Sir Francis Hartleton’s Surprise at Albert’s Place of Destination.—The
Watch on the Squires’ House.—Ada’s Disappointment.
When Sir Francis Hartleton darted across the road in order to follow
Albert Seyton, his views, with regard to the young man, were to trace
him to his house, and then immediately after send for him to his, Sir
Francis’s office, by Buckingham-house; and, in a conversation with him,
endeavour to come to a more decided opinion than he was at present able
to arrive at with respect to the stability of his affection for Ada;
for it is not saying too much, when we assert that the interest felt by
the magistrate in the welfare and future happiness of the beautiful
girl, who was, by so singular a train of circumstances, placed in his
care, was equal to that of a fond father for a darling child of his own.
The very romantic circumstances connected with her would have invested
Ada with a great interest, even had she been other than what she was;
but when in herself, she concentrated all the sweet feminine charms of
mind and person which the warmest fancy could suggest, she became,
indeed, an object of deep interest to Sir Francis—an interest which
amounted to a pure and holy affection.
Her gentleness, and yet her rare courage—her simplicity, and yet her
active intellect—her clinging affection and gushing gratitude to those
who were kindly disposed towards her, and her utter want of
selfishness, all combined to make her such a character as one might
dream of, but seldom hope to see realised.
“Her future happiness,” thought Sir Francis, “all depends upon this
young man whom I am now following, and I think I have a right to be
more careful that Ada, with all her fine noble feelings, is not
sacrificed to one who may fail to appreciate the rich treasure he may
possess. I will, ere I welcome this Albert Seyton to my house, be well
assured that he is deserving of the pure young heart that I am
convinced is all his own. One pang is far better for Ada to endure than
the years of misery that must ensue from an ill-assorted union.”
Reasoning thus the magistrate followed Albert Seyton sufficiently close
to be certain he could enter no house without his observation; and yet
at the same time, at such a distance as to run no great risk of
recognition should the young man turn round.
Little did poor Albert, whose mind was, at the present moment, so full
of recollections of his Ada, that he scarcely knew whither his
footsteps led him, imagine that he had not only passed her within
twenty paces, but was now actually kept from her because there was a
doubt of the sincerity of that passion which was at once the bliss and
the bane of his existence.
Sir Francis could not hear the deep sighs that burst from the labouring
heart of the young man, as he whispered to himself—
“My Ada—my beautiful and true! Oh? When will kind Heaven bless my eyes,
by permitting me to gaze upon thy face again? The summer’s sun may
shine bright’y for others, and the green earth look beautiful, but
there is a cloud upon my spirits, and all is dreary, bleak, and
desolate to me without you, my beautiful Ada!”
Alas! Poor Albert—if already Sir Francis Hartleton, from your long
absence from his office, entertains lingering unwelcome doubt of your
feelings for Ada—what harsh suspicions are you not about to subject
yourself to within the next quarter of an hour. How near are you to the
completion of your fondest hopes, and yet how distant—long sought for
as you have been, you are now found but to be avoided.
The young dejected lover passed onwards in his sorrow, and Sir Francis,
whose anxiety was increasing each moment, followed with his eyes fixed
on him alone, and totally unobservant of the many curious glances that
was cast upon his animated and anxious looking countenance by the
passengers.
They passed the Horse-guards—the low mean building which was then
devoted to other purposes, and which is now the treasury—and still
onwards went Albert listlessly as before. Now he turned down a small
street behind Parliament-street. Then another turning led him into
large handsome thoroughfare; his steps quickened and he, at length,
paused by the steps of a large mansion. Sir Francis Hartleton stopped,
but kept his eyes rivetted on the young man. He saw him ascend the
steps—could he believe his eyes? Yes—it was—it must be Learmont’s
house. Then magistrate walked forward. He was not mistaken—Albert
Seyton had entered the house of Learmont. The surprise of the
magistrate was intense in the extreme. Here was the lover of Ada on
visiting terms, if not on more intimate ones, with her worst foe. What
was he to think? Had gold had its influence upon the young man—and had
he sold himself to the wealthy squire, changing from a lover of Ada to
one of the conspirators against her peace? Was such conduct possible?
Or had the professions of Albert Seyton been from the first those of a
hypocrite? Had he always been a creature of Learmont, and only deputed
to perform the part he had played in order the more easily to entangle
the young pure girl into an inextricable web of villany?
As these painful reflections passed rapidly through the mind of Sir
Francis, he saw a livery servant descend the steps of Learmont’s house
bearing a letter in his hand.
“I will question this man,” he thought. “He is going on some message in
the neighbourhood, and I dare say will be communicative enough to
satisfy me with regard to the position held by Albert Seyton in
Learmont’s house.”
The man came down the street towards Sir Francis, who, when he came
sufficiently near, said in a careless manner,—
“Was that Mr. Seyton who just now entered your master’s house?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply.
“Ah, I thought it was he. I have not seen him for a long time. He is
intimate with the squire, I believe.”
“He is his worship’s private secretary, sir.”
“Oh, yes, to be sure. Good morning, friend.”
“Good morning, sir.”
The servant passed on, and Sir Francis Hartleton stood a few moments in
deep thought.
“So,” he said, “this lover of Ada’s turns out to be Learmont’s private
secretary. The private secretary of a villain should be like his
master, and if the young man be a faithful servant, he is no fit match
for Ada. He must be in league, with Learmont in all his atrocities,
else would he, occupying the situation he does, be a sore encumbrance
to such a man as the squire. The facts speak plainly—a confidential
servant of a man like Learmont can only be one degree removed from his
principal in villany, and that degree must be one deeper still. Is it
possible that this young man, who spoke so fairly—who looked so frank
and candid, and in whom I, with all my practice of human nature, could
discover nothing but what was manly and interesting in his first
interview with me—is it possible that he can be one employed to do the
dirty work of such a man as Squire Learmont? Alas! Alas! Such is
humanity. Surely some sort of presentiment of this—some special
interposition of Providence in favour of the good and pure—must have
induced me, for Ada’s sake, to follow him thus, instead of permitting a
recognition in the streets. A fine tale would this private secretary
have had for the ears of his master—that the simple, easily duped Sir
Francis Hartleton had in his care the object, for some reason, of his
bitterest hatred, and that he, the sweet tongued, honied-accented,
private secretary was welcomed as the accepted lover, and had free
ingress and egress to the house in which she lived—could concert what
plots and plans he liked—nay, could take her very life for a reward
sufficient. Thank Heaven, for unmasking so much villany.”
Sir Francis Hartleton’s face was flushed, and there was resentment at
his heart, as he walked with hasty steps past Learmont’s house.
He had not, however, proceeded far when he heard his name mentioned by
some one behind him, and, suddenly turning he saw, within a few paces
of him, the object of his present angry thoughts—namely, Albert Seyton,
who had left Learmont’s house upon seeing the magistrate from a window
of the little room by the hall.
“I may as well,” thought Albert, “see him—not that I have any hopes
beyond those that at present possess my mind, through the interposition
of my generous patron, Squire Learmont.”
“Well, sir?” said Sir Francis Hartleton, in no very amiable voice.
“Do you not recollect me, sir?”
“No, sir.”
“You do not?”
“I know nothing of you, sir, and desire not your acquaintance.”
“Sir Francis Hartleton, you are labouring under some error. You mistake
who I am.”
“There can be no mistake, sir. Good morning. If you have any business
with me, you may probably know my office, and the hours of attendance
at it.”
“One moment, sir.”
“Not half a one,” said Sir Francis as he walked away, leaving Albert
bewildered. After a few moments’ thought, he said,—
“Now I have not one lingering doubt. What Learmont hinted of this
magistrate is true. I have but one friend, and that is the rich squire.”
“The impertinent scoundrel, to accost me!” said Sir Francis, striding
homewards in a great fume. “’Twas never so out of temper in my life. I
have no doubt now whatever, but that he is a mere creature of
Learmont’s. Thank Heaven! Ada, you are saved.”
Sir Francis proceeded home as quickly as he could; but as he neared his
own door, the thought came over him of how he was to inform Ada of the
discovery he had made; for although his own suspicions were strong
against Learmont, and the scraps of paper he had procured from poor had
supplied some wanting links in the chain of his conjectures, he had
abstained from fully explaining to Ada sufficient to make her now
comprehend why Albert’s engagement with the rich squire should place
such an insurmountable barrier between them.
“She must now know, all,” he thought, “and perhaps it is far better
that she should, as at all events she will, in her own thoughts, be
better able to separate her friends from her enemies. I will now,
however, plan another watch upon the squire’s house, in order to
ascertain if this young spark is in any communication with Jacob Gray,
or only an agent of the squire’s. He may be playing some complicated
game of villany that, after all, may assist me.”