It is not to be supposed that Oliver should keep the secret which he had heard without the assistance of some of his fellow-servants; and if the servants of the house had kept the secret from the servants of the visitors, they would have been guilty of a gross breach of hospitality; and when a gentleman is in a stable, or a lady in a dressing-room, the distance between them and their respective servants is not so great but that the parties are within hearing of each other.

When, therefore, the party assembled at dinner, Mr. Philip found himself under no necessity of tasking either his own or Oliver’s inventive powers to account for the absence of Mr. John Martindale. Not one made any inquiry. This universal silence was very ominous to Philip; he very naturally supposed that the secret, whatever it was, had been divulged. He laboured hard to seem at ease; but that was no easy task. The party at table felt themselves also under some kind of restraint, so that their talk was very abrupt and unconnected. Could any one think it possible? but it really is a fact, that the guests were almost dying for an opportunity of talking one to another concerning the strange news which they had heard; and they were prepared with some notable aphorism on pride and extravagance ready to be shot forth as soon as the person should by his absence give them leave to speak.

As for the Hon. Philip Martindale himself, a variety of thoughts, hopes, fears, and conjectures, were passing through his mind; but none of them remained long enough there to be soberly and seriously considered, or to produce any composure or settled plan. There was, indeed, one thought which was most frequently springing up amidst the general agitation, and that was the thought of Miss Sampson; and so little command had he over the movements of his own mind, that he found himself paying a more than ordinary degree of attention to that young lady. Lord and Lady Martindale could not fail to notice this; and to the former it was not quite so unpleasant as might have been supposed, from the well-known high and lofty notions which his lordship entertained on the subject of the dignity of high rank. For though Lord Martindale venerated nobility and high birth, he knew that there also needed some other appurtenances to render greatness really and permanently imposing. He also knew that the estate which was destined to keep up the honour of the title was scarcely competent to that great task. He also knew that there was not quite so much destined for his successor as his successor imagined; and he was well aware of the sad necessity which had frequently compelled persons of higher rank than himself to condescend to ennoble plebeian blood “for a consideration.” As to the present posture of affairs, his lordship was not much surprised at the rumors which he had heard; he knew that the property in question had descended rather unexpectedly on its present possessor, and he was also prepared for any disappointment which his own son might experience from the caprice of his relative. His fears, indeed, of disappointment to his son arose from an expectation that Mr. John Martindale might marry, and thus find a new set of connexions that would have a powerful influence on his decisions and arrangements concerning his property. Having then heard that another claimant had started for that property, and observing that the old gentleman had been more than usually attentive to Lady Woodstock, he thought it was time that his son should make some provision for himself. With as good a grace as might be, he therefore resigned himself to the thought that Miss Sampson might be allowed the honor of becoming the Hon. Mrs. P. Martindale.

We are not, indeed, prepared to say that all this was effected in his lordship’s mind without a considerable effort and a powerful conflict. Necessity, it is said, has no law. It would be more correct to say, that necessity is the most arbitrary and powerful lawgiver. Lord Martindale was very much to be pitied, and so was Mr. Philip. But calamities of this kind will sometimes overtake nobility: by a variety of circumstances, which need not be enumerated, there will be often occurring a painful necessity of repairing dilapidated fortunes by intermarriages with plebeians. It does not occur to us at present how this dreadful calamity can be avoided. There are certainly public stations with high salaries and easy duties; these help a little, but comparatively very little; and there are some of those offices which really require men of understanding and application to fill them; and we fear that such is the seditious and discontented spirit of the times, that the people would grumble at any very great multiplication of places of no use but to those who fill them. Yet, upon second thoughts, there are certain laws, such for instance as the game-laws, which are made expressly and obviously for the amusement of the higher classes; might not some legislative arrangement be contrived, which should, on the same exclusive principle, prevent the nobility from intermarrying with plebeians in order to repair the broken fortunes? Seeing that the nobility, and its peculiar privileges, and its high and mighty purity, is one of the great blessings of our constitution, forming a grand reservoir of political wisdom, surely the people would not be very reluctant to contribute liberally towards an arrangement which should be the means of preventing the said nobility from receiving contamination from intermarriages with plebeians. We only suggest that some contrivance might be made; but what contrivance we must leave to the sagacity of wiser heads than our own, and to those who are more interested in it than we are.

It is enough for our present purpose that this arrangement is not yet made; and that in consequence of the want of a suitable supply, poor Philip Martindale was placed under the disagreeable necessity of paying great attention to Miss Sampson; and poor Lord Martindale was also under the same necessity of submitting to see and approve it.

We have already spoken of Miss Sampson, and have said or intimated that she was not a fool. We have also spoken of Sir Gilbert Sampson, and we have acknowledged that he was a man of good understanding. Miss Sampson had been an indulged child; some called her a spoiled child, but we do not admit that indulgence always spoils children. There is a great deal depending on the manner in which indulgence is administered. Indulgence or strictness in the hands of a simpleton may be made equally injurious. Miss Sampson certainly had not been snubbed, lectured, scolded at, talked to, and dragged about all her life in leading-strings; and Miss Sampson was certainly a thoughtless, good-tempered creature, not overburdened with taste, and not always so very attentive to minuter observances as many others of her own station; but whether she would have been any more thoughtful and reserved by a continued course of sloppy, sleepy, prosy, common-place lecturing, is very doubtful. Miss Sampson and her father were by no means proud, resentful, or suspicious. For though they both had heard the rumor touching the probable evanescence of Mr. John Martindale’s property; and though they both might have had reason to suppose that only property could induce Mr. Philip to make advances of a serious nature, and though he had once before paid, and afterwards discontinued his attentions, yet Sir Gilbert Sampson, who was a sensible man, and Miss Sampson, who was not a fool, were pleased with the very particular notice taken of the latter under present circumstances. The parties were therefore quits; for if it was manifest to Miss Sampson that Philip Martindale’s affection for her was only founded on her property, it was as manifest to Philip Martindale that Miss Sampson’s regard for him could only be on account of his title.

When the following day dawned upon the Abbey of Brigland, and the guests there visiting had an opportunity, unconstrained by the presence of the tenant of the great house, to discuss and discourse upon the interesting topic of the discovery of the preceding day, various and wise were the observations which they made; but one of the wisest of all was, that it would be desirable for them to hasten their departure; for it occurred to them that Mr. Philip might prefer being alone, now he had so much to occupy his thoughts. Sir Andrew Featherstone and his family recollected that it was absolutely necessary that they should be at home in a day or two, for they were expecting company. The Misses Woodstock also thought that it was very rude of Mr. John Martindale to take his departure so suddenly, and leave them without an apology; and Lady Woodstock thought that, though visiting at the Abbey, her visit was rather to Mr. John Martindale than to Mr. Philip; and even Sir Gilbert and Miss Sampson thought that they should be better able to ascertain Mr. Philip’s intentions by taking their departure than by prolonging their visit; and as the time was nearly arrived that they should have taken their leave in the ordinary course of things, the making a movement a day or two sooner might not be a matter of such great moment. In fact, there was among the whole party an unpleasant and awkward kind of restraint, which they could only get rid of by separation; and they certainly had a right to be offended at Mr. John Martindale for his rudeness in leaving so abruptly, and not giving any explanation, or even saying when he should return. Lady Featherstone was the first of the party who started the subject of departure; and when it was mentioned, or rather hinted, to Mr. Philip, he did not receive the intelligence with any affectation of concern; and thus the matter was easily managed by the rest of the party, who soon took leave, excepting, of course, Lord and Lady Martindale. The worthy persons who took their departure rather hastily, made up their minds to forgive old Mr. Martindale for his rudeness, provided that it should turn out that he had not lost any very considerable part of his fortune.

Being now left to his own meditations, and the good counsel of his father and mother, the Hon. Philip Martindale began to employ himself in deliberating on what steps it would be prudent for him to take in the present conjuncture of affairs. As yet, he knew nothing for certainty. It was still possible that the story circulating in Brigland, and brought to his ears by the trusty and honest Oliver, might not be altogether correct, and he might yet be able to keep himself pure from the degradation of marrying below his rank, provided he took care not to give offence to the old gentleman; and yet when he thought of the very cool and abrupt manner in which his cousin had announced his design of going hastily to London, and of his allusion to the capacity of Oliver for invention, he feared that some of his own proceedings were not unknown to his relative, and that they had effected an alienation of his regards. He knew well enough the eagerness with which all idle reports are received and circulated, without any regard to their truth or even probability, and therefore he considered that it would be a fruitless toil to interrogate Mr. Denver, or any of the people in the town upon the subject; and indeed, he did not think such proceeding very consistent with his dignity.

It occurred to his mind, however, that it might not be very unsuitable just to look in at the cottage where old Richard Smith used to live; for Mr. John Martindale had rebuked his relative for neglect in this matter. He took, therefore, an early opportunity of walking round by the heath, to avoid passing through the town; and he called at the cottage. The door was fastened, and he was under the necessity of making a long loud knocking before he could obtain admittance; at length, the door was opened from within by a little old woman who was as deaf as a post, or who affected to be so. Very little information indeed could he extract from her. He learned, however, that his cousin had not gone alone, but that there were three persons with him from the cottage; and that of these three, one was the young woman who was called the niece of Richard Smith, and the other two were the father and mother of the young woman. He also ascertained that the cottage was no longer to be occupied by these persons, and that it was not expected that any one of them should return to Brigland. Whether in this party was the claimant to the old gentleman’s property was not to be ascertained; and indeed that question was not directly asked, and the old woman did not seem at all inclined to answer any questions which were not loudly, decidedly, and frequently repeated. Philip amused himself with looking at the drawings which decorated the cottage-walls, and he was surprised to see such decorations in such a place; but he soon found an interpretation of that difficulty when he observed the scenes which they represented, and when he recollected the Italian officer whom he had met in London. Now, though he had, as we have observed above, some faint recollection of having heard something of old Mr. Martindale’s voyage to Genoa in search of some individual or other, who, for aught he knew to the contrary, might be a claimant, but he could not see how property in England should be claimed by a native Italian, as Colonel Rivolta clearly was. Very little information, therefore, did he acquire, and no satisfaction could he gain by this visit to the cottage.

In spite, however, of all his feeling of dignity and propriety, he felt an irresistible propensity to call on Mr. Denver, who, as a public intelligencer, was certainly one of the most able men in the town of Brigland. The very polite and exquisitely courteous manner in which the reverend perpetual curate received the tenant of the Abbey, was not at all indicative of falling fortunes or painful change of circumstance. Low as usual did he bow, graciously as ever did he smile. Courtesy and politeness, however, were essential and component parts of Mr. Denver’s constitution. We cannot say quite so much of the Hon. Philip Martindale; for his style of address was abrupt, and his manners very unceremonious; and so far was he from endeavouring to correct this habit, that he was in a measure absolutely proud of it. Receiving Mr. Denver’s homage as due to his own exalted rank and dignified character, he began his inquiries by lamenting the death of poor Richard Smith, and expressing a hope that the poor man had had proper medical assistance in his illness. To all this a satisfactory answer was given, accompanied, as was very suitable and regular, with a compliment to Mr. Philip’s very great kindness and condescension. The inquirer then proceeded to throw out an intimation, that it would be very agreeable to him to be informed as to who and what the stranger was, who had recently taken up his abode at the old man’s cottage. As far as Mr. Denver knew, he informed Mr. Philip; telling him also the particulars of the interview at Mr. John Martindale’s residence, as we have already narrated it. For we will do Mr. Denver the justice to say of him, that although he was now and then unconsciously guilty of circulating an incorrect narrative, he was never deliberately and wilfully guilty of fabricating one. Whatever he himself had seen and heard, he told, according to the best of his ability, as he saw and heard it. But if, as it sometimes happened, he heard Mrs. Denver, Mrs. Price, and Mrs. Flint, all talking together, and telling in one voice him and one another the same story, but with diversified embellishment and frequent mutual contradiction, many interruptions, and various repetitions and emendations; then, poor man, he was certainly to be forgiven, if his second-hand repetition of such story should not be altogether coherent in its parts, lucid in its arrangement, or exquisitely veracious in every particular. Nor should we severely condemn him, if, with a laudable eagerness to administer early intelligence, he should now and then run away with an ill-understood tale only heard by halves. Thus it often happens, that those newspapers which are proud of their early intelligence, are occasionally exposed to the temptation of inserting that which needs contradiction.

When Philip Martindale had thus fairly committed himself as an inquirer, he went into the subject very fully; and from all that he could learn from Mr. Denver, there did not appear to be any very powerful evidence of the existence of any claimant of the Martindale property; but it was at the same time very clear that Mr. John Martindale was gone to London, and that these three people had gone with him, and that they had all gone in his own carriage. Now it was not likely that the old gentleman should carry the oddity of his humor so far as to accommodate a claimant of his property with the use of his own carriage. There was a mystery in all this not to be solved. Philip’s inquiries were fruitless, therefore, at Mr. Denver’s; and all that he had ascertained was, that nobody knew what was the cause of the extraordinary movements of his extraordinary relative.