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