Title: The Mysterious Wanderer, Vol. I
Author: Reeve, Sophia
Language: English
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 THE
 MYSTERIOUS WANDERER.

 A NOVEL:
 IN THREE VOLUMES.

 Dedicated, by Permission,
 _TO THE RIGHT HON. LADY ELIZABETH SPENCER._

 BY SOPHIA REEVE.

 VOL. I.

 LONDON:

 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY C. SPILSBURY, ANGEL-COURT,
 SNOW-HILL;

 AND SOLD BY RICHARDSON AND SON, ROYAL-EXCHANGE;
 J. HIGHLEY, FLEET-STREET; AND DIDIER AND TEBBETT,
 ST. JAMES'S-STREET.

 1807.



ADVERTISEMENT.


In committing the following sheets to the press, I have acted in
compliance with the partial wishes of a few friends. I am aware that my
story has many imperfections; but it being a first essay, and having
been written solely for my own amusement, during a winter season, I
trust, will plead with a liberal public, to soften the severity of
criticism: and if, whilst I furnish a few hours entertainment to my
readers, I may hope to have implanted a generous sentiment--or to have
checked the tendency to a vicious one--I shall esteem myself happy, and
feel my labours amply rewarded.

                                                         THE AUTHOR.

  _Feb. 1, 1807._



TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

LADY ELIZABETH SPENCER.


MADAM,

The protection your Ladyship has so generously granted to this little
offspring of my leisure hours, whilst it has impressed my mind with
the most grateful sentiments, has fully evinced the benevolence and
condescension which so eminently distinguish your character. Truly a
pupil of nature, I little expected that the productions of my fancy
would please--or indeed be read by--any, but my intimate friends, till
your Ladyship's flattering approbation of the following tale, encouraged
me to offer it to the world.

Should THE MYSTERIOUS WANDERER be favourably received by the public, it
will be my highest pride to acknowledge my obligation to your Ladyship;
should it be consigned to oblivion--I shall ever, with gratitude,
remember the honour and favour you have conferred on,

                       Madam,
              Your Ladyship's much obliged,
                         and
                Most obedient humble servant,

                                                       SOPHIA REEVE.



THE MYSTERIOUS WANDERER.



CHAPTER I.


"Of all the passions inherent in man, I think pride the most despicable,
and for which he has the least excuse! If he have sense and abilities,
they ought rather to guard his bosom from so contemptible an inmate,
than implant it there. It is a passion insulting to reason, beneath the
generosity of human nature, and in the highest degree degrading to the
character of a British sailor."

Such were the sentiments of Frederick Howard, addressed to a fellow
officer, (remarkable for his pride and haughtiness) as they walked
toward the pier-head at Yarmouth, on their return to the Argo man of
war, then stationed in the roads. Already were they in the boat which
was to convey them on board, when a youth about seventeen ran up to
them, and, with wildness and distress in his aspect, entreated they
would take him with them.

"Take you with us!" said Lieutenant Harland, sternly, "who are you?"

"For God's sake, ask no questions, but take me with you," said the
youth, and immediately jumped into the boat.

"Get back, fellow! knock him over!" cried the exasperated Lieutenant.

"Not in my presence, George;" said Frederick;--"he entreats
protection--if he deserve it, it ought to be granted: if he do not, we
have no right to maltreat him." He pushed the boat off, and they were
conveyed on board.

Captain Howard, the uncle of Frederick, was justly esteemed for the
generosity of his disposition; his heart, indeed, was the seat of
philanthropy, and never did the indigent or unhappy sue in vain. On
being informed by his nephew of his conduct to the stranger, he
expressed his approbation, at the same time desiring to see him. The
youth was accordingly summoned. He entered the cabin with a modest bow,
and, to the Captain's interrogation of who he was? answered--One brought
up in expectation of a better fate; till an adverse stroke of fortune
had bereaved him of all his early prospects of happiness.

"Do you belong to Yarmouth, young man?" asked the Captain.

"No, sir, I come from Caermarthen."

"Ha--what--Caermarthen! Tell me, who is your father?--what is your
name?"

"I have not a father," sighed the youth, "My name is--(he faltered as he
spoke it)--Henry St. Ledger."

The animated hope expressed in the countenance of the Captain, suffered
a momentary depression on hearing the name of the youth; but returned
with redoubled glow as he repeated--"You have not a father!--Oh
God!--How did you lose him?--When did he die?"

"About two years since," replied St. Ledger, dashing a tear from his
cheek.

The Captain's agitation increased. "Are you certain he was your father?
Did no obscurity,--no secrecy, attend your birth?" "Neither, sir; my
birth was honourable; welcomed with joy: though I, alas! was decreed by
heaven to experience the bitterest misery."

Disappointment took possession of the Captain's features, on this
information: he sighed deeply, and, leaning back in his chair, covered
his face with his hand.

He was recalled from his reverie, by his nephew expressing his surprise
at the emotions St. Ledger had occasioned him.

"Ah! Frederick," replied the Captain; "there is something in his
appearance----"

"Certainly not very prepossessing;" interrupted Lieutenant Harland: "to
judge by that, I should take him for a pauper--or something worse."

Till that moment the habiliments of St. Ledger had been disregarded by
Captain Howard and his nephew; it was St. Ledger himself, who engaged
their attentions: he was pale and emaciated, but with features more than
commonly handsome and expressive: at the insinuation of Harland, a
momentary spark of passion suffused his cheek; but, looking at his
dress, he suppressed a sigh, and with an air of injured dignity turned
to the window. The captain regarded George with a sternness which never
failed to check him, and, again addressing St. Ledger, asked if he
wished to engage in the sea-faring life?

St. Ledger bowed--

"If such be your wish or intention, young man," continued the Captain,
"you are welcome to remain here; and depend on my friendship--as you
deserve!"

"As he deserves!" repeated George, with contemptuous haughtiness. "Were
he to have his deserts, sir, I believe your friendship would not be put
to the test."

"Forbear! Lieutenant," returned the Captain, "know your distance, young
man, or take my word, my friendship to your father shall not shield you
from your deserts!"

He waved his hand for St. Ledger to follow him, and left the cabin.
Frederick likewise retired, leaving the Lieutenant highly incensed at
the reproof he had received, and the favourable reception given to the
indigent St. Ledger.

Descended from an ancient and wealthy family--an only child--Harland had
early been taught to regard merit only in proportion to the birth of the
individual; and whilst the actions of his ancestors were recited to
raise an emulation in his bosom, they implanted a pride, the partial
fondness of his parents but too much tended to increase. Thus regarding
himself as superior to the generality of mankind, he expected an
observance and obedience few were willing to pay. The Captain's
profession of friendship to St. Ledger, after he had so openly avowed
his disapprobation of that youth, he looked on as an insult offered to
himself, and as such determined to show his resentment by treating him
with every mark of contempt in his power. This behaviour, however,
failed in the desired effect; and, instead of degrading St. Ledger, was
the means of gaining him the notice and protection of the other
officers. By the austerity of his manners, Harland had long since
rendered himself the object of their dislike; the injustice of his
behaviour was therefore exaggerated in their opinion, and, independently
of the Captain's avowed partiality, or the interesting manners of the
young adventurer, inclined them to regard him with sentiments of
commiseration and friendship.

Already had St. Ledger been six weeks on board, during which time the
Captain had repeatedly, but vainly, urged him to declare who he was;
neither could he be induced to appear when any strangers visited that
gentleman; when one day, being importuned by Frederick to accompany them
to the house of a friend, he hesitatingly acknowledged it was not safe
for him to be seen.

"Not safe, St. Ledger?" repeated the Captain. "Of what action can you
have been guilty, that like a midnight assassin, you should thus dread
the observation of civilized society?"

"None, Captain," answered St. Ledger firmly. "But the criminal is not
the only one who has cause for fear. He who meets the hand of the
assassin is in equal danger as he who gives the blow."

"Well, St. Ledger," returned the Captain, "I yield to your reasons,
whatever they may be. I entertain too good an opinion of you to think
you guilty of any crime which could render you undeserving of the
protection I have afforded. When you have known me longer, you may
perhaps find me more worthy of your confidence."

St. Ledger felt relieved by their departure, though hurt at the reproach
he thought the Captain's last words implied.

For that gentleman, he sunk into a reverie as soon as he was seated in
the barge; which Frederick, whose imagination was equally employed in
conjectures respecting St. Ledger, never thought of interrupting; and on
being landed they silently pursued their way till they arrived at the
quay, when Frederick suddenly exclaimed--"I cannot form an idea who, or
what St. Ledger is. Above the generality of mankind I must think him."

"I have indeed," said the Captain, "rarely seen his equal, and would
freely give a hundred guineas to know who he is, or his reason for
wishing to be concealed. If he would intrust me with the secret, it
might perhaps be in my power to prove a greater friend to him than I am
at present."

The concluding sentence brought them to the place of their destination.
On being announced, a gentleman, who was seated with their invitor,
hastily rose, and, eagerly surveying the Captain, exclaimed--

"Does my memory deceive me; or is it my friend Crawton I have again the
pleasure of beholding?"

"I was once known by that name," answered the Captain, with emotion;
"but at present bear that of Howard."

"Tell me," said the other, with quickness, "were you ever acquainted
with one Talton, of Brighthelmstone?"

"Brighthelmstone!--Talton!" repeated the Captain, taking his
hand--"Surely it is.--It is my old friend Talton himself! Yet scarcely
can I credit the existence of one I thought long since numbered with the
dead."

"I wonder not at your entertaining the idea," said Mr. Talton. "The
years that have intervened since last we beheld each other, and a
variety of circumstances, might justly give rise to such a
supposition."

The pleasure experienced by the Captain at thus meeting a man whose
friendship had once constituted a considerable portion of his happiness,
diffused itself to the bosoms of all, and some time elapsed ere he
thought of asking an explanation of the occurrences by which he had been
induced to believe the death of his friend.

On Frederick and their entertainer likewise expressing a wish to hear
his relation, Mr. Talton readily consented to gratify their curiosity.

"Though I would not, my friends," he continued, "have you expect to hear
any thing extraordinary in my history, as there is not any circumstance
in the whole, but what daily and hourly happens to hundreds of my
fellow-beings, or that can render it interesting to any but the ear of
friendship.

"I believe, Howard, I need not recapitulate the circumstances which
eighteen years since induced me to leave England; as I doubt not you
well remember the death of my guardian, and the villany of my steward
in Barbadoes, who, on that event, endeavoured to defraud me of the
property I inherited from my mother.

"Our voyage was tempestuous and tedious; and on landing at Barbadoes, I
found Johnson regarded as the legal possessor of my lands. I carried
sufficient proofs of my identity and the validity of my claim; but,
irritated to the highest degree, declined an application to law as too
tedious in its redress, and determined personally to assert and enforce
my right.

"I accordingly went, accompanied by some friends, who had in vain
endeavoured to dissuade me from such a procedure, and was admitted into
the presence of Johnson, whom I accused with all the vehemence of
ungoverned rage, and declared my intention of maintaining possession
from that period. He heard me with an affectation of surprise; and
then, with the greatest effrontery, said--'You the son of the late
honourable Alric Talton, and the owner of these plantations! This
impudence exceeds all I ever witnessed! No, sir, the son of my late
master is too well known to me to admit of this imposition. From him I
purchased these possessions, and from him, from you, and all the world,
I will now withhold them.'

"Driven nearly to madness by this impudent assertion, I still insisted
on the justness of my claim, and menaced him with the utmost severity of
the law; whilst he in return pretended to treat me as an impostor, and
threatened to have me punished accordingly.

"My friends finding the inutility of the attempt, proposed my returning
to Bridgetown, and seeking redress from the Governor. This I told them
they were welcome to do, but I should remain where I was; and, finding
me obstinate to my purpose, they at last set out for town without me.

"As soon as they were gone, Johnson summoned two European servants, and
commanded them to search my pockets; and, whilst my arms were confined
by his order, I had the mortification to see those papers concerning his
stewardship, and which as of most consequence in my cause I carried
about my person, torn to pieces and consumed! Then regarding me with a
sarcastic grin--'As you are determined to remain here, young man, it is
as little as I can do to accommodate you with an apartment; though,
perhaps, it may not prove altogether agreeable to your wishes.'

"He then ordered me to be conducted to a room he named, and which I
afterwards found was used as a place of confinement to those slaves who
failed in their attempts for liberty. My arms were there unbound, and I
was left to the solitary comfort of a bed of reeds. The first violence
of passion subsiding, I perceived the folly of my late behaviour; and,
as I doubted not my friends would effect my liberation, I determined, if
possible, to rectify the errors my rage had occasioned; and I had still
sufficient proofs remaining, I doubted not, to bring Johnson to justice.

"According to my expectations, my friends, the next day, came to
Johnson's, and on being refused any satisfactory intelligence respecting
me, applied to the Governor, who issued an order, in consequence of
which my villanous steward was obliged to release me, or stand indicted
for my murder. A formal process of law was then commenced against him;
the cause finally brought to trial; and, as my witnesses and proofs were
indisputable, the verdict pronounced in my favour. But the crafty
villain effectually screened himself from punishment by the evidence of
his two servants, who positively swore their master had, previously to
my arrival, purchased the plantations of a man who assumed my name; and
that they were witnesses to the deeds, which were accordingly produced.

"The behaviour of Johnson in destroying the papers relative to the
stewardship, and the question--where could he honestly have amassed
money sufficient for the purchase--effectually proved the falsity of
this account: but as I had recovered my right, and could bring no
witnesses of his conduct, I desisted from farther prosecution.

"Johnson, thus cleared from intentional fraud, unquestioned master of
the money he had amassed during his illegal tenure of the plantations,
purchased one adjoining mine, and proved such a troublesome neighbour,
that for five years I had occasion for all my forbearance and
circumspection, to avoid a continual course of law-suits. During that
time my affairs in England had been very little attended to; and as my
overseer was a man on whose integrity I could rely, I determined to pay
a visit to my native country. I accordingly came to England, passed some
months at Bath, and went to Brighthelmstone, for the purpose of visiting
you, to whom I had repeatedly written: but on my arrival there, was
informed no person of the name of Crawton resided in the place; nor
could I gain the least intelligence respecting you.

"Having settled my affairs to my satisfaction, I again returned to
Barbadoes, where I passed ten years more without any thing material
occurring; except that Johnson had the impudence to propose an alliance
between me and his daughter, a girl of sixteen; but the offer was
rejected with the disdain it merited. He soon after died, and I once
more visited England, where some events which have happened, will most
probably induce me to fix my future residence. I went to the continent
about six weeks since, to settle accompts with my correspondents, whence
I yesterday returned; and happy indeed do I deem myself in the discovery
of this afternoon."

A more minute recapitulation of incidents beguiled the time till the
period of the Captain's return on board, when he parted from his friend,
who promised to pass the ensuing day with him.



CHAPTER II.


The cheerfulness which had animated the countenance of the Captain,
deserted him when he quitted the presence of Mr. Talton; a deep
dejection succeeded, and the half-stifled sigh evinced the recollection
of events painful to remembrance. Frederick vainly endeavoured to divert
his attention, but his voice had lost its wonted influence; nor, when
returned on board, was the interesting St. Ledger more successful in
dispelling the saddened cloud from his brow. The Captain regarded him
for some time in mournful silence, then hastily bade him good night,
and retired to his cabin, whence he was summoned in the morning, on the
arrival of Mr. Talton. His pallid countenance sufficiently showed how
ill he had passed the night, nor could his efforts to assume a cheerful
ease succeed.

Mr. Talton beheld the alteration with concern, and took the occasion of
his absence to ask Frederick the reason of it.

"Alas, Sir," replied Frederick, "I cannot resolve your question; my
uncle is frequently--nay generally dejected; but with the cause I am
unacquainted."

"I know," said Mr. Talton, "that early in life he experienced
unhappiness from his family; yet, surely after so many years have
elapsed--Yet it may: the enmity of his brother was too deeply rooted to
yield to time--And shall I own my surprise at finding the son of that
brother on board the Argo? Excuse my curiosity, young gentleman, but are
you here with or without the knowledge and approbation of your father?"

Frederick sighed. "My father, sir, knows and approves of my being here."

"--Are you," said Mr. Talton, after a moment's pause, "acquainted with
the cause of their quarrel!"

"I am not, sir," answered Frederick. "From my earliest remembrance the
unhappy disagreement between my uncle and father has existed: and to
such excess did my father carry his inveteracy, he would not permit even
the name of his brother to be mentioned in his presence: and, except by
name, I scarcely knew such a person existed. My early propensity for the
sea, which my father in vain strove to eradicate, and the haughty
ungenerous disposition of my elder brother, brought me continual anger
and chastisement, till I was nearly fourteen; when I accompanied my
father to a race near Salisbury; and, where my uncle, without knowing
who I was, saved my life, by extricating me from an unruly horse, which
my curiosity to see the course had tempted me to mount. He afterwards
accompanied me to my father, who was beginning coolly to thank him, when
he recalled to mind, his brother in my preserver, and rage, in an
instant, took possession of every faculty. He struck me down, and
severely should I have suffered for the involuntary offence, if my uncle
had not interposed--desiring to speak with him in private. After a
conference of about half an hour, they returned; my father's brow still
exhibited a formidable frown; and, as he entered, I heard him say, 'If
you take him--you take him entirely: nor, after he is once under your
guidance, shall I think myself necessitated to provide for him in the
least respect. I have other children, more deserving my care esteem:
you have none--and, if you like, may adopt him; your dispositions are
exactly similar!'

"My uncle smiled at the latter part of his speech, and asked if I would
go to sea with him? I readily acceded to the offer, and that very
evening bade adieu to a parent, whose harshness rendered him an object
of dread, and repressed every sentiment of filial affection. My uncle
wrote twice to my father; the first letter he answered, saying, he was
glad I behaved to his satisfaction; and since that time, all intercourse
has again ceased. My uncle, at his own expense, equipped me for the sea,
and has ever supplied my wants with unbounded generosity."

At this moment the Captain re-entered.

Mr. Talton beheld with concern his encreasing melancholy, and for some
time strove to divert it; but finding all his efforts ineffectual, he at
last said--

"What, Howard, is the cause of the dejection which oppresses you? That
cloud on your brow is by no means flattering to my present visit, and
but little accords with your professions of friendship, or the honest
pleasure that yesterday enlivened your features. I know you too well to
think it occasioned by any trivial circumstances: what then, my friend,
is the reason?--Your wife, you say, is well."

"Name her not, I entreat," replied the Captain, severely hurt at the
reproach of his friend. "She is, indeed, the source of all my
unhappiness!"

"The source of your unhappiness!" repeated Mr. Talton. "Surely, Howard,
I do not understand you, or your sentiments are strangely altered since
the time I gave the lovely Ellenor Worton to your arms. Then--"

"Oh, Talton," interrupted the Captain, "cease this subject, I conjure
you. Ellenor Worton! My God, what ideas does that name recall! Yes, far
above my life I prized her: but those days are for ever fled! I am
wretched, and she is now a friendless fugitive in a merciless world!"

"What mean you, Howard?" asked Mr. Talton. "There is a mystery in your
words I do not understand."

"Then I will explain them," returned the Captain. "Your friendship, your
honour, I have proved; and when you hear my tale, you will not wonder
why, on beholding the friend of my earlier days, instead of smiles, my
countenance should thus wear the semblance of sorrow and regret."

Frederick would here have retired, as imagining what his uncle had to
impart, he might wish should only reach the knowledge of his friend;
but the Captain bade him resume his seat.--"From my errors," he added,
"you may learn to avoid their attending unhappiness."

Frederick obeyed; and the Captain, addressing Mr. Talton, continued.

"At the commencement of our acquaintance, I believe, I informed you I
was a younger son, brought up to the sea, and deprived of the fortune I
expected, by the marriage of my elder brother. I was, at the period of
that marriage, seventeen. Sir Thomas Gratton, the father of the lady my
brother espoused, refused his consent to their union, unless Arthur's
fortune were made adequate to the one he gave his daughter; and my
father, overcome by the entreaties of my brother, and perhaps dazzled
with the idea of his marrying an heiress with three thousand a year,
complied so far as to resign two-thirds of his estate (which was equal
to that of Sir Thomas) on the day of marriage, with the reversion of the
remainder at his decease.

"Arthur, in return, secretly, but solemnly, promised to present me and
William, our other brother, with ten thousand pounds each, on our coming
of age, or at the death of his father-in-law. William died the ensuing
year, as did Sir Thomas in less than nine months after.

"My brother had hitherto expressed the greatest affection for me: I
stood godfather for my Frederick here, and every thing bore the
appearance of harmony and cordiality; till, being at an assembly at
Lavington, my ill fortune led me, through whim, ridicule, and the gaiety
of youth, to pay particular attentions to a Miss Deborah Tangress, a
maiden lady nearly fifty, noted for every unamiable quality, ugliness,
and riches! Little did I think the folly of that evening would have
created me so many years of misery!

"Pleased with the attentions and compliments she thought serious, and
despising the delicacy requisite in her sex, she sent proposals to my
father, offering to resign herself and fortune to my disposal. I was
laughing at the effects of my evening's mirth, when my brother entered
the room; my father gave him the letter, and, smiling, observed, he
thought Miss Deborah had completed her character.

"'I cannot so readily conceive the occasion of your immoderate laughter,
Edward,' said my brother: 'the offer is advantageous, far beyond what
you have a right to expect; and, instead of ridiculing, I think you
rather ought to accept it with thankfulness.'

"'Accept it with thankfulness!' I repeated. 'What, and chain myself to
such an ugly old----'.

"'As to her being old and ugly,' interrupted my brother, 'it is of very
little consequence. You will recollect, sir, she has an ample fortune,
and you have none!'

"'Not so destitute as that, Arthur,' said my father: 'the fortune he is
entitled to from your hands, though small, will render him so far
independent that he may choose for himself.'

"'Excuse me, sir,' answered my brother, 'I cannot say I think myself
obliged to give Edward a fortune from my own purse, especially when one
so large as that Miss Tangress possesses is offered. If he have any
regard for his own interest, he will accept it, and not look to me for
future supplies. I have nearer ties; my children----.' "But excuse me,
Talton, here is one"--(looking at Frederick, who appeared surprised and
shocked at this account of his father) "too nearly interested to be
pleased with this part of my narrative. Suffice it to say,--the mask was
here thrown off by my brother, and I condemned to poverty! For the
promise given to my father was merely verbal, and without witness,
whilst the possessions of my father, in full confidence of Arthur's
honour, had been secured to him by the strongest ties of the law.

"My father felt the stroke more severely than I did; he wept--and, in
the bitterest anguish, asked pardon of heaven and me, for the step he
had taken, and begged I would reconsider the proposal of Miss Tangress,
before I absolutely rejected it. In all probability, he said, a few
years would terminate her existence; I had no particular attachment to
restrict me; and it would convey ease to his death-bed to know I was not
only independent of my brother, but in a state of equal affluence.

"In the passion of the moment, this last consideration determined me; I
complied--and in less than three weeks became the husband of Miss
Tangress.

"The possession of her fortune, however, could not recompense me for her
haughty wayward disposition. In her domestic arrangements she was
tyrannical and parsimonious, and so truly capricious, that the most
studied attentions to please could not twice succeed in the same
particular. Certain I had not married for love, her rancorous
disposition soon led her to resent, or rather to revenge, my want of
affection. My expenditure became extravagance, my wants superfluous, and
my acquaintance by far too general. As such, by the most pointed slights
and insults, my friends were severally driven from my house; nor was
even my father spared.

"I bore with the temper of my wife till human patience could sustain it
no longer; and one day, after having been severely reproached with the
favour she had conferred in uniting herself to a man not worth a
shilling; I mounted my horse, and crossed the country to
Brighthelmstone.

"The second night after my arrival there, I went to the ball given in
honour of Sir Henry Beechton, where I became acquainted with you, and
first saw the lovely Ellenor.

"To mention my admiration is needless: you are already well acquainted
with it. To my anxious inquiries concerning her, the only intelligence I
gained was--that she was an orphan of small fortune, and under the
protection of the Hon. Mrs. Radnor. Fortune, however, had then lost its
allurements. Ellenor shone with all the graces of a fabled goddess,
which, added to the benignity that beamed in her eyes, and the ineffable
sweetness of her manner, fixed her at once supremely in my heart.
Impelled by love, I pursued the acquaintance; Ellenor owned her regard
for me to her friend; and as neither that lady nor she had the least
suspicion of my being married, (for, on my arrival at Brighthelmstone, I
had taken my mother's name of Crawton, to prevent my wife from tracing
me), my visits were welcomed with the greatest cordiality and friendship
on the part of her protectress, and the sincerest affection by my
Ellenor.

"It was then I fully experienced the wretchedness of my situation, in
being united to Deborah. Reason and honour bade me combat with my
passion, and fly from Ellenor. But in vain; each succeeding interview
discovered new perfections, and by forcing a comparison, added to my
love for her, and detestation for my wife. Hard was the conflict--but
love prevailed: and I strove, by fallacious reasoning, to persuade
myself, that my marriage with Miss Tangress was of no effect, as I was
led into it by passion and revenge; and that an union with Ellenor,
though contrary to the laws of my country, being founded on mutual
affection, would not only be accepted in the eye of heaven, but acceded
to as just, by the unprejudiced part of mankind.

"Meanwhile, I kept the secret buried in my breast. Ellenor, not
mistrusting my account of myself or family, sought not for farther
information than I gave; the banns were published in a village a few
miles from Brighthelmstone, where, with your assistance, my friend, as
father to my Ellenor, we were married!

"Of my happiness, you, Talton, were a witness; and the time flew with
rapidity, till, by accident, I heard my father was dangerously ill; when
filial affection for that best of parents, resumed its sway; and, taking
a tender leave of Ellenor, I arrived at Howard Hall time enough to
receive his last blessing.

"My father left me what his economy had saved since the discovery of my
brother's sentiments; a few personal effects, his picture, with that of
my mother, and her jewels. Inconsiderable as the bequest was, in
comparison to the possessions devolved to Sir Arthur, he disputed my
right to them; but as I prized them, not for their intrinsic value, but
the affection of him who gave them, and, looking on him as the primary
cause of my marrying Deborah, I not only refused to resign them, but
upbraided him with his sordidness on that occasion. This produced a
quarrel which has never been healed: he forswore--disowned me! This
scene was followed by one nearly equal to it with my wife; which adding
to my disgust, I directed my lawyer where to remit my small fortune,
(for as I lived not with Deborah, I disdained all thoughts of hers) and
once more returned to the arms of my Ellenor.

"Months again flew; when our happiness received its first shock by the
sudden death of our invaluable friend Mrs. Radnor; and this was followed
by your departure for the West Indies. Love, however, overcame these
afflictions; my Ellenor became pregnant, and I was in expectation of
soon being hailed by the name of father; when one day, sitting with my
angel, fondly anticipating future felicities, the door was thrown open,
and Deborah, accompanied by my lawyer, rushed into the room!

"To describe the scene which followed, is impossible: even now the
recollection of it nearly maddens me! Deborah acted congenially to the
fury of her character; aspersed my Ellenor, and reviled me with every
opprobrious epithet the wildest passion, heightened by jealousy, could
dictate; nor ceased--till Ellenor, overcome by the disclosure of the
baleful secret, fainted in my arms; then, with the same violence as she
entered, flew out of the room, followed by her companion, vowing to be
revenged, though she expended her fortune in accomplishing it!

"At last my Ellenor recovered: not a single reproach at my conduct
escaped her lips, but her countenance plainly showed the agony of her
mind. Willing to lessen the idea of my guilt, which had been exaggerated
by the frantic Deborah, I recapitulated the circumstances I have now
related, and, with all the eloquence I was master of, pleaded the
affection I entertained for her, as an excuse for the deceit I had
practised. She heard me in silence; a convulsive sob swelled her bosom;
and, on my again urging her forgiveness, she regarded me with a look of
mingled anguish and despair. Tears at last relieved her, and she
requested to be conducted to her chamber; I supported her there, and,
leaving her to the care of her maid, returned to the parlour, my bosom
filled with a sorrow and remorse that have never since deserted it! I
was roused from reflections painful in the extreme, by a message from
Deborah, demanding my presence, with which I was weak enough to comply,
and for an hour and a half sustained the fury of her rage and
reproaches, when, as neither would agree to the proposals of the other,
we again parted. On my return home, I eagerly inquired after Ellenor.
'She is gone, sir!' said the girl, bursting into tears. 'Gone!' I
repeated. 'How--when--where is she gone?' 'That, sir,' she answered, 'I
know not. Soon after you went out, my lady sent Susan for a chaise and
four, which, the moment it arrived, she entered, leaving this letter
for you. Susan put in a few parcels, and followed her mistress; but
where they are gone to, God only knows!'

"I seized the letter; and you may judge of what I felt when I perused
it."

The Captain, with a sigh, drew a case from his bosom, and, taking out
the letter, read as follows:


     "I mean not, Edward, to upbraid you with an action, which, though
     it has involved your Ellenor in misery, was the offspring of
     affection; or, by unavailing complaints, add to the sorrow that
     already fills your bosom. No--rather let me speak peace to your
     mind, and, if possible, soften this, perhaps last, farewell! I
     have sustained the shock! Your real wife--oh, Edward, Edward!--But
     I will be calm.

     "After the discovery of last night, honour, religion, virtue,
     forbid my continuance here. I am the child of misfortune; to stay,
     would make me the child of guilt! Justice likewise demands, that
     whilst your wife exists, you should think of Ellenor no otherwise
     than as a friend; I cannot say--forget me; that would be injustice
     to myself. No, Edward--pure has ever been my affection; and if
     Heaven should release you from your vows, remember the hand, the
     heart of Ellenor, may be demanded. Till then attempt not to
     discover me; the search would be fruitless. Justice demands the
     sacrifice, and it must be made! Yet how can I say--farewell! How
     tear myself from him on whose existence that of Ellenor depends; be
     merciful, Heaven--nor inflict a punishment past my power to
     support! Still let me stay--let me at least see my Edward, and hear
     him speak!--But it must not be. Oh, Edward, the punishment is just!
     You had your secrets, and I had mine!

     "My hand is incapable of performing its office; I would, but cannot
     proceed. Oh, Edward! think of your Ellenor; doubt not my love--my
     constancy: and Heaven yet may make us happy!"


"You had your secrets, and I had mine! O God! what years of anxiety and
painful conjecture, have those words occasioned!

"A stupefying horror at first pervaded my faculties: I sunk into a
chair, and, but for the officious attentions of Mary, should have
experienced a total--happy had it been a lasting insensibility!

"'Where can she be gone?' I faintly exclaimed, when recollection had
regained sufficient power.

"'She cannot be gone far,' sobbed Mary. 'Perhaps, sir, you yet may
overtake her.'

"The idea served effectually to rouse me: I commenced my search, and
soon gained intelligence: a carriage, answerable to that I described,
with a lady and her attendant in it, had been seen on the London road.
To London I immediately directed my course; and at last descried a
carriage, my sanguine hopes led me to think was that containing the sum
of my earthly happiness: I instantly spurred my horse, when, owing to
the badness of the road, or some other cause, he stumbled--fell, and
threw me with violence over his head. I was stunned by the fall, found
by some travellers, and, in a state of insensibility, conveyed to the
nearest inn.

"The hurts I received were not very material; but the agitation of my
mind at being thus prevented from pursuing Ellenor, brought on a fever
which confined me to my apartment for nearly a fortnight. As soon as I
was in a state to travel, I again pursued my way toward London, though
with very little hope, after the time which had elapsed, of discovering
her.

"For weeks after my arrival at the metropolis, I wandered about in the
faint hope fortune might direct my steps to the place where she was
secreted; when, one evening, returning to my lodging, I was surprised by
the appearance of Deborah's equipage, who had likewise been seeking for,
and at last traced me to London. She saw me ere I could enter the
house, when, more than ever detesting the idea of an interview, I
immediately removed to another part of the town.

"The next day I passed as usual in wandering about, and returned in the
evening dejected and fatigued, when, taking up a book belonging to the
hostess, a paper fell from it; it was a sonnet to Hope: but, good
Heavens, think of my astonishment when I found it was the writing of my
Ellenor! At first I discredited the evidence of my senses, till
reiterated examinations convinced me I was not mistaken. I flew to the
mistress of the house, and, in answer to my incoherent inquiries, gained
intelligence, that she had left those apartments but a few days before
I took them; that she had there been delivered of a son, and was then
gone to reside in Caermarthen, her native county; though to what part,
the hostess could not tell. To Caermarthen I determined to go, and
accordingly the next morning commenced my journey; but all my search was
indeed fruitless!

"At last, overcome by fatigue, preyed on by a fever occasioned by my
repeated disappointments, and, to own the truth, not having money to
prosecute my search, having expended that left me by my father, I was
necessitated to retire to my habitation at Brighthelmstone, where
Deborah again obtained information of me, and again laid me under the
lash of her malignant power. Willingly would I have sought relief in a
formal separation; but that she refused with the most contemptuous
disdain, telling me I should never enjoy a portion of her wealth without
her. I would then have resigned all pretensions to her fortune; but she
started into phrensy, vowed she would follow me to the utmost extremity
of the globe, and sooner deprive herself of every comfort in life, than
leave me at liberty to renew an acquaintance with a woman I preferred to
herself. Finding it in vain to gain her accordance to my proposal, I
desisted from the attempt, and again commenced a search after Ellenor;
Deborah, like my evil genius, still following me from place to place,
till wearied, regardless of existence, and as the only means of
escaping from her, I again went to sea. The interest of my friends
gained me promotion; and fortune, by an influx of wealth during
seventeen years, has been willing, as far as her power extends, to make
me amends for the misery she has occasioned me in the loss of Ellenor,
the continued torments I endure from Deborah, and the unkind neglect of
my brother, whom I have seen but once since the death of my father.

"And here, Talton, I must apologize for my neglect to you. Your first
letter, informing me you had regained your property, I received a few
days preceding the discovery of my marriage with Deborah; but the
distraction of my mind at that time prevented me from answering it.
When I had in some degree regained my tranquillity, I wrote; but the
person to whose charge I intrusted my packet, nearly two years after
returned it, with the account that you were either dead, or had left the
island; and as during that time, nor since, I never heard from you, I
was induced to believe the former part of his intelligence.

"The pleasure I yesterday experienced on beholding you, for the time
banished every other reflection; but no sooner did I quit you, than
remembrance, with the keenest powers, revived every former scene, and
added not only to my compunction for my injuries to--, but to my
sorrow, for the irretrievable loss of my beloved Ellenor."



CHAPTER III.


Mr. Talton remained thoughtful some minutes after the Captain had ceased
speaking; then addressing him--"If you were some years younger, Howard,
I should censure you severely for your conduct; but as it is, and in
consideration of the punishment you have already endured, I shall
suspend my lecture! Poor Ellenor! It is strange, Howard, in the course
of so many years you should never have gained any intelligence, nor met
with the least circumstance from which you could judge of her destiny."

"It is strange, Talton. A few weeks back my nephew introduced a youth on
board, whose appearance raised such emotions in my breast as I cannot
attempt to describe. He was the exact resemblance of my Ellenor; his age
too agrees with my son's, if living; but every hope was soon destroyed,
his answers plainly proved he was not her child."

A sigh of regret here burst from the bosom of the Captain; nor could he
refrain an impatient exclamation against the severity of his fate, in
being thus deprived of those he regarded as the blessings of his
existence.

"Though your life, Howard," said Mr. Talton, "has been rather out of the
dull track of common occurrences, yet I would not have you think you
have had more than your share of human ills; of those, believe me, all
have an equal dispensation, and, sooner or later, feel the hand of
adversity! As your morning of life has been clouded, you should, I
think, look forward to a clear evening. You yet may find your Ellenor,
and your son be restored, all your fondest desires could wish. You still
have hope! Many, suffering afflictions, are bereaved of that blessing,
by a fatal certainty of ill, where their happiness depends."

"Certainty of ill--" repeated the Captain--"Ah, Talton, am I not
chained to a woman I detest, deprived of her I idolized, and a son whose
endearments and attentions might have soothed the little sorrows of my
bosom? But you are a bachelor, unrestrained by any ties which can justly
interest the heart, and therefore cannot judge for me."

"Pardon me, my friend," returned Talton. "I speak not from conjecture;
neither am I altogether unacquainted with those anxieties which have
rendered you unhappy; and if you will listen to the tale of the woman I
love, you may, perhaps, be convinced of the justness of my assertion."

The Captain bowed his consent--.

"Miss Holly, Howard, was an only daughter, and brought up by an old
humourist of a father, whose idol she was, whilst she yielded every
sense to his guidance. Many proposals of marriage were offered, but none
thought worthy her acceptance by Mr. Holly, till he accidentally met
with Sir Horace Corbet, an old schoolfellow, and as great an oddity as
himself, with whom he renewed his acquaintance; and an union was
proposed between their children--agreed on, the writings drawn, and the
wedding-day fixed, before the young people were acquainted with the
least circumstance, or their sentiments respecting it, asked! Miss Holly
received the mandate of her father, to regard Mr. Corbet as the husband
he had selected, with the greatest distress; and at last informed him
her affections were irrevocably fixed on another. But vain were her
supplications and tears: the old gentleman was peremptory--and Miss
Holly eloped!

"I shall not attempt to describe the rage of the fathers on this
occasion; six months elapsed without their being able to discover the
place of her retreat; when her aunt, who had for years estranged herself
from all intercourse with the family, arrived at Holly seat, and, with
great formality, acquainted her brother his daughter had taken refuge
with her, and, hoping by that time his resentment had subsided, had
engaged her to attempt a reconciliation. The old gentleman appeared
delighted; a messenger was dispatched for her, and, on her arrival, she
was received with every demonstration of joy and affection! The calm,
however, was deceitful; for the next morning he led her to the chapel,
where Sir Horace and his son were waiting, and there forced her to give
her hand to the latter! Could happiness result from such an union?--Oh
no! What followed might naturally have been expected; indifference on
one side, disgust on the other.

Soon after the nuptials, Mrs. Corbet's aunt died; and, considering her
niece highly injured by the measures which had been pursued, left her
the whole of her fortune, amounting to thirty thousand pounds,
independent of her husband. In less than a twelvemonth Mr. Holly died,
leaving them eight thousand a year: Sir Horace survived his friend but a
few weeks, and Sir Henry succeeded to nearly fifteen thousand a year
more. Their decease, however, which a year before would have been the
means of Lady Corbet's happiness, was then of no avail; the gentleman on
whom her early affections had been placed, on hearing of her marriage,
retired to France, where he literally died of a broken heart.

"Sir Henry now, uncontrolled by parental authority, yielded to the
wildest passions of his heart. The mild dignity of his wife was
disregarded, her beauty insufficient to restrain him from illicit
connexions, and, whilst she was restricted with a parsimonious hand to
her marriage settlement, she had the mortification of beholding immense
property squandered on his worthless mistresses. As a landlord and
master, Sir Henry was certainly beloved; but his character as a husband
degenerated into that of a brutal tyrant.

"Soon after the decease of her father, Lady Corbet was delivered of a
son, and in him (being deprived of all other) she concentrated her
future happiness.

"On my first return from America, as I yesterday informed you, I passed
some months at Bath, where I was introduced to Lady Corbet, and, had she
been single, I should have said, Here Talton rest for ever!--as it was,
nothing passed but what the strictest prude might have witnessed, though
the censuring world imputed actions to me, I was innocent of, even in
intention. Sir Henry was on an excursion with some friends, when I first
became acquainted with his family; on his return, Lady Corbet presented
me to him; he scarcely deigned a perceptible bow, but, throwing himself
into a chair, called for his son, who was then about five years old,
and, without once addressing me, amused himself in talking to, and
answering his infantine questions. I regarded Lady Corbet with a look,
I believe, sufficiently expressive of my surprise at his unpoliteness;
the silent tear trembled in her eye, and, with a sigh which seemed to
say, it was such behaviour as she was used to, she walked to the window.
I had then an opportunity of observing Sir Henry. He was rather small in
his person, his eyes black and penetrating, and his face expressive of
care and discontent.

"He continued playing with the child some time; then, starting up--'Has
your ladyship any commands to the St. Ledger family?' 'None, sir,'
answered Lady Corbet, attempting to speak with unconcern. 'If you have,
you must write to-night; as I depart for London early to-morrow
morning;' then taking the child by the hand, without even bowing to me,
left the room.

"The emotions Lady Corbet had endeavoured to repress, then gained the
ascendancy, and she burst into tears. The subject was delicate; I,
however, ventured to speak, though I could offer little consolation. It
was then she acquainted me with the preceding particulars, and regretted
the obdurate infatuation of her father, who had sacrificed her happiness
for the possession of wealth.

"Sir Henry, as I was afterwards informed, swayed by the report which
was circulated of my attentions to his lady, insisted on her
accompanying him to London; and as I soon after left England, I neither
saw nor heard any thing of her till about a year and a half since; when,
being in London, I one morning went to breakfast with Sir John Dursley,
and was there surprised by the appearance of Lady Corbet. Her dress
instantly informed me she was a widow; yet, as knowing her abhorrence of
Sir Henry, I was perplexed to account for the sorrow depicted in her
countenance.

"The mystery was soon explained. For some time after my departure, Sir
Henry's conduct and behaviour continued invariably the same, when her
happiness received an additional shock, by the total alienation of his
affections from his son, who, as his years and sensibility increased,
severely felt the estrangement, which produced an habitual melancholy.
His amusements were disregarded; company became disagreeable; and the
only pleasure or recreation he seemed to experience, or would take, was
in wandering through the grounds and plantations; where, when the
servants his anxious mother sent in search of him, could not trace his
haunts, he used even to pass the night.

"At last Sir Henry fell a victim to a decline: he still retained his
dislike to his son; but, to make his lady amends, as he termed it, for
the unhappiness he had occasioned her, he left her every part of his
fortune, without restriction, exclusive of the family estate (about
eight thousand a year) which the present Sir Henry comes to the
possession of, on attaining his one-and-twentieth year.

"The attention of Sir Henry to Lady Corbet, on the death of his father,
was the richest balm to her heart, and she looked forward to that
happiness of which she had so many years regretted the deprivation: but
the flattering illusion soon fled! Her son, on a sudden, became
thoughtful, reserved, and mysterious: his answers, when addressed, were
incoherent, his dress disordered, and his whole appearance indicative
of internal wretchedness. He avoided his mother and passed the greatest
part of his time in the apartment where his father died, and where, at
last, he totally secluded himself. Lady Corbet was grieved and alarmed
at this change, which the domestics openly imputed to a mental
derangement; and some papers they found, nearly induced Lady Corbet to
concur in their opinion. They contained unconnected sentences, which
showed a mind ill at ease, if not bereft of reason.

"The mild persuasions and entreaties of his mother, were ineffectual to
draw from him the cause of his dejection, which still increased; and one
night, about six months after the death of his father, he privately
left the hall! This circumstance was soon discovered, and the domestics
dispatched in pursuit of him; but the only intelligence they could gain
of him was from a peasant, who affirmed, that passing by the church
early in the morning, he had seen Sir Henry ascend from the vault where
the remains of the Corbet family were interred: that he was without his
hat, held his handkerchief to his face, and, on leaving the church, ran
with wildness across the fields toward the village. This account was
farther corroborated by the sexton, who attested that Sir Henry had
called him up after midnight, and demanded the keys of the church, which
he did not think himself authorised to refuse.

"This information but served to perplex and raise painful conjectures in
the breast of Lady Corbet: Sir Henry was not to be traced, and it was
not till some time after, she received a letter from Lady Dursley,
informing her of his having been seen in London. To London she
immediately came, where she had been nearly three weeks, when I met her
at Sir John's.

"Lady Corbet recounted these events during breakfast; and we were
endeavouring to give her consolation, in a case I believe we all thought
equally hopeless as mysterious, when the clerk (for my friend is in the
commission for the peace) entered the room, and informed Sir John, a
party of dissolute young men, who, the night before, had committed
several depredations, had been conveyed to the round-house, and were
then waiting at the office. Two of them, he said, who were accused as
the principal offenders, entreated to speak with Sir John previously to
their examination. This, Sir John peremptorily refused; and asking me if
I would accompany him, we proceeded to the office.

"When I beheld the extreme youth of the offenders, (for one was not more
than sixteen, the others somewhat older), I knew not whether to pity or
feel indignant at their depravity. I was, however, recalled from my
reflections by Sir John, earnestly inquiring the names of those who
were reported as the ringleaders? The youth who had principally engaged
my attention, unwillingly pronounced--'Henry Corbet.'

"'Yes,' said Sir John with severity; 'if I mistake not, it is Sir Henry
Corbet!--For the respect I bear your family, young gentleman, I am sorry
to see you here!'

"Sir Henry, for him it really was, shrunk abashed from the penetrating
eyes of Sir John, who now proceeded to inquire into the nature of the
offence.

"The constables reported, that they had the preceding night been
alarmed by the cry of murder, accompanied by their nightly signal for
assistance; that on hastening to the spot whence the alarm had been
given, they had discovered one of their fraternity on the ground; Sir
Henry had then hold of his throat--another who had a bludgeon in his
hand, with which it appeared the watchman had been assaulted, had
likewise hold of one arm. Several others, on the approach of the watch,
fled; and those who remained, after an obstinate resistance, had been
secured.

"Sir Henry denied the charge. He declared that, so far from assaulting,
he and his companions had, on the cry of murder, gone to the rescue of
the watchman; that his friend, St. Ledger, had wrested the bludgeon
from one of the assailants, and at the moment the other watch came up,
was assisting him to raise the man from the ground, for which purpose
he, Sir Henry, had passed his hand behind his neck; that, without making
the least inquiry, they had attacked his companions, who acted only on
the defensive.

"With these particulars, he said, he wished to have privately acquainted
Sir John, without exposing himself or friends to the ignorant and
undeserved accusation of the watchmen.

"Sir John checked the vivacity of the youthful pleader; but as the man
who had been assaulted did not appear, and the constables could not
prove the defence to be false, he, after reprimanding them for exposing
themselves to such night adventures, set them all at liberty, except Sir
Henry, whom he desired to attend him into another room.

"Sir Henry readily obeyed, and there, with greater humility than I had
expected from his late spirited behaviour, apologized for the manner in
which he had been brought before him.

"Sir John admitted his excuse, and asked the occasion of his being in
London? Sir Henry's face became suffused with a blush of the deepest
dye, as he replied, he was on a visit at an old friend's of his father.

"'Your father,' said Sir John, 'I had not the pleasure of knowing. Your
mother I sincerely respect, and as I honour myself with the title of her
friend, I must insist on your passing the remainder of the day with me.'

"Sir Henry instantly assented, and continued with me, till Sir John had
finished the business of the morning.

"Pleased with the opportunity, I engaged my young companion on a variety
of subjects, and, though prepossessed against him by the account of his
behaviour to his mother, I must, in justice, acknowledge I never met
with his superior. His delivery was elegant, his judgment appeared
solid, and his understanding highly cultivated: as I traced in him the
resemblance of his father, I could, however, easily reconcile myself to
the idea, that his mother's character of him was just.

"Sir John being by this time at leisure, we returned to Soho-square. He
had not mentioned the name of Lady Corbet; and now, without any previous
intimation respecting her, conducted him into the room where she was.

"I never beheld surprise more strongly expressed in the countenance of
any one, than in Sir Henry's, on perceiving his mother; it approached
indeed nearly to horror. As for Lady Corbet--a scream of mingled
surprise and delight escaped her lips, as she hastened to clasp him in
her arms; but springing on one side, he eluded her embrace, and
murmuring some inarticulate sounds, attempted to rush out of the room.
In this he was prevented by Sir John, who, catching him by the arm,
said--'Not so fast, young gentleman. Your mother has suffered too much
unhappiness by your first elopement: I shall not so easily permit you to
quit her a second time. Justice has delivered you into my hands, and I
resign you to her. Recollect, as your mother and sole guardian, she has
an unlimited authority to control your actions?'

"Sir Henry answered, but with a groan, and clasping his hands on his
forehead, seemed for some moments to struggle with contending passions;
then hastily asked what was required of him?

"'Not wilfully to destroy the peace of your mother!' replied Sir John,
pointing to Lady Corbet, who had sunk nearly lifeless on a sofa.

"The sight appeared to rouse Sir Henry. He flew to her, and, by the
tenderest appellations, endeavoured to recall her senses. Recollection
soon returned, when, clasping his hand--

"'Oh, Harry!' she cried, 'I needed not this last instance of your
indifference to show how little claim I had to your regard. The ties to
a mother with you are now forgotten; it once was otherwise: but Corbet
will follow the steps of his father!'

"Sir Henry regarded her wildly--'My father, Lady Corbet!----' he
stopped, his lip trembled, and quitting her, he paced the room with
agitated steps. Lady Corbet burst into tears--.

"'Harry, do not, I entreat you, torture me with this behaviour, I have
not merited it. To you I have looked for that consolation and support
which, as a widow and a mother, I had a right to expect. How it has been
rendered, I need not say. Silence and mystery have been the return to
my solicitude--your desertion in the hour of sorrow, the reward of my
tenderness!'

"Sobs impeded her utterance--she could not proceed; but Sir John, with
great strength of reasoning, endeavoured to convince Sir Henry, how
wrong his conduct had been, and to persuade him to act consistently with
the duty he owed his mother, and to his own character, in the eyes of
the world. The young gentleman listened to him some time in silence; a
sigh only now and then swelled his bosom. At last, on Sir John urging
him to return to Wales, with his mother, he looked earnestly in his
face, and with a tone of voice highly impressive, pronounced the simple
denial--'I cannot, Sir John, return to the seat of my forefathers!'

"'No!' said Sir John. 'Whither then would you go?'

"Sir Henry waved his hand--. 'The world is before me!'

"I had been, during this time, endeavouring to soothe Lady Corbet; but
on hearing the replies of her son, she again hastened to him, threw her
arm round his neck, and, leaning her head on his shoulder, wept in
silence. Sir Henry gently disengaged himself, and reconducting her to
the sofa, seated himself by her.

"'Why, my mother,' he said, 'do you wish my return to Corbet Hall? Do
not, I conjure you, thus wantonly seek to plunge me into greater
unhappiness. Of my wretchedness you have been a witness: of what I have
suffered in my mind, you can form no idea! To me, the spot where my
father expired is a place of horror--of distraction! to which, if
confined, neither my head nor my heart can long sustain me in
existence!'

"Sir John listened to this address with some surprise; then, shaking his
head at me, pointed his finger to his forehead, as implying he thought
the young wanderer impaired in his intellects.

"Lady Corbet, whose emotions had at first hurried her into the little
indignant reproof I have related, with tenderness replied--she had
indeed, with concern, beheld his dejection before he quitted the hall;
but if any thing there had disgusted, or been the means of rendering him
unhappy, she would readily consent to reside at Holly seat, or any other
of her estates he chose to name, provided he would return to her
protection.

"To this Sir Henry did not deign to return an answer, but, folding his
arms, sat with his brow contracted, and his eyes fixed on the floor,
deaf alike to the solicitations of his mother and the chidings of Sir
John; nor was it till after we were joined by Lady Dursley, that he
yielded an unwilling assent to our united entreaties.

"Lady Corbet's satisfaction at thus regaining her fugitive, expressed
itself more in her countenance than her words: Sir Henry's was
overspread with gloom; he scarcely spoke, but in the evening wrote a
farewell letter to his friend St. Ledger, and early the next morning
attended his mother from the metropolis.

"You will not, perhaps, Howard, wonder that the admiration I formerly
evinced for Lady Corbet, should give rise to more tender sentiments, on
finding her released from her vows, and at liberty to select a partner
better calculated to ensure her happiness, than the one her father had
chosen. I accordingly followed her to Wales, and sought the earliest
opportunity to avow the state of my heart. She answered my declaration
with a frankness which endeared her still more to me, though
discouraging to my addresses. She never, she acknowledged, entertained
but one idea of affection, and that had long since been blighted and
destroyed: the happiness of her son was the only thing in which she then
looked forward for her own. As a lover she could not receive me, but, as
a friend, I should ever be welcomed to the hall.

"As a friend then I have visited, and am not without hopes of one day
obtaining her hand. The assistance I have been able to render her in the
disposal of her property, has imperceptibly worn away the reserve of our
earlier acquaintance; and as I have purchased a considerable estate
adjoining Sir Henry's, I have every opportunity of increasing the esteem
of this valuable woman. Sir Henry I have rarely beheld; his reserve to
me has ever been in the extreme, and baffled all my endeavours to gain
his friendship or confidence.

"On their return from London, Lady Corbet endeavoured to develope the
cause of his conduct, but in vain. Sir Henry became again the prey of
mystery and melancholy, till the arrival of some gypsies in those
parts; with them he had several times been seen to converse, and,
notwithstanding the vigilance of his mother, who, suspecting his
intention, had appointed several of the domestics to watch him, he
again, about two months since, eloped, and as it was supposed, with
those itinerant outcasts!

"Lady Corbet's grief, on this second elopement of her son, was calm, but
deeper than on the former occasion; all her attempts to discover him
proved ineffectual, and, as a last resource, she determined on going to
London to the young St. Ledger, who being the bosom friend of Sir Henry,
she thought might perhaps be acquainted with his proceedings. As I was
likewise going to London, I accompanied Lady Corbet, and, at her
request, went with her to St. Ledger's: but that family was in equal
confusion--young St. Ledger had likewise absconded!

"At that time I was obliged to leave England, therefore am ignorant how
their search after the fugitives has ended. This, however, Howard, I
think you must acknowledge, that Lady Corbet has far greater cause for
unhappiness than yourself. You still may indulge the hope of again
seeing your Ellenor--a fatal certainty assures her, she is deprived of
the man she loved for ever! You never knew your son; and though you may
regret the deprivation of those attentions and endearments filial
affection bestows; yet you, like her, never experienced the bitter pang
of having those blessings changed to unkindness and neglect!"



CHAPTER IV.


The Captain sighed--thanked Talton for his admonition--"which, if it do
not carry conviction to my reason," he continued, "has at least given a
clue to my ideas on another subject, and may perhaps be the means of
gaining you intelligence concerning the son of Lady Corbet. Young St.
Ledger, if I mistake not, is now on board, and I doubt not will give you
any information in his power."

Mr. Talton expressed his surprise, and earnestly entreated to see him.
St. Ledger was accordingly summoned.

On his entering the cabin, the surprise in Mr. Talton's countenance
increased to the highest degree.

"Sir Henry Corbet!" he exclaimed--starting from his seat, "Good God!
what is the meaning of this?"

The fictitious St. Ledger appeared equally amazed at the sight of Mr.
Talton, whose name he faintly articulated, and, staggering a few paces,
sunk on a chair! Mr. Talton soon recollected himself, and going to
him--

"Little did I think, Sir Henry, of seeing you on board the Argo;
however, as fortune has given me the opportunity, excuse me if I
endeavour to convince you of the impropriety--the cruelty I must term
it, of your conduct! The friendship your worthy mother honours me with,
authorises me in thus speaking, independently of the duty I feel
incumbent on myself, as a man whose years and experience claim the
privilege of dictating to unwary youth. Beside rendering the declining
days of your mother unhappy, you do not recollect the idea you are
implanting in the minds of the world! In the enjoyment of every blessing
affluence could obtain--every wish gratified--what could be the reason
of your clandestine procedure? This is not the age of romance, Sir
Henry! Your conduct, then, can claim only the excuse of lunacy!--a
charge which, if authorised by a continuance of your mysterious
behaviour, may, in the end, deprive you of those possessions you now
appear to slight and contemn! For your own sake, I conjure you, stop ere
it be too late. I shall shortly return to London; go with me, and
restore the peace of your mother, whose early days, you are well
convinced, were too much embittered by your father, to need an
additional pang from his son!"

"He shall return," said the Captain; "at least he shall not remain with
me! As St. Ledger, the victim of misfortune, I received him; as such,
Sir Henry, you should ever have been welcome to my purse, my interest,
and protection! As Sir Henry Corbet, the regard due to my own name
obliges me to insist on your returning to your friends!"

Sir Henry's countenance underwent various changes during the speech of
Mr. Talton: but the Captain's positive renunciation awakened every
painful sensation. He precipitately rose, and seizing his hand--"Give
not your judgment too hastily, Sir; nor deprive me of your protection
before you are certain I am in reality undeserving of it!" Then turning
to Mr. Talton, with a modest spirit that glowed on his cheek--

"I am well aware, Mr. Talton, of the censure to which I expose myself in
the opinions of the world; but as the world cannot give me happiness,
neither shall it altogether bias my conduct! You, sir, have questioned
me with freedom, and now excuse me if I answer you in the same style.
Your friendship for my mother, I am well assured, will induce you to
acquaint her with this rencounter: I do not wish it to be concealed. Of
my regard--my love, she is well convinced; and the name of mother will
never let the force of those ties diminish; but tell her, till
authorised by the will of my father, no power on earth shall induce me
to return! Ask me not--why, Mr. Talton. There is a reason, to me a
dreadful one! one--which drove me from my home, an outcast--a wretched
mysterious wanderer!"

"Romance! Sir Henry," exclaimed Mr. Talton. "Your conduct has been
mysterious, but you need not be a wanderer. Return to your mother--."

"Mr. Talton," interrupted Sir Henry solemnly, "urge me not! I am neither
so ignorant nor weak, as to be influenced by a childish romance. I again
repeat--there is a cause! If the sacrifice of my life could secure my
mother's happiness, freely would I resign it: but I must not--dare not
see her! My wish is to remain with Captain Howard."

"At present, Sir Henry," said the Captain, "I think it more eligible
for you to be under the immediate care of the guardian appointed by your
father."

"Be you my guardian," said Sir Henry, again eagerly clasping his hand.
"My heart acknowledged you as such, the first moment I beheld you; when,
not knowing you were the Captain Howard whom I sought, I told you my
name was St. Ledger. Can you forgive the falsehood? When informed who
you were, a false shame withheld me from retracting the assertion,
especially as you had given that protection, as Sir Henry Corbet I
should have entreated! Under that protection let me still remain! It is
a child of sorrow, Captain Howard," he continued, sinking on his knee,
"begs--conjures you not to desert--not to drive him again an outcast on
the world!"

The Captain was affected--but an expressive look from Mr. Talton,
repelled each sentiment of commiseration, and in an instant decided the
cause of the supplicating Sir Henry. Addressing him with a coldness ill
according with the generosity of his disposition--

"I am almost induced, Sir Henry, for your sake, to wish this discovery
had not happened: as some particulars recited respecting you, by Mr.
Talton, must prevent my proving the friend you wish, I certainly cannot
oblige you to return to your mother--but here you cannot be till you
have previously obtained her approbation."

"Recited respecting me, by Mr. Talton!" repeated Sir Henry, rising
indignantly. "It is well, Captain Howard!" He was leaving the cabin,
but, turning at the door, regarded the Captain with a look expressive of
anguish and disappointment: the tear trembled in his eye--he
faltered--"When the child of Ellenor Worton needed protection, my father
did not refuse it! Edward--Ellenor!"

He laid his hand on his breast,--burst into tears--and rushed in an
instant from their sight.

Surprise, approaching to agony, for a moment bereft the Captain of
utterance; but, recovering, he exclaimed--

"He named my Ellenor and her child! Fly, Frederick, and bring him back.
Oh God! Could he give me information of them--!"

"Be calm, Howard," said Mr. Talton. "Sir Henry, take my word, knows not
of your Ellenor."

"Why then did he name her?" asked the Captain, with quickness.

"That, I cannot say:" answered Mr. Talton: "but, so well acquainted as I
am with every concern of the late and present Sir Henry, the occurrence
he insinuates, could not possibly have escaped my knowledge."

At that moment Frederick re-entered with a letter for his uncle, which
Sir Henry had desired one of the men to deliver.

"It is from Ellenor!" said the Captain, attempting with a trembling
hand, but in vain, to open it. "Take it--read it, Frederick," he
continued; "I am so agitated I can scarcely support myself!"

Frederick obeyed, and read as follows:--

     "After seventeen years silence, Ellenor Worton again addresses her
     beloved Edward--addresses him whose idea has ever lived in her
     heart; nor fears the world should tax her with indelicacy. It is
     for a child of sorrow she writes! It is Ellenor sues--nor will
     Edward refuse her boon!

     "For reasons which I cannot explain, Sir Henry Corbet, the bearer
     of this letter, is necessitated to withdraw from the guardianship
     of his mother. His father sheltered your Ellenor and her child in
     the hour of keen adversity. He has equally been our preserver! To
     him I am indebted for the blessings I enjoy--to him, your son (Oh
     Edward, can you forgive my hitherto concealing him from your
     knowledge?) is beholden for a competency! Will my Edward repay the
     obligation, by affording him an asylum? From him you may learn what
     has hitherto befallen me; but attempt not my retreat, it must yet
     be sacred!

     "Seek not to know more of his history than he freely communicates:
     and love him, my Edward, for he is worthy of your richest regard.
     You must hereafter clear the mysteries in which he is
     involved--from him it is, you must receive your son, and--Ellenor."

"But he has denied your boon, my Ellenor!" said the Captain.
"Shame--shame to him for it! Yet it is not too late: seek Sir Henry
immediately: my life were little in recompence for friendship shown to
my Ellenor!"

Sir Henry, however, was gone!--The moment he left the letter, he sprang
into a boat which was putting off for the shore; nor with the strictest
search and inquiry could they trace the way he had taken. For three days
the Captain experienced the torture of suspense, when he received
intelligence, that the corpse of a youth, answering the description of
Sir Henry, had been washed on shore about two miles from Lowestoff.
Alarmed by this account, he went to the cottage where it had been
conveyed, accompanied by his nephew and Mr. Talton; and where their
fears were fully confirmed, by the people producing the clothes, and a
watch the Captain had himself presented to the unfortunate Sir Henry:
who, they informed him, had that morning been interred.

A tear fell on the cheek of the Captain as he resigned the hope so
lately raised, of hearing of--and seeing his Ellenor; accompanied by one
for the unhappy fate of his favourite St. Ledger: nor did the severity
of Mr. Talton refuse the tribute of a sigh: the faults of Sir Henry sunk
beneath the sod which encircled him, and left to his remembrance only
the youth he regarded for the sake of his mother.

With his mind deeply depressed, the Captain returned on board; long had
he experienced unhappiness, but the events of the last week had struck
the shaft still deeper in his heart; nor could the friendship of Mr.
Talton, or the affection of Frederick, preserve him from a corroding
melancholy.

The death of Sir Henry, as St. Ledger, was universally regretted; even
the obdurate Harland, for a moment, forgot his enmity, and expressed a
sentiment of pity; whilst the generous Frederick, who had regarded him
with fraternal friendship, paid that tribute to his memory his merits
demanded; and whilst he dwelt with praises on the name of his friend,
the faltering accent and half-suppressed sigh evinced the sincerity of
his grief for his loss.

Mr. Talton finding the impracticability of his endeavours to alleviate
the sorrow of the Captain, took his leave, and set out for London, to
acquaint Lady Corbet with the death of her son: as, however disagreeable
the task, he rather chose to inform her himself, than hazard an abrupt
disclosure from an uninterested person, or even by epistolary
communication.

The Captain felt relieved at his departure, as he wished to visit the
grave of Sir Henry, but was unwilling to betray the weakness of his
heart, even to his friend. The ensuing morning, therefore, he went on
shore, and, unattended, pursued his way to the church-yard; where a
simple flag of fragrant turf marked the spot where the remains of the
unfortunate youth were laid.

"Humble indeed is thy bed of rest, my poor St. Ledger," he exclaimed:
"by far too humble for the virtues which I am certain were the real
possessors of thy breast!--In thee my Ellenor has lost the friend she
too, perhaps, fondly hoped, would one day have restored her to the arms
of her Edward. With thee rested the knowledge of her retreat; and with
thee--it may have perished!"

The idea was too much: he sank on his knee by the grave--to Heaven his
heart was open.

"Oh God!" he cried, "immutable are thy decrees, nor can the proudest
knowledge of man explore the mystery of thy ways! Greatly against thee
have I offended, and just is the punishment thou hast inflicted: yet
still let mercy blend with thy power, nor crush the head thou hast
deigned to rear from the dust! Mine was the guilt; on me let thy
vengeance fall: but spare my Ellenor the anguish which swells my heart;
and if thy justice prohibit more, let me at least prove (however late
the date) a friend to her I deceived, a parent to the offspring of our
love!"

He bowed his head on his knee, and for some minutes continued in mental
supplication; till a sigh, responsive to that which burst from his own
bosom, aroused him, and, on raising his head, he beheld his nephew
within a few paces of the grave.

"The same reason, my dear uncle," said Frederick, advancing, "I find,
has separately brought us to this spot, that of taking a last farewell
of the ashes of our worthy young friend, before we bid adieu to this
part of England."

"Such was my intention," answered the Captain, "though remembrance at
the moment has hurried me into greater weakness."

"Regret it not," said Frederick, affectionately taking his hand. "Sir
Henry was deserving of the tear you have shed!--Peace to his
spirit!--Nor need we doubt it: the God to whom he is gone, will condemn
or acquit us according to the rectitude of our hearts, not the frailties
of our words or actions."

"That reflection may conduce more toward restoring peace to my bosom,"
said the Captain, "than all the sophisms of philosophy!

"But come, Frederick, you have witnessed my weakness, let me retire from
this spot, or I may relapse."

He took the proffered arm of Frederick, and, giving a last look at the
grave, dejectedly retraced his steps from the church-yard.

A few days after, he received his expected orders to sail for Weymouth,
previously to his convoying a fleet of Indiamen to the coast of China.

A sigh swelled his bosom as he passed the cliffs of Brighthelmstone, and
beheld the spot where he had once resided with his Ellenor, now lost to
him, he feared, for ever. Remembrance, with keener powers, recalled her
perfections; the sweetness of her manners, her chaste affection; each
look, each tender endearment, dwelt on his memory, and was cherished in
his heart as all that remained to him of her whom he loved. The idea of
Mrs. Howard involuntarily obtruded--

"Weak man!" he softly sighed, "ever to listen to the futile reasonings
of resentment! Had I not yielded to thee, Ellenor might honourably have
been mine; her arms my haven, her smiles the reward of my toils and
anxieties! But now--no welcome ever greets my arrival to my native
shore, no offspring bless my return; Ellenor and her son are lost to me;
and he who only could have restored them, has resigned his being to the
God who gave it!"

Frederick, with concern, observed the increasing melancholy of his
uncle, and his anxiety on that account was considerably augmented by
the arrival of Mrs. Howard! That lady, whose hatred to the Captain
increased with her years, no sooner gained intelligence of his being at
Weymouth, than she hastened there, well knowing her presence was a far
greater punishment to him than any the law could have inflicted; and as
such, it proved more gratifying to her revenge than any it could afford!
The Captain bore her wayward humour with apparent composure; yet it
preyed on his heart, and, by forcing a comparison with the happy period
he had passed with Ellenor, rendered each moment as secretly unhappy as
the rancour of his wife could wish.

From this disagreeable situation he was relieved by a visit from Mr.
Talton, who, on beholding Mrs. Howard, no longer wondered at the
measures his friend had formerly pursued.

"Surely, Howard," he cried, "fortune has selected thee from the rest of
mankind, as an object on whom to display the worst of her capricious
humours. My God! what a contrast to the gentle Ellenor! I can now,
Howard, more sincerely feel for your loss of her, from that I am afraid
I shall soon experience myself.

"I informed you, when at Yarmouth, I had left Lady Corbet with the St.
Ledger family, who were soon relieved from their apprehensions on their
son's account, by his return from an hymeneal expedition with a young
lady, whom they, from a family pique, had objected to his marrying;
their joy, however, at his return, obliterated every unfavourable
sentiment, and they received the wife of his choice with every
demonstration of affection.--Of his friend, Sir Henry, he could not give
the least intelligence.

"On my arrival in London, I hastened to St. Ledger's; but I cannot
attempt to describe the agonies of Lady Corbet at the intelligence I
brought. It appeared, indeed, nearly to shake her reason, and make her
regard the relater of her son's death, as the cause of it. She instantly
retired to Wales, whither I likewise followed, but could not obtain the
favour of an interview. She secluded herself from company, nor admitted
the presence of any one but her own servant. Thus she continued nearly a
fortnight, when a report was raised, that Sir Henry had been seen in the
village; and the next morning I received a message from Corbet Hall,
entreating my immediate presence.

"Pale--wild and breathless--the wretched mother, on my entrance, started
from her seat--'My Henry, my son!' she exclaimed, wringing her hands,
'Oh, give me back the darling of my widowed heart! It is his mother's
bosom only he has wrung with anguish; he never injured thee! Why then
say he is dead, why tear him from my sight? Dead!' she repeated, with a
scream. 'Oh no; it was but last night he blessed my sight. Even now his
accents hang on my ear, as he told me that he lived!'

"Thus she raved--and it was a considerable time before I could soothe
her to any degree of composure. When I had in some measure succeeded, I
dispatched an attendant to the village, to inquire into the particulars
of this strange story, and, if he could possibly discover those who were
said to have seen Sir Henry, to bring them to the Hall. He soon returned
with an old man, who affirmed he had seen Sir Henry, or his spectre,
pass down the church hill the preceding evening; that although
frightened, as Sir Henry was said to be dead, he had retained resolution
to follow him till he arrived at the village; but what became of him
then, he could not say, as he suddenly lost sight of him.

"This account was delivered with such hesitation, I should have
condemned the whole as the effect of intoxication, had not the wretched
mother again declared she had seen her son! The repetition recalled her
frenzy, and for some time baffled my endeavours to calm her
perturbation, by assurances, if her son in reality lived, he must soon
be discovered, in which case I would use every endeavour to restore him
to her.

"Lady Corbet has recovered from her derangement, though I do not think
she ever will from the shock occasioned by the loss of her son. She is
now at Bath for the benefit of the waters: but as my presence appears to
recall the fate of Sir Henry more forcibly to her mind, I have
determined to absent myself till time shall have mitigated her sorrow. I
cannot, however, experience ease in my present state, and must therefore
seek it in a change of objects. What say you, Howard, to an excursion
for a few weeks? Fortune, perhaps, may grant us intelligence of your
Ellenor."

As his presence was not essentially necessary on board, the Captain
readily acceded to the proposal, and a few days after they set out for
Caermarthen, accompanied by Frederick.

Fortune, however, favoured not their hopes; and, after three weeks spent
in fruitless inquiries, they once more directed their course toward
Dorsetshire.



CHAPTER V.


Already had they reached a village near Llandaff, where they proposed to
pass the night, when the fineness of the evening tempted them to enjoy
the beauties they beheld in an extensive landscape. In passing along a
bank from which the ancient walls of the church-yard rose, a groan,
replete with anguish, assailed their ears. The heart of Frederick ever
felt for the distresses of his fellow-creatures, and, on directing his
eye to the spot whence the sound proceeded, a scene presented itself,
which awakened every sentiment of pity.

A man, whose maimed condition implied the service he had rendered his
country, was bending over a grave recently made; his hat was off, and
the sun shed his last beams on a face that showed the wreck of every
manly beauty, whilst his hair, gently waving in the evening breeze,
shaded, and added a softness to the settled grief impressed on his
countenance. A lovely girl lay at his feet, embracing the senseless
turf, then raising herself, wrung her hands, and, clasping that of her
companion sank on the sod in a state of insensibility!

"Ellen, Ellen, my child!" exclaimed the mourner. Frederick could refrain
no longer, but, rushing through the gateway, raised the senseless Ellen
in his arms. Life soon returned, when the Captain (who, with Mr. Talton,
had followed Frederick) took the hand of the unhappy man; the softened
accent of commiseration hung on his lips, but, the mourner murmuring an
entreaty to be spared, withdrew his hand from the friendly grasp, and,
taking the weeping girl by the arm, slowly directed his steps from the
compassionate intruders.

His sorrow was sacred--the Captain felt it; but Frederick, whose
attention was fixed on Ellen, perceiving her scarcely able to support
herself, again hastened to her assistance, and the Captain waving his
hand for his servant to attend him, returned with Mr. Talton to the inn.

The scene they had witnessed was too impressive to be erased from their
minds; they communicated it to their host, who said--"Ah, your Honour,
it was Lieutenant Booyers. Poor gentleman--he is the pity of all who
know him, though I knew him when the sun rose not on a happier man: but
that time is passed."

"And pray, my worthy friend," said the Captain, "to what misfortune does
he owe this unhappy change?"

"'Tis a mournful tale, your Honours," answered the compassionate Jarvis,
"never, I believe, did any man experience more sorrow and misfortune
than he has."

"If my curiosity be not impertinent," said the Captain, "I would thank
you for a few particulars respecting him. I remember a Francis Booyers,
who some years since served, at the time I did, on board the Agamemnon;
and what I have beheld I acknowledge has interested me. You appear to
have known him long."

"From his birth, Sir: and, I believe, there are few circumstances of his
life with which I am unacquainted.

"I was, Sir, in my youth a soldier, and served under the father of the
gentleman you this evening beheld: as brave a man as ever fought beneath
the British standard, and as well beloved by his whole regiment. During
our campaign, I had the good fortune several times to gain his notice,
and in the last engagement where I fought, had the happiness to save his
life! It was by that, indeed, I was disabled; for I had my knee broken,
and received a musket shot in my side; but that I did not regret, for,
wounded as I was, there was not a man left of the regiment but envied me
an action I shall ever regard as my greatest glory: Aye, your Honours,
or who would not have changed situations with me, could he have said,
he had been the means of preserving the gallant Colonel Booyers! I was
attended with as much tenderness as our harassed situation would admit
of: the Colonel himself visited me, and when I recovered, not only
procured me a pension, but took me as an attendant on his person.

"Soon after, we returned to England, where the Colonel involved himself
in ruin, by marrying the daughter of a poor clergyman. For his father,
Lord Booyers, was no sooner informed of what he had done, than he
forbade him his sight, and passed from one act of unkindness to another,
till at last he disinherited him! The Colonel, at first, sought a
reconciliation by means of their common friends; but, finding it of no
effect, resigned all thoughts of the fortune he had expected. His lady
was too amiable to let him regret the step he had taken, and, in her
affection, he found a sufficient recompense for the loss of his
father's.

"In the course of five years she made him the father of three lovely
children, and, during that time, their happiness never received the
least interruption: but our regiment was then again ordered abroad; and
leaving his family in this village, under the protection of Sir James
and Lady Elvyn, the Colonel bade adieu to Wales, and beneath the walls
of Carthagena found a soldier's grave!

"Ah, Sir! five-and-thirty years have not worn away the remembrance of
that day. Still fresh in my memory is the moment I saw him borne in the
arms of the soldiers from the field. Many times had I faced death,
regardless of the carnage which surrounded me--but the sight of my noble
master's corpse made me a coward! The shout of victory, which had been
wont to rouse me to an enthusiastic madness of joy, ceased to vibrate on
my heart; and, though a soldier, I cursed the ravages of war!

"At such a time, but little ceremony can be used:--a shell was hastily
prepared, into which he was laid, and the following evening carried on
the shoulders of his men to the grave they had previously prepared. I
followed--a real mourner! The half-suppressed groans of my comrades were
answered by my own, and each stroke on the drum sank deeper in my heart.
I however marched to the grave: but when I heard the earth rattle on the
coffin of him, whom the day before I had beheld in the pride of health;
surrounded with honour; whose words the oldest officers listened to with
respect, and whose presence could animate and lead his men to the
greatest dangers, then bereft of life, and hurried to the dust--to think
of his wife--his children!--My heart already swelled with anguish to the
utmost, could bear no more--I threw myself in the half-filled grave--in
bitter terms lamented his untimely fate, and franticly accused the hand
of Providence, that had not shielded him from the stroke of death! In
vain my fellow-soldiers endeavoured to recall me to reason, to arouse me
to a sense of apprehended danger from the scouts of the enemy: I was
insensible to all but the remembrance of my master! At last they tore me
from the sacred spot, and hurried me back to the battery, where I was
suffered unmolested to indulge in my grief.

"Some days after, the General sent for me; he praised my honest
affection, as he termed it, for my deceased master, and would have
received me into his own service; but, finding me averse to the
proposal, consented to my bearing the intelligence of the Colonel's
death to my Lady. The property belonging to my master was therefore
entrusted to my care, and I once more returned to Wales; when I found an
account of his death had reached his wife by means of the public papers.
She bore her loss with that meek resignation which marked her character,
and, being then destitute of other support than her pension, determined,
for the sake of her children, to humble herself before their stern
grand-sire, and entreat his pity and protection. But his heart was too
obdurate to yield to the orphan's or widow's tears; and that forgiveness
he had refused to his own child, he vowed never to extend to hers.

"She then applied to his sons, my late master's brothers, the eldest of
whom had a very large fortune, which he inherited from a relation: but
they, like the old gentleman, were deaf to her claim of relief or
protection; their pride of blood, indeed, would not let them stoop to
acknowledge the poor descendants of an obscure country clergyman.

"My Lady returned to Sir James, who, on being informed of her
unsuccessful application, said--'It is not more, Mrs. Booyers, than I
expected from the well-known character of his Lordship and his sons: but
let not this disappointment of your wishes rather than your hopes
depress you. In Lady Elvyn, you have a sincere and affectionate friend:
your hearts are congenial: stay then with her, and let her attentions
and commiseration soothe the sorrows of your widowhood: as for your
children--I will supply the place of the father they have lost.'--And
truly did Sir James keep his word. My Lady remained at the Hall till her
death, which happened about two years after; when she and her little
girl both died of the small-pox.

"Till then I had been retained in the family as her servant: but, a few
days after the funeral, Sir James sent for me into his study--'I know
your worth, Jarvis,' he said, 'and respect the fidelity and attachment
you have ever evinced for my unfortunate friend and his wife; and, as I
believe you wish still to be near their children, I now offer you the
place of butler; in which I doubt not you will acquit yourself as much
to my satisfaction, as in your preceding service you did to your late
master and his widow.'

"I joyfully accepted the offer, and as butler passed the remainder of my
servitude.

"As for the sons of his friend, Sir James reared and educated them at
his own expense, and indeed ever loved them as though they had been his
own: himself had only three daughters, the loveliest girls, I think,
that ever I beheld; but, alas! beauty could not secure their happiness!

"About three years after the decease of Mrs. Booyers, Lady Elvyn died:
the affection of Sir James, however, scarcely allowed them to be
conscious of the loss; his wife, he would say, still existed in her
offspring, and for their sake he never would wed another.

"Well, Sir; early in life, Miss Mary and Hannah, the two elder, showed
an attachment to the young gentlemen, and Sir James declared their want
of an adequate fortune should never be a hindrance to their union with
his children. For the eldest he obtained a commission in the army; the
youngest had long been at sea; and, as my master's interest was great,
the fairest prospect of promotion was before them. An active war then
called them abroad; and well I remember the morning they bade Sir James
and the young ladies farewell. My master took a hand of each, as they
were preparing to step into the carriage which was to convey them away,
and, pressing them to his bosom, said--'Farewell, my dear boys; and
remember, whether good or ill fortune attend your pursuits in life, here
you will ever meet with friends, whose hearts, proudly conscious of your
real worth, will prize you for that alone. Your country now demands your
services: seek then the acquirement of honour, if not of fortune; and at
your return, doubt not my ready assent to the union you so ardently
wish.'

"It was two years after this, before we saw either of the young
gentlemen again. At that time Mr. Francis returned from Barbadoes, and
Captain Booyers arrived from Ireland, accompanied by a son of Sir Horace
Corbet. My old master, who had drooped in their absence, revived at
their return, and for six weeks we had nought but feasts and merriment.
About that time Mr. Corbet disclosed a passion he entertained for Miss
Eliza; and Sir James instantly wrote to Sir Horace, who a few days after
likewise arrived. Ah! all then was truly a scene of happiness!--for Sir
Horace immediately gave his consent to the match, and preparations were
begun for the three marriages. But, alas! Sir, nothing in this me is
certain; for, in the midst of our joy, my good old master was seized
with an apoplectic fit, and a few hours after expired!

"Sir Horace undertook the care of the funeral, and to settle the affairs
of Sir James; but, on searching his papers, no will could be found! The
whole of my master's property, therefore, went, with the title, to a
distant relation; a proud sordid man, who came the day after the
funeral, and, without the least feeling or ceremony, told my young
ladies to provide themselves another habitation; and Sir Horace, who had
pretended the greatest friendship and affection, instantly changed, and
peremptorily told his son, he must cease his addresses to Miss Eliza.
This, Mr. Corbet refused, and declared his resolution to espouse her,
whatever consequence might ensue: but Sir Horace hurried him away to his
seat in Caermarthen; nor was this all, for about a week after, Miss
Eliza received a letter, as they supposed, from Mr. Corbet, entreating
her to meet him at a place appointed; and my young lady, wholly
unsuspicious of treachery, went without attendants (for indeed all the
servants but one female had been dismissed)--and from that time, Sir,
has never been heard of!"

"Not heard off!" repeated the Captain and Mr. Talton, as with one voice.

"No, your Honours," reiterated the landlord, with a deep sigh--"has
never been heard of! My young master and his brother used every means
to discover what was become of her; but, though they entertained not the
least doubt it was Sir Horace who had trepanned her, yet, as they could
not bring any proof, no redress could be obtained.

"My young ladies, being now deprived of fortune, insisted that all
thoughts of marriage should be relinquished till the Captain and his
brother could acquire a competence more adequate to the expenses of a
family; and, finding all endeavours to alter their resolution
ineffectual, my young masters at last yielded an unwilling assent; the
Captain returned to his regiment in Ireland, and Mr. Francis set sail
for somewhere quite the other side of the globe.

"About a year and a half after his departure, Captain Booyers was
promoted to the rank of Major; when Miss Mary yielded to his
solicitations, and they were married. But her happiness was of short
duration: she died in less than a twelvemonth, in giving birth to a
daughter!

"From that time the Major dragged on a wretched existence, till his
regiment was ordered abroad, where, like his father, he lost his life in
the field; leaving the little orphan Ellen to the protection of his
brother and Miss Hannah.

"The Lieutenant went again to sea, in hopes of attaining a higher rank,
or amassing a little fortune; without which, reason forbade his
marrying to involve the woman he loved in greater difficulties: and the
marriage was still and still deferred, in hopes fortune would prove more
favourable; till the ship he served in was put out of commission; and,
after having been many times wounded, and lost an arm, he is now
returned, with no other support or reward than half-pay! Poor Miss
Hannah had been in a decline for a long time; her heart, I know, Sir,
was broken: she lived just to see him, and take a last farewell--and
that was all!"



CHAPTER VI.


The honest innkeeper wiped a tear from his cheek as he concluded, and a
pause of some moments ensued, when the Captain, addressing Mr. Talton,
said--"What a character, Talton, is that of Sir Horace! My own
misfortunes sink in the comparison with these unhappy people's: and I
think you will allow, even Sir Henry is entitled to a portion of your
pity."

"He deserves it, indeed, Sir," said Jarvis. "Soon after I settled in
this inn, he stopped here on his way to my ladies; and I declare I
scarcely knew him, he looked so pale and unhappy. When I told him Miss
Mary was married, he started from his seat in an agony, and, wringing my
hand, said, 'Yes, Jarvis, and I am married! I am married,' he repeated,
'and to one--.' He struck his forehead--walked about in great agitation,
and at last, throwing himself into a chair, covered his face, and sighed
to that degree, my heart ached to hear him. Poor gentleman! I never saw
him after that day. Had his father possessed a heart like my old
master's, they might all have been happy: but many a dark deed has Sir
Horace to answer for, beside those I have related: there were his wife
and daughter disappeared in a very strange manner."

At this moment Frederick entered. Jarvis, being summoned to another part
of the house, made his humble bow, and left the room; and the Captain,
addressing his nephew, asked if he had accompanied the Lieutenant and
Miss Booyers to their habitation?

"I did, my dear Sir," answered Frederick; "and have beheld a scene
equally distressing, I think, as the one you witnessed in the
church-yard. I supported the lovely Ellen to her residence, and would
then have taken my leave, but the Lieutenant, who I afterwards found
was her uncle, entreated me to walk into the house. 'It is the abode of
sorrow,' he added, 'but not of ingratitude; and never will Lieutenant
Booyers turn the compassionate stranger from his gate.'

"I was easily prevailed on to enter, when the Lieutenant, opening the
door of an inner room, presented to my view a lady and a youth in deep
mourning. They did not perceive our entrance. The silent tear was
trickling down the face of the youth; but his mother, for such she
proved, wrung her hands, and, in a voice broken by sobs, exclaimed--'Oh,
my Henry, to what distress has thy death reduced us!' She fell on the
neck of her son, when the lovely Ellen hastening to her, with accents of
the mildest pity, entreated she would be composed.

"'I could, Ellen,' answered the Lady, 'were I the only sufferer; but,
alas! a prison awaits us; and my child--my Edward, what must then become
of you?'

"'Fear not for me, my dear mother,' answered her son, with rising
spirit. 'I will follow the steps of my brave father, and if I fall, I
cannot die more nobly than in the cause of my country!' His voice, his
manners, were all St. Ledger's.--By Heavens, I could have loved him as a
brother!

"His mother pressed him to her bosom, but tears choked her utterance.
The Lieutenant regarded her with a look of commiseration, which seemed,
for the moment, to banish all thoughts of his own affliction. 'Yield not
thus to despondency,' he cried, 'my worthy friend; the God whose power
can calm the turbulence of the storm, and raise the sinking mariner,
will never desert thee or thy offspring.'

"She answered but with her tears, when a beautiful girl, whose
countenance, like the rest, bore marks of the deepest grief, entered,
and in a voice, I thought, of alarm, entreated her assistance in an
adjoining room.

"She instantly complied, and retired, followed by her son and the lovely
Ellen.

"'Child of misfortune,' sighed the Lieutenant, 'may you one day
experience happiness, proportionate to the sorrow you now endure.'

"Then, addressing me, he thanked me, in elegant terms, for the
assistance I had afforded his niece: her name revived the anguish of his
own breast, and, perceiving me interested by what I had beheld, he gave
me the outlines of his life, a life marked, indeed, by misfortune! I
thanked him for the confidence he had reposed in me, and, apologizing
for the freedom of the offer, entreated to know if it were in my power,
or that of my uncle, to render any assistance to the lady I had seen.

"The Lieutenant shook his head.--It was not, he said.--'Pecuniary
distresses,' he continued, 'are but the secondary causes of her
affliction. Early in life she lost a beloved husband, and for many years
experienced the keenest unhappiness: at last Heaven sent a friend, who
promised to redress the injuries she had suffered; but it was not to be:
death has bereaved her of her protector; and for him it is she grieves,
independently of the misery which awaits her.'

"Delicacy forbade my urging any farther, and, unwilling to intrude, I
took a reluctant leave.--But, surely, my dear uncle, something may be
done; theirs is not a common distress: they need a friend, and, had I
the wealth of the universe--"

Frederick was interrupted by his uncle's servant, who rushed into the
room with looks of the wildest delight, exclaiming--"She is found--she
is found, your Honour! My Lady is now in the village!"

The Captain's countenance indicated displeasure. "Am I never to be free
from the persecution of this woman?" he cried. "Order my horses; I will
be gone immediately!"

"What, Sir!" said James, surprised and dejected: "not see my Lady, now
you have found her?"

"Found her--found whom?" asked the Captain hastily.

"My honoured Lady, Sir; Madam Crawton, who lived at Brighthelmstone."

"My Ellenor here!" exclaimed the Captain, starting from his seat, every
feature instantly illumined with joy.--"O God of Heaven! tell me where
she is, this instant!"

"At the house, your Honour, where Mr. Frederick went with the gentleman
and lady: I saw Madam Crawton as she came out of the parlour. I could
not at the moment be certain it was her; but, willing to satisfy myself,
I returned as soon as my young master reached the inn, and saw Mrs.
Susan putting some parcels into a carriage. I remembered Mrs. Susan
perfectly well; and at that moment my Lady came to the door. I was then
convinced, and hastened back to acquaint your Honour."

The Captain could scarcely retain patience till James concluded; when,
quick as lightning, he darted out of the room, followed by his nephew
and Mr. Talton, and in a few minutes reached the residence of Lieutenant
Booyers.

With a beating heart he raised the knocker; but all remained silent: no
ready footstep answered to the summons. Again he knocked--when a peasant
slowly advanced from the back of the garden, and, with a surly voice,
demanded their business?

"Is Mrs. Crawton, or Lieutenant Booyers, at home?" asked the Captain.

"They are not," answered the man. "They have left the village."

"Left the village!" faltered the Captain.

"Yes," replied the man. "So, for once you have missed your aim."

"Missed indeed!" he cried. "But say--where are they gone?--Tell me, I
conjure you."

"I will perish first," answered the man. "I know your business too
well!"

"It is impossible," said the Captain, "you should know my business."

"Is not your name Talton!" interrupted the man.

"My name is," answered Mr. Talton. "But I cannot conceive what concern
that has with the lady in question."

"A great deal," said the man. "So, once more I tell you, you have
missed your aim. My lady will not go to prison this time!"

"God forbid she should," exclaimed the Captain. "Yet tell me, I entreat
you--."

But the peasant disregarded his entreaties, and, again repeating his
observation, pursued his way to his own home. The disappointment was too
severe for the Captain to support with his wonted firmness: he sunk on
the shoulder of his nephew, whose astonishment could only be equalled by
his concern, at finding the house so suddenly deserted: he begged his
uncle (who would have followed the peasant) to return to the inn,
declaring he would himself go after him, and, either by money or
threats, extort from him what he knew concerning Mrs. Crawton. The
Captain complied, and, accompanied by Mr. Talton, retraced his steps to
the inn, where he ordered the horses to be immediately saddled.

Jarvis (who had been informed by James, of what he knew concerning the
Captain and the unfortunate Ellenor) observing the agitation of his
guest, begged to know if any thing disagreeable had happened? Mr. Talton
satisfied his curiosity, so far as saying, the Lieutenant and his
friends, with whom they had particular business, had left the village,
and at the same time asked if he knew any thing respecting Mrs.
Crawton?

"There were a Mrs. Crawton and another lady, your Honour," answered
Jarvis, "came here just before Miss Hannah died; but I cannot say I ever
saw either of them. The young folks, (for one has a son, and the other a
daughter) I have frequently seen. As for the Lieutenant leaving the
village, the man must be mistaken, though he may be accompanying the
ladies to their own habitation: however, if it be that which concerns
your Honours, I will be bound to gain you intelligence to what part of
the country they are gone, in the space of an hour."

The Captain thankfully accepted the offer, and impatiently waited the
return of Frederick, who, with a dejected countenance, soon entered the
room.

"I have not been able to succeed, my dear Sir," he cried; "the man is
sworn to secrecy; and all I have been able to learn from him, is--they
have fled, to avoid Mr. Talton and a jail."

"Avoid me!" exclaimed Mr. Talton, with surprise. "There is some mystery
in this, which I cannot develope. From the time I first left England,
till this evening, I have never heard of Mrs. Crawton; and to Lieutenant
Booyers I am a perfect stranger."

"My Ellenor flying, and from fear of a prison!" cried the Captain. "To
what distress may she not be reduced! Would that Jarvis was returned!
the torments I endure are insupportable!"

Jarvis soon after re-entered--"I have gained but little information,
your Honour," he began, "and that I believe not strictly true. The
Lieutenant has certainly left the village. It was the appearance of you,
Sir, (to Mr. Talton) it seems, which has driven them so abruptly from
their home. They have taken the road to Chepstow; but whether they
propose staying there, is not known."

"That information is sufficient," said the Captain. "I will instantly
follow them. Let me but recover Ellenor and my son--it is all I ask of
Heaven!"

Jarvis, who was liberally rewarded for his trouble, procured them a
guide, and they immediately directed their course toward Chepstow. But
the Captain was doomed to experience disappointment; no such carriage or
persons as he described had been seen; and he could only suppose Jarvis
had been misinformed, or that they had pursued their way farther into
the country. Indulging this last idea, he determined to continue the
pursuit; but every effort proved ineffectual to discover the lost
Ellenor; and, to add to his distress, he received an express to return
on board, the fleet being ready to sail.

Reluctantly he obeyed, and, on reaching Weymouth, was met by Mrs.
Howard, who with increasing malignancy endeavoured to revenge herself
for the temporary respite he had enjoyed. Mr. Talton accompanied the
Captain on board, where, promising to use every endeavour during his
absence from England to discover Ellenor, he bade him adieu, and,
returning on shore, proceeded to Bath, to renew his addresses to Lady
Corbet.

No particular occurrence marked the voyage: the name of St. Ledger was
still mentioned with regret by the crew, and dwelt on with a painful
delight by Frederick and his uncle; who passed his hours in painful
retrospects, and conjectures for the present state of his Ellenor,
enlivened only by the praises the friendly Frederick bestowed on the
person and interesting manners of his son, so greatly resembling those
of the deceased Sir Henry.



CHAPTER VII.


More than twelve months had elapsed since the death of Sir Henry, when
the fleet returned to St. Helena. The pleasure experienced by his
officers and crew, on attaining this favourite spot, extended itself to
the bosom of the Captain: the mind of Harland too yielded to its
influence; the stern contraction of his brow gave place to the smile of
satisfaction, and, with a heart unwontedly attuned to cheerfulness, he
accompanied the Captain and Frederick to the Governor's, where a large
party were assembled, not only of the principal inhabitants, but
several officers and passengers belonging to some French vessels bound
for Pondicherry, and which had arrived there the preceding day.

Amongst the passengers, the Marchioness de Valois, her daughters, and a
Mademoiselle de St. Ursule, claimed pre-eminence; the beauty of the
latter, indeed, gained universal admiration, nor could the bosom of
Harland long resist the influence of a softer passion. The Governor's
nephew likewise yielded an unresisting captive to charms unequalled in
the Eastern clime; and, uncontrolled by any authority but that of an
uncle, whose partiality ever extenuated his faults, and exaggerated the
few amiable qualities he possessed to the height of human perfection,
he looked on success as certain wherever he chose to prefer his suit.

Harland observed the freedom of his addresses with an eye of jealousy,
heightened by the diffidence he for the first time experienced of
himself. Humbled, yet indignant, he returned on board, and hastened to
his cabin; whence, in the morning, he was roused by the information,
that they were to pass the day with the Marchioness, with whom the
Captain had been acquainted in England.

Impetuous in every pursuit, this intelligence in an instant dissipated
every mortifying reflection, and he impatiently waited for the hour
which would again present the lovely Louise to his sight.

The sentiments with which she had inspired him, he attempted not to
conceal; his conduct through the day sufficiently evinced them; whilst
the blushing sweetness with which she permitted his assiduities, and the
mildness of her manners, so different from the generality of the French,
but increased the passion he had imbibed.

Though convinced she regarded the Governor's nephew with indifference,
he became still more dissatisfied with that gentleman's behaviour toward
her, which he found would oblige him to a declaration to the Marchioness
sooner than he intended; as he wished to have been previously certified
of Louise's sentiments respecting himself, and to learn from her an
account of her family and connexions, with which he was as yet
unacquainted. He could not, however, in idea yield to the pretensions of
another, and accordingly, a few days after, took the opportunity of
accompanying the Captain to the Marchioness, and, with all the energy of
an unfeigned passion, declared his admiration of Louise, and entreated
her permission to his addresses.

The Marchioness, imagining the declaration to proceed from a
prepossession as easily eradicated as raised, answered--"That Louise is
deserving of your highest admiration, I acknowledge; but her station in
life is beneath what you may with justice aspire to. She is an
orphan--without a name; brought up by charity, and received into my
family, at the request of my daughters, as a companion: and I think,
young gentleman, you must acknowledge I should ill deserve the name of
patroness, if I permitted an acquaintance a few weeks must unavoidably
dissolve.--As a friend of Captain Howard, and a gentleman, I shall ever
be happy to see you in the circle of my acquaintance, but never as the
lover of Louise.

"It is now nineteen years, Captain," continued the Marchioness, "since
Louise was found at the gate of the Convent of St. Ursule: the picture,
as we suppose, of her mother, was tied round her neck with a paper, on
which was written the word--"Louisa!" The Abbess caused a search to be
made after the parents; but, not being able to discover them, received
and reared the infant. My daughters were educated at St. Ursule's, and
attached to Louise from her childhood; at their request, when she was
about sixteen, the Abbess resigned her to my protection."

Ill could the haughty soul of Harland brook this refusal of the
Marchioness, which was beginning to raise a sentiment of indignation in
his breast against that lady, when the entrance of Louise obliterated
every idea but of her; each moment presented new attractions to his
fascinated senses; and he determined to espouse her privately, and leave
the issue to Providence, rather than forego his addresses; as love and
pride whispered--her birth must be reputable, if not noble!

The day succeeding this, he accompanied the Captain and Frederick to a
_fête_ at the Governor's, where the Marchioness and her family were
likewise present: but the pleasure Louise's presence would have created,
was destroyed by the marked attentions of young Ferrand, the Governor's
nephew; and, unable to endure the seeming satisfaction, or even the
presence of his rival, which prevented his conversing freely with
Louise, he entreated to speak with her in private, and, without waiting
for an answer, conducted her into an adjoining room. He there acquainted
her with his application to the Marchioness; her rejection of his suit;
and vehemently urged her to a private marriage.

Louise was concerned at the Marchioness's refusal, but declared she
never would consent to any engagement without her approbation; and
gently chid Harland for the rudeness of his behaviour to Ferrand.
Harland could not conceal his chagrin at this second rejection, and
accused Louise of an unjust preference to his rival; against whom he
vowed the severest vengeance.

The East-Indian, who had equally observed the assiduities of Harland,
and equally felt the influence of jealousy, had followed them
unperceived, and heard the whole of their conversation. He now sprung
from his concealment, and would have commenced hostilities on the spot,
had not the terrified Louise entreated Harland to reconduct her to the
company. Though hurried nearly to madness by the violence of passion,
the voice of Louise recalled him to reason; or rather her request,
trivial as it was, implied, he thought, a preference to him over his
rival, which, by gratifying his wishes, conduced to calm the tumult
raised in his bosom.

Louise, though she had given a denial to his suit, could not behave to
him with indifference: on the contrary, she endeavoured, by many little
attentions, to soften her rejection, and which Harland was too happy at
the moment in receiving, to bestow a thought on the motive whence they
arose.

Amidst the festivity which reigned, young Ferrand was the only one
really unconscious of pleasure. Ungovernable in his passions, he could
as little brook an appearance of slight, as Harland could refusal. A
sentiment of respect and awe he entertained for his uncle, withheld him
from disturbing the mirth of the evening by an open quarrel with the
Lieutenant; he therefore determined on a surer revenge than he was
certain of being able to inflict with his own hand.

It was late when the company separated, and Harland, with the Captain
and Frederick, were returning to the Bay, when they were attacked by
four men, who in a moment struck the Captain to the ground. Harland,
whose courage equalled his passions, immediately drew, as did Frederick,
and endeavoured to guard the Captain, against whose life the ruffians
seemed principally to direct their attention. A sharp conflict ensued,
in which their assailants had evidently the superiority, and they were
nearly overpowered, when a man, wrapped in a large roquelaure, hastily
approached. Frederick apprehended an associate of the ruffians, but was
agreeably undeceived by one of them being instantly levelled with the
dust by the contents of a pistol! The stranger then flew to his side,
and, seizing the Captain's sword, obliged the assassins in their turn to
act on the defensive.

Alarmed by the report of the pistol, the boat's crew, who were waiting
for the Captain, followed the direction of the sound, and arrived at the
moment the ruffians, unable to perpetrate their design, fled; leaving
their companion behind them, severely wounded.

Frederick instantly assisted to raise his uncle; and the sailors,
mistaking the stranger for one of the assassins, as instantly secured
him, and, finding the fort alarmed, took the Captain in their arms and
returned to the boat.

When they arrived on board, proper applications were used to restore the
Captain, who had been rendered senseless by the blow; and who, after
assuring his nephew he was not materially hurt, inquired after the men
who had assaulted them.

Frederick, whose anxiety for his uncle had till that moment precluded
every other idea, immediately recalled to mind the generous stranger;
and, with the warmest praises on his bravery, related the service he had
rendered them. The glow of impatient gratitude for a moment warmed the
cheek of the Captain, as he looked round for this unknown friend: but
not discovering him, he eagerly asked where he was?--and, to his great
surprise, was informed the men had confined him till his pleasure
respecting him should be known.

"Merciful Heaven!" he ejaculated. "What a return!--Frederick--"

Frederick flew out of the cabin, and in a short time re-entered,
conducting the stranger, who held his cloak to his face, as wishing to
be concealed.

The Captain rose, supported by Harland, and, extending his hand,
said--"I know not, Sir, how to offer an apology for the injurious
treatment you have received, from the honest but mistaken zeal of my
men, but, misled by appearance, they could not distinguish whether you
were friend or foe. To the aid you so generously afforded, I am
undoubtedly indebted for the preservation of my life, for which I return
my most sincere thanks. Will you now inform me to whom I am thus
obliged, that I may likewise by my actions prove my gratitude."

The stranger appeared agitated, clasped his hands, then, hastily
advancing to the Captain, sunk at his feet, and, throwing off the
roquelaure, discovered to his astonished senses--Sir Henry Corbet!

With a countenance pale as though oppressed by death, the Captain
regarded him, whilst Sir Henry, seizing his hand, pressed it to his
breast, and exclaimed--"Repay the obligation, then, by restoring me to
that place in your friendship I once possessed, and granting that
protection I still must entreat!"

The Captain endeavoured to raise and answer him, but, unable to speak,
gave a faint groan, and sunk into the arms of Frederick; who, confounded
and amazed at the apparition, could scarcely credit the evidence of his
senses, or believe the person of his friend to be real.

Sir Henry, equally alarmed at the state of the Captain, assisted to
convey him to his cabin; and, when recovered, joined his entreaties to
the surgeon's, that he would seek the repose he so much required. The
Captain unwillingly yielded to their solicitations; as he wished to
have had an immediate explanation respecting the re-appearance of one
whom he had so long thought dead; but, Sir Henry promising to satisfy
his curiosity on the morrow, retired--having been previously assured
that his request for protection should not a second time be refused.

Accordingly, in the morning, he attended with Frederick; and the
Captain, as soon as he beheld him, gave him his hand, saying with a
smile--"I find, Sir Henry, I must be doubly your debtor: your assistance
last night preserved my life and now to you I must look for those
blessings which can alone render life desirable. To you, my Ellenor, in
her letter, refers me for intelligence: tell me then what fate she has
hitherto experienced; for much I fear fortune may have in every respect
proved unfavourable."

"Of Ellenor and your son, Captain," answered Sir Henry, "I have little
to relate. At the time she left London with her infant, she sought the
protection of my father, who procured her an honourable asylum in the
family of the Reverend Mr. Blond; with his relict I believe she at
present resides. Edward, when I first quitted England, was pursuing his
studies at the University; which he left previously to the report of my
death; and, with his mother and Mrs. Blond, fled--to avoid the unfeeling
hand of oppression; but where to--I know not."

"I feared as much!" sighed the Captain.--"But Heaven," he continued with
a more cheerful accent, "may yet befriend me. I have by a miracle, I
cannot call it less, recovered you from the grave: and from your hand I
still hope to receive my Ellenor. I am, I find, necessary to the
elucidation of the mysteries Mr. Talton formerly mentioned: the
friendship you have shown to my son, independently of the regard I
entertain for yourself, demands from me the readiest assistance: tell
me, then, what course I am to pursue, and doubt not my proving the
friend you wish."

Sir Henry warmly thanked the Captain for the generous offer. "Personal
protection," he continued, "is all I at present request...." He paused a
moment, then again continued--"I last night, Captain Howard, promised to
explain to you the accident by which you were led into the belief of my
death, and, as far as I am at liberty, to relate the particulars of my
conduct. Of the latter, I can say but little; and only entreat you will
not judge or condemn me by appearances.

"Mr. Talton, I presume, has already acquainted you with the marriage of
my parents; of which I am the only offspring: the offspring, indeed, of
indifference! Since reason dawned, I have drunk the bitter draught of
unhappiness: my childhood passed in sorrow; parental hatred still
pursued me--and the events of one night, soon after the death of my
father, I acknowledge, nearly bereft me of reason! To fly from scenes I
had not strength of mind to support, I left my home, and sought relief
in the bosom of friendship; till a mother's tears won me to return, when
again I became the prey of midnight horrors!

"Long I sustained them; till nature sunk beneath their influence, and
nearly resigned me to the grave! Again I resolved to fly.--'Seek my
Edward,' said your Ellenor; 'his generous hand will sustain thee, and
hereafter bear thy character open to the world!' She accordingly wrote,
and, with the assistance of a gypsey, from whom I procured an humble
disguise, I eluded the watchfulness of my mother, and again became an
itinerant.

"I was nearly three weeks, in the weak state of my health, crossing the
kingdom; as I had gained intelligence you were stationed at Yarmouth;
where I was inquiring if any of your crew were on shore, when the
appearance of Mr. Talton nearly annihilated me! Imagining he was in
quest of me, I heeded not the answer to my question; but fled--and
Providence conducted me to your nephew. Not wishing to be known to any
other than the Captain Howard, whom I sought, I assumed the name of my
friend, which shame afterwards withheld me from resigning, or delivering
the letter I had received from Ellenor.--Refused your protection when
discovered by Mr. Talton, and fearing, if persuasion failed, he would
force me to return with him, I had no alternative but to leave the ship.
Scarcely knowing what I did, I gave the letter to one of the men, and,
hastily descending to the boat, was conveyed on shore. I pursued my way
toward Lowestoff, when, recollecting Talton probably would endeavour to
trace me, I changed clothes with a lad I overtook, and, giving him my
watch, he promised secrecy, should any inquiries respecting me be made.
My intention then was to have proceeded to Harwich; whence I thought it
probable I might find some vessel going to the Continent: but, late in
the evening, I was met by some smugglers. Without ceremony, they
demanded who I was, and where I was going? I answered these questions to
their satisfaction; when, judging by my garb I should suit their
service, they, without farther interrogation, informed me I must go with
them. As my life was fully in their power, I thought it most prudent to
assent with an appearance of good-will, and therefore readily
accompanied them on board a cutter they had lying a little distance from
the shore. Our sails were immediately set, and we passed before the wind
with such rapidity as soon freed me from my fears of Talton. We
proceeded to the coast of Holland, where with some difficulty I escaped
from my companions, and got on board a trading vessel belonging to
Cardigan; and, wishing to see your Ellenor and Mrs. Blond, immediately
on my arrival there set out for Caermarthen, which I reached in the
evening.

"Fearful of passing near the hall, lest any of the servants should
discover me, I went by the village; but, my precaution was useless: an
old man, who had formerly been in the service of my grandfather,
accidentally followed, and knew me notwithstanding my disguise; and,
misled by the report of my death, declared to some of his neighbours he
had seen my spectre! As I was hastening to the humble dwelling of Mrs.
Blond, I was stopped by the appearance of Mallet, my mother's steward;
and, knowing the consequence which must ensue if I were seen by him, I
fled to the cottage of old Owen for shelter. Owen had that instant
entered, and was relating his tale to his wife, when my re-appearance
and voice convinced him of his mistake. He acquainted me with the tale
which was circulated of my death, and regretted the freedom with which
he had mentioned seeing me that evening: for Owen well knew the
circumstances which had driven me from my home; and, as Mr. Talton was
returned, advised me instantly to fly Caermarthen; promising, if any
notice should be taken of what he had uttered, to conduct himself in
such a manner as should effectually screen me from danger. I thanked
him, and, finding Mallet was gone, hastened to the residence of your
Ellenor. But, alas! Captain, it was deserted; she had left her ancient
asylum, with Mrs. Blond, but a few days before! This intelligence I
learned from a servant who was left in the house, and who likewise told
me some particulars, that"--

Sir Henry paused--hesitated!

"I was obliged to enter the walls of Corbet Hall--what passed, I may
hereafter relate; though, would to Heaven it could be for ever blotted
from my remembrance!

"Spiritless and truly forlorn, every hope destroyed, I retraced my
steps to Cardigan; and engaged as a common sailor, in a merchantman
trading to Havre-de-Grace; but not liking the Captain, I left him on our
arrival there, and led a wandering life: till I entered on board a
vessel at L'Orient bound for Pondicherry; which arrived at this island
with others a few days since.

"The restraint imposed on me by the presence of my messmates, was too
severe to support continually: beside the anguish which preyed on my
mind, my heart was with you; I wished to eradicate those sentiments you
entertained from the misrepresentations of Talton, and regain that place
in your friendship I once enjoyed.

"To indulge these wishes, and enjoy the freedom of reflection, I last
night sought for solitude; when the clashing of swords drew me to your
assistance. I first distinguished the voice of Frederick, which brought
with it the idea that Mr. Talton (as he once mentioned an intention of
visiting the Indies) might be with you: as the most probable means of
concealment, I therefore determined on silence; trusting that in the
hurry of their attendance on you, I might unobserved satisfy my
suspicions, and, if they were just, escape again to shore."

"Yet, tell me," said the Captain, "on what account you so anxiously
wish to avoid Mr. Talton? or why my Ellenor so precipitately fled from
Lieutenant Booyers's, on hearing of his arrival in the village? He
hinted that she was involved in pecuniary difficulties; to which
Talton's name was annexed. Is she answerable to him for any money?"

Sir Henry answered in the negative, and begged to know what he
particularly alluded to, as he had not mentioned the immediate cause of
her flight. The Captain related what had passed at Lieutenant Booyers',
and the idea he entertained, that Mr. Talton, notwithstanding his
assertion to the contrary, had proved an enemy to his Ellenor.

Sir Henry gave a sigh to the sorrows of poor Booyers; who, he said,
would prove a real protector to Ellenor till it pleased Heaven to
conduct them to her. "But, alas!" he continued, "the cloud which
envelopes me, likewise extends its pernicious influence to her."



CHAPTER VIII.


Frederick now turned the discourse to the occurrence of the preceding
night; and proposed going on shore, to learn, if possible, who were the
assailants, as he could not from their conduct think them robbers. The
Captain consented; when Harland, who burned with impatience to revenge
his quarrel with young Ferrand, asked permission to accompany him; which
having obtained, he hastily took his pistols, and, with Frederick, was
conveyed to shore.

The soldiers who the night before, on the report of the pistol, hastened
to the spot where the Captain had been assaulted, found the wounded man,
and conveyed him to the fort; he was there discovered to be one of the
Governor's attendants: and, on being questioned, declared he had been
attacked by several men, against whom he defended himself, till one of
them shot him; that, as soon as he fell, the ruffians fled, imagining,
he supposed, that they had effectually executed their purpose, and he
was soon after found by the soldiers.

The Governor was accordingly informed of the circumstance, and ordered
an immediate search to be made after the supposed assassins. At this
juncture, the companions of the wounded, who were likewise in the
service of the Governor, returned, and endeavoured to get unperceived to
their apartment; but the blood with which one of them was plenteously
bedewed, betrayed them to their fellows: they were seized, confined,
and, as soon as the Governor rose in the morning, conveyed into his
presence. At first they refused to answer to the charge against them;
till the Governor threatened to have them instantly punished for their
cruelty; when they vehemently protested their innocence; but, on being
further urged, confessed they had been instigated by a considerable
gratuity from young Ferrand, to undertake the assassination of
Lieutenant Harland; in the attempt of which their companion had been
wounded.

This, the wounded man was at last likewise induced to acknowledge; and,
with great apparent contrition, implored the clemency of the Governor.
That gentleman, justly incensed at this proceeding of his nephew,
ordered him to be immediately called; and committed the men to strict
confinement, till he should learn whether or not they had perpetrated
their design.

At this instant Frederick and Harland arrived; on beholding the latter,
young Ferrand turned pale; and the Governor, with some surprise,
demanded an explanation of Frederick, of what he knew concerning the
affair. Frederick gave an account of the assault, and concluded with the
assurance, that his uncle, whom the men had mistaken for Harland, was
not in the least danger. The Governor expressed his satisfaction at the
latter intelligence, so much more favourable than he had expected: but,
as he could not readily pardon the violent measures his nephew had
pursued, he commanded him immediately to retire to his country seat:
and, to prevent his having an opportunity of meeting Harland, ordered
the Lieutenant instantly to return and remain on board.

Inconceivable was the rage of Harland and Ferrand at this restriction:
but they were obliged to obey; each secretly tormented with the idea,
that his rival would find opportunities of seeing Louise, and gaining
her affections. The keen eye of jealousy had soon told Ferrand Louise
preferred Harland to himself; wounded pride and indignation now led to
the desire of revenge; and before he reached the abode, appointed by his
uncle, he resolved to carry her off; by which means he should
effectually punish her disregard for himself, and triumph over his
rival. He had trusty slaves, and a retreat well calculated to secrete
his prize from the knowledge of her friends and his uncle, who might
otherwise severely resent his committing this second outrage.

Whilst Ferrand was settling his plan of procedure, Harland returned on
board; one moment glowing with rage to chastise the East-Indian; the
next, nearly frantic, lest his rank, and the interest of his uncle,
should ultimately gain him the hand of Louise. The being debarred from
seeing her, likewise added to the tumult of his mind; which the presence
of Sir Henry, or the commendations bestowed on him by others, did not
tend to alleviate.

Often in secret had he sighed for that cordiality and esteem Sir Henry
experienced, instead of the cold respect with which himself was treated:
but pride would not let him deviate from the conduct he had hitherto
pursued; and, at the moment he regretted its influence, it hurried him
into greater excesses.

In a few days the Captain, being perfectly recovered, sent an
invitation to the Governor, and the principal part of the company he had
met at that gentleman's, to pass the ensuing day on board the Argo:
at the time appointed, the impatient Harland anxiously watched the
approaching boats, and with joy perceived the lovely Louise seated by
the Marchioness.

On beholding the fair European, the gaiety Sir Henry had assumed,
suddenly deserted him; in vain he endeavoured to withdraw his eyes and
attention from the fascinating maid; emotions but too perceptible
agitated him, and the consciousness of betraying his feelings, increased
them to the most painful degree.

Harland at last observed him, and jealousy whispered that Sir Henry
loved Louise. The idea, in an instant, clouded the happiness her
presence had given rise to; as Sir Henry, he well knew, must prove a far
more formidable rival than Ferrand, whose chief recommendations were
rank and fortune; but Sir Henry, to equal attractions, united a person,
in which every manly beauty, fast springing to perfection, received
additional lustre from an innate elegance of manners. Melancholy,
indeed, had too apparently "marked him for her own," but that melancholy
rendered him still more interesting.

Louise heeded not his agitation or attention, till an accident, trivial
in itself, forced it to her observation, and confirmed the suspicion of
Harland.

In extending her hand to re-place some fruit, a miniature fell from her
bosom; Sir Henry took it up, but in restoring it to the fair owner,
glanced his eyes on the features it represented. "Oh God, it is
herself!"--he exclaimed, and grasped the hand of Louise--but checking
the rising sentence, hastily gave the picture, and rushed past Frederick
out of the cabin. Frederick instantly followed to ask an explanation,
and found Sir Henry in the utmost agitation.

"For Heaven's sake, my friend," he exclaimed, "what is the occasion of
this strange behaviour? Recollect yourself; nor force the company to
surmises perhaps equally injurious to Mademoiselle St. Ursule and
yourself. Yield not thus to the influence of your passions, or I shall
indeed fear for your reason. Believe me, Sir Henry, I wish not
impertinently to pry into those secrets honour forbids your
revealing--yet to those you can confide, I must assert my right. You
know my heart: it beats with the sincerest friendship toward you: trust
it then, Sir Henry--and let it at least share your sorrows!"

Sir Henry wrung his hand--"Oh Frederick, that night--that fatal
night!--and now Louise"--

"Is, I am afraid, attached to George," said Frederick. Sir Henry did
not notice the observation, but continued--"Yet why should I shrink from
an explanation? No--I will wait on the Marchioness to-morrow."--

"To that you must first have my consent!" exclaimed Harland, bursting
into the cabin. "I love Louise; and, before I will resign the thoughts
of her, I will resign my life! You had better, therefore, withdraw your
pretensions."

"What means this interruption, Lieutenant Harland?" said Sir Henry. "My
pretensions to Louise are founded on ties far above your power to
controvert or forbid!"

Passion gleamed in the eyes of Harland; and Frederick, fearing a quarrel
would ensue, entreated they would cease the subject, and return to the
company: but Sir Henry declared he was too much indisposed to experience
pleasure in society. Harland, whose jealousy had induced him to follow
Sir Henry, to demand an explanation of his words, concluding the attempt
would prove ineffectual, yielded to the remonstrances of Frederick, and
returned to the gentle Louise; yet, the idea of Sir Henry's application
to the Marchioness, and the fear that his overtures would be accepted,
added poignancy to his torments. Harland determined, however, if
possible, to frustrate his design; accordingly, as soon as the company
returned on shore, he sought Sir Henry, and demanded a conference; this
was refused; and he passed the night in reflections ill calculated to
calm the passion which rage and jealousy had excited.

In the morning Sir Henry was taking advantage of the earliest boat, when
Harland, who had been watching his appearance, hurried after him, and
springing into it, declared he should not go unaccompanied. Sir Henry
could not conceal his chagrin, but, seating himself in silence, they
were conveyed on shore.

Meanwhile, Frederick, anxious to prevent the consequences he apprehended
from the passionate Harland, as soon as he rose, went to his cabin, to
exert his influence in conciliating the jealous difference: but, being
informed he was gone on shore with Sir Henry, and missing his pistols,
he hastened to his uncle, and, acquainting him with the preceding
transactions, begged he would permit him to follow them, to prevent
hostilities. The Captain said he was too well assured of Sir Henry's
forbearance to fear a duel: he rather supposed they were gone to the
Marchioness, whither ordering the barge, he immediately proceeded,
accompanied by Frederick: but Sir Henry and Harland had not been there.

On being landed, Harland took Sir Henry by the arm, and, conducting him
from the town, asked if he recollected the sentiments he had avowed the
preceding evening: these the Lieutenant repeated, at the same time
declaring he would oppose every pretension for the favour of Louise, and
more especially from him, whom he hated!

"As I am certain, no part of my conduct," said Sir Henry, "has given
just cause for your hatred, I can forgive that arising from jealousy. On
no account, however, shall I defer my intended visit to the Marchioness,
in which you have altogether mistaken my motive."

"Mistaken your motive!" repeated Harland haughtily. "Do you not love
Louise--what other proof, then, is requisite?"

"That I love Louise," said Sir Henry, "I acknowledge; but, as we cannot
agree upon this subject, I will wish you good morning." He coolly bowed,
and was leaving him, when Harland, catching hold of his arm, presented
his pistols, and desired he would take his choice.

"I shall not fight, Lieutenant," said Sir Henry: but Harland forced a
pistol into his hand, and, retiring a few paces, fired; but fortunately
without effect. Sir Henry discharged his pistol in the air, and,
returning it, asked if he was satisfied? Passion had by this time so far
overpowered the Lieutenant as to deprive him of articulation; and Sir
Henry continued--"From my general conduct, Harland, you must be
convinced it is not fear which deters me from fighting: but as you are
mistaken in the motive which induces you to this action, I should think
myself unpardonable to resent it, otherwise than by assuring you of your
mistake. Conscious of the rectitude of my intentions, I do not fear any
scrutiny you may make on my conduct; for which, if you hereafter demand
satisfaction, you shall find me ready to render it, in any way you
require."

He again bowed, and, repeating his salutation, walked on. "Stay! Sir
Henry," vociferated Harland: "at least you shall not go alone to the
Marchioness: and beware how you act; for, depend upon it, you shall
hereafter render me account!"

They arrived at the Marchioness's, as the Captain concluded the account
he had received from Frederick. She smiled when they entered; and
Harland, with all the incoherence that anxiety and jealousy could
excite, renewed his entreaties, that she would permit his addresses to
Louise. He offered to settle the whole of the fortune he then possessed
on her; and even to engage his parents to make an addition, if required.
The Marchioness listened calmly to his offer, and gently chid him for
his disobedience of the Governor's orders; but, on being farther
importuned by the impatient Harland, repeated her former motives for
refusing him: then addressing Sir Henry--"The same reasons, I presume,
Sir Henry, will answer your pretensions."

"My pretensions, Madam," faltered Sir Henry, "are different from those
of Lieutenant Harland. I seek a child, who nineteen years since was left
at the gates of St. Ursule, in Rennes: whether Louise be that child, is
easily known: tell me, Madam, if you have ever beheld a miniature
similar to this?"

He drew one from his bosom, and presented it to the Marchioness.

"Similar to this!" she repeated with surprise. "Good Heavens, this is
the miniature that was found with Louise! Tell me, I entreat you, Sir
Henry, how it came into your possession; or if you know aught which
could develope the mystery of her birth?"

At that moment Louise entered, and the Marchioness continued--"St.
Ursule, my child, come hither. You are in the highest degree interested
in the present subject. Sir Henry Corbet has brought this miniature, and
inquires for a child who some years back was left at the gates of St.
Ursule, in Rennes."

The colour fled the interesting face of Louise at this account: with a
trembling hand she took the miniature, and compared it with that she
constantly wore; the resemblance was exact. "Oh, Sir Henry!" she
exclaimed; "tell me, I conjure you, whence this picture? You seek a
child--say, do you know my parents, or the reason of their cruel
desertion of me in my infancy?"

"Cruel desertion indeed!" said Sir Henry; "arising from shame to
acknowledge their offspring! But no longer shall you be a dependent! My
heart claimed you the moment I beheld you; and a view of your mother's
picture, last night, but confirmed my suspicion, that you were--my
sister!"

He clasped her in his arms in an affectionate embrace, unresisted by
Louise; who, surprised and bewildered at the unexpected claim, was for
some moments incapable of speaking.

"Your sister!" exclaimed the Captain and the Marchioness. "Good God! Sir
Henry, by what strange circumstances?"

"Seek not an explanation, now," said Sir Henry, "which must expose the
frailties of a parent. The time is approaching, when every action must
be revealed; but till then, spare me--spare Louise!"

Louise now disengaged herself from the arms of Sir Henry, and, throwing
herself into those of the Marchioness, cried--"Oh, Madam, congratulate
your Louise; she is no longer the child of desertion: she has found a
relation--she has found a brother!"

The Marchioness embraced her affectionately; and Sir Henry then
presented her to the Captain and Frederick, as his sister.

"And will not you too participate in the happiness of this moment?" said
the smiling Louise, advancing to Harland; who had witnessed the
discovery with sensations of horror rather than surprise. Roused from
his torpor by this address, he regarded her a moment, then, wildly
dashing his forehead, exclaimed--"By Heavens, my brain is on fire!" and
ran precipitately out of the room. This incoherent behaviour of Harland
repressed the joy arising in the bosom of Louise: she looked round as
entreating an explanation.

"Do not be alarmed, my sweet girl," said the Captain: "these flights of
Harland's are not unfrequent: reflection will restore him to himself."

The Marchioness would have urged the particulars of Louise's birth: but
Sir Henry again entreated to be spared the relation, at the same time
expressing a wish that Louise should accompany him to England. The
validity of his claim, the Marchioness could not doubt: the account she
had received of him from the Captain would not admit the idea; yet she
declared she could not consent to part with Louise till the difficulties
in which he appeared involved, were terminated; she would then with
pleasure resign the office of guardian. With this determination Sir
Henry was obliged to comply, and, after passing an interesting and
agreeable day, returned with Frederick on board.

Here the servant of Harland, with a pallid countenance, informed them,
his master had returned in the morning, in a state approaching to
frenzy, which, after many inconsistent actions, had produced an attempt
on his life! Alarmed at this account, they hastened to his cabin, where
they found him in a raging fever.

The shock he had experienced on finding that Sir Henry, to whom he had
avowed such enmity, was the brother of Louise, and who in all
probability would have the guidance of her future conduct, was to be
equalled only by the knowledge of her birth, which, contrary to his
sanguine expectations, was ignoble: yet this consideration yielded to
the idea, that Sir Henry, in revenge, would influence his sister
against him, and perhaps withdraw her from his knowledge.

Hurried into an excess of desperation on this supposititious
disappointment to his love, he had madly attempted self-destruction; in
which he was prevented by his servant; but his mind, unable to regain
its wonted powers, had resigned him a prey to a burning fever.

On beholding Sir Henry, every torturing reflection rose with additional
poignancy: his friendly inquiries he deemed insulting, and desired to be
left alone, or to the care of the surgeon and his servant. Sir Henry
complied, fearing his refusal would recall that frenzy, which a few
hours after returned from the violence of his disease.

For two days his life was despaired of: youth and medicine, however,
prevailed; and the first object which presented itself to his returning
senses, was Sir Henry performing the little offices of friendship. He
shrunk from the view; but Sir Henry took his hand, and in the most
cordial manner expressed his satisfaction at his amendment.

Pride, shame, remorse, and gratitude, contended a moment, for
pre-eminence in his bosom; but his mind, softened by illness, yielded to
the latter, and, pressing the hand of Sir Henry, he faintly said--"Why
must I regard you as an enemy?"

Sir Henry, who beneath the haughty exterior of Harland's manners, had
discovered the virtues which were in reality the possessors of his
bosom, though warped by the prejudices of education, answered--"Put me
to the test, and let me prove myself a friend! Not my actions, but the
passions of Harland, have induced him to entertain the idea: would he
yield to the philanthropy nature implanted in his heart, and regard
mankind as worthy his esteem, Corbet would indeed hail him as a friend
and brother!"

The word Brother occasioned a tumult in the breast of Harland, which the
surgeon observing, insisted on their ceasing farther conversation; and
Sir Henry soon after left him to his repose.

From this time Harland rapidly recovered, and a few days after ventured
to mention Louise. Sir Henry assured him of his ready concurrence in his
addresses to his sister; and, observing a latent spark of pride
rekindling at the idea of her birth, said--"The circumstance of Louise's
birth cannot, I admit, be justified: but reason, if not love, will
acquit her of the fault and shame which must reflect on her parents. Her
intrinsic virtues have gained her the admiration and friendship of her
own sex; can ours then hesitate a moment in acknowledging them? And
remember, if it were not originally for their virtues, we should none
have cause to boast of our ancestors." Harland acknowledged the justness
of his observation; and Sir Henry, at his request, undertook to plead
his cause to the Marchioness and Louise.

The Marchioness no longer objected to his addresses; more especially as
the anxiety Louise had experienced during his illness, convinced her he
was not indifferent to her. Harland, therefore, had permission to visit
as an accepted lover; the Governor, unapprehensive of any further danger
respecting his nephew, readily consenting to free him from his
interdiction.

With an exultation he neither strove to repress, nor wished to conceal,
Harland received the intelligence of his enfranchisement, with the
Marchioness's invitation; nor would the Captain, by unnecessary delays,
add to his impatience to behold Louise. Sir Henry was with his sister;
the Captain and Frederick therefore accompanied him to the
Marchioness's.

Louise, now authorised by her patroness' as well as Sir Henry's
approbation, received Harland as the lover of her choice: and his
entreaty that she would unite her fate to his before they quitted St.
Helena, was no longer refused. Louise was too ingenuous to conceal the
sentiments of her heart; and as she presented her hand, the chastened
delight which sparkled in her eyes, and the blush that suffused her
cheek, told a tale to Harland, which amply compensated for all the
anxiety he had suffered on her account.

At his ardent request, the Marchioness appointed an early day for their
nuptials; and Harland, more enamoured than ever, in the evening bade
adieu to Louise, and returned with the Captain and his youthful
companions on board; his heart replete with every pleasurable sensation
that love and the gayest illusions of hope could inspire. But short was
his promised happiness--the succeeding morning, on going to the
Marchioness's, he found that worthy lady and her daughters in tears, and
the family in the wildest confusion: Louise was not to be found; nor
could the least trace be discovered to direct them to the place where
she had fled, or been forced!

"I have dispatched a servant for Captain Howard and Sir Henry," said the
Marchioness, still weeping; "and have likewise sent for the Governor; as
I strongly suspect it to be Ferrand who has torn the sweet girl from my
protection."

The name of Ferrand recalled the suspended faculties of Harland: his
brow contracted, fire flashed in his eyes, and in dissonant terms of the
maddest passion, he vowed the destruction of his rival!

At this moment the Captain and Sir Henry arrived: the pallid countenance
of the latter spoke more forcibly than language his concern at this
accident, as, with trembling lips, he entreated the Marchioness to
explain the particulars of the account they had received from the
messenger.

Little intelligence could be given.--Louise had, the preceding night,
retired to her usual apartment; but in the morning the Marchioness,
surprised at her non-attendance at her toilet, (a duty Louise had never
neglected) sent one of her daughters to inquire if she were indisposed,
who immediately returned with the account, that she was not in her room,
nor, from the appearance of the bed, had it that night been slept in;
one of the windows was likewise open; and, from the disorder of the
furniture, and a handkerchief Louise had worn the preceding day lying on
the floor, torn, they had every reason to suppose she had been forced
away.

The relation of these circumstances increased the frenzy of Harland, who
would that instant have gone in pursuit of Ferrand. Sir Henry started up
to accompany him.

"This madness must not be," said the Captain, detaining them. "Though
suspicion points at Ferrand, you are not certain he is the aggressor;
and if he be, it is to the friendship of his uncle you must look for
redress: do not then, by an avowed act of violence, induce him to
espouse the cause you want him to condemn. But here comes the Governor;
and I beg, Harland, you will at least restrain your passion, and hear
his opinion, before you determine on your procedure."

Harland's feelings were at that moment too tremblingly alive to the
insults Louise might experience, to admit the reasonableness of the
Captain's request. Louise was the prize on which he had fixed his
happiness; nor could he, with even an appearance of indifference, see a
man so nearly related to him, who had torn her from his arms. He could
not, however, reply, as the Governor was that instant announced.

On being informed of their distress, that gentleman expressed such a
generous concern for the occasion of it, as nearly disarmed Harland of
his resentment. He assured the Marchioness, if it were his nephew who
had committed the outrage, Louise should be restored; as, independently
of her prior engagement to the Lieutenant, and amiable as he
acknowledged her to be, he did not wish Ferrand to form an alliance with
her. That no unnecessary time might be lost, he ordered two of his
attendants to proceed immediately to his countryseat, with orders, if
Louise had been carried there, to re-conduct her to the Marchioness.
The impatience of Harland could be no longer restrained; he entreated
the Governor would permit him to accompany the messengers. No one, he
pleaded, was so interested in the issue of the search as himself; no
one, then, so proper to undertake it.

"I cannot grant your request, Lieutenant," answered the Governor,
"however I may wish to oblige you; as the life of my nephew might be
endangered by my compliance. I know his disposition--I have had proofs
of yours: nor dare I trust you in the presence of each other. If it will
be any satisfaction to you, Sir Henry may go; and if he be unsuccessful
in his mission, you shall have full liberty to search any, or every
part of the isle, except the spot where Ferrand is."

Harland thought the restriction unjust; but the expressive eye of Sir
Henry checked the impetuous sally of his impatience.

"The anxiety I feel for the recovery of our Louise," said Sir Henry,
addressing him, "can be exceeded, Harland, by none but your own: and for
the permission offered me of accompanying the messengers, I accept it
with thankfulness. You, Harland, will remain with the Marchioness till
my return; when if I be unsuccessful, we will proceed on a further
search."

The brow of Harland was still contracted: a darkened passion rolled over
his soul: his eye glanced to the Governor, who was conferring with the
Marchioness and the Captain. Sir Henry read the tumult of his mind, and,
drawing him aside, endeavoured to reconcile him to the Governor's
commands.

"And what," answered Harland vehemently, "must Louise think? To be
rescued from the hand of villany--perhaps of dishonour, by the hand of a
brother, or menials, whilst he who nearly claims the name of Husband
stands by like a dastard, in the moment of danger! By Heavens, Sir
Henry, it must not--shall not be!"

"It must, Harland," said Sir Henry. "In this respect the Governor's will
is law: and Louise is too just--too generous, to impute to you as a
slight, that which proceeds from necessity. Then cheer up, man; in a few
hours, I trust, all will be well."

A servant now entered, to inform Sir Henry the attendants were waiting.
He shook Harland by the hand, and, taking a hasty leave, set out for the
Governor's seat.


END OF VOLUME I.

Printed by C. Spilsbury, Angel-Court, Snowhill.



ERRATA IN VOL. I.

 _Page_ 37, _Line_ 1, _for_ "dis," _read_ his.
        45,       16, _for_ "to,"  _read_ by.
       140,       18, _for_ "for," _read_ or.
       209,        1, _for_ "Booyers," _read_ Booyers's.
       218,        5, _dele_ "and."
       237,       11, _for_ "In," _read_ On.


ERRATA IN VOL. II.

 _Page_ 75, _Line_ 8, _dele_ "me."
        77,       15, _read_ "idea of a mother."


ERRATA IN VOL. III.

 _Page_ 2, _Line_ 19, _for_ "of," _read_ with.
      130,        15, _for_ "the," _read_ this.
      206,        14, _for_ "them," _read_ him.
      226,        17, _dele_ "with."



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