Mr. Talton remained thoughtful some minutes after the Captain had ceased
speaking; then addressing him--"If you were some years younger, Howard,
I should censure you severely for your conduct; but as it is, and in
consideration of the punishment you have already endured, I shall
suspend my lecture! Poor Ellenor! It is strange, Howard, in the course
of so many years you should never have gained any intelligence, nor met
with the least circumstance from which you could judge of her destiny."
"It is strange, Talton. A few weeks back my nephew introduced a youth on
board, whose appearance raised such emotions in my breast as I cannot
attempt to describe. He was the exact resemblance of my Ellenor; his age
too agrees with my son's, if living; but every hope was soon destroyed,
his answers plainly proved he was not her child."
A sigh of regret here burst from the bosom of the Captain; nor could he
refrain an impatient exclamation against the severity of his fate, in
being thus deprived of those he regarded as the blessings of his
existence.
"Though your life, Howard," said Mr. Talton, "has been rather out of the
dull track of common occurrences, yet I would not have you think you
have had more than your share of human ills; of those, believe me, all
have an equal dispensation, and, sooner or later, feel the hand of
adversity! As your morning of life has been clouded, you should, I
think, look forward to a clear evening. You yet may find your Ellenor,
and your son be restored, all your fondest desires could wish. You still
have hope! Many, suffering afflictions, are bereaved of that blessing,
by a fatal certainty of ill, where their happiness depends."
"Certainty of ill--" repeated the Captain--"Ah, Talton, am I not
chained to a woman I detest, deprived of her I idolized, and a son whose
endearments and attentions might have soothed the little sorrows of my
bosom? But you are a bachelor, unrestrained by any ties which can justly
interest the heart, and therefore cannot judge for me."
"Pardon me, my friend," returned Talton. "I speak not from conjecture;
neither am I altogether unacquainted with those anxieties which have
rendered you unhappy; and if you will listen to the tale of the woman I
love, you may, perhaps, be convinced of the justness of my assertion."
The Captain bowed his consent--.
"Miss Holly, Howard, was an only daughter, and brought up by an old
humourist of a father, whose idol she was, whilst she yielded every
sense to his guidance. Many proposals of marriage were offered, but none
thought worthy her acceptance by Mr. Holly, till he accidentally met
with Sir Horace Corbet, an old schoolfellow, and as great an oddity as
himself, with whom he renewed his acquaintance; and an union was
proposed between their children--agreed on, the writings drawn, and the
wedding-day fixed, before the young people were acquainted with the
least circumstance, or their sentiments respecting it, asked! Miss Holly
received the mandate of her father, to regard Mr. Corbet as the husband
he had selected, with the greatest distress; and at last informed him
her affections were irrevocably fixed on another. But vain were her
supplications and tears: the old gentleman was peremptory--and Miss
Holly eloped!
"I shall not attempt to describe the rage of the fathers on this
occasion; six months elapsed without their being able to discover the
place of her retreat; when her aunt, who had for years estranged herself
from all intercourse with the family, arrived at Holly seat, and, with
great formality, acquainted her brother his daughter had taken refuge
with her, and, hoping by that time his resentment had subsided, had
engaged her to attempt a reconciliation. The old gentleman appeared
delighted; a messenger was dispatched for her, and, on her arrival, she
was received with every demonstration of joy and affection! The calm,
however, was deceitful; for the next morning he led her to the chapel,
where Sir Horace and his son were waiting, and there forced her to give
her hand to the latter! Could happiness result from such an union?--Oh
no! What followed might naturally have been expected; indifference on
one side, disgust on the other.
Soon after the nuptials, Mrs. Corbet's aunt died; and, considering her
niece highly injured by the measures which had been pursued, left her
the whole of her fortune, amounting to thirty thousand pounds,
independent of her husband. In less than a twelvemonth Mr. Holly died,
leaving them eight thousand a year: Sir Horace survived his friend but a
few weeks, and Sir Henry succeeded to nearly fifteen thousand a year
more. Their decease, however, which a year before would have been the
means of Lady Corbet's happiness, was then of no avail; the gentleman on
whom her early affections had been placed, on hearing of her marriage,
retired to France, where he literally died of a broken heart.
"Sir Henry now, uncontrolled by parental authority, yielded to the
wildest passions of his heart. The mild dignity of his wife was
disregarded, her beauty insufficient to restrain him from illicit
connexions, and, whilst she was restricted with a parsimonious hand to
her marriage settlement, she had the mortification of beholding immense
property squandered on his worthless mistresses. As a landlord and
master, Sir Henry was certainly beloved; but his character as a husband
degenerated into that of a brutal tyrant.
"Soon after the decease of her father, Lady Corbet was delivered of a
son, and in him (being deprived of all other) she concentrated her
future happiness.
"On my first return from America, as I yesterday informed you, I passed
some months at Bath, where I was introduced to Lady Corbet, and, had she
been single, I should have said, Here Talton rest for ever!--as it was,
nothing passed but what the strictest prude might have witnessed, though
the censuring world imputed actions to me, I was innocent of, even in
intention. Sir Henry was on an excursion with some friends, when I first
became acquainted with his family; on his return, Lady Corbet presented
me to him; he scarcely deigned a perceptible bow, but, throwing himself
into a chair, called for his son, who was then about five years old,
and, without once addressing me, amused himself in talking to, and
answering his infantine questions. I regarded Lady Corbet with a look,
I believe, sufficiently expressive of my surprise at his unpoliteness;
the silent tear trembled in her eye, and, with a sigh which seemed to
say, it was such behaviour as she was used to, she walked to the window.
I had then an opportunity of observing Sir Henry. He was rather small in
his person, his eyes black and penetrating, and his face expressive of
care and discontent.
"He continued playing with the child some time; then, starting up--'Has
your ladyship any commands to the St. Ledger family?' 'None, sir,'
answered Lady Corbet, attempting to speak with unconcern. 'If you have,
you must write to-night; as I depart for London early to-morrow
morning;' then taking the child by the hand, without even bowing to me,
left the room.
"The emotions Lady Corbet had endeavoured to repress, then gained the
ascendancy, and she burst into tears. The subject was delicate; I,
however, ventured to speak, though I could offer little consolation. It
was then she acquainted me with the preceding particulars, and regretted
the obdurate infatuation of her father, who had sacrificed her happiness
for the possession of wealth.
"Sir Henry, as I was afterwards informed, swayed by the report which
was circulated of my attentions to his lady, insisted on her
accompanying him to London; and as I soon after left England, I neither
saw nor heard any thing of her till about a year and a half since; when,
being in London, I one morning went to breakfast with Sir John Dursley,
and was there surprised by the appearance of Lady Corbet. Her dress
instantly informed me she was a widow; yet, as knowing her abhorrence of
Sir Henry, I was perplexed to account for the sorrow depicted in her
countenance.
"The mystery was soon explained. For some time after my departure, Sir
Henry's conduct and behaviour continued invariably the same, when her
happiness received an additional shock, by the total alienation of his
affections from his son, who, as his years and sensibility increased,
severely felt the estrangement, which produced an habitual melancholy.
His amusements were disregarded; company became disagreeable; and the
only pleasure or recreation he seemed to experience, or would take, was
in wandering through the grounds and plantations; where, when the
servants his anxious mother sent in search of him, could not trace his
haunts, he used even to pass the night.
"At last Sir Henry fell a victim to a decline: he still retained his
dislike to his son; but, to make his lady amends, as he termed it, for
the unhappiness he had occasioned her, he left her every part of his
fortune, without restriction, exclusive of the family estate (about
eight thousand a year) which the present Sir Henry comes to the
possession of, on attaining his one-and-twentieth year.
"The attention of Sir Henry to Lady Corbet, on the death of his father,
was the richest balm to her heart, and she looked forward to that
happiness of which she had so many years regretted the deprivation: but
the flattering illusion soon fled! Her son, on a sudden, became
thoughtful, reserved, and mysterious: his answers, when addressed, were
incoherent, his dress disordered, and his whole appearance indicative
of internal wretchedness. He avoided his mother and passed the greatest
part of his time in the apartment where his father died, and where, at
last, he totally secluded himself. Lady Corbet was grieved and alarmed
at this change, which the domestics openly imputed to a mental
derangement; and some papers they found, nearly induced Lady Corbet to
concur in their opinion. They contained unconnected sentences, which
showed a mind ill at ease, if not bereft of reason.
"The mild persuasions and entreaties of his mother, were ineffectual to
draw from him the cause of his dejection, which still increased; and one
night, about six months after the death of his father, he privately
left the hall! This circumstance was soon discovered, and the domestics
dispatched in pursuit of him; but the only intelligence they could gain
of him was from a peasant, who affirmed, that passing by the church
early in the morning, he had seen Sir Henry ascend from the vault where
the remains of the Corbet family were interred: that he was without his
hat, held his handkerchief to his face, and, on leaving the church, ran
with wildness across the fields toward the village. This account was
farther corroborated by the sexton, who attested that Sir Henry had
called him up after midnight, and demanded the keys of the church, which
he did not think himself authorised to refuse.
"This information but served to perplex and raise painful conjectures in
the breast of Lady Corbet: Sir Henry was not to be traced, and it was
not till some time after, she received a letter from Lady Dursley,
informing her of his having been seen in London. To London she
immediately came, where she had been nearly three weeks, when I met her
at Sir John's.
"Lady Corbet recounted these events during breakfast; and we were
endeavouring to give her consolation, in a case I believe we all thought
equally hopeless as mysterious, when the clerk (for my friend is in the
commission for the peace) entered the room, and informed Sir John, a
party of dissolute young men, who, the night before, had committed
several depredations, had been conveyed to the round-house, and were
then waiting at the office. Two of them, he said, who were accused as
the principal offenders, entreated to speak with Sir John previously to
their examination. This, Sir John peremptorily refused; and asking me if
I would accompany him, we proceeded to the office.
"When I beheld the extreme youth of the offenders, (for one was not more
than sixteen, the others somewhat older), I knew not whether to pity or
feel indignant at their depravity. I was, however, recalled from my
reflections by Sir John, earnestly inquiring the names of those who
were reported as the ringleaders? The youth who had principally engaged
my attention, unwillingly pronounced--'Henry Corbet.'
"'Yes,' said Sir John with severity; 'if I mistake not, it is Sir Henry
Corbet!--For the respect I bear your family, young gentleman, I am sorry
to see you here!'
"Sir Henry, for him it really was, shrunk abashed from the penetrating
eyes of Sir John, who now proceeded to inquire into the nature of the
offence.
"The constables reported, that they had the preceding night been
alarmed by the cry of murder, accompanied by their nightly signal for
assistance; that on hastening to the spot whence the alarm had been
given, they had discovered one of their fraternity on the ground; Sir
Henry had then hold of his throat--another who had a bludgeon in his
hand, with which it appeared the watchman had been assaulted, had
likewise hold of one arm. Several others, on the approach of the watch,
fled; and those who remained, after an obstinate resistance, had been
secured.
"Sir Henry denied the charge. He declared that, so far from assaulting,
he and his companions had, on the cry of murder, gone to the rescue of
the watchman; that his friend, St. Ledger, had wrested the bludgeon
from one of the assailants, and at the moment the other watch came up,
was assisting him to raise the man from the ground, for which purpose
he, Sir Henry, had passed his hand behind his neck; that, without making
the least inquiry, they had attacked his companions, who acted only on
the defensive.
"With these particulars, he said, he wished to have privately acquainted
Sir John, without exposing himself or friends to the ignorant and
undeserved accusation of the watchmen.
"Sir John checked the vivacity of the youthful pleader; but as the man
who had been assaulted did not appear, and the constables could not
prove the defence to be false, he, after reprimanding them for exposing
themselves to such night adventures, set them all at liberty, except Sir
Henry, whom he desired to attend him into another room.
"Sir Henry readily obeyed, and there, with greater humility than I had
expected from his late spirited behaviour, apologized for the manner in
which he had been brought before him.
"Sir John admitted his excuse, and asked the occasion of his being in
London? Sir Henry's face became suffused with a blush of the deepest
dye, as he replied, he was on a visit at an old friend's of his father.
"'Your father,' said Sir John, 'I had not the pleasure of knowing. Your
mother I sincerely respect, and as I honour myself with the title of her
friend, I must insist on your passing the remainder of the day with me.'
"Sir Henry instantly assented, and continued with me, till Sir John had
finished the business of the morning.
"Pleased with the opportunity, I engaged my young companion on a variety
of subjects, and, though prepossessed against him by the account of his
behaviour to his mother, I must, in justice, acknowledge I never met
with his superior. His delivery was elegant, his judgment appeared
solid, and his understanding highly cultivated: as I traced in him the
resemblance of his father, I could, however, easily reconcile myself to
the idea, that his mother's character of him was just.
"Sir John being by this time at leisure, we returned to Soho-square. He
had not mentioned the name of Lady Corbet; and now, without any previous
intimation respecting her, conducted him into the room where she was.
"I never beheld surprise more strongly expressed in the countenance of
any one, than in Sir Henry's, on perceiving his mother; it approached
indeed nearly to horror. As for Lady Corbet--a scream of mingled
surprise and delight escaped her lips, as she hastened to clasp him in
her arms; but springing on one side, he eluded her embrace, and
murmuring some inarticulate sounds, attempted to rush out of the room.
In this he was prevented by Sir John, who, catching him by the arm,
said--'Not so fast, young gentleman. Your mother has suffered too much
unhappiness by your first elopement: I shall not so easily permit you to
quit her a second time. Justice has delivered you into my hands, and I
resign you to her. Recollect, as your mother and sole guardian, she has
an unlimited authority to control your actions?'
"Sir Henry answered, but with a groan, and clasping his hands on his
forehead, seemed for some moments to struggle with contending passions;
then hastily asked what was required of him?
"'Not wilfully to destroy the peace of your mother!' replied Sir John,
pointing to Lady Corbet, who had sunk nearly lifeless on a sofa.
"The sight appeared to rouse Sir Henry. He flew to her, and, by the
tenderest appellations, endeavoured to recall her senses. Recollection
soon returned, when, clasping his hand--
"'Oh, Harry!' she cried, 'I needed not this last instance of your
indifference to show how little claim I had to your regard. The ties to
a mother with you are now forgotten; it once was otherwise: but Corbet
will follow the steps of his father!'
"Sir Henry regarded her wildly--'My father, Lady Corbet!----' he
stopped, his lip trembled, and quitting her, he paced the room with
agitated steps. Lady Corbet burst into tears--.
"'Harry, do not, I entreat you, torture me with this behaviour, I have
not merited it. To you I have looked for that consolation and support
which, as a widow and a mother, I had a right to expect. How it has been
rendered, I need not say. Silence and mystery have been the return to
my solicitude--your desertion in the hour of sorrow, the reward of my
tenderness!'
"Sobs impeded her utterance--she could not proceed; but Sir John, with
great strength of reasoning, endeavoured to convince Sir Henry, how
wrong his conduct had been, and to persuade him to act consistently with
the duty he owed his mother, and to his own character, in the eyes of
the world. The young gentleman listened to him some time in silence; a
sigh only now and then swelled his bosom. At last, on Sir John urging
him to return to Wales, with his mother, he looked earnestly in his
face, and with a tone of voice highly impressive, pronounced the simple
denial--'I cannot, Sir John, return to the seat of my forefathers!'
"'No!' said Sir John. 'Whither then would you go?'
"Sir Henry waved his hand--. 'The world is before me!'
"I had been, during this time, endeavouring to soothe Lady Corbet; but
on hearing the replies of her son, she again hastened to him, threw her
arm round his neck, and, leaning her head on his shoulder, wept in
silence. Sir Henry gently disengaged himself, and reconducting her to
the sofa, seated himself by her.
"'Why, my mother,' he said, 'do you wish my return to Corbet Hall? Do
not, I conjure you, thus wantonly seek to plunge me into greater
unhappiness. Of my wretchedness you have been a witness: of what I have
suffered in my mind, you can form no idea! To me, the spot where my
father expired is a place of horror--of distraction! to which, if
confined, neither my head nor my heart can long sustain me in
existence!'
"Sir John listened to this address with some surprise; then, shaking his
head at me, pointed his finger to his forehead, as implying he thought
the young wanderer impaired in his intellects.
"Lady Corbet, whose emotions had at first hurried her into the little
indignant reproof I have related, with tenderness replied--she had
indeed, with concern, beheld his dejection before he quitted the hall;
but if any thing there had disgusted, or been the means of rendering him
unhappy, she would readily consent to reside at Holly seat, or any other
of her estates he chose to name, provided he would return to her
protection.
"To this Sir Henry did not deign to return an answer, but, folding his
arms, sat with his brow contracted, and his eyes fixed on the floor,
deaf alike to the solicitations of his mother and the chidings of Sir
John; nor was it till after we were joined by Lady Dursley, that he
yielded an unwilling assent to our united entreaties.
"Lady Corbet's satisfaction at thus regaining her fugitive, expressed
itself more in her countenance than her words: Sir Henry's was
overspread with gloom; he scarcely spoke, but in the evening wrote a
farewell letter to his friend St. Ledger, and early the next morning
attended his mother from the metropolis.
"You will not, perhaps, Howard, wonder that the admiration I formerly
evinced for Lady Corbet, should give rise to more tender sentiments, on
finding her released from her vows, and at liberty to select a partner
better calculated to ensure her happiness, than the one her father had
chosen. I accordingly followed her to Wales, and sought the earliest
opportunity to avow the state of my heart. She answered my declaration
with a frankness which endeared her still more to me, though
discouraging to my addresses. She never, she acknowledged, entertained
but one idea of affection, and that had long since been blighted and
destroyed: the happiness of her son was the only thing in which she then
looked forward for her own. As a lover she could not receive me, but, as
a friend, I should ever be welcomed to the hall.
"As a friend then I have visited, and am not without hopes of one day
obtaining her hand. The assistance I have been able to render her in the
disposal of her property, has imperceptibly worn away the reserve of our
earlier acquaintance; and as I have purchased a considerable estate
adjoining Sir Henry's, I have every opportunity of increasing the esteem
of this valuable woman. Sir Henry I have rarely beheld; his reserve to
me has ever been in the extreme, and baffled all my endeavours to gain
his friendship or confidence.
"On their return from London, Lady Corbet endeavoured to develope the
cause of his conduct, but in vain. Sir Henry became again the prey of
mystery and melancholy, till the arrival of some gypsies in those
parts; with them he had several times been seen to converse, and,
notwithstanding the vigilance of his mother, who, suspecting his
intention, had appointed several of the domestics to watch him, he
again, about two months since, eloped, and as it was supposed, with
those itinerant outcasts!
"Lady Corbet's grief, on this second elopement of her son, was calm, but
deeper than on the former occasion; all her attempts to discover him
proved ineffectual, and, as a last resource, she determined on going to
London to the young St. Ledger, who being the bosom friend of Sir Henry,
she thought might perhaps be acquainted with his proceedings. As I was
likewise going to London, I accompanied Lady Corbet, and, at her
request, went with her to St. Ledger's: but that family was in equal
confusion--young St. Ledger had likewise absconded!
"At that time I was obliged to leave England, therefore am ignorant how
their search after the fugitives has ended. This, however, Howard, I
think you must acknowledge, that Lady Corbet has far greater cause for
unhappiness than yourself. You still may indulge the hope of again
seeing your Ellenor--a fatal certainty assures her, she is deprived of
the man she loved for ever! You never knew your son; and though you may
regret the deprivation of those attentions and endearments filial
affection bestows; yet you, like her, never experienced the bitter pang
of having those blessings changed to unkindness and neglect!"