Transcriber's Notes:
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(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
DELAWARE;
OR
THE RUINED FAMILY.
EDINBURGH
PRINTED BY M. AITKEN, 1, ST JAMES's SQUARE.
DELAWARE;
OR
THE RUINED FAMILY.
A TALE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR ROBERT CADELL, EDINBURGH;
AND WHITTAKER & CO., LONDON.
MDCCCXXXIII.
DELAWARE;
OR,
THE RUINED FAMILY.
>CHAPTER I.
The sand in the hour-glass of happiness is surely of a finer quality than that which rolls so slowly through the glass of this world's ordinary cares and fears. Oh! how rosy-footed trip the minutes that lead along the dance of joy! How sweetly they come, how swiftly they fly, how bright their presence, and how speedy their departure! Every one who has ever had a pen in his hand, has said exactly the same words before me; and therefore, though a little stale, they must be true.
The hours flew as lightly at Emberton Park as if they had plucked all the down from the wings of their good father Time, in order to furnish their own soft pinions; and many of the days which intervened between the signature of the bill for twenty-five thousand pounds, given by Sir Sidney Delaware to Lord Ashborough, and the time when it was to become due, slipped away unnoticed. The worthy baronet suffered them to pass with very great tranquillity, relying perfectly upon the word of Mr. Tims, that the money would be ready at the appointed period. As comfort, and happiness, too, are far less loquacious qualities than grief and anxiety. Sir Sidney thought it unnecessary to enter into any farther particulars with Burrel, than by merely thanking him, in general terms, for the advice he had given; and by informing him that, in consequence of his son's second journey to London, his affairs were likely to be finally arranged in the course of a month or two. The miser also suffering himself, for a certain time, to be governed by his nephew--who well knew the only two strings which moved him like a puppet, to be avarice and fear--did not attempt to give the young stranger at Emberton any information of the events which had taken place, till long after Captain Delaware's return; and, within five days of the time when the bill became due, Burrel, who had delayed his promised visit to Dr. Wilton till he was almost ashamed to go at all, rode over to his rectory to pass a couple of days with the worthy clergyman, whom he found deep in all the unpleasant duties of his magisterial capacity. William Delaware, also, more active though less clear-sighted than his father, allowed himself likewise to be deceived by the assurance of Mr. Tims, that the money would be punctually ready; and thus the days might have passed by unheeded by any one, till the very moment that the money was required, had there not been another person concerned, whose views demanded that Burrel's twenty-five thousand pounds should not only be drawn for, but paid into the hands of the miser at Ryebury.
This person, who was far more suspicious and more on the alert than any of the party, was no other that Mr. Burrel's silent servant, Harding, who began to grow very uneasy at the delay which was taking place. This uneasiness was increased after his arrival with his master at Dr. Wilton's, inasmuch as, at the very moment of their coming, the worthy clergyman was engaged in investigating some particulars in regard to the fire that had taken place at Mrs. Darlington's, which had given rise to considerable suspicions of some foul play. The first, and perhaps the most important point, appeared to be, that of the whole plate which that worthy lady's house contained, not one ounce was to be found either fused or in its wrought state. In the next place, two or three persons who had first taken the alarm at Emberton, on the night of the fire, and had set out instantly to give assistance, deposed positively to having met a man, to all appearance heavily laden, coming down the hill--which circumstance, considering the time of night, was at least extraordinary. No one, however, could identify this person; but from these facts, as well as from other minor incidents, which it may be unnecessary to mention, it seemed very clear that robbery had been committed during the progress of the fire, if not before.
On their arrival at the rectory, both Burrel and his servant were called upon by Dr. Wilton, to state their recollections. Of the evidence given by the first, the worthy clergyman took a private note, but the servant was publicly examined. He gave a clear, calm statement of all that he remembered, mentioned the situation of the room in which he slept, declared that he had been woke by some sounds below, and had shortly after perceived a strong smell of fire, which increasing, he began to put on his clothes. Finding, however, that the smoke was growing thicker, and that other people in the house seemed alarmed, he had not staid to clothe himself completely, but had run out; and, seeing that the house was on fire, had proceeded to call his master. Mr. Burrel not moving as fast as he thought prudent, he said, he had left him, and got out of danger as fast as he could.
All this was delivered with amazing coolness and perspicuity, and Dr. Wilton complimented him publicly on the clear and straightforward manner in which he delivered his evidence. Nevertheless, there was something in the whole business, which we--who see into the mechanism of our people's hearts--conceive, not to have been pleasing to the silent servant, and he felt it absolutely necessary--according to his own particular notions of benevolence--to remind his master, that the twenty-five thousand pounds which had been left idle, losing the interest all the time, in the hands of Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson, might soon be necessary to complete the charitable purpose he entertained towards the family at Emberton.
To act remembrancer was not very easy, however, as his habitual silence cut off a great deal of even that small gossip which usually takes place between a man and his valet-de-chambre; but Harding was not a person to be foiled, and what he could not do cunningly he always did boldly.
It was on the second night, then, of their stay at the rectory, that, while undressing his master, he began, after two or three preliminary grunts, "I wished to ask your permission, sir--if you are going to send me to London"----
"Send you to London!" exclaimed Burrel, "I am not going to send you to London, What put such a thing into your head?"
"Oh, I beg pardon, sir, I did not mean to offend!" replied Harding. "But when you first sent me to Mr. Tims at Ryebury, he asked me a great many questions about you, and told me that you were going to pay off the incumbrances upon Sir Sidney Delaware's estate."
"Which, I suppose, you have been good enough to spread throughout the village!" said Burrel, not a little angry.
"I have never opened my mouth upon the subject, sir, to a living creature, upon my honour!" replied the man, with a solemnity of asseveration that was very suspicious.
"And pray, how is all this connected with your going to London, Harding?" demanded his master.
"Why only, sir, as I hear the money is to be paid in three days, and you did not speak of going up yourself, I thought you might be going to send me for the sum," was the cool and self-complacent reply of the worthy domestic.
"To be paid in three days!" exclaimed Burrel. "There must be some mistake in that, surely."
"Oh no, sir, I can assure you!" replied the man earnestly. "The last time I was up at the park, when I brought the horses to come over here, I heard the Captain saying so to Miss Delaware--and he said, that he hoped that Tims would have the money ready, or it would be a sad affair."
"Indeed!" said Burrel, "This must be looked to. But you misunderstand your situation, Harding. You are a person very trustworthy, I have no doubt; but I never send my servants for such sums as that you mention, especially when they have not been with me three months. So now, you may go--and when I want to send you to London, or elsewhere, I shall be sure to inform you."
The servant accordingly retired with a mortified and somewhat dogged air; but, although he had not been entirely without hopes, that his master might indeed despatch him for the money, yet his purpose was sufficiently answered, to prevent his feeling deeply the disappointment of expectations that had never been very sanguine.
The tidings Burrel had heard, annoyed him considerably; for, although a doubt never crossed his mind, in regard to the payment of the money having been made by Lord Ashborough, it seemed so extraordinary that Mr. Tims had not made him acquainted with the day of payment, that a vague suspicion of something being wrong obtruded itself upon his imagination, and kept him for some time from sleep.
"Which is my nearest way to a house called Ryebury, my dear sir?" was one of Burrel's first questions to Dr. Wilton at the breakfast-table next morning. "It belongs to an old miserly money-lender, named Tims."
"The way to the money-lenders, like all those roads that lead to destruction, is wide enough," replied Dr. Wilton. "But I hope, my dear Harry, you are not going to borrow money?"
"No, no, my dear sir!" answered Burrel, laughing. "Heaven knows what I should do with it, if I did. Within the last six years, I am sorry and ashamed to say, I have accumulated near five-and-twenty thousand pounds."
"Fie, fie, that is almost as bad!" cried Dr. Wilton. "I would never advise any man to live quite up to his income, for if he set out with such a determination, he will most certainly live beyond it; but I would recommend every man who has enough for himself and for those who may come after him, to spend very nearly his whole income. We are but stewards, my dear Harry! we are but stewards! and we are bound to dispense the good things that are intrusted to us."
"And yet I have both heard you cry out against luxury," replied Burrel, "and declare that indiscriminate gifts of money did more harm than good."
"True, true!" replied Dr. Wilton. "I have done all that you say. But there are thousands of eligible ways in this world by which a man may discharge that duty to society imposed upon him by a large fortune, without injuring his own mind, or enervating his own body by luxury. How much may be done to promote the instruction of youth, to furnish employment for the poor and industrious, to encourage arts and sciences, to reward the manufacturer even for his toil and skill, and the merchant for his risk and enterprise, without being the least luxurious in one's own person. Ximenes walked through halls tapestried with purple and gold, and yet lay down upon a bed of straw. Fie, Harry, fie! It is a shame for any rich man to accumulate more wealth while there is a poor man in all the land."
Burrel smiled at the lecture of his old tutor; not indeed because he undervalued his precepts, but because he evidently saw that the lapse of ten years had been skipped over in the good doctor's mind, and that he himself stood there as much the pupil in the eyes of Dr. Wilton, as ever he had been in his days of boyhood.
"Well, well, my dear sir!" he answered; "as some compensation for my negligence hitherto, I think I shall find a means of spending this twenty-five thousand pounds in such a manner as even your severe philosophy will approve."
"Ah, Harry! I see you are laughing at your old pedagogue," said his friend. "But never mind; if worthy Dominie Sampson--a character I revere and love, although the dolts on the stage have degraded him into a buffoon--If worthy Dominie Sampson boasted of having taught little Harry Bertram the rudiments of erudition, I will boast of having taught you, Harry Burrel, the rudiments of virtue--So mind what you do; for every action you perform is my pride or my shame."
"Then I will try to make you a proud man," replied Burrel. "But I must now leave you, my dear sir, and seek this money-lender, if you will direct me thither."
"Well, well, whatever be your purpose, take care what you are about with him!" answered the doctor. "He is a wily knave. But I shall see you again, ere you leave the country--which, if I judge right, will not be soon"--and he fixed a gay glance upon Burrel's face, which fully repaid the smile he had remarked--"Remember, Harry," he added, "I am to speak the blessing."
Burrel laughed, and shook Dr. Wilton's hand, and the worthy rector, conducting him to the door at which his horse stood prepared, pointed out the direct road to Ryebury, which lay straight across the country, at about six or seven miles distance.
Harding, at the same time, received orders to convey the little baggage he had brought with him back to Emberton, and, that personage internally congratulating himself, with the words, "All is right!" as he heard Dr. Wilton direct his master on the road to the miser's dwelling, proceeded calmly to lay out his plans for that which he considered as his coup de maitre.
Burrel had no difficulty in finding his way; and at about eleven o'clock he was standing before Mr. Tims's slate-coloured door, enduring the reconnoissance which master and maid always inflicted on those who visited their dwelling. At length Sally appeared, and Mr. Burrel was ushered into Mr. Tims's parlour, where the miser received him with as much cordiality as was in his nature, having from one accidental circumstance acquired a particular regard for his present visiter--a fact in natural history which perhaps requires some explanation.
The simple truth, then, was merely this. On Burrel's first visit, the miser, knowing him to be a man of large fortune, whom it might be well to conciliate, had offered him a glass of ale; and then even went the length of offering a glass of wine. Doing it--like most generous people--with fear and trembling lest it should be accepted, he was inexpressibly relieved by Burrel's declining both the expensive kinds of refreshments that he offered. The matter sunk deep into his mind, and at once created a fund of esteem and gratitude towards the self-denying stranger, which was only augmented by the consciousness that he himself always ate and drank that which was offered to him at other houses, looking upon it all as a saving.
On the present occasion, as soon as Burrel entered, he again made the offer of the ale, and would fain have offered the wine also--but there was something within him which this time rendered it impossible. So much was he of opinion, that the wine is the best which is drank at other people's expense, that he could not believe it possible that Burrel would refuse it twice. While this struggle was going on in his bosom, however, Burrel, who saw that he was somewhat agitated, and never took into consideration the important question regarding the glass of wine, imagined that Mr. Tims felt ashamed of not having given him intimation of the state of Sir Sidney Delaware's affairs, and proceeded to speak of them at once.
"You have done wrong, my good sir!" he said, "in not letting me know that the money required for redeeming the annuity is to be produced so soon. You did not consider that a day or two's notice may be necessary, in transactions to such an amount. However, it so luckily happens that the money is ready!"
"But, my dear sir--my dear sir!" cried Mr. Tims, "How could I give you notice when you were out of the way. I called upon you twice, at no small expense of shoe-leather."
Such indeed was the fact--that is to say, that he had called--and as the internal economy of Mr. Tims's heart is not unworthy of investigation, as a curious piece of hydraulick machinery, it may be well to state what were the contending feelings which made the miser, at last, act contrary to the directions of his dearly-beloved nephew. In the first place then, it would appear, that in regard to the arrangements for the redemption of the annuity, a liberal commission had been insured to him on the completion of the transaction, and consequently he was a party interested. The injunctions, therefore, of his nephew, to throw every quiet impediment in the way, to keep Mr. Burrel in ignorance of the facts, and, if any thing should retard the remittances which that gentleman expected, to refuse all assistance, were clearly contrary to the general principles on which Mr. Tims acted, namely, direct views of self-interest. To correct all this. Lord Ashborough's lawyer had held out the prospect of his patron's friendship on the one hand, and his wrath on the other, and had added many vague promises of more golden rewards, to be procured by his nepotal influence. But Mr. Peter Tims, although he had very little family affection himself, forgot that his uncle possessed as little; and though the only tie between Mr. Tims, senior, and the rest of the world, existed in his nephew's person, yet the miser of Ryebury felt that he could never be without friends or relations, as long as there were pounds, shillings, and pence in the world. Mr. Tims, junior, as I have said, forgot all this, and forgot too, that his uncle would be, perhaps, less inclined to receive vague promises of compensation as current coin, from him, than from any other individual; and, at the same time, in order to show him how deeply Lord Ashborough was interested, and how much it would behove him to reward the conduct he pointed out, the lawyer committed the egregious blunder of letting the miser know who the pretended Mr. Burrel really was.
The desire of making his own bargain instantly seized upon Mr. Tims of Ryebury, and he at once wrote to Mr. Tims, of Clement's Inn, with a puzzling question, as to what was to be the specific consideration for acting in the manner prescribed. The reply was not so definite as he liked, and he immediately called at Mr. Burrel's lodging to inform him of the time appointed for the payment of the redemption money. His calculations at the same time were partly true, and partly incorrect, in regard to the probable advantages to be gained by courting Burrel.--No man ever did, or ever will, make a correct calculation, where self is one of the units. He is sure, by adding a cipher to it, to multiply it by ten, in every shape and way, and thus throw the whole computation wrong together. Mr. Burrel, or rather Mr. Beauchamp, was heir to Lord Ashborough's title and estates, and likely to outlive him by forty years; and therefore, thought Mr. Tims, is likely to patronize me a thousandfold more than Lord Ashborough can. But Mr. Tims forgot that if Henry Beauchamp was likely to outlive Lord Ashborough, Lord Ashborough was fully as likely to outlive Mr. Tims.
These considerations, however, gave the miser a great leaning towards Mr. Burrel, in the whole business, though he was not without some speculations, in regard to catching all that he could from both parties, if a way were to present itself. At present, he assured his visiter that he had called upon him twice for the express purpose of communicating with him on the subject of Sir Sidney Delaware's affairs; but that, not having found him at home, he did not think fit to leave any message, on so momentous a subject, with either the woman of the house or the groom, who were the only personages he saw.
"Well, well, Sir!" replied Burrel. "The question now before us is simply, how we are now to proceed? Must I go to London to receive this money, and bring it down?"
"Why, I should think that would be an expensive way, sir," replied the miser. "Forty shillings going and forty shillings coming, and eighteenpence to the coachman each way, makes four pound three; and then you may well calculate three shillings more for food and extras going and coming, making four pounds six. Then you would not like to carry such a sum about you; so that you would be obliged to do it by draft, therefore the stamp would not be saved; and I am always for saving the money of my clients--it is the duty of an honest man--No, no, sir! I think you had better draw a letter of credit, in my favour, on your agents, and I will direct them to lodge the money in the hands of the London correspondents of our county bank, of which I am one of the poorest proprietors. I will give you an acknowledgement in form for the letter of credit, which, being duly satisfied, I will give you a receipt in full, with a lean upon the mortgage from Sir Sidney Delaware, as I settled before with Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson."
"But can all this be done in time, Mr. Tims?" demanded Burrel.
"Oh, no fear, no fear!" replied the miser. "This is but the twenty-first. We can get the letter off to-day. The bills given by Sir Sidney do not come due till the twenty-fourth; and we can easily have notice of the money being lodged by the twenty-third in the afternoon, when the post comes in."
Burrel mused a moment. He saw no objection; but yet he thought it might be safer to go himself. He mused again; but then he thought of Blanche Delaware, and that he had not seen her for two whole days--That settled the matter in his mind. There could be no possible obstacle, he persuaded himself, in London--therefore, neither pleasure or necessity called him thither: one of those two great motives chained him to Emberton, and therefore he determined to stay.
The miser agreed immediately to join him at his lodgings in the little town, where all that was necessary for completing the business was to be procured more easily. Burrel rode off; Mr. Tims reached Emberton in half an hour; the letter was drawn; another written by Mr. Tims to his London bankers; the whole were put in the post; and Burrel, after dining alone, sauntered slowly and happily up the park, to take his tea in the little octagon parlour of Emberton house.
He was received with those sparkling eyes which left no doubt that he was welcome; the next day also past in happiness; and Burrel, somewhat too sure perhaps of success, fixed in his own mind, as he strolled homeward, that the morning which saw Sir Sidney Delaware freed from a part of his difficulties by his exertions, should also see the declaration of his love to her who had inspired it.
CHAPTER II.
On the twenty-third day of September, Sir Sidney Delaware had some slight symptoms of a fit of gout, which rendered him somewhat irritable and anxious. Three times did he give particular directions, that, when Mr. Tims of Ryebury came, he was to be shown into the library, and, as often when he heard any unusual sound in the mansion, usually so still and tranquil, he demanded whether Mr. Tims had arrived. Still Mr. Tims did not make his appearance, though about two o'clock Mr. Burrel did; and the worthy baronet, in conversation with his young friend, forgot his anxiety for a time. At length, however, it began to resume its ascendency, and its first struggle was of course with politeness. He was evidently uneasy; he moved to and fro in his chair; he complained of some pain; and, at length, was in the very act of desiring his son to take a walk, and see why Mr. Tims had not kept his promise, when the daily bag arrived from the post, and--together with a billet or two, apparently from some female friends for Miss Delaware, which she carried away to her own room; and a letter for Captain Delaware--appeared a lawyer-like epistle addressed to Sir Sidney, and bearing the London postmark.
"I will go to Mr. Tims as soon as I have looked over this letter, sir," said Captain Delaware; but Sir Sidney at the same moment opened his own, and, after he had read, he exclaimed, "No, no, William, there is no necessity! You and Blanche were going to walk with Mr. Burrel; and here Lord Ashborough's lawyer tells me that he cannot be down on the precise day--that is to-morrow--but will come the day after, or the day after that, with a thousand apologies for not coming. If I be well enough, I will go to this person, Tims, myself to-morrow. If not, you can go. So call Blanche, and take your ramble while it is fine. The clouds are beginning to gather."
Captain Delaware went to seek his sister, who, as we have said, had retired to her own apartment; but he soon returned saying, that she had a slight headach, and would stay at home. He would show Burrel the way himself, he added, to what the people called the Sea Hill, so named because the sea was thence first visible; and, though the spirit of their proposed expedition had all evaporated, Burrel did not choose to decline. "If she did but know!" he thought; "If she did but know what is going on here in my heart, I do not think a slight headach would keep her at home! But I must bring this matter to some certainty--it is growing painful!" and more than one-half of his walk passed in silent musing.
On his return, he went into the library with Captain Delaware. Blanche was there with her father, but she was deadly pale, and Burrel felt more than anxious--alarmed. As soon almost as he entered, Sir Sidney Delaware pressed him to stay to dinner, and Burrel, who had often declined, mastered by strong anxiety, agreed to do so on the present occasion; though, as the invitation was given and accepted, he saw a passing blush, and then a relapse to snowy paleness, come over the countenance of her he loved.
The evening was no longer one of joy. Burrel hoped that some opportunity would present itself of gaining a single moment of private conversation with Blanche Delaware in the course of his stay; but it was evident that she avoided every thing of the kind, and, at an early hour, complaining of increased headach, she retired once more to her room. Soon after, her lover took his leave, and returned home in a state of feverish anxiety, difficult to be described; while Captain Delaware perceived that something had gone wrong, but could not divine what; and Sir Sidney, without seeing any thing deeper, felt that the evening which had just past to its predecessors, was the dullest he had spent since he had become acquainted with Henry Burrel.
To Burrel the night went by in sleepless restlessness; and, though we would fain see how it flew with Blanche Delaware, we must take up her story in the course of the morning after, when, rising as pale as the night before, she found that the hour, instead of nine--which she had fancied it must be at least--was only seven. Putting on her bonnet, she glided down the old stone staircase, and proceeded into the park; but it was not towards Emberton that she took her way. On the contrary, turning her steps through the wild woodlands that lay at the back of the mansion, she trod very nearly the same path which she had pursued with Henry Burrel during the first days of their acquaintance.
She traced the walk by the bank of the stream. The kingfishers were flitting over the bosom of the river; the waters were pouring on, fretting at the same pebbles, dashing over the same little falls, lying quiet in the same still pools, as when she had last seen them. But the feelings of her heart were changed, and the light, which nature had then borrowed from joy, was now all overshadowed by the clouds of care. As she gazed upon the stream, and the wild banks, and the hawthorn dingles round her, and felt that a bitter change in her own bosom had stripped them of all their beauties, as ruthlessly as the hand of winter itself could have done, the pain was too much, and she wept.
Still she trod her way onward, pondering slowly and gloomily, till she came so near the little glen that had terminated that happy walk with Burrel, that she could not refrain from going on. A few minutes brought her to the spot where the Prior's Well was first visible, and a few minutes more found her standing under the rich carved canopy of gray stone that covered over the fountain.
For several moments she gazed wistfully and mournfully upon the waters, as, with a calm unobtrusive ripple, and a low whispering murmur, they welled from the basin of the fountain, and trickled through the grass and pebbles. "Oh, would to Heaven!" she thought, "that yon calm water did really possess the mysterious power the old legends attribute to it. But two days since, nothing on earth would have made me taste it, though I believed not a word; and now I am almost tempted to drink, though I still believe as little."
As she thought thus, she stretched out her hand to the little iron cup; and, after a short pause, filled it, and gazed upon the water, as it lay pure and clear, with that peculiar cold sparkling limpidity which the old monks so greatly prized in their wells. Her hand shook a little; but, after a single instant's consideration, with a smile which was mingled of sadness and of a sort of gentle scorn, at the drop of credulity that still lay at the bottom of her heart, she was raising the cup to her lips when a hand was laid gently upon her arm.
She started, but without dropping the cup, and, turning round, she saw beside her, Henry Burrel. Pouring the water carefully back into the font, as if every drop were precious, she let go the chain, while, with downcast eyes, and a cheek burning like crimson, she uttered a scarcely audible good-morrow, in answer to some words that she had hardly heard.
Burrel's hand still rested on her arm, while his eyes were fixed upon her face, tenderly, but reproachfully. The action and the look were those of intimacy, but not of presumption; and, indeed, there had been of late a kind of mute language established between Blanche and her lover, in which many a question had been asked, and many a feeling had been acknowledged, which would have expired in shame, had words been the only means of expression, and which gave Burrel some right to enquire into the change he could not but perceive too plainly.
"You were about to drink, Miss Delaware!" he said. "But if you taste of the enchanted fountain, I must drink also; for Heaven knows, then, I shall have more need of the waters of oblivion than you have!"
He spoke with a smile; but there are smiles in the world more melancholy than a world of sighs; and his was so full of pain, anxiety, and disappointment, that Blanche, as she turned away, made the only answer in her power--by tears. The drops from her eyes fell thick, and as her left hand rested on the little carved border of the stone font, over which her head still hung, partially averted to hide the deep and varying feelings that passed across her face, the tears dimpled the clear still waters; and though Burrel, as he stood, could not see her eyes, he perceived that she was weeping bitterly. His fingers, which had rested lightly on her arm to prevent her from drinking the water, now glided down and circled round her hand, clasping upon it with a degree of gentle firmness.
"Miss Delaware," he said, "for Heaven's sake, tell me, have my hopes been all in vain?--Have I, like a presumptuous fool, dreamed of happiness far greater than I deserve to possess? And do you now, by the striking change which your demeanour towards me has undergone, intend to rebuke my boldness in fancying that you might ever become mine; and to crush the hopes which your former kindness inspired?"
Blanche Delaware wept, but she answered not a word; and Burrel gazed on her for a moment in silence, in a state of agitation which might have well prevented him from judging sanely of what was passing in her mind, even had it been expressed by more unequivocal signs than the bitter, though silent tears, that rolled over her cheeks.
"For God's sake, speak!" he exclaimed at length. "Oh, Blanche! if you did but know the agony you are inflicting on a heart that loves you better than any other earthly thing, you would at least save me the torment of suspense--May I--dare I--hope that you will be mine?"
Blanche Delaware passed her hand across her brow, and brushed back the rich long ringlets, that, as she stooped, had fallen partially over her eyes. She turned towards her lover also, still grasping the edge of the fountain with her left hand for support, and, with something between a gasp and a sob, replied to his question at once--"No, Mr. Burrel! No! You must not hope!--Oh, forgive me!"--she added, seeing the deadly paleness that spread over his countenance. "Forgive me! Forgive me! But for your sake--for your own sake--for both our sakes, it is better said at once--I must not--I cannot"----
The rest died upon her lips. Enough, however, had been spoken to make the rejection decisive; and yet it was spoken in such a tone as to betray deep grief as well as agitation on her own part; and to awaken--not suspicions--but a thousand vague and whirling fancies in Burrel's brain.
"And will not Miss Delaware," he said at length, "at least console me for broken hopes, and the first love of my heart crushed for ever, by assigning some cause for this change in her opinion of one, who is unconscious of having done any thing to offend or pain her?"
Blanche was again silent, and turned away her head, while the sighs came thick and deep, and the tears were evidently falling fast. Burrel paused for a moment, and then added, in a sad but kindly tone--"Or is it, Miss Delaware, that I have imagined a heart free, that was before engaged? Perhaps, long ere I knew you, some more fortunate person may have created an interest which can be inspired but once--perhaps even, circumstances may have prevented you from rendering him as happy as you might otherwise have done--Oh, tell me, is it so? For though all men are selfish, I should find it easy to gratify my selfishness in contributing to your happiness. I have interest--I have power--and if I could render Blanche Delaware happy with one that she loves, it would be the next blessing to possessing her hand myself--Tell me, Miss Delaware, I beseech you, is it as I imagine?"
"Oh! No, no, no! cried Blanche, turning her glowing face towards him. No, upon my word--I never saw the man that I could love but"----
The deepening blush and the fresh burst of tears concluded the sentence as Burrel's heart could have desired; and again laying his hand upon hers, he besought her to tell him what then was the obstacle. But Blanche drew back--not offended, but sad and determined.
"It is in vain, Mr. Burrel!" she said; "and I am bound to tell you so at once. My mind is made up--my resolution is taken. You have my highest esteem, my deepest gratitude, my most sincere regard, but you cannot have"----
She paused at the word love; for no circumstances to the mind of Blanche Delaware could palliate a falsehood, and she felt too bitterly that he did possess her love also. She changed the phrase in the midst, and added, "I can never give you my hand!"
One only glance at the countenance of her lover made her feel that she could bear no more, and that it were better for them both to part at once. She drew back a single step, and then, with a look of painful earnestness, while her hand unconsciously was laid upon his arm, she said, in a low sad tone, "Forgive me, Mr. Burrel! Oh, forgive me!" and the next moment Burrel was standing alone by the side of the fountain.
He remained there for several minutes, with every painful feeling that it is possible to imagine struggling together in his bosom. First, their was the disappointment of hopes that he had encouraged to a pitch, of which he had had no notion, till they were done away for ever--the breaking of a thousand sweet dreams--the vanishing of a crowd of happy images--the dissolution of all the fairy fabric which the enchanter Fancy builds up round the cradle of young affection. Then there were the doubts, the fears, the jealousies, the vague and sombre imaginings, to which the unexplained and extraordinary conduct of her that he loved gave rise; and then, again, was the rankling sting of mortified pride, shooting its venom into the wound inflicted by disappointment.
Burrel paused by the fountain, and suffered every painful thought to work its will upon his heart in turn; and, oh! what he would have given to have wept like a woman; but he could not. At length, steeling himself with that bitter fortitude which is akin to despair, he turned his steps towards the little town. He avoided, of course, the mansion; and, though he gazed at it for a moment with a bent brow and quivering lip, when he caught a sight of it from a distance, yet, as soon as he withdrew his eyes, the sight only seemed to accelerate his pace.
"Have my horse at the door in a quarter of an hour!" were the first words he addressed to his servant, as he entered the house; "and be ready to take up the baggage to London by the coach."
Harding gazed upon his master in horror and astonishment; for the newly-proposed arrangement did not at all coincide with his views and purposes. But Burrel, having given his orders in a tone that left no room for reply, walked on into the little parlour; and it was several minutes before his worthy valet could so far recover from the shock, as to find an excuse for evading the execution of his commands. He soon, however, summoned sufficient obstacles to his aid; and, having proceeded to order his master's horse, he returned and entered the parlour uncalled.
"I have ordered the groom to bring up Martindale, sir," he said, "because the bay needs shoeing. But I am afraid, sir, I cannot get all the things ready for the coach. There is every thing to pack, sir, and all the bills to be paid, and not above three quarters of an hour to do it in."
Burrel had been gazing forth from the window, seeing nothing upon earth; but his habitual command over himself, was too powerful to suffer him to get deaf as well as blind, under any disappointment; and he turned immediately that the servant spoke. "I forgot," he said, taking out his pocket-book; "You must go up to-morrow morning. There is money to pay the bills;" and he noted down as carefully as usual the sum he gave, adding, "I shall sleep to-night at Dr. Wilton's, and shall be in town on Saturday. Have the travelling chariot taken to Holditch, to be put in order, as soon as you arrive. Call in all my bills in London; and get things arranged to set off for the continent in the course of next week."
The man bowed low, with his usual silent gravity; in a few minutes more the horse was at the door; and Burrel, riding slowly out of the town, took the road towards the house of his former tutor.
CHAPTER III.
"Hush, Master William! hush!" cried the old housekeeper, who, having lived from ancient and better days in the family at Emberton, could never forget that William Delaware had been once a boy, nor ever remember that he was now a man. "Hush, Master William! Miss Blanche is not well, poor dear--not well at all; and, indeed, I think----But there he goes!" and as she spoke. Captain Delaware, who had been calling loudly to his sister to come down and make breakfast for him, as he was in haste, hurried into the breakfast-parlour to perform that office for himself. It was not, indeed, that William Delaware was in the least indifferent to his sister's health or happiness, but he possessed that sort of constitution, which hardly permits one to understand what sickness is; and although, had he known that Blanche was suffering under aught that he could assuage or even sympathize with, he would have hastened to offer comfort and consolation, with every feeling of fraternal affection, he now only muttered to himself, "Oh, she has got one of those cursed headachs!" and proceeded to spoon the tea into the tea-pot, as if he had been baling a leaky boat. "Blanche has got a headach, and is not coming down," he added, as Sir Sidney Delaware entered; "and I have made tea, because I wish to reach Ryebury, and speak with the old miser before he goes out. The fellow must be shuffling."
Sir Sydney expressed his anxiety at the continuance of Blanche's headach, more strongly than his son had done. His eyes had been less quick than those of Captain Delaware, in seeing the growing love between Burrel and his daughter, for such feelings had long before passed away from his own bosom; but his personal experience of sickness had taught him to sympathize with it far more than his son could do, and he was about to visit Blanche's chamber immediately, had not the business of Mr. Tims first attracted him for a moment, and then detained him till breakfast was over, and his son was about to depart.
With manifold directions to express surprise at the miser's want of punctuality. Captain Delaware was dismissed by his father, and took the way direct to Ryebury, fully determined to enforce Sir Sidney's rebuke, with many more indignant expressions. "Here," he thought, "my father might have been pressed severely by this time--insulted--nay, even arrested--because this scoundrel has not thought fit to produce the money--doubtless, keeping it to get the additional interest of a single day. If it were not for creating new obstacles, I would horsewhip him for his pains!"
William Delaware was naturally quite sufficiently hasty in his disposition; but people who are so, have not unfrequently a way of lashing themselves up into anger before there is any necessity for it, by conjuring up a thousand imaginary injuries or insults in the future, as soon as they have begun to suspect that Mr. A, B, C, or D, intends to offend or wrong them. Thus, it must be confessed, did William Delaware, as he walked along towards the house of the miser. First, he thought that Mr. Tims might strive still to delay the payment he had promised, in order to increase his gains by a day or two more interest--next, he imagined that he might wish to prolong the matter, in order to augment Sir Sidney Delaware's difficulties, and exact a higher commission; and then, again, it struck him that the miser, whose repute for double-dealing was rather high in the neighbourhood, might have in view so to entangle the affairs of the family, as to get possession of the estate itself. Notwithstanding all this, it is true that William Delaware was not of a suspicious nature. All these phantoms were conjured up by anger at the foregone disappointment. A very slight circumstance--the delay of the payment--had raised them; and a less--even a few fair speeches--would have dispelled them. The distinction is necessary to the appreciation of his character. He was hasty in all his conclusions--rapid in his expectations of good or evil, as soon as his mind was set upon either track--but not suspicious; and, consequently, easily turned from the one road into the other.
It so happened, however--unfortunately enough--that while in the very height of his indignation at Mr. Tims, with that personage's evil deeds and qualities--real and imaginary--past, present, or future--all red-hot and hissing in his mind, who should he encounter but the miser himself, with his sharp red nose turned towards Emberton, and his hands behind his back. Mr. Tims saw him instantly; and as there were various questions which he was anxious to have settled and resolved before he entered into any discussion with either Sir Sidney or his son, he thought that he might escape by a side-path, which opportunely lay just at his left hand; and, consequently, making a rotatory movement on his right heel, he was turning in amongst the bushes, when he was arrested by the voice of the young officer, addressing him in not the most placable tones in the world. As Mr. Tims was well aware, that amongst the stadio-dromoi, he could not compete with so young an opponent as Captain Delaware, he instantly turned and met that gentleman, whose previous wrath was not a little heightened by this evident attempt at evasion.
The most difficult thing for a man who has been secretly coaxing his own anger, is to begin to give it vent without appearing unreasonable; and Mr. Tims's countenance was so cold, dry, and calm, that nothing could be made out of the "Good-morning, Captain Delaware!" with which he opened the conversation.
"I thought, sir, that by making my visit so early, I should have found you at home," was Captain Delaware's brief rejoinder.
"Business called me abroad," replied Mr. Tims, as laconically.
"Were you going towards Emberton Park?" demanded the young officer.
"No, sir, I was not!" answered Mr. Tims, whose manner towards the son of "poor Sir Sidney Delaware," was always very different from that which he assumed to rich Mr. Burrel, and was peculiarly simple on the present occasion.
"You were not!" cried Captain Delaware, "then, let me tell you, sir, you should have been there yesterday. I beg to know, sir, why you were not to the time you yourself appointed for the signature of the mortgage, and the payment of the money advanced."
"Because it was not convenient, sir, and because the money was not ready," replied Mr. Tims with imperturbable calmness.
Captain Delaware's command over himself abandoned him; and, raising the whip he had in hand, he shook it over the miser's head, exclaiming, "Not convenient! Not ready! By Heaven, if it were not for your years, I would make you find it convenient to keep your word when you have pledged it, and to be ready at the time you promise!"
He was dropping the whip, though his eyes were still flashing, when a voice close beside him, proceeding from an honest neighbouring farmer, whose approach he had not observed, exclaimed, "Captain, Captain! Don't ye strike the old man! Don't ye, now! Don't ye! Oh, that's right, now--reason it with him, like--but don't ye strike him!"
"No, no, Retson, I am not going to strike him!" replied Captain Delaware. "Go on, my good fellow, and leave us--I will not strike him!"
"Well, well. Captain," said the farmer, laughing, "I'll go--but your word's given, mind.--So, don't ye strike the old man, though he were the devil himself,--He looks more like a wet hen under a penthouse, howsomever."
The fanner's description was not far from correct; for Mr. Tims--who had expected no such fierce explosion as that which his words had occasioned, and had fancied he could be insolent in security--now stood aghast as the rhetoric of Captain Delaware's horsewhip seemed likely to be applied to his shoulders. His knees acquired an additional bend, his nether jaw dropped, his arms hung distant from his sides, his cheeks grew paler, and his red nose stood out in prominent relief, under the very act of fear. The good farmer's interposition, however, calmed him sufficiently to enable his tongue to falter forth some words of apology, declaring that he did not intend to offend Captain Delaware--far from it; but how could that gentleman expect him to speak boldly upon such subjects, out in the public high-road? Who could tell, he demanded, that there might not be robbers in the immediate neighbourhood of the place where they then stood?
"Well, if that be all," answered Captain Delaware, "I will protect you against robbers, till you get to your own house; and there you will be sufficiently at ease to give me a proper explanation of your unaccountable conduct."
Mr. Tims would fain have evaded this immediate consummation; as his purpose in walking to Emberton was to see Mr. Burrel, and ascertain exactly which way would be the most advantageous for him to act; but Captain Delaware was peremptory; the mediating farmer had walked up the lane, and Mr. Tims was obliged to turn his steps homeward. When he had entered the house, and led his unwelcome visiter into his little parlour, carefully closed the door, and listened to hear that the steps of even his faithful dirty Sally no longer haunted the passage, he began his explanation in a low tone.
"As you say, Captain Delaware--as you say, indeed," he went on. "It is a most unfortunate circumstance; but how can I help it? I depended upon another for the money--the letter of credit that he gave for the sum was duly presented; but it appears that a bill for ten thousand pounds, which he expected to be paid by this time, had been dishonoured, and that his agents had not sufficient assets to meet the demand. But as you say, sir, it was impossible that I could help it."
Captain Delaware sat for a moment in silent but bitter disappointment. At length he exclaimed, "And who the devil is this gentleman, from whom you were to receive this money?"
Mr. Tims hesitated. "Why, as to that, Captain Delaware," he said, "I was expressly forbidden to tell; but since the matter has come to this pass, I dare say there can be no harm in it. He is no one else than the gentleman calling himself Mr. Burrel, or, in other words, your cousin, Mr. Henry Beauchamp."
William Delaware started off his chair, as any other quick-blooded person would have done, if such a tide of sudden and unexpected information were poured upon him. For a moment the blood rushed up into his cheeks--the first feeling of laying one's self under a deep obligation to any one, being always painful. As long as he had thought that the miser advanced the money on mortgage, it had seemed a mere matter of traffic; but when he heard that it was Burrel, it instantly became an obligation, and the first feeling, as I have said, was not altogether pleasant. Neither was the fact, that the gay, the wealthy, the dashing, the sarcastic cousin, of whom he had heard so much, had--notwithstanding the chilling coldness with which Sir Sidney had, a year or two before, repelled some advances which Beauchamp had made--neither was the fact, I say, that he had opened his way into their family circle, taken a place by their fireside, and witnessed all the poverty and decay of their house, agreeable at its first aspect. But a moment's thought--by recalling all the delicacy of Henry Beauchamp's conduct, the kind and unaffected regard which he had shown towards them all, the persevering friendship with which he had followed up his purpose, and the real services he had so zealously planned--soon took away from the mind of William Delaware, all that was painful in the sudden news he heard, and the glow was almost at once succeeded by a bright and happy smile.
"I see it all now!" he cried, "I see it all now! and since such are the facts, Mr. Tims, the matter will be very easily arranged."
"Oh, doubtless, doubtless, sir!" replied Mr. Tims. "As you say, every one knows that Mr. Beauchamp has the wherewithal to do any thing that he likes. His fortune is immense, sir! His fortune is immense! His father made a mint of money when he was Governor of ----."
"How much did you say was the deficiency?" demanded Captain Delaware.
"Only ten thousand pounds, sir!" replied the miser. "A mere nothing to Mr. Beauchamp; and as you say, sir, he could raise it in a minute, if he liked. I was just going to see him upon the business, when I met you, and you were so violent, Captain Delaware."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Tims! I beg your pardon!" said the young officer. "I was in the wrong; but now I will save you the trouble you were about to take, and go on at once to my cousin myself. It is high time that I should acknowledge his generous kindness, and thank him for it."
"But, I trust, Captain Delaware--I trust," faltered forth the miser in an agony of fear, lest the job should be taken out of his hands by the meeting of the principal parties. "I trust that the business may be suffered to proceed in the regular train--I cannot be expected to lose all my little emoluments."
"Do not be afraid--do not be afraid, sir!" replied Captain Delaware, who soon saw the current of the miser's thoughts. "Do not alarm yourself. The whole business shall pass through your hands; and you shall get as much upon it as you honestly can."
"Ay, sir! Now, that is what I call something like!" replied the relieved Mr. Tims. "Captain Delaware, will you take a glass of wine after your walk, or a glass of ale? But, as you say, time presses; and perhaps you may be anxious to see your excellent and worthy cousin, who doubtless can set all right--and high time it is he should do so, I can tell you--for my worthy nephew, Mr. Peter Tims, solicitor of Clement's Inn, who is agent for my good lord and former patron, the Earl of Ashborough, is to be down early to-morrow--and he is a smart practitioner, I can tell you--and the bill being out, you know"----
"The whole of course requires promptitude," interrupted Captain Delaware. "Not that I think Lord Ashborough, or Lord Ashborough's lawyer, would act an ungentlemanly part in the business; but I know it would go far to break my father's heart, were the bill he has given to be presented before he could pay it. So now, Mr. Tims, good-morning. I will call upon you again when I have seen my cousin."
Away sped William Delaware like an arrow from a bow, his breast full of mingled emotions, and his heart throbbing with contending feelings. He did not, it is true, reason much with himself, as he went, in regard to his position relative to Henry Beauchamp. He felt that he owed him a deep debt of gratitude--he felt that he had every reason to love and to admire him; and although he could not but experience likewise, a sort of generous distaste to the mere act of borrowing money from any one, yet he determined to meet his cousin frankly and openly; for his heart had arrived at the same conclusion that his father's had reached before, and he thought, that if there were any man on earth on whom he would choose to confer the honour of accepting an obligation, it was Henry Beauchamp. He was soon in the streets of Emberton, and soon at the door of Burrel's lodging. His application for admittance was answered by the landlady, who told him that Mr. Burrel was gone; but that the valet was still there, and was settling some accounts with a gentleman in his own room.
"Gone!" cried Captain Delaware. "Gone! You mean gone out, Mrs. Wilson, surely--but, send the servant to me."
"Oh no, sir! Sorry I am to say, he is gone for good and all, too surely," replied Mrs. Wilson. "But if you will walk into the parlour, Captain, I will send Mr. Harding to you directly--and I hope, if you should chance to hear of any good lodger, Captain, you will not forget me."
"No, no!" replied Captain Delaware, somewhat impatiently, as he walked forward into the little parlour which Burrel had inhabited; "but make haste, Mrs. Wilson, and send the man to me directly. What can be the meaning of all this?" he added, as the good woman shut the door. "Phoo! There must be some mistake," and he walked towards the window which looked out into the road. Two minutes after he had taken up that position, steps sounded along the passage, and, the street door being opened, Burrel's servant, Harding, ushered out a coarse, vulgar man, whom, as we have described him before, when he made his appearance in the stage-coach with Burrel, we shall not notice farther on the present occasion. A few brief words, which Captain Delaware neither could nor would hear, concluded that worthy's conversation with Mr. Beauchamp's servant; and the next moment Harding himself made his appearance, and, after a silent bow, stood waiting the young officer's commands.
"Mrs. Wilson must surely have been mistaken just now, in telling me that your master has left Emberton?" was Captain Delaware's abrupt address.
"No, sir; she was quite right!" replied Harding, in a respectful tone.
"Good God, this is most unfortunate!" cried Captain Delaware. "And, pray, what was the cause of his abrupt departure?"
Under ordinary circumstances, Harding would have adhered to his taciturnity; but Captain Delaware's declaration, that his master's absence was most unfortunate, excited his curiosity--not in the abstract, but personally, inasmuch as he did not know how far the unfortunate circumstance complained of might affect himself--and he therefore determined, as a nice feat of strategy, to provoke the young officer's loquacity, by showing that he knew or suspected more of his family concerns than the other imagined.
"I really cannot tell, sir," replied he in a low and deferential tone, "what was the absolute cause; and perhaps I might offend you, if I were to say what I fancy it was--although nobody can regret it more than I do in my humble sphere."
"Not at all! Not at all! I shall not be offended at all!" replied Captain Delaware quickly. "On the contrary, I shall be glad to hear any cause assigned for what seems to me quite inexplicable on many accounts."
"Why then, sir, the fact is," replied Harding, "that I could not help seeing that my master--I beg your pardon, sir, I am afraid I shall offend you--Well, sir, that my master seemed to feel very differently towards my young lady at the park than I ever saw him feel before for any one; and I naturally thought, sir, that he was not going to be a single man much longer. But then, last night, he did not come home at all at ease; and this morning, after having been out for a long time in the park, or at the mansion, he returned as if he had got his death-blow--ordered me to get every thing ready to set off for London; and mounting his own horse, not half an hour ago, galloped away before. So, of course, I thought he had been refused--and that is a thing he never was in his life before, I can answer for it."
Captain Delaware threw himself down in a chair, in a state of confusion, perplexity, and distress indescribable. He instantly combined Burrel's conduct with Blanche's illness of the previous night and that morning; and, cursing internally what he called all the silly caprices and ill-placed delicacies of womankind, he was first about to set out to accuse his poor sister of having cast away the affections of a man whom she evidently loved, and to insist upon her recalling him. Then, however, he remembered the immediate business that had brought him there, and despair took possession of him. The ten thousand pounds were not forthcoming, Burrel was gone, Lord Ashborough's agent was to be down the next morning, and William Delaware knew that the effect upon his father's mind was likely to be terrible, if the necessary sum could not be procured in time.
"Good God!" he exclaimed at length. "This is most unfortunate indeed. What is to be done? Do you think your master could not be overtaken? I have business to settle with him of the utmost importance, which must be concluded to-day."
"My master left me a great many things, sir, to settle for him," replied the servant; "and perhaps that which you speak of was amongst them. He told me to call upon Mr. Tims, and"----
"That is exactly the question," cried Captain Delaware, interrupting him. "Have you got the money?"
"What!" cried Harding, almost as eagerly. "Has the money not been paid?"
"No, indeed!" answered Captain Delaware. "His agents declared that they had not assets--that a part of the sum--no less than ten thousand pounds--had not been paid into their hands!"
"If's a juggle!" cried the servant. "I see it all! It is a juggle of that rogue in grain, Peter Tims--No, no, sir, my master never dreamed that the money would not be paid; and he only ordered me to tell Mr. Tims at Ryebury, that he was to send up all papers for him to the lawyers in London, as my master talks of going abroad. But I can set all right yet, sir, I think. Mr. Burrel has only gone to Dr. Wilton's at present, and I know he will not be angry with me for going after him, to tell him all that has happened, and I will make bold to tell him, too, a great many things he does not know. So make your mind easy, sir. I beg your pardon for the liberty--but, depend upon it, the money shall be at Ryebury before to-morrow morning."
Captain Delaware paused a moment to think; for there was something unpleasant to his feelings in seeming to press for Henry Beauchamp's assistance, especially as he knew not what might have passed between him and Blanche. But there was no choice but to do so, or to plunge his family into ruin; and his meditation on the subject was brought to an end by Harding--who was a man of fine feelings himself when it suited him--declaring that he held it his bounden duty to inform his master immediately, whether Captain Delaware liked it or not.
Captain Delaware, however, reflecting that Beauchamp was his cousin, and that no other resource was open to him, did not oppose the man's determination; and it being settled that Harding should mount one of his master's horses, and follow him to Dr. Wilton's rectory immediately, the young officer, with a mind much relieved, returned towards his paternal dwelling, meditating a severe cross-examination for Blanche, and internally declaring, "That Harding is a very honest fellow!"
CHAPTER IV.
The very honest fellow was soon upon horseback, muttering to himself, "Ten thousand pounds short!--that would never do!--but I must mind what I am about, else he will go back and pay the money to this young chap, and then the whole business will be spoilt. Let me see;" and he set himself seriously to consider the best means of getting Burrel either to intrust him with the money--in which case he thought he might be able to cheat his accomplice, and appropriate the whole of that part of the spoil--or to pay it at once to Mr. Tims; and in that event, Harding still calculated on coming in for a share. It was yet early in the day; but, nevertheless, Master Harding rode as if for life; for being one of those personages who calculated almost every chance--the almost is very necessary, for he did not calculate all--he foresaw that it would be necessary for Burrel, who could not be supposed to have so large a sum about him, to procure the money from some other source, and, knowing that Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson, his master's agents, were part proprietors of a county bank at about twenty miles distance from Emberton, he concluded that Burrel's first application would be there, where his means of payment would be best known.
The reason why things seldom answer, which are so beautifully calculated before hand, is probably, because the smallest event in the world is brought about by such a compound piece of machinery, that the most minute wheel going wrong--a pin, a pivot, a spring, a link of the chain, a cog, a catch, a lever, a balance wheel, getting the least out of place--the whole machine falls into a different train of action, and strikes six when we thought it was about to strike seven. This trite fact was beautifully exemplified in the case of Harding, who had calculated to a word what he was to say to his master, and how soon either he himself or his said master was to set out for the bank at ---- --how long it would take to go, so as to arrive during banking hours--how long it would take to settle the business with the partners, and at what precise moment of time either he himself or Burrel could be back in Emberton. It so happened, however, that, on reaching the rectory, to his horror and astonishment, he found that Mr. Burrel, on arriving at that place before him, had got into Dr. Wilton's carriage, which had been standing at the door, and had gone out with the worthy clergyman.
How soon they would be back, no one could tell, and where they were gone to, was as little known, so that worthy Master Harding had to remain at the rectory, suffering pangs of impatience, that were not the less severe because he covered them over as usual with a face of calm indifferent gravity. Nevertheless, in order to lose no time, he immediately proceeded to the stable, and there put his master's horse in a complete state of preparation to start again at a moment's notice, while, at the same time, he supplied the beast that brought him thither liberally with oats, feeling, like Mr. Tims, a sort of Diogenesian satisfaction at feeding either his horse or himself at another person's expense. Still he was called upon to practise the copy-line virtue of patience for no inconsiderable length of time; for, notwithstanding all his aspirations, Mr. Burrel, or rather Mr. Beauchamp, did not appear for at least two hours; and the vision of the banking-house, and its speedy arrangements--the transfer of the money, and the ultimate ten thousand pounds--floated faint and more faint before his mental view. "He's a devil of a goer, however, that Mr. Beauchamp when he has a mind!" thought the man, consoling himself with the usual straw-catching delusions of hope, as probability waxed weakly. "He's a devil of a goer when he has a mind! No man gets over his miles sooner; and as for Martindale, give him but easy ground, and the beast would do it well in the time without turning a hair."
As he thus cogitated, the roll of wheels sounded past the stable; and, on looking out, Harding saw the plain chariot of the divine glide forward with merciful slowness to the door. The step descended with the same quiet and tranquil movement, and Henry Beauchamp, with deep and unusual gravity on his countenance, got out, and entered the house, followed by Dr. Wilton.
Harding lost no time; but immediately made his arrival known to his master, and, in a private audience, informed him of Mr. Tims's betrayal of his secret, and of all he had gathered from Captain Delaware, at the same time, throwing in dexterously a few of those apparently casual words which he judged most likely to prevent Mr. Beauchamp from holding any direct communication with the family at Emberton. He still took care, however, to insinuate the necessity of immediately supplying the deficiency in the sum promised, and clenched the impression by directing his master's suspicions towards Lord Ashborough, and Peter Tims, Esq. of Clement's Inn, solicitor, &c. All that he dared not urge, on his own part, lest he should ruin his particular plans by the appearance of impudent intrusion, he allowed Beauchamp by implication--which is generally a sort of semi-lie--to attribute to Captain Delaware, trusting that any want of vraisemblance would be covered by the agitation of his master's mind. In all this he was wonderfully successful; and the more so because every thing that he said was fundamentally true, and therefore Henry Beauchamp had no difficulty in believing it to be so. That gentleman, however, expressed no surprise. In fact, he had been lately troubled with a great deal more surprise than he liked; and he was returning fast to his old habit of taking every thing as a matter of indifference, or, at least, of seeming to do so. Beauchamp thought calmly for a few minutes, and then asked, "How far is it to ----?" naming the town where the county bank was situated.
"About twenty miles from Emberton, sir," replied the man; "sixteen or seventeen from this place."
"What is o'clock?" demanded his master, who, in the agitation of the preceding night, had forgotten to wind up his watch.
The man drew a fine French repeater from his pocket, and examined its face; but it lied like himself. Hope backed him against time for ten thousand; and though the watch was too slow by quarter of an hour, he took off ten minutes more from the hour it noted.
"Saddle Martindale!" said Mr. Beauchamp, when he had pondered the man's reply. "Bring him up directly! Then go back to Emberton, and to-morrow to London, where, do as I bade you before. If you have not sent over my dressing-cases here, you need not send them--If you have--have them brought back, and take them up with the other things."
The man bowed and withdrew; and Burrel, after another moment's thought, descended to Dr. Wilton's library, and informed his worthy tutor that he had received a sudden call to a different place, which compelled him to set out immediately. The cause of his departure he did not disclose, as he felt a great repugnance to make even so intimate a friend of all the parties as Dr. Wilton, acquainted with the circumstances of his cousins' difficulties, although he had not scrupled, during their drive, to inform the good clergyman, that there was no longer any probability--if there had indeed ever existed any--of an alliance between his own family and that of Sir Sidney Delaware. The cause of his different conduct, in regard to these two affairs, might perhaps be, that generosity is always taciturn where it is real--love is always loquacious where it is sure of not being laughed at.
Whether, in a longer conversation, the good doctor might or might not have seduced Beauchamp into telling him more, can hardly be ascertained; for scarcely had he announced his intended departure, when he was informed that his horse was at the door. Dr. Wilton had no time to express his surprise; but grasping his young friend's hand, he repeated twice, "Now mind, my dear Harry, mind! I tell you, I am sure there is some mistake, or some very base manoeuvre, and you have promised not to quit London till you hear from me."
Beauchamp shook his head mournfully. "It is no use, my dear sir," he replied; "but, nevertheless, of course I will keep my word."
At the door his servant, while holding the stirrup, demanded, in a peculiarly humble tone, "Pray, sir, may I expect to see you at Emberton to-night, for there are several things"----
"I shall be at Ryebury, but certainly not at Emberton," answered Beauchamp. "If there be any thing unsettled when you come to London, it must be done afterwards."
