_From the same to the same._
The interruption in my usual punctuality, my dear friend, and which
has alarmed your too tender fears, induces me to write to you without
delay, for the express purpose of assuring you that I am perfectly
well; and that in my failure during a few posts nothing has occurred to
disturb me beyond the concern I have been under for the happiness of
those around me. It is not too much to take for granted that you have
long since perceived in Miss Leonora Serge’s character and opinions
certain indications that will prepare you for the recital of her
premeditated, and by this time _successful_ journey to Gretna-Green.
But as in your code of laws, and modes of instruction Mary will stand
no chance of being an adept in the science of intrigue, duplicity,
and cunning, it may not be useless to place before her an example
so calculated to impress on her mind the delightful gratifications,
enjoyed by the girl of spirit, who prefers running away from the
restraints of parental care, giving up all the decencies of her sex and
condition, and proclaiming to the world that she is void of feeling
and principle, in order to attain the man whom she loves for having
betrayed her to scorn and ruin.
As I predicted in my last letter, the weather prevented our going to
Durham. Miss Nora’s tooth-ach became a sore throat, and a slight fever.
She was of course an invalid, and poor Sam, the postillion, had more
than one drenching commission. Wednesday we had a sun unclouded; and on
Thursday we set out for Durham with a doubtful sky, and an oppressive
heat in the air. Miss Lydia, stuffed into her mother’s pea green riding
dress, took her allotted station in the phaeton with Malcolm, with an
alacrity and contentment of heart that paid her good father for the
sacrifice of his pleasure. Douglas in the curricle with Sir Murdoch,
left us nothing to wish for him. Lady Maclairn, your Rachel, and Mr.
and Mrs. Serge, had Mr. Parry for their beau; and I saw with pleasure
her ladyship cheerfully sustaining her part in this arduous trial of
her strength, in an undertaking so averse to her habits of life. The
sun favoured the out-riders till we reached Durham. The delicate Lady
Maclairn preferring the office of _Caterer_, to a sultry walk, was
fortunately left at the inn to quiet and repose, whilst we sallied
forth to see the public places; but I believe that in reaching them
we saw all that was worthy of notice in the town; and a burst of
thunder, and a black cloud, warned us to return with all speed to the
shelter of our inn. Happily for us, a deluge of rain spared our timid
friends from the terrors of the thunder storm; and ourselves from
the pain of seeing them in hysterics, as well as we from any further
exhibition at Durham. A card-table and chess-board, with a sumptuous
dinner filled up our _pleasurable_ time. But no felicity is permanent!
Even a party of pleasure is liable to vexations. Lydia’s enjoyment of
the dessert was interrupted by an altercation between her father and
herself. He insisted on her returning home in the coach, urging the
dampness of the evening. Miss Lydia contended that the rain had made
the evening fair, and much pleasanter than the morning. Mr. Serge was
firm, and the pouting girl was forced to yield to his authority. It
would have been as well had the young lady been indulged; for it was
proved _demonstratively_, that a close carriage did not agree with Miss
Lydia Serge: and although we did not concur with her in calling Mr.
Serge ‘ill-natured and obstinate,’ we could not but allow, that less
pertinacity on his part would have been _discreet_, and Mrs. Serge’s
lecture on _gluttony_ as well spared for another time and season.
On the carriage’s driving up to the hall-door I was shocked on seeing
Mrs. Allen advancing with precipitation to meet us: she was weeping;
and in evident distress stopped to speak with Malcolm and Mr. Serge;
who in a moment endeavoured to quit the phaeton exclaiming aloud, “She
is dead! my child is dead!” and Malcolm, giving the rains to a servant,
sprang from the carriage and entered the house. Whilst Mrs. Allen in
vain repeated to the poor father, “No, no, my good sir: hear me.”
You will judge that this consternation was not long to be endured.
Malcolm’s absence was but momentary. “They are alarmed within,” said he
aloud; and he added with assumed composure, “Miss Leonora is missing;
she is probably sheltered in the neighbourhood. I am going at _Miss
Serge_’s request to seek her, there having been some blundering as to
the road which Miss Leonora indicated on leaving the house for a walk.”
On saying this, Malcolm leaped into the curricle and disappeared.
“I see how it is,” observed Mr. Serge, panting for breath, “all is
clear! but God is merciful! Let me go to my Caroline, let me see my
comfort, my darling, and then I shall be patient.” Doctor Douglas
prevented him, by arguing the danger of agitating her spirits still
more than they had been, and we conducted the trembling father into
the dining-parlour; Mrs. Allen attending Douglas to Caroline’s room.
Mrs. Serge had, with the astonishment which the scene had produced,
lost, apparently, the use of her tongue and powers of reflection. On
reaching the parlour she burst into tears; and with more of resentment
than despair, observed, that she was only sorry Mr. Maclairn had so
much trouble; for she doubted not but Leonora would be at the Hall as
soon as himself. “This is her penitence!” continued she; “because I was
angry with her for walking in the rain she has stopped at some house,
and is, perhaps, laughing at our fears.” “Before you are too sanguine
in your hopes, Mrs. Serge,” said her husband, with much coldness of
manner, “it may not be amiss to know when she left this house; and
what grounds those whom she has quitted have for their suspicions.”
Mrs. Warner was summoned. Her evidence consisted in the following
particulars. Miss Nora soon after we had left the Hall changed her
dress; for Warner met her in the garden at one o’clock equipped for a
journey, and with some surprise observed that if she meant to take
an airing she would be disappointed, as Mr. Willet was gone with his
sister, for the day, to see the castle, and had taken the only horse
and carriage remaining, which was the little market cart. The young
lady said that she had only thought of a walk in the avenue; but she
believed it would be wiser to stay at home, for there would certainly
be a thunder shower. “She sauntered with me into the vestibule,”
continued Warner, “when seeing your shawl, madam,” addressing Mrs.
Serge, “which you omitted to take with you for Miss Lydia’s use, she
wrapped it round her, and said she would venture a little way, for she
was half dead for want of exercise; and away she tripped, promising not
to lose sight of the cottage on the green, which is not a quarter of a
mile from hence, hinting that she had promised the old woman who lives
there a trifle for her grandchild. I thought no more of the young
lady,” continued Warner, “till the storm came on, when Mrs. Allen came
to see whether she was with Miss Flint or in her own room; saying that
Miss Serge wished for her sister’s company, as she was a coward when
it thundered. We were sadly perplexed, madam. Having no man-servant,
but the gardener and his lad, at hand, and the thunder was dreadful
here: so Mrs. Allen, trusting to Miss Nora’s promise to me, waited a
while, saying she was certain it was better that she should remain
sheltered in the cottage than to venture home in such a tempest. The
rain soon abated, and we sent the gardener with an umbrella to Dame
Bank’s. She had not seen the lady. You may judge of our fright! The
gardner and his son were sent different ways to no purpose. About two
hours since they returned in consequence of news they had picked up at
the Ram. A traveller who had entered the house during the storm had
seen a lady hastening to a chaise and four that stood on the road to
Durham. She was assisted by a gentleman, and rather flew than walked to
the carriage. She had something white on her head and shoulders, and
the gentleman was in scarlet. Whilst they were talking with Hunt and
this stranger, Tom Hunt entered. He had passed the chaise on leaving
Durham, and had seen the lady in white, but not her face: she seemed to
be sleeping on the gentleman’s shoulder. My lady,” added Warner, “is
sadly ruffled and distressed by this disaster; and if Mrs. Allen had
not been with Miss Serge, God knows what would have been the event of a
day so dreadful as this has been! My lady and Mrs. Allen only fear they
have done wrong, in not sending an express to Durham, as soon as the
men returned; but as so much time had been lost, and they hoped you
would not be late on the road, they gave up the thought; and, indeed,
it was impossible to have gained any advantage from pursuing it.” “You
say truly, my good woman,” observed Mr. Serge, with suppressed agony,
“The child who forsakes a parent’s protection cannot be benefited by
being pursued. But repentance will overtake her. No, she is gone, gone
for ever!” added he rising and pacing the room!--Lady Maclairn retired
with Warner. Again the poor old man quitted his seat, and deliberately
taking off his wig, wiped his head and eyes. “Where is the heart, Miss
Cowley,” said he, “that would not bleed to see such a girl as my Nora
thus lost, thus betrayed to folly and wretchedness? Poor creature!”
added he, “how hard is thy fate! A mere babe, as one may say, thus
to be ensnared and deluded! Thus to be the victim of designs, which
a highway robber would scorn, as beneath him. But to the villain who
has robbed me of my child, will I place the pangs I feel; God learnt
from that child the knowledge of my sufferings!” He was silent for
some time, nor did his lady attempt to comfort him: she appeared
stupified by the blow, and I trembled for her safety. On seeing me
apply my salts to relieve her, he again rose and said to her, “I pity
you; but remember how many times I have forewarned you, my dear Lydia,
when at Bath! I told you again and again that you encouraged that
Fairly’s visits too much.” “Captain Fairly!” repeated the wife, putting
aside the salts, with more surprise than sorrow, “what, in the name
of wonder, has led you to think the Captain has any concern in this
good-for-nothing girl’s elopement? I only wish you may find she has
done no worse! I no more believe she is gone off with him than with the
pope. I know more of Captain Fairly than you do; but it is always your
way, Jerry, to blame me. Do you think me such a fool as not to have
seen it, if he had made love to the girl?” “We will not fall out on
that question,” replied Mr. Serge; “we have troubles sufficient for the
hour. All I have to say is _this_, whether it be Captain Fairly, or any
other honourable gentleman of his class, who has robbed me of my child,
he shall find his work as unprofitable as those who, as we say, perform
their work with ‘a hot needle and burnt thread.’ Jeremiah Serge has
not worked early and late to enrich a _rascal_; nor will I countenance
a child who has preferred the protection, of a _rascal_ to that of a
tender, honest father.” He covered his face and wept aloud. Mrs. Serge
was silenced, as well as myself. The dejected father was roused from
this sorrow by the entrance of the doctor, who told him that Caroline
was much easier, and was disposed to sleep. “Blessed be God!” said
he, with an expression of gratitude: “One hope remains. But I will
go to bed,” added he languidly, “for I am strangely disordered, and
only a trouble to my friends.” Tears again streamed from his eyes; and
no one opposed his retreat. We soon followed his example, and sought
that repose which was not to be found at Tarefield-Hall: I traced her
benign footsteps to Heathcot; and there it was that the spirits of your
Rachel Cowley found rest. My dear Mary will expect the sequel of this
wonderful business with more than usual curiosity: she shall not be
disappointed by her affectionate