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!