CONCLUSION.

Sleep came on me, without my feeling it, and amid all the distracting cares and pressing thoughts that embarrassed me, I only awoke when the roll of the caleche sounded beneath my window, and warned me that I must be stirring and ready for the road.

Since it is to be thus, thought I, it is much better that this opportunity should occur of my getting away at once, and thus obviate all the unpleasantness of my future meeting with Lady Jane; and the thousand conjectures that my departure, so sudden and unannounced might give rise to. So be it, and I have now only one hope more—that the terms we last parted on, may prevent her appearing at the breakfast table; with these words I entered the room, where the Callonbys were assembled, all save Lady Jane.

“This is too provoking; really, Mr. Lorrequer,” said Lady Callonby, with her sweetest smile, and most civil manner, “quite too bad to lose you now, that you have just joined us.”

“Come, no tampering with our party,” said Lord Callonby, “my friend here must not be seduced by honied words and soft speeches, from the high road that leads to honours and distinctions—now for your instructions.” Here his lordship entered into a very deep discussion as to the conditions upon which his support might be expected, and relied upon, which Kilkee from time to time interrupted by certain quizzing allusions to the low price he put upon his services, and suggested that a mission for myself should certainly enter into the compact.

At length breakfast was over, and Lord Callonby said, “now make your adieux, and let me see you for a moment in Sir Guy’s room, we have a little discussion there, in which your assistance is wanting.” I accordingly took my farewell of Lady Callonby, and approached to do so to Lady Jane, but much to my surprise, she made me a very distant salute, and said in her coldest tone, “I hope you may have a pleasant journey.” Before I had recovered my surprise at this movement, Kilkee came forward and offered to accompany me a few miles of the road. I accepted readily the kind offer, and once more bowing to the ladies, withdrew. And thus it is, thought I, that I leave all my long dreamed of happiness, and such is the end of many a long day’s ardent expectation. When I entered my uncle’s room, my temper was certainly not in the mood most fit for further trials, though it was doomed to meet them.

“Harry, my boy, we are in great want of you here, and as time presses, we must state our case very briefly. You are aware, Sir Guy tells me, that your cousin Guy has been received among us as the suitor of my eldest daughter. It has been an old compact between us to unite our families by ties still stronger than our very ancient friendship, and this match has been accordingly looked to, by us both with much anxiety. Now, although on our parts I think no obstacle intervenes, yet I am sorry to say, there appear difficulties in other quarters. In fact, certain stories have reached Lady Jane’s ears concerning your cousin, which have greatly prejudiced her against him, and we have reason to think most unfairly; for we have succeeded in tracing some of the offences in question, not to Guy, but to a Mr. Morewood, who it seems has personated your cousin upon more than one occasion, and not a little to his disadvantage. Now we wish you to sift these matters to the bottom, by your going to Paris as soon as you can venture to leave London—find out this man, and if possible, make all straight; if money is wanting, he must of course have it; but bear one thing in mind, that any possible step which may remove this unhappy impression from my daughter’s mind, will be of infinite service, and never forgotten by us. Kilkee too has taken some dislike to Guy. You have only, however, to talk to him on the matter, and he is sure to pay attention to you.”

“And, Harry,” said my uncle, “tell Guy, I am much displeased that he is not here, I expected him to leave Paris with me, but some absurd wager at the Jockey Club detained him.”

“Another thing, Harry, you may as well mention to your cousin, that Sir Guy has complied with every suggestion that he formerly threw out—he will understand the allusion.”

“Oh yes,” said my uncle, “tell him roundly, he shall have Elton Hall; I have fitted up Marsden for myself; so no difficulty lies in that quarter.”

“You may add, if you like, that my present position with the government enables me to offer him a speedy prospect of a Regiment, and that I think he had better not leave the army.”

“And say that by next post Hamercloth’s bond for the six thousand shall be paid off, and let him send me a note of any other large sum he owes.”

“And above all things, no more delays. I must leave this for England inevitably, and as the ladies will probably prefer wintering in Italy—”

“Oh certainly,” said my uncle, “the wedding must take place.”

“I scarcely can ask you to come to us on the occasion, though I need not say how greatly we should all feel gratified if you could do so,” said my Lord.

While this cross fire went on from both sides, I looked from one to the other of the speakers. My first impression being, that having perceived and disliked my attention to Lady Jane, they adopted this “mauvaise plaisanterie” as a kind of smart lesson for my future guidance. My next impression was that they were really in earnest, but about the very stupidest pair of old gentlemen that ever wore hair powder.

“And this is all,” said I, drawing a long breath, and inwardly uttering a short prayer for patience.

“Why, I believe, I have mentioned everything,” said Lord Callonby, “except that if anything occurs to yourself that offers a prospect of forwarding this affair, we leave you a carte blanche to adopt it.”

“Of course, then,” said I, “I am to understand that as no other difficulties lie in the way than those your Lordship has mentioned, the feelings of the parties, their affections are mutual.”

“Oh, of course, your cousin, I suppose, has made himself agreeable; he is a good looking fellow, and in fact, I am not aware, why they should not like each other, eh Sir Guy?”

“To be sure, and the Elton estates run half the shire with your Gloucester property; never was there a more suitable match.”

“Then only one point remains, and that being complied with, you may reckon upon my services; nay, more, I promise you success. Lady Jane’s own consent must be previously assured to me, without this, I most positively decline moving a step in the matter; that once obtained, freely and without constraint, I pledge myself to do all you require.”

“Quite fair, Harry, I perfectly approve of your scruples,” so saying, his Lordship rose and left the room.

“Well, Harry, and yourself, what is to be done for you, has Callonby offered you anything yet?”

“Yes sir, his Lordship has most kindly offered me the under secretaryship in Ireland, but I have resolved on declining it, though I shall not at present say so, lest he should feel any delicacy in employing me upon the present occasion.”

“Why, is the boy deranged—decline it—what have you got in the world, that you should refuse such an appointment.”

The colour mounted to my cheeks, my temples burned, and what I should have replied to this taunt, I know not, for passion had completely mastered me. When Lord Callonby again entered the room, his usually calm and pale face was agitated and flushed; and his manner tremulous and hurried; for an instant he was silent, then turning towards my uncle, he took his hand affectionately, and said,

“My good old friend, I am deeply, deeply grieved; but we must abandon this scheme. I have just seen my daughter, and from the few words which we have had together, I find that her dislike to the match is invincible, and in fact, she has obtained my promise never again to allude to it. If I were willing to constrain the feelings of my child, you yourself would not permit it. So here let us forget that we ever hoped for, ever calculated on a plan in which both our hearts were so deeply interested.”

These words, few as they were, were spoken with deep feeling, and for the first time, I looked upon the speaker with sincere regard. They were both silent for some minutes; Sir Guy, who was himself much agitated, spoke first.

“So be it then, Callonby, and thus do I relinquish one—perhaps the only cheering prospect my advanced age held out to me. I have long wished to have your daughter for my niece, and since I have known her, the wish has increased tenfold.”

“It was the chosen dream of all my anticipations,” said Lord Callonby, “and now Jane’s affections only—but let it pass.”

“And is there then really no remedy, can nothing be struck out?”

“Nothing.”

“I am not quite so sure, my Lord,” said I tremulously.

“No, no, Lorrequer, you are a ready witted fellow I know, but this passes even your ingenuity, besides I have given her my word.”

“Even so.”

“Why, what do you mean, speak out man,” said Sir Guy, “I’ll give you ten thousand pounds on the spot if you suggest a means of overcoming this difficulty.”

“Perhaps you might not accede afterwards.”

“I pledge myself to it.”

“And I too,” said Lord Callonby, “if no unfair stratagem be resorted to towards my daughter. If she only give her free and willing consent, I agree.”

“Then you must bid higher, uncle, ten thousand won’t do, for the bargain is well worth the money.”

“Name your price, boy, and keep your word.”

“Agreed then,” holding my uncle to his promise, “I pledge myself that his nephew shall be husband of Lady Jane Callonby, and now, my Lord, read Harry vice Guy in the contract, and I am certain my uncle is too faithful to his plighted word, and too true to his promise not to say it shall be.”

The suddenness of this rash declaration absolutely stunned them both, and then recovering at the same moment, their eyes met.

“Fairly caught, Guy” said Lord Callonby, “a bold stroke if it only succeeds.”

“And it shall, by G—,” said my uncle, “Elton is yours, Harry, and with seven thousand a year, and my nephew to boot, Callonby won’t refuse you.”

There are moments in life in which conviction will follow a bold “coup de main,” that never would have ensued from the slow process of reasoning. Luckily for me, this was one of those happy intervals. Lord Callonby catching my uncle’s enthusiasm, seized me by the hand and said,

“With her consent, Lorrequer, you may count upon mine, and faith if truth must be told, I always preferred you to the other.”

What my uncle added, I waited not to listen to; but with one bound sprung from the room—dashed up stairs to Lady Callonby’s drawing-room—looked rapidly around to see if SHE were there, and then without paying the slightest attention to the questions of Lady Callonby and her younger daughter, was turning to leave the room, when my eye caught the flutter of a Cachmere shawl in the garden beneath. In an instant the window was torn open—I stood upon the sill, and though the fall was some twenty feet, with one spring I took it, and before the ladies had recovered from their first surprise at my unaccountable conduct, put the finishing stroke to their amazement, by throwing my arms around Lady Jane, and clasping her to my heart.

I cannot remember by what process I explained the change that had taken place in my fortunes. I had some very vague recollection of vows of eternal love being mingled with praises of my worthy uncle, and the state of my affections and finances were jumbled up together, but still sufficiently intelligible to satisfy my beloved Jane—that this time at least, I made love with something more than my own consent to support me. Before we had walked half round the garden, she had promised to be mine; and Harry Lorrequer, who rose that morning with nothing but despair and darkness before him, was now the happiest of men.

Dear reader, I have little more to confess. Lord Callonby’s politics were fortunately deemed of more moment than maidenly scruples, and the treasury benches more respected than the trousseau. Our wedding was therefore settled for the following week. Meanwhile, every day seemed to teem with its own meed of good fortune. My good uncle, under whose patronage, forty odd years before, Colonel Kamworth had obtained his commission, undertook to effect the reconciliation between him and the Wallers, who now only waited for our wedding, before they set out for Hydrabad cottage, that snug receptacle of Curry and Madeira, Jack confessing that he had rather listen to the siege of Java, by that fire-side, than hear an account of Waterloo from the lips of the great Duke himself.

I wrote to Trevanion to invite him to Munich for the ceremony, and the same post which informed me that he was en route to join us, brought also a letter from my eccentric friend O’Leary, whose name having so often occurred in these confessions, I am tempted to read aloud, the more so as its contents are no secret, Kilkee having insisted upon reading it to a committee of the whole family assembled after dinner.

“Dear Lorrequer,

“The trial is over, and I am acquitted, but still in St. Pelagie; for as the government were determined to cut my head off if guilty, so the mob resolved to murder me if innocent. A pleasant place this: before the trial, I was the most popular man in Paris; my face was in every print shop; plaster busts of me, with a great organ behind the ear, in all the thoroughfares; my autograph selling at six and twenty sous, and a lock of my hair at five francs. Now that it is proved I did not murder the “minister at war,” (who is in excellent health and spirits) the popular feeling against me is very violent; and I am looked upon as an imposter, who obtained his notoriety under false pretences; and Vernet, who had begun my picture for a Judas, has left off in disgust. Your friend Trevanion is a trump; he procured a Tipperary gentleman to run away with Mrs. Ram, and they were married at Frankfort, on Tuesday last. By the by, what an escape you had of Emily: she was only quizzing you all the time. She is engaged to be married to Tom O’Flaherty, who is here now. Emily’s imitation of you, with the hat a little on one side, and a handkerchief flourishing away in one hand, is capital; but when she kneels down and says, ‘dearest Emily, ‘ you’d swear it was yourself.”—[Here the laughter of the auditory prevented Kilkee proceeding, who, to my utter confusion, resumed after a little.]—“Don’t be losing your time making up to Lord Callonby’s daughter”—[here came another burst of laughter]—“they say here you have not a chance, and moreover she’s a downright flirt.”—[“It is your turn now, Jane,” said Kilkee, scarcely able to proceed.]—“Besides that, her father’s a pompous old Tory, that won’t give a sixpence with her; and the old curmudgeon, your uncle, has as much idea of providing for you, as he has of dying.”—[This last sally absolutely convulsed all parties.]—“To be sure Kilkee’s a fool, but he is no use to you.”—[“Begad I thought I was going to escape,” said the individual alluded to, “but your friend O’Leary cuts on every side of him.”] The letter, after some very grave reflections upon the hopelessness of my pursuit, concluded with a kind pledge to meet me soon, and become my travelling companion. Meanwhile, added he, “I must cross over to London, and look after my new work, which is to come out soon, under the title of ‘the Loiterings of Arthur O’Leary.’”

This elegant epistle formed the subject of much laughter and conversation amongst us long after it was concluded; and little triumph could be claimed by any party, when nearly all were so roughly handled. So passed the last evening I spent in Munich—the next morning I was married.

THE END.