THE OFFER
The small amount of work in the shape of discharging and receiving
cargo which was being done on the wharves of Old Harbour, had come
to a pause when the labourers' dinner-hour struck, and but three or
four figures were visible upon the tar-black platforms along which
the little ships were moored. Of these one was a brig and the other a
schooner, and one was the _Minorca_, a handsome coppered barque of five
hundred tons built by the French, and, as we have heard, taken from
that people.
The sails of these vessels had been furled, and the bright April breeze
blowing from the sea sang in their clean rigging. A couple of planks
communicated between the _Minorca's_ gangway and the wharf, and at the
wharf-end of these planks stood a man of a seafaring aspect, apparently
belonging to the barque.
As Lucy advanced holding her dog lest the creature should skip in
a fit of excitement into the water, the man viewed her as though
on catching her eye, or receiving the encouragement of a look of
recognition, he was prepared to salute her. Perhaps she did not heed
him, but on drawing close to the vessel, she looked at him, and thanks
to that gracious gift which by creating opportunities for tact, helps
more to render the individual beloved or popular than perhaps any other
quality, she immediately recollected the man, and not only the man, but
his name, as Mr John Eagle, mate of the _Minorca_, who, when the vessel
was last in harbour and she had gone on board of her with her father,
had been introduced to her by Captain Acton.
He was a man of rough appearance whose hand had been in the tar-bucket
for most of his life--a hard, reserved man, shy, so ignorant that
he read with difficulty, and wrote his name as painfully as a hand
tortured with gout inscribes with the pen.
"How do you do, Mr Eagle?" exclaimed Lucy.
He stiffened himself, and saluted her by a flourish of his hand to his
brow, and answered: "Just about middling, thank you, Miss."
"I am sorry you are not better than middling," she said.
"It's the rheumatics. It's got into my feet and my shoulders. It's a
pain as no spirits can stand up against."
"Are you doing anything to ease your suffering?"
"I drinks a drop of rum when it comes on very bad. I've given up
rubbing. I've been rubbed till I've scarce got any skin left."
"I'll speak to Miss Acton. I am sure she will have something that is
good for rheumatism, and if she has I will send it you."
"I thank you, Miss," said he, with an incredulous smile. "Was you going
on board?"
"No. What a big ship she looks compared with the other two! It is
difficult to think of her alone in the middle of the sea. I can only
imagine her lying at a wharf with protecting hills on each side. Does
she sail fast?"
"Give her a good breeze and she can find her legs, but she ain't to be
compared with the _Aurora_."
"She will be arriving shortly, I think."
"Doo any day, Miss, unless she's been nabbed, but the vessel that's
going to take the _Aurora_ 'ull want more than wings."
"When does the _Minorca_ sail?"
"Early next month, I believe, ma'am."
Her eyes reposed thoughtfully upon the hull of the ship, mounting
presently in a stealing way to the heights, and her colour seemed to
deepen slightly to the impulse of a romantic mood or fancy.
"If there was nothing to fear from the enemy's ships," she said, "and
if the sea was always calm and the breeze gentle and mild, I believe I
might wish to make a voyage in the _Minorca_ to the West Indies."
"You'd be taken all care of, ma'am."
"But the sleeping berths are very little, and I am certain that the
motion of the ship----" She shook her head and smiled, and then saying,
"Good morning, Mr Eagle. If my aunt has a remedy for the rheumatism
I will send it you," she returned the way she had come, mounted the
steps, gained the bridge, and proceeded home.
Meanwhile, Mr Lawrence had gone about three-quarters of a mile and
was now approaching his father's home. The Admiral's cottage was in a
lane off the main road. It was such an umbrageous retreat as Cowper,
had he been in earnest, would have hastened to when he sighed for some
boundless contiguity of shade. It stood in a little land protected by
hedges and walls full of orchards. The Admiral lived in the heart of
groves of cherry, plum, apple, pear, and other fruitful trees which
presently, in this month of April, would make the scene round about
as beautiful as driven snow shone upon by the sun, with almond-white
flowers.
The Admiral missed the sea; he was near it, nay, in heavy weather
within sound of it, but not a glimpse of the blue deep could be caught
through the windows. He had retired on a pension and on trifling
private means which rendered this retreat the fittest he could have
chosen for the convenience of his purse and for the simple tastes of
his life. Here he lived with an old servant and a young girl, and
now with his son; but he was always hoping that this last obligation
would not be continuous, though the prospect of getting anything to
do in such an obscure corner of the earth as Old Harbour Town was as
remote as the possibility of Mr Lawrence ever becoming Prime Minister
of England. Yet a secret hope, an indeterminable dream, one of those
imaginations which make blessed the possessors of the sanguine
temperament, buoyed the Admiral. Who could tell? Something might
happen! Walter might fall in with a man who should prove a friend,
even in that very haunt, "The Swan," which seemed obnoxious to his
interests. Thus the old fellow would reason without logic, or even
knowing what he was talking to himself about.
His mind was full of his son as he sat this day at his dinner, which
was put every afternoon punctually at half-past one upon the table
whether Mr Lawrence was at home or whether he was not. The window at
which the Admiral was wont of a pleasant evening to sit with his pipe
was open; the room was small, with a low ceiling, but one should say
a very dream of comfort to a nautical man. Its walls were embellished
with pictures of sea-fights, of frigates engaging forts, of encounters
between line-of-battle ships. A handsome telescope, a gift for some
deed of valour, lay in brackets over the small, richly-carved sideboard.
The Admiral sat at table before a meal that betokened total neglect on
his part of all thought of digestion. The dinner in short, so far as
it had been served, consisted of a round of boiled beef, carrots and
turnips, and a dish of potatoes smoking in their jackets, a stout loaf
of black crust, a dish of fine yellow butter, and at Sir William's
elbow was a silver mug with a thick glass bottom, just filled foaming
to the brim from a cask of the very best ale at that time brewed in
England, and in those days a glass of fine ale was a more delicious
draught, more thirst-quenching, more appealing to all the secret
feelings of the interior than the finest liquor that has been drunk
since, call it what you will.
Just as the Admiral was cutting a second helping for himself from the
round of beef, which being English was choicely tasted, he heard his
son's footsteps in the passage outside, and after a short interval,
during which Mr Lawrence fitted himself for the dinner table, that
gentleman walked in. He was almost immediately followed by the old
housekeeper with hot plates. She was very fond of Mr Lawrence. She
would listen for his footsteps. He was still "Master Walter" with her,
and would remain so. She had once, on hearing of his money troubles,
offered to lend him from her slender savings. But whatever may have
been his character he was a sailor in this: he would not take money
from a woman.
The Admiral viewed his son critically. The walk home, followed by
a sousing of the face in cold water, had helped to attenuate the
lingering fumes in the young man's brains, and on the whole his mind
was about as steady as could be expected in one who was always more or
less under the influence of drink.
"Have you dined?" asked Sir William.
"No, sir."
This question will not appear strange when it is understood that Mr
Lawrence occasionally took a seat at an ordinary at "The Swan," served
half an hour after noon.
The Admiral cut a plate of meat, and the pair fell to their dinner, the
housekeeper reappearing to place such another silver tankard foaming
full as graced Sir William's elbow, at the side of Mr Lawrence.
"I met Miss Acton as I was coming home," said Mr Lawrence, "and she
said she had left you and her father talking about me."
"Captain Acton and I were talking about you this morning," said
the Admiral. "I was lamenting your inability to procure a berth of
any sort, and told him that I could see no hope for you whilst you
continued to hang about Old Harbour Town, and to lounge in and out of
'The Swan.'"
"You'll admit, sir, that my failure to obtain employment has not been
due to neglect in searching for it."
"But what is to be hoped for in a place like this? Here are no
industries; there is nothing doing, you cannot turn smacksman or start
as a pilot."
"I am extremely anxious to relieve you of the burden of maintaining me,
and my fixed intention, if I can procure nothing to do between this and
next month, is to work my passage out before the mast to the United
States. If it should come to the backwoods, I am ready. I confess this
life grows insupportable, and the more burthensome to me because it is
a tax upon you, sir."
The Admiral buried half his face in his tankard, and after wiping the
froth from his lips and looking earnestly at the round of beef as
though he deliberated within himself whether he should take another
slice, he said: "I am happy to say that I have good news for you.
An opportunity has been offered which will do away with the need of
your shipping before the mast and seeking your fortune in America.
The _Minorca_, as you doubtless know, is in want of a captain. I was
speaking about you to Captain Acton this morning, and regretting, as
I must continue to regret whilst I have the capacity of a sigh--I do
not say a tear--left in me, that you should relinquish the Service in
which, had you behaved with prudence, you were eminently calculated to
make a shining figure."
The gallant old officer paused and looked at his son, and any one could
have easily seen that he was equally moved by pain and pride. Indeed
the man who sat opposite to him was one who by manly beauty of face,
worn as it was by weather and excess, by vigorous bearing of shapely
person, and by a story which, brief as it was, was as full of the stars
of gallant deeds as a short scope of wake is alive with the brilliant
pulses of the sea-glow, was one, let it be repeated, whom many a
father's heart would rejoice in, and approve of, bitterly as it must
deplore those lamentable, if fashionable, weaknesses, gambling and a
love of what Dibdin calls the "flowing can."
Mr Lawrence had closed his knife and fork and swallowed half his
tankard of ale, when the Admiral halted in his speech. He regarded
his father with eager earnestness. But the Admiral was not to be
interrupted in his further disclosure. Having ascertained that his
son wished for no more beef, he went to the fire-place and pulled a
bell-rope, and it was not until the housekeeper had removed the joint
and vegetables and replaced them by a dish of Norfolk dumplings with
white sauce sweetened and brandied--a homely dish of which Sir William
was uncommonly fond--that the old gentleman proceeded.
"I may now tell you," said he, "that Captain Acton this morning, on
my expressing my regret that you could not obtain employment, most
handsomely and liberally made you the offer of the command of a ship,
the _Minorca_."
Mr Lawrence's face lighted up, but the expression was curious; it
was composite; it seemed to be lacking in the elementary quality of
exultation or rejoicing which naturally would have been sought for or
expected.
"He is very kind," said he. "I should like the berth."
"He proposes that you should take the vessel out to the West Indies and
bring her home. He pays twelve pounds a month, and gives a commission
on the earnings of the ship. What do you say?"
"Why, sir, of course I accept without hesitation, and feel most deeply
obliged."
"It is a step," continued the Admiral, "that may lead to other and even
better things. But first and foremost it finds you in employment, and
will put some money into your pocket, and relieve the pressure which
not only you but I am made to feel. I do not choose that Mr Greyquill
should visit me. Yet he calls to enquire after you."
"He is a very impertinent old man, and why he should call here to see
me when he knows that every day I am within a stone's throw of his
office, I cannot tell. He'll get his head broke if he troubles you,
sir."
"Captain Acton wishes to see you at eight o'clock this evening. You'll
be there?"
"Oh, depend upon it. This is a great offer. He is extremely obliging."
"And I must hope," said the Admiral, "since this opportunity has been
brought about by me, that you will do me the justice to take care to
present yourself in such a state as shall not excite his resentment,
or, which is worse, result in the cancellation of his offer."
The old gentleman spoke with sternness, and held his eyes fastened upon
his son, who cried: "Oh sir, I am not such a fool as to run any risks
with this stroke of fortune."
"You will present yourself at eight," said the Admiral a little more
softly, "and I have no doubt whatever that you will receive the offer
which will be properly executed to-morrow. I believe that the _Minorca_
sails early next month. You will have time to obtain the few clothes
you may require. The dress of the Merchant sailor is inexpensive.
Indeed, a man in the Merchant Service dresses as he pleases. It is
a warm voyage, and you'll find a few white clothes useful. I do not
suppose you'll be expected to know anything about stowage and the like.
But you will pick up what you want as you go. Captain Acton spoke
of the mate as a respectable, though illiterate man. He doubtless
understands his part, and little more will be expected from you than
the navigation of the ship to her port, a careful attention to your
owner's interests, and a strict execution of such commands as you may
receive with regard to obtaining a freight and matters of that sort,
of which I confess I am ignorant."
Sir William now rose from the table and went to an armchair at the
open window, upon the seat or ledge of which stood a jar of tobacco,
some clay pipes, and a little machine for firing a match dipped in
brimstone, a very ingenious contrivance as old as the days of the
second Charles: namely, a little pistol-shaped fire-maker whose trigger
struck a full and brilliant spark from the flint and kindled the
tinder. He filled his pipe and lighted it, and sat in conversation
with his son, in whom the particular humour or mood would have been
extremely hard to settle by the most sagacious of critical observers.
He was speedy in answering his father, and his language did not show
much abstraction of mind; but even the Admiral noticed that there
was an undercurrent of thought in his son which was pursuing a very
different course from the stream as it appeared on the surface.
Sir William, however, was a man not in the habit of taking long or
deep views. His son was thinking of his good luck, of his meeting that
evening with Captain Acton, of the opportunities for advancement which
now lay before him, and these reflections would naturally colour his
manner and make him appear somewhat strange to those who knew him best.
Captain Acton received Mr Lawrence in his library, a small but very
elegant room. It was lighted by wax candles on the table and wax
candles on the chimney-piece. Its walls were covered with valuable
books in finely carved cases. Captain Acton was reading when Mr
Lawrence was announced. He immediately put down his book and rose. It
would have been easy to see that he was struck by and pleased with the
fine figure and handsome face of Mr Lawrence as he strode through the
doorway, bowing with dignity and grace as he advanced. Of course the
Captain was perfectly well acquainted with Mr Lawrence; he had been to
his house to dinner on more than one occasion with Sir William; they
had met at the Admiral's house and out-of-doors.
Yet Captain Acton appeared to find in Mr Lawrence this evening a
quality of bearing, a character of masculine beauty which had not
certainly before impressed him to anything like the same degree.
He had carefully dressed himself; his manner betokened complete
self-possession; his handsome eyes shone clear and steady, and his
face exhibited a mind whose command over itself was complete. The worn
look partly due to dissipation, partly due to the hard life of the sea
which was often injuriously visible by daylight, was now concealed in
the soft veil of light shed by the wax candles. They shook hands, and
seated themselves.
"Your father has doubtless acquainted you with my object in asking you
to call upon me this evening."
"He has, sir."
"Are you willing to accept the command of the _Minorca_?"
"I am indeed, and have no words in which to convey my thanks to you for
your kindness."
"Oh, say no more, sir, about that. I am pleased with the idea of a
Naval officer being in charge of my ship."
And here Captain Acton again viewed the face and form of the young man
with a pleasure and satisfaction the other could scarcely miss, though
it was delicately tempered by Acton's natural gravity and his well-bred
air. And now for a short time the conversation wholly referred to the
business part of the compact. Captain Acton named the terms, stated the
nature of the voyage and his expectations, spoke of the cargo and the
consignees, and of his agent at Kingston. Mr Lawrence listened with
intelligence, and the questions which he put were all to the point.
"The rig of the vessel," said Captain Acton, "is unusual. She is
called a barque. The idea of fore and aft canvas only upon the
mizzen-mast is French. I am told that rig is very handy in stays. Do
you know the ship, sir?"
"I was never on board of her, but I know her very well. I admire
her figure, though I do not think she is so finely moulded as your
schooner, the _Aurora_."
"Oh, certainly not, and as a consequence the _Aurora_ sails two feet to
the _Minorca's_ one. That schooner is almost due. She is commonly very
punctual. She earns more money than the _Minorca_. No doubt all will
have been well with her until she enters the Chops. But the Western
squadrons have done great work. They have swept the French corsairs
off the narrow waters and huddled the lily-livered rogues into their
own ports. The _Minorca_ is lightly armed: four eighteen-pounder
carronades, for her business is to run and not to chase. You'll have to
keep a bright look-out, sir. Your business must be to give your heels
to everything that stirs your suspicion."
"I assure you, sir," said Mr Lawrence, with a smile which added a
freshness to his beauty by that light, "that I have no idea of taking
command of your ship with a view to a French prison."
After some further conversation to this effect, during which it was
manifest that Captain Acton was very well satisfied with the generous
resolution he had formed that morning to offer the command of the
_Minorca_ to Sir William's son, he left his chair and conducted Mr
Lawrence to the drawing-room.
Wax candles burning purely and softly in sconces and candelabra
illuminated an interior of singular elegance and rich in luxury.
Lucy started from the piano, the sounds of which had been audible
outside before the gentleman opened the door. Her beauty, her costume
were in exquisite keeping with the objects which filled that room,
the repository of the tasteful and sumptuous selections of several
generations of Actons. Lucy's garb was the picturesque attire of that
age: the neck and a portion of the bosom were exposed; a handsome
medallion brooch decorated the bust; the arms were bare to above the
elbows; the girdle gave her gown a waist just under the bosom. In
that light all that was tender and lovely in her gained in softness,
sweetness, and delicacy. Her rich bloom had the divine tenderness of
the flush of sunset when in the east the velvet deeps are enriched with
the diamond-throb of the first of the stars.
Not far from the large old-fashioned hearth beside a little table on
which stood a work-basket, sat in a tall-backed arm-chair fit for a
queen to be crowned in, a figure that must have carried the memory of
a middle-aged or old man of that time well back into the past century.
She was Miss Acton, Lucy's Aunt Caroline, sister of Captain Acton, a
lady of about seventy years of age, who trembled with benevolence and
imaginary alarms, who was always doing somebody good, and was now at
work upon some baby clothing for an infant that had been born a week or
two before.
She belonged to a race whose extinction Francis Grose lamented. She was
what was termed an antiquated gentlewoman whose dress was a survival
of the fashion of two if not three earlier generations: consisting of
a stiff-starched cap and hood, a little hoop and a rich silk damask
gown with large flowers. She acted as housekeeper to her brother, and
the keys of the cupboards jingled at her side. She was choice in her
stores, which included cordial waters, cherry and raspberry brandy,
Daffy's Elixir, pots of currant jelly and raspberry jam, and her stock
also comprised salves, electuaries, and purges for the poor. When she
walked she leaned, perhaps a little affectedly, on an ivory-handled
crutch stick, and a fat pug dog rolled in her wake. This pug now snored
alongside of her, and the little terrier slept with its paws upon the
pug's stomach.
Mr Lawrence was extremely easy. There was nothing of the embarrassment
in the presence of ladies which is often visible even in well-bred
men who have fallen from their estate, and pass their days in liquor
and in looking in and out of such haunts as "The Swan." Indeed, his
well-governed behaviour had something of a pre-determined air as of a
man who acts a part and with all the resolution of his soul means to
carry it through, though he may be obstructed by physical pain or by
mental distress.
After a few airy nothings of salutation and the like had been exchanged
and all were seated, Captain Acton said: "Lucy, I am now to introduce
Mr Lawrence to you in a new character; he is the captain of the
_Minorca_."
"What is that you say?" cried Aunt Caroline, starting in her chair and
peering over her gold-rimmed glasses at Mr Lawrence.
"I have given Mr Lawrence the command of my ship, sister," said Captain
Acton.
"The news does not surprise me," said Lucy. "I think I told you this
morning, sir, that Sir William wished to see you. Do you like the idea
of commanding the _Minorca_?"
"Very much indeed, madam. My inclination leans wholly towards the
Merchant Service. I would rather command the _Minorca_ than a
line-of-battle ship."
He smiled faintly, as though he guessed she would not believe this, and
she could not miss the expression of bitterness in his smile which, as
she was well acquainted with the story of his career, she perfectly
understood. In truth she felt a little grieved for him. It was pitiful
to think of so handsome and gallant a young fellow descending from the
lofty platform of the King's Service to take charge of a poor little
Merchant vessel whose one officer, a mate, was as ignorant and common a
fellow as any that could be found in the 'tween decks of a man-of-war,
remote from the society of the ward and gun rooms, though on board the
_Minorca_ Mr Eagle would be Mr Lawrence's associate.
"Are you not afraid to take the command of a ship, sir?" enquired Miss
Acton, who continued to peer at Mr Lawrence over her glasses.
"Afraid, madam!"
"Afraid, sister!" echoed Captain Acton. "Your question reminds me of
a story of Lord Howe: a lieutenant having reported the ship on fire
returned, and said that his lordship need not feel afraid as the fire
was out. 'Afraid!' exclaimed Howe, 'How does a man feel when he is
afraid? I need not ask how he looks!'"
"It is such a very serious undertaking," said Miss Acton. "I cannot
imagine a more responsible position than that of captain of a ship.
If she sinks or is consumed by fire or strikes upon the rocks and the
people perish, the captain, whether he survives or not, is answerable.
If he dies with the people he goes before God, who judges him. It is
dreadful. If I commanded a ship and lost lives, I could never sleep. I
should not know what to do for seeing the spirits of the dead. I should
feel that they all looked to me to return them their lives, and how
terrible it must be to feel helpless when you are pleaded to by spirits
who wring their hands and wail."
Mr Lawrence viewed the old lady with silent astonishment.
"If all thought like you, aunt," said Lucy, "we should get no captains
at all for our ships, and how delighted the French would be to learn
that our men-of-war could not leave port because captains were not to
be got."
She received a smile full of perception of her point from Mr Lawrence.
"Well, I did not think of it in that way," said Miss Acton, who was
active again with her needle and talking at her work. "Of course we
must have captains for our men-of-war. I hope there is no fresh news of
invasion."
"Nothing more since the privateersman was run in," said Captain Acton.
"Oh, aunt, whilst I think of it," cried Lucy, "poor Mr Eagle, the mate
of the _Minorca_, is suffering badly from rheumatism in his ankles. He
can hardly stand. I told him that I would ask you to send him something
to ease him."
"I am sure I do not know what is good for rheumatism," said Miss Acton,
with the petulance that attends a sudden anxiety of benevolence. "It
is a most troublesome disease. You may rub and rub, and you only make
it fly to another place, and often rubbing takes the skin off. I will
send him some sulphur to put in his stockings, and I will see what
else there is to be done for the poor man." And here, looking over her
glasses again at Mr Lawrence, she said: "Pray, can you tell me how Mrs
Bigg is, sir?"
"Mrs Bigg, ma'am! I never heard of her."
"She lives at Uphill Cottage, and lay in of a very fine baby a
fortnight yesterday, and has done very poorly since. You cannot tell me
how she does?"
"I cannot, madam."
At this moment the door was opened and the butler entered with a large
sparkling silver tray of refreshments--wines and spirits, and cakes of
several kinds. But Mr Lawrence would take nothing. He had done very
well, he said. He had supped handsomely with his father off a round
of cold boiled beef. The hospitality of the tray was not pressed upon
him; Miss Lucy took some wine and water, and a small draught of cordial
waters was placed beside Miss Acton.
"Your father was telling me a few days ago," said Captain Acton, "of a
narrow escape of yours, sir."
"I have met with several. To which did he refer?"
"To that of the punt in which you attempted to sail from Plymouth to
Falmouth."
Mr Lawrence smiled. When his smile was dictated by some honest or
candid emotion, free from irritation or contempt, or any of the
passions which make merriment forced and alarming, the expression gave
a particular pleasure to the beholder. It was full of heart, and seemed
to lighten his beauty of much of its burden of wear and tear.
"What was the story, sir?" asked Lucy.
"A story of foolhardiness, madam, largely due to my difficulty in
foreseeing issues."
The remark appeared to impress Captain Acton, who fastened his eyes
upon the speaker.
"I had made up my mind to go from Plymouth to Falmouth in a small punt.
She was fourteen feet long. When I had got some distance away, my hat
was blown overboard. I secured the tiller a-lee, threw off my clothes,
and jumped after my hat. As I was returning with the hat the sail
filled, the boat got way on her and sailed some distance before she
came up in the wind. I had almost reached her when she filled again.
This happened three or four times. At length I managed by a frantic
struggle to catch a hold of the rudder, but I was so exhausted that it
was long before I had strength to get into the boat."
This tale induced Captain Acton to indulge in the recital of a
hair-breadth escape of his own, but a flow of exciting anecdotes was
arrested by Miss Acton declaring that she was not strong enough to bear
to hear such horrid, moving stories, particularly just a little before
bed-time.
Lucy was somewhat puzzled by Mr Lawrence. His behaviour was cool,
gentleman-like, distant, cautious, entirely sober, and for the most
part he expressed himself with a high degree of intelligence. She
could not but remember that in the morning when, to be sure, he might
be said to have been "flown with wine and insolence," he had, with a
passion which assuredly borrowed nothing of heat from liquor, plucked
a daisy and bade her put it to her sweet lips and return it to him,
and he had then concealed the little flower in his pocket as the only
sacred treasure he possessed. This evening his bearing was on the
whole as formal and collected as though she was but an acquaintance in
whose company he could sit without being overcome by her charms. The
passion of the morning was genuine and sincere, drink or no drink; the
behaviour this evening was calculated and extraordinary. Perhaps in the
delicate candlelight she might not catch every expression of eye, every
movement of mouth, every shade of change in the expression of the whole
face, so that she would justly imagine she had missed through defective
illumination the impassioned look, the swift pencilling by rapture of
the lineaments which her maiden's intuition gave her eloquently and
convincingly to know must be the secret homage of his heart, let him
mask his handsome and worn face as he would.
"I wish, madam," said he, "that you would return to the piano at which
we interrupted you.
"Papa will not thank me for making a noise."
"Oh, my dear, don't say that. I am quite sure that if you will play, Mr
Lawrence will afterwards sing, and I shall be charmed to hear you, sir,
for I recollect your sweet and powerful voice both here and at your
father's."
"There is little that I would not do to oblige you, sir," answered Mr
Lawrence, and going to the piano he stood beside it, as though waiting
for Lucy to seat herself at the instrument.
"Lucy, my dear," exclaimed Miss Acton, "play 'Now, Goody, Please to
Moderate,' or 'My Lodging is on the Cold Ground,' or 'Sally in our
Alley.' I do not care which. They are all very beautiful, and I know no
song, brother, that carries me back like 'Sally in our Alley.' Do you
remember how finely our father used to sing it? He was at Dr Burney's
one night, sir," said she, talking to Mr Lawrence, "when a famous
Italian singer of that day--who was it now?--she was as yellow as a
guinea, and her hoops were so large there were many doors she could
not pass through--who was it now? But no matter; after my father had
sung she stepped over to him, and curtsying as though she would sit
before him, she said: 'I have often heard this song sung and thought
nothing of it. But now, sir, I shall ever regard it as the loveliest
composition in English music.'"
"Ay, father had a very fine voice, to be sure," said Captain Acton,
"and so has Mr Lawrence."
Lucy had now taken her seat at the piano, and as the airs her aunt
desired were well known to her, she played them from ear, whilst
Miss Acton in her stiff-backed chair, kept time, with much facial
demonstration of enjoyment, with her starched cap and hood.
"Will you now sing us a song, Mr Lawrence?" exclaimed Captain Acton.
"With the greatest pleasure. What should it be?" As Miss Acton loved
"Sally in our Alley," he would be happy to sing it.
Lucy touched the keys.