Mr. Talton remained thoughtful some minutes after the Captain had ceased speaking; then addressing him—"If you were some years younger, Howard, I should censure you severely for your conduct; but as it is, and in consideration of the punishment you have already endured, I shall suspend my lecture! Poor Ellenor! It is strange, Howard, in the course of so many years you should never have gained any intelligence, nor met with the least circumstance from which you could judge of her destiny."

"It is strange, Talton. A few weeks back my nephew introduced a youth on board, whose appearance raised such emotions in my breast as I cannot attempt to describe. He was the exact resemblance of my Ellenor; his age too agrees with my son's, if living; but every hope was soon destroyed, his answers plainly proved he was not her child."

A sigh of regret here burst from the bosom of the Captain; nor could he refrain an impatient exclamation against the severity of his fate, in being thus deprived of those he regarded as the blessings of his existence.

"Though your life, Howard," said Mr. Talton, "has been rather out of the dull track of common occurrences, yet I would not have you think you have had more than your share of human ills; of those, believe me, all have an equal dispensation, and, sooner or later, feel the hand of adversity! As your morning of life has been clouded, you should, I think, look forward to a clear evening. You yet may find your Ellenor, and your son be restored, all your fondest desires could wish. You still have hope! Many, suffering afflictions, are bereaved of that blessing, by a fatal certainty of ill, where their happiness depends."

"Certainty of ill—" repeated the Captain—"Ah, Talton, am I not chained to a woman I detest, deprived of her I idolized, and a son whose endearments and attentions might have soothed the little sorrows of my bosom? But you are a bachelor, unrestrained by any ties which can justly interest the heart, and therefore cannot judge for me."

"Pardon me, my friend," returned Talton. "I speak not from conjecture; neither am I altogether unacquainted with those anxieties which have rendered you unhappy; and if you will listen to the tale of the woman I love, you may, perhaps, be convinced of the justness of my assertion."

The Captain bowed his consent—.

"Miss Holly, Howard, was an only daughter, and brought up by an old humourist of a father, whose idol she was, whilst she yielded every sense to his guidance. Many proposals of marriage were offered, but none thought worthy her acceptance by Mr. Holly, till he accidentally met with Sir Horace Corbet, an old schoolfellow, and as great an oddity as himself, with whom he renewed his acquaintance; and an union was proposed between their children—agreed on, the writings drawn, and the wedding-day fixed, before the young people were acquainted with the least circumstance, or their sentiments respecting it, asked! Miss Holly received the mandate of her father, to regard Mr. Corbet as the husband he had selected, with the greatest distress; and at last informed him her affections were irrevocably fixed on another. But vain were her supplications and tears: the old gentleman was peremptory—and Miss Holly eloped!

"I shall not attempt to describe the rage of the fathers on this occasion; six months elapsed without their being able to discover the place of her retreat; when her aunt, who had for years estranged herself from all intercourse with the family, arrived at Holly seat, and, with great formality, acquainted her brother his daughter had taken refuge with her, and, hoping by that time his resentment had subsided, had engaged her to attempt a reconciliation. The old gentleman appeared delighted; a messenger was dispatched for her, and, on her arrival, she was received with every demonstration of joy and affection! The calm, however, was deceitful; for the next morning he led her to the chapel, where Sir Horace and his son were waiting, and there forced her to give her hand to the latter! Could happiness result from such an union?—Oh no! What followed might naturally have been expected; indifference on one side, disgust on the other.

Soon after the nuptials, Mrs. Corbet's aunt died; and, considering her niece highly injured by the measures which had been pursued, left her the whole of her fortune, amounting to thirty thousand pounds, independent of her husband. In less than a twelvemonth Mr. Holly died, leaving them eight thousand a year: Sir Horace survived his friend but a few weeks, and Sir Henry succeeded to nearly fifteen thousand a year more. Their decease, however, which a year before would have been the means of Lady Corbet's happiness, was then of no avail; the gentleman on whom her early affections had been placed, on hearing of her marriage, retired to France, where he literally died of a broken heart.

"Sir Henry now, uncontrolled by parental authority, yielded to the wildest passions of his heart. The mild dignity of his wife was disregarded, her beauty insufficient to restrain him from illicit connexions, and, whilst she was restricted with a parsimonious hand to her marriage settlement, she had the mortification of beholding immense property squandered on his worthless mistresses. As a landlord and master, Sir Henry was certainly beloved; but his character as a husband degenerated into that of a brutal tyrant.

"Soon after the decease of her father, Lady Corbet was delivered of a son, and in him (being deprived of all other) she concentrated her future happiness.

"On my first return from America, as I yesterday informed you, I passed some months at Bath, where I was introduced to Lady Corbet, and, had she been single, I should have said, Here Talton rest for ever!—as it was, nothing passed but what the strictest prude might have witnessed, though the censuring world imputed actions to me, I was innocent of, even in intention. Sir Henry was on an excursion with some friends, when I first became acquainted with his family; on his return, Lady Corbet presented me to him; he scarcely deigned a perceptible bow, but, throwing himself into a chair, called for his son, who was then about five years old, and, without once addressing me, amused himself in talking to, and answering his infantine questions. I regarded Lady Corbet with a look, I believe, sufficiently expressive of my surprise at his unpoliteness; the silent tear trembled in her eye, and, with a sigh which seemed to say, it was such behaviour as she was used to, she walked to the window. I had then an opportunity of observing Sir Henry. He was rather small in his person, his eyes black and penetrating, and his face expressive of care and discontent.

"He continued playing with the child some time; then, starting up—'Has your ladyship any commands to the St. Ledger family?' 'None, sir,' answered Lady Corbet, attempting to speak with unconcern. 'If you have, you must write to-night; as I depart for London early to-morrow morning;' then taking the child by the hand, without even bowing to me, left the room.

"The emotions Lady Corbet had endeavoured to repress, then gained the ascendancy, and she burst into tears. The subject was delicate; I, however, ventured to speak, though I could offer little consolation. It was then she acquainted me with the preceding particulars, and regretted the obdurate infatuation of her father, who had sacrificed her happiness for the possession of wealth.

"Sir Henry, as I was afterwards informed, swayed by the report which was circulated of my attentions to his lady, insisted on her accompanying him to London; and as I soon after left England, I neither saw nor heard any thing of her till about a year and a half since; when, being in London, I one morning went to breakfast with Sir John Dursley, and was there surprised by the appearance of Lady Corbet. Her dress instantly informed me she was a widow; yet, as knowing her abhorrence of Sir Henry, I was perplexed to account for the sorrow depicted in her countenance.

"The mystery was soon explained. For some time after my departure, Sir Henry's conduct and behaviour continued invariably the same, when her happiness received an additional shock, by the total alienation of his affections from his son, who, as his years and sensibility increased, severely felt the estrangement, which produced an habitual melancholy. His amusements were disregarded; company became disagreeable; and the only pleasure or recreation he seemed to experience, or would take, was in wandering through the grounds and plantations; where, when the servants his anxious mother sent in search of him, could not trace his haunts, he used even to pass the night.

"At last Sir Henry fell a victim to a decline: he still retained his dislike to his son; but, to make his lady amends, as he termed it, for the unhappiness he had occasioned her, he left her every part of his fortune, without restriction, exclusive of the family estate (about eight thousand a year) which the present Sir Henry comes to the possession of, on attaining his one-and-twentieth year.

"The attention of Sir Henry to Lady Corbet, on the death of his father, was the richest balm to her heart, and she looked forward to that happiness of which she had so many years regretted the deprivation: but the flattering illusion soon fled! Her son, on a sudden, became thoughtful, reserved, and mysterious: his answers, when addressed, were incoherent, his dress disordered, and his whole appearance indicative of internal wretchedness. He avoided his mother and passed the greatest part of his time in the apartment where his father died, and where, at last, he totally secluded himself. Lady Corbet was grieved and alarmed at this change, which the domestics openly imputed to a mental derangement; and some papers they found, nearly induced Lady Corbet to concur in their opinion. They contained unconnected sentences, which showed a mind ill at ease, if not bereft of reason.

"The mild persuasions and entreaties of his mother, were ineffectual to draw from him the cause of his dejection, which still increased; and one night, about six months after the death of his father, he privately left the hall! This circumstance was soon discovered, and the domestics dispatched in pursuit of him; but the only intelligence they could gain of him was from a peasant, who affirmed, that passing by the church early in the morning, he had seen Sir Henry ascend from the vault where the remains of the Corbet family were interred: that he was without his hat, held his handkerchief to his face, and, on leaving the church, ran with wildness across the fields toward the village. This account was farther corroborated by the sexton, who attested that Sir Henry had called him up after midnight, and demanded the keys of the church, which he did not think himself authorised to refuse.

"This information but served to perplex and raise painful conjectures in the breast of Lady Corbet: Sir Henry was not to be traced, and it was not till some time after, she received a letter from Lady Dursley, informing her of his having been seen in London. To London she immediately came, where she had been nearly three weeks, when I met her at Sir John's.

"Lady Corbet recounted these events during breakfast; and we were endeavouring to give her consolation, in a case I believe we all thought equally hopeless as mysterious, when the clerk (for my friend is in the commission for the peace) entered the room, and informed Sir John, a party of dissolute young men, who, the night before, had committed several depredations, had been conveyed to the round-house, and were then waiting at the office. Two of them, he said, who were accused as the principal offenders, entreated to speak with Sir John previously to their examination. This, Sir John peremptorily refused; and asking me if I would accompany him, we proceeded to the office.

"When I beheld the extreme youth of the offenders, (for one was not more than sixteen, the others somewhat older), I knew not whether to pity or feel indignant at their depravity. I was, however, recalled from my reflections by Sir John, earnestly inquiring the names of those who were reported as the ringleaders? The youth who had principally engaged my attention, unwillingly pronounced—'Henry Corbet.'

"'Yes,' said Sir John with severity; 'if I mistake not, it is Sir Henry Corbet!—For the respect I bear your family, young gentleman, I am sorry to see you here!'

"Sir Henry, for him it really was, shrunk abashed from the penetrating eyes of Sir John, who now proceeded to inquire into the nature of the offence.

"The constables reported, that they had the preceding night been alarmed by the cry of murder, accompanied by their nightly signal for assistance; that on hastening to the spot whence the alarm had been given, they had discovered one of their fraternity on the ground; Sir Henry had then hold of his throat—another who had a bludgeon in his hand, with which it appeared the watchman had been assaulted, had likewise hold of one arm. Several others, on the approach of the watch, fled; and those who remained, after an obstinate resistance, had been secured.

"Sir Henry denied the charge. He declared that, so far from assaulting, he and his companions had, on the cry of murder, gone to the rescue of the watchman; that his friend, St. Ledger, had wrested the bludgeon from one of the assailants, and at the moment the other watch came up, was assisting him to raise the man from the ground, for which purpose he, Sir Henry, had passed his hand behind his neck; that, without making the least inquiry, they had attacked his companions, who acted only on the defensive.

"With these particulars, he said, he wished to have privately acquainted Sir John, without exposing himself or friends to the ignorant and undeserved accusation of the watchmen.

"Sir John checked the vivacity of the youthful pleader; but as the man who had been assaulted did not appear, and the constables could not prove the defence to be false, he, after reprimanding them for exposing themselves to such night adventures, set them all at liberty, except Sir Henry, whom he desired to attend him into another room.

"Sir Henry readily obeyed, and there, with greater humility than I had expected from his late spirited behaviour, apologized for the manner in which he had been brought before him.

"Sir John admitted his excuse, and asked the occasion of his being in London? Sir Henry's face became suffused with a blush of the deepest dye, as he replied, he was on a visit at an old friend's of his father.

"'Your father,' said Sir John, 'I had not the pleasure of knowing. Your mother I sincerely respect, and as I honour myself with the title of her friend, I must insist on your passing the remainder of the day with me.'

"Sir Henry instantly assented, and continued with me, till Sir John had finished the business of the morning.

"Pleased with the opportunity, I engaged my young companion on a variety of subjects, and, though prepossessed against him by the account of his behaviour to his mother, I must, in justice, acknowledge I never met with his superior. His delivery was elegant, his judgment appeared solid, and his understanding highly cultivated: as I traced in him the resemblance of his father, I could, however, easily reconcile myself to the idea, that his mother's character of him was just.

"Sir John being by this time at leisure, we returned to Soho-square. He had not mentioned the name of Lady Corbet; and now, without any previous intimation respecting her, conducted him into the room where she was.

"I never beheld surprise more strongly expressed in the countenance of any one, than in Sir Henry's, on perceiving his mother; it approached indeed nearly to horror. As for Lady Corbet—a scream of mingled surprise and delight escaped her lips, as she hastened to clasp him in her arms; but springing on one side, he eluded her embrace, and murmuring some inarticulate sounds, attempted to rush out of the room. In this he was prevented by Sir John, who, catching him by the arm, said—'Not so fast, young gentleman. Your mother has suffered too much unhappiness by your first elopement: I shall not so easily permit you to quit her a second time. Justice has delivered you into my hands, and I resign you to her. Recollect, as your mother and sole guardian, she has an unlimited authority to control your actions?'

"Sir Henry answered, but with a groan, and clasping his hands on his forehead, seemed for some moments to struggle with contending passions; then hastily asked what was required of him?

"'Not wilfully to destroy the peace of your mother!' replied Sir John, pointing to Lady Corbet, who had sunk nearly lifeless on a sofa.

"The sight appeared to rouse Sir Henry. He flew to her, and, by the tenderest appellations, endeavoured to recall her senses. Recollection soon returned, when, clasping his hand—

"'Oh, Harry!' she cried, 'I needed not this last instance of your indifference to show how little claim I had to your regard. The ties to a mother with you are now forgotten; it once was otherwise: but Corbet will follow the steps of his father!'

"Sir Henry regarded her wildly—'My father, Lady Corbet!—--' he stopped, his lip trembled, and quitting her, he paced the room with agitated steps. Lady Corbet burst into tears—.

"'Harry, do not, I entreat you, torture me with this behaviour, I have not merited it. To you I have looked for that consolation and support which, as a widow and a mother, I had a right to expect. How it has been rendered, I need not say. Silence and mystery have been the return to my solicitude—your desertion in the hour of sorrow, the reward of my tenderness!'

"Sobs impeded her utterance—she could not proceed; but Sir John, with great strength of reasoning, endeavoured to convince Sir Henry, how wrong his conduct had been, and to persuade him to act consistently with the duty he owed his mother, and to his own character, in the eyes of the world. The young gentleman listened to him some time in silence; a sigh only now and then swelled his bosom. At last, on Sir John urging him to return to Wales, with his mother, he looked earnestly in his face, and with a tone of voice highly impressive, pronounced the simple denial—'I cannot, Sir John, return to the seat of my forefathers!'

"'No!' said Sir John. 'Whither then would you go?'

"Sir Henry waved his hand—. 'The world is before me!'

"I had been, during this time, endeavouring to soothe Lady Corbet; but on hearing the replies of her son, she again hastened to him, threw her arm round his neck, and, leaning her head on his shoulder, wept in silence. Sir Henry gently disengaged himself, and reconducting her to the sofa, seated himself by her.

"'Why, my mother,' he said, 'do you wish my return to Corbet Hall? Do not, I conjure you, thus wantonly seek to plunge me into greater unhappiness. Of my wretchedness you have been a witness: of what I have suffered in my mind, you can form no idea! To me, the spot where my father expired is a place of horror—of distraction! to which, if confined, neither my head nor my heart can long sustain me in existence!'

"Sir John listened to this address with some surprise; then, shaking his head at me, pointed his finger to his forehead, as implying he thought the young wanderer impaired in his intellects.

"Lady Corbet, whose emotions had at first hurried her into the little indignant reproof I have related, with tenderness replied—she had indeed, with concern, beheld his dejection before he quitted the hall; but if any thing there had disgusted, or been the means of rendering him unhappy, she would readily consent to reside at Holly seat, or any other of her estates he chose to name, provided he would return to her protection.

"To this Sir Henry did not deign to return an answer, but, folding his arms, sat with his brow contracted, and his eyes fixed on the floor, deaf alike to the solicitations of his mother and the chidings of Sir John; nor was it till after we were joined by Lady Dursley, that he yielded an unwilling assent to our united entreaties.

"Lady Corbet's satisfaction at thus regaining her fugitive, expressed itself more in her countenance than her words: Sir Henry's was overspread with gloom; he scarcely spoke, but in the evening wrote a farewell letter to his friend St. Ledger, and early the next morning attended his mother from the metropolis.

"You will not, perhaps, Howard, wonder that the admiration I formerly evinced for Lady Corbet, should give rise to more tender sentiments, on finding her released from her vows, and at liberty to select a partner better calculated to ensure her happiness, than the one her father had chosen. I accordingly followed her to Wales, and sought the earliest opportunity to avow the state of my heart. She answered my declaration with a frankness which endeared her still more to me, though discouraging to my addresses. She never, she acknowledged, entertained but one idea of affection, and that had long since been blighted and destroyed: the happiness of her son was the only thing in which she then looked forward for her own. As a lover she could not receive me, but, as a friend, I should ever be welcomed to the hall.

"As a friend then I have visited, and am not without hopes of one day obtaining her hand. The assistance I have been able to render her in the disposal of her property, has imperceptibly worn away the reserve of our earlier acquaintance; and as I have purchased a considerable estate adjoining Sir Henry's, I have every opportunity of increasing the esteem of this valuable woman. Sir Henry I have rarely beheld; his reserve to me has ever been in the extreme, and baffled all my endeavours to gain his friendship or confidence.

"On their return from London, Lady Corbet endeavoured to develope the cause of his conduct, but in vain. Sir Henry became again the prey of mystery and melancholy, till the arrival of some gypsies in those parts; with them he had several times been seen to converse, and, notwithstanding the vigilance of his mother, who, suspecting his intention, had appointed several of the domestics to watch him, he again, about two months since, eloped, and as it was supposed, with those itinerant outcasts!

"Lady Corbet's grief, on this second elopement of her son, was calm, but deeper than on the former occasion; all her attempts to discover him proved ineffectual, and, as a last resource, she determined on going to London to the young St. Ledger, who being the bosom friend of Sir Henry, she thought might perhaps be acquainted with his proceedings. As I was likewise going to London, I accompanied Lady Corbet, and, at her request, went with her to St. Ledger's: but that family was in equal confusion—young St. Ledger had likewise absconded!

"At that time I was obliged to leave England, therefore am ignorant how their search after the fugitives has ended. This, however, Howard, I think you must acknowledge, that Lady Corbet has far greater cause for unhappiness than yourself. You still may indulge the hope of again seeing your Ellenor—a fatal certainty assures her, she is deprived of the man she loved for ever! You never knew your son; and though you may regret the deprivation of those attentions and endearments filial affection bestows; yet you, like her, never experienced the bitter pang of having those blessings changed to unkindness and neglect!"