A day elapsed between the departure of Denbigh and the reappearance of
Emily amongst her friends. An indifferent observer would have thought
her much graver and less animated than usual. A loss of the rich color
which ordinarily glowed on her healthful cheek might be noticed; but the
placid sweetness and graceful composure which regulated her former
conduct pervaded all she did or uttered. Not so with Jane: her pride had
suffered more than her feelings--her imagination had been more deceived
than her judgment--and although too well bred and soft by nature to
become rude or captious, she was changed from a communicative, to a
reserved; from a confiding, to a suspicious companion. Her parents
noticed this alteration with an uneasiness that was somewhat embittered
by the consciousness of a neglect of some of those duties that
experience now seemed to indicate, could never be forgotten with
impunity.
Francis and Clara had arrived from their northern tour, so happy in each
other, and so contented with their lot, that it required some little
exercise of fortitude in both Lady Moseley and her daughters, to expel
unpleasant recollections while they contemplated it. Their relation of
the little incidents of their tour had, however, an effect to withdraw
the attention of their friends in some degree from late occurrences; and
a melancholy and sympathizing kind of association had taken place of the
unbounded confidence and gaiety; which so lately prevailed at Benfield
Lodge. Mr. Benfield mingled with his solemnity an air of mystery; and he
was frequently noticed by his relatives looking over old papers, and was
apparently employed in preparations that indicated movements of more
than usual importance.
The family were collected in one of the parlors on an extremely
unpleasant day, the fourth after the departure of John, when the thin
person of Johnson stalked in amongst them. All eyes were fixed on him in
expectation of what he had to communicate, and all apparently dreading
to break the silence, from an apprehension that his communication would
be unpleasant. In the meantime Peter, who had respectfully left his hat
at the door, proceeded to uncase his body from the multiplied defences
he had taken against the inclemency of the weather. His master stood
erect, with an outstretched hand, ready to receive the reply to his
epistle; and Johnson having liberated his body from thraldom, produced
the black leathern pocket-book, and from its contents a letter, when he
read aloud--Roderic Benfield, Esq., Benfield Lodge, Norfolk; favored by
Mr.--here Peter's modesty got the better of his method; he had never
been called Mr. Johnson by anybody, old or young; all knew him in that
neighborhood as Peter Johnson--and he had very nearly been guilty of the
temerity of arrogating to himself another title in the presence of those
he most respected: a degree of self-elevation from which he escaped with
the loss of a small piece of his tongue. Mr. Benfield took the letter
with an eagerness that plainly indicated the deep interest he took in
its contents, while Emily, with a tremulous voice and flushed cheek,
approached the steward with a glass of wine.
"Peter," she said, "take this; it will do you good."
"Thank you, Miss Emma," said Peter, casting his eyes from her to his
master, as the latter, having finished his letter, exclaimed, with a
strange mixture of consideration and disappointment--
"Johnson, you must change your clothes immediately, or you will take
cold: you look now like old Moses, the Jew beggar."
Peter sighed heavily at this comparison, and saw in it a confirmation of
his fears; for he well knew, that to his being the bearer of unpleasant
tidings was he indebted for a resemblance to anything unpleasant to his
master, and Moses was the old gentleman's aversion.
The baronet now followed his uncle from the room to his library,
entering it at the same moment with the steward, who had been summoned
by his master to an audience.
Pointing to a chair for his nephew, Mr. Benfield commenced the discourse
with saying,
"Peter, you saw Mr. Denbigh; how did he look?"
"As usual, master," said Peter, laconically, still piqued at being
likened to old Moses.
"And what did he say to the offer? did he not make any comments on it?
He was not offended at it, I hope," demanded Mr. Benfield.
"He said nothing but what he has written to your honor," replied the
steward, losing a little of his constrained manner in real good feeling
to his master.
"May I ask what the offer was?" inquired Sir Edward.
Mr. Benfield regarding him a moment in silence, said, "Certainly, you
are nearly concerned in his welfare; your daughter"--the old man
stopped, turned to his letter-book, and handed the baronet a copy of the
epistle he had sent to Denbigh. It read as follows:
DEAR FRIEND MR. DENBIGH,
"I have thought a great deal on the reason of your sudden departure from
a house I had begun to hope you thought your own; and by calling to mind
my own feelings when Lady Juliana became the heiress to her nephew's
estate, take it for granted you have been governed by the same
sentiments; which I know both by my own experience and that of the
bearer, Peter Johnson, is a never-failing accompaniment of pure
affection. Yes, my dear Denbigh, I honor your delicacy in not wishing to
become indebted to a stranger, as it were, for the money on which you
subsist, and that stranger your wife--who ought in reason to look up to
you, instead of your looking up to her; which was the true cause Lord
Gosford would not marry the countess--on account of her great wealth, as
he assured me himself; notwithstanding, envious people said it was
because her ladyship loved Mr Chaworth better: so in order to remove
these impediments of delicacy, I have to make three propositions,
namely, that I bring you into parliament the next election for my own
borough--that you take possession of the lodge the day you marry Emmy,
while I will live, for the little time I have to stay here, in the large
cottage built by my uncle--and that I give you your legacy of ten
thousand pounds down, to prevent trouble hereafter.
"As I know nothing but delicacy has driven you away from us, I make no
doubt you will now find all objections removed, and that Peter will
bring back the joyful intelligence of your return to us, as soon as the
business you left us on, is completed.
"Your uncle, that is to be,
"RODERIC BENFIELD."
"N.B. As Johnson is a stranger to the ways of the town, I wish you to
advise his inexperience, particularly against the arts of designing
women, Peter being a man of considerable estate, and great modesty."
"There, nephew," cried Mr. Benfield, as the baronet finished reading the
letter aloud, "is it not unreasonable to refuse my offers? Now read his
answer."
"Words are wanting to express the sensations which have been excited by
Mr. Benfield's letter; but it would be impossible for any man to be so
base as to avail himself of such liberality: the recollection of it,
together with that of his many virtues, will long continue deeply
impressed on the heart of him, whom Mr. Benfield would, if within the
power of man, render the happiest amongst human beings."
The steward listened eagerly to this answer, but after it was done he
was as much at a loss to know its contents as before its perusal. He
knew it was unfavorable to their wishes, but could not comprehend its
meaning or expressions, and immediately attributed their ambiguity to
the strange conference he had witnessed between Denbigh and the military
stranger.
"Master," exclaimed Peter, with something of the elation of a
discoverer, "I know the cause, it shows itself in the letter: there was
a man talking Greek to him while he was reading your letter."
"Greek!" exclaimed Sir Edward in astonishment.
"Greek!" said the uncle. "Lord Gosford read Greek; but I believe never
conversed in that language."
"Yes, Sir Edward--yes, your honor--pure wild Greek; it must have been
something of that kind," added Peter, with positiveness, "that would
make a man refuse such offers--Miss Emmy--the lodge--£10,000!"--and the
steward shook his head with much satisfaction at having discovered the
cause.
Sir Edward smiled at the simplicity of Johnson, but disliking the idea
attached to the refusal of his daughter, said, "Perhaps, after all,
uncle, there has been some misunderstanding between Emily and Denbigh,
which may have driven him from us so suddenly."
Mr. Benfield and his steward exchanged looks, and a new idea broke upon
them at the instant. They had both suffered in that way; and after all
it might prove that Emily was the one whose taste or feelings had
subverted their schemes. The impression, once made, soon became strong,
and the party separated; the master thinking alternately on Lady Juliana
and his niece, while the man, after heaving one heavy sigh to the memory
of Patty Steele, proceeded to the usual occupations of his office.
Mrs. Wilson thinking a ride would be of service to Emily, and having the
fullest confidence in her self-command and resignation, availed herself
of a fine day to pay a visit to their friend in the cottage. Mrs.
Fitzgerald received them in her usual manner, but a single glance of her
eye sufficed to show the aunt that she noticed the altered appearance of
Emily and her manners, although without knowing its true reason, which
she did not deem it prudent to explain. Julia handed her friend a note
which she said she had received the day before, and desired their
counsel how to proceed in the present emergency. As Emily was to be made
acquainted with its contents, her aunt read it aloud as follows:
"MY DEAR NIECE,
"Your father and myself had been induced to think you were leading a
disgraceful life, with the officer your husband had consigned you to the
care of; for hearing of your captivity, I had arrived with a band of
Guerillas, on the spot where you were rescued, early the next morning,
and there learnt of the peasants your misfortunes and retreat. The enemy
pressed us too much to allow us to deviate from our route at the time;
but natural affection and the wishes of your father have led me to make
a journey to England, in order to satisfy our doubts as regards your
conduct. I have seen you, heard your character in the neighborhood, and
after much and long search have found out the officer, and am satisfied,
that so far as concerns your deportment, you are an injured woman. I
have therefore to propose to you, on my own behalf, and that of the
Conde, that you adopt the faith of your country, and return with me to
the arms of your parent, whose heiress you will be, and whose life you
may be the means of prolonging. Direct your answer to me, to the care of
our ambassador; and as you decide, I am your mother's brother, LOUIS
M'CARTHY Y HARRISON."
"On what point do you wish my advice?" said Mrs. Wilson, kindly, after
she had finished reading the letter, "and when do you expect to see your
uncle?"
"Would you have me accept the offer of my father, dear madam, or am I to
remain separated from him for the short residue of his life?"
Mrs. Fitzgerald was affected to tears, as she asked this question, and
waited her answer, in silent dread of its nature.
"Is the condition of a change of religion, an immovable one?" inquired
Mrs. Wilson, in a thoughtful manner.
"Oh! doubtless," replied Julia, shuddering; "but I am deservedly
punished for my early disobedience, and bow in submission to the will of
Providence. I feel now all that horror of a change of my religion, I
once only affected; I must live and die a Protestant, madam."
"Certainly, I hope so, my dear," said Mrs. Wilson; "I am not a bigot,
and think it unfortunate you were not, in your circumstances, bred a
pious Catholic. It would have saved you much misery, and might have
rendered the close of your father's life more happy; but as your present
creed embraces doctrines too much at variance with the Romish church to
renounce the one or to adopt the other, with your views, it will be
impossible to change your church without committing a heavy offence
against the opinions and practices of every denomination of Christians.
I should hope a proper representation of this to your uncle would have
its weight, or they might be satisfied with your being a Christian,
without becoming a Catholic."
"Ah! my dear madam," answered Mrs. Fitzgerald, despairingly, "you little
know the opinions of my countrymen on this subject."
"Surely, surely," cried Mrs. Wilson, "parental affection is a stronger
feeling than bigotry."
Mrs. Fitzgerald shook her head in a manner which bespoke both her
apprehensions and her filial regard.
"Julia ought not, must not, desert her father, dear aunt," said Emily,
her face glowing with the ardency of her feelings.
"And ought she to desert her heavenly Father, my child?" asked the aunt,
mildly.
"Are the duties conflicting, dearest aunt?"
"The Conde makes them so. Julia is, I trust, in sincerity a Christian,
and with what face can she offer up her daily petitions to her Creator,
while she wears a mask to her earthly father; or how can she profess to
honor doctrines that she herself believes to be false, or practise
customs she thinks improper?"
"Never, never," exclaimed Julia, with fervor; "the struggle is dreadful,
but I submit to the greater duty."
"And you decide rightly, my friend," said Mrs. Wilson, soothingly; "but
you need relax no efforts to convince the Conde of your wishes: truth
and nature will finally conquer."
"Ah!" cried Mrs. Fitzgerald, "the sad consequences of one false step in
early life!"
"Rather," added Mrs. Wilson, "the sad consequences of one false step in
generations gone by. Had your grandmother listened to the voice of
prudence and duty, she never would have deserted her parents for a
comparative stranger, and entailed upon her descendants a train of evils
which yet exist in your person."
"It will be a sad blow to my poor uncle too," said Mrs. Fitzgerald, "he
who once loved me so much."
"When do you expect to see him?" inquired Emily.
Julia informed them she expected him hourly; as, fearful a written
statement of her views would drive him from the country without paying
her a visit before he departed, she had earnestly entreated him to see
her without delay.
On taking their leave, the ladies promised to obey her summons whenever
called to meet the general, as Mrs. Wilson thought she might be better
able to give advice to a friend, by knowing more of the character of her
relatives, than she could do with her present information,
One day intervened, and it was spent in the united society of Lady
Moseley and her daughters, while Sir Edward and Francis rode to a
neighboring town on business; and on the succeeding, Mrs. Fitzgerald
apprised them of the arrival of General M'Carthy. Immediately after
breakfast, Mrs. Wilson and Emily drove to the cottage, the aunt both
wishing the latter as a companion in her ride, and believing the
excitement would have a tendency to prevent her niece from indulging in
reflections, alike dangerous to her peace of mind and at variance with
her duties.
Our readers have probably anticipated, that the stage companion of John
Moseley was the Spanish general, who had just been making those
inquiries into the manner of his niece's living which terminated so
happily in her acquittal. With that part of her history which relates to
the injurious attempts on her before she arrived at Lisbon, he appears
to have been ignorant, or his interview with Denbigh might have
terminated very differently from the manner already related.
A description of the appearance of the gentleman presented to Mrs.
Wilson is unnecessary, as it has been given already; and the discerning
matron thought she read through the rigid and set features of the
soldier, a shade of kinder feelings, which might be wrought into an
advantageous intercession on behalf of Julia. The General was evidently
endeavoring to keep his feelings within due bounds, before the decision
of his niece might render it proper for him to indulge in that affection
for her, which his eye plainly showed existed under the cover of his
assumed manner.
It was an effort of great fortitude on the part of Julia to acquaint her
uncle with her resolution; but as it must be done, she seized a moment
after Mrs. Wilson had at some length defended her adhering to her
present faith, until religiously impressed with its errors, to inform
him such was her unalterable resolution. He heard her patiently, and
without anger, but in visible surprise. He had construed her summons to
her house into a measure preparatory to accepting his conditions; yet he
betrayed no emotion, after the first expression of his wonder: he told
her distinctly, a renunciation of her heresy was the only condition on
which her father would own her either as his heiress or his child. Julia
deeply regretted the decision, but was firm; and her friends left her to
enjoy uninterruptedly for one day, the society of so near a relative.
During this day every doubt as to the propriety of her conduct, if any
yet remained, was removed by a relation of her little story to her
uncle; and after it was completed, he expressed great uneasiness to get
to London again, in order to meet a gentleman he had seen there, under a
different impression as to his merits, than what now appeared to be
just. Who the gentleman was, or what these impressions were, Julia was
left to conjecture, taciturnity being a favorite property in the
general.