A RETROSPECT AND CONCLUSION.
Mr. Willoughby was little less punctual to his appointment than Colonel
Hubert; and as the young Nora, weary with her journey, and exhausted
from the excitement of the scenes which followed it, had not yet left
her bed, he too, had the advantage of a _tete-a-tete_.
It is needless to enter upon any minute repetition of a narrative which
had, in fact, little or no connexion with the personages of our drama.
It was evident that Mr. Willoughby had suffered much, both from the
early loss of his fair young wife, and the continued hostility, or, more
properly speaking, the continued neglect of his family. He had exchanged
into a regiment sent on a dangerous and, disagreeable service, and with
broken spirits and failing health, might very likely have perished
before it was ended, had not his "good gifts" very suddenly made captive
the affections of a young girl almost as pretty as poor Sophia Compton,
and quite as rich as she was the contrary.
This marriage converted him into the only son and heir of a wealthy
merchant; all his new family required of him, in exchange for their
daughter and their wealth, was, that he should live amongst them. This
he consented to do, but his life was not a happy one. With the prospect
of great possessions before him, he was kept in almost penniless
dependence upon his father-in-law; all his wants, indeed, profusely
supplied, but with no more power to assist in the maintenance of the
child he had left in England, than if he had been a slave chained to the
oar.
For sixteen years he had led this painful life of penniless splendour,
in the course of which he was again left a widower with one little girl;
but though his existence in his father-in-law's family had lost its only
charm by this event, he was prevented from making any effort to change
it, as much by his total inability to support himself elsewhere, as by
consideration for the interest of his child. As she grew up, he began
once more to feel that life was not altogether a bore and a burden, and
at length his passive submission to years of wearying annoyance was
rewarded by finding himself, at the death of the generous but tyrannical
Mr. Grafton, the possessor of a handsome life income, and the sole
guardian of the young heiress his daughter.
It was then that, for the first time, he felt disposed to recall himself
to the memory of those he had left behind him in England; and the desire
to do so became so strong, that he lost no time in finally arranging his
affairs in the country of his exile, and taking his departure for
Europe. For the sake of having a friend as commander of the ship in
which he sailed, he took his passage for Havre, and, once landed on the
coast of France, he yielded to Nora's entreaties that they should pass a
few weeks at Paris before they left it. His accidental meeting with Mr.
Stephenson there was then related, and its consequences as it respected
his daughter, and their journey home together, concluded his narration.
"Your romance, Mr. Willoughby," replied Miss Compton, "appears likely to
come to a very happy conclusion ... but I confess I wonder that never
during your sixteen years of what appears to have been very perfect
leisure, you could never have found time to make any single inquiry
about your little Agnes."
"And I wonder at it too, Miss Compton ... but it is more easy to recal
the feelings that led to this, than to explain them. I believe that the
total impossibility of my transmitting any share of the wealth amidst
which I lived to a child whom I had great reason to fear might want it,
was the primary cause of it ... and then came the hope that at no very
distant day my inquiries for her might be made in a manner less
torturing to my feelings than by acknowledging myself to be alive, in
circumstances of high-fed pauperism, without the power of relieving any
wants, however pressing, with which my inquiries might happen to make me
acquainted. Had I known that you, Miss Compton, had adopted my little
girl, I should not so long have suffered her to believe me dead,
because I had not the power of making my being alive a source of joy to
her."
Whether Miss Compton thought this apology a good one, or the reverse,
does not appear; for all the branches of the party who so unexpectedly
met together at the house of Lady Elizabeth Norris, continued from that
time forward to live on terms of the most agreeable amity together; and
perhaps the only symptom by which some little feeling of disapprobation
might have been perceived, was Miss Compton's begging to decline, on the
part of all interested, Mr. Willoughby's proposal of insuring his life
for ten thousand pounds, as a portion for his eldest daughter.
"I do assure you, sir, there is no occasion for it," said the little
spinster, with great good-humour, but also with a very evident intention
of having her own way.... "I believe that if you will mention the
subject to Colonel Hubert, or to Lady Elizabeth Norris, his aunt, you
will find that they both agree with me in thinking such a sacrifice of
income on your part quite unnecessary, and decidedly unwise. Your
sisters have not behaved to you kindly, but they have connected
themselves well, and I believe we all think it would be more
advantageous to both your daughters that their favour should be
propitiated by your appearing before them in a style which may show you
have no need of their assistance, than by anything else you can do for
them. The young ladies are both about to marry well, and with fortunes
very fairly proportioned to those of their respective husbands, and any
family coolness with such near relations as Lady Eastcombe and the
honourable Mrs. Nivett would be both disadvantageous and disagreeable."
"My noble sisters will be vastly well disposed to welcome me now, Miss
Compton, I have little doubt," replied Mr. Willoughby, with as much
asperity as he was capable of feeling for any offence committed against
him; "and I confess to you that the reconciliation would be particularly
agreeable to me, from the power your generous adoption of my poor girl
gives me now of proving to them that my marriage with Sophia Compton was
not such a connexion as to merit the severity with which they have
treated it."
"I have no sort of objection to your proving this to them in any manner
that you please," replied Miss Compton; "and I rather think the most
effectual mode of doing so will be, by permitting the portion of Agnes
to be furnished by Sophia Compton's aunt."
"Five thousand, then, let it be, Miss Compton; five thousand settled
upon younger children," said Mr. Willoughby.
"No, sir," persisted the old lady, "it must not be, if you please. The
property of Compton Basett, with the name, and a sum of money withal
sufficient considerably to add to and improve the estate, will be
settled by me on the second son of your daughter Agnes. Lady Elizabeth,
on the part of her nephew, adds ten thousand pounds to the settlement on
younger children, which, together with my property, will of course
belong to Agnes for her life. I hope, sir, this statement will satisfy
you repsecting the provision to be made for Miss Willoughby, and prevent
your feeling any further anxiety on the subject."
It was impossible Mr. Willoughby could declare himself dissatisfied, and
from this time he ventured no further allusion to the scheme of
insuring his life.
* * * * *
Preparations for the two marriages now immediately began; and the
interval necessary to the completion of settlements, and the building of
carriages and dresses, was, at the earnest request of Agnes, to be spent
at Clifton. She loved the place, for it was identified in her memory
with the first sight of Hubert, and she often declared that there was no
spot on the earth's surface she should ever love so well as that little
esplanade behind the windmill on which Colonel Hubert first offered her
his arm, without deeming it necessary to utter a word of explanation for
doing so. The vicinity of Mary Peters, too, was another reason, and no
trifling one, for this partiality; and as not one of the party had any
point of reunion to plead for in preference, it was there that several
weeks of present enjoyment and happy anticipation were passed.
* * * * *
It was about midway between the time at which everything was settled
between the lovers, their beloveds, and all parents, friends, and
guardians interested therein, and the happy day on which the double
espousals were celebrated, that Mr. and Mrs. Peters invited the whole
party to dinner. No strangers were permitted to disturb the freedom of
the society thus assembled at dinner, though, to gratify Lady
Elizabeth's love of music, one or two proficients in that science were
invited for the evening. The gentlemen, who probably thought the society
in the drawing-room more agreeable than that of good Mr. Peters, even
though backed by his excellent wine, were already partaking coffee with
the ladies, when a reduplicated knocking announced the arrival of
visiters.
"The Chamberlains, I suppose," said Mrs. Peters. "How very early they
are!"
But she was mistaken, it was not the Chamberlains; for a footman threw
wide the drawing-room door, and announced "Mr. and Mrs. O'Donagough!"
"Mr. and Mrs. who?" said Mrs. Peters to Mary.
"Mr. and Mrs. what?" said Elizabeth to Lucy.
But before the parties thus questioned could have found time to answer,
even had they been possessed of the information required, a lady in
sober coloured silk, with little rouge and no ringlets, followed by a
handsome young man in black, entered the room, and considerably before
many who had seen that lady before could recall the name by which they
had known her, or reconcile her much changed appearance to their puzzled
recollections, Mrs. Peters was enfolded in her arms.
"My dear sister Peters!" said Mrs. O'Donagough, "you are surrounded by
so large a party, that I fear these last moments which I meant to
dedicate to the affection of my kinsfolk, may be more inconvenient than
pleasurable to you. But you cannot, I am sure, refuse me some portion of
your society this evening, as it is probably the last one we shall ever
pass together. Give me leave, sister Peters, to introduce you to my
husband, the Reverend Mr. O'Donagough. Mr. Peters, Mr. O'Donagough; Mr.
James Peters, Mr. O'Donagough; Mr. O'Donagough, my dear Mary; my
husband, young ladies; Mr. O'Donagough, my dear Elizabeth and Lucy!
Good Heaven! Agnes here? and my aunt Compton, too!... Well, so much the
better, my dear Patrick; I shall now have the pleasure of presenting you
to more relations, and as I should be proud to introduce you to all the
world, this can only be an increase of pleasure to me. Agnes Willoughby,
my dear, I can't say you behaved very well to me when the cheerful sort
of life I indulged in, solely on your account, was changed for sorrow
and imprisonment; but, nevertheless, my religious principles, which are
stronger, my dear, than even when you knew me, lead me to forgive you,
and, better still, they lead me to introduce you to your excellent and
exemplary uncle, the Reverend Mr. O'Donagough."
During the whole course of these speeches not a single voice had been
heard to pronounce a syllable in reply, excepting that of Mr. Peters,
who put his heels together and made a bow when she paused, husband in
hand, before him, and said, "Your servant, sir!"
But Agnes, when her turn came, though colouring most painfully at being
so addressed, and with her heart sinking under the unexampled annoyance
of this intrusion, contrived to say, "I hope I see you well, aunt."
"Yes, Miss Agnes; well, and happy too, I promise you; and I wish you
were likely to be as well settled, child, as I am. But I should like to
know who it is has come forward with money to dress you up so?... You
have not been singing on the stage, I hope?... Your uncle would be
dreadfully shocked at such a thing; for he says that stage-plays are an
abomination.... And upon my word, aunt Compton, you are grown mighty
smart too in your old age. Mercy on me!... Vanity of vanities!... all is
vanity!"... And then looking into the inner room, and perceiving that
she had several more acquaintances there, she again took her husband by
the hand and led him into it, presenting him to Lady Elizabeth, her
niece, Colonel Hubert, and the two Stephensons. But when she came to Mr.
Willoughby, who was standing with his youngest daughter at a window, she
stopped, and looking at him very earnestly, seemed puzzled.
He bowed, though evidently without knowing her, and then, turning from
her unpleasantly curious scrutiny, resumed his conversation with Nora.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Mrs. O'Donagough ... "but I should really
be very much obliged if you would tell me your name."
"My name, madam, is Willoughby."
"Gracious heaven!" exclaimed the bride, "O'Donagough, dearest, this is
an eventful day indeed.... Behold your brother!"
The two gentlemen stared at each other with an expression of countenance
more indicative of surprise than of fraternal affection ... Mr.
Willoughby, indeed, looked very much as if he suspected that the poor
lady, be she who she would, was decidedly not in her right mind; while
her husband, rather weary, perhaps, of such a continuity of
introductions, escaped from her side, and stationed himself at another
window.
"Willoughby!... dearest Willoughby!... Is it possible that you can have
forgotten me?... Can you, indeed, have forgotten the sister of your
wife?"
"Miss Martha?... Is it possible?... I beg your pardon, Mrs.
Donagough ... I certainly did not recollect you. I hope that I have the
pleasure of seeing you well?"
"My dearest Willoughby!... You have no idea how exceedingly delighted I
am to see you.... What _has_ become of you all this time?... I always
supposed that you had been sold for a slave on the coast of Barbary ...
and I thank God, and my excellent husband ... where is he?... I am sure
the Reverend Mr. O'Donagough will thank God for your escape.... And who
is that pretty young lady?... Dear me, she looks very much as if she was
the daughter of your cruel master, and had fallen in love with you, and
set you at liberty.... Poor Sophy!... one could not expect you should
remember her for ever ... even I, you see, have forced myself to forget
my poor dear Mr. Barnaby.... But now I think of it, you can't know
anything about Mr. Barnaby.... Do, my dear Willoughby, sit down with me
on this sofa, and let us have a talk."
It was impossible for Mr. Willoughby to refuse, even had he wished it,
which he really did not; and the perfect security of being welcome,
which Mrs. O'Donagough displayed in her manner of establishing herself,
in some sort obliged Mrs. Peters to act as if she were so.... The
different groups which had been deranged by her entrance, resumed their
conversation; coffee and tea included the intruders in its round, and
everybody excepting Miss Compton seemed once more tolerably at their
ease. She could not affect to recover her equanimity like the rest, but
placing a low chair immediately behind the sofa on which Lady
Elizabeth's tall figure was placed, she sat down so as to be completely
concealed by her, saying, "Will your ladyship have the great kindness to
let me hide myself here?... That horrible woman is, I confess it, my own
brother's daughter, but she is ... no matter what she is.... I am much
to blame, no doubt, ... but I hate to look upon her."
"Put yourself quite at your ease, Miss Compton," replied Lady Elizabeth,
laughing; "I have not the least difficulty in the world in comprehending
your feelings. In you she has conquered the feeling of relationship; in
me, an instinct stronger still perhaps, namely, that of finding
amusement in absurdity. But I almost think she has cured me of my
menagerie caprice for ever. Yet it is difficult, too, not to enjoy the
spectacle she offers with her young husband in her hand. But I don't
mean to lose my music for her.... Miss Peters, my dear--pray set your
pianoforte going."
This hint was immediately obeyed, and proved extremely conducive to the
general ease. Good-natured Mr. Peters entered into conversation with the
reverend missionary, and soon learnt both his destination, and the
interesting fact that he and his bride were to sail from the port of
Bristol the day but one following. This he judiciously took an
opportunity of speedily communicating to his lady, who took care that it
should not long remain a secret to any individual present, excepting Mr.
Willoughby, who continued in too close conversation with his
sister-in-law to permit his being made a sharer in the general feeling
of satisfaction which this information produced. Even Miss Compton, on
hearing it, declared, that if the bride were really going to set off
immediately for Botany Bay, there to remain for the term of her natural
life, she thought she should be able to look at her for the rest of the
evening with great philosophy. And, in proof of her sincerity, she moved
her place, and seated herself beside her friend Lady Elizabeth, more
than half inclined to share in the amusement, which, notwithstanding her
good resolutions, that facetious lady seemed inclined to take in
contemplating the newly-married pair.
The conversation, meanwhile, between the two old acquaintances, went on
with considerable interest on both sides. Mr. Willoughby again related
his adventures, and introduced his pretty daughter, and then, recurring
once more to Silverton, Mrs. O'Donagough said, in an accent that
betokened considerable interest in the question--"Willoughby!--can you
tell me anything about your old friend Tate?"
"I have heard nothing of him of late years; but of course you know that
he married his cousin, Miss Temple, very soon after we left Silverton."
"_Very_ soon?" said Mrs. O'Donagough, with a sigh.
"Yes, my dear sister," replied Willoughby, with a melancholy smile; "it
is not often that hearts, lost in country quarters, fail to return to
the losers as they march out of the town. Happily both for the boys and
girls concerned, but few such adventures end as mine did."
"Happily, indeed, for me!" replied the bride, with a toss of her head:
"for aught I know, Tate may be alive now ... and the happy wife of
O'Donagough may well rejoice that no such thraldom was the consequence
of Captain Tate's presumptuous attachment!"
Though Mr. Peters was really very civil, and though Mr. James joined for
several minutes in the conversation, it is probable that the reverend
missionary did not enjoy it so much as his lady did listening to Mr.
Willoughby; for at an early hour he told her it was time to take leave.
She instantly obeyed, and began making her circular farewell--a ceremony
of rather an embarrassing nature to many of the party, for out of the
fifteen persons she left in the room, she kissed eight; Lady Elizabeth,
Sir Edward and Lady Stephenson, Colonel Hubert, and Frederick, being
permitted to escape without even an attempt at joining them in this
valedictory greeting, and Miss Compton, rising at her approach, making
her by far the lowest courtesy her knees ever performed, in a manner
which effectually averted it from herself.
* * * * *
Mrs. O'Donagough's departure from England was a great blessing to all
the connexions she left behind, for, had she continued within reach of
them, it is hardly possible but some annoyance would have been the
consequence. As it was, however, sorrow seemed to depart with her; for
seldom does so large a portion of happiness as fell to the lot of those
she had formerly tormented, attend the career of any.
Colonel Hubert, although he actually did very soon become a general,
never again felt any alarm on the score of his age, but had the
happiness of knowing that he was beloved with all the devoted tenderness
that his heart desired, and his noble character deserved. Agnes never
ceased to glory in her choice, and loved nothing better than to make
Aunt Betsy confess that her great nephew, notwithstanding his being a
general, was more like a hero than any other man she had ever seen. Miss
Compton lived to see an extremely fine lad, called Compton Hubert
Compton, becoming so fond of the fields and the pheasants of Compton
Basett, as to leave her no rest till she had persuaded the trustees of
the settlement she had made to expend the money in their hands upon the
purchase of some neighbouring lands,--including the manor in which they
were situated, and the converting of the old roomy farm-house into a
residence which she confessed to be worthy of the representative of the
ancient Compton race. This alteration, indeed, took place several years
before the old lady died, and it was at Compton Basett, thus
metamorphosed, that she had the pleasure of observing to Mrs. Wilmot,
that the conversation they had held on that spot together, had not been
altogether without effect.
Mr. Willoughby and his elegant sisters become perfectly reconciled, a
circumstance extremely agreeable to Lady Elizabeth Norris, as it gave
her repeated opportunities of convincing herself that the nose of her
niece, Mrs. General Hubert, was decidedly an improvement upon that of
the honourable Miss Nivett, though the family resemblance was
sufficiently remarkable. Frederick and Nora were as gay and happy a
couple as ever enjoyed ten thousand a year together. Occasionally, of
course, they were in debt, as all people of ten thousand a year must be;
but, on the whole, they contrived to bring matters round wonderfully
well, and as their property was fortunately settled, and Sir Edward
happened to die without children, their family of six sons and six
daughters were left at last very tolerably provided for.
* * * * *
Mrs. O'Donagough's voyage to New England was quite as agreeable as such
a voyage generally is; and on arriving, she was greatly consoled for any
little inequalities in her young husband's temper by the great success
of his preaching. For at least six months after their arrival, he was
more in the fashion than any gentleman of any profession had ever been
before; but at the end of that time, the reverend preacher unfortunately
was present at a horse-race, upon which the recondite wisdom of the
fable, which treats of a cat turned into a woman, must have become
manifest to every reflecting mind acquainted with the circumstances of
Mr. O'Donagough's early life; for no sooner did the race begin, than
almost unconsciously he offered a bet to one of his congregation who
stood near him; and before the end of the day, he was seen mounted in a
blue and yellow jacket, riding for a jockey who had broken his leg in a
hurdle race.
It was then that Mrs. O'Donagough became sensible of the blessing of
having a settlement; and thankful was she to the noble father of her
spouse for all the care bestowed to prevent his bringing himself again
to penury, when he was brought home dead to her one fine afternoon,
having lost his seat and his life together in a leap upon which he had
betted considerably more than he possessed.
She mourned for him as he deserved; but not being upon this occasion
very nice upon whom she could devolve the task of wearing black, she
announced to all her Sidney friends that it was not the fashion in the
old world for ladies of distinction to wear that dismal colour for more
than a month for any husband who died by accident; and it was,
therefore, once more, in all the splendour of her favourite rainbow
colouring that she met a few months afterwards her old friend Major
Allen.
He entered into no very tedious or particular details respecting the
reasons for, or the manner of, his voyage out, but testified much
cordial satisfaction at the meeting; while, on the other hand, Mrs.
O'Donagough was as remarkably communicative as he was the reverse,
dilating largely on my Lord ----'s careful attention to her interest on
her marriage with his son, who had insisted upon coming out in a fit of
religious enthusiasm, which, as she sensibly observed, was not at all
likely to last.
It was not very long after this meeting that Mrs. O'Donagough became
aware of the truth of the song, which says,
"Mais on retourne toujours
A ses premieres amours."
For it was evident that the sentiment which circumstances had so rudely
shaken at Clifton a year or two before, was again putting forth its
leaves and flowers, and that it depended upon herself alone whether she
should not yet become the wife of the accomplished Major Allen.
For a few weeks she struggled with her remaining affection, but at the
end of that time it overpowered all her doubts and fears, and only
stipulating that, as before, all she had should be firmly settled upon
herself, she once more entered the holy state of matrimony. In justice
to the peerage, it ought to be stated, that on this her third
wedding-day she wore around her neck a very handsome necklace of shell,
carefully sent out to her by the confidential agent of my Lord
Mucklebury.
THE END.