his knee, "begs—conjures you not to desert—not to drive him again an outcast on the world!"
The Captain was affected—but an expressive look from Mr. Talton, repelled each sentiment of commiseration, and in an instant decided the cause of the supplicating Sir Henry. Addressing him with a coldness ill according with the generosity of his disposition—
"I am almost induced, Sir Henry, for your sake, to wish this discovery had not happened: as some particulars recited respecting you, by Mr. Talton, must prevent my proving the friend you wish,I certainly cannot oblige you to return to your mother—but here you cannot be till you have previously obtained her approbation."
"Recited respecting me, by Mr. Talton!" repeated Sir Henry, rising indignantly. "It is well, Captain Howard!" He was leaving the cabin, but, turning at the door, regarded the Captain with a look expressive of anguish and disappointment: the tear trembled in his eye—he faltered—"When the child of Ellenor Worton needed protection, my father did not refuse it! Edward—Ellenor!"
He laid his hand on his breast,—burst into tears—and rushed in an instant from their sight.
Surprise, approaching to agony, for a moment bereft the Captain of utterance; but, recovering, he exclaimed—
"He named my Ellenor and her child! Fly, Frederick, and bring him back. Oh God! Could he give me information of them—!"
"Be calm, Howard," said Mr. Talton. "Sir Henry, take my word, knows not of your Ellenor."
"Why then did he name her?" asked the Captain, with quickness.
"That, I cannot say:" answered Mr. Talton: "but, so well acquainted as I am with every concern of the late and present Sir Henry, the occurrencehe insinuates, could not possibly have escaped my knowledge."
At that moment Frederick re-entered with a letter for his uncle, which Sir Henry had desired one of the men to deliver.
"It is from Ellenor!" said the Captain, attempting with a trembling hand, but in vain, to open it. "Take it—read it, Frederick," he continued; "I am so agitated I can scarcely support myself!"
Frederick obeyed, and read as follows:—
"After seventeen years silence, Ellenor Worton again addresses her belovedEdward—addresses him whose idea has ever lived in her heart; nor fears the world should tax her with indelicacy. It is for a child of sorrow she writes! It is Ellenor sues—nor will Edward refuse her boon!"For reasons which I cannot explain, Sir Henry Corbet, the bearer of this letter, is necessitated to withdraw from the guardianship of his mother. His father sheltered your Ellenor and her child in the hour of keen adversity. He has equally been our preserver! To him I am indebted for the blessings I enjoy—to him, your son (Oh Edward, can you forgive my hitherto concealing him from your knowledge?) is beholden for acompetency! Will my Edward repay the obligation, by affording him an asylum? From him you may learn what has hitherto befallen me; but attempt not my retreat, it must yet be sacred!"Seek not to know more of his history than he freely communicates: and love him, my Edward, for he is worthy of your richest regard. You must hereafter clear the mysteries in which he is involved—from him it is, you must receive your son, and—Ellenor."
"After seventeen years silence, Ellenor Worton again addresses her belovedEdward—addresses him whose idea has ever lived in her heart; nor fears the world should tax her with indelicacy. It is for a child of sorrow she writes! It is Ellenor sues—nor will Edward refuse her boon!
"For reasons which I cannot explain, Sir Henry Corbet, the bearer of this letter, is necessitated to withdraw from the guardianship of his mother. His father sheltered your Ellenor and her child in the hour of keen adversity. He has equally been our preserver! To him I am indebted for the blessings I enjoy—to him, your son (Oh Edward, can you forgive my hitherto concealing him from your knowledge?) is beholden for acompetency! Will my Edward repay the obligation, by affording him an asylum? From him you may learn what has hitherto befallen me; but attempt not my retreat, it must yet be sacred!
"Seek not to know more of his history than he freely communicates: and love him, my Edward, for he is worthy of your richest regard. You must hereafter clear the mysteries in which he is involved—from him it is, you must receive your son, and—Ellenor."
"But he has denied your boon, my Ellenor!" said the Captain. "Shame—shame to him for it! Yet it is not too late: seek Sir Henry immediately: mylife were little in recompence for friendship shown to my Ellenor!"
Sir Henry, however, was gone!—The moment he left the letter, he sprang into a boat which was putting off for the shore; nor with the strictest search and inquiry could they trace the way he had taken. For three days the Captain experienced the torture of suspense, when he received intelligence, that the corpse of a youth, answering the description of Sir Henry, had been washed on shore about two miles from Lowestoff. Alarmed by this account, he went to the cottage where it had been conveyed, accompanied by his nephew and Mr. Talton; and where their fears were fully confirmed, by the people producing theclothes, and a watch the Captain had himself presented to the unfortunate Sir Henry: who, they informed him, had that morning been interred.
A tear fell on the cheek of the Captain as he resigned the hope so lately raised, of hearing of—and seeing his Ellenor; accompanied by one for the unhappy fate of his favourite St. Ledger: nor did the severity of Mr. Talton refuse the tribute of a sigh: the faults of Sir Henry sunk beneath the sod which encircled him, and left to his remembrance only the youth he regarded for the sake of his mother.
With his mind deeply depressed, the Captain returned on board; longhad he experienced unhappiness, but the events of the last week had struck the shaft still deeper in his heart; nor could the friendship of Mr. Talton, or the affection of Frederick, preserve him from a corroding melancholy.
The death of Sir Henry, as St. Ledger, was universally regretted; even the obdurate Harland, for a moment, forgot his enmity, and expressed a sentiment of pity; whilst the generous Frederick, who had regarded him with fraternal friendship, paid that tribute to his memory his merits demanded; and whilst he dwelt with praises on the name of his friend, the faltering accent and half-suppressed sigh evinced the sincerity of his grief for his loss.
Mr. Talton finding the impracticability of his endeavours to alleviate the sorrow of the Captain, took his leave, and set out for London, to acquaint Lady Corbet with the death of her son: as, however disagreeable the task, he rather chose to inform her himself, than hazard an abrupt disclosure from an uninterested person, or even by epistolary communication.
The Captain felt relieved at his departure, as he wished to visit the grave of Sir Henry, but was unwilling to betray the weakness of his heart, even to his friend. The ensuing morning, therefore, he went on shore, and, unattended, pursued his way to the church-yard; where a simple flag of fragrantturf marked the spot where the remains of the unfortunate youth were laid.
"Humble indeed is thy bed of rest, my poor St. Ledger," he exclaimed: "by far too humble for the virtues which I am certain were the real possessors of thy breast!—In thee my Ellenor has lost the friend she too, perhaps, fondly hoped, would one day have restored her to the arms of her Edward. With thee rested the knowledge of her retreat; and with thee—it may have perished!"
The idea was too much: he sank on his knee by the grave—to Heaven his heart was open.
"Oh God!" he cried, "immutable are thy decrees, nor can the proudest knowledge of man explore the mystery of thy ways! Greatly against thee have I offended, and just is the punishment thou hast inflicted: yet still let mercy blend with thy power, nor crush the head thou hast deigned to rear from the dust! Mine was the guilt; on me let thy vengeance fall: but spare my Ellenor the anguish which swells my heart; and if thy justice prohibit more, let me at least prove (however late the date) a friend to her I deceived, a parent to the offspring of our love!"
He bowed his head on his knee, and for some minutes continued in mental supplication; till a sigh, responsive tothat which burst from his own bosom, aroused him, and, on raising his head, he beheld his nephew within a few paces of the grave.
"The same reason, my dear uncle," said Frederick, advancing, "I find, has separately brought us to this spot, that of taking a last farewell of the ashes of our worthy young friend, before we bid adieu to this part of England."
"Such was my intention," answered the Captain, "though remembrance at the moment has hurried me into greater weakness."
"Regret it not," said Frederick, affectionately taking his hand. "SirHenry was deserving of the tear you have shed!—Peace to his spirit!—Nor need we doubt it: the God to whom he is gone, will condemn or acquit us according to the rectitude of our hearts, not the frailties of our words or actions."
"That reflection may conduce more toward restoring peace to my bosom," said the Captain, "than all the sophisms of philosophy!
"But come, Frederick, you have witnessed my weakness, let me retire from this spot, or I may relapse."
He took the proffered arm of Frederick, and, giving a last look at the grave,dejectedly retraced his steps from the church-yard.
A few days after, he received his expected orders to sail for Weymouth, previously to his convoying a fleet of Indiamen to the coast of China.
A sigh swelled his bosom as he passed the cliffs of Brighthelmstone, and beheld the spot where he had once resided with his Ellenor, now lost to him, he feared, for ever. Remembrance, with keener powers, recalled her perfections; the sweetness of her manners, her chaste affection; each look, each tender endearment, dwelt on his memory, and was cherished in his heart as all that remained to him of her whom he loved.The idea of Mrs. Howard involuntarily obtruded—
"Weak man!" he softly sighed, "ever to listen to the futile reasonings of resentment! Had I not yielded to thee, Ellenor might honourably have been mine; her arms my haven, her smiles the reward of my toils and anxieties! But now—no welcome ever greets my arrival to my native shore, no offspring bless my return; Ellenor and her son are lost to me; and he who only could have restored them, has resigned his being to the God who gave it!"
Frederick, with concern, observed the increasing melancholy of his uncle,and his anxiety on that account was considerably augmented by the arrival of Mrs. Howard! That lady, whose hatred to the Captain increased with her years, no sooner gained intelligence of his being at Weymouth, than she hastened there, well knowing her presence was a far greater punishment to him than any the law could have inflicted; and as such, it proved more gratifying to her revenge than any it could afford! The Captain bore her wayward humour with apparent composure; yet it preyed on his heart, and, by forcing a comparison with the happy period he had passed with Ellenor, rendered each moment as secretly unhappy as the rancour of his wife could wish.
From this disagreeable situation he was relieved by a visit from Mr. Talton, who, on beholding Mrs. Howard, no longer wondered at the measures his friend had formerly pursued.
"Surely, Howard," he cried, "fortune has selected thee from the rest of mankind, as an object on whom to display the worst of her capricious humours. My God! what a contrast to the gentle Ellenor! I can now, Howard, more sincerely feel for your loss of her, from that I am afraid I shall soon experience myself.
"I informed you, when at Yarmouth, I had left Lady Corbet with the St. Ledger family, who were soon relievedfrom their apprehensions on their son's account, by his return from an hymeneal expedition with a young lady, whom they, from a family pique, had objected to his marrying; their joy, however, at his return, obliterated every unfavourable sentiment, and they received the wife of his choice with every demonstration of affection.—Of his friend, Sir Henry, he could not give the least intelligence.
"On my arrival in London, I hastened to St. Ledger's; but I cannot attempt to describe the agonies of Lady Corbet at the intelligence I brought. It appeared, indeed, nearly to shake her reason, and make her regard the relater of her son's death, as the cause of it. She instantly retired to Wales,whither I likewise followed, but could not obtain the favour of an interview. She secluded herself from company, nor admitted the presence of any one but her own servant. Thus she continued nearly a fortnight, when a report was raised, that Sir Henry had been seen in the village; and the next morning I received a message from Corbet Hall, entreating my immediate presence.
"Pale—wild and breathless—the wretched mother, on my entrance, started from her seat—'My Henry, my son!' she exclaimed, wringing her hands, 'Oh, give me back the darling of my widowed heart! It is his mother's bosom only he has wrung with anguish; he never injured thee! Why then say he is dead,why tear him from my sight? Dead!' she repeated, with a scream. 'Oh no; it was but last night he blessed my sight. Even now his accents hang on my ear, as he told me that he lived!'
"Thus she raved—and it was a considerable time before I could soothe her to any degree of composure. When I had in some measure succeeded, I dispatched an attendant to the village, to inquire into the particulars of this strange story, and, if he could possibly discover those who were said to have seen Sir Henry, to bring them to the Hall. He soon returned with an old man, who affirmed he had seen Sir Henry, or his spectre, pass down the church hill the preceding evening; thatalthough frightened, as Sir Henry was said to be dead, he had retained resolution to follow him till he arrived at the village; but what became of him then, he could not say, as he suddenly lost sight of him.
"This account was delivered with such hesitation, I should have condemned the whole as the effect of intoxication, had not the wretched mother again declared she had seen her son! The repetition recalled her frenzy, and for some time baffled my endeavours to calm her perturbation, by assurances, if her son in reality lived, he must soon be discovered, in which case I would use every endeavour to restore him to her.
"Lady Corbet has recovered from her derangement, though I do not think she ever will from the shock occasioned by the loss of her son. She is now at Bath for the benefit of the waters: but as my presence appears to recall the fate of Sir Henry more forcibly to her mind, I have determined to absent myself till time shall have mitigated her sorrow. I cannot, however, experience ease in my present state, and must therefore seek it in a change of objects. What say you, Howard, to an excursion for a few weeks? Fortune, perhaps, may grant us intelligence of your Ellenor."
As his presence was not essentially necessary on board, the Captain readilyacceded to the proposal, and a few days after they set out for Caermarthen, accompanied by Frederick.
Fortune, however, favoured not their hopes; and, after three weeks spent in fruitless inquiries, they once more directed their course toward Dorsetshire.
Already had they reached a village near Llandaff, where they proposed to pass the night, when the fineness of the evening tempted them to enjoy the beauties they beheld in an extensive landscape. In passing along a bank from which the ancient walls of the church-yard rose, a groan, replete with anguish, assailed their ears. The heart of Frederick ever felt for the distresses of his fellow-creatures, and, on directing his eye to the spot whence the soundproceeded, a scene presented itself, which awakened every sentiment of pity.
A man, whose maimed condition implied the service he had rendered his country, was bending over a grave recently made; his hat was off, and the sun shed his last beams on a face that showed the wreck of every manly beauty, whilst his hair, gently waving in the evening breeze, shaded, and added a softness to the settled grief impressed on his countenance. A lovely girl lay at his feet, embracing the senseless turf, then raising herself, wrung her hands, and, clasping that of her companion sank on the sod in a state of insensibility!
"Ellen, Ellen, my child!" exclaimed the mourner. Frederick could refrain no longer, but, rushing through the gateway, raised the senseless Ellen in his arms. Life soon returned, when the Captain (who, with Mr. Talton, had followed Frederick) took the hand of the unhappy man; the softened accent of commiseration hung on his lips, but, the mourner murmuring an entreaty to be spared, withdrew his hand from the friendly grasp, and, taking the weeping girl by the arm, slowly directed his steps from the compassionate intruders.
His sorrow was sacred—the Captain felt it; but Frederick, whose attention was fixed on Ellen, perceiving her scarcely able to support herself,again hastened to her assistance, and the Captain waving his hand for his servant to attend him, returned with Mr. Talton to the inn.
The scene they had witnessed was too impressive to be erased from their minds; they communicated it to their host, who said—"Ah, your Honour, it was Lieutenant Booyers. Poor gentleman—he is the pity of all who know him, though I knew him when the sun rose not on a happier man: but that time is passed."
"And pray, my worthy friend," said the Captain, "to what misfortune does he owe this unhappy change?"
"'Tis a mournful tale, your Honours," answered the compassionate Jarvis, "never, I believe, did any man experience more sorrow and misfortune than he has."
"If my curiosity be not impertinent," said the Captain, "I would thank you for a few particulars respecting him. I remember a Francis Booyers, who some years since served, at the time I did, on board the Agamemnon; and what I have beheld I acknowledge has interested me. You appear to have known him long."
"From his birth, Sir: and, I believe, there are few circumstances of his life with which I am unacquainted.
"I was, Sir, in my youth a soldier, and served under the father of the gentleman you this evening beheld: as brave a man as ever fought beneath the British standard, and as well beloved by his whole regiment. During our campaign, I had the good fortune several times to gain his notice, and in the last engagement where I fought, had the happiness to save his life! It was by that, indeed, I was disabled; for I had my knee broken, and received a musket shot in my side; but that I did not regret, for, wounded as I was, there was not a man left of the regiment but envied me an action I shall ever regard as my greatest glory: Aye, your Honours, or who would not have changed situations with me, could he have said, hehad been the means of preserving the gallant Colonel Booyers! I was attended with as much tenderness as our harassed situation would admit of: the Colonel himself visited me, and when I recovered, not only procured me a pension, but took me as an attendant on his person.
"Soon after, we returned to England, where the Colonel involved himself in ruin, by marrying the daughter of a poor clergyman. For his father, Lord Booyers, was no sooner informed of what he had done, than he forbade him his sight, and passed from one act of unkindness to another, till at last he disinherited him! The Colonel, at first, sought a reconciliation by means of theircommon friends; but, finding it of no effect, resigned all thoughts of the fortune he had expected. His lady was too amiable to let him regret the step he had taken, and, in her affection, he found a sufficient recompense for the loss of his father's.
"In the course of five years she made him the father of three lovely children, and, during that time, their happiness never received the least interruption: but our regiment was then again ordered abroad; and leaving his family in this village, under the protection of Sir James and Lady Elvyn, the Colonel bade adieu to Wales, and beneath the walls of Carthagena found a soldier's grave!
"Ah, Sir! five-and-thirty years have not worn away the remembrance of that day. Still fresh in my memory is the moment I saw him borne in the arms of the soldiers from the field. Many times had I faced death, regardless of the carnage which surrounded me—but the sight of my noble master's corpse made me a coward! The shout of victory, which had been wont to rouse me to an enthusiastic madness of joy, ceased to vibrate on my heart; and, though a soldier, I cursed the ravages of war!
"At such a time, but little ceremony can be used:—a shell was hastily prepared, into which he was laid, and the following evening carried on the shoulders of his men to the grave they hadpreviously prepared. I followed—a real mourner! The half-suppressed groans of my comrades were answered by my own, and each stroke on the drum sank deeper in my heart. I however marched to the grave: but when I heard the earth rattle on the coffin of him, whom the day before I had beheld in the pride of health; surrounded with honour; whose words the oldest officers listened to with respect, and whose presence could animate and lead his men to the greatest dangers, then bereft of life, and hurried to the dust—to think of his wife—his children!—My heart already swelled with anguish to the utmost, could bear no more—I threw myself in the half-filled grave—in bitter terms lamented his untimely fate, and franticly accusedthe hand of Providence, that had not shielded him from the stroke of death! In vain my fellow-soldiers endeavoured to recall me to reason, to arouse me to a sense of apprehended danger from the scouts of the enemy: I was insensible to all but the remembrance of my master! At last they tore me from the sacred spot, and hurried me back to the battery, where I was suffered unmolested to indulge in my grief.
"Some days after, the General sent for me; he praised my honest affection, as he termed it, for my deceased master, and would have received me into his own service; but, finding me averse to the proposal, consented to my bearing the intelligence of the Colonel's deathto my Lady. The property belonging to my master was therefore entrusted to my care, and I once more returned to Wales; when I found an account of his death had reached his wife by means of the public papers. She bore her loss with that meek resignation which marked her character, and, being then destitute of other support than her pension, determined, for the sake of her children, to humble herself before their stern grand-sire, and entreat his pity and protection. But his heart was too obdurate to yield to the orphan's or widow's tears; and that forgiveness he had refused to his own child, he vowed never to extend to hers.
"She then applied to his sons, mylate master's brothers, the eldest of whom had a very large fortune, which he inherited from a relation: but they, like the old gentleman, were deaf to her claim of relief or protection; their pride of blood, indeed, would not let them stoop to acknowledge the poor descendants of an obscure country clergyman.
"My Lady returned to Sir James, who, on being informed of her unsuccessful application, said—'It is not more, Mrs. Booyers, than I expected from the well-known character of his Lordship and his sons: but let not this disappointment of your wishes rather than your hopes depress you. In Lady Elvyn, you have a sincere and affectionatefriend: your hearts are congenial: stay then with her, and let her attentions and commiseration soothe the sorrows of your widowhood: as for your children—I will supply the place of the father they have lost.'—And truly did Sir James keep his word. My Lady remained at the Hall till her death, which happened about two years after; when she and her little girl both died of the small-pox.
"Till then I had been retained in the family as her servant: but, a few days after the funeral, Sir James sent for me into his study—'I know your worth, Jarvis,' he said, 'and respect the fidelity and attachment you have ever evinced for my unfortunate friend and his wife;and, as I believe you wish still to be near their children, I now offer you the place of butler; in which I doubt not you will acquit yourself as much to my satisfaction, as in your preceding service you did to your late master and his widow.'
"I joyfully accepted the offer, and as butler passed the remainder of my servitude.
"As for the sons of his friend, Sir James reared and educated them at his own expense, and indeed ever loved them as though they had been his own: himself had only three daughters, the loveliest girls, I think, that ever I beheld; but, alas! beauty could not secure their happiness!
"About three years after the decease of Mrs. Booyers, Lady Elvyn died: the affection of Sir James, however, scarcely allowed them to be conscious of the loss; his wife, he would say, still existed in her offspring, and for their sake he never would wed another.
"Well, Sir; early in life, Miss Mary and Hannah, the two elder, showed an attachment to the young gentlemen, and Sir James declared their want of an adequate fortune should never be a hindrance to their union with his children. For the eldest he obtained a commission in the army; the youngest had long been at sea; and, as my master's interest was great, the fairest prospect of promotion was before them. An active war then called themabroad; and well I remember the morning they bade Sir James and the young ladies farewell. My master took a hand of each, as they were preparing to step into the carriage which was to convey them away, and, pressing them to his bosom, said—'Farewell, my dear boys; and remember, whether good or ill fortune attend your pursuits in life, here you will ever meet with friends, whose hearts, proudly conscious of your real worth, will prize you for that alone. Your country now demands your services: seek then the acquirement of honour, if not of fortune; and at your return, doubt not my ready assent to the union you so ardently wish.'
"It was two years after this, beforewe saw either of the young gentlemen again. At that time Mr. Francis returned from Barbadoes, and Captain Booyers arrived from Ireland, accompanied by a son of Sir Horace Corbet. My old master, who had drooped in their absence, revived at their return, and for six weeks we had nought but feasts and merriment. About that time Mr. Corbet disclosed a passion he entertained for Miss Eliza; and Sir James instantly wrote to Sir Horace, who a few days after likewise arrived. Ah! all then was truly a scene of happiness!—for Sir Horace immediately gave his consent to the match, and preparations were begun for the three marriages. But, alas! Sir, nothing in this me is certain; for, in the midst of our joy, my goodold master was seized with an apoplectic fit, and a few hours after expired!
"Sir Horace undertook the care of the funeral, and to settle the affairs of Sir James; but, on searching his papers, no will could be found! The whole of my master's property, therefore, went, with the title, to a distant relation; a proud sordid man, who came the day after the funeral, and, without the least feeling or ceremony, told my young ladies to provide themselves another habitation; and Sir Horace, who had pretended the greatest friendship and affection, instantly changed, and peremptorily told his son, he must cease his addresses to Miss Eliza. This, Mr. Corbet refused, and declared his resolutionto espouse her, whatever consequence might ensue: but Sir Horace hurried him away to his seat in Caermarthen; nor was this all, for about a week after, Miss Eliza received a letter, as they supposed, from Mr. Corbet, entreating her to meet him at a place appointed; and my young lady, wholly unsuspicious of treachery, went without attendants (for indeed all the servants but one female had been dismissed)—and from that time, Sir, has never been heard of!"
"Not heard off!" repeated the Captain and Mr. Talton, as with one voice.
"No, your Honours," reiterated the landlord, with a deep sigh—"has never been heard of! My young master and hisbrother used every means to discover what was become of her; but, though they entertained not the least doubt it was Sir Horace who had trepanned her, yet, as they could not bring any proof, no redress could be obtained.
"My young ladies, being now deprived of fortune, insisted that all thoughts of marriage should be relinquished till the Captain and his brother could acquire a competence more adequate to the expenses of a family; and, finding all endeavours to alter their resolution ineffectual, my young masters at last yielded an unwilling assent; the Captain returned to his regiment in Ireland, and Mr. Francis set sail for somewhere quite the other side of the globe.
"About a year and a half after his departure, Captain Booyers was promoted to the rank of Major; when Miss Mary yielded to his solicitations, and they were married. But her happiness was of short duration: she died in less than a twelvemonth, in giving birth to a daughter!
"From that time the Major dragged on a wretched existence, till his regiment was ordered abroad, where, like his father, he lost his life in the field; leaving the little orphan Ellen to the protection of his brother and Miss Hannah.
"The Lieutenant went again to sea, in hopes of attaining a higher rank, oramassing a little fortune; without which, reason forbade his marrying to involve the woman he loved in greater difficulties: and the marriage was still and still deferred, in hopes fortune would prove more favourable; till the ship he served in was put out of commission; and, after having been many times wounded, and lost an arm, he is now returned, with no other support or reward than half-pay! Poor Miss Hannah had been in a decline for a long time; her heart, I know, Sir, was broken: she lived just to see him, and take a last farewell—and that was all!"
The honest innkeeper wiped a tear from his cheek as he concluded, and a pause of some moments ensued, when the Captain, addressing Mr. Talton, said—"What a character, Talton, is that of Sir Horace! My own misfortunes sink in the comparison with these unhappy people's: and I think you will allow, even Sir Henry is entitled to a portion of your pity."
"He deserves it, indeed, Sir," said Jarvis. "Soon after I settled in this inn, he stopped here on his way to my ladies; and I declare I scarcely knew him, he looked so pale and unhappy. When I told him Miss Mary was married, he started from his seat in an agony, and, wringing my hand, said, 'Yes, Jarvis, and I am married! I am married,' he repeated, 'and to one—.' He struck his forehead—walked about in great agitation, and at last, throwing himself into a chair, covered his face, and sighed to that degree, my heart ached to hear him. Poor gentleman! I never saw him after that day. Had his father possessed a heart like my old master's, they might all have been happy: but many a dark deed hasSir Horace to answer for, beside those I have related: there were his wife and daughter disappeared in a very strange manner."
At this moment Frederick entered. Jarvis, being summoned to another part of the house, made his humble bow, and left the room; and the Captain, addressing his nephew, asked if he had accompanied the Lieutenant and Miss Booyers to their habitation?
"I did, my dear Sir," answered Frederick; "and have beheld a scene equally distressing, I think, as the one you witnessed in the church-yard. I supported the lovely Ellen to her residence, and would then have taken myleave, but the Lieutenant, who I afterwards found was her uncle, entreated me to walk into the house. 'It is the abode of sorrow,' he added, 'but not of ingratitude; and never will Lieutenant Booyers turn the compassionate stranger from his gate.'
"I was easily prevailed on to enter, when the Lieutenant, opening the door of an inner room, presented to my view a lady and a youth in deep mourning. They did not perceive our entrance. The silent tear was trickling down the face of the youth; but his mother, for such she proved, wrung her hands, and, in a voice broken by sobs, exclaimed—'Oh, my Henry, to what distress has thy death reduced us!' She fell on theneck of her son, when the lovely Ellen hastening to her, with accents of the mildest pity, entreated she would be composed.
"'I could, Ellen,' answered the Lady, 'were I the only sufferer; but, alas! a prison awaits us; and my child—my Edward, what must then become of you?'
"'Fear not for me, my dear mother,' answered her son, with rising spirit. 'I will follow the steps of my brave father, and if I fall, I cannot die more nobly than in the cause of my country!' His voice, his manners, were all St. Ledger's.—By Heavens, I could have loved him as a brother!
"His mother pressed him to her bosom, but tears choked her utterance. The Lieutenant regarded her with a look of commiseration, which seemed, for the moment, to banish all thoughts of his own affliction. 'Yield not thus to despondency,' he cried, 'my worthy friend; the God whose power can calm the turbulence of the storm, and raise the sinking mariner, will never desert thee or thy offspring.'
"She answered but with her tears, when a beautiful girl, whose countenance, like the rest, bore marks of the deepest grief, entered, and in a voice, I thought, of alarm, entreated her assistance in an adjoining room.
"She instantly complied, and retired, followed by her son and the lovely Ellen.
"'Child of misfortune,' sighed the Lieutenant, 'may you one day experience happiness, proportionate to the sorrow you now endure.'
"Then, addressing me, he thanked me, in elegant terms, for the assistance I had afforded his niece: her name revived the anguish of his own breast, and, perceiving me interested by what I had beheld, he gave me the outlines of his life, a life marked, indeed, by misfortune! I thanked him for the confidence he had reposed in me, and, apologizing for the freedom of the offer,entreated to know if it were in my power, or that of my uncle, to render any assistance to the lady I had seen.
"The Lieutenant shook his head.—It was not, he said.—'Pecuniary distresses,' he continued, 'are but the secondary causes of her affliction. Early in life she lost a beloved husband, and for many years experienced the keenest unhappiness: at last Heaven sent a friend, who promised to redress the injuries she had suffered; but it was not to be: death has bereaved her of her protector; and for him it is she grieves, independently of the misery which awaits her.'
"Delicacy forbade my urging anyfarther, and, unwilling to intrude, I took a reluctant leave.—But, surely, my dear uncle, something may be done; theirs is not a common distress: they need a friend, and, had I the wealth of the universe—"
Frederick was interrupted by his uncle's servant, who rushed into the room with looks of the wildest delight, exclaiming—"She is found—she is found, your Honour! My Lady is now in the village!"
The Captain's countenance indicated displeasure. "Am I never to be free from the persecution of this woman?" he cried. "Order my horses; I will be gone immediately!"
"What, Sir!" said James, surprised and dejected: "not see my Lady, now you have found her?"
"Found her—found whom?" asked the Captain hastily.
"My honoured Lady, Sir; Madam Crawton, who lived at Brighthelmstone."
"My Ellenor here!" exclaimed the Captain, starting from his seat, every feature instantly illumined with joy.—"O God of Heaven! tell me where she is, this instant!"
"At the house, your Honour, where Mr. Frederick went with the gentleman and lady: I saw Madam Crawton asshe came out of the parlour. I could not at the moment be certain it was her; but, willing to satisfy myself, I returned as soon as my young master reached the inn, and saw Mrs. Susan putting some parcels into a carriage. I remembered Mrs. Susan perfectly well; and at that moment my Lady came to the door. I was then convinced, and hastened back to acquaint your Honour."
The Captain could scarcely retain patience till James concluded; when, quick as lightning, he darted out of the room, followed by his nephew and Mr. Talton, and in a few minutes reached the residence of Lieutenant Booyers.
With a beating heart he raised theknocker; but all remained silent: no ready footstep answered to the summons. Again he knocked—when a peasant slowly advanced from the back of the garden, and, with a surly voice, demanded their business?
"Is Mrs. Crawton, or Lieutenant Booyers, at home?" asked the Captain.
"They are not," answered the man. "They have left the village."
"Left the village!" faltered the Captain.
"Yes," replied the man. "So, for once you have missed your aim."
"Missed indeed!" he cried. "But say—where are they gone?—Tell me, I conjure you."
"I will perish first," answered the man. "I know your business too well!"
"It is impossible," said the Captain, "you should know my business."
"Is not your name Talton!" interrupted the man.
"My name is," answered Mr. Talton. "But I cannot conceive what concern that has with the lady in question."
"A great deal," said the man. "So, once more I tell you, you have missedyour aim. My lady will not go to prison this time!"
"God forbid she should," exclaimed the Captain. "Yet tell me, I entreat you—."
But the peasant disregarded his entreaties, and, again repeating his observation, pursued his way to his own home. The disappointment was too severe for the Captain to support with his wonted firmness: he sunk on the shoulder of his nephew, whose astonishment could only be equalled by his concern, at finding the house so suddenly deserted: he begged his uncle (who would have followed the peasant) to return to the inn, declaring hewould himself go after him, and, either by money or threats, extort from him what he knew concerning Mrs. Crawton. The Captain complied, and, accompanied by Mr. Talton, retraced his steps to the inn, where he ordered the horses to be immediately saddled.
Jarvis (who had been informed by James, of what he knew concerning the Captain and the unfortunate Ellenor) observing the agitation of his guest, begged to know if any thing disagreeable had happened? Mr. Talton satisfied his curiosity, so far as saying, the Lieutenant and his friends, with whom they had particular business, had left the village, and at the same time askedif he knew any thing respecting Mrs. Crawton?
"There were a Mrs. Crawton and another lady, your Honour," answered Jarvis, "came here just before Miss Hannah died; but I cannot say I ever saw either of them. The young folks, (for one has a son, and the other a daughter) I have frequently seen. As for the Lieutenant leaving the village, the man must be mistaken, though he may be accompanying the ladies to their own habitation: however, if it be that which concerns your Honours, I will be bound to gain you intelligence to what part of the country they are gone, in the space of an hour."
The Captain thankfully accepted the offer, and impatiently waited the return of Frederick, who, with a dejected countenance, soon entered the room.
"I have not been able to succeed, my dear Sir," he cried; "the man is sworn to secrecy; and all I have been able to learn from him, is—they have fled, to avoid Mr. Talton and a jail."
"Avoid me!" exclaimed Mr. Talton, with surprise. "There is some mystery in this, which I cannot develope. From the time I first left England, till this evening, I have never heard of Mrs. Crawton; and to Lieutenant Booyers I am a perfect stranger."
"My Ellenor flying, and from fear of a prison!" cried the Captain. "To what distress may she not be reduced! Would that Jarvis was returned! the torments I endure are insupportable!"
Jarvis soon after re-entered—"I have gained but little information, your Honour," he began, "and that I believe not strictly true. The Lieutenant has certainly left the village. It was the appearance of you, Sir, (to Mr. Talton) it seems, which has driven them so abruptly from their home. They have taken the road to Chepstow; but whether they propose staying there, is not known."
"That information is sufficient,"said the Captain. "I will instantly follow them. Let me but recover Ellenor and my son—it is all I ask of Heaven!"
Jarvis, who was liberally rewarded for his trouble, procured them a guide, and they immediately directed their course toward Chepstow. But the Captain was doomed to experience disappointment; no such carriage or persons as he described had been seen; and he could only suppose Jarvis had been misinformed, or that they had pursued their way farther into the country. Indulging this last idea, he determined to continue the pursuit; but every effort proved ineffectual to discover the lost Ellenor; and, to add to his distress,he received an express to return on board, the fleet being ready to sail.
Reluctantly he obeyed, and, on reaching Weymouth, was met by Mrs. Howard, who with increasing malignancy endeavoured to revenge herself for the temporary respite he had enjoyed. Mr. Talton accompanied the Captain on board, where, promising to use every endeavour during his absence from England to discover Ellenor, he bade him adieu, and, returning on shore, proceeded to Bath, to renew his addresses to Lady Corbet.
No particular occurrence marked the voyage: the name of St. Ledger was still mentioned with regret by the crew, anddwelt on with a painful delight by Frederick and his uncle; who passed his hours in painful retrospects, and conjectures for the present state of his Ellenor, enlivened only by the praises the friendly Frederick bestowed on the person and interesting manners of his son, so greatly resembling those of the deceased Sir Henry.
More than twelve months had elapsed since the death of Sir Henry, when the fleet returned to St. Helena. The pleasure experienced by his officers and crew, on attaining this favourite spot, extended itself to the bosom of the Captain: the mind of Harland too yielded to its influence; the stern contraction of his brow gave place to the smile of satisfaction, and, with a heart unwontedly attuned to cheerfulness, he accompanied the Captain and Frederick to the Governor's, where a large partywere assembled, not only of the principal inhabitants, but several officers and passengers belonging to some French vessels bound for Pondicherry, and which had arrived there the preceding day.
Amongst the passengers, the Marchioness de Valois, her daughters, and a Mademoiselle de St. Ursule, claimed pre-eminence; the beauty of the latter, indeed, gained universal admiration, nor could the bosom of Harland long resist the influence of a softer passion. The Governor's nephew likewise yielded an unresisting captive to charms unequalled in the Eastern clime; and, uncontrolled by any authority but that of an uncle, whose partiality ever extenuated his faults, and exaggerated the few amiablequalities he possessed to the height of human perfection, he looked on success as certain wherever he chose to prefer his suit.
Harland observed the freedom of his addresses with an eye of jealousy, heightened by the diffidence he for the first time experienced of himself. Humbled, yet indignant, he returned on board, and hastened to his cabin; whence, in the morning, he was roused by the information, that they were to pass the day with the Marchioness, with whom the Captain had been acquainted in England.
Impetuous in every pursuit, this intelligence in an instant dissipated every mortifying reflection, and he impatientlywaited for the hour which would again present the lovely Louise to his sight.
The sentiments with which she had inspired him, he attempted not to conceal; his conduct through the day sufficiently evinced them; whilst the blushing sweetness with which she permitted his assiduities, and the mildness of her manners, so different from the generality of the French, but increased the passion he had imbibed.
Though convinced she regarded the Governor's nephew with indifference, he became still more dissatisfied with that gentleman's behaviour toward her, which he found would oblige him to a declaration to the Marchioness soonerthan he intended; as he wished to have been previously certified of Louise's sentiments respecting himself, and to learn from her an account of her family and connexions, with which he was as yet unacquainted. He could not, however, in idea yield to the pretensions of another, and accordingly, a few days after, took the opportunity of accompanying the Captain to the Marchioness, and, with all the energy of an unfeigned passion, declared his admiration of Louise, and entreated her permission to his addresses.
The Marchioness, imagining the declaration to proceed from a prepossession as easily eradicated as raised, answered—"That Louise is deserving of your highest admiration, I acknowledge;but her station in life is beneath what you may with justice aspire to. She is an orphan—without a name; brought up by charity, and received into my family, at the request of my daughters, as a companion: and I think, young gentleman, you must acknowledge I should ill deserve the name of patroness, if I permitted an acquaintance a few weeks must unavoidably dissolve.—As a friend of Captain Howard, and a gentleman, I shall ever be happy to see you in the circle of my acquaintance, but never as the lover of Louise.
"It is now nineteen years, Captain," continued the Marchioness, "since Louise was found at the gate of the Convent of St. Ursule: the picture, as we suppose,of her mother, was tied round her neck with a paper, on which was written the word—"Louisa!" The Abbess caused a search to be made after the parents; but, not being able to discover them, received and reared the infant. My daughters were educated at St. Ursule's, and attached to Louise from her childhood; at their request, when she was about sixteen, the Abbess resigned her to my protection."
Ill could the haughty soul of Harland brook this refusal of the Marchioness, which was beginning to raise a sentiment of indignation in his breast against that lady, when the entrance of Louise obliterated every idea but of her; each moment presented new attractions to hisfascinated senses; and he determined to espouse her privately, and leave the issue to Providence, rather than forego his addresses; as love and pride whispered—her birth must be reputable, if not noble!
The day succeeding this, he accompanied the Captain and Frederick to afêteat the Governor's, where the Marchioness and her family were likewise present: but the pleasure Louise's presence would have created, was destroyed by the marked attentions of young Ferrand, the Governor's nephew; and, unable to endure the seeming satisfaction, or even the presence of his rival, which prevented his conversing freely with Louise, he entreated to speak withher in private, and, without waiting for an answer, conducted her into an adjoining room. He there acquainted her with his application to the Marchioness; her rejection of his suit; and vehemently urged her to a private marriage.
Louise was concerned at the Marchioness's refusal, but declared she never would consent to any engagement without her approbation; and gently chid Harland for the rudeness of his behaviour to Ferrand. Harland could not conceal his chagrin at this second rejection, and accused Louise of an unjust preference to his rival; against whom he vowed the severest vengeance.
The East-Indian, who had equallyobserved the assiduities of Harland, and equally felt the influence of jealousy, had followed them unperceived, and heard the whole of their conversation. He now sprung from his concealment, and would have commenced hostilities on the spot, had not the terrified Louise entreated Harland to reconduct her to the company. Though hurried nearly to madness by the violence of passion, the voice of Louise recalled him to reason; or rather her request, trivial as it was, implied, he thought, a preference to him over his rival, which, by gratifying his wishes, conduced to calm the tumult raised in his bosom.
Louise, though she had given a denial to his suit, could not behave to himwith indifference: on the contrary, she endeavoured, by many little attentions, to soften her rejection, and which Harland was too happy at the moment in receiving, to bestow a thought on the motive whence they arose.
Amidst the festivity which reigned, young Ferrand was the only one really unconscious of pleasure. Ungovernable in his passions, he could as little brook an appearance of slight, as Harland could refusal. A sentiment of respect and awe he entertained for his uncle, withheld him from disturbing the mirth of the evening by an open quarrel with the Lieutenant; he therefore determined on a surer revenge than he was certain of being able to inflict with his own hand.
It was late when the company separated, and Harland, with the Captain and Frederick, were returning to the Bay, when they were attacked by four men, who in a moment struck the Captain to the ground. Harland, whose courage equalled his passions, immediately drew, as did Frederick, and endeavoured to guard the Captain, against whose life the ruffians seemed principally to direct their attention. A sharp conflict ensued, in which their assailants had evidently the superiority, and they were nearly overpowered, when a man, wrapped in a large roquelaure, hastily approached. Frederick apprehended an associate of the ruffians, but was agreeably undeceived by one of them being instantly levelled with the dust by the contents ofa pistol! The stranger then flew to his side, and, seizing the Captain's sword, obliged the assassins in their turn to act on the defensive.
Alarmed by the report of the pistol, the boat's crew, who were waiting for the Captain, followed the direction of the sound, and arrived at the moment the ruffians, unable to perpetrate their design, fled; leaving their companion behind them, severely wounded.
Frederick instantly assisted to raise his uncle; and the sailors, mistaking the stranger for one of the assassins, as instantly secured him, and, finding the fort alarmed, took the Captain in their arms and returned to the boat.
When they arrived on board, proper applications were used to restore the Captain, who had been rendered senseless by the blow; and who, after assuring his nephew he was not materially hurt, inquired after the men who had assaulted them.
Frederick, whose anxiety for his uncle had till that moment precluded every other idea, immediately recalled to mind the generous stranger; and, with the warmest praises on his bravery, related the service he had rendered them. The glow of impatient gratitude for a moment warmed the cheek of the Captain, as he looked round for this unknown friend: but not discovering him, he eagerly asked where he was?—and, to hisgreat surprise, was informed the men had confined him till his pleasure respecting him should be known.
"Merciful Heaven!" he ejaculated. "What a return!—Frederick—"
Frederick flew out of the cabin, and in a short time re-entered, conducting the stranger, who held his cloak to his face, as wishing to be concealed.
The Captain rose, supported by Harland, and, extending his hand, said—"I know not, Sir, how to offer an apology for the injurious treatment you have received, from the honest but mistaken zeal of my men, but, misled by appearance, they could not distinguish whether youwere friend or foe. To the aid you so generously afforded, I am undoubtedly indebted for the preservation of my life, for which I return my most sincere thanks. Will you now inform me to whom I am thus obliged, that I may likewise by my actions prove my gratitude."
The stranger appeared agitated, clasped his hands, then, hastily advancing to the Captain, sunk at his feet, and, throwing off the roquelaure, discovered to his astonished senses—Sir Henry Corbet!
With a countenance pale as though oppressed by death, the Captain regarded him, whilst Sir Henry, seizing his hand, pressed it to his breast, andexclaimed—"Repay the obligation, then, by restoring me to that place in your friendship I once possessed, and granting that protection I still must entreat!"
The Captain endeavoured to raise and answer him, but, unable to speak, gave a faint groan, and sunk into the arms of Frederick; who, confounded and amazed at the apparition, could scarcely credit the evidence of his senses, or believe the person of his friend to be real.
Sir Henry, equally alarmed at the state of the Captain, assisted to convey him to his cabin; and, when recovered, joined his entreaties to the surgeon's, that he would seek the repose he so much required. The Captain unwillinglyyielded to their solicitations; as he wished to have had an immediate explanation respecting the re-appearance of one whom he had so long thought dead; but, Sir Henry promising to satisfy his curiosity on the morrow, retired—having been previously assured that his request for protection should not a second time be refused.
Accordingly, in the morning, he attended with Frederick; and the Captain, as soon as he beheld him, gave him his hand, saying with a smile—"I find, Sir Henry, I must be doubly your debtor: your assistance last night preserved my life and now to you I must look for those blessings which can alone render life desirable. To you, myEllenor, in her letter, refers me for intelligence: tell me then what fate she has hitherto experienced; for much I fear fortune may have in every respect proved unfavourable."