What an astonishing event! how Mrs. Tracy praised her noble-spirited

boy! How the bells rang! and hot water, and cold water, and salts, and

rubbings, and _eau de Cologne_, and all manner of delicate attentions,

long sustained, at length contributed to Julian's restoration. Moreover,

even Emily was agreeably surprised; she had never seen him in so amiable

a light before; this was all feeling, all affection for his brother--her

dear--dear Charles. And when Mrs. Tracy heard what Emily said of

Julian's feeling heart, she became positively triumphant; not half so

much at Charles's safety, and all that, as at Julian's burst of feeling.

She was quite right, after all; he was worthy to be her favourite, and

she felt both flattered and obliged to him for fainting dead away.

"Yes--yes, my dear Miss Warren, depend upon it Julian has fine feelings,

and a good heart." And Emily began to condemn both Charles and herself

for lack of charity, and to think so too.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE TETE-A-TETE.

No sooner had "dear Julian" recovered, which he really had not quite

accomplished until the day had begun to wear away (so great a shock had

that intelligence of Charles been to his guilty mind), than the

gratified and prudent mother fancied this a famous opportunity to leave

the young couple to themselves. It was after dinner, when they had

retired to the drawing-room; and I will say that Emily had never seemed

so favourably disposed towards that rough, but generous, heart before.

So then, on some significant pretence, well satisfied her favourite was

himself again, as bold, and black, and boisterous as ever, the masculine

mother kissed her hand to them, as a fat fairy might be supposed to do,

and operatically tripped away, coyly bidding Emily "take care of Julian

till she should come back again."

The momentary gleam of good which glanced across that bad man's heart

has faded away hours ago; his repentant thoughts had been occasioned

more from the sudden relief he experienced at running now no risks for

having murdered, than for any better feeling towards his brother, or any

humbler notions of himself. Nay, a strong rëaction occurred in his ideas

the moment he had seen his brother's writing; and when he fainted, he

fainted from the struggle in his mind of manifold exciting causes, such

as these:--hatred, jealousy, what he called love, though a lower name

befitted it, and vexation that his brother was--not dead. Oh mother,

mother! if your poor weak head had but been wise enough to read that

heart, would you still have loved it as you do? Alas--it is a deep

lesson in human nature this--she would! for Mrs. General Tracy was one

of those obstinate, yet superficial characters, whom no reason can

convince that they are wrong, no power can oblige to confess themselves

mistaken. She rejoiced to hear him called "her very image;" and

predominant vanity in the large coquette extended to herself at

second-hand; self was her idol substance, and its delightful shadow was

this mother's son.

The moment Mrs. Tracy left the room, Julian perceived his opportunity:

Charles, detested rival, far away at sea; the guardian gone to London;

Emily in an unusual flow of affability and kindness, and he--alone with

her. Rashly did he bask his soul in her delicious beauty, deliberately

drinking deep of that intoxicating draught. Giving the rein to passion,

he suffered that tumultuous steed to hurry him whither it would, in mad

unbridled course. He sat so long silently gazing at her with the

lack-lustre eyes of low and dull desire, that Emily, quite thrown off

her guard by that amiable fainting for his brother, addressed him in her

innocent kind-heartedness,

"Are you not recovered yet, dear Julian?"

The effect was instantaneous: scarcely crediting his ears that heard her

call him "dear," his eyes, that saw her winning smile upon him, he

started from his chair, and trembling with agitation, flung himself at

her feet, to Emily's unqualified astonishment.

"Why, Julian, what's the matter?--unhand me, sir! let go!" (for he had

got hold of her wrist.)

The passionate youth seized her hand--that one with Charles's ring upon

it--and would have kissed it wildly with polluting lips, had she not

shrieked suddenly "Help! help!"

Instantly his other hand was roughly dashed upon her mouth--so roughly

that it almost knocked her backwards--and the blood flowed from her

wounded lip; but by a preternatural effort, the indignant Indian queen

hurled the ruffian from her, flew to the bell, and kept on ringing

violently.

In less than half a minute all the household was around her, headed by

the startled Mrs. Tracy, who had all the while been listening in the

other drawing-room: butler, footmen, house-maids, ladies'-maids, cook,

scullions, and all rushed in, thinking the house was on fire.

No need to explain by a word. Emily, radiant in imperial charms, stood,

like inspired Cassandra, flashing indignation from her eyes at the

cowering caitiff on the floor. The mother, turning all manner of

colours, dropped on her knees to "poor Julian's" assistance, affecting

to believe him taken ill. But Emily Warren, whose insulted pride

vouchsafed not a word to that guilty couple, soon undeceived all

parties, by addressing the butler in a voice tremulous and broken--

"Mr. Saunders--be so good--as to go--to Sir Abraham Tamworth's--in the

square--and request of him--a night's--protection--for a

poor--defenceless, insulted woman!"

She could hardly utter the last words for choking tears: but immediately

battling down her feelings, added, with the calmness of a heroine--

"You are a father, Mr. Saunders--set all this before Sir Abraham

strongly, but delicately.

"Footmen! so long as that wretch is in the room, protect me, as you are

men."

And the stately beauty placed herself between the two liveried lacqueys,

as Zenobia in the middle of her guards.

"Marguerite!"--the pretty little Française tripped up to her--"wipe this

blood from my face."

Beautiful, insulted creature! I thought that I looked upon some wounded

Boadicea, with her daughters extracting the arrow from her cheek.

"And now, kind Charlotte, fetch my cloak; and follow me to Prospect

House, with what I may require for the night. Till the general's return,

I stay not here one minute."

Then, without a syllable, or a look of leave-taking, the wise and noble

girl--doubtless unconsciously remembering her early Hindoo braveries,

the lines of matchlock men, the bowing slaves, the processions, and her

jewelled state of old--marched away in magnificent beauty, accompanied

in silence by the whole astonished household.

Mrs. Tracy and her son were left alone: the silly, silly mother thought

him "hardly used." Julian, whose natural effrontery had entirely

deserted him, looked like what he was--a guilty coward: and the mother,

who had pampered up her "fine high-spirited son" to his full-grown

criminality by a foolish education, really--when she had time to think

of any thing but him--was excessively frightened. The general would be

back to-morrow, and then--and then!--she dreaded to picture that

explosion of his wrath.

CHAPTER XV.

SATISFACTION.

Sir Abraham Tamworth, G.C.B.--a fine old Admiral of the White, who

somewhat looked down upon the rank of General, H.E.I.C.S.--was

astonished, as well he might be, at Mr. Saunders, and his message: and,

of course, most gladly acquiesced in acting as poor Emily's protector.

Accordingly, however jealous Lady Tamworth and her daughters might

heretofore have felt of that bright beauty at the balls, they were now

all genuine sympathy, indignation, and affection. Emily, I need hardly

say, went straight up stairs to have her cry out.

"Whom are you writing to, George, in such a hurry?" asked the admiral,

of a fine moustachioed son, George St. Vincent Tamworth, of the Royal

Horse Guards, who had just got six months' leave of absence for the sake

of marriage with his cousin.

The gallant soldier tossed a billet to his father, who mounted his

spectacles, and quietly read it at the lamp.

"Captain Tamworth desires Mr. Julian Tracy's company to-morrow morning,

at seven o'clock, in the third meadow on the Oxton road. The captain

brings a friend with him; also pistols and a surgeon; and he desires Mr.

Tracy to do the like: Prospect House, Thursday evening."

"So, George, you consider him a gentleman, do you? I am afraid it's a

poor compliment to our fair young friend." And he quietly crumpled up

the challenge in his iron hand.

"Really, sir!--you surprise me;--pardon me, but I will send that note:

mustn't I chastise the fellow for this insufferable outrage?"

"No doubt, George, no doubt of it at all: when a lady is insulted, and a

man (not to say a queen's officer) stands by without taking notice of

it, he deserves whipping at the cart's-tail, and Coventry for life. I've

no patience, boy, with such mean meekness, as putting up with bullying

insolence when a woman's in the case. Let a man show moral courage, if

he can and will, in his own affront; I honour him who turns on his heel

from common personal insult, and only wish my own old blood was cool

enough to do so: but the mother, wife, and sister, ay, George, and the

poor defenceless one, be she lady, peasant, or menial, who comes to us

for safety in a woman's dress, we must take up their quarrel, or we are

not men!--"

"Don't interrupt him, George," uxoriously suggested Lady Tamworth,

"your father hasn't done talking yet." For George was getting terribly

impatient; he knew, from sad experience, how much the admiral was given

to prosing. However, the oration soon proceeded to our captain's entire

satisfaction, after his progenitor had paused awhile for breath's sake

in his eloquence.

"--Take up their quarrel, or we are not men. Nevertheless, boy, I cannot

see the need of pistols. The only conceivable case for violent redress,

is woman's wrong: and he who wrongs a woman, cannot be a gentleman;

therefore, ought not to be met on equal terms. For other causes of

duello, as hot-headed speeches, rudenesses, or slights, forgive, forbear

to fan the flame, and never be above apologizing: but in an outrage such

as this, let a fine-built fellow, such as you are, George (and the women

should show wisdom in their choice of champions), let a man, and a

queen's officer as you are, treat this brute, Julian Tracy, as a

martinet huntsman would a hound thrown out. As for me, boy, I'm going to

call on Mrs. Tracy at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning--and, without

presuming to advise a six foot two of a son, I think--I think, if I were

you, I would be dutiful enough to say--'Father, I will accompany

you--and take a horsewhip with me.'"

"Agreed, agreed, sir!" replied the well-pleased son, and her ladyship

too vouchsafed her approbation.

Emily had gone to bed long ago, or rather to her chamber; where the

three Misses Tamworth had been all kindness, curiosity, and consolation.

So, Sir Abraham and his lady, now the speech was finished, followed

their example of retirement: and the captain newly blood-knotted his

hunting-whip, _con amore_, not to say _con spirito_, overnight.

Nobody will wonder to hear, that when the gallant representatives of

army and navy called next morning at number seven, Mrs. Tracy and her

son were "not at home:" and of course it would be far too Julian-like a

proceeding, for true gentleman to think of forcing their company on the

probably ensconced in-dwellers. Accordingly, they marched away, without

having deigned to leave a card; the captain taking on himself the duty

of perambulating sentinel, while his father proceeded to the library as

usual. Judge of the glad surprise, when, within ten minutes, our

vindictive George perceived the admiral coming back again, full-sail,

with the mother and son in tow, creeping amicably enough up the terrace.

Sir Abraham had given her his arm, and precious Mr. Julian was a little

in the rear: for the old folks were talking confidentially.

George St. Vincent, placing his whip in the well-known position of

"Cane, a mystery," advanced to meet them; and, just after passing his

father, with whom he exchanged a very comfortable glance, discovered

that the heroic Julian, who had caught a glimpse of the ill-concealed

weapon, was slinking quickly round a corner to avoid him. It was

certainly undignified to run, but the gallant captain did run,

nevertheless and soon caught the coward by the collar.

Then, at arm's length, was the hunting-whip applied, full-swing; up the

terrace, and down the parade, and through High-street, and Smith-street,

and Oxton-road, and aristocratical Pacton-square, and the well-thronged

plebeian market-place; lash, lash, lash, in furious and fast succession

on the writhing roaring culprit; to the universal excoriation of Mr.

Julian Tracy, and the amazement of an admiring and soon-collected

crowd--the rank, beauty, and fashion--of Burleigh Singleton. Julian was

strong indeed, and a coal-heaver in build, but conscience had unnerved

him; and the coarse noisy bully always is a coward: therefore, it was a

pleasant thing to see how easy came the captain's work to him--he had

nothing to do but to lash, lash, lash, double-thonged, like a

slave-driver: and, except that he made the caitiff move along, to be a

spectacle to man and woman, up and down the town, he might as well, for

any difficulty in the deed, have been employed in scarifying a

gate-post.

At last, thoroughly exhausted with having inflicted as much punishment

as any three drummers at a soldier's whipping-match, and spying out his

"tiger" in the throng, our gallant Avenging Childe tossed the heavy whip

to the trim cockaded little man, that he might carry home that

instrument of vengeance, deliberately wiped his wet mustachios, and

giving Julian one last kick, let the fellow part in peace.

CHAPTER XVI.

HOW CHARLES FARED.

Having thus found protectors for poor Emily, and disposed of her

assailant to the entire satisfaction of all mankind, let us turn

seawards, and take a look at Charles.

Now, "no earthly power,"--as a certain ex-chancellor protested--shall

induce me to do so mean a thing as to open Charles's letters, and spread

them forth before the public gaze. Doubtless, they were all things

tender, warm, and eloquent; doubtless, they were tinted rosy hue, with

love's own blushes, and made glorious with the golden light of

unaffected piety. I only read them myself in a reflected way, by looking

into Emily's eyes; and I saw, from their ever-changing radiance, how

feelingly he told of his affections; how fervently he poured out all his

heart upon the page; how evidently tears and kisses had made many words

illegible; how wise, sanguine, happy, and religious, was her own devoted

Charles.

Of the trivial incidents of voyaging, his letters said not much: though

cheerful and agreeable in his floating prison, with the various exported

marrying-maidens and transported civil officers, who constitute the

average bulk of Indian cargoes outward bound, Charles mixed but little

in their society, seldom danced, seldom smoked, seldom took a hand at

whist, or engaged in the conflicts of backgammon. Sharks, storms,

water-spouts; the meeting divers vessels, and exchanging post-bags;

tar-barrelled Neptune of the line, Cape Town with its mountain and the

Table-cloth, long-rolling seas; and similar common-places, Charles did

not think proper to enlarge upon: no more do I. Life is far too short

for all such petty details: and, more pointedly, a wire-drawn book is

the just abhorrence of a generous public.

The letters came frequently: for Charles did little else all day but

write to Emmy, so as always to be ready with a budget for the next piece

of luck--a home-bound ship. He had many things to teach her yet, sweet

student; and it was a beautiful sight to see how her mind expanded as an

opening flower before the sun of tenderness and wisdom. Each letter,

both in writing and in reading, was the child of many prayers: and even

the loveliness of Emily grew more soft, more elevated, "as it had been

the face of an angel," when feeding in solitary joy on those effusions

of her lover's heart.

Of course, he could not hear from her, until the overland mail might

haply bring him letters at Madras: so that, as our Irish friends would

say, with all her will to tell him of her love, "the reciprocity must

needs be all on one side." But Emily did write too; earnestly, happily:

and poured her very heart out in those eloquent burning words. I dare

say Charles will get the letter now within a day or two: for the roaring

surf of Madras is on the horizon, almost within sight.

Nevertheless, before he gets there, and can read those

letters--precious, precious manuscripts--it will be my painful duty, as

a chronicler of (what might well be) truth, to put the reader in

possession of one little hint, which seemed likeliest to wreck the

happiness of these two children of affection.

I am Emily's invisible friend: and as the dear girl ran to me one

morning, with tears in her eyes, to ask me what I thought of a certain

mysterious paragraph, I need not scruple to lay it straight before the

reader.

At the end of a voluminous love-letter, which I really did not think of

prying into, occurred the following postscript, evidently written at the

last moment of haste.

"Oh! my precious Emmy, I have just heard the most fearful rumour of ill

that could possibly befall us: the captain of our ship--you will

remember Captain Forbes, he knew you and the general well, he said--has

just assured me that--that--! I dare not, cannot write the awful words.

Oh! my own Emmy--Heaven grant you be my own!--pray, pray, as I will

night and day, that rumour be not true: for if it be, my love, both God

and man forbid us ever to meet again! How I wish I could explain it all,

or that I had never heard so much, or never written it here, and told it

you, though thus obscurely: for I can't destroy this letter now, the

ships are just parting company, and there is no time to write another.

Yet will I hope, love, against hope. Who knows? through God's good

mercy, it may all be cleared up still. If not--if not--strive to forget

for ever, your unhappy "CHARLES.

"Perhaps--O, glorious thought!--Nurse Mackie may know better than the

captain, after all; and yet, he seems so positive: if he is right, there

is nothing for us both but Wo! Wo! Wo!"

Now, to say plain truth, when Emily showed me this, I looked very blank

upon it. That Charles had heard some meddlesome report, which (if true)

was to be an insuperable barrier to their future union, struck me at a

glimpse. But I had not the heart to hint it to her; and only encouraged

hope--hope, in God's help, through the means of Mrs. Mackie and her

papers.

As for the poor girl herself, she asked me, in much humility, and with

many sobs, if I did not fear that her Hindoo mystery was this:--she was

the vilest of the vile, a Pariah, an outcast, whose very presence is

contamination!

Beautiful, loving, heavenly-hearted creature! so humble in the midst of

her majestic loveliness! how touching was the thought, that she thus

readily acquiesced in any the deepest humiliation holy Providence had

seen fit to send her; and though the sentence would have crushed her

happiness for ever, till the day of death, that she could still look up

and say, "Be it to thine handmaid even as thou wilt."

As I had no better method of explaining the matter, and as her infantine

reminiscences and prejudices about caste were strong, I even let her

think so, if she would: it was a far better alternative than my own sad

thoughts about the business: and, however painful was the process, it

was something consolatory to observe, that this voluntary humiliation

mellowed and chastened her own character, subduing tropical fires, and

tempering the virgin gold by meekness.

Oh! Charles, Charles, my poor fellow, "who have cast your all upon a

die, and must abide the issue of the throw," I most fervently hope that

gossiping Captain Forbes spoke falsely: it is a comfort to reflect that

the world is often very liberal in attributing the honours of paternity

to some who really do not deserve them. And if a rich old bachelor looks

kindly on a foundling, is it not pure malice on that sole account of

charity to hail him father? Besides--there's Nurse Mackie.--Speed to

Madras, poor youth, and keep your courage up.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE GENERAL'S RETURN.

In a most unwonted flow of animal spirits, and an entire affability

which restored him at once to the rank of a communicative creature,

General Tracy came back on Friday night. He had met with marvellous

prosperity; for Hancock's had been paying off the prize-money; and his

own lion's share, as general, in the easy process of dethroning half a

dozen diamond-hilted rajahs and nabobs, amounted to something like four

lacs of rupees, nearly half a crore! Such a flush of wealth, and he was

rich already without it, exhilarated the bilious old gentleman so

strangely, that positive peonies were blooming in his cheeks; and, as if

this was not miracle enough, he had brought his wife as a present

Maurice's '_Antiquities of India_,' gloriously bound, and had even been

so superfluous as to purchase a new pair of double-barrelled pistols for

Julian: the lad was a fine young fellow after all, and ought to be

encouraged in snuffing out a candle; as for Emily's _petit cadeau_, it

was a fifty guinea set of cameos, the choicest in their way that Howell

and James's had to show him. Moreover, he had sent a Bow-street officer

to Oxford, to make inquiries after Charles: actually, good fortune had

made him at once humanized and happy.

So the chaise rattled up, and the general bounded out, and flew into the

arms of his wondering wife, as Paris might have flown to Helen, or

Leander to his heroine--the only feminine Hero, whom grammar recognises.

It was past eleven at night: therefore he did not think to ask for

Julian; no doubt the boy was gone to bed.

Indeed, he had; and was tossing his wealed body, full of pains, and

aches, and bruises, as softly as he could upon the feather-bed: he had

need of poultices all over, and a quart of Friar's Balsam would have

done him little good: after his well-merited thrashing, the flogged

hound had slunk to his kennel, and locked himself sullenly in, without

even speaking to his mother. Tobacco-fumes exuded from the key-hole, and

I doubt not other creature-comforts lent the muddled man their aid.

However, after the first rush of news to Mrs. Tracy, her lord, who had

every moment been expecting the door to fly open, and Emily to fall into

his arms--for strangely did they love each other--suddenly asked,

"But, where's Emmy all this time! she knows I'm here?--not got to bed,

is she?--knew I was coming?--"

"Oh! general, I'll tell you all about it to-morrow morning."

"About what, madam? Great God! has any harm befallen the child?

Speak--speak, woman!"

"Dear--dear--Oh! what shall I say?" sobbed the silly mother.

"Emily--Emily, poor dear Julian--"

"What the devil, ma'am, of Julian?" The general turned white as a sheet,

and rang the bell, in singular calmness; probably for a dram of brandy.

Saunders answered it so instantly, that I rather suspect he was waiting

just outside.

The moment Mrs. Tracy saw the gray-headed butler, anticipating all that

he might say, she brushed past him, and hurriedly ran up-stairs.

"What's all this, Mr. Saunders? where's Miss Warren?" And the poor old

guardian seemed ready to faint at his reply: but he heard it out

patiently.

"I am very sorry to say, general, that Miss Emily has been forced to

take refuge at Sir Abraham Tamworth's: but she's well, sir, and safe,

sir; quite well and safe," the good man hastened to say, "only I'm

afraid that Mr. Julian had been taking liberties with--"

I dare not write the general's imprecation: then, as he clenched the

arms of his easy-chair, as with the grasp of the dying, he asked, in a

quick wild way--

"But what was it?--what happened?"

"Nothing to fear, sir--nothing at all, general;--I am thankful to say,

that all I saw, and all we all saw, was Miss Emily pulling at the

bell-rope with blood upon her face, and Mr. Julian on the floor: but I

took the young lady to Sir Abraham's immediately, general, at her own

desire."

The father arose sternly; his first feeling was to kill Julian; but the

second, a far better one, predominated--he must go and see Emily at

once.

So, faintly leaning on the butler's arm, the poor old man (whom a moiety

of ten minutes, with its crowding fears, had made to look some ten years

older,) proceeded to the square, and knocked up Sir Abraham at midnight,

and the admiral came down, half asleep, in dressing-gown and slippers,

vexed at having been knocked up from his warm berth so uncomfortably: it

put him sorely in remembrance of his hardships as a middy.

"Kind neighbour, thank you, thank you; where's Emmy? take me to my

Emmy;" and the iron-hearted veteran wept like a driveller.

Sir Abraham looked at him queerly: and then, in a cheerful, friendly

way, replied--

"Dear general, do not be so moved: the girl's quite safe with us; you'll

see her to-morrow morning. All's right; she was only frightened, and

George has given the fellow a proper good licking: and the girl's a-bed,

you know; and, eh? what?"--

For the poor old man, like one bereaved, said, supplicatingly--

"In mercy take me to her--precious child!"

"My dear sir--pray consider--it's impossible; fine girl, you know;--Lady

Tamworth, too--can't be, can't be, you know, general."

And the mystified Sir Abraham looked to Saunders for an explanation--

"Was his master drunk?"

"I must speak to her, neighbour; I must, must, and will--dear, dear

child: come up with me, sir, come; do not trifle with a breaking heart,

neighbour!"

There was a heart still in that hard-baked old East Indian.

It was impossible to resist such an appeal: so the two elders crept up

stairs, and knocked softly at her chamber-door. Clearly, the girl was

asleep: she had sobbed herself to sleep; the general had been looked for

all day long, and she was worn with watching; he could hardly come at

midnight; so the dear affectionate child had sobbed herself to sleep.

"Allow me, Sir Abraham." And General Tracy whispered something at the

key-hole in a strange tongue.

Not Aladdin's "open Sesame" could have been more magical. In a moment,

roused up suddenly from sleep, and forgetting every thing but those

tender recollections of gentle care in infancy, and kindness all through

life, the child of nature startled out of bed, drew the bolt, and in

beauteous disarray, fell into that old man's arms!

It was enough; he had seen her eye to eye--she lived: and the

white-haired veteran, suffered himself to be led away directly from the

landing, like a child, by his sympathizing neighbour.

"My heart is lighter now, Sir Abraham: but I am a poor weak old man, and

owe you an explanation for this outburst; some day--some day, not now.

O, if you could guess how I have nursed that pretty babe when alone in

distant lands; how I have doated on her little winning ways, and been

gladdened by the music of her prattle; how I have exulted to behold her

loveliness gradually expanding, as she was ever at my side, in peril as

in peace, in camp as in quarters, in sickness as in health,

still--still, the blessed angel of a bad man's life--a wicked, hard old

man, kind neighbour--if you knew more--more, than for her sake I dare

tell you--and if you could conceive the love my Emmy bears for me, you

would not think it strange--think it strange--" He could not say a

syllable more; and the admiral, with Mr. Saunders, too, who joined them

in the study, looked very little able to console that poor old man. For

they all had hearts, and trickling eyes to tell them.

Then having arranged a shake-down for his master in Sir Abraham's

study--for the guardian would not leave his dear one ever

again--Saunders went home, purposing to attend with razors in the

morning.

CHAPTER XVIII.

INTERCALARY.

The Tamworths did not altogether live at Burleigh Singleton--it was far

too petty a place for them; dullness all the year round (however

pleasant for a month or so, as a holiday from toilsome pleasures) would

never have done for Lady Tamworth and her daughters: but they regularly

took Prospect House for six weeks in the summer season, when tired of

Portland Place, and Huntover, their fine estate in Cheshire: and so,

from constant annual immigration, came as much to be regarded

Burleighites, as swifts and swallows to be ranked as British birds. I

only hint at this piece of information, for fear any should think it

unlikely, that grandees of Sir Abraham's condition could exist for ever

in a place where the day-before-yesterday's '_Times_' is first

intelligence.

Moreover, as another interjectional touch, it is only due to my

life-likenesses to record, that Mrs. Green's, although a terrace-house,

and ranked as humble number seven, was, nevertheless, a tolerably

spacious mansion, well suited for the dignity of a butler to repose in:

for Mrs. Green had added an entire dwelling on the inland side, as, like

most maritime inhabitants, she was thoroughly sick of the sea, and never

cared to look at it, though living there still, from mere disinclination

to stir: so, then, it was quite a double house, both spacious and

convenient. As for the inglorious incident of Julian's latch-key, I

should not wonder if many wide street-doors to many marble halls are

conscious of similar convenient fastenings, if gentlemen of Julian's

nocturnal tastes happen to be therein dwelling. Another little matter is

worth one word. The house had been Mrs. Green's, a freehold, and was,

therefore, now her heir's; but the general, as an executor, remained

there still, until his business was finished; in fact, he took his

year's liberty.

He had returned from India rolling in gold; for some great princess or

other--I think they called her a Begum or a Glumdrum, or other such like

Gulliverian appellative--had been singularly fond of him, and had loaded

him in early life with favours--not only kisses, and so forth, but

jewellery and gold pagodas. And lately, as we know, Puttymuddyfudgepoor,

with its radiating rajahs and nabobs, had proved a mine of wealth: for a

crore is ten lacs, and a lac of rupees is any thing but a lack of

money--although rupees be money, and the "middle is distributed;" in

spite of logic, then, a lack means about twelve thousand pounds: and

four of them, according to Cocker, some fifty thousand. It would appear

then, that with the produce of the Begum's diamonds, converted into

money long ago, and some of them as big as linnet's eggs--and not to

take account of Mrs. Green's trifling pinch of the five Exchequer bills,

all handed over at once to Emily--the General's present fortune was

exactly one hundred and twenty-three thousand pounds.

Of course, _he_ wasn't going to bury himself at Burleigh Singleton much

longer; and yet, for all that stout intention of houses and lands, and

carriages and horses, in almost any other county or country, it is as

true as any thing in this book, that he was a resident still, a

lease-holder of Aunt Green's house, long after the _dénouement_ of this

story; in many things an altered man, but still identical in one; the

unchangeable resolve (though never to be executed) of leaving Burleigh

at farthest by next Michaelmas. Most folks who talk much, do little; and

taciturn as the general now is, and has been ever throughout life, it

will surprise nobody who has learned from hard experience how silly and

harmful a thing is secresy (exceptionables excepted), to find that he

grew to be a garrulous old man, gossipping for ever of past, present,

future, and, not least, about his deeds at Puttymuddyfudgepoor.

General Tracy is by this time awake again; if ever indeed he slept on

that uncomfortable shakedown; and, after Mr. Saunders and the

razor-strop, has greeted brightly-beaming Emily with more than usual

tenderness. Her account of the transaction made his very blood boil;

especially as her pretty pouting lips were lacerated cruelly inside:

that rude blow on the mouth had almost driven the teeth through them.

How confidingly she told her artless tale; how gently did her fond

protector kiss that poor pale cheek; and how sternly did he vow full

vengeance on the caitiff! Not even Emily's intercession could avail to

turn his wrath aside. He could hardly help flying off at once to do

something dreadful; but common courtesy to all the Tamworth family

obliged him to defer for an hour all the terrible things he meant to do.

So he began to bolt his breakfast fiercely as a cannibal, and saluted

Lady Tamworth and her daughters with such savage looks, that the captain

considerately suggested:

"Here, general," (handing him a most formidable carving-knife,) "charge

that boar's head, grinning defiance at us on the side-board; it will do

you good to hew his brawny neck. My mother, I am sure, for one, will

thank you to do the honours there instead of me. Isn't it a comfort now,

to know that I broke the handle of my hunting-whip across the fellow's

back, and wore all the whip-cord into skeins. Come, I say, general,

don't eat us all round; and pray have mercy on that poor, flogged,

miserable sinner."

This banter did him good, especially as he saw Emily smiling; so he

relaxed his knit brow, condescended to look less like Giant Blunderbore,

soon became marvellous chatty, and ate up two French rolls, an egg, some

anchovies, a round of toast, and a mighty slice of brawn; these, washed

down with a couple of cups of tea, soothed him into something like

complacency.

CHAPTER XIX.

JULIAN'S DEPARTURE.

Long before the general got home, still in exalted dudgeon (indeed soon

after the general had left home over night), the bird had flown; for the

better part of valour suggested to our evil hero, that it would be

discreet to render himself a scarce commodity for a season; and as soon

as ever his mother had run up to his room-door to tell him of his

danger, when her lord was cross-questioning the butler, he resolved upon

instant flight. Accordingly, though sore and stiff, he hurried up,

dressed again, watched his father out, and tumbling over Mrs. Tracy, who

was sobbing on the stairs, ran for one moment to the general's room;

there he seized a well-remembered cash-box, and instinctively possessed

himself of those new, neat, double-barrelled pistols: a bully never goes

unarmed. These brief arrangements made, off he set, before his father

could have time to return from Pacton Square.

Therefore, when the general called, we need not marvel that he found him

not; no one but the foolish mother (so neglected of her son, yet still

excusing him) stood by to meet his wrath. He would not waste it on her;

so long as Julian was gone, his errand seemed accomplished; for all he

came to do was to expel him from the house. So, as far as regarded Mrs.

Tracy, her husband, wotting well how much she was to blame, merely

commanded her to change her sleeping-room, and occupy Mr. Julian's in

future.

The silly woman was even glad to do it; and comforted herself from time

to time with prying into her own boy's exemplary manuscripts, memoranda

of moralities, and so forth; with weeping, like Lady Constance, over his

empty "unpuffed" clothes; with reading ever and anon his choice

collection of standard works, among which '_Don Juan_' and Mr. Thomas

Paine were by far the most presentable; and with tasting, till it grew

to be a habit, his private store of spirituous liquors. Thus did she

mourn many days for long-lost Julian.

I am quite aware what became of him. The wretched youth, mad for Emily's

love, and tortured by the tyranny of passion, had nothing else to live

for or to die for. He accordingly took refuge in the hovel of a

smuggler, an old friend of his, not many miles away, disguised himself

in fisherman's costume, and bode his opportunity.

Beauteous girl! how often have I watched thee with straining eyes and

aching heart, as thou wentest on thy summer's walk so oftentimes to

Oxton, there to exercise thy bountiful benevolence in comforting the

sick, gladdening the wretched, and lingering, with love's own look, in

Charles's village school; how often have I prayed, that guardian angels

might be about thy path as about thy bed! For the prowling tiger was on

thy track, poor innocent one, and many, many times nothing but one of

God's seeming accidents hath saved thee. Who was that strange man so

often in the way? At one time a wounded Spanish legionist, with head

bound up; at another, an old beggar upon crutches; at another, a floury

miller with a donkey and a sack; at another, a black looking man, in

slouching sailor's hat and fishing-boots?

Fair, pure creature! thou hast often dropped a shilling in that beggar's

hand, and pitied that poor maimed soldier; once, too, a huge gipsy woman

would have had thee step aside, and hear thy fortunes. Heaven guarded

thee then, sweet Emily; for both girl and lover though thou art, thou

would'st not listen to the serpent's voice, however fair might be the

promises. And Heaven guarded thee ever, bidding some one pass along the

path just as the ruffian might have gagged thy smiling mouth, and

hurried thee away amongst his fellows; and more than once, especially,

those school children, bursting out of Charles's school at dusk, have

unconsciously escorted thee in safety from the perils of that tiger on

thy track.

CHAPTER XX.

ENLIGHTENMENT.

The general could not now be kept in ignorance of Charles's expedition;

in fact, he had found his heart, and began resolutely to use it. So, the

very day on which he had lost Julian, he intended very eagerly to seek

out Charles; for the Oxford search had failed, and no wonder. Now,

though Emily had told, as we well know, to both mother and son her

secret, the father was not likely to be any the wiser; for he now never

spoke to his wife, and could not well speak to his son. However, one

day, an hour after an overland letter, a very exhilarating one, dated

Madras, whereof we shall hear anon, fair Emily, in the fullness of her

heart, could not help saying,

"Dearest sir, you are often thinking of poor lost Charles, I know; and

you are very anxious about him too, though nobody but myself, who am

always with you, can perceive it: what if you heard he was safe and

well?"

"Have you heard any tidings of my poor boy, Emmy?"

She looked up archly, and said, "Why not?" her beautiful eyes adding, as

plainly as eyes could speak, "I love him, and you know it; of course I

have heard frequently from dear, dear Charles."

But the guardian met her looks with a keen and chilling answer: "Why

not! why not! Does he dare to write to you, and you to love him? Oh,

that I had told them both a year ago! But where is he now, child? Don't

cry, I will not speak so angrily again, my Emmy."

"I hardly dare to tell you, dearest sir: you have always been as a

father to me, and I never knew any other; but there are things I cannot

explain to myself, and I was very wretched; and so, kind guardian,

Charles--Charles was so good--"

"What has he done?--where has he gone?" hastily asked his father.

"Oh, don't, don't be angry with us; in a word, he is gone to Madras, to

find out Nurse Mackie, and to tell me who I am."

The poor old man, who had treasured up so long some mystery, probably a

very diaphanous one, for Emily's own dear sake in the world's esteem,

and from the long bad habit of reserve, fell back into his chair as if

he had been shot; but he did not faint, nor gasp, nor utter a sound; he

only looked at her so long and sorrowfully, that she ran to him, and

covered his pale face with her own brown curls, kissing him, and wiping

from his cheek her starting tears.

"Emmy, dear--I can tell you--and I--no, no, not now, not now; if he

comes back--then--then; poor children! Oh, the sin of secresy!"

"But, dearest sir, do not be so sad; Charles has happy news, he says."

"Happy, child? Good Heaven! would it could be so!"

"Indeed, indeed, a week ago he was as miserable as any could be, and so

was I; for he heard something terrible about me--I don't know what--but

I feared I was a--Pariah! However, now he is all joy, and coming home

again as soon as possible."

The general shook, his head mournfully, as physicians do when hope is

gone; but still he looked perplexed and thoughtful.

"You will show me the letters, dear, I dare say: but I do not command

you, Emmy; do as you like."

"Certainly, my own kindest guardian--all, all, and instantly."

And flying up to her room, she returned with as much closely-written

manuscript as would have taken any but a lover's eye a full week to

decipher. The general, not much given to literary matters, looked quite

scared at such a prospect.

"Wait, Emmy; not all, not all; show me the last."

I dare say Emily will forgive me if I get it set up legibly in print.

May I, dear?

CHAPTER XXI.

CHARLES AT MADRAS.

Luckily enough for all mankind in general, and our lovers in particular,

Charles's last letter was very unlike some that had preceded it; for

instead of the usual "Oh, my love"'s, "sweet, sweet eyes," "darling"'s,

and all manner of such chicken-hearted nonsense, it was positively

sensible, rational, not to say utilitarian: though I must acknowledge

that here and there it degenerates into the affectionate, or

Stromboli-vein of letter-writing, at opening especially; and really now

and then I shall take leave to indicate omitted inflammations by a *.

"DEAREST, DEAREST EMMY,

* * * * *

[and so forth, a very galaxy of stars to the bottom of this page; enough

to put the compositor out of his terrestrial senses.]

"You see I have recovered my spirits, dearest, and am not now afraid to

tell you how I love you. Oh, that detestable Captain Forbes! let him not

cross my path, gossiping blockhead! on pain of carrying about 'til

deth,' in the middle of his face, a nose two inches longer. I heartily

wish I had never listened for an instant to such vile insinuations; and

when I look at this red right hand of mine, that dared to pen the trash

in that black postscript, I look at it as Cranmer did, and (but that it

is yours, Emmy, not mine), could wish it burnt. But no fears now, my

girl, huzza, huzza! I believe every one about me thinks me daft; and so

I am for very joyfulness; notwithstanding, let me be didactic, or you

will say so too. I really will endeavour to rein in, and go along in the

regular hackney trot, that you may partly comprehend me. Well, then,

here goes; try your paces, Dobbin.

"On the morning of Sunday, April 11th, 1842, the good ship

Elphinston--(that's the way to begin, I suppose, as per ledger,

log-book, and midshipman's epistles to mamma)--in fact, dear, we cast

anchor just outside a furious wall of surf, which makes Madras a very

formidable place for landing; and every one who dares to do so certain

of a watering. There lay the city, most invitingly to storm-tost tars,

with its white palaces, green groves, and yellow belt of sand, blue

hills in the distance, and all else _coleur de rose_. But--but, Emmy,

there was no getting at this paradise, except by struggling through a

couple of miles of raging foam, that would have made mince-meat of the

Spanish Armada, and have smashed Sir William Elphinston to pieces. How,

then, did we manage to survive it? for, thank God always, here I am to

tell the tale. Listen, Emmy dear, and I will try not to be tedious.

"We were bundled out of the rolling ship into some huge flat-bottomed

boats, like coal-barges, and even so, were grated and ground several

times by the churning waves on the ragged reefs beneath us: and, just as

I was enjoying the see-saw, and trying to comfort two poor drenched

women-kind who were terribly afraid of sharks, a huge, cream-coloured

breaker came bustling alongside of us, and roaring out 'Charles Tracy,'

gobbled me up bodily. Well, dearest, it wasn't the first time I had

floundered in the waters [noble Charles! noble Charles! he had long

forgiven Julian]; so I was battling on as well as I could, with a stout

heart and a steady arm, when--don't be afraid--a _Catamaran_ caught me!

If you haven't fainted (bless those pretty eyes of your's, my Emmy!)

read on; and you will find that this alarming sort of animal is neither

an albatross nor an alligator, but simply--a life-boat with a Triton in

the stern. Yes, God's messenger of life to me and happiness to you, my

girl, came in the shape of a kindly, chattering, blue-skinned, human

creature, who dragged me out of the surf, landed me safely, and, I need

not say, got paid with more than hearty thanks. So, I scuffled to the

custom-house to look after my traps and fellow-passengers, like a

dripping merman.

"'Who is that miserable old woman, bothering every body?' asked I of a

very civil searcher, profuse in his salaams.

"'Oh, Sahib, you will know for yourself, presently: she's always hanging

about here, to get news of somebody in England, I believe--and to try to

find a charitable captain who will take her all the way for nothing:

rather too much of a good thing, you know, Sahib.'

[We really cannot undertake to scribble broken English: so we will

translate any thing that may mysteriously have been chatted by

havildars, and coolies; and all manner of strange names.]

"'Poor old soul--she looks very wretched: what's her name?' asked I,

carelessly.

"'Oh, I never troubled to inquire, Sahib: I believe she was an old

servant left behind as lumber, and she pesters every one, day by day,

about some 'bonnie bonnie bairn.'"

"In a moment, Emmy, I had seized on dear nurse Mackie!

"Very old, very deaf, very infirm--she fancied I was driving her away,

as many others might have done; and, with a truly piteous face,

pleaded--

"'Gude sir, have mercy on a puir auld soul--and let her ask for her

sweet young mistress, only once, sir--only once more.'

"'Emily Warren?' said I.

Her wrinkled face brightened over as with glory--and she answered--

"'Bless the mouth that spake it, and these ears that hear her name!

yes--yes--yes--they call her so; where is she? how is she? have you seen

her? is she yet alive?'

"Leading away the affectionate old soul from the crowd that was

collecting round us, I left orders about luggage as a traveller should,

and then told her all I knew: and I know you pretty well, I think, my

Emmy.

"Her joy was like a mad woman's: the dear old Hecate pranced, and

danced, and sung, and shouted like nothing but a mother when she finds

her long-lost child: not that she's your mother, Emmy dear.

No--no--matters are better than that: all she vouchsafes, though, to

tell me is, that you are a lady born and bred, and--for I cannot find

the words to inform your pure mind clearer--that 'you are not what he

thinks you.'"

[Here followeth another twinkling universe of stars;

* * * * * * *

and thereafter our cavalier condescendeth again to matters of fact.]

"Nurse Mackie of course comes back with me next packet; this letter goes

by the overland mail more quickly than we can; gladly would I go too,

but the old woman, whose life is essential to your rights, would die of

fatigue by the way; as it is, I am obliged to coddle her, and feed her,

and ptisan her, like a sick baby, bless her dear old heart that loves my

darling Emmy! She has a pack of papers with her, which she will not

open, till the general is by her side: if she unfortunately dies before

we can return, I am to have them, and all will be right. But the old

soul is so afraid of being left behind (as you throw away the

orange-peel after you have squeezed it), that she will not tell me a

word about them yet; so, I only gather what I can from her cautious

garrulity, hints about a Begum and a captain, and the Stuarts, and a

Putty-what-d'ye-call-it. And it is all in document, as well as

_viva-voce_ (this means 'gossip,' dear). So now you may be expecting us,

as soon as ever we can get to you. Tell the general all this, and give

him my best love, next after your's Emmy; for he is my father still, and

my very heart yearns after him: O, that he were kinder with me as I see

he is with you, dear, and more open with us all! Also, kiss, if she will

let you, my mother for me, and I hope you will have hinted to her long

ago, that I am only playing truant. How is poor--poor Julian? he will

understand me, if you tell him I forgive him, and will never say one

word about our little tiff. And now dearest Emmy--"

[The remainder of this letter must, believe me, be as starry as before.]

* * * * *

CHAPTER XXII.

REVELATIONS.

General Tracy gave a long-drawn sigh: and tears--tears of true

affection--stood in those most fish-like eyes, as he mournfully said,

"Bless him, bless dear Charles, almost as much as you, my own sweet

Emmy. Heaven send it be true--for Heaven can work miracles. But without

a miracle, Emily, in sober sadness I declare it, you must forget--_your

brother Charles, my daughter_!"

Emily fell flat upon her face, so cold, so white, that he believed her

dead.

Oh! that he had never--never said that word: or better still, poor

father, that you had never kept the dreadful secret from them. The

adultery, indeed, was sin; but years of ill-concealings have multiplied

its punishment. Wretched father--wretched children! that must bear an

erring father's curse.

Oh! that Jeanie Mackie may have reasons, proofs; and be not an impostor

after all, dressing up a tale that over-sanguine Charles may bring her

back again to Scotland. Well--well! I am full of sadness and

perplexities: but we shall hear it out anon. Heaven help them!

Emily was taken very ill, and had a long fit of sickness. Day and

night--night and day, did her poor wasting anxious father watch by her

bed-side, gentle as the gentlest nurse--tender as the tenderest of

mothers. And, indeed, the Lord of Life and Wisdom was gracious to them

both; raising up the poor weak child again; and teaching that old man,

through this daughter of his shame and sin in youth, that religion is a

cure for all things. Ay, "the blessed angel of a bad man's life,"

indeed--indeed was she; and he humbly knelt, as little children kneel,

that hard and dried old man; and his eyes caught the ray of Heaven's

mercy, looking up in joy to read forgiveness; and his heart was bathed

in penitence--the rock flowed out amain; and his mind was quickened into

faith--he lived, he breathed "a new-born babe," that poor and bad old

man, given to the prayers of his own daughter!

All this while, Mrs. Tracy, thrown upon her own resources, has been

continually tasting dear Julian's store, and finding out excuses for his

trivial peccadilloes. And when, from the recesses of his desk, she had

routed out (in company with sundry more, rather contrasting with a

mother's pure advice) a few of her own letters, which had not yet been

destroyed, she would doat by the hour on these proofs of his affection.

And then, her spirits were so low; and his choice smuggled Hollands so

requisite to screw them up to par again; and no sooner had they rallied,

than they would once more begin to droop; so she cried a good deal, and

kept her bed; and very often did not remember exactly, whether she was

lying down there, or figuring on the Esplanade with Julian, and--all

that sort of thing: accordingly, it is not to be wondered at if, in

Aunt Green's double-house, the general and Emily saw very little of her,

and during all this illness, had almost forgotten her existence.

Nevertheless, she was alive still, and as vast as ever--though a course

of strong waters had shattered her nerves considerably; even more so,

than her real mother's grief at Julian's protracted absence.

Never had he been heard of since he left, hard heart; though he might

have guessed a mother's sorrow, and was not far away, and often lingered

near the house in strange disguises. It would have been easy for him, in

some clever way or other, latch-key and all, to have gained access to

her, and comforted her, and given her some real proof, that all the love

she had shed on him had not been utterly thrown away; but he didn't--he

didn't; and I know not of a darker trait in Julian's whole career; he

was insensible to love--a mother's love.

For love is the weapon which Omnipotence reserved to conquer rebel man;

when all the rest had failed. Reason he parries; Fear he answers blow to

blow; future interest he meets with present pleasure; but Love, that sun

against whose melting beams the Winter cannot stand, that soft-subduing

slumber which wrestles down the giant, there is not one human creature

in a million--not a thousand men in all earth's huge quintillion, whose

clay-heart is hardened against love.

Yet was Julian one of those select ones; an awful instance of that

possible, that actual, though happily that scarcest of all characters, a

man,

"Black, with _no_ virtue, and a thousand crimes."

The amiable villain--one whose generosity redeems his guilt, whose

kindliness outweighs his folly, or whose beauty charms the eye to

overlook his baseness--this too common hero is an object, an example

fraught with perilous interest. Charles Duval, the polite; Paul

Clifford, the handsome; Richard Turpin, brave and true; Jack Sheppard,

no ignoble mind and loving still his mother; these, and such as these,

with Schiller's '_Robbers_' and the like, are dangerous to gaze on, as

Germany, if not England too, remembers well. But, not more true to life,

though far less common to be met with, is Julian's incorrigible mind:

one, in whose life are no white days; one, on whose heart are no bright

spots; when Heaven's pity spoke to him, he ridiculed; as, when His

threatenings thundered, he defied. Of this world only, and tending to a

worse appetite was all he lived for: and the core of appetite is iron

selfishness.

The filched cash-box proved to be too well-filled for him to trouble

himself with thinking of his mother yet awhile: and his smuggling

acquaintances, a rough-featured, blasphemous crew, set him as their

chief, so long as he swore loudest, drank deepest, and had money at

command. He hid the money, that they should not secretly steal from him

that to which he owed his bad supremacy; and his double-barrels, shotted

to the muzzle, were far too formidable for any hope of getting at it by

open brute force. Nevertheless, they were "fine high-spirited" fellows

those, bold, dark men, of Julian's own kidney; who toasted in their cups

each other's crimes, and the ghost or two that ought to have been

haunting them.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CONVALESCENCE.

Very slowly did Emily recover, for the blow had been more than she could

bear: nothing but religion gave her any chance at all: and the phials,

blisterings, bleedings, would have been in vain, in vain--she must have

died long ago--had it not been for the remembrance of God's love,

resignation to His will, and trust in the wisdom of his Providence. But

these specific remedies gradually brought her round, while the kind-eyed

doctors praised their own prescriptions: and after many rallyings and

relapses, delirious ramblings, and intervals of hallowed Christian

peace, the eye of Love's meek martyr brightened up once more, and health

flushed again upon her cheek.

She recovered, God be praised! for her death would have been poor

Charles's too; and the same grave that yawned for her and him would have

closed upon their father also. Even as it was, when she arose from off

the weary bed of sickness, it was to be a nurse herself, and watch

beside that patient, weak old man. He could not bear her out of his

sight all the fever through; but eagerly would listen to her hymns and

prayers, joining in them faintly like a dying saint. With the saddening

secret, which had so long pressed upon his mind, he seemed to have

thrown off his old nature, as a cast skin: and now he was all frankness

for reserve, all piety for profaneness, all peacefulness for blusterings

and wrath.

He remembered then poor Julian and his mother: taking blame to himself,

justly, deeply, for neglected duties, chilling lack of sympathy, and

that dull domestic sin, that still continued evil of unnatural

omissions--stern reserve. And he would gladly have seen Julian by his

bedside, to have freely forgiven the lad, and welcomed him home again,

and begun once more, in openness and charity, all things fair and new:

but Julian was not to be found, though rewards were offered, and

placards posted up, and emissaries from the Detective Police-force

sought him far and wide. Alas! the bold bad man had heard with scorn of

his father's penitence, and knew that he would gladly have received

him;--but what cared he for kindnesses or pardons? He only lived to

waylay Emily.

As for Mrs. Tracy, she was seldom in a state to appear; but one day she

managed to refrain a little, and came to see her husband, almost sober.

I was, authorially speaking, behind the door, and saw and heard as

follows:

The old man, worn and emaciate, was weakly sitting up in bed, and Emma

by his side, with the Bible in her lap: she casually shut it as the

mother entered.

"Well, Miss Warren, there's a time for all things; but this is neither

morning, noon, nor night: nor Sunday either, nor holiday, that I know

of; it's eleven o'clock on Tuesday, Miss--and I think you might as well

leave the general at peace, without troubling him for ever with your

prayer-books and your Bibles."

"Jane, my dear, I requested it of Emily; come and sit by me, and take my

hand, wife."

"Thank you, sir, you are very obliging: not while that young woman is in

the room.--You ought to be ashamed of yourself, General Tracy."

Poor Emmy ran away to weep. It seems that, in her delirium, she had

spoken many things, and the servants blabbed them out to Mrs. Tracy.

"Ah, my poor wife, indeed I am: both ashamed and sorry--heartily sorry.

But God forgives me, Jenny, and I hope that you will too."

"Upon, my word, general, you carry it off with a high hand: and, not

content, sir, with insulting me in my own home by bringing here your

other women's children, you have expelled poor dear, dear Julian."

"Jane, if you will remember, he ran away himself; and you know that now

I gladly would receive him: we are all prodigal sons together, and if

God can bear with us, Jane, we ought to look kindly on each other."

"Ha! that's always the way with old sinners like you--canting

hypocrites! Be a man, General Tracy, if you can, and talk sense. I never

did any harm or sin in all my life yet, and don't intend to: and my

poor boy Julian's well enough, if they'd only let him alone; but nobody

understands his heart but me. Good boy, I'm sure there's virtue enough

left in him, if he loves his mother."--_If_ he loves his mother.

"Jane, dear, I sent for you to kiss you; for I could not die in peace,

nor live in peace (whichever God may please), without your pardon, Jane,

for a thousand unkindnesses--but, especially for the sin that gave me

Emily. Forgive me this, my wife."

"Never, sir!" rejoined that miserable mind; and fancied that she was

acting virtuously. She thrust aside the kindly proffered hand; scowled

at him with darkened brow; drew up her commanding height; and, calling

Mrs. Siddons to remembrance, brushed away in the indignant attitude of a

tragedy queen.

Emmy ran again to her father, and the vain bad mother to her bottle; we

must leave them to their various avocations.

CHAPTER XXIV.

CHARLES DELAYED.

Few things could well be more unlikely than that Emily should hear of

Charles again before she saw him: for, having left Madras as speedily as

might be, now that his mission was so easily, yet so naturally,

accomplished--having posted, as we know, his overland letter--and having

got on board the fast-sailing ship Samarang, Captain Trueman, Charles,

in the probable course of things, if he wrote at all, must have been his

own postman. But the Fates--(our Christianity can afford to wink now and

then at Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos; for, at any rate, they are as

reasonable creatures as Chance, Luck, and Accident,)--the Fates willed

it otherwise: and, accordingly, it is in my power to lay before the

reader another genuine lucubration of Charles Tracy.

A change had come over the spirit of their dream, those youthful lovers:

and agonizing doubt must rack their hearts, threatening to rend them

both asunder. It is evident to me that Charles's letter (which Emily

showed to me with a melancholy face) was on principle less warm, less

dottable with stars, and more conversant with things of this world;

high, firm, honourable principle; intending very gently, very gradually,

to wean her from him, if he could; for his faith in Jeanie Mackie had

been shaken, and--but let us hear him tell us of it all himself.

"I.E.M. Samarang. St. Helena.

"You will wonder, my dear Emily, to hear again before you see me: but I

am glad of this providential opportunity, as it may serve to prepare us

both. Naturally enough you will ask, why Charles cannot accompany this

letter? I will tell you, dear, in one word--Mrs. Mackie is now lying

very ill on shore; and, as far as our poor ship is concerned, you shall

hear about it all anon. Several of the passengers, who were in a hurry

to get home, have left us, and gone in the packet-boat that takes you

this letter: gladly, as you know, would I have accompanied them, for I

long to see you, poor dear girl; but it was impossible to leave the old

woman, upon whom alone, under God, our hopes of earthly happiness

depend: if, alas! we still can dream about such hopes.

"Oh, Emily--I heartily wish that, having finished my embassage by that

instantaneous finding of the old Scotch nurse, I had never been so

superfluous as to have left those letters of introduction, wherewith you

kindly supplied me, in an innocent wish to help our cause. But I felt

solitary too, waiting at Madras for the next ship to England; and in my

folly, forgetful of the single aim with which I had come, Jeanie Mackie,

to wit, I thought I might as well use my present opportunities, and see

what I could of the place and its inhabitants.

"With that view, I left my letters at Government House, at Mr.

Clarkson's, Colonel Bunting's, Mrs. Castleton's, and elsewhere,

according to direction; and immediately found answer in a crowd of

invitations. I need not vex you nor myself, Emmy, writing as I do with a

heavy, heavy heart, by describing gayeties in which I felt no pleasure,

even when amongst them, for my Emmy was not there: splendour,

prodigality, and red-hot rooms, only made endurable by perpetually

fanning punkahs: pompous counsellors, authorities, and other men in

office, and a glut of military uniforms: vulgar wealth, transparent

match-making, and predominating dullness: along with some few of the

charities and kindnesses of life (Mrs. Bunting, in particular, is an

amiable, motherly, good-hearted woman), all these you will readily fancy

for yourself.

"My trouble is deeper than any thing so slight as the common satiations

of _ennui_: for I have heard in these circles in which your--my--the

general, I mean, chiefly mixed, so much of that ill-rumour that it

cannot all be false: they knew it all, and were certain of it all, too

well, Emily, dear. And I have been pestering Nurse Mackie night and day;

but the old woman is so afraid of being left behind any where, or thrown

overboard, or dropped, upon some desert rock, that she is quite cross,

and won't say a single word in answer, even when I tell her all these

terrible tales. Her resolution is, not to reveal one syllable more,

until she sets foot on England; and several people at Madras annoyed me

exceedingly by saying, that this kind of thing is an old trick with

people who wish to be sent home again. She has hidden away her papers

somewhere; not that I was going to steal them: but it shows how little

trust she puts in any thing, or any one, except the keeping of her own

secret. However, she does adhere obstinately, and hopefully for us, to

her original hint, 'you are not what he thinks you;' although she will

not condescend to any single proof, or explanation, against the mighty

mass of evidence, which probabilities, and common rumour, and the

general's own belief, have heaped together. When I call you Emmy,

too--the old soul, in her broad Scotch way, always corrects me, and

invokes a blessing upon 'A-amy:' so there is a mystery somewhere: at

least, I fervently hope there is: and, if the old woman has been playing

us false, let us resign ourselves to God, my girl; for our fate will be

that matters are as people say they are--and then my old black

postscript ends too truly with a wo, wo, wo--!

"But I must shake off all this lethargy of gloom, dearest, dearest

girl--how can I dare to call you so? Let me, therefore, rush for comfort

into other thoughts; and tell you at once of the fearful dangers we have

now mercifully escaped; for the Samarang lies like a log in this

friendly port, dismasted, and next to a wreck.

"I proceed to show you about it; perhaps I shall be tedious--but I do it

as a little rest, my own soul's love, from anxious, earnest,

heart-distracting prayers continually, continually, that the sorrow

which I spoke of be not true. Sometimes, a light breaks in, and I

rejoice in the most sanguine hope: at others, gloom--

"But a truce to all this, I say. Here shall follow didactically the

cause why the good ship Samarang is not by this time in the Docks.

"We were lying somewhere about the tropical belt, Capricorn you know,

(O, those tender lessons in geography, my Emmy!) quite becalmed; the sea

like glass, and the sky like brass, and the air in a most stagnant heat:

our good ship motionless, dead in a dead blue sea it was

'Idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.'

"The sails were hanging loosely in the shrouds: every one set, from

sky-scraper to stud-sail, in hopes to catch a breath of wind. My

fellow-passengers and the crew, almost melted, were lying about, as weak

as parboiled eels: it was high-noon, all things silent and subdued by

that intolerable blaze; for the vertical sun, over our multiplied

awnings and umbrellas, burnt us up, fierce as a furnace.

"I was leaning over the gangway, looking wistfully at the cool, clear,

deep sea, wherefrom the sailors were trying to persuade a shark to come

on board us, when, all at once, in the south-east quarter, I noticed a

little round black cloud, thrown up from the horizon like a

cricket-ball. As any thing is attractive in such sameness as perpetual

sea and sky, my discovery was soon made known, and among the first to

our captain.

"Calling for his Dolland, and bidding his second lieutenant run quick to

the cabin and look at the barometer, he viewed the little cloud in

evident anxiety, and shook his head with a solemn air: more than one

light-hearted woman thinking he was quizzing them.

"Up came Lieutenant Joyce, looking as if he had seen a ghost in the

cabin.

"'The mercury, sir, is falling just as rapidly as it would rise if you

plunged it into boiling water: an inch a minute or so!"

"Our captain saw the danger instantly, and, brave as Trueman is, I never

saw a man look paler.

"To drive all the passengers below, and pen them in with closed hatches

and storm-shutters, (so hot, Emmy, that the black-hole of Calcutta must

have been an ice-house to it: how the foolish people abused our wise

skipper, and more than one pompous old Indian threatened him with an

action for false imprisonment!) this huddling away was the first effort;

and simultaneously with it, the crew were all over the rigging, furling

sails, hurriedly, hurriedly.

"Meanwhile (for I was last on deck), that little cloud seemed whirling

within itself, and many others gathered round it, all dancing about on

the horizon, as if sheaves of mischief tossed about by devils: I don't

wish to be poetical, Emmy, for my heart is very, very sad; but if ever

the powers of the air sow the wind and reap the whirlwind, they were

gathering in their harvest at that door. Underneath the skipping clouds,

which came on quickly, leaping over each other, as when the wain is

loaded by a score of hands, I noticed a sea approaching, such as Pharaoh

must have seen, when the wall of waters fell upon him; and premonitory

winds came whistling by, and two or three sails were flapping in them

still, and I was hurried down stairs after all the rest of us.

"Then, on a sudden, it appeared not winds, nor waves, nor thunder, but

as if the squadroned cavalry of heaven had charged across the seas, and

crushed our battered ship beneath their horse-hoofs! We were flung down

flat on our beam ends; and the two or three unfurled sails, bursting

with the noise of a cannon, were scattered miles away to lee-ward as if

they had been paper. As for the poor fellows in the rigging, the spirit

of the storm had already made them his: twenty of our men were swept

away by that tornado.

"Then there was hewing and cleaving on deck, the clatter of many axes

and hatchets: for we were in imminent danger of being capsized, keel

uppermost, and our only chance was to cut away the masts.

"The muscles of courage were tried then, my Emmy, and the strength which

religion gives a man. I felt sensibly held up by the Everlasting Arms: I

could listen to the still small Voice in the midst of a crash which

might have been the end of all things: though in darkness, God had given

me light; though in uttermost peril, my peace was never calmer in our

little village school.

"And the billows were knocking at the poor ship's side like sledge

hammers; and the lightnings fell around us scorchingly, with forked

bolts, as arrows from the hand of a giant; the thunders overhead, close

overhead, crashing from a concave cloud that hung about us heavily--a

dense, black, suffocating curtain--roared and raved as nothing earthly

can, but thunder in the tropics; the rain was as a cataract, literally

rushing in a mass: the winds appeared not winds, nor whirlwinds, but

legions of emancipated demons shrieking horribly, and flapping their

wide wings; a flock of night-birds flying from the dawn; and all else

was darkness, confusion, rolling and rocking about, the screams of

women, the shouts of men, curses and prayers, agony, despair,

and--peace, deep peace.

"On a sudden, to our great astonishment, all was silent again,

oppressively silent; and, but for the swell upon the seas, all still.

The tornado had rushed by: that troop of Tartar horse, having sacked the

village, are departed, now in full retreat: the blackness and the fury

are beheld on our lee, hastening across the broad Atlantic to Cuba or

Jamaica: and behold, a tranquil temperate sky, a kindly rolling sea, a

favouring breeze, and--not a sail, but some slight jury-rig, to catch

it.

"Many days we drifted like a log upon the wave; provisions running

short, and water--water under tropical suns--scantily dealt out in

tea-cups. Then, poor old Mackie's health gave way; and I dreaded for her

death: one living witness is worth a cart-load of cold documents. So I

nursed and watched her constantly: till the foolish folks on board began

to say I was her son: ah! me, for your sake I wish it had been so.

"And at length, just as some among the sailors were hinting at a mutiny

for spirits, and our last case of Gamble's meat was opened for the sick,

our look-out on the jury-mast gave the welcome note of 'Land!' and soon,

to us on deck, the heights of St. Helena rose above the sea. Towed in by

friendly aid, here we are, then, precious Emily, refitting: and, as it

must be a week yet before we can be ready, I have taken my old woman to

a lodging upon land, and rejoice (what have I to do with joy?) to see

her speedily recovering."

The remainder of Charles's long letter is so stupid, so gloomy, so

loving, and so little to the purpose, that I take an editor's privilege,

and omit it altogether. Of course he was coming home again, as soon as

the Samarang and Jeanie Mackie would permit.

CHAPTER XXV.

TRIALS.

The general recovered; as slowly, indeed, as Emily had, but it is

gratifying to add, as surely. And now that loving couple might be seen,

weakly creeping out together, when the day was finest: tottering white

December leaning on a sickly fragile May. There were no concealments now

between them, no reservings, and heart-stricken Emily heard from her

repentant father's lips the story of her birth: she was, he said, his

own daughter by a native princess, the Begum Dowlia Burruckjutli.

A bitter--bitter truth was that: the destruction of all her hopes,

pleasures, and affections. It had now become to her a sin to love that

dearest one of all things lovely on this earth: duty, paramount and

stern, commanded her, without a shadow of reprieve, to execute on

herself immediately the terrible sentence of banishing her own

betrothed: nay, more, she must forget him, erase his precious image from

her heart, and never, never see that brother more. And Charles must feel

the same, and do the like; oh! sorrow, passing words! and their two

commingled souls must be violently wrenched apart; for such love in them

were crime.

Dear children of affection--it is a dreadful lesson this for both of

you; but most wise, most needful--or the hand that guideth all things,

never would have sent it. Know ye not for comfort, that ye are of those

to whom all things work together for good? Know ye not for counsel, that

the excess of love is an idolatry that must be blighted? It is well,

children, it is well, that ye should thus carry your wounded hearts for

balm to the altar of God; it is well that ye should bow in meekness to

His will, in readiness to His wisdom. Ye are learning the lesson

speedily, as docile children should; and be assured of high reward from

the Teacher who hath set it you. Poor Charles! white and wan, thy cheek

is grown transparent with anxiety, and thy blue eye dim with hope

deferred: poor Emmy, sick and weak, thou weariest Heaven with thy

prayers, and waterest thy couch with thy tears. Yet, a little while;

this discipline is good: storm and wind, frost and rushing rains, are as

needful to the forest-tree as sun and gentle shower; the root is

strengthening, and its fibres spreading out: and loving still each other

with the best of human love, ye justly now have found out how to anchor

all your strongest hopes, and deepest thoughts, on Him who made you for

himself. Who knoweth? wisely acquiescing in His will, humbly trusting to

His mercy, and bringing the holocaust of your inflamed affections as an

offering of duty to your God--who knoweth? Cannot He interpose? will He

not befriend you? For His arm is power, and His heart is love.

Days rolled on in dull monotony, and grew to weeks more slowly than

before; earthly hopes had been levelled with the dust; life had

forgotten to be joyous: there was, indeed, the calm, the peace, the

resignation, the heavenly ante-past, and the soul-entrancing prayer; but

human life to Emily was flat, wearisome, and void; she felt like a nun,

immolated as to this world: even as Charles, too, had resolved to be an

anchorite, a stern, hard, mortified man, who once had feelings and

affections. The rëaction in both those fond young hearts had even

overstept the golden mean: and Mercy interposed to make all right, and

to bless them in each other once again.

Only look at this _billet-doux_ from Charles, just come in, and dated

Plymouth:

"Huzzah--for Emily and England: huzzah for the land of freedom! no

secrets now--dear, dear old Jeanie Mackie has given me proofs positive:

all I have to wish is that she could move: but she is very ill; so, as

we touched here on the voyage up channel, I landed her and myself,

thinking to kiss, within a day, my darling Emmy. But I cannot get her

out of bed this morning, and dare not leave her: though an hour's delay

seems almost insupportable. If I possibly can manage it, I will bring

the dear old faithful creature, wrapped in blankets, by chaise

to-morrow. Tell my father all this: and say to him--he will understand,

perhaps, though you may not, my blessed girl--say to him, that 'he is

mistaken, and all are mistaken--you are not what they think you.' A

thousand kisses. Expect, then, on bright to-morrow to see your happy,

happy

"CHARLES."

"P.S. Hip! hip! hip!--huzzah!"

Dearest Emily had taken up the note with fears and trembling: she laid

it down, as they that reap in joy; and I never in my life saw any thing

so beautiful as her eyes at that glad minute; the smile through the

tear, the light through the gloom, the verdure of high summer springing

through the Alpine snows, the mild and lustrous moon emerging from a

baffled thunder-cloud.

And, although the general mournfully shook his head, distrustfully and

despondingly; though he only uttered, "Poor children--dear

children--would to Heaven that it could be so;"--and he, for one, was

evidently innoculated, as before, with all the old thoughts of gloom,

sadness, and anxiety;--still Emily hoped-for Charles hoped--and Jeanie

Mackie was so certain.

CHAPTER XXVI.

JULIAN.

Next day, a fine summer afternoon, when our feeble convalescents had

gone out together, they found the fresh air so invigorating, and

themselves so much stronger, that they prolonged their walk half-way to

Oxton. The pasture-meadows, rich and rank, were alive with flocks and

herds; the blue sea lazily beat time, as, ticking out the seconds, it

melodiously broke upon the sleeping shore; the darkly-flowing Mullet

swept sounding to the sea between its tortuous banks; and upon that old

high foot-path skirting the stream, now shady with hazels, and now

flowery with meadow-sweet, crept our chastened pair.

Just as they were nearing a short angle in the river, the spot where

Charles had been preserved, they noticed for the first time a

rough-looking fisherman, who, unseen, had tracked their steps some

hundred yards; he had a tarpaulin over his shoulder, very unnecessarily,

as it would seem, on so fine and warm a day; and a slouching

sou'-wester, worn askew, flapped across the strange man's face.

He came on quickly, though cautiously, looking right and left; and Emily

trembled on her guardian's feeble arm. Yes--she is right; the fisherman

approaches--she detects him through it all: and now he scorns disguise;

flinging off his cap and the tarpaulin, stands before them--Julian!

"So, sir--you tremble now, do you, gallant general: give me the girl."

And he levelled at his father one of those double-barrelled pistols,

full-cock.

"Julian, my son, I forgive you, Julian; take my hand, boy."

"What--coward? now you can cringe, and fawn, eh? back with you!--the

girl, I say." For poor Emily, wild with fear, was clinging to that weak

old man.

Julian levelled again; indeed, indeed it was only as a threat;

but his hand shook with passion--the weapon was full-cock,

hair-triggered--shotted heavily as always--hark, hark!--And his father

fell upon the turf, covered with blood!

When a wicked man tampers with unintended crime, even accident falls out

against him. Many a one has richly merited death for many other sins,

than that isolated, haply accidental one which he has hanged for.

Julian, horror-stricken, pale and trembling, flew instinctively to help

his father: but Emily has circled him already with her arms; and listen,

Julian--your dying father speaks to you.

"Boy, I forgive--I forgive: but--Emily, no, no, cannot, cannot

be--Julian--she--she is your _sister_!" and the old man swooned away,

from loss of blood and the excitement of that awful scene.

Not a word in reply said that poor sinner, maddened with his life-long

crimes, the fratricide in will, the parricide in deed, and all for--a

sister. But growing whiter as he stood, a marble man with bristling

hair, he slowly drew the other pistol from his pocket, put the muzzle to

his mouth, and, firing as he fell, leapt into the darkly-flowing Mullet!

The current, all too violent to sink in, and uncommissioned now to

save, hurried its black burden to the sea; and a crimson streak of gore

marked the track of the suicide.

The old man was not dead; but a brace of bullets taking effect upon his

feeble frame--one through the shoulder, and another which had grazed his

head--had been quite enough to make him seem so. Forgetful of all but

that dear sufferer, and totally ignorant of Julian's fate--for she

neither saw nor heard any thing, nor feared even for her own imminent

peril, while her father lay dying on the grass--Emily had torn off her

scarf, and bound up, as well as she could, the ghastly scored head and

broken shoulder. She succeeded in staunching the blood--for no great

vessel had been severed--and so simple an application as grass dipped in

water, proved to be a good specific. Then, to her exceeding joy, those

eyes opened again, and that dear tongue faintly whispered--"Bless you."

Oh, that blessing! for it fell upon her heart: and fervently she knelt

down there, and thanked the Great Preserver.

And now, for friendly help; there is no one near: and it is growing

dusk; and she dared not leave him there alone one minute--for

Julian--dreaded Julian, may return, and kill him. What shall she do? How

to get him home? Alas, alas! he may die where he is lying.

Hark, Emmy, hark! The shouts of happy children bursting out of school!

See, dearest--see: here they come homewards merrily from Oxton.

Thus, rewarded through the instrumentality of her own benevolence, help

was speedily obtained; and Mrs. Sainsbury's invalid-chair, hurried to

the spot by an escort of indignant rustics, soon conveyed the recovering

patient to the comforts of his own home, and the appliances of medical

assistance.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CHARLES'S RETURN; AND MRS. MACKIE'S EXPLANATION.

And now the happy day was come at length; that day formerly so

hoped-for, latterly so feared, but last of all, hailed with the joy that

trembles at its own intensity. The very morning after the sad occurrence

it has just been my lot to chronicle--while the general was having his

wounds dressed, slight ones, happily, but still he was not safe, as

inflammation might ensue--while Mrs. Tracy was indulging in her third

tumbler, mixed to whet her appetite for shrimps--and while Emily was

deciphering, for the forty thousandth time, Charles's sanguine

_billet-doux_--lo! a dusty chaise and smoking posters, and a sun-burnt

young fellow springing out, and just upon the stairs--they were locked

in each other's arms!

Oh, the rapture of that instant! it can but happen once within a life.

Ye that have loved, remember such a meeting; and ye that never loved,

conceive it if you can; for my pen hath little skill to paint so bright

a pleasure. It is to be all heart, all pulse, all sympathy, all

spirit--but the warm soft kiss, that rarified bloom of the Material.

How the sick old nurse got out, cased in many blankets; how she was

bundled up stairs, and deposited safely on a sofa, no poet is alive to

sing: to those who would record the payment of postillions, let me leave

so sweet a theme.

The first fond greeting over, and those tumults of affection sobered

down, Charles rejoiced to find how lovingly the general met him; the

kind and good old man fell upon his neck, as the father in the parable.

Many things were then to be made known: and many questions answered, as

best might be, about a mother and a brother; but well aware of all

things ourselves, let us be satisfied that Charles heard in due time all

they had to tell him; though neither Emily nor the general could explain

what had become of Julian after that terrible encounter. In their

belief, he had fled for very life, thinking he had killed his father.

Poor wretched man, thought Charles--on that same spot, too, where he

would have murdered me! And for his mother--why came she not down

eagerly and happily, as mothers ever do, to greet her long-lost son? Do

not ask, Charles; do not press the question. Think her ill, dying,

dead--any thing but--drunken. He ran to her room-door; but it was

locked--luckily.

Now, Charles--now speedily to business; happy business that, if I may

trust the lover's flushing cheek, and Emily's radiant eyes; but a

mournful one too, and a fearful, if I turn my glance to that poor old

man, wounded in body and stricken in mind--who waits to hear, in more

despondency than hope, what he knows to be the bitter truth--the truth

that must be told, to the misery of those dear children.

Faint and weak though she appeared, Jeanie Mackie's waning life

spirited up for the occasion; her dim eye kindled; her feeble frame was

straight and strong; energy nerved her as she spoke; this hour is the

errand of her being.

Long she spoke, and loudly, in her broad Scotch way; and the general

objected many things, but was answered to them all; and there was close

cross-questioning, slow-caution, keen examination of documents and

letters: catechisms, solecisms, Scottisms; reminiscences rubbed up,

mistakes corrected; and the grand result of all, Emily a Stuart, and the

general not her father! I am only enabled to give a brief account of

that important colloquy.

It appears, that when Captain Tracy's company was quartered to the west

of the Gwalior, sent thither to guard the Begum Dowlia against sundry of

her disaffected subjects, a certain Lieutenant James Stuart was one

among those welcome brave allies. That our gallant Tracy was the

beautiful Begum's favourite soon became notorious to all; and not less

so, that the Begum herself was precisely in the same interesting

situation as Mrs. James Stuart. The two ladies, Pagan and Christian,

were, technically speaking, running a race together. Well, just as times

drew nigh, poor Lieutenant Stuart was unfortunately killed in an

insurrection headed by some fanatics, who disapproved of foreign

friends, and perhaps of their princess's situation. His death proved

fatal also to that kind and faithful wife of his--a dark Italian lady of

high family, whose love for James had led her to follow him even into

Central Hindoostan: she died in giving birth to a babe; and Jeanie

Mackie, the lieutenant's own foster-mother, who waited on his wife

through all their travels, assisted the poor orphan into this bleak

world, and loved it as her own.

Two days after all this, the Begum herself had need of Mrs. Mackie: for

it was prudent to conceal some things, if she could, from certain

Brahmins, who were to her what John Knox had erstwhile been to Mary: and

Jeanie Mackie, burdened with her little Amy Stuart, aided in the birth

of a female Tracy-Begum. So, the nurse tended both babes; and more than

once had marvelled at their general resemblance; Amy's mother looked out

again from those dark eyes; there was not a shade between the children.

Now, Mrs. Mackie perceived, in a very little while, how fond both

Christian and Pagan appeared of their own child; and how little notice

was taken by any body of the poor Scotch gentleman's orphan.

Accordingly, with a view to give her favourite all worldly advantages,

she adroitly changed the children; and, while she was still kind and

motherly to the little Tracy-Begum, she had the satisfaction to see her

pet supposititiously brought up in all the splendours of an Eastern

court.

Years wore away, for Captain Tracy was quite happy, the Begum being a

fine showy woman, and the pretty child his playmate and pastime: so he

never cared to stir from his rich quarters, till the company's orders

forced him: and then Puttymuddyfudgepoor hailed him accumulatively both

major and colonel.

When he found that he must go, he insisted on carrying off the child;

and the Begum was as resolute against it. Then Mrs. Mackie, eager to

expedite little Stuart in her escape, went to the princess, told her how

that, in anticipation of this day, she had changed the children, and got

great rewards for thus restoring to the mother her own offspring.

The remainder of that old Scotch nurse's very prosy tale may be left to

be imagined: for all that was essential has been stated: and the

documents in proof of all were these--

First: The marriage certificates of James Stuart and Ami di Romagna,

duly attested, both in the Protestant and Romanist forms.

Secondly: Divers letters to Lieutenant Stewart from his friends at

Glenmuir; others to Mrs. Stuart, from her father, the old Marquis di

Romagna, at Naples: several trinkets, locks of hair, the wedding-ring,

&c.

Thirdly: A grant written in the Hindoostanee character, from the Begum

Dowlia, promising the pension of thirty rupees a month to Jeanie Mackie,

for having so cleverly preserved to her the child: together with a

regular judicial acknowledgement, both from several of Tracy's own

sepoys, and from the Begum herself, that the girl, whom Captain Tracy

was so fond of, was, to the best of their belief, Amy Stuart.

Fourthly: A miniature of Mrs. James Stuart, exactly portraying the

features of her daughter--this bright, beautiful, dark-eyed face--our

own beloved Emily Warren.

And to all that accumulated evidence, Jeanie Mackie bore her living

testimony; clearly, unhesitatingly, and well assured, in the face of God

and man.

Doubt was at an end; fear was at an end; hope was come, and joy. Happy

were the lovers, happy Jeanie Mackie, but happiest of all appeared the

general himself. For now she might be his daughter indeed, sweet Emmy

Tracy still, dear Charles's loving wife. And he blessed them as they

knelt, and gave them to each other; well-rewarded children of affection,

who had prayed in their distress!

CHAPTER XXVIII.

JULIAN TURNS UP: AND THERE'S AN END OF MRS. TRACY.

There is a muddy sort of sand-bank, acting as a delta to the Mullet,

just where it spreads from deep to shallow, and falls into the sea.

Strange wild fowl abound there, coming from the upper clouds in flocks;

and at high water, very little else but rushes can be seen, to testify

its sub-marine existence.

A knot of fishermen, idling on the beach, have noticed an uncommon

flight of Royston crows gathered at the island, with the object, as it

would appear, of battening on a dead porpoise, or some such body, just

discernible among the rushes. Stop--that black heap may be kegs of

whiskey;--where's the glass?

Every one looked: it warn't barrels--and it warn't a porpoise: what was

it, then? they had universally nothing on earth to do, so they pushed

off in company to see.

I watched the party off, and they poked among the rushes, and heaved out

what seemed to me a seal: so I ran down to the beach to look at the

strange creature they had captured. Something wrapped in a sail; no

doubt for exhibition at per head.

But they brought out that black burden solemnly, laying it on the beach

at Burleigh: a crowd quickly collected round them, that I could not see

the creature: and some ran for a magistrate, and some for a parson. Then

men in office came--made a way through the crowd, and I got near: so

near, that my foolish curiosity lifted up the sail, and I beheld--what

had been Julian.

O, sickening sight: for all which the pistol had spared of that swart

and hairy face, had been preyed upon by birds and fishes!

There was a hurried inquest: the poor general and Emily deposed to what

they knew, and the rustics, who escorted him from Oxton. The verdict

could be only one--self-murder.

So, by night, on that same swampy island, when the tide was low, they

buried him, deeply staked into the soil, lest the waves should disinter

him, without a parting prayer. Such is the end of the wicked.

In a day or two, I noticed that a rude wooden cross had been set over

the spot: and it gratified me much to hear that a rough-looking crew of

smugglers had boldly come and fixed it there, to hallow, if they could,

a comrade's grave.

However, these poor fellows had been cheated hours before: Charles's

brotherly care had secured the poor remains, and the vicar winked a

blind permission: so Charles buried them by night in the church-yard

corner, under the yew, reading many prayers above them.

Two fierce-looking strange men went to that burial with reverent looks,

as it were chief mourners; and when all the rites were done, I heard

them gruffly say to Charles, "God bless you, sir, for this!"

When the mother heard those tidings of her son, she was sobered on the

instant, and ran about the house with all a mother's grief, shrieking

like a mad woman. But all her shrieks and tears could not bring back

poor Julian; deep, deep in the silent grave, she cannot wake him--cannot

kiss him now. Ah well! ah well!

Then did she return to his dear room, desperate for him--and Hollands

once, twice, thrice, she poured out a full tumbler of the burning fluid,

and drank it off like water; and it maddened her brain: her mind was in

a phrensy of delirium, while her body shook as with a palsy.

Let us draw the curtain; for she died that night.

They buried her in Aunt Green's grave: what a meeting theirs will be at

the day of resurrection!

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE OLD SCOTCH NURSE GOES HOME.

Six months at least--this is clearly not a story of the unities--six

months' interval must now elapse before the wedding-day. Charles and

Emmy--for he called her Emmy still, though Jeanie Mackie would persist

in mouthing it to "Aamy,"--wished to have it delayed a year, in respect

for the memory of those who, with all their crime and folly, were not

the less a mother and a brother: but the general would not hear of such

a thing; he was growing very old, he said; although actually he seemed

to have taken out a new lease of life, so young again and buoyant was

the new-found heart within him; and thus growing old, he was full of

fatherly fear that he should not live to see his children's happiness.

It was only reasonable and proper that our pair of cooing doves should

acquiesce in his desire.

Meanwhile, I am truly sorry to say it, Jeanie Mackie died; for it would

have been a good novel-like incident to have suffered the faithful old

creature to have witnessed her favourite's wedding, and then to have

been forthwith killed out of the way, by--perishing in the vestry.

However, things were ordered otherwise, and Jeanie Mackie did not live

to see the wedding: if you wish to know how and where she died, let me

tell you at once.

Scotland--Argyleshire--Glenmuir; this was the focus of her hopes and

thoughts--that poor old Indian exile! She had left it, as a buxom

bright-haired lassie: but oaks had now grown old that she had planted

acorns; and grandmothers had died palsied, whom she remembered born;

still, around the mountains and the lakes, those changeless features of

her girlhood's rugged home, the old woman's memory wandered; they were

pictured in her mind's eye hard, and clear, and definite as if she

looked upon them now. And her soul's deep hope was to see them once

again.

There was yet another object which made her yearn for Scotland.

Lieutenant Stuart had been the younger of two brothers, the eldest born

of whom became, upon his father's, the old laird's, death, Glenmuir and

Glenmurdock. Now, though twice married, this elder brother, the new

laird, never had a child; and the clear consequence was, that Amy Stuart

was likely to become sole heiress of her ancestor's possessions. The

lieutenant's marriage with an Italian and a Romanist had been,

doubtless, any thing but pleasant to his friends; the strict old

Presbyterians, and the proud unsullied family of Stuart, could not

palate it at all. Nevertheless, he did marry the girl, according to the

rites of both churches, and there was an end of it; so, innumerable

proverbs coming to their aid about "curing and enduring" and "must

be's," and the place where "marriages are made," &c., the several aunts

and cousins were persuaded at length to wink at the iniquity, and to

correspond both with Mrs. James and her backsliding lieutenant. Of the

offspring of that marriage, and her orphaned state, and of Mrs. Mackie's

care, and the indefinite detention in central Hindostan, they had heard

often-times; for, as there is no corner of the world where a Scot may

not be met with, so, with laudable nationality, they all hang together;

and Glenmuir was written to frequently, all about the child, through

Jeanie Mackie, "her mark," and a scholarly sergeant, Duncan Blair.

Amy's rights--or Emmy let us call her still, as Charles did--were now,

therefore, the next object of Mrs. Mackie's zeal; and all parties

interested willingly listened to the plan of spending one or two of

those weary weeks in rubbing up relationships in Scotland; the general

also was not a little anxious about heritage and acres. Accordingly, off

they set in the new travelling-carriage, with due notice of approach,

heartily welcomed, to Dunstowr Castle, the fine old feudal stronghold of

Robert Stuart, Laird of Glenmuir and Glenmurdock.

The journey, the arrival, and the hearty hospitality; and how the gray

old chieftain kissed his pretty niece; and how welcome her betrothed

Charles and her kind life-long guardian, and her faithful nurse were

made; and how the beacons blazed upon the hill-tops, and the mustering

clan gathered round about old Dunstowr; and how the laird presented to

them all their beautiful future mistress, and how Jeanie Mackie and her

documents travelled up to Edinburgh, where writers to the signet

pestered her heart-sick with over-caution; and how the case was all

cleared up, and the distant disappointed cousin, who had irrationally

hoped to be the heir, was gladdened, if not satisfied, with a pension

and a cantle of Glenmuir; and how all was joyfulness and feasting, when

Amy Stuart was acknowledged in her rights--the bagpipes and the wassail,

salmon, and deer, and black-cock, with a river of mountain dew: let

others tell who know Dunstowr; for as I never was there, of course I

cannot faithfully describe it. Should such an historian as I condescend

to sheer inventions?

With respect to Jeanie Mackie, I could learn no more than this: she was

sprightly and lively, and strong as ever, though in her ninetieth year,

till her foster-child was righted, and the lawyers had allowed her her

claim. But then there seemed nothing else to live for; so her life

gradually faded from her eye, as an expiring candle; and she would doze

by the hour, sitting on a settle in the sun, basking her old heart in

the smile of those old mountains. None knew when she died, to a minute;

for she died sitting in the sun, in the smile of those old mountains.

They buried her, with much of rustic pomp, in the hill-church of

Glenmuir, where all her fathers slept around her; and Emily and Charles,

hand-in-hand, walked behind her coffin mournfully.

CHAPTER XXX.

FINAL.

Gladly would the laird have had marriage at Dunstower, and have given

away the beauteous bride himself: but there must still be two months

more of decent mourning, and the general had long learned to sigh for

the maligned delights of Burleigh Singleton. So, Glenmuir could only get

a promise of reappearance some fine summer or other: and, after another

day's deer-stalking, which made the general repudiate telescopes from

that day forth (the poor man's eyes had actually grown lobster-like with

straining after antlers)--the travelling-carriage, and four lean kine

from Inverary, whisked away the trio towards the South.

And now, in due time, were the Tamworths full of joy--congratulating,

sympathizing, merrymaking; and the three young ladies behaved admirably

in the capacity of pink and silver bridesmaids; while George proved

equally kind in attending (as he called it) Charles's "execution,"

wherein he was "turned off;" and the admiral, G.C.B. was so

hand-in-glove with the general, H.E.I.C.S., that I have reason to

believe they must have sworn eternal friendship, after the manner of the

modern Germans.

How beautiful our Emmy looked--I hate the broad Scotch Aamy--how bright

her flashing eyes, and how fragrantly the orange-blossoms clustered in

her rich brown hair; let him speak lengthily, whose province it may be

to spin three volumes out of one: for me, I always wish to recollect

that readers possess, on the average, at least as much imagination as

writers. And why should you not exercise it now? Is not Emmy in her

bridal-dress a theme well worth a revery?

For a similar reason, I must clearly disappoint feminine expectation, by

forbearing to descant upon Charles's slight but manly form, and his

Grecian beauty, &c., all the better for the tropics, and the trials and

the troubles he had passed.

When Captain Forbes, just sitting down to his soup in the Jamaica

Coffee-house, read in the _Morning Post_, the marriage of Charles Tracy

with Amy Stuart, he delivered himself mentally as follows:

"There now! Poets talk of 'love,' and I stick to 'human nature.' When

that fine young fellow sailed with me, hardly a year ago, in the Sir

William Elphinston, he was over head and heels in love with old Jack

Tracy's pretty girl, Emily Warren: but I knew it wouldn't last long: I

don't believe in constancy for longer than a week. It does one's heart

good to see how right one is; here's what I call proof. My sentimental

spark kisses Emily Warren, and marries Amy Stuart." The captain, happier

than before, called complacently for Cayenne pepper, and relished his

mock-turtle with a higher gusto.

It is worth recording, that the same change of name mystified slanderous

friends in the Presidency of Madras.

And now, kind-eyed reader, this story of '_The Twins_' must leave off

abruptly at the wedding. As in its companion-tale, '_The Crock of

Gold_,' one grand thesis for our thoughts was that holy wise command,

"Thou shall not covet," and as its other comrade '_Heart_' is founded on

"Thou shalt not bear false witness," so in this, the seed-corn of the

crop, were five pure words, "Thou shalt not commit adultery." Other

morals doubtless grew up round us, for all virtue hangs together in a

bunch: the harms of secresy, false witness, inordinate affections, and

red murder: but in chief, as we have said.

Moreover, I wish distinctly to make known, for dear "domestic" sake,

that so far from our lovers' happiness having been consummated (that is,

finished) in the honey-moon--it was only then begun. How long they are

to live thus happily together, Heaven, who wills all things good, alone

can tell; I wish them three score years. Little ones, I hear, arrive

annually--to the unqualified joy, not merely of papa and mamma, but also

of our communicative old general, his friend the G.C.B., and (all but

most of any) the Laird of Glenmuir and Glenmurdock, whose heart has been

entirely rejoiced by Charles Tracy having added to his name, and to his

children's names, that of Stuart.