PERPLEXITIES.
For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,
Fore-run fair Love, strewing his way with flowers.
_Love's Labour's Lost._
Worthies, away--the scene begins to cloud.
_Ibidem._
Mr. Touchwood, and his inseparable friend, Mr. Cargill, wandered on
amidst the gay groups we have described, the former censuring with great
scorn the frequent attempts which he observed towards an imitation of
the costume of the East, and appealing with self-complacence to his own
superior representation, as he greeted, in Moorish and in Persic, the
several turban'd figures who passed his way; while the clergyman, whose
mind seemed to labour with some weighty and important project, looked in
every direction for the fair representative of Helena, but in vain. At
length he caught a glimpse of the memorable shawl, which had drawn forth
so learned a discussion from his companion; and, starting from
Touchwood's side with a degree of anxious alertness totally foreign to
his usual habits, he endeavoured to join the person by whom it was worn.
"By the Lord," said his companion, "the Doctor is beside himself!--the
parson is mad!--the divine is out of his senses, that is clear; and how
the devil can he, who scarce can find his road from the Cleikum to his
own manse, venture himself unprotected into such a scene of
confusion?--he might as well pretend to cross the Atlantic without a
pilot--I must push off in chase of him, lest worse come of it."
But the traveller was prevented from executing his friendly purpose by a
sort of crowd which came rushing down the alley, the centre of which was
occupied by Captain MacTurk, in the very act of bullying two pseudo
Highlanders, for having presumed to lay aside their breeches before they
had acquired the Gaelic language. The sounds of contempt and insult with
which the genuine Celt was overwhelming the unfortunate impostors, were
not, indeed, intelligible otherwise than from the tone and manner of the
speaker; but these intimated so much displeasure, that the plaided forms
whose unadvised choice of a disguise had provoked it--two raw lads from
a certain great manufacturing town--heartily repented their temerity,
and were in the act of seeking for the speediest exit from the gardens;
rather choosing to resign their share of the dinner, than to abide the
farther consequences that might follow from the displeasure of this
highland Termagant.
Touchwood had scarcely extricated himself from this impediment, and
again commenced his researches after the clergyman, when his course was
once more interrupted by a sort of pressgang, headed by Sir Bingo Binks,
who, in order to play his character of a drunken boatswain to the life,
seemed certainly drunk enough, however little of a seaman. His cheer
sounded more like a view-hollo than a hail, when, with a volley of such
oaths as would have blown a whole fleet of the Bethel Union out of the
water, he ordered Touchwood "to come under his lee, and be d----d; for,
smash his old timbers, he must go to sea again, for as weather-beaten a
hulk as he was."
Touchwood answered instantly, "To sea with all my heart, but not with a
land-lubber for commander.--Harkye, brother, do you know how much of a
horse's furniture belongs to a ship?"
"Come, none of your quizzing, my old buck," said Sir Bingo--"What the
devil has a ship to do with horse's furniture?--Do you think we belong
to the horse-marines?--ha! ha! I think you're matched, brother."
"Why, you son of a fresh-water gudgeon," replied the traveller, "that
never in your life sailed farther than the Isle of Dogs, do you pretend
to play a sailor, and not know the bridle of the bow-line, and the
saddle of the boltsprit, and the bit for the cable, and the girth to
hoist the rigging, and the whip to serve for small tackle?--There is a
trick for you to find out an Abram-man, and save sixpence when he begs
of you as a disbanded seaman.--Get along with you! or the constable
shall be charged with the whole pressgang to man the workhouse."
A general laugh arose at the detection of the swaggering boatswain; and
all that the Baronet had for it was to sneak off, saying, "D--n the old
quiz, who the devil thought to have heard so much slang from an old
muslin nightcap!"
Touchwood being now an object of some attention, was followed by two or
three stragglers, whom he endeavoured to rid himself of the best way he
could, testifying an impatience a little inconsistent with the decorum
of his Oriental demeanour, but which arose from his desire to rejoin his
companion, and some apprehension of inconvenience which he feared
Cargill might sustain during his absence. For, being in fact as
good-natured a man as any in the world, Mr. Touchwood was at the same
time one of the most conceited, and was very apt to suppose, that his
presence, advice, and assistance, were of the most indispensable
consequence to those with whom he lived; and that not only on great
emergencies, but even in the most ordinary occurrences of life.
Meantime, Mr. Cargill, whom he sought in vain, was, on his part,
anxiously keeping in sight of the beautiful Indian shawl, which served
as a flag to announce to him the vessel which he held in chase. At
length he approached so close as to say, in an anxious whisper, "Miss
Mowbray--Miss Mowbray--I must speak with you."
"And what would you have with Miss Mowbray?" said the fair wearer of the
beautiful shawl, but without turning round her head.
"I have a secret--an important secret, of which to make you aware; but
it is not for this place.--Do not turn from me!--Your happiness in this,
and perhaps in the next life, depends on your listening to me."
The lady led the way, as if to give him an opportunity of speaking with
her more privately, to one of those old-fashioned and deeply-embowered
recesses, which are commonly found in such gardens as that of
Shaws-Castle; and, with her shawl wrapped around her head, so as in some
degree to conceal her features, she stood before Mr. Cargill in the
doubtful light and shadow of a huge platanus tree, which formed the
canopy of the arbour, and seemed to await the communication he had
promised.
"Report says," said the clergyman, speaking in an eager and hurried
manner, yet with a low voice, and like one desirous of being heard by
her whom he addressed, and by no one else,--"Report says that you are
about to be married."
"And is report kind enough to say to whom?" answered the lady, with a
tone of indifference which seemed to astound her interrogator.
"Young lady," he answered, with a solemn voice, "had this levity been
sworn to me, I could never have believed it! Have you forgot the
circumstances in which you stand?--Have you forgotten that my promise of
secrecy, sinful perhaps even in that degree, was but a conditional
promise?--or did you think that a being so sequestered as I am was
already dead to the world, even while he was walking upon its
surface?--Know, young lady, that I am indeed dead to the pleasures and
the ordinary business of life, but I am even therefore the more alive to
its duties."
"Upon my honour, sir, unless you are pleased to be more explicit, it is
impossible for me either to answer or understand you," said the lady;
"you speak too seriously for a masquerade pleasantry, and yet not
clearly enough to make your earnest comprehensible."
"Is this sullenness, Miss Mowbray?" said the clergyman, with increased
animation; "Is it levity?--Or is it alienation of mind?--Even after a
fever of the brain, we retain a recollection of the causes of our
illness.--Come, you must and do understand me, when I say, that I will
not consent to your committing a great crime to attain temporal wealth
and rank, no, not to make you an empress. My path is a clear one; and
should I hear a whisper breathed of your alliance with this Earl, or
whatever he may be, rely upon it, that I will withdraw the veil, and
make your brother, your bridegroom, and the whole world, acquainted with
the situation in which you stand, and the impossibility of your forming
the alliance which you propose to yourself, I am compelled to say,
against the laws of God and man."
"But, sir--sir," answered the lady, rather eagerly than anxiously, "you
have not yet told me what business you have with my marriage, or what
arguments you can bring against it."
"Madam," replied Mr. Cargill, "in your present state of mind, and in
such a scene as this, I cannot enter upon a topic for which the season
is unfit, and you, I am sorry to say, are totally unprepared. It is
enough that you know the grounds on which you stand. At a fitter
opportunity, I will, as it is my duty, lay before you the enormity of
what you are said to have meditated, with the freedom which becomes one,
who, however humble, is appointed to explain to his fellow-creatures the
laws of his Maker. In the meantime, I am not afraid that you will take
any hasty step, after such a warning as this."
So saying, he turned from the lady with that dignity which a conscious
discharge of duty confers, yet, at the same time, with a sense of deep
pain, inflicted by the careless levity of her whom he addressed. She did
not any longer attempt to detain him, but made her escape from the
arbour by one alley, as she heard voices which seemed to approach it
from another. The clergyman, who took the opposite direction, met in
full encounter a whispering and tittering pair, who seemed, at his
sudden appearance, to check their tone of familiarity, and assume an
appearance of greater distance towards each other. The lady was no other
than the fair Queen of the Amazons, who seemed to have adopted the
recent partiality of Titania towards Bully Bottom, being in conference
such and so close as we have described, with the late representative of
the Athenian weaver, whom his recent visit to his chamber had
metamorphosed into the more gallant disguise of an ancient Spanish
cavalier. He now appeared with cloak and drooping plume, sword, poniard,
and guitar, richly dressed at all points, as for a serenade beneath his
mistress's window; a silk mask at the breast of his embroidered doublet
hung ready to be assumed in case of intrusion, as an appropriate part of
the national dress.
It sometimes happened to Mr. Cargill, as we believe it may chance to
other men much subject to absence of mind, that, contrary to their wont,
and much after the manner of a sunbeam suddenly piercing a deep mist,
and illuminating one particular object in the landscape, some sudden
recollection rushes upon them, and seems to compel them to act under it,
as under the influence of complete certainty and conviction. Mr. Cargill
had no sooner set eyes on the Spanish cavalier, in whom he neither knew
the Earl of Etherington, nor recognised Bully Bottom, than with hasty
emotion he seized on his reluctant hand, and exclaimed, with a mixture
of eagerness and solemnity, "I rejoice to see you!--Heaven has sent you
here in its own good time."
"I thank you, sir," replied Lord Etherington, very coldly, "I believe
you have the joy of the meeting entirely on your side, as I cannot
remember having seen you before."
"Is not your name Bulmer?" said the clergyman. "I--I know--I am
sometimes apt to make mistakes--But I am sure your name is Bulmer?"
"Not that ever I or my godfathers heard of--my name was Bottom half an
hour ago--perhaps that makes the confusion," answered the Earl, with
very cold and distant politeness;--"Permit me to pass, sir, that I may
attend the lady."
"Quite unnecessary," answered Lady Binks; "I leave you to adjust your
mutual recollections with your new old friend, my lord--he seems to have
something to say." So saying, the lady walked on, not perhaps sorry of
an opportunity to show apparent indifference for his lordship's society
in the presence of one who had surprised them in what might seem a
moment of exuberant intimacy.
"You detain me, sir," said the Earl of Etherington to Mr. Cargill, who,
bewildered and uncertain, still kept himself placed so directly before
the young nobleman, as to make it impossible for him to pass, without
absolutely pushing him to one side. "I must really attend the lady," he
added, making another effort to walk on.
"Young man," said Mr. Cargill, "you cannot disguise yourself from me. I
am sure--my mind assures me, that you are that very Bulmer whom Heaven
hath sent here to prevent crime."
"And you," said Lord Etherington, "whom my mind assures me I never saw
in my life, are sent hither by the devil, I think, to create confusion."
"I beg pardon, sir," said the clergyman, staggered by the calm and
pertinacious denial of the Earl--"I beg pardon if I am in a
mistake--that is, if I am _really_ in a mistake--but I am not--I am
sure I am not!--That look--that smile--I am NOT mistaken. You _are_
Valentine Bulmer--the very Valentine Bulmer whom I--but I will not make
your private affairs any part of this exposition--enough, you _are_
Valentine Bulmer."
"Valentine?--Valentine?" answered Lord Etherington, impatiently,--"I am
neither Valentine nor Orson--I wish you good-morning, sir."
"Stay, sir, stay, I charge you," said the clergyman; "if you are
unwilling to be known yourself, it may be because you have forgotten who
I am--Let me name myself as the Reverend Josiah Cargill, minister of St.
Ronan's."
"If you bear a character so venerable, sir," replied the young
nobleman,--"in which, however, I am not in the least interested,--I
think when you make your morning draught a little too potent, it might
be as well for you to stay at home and sleep it off, before coming into
company."
"In the name of Heaven, young gentleman," said Mr. Cargill, "lay aside
this untimely and unseemly jesting! and tell me if you be not--as I
cannot but still believe you to be--that same youth, who, seven years
since, left in my deposit a solemn secret, which, if I should unfold to
the wrong person, woe would be my own heart, and evil the consequences
which might ensue!"
"You are very pressing with me, sir," said the Earl; "and, in exchange,
I will be equally frank with you.--I am not the man whom you mistake me
for, and you may go seek him where you will--It will be still more lucky
for you if you chance to find your own wits in the course of your
researches; for I must tell you plainly, I think they are gone somewhat
astray." So saying, with a gesture expressive of a determined purpose to
pass on, Mr. Cargill had no alternative but to make way, and suffer him
to proceed.
The worthy clergyman stood as if rooted to the ground, and, with his
usual habit of thinking aloud exclaimed to himself, "My fancy has played
me many a bewildering trick, but this is the most extraordinary of them
all!--What can this young man think of me? It must have been my
conversation with that unhappy young lady that has made such an
impression upon me as to deceive my very eyesight, and causes me to
connect with her history the face of the next person that I met--What
_must_ the stranger think of me!"
"Why, what every one thinks of thee that knows thee, prophet," said the
friendly voice of Touchwood, accompanying his speech with an awakening
slap on the clergyman's shoulder; "and that is, that thou art an
unfortunate philosopher of Laputa, who has lost his flapper in the
throng.--Come along--having me once more by your side, you need fear
nothing. Why, now I look at you closer, you look as if you had seen a
basilisk--not that there is any such thing, otherwise I must have seen
it myself, in the course of my travels--but you seem pale and
frightened--What the devil is the matter?"
"Nothing," answered the clergyman, "except that I have even this very
moment made an egregious fool of myself."
"Pooh, pooh, that is nothing to sigh over, prophet.--Every man does so
at least twice in the four-and-twenty hours," said Touchwood.
"But I had nearly betrayed to a stranger, a secret deeply concerning the
honour of an ancient family."
"That was wrong, Doctor," said Touchwood; "take care of that in future;
and, indeed, I would advise you not to speak even to your beadle, Johnie
Tirlsneck, until you have assured yourself, by at least three pertinent
questions and answers, that you have the said Johnie corporeally and
substantially in presence before you, and that your fancy has not
invested some stranger with honest Johnie's singed periwig and
threadbare brown joseph--Come along--come along."
So saying, he hurried forward the perplexed clergyman, who in vain made
all the excuses he could think of in order to effect his escape from the
scene of gaiety, in which he was so unexpectedly involved. He pleaded
headache; and his friend assured him that a mouthful of food, and a
glass of wine, would mend it. He stated he had business; and Touchwood
replied that he could have none but composing his next sermon, and
reminded him that it was two days till Sunday. At length, Mr. Cargill
confessed that he had some reluctance again to see the stranger, on whom
he had endeavoured with such pertinacity to fix an acquaintance, which
he was now well assured existed only in his own imagination. The
traveller treated his scruples with scorn, and said, that guests meeting
in this general manner, had no more to do with each other than if they
were assembled in a caravansary.
"So that you need not say a word to him in the way of apology or
otherwise--or, what will be still better, I, who have seen so much of
the world, will make the pretty speech for you." As they spoke, he
dragged the divine towards the house, where they were now summoned by
the appointed signal, and where the company were assembling in the old
saloon already noticed, previous to passing into the dining-room, where
the refreshments were prepared. "Now, Doctor," continued the busy friend
of Mr. Cargill, "let us see which of all these people has been the
subject of your blunder. Is it yon animal of a Highlandman?--or the
impertinent brute that wants to be thought a boatswain?--or which of
them all is it?--Ay, here they come, two and two, Newgate fashion--the
young Lord of the Manor with old Lady Penelope--does he set up for
Ulysses, I wonder?--The Earl of Etherington with Lady Bingo--methinks it
should have been with Miss Mowbray."
"The Earl of what, did you say?" quoth the clergyman, anxiously. "How is
it you titled that young man in the Spanish dress?"
"Oho!" said the traveller; "what, I have discovered the goblin that has
scared you?--Come along--come along--I will make you acquainted with
him." So saying, he dragged him towards Lord Etherington; and before the
divine could make his negative intelligible, the ceremony of
introduction had taken place. "My Lord Etherington, allow me to present
Mr. Cargill, minister of this parish--a learned gentleman, whose head is
often in the Holy Land, when his person seems present among his friends.
He suffers extremely, my lord, under the sense of mistaking your
lordship for the Lord knows who; but when you are acquainted with him,
you will find that he can make a hundred stranger mistakes than that, so
we hope that your lordship will take no prejudice or offence."
"There can be no offence taken where no offence is intended," said Lord
Etherington, with much urbanity. "It is I who ought to beg the reverend
gentleman's pardon, for hurrying from him without allowing him to make a
complete eclaircissement. I beg his pardon for an abruptness which the
place and the time--for I was immediately engaged in a lady's
service--rendered unavoidable."
Mr. Cargill gazed on the young nobleman as he pronounced these words,
with the easy indifference of one who apologizes to an inferior in order
to maintain his own character for politeness, but with perfect
indifference whether his excuses are or are not held satisfactory. And
as the clergyman gazed, the belief which had so strongly clung to him
that the Earl of Etherington and young Valentine Bulmer were the same
individual person, melted away like frostwork before the morning sun,
and that so completely, that he marvelled at himself for having ever
entertained it. Some strong resemblance of features there must have been
to have led him into such a delusion; but the person, the tone, the
manner of expression, were absolutely different; and his attention being
now especially directed towards these particulars, Mr. Cargill was
inclined to think the two personages almost totally dissimilar.
The clergyman had now only to make his apology, and fall back from the
head of the table to some lower seat, which his modesty would have
preferred, when he was suddenly seized upon by the Lady Penelope
Penfeather, who, detaining him in the most elegant and persuasive manner
possible, insisted that they should be introduced to each other by Mr.
Mowbray, and that Mr. Cargill should sit beside her at table.--She had
heard so much of his learning--so much of his excellent
character--desired so much to make his acquaintance, that she could not
think of losing an opportunity, which Mr. Cargill's learned seclusion
rendered so very rare--in a word, catching the Black Lion was the order
of the day; and her ladyship having trapped her prey, soon sat
triumphant with him by her side.
A second separation was thus effected betwixt Touchwood and his friend;
for the former, not being included in the invitation, or, indeed, at all
noticed by Lady Penelope, was obliged to find room at a lower part of
the table, where he excited much surprise by the dexterity with which he
dispatched boiled rice with chop-sticks.
Mr. Cargill being thus exposed, without a consort, to the fire of Lady
Penelope, speedily found it so brisk and incessant, as to drive his
complaisance, little tried as it had been for many years by small talk,
almost to extremity. She began by begging him to draw his chair close,
for an instinctive terror of fine ladies had made him keep his distance.
At the same time, she hoped "he was not afraid of her as an
Episcopalian; her father had belonged to that communion; for," she
added, with what was intended for an arch smile, "we were somewhat
naughty in the forty-five, as you may have heard; but all that was over,
and she was sure Mr. Cargill was too liberal to entertain any dislike or
shyness on that score.--She could assure him she was far from disliking
the Presbyterian form--indeed she had often wished to hear it, where she
was sure to be both delighted and edified" (here a gracious smile) "in
the church of St. Ronan's--and hoped to do so whenever Mr. Mowbray had
got a stove, which he had ordered from Edinburgh, on purpose to air his
pew for her accommodation."
All this, which was spoken with wreathed smiles and nods, and so much
civility as to remind the clergyman of a cup of tea over-sweetened to
conceal its want of strength, and flavour, required and received no
farther answer than an accommodating look and acquiescent bow.
"Ah, Mr. Cargill," continued the inexhaustible Lady Penelope, "your
profession has so many demands on the heart as well as the
understanding--is so much connected with the kindnesses and charities of
our nature--with our best and purest feelings, Mr. Cargill! You know
what Goldsmith says:--
----'to his duty prompt at every call,
He watch'd, and wept, and felt, and pray'd for all.'
And then Dryden has such a picture of a parish priest, so inimitable,
one would think, did we not hear now and then of some living mortal
presuming to emulate its features," (here another insinuating nod and
expressive smile.)
"'Refined himself to soul to curb the sense,
And almost made a sin of abstinence.
Yet had his aspect nothing of severe,
But such a face as promised him sincere;
Nothing reserved or sullen was to see,
But sweet regard and pleasing sanctity.'"
While her ladyship declaimed, the clergyman's wandering eye confessed
his absent mind; his thoughts travelling, perhaps, to accomplish a truce
betwixt Saladin and Conrade of Mountserrat, unless they chanced to be
occupied with some occurrences of that very day, so that the lady was
obliged to recall her indocile auditor with the leading question, "You
are well acquainted with Dryden, of course, Mr. Cargill?"
"I have not the honour, madam," said Mr. Cargill, starting from his
reverie, and but half understanding the question he replied to.
"Sir!" said the lady in surprise.
"Madam!--my lady!" answered Mr. Cargill, in embarrassment.
"I asked you if you admired Dryden;--but you learned men are so
absent--perhaps you thought I said Leyden."
"A lamp too early quenched, madam," said Mr Cargill; "I knew him well."
"And so did I," eagerly replied the lady of the cerulean buskin; "he
spoke ten languages--how mortifying to poor me, Mr. Cargill, who could
only boast of five!--but I have studied a little since that time--I must
have you to help me in my studies, Mr. Cargill--it will be
charitable--but perhaps you are afraid of a female pupil?"
A thrill, arising from former recollections, passed through poor
Cargill's mind, with as much acuteness as the pass of a rapier might
have done through his body; and we cannot help remarking, that a forward
prater in society, like a busy bustler in a crowd, besides all other
general points of annoyance, is eternally rubbing upon some tender
point, and galling men's feelings, without knowing or regarding it.
"You must assist me, besides, in my little charities, Mr. Cargill, now
that you and I are become so well acquainted.--There is that Anne
Heggie--I sent her a trifle yesterday, but I am told--I should not
mention it, but only one would not have the little they have to bestow
lavished on an improper object--I am told she is not quite proper--an
unwedded mother, in short, Mr. Cargill--and it would be especially
unbecoming in me to encourage profligacy."
"I believe, madam," said the clergyman, gravely, "the poor woman's
distress may justify your ladyship's bounty, even if her conduct has
been faulty."
"O, I am no prude, neither, I assure you, Mr. Cargill," answered the
Lady Penelope. "I never withdraw my countenance from any one but on the
most irrefragable grounds. I could tell you of an intimate friend of my
own, whom I have supported against the whole clamour of the people at
the Well, because I believe, from the bottom of my soul, she is only
thoughtless--nothing in the world but thoughtless--O Mr. Cargill, how
can you look across the table so intelligently?--who would have thought
it of you?--Oh fie, to make such personal applications!"
"Upon my word, madam, I am quite at a loss to comprehend"----
"Oh fie, fie, Mr. Cargill," throwing in as much censure and surprise as
a confidential whisper can convey--"you looked at my Lady Binks--I know
what you think, but you are quite wrong, I assure you; you are entirely
wrong.--I wish she would not flirt quite so much with that young Lord
Etherington though, Mr. Cargill--her situation is particular.--Indeed, I
believe she wears out his patience; for see he is leaving the room
before we sit down--how singular!--And then, do you not think it very
odd, too, that Miss Mowbray has not come down to us?"
"Miss Mowbray!--what of Miss Mowbray--is she not here?" said Mr.
Cargill, starting, and with an expression of interest which he had not
yet bestowed on any of her ladyship's liberal communications.
"Ay, poor Miss Mowbray," said Lady Penelope, lowering her voice, and
shaking her head; "she has not appeared--her brother went up stairs a
few minutes since, I believe, to bring her down, and so we are all left
here to look at each other.--How very awkward!--But you know Clara
Mowbray."
"I, madam?" said Mr. Cargill, who was now sufficiently attentive; "I
really--I know Miss Mowbray--that is, I knew her some years since--but
your ladyship knows she has been long in bad health--uncertain health at
least, and I have seen nothing of the young lady for a very long time."
"I know it, my dear Mr. Cargill--I know it," continued the Lady
Penelope, in the same tone of deep sympathy, "I know it; and most
unhappy surely have been the circumstances that have separated her from
your advice and friendly counsel.--All this I am aware of--and to say
truth, it has been chiefly on poor Clara's account that I have been
giving you the trouble of fixing an acquaintance upon you.--You and I
together, Mr. Cargill, might do wonders to cure her unhappy state of
mind--I am sure we might--that is, if you could bring your mind to
repose absolute confidence in me."
"Has Miss Mowbray desired your ladyship to converse with me upon any
subject which interests her?" said the clergyman, with more cautious
shrewdness than Lady Penelope had suspected him of possessing. "I will
in that case be happy to hear the nature of her communication; and
whatever my poor services can perform, your ladyship may command them."
"I--I--I cannot just assert," said her ladyship with hesitation, "that I
have Miss Mowbray's direct instructions to speak to you, Mr. Cargill,
upon the present subject. But my affection for the dear girl is so very
great--and then, you know, the inconveniences which may arise from this
match."
"From which match, Lady Penelope?" said Mr. Cargill.
"Nay, now, Mr. Cargill, you really carry the privilege of Scotland too
far--I have not put a single question to you, but what you have answered
by another--let us converse intelligibly for five minutes, if you can
but condescend so far."
"For any length of time which your ladyship may please to command," said
Mr. Cargill, "provided the subject regard your ladyship's own affairs or
mine,--could I suppose these last for a moment likely to interest you."
"Out upon you," said the lady, laughing affectedly; "you should really
have been a Catholic priest instead of a Presbyterian. What an
invaluable father confessor have the fair sex lost in you, Mr. Cargill,
and how dexterously you would have evaded any cross-examinations which
might have committed your penitents!"
"Your ladyship's raillery is far too severe for me to withstand or reply
to," said Mr. Cargill, bowing with more ease than her ladyship expected;
and, retiring gently backward, he extricated himself from a conversation
which he began to find somewhat embarrassing.
At that moment a murmur of surprise took place in the apartment, which
was just entered by Miss Mowbray, leaning on her brother's arm. The
cause of this murmur will be best understood, by narrating what had
passed betwixt the brother and sister.