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.