In pursuance of the promise made by old Mr. Martindale, Miss Isabella Featherstone, and others of the party who had no other amusement in view, went the following morning to the cottage to look over the prints and drawings. The old gentleman had no light task to find and set in order his dispersed treasures: for his pictures were, as his books, in every part of the house, not even excepting the kitchen. He had risen early in order to find them; and it had been to him a task not without labour, though accompanied also with some powerful and interesting feelings. He had been looking back to past times and to years long gone by. He had been conversing with his former self, and had revived the forms of old acquaintances long since dead. He saw them again, and heard them again: their faces gleamed upon him through the lines of many an old engraving. He saw again, after dust had long covered, and darkness had long concealed them, drawings of many a palace in Rome, in Naples, in Venice, from the contemplation of which he had imbibed his love of architecture; and he began, as he looked back into the past, to entertain some feelings of regret. Almost every body looks back to the past with regret, especially old bachelors. By this employment the feelings of the old gentleman were greatly excited, and he began to be almost sentimental; so that when his visitors arrived at his cottage, he received them, not as usual with the odd manners of a humorist, but with a most courteous and old-fashioned politeness.

Isabella Featherstone observed his altered manner, and supposed that he was endeavouring to make amends for his abrupt and uncourteous manner of the preceding day. All the party, indeed, thought that a remarkable change had taken place in Mr. Martindale, but no one thought of attributing the change to any thing else than a little caprice. Isabella took great pains to show how ready she was to accept the practical apology, which she conceived was thus offered by the old gentleman. She talked therefore with more than her usual fluency, and exclaimed with more than usual rapture at every thing which could at all vindicate or allow of rapturous exclamation. The remains of antiquity, the works of modern art, the heathen temple or Christian church, were in their turns all complimented to the utmost of the young lady’s power of eloquence. Unmeaning compliments are inexhaustible; and well it is that they are so, or the great abundance and almost infinite variety which was drawn forth from Mr. Martindale’s portfolios would have puzzled and perplexed the flatterer. To all this commendatory language the old gentleman was silent; and the party, who could not but notice the fluency of Isabella’s compliments, began to tremble for her, thinking that the old gentleman was silently meditating some keen satirical retort; the usual coin in which such geniuses as he repay the volubility of superabundant compliment. But their fears and apprehensions were unfounded. The young lady continued unexhausted and unreproved.

To examine a very large collection of prints and drawings, especially when an interest is felt or affected, occupies no inconsiderable portion of time. So the morning was rapidly passing away, and might have been entirely consumed by this amusement, had it not been for an interruption which put a stop to their employment.

A servant announced that the Rev. Mr. Denver and another gentleman wished to speak with Mr. Martindale on particular business. The old gentleman was not best pleased with the interruption. Impatiently asking the servant into which room he had introduced the gentlemen, he immediately followed the man out of the apartment; and such was his haste, that he never thought to put out of his hand an engraving which he was just about to show to his party, but carried the print with him.

Mr. Denver introduced to Mr. Martindale with great parade Colonel Rivolta, whom he described as having recently made his escape from the continent, where he was exposed to persecution, if not to death, on account of his political opinions. The reverend gentleman then proceeded to state, that the Colonel had previously to his own arrival in England sent over his wife and daughter, whom he had committed to the care of Richard Smith; that with them he had also transmitted some property, which old Richard had invested for their use and benefit; that unfortunately the very first night of the Colonel’s arrival at Brigland, the cottage in which Richard Smith dwelt had been entered by the gipsey, of whom mention has been already made; that in consequence of that event the poor old man had been so seriously alarmed, that he had been totally unable to attend to any thing, and that he had died, leaving this poor foreigner in a strange land, not knowing how to proceed as to the recovery of his little property. Under these circumstances, Mr. Denver had taken the liberty of introducing the poor man to Mr. Martindale; knowing from the general benevolence of his disposition, and from his acquaintance with practical affairs, that he would be best able to counsel and assist the foreigner in his present difficulties.

This appeal to the vanity and virtues of the old gentleman compensated for the interruption which had taken him from his company. And, indeed, we must do Mr. Martindale the justice to acknowledge that there really was a considerable share of benevolent feeling in the constitution of his mind, though that benevolence was attended, as it not unfrequently happens, by a very competent share of conceit. He was indeed very happy in performing acts of kindness, and also very happy in enjoying the reputation of those acts. This is a failing which moralists ought to treat with much gentleness and consideration; for it does a great deal for those countless and useful institutions which are supported by voluntary contributions. Forgetting then the company which he had left, the old gentleman began to enter very freely and fully into the concerns of the foreigner, and to offer his best services to assist him in his difficulties. He soon found, however, upon inquiry, that there was not really so much difficulty as Mr. Denver had imagined or represented; and he was not altogether displeased at the opportunity thus afforded to him of ridiculing the clergyman for his ignorance of matters of business. It is indeed a sad fact, that so many of this order are quite ignorant of the affairs of common life in those points where they might often be of essential service to their parishioners. One should imagine that some little knowledge of this kind might be advantageously acquired even by the sacrifice, were it necessary, of some of that energy and time devoted to dactyls and spondees, or to hares and partridges. But we must take the world as we find it, and be thankful that it is no worse.

The information and direction which the stranger sought were soon communicated to him, and most thankfully received by him. He then was rising to take leave and repeat his grateful acknowledgments, when his eye was arrested by the print which Mr. Martindale held in his hand, and which he had unrolled while he was talking. As soon as the Colonel saw the picture, he recognised the scene which it represented, and uttered an ejaculation, indicative of surprise and pleasure. Mr. Martindale then, for the first time, observed the print, and noticed its subject: he also looked upon it with surprise, but not with pleasure; and then he asked the stranger if that scene were familiar to him. With very great emotion the Colonel replied:

“That scene brings to my recollection the happiest day of my life.”

For a few seconds the party were totally silent; for the clergyman and the foreigner were struck dumb with astonishment at the altered looks of the old gentleman, and were surprised to see him crushing the picture in both his hands. He then, as if with an effort of great resolution, exclaimed:

“And it brings to my recollection the most miserable day of my life.”

Mr. Denver was not used to emotions; he was quite perplexed what to do, whether he should sympathise or retire. He very wisely and very calmly begged Mr. Martindale not to be agitated. That was a very rational request; but, unfortunately, when persons are in a state of agitation, they are not in a condition to attend to rational requests. Colonel Rivolta was more accustomed to the sight and expression of strong emotions, and he did not make any rational request; but turning towards the old gentleman, with a look of kindness and sympathy, he said:

“Ah, sir! I am sorry, very sorry, that I have caused you to think again of your miseries. But your lot is now in prosperity. Ah, sir! we are all liable to calamity: it is sad to think of the many pains of life; but your sorrow, sir, is no doubt without reproach to yourself.”

The agitation of the old gentleman abated, and he replied: “I thank you for your kindness, sir, but my sorrow arises from self-reproach. I have inflicted injuries which can never be redressed.”

He hesitated, as if wishing, but dreading to say more. Then changing the tone of his voice, as if he were about to speak on some totally different subject, he continued addressing himself to Colonel Rivolta:

“I presume, sir, you are a native of Genoa, or you are very familiar with that city.”

“I was born,” replied the foreigner, “at Naples; but very early in life I was removed to Genoa, that I might be engaged in merchandise; for my patrimony was very small, and my relations would have despised me, had I endeavoured by any occupation to gain a livelihood in my native city.”

“Then you were not originally destined for the army.”

“I was not; but after I had been some few years in Genoa, I began to grow weary of the pursuits of merchandise, and indeed to feel some of that pride of which I had accused my relations, and I thought that I should be satisfied with very little if I might be free from the occupation of the merchant; and while I was so thinking, I met by chance an old acquaintance who persuaded me to undertake the profession of arms, to which I was indeed not reluctant. And so I left my merchandise, and did not see Genoa again for nearly two years. It was then that I was so much interested in that scene which the picture portrays; for in a very small house which is in the same street, and directly opposite to that palace, there lived an old woman, whose name was.…”

The attention of the old gentleman had been powerfully arrested by the commencement of the Italian’s narrative; and he listened very calmly till the narrator arrived at the point when he was about to mention the name of the old woman who lived opposite to the palace in question: then was Mr. Martindale again excited, and without waiting for the conclusion of the sentence, interrupted it by exclaiming:

“Ah! what! do you know that old woman? Is she living? Where is she?—Stop—no—let me see—impossible!—Why I must be nearly seventy—yes—Are you sure? Is not her name Bianchi?”

To this hurried and confused mass of interrogation, the Colonel replied that her name was Bianchi; but that she had died nearly twenty years ago, at a very advanced age, being at the time of her death nearly ninety years of age. Hearing this, the old gentleman assumed a great calmness and composure of manner, though he trembled as if in an ague; and turning to the astonished clergyman, who was pleasing himself with the anticipation of some catastrophe or anecdote which might form a fine subject for town-talk, he very deliberately said:

“Mr. Denver, I beg I may not intrude any longer on your valuable time. This gentleman, I find, can give me some account of an old acquaintance of mine. The inquiries may not be interesting to you. Make my best compliments to Mrs. Denver.”

Mr. Denver was so much in the habit of being dismissed at short notice from his audiences with Mr. Martindale, that he did not think any thing of this kind of language; but he was sadly disappointed at being sent away just at the moment that some important discovery seemed about to be made; for it was very obvious from the manner in which Mr. Martindale had interrogated the foreigner, and from the very great emotion which he had manifested, that the old gentleman had something more to inquire about than merely an old acquaintance. Mr. Denver, indeed, had little doubt, whatever might be the object of the disclosure about to be made, that he should ultimately come into possession of a knowledge of the fact; but it was painful to be put off to a future period, it was a suffering to have his curiosity strongly excited and not immediately gratified. In order, however, to insure as early a relief as possible, he had no sooner taken his leave of Mr. Martindale, than he dropped a hint to Colonel Rivolta, that he should be happy to see him again at the parsonage as soon as possible.

When this good man was withdrawn, Mr. Martindale requested the stranger to be seated; and unmindful of the guests whom he had left to amuse themselves and each other, he commenced very deliberately to examine the foreigner concerning those matters which had so strongly excited his feelings.

“You tell me,” said Mr. Martindale, “that the old woman Bianchi has been dead nearly twenty years. Now, my good friend, can you inform me how long you were acquainted with this old woman before her death.”

“I knew her,” replied the Colonel, “only for about four years before she died.”

“And had you much intimacy with her, so as to hear her talk about former days.”

“Very often, indeed,” replied the foreigner, “did she talk about the past; for as her age was very great, and her memory was very good, it was great interest to hear her tell of ancient things; and she was a woman of most excellent understanding, and very benevolent in her disposition. Indeed, I can say that I loved the old woman much, very much indeed. I was sorry at her death.”

“But tell me,” said Mr. Martindale impatiently, “did you ever hear her say any thing of an infant—an orphan that was committed to her care nearly forty years ago?”

At this question, the eyes of the stranger brightened, and his face was overspread with a smile of delight, when he replied: “Oh yes, much indeed, much indeed! that orphan is my wife.”

This rapidity of explanation was almost too much for the old gentleman’s feelings. His limbs had been trembling with the agitation arising from thus reverting to days and events long passed; and he had entertained some hope from the language of the foreigner, that he might gain some intelligence concerning one that had been forgotten, but whose image was again revived in his memory. He had thought but lightly in the days of his youth of that which he then called folly, but more seriously in the days of his age of that same conduct which then he called vice. It would have been happiness to his soul, could an opportunity have been afforded him of making something like amends to the representatives of the injured, even though the injured had been long asleep in the grave. When all at once, therefore, the intelligence burst upon him, that one was living in whom he possessed an interest, and over whose destiny he should have watched, but whom he had neglected and forgotten, he felt his soul melt within him; and well it was for him that he found relief in tears. Surprised beyond measure was Colonel Rivolta, when he observed the effect produced on Mr. Martindale, and heard the old gentleman say with trembling voice:

“And that orphan, sir, is my daughter.” He paused for a minute or two, and his companion was too much astonished and interested to interrupt him: recovering himself, he continued: “For many years after that child was born, I had not the means of making any other provision for it than placing it under the care of the old woman of whom we have been speaking. I gave her such compensation as my circumstances then allowed; and as the mother of the child died soon after the birth of the infant, I thought myself freed from all farther responsibility when I had made provision for the infant. I endeavoured, indeed, to forget the event altogether; and as I wished to form a respectable connexion in marriage, I took especial care to conceal this transgression. However, various circumstances prevented me from time to time from entering into the married state; and having within the last twelve years come into the possession of larger property than I had ever anticipated, it occurred to me that there should be living at Genoa a child of mine, then indeed long past childhood. I wrote to Genoa, and had no answer; I went to Genoa, and could find no trace either of my child or of the old woman to whose care I had entrusted her; and I was grieved not so much for the loss of my child, as for the lack of an opportunity of making some amends for my crime. I am delighted to hear that she lives. To-morrow I will see her.”

Colonel Rivolta scarcely believed his senses. He was indeed very sure that the person whom he had married was described as an orphan of English parents, and he had no reason to imagine that Mr. Martindale was attempting to deceive him. It was, indeed, a great discovery to him that he had married the daughter of an English gentleman of great fortune; and perhaps under all circumstances the foreigner was most delighted of the two at the discovery: for thereby he had insured to himself a friend and protector when he most needed one; and he was happy at the thought that his own child would thus have a powerful friend, and be preserved from the dangers and snares with which he might think that she would be otherwise surrounded; and with whatever sentiments Mr. Martindale might regard the discovery of his daughter, it may be easily imagined that Colonel Rivolta’s child, over whom he had constantly watched with the utmost care and anxiety, was far more affectionately interesting to him than was the daughter of Mr. Martindale to her parent, who had never seen her since her infancy, and who had never paid her any attention, but had almost endeavoured to forget her. It appeared indeed very singular to the Colonel, that Mr. Martindale should so patiently wait till the following day before he would see his newly-discovered daughter. But the old gentleman was a great oddity, and a most unaccountable being; and so any one would have thought who had seen him after this interview with the foreigner calmly return to his company, and amuse himself with looking over his portfolios of pictures. So however he did; and when this agitation was over, he was more cheerful than before, and quite as full as ever of whims and humours.