"The next day we returned to the Chateau, at which place the Marchioness proposed remaining, till the vessel preparing to take the family, should be ready to sail. A month of tranquillity ensued, when we were surprised by a visit from the Count. The obstacles he had met with, it appeared, so far from abating, had added to his desire of obtaining me; but, convinced of the impracticability of either seducing, or forcing me from the protection of the Marchioness, and being, he said, unable to exist without me, he again demanded my hand in marriage. The Marchioness would have urged my accedence to an establishment so brilliant; but, on declaring my utter dislike to him, she yielded, and again gave him a positive refusal.
"The Count, mortified and enraged at my repeated rejections, vowed never to quit the pursuit, till he had, either by honourable or other means, subdued my obduracy. Secure, however, in the friendship of the Marchioness, I equally disregarded his entreaties and threats; and the vessel appointed for us, being fully prepared, and the fleet ready to sail, we bade adieu to France; and I was thus happily freed from the importunities of a troublesome lover."
"Thanks, my dear Louise," said Harland, "for your interesting tale; which, though unmarked with any extraordinary occurrences, proves you to have been truly the child of Providence."
"The child of Providence indeed," repeated Sir Henry, "nor can I sufficiently admire the wisdom of that Power, who directs the most trivial of our actions. Little did I think, when I hastened to your rescue, it was to that of the sister, of whom I was then in search. Your fainting, and the confusion arising from the unlucky blow I gave the Count, prevented me from observing you; and on that nobleman's partial recovery, I was glad to elude the vigilance of his servants, and seek the shelter the luxurious foliage of the thicket afforded."
"And was it you, my brother," said Louise, in a voice of grateful mildness, "who then preserved me from the Count? But what accident conducted you to so solitary a spot? and why in a garb so unsuitable to your station and character?"
"Mrs. Harland has anticipated the question, I was in part going to ask Sir Henry," said the Captain; "and as you have raised my curiosity, if you will acquaint us with the particulars of your peregrination in France, which you mentioned when at St. Helena, it will add to the pleasure I have received in hearing the relation of your sister?"
Sir Henry readily complied—"although I have little to recite," he said, "except an action I must ever remember with regret, as a weakness for which one so long inured to sorrow as myself, can offer no excuse."
"When at St. Helena, I believe I informed you I went from Cardigan to Havre-de-Grace, as a common sailor; I there determined to seek a sister, endeared to me by misfortune as well as the ties of blood; and accordingly directed my steps to Rennes; my whole wealth consisting in the clothes I wore, which were those I obtained by exchange from a lad near Harwich, and the wages arising from my voyage. This little stock, however, was insufficient to bear my expenses, and the last day I travelled without money or food; but hope impelled me forward, and on my arrival at Rennes, I inquired my way to the Convent of St. Ursule. My appearance there was too mean to gain me access to the Abbess, or even procure me a civil answer to the question I asked, whether Louise were living, and residing in the Convent? The portress disclaimed all knowledge of the circumstance—or the child I alluded to, and finally closed the grate to my face.
"Thus repulsed, I slowly turned from the gate, and directed my steps to an humbleauberge, where I threw myself on a bench in the yard, in a state of mind painfully depressed. The hope I had indulged to a most sanguine degree of finding Louise, and being acknowledged by her as a brother, and which had cheered me on my journey, and soothed me in my moments of sadness, was thus completely destroyed; nor had I then the least clue to guide me to her.
"Was my sister dead? I asked myself—or had I been deceived?
"The question led to events long since past; busy memory, in vivid colours, brought to view each circumstance which had progressively involved me in a state of wretchedness, and made me feel with maddening exaggeration a fate I thought unmerited. I was indeed driven by a power I could not oppose, from kindred, friends, and fortune—a wanderer on a foreign shore, without even the means of procuring a single meal to satisfy the wants of nature.—The only prospect before me, was beggary!
"The idea was too much—my passions, long restrained, with a violence not to be controlled, o'erburst the bounds of reason; franticly I called for death; cursed the hour that gave me to the arms of my parents; and bade the earth open and bury me for ever in her bosom!
"What inconsistencies I was guilty of, I cannot say; I was unconscious of observation—of all around me!—and such ascendancy did my madness at last attain, that I thought I heard the voice of my father in the breeze, chiding me for living in a world, where I had lost every prospect of happiness.
"The conceit led to self-destruction; and suicide instantly presented itself to my fevered imagination, as affording the oblivion I coveted. Wildly my eye glanced to every object, in search of some instrument wherewith to perpetrate my design; but none presented itself. A well, however, met my view, and, starting from my seat, I ran with an intention of precipitating myself into it. Already had I reached the brink, when my arm was arrested, with a violence, which not only prevented my design, but forced me some paces back from the place of destruction.
"The shock in some degree recalled my recollection, and, raising my eyes, I beheld an oldreligieux, to whose timely interposition I was indebted for preservation. The tear started to his eye, and his right hand trembled as he grasped my arm; he gently raised his other toward heaven, and regarded me with such a look, as struck me to the the heart; and reproved me more forcibly, than language could have done, for my temerity in daring to rush unsummoned into the presence of my Maker!
"The tempest of my mind ceased; but was succeeded by a horror and remorse, I cannot attempt to describe. I passively permitted the worthy Monk to conduct me to the seat I had quitted; where, placing himself beside me, he hesitatingly asked, what had induced me to attempt self-destruction?
"I would have offered an extenuation of my madness; but my words were incoherent. He stopped me—'Suicide, my son, can admit of no excuse!—Misfortune and sorrow attend us all, from the monarch to the lowest mendicant; but, were the burden ten times heavier than that inflicted, it is our duty to bear it! I saw you in the street; your appearance bespoke distress, and I followed, for the purpose of affording that relief, I thought you merited. The action I have witnessed here, young man,' he continued with severity, 'I need not comment on; your own conscience, I trust, will sufficiently speak its enormity.'
"I could not look up—I dared not meet his penetrating eye: and shame added an additional pang to sorrow.—He saw the struggle in my bosom, and pity regained her influence: his voice softened—'Forgive my harshness, youth; I ought perhaps rather to apply the balm of consolation to a mind diseased, than by reproaches add to its malady: but you appear faint, my child;—perhaps for want of sustenance?'—He anxiously arose, and beckoning the host, desired him to carry some wine and provisions into a private room; then again addressing me, proffered his assistance to conduct me into the house.
"A false pride at first made me recoil: but the benevolence which beamed in his eyes, as he gently drew my hand on his arm, checked the ungrateful sentiment.
"I attended him to a room, where the humble Jean officiously spread a table with the little dainties of the larder; but a significant glance from my entertainer telling him his presence could be dispensed with, he respectfully bowed and retired. The worthy Monk then pressed me to eat; filled a glass with wine, and placed it near my plate: but all was ineffectual; my mind, more exhausted than my body, required that support he vainly offered to my enfeebled frame. I would in gratitude have eaten, but nature refused her office. He looked grieved—'Your sorrows, my son, I believe, are deeper than I at first imagined. Your looks—your deportment, bespeak you acquainted with fairer scenes in life, as well as with misfortune. Tell me—am I mistaken?'
"'You are not, Father,' I replied, 'and the action you lately witnessed, may tell you those misfortunes are neither trivial nor common. I am indeed the child of misery!'
"'Alas! my son,' he returned with a sigh, 'we view the events of life through the glass of prejudice. When misfortunes oppress us, we look through the magnifying end, and think our own afflictions by far the most superior: and, by the same rule, we reverse the glass to the distresses of others, and see them in a lessened point of view: still judging the happiness or misery of the world by our own feelings. Yet, true it is, that which afflicts you, might by another be disregarded; and that which would bow another to the grave, you, perhaps, could support with fortitude! It is the hand of a Power, which cannot err, that dispenses our portion of good and evil to each according to his abilities of bearing. Take religion for your staff, my son, and integrity for your guide, and the misfortunes of the world combined, can never crush you!'
"'Ah! Father,' I cried, 'resignation is easy in theory, to those who have only to preach it. Sheltered yourself from misfortune, how can you judge of that, which drove me a fugitive from hope and happiness?'
"'I can judge,' said he solemnly; 'for I have experienced sorrow; and I preach—from my practice! Listen to my tale, young man, with attention, and from my misfortunes learn to bear your own without repining.—
"'Monsieur La Roche, my father, was in his youth clerk to a merchant at Nantes, and early in life married a woman in circumstances humble as his own. I was the only fruit of that marriage, my mother dying of a decline, a few months after my birth. My father, however, did not long remain in a state of widowhood; for the only daughter of his master, who had long entertained a partiality for him, inadvertently so far discovered her sentiments, that he was emboldened to offer secret addresses; and a private marriage soon after made him the presumptive heir to his master. The old gentleman, who certainly had expected a more suitable match for his daughter, was yet too doatingly fond of her, to refuse the forgiveness she entreated: and the respectful behaviour of my father to him, and his strict application to business, in a little time, not only reconciled him to her imprudent choice, but raised my father so high in his esteem, that he voluntarily took him into partnership.
"'By my mother-in-law, who had not any children, and this worthy man, I was ever treated with the greatest tenderness, but in less than five years, a malignant fever broke out at Nantes, and, amongst its numerous victims, carried the gentle Madeleine and her sire to the grave; leaving my father, for the second time, what the world called, an inconsolable widower. He found himself, however, master of a princely fortune; and, in less than twelve months, surprised the world, by a third marriage—and that with the femme-de-chambre of his late wife!
"'From that period I date the commencement of the sorrows and misfortunes which attended me, till my head was silvered by the hand of time!
"'Madame La Roche, my new mother-in-law, who far exceeded her predecessors in personal attractions, soon gained a complete ascendancy over my father: and as, in the course of three years, she presented him with as many children, she began to regard me with an eye of jealous hatred. This showed itself on a variety of occasions, and one day, on my father honouring me with his notice, a thing rather unusual, she peremptorily insisted on my being sent to a public academy. My father yielded, and I was thus banished from home—never to be recalled!
"'At first I rejoiced at being freed from the tyranny of Madame La Roche; but after passing three years, without once visiting the habitation of my father, I began to think my lot peculiarly hard; till the master informed me I was not to return till my education was completed. This reason satisfied me, and three years more elapsed, when I was surprised by a visit from Monsieur and Madame La Roche. My father beheld me without emotion, and, on his wife declaring that my uncouth appearance would disgrace the family, readily agreed to her proposal of binding me apprentice to some reputable tradesman. I timidly expressed my wish of being placed in his counting-house, but was refused by Madame with a frown; and after telling me I must remain at the academy till they had fixed on a trade suitable to my genius, they departed.
"'About three weeks after, a chaise was sent for me, in which I was conveyed to the house of a printer, in the suburbs of Nantes, where I was immediately settled as an apprentice for seven years.
"'There I endured every mortification, ill nature and arrogance could inflict; heightened by the comparison of my lot to those of my brothers, whom I frequently saw, with their mother, in all the pomp of dress and equipage!
"'Slowly passed the time in my imagination, till I had completed the term of my servitude: still had I indulged hopes that my father would receive me into his house, if not as a son, at least as an assistant; when I determined, by the most circumspect behaviour, to obliterate, if possible, the unfavourable sentiments he entertained of me. But vain were my hopes; my mother-in-law's influence overbalanced the weak claim I had to his regard. When I went to his house, he was not at home, the servant said, and I was refused admittance. I again went, and was rudely reprimanded by the menial for being troublesome. I then wrote to my father, urged my claim of nature, to his notice and protection, and appealed to his heart, if any part of my conduct had given just cause for the neglect with which I had been treated? I coveted not his wealth, I said, but to his affection I felt I had an equal claim with his other children.
"'This letter was answered by Madame La Roche. She coolly denied the justness of my claim, by reminding me I had never been regarded as one of the family: however, as she acknowledged I had some small demand on their notice, she remitted me a draft for two thousand livres; a sum sufficient, she said, to establish me respectably: and to my own diligence I must look for future supplies. My father added a postscript, to confirm the decree of his wife, and advised my proceeding to Paris, as a place where industry was most likely to be rewarded.
"'A tear of wounded sensibility forced its way down my cheek, at this final act and renunciation of my father: I, however, determined to show my obedience to his will, cruel as it was, and, accordingly, a few days after receiving my small fortune, set out for Paris, having been previously refused the liberty of writing to him.
"'On my arrival at Paris, I determined to engage as a journeyman to some master, till I should meet with a situation to my satisfaction; and not, by plunging into business without friends or connexions, with so small a principal, hazard what might terminate in my ruin.
"'With a printer in the Fauxbourg St. Germain, I engaged, and passed three years in that humble station, when I married an amiable woman, who declared herself willing to share the frowns or smiles of fortune with me; and for two years experienced a happiness interrupted only by the remembrance of my father.
"'A smiling infant crowned our love. Fortune, too, assumed a fairer aspect. My master retired from business; and, though it required a larger capital than I possessed, I ventured to take it, relying on my own application to clear the debt I incurred.
"'But, alas! weak man!—I read not the volume of my fate: I dreaded not the wretchedness which in that hour of fancied prosperity awaited me!
"'Cheerfully I paid my little fortune into the hands of my master, and gave him my bond for the residue of the debt. But scarcely had we been settled in our new habitation a week, when, in the night, I was roused from a peaceful slumber by the alarm of fire! I instantly awoke my wife, and, starting from the bed, ran to the staircase,—but, alas! it was in flames! I then hastened to the window, and called for assistance, but its situation was too obscure to gain me notice; and my voice was unheard amidst the noise and confusion which reigned in the street, where all were assiduous to assist and save an opulent family, whose house adjoined mine, and where the fire, I believe, originally began. In this distressing situation, we remained, nearly suffocated with smoke, till the flames began to appear through the floor of the room:—not another moment, I found, was to be lost:—I clasped my infant daughter to my bosom, and, springing on the frame of the window, bade my wife trust herself to my arms, and, by throwing ourselves into the street, either be saved or perish together! She approached—the height appalled her—she drew back—hesitated—the floor gave way, and she sunk to a grave—horrid as inevitable!
"'The flames raged around me with the maddest fury, and, unable to withstand their force, I gave a groan of anguish to the fate of my wretched wife, and threw myself from the window. I fell unnoticed: two of my ribs and my arm were broken, and my hapless infant killed on the spot: but oblivion drew her veil over my senses, and for some hours kindly saved me from the knowledge of my misery. I was at last discovered; and, as I was afterwards informed, carried to several houses in the neighbourhood, but no one had charity sufficient to receive me. I was therefore conveyed to an hospital, where proper means were used for my restoration; but the last shriek of my wife still vibrated in my ears: her last look, with all its horrors, still pierced my heart: the innocent pressure of my infant to my bosom—all combined to tear reason from her seat. My fractures were healed, and I was removed from the hospital to a madhouse.'
"The worthy Monk," said Sir Henry, "here paused, whilst a tear unbidden forced its way from his eye. I attempted not to speak: my faculties, indeed, were suspended by his tale; and I still regarded him with a look of silent attention, sufficiently expressive, I believe, of the commiseration and curiosity I felt, and which had, for the time, wholly banished my own afflictions from my mind.
"His voice soon regained its wonted tone, when he thus continued the relation of his misfortunes.
"'It was three years before my senses regained their usual tenour; when I was permitted to enter on the world to seek subsistence. The accidents I had met with, I thought might authorise an application to my father. I accordingly wrote; but he was dead, and his fortune wholly settled on my brothers and Madame La Roche! She condescended to inform me of these particulars, and testified her surprise at my application, after the liberal provision formerly bestowed on me, which, she said, if I had either squandered or lost, I must answer to myself, as she should by no means injure her fortune to re-establish mine.
"'I gave a tear to the memory of my father, which, however neglectful he had been of my welfare, I still held sacred. To my lot of poverty I submitted with feelings of mingled regret and resignation; and once more sought employment as a journeyman. But sorrow had robbed me of my vivacity; my mind had been deranged; some believed it so still; few cared to trust me; and fewer to employ, or pay me for my labour. At last, unable to bear the penury which threatened me, I left Paris: and, after unsuccessful applications for employ, in various places, I was received on moderate wages by a printer at St. Malo's. I there by degrees recovered my health and spirits, and served my master with such attention and diligence, that, at the end of five years, he agreed to admit me as a partner in his business, allowing me a small share of the profits, independently of my salary. Here then fortune once more began to smile, and for four years rewarded my assiduity with success.
"'At that time my master consented to take me into equal partnership; and I was on the point of marriage with a young lady of small fortune; when one evening, as I was returning home, I was accosted by a countrywoman with an infant, who earnestly entreated I would direct her the road to Rennes. I gave her the information she wanted, but observed it was too late for her to think of prosecuting her journey; and as she declared herself a stranger, offered to conduct her to a house of honest repute, where she might pass the night. She thanked me, and as she appeared much fatigued, I took the child in my arms and carried it. Some idle chat with the hostess and herself, when I had seen her accommodated to her satisfaction, detained me nearly an hour, when I returned home, little suspecting an action so trivial and innocent, would be the means of involving me again in trouble.
"'The next day, on visiting my intended bride, I was received with a reserve I could not account for; thinking, however, some occurrence, unconnected with me, might have occasioned a dissatisfaction as apparent as unusual, I concealed my observation of it; but, in the evening, on repeating my visit, her coldness had so far increased, that I could no longer refrain from asking an explanation: and was answered, by an accusation of an illicit connexion with the woman I had the preceding evening conducted to the auberge. My surprise at this unexpected charge, she construed into a confirmation of my guilt, and declared her resolution of instantly breaking off an acquaintance with a man, who had so wantonly deceived her. In vain I affirmed my innocence; related my accidental meeting with the woman, and appealed to her evidence for the truth of my assertion; but, with a look of reproachful triumph, as detecting my falsehood, she told me, the servant had seen me enter the auberge with my infant charge and its worthless mother; and on informing her, she herself went and questioned the woman concerning the nature of our acquaintance: and her answers, ambiguous as they were, were yet sufficient to condemn me. That she had at first declared herself a native of the place; then again, that she was a stranger, and unknown. That the child was hers—then, that she was only hired to take it from its mother.—Of its father, she would not give any account, but its likeness to me sufficiently proved that father to be myself! In vain I strove to reason—to rally her from an opinion so absurdly founded; she resented my justification, as an additional insult. Finding the foolish dispute likely to terminate too seriously, I at last insisted on the woman being sent for, and made to acknowledge to whom it was, the child belonged. Antoinette scornfully smiled at what she termed my artful subterfuge, as the woman, she said, had no doubt received her lesson. I could not conceal my vexation at this additional charge; but, however, sent for the peasant. She had left the town: I dispatched a person after her, on the road to Rennes: but her steps were not to be traced; and I remained stigmatised as an unprincipled debauchee, by the unjust suspicions of my mistress, and the tattling hostess.
"'Antoinette truly kept her word, in ceasing to admit of my addresses, and my master, to whom she was related, incensed at the breaking-off of the marriage, not only refused to fulfil his intentions in my favour, but dissolved our partnership, and dismissed me from his service!
"'At that time I entertained not the idea, but subsequent occurrences induce me to believe, that Antoinette was actuated by other motives than jealousy, for her conduct; as she soon after accepted the hand of a man, by far my junior, and in more affluent circumstances.
"'This, however, was but the commencement of my difficulties; for, whilst I was endeavouring to clear myself to my irritated master, a person inquired for me. On being admitted, he informed me, that Monsieur Orfévre, my former master in Paris, was dead; and that on examining his papers, a bond was found for two thousand livres, due from me, for the stock unfortunately consumed by fire. That his nephew, who succeeded to his property, understanding that I was in circumstances sufficiently affluent to discharge the obligation, had deputed him to receive the money.
"'The justness of the debt I attempted not to deny; yet, reflecting on the promise of the deceased, (which I declared), of expunging it, on account of my misfortune, I hesitated to pay the demand. The officer, for such he proved to be, coolly answered, if such had been the intentions of Monsieur Orfévre, he would undoubtedly have mentioned it in his will, or have destroyed the bond; and on my master saying I was capable of paying the debt, he immediately arrested me!
"'Thus compelled, I paid the money; which, by dint of the strictest frugality, I had accumulated, and found myself once more in the world, poor and friendless! I endeavoured to submit with patience to my lot; but injudiciously entered into business, without the means of pursuing it. This was regarded as an avowed opposition to my master, who highly resented the action; and as his interest and connexions were great, my exertions were rendered abortive. For two years I struggled for support—for bread; when my creditors finding me unable to satisfy their demands, completed my ruin by throwing me into prison.
"'At first the gloomy horrors of the place, the misery of its inmates, deeply affected my mind, and each hour the sigh of sorrow swelled my bosom; till religion opened to my soul that source of comfort which can never fail; my prison lost its horrors, peace shed her gentlest influence on my slumbers, and marked my days with serenity: my brow lost its contraction, and my heart expanded, and bowed before the wisdom of my God! Contentedly I passed the day, in such work as the charity of a few individuals afforded me; by which means, I not only acquired sufficient to procure me what comforts my situation would admit of, but likewise to assist those more helpless than myself.
"'Thus passed fourteen years of my existence, when an English gentleman, actuated by curiosity, came to the prison. He saw—conversed with me; and at last inquired on what account I was confined? I told him, and the years I had been immured. He regarded me, as I spoke, with a look of the gentlest pity: the half-formed answer hung on his lips, but turning from me, he hastily left the prison.—In less than an hour, an order came for my enlargement! Scarcely could I credit the gaoler's assertion, that I was at liberty; yet, though weaned from the world, the thoughts of once more becoming an active member in it, made the tide of life, which had been wont to flow calmly through its channels, rush with reanimated force, and each pulse to beat with redoubled vigour. I raised my heart in thankfulness to God—I blessed the generous Corbet, and on the doors of the prison being opened to me, hastened to the hotel where he was. I was instantly shown to the room where he was sitting, with his lady; but such were my emotions, I could not return the thanks my heart dictated: I attempted to speak—and burst into tears! My benefactor instantly arose, and conducted me to a seat, and after pressing me to partake of refreshments, requested to be informed by what circumstances I had incurred the debt, for which I had so long suffered confinement. I instantly complied, and gave him a concise relation of my life: when I recounted my meeting with the peasant woman, the emotions of my auditors were too apparent to escape observation, and the words, 'Poor Louise!' faintly murmured by Sir Henry, (for so was my benefactor called), induce me to believe they were the parents of that infant.
"'Fearful of intruding, when I had concluded, I arose to depart; and Sir Henry, presenting me a small packet, said—'Oblige me, Monsieur La Roche, by accepting this trifle; little should I evince myself a friend, by leaving you exposed to indigence, or the fate from which I so lately rescued you. From the misfortunes you have experienced in your native land, you perhaps would feel little repugnance in quitting it; and I should advise you to seek a situation in the Eastern or Western settlements, where fortune yet may make you amends for your former losses.
"'Oppressed as I was by his late beneficence, I for a moment hesitated to receive this additional proof of his friendship, but the glance of his eye, beaming with benevolence, more than his words, urged my acceptance. I readily promised to follow his advice, and in language scarcely coherent, was endeavouring to express my gratitude, when the master of the packet came to inform them all was prepared for their departure for England. Sir Henry instantly arose, and presenting his hand to his fair companion, bade me a cordial and a last adieu. I followed at a humble distance, willing to retain a last view of a man I thought an honour to human nature. I saw them embark, and watched the vessel till they retired from the deck, when I slowly retraced my way into town. On examining the contents of my packet, I found in it, to the amount of a thousand crowns; a sum so far exceeding my expectation, I at first nearly doubted its reality: the sight of Antoinette and her husband, however, convinced me my senses retained their perfect powers; and as their appearance recalled ideas far from pleasing, I determined to quit St. Malo's that very evening. The few necessaries I wanted, were soon procured, and I set out towards L'Orient, intending to embark in some vessel for Madagascar or Pondicherry.
"'As I drew near L'Orient, however, I experienced a wish to take a last farewell of the place where I first drew breath; and therefore directed my steps to Nantes. I there visited every place I remembered as pleasing to my childhood; and having passed some hours greatly to my satisfaction, went to an hotel, where I inquired after my brothers, and my father's widow. Madame La Roche, the host informed me, had been dead some years, and her eldest son, to whom she left the principal part of her property, lived long enough to squander it, with that left him by my father, and died in consequence of his debaucheries. Her second son, a man of the fairest character and honour, and who had been brought up to the mercantile business, was lost about two years preceding my inquiry, in returning from America. The youngest, who had succeeded to his property, was the only one left of her descendants; and he had been thrown from his horse a few days before, and was so severely hurt, that the most serious apprehensions were entertained for his life.
"'I could not, unmoved, hear this account of my only relation; in that hour of affliction, I longed to claim the privilege of a brother; to minister to his wants, to speak the words of comfort, and soothe the anguish of a sick bed.—I at last determined to write: my advances might, perhaps, be rejected with disdain; but I should nevertheless, I thought, feel a satisfaction from the consciousness of having performed a duty. I accordingly wrote: but, contrary to my expectation, in less than an hour, my brother's chariot drove to the hotel, and the servants with the utmost obsequiousness, requested my presence immediately, at the house of their master. I went—and found my brother, as I expected, confined to his bed; a smile of satisfaction enlivened his manly features at my approach; for my resemblance to my father convinced him I was not an impostor. He immediately ordered his servants to pay the same deference to me, as to himself; and at his request I related my past misfortunes, the reason which brought me to Nantes, and my future prospects.
"'He heard me with attention, but strenuously opposed my leaving the kingdom—'If I live, Hilaire,' he said, 'you shall share my fortune: if I die—none but yourself shall inherit it.'
"'As I saw he wished it, I readily promised to remain with him; and from that day my time and attention were employed to effect his restoration: but my efforts, and those of the faculty, were equally ineffectual; he died in my arms, resigned and serene, leaving me, as he had promised, the undivided heir of his possessions.
"'I felt the loss of my brother more severely than might have been expected from the little time he had been known to me; but the tie of nature, never before indulged, joined to the lively regard he evinced for me, made me regret him as the dearest of friends: and as he had left me wealth beyond my wishes, I relinquished my intention of quitting France, and determined to dedicate the residue of my days to the service of my God, and the assistance of my fellow-creatures. In the course of settling my affairs, I came to Rennes, and here meeting with a companion of my boyish days, who had become a Benedictine, I determined to enter into the same brotherhood; and as soon as I had fully withdrawn my money from business, after vainly endeavouring to discover the generous Corbet, to repay my debt of gratitude, here took the cowl. Half my property I settled on the Convent, reserving the other at my own disposal, to relieve those I thought deserving my assistance.
"'And here, young man, I have experienced a foretaste of that happiness I hope to enjoy hereafter. I look forward with hope, I can look back without regret: I have experienced misfortunes, but never was guilty of an action, that can justly raise the blush of shame on my cheek!'"
"The worthy Monk," continued Sir Henry, "here concluded; and I bowed my head in conviction to the justness of the reproach his last words implied. As the good father intended, I could not avoid drawing a comparison of our lives; and the resignation, the fortitude he had evinced, indeed, raised a blush for the madness of which I had been guilty. The mention he made of my Louise, however, and the hope that, by means, I should be able to trace her, soon obliterated every unpleasant sensation; and, without disclosing my history or name, I informed him the infant he had mentioned was at that time the object of my search. I related the treatment I had met with at the convent of St. Ursule, and asked his advice as to the measures I should pursue to discover her. He was urgent to know who we were, but, on my telling him I was not at liberty to reveal what he asked, he desisted; and offered to go himself and speak to the Abbess concerning Louise. I thankfully accepted his offer, and, at his earnest solicitation, consented to take the sustenance I truly wanted.
"He was gone nearly an hour, and returned unsuccessful in his mission. Mother St. Brigide could not refuse to see him, though her answers were very unsatisfactory. She confessed that Louise had been reared in the Convent, but utterly disclaimed all knowledge of the lady who took her. She had not, she said, ever been admitted to the confidence of her predecessor; and the circumstance of Louise leaving the Convent had been both secret and sudden. Finding it impossible to gain the information he wanted, Father Hilaire returned to me. I received his account with a sigh, and declared my resolution to re-commence my search after Louise the ensuing morning. He approved my determination, and imperceptibly drew me into a conversation, as entertaining as instructive; and when we parted at night, gave me his blessing and a purse containing forty louis.
"The supply was seasonable. I parted from him with regret; and early the next morning left Rennes.
"For four months I wandered through Anjou, Poitou, and Bretagne, without meeting with any occurrence worthy of mention, or being able to trace Louise. When I rescued her from the Count, as I before observed, I did not see her face; and, unsuspicious of who she was, still continued my search; till my money being expended, and not knowing how to procure subsistence, I engaged in the vessel which conveyed me to St. Helena."
"The history of Father Hilaire," said the Captain, "is not without its moral; from the misfortunes of others, we are induced to draw a comparative consolation under our own; and his may truly teach the impatient sufferer an useful lesson."
"Yet I wish, Sir Henry," said Frederick, "you had informed him who you were; for, from the idea I have conceived of the man, I think he would have been highly gratified in repaying the obligation he owed your father."
"He had more than cancelled the obligation, Frederick," answered Sir Henry, "by preserving my life; and, had I acknowledged who I was, it might have led to questions I should have found it difficult and distressing to have answered."
The conversation here became general, and soon after they separated for the night.
The relation of Sir Henry added greatly to Louise's solicitude to be informed respecting her parents, but her inquiries and intreaties were equally ineffectual; Sir Henry persevered in his mysterious silence on the subject, though the anxiety she showed evidently added to his unhappiness; and, on their nearer approach to England, they with grief perceived in him every symptom of a rapid decline. The Captain in vain urged medical assistance; and, as he watched the daily ravages of sorrow, painfully anticipated the moment when death would bereave him of the friend by whose means he had hoped to recover his Ellenor. Frederick, independently of his concern on his uncle's account, regarded Sir Henry with more than fraternal friendship; but his eloquence was equally unavailing to discover the source from whence his unhappiness arose.
At last, the loud shouts of the sailors proclaimed the appearance of their native land, and in a few days they reached the Thames: thence Harland, impatient to introduce his Louise to his parents, proceeded to Harland-Hall; whilst the Captain, accompanied by Sir Henry and Frederick, pursued his way toward London, intending, as soon as he had transacted his business there, to renew his search after Ellenor; but in this he was prevented, by the arrival of one of Mrs. Howard's servants, who, the morning preceding the commencement of his intended search, hastily entered the room where he was at breakfast, and, presenting a letter, informed him his lady was at the point of death.
Alarmed at this intelligence, he eagerly opened the letter, which was from the steward, and confirmed the bearer's account, with entreaties that he would immediately repair to Bristol, where Mrs. Howard had for some time resided.—Humanity demanded compliance: the Captain accordingly set out with the messenger, and reached Bristol a few hours previously to Mrs. Howard's dissolution; but the malignancy which had ever marked her character displayed itself in her latest moments. She received the Captain with that acrimonious contempt which, for years, had accompanied each sentiment or look addressed to him. The loss of life she regretted, as depriving her of the power of longer tormenting him; and, with a smile of triumph that defied the power of death to efface, told him, she had left him her fortune, but on restriction that he never married again, as a punishment for his treatment of her.
The Captain could not affect a concern at her death which he did not experience; for years she had proved literally a torment; and he could not but feel that he was free: free to claim the promise of his Ellenor, and, in an union with her, meet a recompence for the years of unhappiness he had endured from Deborah, whose fortune, if requisite, he would not have hesitated a moment in resigning; but that lady's wishes had, in this respect, exceeded her power, for her fortune was fully secured to him at the time of their marriage.
The Captain wrote immediately for his nephew and Sir Henry, who arrived the day after the funeral; and, having settled his affairs with the steward, with every cheerful sentiment, hope could inspire, commenced his projected search for Ellenor and his son.—Neither was Frederick uninterested in the discovery of them; as the idea of the youthful Ellen was still impressed on his mind; and he secretly wished fortune had blessed him with independency, that he might have offered her his hand and heart. Sir Henry likewise seemed to forget his own sorrow, in the prospect of the Captain's happiness, and, by a number of little anecdotes concerning the objects of their search, endeavoured to beguile the time, and lessen the solicitude they could not altogether avoid experiencing.
They crossed the Channel to Cardiff, and directed their course to the humble dwelling of Jarvis, who, they thought, might, perhaps, by that time have learned the route of the fugitives.
The honest innkeeper received them with a hearty welcome, and, in answer to their inquiries, informed them, that a few weeks after they left the village, a man arrived there, who declared himself commissioned by Lieutenant Booyers, to dispose of the furniture of the cottage; which was accordingly sold: that Jarvis had endeavoured to learn where the Lieutenant had retired, but the man behaved with the greatest reserve. On his leaving the village, however, he had taken a guide to Newport, and by an inadvertent sentence he had uttered, he was induced to believe the Lieutenant and the ladies were gone to reside at—or near Gloucester. The Captain's heart beat with exulting hope at this intelligence; and such was his impatience to recover the lost partner of his heart, he would that instant have set out for Gloucester, could Sir Henry have supported the fatigue of such rapid travelling. On his account he consented to remain where they were till the morning, when Sir Henry willingly obeyed his summons to continue their journey.
Early the ensuing day, they reached Gloucester, where the Captain, Sir Henry, and Frederick, separated, to inquire through the city, agreeing to meet in the evening, at the inn where they left their horses. For two days they traversed the city, and, on the morning of the third, were preparing to leave the inn, to search some of the adjacent villages, when they were surprised by the appearance of Sir Arthur Howard. As the Captain had long ceased to regard him with enmity, he cordially advanced to meet him, whilst Frederick, forgetting his unkindness in the unexpected rencounter, as eagerly sprung to embrace him. Sir Arthur was equally surprised, though less pleased at beholding them; he, however, returned their salutation, and, at their request, accompanied them into the room they had quitted. He there answered to their inquiries respecting his family, and coldly expressed his approbation at the improvement seven years had made in the person and manners of Frederick. Sir Arthur in reality was rather chagrined than pleased at the graceful figure and deportment of his son, as they conveyed a reproach to himself, at the time they evinced the care and attention of the Captain to the duties which he, though a father, had neglected.
The Captain observed the displeasure depicted in his countenance, but, unconscious of the cause, sought relief from an unpleasant pause in the discourse, by asking the occasion of his being at Gloucester? The question was likewise a relief to Sir Arthur, as it afforded him an opportunity of venting his rising spleen.
"I came to recover a runaway," he replied, "who is endeavouring to disgrace the family to which she has the honour to belong: but severely shall she suffer for the fault she has committed!"
He then informed them, he had projected a match for his eldest daughter, not only suitable, but highly advantageous, as the gentleman possessed a noble independency, and had offered to take her without a portion: by which means the fortune of his eldest son would be considerably augmented; but that his daughter had objected to the union, and, on his threatening her, had privately left the Hall. That he pursued her to Gloucester, where, the preceding day, he had luckily overtaken her, and was going to order his carriage, to re-convey her home, when he was addressed by the Captain.
Frederick heard this account with concern; he well knew the harshness of his father's temper, and sincerely pitied his sister, whom he had not seen since the days of childhood. He now entreated he might have that satisfaction, and Sir Arthur, who knew not well how to refuse, was necessitated to comply: though he expressed his fear she would endeavour to elude his vigilance, and again escape; and concluded with an invective against children in general, for their wilfulness and disobedience. The entrance of his daughter saved his auditors the necessity of replying; her looks were pallid, and she approached with a timidity, which was rather increased than relieved, by the appearance of strangers. Frederick, however, soon recalled her recollection of a brother to whom she had in her infancy been particularly attached; yet she dared not yield to the pleasure she had in beholding him. Her father's eye still sternly expressed his anger; tears fell from her own; and folding her arms round the neck of Frederick, she wept in silence on his bosom.
Sir Henry, who had hitherto been a silent spectator, could not, unmoved, witness the distress of the amiable Theodosia; for every tear of pleasure occasioned by the presence of her brother, was evidently accompanied by one of sorrow at the treatment she received from her father; he therefore advanced to her, and, in the mildest accents, joined Frederick in his endeavours to soothe and cheer her. They at last succeeded: a faint smile played on her lips, she looked up, and spoke with some degree of confidence.
Sir Arthur observed Sir Henry's attentions, and learning from the Captain who he was, permitted his features to unbend from their usual severity. He was no stranger to Sir Henry's family, or the fortune possessed by his father; and, knowing he was an only son, concluded his possessions were equally the same. Sir Henry's attention, therefore, which proceeded entirely from commiseration, he beheld with satisfaction, as thinking them occasioned by a softer passion. Theodosia, too, appeared to listen to, and regard him with unusual pleasure; and he determined to encourage an acquaintance, as the Corbet possessions were superior to those of the suitor he had wished Theodosia to have accepted.
He now condescended to enter into conversation with Sir Henry: he regarded his brother and son with a look of greater cordiality; and declared his intention of remaining with them till the evening. The Captain, who sincerely wished to be reconciled to him, looked on the determination as arising from a return of fraternal friendship, and cheerfully acceded to his proposal of passing the day together: nor could Frederick conceal his delight at an appearance of regard he had never before experienced, and as flattering to himself as it was unexpected.
A half-suppressed sigh from Theodosia, reminded him of her unpleasant situation; and, regarding the moment as favourable, he ventured to intercede to Sir Arthur in her behalf: the Captain warmly seconded him: Sir Henry did not think himself authorised to speak; but the concern expressed in his countenance, and the glance of intercession he directed to Sir Arthur, pleaded more effectually in her cause, than the eloquence of Frederick and the Captain: as it erroneously added to his opinion, that Sir Henry was enamoured of his daughter. Pleased with the idea, he pretended to yield to intreaties, he would otherwise have disregarded; and not only pronounced Theodosia's pardon for her elopement, but promised to dismiss all thoughts of forcing her into an union with a man she avowedly disapproved. Theodosia could not speak her joy—her thanks at this unlooked-for indulgence; but, pressing her father's hand to her lips, burst into tears. Sir Arthur's bosom was a stranger to the milder virtues: he coldly reproved, what he termed, her childish behaviour; and, withdrawing his hand, bade her not abuse the forgiveness she had by no means merited; and remember that on her future behaviour must depend the continuance of his good opinion.
Theodosia felt the ungenerous chiding of her father, at a moment when her heart overflowed with the tenderest sentiments of filial gratitude and affection; she, however, knew him to be too tenacious of his word, to apprehend any farther importunity respecting her disagreeable lover; and the joy, which at first expressed itself in tears, soon restored the wonted smile to her animated countenance. Frederick beheld her returning cheerfulness with pleasure; whilst Sir Arthur, equally pleased with Sir Henry, and the chimerical idea he indulged of one day having him for a son-in-law, endeavoured to soften his natural austerity, and to conciliate the esteem of the interesting Corbet.
Early in the evening, as Sir Arthur had proposed, his carriage was in readiness, and he parted from his brother and son, with the greatest professions of friendship, pressing them, but more particularly Sir Henry, to pass some weeks at Howard Hall. The Captain, highly gratified at the occurrences of the day, readily accepted the invitation; and that night, for the first time during many years, experienced a repose, unembittered with the idea of a brother's hatred!
The next morning, he with his companions again continued his search after Ellenor, hope still leading them on to the reward the ensuing day might perhaps afford, to compensate for the disappointments of the one which had passed.
Already had they traversed great part of Gloucestershire, when in crossing from Painswick to Cheltenham, an equipage passed them, the unusual elegance of which attracted the Captain's attention. A lady, whose personal beauty, though on the wane, could be equalled by few, was in the principal carriage; and was so intently engaged in perusing a letter, that the party passed unheeded. The Captain was beginning to express his admiration, when he was alarmed by Sir Henry's falling from his horse, in a state of insensibility; from which their efforts to recover him proved ineffectual. A servant was, therefore, dispatched for assistance, and soon returned with a surgeon, to whose house Sir Henry was conveyed.
The Captain's concern at this accident was considerably increased, when he understood it might be attended with fatal consequences; and, not being willing to intrust the life of Sir Henry entirely to the skill of the surgeon, he sent to Gloucester for a physician, who, on visiting the patient, declared there was no immediate danger: the illness of Sir Henry proceeded from distress of mind; a confidential friend, he affirmed, was the most essential requisite toward his recovery; to which his native air might in some degree likewise conduce. To the surprise of the Captain, and regret of the surgeon, Sir Henry instantly coincided with the latter part of his advice, and as Ellenor, notwithstanding Jarvis's supposition, might have retired to Caermarthen, the Captain readily agreed to his proposal of proceeding to that county; and in spite of Sir Henry's feeble state, which would scarcely admit of his travelling, they, the next day, pursued their way toward Wales.
On entering an inn at Monmouth, the Captain was surprised at beholding Mr. Talton, who advanced to meet him with a hasty exclamation, expressive of the joy he felt at the rencounter. Far different were the sensations of Sir Henry; he could not regard Mr. Talton with composure; but, pressing the Captain's hand, bade him remember his promise, and immediately retired to his chamber.
Mr. Talton then inquired the particulars of Sir Henry's restoration, as he had heard an account of his visit to the parsonage, which was afterwards confirmed by the confession of old Owen, of his real existence: and, to the astonishment of the Captain, he learned it was Lady Corbet who had passed them near Painswick, and who, having been informed by Lady Dursley of her son's arrival, was then going to London, to entreat his return to Caermarthen. This instantly accounted to the Captain for Sir Henry's fainting, and his willingness to revisit Wales; he would not, however, comply with Mr. Talton's proposal to apprize Lady Corbet of their destination, that she might see her son: Sir Henry's will, in that respect, he said, should be uncontrolled; he had given his promise, and it should be sacred.
Mr. Talton at last ceased from further importunity; and finding the Captain proposed to stay at Monmouth only that night, expressed his regret at their early separation; accusing the Captain with want of friendship, in not deferring his journey at least for one day.
"Freely, Talton," said the Captain, "would I defer my journey a week, if it depended on myself; but, as I must think Sir Henry's life really in danger, notwithstanding the Physician's affirmation; let that plead my excuse.—Neither, I think, could you experience pleasure in our society; as Sir Henry's dislike—or, term it what you will—must place a restraint on every moment. I do not expect to leave England for some time; and if I recover my Ellenor, most probably shall quit the seafaring life; therefore, depend on it, I will shortly pay you a visit, when you shall find me neither a niggard of my time, nor forgetful of the sentiments I once avowed."
With this assurance Mr. Talton was obliged to retire for the night; but in the morning renewed his solicitations: in which not being able to prevail, he declared he would postpone his journey to London, and return with the Captain to the interior of Wales.
Sir Henry turned pale at this declaration, which Mr. Talton observing, said—"I perceive with sorrow, Sir Henry, the early prepossession you entertained against me is not eradicated; perhaps from mistaking the cause of your conduct, I have acted toward you with a severity foreign to my nature, but which I thought highly authorised by reason! Your reserve to me, on the renewal of my acquaintance with your mother, I imputed, I acknowledge, to interested motives. That I love Lady Corbet, is no secret to you; but that I wished to alienate her fortune—nothing was ever farther from my thoughts! On the contrary, if your amiable mother bless me with her hand, it is my avowed, my earnest wish, that the estates appertaining to the Corbet family, should be resigned to you. My fortune is more than adequate to my wants or desires: and Heaven forbid that I should be instrumental in withholding from you those possessions, of which the injustice of your father would deprive you."
Sir Henry sighed, and Mr. Talton, after a moments pause, proceeded.—"Your mother has consented to resign the name of Corbet, when her son can be prevailed on to return: but whilst he is a wanderer, she cannot experience happiness. Thus, Sir Henry, you see the claims which are made upon you. Your mother's happiness, consequently mine—and I must think your own—depend on your compliance. I, therefore, again entreat your return to the seat of your ancestors; let these seeming mysteries be cleared up, and, by giving me a legal title to the name of father, let me compensate for him you have lost!"
Sir Henry appeared agitated, and, taking the hand of Mr. Talton, "I believe, Mr. Talton, I have mistaken your character. Your affection for my mother I am no stranger to; and sincerely wish it depended but on me to ensure your happiness: but, alas! the means would prove the bane! I will, however, see—will speak to my mother: more I dare not promise; and for that—I may, perhaps, answer with my life!"
Mr. Talton and the Captain regarded Sir Henry with a momentary astonishment—"Your life!" repeated the former—But Sir Henry bowed, and taking Frederick by the arm, left the room.
"May answer with his life!" reiterated Mr. Talton. "What, Howard, can he mean?"
The Captain could not resolve the question, and, after a few unsatisfactory surmises, they followed Sir Henry and Frederick, who were already on horseback. Sir Henry's reply, however, had given rise to such a confusion of ideas in the mind of Mr. Talton, he could by no means reconcile them; he therefore asked an explanation: but Sir Henry's answers tended only to increase the mystery.
In the afternoon, willing to avoid the revival of the subject, he lingered behind with Frederick; whilst the Captain and Mr. Talton, being engaged in a discourse highly interesting to the former, as it concerned his Ellenor, were not aware of the separation till they had gained the summit of a hill, where, on turning round, the Captain perceived them and their attendants nearly two miles behind. He immediately proposed to wait for them, and, retiring beneath the shade of an oak, began to descant on the prospect before them, which presented one of the richest scenes of autumn.
The non-appearance of Sir Henry and Frederick, however, soon recalled their attention from the beauties of nature; and the Captain, declaring his apprehension that some accident had happened, with every mark of impatient concern, descended the hill, followed by Mr. Talton and his servant. Their party, however, was not to be perceived. They had, indeed, taken a road, which led in a different direction from the bottom of the hill, and which the Captain now first observed. Anxious to overtake them, he hastened the pace of his horse, but no appearance of them could be discovered; and the road branching off into a variety of others, added to his perplexity. In this dilemma, he followed the advice of Mr. Talton, and entered that which, from its direction, they supposed would lead to Brecon: but it soon became so intricate, that they at last agreed to relinquish the attempt, and endeavour to trace their way back.
This, however, they found as difficult to accomplish, nor was it till night had spread her glooms over the surrounding scenes, that they entered a road, which, from the plainness of its tracks, they imagined to be the one they had formerly quitted. Mr. Talton could not refrain from a hasty exclamation against the young men, for their carelessness: which was answered by expressions of concern on their account by the Captain.
Slowly they ascended the hill; when, to the consternation of Mr. Talton, he discovered they had entirely mistaken their road: they had, however, no alternative, but to proceed, trusting to Providence for guidance; and continued their way, till they arrived at a place where the road again taking different directions, involved them in their former perplexity.
"What is now to be done?" asked Mr. Talton. "By Heavens, I think some dæmon has placed a spell in our path, to mislead and confound us! Fools that we were, to travel without a guide!"
"The road was sufficiently plain," answered the Captain, "if we had not negligently missed it. But hark! I think I hear the trampling of horses. If it be Sir Henry and my nephew, I shall think little of passing the night under the canopy of Heaven: and in the morning we may easily rectify our mistake."
He listened attentively; but, two horsemen only approached: he, however, hailed them, and on being answered, briefly recounted the manner in which he had been separated from his nephew, his subsequent search, and the unpleasant situation he was then in, begging to know if they had accidentally seen the objects of his anxiety, or would direct him to some hamlet or town, where he and his friend might procure accommodations for the night?
"I am sorry, Sir," said the stranger, who had first answered the Captain's salutation, "it is not in my power to give you any intelligence respecting your friends. In regard to a night's lodging, it is at least three miles to the next village, whence I now come, and the road is very indifferent; I reside about half a mile from this place, and if you will accompany me home, although I cannot promise you splendid entertainment, I can insure you a hearty welcome."
Pleased with the frankness of the offer, the Captain and Mr. Talton accepted it, and, turning their horses, followed the benevolent stranger. The uncertainty, however, of Frederick's and Sir Henry's safety, destroyed the momentary satisfaction of the Captain, nor could he help expressing his fears to the stranger.
"Hope for the best, Sir," he replied: "my humble dwelling, though screened on this side from observation, commands an extensive view over the lower part of the country; where, from your account, I am induced to think your friends have strayed: and whence the light from our window will most probably serve them as a guide."
"May it prove a favourable beacon!" said the Captain. "Yonder is the place of our destination," continued the stranger, extending his hand toward a distant light.
"Aye—and there, Sir," said his attendant, "is Argus barking most furiously. What, in the name of wonder, can ail the beast? Surely the house is not beset by thieves."
The stranger stopped his horse for a moment, and listened—the barking continued without intermission, and a distant shout likewise assailed their ears.
"Something, I am afraid, has indeed happened," he cried in a voice of concern. "If you please, gentlemen, we will hasten forward."
The shouts increased, mixed with the deep-mouthed tones of Argus: but not as they had apprehended, in a direction from the house. They, however, still hastened forward.—"It may be our fugitives," said the Captain.—"Ah! I hear Frederick's voice!" He now exerted his own, and in a few minutes, was joined by the wanderers.
"Thank heaven, my dear uncle, we have found you!" said Frederick exultingly—"a circumstance, from the various accidents we have met with, beyond my hopes. But for this noble dog, we should most probably yet have been in a morass, we incautiously entered."
The Captain could scarcely express his concern at the difficulties they had experienced, ere they arrived at the gateway, leading to the ancient though not extensive dwelling of the hospitable stranger. An aged man-servant attended the summons of his master: Sir Henry started on beholding him, and, anxiously grasping the Captain's arm, cried—"O gracious Heaven!—haste, haste, Captain!" and hurrying him past their kind invitor, entered the house.—The Captain had not time to ask the meaning of his behaviour, before Sir Henry, with a trembling hand, threw open the door of a parlour.
A cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, round which were seated a gentleman, a lady, and two lovely girls.
"Is that my Edward?" the lady asked; and, raising her head, discovered to the Captain, the features of his Ellenor!
"My Ellenor!" he exclaimed, rushing to her, "Yes, it is your Edward! my loved—my long-lost Ellenor!"
A scream of surprise and delight escaped her as he caught her in his arms, and faintly articulating his name, she sunk inanimate on his bosom.
Mrs. Blond, who had been engaged in an adjoining room, alarmed by the scream, flew to the assistance of her friend, at the moment Mr. Talton, Frederick, and young Howard, entered the room: but the appearance of the former, in an instant obliterated every other idea, and, wildly clasping her hands, she stood the image of horror!
"My mother!—Do I once more behold you?" said Sir Henry, hastening to meet her—but she heeded him not, her eye was fixed on Talton: nor was it till the repeated exclamation of—"Sir Henry! my benefactor!" roused her from her stupor. Franticly she threw her arms round Sir Henry; but Talton again attracting her eye, she as hastily pushed him from her, crying—"Fly—fly, my Harry; destruction awaits thee! It is Talton himself. Fly to Howard, he only can protect thee! Oh! Ellenor—Ellenor, ruin awaits us all."
The surprise which had been depicted on the countenance of Mr. Talton, now yielded to embarrassment, as his name was faintly echoed on every side: Sir Henry vainly attempted to persuade them Talton was not an enemy: Mrs. Blond still urged him to fly, till overpowered by the agitation of her mind, she sunk in a state of insensibility on the floor.
All was incoherence and confusion: the friendly Booyers had been assisting the Captain and young Howard, to restore Ellenor to life; he now ran distractedly from her to Mrs. Blond, in vain calling for help: the entrance of the servants but added to the distress which prevailed.
At last the Captain, with joy perceived the current of life re-animate the features of his Ellenor; who, in a few minutes, became conscious of her situation. With a smile of inexpressible delight, she took the hand of her son, and placing it in that of the Captain, encircled them in her arms. The action spoke more than words; nature confessed it: Edward intuitively bent his knee, and as the Captain raised, and pressed him to his heart, he felt that moment more than recompensed for all he had suffered.
A faint groan from Mrs. Blond now reached the ear of Ellenor, and, leaving her Edward, she flew to the side of this companion in her afflictions: but her attentions were equally unavailing to recall her senses, and she was therefore conveyed to her chamber, followed by her daughter and Ellen. Ellenor would likewise have attended, but was prevented by Sir Henry, who, affectionately taking her hand, was beginning to congratulate her on her restoration to the Captain, when the door was again thrown open, and the old servant-man rushed into the room.
"It is—it is Sir Henry!" he exclaimed, throwing himself at his feet. "Little did I think, when I opened the gate, it was to admit the son of my beloved master. Yet my old eyes could not distinguish you: but since the news arrived that you were drowned, they have been more dim than they were wont to be! Ah! many a tear has been shed for your loss, my master; and as often have I wished, I could have recalled your life, by resigning my own."
"I thank you, my good old friend," said Sir Henry, raising him; "sincerely thank you for your love: and may one day have it in my power to acknowledge it more effectually, than by words; though, for myself, Thomas, the tomb of my father is the only inheritance I covet!"
His head drooped on his bosom, whilst the starting tear too plainly evinced the painful recollection of the moment. With looks of the tenderest pity, Ellenor folded him in her arms.
"Forgive me," continued Sir Henry, returning her embrace. "At such a moment as this, I ought not to let a single idea of myself intrude, to cast a gloom on your happiness. For your sake—for the sake of my beloved Eliza, and her mother, I will break through those ties, which have hitherto restrained me, and act according to the dictates of justice!"
"The means are in our power!" cried old Thomas, exultingly. "The night before my Lady returned from London, with the account of your death, I entered the closet of my deceased master; the event answered our expectation: and now let the guilty beware!"
Sir Henry sighed; but in a moment assuming a more cheerful aspect, reminded Thomas, they were weary travellers, who, for some hours had not received refreshment.
Thomas instantly left the room; and Sir Henry congratulated the Captain and his Ellenor on the late happy discovery. Young Howard and Lieutenant Booyers likewise claimed his attention; he introduced them to Frederick and Mr. Talton, who, already prepossessed in their favour, eagerly accepted, and returned their proffered friendship. The name of Talton caused a momentary alarm in the bosom of Ellenor: involuntarily she threw herself into the arms of the Captain, for protection; but, on his assuring her of Talton's friendship, apologized for her mistrust, and extending her hand, welcomed him with all the cordiality she had formerly shown.
"I believe, Mrs. Crawton," said Mr. Talton, "my appearance here is as surprising to you, as the events of this evening have been to me. Some strange mistake exists; but as an explanation is beyond my power, I can only assert my innocence of intentional wrong toward you, or your friends!"
"No more apologies, Talton," said the Captain; "let the past be forgotten; for your conduct in future, I will be answerable; and, as the first proof of your friendship, shall demand your attendance again on my Ellenor, as a father.—Your Howard," he continued to Ellenor, "is, thank Heaven, at last at liberty, and here claims your promise, of again uniting your fate to his for ever!"
A tear of grateful delight swelled in the eye of Ellenor, as she gave him her hand, and assured him her promise was not forgotten.
The entrance of Ellen and Eliza, with the account that Mrs. Blond was fallen into a gentle sleep, added to their satisfaction: "And as I was anxious," said Ellen with a smile, "to see my adopted brother, I persuaded Eliza to leave her mother to the sweets of repose, and return with me to our friends."
A blush overspread the beautiful face of her companion, as Sir Henry said—"And did Eliza require persuasion, to return to the presence of her Henry? A welcome from her was the first wish of my heart, and is she then the last to give it?"
"Do more justice to the sentiments of Eliza," said young Howard.—"Deeply has she mourned the loss of Corbet; and her heart, I am certain, if not her tongue, sincerely welcomes, and rejoices at his return."
Sir Henry pressed the hand of the blushing girl to his lips, and, with a heart more replete with happiness than he had long experienced, attended the summons to the supper-table. The restraint which the presence of Mr. Talton at first created, gradually wore off; as, willing to eradicate the idea he was certain they entertained of him, he exerted those powers of pleasing, which he possessed in an eminent degree; and on their retiring for the night, each secretly wished he might prove himself as amiable as he had that evening appeared to be.