'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark,
Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home;
'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark
Our coming--and look brighter when we come.
BYRON.
Edward Forster returned home with his little _protegee_, his mind
relieved from the weight which had oppressed it: he knew that the word
of his brother was his bond, and that under a rough exterior he
concealed a generous and sympathising heart. It was in the early part
of the autumn that he again took possession of the cottage; and as he
once more seated himself in his old arm-chair, he mentally exclaimed,
"Here then am I again at anchor for a short time, until summoned to
another world." His prophecy was correct; during the severe winter that
followed, his wound opened again, and his constitution, worn out, gave
way to repeated suffering. He had not been confined to his bed more
than a fortnight when he felt that his end was approaching. He had long
been prepared: nothing remained to be done but to write a letter to his
brother, which he confided to Robinson, the fisherman, with directions
that it should be put into the post-office immediately after his death;
and a strict charge to watch over the little girl, until she should be
sent for by his brother.
This last necessary act had been completed when Robinson, who was
standing by the side of the bed, with the letter in his hand, informed
him that the family at the Hall had returned from the Continent on the
evening before, with their only son, who was now restored to health.
This intelligence induced Forster to alter his plans; and trusting to
the former friendship of Lord Aveleyn, he despatched Robinson to the
Hall, stating his own condition, and requesting that his lordship would
come to the cottage. Lord Aveleyn immediately obeyed the summons, and
perceiving at the first glance that Forster's situation debarred all
chance of recovery, took upon himself with willingness the charge of the
letter, and promised to receive Amber into his house until it was
convenient that she should be removed. It was dark when Lord Aveleyn,
with melancholy foreboding, took his last farewell; for, ere the sun had
risen again, the spirit of Edward Forster had regained its liberty, and
soared to the empyrean, while the deserted Amber wept and prayed.
Edward Forster had not concealed from her the precarious tenure of his
existence, and since their return from London had made her fully
acquainted with all the particulars connected with her own history. The
last few weeks, every interval of suffering had been devoted by him to
enforce those principles which he ever had inculcated, and to prepare
for the event which had now taken place.
Amber was kneeling by the side of the bed; she had been there so long,
that she was not aware that it was broad day. Her face laid upon her
hands, was completely hid by her luxuriant hair, which had escaped from
the confinement of the comb, when the door of the chamber of death was
softly opened. Amber, who either did not hear the noise, or thought it
was the daughter of Robinson, who lived as servant in the cottage,
raised not her head. The steps continued to approach, then the sound
ceased, and Amber felt the arms of some one encircling her waist to
raise her from her kneeling posture. She lifted up her head, and
dividing the hair from her forehead, that she might see who it was,
perceived that it was young Aveleyn who was hanging over her.
"My poor little girl!" said he in a tone of commiseration.
"Oh! William Aveleyn," cried Amber, bursting into a paroxysm of tears,
as she was folded in his arms.
The sorrow of youth is sympathetic, and William Aveleyn, although
seventeen years old, and fast advancing to manhood, did not disdain to
mingle his tears with those of his former playmate. It was some time
before he could persuade Amber, who clung to him in her grief, to any
degree of serenity.
"Amber, dear, you must come to us at the Hall; this is no place for you
now."
"And why not, William? Why should I leave so soon? I'm not afraid of
being here, or lying by his side alone: I've seen other people die. I
saw Mrs Beazeley die--I saw poor Faithful die; and now, they _all_ are
dead," said Amber, bursting into tears, and burying her face in William
Aveleyn's bosom. "I knew that he was to die," said she, raising her
head after a time--"he told me so; but, to think that I shall never hear
him speak again--that very soon I shall never see him more--I must cry,
William."
"But your father is happy, Amber."
"_He_ is happy, I know; but he was not my father, William. I have no
father--no friend on earth I know of. He told me all before he died;
Faithful brought me from the sea."
This intelligence roused the curiosity of William Aveleyn, who
interrogated Amber, and obtained from her the whole of the particulars
communicated by Edward Forster; and, as she answered to his many
questions, she grew more composed.
The narrative had scarcely been finished, when Lord Aveleyn, who had
been summoned by Robinson, drove to the door, accompanied by Lady
Aveleyn, who thought that her presence and persuasions would more
readily induce Amber to heave the cottage. Convinced by her of the
propriety of the proposal, Amber was put into the carriage without
resistance, and conveyed to the Hall, where every thing that kindness
and sympathy could suggest was resorted to, to assuage her grief. There
we must leave her, and repair to the metropolis.
"Scratton," said Mr John Forster to his clerk, who had answered the
bell, "recollect I cannot see any one to-day."
"You have several appointments, sir," replied the clerk.
"Then send, and put them all off."
"Yes, sir; and if any one calls, I am to say that you are not at home?"
"No, I am at home; why tell a lie? but I cannot see any body."
The clerk shut the door; John Forster put on his spectacles to reperuse
the letter which lay before him. It was the one from Edward, inclosed
in a frank by Lord Aveleyn, with a few lines, announcing his brother's
death, and stating that Amber was at the Hall, where they should be glad
that she should remain until it was convenient to send for her.
Edward's letter repeated his thanks to his brother for his kind promise,
and took a last and affectionate farewell. John Forster struggled for a
time with his feelings; but the more he attempted to repress them, the
more violent they became. He was alone, and he gave them vent. The
legal documents before him, arising from the bitterness of strife, were
thus unusually moistened with a tribute to a brother's memory. But in a
few moments the old lawyer was himself again; all traces of emotion had
disappeared, and no one who had seen him then would ever have imagined
that John Forster could have been thus moved. The next day he was not
as usual to be found at his chambers: the fact was, that he had set off
immediately after breakfast, upon what is generally termed "house
hunting." The apartments which he occupied in his chambers were not
sufficient for the intended increase of his establishment; and when he
had given his promise to Edward, he was fully aware of the expense which
would be entailed by receiving Amber, and had made up his mind to incur
it. He therefore fixed upon a convenient house in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields,
which would not detach him far from his chambers. Having arranged for a
lease of twelve years, John Forster returned to his chambers.
"Scratton," said he, "look out for a man-servant, a cook, housemaid, and
a steady woman, as housekeeper--good characters, and undeniable
reference. The housekeeper must be a somewhat superior person, as she
will have to take charge of a young miss, and I do not want her spoiled
by keeping company with the general description of servants. Do you
understand?"
Scratton did; and in less than a month, as every thing is to be obtained
for money in the city of London, the house was furnished by a city
upholsterer in a plain way, and all the servants installed in their
respective situations.
Mr John Forster took possession of his new house, and tried for a week
if all worked well. Ascertaining that the furniture was complete, the
under-servants well behaved, and the housekeeper a mild and very
intelligent personage, fit to be intrusted with the charge of a little
girl, he then wrote to Lord Aveleyn, reiterating the thanks conveyed in
his former letter, and requesting that Amber might be delivered into the
charge of the bearer. With this letter Mr Scratton was despatched,
and, in due time, arrived at the Hall. Amber wept bitterly at the idea
of parting with those who had been so kind to her, and passing into the
hands of one who was a stranger. Having exacted a promise from William
Aveleyn that he would call as he passed through on his way to Cambridge,
she bade her kind friends farewell, entered the chaise in company with
Mr Scratton, and was hurried off to London.
Mr Scratton was one of those personages who never spoke except on
business; and, having no business to transact with a girl of twelve
years old, he never spoke at all except when necessity rendered it
imperative. Amber was therefore left to her own reflections. What they
all were I cannot tell; but one certainly was, that travelling in a
chaise for two days with Mr Scratton was not very agreeable. Most
happy was she when they drove up to the door of Mr John Forster's new
habitation. The old gentleman, who had calculated the hour of her
arrival after the receipt of a letter from her companion, was there to
receive her. Amber, who had been prepossessed in his favour by Edward
Forster, who had told her that in his brother she would find a protector
and indulgent parent, ran up to him when she entered the room, and burst
into tears as the injunctions of Edward Forster returned to her memory.
John Forster took her in his arms, and kissed her. "My little girl,"
said he, "what my brother was, such will I be to you. Consider me as
your father; for his memory, and I hope soon, for your own sake, I shall
rejoice to be so."
After an hour, by which time Amber had recovered her serenity, and
become almost cheerful, she was consigned to the charge of Mrs Smith
the housekeeper, and John Forster hastened back to his chambers and his
clients, to make up for so much lost time.
It was not long before the old gentleman discovered that the trouble and
expense which he had incurred to please his brother was the occasion of
pleasure and gratification. He no longer felt isolated in the world: in
short, he had a _home_, where a beaming eye met his return, and an
affectionate heart ministered to his wishes; where his well-known rap at
the door was a source of delight, and his departure one of regret.
In a few months Amber had entwined herself round the old man's heart;
the best masters were procured for her, and all the affection of a
doting parent upon an only child was bestowed by him who, when the
proposition was made, had declared that "it was bad enough to maintain
children of one's own begetting."
Bless my soul! how poor authors are obliged to gallop about. Now I must
be off again to India, and get on board of the Bombay Castle.