I receive a letter from my uncle by which I naturally expect to
find out who is my father--Like other outcasts, I am warned by a
dream.
But I have omitted to mention a circumstance of great importance, which
occurred at the inn the night before I placed Fleta at the
boarding-school. In looking over my portmanteau, I perceived the present
of Nattée to Fleta, which I had quite forgotten. I took it to Fleta, and
told her from whom it came. On opening the paper, it proved to contain a
long chain of round coral and gold beads, strung alternately; the gold
beads were not so large as the coral, but still the number of them, and
the purity of the metal, made them of considerable value. Fleta passed
the beads through her fingers, and then threw it round her neck, and sat
in deep thought for some minutes. "Japhet," said she at last, "I have
seen this--I have worn this before--I recollect that I have; it rushes
into my memory as an old friend, and I think that before morning it will
bring to my mind something that I shall recollect about it."
"Try all you can, Fleta, and let me know to-morrow."
"It's no use trying; if I try, I never can recollect anything. I must
wear it to-night, and then I shall have something come into my mind all
of a sudden; or perhaps I may dream something. Good-night."
It immediately occurred to me that it was most probable that the chain
had been on Fleta's neck at the time that she was stolen from her
parents, and might prove the means of her being identified. It was no
common chain--apparently had been wrought by people in a state of
semi-refinement. There was too little show for its value--too much
sterling gold for the simple effect produced; and I very much doubted
whether another like it could be found.
The next morning Fleta was too much affected at parting with me, to
enter into much conversation. I asked whether she had recollected
anything, and she replied, "No; that she had cried all night at the
thoughts of our separation." I cautioned her to be very careful of the
chain, and I gave the same caution to the schoolmistress; and after I
had left the town, I regretted that I had not taken it away, and
deposited it in some place of security. I resolved to do so when I next
saw Fleta; in the meantime, she would be able, perhaps, by association,
to call up some passage of her infancy connected with it.
I had inquired of a gentleman who sat near me on the coach, which was
the best hotel for a young man of fashion. He recommended the Piazza, in
Covent Garden, and to that we accordingly repaired. I selected handsome
apartments, and ordered a light supper. When the table was laid, Timothy
made his appearance, in his livery, and cut a very smart, dashing
figure. I dismissed the waiter, and as soon as we were alone, I burst
into a fit of laughter. "Really, Timothy, this is a good farce; come,
sit down, and help me to finish this bottle of wine."
"No, sir," replied Timothy; "with your permission, I prefer doing as the
rest of my fraternity. You only leave the bottle on the sideboard, and I
will steal as much as I want; but as for sitting down, that will be
making too free, and if we were seen, would be, moreover, very
dangerous. We must both keep up our characters. They have been plying me
with all manner of questions below, as to who you were--your name, &c. I
resolved that I would give you a lift in the world, and I stated that
you had just arrived from making a grand tour--which is not a fib, after
all--and as for your name, I said that you were at present _incog_."
"But why did you make me _incog._?"
"Because it may suit you so to be; and it certainly is the truth, for
you don't know your real name."
We were here interrupted by the waiter bringing in a letter upon a
salver. "Here is a letter addressed to 'I, or J.N., on his return from
his tour,' sir," said he; "I presume it is for you?"
"You may leave it," said I, with nonchalance.
The waiter laid the letter on the table, and retired.
"How very odd, Timothy--this letter cannot be for me; and yet they are
my initials. It is as much like a J as an I. Depend upon it, it is some
fellow who has just gained this intelligence below, and has written to
ask for a subscription to his charity list, imagining that I am flush of
money, and liberal."
"I suppose so," replied Tim; "however, you may just as well see what he
says."
"But if I open it he will expect something. I had better refuse it."
"O no, leave that to me; I know how to put people off."
"After all, it is a fine thing to be a gentleman, and be petitioned."
I broke open the seal, and found that the letter contained an inclosure
addressed to another person. The letter was as follows:--
"My dear Nephew,--['Bravo, sir,' said Timothy; 'you've found an
uncle already--you'll soon find a father.'] From the great
uncertainty of the post, I have not ventured to do more than hint
at what has come to light during this last year, but as it is
necessary that you should be acquainted with the whole transaction;
and as you had not decided when you last wrote, whether you would
prosecute your intended three months trip to Sicily, or return from
Milan, you may probably arrive when I am out of town; I therefore
enclose you a letter to Mr Masterton, directing him to surrender to
you a sealed packet, lodged in his hands, containing all the
particulars, the letters which bear upon them, and what has been
proposed to avoid exposure; which you may peruse at your leisure,
should you arrive before my return to town. There is no doubt but
that the affair may be hushed up, and we trust that you will see
the prudence of the measure; as, once known, it will be very
discreditable to the family escutcheon. ('I always had an idea you
were of good family,' interrupted Tim.) I wish you had followed my
advice, and had not returned; but as you were positive on that
point, I beg you will now consider the propriety of remaining
incognito, as reports are already abroad, and your sudden return
will cause a great deal of surmise. Your long absence at the
Gottingen University, and your subsequent completion of your grand
tour, will have effaced all remembrance of your person, and you can
easily be passed off as a particular friend of mine, and I can
introduce you everywhere as such. Take, then, any name you may
please, provided it be not Smith or Brown, or such vulgarisms; and
on the receipt of this letter, write a note, and send it to my
house in Portman Square, just saying, '_so and so_ is arrived.'
This will prevent the servants from obtaining any information by
their prying curiosity; and as I have directed all my letters to be
forwarded to my seat in Worcestershire, I shall come up immediately
that I receive it, and by your putting the name which you mean to
assume, I shall know whom to ask for when I call at the hotel.
"Your affectionate Uncle,
"Windermear."
"One thing is very clear, Timothy," said I, laying the letter on the
table, "that it cannot be intended for me."
"How do you know, sir, that this lord is not your uncle? At all events,
you must do as he bids you."
"What--go for the papers! most certainly I shall not."
"Then how in the name of fortune do you expect to find your father, when
you will not take advantage of such an opportunity of getting into
society? It is by getting possession of other people's secrets, that
you will worm out your own."
"But it is dishonest, Timothy."
"A letter is addressed to you, in which you have certain directions; you
break the seal with confidence, and you read what you find is possibly
not for you; but, depend upon it, Japhet, that a secret obtained is one
of the surest roads to promotion. Recollect your position; cut off from
the world, you have to re-unite yourself with it, to recover your
footing, and create an interest. You have not those who love you to help
you--you must not scruple to obtain your object by fear."
"That is a melancholy truth, Tim," replied I; "and I believe I must put
my strict morality in my pocket."
"Do, sir, pray, until you can afford to be moral; it's a very expensive
virtue that; a deficiency of it made you an outcast from the world, you
must not scruple at a slight deficiency on your own part, to regain your
position."
There was so much shrewdness, so much of the wisdom of the serpent in
the remarks of Timothy, that, added to my ardent desire to discover my
father, which since my quitting the gipsy camp had returned upon me with
two-fold force, my scruples were overcome, and I resolved that I would
not lose such an opportunity. Still I hesitated, and went up into my
room, that I might reflect upon what I should do. I went to bed,
revolving the matter in my mind, and turning over from one position to
the other, at one time deciding that I would not take advantage of the
mistake, at another quite as resolved that I would not throw away such
an opening for the prosecution of my search; at last I fell into an
uneasy slumber, and had a strange dream. I thought that I was standing
upon an isolated rock, with the waters raging around me; the tide was
rising, and at last the waves were roaring at my feet. I was in a state
of agony, and expected that, in a short time, I should be swallowed up.
The main land was not far off, and I perceived well-dressed people in
crowds, who were enjoying themselves, feasting, dancing, and laughing
in merry peals. I held out my hands--I shouted to them--they saw, and
heard me, but heeded me not. My horror at being swept away by the tide
was dreadful. I shrieked as the water rose. At last I perceived
something unroll itself from the main land, and gradually advancing to
the inland, form a bridge by which I could walk over and be saved. I was
about to hasten over, when "Private, and no thoroughfare," appeared at
the end nearest me, in large letters of fire. I started back with
amazement, and would not, dared not pass them. When all of a sudden, a
figure in white appeared by my side, and said to me, pointing to the
bridge, "Self-preservation is the first law of nature."
I looked at the person who addressed me; gradually the figure became
darker and darker, until it changed to Mr Cophagus, with his stick up to
his nose. "Japhet, all nonsense--very good bridge--um--walk over--find
father--and so on." I dashed over the bridge, which appeared to float on
the water, and to be composed of paper, gained the other side, and was
received with shouts of congratulation, and the embraces of the crowd. I
perceived an elderly gentleman come forward; I knew it was my father,
and I threw myself into his arms. I awoke, and found myself rolling on
the floor, embracing the bolster with all my might. Such was the vivid
impression of this dream, that I could not turn my thoughts away from
it, and at last I considered that it was a divine interposition. All my
scruples vanished, and before the day had dawned I determined that I
would follow the advice of Timothy. An enthusiast is easily led to
believe what he wishes, and he mistakes his own feelings for warnings;
the dreams arising from his daily contemplations for the interference of
Heaven. He thinks himself armed by supernatural assistance, and
warranted by the Almighty to pursue his course, even if that course
should be contrary to the Almighty's precepts. Thus was I led away by my
own imaginings, and thus was my _monomania_ increased to an impetus
which forced before it all consideration of what was right or wrong.