Occupied by these thoughts, Philip often paused in his work, and looked round to see if Lord Robert had returned to the valley, and listened for his step with anxiety; but he did not come. Night arrived, and Philip did not see him reposing under his favourite lime-tree; and he felt out of humour with himself, for being the cause of keeping him away.
From some uneasy self-reproaches, he did not taste at night the calm repose which generally follows a day of labour; on the contrary, he felt that evening some of those painful feelings of remorse which had so often tortured Lord Robert, but which had never been experienced by himself before; and he now remembered that, though Lord Robert had ill-treated him, yet therewasa difference in their rank, and that it was brutal in him to threaten a high-spirited and elegant young man with personal violence when they were united in the same distress: and that Lord Robert's contemptuous expressions were caused by his laughter at that which was a serious misfortune to his high-born foe; namely, his want of skill in mechanics, and the mischance of breaking his knife, the loss of which was irreparable, and would perhaps deprive him, on some occasions, even of the means of procuring food.
Philip would have repaired to the beach, to see what had become of Lord Robert; but he thought it probable that some new cause of offence might arise between them. However, in the afternoon, he had occasion to visit the beach to search for some pieces of wreck. When he reached the shore, he found there had been a very high tide the preceding night, and many articles were scattered on the sand; as staves, pieces of rope, and splinters from the mast. These Philip carefully collected, and placed above high-water mark, lest they should be washed to sea again. In the course of this important avocation, he approached the cave where Lord Robert had again taken up his residence: but he had been too busily engaged to think of him, till his eye was attracted by the flash of his epaulet in the evening sun; and he saw him, at a little distance, bending over some employment, in which he was too much occupied to perceive the approach of Philip, who was tempted to draw near enough to ascertain what it was that so deeply engaged his attention; but he did so somewhat cautiously, lest he should again give offence. He soon was near enough to discover that Lord Robert's employment was that of digging a grave in the sand, with a butt-stave, and near him lay the bodies of five seamen, which the high tide had washed on shore, close to the entrance of Lord Robert's cave. Philip felt a bitter pang as he gazed on the lifeless remains of his unfortunate messmates; and seizing another stave, he placed himself opposite to Lord Robert, and began to assist in the sad duty; but neither spoke.
One of the bodies was that of a midshipman, whom Lord Robert had loved; and as he now proceeded to place his remains in the narrow bed he had scooped for him with so much toil, his tears fell fast on the face of the deceased. When he attempted to raise him from the shingle, to lay him decently in the grave, the effort was too much for him. Philip immediately sprang forwards and assisted him, otherwise the corpse would have fallen from his grasp. He did not reject the aid of his foe; but he did not even glance at him in return. In silence they began their melancholy task; in silence they proceeded in it; and the moon had risen high and shone with splendour by the time they had dug the last grave, when unfortunately, as they placed the seaman in the "house appointed for all living," Philip recognised his features: it was the boatswain of the Diomede! A crowd of agonizing feelings passed through Philip's breast, as he recollected that from this man's hand he had received such disgraceful punishment. He first turned pale, and then scarlet; and it recurred to his mind, that this person had only been the passive instrument obeying the orders of others.
"It was thy malice, tyrant! that added this worst wrong to all the rest," thought he. True, he did not utter these words: but he regarded Lord Robert with a look, in which hatred and rage were but too visibly painted to escape his Lordship's observation, though he was ignorant of the cause of it; but he thought it shocking of Philip to take the opportunity of insulting him at such an awful time, particularly when he had condescended topermithis assistance; and he returned Philip's indignant look in so disdainful a manner, that, scarcely conscious that he was the first himself to renew hostilities, Philip took fire, and provokingly reminded his Lordship "that his haughty looks were useless, when directed to him; and he advised him to reserve them for those who cared for them, if he could find any such in the island."
"To the full as many as will endure your low-bred insolence," returned Lord Robert with equal scorn. "However, Mr. Harley, if I might condescend to speak to you in the language of entreaty, it would be to request the favour of your absence. You have taken possession of the only habitable spot in the island, andIhave not attempted to deprive you of it; and I think the least you can do, in return for my moderation, is to leave me undisturbed on my barren domain."
"If all my security were themoderationof Lord Robert Summers," replied Philip with a contemptuous laugh, "I should be as soon driven from my dwelling here as I was forced from the home of my parents: but here I can, by the strength of my own right hand, maintain my rights; and whoever attempts to invade them, may chance to repent of his folly."
As Philip uttered this threat, he finished casting the last heap of sand on the boatswain's grave; on which, apparently exhausted with fatigue, Lord Robert had seated himself. The sight of these bodies had recalled the fate of his uncle, and he had been lately weeping bitterly; and when young Harley observed his tearful eyes, and the evident languor and despondency visible in his whole appearance, his conscience again smote him; he remembered what he had so lately suffered from self-reproach; and he reflected, that if he so much abused the mere bodily superiority his strength gave him, it was by no means wonderful that when Lord Robert possessed so much power, he should exert it when offended.
He paused, and looked earnestly at Lord Robert. The moon shone brightly on his face; the flush of resentment had faded from it; and he looked so ill, and there was such an expression of hopeless dejection in his eyes, that Philip was greatly touched; and he even thought of apologizing to him for what he had lately said, and of entreating him to return with him to the Valley of Limes. While he yet hesitated, Lord Robert looked up, and waved his hand impatiently for him to be gone: and Philip, finding that the conquest of his own pride was too great an effort to be made at that time, retired to his home, self-condemned and unhappy.
Lord Robert continued sitting on the grave, in a listless attitude, leaning his head on his hand, almost unconscious that he was alone. The faintness and languor which had been for some time stealing on him, seemed so wholly overpowering, as even to take away the inclination of retorting Philip's last innuendo; but now, though the words still rang upon his ear, and he fully understood their meaning to comprise reproach, insult, and threat, either of which was sufficient to put his proud spirit in a flame, yet he was conscious of a growing confusion in his own mind, which seemed to prevent his forming a suitable reply; and, for the first time in his life, he found himself unwilling to continue the war of words. He felt an impatient desire of quiet; and, forgetful that Philip would most likely pay no attention to his mandate, he motioned for him to retire, with no little of his habitual air of superiority. Philip, however,didobey in this instance. Lord Robert, after some minutes, raised his aching head from his hand, and, looking round to see if he were gone, uttered an expression of satisfaction at finding himself alone.
Lord Robert's naturally fine constitution had been greatly impaired since his residence in the island, by the pain of mind he had suffered from the loss of his uncle and friends, the remorse he felt for his numerous errors, joined to his discontent and impatience at being placed in a situation so uncongenial to all his former habits. Besides, he suffered from the hardships which he was forced to endure: sleeping on the flinty rock, or passing the night on the turf under the lime-tree—a most unhealthy practice—for the dews were very heavy, and, in common to all hot countries, very noxious to those who were exposed to their influence.
He had lost his hat when the boat was overset; and, trivial as this loss may appear to the natives of a temperate climate, it was attended with very painful consequences to Lord Robert, on whose head the rays of the sun fell with unmitigated violence, and occasioned him the most acute headache whenever he was exposed to the noon-day heat. After his retreat from the Valley of Limes, he had for many hours paced the beach in a tumult of rage, with the perpendicular rays of a tropical sun darting on his uncovered head. The night he had passed without sleep; and, early in the morning, he found the remains of the unfortunate seamen. He was ill and feverish; and it was only by a strong effort that he so far overcame his painful languor as to attempt the necessary but mournful task of giving them burial.
Notwithstanding the heat of the day, and the toilsome task he was engaged in, he experienced repeated fits of shivering; the burning rays of the sun pouring on his head, though they occasioned the most acute pain, failed to impart warmth to his frame. This was accompanied with so strong a disinclination to move, that he several times paused in the course of digging the first grave; and, yielding to the sickly lassitude which oppressed him, he retired to his cave; but that commanding a full view of the poor seamen, the dreadful sight roused him from his inactivity, and again he proceeded in his mournful work. He had scarcely completed digging one grave with great toil and pain, and was wondering how it would be possible for him, ill as he was, to go through the whole business of interment, when Philip appeared and afforded his powerful aid. This was too valuable to be rejected; and he felt grateful for the silent manner in which he tendered his assistance and worked by his side; and he was about to thank him for his services, when, on raising his head for that purpose, he caught the offensive look which has already been mentioned. Lord Robert, lost in his own sad thoughts, did not perceive thereasonof this. Had he, indeed, recognised the features of the boatswain in the person they were burying, perhaps the same idea might have occurred to him. But, after having interred his friend, he had sedulously averted his eyes from the faces of the dead. Ignorant, therefore, of Philip's motives for renewed indignation, he returned his hostile glance, and the second contention ensued.
The rest of the night Lord Robert passed in a sort of stupor, seated on the boatswain's grave; from which he felt unable to rise through extreme exhaustion. The first rays of the sun drove him for shelter to the cave. His thirst was excessive; and he had no means of allaying it, unless he proceeded either to the Valley of Limes or the spring of water. The remembrance of Philip induced him to prefer the latter; and thither, with some difficulty, he crept rather than walked. Having drank profusely, he filled a large shell for a supply in the cave; for he thought it probable he should never be able to perform another journey to the stream; and slowly and faintly returned to his comfortless dwelling in the rock. The chills of the preceding day had terminated in the burning heat of raging fever; and as he retraced his melancholy steps through the sand, which reflected the intolerable rays of the sun to his eyes, and surveyed the barren rocks and frightful basalts of which the island was composed, he with a bitter sigh recalled the verdure of his father's park, and the shades of his native groves which bounded that beautiful domain.
"But these," said Lord Robert, "I shall never see again: I shall perish on this arid, frightful spot, without a living creature near who cares for me, except my poor Neptune!—And you, my tender mother, who are so benevolently solicitous to provide comforts for the sick poor, what would be your feelings, could you see your unhappy son stretched on this burning flint!" continued he, as entering the rocky chamber, he sank exhausted on the floor. He thought his death was near; yet he felt far from being in a proper frame of mind to die. Like too many of the young and thoughtless, if he were not profane, he was careless in matters of religion; in this awful moment, a thousand instances of neglect and offence against his Creator occurred to his mind; and he felt that he would have given worlds, had he possessed them, for a few hours of the time he had so often abused.
He recollected, too, with bitter regret, his pride, imperiousness, and implacability of disposition; of this, his conduct to young Harley was a frightful instance; he vainly wished he could have recalled thepast, but that was not in his power; and he felt it very doubtful, if for him afuturein this world would be granted. The present was all he could call his own; and it behoved him to make the best use he could of the precious moments that were yet allowed him to make his peace with God. But, alas! the confusion incidental to fever had already attacked his brain; and, though he felt the necessity of penitence and prayer, it was no longer in his power to collect his wandering thoughts, so as to raise a single petition to the Throne of Mercy. He was sensible that he was on the brink of eternity; yet the minutes passed rapidly away, leaving his mind in a state between reason and delirium, yet conscious of his danger, and the importance of that time which was ebbing from him for ever.
His bodily sufferings, too, were dreadful. Burning with fever, he had no means of quenching his thirst—he had long since drained the last drop from the shell, and could not replenish it; for the next morning saw him raving in delirium, or sunk in long and death-like fits of stupor, from which his faithful Neptune strove in vain to arouse him by his caresses.
Philip, in the mean time, had returned to his comfortable hut in the Valley of Limes, and laid himself down to rest; but the image of Lord Robert, pale and languid as he had seen him seated on the boatswain's grave after their last altercation, pursued him when awake, and haunted his slumbers when he closed his eyes in sleep. In the morning, Philip sedulously pursued his useful employments, to divert these painful thoughts. He had discovered on the other side of the island some grass, the only natural production of the place, growing in long, dry, silky tufts out of the clefts of the rocks. He had cut several bundles of this grass, and braided it into a soft, thick mat; this mat he had fixed on a frame-work which he had made, and formed it into a most comfortable couch, rolling one end of the mat over for a pillow. He was so completely occupied and pleased with this employment, that he did not think of Lord Robert, till, on stretching his limbs upon this excellent bed, he remembered how differently his unfortunate enemy would sleep that night. He recollected that he had seen nothing of him in the Valley of Limes that day; and when he recalled the reproaches and threats he had used the day before, and reflected on Lord Robert's high spirit, he thought it probable that he would endure every suffering, rather than improve his condition by procuring anything from that spot. Of Neptune, Philip had seen nothing since the preceding day, when he had once visited the valley, and begged for a share of his dinner; for Lord Robert had peevishly chidden the dog for his importunities; indeed, he had nothing to give him, being too ill to go in search of food. Philip, who was very fond of Neptune, and had been accustomed to caress him when Lord Robert was out of sight, had fed him, and expected to see him again, but he did not come; and Philip thought it likely that Lord Robert was very ill; and he again bitterly regretted having used such expressions as had driven him from the valley.
The next day, Philip again visited the beach, where he had never been before in the meridian heat of the day, and when he experienced the blinding effects of the sunbeams, which soon occasioned him to feel, though in a lesser degree, one of those headaches that had continually tortured his more delicate rival, he wondered where Lord Robert could find shelter from the intense heat. Actuated by more humane motives than mere curiosity, he continued to pace the beach, determining not to return till he had seen Lord Robert. For some time he pursued his solitary walk, without discovering the object of his research. The sight of the seamen's graves redoubled his pain of mind. When he remembered the hopeless dejection visible in Lord Robert's face, so different from his usual animated expression of countenance, and combined it with the illness so apparent in his whole person, the thought crossed his mind, that he might have expired without a human creature near him. Philip shuddered as this dreadful idea presented itself. He was busy with self-accusing thoughts, when he paused before Lord Robert's cave, wishing, yet unwilling, to enter, when Neptune sprang from the interior part of it, and bounding round him, looked up wistfully in his face, and returned, as if to invite him to follow. This Philip could not prevail on himself to do. After waiting a few minutes, Neptune came again; and, laying hold of his jacket with his teeth, endeavoured to draw him into the cave—looking at him in such an imploring manner, that Philip could no longer resist his entreaties, not withstanding the reluctance he felt at intruding himself into Lord Robert's presence.
On entering the cave he beheld the unfortunate young nobleman stretched on the flinty floor in a stupor, so nearly resembling death, that Philip started back in horror; and so much had the violence of the disorder changed the appearance of his once beautiful countenance, that his dearest friends would scarcely have recognised his convulsed and livid features. On a second glance, Philip discovered that he still breathed, but was unconscious of his approach. His heavy eyes, half closed and fixed, had lost their expression of spirit and intelligence; his lips appeared parched and burning; and his light brown ringlets hung in disordered profusion, tangled and neglected, over his forehead.
At this heart-rending sight, Philip, forgetful of the enmity that had subsisted between him and the unhappy sufferer, turned away, and wept bitterly. It was with feelings of the most bitter compunction he recalled the altercation that had passed over the boatswain's grave—particularly when he experienced the stifling closeness of the cave, where he felt a difficulty in respiring; and reflected, that his menaces had had the effect of driving Lord Robert from the only temperate spot on the island.
Philip could form some idea of his Lordship's sufferings, from the recollection of an autumnal fever which had attacked him in his childhood, and nearly brought him to the brink of the grave; he remembered how much he had suffered from thirst, and the relief he had felt from some ices which the Marchioness, Lord Robert's mother, had brought him in her carriage. That noble lady had supplied him with the most delicate fruits from the hothouse; and his mother believed that these ices and fruits, which he took with so much avidity, had saved his life.
"And yet," said Philip, "wretch that I am! I see her darling son, through the criminal indulgence of my resentful feelings towards him, reduced to a state so deplorable, that, if his fond mother could behold him, the sight would kill her."
Here Philip was interrupted by Lord Robert's trying to articulate something; but so very faint was the attempt, that it was not till he had knelt down by his side, and raised his head on his arm, that he could catch his imperfect accents, or distinguish what he intended to express. Alas! it was but one word—"Water!" and that repeated incessantly, in tones of agony, which Philip, some years after that melancholy period, declared that night and day he strove in vain to forget: and at that moment, when he beheld the parched and blackening lips from which those sounds proceeded, they pierced his heart with an anguish no tongue can describe. Fortunately he had a lime in his pocket, with the juice of which he moistened the sufferer's mouth. Some minutes elapsed before this appeared to have the least effect; but at length his Lordship became conscious of the relief, and swallowed with avidity the cooling fluid; and, opening his languid eyes, he turned them on Philip with an expression of gratitude which overpaid him for his exertions. It was evident, however, that he took him for some other person; for, extending his arms towards him, he called him "Augustus! his beloved brother!" and besought him in the most pathetic manner, "to remove him from that horrid place, and to let him have a better bed than the hard one on which he lay, which he assured him had sadly bruised his body."
"Alas! poor sufferer!" said Philip, "if you knew to whom you were addressing these tender names and moving petitions for assistance, your proud spirit would make you reject my aid with scorn, and you would perish rather than accept it."
"However," continued he, "though I fear my help comes too late, yet you shall at least die in a more comfortable place than this dreary cave."
So saying, with some exertion of his strength, he raised the sufferer, who had again relapsed into a state of insensibility, from the ground; and, taking him in his arms, he proceeded to carry him to the Valley of Limes.
The touch of his dry and burning hand gave a sensation of pain to Philip, when it came in contact with his own, and his head dropped in powerless languor on his shoulder. Philip rested by the spring of water, and bathed Lord Robert's face and hands in the cool element: this seemed to revive him a little, and he drank eagerly from a shell of water which Philip held to his burning lips. Had it not been for this refreshment, the sufferer must have expired from thirst and exhaustion before they arrived at the valley. As it was, he appeared to endure so much pain from his exposure to the heat of the sun, that Philip uttered an expression of thankfulness when he reached the shelter of the hut, and laid his helpless burden on the couch of matting within it. But Lord Robert had swooned from weakness and fatigue, and lay for many hours without motion or sensation.
Philip now busied himself in procuring a large supply both of water and limes; and, mixing the juice of the limes in water, continually bathed the sufferer's hands and temples with this refreshing liquid, watching anxiously for returning life. The next day Lord Robert opened his eyes, and expressed his surprise and pleasure at finding his condition so much improved. But his reason was lost in delirium; he talked incessantly; and, addressing Philip by the name of his brother, bestowed on him the most endearing expressions of affection and described to him the particulars of his illness, and all his dreadful privations, in a manner pathetically minute.
Philip, deeply interested, and forgetting that he spoke under the influence of delirium, anxiously exclaimed, "Why did you not return to the Valley of Limes?"—"Because," replied his Lordship, wholly unconscious to whom he spoke, "I was ill and alone, and totally unable to cope with that insolent Harley, who menaced me with his superior strength."
Philip started at hearing his name so mentioned; and Lord Robert continued at intervals to speak on this subject, sometimes passionately blaming himself; and at other times, with all the inconsistency of delirium, bitterly complaining of Philip.
Philip was greatly surprised and agitated, when, after much unconnected wandering, Lord Robert said: "You, Augustus, always blamed me about that Philip Harley, and said you knew him to be an estimable youth, and that he had been hardly used through a prejudice I had against him; but what would you have thought, Augustus, had you seen him clench his hand and threaten your unhappy brother with personal ill-treatment, when he was too ill to defend himself from his violence?"
Philip blushed deeply when he heard this; for he remembered using this gesture in the vehemence of his last wrathful address to Lord Robert; and now that he found how ill he had been at that time, he felt doubly ashamed of having suffered himself to be so transported by passion.
From these self-reproaches he was again roused by Lord Robert's speaking; but he had wandered to a different subject, and evidently imagined himself at his own home, for he demanded "ices, peaches, and strawberries," in a tone of feverish impatience; and Philip was at a loss how to satisfy these cravings; but when at last Lord Robert mentioned "grapes," Philip remembered those that were ripening on the roof of the hut, and hastened to see if any were fit to eat; though his patient, in a tone of displeasure, called him to return and send a servant to execute his orders, for he did not choose to be left alone. This was, however, unavoidable; and in a moment he returned with a rich cluster, perfectly ripe. Lord Robert eagerly seized them, with an exclamation of joy; but he was reduced to such a state of weakness, that he was unable to convey them to his mouth; and resigning the cluster to Philip, begged him to feed him. Philip obeyed, and attended to all his whims with the greatest patience. At length, exhausted by the volubility of delirium, he sank again into a death-like stupor, in which he lay, without sense or motion, the whole of the night, and till the next day was far advanced.
Philip, who had continued to bathe his hands and face at intervals, perceived by the painful motion of his lips that he wanted something to drink. Philip raised his head, and supported it on his bosom, while he held to his lips a shell full of the juice of limes and grapes. Lord Robert drank this delicious beverage eagerly; then opening his eyes, which Philip thought would never again have unclosed, he looked up in his face, as if to thank him for the relief; and Philip saw by the expression of wonder and astonishment in those eyes, so lately fixed and rayless, that he knew him, and was no longer under the influence of delirium. A deep crimson mounted to his pallid cheek, as he said—"Harley, I don't deserve this kindness atyourhands:" and with a deep sigh he again relapsed into insensibility. The sound of his voice, and the manner in which he pronounced this short sentence, thrilled to Philip's heart; and he hung over him with a tender interest, watching the progress of his disorder with the most intense anxiety. Philip had been little accustomed to witness illness: he had scarcely ever watched by a sick-bed, with the exception of the illness of his sister, who had died; but death had laid so gentle a hand on her, that her decease rather resembled the withering of a flower than the passage of a mortal to the grave: far different from the terrific advances of a raging tropical fever, which brought Lord Robert, through stages of exquisite suffering, nearly to the eve of dissolution.
The sight of these sufferings had extinguished the last spark of animosity in Philip's bosom; and it was with feelings nearly allied to those with which he contemplated the death-bed of that beloved sister, that he awaited the termination of Lord Robert's disorder. That it would be fatal he doubted not, for he watched in vain for a second interval of reason; but day after day passed, without the slightest intermission of suffering; but the fever seemed rather to increase in violence, and his Lordship's wanderings from reason assumed a more gloomy character, in which the most unbounded expressions of self-reproach had a principal share. No longer petulant and impatient, he appeared sunk in the deepest despondency; and this turn in the disease alarmed Philip more than his most extravagant fits of raving. It was truly awful to see a fellow-creature, and, alas! a very erring one, on the brink of eternity, without a ray of reason being granted him to prepare to meet his great account. It then occurred to Philip, that many of the faults of which the unhappy sufferer accused himself, had been occasioned by his own pertinacity in throwing himself in his way, and provoking him to violent conduct; by that means setting his fiery temper in a blaze, and causing his evil passions to be ever uppermost, till they prompted him to commit those injuries for which he now suffered the most bitter remorse.
"Had I avoided him half as carefully as I sought him," exclaimed Philip, "he would soon have forgotten an individual so much beneath his own rank. I am accountable for many of his errors. True, he abused his power on board the Diomede; but how have I behaved since our residence on this island?"
Philip pursued these self-accusing reflections as he was kneeling by Lord Robert's side, and fanning him with the wing of a sea-fowl, which Neptune had brought him the day before. The weather had been intensely hot, and attended with thunder and lightning; but as the day declined, some heavy rain descended, which had the effect of cooling the burning earth. This salutary change produced an alteration in Lord Robert, who opening his eyes, gazed round him in indescribable astonishment. At last he said, "Where am I? How came I here?"
"Be composed, my Lord," said Philip, much agitated; for he had long dreaded the moment when Lord Robert would ask this question, and he had meditated to address such words to him as would soothe his proud feelings; but he found that he could not speak; he only regarded his Lordship with a troubled countenance, dropping the feathers with which, till now, he had continued to fan him.
"Harley," said Lord Robert, the flush of fever fading to a deadly paleness as he spoke, "I now comprehend my situation; cease to oppress me with this unmerited kindness!" Then speaking in a less collected manner: "No! it must not be! I have injured you too deeply! Go, leave the oppressor to die alone; I sawyousuffering, and did not pity you; and it is not fit for the merciless to receive mercy!"
He turned away his face, and covered it with his emaciated hands; but Philip knew, by the convulsive heaving of his bosom, that he was weeping. Philip, from a feeling of delicacy, withdrew to a little distance, to avoid the intrusive appearance of watching Lord Robert's emotions; and he feared to increase his agitation, or offend his proud spirit, by even offering a word of comfort. Yet his caution was unnecessary, for the tears Lord Robert shed were not those of humbled pride, but they were those of a broken and contrite spirit; they were such tears as would occasion joy in Heaven, for they were those of true penitence; and Lord Robert was not ashamed of indulging in them, neither did he seek to conceal their traces from Philip, when he turned his eyes towards him, and motioned him to approach.
"Harley," said he, "can you forgive me?"
"Ah, my Lord," said Philip, "I have to the full as much reason to ask your forgiveness. We have both erred, from the indulgence of an implacable temper; and if you repent of your offences as much as I have done of my trespasses against you, we may both be, in future, more acceptable in the eyes of our Heavenly Father, to whom 'hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness,' are most offensive."
"Harley," said his Lordship, "you are too generous! How could I so cruelly persecute one capable of such noble conduct!"
"Cease to accuse yourself, my Lord; you are too ill to continue this agitating conversation," said Philip, observing Lord Robert look very pale.
"No," returned Lord Robert; "I feel my thoughts begin to grow confused! This may be the last interval of reason vouchsafed me; and I would willingly make use of it to assure you that I die at peace with you, and blessing you; and may your last hours be sweetened by the remembrance of your generous conduct to your enemy! When I am no more, save a lock of my hair, and give it to my mother when you return to England, which you will soon have an opportunity of doing. Tell her, if I wished to live, it was to see her again, and to confess to my father that I had been guilty of prejudicing him against you, Harley, by misrepresenting the reason of our first quarrel, which was the cause of your being pressed. Tell me, sincerely, can you forgive me for that, Harley?"
"I can—I do!" replied Philip, approaching close to the couch; "and, in proof that your Lordship exchanges forgiveness with me, give me your hand." Lord Robert threw himself into his arms, and Philip felt his tears wet his bosom. Yet at that moment each felt happier than he had done for months before. But Philip became painfully anxious for the invalid, the violence of whose emotions brought on a fresh access of fever. He began again to talk wildly, and Philip strove in vain to repress his ravings, till at length he sank into a death-like stupor, scarcely giving any symptom of animation.
Philip now entertained the greatest apprehensions for his Lordship's life, and was himself surprised at the pain he felt at the idea of losing him. He had evinced such full and noble contrition for his errors, that Philip, forgetting all his injuries, wondered how he had ever borne a hatred so bitter against him. That hatred had, indeed, changed gradually into an affection so warm, that he was ready to impute to his own faulty temper the blame of all that had passed. "And, oh!" said he, as he hung over the couch where Lord Robert lay, apparently unconscious of his presence, "who could think that I, who now watch so anxiously every change of his pallid countenance, could once have taken delight in provoking him to fight with me, and then took a savage pleasure in aiming my blows at his face, and disfiguring his fine features with the marks of my violence? Ruffian that I was!"
Here a gentle pressure from the hand he held in his, convinced him that Lord Robert was sensible, and had heard this soliloquy. Philip started and coloured at this idea; and Lord Robert said in a faint voice:—
"If you, my dear Harley, so severely accuse yourself for what was a just retaliation for my unfeeling arrogance, what must be my feelings of self-condemnation for my conduct on board the Diomede, on which I cannot think without agony?"
"Never think of it again, my Lord," said Philip, to whom the appellation of "dear Harley" had given a sensation of the greatest pleasure; "let me beg you never again to agitate yourself by a painful remembrance of what is past: I would endure much to see you well and happy."
After some time, Philip succeeded in soothing his patient into some degree of composure; and at length he had the satisfaction of seeing him sink into a profound sleep. Then, being worn out with anxious watching and fatigue, he threw himself on the ground, and enjoyed a calm and refreshing slumber. When he awoke, it was about sunrise; and seeing Lord Robert still asleep, he went out to get a supply of fruit and turtle. On his return, he found Lord Robert awake and evidently better; for he was returning the caresses of Neptune, who certainly had deserved his fondness, for he had been almost as watchful and abstinent, and as attentive to his master's sufferings, as Philip himself. The patient extended his hand towards Philip as he entered, who hastened to him and inquired tenderly, "how long he had been awake, and how he found himself?"
"Long enough to miss you, and well enough to thank you for your unwearied kindness," said Lord Robert, with a melancholy smile. Philip respectfully took the hand that was extended towards him; and, after expressing his pleasure at seeing him so much recovered, began to busy himself in procuring him all the comforts in his power. Lord Robert, for the first time since his illness, was able to raise himself to wash his hands and face in some water which Philip brought him in a turtle-shell. After this grateful refreshment, he attempted with his pocket-comb to disentangle his ruffled and matted hair; but his hands trembled so much from weakness, that he sank exhausted on the couch. Philip took the comb from his hands, and with great care and patience succeeded in smoothing and reducing to their natural order these refractory ringlets. Lord Robert repeatedly bade him give himself no farther trouble, but take his knife and cut them off as well as he could. But Philip did not like to spoil the fine hair which Lord Robert had once been proud of; and had the Marchioness herself presided at this operation, it could not have been more tenderly performed than by the hands of this young sailor; and his patient appeared to derive great benefit from this attention to his personal comforts, though reduced to a state of infantine weakness.
Lord Robert now rapidly improved in health, and was soon enabled, with the assistance of Philip's arm, to walk in the Valley of Limes in the cool of the morning. Notwithstanding this improvement, however, Philip continued to attend on him with the most assiduous care; and even when he was in a state of convalescence, still performed for him all those little offices which he knew Lord Robert had been accustomed to have done for him by his attendants, though his Lordship did not wish to consider himself entitled to such services in his present situation.
One morning, Philip arose much earlier than usual. On his return from the beach with a load of wreck, he was much surprised, not only to see Lord Robert up and dressed, but employing himself in preparing the breakfast. Philip threw down his load and ran to him, exclaiming, "Why, my Lord, did you rise till I was ready to assist you to dress? And, above all, why do you fatigue yourself by an employment so little suitable to your rank?"
"Hush! hush! my dear Harley," returned Lord Robert, laying his hand playfully on Philip's lips. "Not a word about my useless rank now! Rememberwe are equals here!"
"Alas! my Lord," said Philip dejectedly, "I perceive you have not wholly forgiven me, or you would not repeat my impertinence."
"Which had muchtruthin it, though I took it so ill at the time," said Lord Robert, laughing. "However, Harley, without wishing to refer to unpleasant occurrences, or designing to wound your feelings, (which I should be a most ungrateful, cold-hearted fellow, were I to do,) I must tell you, that I cannot consent to be attended on with the same deference as if I were his Britannic Majesty in retirement,—at least, while I have done nothing to merit such distinction."
"Ah! my Lord," said Philip, "if you knew the pleasure which the performance of these little services affords me, you would not wish to deprive me of it: and, indeed, nothing but your absolute prohibition shall prevent me from continuing them."
"You are a noble-minded fellow, Harley; but it is not for me to talk of prohibiting or commandinghere, where I am your superior in nothing——"
"Again, my Lord!" said Philip, turning away.
"Where," answered his Lordship, "I am your inferior in everything, and am so much in love with your just way of thinking, and noble independence, that I would willingly imitate both; and, my dear Philip, you must not take it ill, if I refuse to live by your labours while I have hands of my own. Tell me, Harley, will you accept such an awkward fellow as I have proved myself to be, for your pupil?"
"I cannot refuse you anything," said Philip; "but while you are so debilitated from your long illness, you neither must nor shall do anything to fatigue yourself."
So saying, he proceeded to serve up the turtle which Lord Robert had stewed for breakfast; reproaching him, as he did so, for demeaning himself by performing the office of a cook.
Lord Robert, laughing, told him that it encouraged him not a little in his design of becoming useful, to observe that his last attempt of that kind had succeeded so much better than his first. "But," continued he, "perseverance overcomes all difficulties; and before long, I may become as good a carpenter as I have this morning proved myself a cook."
Philip shook his head, and looked grave.
"So you doubt my abilities," continued Lord Robert, who would not understand him; "now that is mortifying, Harley! But I forgive you, considering that the circumstance of the three-legged stool could not have impressed you with a very favourable opinion of my genius in such matters."
"Let me entreat your Lordship never to allude to my conduct in that affair again," said Philip.
"Now, on the contrary," returned Lord Robert gaily, "I have serious thoughts of fetching the aforesaid stool from under the tree where I so petulantly flung it; and of soliciting you to lend me that rule and saw, which I so rudely refused when you would have permitted me to make use of them to correct my blunders; which was very generous on your part, considering how awkwardly I handled my only tool, and how easily I might have injured yours."
Philip was astonished at the ease and frankness with which Lord Robert spoke of these circumstances, but again implored him not to allude to the past.
"Had you told me anything but thetruth," replied Lord Robert, "perhaps I might be excused if I repeated your remarks with displeasure. But the lesson was too salutary to be forgotten. In common with many of high birth, I have been too much accustomed to the language of flattery, instead of that of truth and justice; till, forgetting the relative obligations of society, and never checking the defects of my temper, I was led to commit outrages on every one who did not yield a blind submission to my whims. You, Harley, have opened my eyes to my faults; and it will, in future, be my constant study to correct them, convinced, as I now am, of the folly of trusting to rank and riches alone for influence and consideration among my fellow-creatures."
The day after this conversation, Lord Robert was well enough to accompany Philip to the beach, to seek for turtles' eggs. In this search they wandered to a different part of the island, and Lord Robert discovered, at a little distance, something dark and large heaving among the surf; he called Philip's attention to it, who soon got it on shore; and they found it to be a chest belonging to some of the unfortunate crew of the Diomede: it was heavy, but Philip soon carried it to the hut.
"What do you think it contains?" said Lord Robert, as Philip was forcing the lid.
"Tools, I hope," said Philip; "for the chest is weighty." And as he spoke, he used so powerful an effort that the lid gave way to his force.
"Not tools, but books!" exclaimed Lord Robert, highly delighted at the sight which presented itself on Philip's removing the lid. Philip, however, was disappointed.
"Tools would have been of unspeakable service," said he, almost vexed at the joy Lord Robert expressed at the sight of the books.
"But these will be of infinitely more service," replied Lord Robert, taking one of the books and turning to the title-page; but his lip quivered as he read the name there written, which was "Lucius Cary."
"Alas! poor Cary!" said he, in an altered tone of voice; "was ityourchest that we thought ourselves so fortunate in finding, and that we opened with such glee?"
Philip, deeply affected, softly closed the lid: for they both were in too melancholy a mood to continue to examine the contents of the chest; nor was it till several days had passed that they assumed firmness enough to open it again.
They found in this chest a complete set of mathematical instruments, and a small but valuable selection of books, fitting for the library of a young officer; comprising the choicest works on navigation, astronomy, and geometry; and two or three volumes of poetry and history. Some of these were wetted by the sea-water, but Lord Robert carefully spread them to dry. They also found a few changes of linen, an undress jacket or two; and Lord Robert drew forth with much grief, from a corner of the chest, Cary's flute.
"This," said he, "should I ever be permitted to revisit my native country, I will carry to England, and keep as long as I live, in memory of our deceased friend."
Though they were in sad want of linen and clothes, Lord Robert felt a pang of regret when he saw Philip busy in removing his epaulet to Cary's half-uniform jacket, and laying out for his use some of his shirts and cravats, which, however, were of the greatest use to him, and highly beneficial to his health.
Soon after this, the rainy season set in, which is usual to these latitudes; and now they found a source of delight and advantage in the books which had been so opportunely thrown in their way. Lord Robert was an accomplished young man; he had received a most superior education; and was not only perfect in all acquirements befitting his rank, but had made a considerable progress in those sciences which are necessary to be known in order to obtain perfection in naval duties.[5]
This knowledge he was desirous of imparting to young Harley, who, at Lord Roberts earnest request, became his pupil in geometry and nautical astronomy, and improved rapidly under his tuition.
This was to Philip the happiest period of his life: he had received from his father a good plain education, which he had improved by reading the best books he could procure; but now he found the acquirement of higher branches of knowledge still more delightful; and the life he led was so calm and peaceful, and Lord Robert's society and manners were so charming, that he tasted on this island pleasure such as he had never before experienced. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that the event which Lord Robert anticipated with much joy, should give him pain whenever he thought of it; namely, the arrival of some vessel from the coast of Africa, on its way to Brazil, which would take them from the island.
The affection which he had formed for his high-born companion was now far stronger than ever his animosity had been; and certainly Lord Robert had, since his illness, conducted himself in a manner deserving even the unbounded attachment which his lowly but warm-hearted friend testified towards him. No longer proud and irritable, his behaviour was gentle, mild, and considerate; his manners, always elegant and polished, possessed a charm altogether irresistible; and his conversation, pure, refined, and chiefly directed to intellectual subjects, was so delightful, that Philip thought his society would unfit him for any other.
As Philip had passed the greater part of his life in seclusion from those of his own age and station, his manners and mind were free from the taint which impure and corrupt society often gives; and when he was by chance thrown in contact with his equals, he shrunk with horror from vice and coarseness; and preferred, in his leisure hours, to nurse and amuse his suffering sister, or to pore over Baker's Chronicle, Drayton's Polyolbion, or Sir Walter Raleigh's History of the World, (which ancient treasures his father possessed,) to the most enlivening games of quoits or foot-ball.
The taste he had formed for mental pursuits since he had been on the island, brought with it a painful consciousness of the difference between Lord Robert's rank and his own; and he thought it very improbable, that so elegant and accomplished a young man could ever condescend to form a friendship with him, though he might retain a grateful sense of the assistance which he had subsequently rendered him.
Philip had made a pretty latticed porch to the hut, and trained the vine over it, that Lord Robert might enjoy the cool of the evening, without being exposed to the noxious effect of the dews. Here then, after spending the day in study or useful employment, they passed the evening, conversing together, or examining the starry heavens, and noting constellations, which appear very different from those of Europe. Sometimes, Lord Robert would play on Cary's flute; but though it was enchanting to listen to this music in the stillness of a moonlight evening, when all the fire-flies in the island were collected in this only spot of verdure, and were blazing round them, and everything above and around accorded so well with these sweet sounds, yet it was forbidden pleasure; for playing on the flute was injurious to Lord Robert's health; and Philip, though he loved music, and this music most of all, would often take the flute almost by force from the hands of his noble friend, who, being a fine performer, and much attached to music, never knew how to resign it in prudent time.
The happiness Philip now enjoyed was only interrupted by the pain he felt, whenever the probability was mentioned of their leaving the island. Lord Robert expected that, when certain winds set in, some vessel or other would touch at the island for water or turtle; and Philip guessed, that when they were taken from their present abode, this delightful intercourse would cease, and Lord Robert would be for ever separated from him by the forms of society. This made him feel almost pettish when he found that, when these winds commenced, Lord Robert left him for hours, and passed his time leaning against the cross on the hill, making observations through his perspective-glass; while Philip remained in the valley, employing himself for their mutual benefit. But though he felt almost angry with Lord Robert for depriving him so much of his company, yet he never presumed to remonstrate with him on this or any other subject; and when he saw him approach the valley on his return, he would forget all his repinings, and hasten to meet him, and offer his arm for his support, if he seemed faint or fatigued. It is not surprising that Lord Robert returned this tender affection with the utmost regard. He now felt the gratifying conviction, that it was not to the superiority of his rank and power, but to his virtues, his acquirements, and charming manners, that he owed his influence over the heart of one on whom his situation in life had made no impression, and who had denied him the slightest respect till he had proved himself deserving of it; and he could not help remarking, that he had never, when in the height of his pride and power, received half the real deference, or marks of delicate attention, which had been shown him since his residence on the island, by his only companion and former enemy, Philip Harley.
One afternoon, as Philip was employing himself in the valley, and had begun to wonder at the long absence of his noble companion, Lord Robert rushed into the hut, and, with an animation of manner Philip had not observed in him for a long time, said: "Joy! joy! my dear Harley! I have just seen a sail, and have hastened home to bring you the delightful news."
"Is that all?" said Philip in a melancholy tone.
"No, not all," replied Lord Robert: "for I climbed to the top of the cross, and hoisted my handkerchief as a signal of distress. And the lads are now making the island! And we shall see Old England again, my boy!"
But Philip Harley did not seem to participate in his delight; for he looked grave and thoughtful.
"How now!" said Lord Robert; "what are these dismal looks for? Shall you be sorry to see your home again? Or does the name of England recall to your remembrance some of my former exploits? Or do you think, if I found myself on board ship once more, I should feel the temptation of authority, and play the tyrant again?"
"No," replied Philip, sighing; "you do me great injustice if you suppose that I can for a moment form such an opinion of your Lordship."
"My Lordship, too! Very formal, Mr. Harley!—But, Philip, my dear fellow, tell me, what is the matter with you?"
Philip did not speak.
"Nay, then, Harley," said Lord Robert, taking both his hands, "I shall soon begin to think that you are willing to consider our present amity only in the light of a truce, occasioned by the breaking out of a pestilence; and that you are anxious to recommence hostilities as soon as an opportunity offers. But tell me, without more ado, are you offended with me?"
"Your Lordship is very gay this afternoon," said Philip gravely. "But I hope I have seen my own errors in too strong a light, and am too well convinced of my own insignificance, ever to take offence at anything done by a person ofyourrank and consequence."
Lord Robert now appeared much wounded, and asked him seriously, what was the reason of this strange behaviour; and Philip, who could not bear the idea of giving him pain, replied—
"How can I share in your joy at the prospect of leaving the island, when that event will separate us for ever?"
"How so?" said Lord Robert, laughing. "To be sure, you don't mean to remain here playing Robinson Crusoe or the Hermit Quarl, by yourself?"
"No," said Philip sorrowfully, "that is not my intention; though, perhaps, the wisest thing I could do. But the forms of society, you well know, will as effectually separate us, as if I were to remain here."
Lord Robert's eyes brightened with more than usual animation, as he exclaimed—
"Is that all?—Am I, then, so dear to you, Harley?"
The tears glistened in Philip's eyes; and Lord Robert pressing his hand, cried, "Courage, man! We shall find a way to satisfy the most precise on the article of etiquette?"
So saying, he hastened to the beach; where he had the satisfaction of seeing the boat rowing rapidly towards the shore.
They found that the vessel was a Portuguese merchant ship; and from the knowledge Lord Robert possessed of Spanish, he had no difficulty in making himself understood by the mariners, who agreed to take him to the port of Rio de Janeiro, to which place they were bound; for they only landed to obtain a fresh supply of water.
As our adventurers were now to leave the island in a few hours, Philip bade a mournful adieu to the hut, where he had passed so many happy hours, and conveyed their little property to the beach; while Lord Robert amused himself by engraving the following inscription on the cross.
"On the 3rd of June, 17—, Lieutenant Lord Robert Summers, and Philip Harley, of his Britannic Majesty's ship of war the Diomede, were by the especial mercy of God preserved from the fury of the waves, and permitted to land safely on this island; where, after enduring many hardships, they became reconciled to their situation, and passed six months in a state of great happiness, and were at last removed by the Brazilian ship St. Sebastian."
Their voyage from the island (to which Lord Robert gave the name of the isle of Probation) was short and prosperous; and in less time than they could have expected, they entered the harbour of Rio de Janeiro. Here they began to feel some of the difficulties of their situation. Lord Robert had a few pieces of gold about him; but when they made the coast of Brazil, the Portuguese master did not fail to make such a demand on the young Englishman, as reduced his whole stock to half a moidore and a few pieces of silver; and these the sailors, on some pretence or other, contrived to extort from him; for being of a generous temper, and always accustomed to have money at command, his Lordship knew not how to refuse it, even when the prospect of want appeared before him. Philip thought him imprudent, and asked how he proposed reaching England?
"Oh," returned he, in a careless, light-hearted manner, "we are both able seamen; and, at the worst, we can work our passage in the first Portuguese vessel that sails for Lisbon: and then, you know, my lad, we are within a stone's throw of Old England."
"You work your passage to Europe!" said Philip, regarding him with a look of astonishment. "Does your Lordship mean to degrade your rank and talents by taking the berth of a common seaman?"
"Once, perhaps, I might have been alarmed at such an idea," said Lord Robert; "but since my residence on the Island of Probation, I have learnt the useful lesson, that nothing is really disgraceful but vice; and that no useful employment can degrade a man, let his rank be what it may, if there is an actual necessity for his taking it upon him. Of course, I, Lord Robert Summers, who have the honour to hold the rank of Lieutenant in his Majesty's navy, would not, willingly take upon myself the post of a common sailor in the Portuguese service: but will not that be less disgraceful than applying to some convent here for relief, and living lazily on their charity till some English ship of war arrives, whose officers, even if they disbelieve my noble birth, may, by cross-questioning me, contrive to recognise my rank on the navy-list?"
"But surely it was thoughtless of your Lordship to give away your last shilling to those imposing fellows, when you have no means of procuring necessaries in a foreign land; and, you know, your health is still delicate."
Lord Robert, laughing, still defended his extravagance, pretending that it was not for the honour of the British navy for a young officer who wore an epaulet and the remains of a white lapel, to appear shabby to the crew of a foreign vessel, or behave as if a handful of silver was of the least consequence to him.
"But," continued he, "I never felt the want of money enough to know the value of it. Perhaps, as there is no infliction of Providence sent in vain, I may, in the privations which I shall most likely suffer in the Brazils, be cured of my bad habit of thoughtless extravagance; and if I can contrive to leave one of my follies at every port we touch at in our return, I may chance to arrive at home a very perfect character."
In the afternoon, the vessel approached the town; and Lord Robert's attention was attracted by the appearance of a fine ship lying in the King's dock: slapping Philip's shoulder, he exclaimed—
"Look at that vessel, Harley! I protest, if her rigging were not evidently Portuguese, I should declare it was our old friend the Diomede! But, alas! that brave bark foundered in the heavy gale which we escaped."
Philip did not perceive the resemblance, and tried in vain to restrain the impatient tone of authority in which Lord Robert ordered the Portuguese sailors to lower a boat, and row him and his friend alongside the ship of war, which lay in the wet dock. "If these fellows knew the state of your Lordship's purse, they would not move their oars quite so nimbly," said Philip, when they were in the boat; "neither would they pay such regard to your impatient gestures to quicken their motions; and you might chance to get thrown into the sea, in return for your vociferating, in Spanish, that they are the laziest dogs you ever met with."
"But, Philip, how came you, who are not quite so familiar in the Spanish terms of abuse as I am, to guess what I was saying to them?"
"Truly, my Lord," said Philip, "I guessed, by your tone and manner, that you were not addressing the most polite expressions to them: and it would perhaps be prudent to remember, that you are nottheircommanding officer; therefore, they are not obliged to put up with any incivility."
"True, Philip; I certainly have no right to abuse them; and I perceive I have already violated one of my good resolutions, by giving way to my usual intemperance of tongue, on a very slight occasion. Tell me, Harley, were you not astonished, after all I had determined on that subject, to see me swaggering and ordering about me, in the boat, quite in my old way?"
"No, my Lord," said Philip drily; "for I have always heard that good resolutions are much easier made than adhered to."
"Well, well! my dear Harley, I must exert all my strength of mind to adhere to mine, though I own this is but a bad beginning."
As he spoke, they approached near enough to the vessel to distinguish her build by the naked eye.
"It is a British ship of the line, though Portuguese rigged!" exclaimed Lord Robert, starting up in the boat.
"It is the Diomede itself!" said Philip, dropping Lord Robert's perspective-glass into the water, through which he had been examining the figure-head.
The sight of this vessel brought a thousand agonizing remembrances to Philip's mind; and he sank on one of the benches, almost annoyed by the ardent Lord Robert; who, as they dashed up the river, besought the rowers in the most moving Spanish he could command, to redouble their speed. He laughed and wept by turns; till the men, shrugging their shoulders, protested by all their saints that the young officer was the maddest Englishman they ever had the honour of rowing.
"Oh, my beloved uncle! My heroic commander! Shall I see you again?" exclaimed Lord Robert, as the sailors rested on their oars under the stern of the vessel: and, in another moment, he stood on the deck of the Diomede, to the inexpressible astonishment of her officers and crew.
The bustle on deck brought Sir Henry Stanley to the scene of action; as he advanced, he was struck by the exclamations of—
"Can it be?—Is it possible?" On his nearer approach, he could scarcely credit the evidence of his own eyes, when he beheld his lost nephew; altered, it is true, from the hardships he had undergone; for he looked pale and thin, and rather consumptive, and was grown considerably taller. He was leaning on the arm of Philip Harley, his former enemy, who now seemed to regard him with the greatest affection. Sir Henry, like the rest of the officers and crew, was inclined to doubt the reality of what he saw; when his impetuous nephew, catching a glimpse of his majestic figure, broke through the group that surrounded him, and, throwing himself into his arms, buried his head in his bosom, and sobbed aloud. Sir Henry, who fondly loved this young man, and had mourned his loss as for that of an only son, now felt himself overpowered by his joy at so unexpectedly beholding him.
"Look up, my dear boy!" he said, at length recovering his firmness. "Look up, and let me once more behold that beloved face, which I never thought to have seen again."
Lord Robert raised his head, and smiled through his tears on his uncle; but again, yielding to the joy of seeing that dear friend alive, he concealed his face on Sir Henry's shoulder, and wept passionately. Sir Henry was at last distressed by his agitation, and forced himself to chide him for giving way to such an excessive indulgence of his feelings.
"Compose yourself, my dear boy!" said he; "or you will give these gentlemen reason to suspect that it is one of your sisters, who has taken it into her head to assume the appearance of my brave young lieutenant."
Lord Robert was ashamed of giving way to his emotions so publicly; till, having in some degree collected himself, he looked in his uncle's face, and was pleased to find that his eyes were full of tears, notwithstanding the reproof he had just administered to him.
"And now," said Sir Henry, "I hope that you will consider how powerfully the curiosity of all present is excited, to learn by what means you have been enabled to appear among us alive and well, when we thought we saw you perish before our eyes, without being able to render you any assistance, and after we had deeply deplored your loss."
Lord Robert stepped back to the spot where he had left Philip, and taking him by the arm, led him to his uncle.
"For this interview," said he, "under the especial providence of God, you must thank my kind preserver, the brave and noble-minded Harley."
Sir Henry graciously presented his hand to Philip, who respectfully pressed it to his lips in silence.
"Ah, my dear uncle," said Lord Robert, in reply to Sir Henry's commendations and grateful expressions to Philip for his care of his nephew, "you know not half his merit yet; nor are you aware," said he, lowering his voice, "of half my unworthiness."
"Aware of your unworthiness! No, my dear boy—that is what I hope I shall never be," said Sir Henry.
"I fear," said Lord Robert, "you will have reason to blush for your nephew soon; for I must summon courage to relate to you a story which will, I fear, deprive me of your affection and esteem for ever."
"I shall be sorry to hear anything that is likely to have such effects," said Sir Henry, gravely: and when he looked from him to Philip Harley, and observed his visible agitation, and remembered the bitter hatred that once subsisted between them, he was convinced that Lord Robert had something to communicate respecting his conduct to the young mutineer, not much to his own credit.
Lord Robert was roused from his meditation by the importunities of the boatmen who had rowed him to the ship; and it was quite with the air of his former gay liberality that he flung into their boat a handful of money he had obtained from his uncle for that purpose.
The appearance of Lieutenant Cary on deck occasioned a great surprise to the young friends.
He was absent on shore when they arrived; and they were the more delighted at finding him alive, from the grief they had felt at his supposed loss. Lord Robert told him the manner in which they had found the chest containing his books, flute, and other property.
"Ah! my poor books!" said Cary: "the chest was weighty; and, in the extremity to which we were reduced, after you left the ship, we threw it overboard, in common with everything else that was likely to lighten the ship."
"And pray, how came my poor Neptune overboard? Did you commit him to the mercy of the waves in order to lighten the ship?" said Lord Robert, patting the faithful creature as he spoke.
"What became of Neptune we never knew," said Cary; "but we supposed that he went away with the pinnace; for in the height of our distress, when all on board expected the Diomede to founder every minute, the boatswain, with one midshipman, and two or three sailors, contrived to lower the pinnace and steal away, selfishly leaving their commander and messmates to endure the worst; and, most likely, Neptune, being uneasy at missing his master, jumped into the boat and went with them."
"They met with a fitting reward for their cowardly desertion," said Lord Robert; "for Neptune was the only creature that reached the island with life: some of the bodies we found and buried. But how came the ship to reach the shore of Brazil?"
"By the mercy of Heaven, we met some Brazilian proas, which took us on board, and the Diomede in tow; and, having favourable winds and a smooth sea, we contrived to get the hulk into the King's dock at Rio de Janeiro; where, being a fine new ship, she was found worth repairing and refitting; and here we have been ever since, the Portuguese workmen being very slow in their operations."[6]
It was not till late that day that Lord Robert summoned courage enough to disclose to his uncle the whole particulars of his conduct towards young Harley. It was not without reason that he dreaded the manner in which Sir Henry would receive this explanation; for he was a man of the purest honour himself, and was likely to consider with some severity the misrepresentation his nephew had made to his father, which occasioned Philip's being removed from his home.
Lord Robert, when a child, had been treated with ruinous indulgence by his fond parents, by whom his most extravagant whims were considered as a law to which the whole establishment must submit. Sir Henry Stanley was the only person who had ever attempted the arduous but necessary task of controlling Lord Robert; although, with the self-delusion not uncommon in such cases, his noble parents did not scruple to attribute their son's violent temper and petulant conduct when on shore, to his uncle's indulgence. But if there was a man in the world whom Lord Robert feared, it was Sir Henry; yet, at the same time, he was so unerringly just and judicious, that his nephew loved him with the most ardent affection, and was used to consider the displeasure of his uncle as the most serious misfortune that could befal him: and such was the good effect this salutary awe had on him, when on board ship, that Sir Henry was not a little proud of his officer-like conduct, never having had occasion to frown on him for any breach of duty or immorality. Lord Robert knew the high place he held in his uncle's opinion, and the idea of forfeiting his esteem was dreadful. True, he was not actually under the necessity of making a confession so mortifying. Sir Henry need never know the misrepresentation he had made to his father:—a single word to that fond parent would not only prevail on him to bury the whole in oblivion, but induce him to devise excuses to cover his faults and reconcile him to himself. From Harley, he knew, he need feel no fear of its being divulged;—that generous friend would, he was assured, take the whole blame of what had passed on himself to screen him from reproach.
Lord Robert was at first strangely tempted to take these measures, and conceal the worst part of his conduct from his revered commander; but his better principles obtained the victory in the struggle, and, in a private conference with his uncle, he revealed every circumstance,—beginning with his shooting Philip's dog, and relating all that had happened between them till their reconciliation and friendship on the Isle of Probation. And so severely did he blame himself that Sir Henry, moved by his candour, would not increase his mental sufferings by any reprimands.
Lord Robert was in earnest conference with his uncle that evening and the next morning; during which time Philip had resumed his duties on board: but he was restless and unhappy; for he felt his separation from Lord Robert had now commenced, and he conceived he should never more enjoy the pleasure of his society. In this frame of mind, he looked back with the most painful regret to their residence on the island, and the delightful hours he had spent with his noble friend in the acquirement of knowledge. In the midst of these repinings, he received a summons to Lord Robert's cabin. He did not find any one there; but was told by his conductor to wait till his Lordship returned from dining with his uncle. At last, Philip heard a quick and well-known step at the door; and Lord Robert rushed in with more than his usual impetuosity, and, seizing Philip by the hand, he exclaimed:
"Joy, my dear Harley! My noble uncle has forgiven me! For I have confessed everything that has passed between us; and so highly does he approve of your generous conduct towards me, that he has granted my earnest request of placing you on the quarter-deck of the Diomede, where you are now privileged to appear with the other midshipmen."—So saying, he beckoned to his servant who followed him, carrying a full-dress midshipman's uniform. He superintended himself the pleasing task of arraying his friend in this dress; and buckled on the dirk with his own hands, which was the same he had himself worn when a midshipman. When all was complete, he surveyed Philip from head to foot with great satisfaction; and assured him that the dress became him as well as if he had been born a gentleman; and, with much animation, expressed his conviction that he would, after serving his due time as a naval cadet, arrive at the dignity of an epaulet, and fill in progression the highest situations in the navy, to which, he was convinced, he would prove an honour.
The change was so sudden, that it almost took from Philip the power of expressing his joy. Lord Robert could not help smiling to find that he had, for once, overcome that firmness for which Philip generally was distinguished. His agitation was painful in the extreme; but when he did at length speak, it was with a vehemence of gratitude, which showed Lord Robert the dominion he now possessed over the once stubborn and haughty mind of Philip Harley. "It is not," said he, wringing Lord Robert's hand as he spoke, "because I am proud and ambitious, and you have raised me from my lowly rank, and given me an opportunity of distinguishing myself—this is, indeed, much,—but it is not that which makes my heart overflow with joy: it is the consciousness that I shall now sometimes be suffered to be near you, and that my humble situation will not deprive me of your friendship."
"Now, my dear friend," said Lord Robert, "I must leave you, though against my wishes: as the barge is waiting to convey my uncle on shore, to spend two days with the Governor, and it is his pleasure that I shall attend him. You will, in the mean time, find sufficient amusement, I doubt not, among your brother officers." As he said this, he gaily withdrew. Harley pursued his retreating figure with his eyes, as he followed Sir Henry Stanley and Lieutenant Cary into the splendid state-barge, which the Portuguese Governor had sent to convey them on shore. As the sun shone brightly on the gilded vessel, and her silken streamers fluttered in the breeze, it recalled to his mind the remembrance of the Ariel; and he recollected with shame his lawless exploit of sailing in that fairy frigate, in defiance of her owner, and in his very sight.
"Well might Lord Robert have been enraged at my repeated trespasses!" thought he: and, as he looked down on his new uniform, and considered how engagingly and delicately his noble friend had behaved in presenting it to him, he wondered how he could ever have appeared so overbearing and arrogant. Yet Philip was deceived when, in the warmth of his affection, he thought it must have been his own prejudices that made Lord Robert appear to him at one time so cruel and tyrannical. It was from the trials experienced in adversity, that he had learned to correct his faults and follies: yet it is but justice to Lord Robert to say, that he never would have committed such outrages, had not Philip studied modes of insult and provocation sufficient to have irritated a much calmer spirit, and which finally drew upon Philip severe punishment, and on Lord Robert proportionable remorse and suffering.