A horse was easily procured, and early on the following morning
Beauchamp was on his way to the château inhabited by Sir Sidney
Delaware and his family. The house was, like most French houses of the
kind, furnished with a court in the front, large iron gates, and a
wide woody inclosure called a park, stretching up the side of the
hill, full of straight alleys and mathematical walks.
At the corner of the inclosure, Beauchamp looked at his watch, and to
his surprise found that it still wanted nearly half an hour of eight.
"This is very foolish of me," thought he, as he rode along the park
wall--"I shall find no one up, and they will all think me mad." But at
that moment, as he looked over the low wall and up one of the long
alleys, he caught a view of two persons crossing the farther extremity
of it; and he was instantly satisfied that there were other wakeful
people in the world as well as himself. "It is Blanche and her
brother," he thought; and, riding up to the court, he flung his bridle
to a boy who was standing there, and without further inquiry hastened
into the park. The wood was somewhat labyrinthine; but Beauchamp had
observed the direction taken by the figures he had seen, and following
one of the cross alleys, he soon entered that wherein he had beheld
them, and in which he found that they were still walking slowly on,
about a hundred yards before him, unconscious that there was any one
in the park but themselves.
As Captain Delaware was speaking eagerly and loud, Beauchamp, to avoid
overhearing his conversation with his sister, hastened forward,
pronouncing his name, and was almost immediately by their side. He was
greeted by both with evident pleasure; but upon Blanche's cheek,
though it was much paler than it had been in England, there was still
that flickering blush, on which we have already written a long
discussion.
After their first meeting was over, and Beauchamp had explained that
his sister would be there in about an hour, of course all three, as
they took a step or two slowly forward, felt themselves rather
awkward. But William Delaware was fond of cutting Gordian knots; and
the next moment, after a silent smile, as he glanced first at his
cousin and then at Blanche, he abruptly let her arm slip from his own,
and, looking gayly into Beauchamp's face, he said, "Here, Henry, give
Blanche your arm, while I go to tell my father that you are here."
His sister looked at him almost reproachfully, and proposed that they
should all return; but Captain Delaware stayed not to listen, and the
next moment she stood alone with Henry Beauchamp, with her trembling
hand laid upon her lover's arm. Heaven knows what they said, for I am
sure I do not; but doubtless it was something very extraordinary, for
ere they had taken two steps forward, Beauchamp woke, and detected
Blanche Delaware calling him "My lord."
"My lord!" he repeated. "My lord! Is such the cold title by which I
am alone to be called! Oh, Blanche!"
Blanche found that she had got into a scrape; and as there was but one
way of getting out of it in all the world, she took it at once. She
paused, and though she was ready to sink where she stood, she raised
her long eyelashes and fixed her beautiful eyes upon her cousin's face
for one single moment, with a glance that was worth all the Oriental
love-letters that ever were composed--imploring, tender, full of
gentleness and affection. It seemed to say, "Do not--do not overpower
me--I am yours, heart, and soul, and mind--but my heart is so full,
another word will break it."
Beauchamp read it all at once; and pressing her hand in both of his,
he asked the very intelligible question, "Is it--is it mine, dear
Blanche!"
"If you still wish it, Henry," she replied. "Can I refuse any thing to
the saviour of my brother's character, and the generous benefactor of
our whole family?"
The spirit of perversity seized upon Beauchamp again in a moment; and
he was not satisfied. "Nay, Blanche!--nay!" he said; "I must win a
dearer assurance than that. I will not owe to gratitude--little as I
have deserved it--what I would fain owe to love. No, no; I must have a
dearer assurance, or I shall think that the same Blanche Delaware who
accepts Henry Beauchamp in France, would again refuse Henry Burrel
if--unbacked by some pitiful service--he again stood by the Prior's
Fountain."
Beauchamp's exacting mood gave Blanche the advantage; and by amusing
her fancy even for a single instant, got the better of a part of her
agitation. She smiled, and was half inclined to triumph, for she felt
that she could if she liked; but love was the more powerful motive,
and she only misused her advantage by that one playful smile, and a
few words like it. "I no more refused him then," she replied, "because
he was Henry Burrel, than I now accept him because he is Earl of
Ashborough. Do you believe me, Henry?" she asked, after a pause.
"I do, indeed, dear Blanche," replied Beauchamp. "But you are smiling
at me still; and indeed--indeed, if you could tell all the agony, and
long, long days of misery which that rejection caused me, I am sure
you would pity the feelings that your words produced."
"I did from the first, Henry! I did from the first!" replied Blanche,
earnestly; "but you must believe me, Henry, when I tell you, that I
suffered double what you did. Yes, yes!" she added, seeing him shake
his head--"Yes, yes, I did; for I was crushing my own heart at the
very time I was _obliged_ to crush that of him--of him--Oh, Henry, you
do not know what I felt!"
"Obliged!" cried Beauchamp, catching at the word. "Obliged! Did Sir
Sidney, then, object?"
"Oh, no!" answered Blanche; "nor would have objected. But it shall all
be explained, Henry, if you can forgive me, and love me still,
notwithstanding all the pain I have made you suffer."
"I have loved you ever, Blanche, with the most unabated affection,"
replied Beauchamp. "Nay, more, what between affection, and what
between vanity, I had fancied that there must be some latent cause
for conduct that seemed inexplicable. I had endeavored for some
time so to frame my every word and action toward you, that you could
not mistake them; and it was only because you permitted those
attentions--because they did not seem to displease you"--(Blanche
blushed deeply)--"because, in short, you did not repel them, that I
dared to hope. I would not--I could not believe that such a heart and
such a mind as that of Blanche Delaware would suffer me to go on so
long unchecked, if she felt that the affection she must have seen
could not be returned."
"Indeed--indeed I would not!" replied Blanche. "I do not pretend not
to have seen what were your feelings toward me, and it is no use now
of concealing what were my own," and for a moment her eyes again
sought the ground. "The fact was, however," she added, smiling, "that
what happened afterward was not because you were Mr. Burrel, but
because I discovered you were Mr. Beauchamp."
"And was that name, then, so hateful, to you!" asked her lover.
"No, no!" answered Blanche. "But I see I may as well tell you at once,
for you will not cease to question me till I do. Do you remember the
last day you ever came up to the Park! Well, just after your arrival
the post came in, and among other things were two letters to me--one
from Mrs. Darlington, and another which made me run to my own room as
soon as I had opened it. It was from your uncle, the late Lord
Ashborough. I scarcely like to think of it even now. It told me who
you really were, and in terms--oh, so bitter!--hinted that I must know
it already, and must be using that knowledge for evil purposes. It
then went on to state, that, however determined you might be in the
foolish line of conduct you were pursuing, your relations would never
forgive our union; and that if it took place, he, Lord Ashborough,
would not only disown you as his relation, but would leave every acre
of land which he could alienate, to the most distant relation he had,
sooner than to you. The whole was wound up with the same denunciation
against you, in case I ever revealed to you the fact of my having
received that letter; and it ended with telling me, that now, knowing
these facts, I might still _strive to force myself into your family if
I would_. But I will show you the letter, Henry, and you shall judge
for yourself whether I could do otherwise."
"He might, indeed, have alienated a large part of his property,"
replied Beauchamp; "but there was still more than enough left. And did
you think, Blanche, from what you knew of me even then, that I would
not have preferred a cottage with you, to ten times the amount he
could have taken away without you?"
"Henry Beauchamp in a cottage!" said Blanche, smiling. "I am afraid
that would have suited Blanche Delaware better. But remember, Henry,
that I knew not what he could take from you; and even if I had known,
should I have had any right to accept, to permit, such a sacrifice.
Oh, no! and if it had broken my heart, I must have acted as I did act.
But now, Henry, let us return home; we have walked on long, and papa
will certainly think it strange that I have been thus left alone with
you at all."
"He shall soon have a good reason, dear Blanche," replied her lover;
"and I trust that we shall never--never part again."
Beauchamp found Sir Sidney Delaware more shaken by all he had
undergone than he had anticipated; but the baronet's delight at seeing
his young cousin, he declared, took twenty years from the load of age.
"Your father, my dear Harry," he, said, "was my school and college
companion, and the constant friend of my heart. I thought, when first
I saw you at Emberton, that your face, and voice, and manner, were all
as familiar to me as household words. But why, Harry--why did you not
tell me your real name--especially when you came plotting such a
service as you afterward rendered me?"
"Because, my dear sir," replied Beauchamp, "when I wrote to you, a few
years before, you showed no disposition to receive me in my real
character."
"That was because you refused my first invitation, just after your
father's death," answered Sir Sidney.
"I never received it," replied the earl; "I never received it, upon my
honor--but I am afraid, my dear sir, that there has been more than one
juggle in the business, which we had better, perhaps, consign to
oblivion altogether; and now, let me take advantage of your daughter's
absence to make one request. You know me, Sir Sidney--my principles,
my mind, my heart, and my situation--can you trust Blanche's happiness
to my care?--will you give me her hand?"
Sir Sidney Delaware started up. "I have been blind to the last!" he
cried; "I have been blind to the last! But think, Henry! remember what
you are about! Take back your request; and ere you make it again, call
to mind your rank and prospects; and judge whether interest, or
ambition, or the world's smile, may never hereafter induce you to
regret that you have married a portionless girl, because she had a
fair face and a gentle heart."
"Never! Sir Sidney," replied the earl. "It requires no thought.
Interest, and ambition, and the world's smile, have never had any
effect upon me yet, and never shall have, while my faculties remain."
"Well, well," replied Sir Sidney, "I have not forgot that you do not
'worship any man for the money in his purse, nor bow low to the bottle
of Lafitte upon his sideboard.' So, if your mind be really made up,
you must ask Blanche herself; but by William's smiling, I fancy you
have settled that matter between you already. If so, God's blessing
and mine upon you both; and you shall have my consent upon one sole
condition, which is, that you will explain to me, clearly and
distinctly, all the particulars of this business, from beginning to
end--for I confess I sometimes begin to think that my intellect is
impaired, because I can not get it clearly stated in my own head. But
stay, here are a number of questions which I have written down in
pencil on the broad margin of my Seneca, intending to ask William.
Will you undergo the catechism instead?"
"Willingly!" answered Beauchamp; "and as I see Maria's carriage coming
slowly up the hill from the town, we shall have just time, I dare say,
to get through your questions before she breaks in upon us with her
gay pertness."
"She shall be most welcome," said Sir Sidney; and then, with
spectacles on nose, and book in hand, he proceeded to read the
interrogatories with which he had charged the margin of his Seneca,
and thus Beauchamp was called upon to explain a great deal that the
worthy reader, who has walked hand in hand along with him through the
book, already understands full well.
"And now then, tell me," continued Sir Sidney, after he had dispatched
a great number of his questions; "how did you contrive to place the
money so cleverly in William's room at Emberton, without any one
seeing you?"
"The fact is, my dear sir," answered Beauchamp, "that I knew the house
and all its passages, as well as, if not better than any of you. You
must remember that a great part of my boyhood was spent there, and a
thousand times, under my incognito name of Burrel, I had nearly
betrayed my acquaintance with every room in the building. I had seen,
in walking round the house, that the door of the well-vault, as it
used to be called, was always open; and when I wanted to place the
money in your son's room, without being seen, I resolved to try
the little staircase, up and down which I had often played at
hide-and-seek. I thus made my way to the trap-door, when, to my
surprise and mortification, I found it nailed. As, however, it shook
under my hand when I tried it, I resolved to make a strong effort to
push it open, in which I succeeded, the nail either breaking or coming
out, I did not stay to examine which. My hand, however, was torn in
doing so; and unfortunately a drop of blood fell upon one of the
notes, as I folded them up in a sheet of paper I found upon the table.
The packet I directed as well as I could by the moonlight, and I then
put down the money and went away as fast as I could."
"That just brings me to my last question," said Sir Sidney, "and here
is your sister driving into the court; so tell me why it was you did
not rather give the money into my hands, or William's, or Blanche's,
or any one's rather than risk it in such a situation?"
Beauchamp laughed, and turning toward Miss Delaware, who was just then
re-entering the room, he replied, "Really, Sir Sidney, I must refuse
to plead--you must ask Blanche."
"Well then, you tell me, my love," continued the baronet, turning to
his daughter, "What could your cousin's reason be for putting the
money, that has caused us so much anxiety, into William's room that
night, rather than giving it to me or you, as it seems he knew that
William was out?"
Beauchamp and Captain Delaware both smiled, and Blanche blushed
deeply, but was silent.
"So, so!" said Sir Sidney. "Is it so? Well, well, I stop my questions
there--William, run out and welcome your fair cousin! Blanche, give me
your hand--there, Henry, take her; and may she ever be to you as dear,
as gentle, as good, and as beloved a wife, as her mother was to me."
There was but little more now to be explained; though Sir Sidney, in
reward for the young earl's patience under cross-examination, took
great pains to make him understand how his son William had found
means, through their poor pensioner, widow Harrison herself, to
communicate to the family his safe arrival in France, and a plan for
their meeting, which had been immediately adopted--how they had
skillfully contrived to conceal their route--and how their good old
friend Arnoux had prevailed upon them to pause at Poligny, instead of
going on to Sicily, as they had at first intended.
From widow Harrison, too, to whose faith and gratitude they could
trust, and to whom alone their place of residence had been
communicated, they had learned by letter many of Beauchamp's efforts
in their favor, as well as their success and the ultimate result of
the trial; but still, although, they had heard so much, there was yet
matter enough left to be told on both sides, to furnish forth many a
story for the bright fireside.
Nothing more remains for the writer, to whom their own lips kindly
furnished the materials for composing this book, than to add that a
very few months afterward, at the chapel of the British Embassador at
Paris, Henry, Earl of Ashborough, was married to Blanche, only
daughter of Sir Sidney Delaware; and that the body of poor Walter
Harrison sleeps by the side of the Lake of Geneva.
Nevertheless, it behoves us to record one serious dispute which took
place between the young Earl of Ashborough and Sir Sidney Delaware,
which was occasioned by the baronet insisting that his noble
son-in-law should take a mortgage upon the Emberton estate for the
amount of the twenty-five thousand pounds advanced by him to pay off
the former annuity.
On the other hand, however, it appeared that the late earl had been,
at the moment of his death, in the prosecution of a suit to prove that
the annuity had not been legally paid off. It was true, also, that
Beauchamp had received the five-and-twenty thousand pounds back again
from Mr. Tims, and that the annuity had been paid up to the very last
day of the late earl's life. Beauchamp, therefore, contended that he
had no right whatever to demand or accept any mortgage, as the money
had returned to his own possession, and the annuity must be considered
to have lapsed with the life of his uncle.
Sir Sidney would not see it in this point of view, and a great deal of
good-humored special pleading went on upon the subject between him and
the earl. How it would all have ended, heaven only knows, had not
Maria Beauchamp, who had got safely over the critical epoch of her
brother's marriage, and even held out for four months after, while he
brought his fair bride to England, and made her look into an English
court for one moment--which was quite enough for both of them--had she
not, I say, at the end of the time, broken the hearts of her nine
London admirers, young and old, by giving her hand to William
Delaware. She protested, indeed, that she only did it for convenience,
as her brother and Blanche, with Sir Sidney, his son, and herself;
were about to take a long rambling tour over one quarter of the world,
and she could not, of course, go so many thousand miles with a young,
single man, without giving employment to the tongues of her
acquaintances.
However that might be, to end the dispute about the twenty-five
thousand pounds, the earl insisted upon adding it to his sister's
fortune, which was already sufficient to clear off every incumbrance,
and leave the family of Delaware more prosperous than it had been for
nearly a century before.
We could go on a long time, and write another volume upon Blanche's
happy looks, and tell how Beauchamp, contented in his love, weaned
himself from many of his perversities and caprices, without losing the
brighter and the nobler qualities of his character. Nor would
adventures be wanting, nor the same light and idle nothings of which
this book is already principally composed; but, unfortunately, having
called the Work "THE RUINED FAMILY," we find ourselves bound to close
it here, now that we can no longer apply that term to the house of
DELAWARE.
THE END.