The Chateau de St. Alpin was a gloomy and antique building, but in habitable repair. The only constant resident in it for some years had been the Demoiselle de St. Alpin, now about five and forty; whose whole attention had been given to keeping it in order, and collecting, in the garden, variety of plants, in which she took singular pleasure. Detached from the world, and with no other relations than her brother and her nephews, whom she was seldom likely to see, she found in this innocent and amusing pursuit a resource against the tedium of life. Her manners, tho' simple, were mild and engaging; and her heart perfectly good and benevolent. With her, therefore, Emmeline was extremely pleased; and the country in which her residence was situated, was so beautiful, that accustomed to form her ideas of magnificent scenery from the first impressions that her mind had received in Wales, Emmeline acknowledged that her eye was here perfectly satisfied.

With her heart it was far otherwise. On her arrival at St. Alpin, she found letters from Lady Adelina enclosed in others from Mrs. Stafford. Lady Adelina gave such an account of her own health as convinced Emmeline it was not improved since she left England. Of Mr. Godolphin she only said, that he was returned from Ireland, but had staid with her only a few hours, and was then obliged to go on business to London, where his continuance was uncertain.

Mrs. Stafford gave of herself and her family a more pleasing account. She said she had hopes that the readjustment of Mr. Stafford's affairs would soon allow of their return to England; and as it might possibly happen on very short notice, and before Emmeline could rejoin them, she had sent, by a family who were travelling to Geneva, and who readily undertook the care of it, a large box which contained some of her cloaths and the caskets which belonged to her, which had been long left at Mrs. Ashwood's after Emmeline's precipitate departure from her house with Delamere, and which, on Mrs. Ashwood's marriage and removal, she had sent with a cold note (addressed to Miss Mowbray) to the person who negociated Mr. Stafford's business in London.

Their lengthened journey had so much broken in on the time allotted to their tour, that Lord and Lady Westhaven purposed staying only a month at St. Alpin. The Baron, who had equal pride and pleasure in the company of his nephew, endeavoured by every means in his power to make that time pass agreeably; and felt great satisfaction in shewing to the few neighbours who were within fifteen miles of his chateau, that he had, in an English nobleman of such rank and merit, so near a relation.

He had observed very early the growing passion of his son for Miss Mowbray. He was assured that she returned it; for he never supposed it possible that any woman could behold the Chevalier with indifference.

He had heard from Lord Westhaven that Emmeline was the daughter of a man of fashion, but was by the circumstances of her birth excluded from any share of his fortune, and entirely dependant on the favour of the Marquis of Montreville. The old Baron, charmed himself with her person and her manners, rather approved than opposed the wishes of his son; and however convenient it might have been to have seen him married to a woman of fortune, he was disposed to rejoice at his inclining to marry at all; and convinced that with Emmeline he must be happy, thought he might dispense with being rich. The Chevalier, confident of success, and believing that Emmeline had meant by her timid refusals only encouragement, grew so extremely importunate, that she was sometimes on the point of declaring to him her real situation.

But from this she was deterred by the apprehension that he would apply to Lord Delamere for the relinquishment of her promise; and should he obtain it, consider himself as having a claim to the hand his Lordship resigned.

This was an hope, which whatever his vanity might have suggested, she never meant to give him; yet she had the mortification to find that all her rejections, however repeated, were considered by the Chevalier as words of course. It was in vain she assured him that besides her disinclination to change her situation by marriage at all, she had other forcible objections; that she should never think of passing her life out of England; that not only their country, but their manners, their ideas on a thousand subjects, so materially differed, as to make every other reason of her refusal unnecessary.

When she seriously urged thus much, he usually answered that he would then reside in England; that he would accommodate his manner of living to her pleasure; and that as to the ideas which had displeased her, he would never again offend her with their repetition.

Emmeline had indeed been extremely hurt and disgusted at that levity of principle on the most serious subjects which the Chevalier avowed without reserve, and for which he appeared to value himself. Tho' brought up a Calvinist, he had as he owned always conformed to the mode of worship and ceremonies of the Catholics while he was among them; and usually added, that had he served amid the Turks or the Jews, he should have done the same, as a matter of great indifference.

The Baron, whose life had been more active than contemplative, was unaccustomed to consider these matters deeply. And as every thing Bellozane advanced had with him great authority, he was struck with his lively arguments; and whatever might be their solidity, could not help admiring the wit of the Chevalier, whom he sometimes encouraged to dispute with Lord Westhaven. The religion of Lord Westhaven was as steady and unaffected as his morals were excellent; and he entered willingly into these dialogues with Bellozane, in hopes of convincing him that infidelity was by no means necessary to the character of a soldier; and that he was unlikely to serve well the country to which he belonged, or for which he fought, who began by insulting his God.

He found however that the young man had imbibed these lessons so early, and fancied them so much the marks of a superior and penetrating mind, that he could make no impression by rational argument. Bellozane usually answered by a sprightly quotation from some French author, and his Lordship soon declined the conversation, believing that if sickness and sorrow did not supercede so slow a cure, time at least would convince him of his folly.

But such was the effect of this sort of discourse on Emmeline, that had Bellozane been in other respects unexceptionable, and had her heart been free from any other impression, she would never have listened to him as a lover.

From his own account of himself in other respects, Emmeline had gathered enough to believe that he was profligate and immoral. But as she could not appear to detect these errors without allowing him to suppose her interested in his forsaking them, she generally heard him in silence; and only when pressed to name her objections stated his loose opinions as one in her mind very material.

To this he again repeated, that his opinions he would correct; his residence should be settled by herself.—'Had she any objection to his person?' enquired he, as he proudly surveyed it in the long old fashioned glass which ornamented the sal a manger.[26]

Emmeline, blushing from the conscious recollection of the resemblance it bore in height and air to that of Godolphin, answered faulteringly—'That to his person there could be no objection.'

'To his fortune?'

'It was undoubtedly more than situated as she was she could expect.'

'To his family?'

'It was a family whose alliance must confer honour.'

'What then?' vehemently continued the Chevalier—'what then, charming Emmeline, occasions this long reserve, this barbarous coldness? Since you can form no decided objection; since you have undoubtedly allowed me to hope; why do you thus cruelly prolong my sufferings? Surely you do not, you cannot mean finally to refuse and desert me, after having permitted me so long to speak to you of my passion?'

'It is with some justice,' gravely and coldly answered Emmeline—'I own it is with some justice that you impute to me the appearance of coquetry; because I have listened with too much patience, (tho' certainly never with approbation,) to your discourse on this subject. But be assured that whatever I have said, tho' perhaps with insufficient firmness, I now repeat, in the hope that you will understand it as my unalterable resolution—The honour you are so obliging as to offer me, I never can accept; and I beg you will forbear to urge me farther on a subject to which I never can give any other answer.'

This dialogue, which happened on the second day of her residence at St. Alpin, and the first moment he could find her alone, did not seem to discourage the Chevalier. He observed her narrowly: the country round St. Alpin, which, as well as the place itself, he thought 'triste et insupportable,' seemed to delight and attract her. He saw her not only enduring but even fond of his aunt and her plants, which were to him, 'les sujets du monde les plus facheux.'[25]—His excessive vanity made him persist in believing that she could not admire such a place but thro' some latent partiality to it's master; nor seek the company and esteem of his aunt, but for the sake of her nephew.

These remarks, and a conviction formed on his own self-love and on the experience of his Parisian conquests, made him disregard her refusal and persecute her incessantly with his love. Lord Westhaven saw her uneasiness; but knew not how to relieve her without offending the Baron and the Chevalier, or divulging circumstances of which he did not think himself at liberty without her permission to speak.

Lady Westhaven, to whom Emmeline was obliged to complain of the importunity of Bellozane, repeatedly but very fruitlessly remonstrated with him. What she had at first ridiculed, now gave her pain; and anxious as she was to reconcile her brother to her friend, from whom she thought only his warmth of temper and a misunderstanding had divided him, she wished to shorten as much as possible their stay at St. Alpin.

Her own situation too made her very anxious to return to England; and she was impatient to see Lord Delamere, to explain to him all the mystery of Emmeline's conduct; a detail which she could not venture by the post, tho' she had written to him from Lyons, intreating him to suspend all opinion in regard to Miss Mowbray's conduct 'till she should see him.

This letter never reached the hands of Lord Delamere, and therefore was not answered to St. Alpin; whither his sister had desired him to direct, and where she now grew very uneasy at not hearing from him.

Le Limosin and his Madelon had arrived at St. Alpin some time before their noble patrons, with whose goodness they were elated to excess. Le Limosin himself, assiduous to do every thing for every body, flew about as if he was but twenty. His particular province was to attend with Lady Westhaven's English servant on her Ladyship and Miss Mowbray; and Madelon was directed to wait on the latter as her fille de chambre.

Emmeline, with painful solicitude for which she could hardly account, wished to hear from Le Limosin those particulars of her father of which he was so well able to inform her. He had served, too, her mother; whose name she had hardly ever heard repeated, and of whom, before witnesses, she dared not enquire.

Lord Westhaven had not yet explained to him to what he principally owed the extraordinary kindness he had met with. He knew not that the lady on whom he had the honour to wait was the daughter of that master to whom he had been so much obliged.

The first days that Lord and Lady Westhaven and Emmeline had passed with the Baron, had been engaged by company or in parties which he made to shew the views of the surrounding country to his English guests. The Chevalier never suffered Emmeline to be absent from these excursions, nor when at home allowed her to be a moment out of his company. If she sought refuge in the chamber of Mrs. St. Alpin, he followed her; if she went with her to her plants, thither also came Bellozane; and having acquired from his aunt's books a few physical and botanical terms, affected to desire information, which the old Lady, highly pleased with his desire of improvement in her favourite studies, gave him with great simplicity.

Lord Westhaven grew apprehensive that the jaunts of pleasure which the Baron continued to propose would be too fatigueing for his wife. And as they were now to go on a visit to one of St. Alpin's old military friends, who resided at the distance of fifteen miles, and where they were to remain all night, he prevailed on her to stay at home, where Emmeline also desired to be left.

Bellozane, detesting a party which the ladies were not to enliven, made some efforts to be excused also; but he found his declining to go would so much chagrin and disappoint his father, that, with whatever reluctance, he was obliged to set out with him.

Lady Westhaven, who was a good deal indisposed, went to lie down in her own room; whither Emmeline attended her, and finding she was disposed to sleep, left her. Mrs. St. Alpin was busied in her garden; and Emmeline, delighted with an opportunity of being alone, retired to her room to write to Mrs. Stafford. She had not proceeded far in her letter, when a servant informed her that the messenger who had been sent to Geneva for her box was returned with it. She desired that it might be brought up. Madelon came to assist her in opening it, and then left her.

She took out the cloaths and linen, and then the two embroidered caskets, which she put on the table before her, and gazed at with melancholy pleasure, as silent memorials of her parents. They brought also to her mind the recollection of Mrs. Carey, and many of her infantine pains and pleasures at Mowbray Castle, where she remembered first to have remarked them in a drawer belonging to that good woman; to which, tho' it was generally locked, she had occasionally sent her little charge when she was herself confined to her chair.

One of them she had began to inspect at Clapham, and perused some of the letters it contained. They were from her grandmother, Mrs. Mowbray, to her father; and were filled with reproaches so warm and severe, and such pointed censures of his conduct in regard to Miss Stavordale, her mother, to whom one letter yet more bitter was addressed, that after reading three of them, Emmeline believed that the further inspection of the casket was likely to produce for her only unavailing regret.

Still however she would then have continued it, painful as it was, but was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Lord Montreville, who came to enquire after his son. The sight of Mr. Mowbray's picture, which she had taken out, created in the breast of his Lordship a momentary tenderness for his niece. She had since always worn that picture about her; but the papers, by which she had been too much affected after that interview farther to peruse, she had again secured in the caskets; and being almost immediately afterwards taken by Delamere on her involuntary journey to Stevenage, from whence she returned no more to Clapham, she had not since had them in her possession.

Her mind in this interval had acquired greater strength; and she at length wished to know those particulars of her mother's fate, into which she had hitherto forborne thro' timidity to enquire. Being now therefore alone, and having these repositories once more in her hands, she resolutely inspected them.

The first contained about twenty letters. Some were those she had before seen, and others followed them equally severe. They seemed in sullen resentment to have been preserved; and Emmeline could not but reflect with pain on the anger and asperity in which they were written; on the remorse and uneasiness with which they must have been read.

The second casket seemed also to hold letters. On opening it, Emmeline found they were part of the correspondence between her father and mother during the early part of their acquaintance, when, tho' they sometimes resided in the same house, the vigilant observation of Mrs. Mowbray very seldom allowed them to converse.

Among these, were several pieces of poetry, elegant and affecting. After having read which, Emmeline imagined she had seen all the box contained, a few loosely folded papers only remaining; but on opening one of these, what was her astonishment to find in it two certificates of her mother's marriage; one under the hand of a Catholic priest, by whom she had been married immediately on their arrival at Dunkirk; the other signed a few days before the birth of Emmeline by an English clergyman, who had again performed the ceremony in the chapel of the English Ambassador at Paris.

That the memory of her mother should thus be free from reproach; that the conduct of her father, which had hitherto appeared cruel and unjust, should be vindicated from every aspersion; and that she should herself be restored to that place in society from which she seemed to be excluded for ever; was altogether such unexpected, such incredible happiness, as made her almost doubtful of the evidence of her senses. Ignorant as she was of the usual form of such papers, yet the care with which these seemed to be executed left her little doubt of their regularity. One other folded paper yet remained unread. Trembling she opened it. It was written in her father's hand and endorsed

MEMORANDUM

'The harshness with which my mother and her family have treated Miss Stavordale, for a supposed crime, has forced her to put herself under my protection. Miss Stavordale is now my wife; but of this I shall not inform my family, conceiving myself accountable no longer to persons capable of so much rashness and injustice. Least any thing however should happen before I can make a will in due form, I hereby acknowledge Emmeline Stavordale (now Mowbray) as my wife; and her child, whether a son or a daughter, heir to my estate. My brother being possessed of a very large fortune, both by his late marriage and the gifts of his mother's family, will hardly dispute the claim of such child to my paternal estate.

'(This is a duplicate of a paper sent to Francis Williamson, my steward at Mowbray Castle.) Signed by me at Paris in presence of two witnesses, this fifteenth of March 17—.

Henry Charles Mowbray.

Witnessed by
Robert Wallace,
Baptiste La Fere,, (dit Le Limosin.)'

This, which was of the same date as the last certificate, confirmed every claim which they both gave Emmeline to her name and fortune. A change of circumstances so sudden; her apprehensions that the Marquis of Montreville, who she thought must have long known, should dispute her legitimacy, and her wonder at the concealment which Mr. Williamson and Mrs. Carey seemed passively to have suffered; which together with a thousand other sensations crouded at once into her mind, so greatly affected her, that feeling herself grow sick, she was obliged to call Madelon, who being at work in an adjoining room, ran in, and seeing her lady look extremely pale, and hearing her speak with difficulty, she threw open the window, fetched her some water, and then without waiting to see their effects she flew away to call Mrs. St. Alpin; who presently appeared, followed by her maid carrying a large case which was filled with bottles of various distillations from every aromatic and pungent herb her garden or the adjacent mountains afforded.

Emmeline, hardly knowing what she did, was compelled to swallow a glass full of one of these cordials; which Mrs. St. Alpin assured her was 'excellente pour les vapeurs.'[27] It almost deprived her of breath, but recalled her astonished spirits; and having with great difficulty prevailed on her kindly-busy hostess to leave her, she locked up her papers, and threw herself on the bed; where, having directed Madelon to draw the curtains and retire, she tried to compose her mind, and to consider what steps she ought to take in consequence of this extraordinary discovery. [28]

CHAPTER II

Convinced of the noble and disinterested nature of Lord Westhaven, Emmeline thought she ought immediately on his return to shew him the papers she had found, and entreat him to examine, for farther particulars, Le Limosin, who seemed providentially to have been thrown in her way on purpose to elucidate her history.

After having formed this resolution, her mind was at liberty for other reflections. Delamere returned to it: his unjust suspicions; his haughty reproaches; his long, indignant anger, which vouchsafed not even to solicit an explanation; she involuntarily compared with the gentleness, the generosity of Godolphin; with his candid temper, his warm affections, his tender heart. And with pain she remembered, that unless Delamere would relinquish the fatal promise she had given him, she could not shew the preference which she feared she must ever feel for him. Sometimes she thought of asking Lord Westhaven to apply to Delamere for her release. But how could she venture on a measure which might involve, in such difficulties, Lady Adelina, and engage Lord Westhaven in an enquiry fatal to his repose and that of his whole family? How could she, by this application, counteract the wishes of Lady Westhaven, who anxiously hoped to re-unite her brother and her friend; and who desired ardently to be in England, that she might explain herself, to Delamere, all the circumstances that had injured Emmeline in his opinion; which she thought she could easily do without hazarding any of the evils that might follow from an inconsiderate disclosure of the occurrences he had misunderstood.

Uneasily ruminating on the painful uncertainty of her situation and the difficulties which every way surrounded her, she continued alone; till Lady Westhaven, alarmed at hearing she had been ill, sent her woman to enquire after and know if she might herself come to her? Emmeline, to relieve at once her friendly solicitude, arose and went to her apartment; where she made light of her sickness, and endeavoured to assume as much chearfulness as possible.—'Till she had seen Lord Westhaven, she determined not to mention to her Ladyship the discovery of the morning; feeling that there would be great indelicacy in eagerly divulging to her a secret by which she must tacitly accuse the Marquis of Montreville of having thus long detained from its legal owner the Mowbray estate; and of having brought up in indigence and obscurity, the daughter of his brother, while conscious of her claim to education and affluence.

Struggling therefore to subdue the remaining tumult of her spirits, she rejoined her friend. They passed the afternoon tranquilly with Mrs. St. Alpin; and about eleven o'clock the following morning, Lord Westhaven, the Baron, and the Chevalier, returned.

Emmeline took the earliest opportunity of telling Lord Westhaven that she wished to speak to him alone. There was no way of escaping from the Chevalier but by his Lordship's openly declaring that he wanted a private conference with his fair cousin, whom he led into the garden. Bellozane, who hoped that his earnest solicitations had prevailed on Lord Westhaven to befriend his love, was glad to see them walk out together, while he watched them from a window.

Emmeline put into her pocket the two certificates and the memorandum written by her father. Without explanation or comment, she gave them, as soon as they were at a little distance from the house, to Lord Westhaven.

He read them twice over in silence; then looking with astonishment at Emmeline, he asked her from whence she had these papers?

'They were enclosed, my Lord,' answered she 'in two little boxes or caskets which were left to me among other things by my father's nurse; who becoming the housekeeper at Mowbray Castle, brought me up. They afterwards long remained at the house of Mrs. James Crofts, with whom you know I resided; on her removal after her marriage, they were sent, together with some of my cloaths, to Mrs. Stafford's agent in London; from whence she lately received them; and having an opportunity of sending them to Geneva by a family travelling thither, she forwarded them to me, and I found them yesterday in the trunk brought by the messenger which you know the Baron sent thither on purpose.'

Again Lord Westhaven read the papers; and after pausing a moment said—

'There is no doubt, there can be none, of the authenticity of these papers, nor of your consequent claim to the Mowbray estate. Surely,' added he, again pausing—'surely it is most extraordinary that Lord Montreville should have suffered the true circumstances of your birth to remain thus long unexplained. Most cruel! most ungenerous! to possess himself of a property to which he must know he had no right! Your father's memorandum says that he had forwarded a duplicate of it to Francis Williamson; do you know whether that person is yet living?'

'He is dead, my Lord. He died in consequence of an accident at Mowbray Castle, where he was many years steward.'

'He must however have had sufficient time to give Lord Montreville every information as to his master's marriage, even if his Lordship knew it not, as he probably did, by other means. Yet from a man of honour—from Lord Montreville—such conduct is most unworthy. I can hardly conceive it possible that he should be guilty of such concealment.'

'Surely, my Lord, it is possible,' said the candid and ingenuous Emmeline—'surely it is possible that my uncle might, by some accident, (for which without knowing more we cannot account) have been kept in ignorance of my mother's real situation. For your satisfaction and mine, before we say more on this subject, would it not be well to hear what Le Limosin, who was I suppose present both at my mother's marriage and at my father's death, has to relate?'

To this proposal Lord Westhaven agreed. The sal a compagnie[29] was usually vacant at this time of the day. Thither they went together, and sent for Le Limosin; who loved talking so much that nothing was more easy than to make him tell all he remembered, and even minutely describe every scene at which he had been present.

'Le Limosin,' said Lord Westhaven, as soon as he came into the room, 'I was much pleased and interested with the account you gave me when I first met you, of the English master whom you call Milor Mowbray. I know his family well. Tell me, does this picture resemble him?'

His Lordship shewed him a portrait of Mr. Mowbray which had been drawn at Paris.

Le Limosin looked a moment at it—the tears came into his eyes.

'O oui—oui, mi Lor!—je me rappelle bien ce portrait!—Ah! quel resemblance! Quelques mois avant sa mort tel etoit mon pauvre maitre! Ah!' added he, giving back, with a sigh, the picture to Lord Westhaven—'cela me fend le coeur!'[30]

'Now then,' reassumed Lord Westhaven, 'look, Le Limosin, at that.' He put before him the resemblance of Emmeline's mother, which had been painted at the same time.

'Eh! pardi oui—voila—voila Madame! la charmante femme, dont la perte couta la vie a mon maitre. Helas!—je m'en souviens bien du jÔur que je vis pour la premiere fois cette aimable dame. Elle n'avoit qu'environ quatorze a quinze ans. Ah! qu'elle etoit pour lors, gaÏ, espiegle, folatre, et si belle!—si belle!'[34]

'Tell me,' said Lord Westhaven, 'all you remember of her.'

'I remember her, my Lord,' said Le Limosin, speaking still in French, 'I remember her from the first of my going to England with Milor Mowbray. She lived then with Madame Mowbray; and the servants told me, that being a distant relation and an orphan, Madame had taken her and intended to give her a fortune. Milor Mowbray, when he first returned from his travels, used to live for two or three months together with Madame his mother; but she was strict and severe, and used frequently to reproach him with his gaieties—il etoit un peu libertin Milor, comme sont a l'ordinaire les jeunes seigneurs de sa nation.[35] He admired Mademoiselle Stavordale as a beautiful child, and used to romp with her; but as she grew older, Madame Mowbray was dissatisfied with him for taking so much notice of her, and would oblige her to live always up in Madame's dressing room, so that my master could hardly ever see her. Madame, however, told my master one day, that tho' Mademoiselle Stavordale had no fortune, she would not object to his marrying her in a year or two if he was then in the same mind. But my master was in his turn offended. He said he would not be dictated to, nor told whether he should marry or remain single. Madame etoit forte brusque—elle piquoit Monsieur par un reponse un peu vive[33]—and they had a violent disagreement; in consequence of which he quitted her house, and only went now and then afterwards to see her quite in form. Some months afterwards he called me to him; and as I was dressing him he asked me if I had no female friend among his mother's servants. 'Baptiste,' said he, 'I cannot get the Demoiselle Stavordale out of my head.—J'aime a la folie cette fille mais pour le mariage,je ne suis pas trop sur, que je m'acquitterai bien, en promissant de l'aimer pour la vie.—Je veux aussi qu'elle m'aime sans que l'interet y'entre pour quelque chose.—Puisque Madame ma mere s'amuse a me guetter, je voudrois bien la tromper; je scais que tu est habile—ne pourra tu pas nous menager une petite tete a tete?[31] 'Milor, je faisois mon possible—et enfin—par la bontÉ et l'honetetÉ—d'une fille qui servoit Madame—je vins heureusement about—Quelque jours apres—Monsieur enleva la belle Stavordale tant en depit—qu'en amour.'[32]

At this recital, Emmeline found herself cruelly hurt; but Lord Westhaven besought her to command herself, and Le Limosin went on.

'To avoid the rage and reproaches of Madame Mowbray, which it was likely would be very loud, my master took Mademoiselle Stavordale immediately abroad. We landed at Dunkirk; but the young lady was so unhappy at the step she had taken, elle pleuroit, elle se desoloit, elle s'abandonna a le desespoir—enfin, tant elle faisoit,[36] that Monsieur sent for a priest, and they were married. Soon afterwards my lady was likely to bring Monsieur an heir. Ah! qu'ils etoient pour lors heureux. But their happiness was interrupted by the death of my master's mother, Madame Mowbray, who had never forgiven him, and who disposed of all her money that was in her own power to his brother. My poor lady took this sadly to heart. She reproached herself with being the cause of my master's losing such a fortune. He said he had yet enough; and tried to console my lady. Still, still it hung on her spirits; and she could not bear to think that Madame Mowbray, who had brought her up, and had been kind to her when she had no other friend, should have died in anger with her. I believe my master was sorry then that he had not reconciled himself with his mother, as my lady often begged and entreated that he would; but it was now too late; and he said his brother had used him unkindly, and had certainly helped to irritate his mother against him; and he would not write to him tho' my lady often desired and prayed that he would. As she grew near her time, she was more and more out of spirits, and my master finding her uneasy because they had not been married by an English priest, had the ceremony performed again in the chapel of the English Ambassador. My master could not however make her forget her concern for the death of his mother; and she was always melancholy, as if she had foreseen how little a time she had herself to live. Alas! she brought my master a daughter, and died in three hours!'

'If I were to live a thousand years,' continued Le Limosin, 'I should never forget my poor master's distraction when he heard she was dead. It was with great difficulty that even with the assistance of his English servants I could prevent his destroying himself in the phrenzy of his grief. I dared not leave him a moment. He heard nothing we said to him; he heeded not the questions I asked him about the child; and at last I was forced to send an express to Mr. Oxenden, his friend, who was at some distance from Paris. He came; and by the help of another English gentleman they forced him out of the house while the body of my mistress was removed to be carried to England. He was so near madness, that his friends were afraid of his relapsing, even after he grew better, if they asked him many questions about it. So they gave me orders as to her funeral; and after about a fortnight he came back to the house where the child was, attended by his two friends.

'It was an heart-piercing sight, Milor, to see him weep over the little baby as it lay in the arms of it's nurse. After some time he called me, and told me that he should not be easy, unless he was sure his poor little girl would be taken proper care of; that he had no friend in France to whom he chose to entrust her; and therefore ordered me to go with the nurse to England, and directed TherÉse, my mistress's fille de chambre, to go also, that the child might be well attended. He told me that he should perhaps quit Paris before I could get back; in which case he would leave directions where I should follow him. Then he kissed his little girl, and his two friends tore him away. I immediately proceeded to England as he directed, with the nurse, and TherÉse, and we carried the infant to the Chateau de Mowbray. The French nurse could speak no English, and could not be prevailed upon to stay above two days. TherÉse too longed to get back to France; and we immediately returned to Paris, where I found a letter from my master, ordering me to follow him into Italy.

'At Milan, Milor, I rejoined him. He looked very ill; and complained of feeling himself indisposed. But still he went out; and I believe drank too much with his English friends. The third or fourth day after I got there he came home from a party which he had made out of town with them about ten o'clock in the morning, and told me he had a violent pain in his head. He went up into his room. "I am strangely disordered, Baptiste," said he, as he put his hand to his temples—"perhaps it may go off; but if it should grow worse, as I am afraid it will, remember that you take those two little boxes in which I keep my papers, to England, and deliver them to my steward at Mowbray Castle. I have already written to him about my daughter." Then almost shrieking with the acute pain which darted into his head, he cried—"I cannot talk, nor can I now write to my brother as I think I ought to do about my child. But send, send for a notary, and when I am a little easier I will dictate a will."

'Milor, I sent for the notary, But he waited all day in the anti-room to no purpose. My poor master was never again easy enough to see him—never again able to dictate a will. He grew more and more delirious, and continued to complain of his head, his head! Alas! he did not even know me, till about an hour before his death.'

Emmeline, whose tears had almost choaked her during the greatest part of this narration, now said to Lord Westhaven—

'My Lord, do not let him repeat the scene of my father's death; I am not now able to bear it.'

'Well, Le Limosin,' said his Lordship, 'this young lady, who is the daughter of your master; the same whom you helped to carry, an infant, to Mowbray Castle, will soon have it in her power to reward your fidelity and attachment to her father.'

Le Limosin now threw himself on his knees in a transport of joy and acknowledgment. Lord Westhaven, fearing that his raptures might quite overcome the disturbed spirits of his fair mistress, desired her to give him her hand to kiss; which she did, and trying, but ineffectually, to smile thro' her tears, was led by his Lordship into her own room. He told her that at present he wished to conceal from Lady Westhaven the discovery they had made. 'For tho' I am convinced,' added he, 'that for your sake she will rejoice in it, she will be hurt at the extraordinary conduct of her father, and harrass herself with conjectures about it and apologies for it, which I wish to spare her in her present state.'

Emmeline assured him she would observe a strict silence; and he left her to give to Le Limosin a charge of secresy. He then retired to his room, and wrote to Lord Montreville, stating the simple fact, and enclosing copies of the certificates; and after shewing his letter to Emmeline, sent it off to England.

Emmeline now went out to walk, in hopes of recovering her composure and being able to appear at dinner without betraying by her countenance that any thing extraordinary had been the subject of her conversation with Lord Westhaven. The Chevalier, however, was soon at her side. And still flattering himself that his Lordship had undertaken to plead his cause, he addressed her with all the confidence of a man sure of success.

Emmeline was very little disposed to listen to him; and with a greater appearance of chagrin and impatience than she had yet shewn, repeated to him her determination not to marry. He still declared himself sure of her relenting; and added, that unless she had designed finally to hear him favourably she would never have allowed him so repeatedly to press his attachment. This speech, which indirectly accused her of coquetry, encreased her vexation. But the persevering Chevalier was not to be repressed. He told her that he had projected a party of pleasure on the lake the next day, in which he intended to include a visit to the Rocks of Meillerie.

'It is classic ground, Mademoiselle,' said he, 'and is fitted to love and despair. Ah! will you not there hear me? Will you still inhumanly smile; will you still look so gentle, while your heart is harder than the rocks we shall see—colder than the snow that crowns them!—an heart on which even the pen of fire which Rousseau held would make no impression!'

He held her hands during this rhapsody. She could not therefore immediately escape. But on the appearance of a servant, who announced the dinner's being ready, she coldly disengaged herself and went into the house

CHAPTER III

The agitation she had undergone in the morning, affected both the spirits and the looks of Emmeline; and when, immediately after dinner, Bellozane proposed the party of pleasure he had projected for the next day, Lady Westhaven answered—'As for me I shall on my own account make no objection, but I cannot equally answer for our fair cousin.—Emmeline, my love, you seem ill. I cannot imagine, my Lord, what you have been saying to her?'

'I have been advising her,' answered Lord Westhaven, 'to go into a convent; and her looks are merely looks of penitence for all the mischief she has done. She determines to take the veil, and to do no more.'

Emmeline, tho' hardly able to bear even this friendly raillery, turned it off with a melancholy smile. The party was agreed upon; the Baron went out to give orders for preparing the provisions they were to take with them, and the Chevalier to see that the boat was in a proper state for the expedition and give the boatmen notice.

Lady Westhaven then began talking of England, and expressed her astonishment at having heard nothing from thence for above six weeks. While Lord Westhaven was attempting to account for this failure of intelligence, which he saw gave his wife more concern than she expressed, a servant brought in several large pacquets of letters, which he said the messenger who was usually sent to the post town, had that moment brought in.

His Lordship, eagerly surveying the address of each, gave to Emmeline one for her; which opening, she found came from Mrs. Stafford, and enclosed another.

St. Germains, June 6.

'My dearest Emmeline will forgive me if I write only a line in the envelope, to account for the long detention of the enclosed letter. It has, by some mistake of Mr. La Fosse, been kept at Rouen instead of being forwarded to St. Germains; and appears to have passed thro' numberless hands. I hope you will get it safe; tho' my being at Paris when it did arrive here has made it yet a week later. By the next post I shall write more fully, and therefore will now only tell you we are well, and that I am ever, with the truest attachment, your

C. Stafford.'

Emmeline now saw by the seal and the address that the second letter was from Lord Montreville. It appeared to have been written in great haste; and as she unfolded it, infinite was her amazement to find, instead of a remittance, which about this time she expected, the promise she had given Delamere, torn in two pieces and put into a blank paper.

The astonishment and agitation she felt at this sight, hardly left her power to read the letter which she held.

Berkley-Square, May 5, 17—

'Dear Miss Mowbray,

'My son, Lord Delamere, convinced at length of the impropriety of a marriage so unwelcome to his family, allows me to release you from the promise which he obtained. I do myself the pleasure to enclose it, and shall be glad to hear you receive it safe by an early post. My Lord Delamere assures me that you hold no promise of the like nature from him. If he is in this matter forgetful, I doubt not but that you will return it on receipt of this.

'Maddox informs me that he shall in a few days forward to you the payment due: to which I beg leave to add, that if you have occasion for fifty or an hundred pounds more, during your stay on the continent, you may draw on Maddox to that amount. With sincere wishes for your health and happiness, I am, dear Miss Mowbray, your obedient and faithful humble servant,

Montreville.'

Tho' joy was, in the heart of Emmeline, the predominant emotion, she yet felt some degree of pique and resentment involuntarily arise against Lord Montreville and his son; and tho' the renunciation of the latter was what she had secretly wished ever since she had discovered the capricious violence of Delamere and the merit of Godolphin, the cold and barely civil stile in which his father had acquainted her with it, seemed at once to shock, mortify, and relieve her.

After having considered a moment the contents of her own letters, she cast her eyes towards Lady Westhaven, whose countenance expressed great emotion; while her Lord, sternly and displeased ran over his, and then put them into his pocket.

'What say your letters from England, my fairest cousin?' said he, advancing and trying to shake off his chagrin.

'Will you do me the honour to peruse them, my Lord?' said she, half smiling.—'They will not take you up much time.'

He read them. 'It is a settled thing then I find. Lady Westhaven, your's are, I presume, from Berkley-Square?'

'They are,' answered she.—'Never,' and she took out her handkerchief—'never have I received any less welcome!'

She gave one from Lady Frances Crofts to his Lordship, in which, with many details of her own affairs, was this sentence—

'Before this, you have heard from my father or my mother that Lord Delamere has entirely recovered the use of his reason, and accepts of Miss Otley with her immense fortune. This change was brought about suddenly. It was settled in Norfolk, immediately after Lord Delamere's return from Ireland. I congratulate you and Lord W. on an event which I conclude must to both of you be pleasing. I have seen none of the family for near three weeks, as they are gone back into Norfolk; only my brother called for a moment, and seemed to be greatly hurried; by which, as well as from other circumstances, I conclude that preparations are making for the wedding immediately.'

May 18.

Lady Westhaven, who saw all hopes of being allied to the friend of her heart for ever at an end—who believed that she had always cherished an affection for her brother, and who supposed that in consequence of his desertion she was left in mortifying dependance on Lord Montreville, was infinitely hurt at this information. The letter from her father to Emmeline confirmed all her apprehensions. There was a freezing civility in the style, which gave no hopes of his alleviating by generosity and kindness the pain which her Ladyship concluded Emmeline must feel; while Lord Westhaven, knowing that to her whom he thus insulted with the distant offer of fifty or an hundred pounds, he really was accountable for the income of an estate of four thousand five hundred a year, for near nineteen years, and that he still withheld that estate from her, could hardly contain his indignation even before his wife; whom he loved too well not to wish to conceal from her the ill opinion he could not help conceiving of her father.

Emmeline, who was far from feeling that degree of pain which Lady Westhaven concluded must penetrate her heart, was yet unwilling to shew that she actually received with pleasure (tho' somewhat allayed by Lord Montreville's coldness) an emancipation from her engagement. Of her partiality to Godolphin, her friend had no idea; for Emmeline, too conscious of it to be able to converse about him without fearing to betray herself, had studiously avoided talking of him after their first meeting; and she now imagined that Lady Westhaven, passionately fond of her brother as she was, would think her indifference affected thro' pique; and carried too far, if she did not receive the intelligence of their eternal separation with some degree of concern. These thoughts gave her an air of vexation and embarrassment which would have saved her the trouble of dissimulation had she been an adept in it's practice. Extremely harrassed and out of spirits before, tears now, in spite of her internal satisfaction, and perhaps partly arising from it, filled her eyes; while Lady Westhaven, who was greatly more hurt, exclaimed—

'My brother then marries Miss Otley! After all I have heard him say, I thought it impossible!'

'He will however, I doubt not, be happy,' answered Emmeline. 'The satisfaction of having made Lord and Lady Montreville completely happy, must greatly contribute to his being so himself.'

'Heaven grant it!' replied Lady Westhaven. 'Poor Frederic! he throws away an invaluable blessing! Whether he will, in any other, find consolation, I greatly doubt. But however changed his heart may be, my dearest Emmeline,' added she, tenderly embracing her, 'I think I can venture to assure you that those of Lord Westhaven and your Augusta, will, towards you, ever be the same.'

Emmeline now wished to put an end to a conversation which Lady Westhaven seemed hardly able to support; and she languished herself to be alone. Forcing therefore a smile, tho' the tears still fell from her eyes, she said—'My dear friends, tho' I expected this long ago, yet I beg you to consider that being but a woman, and of course vain, my pride is a little wounded, and I must recollect all your kindnesses, to put me in good humour again with myself. Do not let the Chevalier follow me; for I am not disposed to hear any thing this evening, after these sweetest and most consoling assurances of your inestimable friendship. Therefore I shall take Madelon with me, and go for a walk.'

She then left the room, Lady Westhaven not attempting to detain her; and her Lord, vexed to see his gentle Augusta thus uneasy, remained with her, pointing out to her the fairest prospects of establishment for her beloved Emmeline; tho' he thought the present an improper opportunity to open to her his knowledge of those circumstances in her friend's fortune, which, without such conspicuous merit, could hardly fail of obtaining it.

To go to a great distance from the house, alone, Emmeline had not courage; to stay near it, subjected her to the intrusion and importunity of the Chevalier. She therefore determined to take Madelon, whose presence would be some protection without any interruption to her thoughts. She had wished, ever since her arrival at St. Alpin, to visit alone the borders of the lake of Geneva. Madelon, alert and sprightly, undertook to shew her the pleasantest way, and led her thro' a narrow path crossing a hill covered with broom and coppice wood, into a dark and gloomy wood of fir, cypress, and chestnut, that extended to the edge of the water; from which it was in some places separated by rocks pointing out into the lake, while in others the trees grew almost in the water, and dipped their extremities in the limpid waves beneath them.

Madelon informed Emmeline that this was the place where the servants of the castle assembled to dance of an holyday, in the shade; and where boats usually landed that came from the other side of the lake.

The scene, softened into more pensive beauty by the approach of a warm and serene evening, had every thing in it that could charm and soothe the mind of the lovely orphan. But her internal feelings were at this time too acute to suffer her to attend to outward circumstances. She wished only for tranquillity and silence, to collect her thoughts; and bidding Madelon find herself a seat, she went a few yards into the wood, and sat down on the long grass, where even Madelon might not remark her.

The events of the two last days appeared to be visions rather than realities. From being an indigent dependant on the bounty of a relation, whose caprice or avarice might leave her entirely destitute, she was at once found to be heiress to an extensive property. From being bound down to marry, if he pleased, a man for whom she felt only sisterly regard, and who had thrown her from him in the violence of unreasonable jealousy and gloomy suspicion, she was now at liberty to indulge the affections she had so long vainly resisted, and to think, without present self-accusation, or the danger of future repentance, of Godolphin. In imagination, she already beheld him avowing that tenderness which he had before generously struggled to conceal. She saw him, who she believed would have taken her without fortune, receiving in her estate the means of bestowing happiness, and the power of indulging his liberal and noble spirit. She saw the tender, unhappy Adelina, reconciled to life in contemplating the felicity of her dear William; and Lord Westhaven, to whom she was so much obliged, glorying in the good fortune of a brother so deservedly beloved; while still calling her excellent and lovely friend Augusta by the endearing appellation of sister, she saw her forget, in the happiness of Godolphin, the concern she had felt for Delamere.

From this delicious dream of future bliss, she was awakened somewhat suddenly by Madelon; who running towards her, told her that a boat, in which there appeared to be several men, was pointing to land just where she had been sitting. Emmeline, wearied as she was with the Chevalier's gallantry, immediately supposed it to be him, and she knew he was out on the lake. She therefore advanced a step or two to look. It was so nearly dark that she could only distinguish a man standing in the boat, whose figure appeared to be that of Bellozane; and taking Madelon by the arm, she hastily struck into the wood, to avoid him by returning to St. Alpin before he should perceive her.

She had hardly walked twenty paces, when she heard the boat put on shore, and two or three persons leap out of it. Still hoping, however, to get thro' the wood before Bellozane could overtake her, she almost ran with Madelon. But somebody seemed to pursue them. Her cloaths were white; and she knew, that notwithstanding the evening was so far shut in, and the path obscured by trees, she must yet be distinguished gliding between their branches. The persons behind gained upon her, and her pace quickened as her alarm encreased; for she now apprehended something yet more disagreeable than being overtaken by Bellozane. Suddenly she heard—'Arretez, arretez, Mesdames! de grace dites moi si vous etes de la famille du Baron de St. Alpin?'[37]

The first word of this sentence stopped the flying Emmeline, and fixed her to the spot where she stood. It was the voice of Godolphin—Godolphin himself was before her!

The suddenness of his appearance quite overcame her, breathless as she was before from haste and fear; and finding that to support herself was impossible, she staggered towards a tree which grew on the edge of the path, but would have fallen if Godolphin had not caught her in his arms.

He did this merely from the impulse of his natural gallantry and good nature. What were his transports, when he found that the fugitive whom he had undesignedly alarmed by asking a direction to St. Alpin, was his adored Emmeline; and that the lovely object whose idea, since their first meeting, had never a moment been absent from it, he now pressed to his throbbing heart? Instantly terrified, however, to find her speechless and almost insensible, he ordered the servant who followed him to run back for some water; and seating her gently on the ground, he threw himself down by her and supported her; while Madelon, wringing her hands called on her aimable, her belle maitresse; and was too much frightened to give her any assistance.

Before the man returned with the water, her recollection was restored, and she said, faintly—'Mr. Godolphin! Is it possible?'

'Loveliest Miss Mowbray, how thoughtlessly have I alarmed you!—Can you forgive me?'

'Ah!' cried she, disengaging herself from his support—'how came you here, and from whence?'

Godolphin, without considering, and almost without knowing what he said, replied—'I come from Lord Delamere.'

'From Lord Delamere!' exclaimed she, in amazement. 'Is he not in London then?—is he not married?'

'No; I overtook him at BesanÇon; where he lies ill—very ill!'

'Ill!' repeated Emmeline.—'Ill, and at BesanÇon!—merciful heaven!'

She now again relapsed almost into insensibility: for at the mention of Godolphin's having overtaken him, and having left him ill, a thousand terrific and frightful images crouded into her mind; but the predominant idea was, that it was on her account they had met, and that Delamere's illness was a wound in consequence of that meeting.

That such an imagination should possess her, Godolphin had no means of knowing. He therefore very naturally concluded that the violent sorrow which she expressed, on hearing of Delamere's illness, arose from her love towards him; and, in such a conclusion, he found the ruin of those hopes he had of late fondly cherished.

'Happy, happy Delamere!' said he, sighing to himself.—'Her first affections were his, and never will any secondary tenderness supersede that early impression. Alas! his rejection of her, has not been able to efface it—For me, there is nothing to hope! and while I thus hold her to my heart, I have lost her for ever! I came not hither, however, solely on my own account, but rather to save from pain, her and those she loves. 'Tis not then of myself I am to think.'

While these reflections passed thro' his mind, he remained silent; and Emmeline concluded that his silence was owing to the truth of her conjecture. The grief of Lady Westhaven for her brother, the despair of Lord Montreville for his son, presented themselves to her mind; and the contemptuous return of her promise, which a few hours before she thought of with resentment, was now forgotten in regret for his illness and pity for his sufferings.

'Ah!' cried she, trying to rise, 'what shall I say to Lady Westhaven?—How disclose to her such intelligence as this?'

'It was to prevent her hearing it abruptly,' said Godolphin, 'that I came myself, rather than sent by a messenger or a letter, such distressing information.'

So strongly had the idea of a duel between them taken possession of the mind of Emmeline, that she had no courage to ask particulars of his illness; and shuddering with horror at the supposition that the hand Godolphin held out to assist her was stained with the blood of the unfortunate Delamere, she drew her's hastily and almost involuntarily from him; and taking again Madelon's arm, attempted to hasten towards home.

But the scene of anguish and terror which she must there encounter with Lady Westhaven, the distress and vexation of her Lord, and the misery of believing that Godolphin had made himself for ever hateful to all her own family, and that if her cousin died she could never again behold him but with regret and anguish, were altogether reflections so overwhelming, and so much more than her harrassed spirits were able to sustain, that after tottering about fifty yards, she was compelled to stop, and gasping for breath, to accept the offered assistance of Godolphin. Strongly prepossessed with the idea of her affection for Delamere, he languidly and mournfully lent it. He had no longer courage to speak to her; yet wished to take measures for preventing Lady Westhaven's being suddenly alarmed by his appearance; and he feared, that not his appearance only, but his countenance, would tell her that he came not thither to impart tidings of happiness.

It was now quite dark; and the slow pace in which only Emmeline could walk, had not yet carried them through the wood. The agitation of Emmeline encreased: she wished, yet dreaded to know the particulars of Delamere's situation; and unable to summons courage to enquire into it, she proceeded mournfully along, almost borne by Godolphin and Madelon; who understanding nothing of what had been said, and not knowing who the gentleman was who had thus frightened her mistress, was herself almost as much in dismay.

After a long pause, Emmeline, in faultering accents, asked 'if the situation of Lord Delamere was absolutely desperate?'

'I hope and believe not,' said Godolphin. 'When I left him, at least, there were hopes of a favourable issue.'

'Ah! wherefore did you leave him? Why not stay at least to see the event?'

'Because he so earnestly desired that his sister might know of his situation, and that I only might acquaint her with it and press her to go to him.'

'She will need no entreaties. Poor, poor Delamere!'—sighing deeply, Emmeline again became silent.

They were to mount a small hill, which was between the wood they had left and the grounds immediately surrounding St. Alpin, which was extremely steep and rugged. Before she reached the top, she was quite exhausted.

'I believe,' said she, 'I must again rest before I can proceed.'

She sat down on a bank formed by the roots of the trees which sustained the earth, on the edge of the narrow path.

Godolphin, excessively alarmed at her weakness and dejection, which he still attributed to the anguish she felt for Delamere, sat by her, hardly daring to breathe himself, while he listened to her short respiration, and fancied he heard the violent palpitation of her heart.

'And how long do you think,' said she, again recurring to Delamere—'how long may he linger before the event will be known?'

'I really hope, and I think I am not too sanguine, that the fever will have left him before we see him again.'

'The fever!' repeated Emmeline—'has he a fever then?'

'Yes,' replied Godolphin—'I thought I told you that a fever was his complaint. But had you not better, my dear Madam, think a little of yourself! Ill as you appear to be, I see not how you are to get home unless you will suffer me to go on and procure some kind of conveyance for you.'

'I shall do very well,' answered she, 'as I am, if you will only tell me about Lord Delamere. He has only a fever?'

'And is it not enough,' said Godolphin. 'Tho', were I Lord Delamere, I should think an illness that called forth in my favour the charming sensibility of Miss Mowbray, the happiest event of my life.'

Having said this, he fell into a profound silence. The certainty of her affection for Delamere, deprived him of all spirits when he most wanted to exert them. Yet it was necessary to take some measures for introducing himself at St. Alpin without alarming Lady Westhaven, and to consider how he was to account to his brother for Delamere's estrangement from Emmeline; and while he canvassed these and many other perplexities, Emmeline, who was relieved from the most distressing of her apprehensions, and dared not for the world reveal what those apprehensions had been, in some degree recovered herself; and growing anxious for Lady Westhaven, said she believed she could now walk home.

As she was about to arise with an intention to attempt it, they heard the sound of approaching voices, and almost immediately lights appeared above the hill, while 'Mademoiselle!—Miss Mowbray!—Madelon!—Madelon!' was frequently and loudly repeated by the persons who carried them.

'The Baron and Lord Westhaven,' said Emmeline, 'alarmed at my being out so late, have sent persons in search of me.'

Her conjecture was right. In a moment the Chevalier, with a flambeau in his hand, was before them; who, when he found Emmeline sitting in such a place, supported by a young man whom he had never before seen, was at once amazed and displeased. There was no time for explanation. Lord Westhaven immediately followed him; and after stopping a moment to consider whether the figure of Godolphin which rose before him was not an illusion, he flew eagerly into his arms.

The manly eyes of both the brothers were filled with tears. Lord Westhaven had not seen Godolphin for four years; and, since their last parting, they had lost their father. After a short pause, his Lordship introduced Godolphin to Bellozane; and then taking the cold and trembling hand of Emmeline, who leaned languidly on Madelon, he said—

'And you, my lovely cousin, for whose safety we have been above an hour in the cruellest alarm, where did you find William, and by what extraordinary chance are ye here together?'

Emmeline with great difficulty found voice enough to explain their accidental meeting. And Bellozane observing her apparent faintness, said—'you seem, Mademoiselle, to be extremely fatigued. Pray allow me the honour of giving you my arm.'

'If you please,' said she, in a low voice. And supposing that Godolphin would be glad to have some conversation with his brother, she accepted his assistance and proceeded.

This preference, however, of Bellozane, Godolphin imputed to her coldness or dislike towards himself; and so struck was he with the cruel idea, that it was not without an effort he recollected himself enough to relate to his brother, as they walked, all that it was necessary for him to know. Lord Westhaven, anxious for a life so precious to his wife and her family as was that of Lord Delamere, determined immediately to go to him. At present it was necessary to reveal as tenderly as possible his situation to his sister, Lady Westhaven; and first to dissipate the uneasiness she had suffered from the long absence of Emmeline.

CHAPTER IV

Lord Westhaven first entered the room where his wife was, whose alarming apprehensions at Emmeline's long stay were by this time extreme.

'Our Emmeline is returned, my love,' said he, 'and has met with no accident.'

Lady Westhaven eagerly embracing her, reproached her tenderly for her long absence. But then observing how pale she looked, and the fatigue and oppression she seemed to suffer, her Ladyship said—

'Surely you have been frightened—or you are ill? You look so faint!'

'She is a little surprised,' interrupted Lord Westhaven, seeing her still unable to answer for herself. 'She has brought us a visitor whom we did not expect. My brother Godolphin landed just as she was returning home.'

At this intelligence Lady Westhaven could express only pleasure. She had never seen Godolphin, who was now introduced, and received with every token of regard by her Ladyship, as well as by the Baron and Mrs. St. Alpin; who beheld with pleasure another son of their sister, and beheld him an honour to their family.

Bellozane, however, saw his arrival with less satisfaction. He remembered that Emmeline had been, as she had told him, well acquainted with Godolphin in England; and recollected that whenever he had been spoken of, she had always done justice to his merit, yet rather evaded than sought the conversation. Her extraordinary agitation on his arrival, which was such as disabled her from walking home, seemed much greater than could have been created by the sight of a mere acquaintance; his figure was so uncommonly handsome, his countenance so interesting, and his address such a fortunate mixture of dignity and softness, that Bellozane, vain as he was, could not but acknowledge his personal merit; and began to fear that the coldness and insensibility of Emmeline, which he had, till now, supposed perseverance would vanquish, were less occasioned by her affected blindness to his own perfections, than by her prepossession in favour of another.

Whatever internal displeasure this idea of rivalry gave the Chevalier, he overwhelmed Godolphin with professions of regard and esteem, not the less warm for being wholly insincere.

But Godolphin, who saw, in the encreasing dejection of Emmeline, only a confirmation of her attachment to Delamere, drooped in hopeless despondence. Emmeline, unable to support herself, retired early to her room; and Godolphin, complaining of fatigue, was conducted to his by Bellozane; while Lord Westhaven meditated how to disclose to his wife, without too much distressing her, the illness of her brother. He thought, that as she had suffered a good deal of vexation in the course of the day, as well as terror at Emmeline's absence at so late an hour in the evening, he would defer till the next morning this unwelcome intelligence. As soon, however, as she was retired, he communicated to his uncle and aunt the situation of Lord Delamere, and the necessity there was for their quitting St. Alpin the next day, to attend him; an account which they both heard with sincere regret. Mrs. St. Alpin heartily wished Lord Delamere was with her, being persuaded she could immediately cure him with remedies of her own preparing; while the Baron expressed his vexation and regret to find the visit of his nephews so much shortened.

Lord Westhaven went to his own apartment in great uneasiness. He heard from his brother, that Lord Delamere, repenting of his renunciation of Emmeline, was coming to St. Alpin, when illness stopped him at BesanÇon. He knew not how to act about her; who, heiress to a large fortune, was of so much more consequence than she had been hitherto supposed. He had a long contention in view with Lord Montreville; and was now likely to be embarrassed with the passion of Delamere, if he recovered, (who would certainly expect his influence over Emmeline to be exerted to obtain his pardon); or if the event of his illness should prove fatal, he dreaded the anguish of Lady Westhaven and the despair of the whole family.

He was besides hurt at that melancholy and unhappy appearance, so unlike his former manners, which he had observed in Godolphin; and for which, ignorant of his passion for Emmeline, he knew not how to account. His short conversation with him had cleared up no part of the mystery which he could not but perceive hung about the affairs of Lady Adelina; and he only knew enough to discover that something remained which it would probably pain him to know thoroughly.

The pillow of Emmeline also was strewn with thorns. For tho' the sharpest of them was removed, by having heard that Delamere was ill without having suffered from the event of any dispute in which he might on her account have engaged, she was extremely unhappy that he had, in pursuit of her, come to France, which she now concluded must be the case, and sorry for the disquiet which she foresaw must arise from his indisposition and his love.

She was sure that Lady Westhaven would immediately fly to her brother. And in that event how was she herself to act?

Could she suffer her generous, her tender friend, to whom she was so much obliged, to encounter alone all the fatigue and anxiety to which the sickness and danger of this beloved brother would probably expose her? Yet could she submit to the appearance of seeking a man who had so lately renounced her for ever, with coldness, contempt, and insult? If she went not with Lady Westhaven, she had no choice but that of travelling across France alone, to rejoin Mrs. Stafford; since she could not remain with propriety a moment at St. Alpin, with the Chevalier de Bellozane; whose addresses she never meant to encourage, and whose importunate passion persecuted and distressed her. Godolphin too!—whither would Godolphin go? Could she go where he was, and conceal her partiality? or could she, by accompanying him to BesanÇon, plunge another dagger in the heart of Delamere, and shew him, not only that he had lost that portion of her regard he had once possessed, but that all her love was now given to another.

That she was most partial to Godolphin, she could no longer attempt to conceal from herself. The moment her fears that he had met Delamere hostilely were removed, all her tenderness for him returned with new force. She again saw all the merit, all the nobleness of his character; but she still tormented herself with uneasy conjectures as to the cause of his journey to Switzerland; and wearied herself with considering how she ought to act, 'till towards morning, when falling, thro' mere fatigue and lassitude, into a short slumber, she saw multiplied and exaggerated, in dreams, the dreadful images which had disturbed her waking; and starting up in terror, determined no more to attempt to sleep. It was now day break; and wrapping herself in her muslin morning gown and cloak, she went down into the garden of Mrs. St. Alpin, where, seated on a bench, under a row of tall walnut trees, which divided it from the vineyard, she leaned her head against one of them; and lost in reflections on the strangeness of her fate, and the pain of her situation, she neither saw or heard any thing around her.

Godolphin, in the anxiety she had expressed for Delamere, believed he saw a confirmation of his fears; which had always been that the early impression he had made on her heart would be immoveable, and that neither his having renounced her or his rash and heedless temper would prevent her continuing to love him. Wretched in this idea, he concluded all hopes of obtaining her regard for ever at an end; while every hour's experience of his own feelings, whether he thought of or saw her, convinced him that his love, however desperate, was incurable. Accustomed to fatigue, all that he had endured the day before could not restore to him that repose which was driven away by these reflections. Almost as soon as he saw it was light, he left his room, and with less interest than he would once have taken in such a survey, wandered over the antique apartments of the paternal house of his mother. He then went down into the garden; and musing rather than observing, passed along the strait walk that went between the walnut trees into the vineyard. At the end of it he turned, and, in coming again towards the house, saw Emmeline sitting on the bench beneath them, who had not seen him the first time he passed her, but who now appeared surprised at his approach.

She had not, however, time to rise before he went up to her, and bowing gravely, enquired how she did after the alarm he had been so unfortunate as to give her the evening before?

'I fear,' said he, seating himself by her, 'that Miss Mowbray is yet indisposed from her late walk and my inconsiderate address to her. I know not how to forgive myself for my indiscretion, since it has distressed you.'

'Such intelligence as I had the misfortune of hearing, Sir, of the brother of Lady Westhaven—a brother so dear to her—could hardly fail of affecting me. I should have been concerned had a stranger been so circumstanced; but when—'

'Ah! Madam,' interrupted Godolphin, 'you need not repeat all the claims which give the fortunate Delamere a right to your favour. But do not suffer yourself, on his account, to be so extremely alarmed. I hope the danger is by no means so great as to make his recovery hopeless. Since of those we love, the most minute account is not tedious, and since it may, perhaps, alleviate your apprehensions for his safety, will you allow me to relate all I know of his illness! It will engage me, perhaps, in a detail of our first acquaintance, and carry me back to circumstances which I would wish to forget; if your gratification was not in my mind a consideration superior to every other.'

Emmeline, trembling, yet wishing to hear all, could not refuse. She bowed in silence; and Godolphin considering that as an assent, reassumed his discourse.

'Soon after I had the happiness of seeing you last, my wish to embrace Lady Clancarryl and her family (from whose house I had been long obliged to absent myself because Mr. Fitz-Edward was with them) carried me to Ireland; and to my astonishment I there met Lord Delamere.

'The relationship between their families, made my sister anxiously invite him to Lough Carryl. Thither reluctantly he came; and an accident informed him that I had the good fortune, by means of Lady Adelina Trelawny, to be known to you.

'He did me the honour to shew me particular attention; and the morning after he found I had the happiness of being acquainted with Miss Mowbray, he took occasion, when we were alone, to ask me, abruptly, whether I knew Colonel Fitz-Edward? I answered that I certainly did, by the connection in our families; and that he was once my most intimate friend.

'He then unreservedly, and with vehemence said, that Fitz-Edward was a villain! Astonished and hurt at an assertion which (how true soever it might be) I thought alluded to that unhappy affair which I hoped was a secret, I eagerly asked an explanation. But judge, Miss Mowbray, of the astonishment, the pain, with which I heard him impute to you the error of my unfortunate Adelina—when I saw him take out three anonymous letters, one of which I found had hastened his return from France, purporting that Fitz-Edward had availed himself of his absence to win your affections, that he had taken, of those affections, the most ungenerous advantage, and that on going to a place named (which I remembered to be the house where my little William was nursed,) he might himself see an unequivocal proof of your fatal attachment and Fitz-Edward's perfidy.

'When I had read these odious letters, and listened to several circumstances he related, which confirmed in his apprehension the truth of the assertions they contained, he went on to inform me, that following this cruel information, he had seen you with the infant in your arms; had bitterly reproached you, and then had quitted you for ever!—But as he could not rest without trying to punish the infamous conduct of Fitz-Edward, he had pursued him to Ireland, where, instead of finding him, he heard that he was gone to France, undoubtedly to meet you, by your own appointment; but as Lord Clancarryl still expected him back, he determined to wait a little longer, in hopes of an opportunity of discussing with him the subjects of complaint he had related.

'Tho' I immediately saw what I ought to do, astonishment for a moment kept me silent, and in that moment we were interrupted.

'This delay, however unwelcome, gave me time for reflection. Lord Delamere was to go the same day from Lough Carryl to Dublin. I resolved to follow him thither, and relate the whole truth; since I would by no means suffer your generous and exalted friendship for my sister to stain the lovely purity of a character which only the malice of fiends could delight in blasting, only the blind and infatuated rashness of jealousy a moment believe capable of blemish! Many reasons induced me, however, to delay this necessary explanation 'till I saw him at his own lodgings. Thither I followed him, two days after he departed from Lough Carryl. But on enquiring for him, was surprised and mortified to find that he had received letters from England which had induced him immediately to return thither, and that he had sailed in the packet for Holyhead the day after his arrival at Dublin.'

Emmeline, astonished at the malice which appeared to have been exerted against her, remained silent; but in such tremor, that it was with difficulty she continued to hear him.

'I now, therefore, relinquished all thoughts of returning to the house of my sister, and followed him by the first conveyance that offered, greatly apprehending, that if the letters he had received gave him notice of Fitz-Edward's return to London, my interposition would be too late to prevent their meeting. I knew the hasty and inconsiderate Delamere would, without an explanation, so conduct himself towards Fitz-Edward, that neither his spirit or his profession would permit him to bear; and that if they met, the consequence must, to one of them, be fatal. I was impatient too to rescue your name, Madam, from the unmerited aspersions which it bore. But when I arrived in London, and hastened to Berkley-Square, I heard that Lord and Lady Montreville, together with Lady Frances Crofts, her husband, and Lord Delamere, had gone all together to Audley Hall, immediately after his return from Ireland. Thither, therefore, I went also.'

'Generous, considerate Godolphin!' sighed Emmeline to herself.

'Tho' related, by my brother's marriage, to the family of the Marquis of Montreville, I was a stranger to every member of it but Lord Delamere. He was gone to dine out; and in the rest of the family I observed an air of happiness and triumph, which Lord Montreville informed me was occasioned by the marriage which was intended soon to take place between his son and Miss Otley; whose immense fortune, and near relationship to his mother's family, had made such a marriage particularly desirable. I was glad to hear he was likely to be happy; but it was not therefore the less necessary to clear up the error into which he had fallen. On his coming home, he appeared pleased and surprised to see me; but I saw in his looks none of that satisfaction which was so evident in those of the rest of the house.

'As soon as we were alone, he said to me—"You see me, Mr. Godolphin, at length taken in the toils. Immediately after leaving Lough Carryl, I received a letter from a person in London, whom I had employed for that purpose, which informed me that he heard, at the office of the agent to Fitz-Edward's regiment, that he was certainly to be in town in a few days. He named, indeed, the exact time; and I, who imagined that pains had been taken to keep us from meeting, determined to return to England instantly, that he might not again avoid me. On reaching London, however, I found that the intelligence I had received was wholly unfounded, and originated in the mistake of a clerk in the agent's office. None knew where Fitz-Edward was, or when he would return; and though I wrote to enquire at Rouen, where I imagined the residence of Miss Mowbray might induce him to remain, I have yet had no answer. The entreaties and tears of my mother prevailed on me to come down hither; and reckless of what becomes of me, since Emmeline is undoubtedly lost to me for ever, I have yielded to the remonstrance of my father and the prayers of my mother, and have consented to marry a woman whom I cannot love. Let not Fitz-Edward, however, imagine," (vehemently and fiercely he spoke) "that he is with impunity to escape; and that tho' my vengeance may be delayed, I can forgive the man who has basely robbed me of her whom I could love—whom I did love—even to madness!"

'I own to you, Madam, that when I found this unfortunate young man had put into his father's hands the promise you had given him, and that it was returned to you, I felt at once pity for him, and—hope for myself, which, 'till then, I had never dared to indulge.'

Godolphin had never been thus explicit before. Pale as death, and deprived of the power as well as of the inclination to interrupt him, Emmeline awaited, in breathless silence, the close of this extraordinary narrative.

'It was now,' reassumed he, 'my turn to speak. And trusting to his honour for his silence about my unhappy sister, I revealed to him the whole truth. I at once cleared your character from unjust blame, and, I hope, did justice to those exalted virtues to which I owe so much. I will not shock your gentle and generous bosom with a relation of the wild phrenzy, the agonies of regret and repentance, into which this relation threw Lord Delamere. Concerned at the confusion his reproaches and his anguish had occasioned to the whole family, I lamented that I could not explain to them what I had said to him, which had produced so sudden a change in his sentiments about you; but to such women as the Marchioness of Montreville and her daughter, I could not relate the unhappiness of my poor Adelina; and Delamere steadily refused to tell them how he became convinced of your innocence, and the wicked arts which had been used to mislead him; which he openly imputed to the family of the Crofts', against whom his fiery and vindictive spirit turned all the rage it had till now cherished against Fitz-Edward.

'The Marquis, tho' extremely hurt, had yet candour enough to own, that if I was convinced that the causes of complaint which his son had against you were ill founded, I had done well in removing them. Yet I saw that he wished I had been less anxious for the vindication of innocence; and he beheld, with an uneasy and suspicious eye, what he thought officious interference in the affairs of his family. I observed, too, that he believed when the influence that he supposed I had over the mind of Lord Delamere was removed, he should be able to bring him back to his engagements with Miss Otley, which had, I found, been hurried on with the utmost precipitation. The ladies, who had at first overwhelmed me with civilities, now appeared so angry, that notwithstanding Lord Delamere's entreaties that I would stay with him till he could determine how to act, I immediately returned to London; and from thence, after passing a week with Adelina, whom I had only seen for a few hours since my return from Ireland, I set out for St. Alpin.'

'But Lord Delamere, Sir?' said Emmeline, inarticulately.

'Alas! Madam,' dejectedly continued Godolphin, 'I mean not to entertain you on what relates to myself; but to hasten to that which I farther have to say of the fortunate Delamere! I waited a few days at Southampton for a wind; and then landing at Havre, proceeded to St. Germains, where Mrs. Stafford's last letters had informed Adelina she was settled. I knew, too, that you were gone with my brother and Lady Westhaven to St. Alpin. Mrs. Stafford had only the day before forwarded to you Lord Montreville's letter, which, by one from his Lordship to herself, she knew contained the promise you had given Lord Delamere. She said, that this renunciation would give you no pain. She made me hope that your heart was not irrevocably his. Ah! why did I suffer such illusions to lead me on to this conviction! But pray forgive me, lovely Miss Mowbray! I am still talking of myself. From St. Germains I made as much haste as possible to BesanÇon. I rode post; and, just as I got off my horse at the hotel, was accosted by a French servant, whom I knew belonged to Lord Delamere.

'The man expressed great joy at seeing me, and besought me to go with him to his master, who, he said, had, thro' fatigue and the heat of the weather, been seized with a fever, and was unable to proceed to St. Alpin, whither he was going.

'I was extremely concerned at his journey; and, I hope, not so selfish as to be unmoved by his illness. I found, indeed, his fever very high, but greatly irritated and encreased by his impatience. As soon as he saw me, he told me that he was hurrying to St. Alpin, in hopes of obtaining your pardon; that he had broke off his engagement with Miss Otley, and never would return to England till he carried you thither as his wife.

'"I am now well enough to go on, indeed Godolphin," added he, "and if I can but see her!—--"

'I was by no means of opinion that he was in a condition to travel. His fever encreased; after I left him in the evening, he grew delirious; and Millefleur, terrified, came to call me to him. I sat up with him for the rest of the night; and being accustomed to attend invariably to the illness of men on ship board, I thought I might venture, from my experience, to direct a change in the method which the physician he had sent for pursued. In a few hours he grew better, and the delirium left him; but he was then convinced that he was too weak to proceed on his journey.

'He knew I was coming hither, and he entreated me to hasten my departure. "Go, my good friend," said he—"send Augusta to me. She will bring with her the generous, the forgiving angel, whom my rash folly has dared to injure! She will behold my penitence; and, if her pardon can be obtained, it will restore me to life; but if I cannot see them—if I linger many days longer in suspence, my illness must be fatal!"

'As I really did not think him in great danger, and saw every proper care was now taken of him, determined to come on; not only because I wished to save Lady Westhaven the pain of hearing of his illness by any other means, but because—'

He was proceeding, when a deep and convulsive sigh from Emmeline made him look in her face, from which he had hitherto kept his eyes, (unable to bear the varying expressions it had shewn of what he thought her concern for Delamere.) He now beheld her, quite pale, motionless, and to all appearance lifeless. Her sense of what she owed to the generosity of Godolphin; her concern for Delamere; and the dread of those contending passions which she foresaw would embitter her future life, added to the sleepless night and fatigueing day she had passed, had totally overcome her. Godolphin flew for assistance. The servants were by this time up, and ran to her. Among the first of them was Le Limosin, who expressed infinite anxiety and concern for her, and assiduously exerted himself in carrying her into the house; where she soon recovered, begged Godolphin's pardon for the trouble she had given, and was going to her own room, led by Madelon, when Bellozane suddenly appeared, and offered his assistance, which Emmeline faintly declining, moved on.

Godolphin, who could not bear to leave her in such a state, walked slowly by her, tho' she had refused his arm. The expression of his countenance, while his eyes were eagerly fixed on her face, would have informed any one less interested than Bellozane, of what passed in his heart; and the Chevalier surveyed him with looks of angry observation, which did not escape Emmeline, ill as she was. On arriving, therefore, at the foot of the staircase, she besought, in English, Godolphin to leave her, which he instantly did. She then told the Chevalier that she would by no means trouble him to attend her farther; and he, satisfied that no preference was shewn to his cousin, at least in this instance, bowed, and returned with him into the room where they usually assembled in a morning, and where they found Lord Westhaven.

CHAPTER V

His Lordship told them that Lady Westhaven had been less alarmed at the account he had given her of Delamere than he had apprehended; and that she was preparing to begin their journey towards him immediately after breakfast.

'I must send,' continued he, 'Miss Mowbray to her; who is, I understand, already up and walking.'

Bellozane then informed his Lordship of what he knew of Emmeline. But Godolphin was silent: he dared not trust himself with speaking much of her; he dared not relate her illness, lest the cause of it should be enquired into. 'Does Miss Mowbray go with my sister?' asked he.

'That I know not,' replied Lord Westhaven. 'Augusta will very reluctantly go without her. Yet her situation in regard to Lord Delamere is such'—He ceased speaking; looked embarrassed; and, soon after, the Chevalier quitting the room, before whom civility would not allow them to converse long in English, and to whom his Lordship thought he had no right to reveal the real situation of Emmeline, while it yet remained unknown to others, he related to his brother the circumstances of the discovery that had been made of her birth, and of her consequent claim to the Mowbray estate.

Godolphin, who would, from the obscurest indigence, have chosen her in preference to all other women, heard this account with pleasure, only as supposing that independance might be grateful to her sensibility, and affluence favourable to the liberality of her spirit. But the satisfaction he derived from these reflections, was embittered and nearly destroyed, when he considered, that her acquiring so large a fortune would make her alliance eagerly sought by the very persons who had before scorned and rejected her; and that all the family would unite in persuading her to forgive Delamere, the more especially as this would be the only means to keep in it the Mowbray estate, and to preclude the necessity of refunding the income which had been received for so many years, and which now amounted to a great sum of money. When the pressing instances of all her own family, and particularly of Lady Westhaven, whom she so tenderly loved, were added to the affection he believed she had invariably felt for Delamere, he thought it impossible that her pride, however it might have been piqued by the desertion of her lover, could make any effort against a renewal of her engagement; and his own hopes, which he had never cherished till he was convinced Delamere had given her up, and which had been weakened by her apparent affection for him, were by this last event again so nearly annihilated, that, no longer conscious he retained any, he fancied himself condemned still to love, serve, and adore the object of his passion, without making any effort to secure it's success, or being permitted to appear otherwise than as her friend. He was vexed that he had been unguardedly explicit, in telling her that he had ever indulged those hopes at all; since he now feared it would be the means of depriving her conversation and her manner, when they were together, of that charming frankness, of which, tho' it rivetted his chains and encreased his torments, he could not bear to be deprived. Melancholy and desponding, he continued long silent after Lord Westhaven ceased speaking. Suddenly, however, awakening from his reverie, he said—'Does your Lordship think Miss Mowbray ought to go to meet Lord Delamere?'

'Upon my word I know not how to advise: my wife is miserable without her, and fancies the sight of her will immediately restore Delamere. On the other hand, I believe Emmeline herself will with reluctance take a step that will perhaps, appear like forcing herself into the notice of a man from whom she has received an affront which it is hardly in female nature to forgive.'

They were now interrupted by Bellozane, who flew about the house in evident uneasiness and confusion. He did not yet know how Emmeline was to be disposed of: he saw that Lord Westhaven was himself uncertain of it; and he had been applying for information to Le Limosin and Madelon, who had yet received no orders to prepare for her departure.

While Emmeline had created in the bosoms of others so much anxiety, she was herself tortured with the cruellest uncertainty. Unable to resolve how she ought to act, she had yet determined on nothing, when Lady Westhaven sent for her, who, as soon as she entered the room, said—'My dear Emmeline, are you not preparing for our journey?'

'How can I, dearest Madam—how can I, with any propriety, go where Lord Delamere is? After the separation which has now so decidedly and irrevocably taken place between us, shall I intrude again on his Lordship's sight? and solicit a return of that regard with which I most sincerely wish he had forborne to honour me?'

'You are piqued, my lovely friend; and I own with great reason. But Mr. Godolphin has undoubtedly told you that poor Frederic is truly penitent; that he has taken this journey merely to deprecate your just anger and to solicit his pardon. Will my Emmeline, generous and gentle as she is to others, be inexorable only to him? Besides, my sweet coz, pray consider a moment, what else can you do? You certainly would not wish to stay here? Surely you would not travel alone to St. Germains. And let me add my own hopes that you will not quit me now, when poor Frederic's illness, and my own precarious health, make your company not merely pleasant but necessary.'

'That is indeed a consideration which must have great force with me. When Lady Westhaven commands, how shall I disobey, even tho' to obey be directly contrary to my judgment and my wishes.'

'Commands, my dear friend,' very gravely, and with an air of chagrin, said her Ladyship, 'are neither for me to give or for you to receive. Certainly if you are so determined against going with me, I must submit. But I did not indeed think that Emmeline, however the brother may have offended her, would thus have resented it to the sister.'

'I should be a monster, Lady Westhaven,' (hardly was she able to restrain her tears as she spoke,)—'was I a moment capable of forgetting all I owe you. But do you really think I ought again to put myself in the way of Lord Delamere—again to renew all the family contention which his very unfortunate partiality for me has already occasioned; and again to hazard being repulsed with contempt by the Marquis, and still more probably by the Marchioness of Montreville. My lot has hitherto been humble: I have learned to submit to it, if not without regret, at least with calmness and resignation; yet pardon me if I say, that however unhappy my fortune, there is still something due to myself; and if I again make myself liable to the humiliation of being refused, I shall feel that I am degraded in mind, as much as I have been in circumstances, and lost to that proper pride to which innocence and rectitude has in the lowest indigence a right, and which cannot be relinquished but with the loss of virtue.'

The spirit which Emmeline thought herself obliged to exert, was immediately lost in softness and in sorrow when she beheld Lady Westhaven in tears; who, sobbing, said—'Go then, Miss Mowbray!—Go, my dear Emmeline! (for dear you must ever be to me) leave me to be unhappy and poor Frederic to die.'

'Hear me, my dear Madam!' answered she with quickness—'If to you I can be of the least use, I will hesitate no longer; but let it then be understood that I go with you, and by no means to Lord Delamere.'

'It shall be so understood—be assured, my love, it shall! You will not, then, leave me?—You will see my poor brother?'

'My best, my dearest friend,' replied Emmeline, collecting all her fortitude, 'hear me without resentment explain to you at once the real situation of my heart in regard to Lord Delamere. I feel for him the truest concern; I feel it for him even to a painful excess; and I have an affection for him, a sisterly affection for him, which I really believe is little inferior to your own. But I will not deceive you; nor, since I am to meet him, will I suffer him to entertain hopes that it is impossible for me to fulfil. To be considered as the friend, as the sister of Lord Delamere, is one of the first wishes my heart now forms—against ever being his wife, I am resolutely determined.'

'Impossible!—Surely you cannot have made such a resolution?'

'I have indeed!—Nor will any consideration on earth induce me from that determination to recede.'

'And is it anger and resentment only have raised in your heart this decided enmity to my poor brother? Or is it, that any other——'

Emmeline, whose colourless cheeks were suffused with a deep blush at this speech, hastily interrupted it.—

'Whatever, dear Lady Westhaven, are my motives for the decision, it is irrevocable; as Lord Delamere's sister, I shall be honoured, if I am allowed to consider myself.—As such, if my going with you to BesanÇon will give you a day's—an hour's satisfaction, I go.'

'Get ready then, my love. But indeed, cruel girl, if such is your resolution it were better to leave you here, than take you only to shew Lord Delamere all he has lost, while you deprive him of all hopes of regaining you. But I will yet flatter myself you do not mean all this.—"At lovers' perjuries they say Jove laughs."—And those of my fair cousin will be forgiven, should she break her angry vow and receive her poor penitent. Come, let us hasten to begin our journey to him; for tho' that dear Godolphin, whom I shall love as long as I live,' (ah! thought Emmeline, and so shall I) 'assures me he does not think him in any danger, my heart will sadly ache till I see him myself.'

Emmeline then left her to put up her cloaths and prepare for a journey to which she was determined solely by the pressing instances of Lady Westhaven. To herself she foresaw only uneasiness and embarrassment; and even found a degree of cruelty in permitting Lord Delamere to feed, by her consenting to attend him, those hopes to which she now could never accede, unless by condemning herself to the most wretched of all lots—that of marrying one man while her love was another's. The late narrative which she had heard from Godolphin, encreased her affection for him, and took from her every wish to oppose it's progress; and tho' she was thus compelled to see Delamere, she determined not to deceive him, but to tell him ingenuously that he had lost all that tenderness which her friendship and long acquaintance with him would have induced her to cherish, had not his own conduct destroyed it—

But it was hardly less necessary to own to him part of the truth, than to conceal the rest. Should he suspect that Godolphin was his rival, and a rival fondly favoured, she knew that his pride, his jealousy, his resentment, would hurry him into excesses more dreadful, than any that had yet followed his impetuous love or his unbridled passions.

The apprehensions that he must, if they were long together, discover it, were more severely distressing than any she had yet felt; and she resolved, both now and when they reached BesanÇon, to keep the strictest guard on her words and looks; and to prevent if possible her real sentiments being known to Delamere, to Lady Westhaven, and to Godolphin himself.

So painful and so difficult appeared the dissimulation necessary for that end; and so contrary did she feel it to her nature, that she was withheld only by her love to Lady Westhaven from flying to England with Mrs. Stafford; and should she be restored to her estate, she thought that the only chance she had of tranquillity would be to hide herself from Delamere, whom she at once pitied and dreaded, and from Godolphin, whom she tenderly loved, in the silence and seclusion of Mowbray Castle.

Her embarrassment and uneasiness were encreased, when, on her joining Lord and Lady Westhaven, whose carriages and baggage were now ready, she found that the Chevalier de Bellozane had insisted on escorting them; an offer which they had no pretence to refuse. On her taking leave of the Baron, he very warmly and openly recommended his son to her favour; and Mrs. St. Alpin, who was very fond of her, repeated her wishes that she would listen to her nephew; and both with unfeigned concern saw their English visitors depart. Captain Godolphin had a place in his brother's chaise; Madelon occupied that which on the former journey was filled by Bellozane in the coach, the Chevalier now proceeding on horseback.

During the journey, Emmeline was low and dejected; from which she was sometimes roused by impatient enquiries and fearful apprehensions which darted into her mind, of what was to happen at the end of it. Every thing he observed, confirmed Godolphin in his persuasion that her heart was wholly Delamere's: her behaviour to himself was civil, but even studiously distant; while the unreserved and ardent addresses of Bellozane, who made no mystery of his pretensions, she repulsed with yet more coldness and severity: and tho' towards Lord and Lady Westhaven the sweetness of her manners was yet preserved, she seemed overwhelmed with sadness, and her vivacity was quite lost.

As soon as they reached BesanÇon, Lord Westhaven directed the carriages to stop at another hotel, while he went with his brother to that where Lord Delamere was. At the door, they met Millefleur; who, overjoyed to see them, related, that since Mr. Godolphin left his master the violence of his impatience had occasioned a severe relapse, in which, according to the orders Mr. Godolphin had given, the surgeons had bled and blistered him; that he was now again better, but very weak; yet so extremely ungovernable and self-willed, that the French people who attended him could do nothing with him, and that his English footmen, and Millefleur himself, were forced to be constantly in his room to prevent his leaving it or committing some other excess that might again irritate the fever and bring on alarming symptoms. They hastened to him; and found not only that his fever still hung on him, tho' with less violence, but that he was also extremely emaciated; and that only his youth had supported him thro' so severe an illness, or could now enable him to struggle with it's effects.

The moment they entered the room, he enquired after his sister and Emmeline; and hearing the latter was actually come, he protested he would instantly go to her.

Lord Westhaven and Godolphin resolutely opposed so indiscreet a plan: the former, by his undeviating rectitude of mind and excellent sense, had acquired a greater ascendant over Delamere than any of his family had before possessed; and to the latter he thought himself so much obliged, that he could not refuse to attend to him. He consented therefore at length to remain where he was; and Lord Westhaven hastened back to his wife, whom he led immediately to her brother.

She embraced him with many tears; and was at first greatly shocked at his altered countenance and reduced figure. But as Lord Westhaven and Godolphin both assured her there was no longer any danger if he would consent to be governed, she was soothed into hope of his speedy recovery and soon became tolerably composed.

As Lord Westhaven and Godolphin soon left them alone, he began to talk to his sister of Emmeline. He told her, that when he had been undeceived by Mr. Godolphin, and the scandalous artifices discovered which had raised in his mind such injurious suspicions, he had declared to Lord and Lady Montreville his resolution to proceed no farther in the treaty which they had hurried on with Miss Otley, and had solicited their consent, to his renewing and fulfilling that, which he had before entered into with Miss Mowbray; but that his mother, with more anger and acrimony than ever, had strongly opposed his wishes; and that his father had forbidden him, on pain of his everlasting displeasure, ever again to think of Emmeline.

After having for some time, he said, combated their inveterate prejudice, he had left them abruptly, and set out with his three servants for St. Alpin, (where Godolphin informed him Emmeline was to be;) when a fever, owing to heat and fatigue, seized and confined him where he now was.

'Ah, tell me, my sister, what hopes are there that Emmeline will pardon me? May I dare enquire whether she is yet to be moved in my favour?'

Lady Westhaven, who during their journey could perceive no symptoms that her resolution was likely to give way, dared not feed him with false hopes; yet unwilling to depress him by saying all she feared, she told him that Emmeline was greatly and with justice offended; but that all he could at present do, was to take care of his health. She entreated him to consider the consequence of another relapse, which might be brought on by his eagerness and emotion; and then conjuring him to keep all he knew of Lady Adelina a secret from Lord Westhaven (the necessity of which he already had heard from Godolphin) she left him and returned to Emmeline.

To avoid the importunity of Bellozane, and the melancholy looks of Godolphin, which affected her with the tenderest sorrow, she had retired to a bed chamber, where she waited the return of Lady Westhaven with impatience.

Her solicitude for Delamere was very great; and her heart greatly lightened when she found that even his tender and apprehensive sister did not think him in any immediate danger, and believed that a few days would put him out of hazard even of a relapse.

She now again thought, that since Lady Westhaven had nothing to fear for his life, her presence would be less necessary; and her mind, the longer it thought of Mowbray Castle, adhering with more fondness to her plan of flying thither, she considered how she might obtain in a few days Lady Westhaven's consent to the preliminary measure of quitting BesanÇon.

CHAPTER VI

While the heiress of Mowbray Castle meditated how to escape thither from the embarrassed and uneasy situation in which she now was; and while she fancied that in retirement she might conceal, if she could not conquer, her affection for Godolphin, (tho' in fact she only languished for an opportunity of thinking of him perpetually without observation), Lady Westhaven laid in wait for an occasion to try whether the ruined health and altered looks of her brother, would not move, in his favour, her tender and sensible friend.

While Delamere kept his chamber, Emmeline easily evaded an interview; but when, after three or four days, he was well enough to leave it, it was no longer possible for her to escape seeing him. However Godolphin thought himself obliged to bury in silence his unfortunate passion, he could not divest himself of that painful curiosity which urged him to observe the behaviour of Emmeline on their first meeting. Bellozane had discovered on what footing Lord Delamere had formerly been; and he dreaded a renewal of that preference she had given her lover, to which his proud heart could ill bear to submit, tho' he could himself make no progress in her favour. Tho' Lady Westhaven had entreated her to see Delamere alone, she had refused; assigning as a reason that as he could never again be to her any other than a friend, nothing could possibly pass which her other friends might not hear. Delamere was obliged therefore to brook the hard conditions of seeing her as an indifferent person, or not seeing her at all. But tho' she was immoveably determined against receiving him again as a lover, she had not been able to steel her heart against his melancholy appearance; his palid countenance, his emaciated form, extremely affected her. And when he approached her, bowed with a dejected air, and offered to take her hand—her haughtiness, her resentment forsook her—she trembling gave it, expressed in incoherent words her satisfaction at seeing him better, and betrayed so much emotion, that Godolphin, who with a beating heart narrowly observed her, saw, as he believed, undoubted proof of her love; and symptoms of her approaching forgiveness.

Delamere, who, whenever he was near her, ceased to remember that any other being existed; would, notwithstanding the presence of so many witnesses, have implored her pardon and her pity; but the moment he began to speak on that subject, she told him, with as much resolution as she could command, that the subject was to her so very disagreeable, as would oblige her to withdraw if he persisted in introducing it.

While his looks expressed how greatly he was hurt by her coldness, those of Godolphin testified equal dejection. For however she might repress the hopes of his rival by words of refusal and resentment, he thought her countenance gave more unequivocal intelligence of the real state of her heart. Bellozane, as proud, as little used to controul and disappointment, and with more personal vanity than Lord Delamere, beheld with anger and mortification the pity and regard which Emmeline shewed for her cousin; and ceasing to be jealous of Godolphin, he saw every thing to apprehend from the rank, the fortune, the figure of Delamere—from family connection, which would engage her to listen to him—from ambition, which his title would gratify—from her tenderness to Lady Westhaven, and from the return of that affection which she had, as he supposed, once felt for Lord Delamere himself.

But the more invincible the obstacles which he saw rising, appeared, the more satisfaction he thought there would be in conquering them. And to yield up his pretensions, on the first appearance of a formidable rival, was contrary to his enterprising spirit and his ideas of that glory, which he equally coveted in the service of the fair and of the French King.

With these sentiments of each other, the restraint and mistrust of every party impeded general or chearful conversation. Godolphin soon left the room, to commune with his own uneasy thoughts in a solitary walk; Lord Westhaven would then have taken out Bellozane, in order to give Lord Delamere an opportunity of being alone with his sister and Emmeline. But he was determined not to understand hints on that subject; and when his Lordship asked him to take an afternoon's walk, found means to refuse it. Afraid of leaving two such combustible spirits together, Lord Westhaven, to the great relief of Emmeline, staid with them till Delamere retired for the night.

But the behaviour of Bellozane to Emmeline, which was very particular, as if he wished it to be noticed, had extremely alarmed Delamere; and whenever they afterwards met, they surveyed each other with such haughty reserve, and their conversation bordered so nearly on hostility and defiance, that Emmeline, who expected every hour to see their animosity blaze out in a challenge, could support her uneasiness about it no longer; and sending early to speak to Lord Westhaven on the beginning of the second week of their stay, she represented to him her fears, and entreated him to prevail on the Chevalier to leave them and return to St. Alpin.

'I have attempted it already,' said he; 'but with so little success, that if I press it any farther I must quarrel with him myself. I know perfectly well that your fears have too much foundation; and that if we can neither separate or tranquillise these unquiet spirits, we shall have some disagreeable affair happen between them. I know nothing that can be done but your accepting at once your penitent cousin.'

'No, my Lord,' answered she, with an air of chagrin, 'that I will not do! I most ardently wish Lord Delamere well, and would do any thing to make him happy—except sacrificing my own happiness, and acting in opposition to my conscience.'

'Why, my dear Emmeline, how is this? You had once, surely, an affection for Delamere; and his offence against you, however great, admits of considerable alleviation. Consider all the pains that were taken to disunite you, and the importunity he suffered from his family. Surely, when you are convinced of his repentance you should restore him to your favour; and however you may be superior to considerations of fortune and rank, yet when they unite in a man otherwise unexceptionable they should have some weight.'

'They have none with me, upon my honour, my Lord. And since we have got upon this topic, I will be very explicit—I am determined on no account to marry Lord Delamere. But that I may give no room to charge me with caprice or coquetry (since your Lordship believes I once had so great a regard for him), or with that unforgiving temper which I see you are disposed to accuse me of, it is my fixed intention, if I obtain, by your Lordship's generous interposition, the Mowbray estate, to retire to Mowbray Castle, and never to marry at all.'

Lord Westhaven, at the solemnity and gravity with which she pronounced these words, began to laugh so immoderately, and to treat her resolution with ridicule so pointed, that he first made her almost angry, and then obliged her to laugh too. At length, however, she prevailed on him again to listen to her apprehensions about Delamere and Bellozane.

'Do not, my Lord, rally me so cruelly; but for Heaven's sake, before it is too late, prevent any more meetings between these two rash and turbulent young men. Why should the Chevalier de Bellozane stay here?'

'Because it is his pleasure. I do assure you seriously, my dear Miss Mowbray, that I have almost every day since we came hither attempted to send my fiery cousin back to St. Alpin. But my anxiety has only piqued him; and he determines more resolutely to stay because he sees my motive for wishing him gone. He is exactly the character which I have somewhere seen described by a French poet.—A young man who,

'Yet, among all his faults, poor Bellozane has some good qualities; and I am really sorry for this strange perseverance in an hopeless pursuit, because it prevents my asking him to England. I give you my honour, Emmeline,' continued his Lordship, in a more serious tone, 'that I have repeatedly represented to him the improbability of his success; but he answers that you have never positively dismissed him by avowing your preference to another; that he knows your engagement with Lord Delamere is dissolved, and that he considers himself at liberty to pursue you till you have decidedly chosen, or even till you are actually married. Nay, I doubt whether your being married would make any difference in the attentions of this eccentric and presuming Frenchman, for I do not consider Bellozane as a Swiss.'

'Well, but my dear Lord, if the Chevalier will persist in staying, I must determine to go. I see not that my remaining here will be attended with any good effects. It may possibly be the cause of infinite uneasiness to Lady Westhaven. Do, therefore, prevail upon her to let me go alone to St. Germains. When I am gone, Lord Delamere will think more of getting well than of forcing me into a new engagement. He will then soon be able to travel; and the Chevalier de Bellozane will return quietly to the Baron.'

'Why to speak ingenuously, Emmeline, it does appear to me that it were on every account more proper for you to be in England. Thither I wish you could hasten, before it will be possible for Lord Delamere, or indeed for my wife, who must travel slowly, to get thither. I do not know whether your travelling with us will be strictly proper, on other accounts; but if it were, it would be rendered uneasy to you by the company of these two mad headed boys; for Bellozane I am sure intends, if you accompany us, to go also.'

'What objection is there then to my setting out immediately for St. Germains, with Le Limosin and Madelon, if Lady Westhaven would but consent to it?'

'I can easily convince her of the necessity of it; but I foresee another objection that has escaped you.'

'What is that, my Lord?'

'That Bellozane will follow you.'

'Surely he will not attempt it?'

'Indeed I apprehend he will. I have no manner of influence over him; and he is here connected with a set of military men, who are the likeliest people in the world to encourage such an enterprize—and if at last this Paris should carry off our fair Helen!'—

'Nay, but my Lord do not ridicule my distress.'

'Well then, I will most seriously and gravely counsel you: and my advice is, that you set out as soon as you can get ready, and that my brother Godolphin escort you.'

Emmeline was conscious that she too much wished such an escort; yet fearing that her preference of him would engage Godolphin in a quarrel with Bellozane or Lord Delamere, perhaps with both, she answered, while the deepest blush dyed her cheeks—

'No, my Lord, I cannot—I mean not—I should be sorry to give Captain Godolphin the trouble of such a journey—and I beg you not to think of it—.'

'I shall speak to him of it, however.'

'I beg, my Lord—I intreat that you will not.'

'Here he is—and we will discuss the matter with him now.'

Godolphin at this moment entered the room; and Lord Westhaven relating plainly all Emmeline's fears, and her wishes to put an end to them by quitting BesanÇon, added the proposal he had made, that Godolphin should take care of her till she joined Mrs. Stafford.

Tho' Godolphin saw in her apprehensions for the safety of Delamere, only a conviction of her tender regard for him, and considered his own attachment as every way desperate; yet he could not refuse himself, when it was thus offered him, the pleasure of being with her—the exquisite tho' painful delight of being useful to her. He therefore eagerly expressed the readiness, the happiness, with which he should undertake so precious a charge.

Emmeline, fearful of betraying her real sentiments, overacted the civil coldness with which she thought it necessary to refuse this offer. Godolphin, mortified and vexed at her manner as much as at her denial, ceased to press his services; and Lord Westhaven, who wondered what could be her objection, since of the honour and propriety of Godolphin's conduct he knew she could not doubt, seemed hurt at her rejection of his brother's friendly intention of waiting on her; and dropping the conversation, went away with Godolphin.

She saw that her conduct inevitably impressed on the mind of the latter a conviction of her returning regard for Delamere; and she feared that to Lord Westhaven it might appear to be the effect of vanity and coquetry.

'Perhaps he will think me,' said she, 'so vain as to suppose that Godolphin has also designs, and that therefore I decline his attendance; and coquet enough to wish for the pursuit of these men, whom I only affect to shun, and for that reason prefer going alone, to accepting the protection of his brother. Yet as I know the sentiments of Godolphin, which it appears Lord Westhaven does not, surely I had better suffer his ill opinion of me, than encourage Godolphin's hopes; which, till Delamere can be diverted from prosecuting his unwelcome addresses, will inevitably involve him in a dispute, and such a dispute as I cannot bear to think of.'

Uncertain what to do, another day passed; and on the following morning, while she waited for Lady Westhaven, she was addressed by Godolphin, who calmly and gravely enquired if she would honour him with any commands for England?

'Are you going then, Sir, before my Lord and Lady?'

'I am going, Madam, immediately.'

'By way of Paris?'

'Yes, Madam, to Havre; whence I shall get the quickest to Southampton, and to the Isle of Wight. I am uneasy at the entire solitude to which my absence condemns Adelina.'

'You have heard no unfavourable news, I hope, of Lady Adelina or your little boy?'

'None. But I am impatient to return to them.'

'As you are going immediately, Sir,' said Emmeline (making an effort to conquer a pain she felt rising in her bosom) 'I will not detain you by writing to Lady Adelina. Perhaps—as it is possible—as I hope'—

She stopped. Godolphin looked anxious to hear what was possible, what she hoped.

'As I shall so soon, so very soon be in England, perhaps we may meet,' reassumed she, speaking very quick—'possibly I may have the happiness of seeing her Ladyship and dear little William.'

'To meet you,' replied Godolphin, very solemnly, 'Adelina shall leave her solitude; for certainly a journey to see her in it will hardly be undertaken by Lady Delamere.'

He then in the same tone wished her health and happiness till he saw her again, and left her.

He was no sooner gone, than she felt disposed to follow him and apologize for her having so coldly refused his offers of protection. Pride and timidity prevented her; but they could not stop her tears, which she was obliged to conceal by hurrying to her own room. Lady Westhaven soon after sent for her to a late breakfast: she found Lord Delamere there; but heard that Godolphin was gone.

Soon after breakfast, Lady Westhaven and her brother, (who could not yet obtain a clear intermission of the fever which hung about him, and who continued extremely weak,) went out together for an airing; and Lord Westhaven, unusually grave, was left reading in the room with Emmeline.

He laid down his book. 'So,' said he, 'William is flown away from us.'

It was a topic on which Emmeline did not care to trust her voice.

'I wish you could have determined to have gone with him.'

'I wish, my Lord, I could have reconciled it to my ideas of propriety; since certainly I should have been happy and safe in such an escort; and since, without any at all, I must, in a day or two, go.'

'I believe it will be best. Lord Delamere is no better; and Bellozane has no thought of leaving us entirely, tho' his military friends take up so much of his time that he is luckily less with Delamere. Lord Delamere has again, Miss Mowbray, been imploring me to apply to you. He wishes you only to hear him. He complains that you fly from him, and will not give him an opportunity of entering on his justification.'

'I am extremely concerned at Lord Delamere's unhappiness. But I must repeat that I require of his Lordship no justification; that I most sincerely forgive him if he supposes he has injured me; but that as to any proposals such as he once honoured me with, I am absolutely resolved never to listen to them; and I entreat him to believe that any future application on the subject must be entirely fruitless.'

'Poor young man!' said Lord Westhaven. 'However you must consent to see him alone, and to tell him so yourself; for from me he will not believe you so very inflexible—so very cruel.'

'I am inflexible, my Lord, but surely not cruel. The greatest cruelty of which I could be guilty, either to Lord Delamere or myself, would be to accept his offers, feeling as I feel, and thinking as I think.'

'I do not know how we shall get him to England, or what will be done with him when he is there.'

'He will do well, my Lord. Doubt it not.'

'Upon my honour I do doubt it! It is to me astonishing that a young man so volatile, so high-spirited as Delamere, should be capable of an attachment at once so violent and so steady.'

'Steady!—Has your Lordship forgotten Miss Otley?'

'His wavering then was, you well know, owing to some evil impressions he had received of you; which, tho' he refuses to tell me the particulars, he assures me were conveyed and confirmed with so much art, that a more dispassionate and cooler lover would have believed them without enquiry. How then can you wonder at his petulant and eager spirit seizing on probable circumstances, which his jealousy and apprehension immediately converted into conviction? As soon as he knew these suspicions were groundless, did he not fly to implore your pardon; and hasten, even at the hazard of his life, to find and appease you? Such is the present situation of his mind and of his health, that I very seriously assure you I doubt whether he will survive your total rejection.'

Emmeline, unable to answer this speech gravely, without betraying the very great concern it gave her, assumed a levity she did not feel.

'Your Lordship,' said she, 'is disposed to think thus, from the warm and vehement manner in which Lord Delamere is accustomed to express himself. If he is really unhappy, I am very sorry; but I am persuaded time, and the more fortunate alliance which he is solicited to form, will effect a cure. Don't think me unfeeling if I answer your melancholy prophecy in the words of Rosalind—

'Men have died from time to time, and worms have eat them—but not for love.'

She then ran away, and losing all her forced spirits the moment she was alone, gave way to tears. She fancied they flowed entirely for the unhappiness of poor Delamere, and for her uncertain situation. But tho' the former uneasiness deeply affected her sensible heart, many of the tears she shed were because Godolphin was gone, and she knew not when she should again see him.

Godolphin, repining and wretched, pursued his way to Paris. He thought that Emmeline's coldness and reserve were meant to put an end to any hopes he might have entertained; and that her reconciliation and marriage with Lord Delamere must inevitably take place as soon as she had, by her dissimulated cruelty, punished him for his rashness and his errors. His daily observation confirmed him in this opinion: he saw, that in place of her candid and ingenuous manners, a studied conduct was adopted, which concealed her real sentiments—sentiments which he concluded to be all in favour of Delamere. And finding that he could not divest himself of his passion for her, he thought that it was a weakness, if not a crime, to indulge it in her presence, while it imposed on himself an insupportable torment; and that, by quitting her, he should at least conceal his hopeless attachment, and save himself the misery of seeing her actually married to Lord Delamere. He determined, therefore, to tear himself away; and to punish himself for the premature expectations with which he had begun his journey to St. Alpin, by shutting himself up at East Cliff (his house in the Isle of Wight) and refusing himself the sight of her, of whom it would be sufficient misery to think, when she had given herself to her favoured and fortunate lover.

Full of these reflections, Godolphin continued his road, intending to take the passage boat at Havre. But at the hotel he frequented at Paris, he met a gentleman of his acquaintance who was going the next day to England by way of Calais; and as he had his own post chaise, and only his valet with him, he told Godolphin that if he would take a place in his chaise he would send his servant post. This offer Godolphin accepted; and altering his original design, went with his friend to Calais to cross to England.

CHAPTER VII

It was now impossible for Emmeline to avoid a conversation with Lord Delamere, which his sister urged her so earnestly to allow him. Bellozane was, by the French officers, with whom he principally lived, engaged out for two days; and Lord and Lady Westhaven easily found an opportunity to leave Emmeline with Delamere.

He was no sooner alone in her presence, than he threw himself on his knees before her—'Will you,' cried he, 'ah! will you still refuse to hear and to forgive me? Have I offended beyond all hopes of pardon?'

'No, my Lord.—I do most readily and truly forgive every offence, whether real or imaginary, that you believe you have committed against me.'

'You forgive me—But to what purpose?—Only to plunge me yet deeper into wretchedness. You forgive me—but you despise, you throw me from you for ever. Ah! rather continue to be angry, than distract me by a pardon so cold and careless!'

'If your Lordship will be calm—if you will rise, and hear me with temper, I will be very explicit with you; but while you yield to these extravagant transports, I cannot explain all I wish you to understand; and must indeed beg to be released from a conversation so painful to me, and to you so prejudicial.'

Delamere rose and took a chair.

'I need not, Sir,' said Emmeline, collecting all her courage, 'recall to your memory the time so lately passed, when I engaged to become your's, if at the expiration of a certain period Lord and Lady Montreville consented, and you still remained disposed to bestow on me the honour of your name.'

'What am I to expect,' cried Delamere, eagerly interrupting her—'Ah! what am I to expect from a preface so cold and cruel? You have indeed no occasion to recall to my memory those days when I was allowed to look forward to that happiness, which now, thro' the villainy of others, and my own madness and ideotism, I have lost. But, Madam, it must not, it cannot be so easily relinquished! By heaven I will not give you up!—and if but for a moment I thought——.'

'You seemed just now, Sir, disposed to hear me with patience. Since, however, you cannot even for a few minutes forbear these starts of passion, I really am unequal to the task of staying with you.'

She would then have hastened away; but Delamere forcibly detaining her, again protested he would be calm, and again she went on.

'At that time, I will own to you, that without any prepossession, almost without a wish either to accept or decline the very high honour you offered me, I was content to engage myself to be your wife; because you said such an engagement would make you happy, and because I then knew not that it would render me otherwise.'

'Was you even then thus indifferent? Had I no place in your heart, Madam, when you would have given me your hand?'

'Yes, Sir—you had then the place I now willingly restore to you. I esteemed you; I looked upon you with a sisterly affection; and had I married you, it would have been rather to have made you happy, than because I had any wish to form other ties than those by which our relationship and early acquaintance had connected us.'

'Ah! my angelic Emmeline! it will still make me happy! Let the reasons which then influenced you, again plead for me; and forget, O! forget all that has passed since my headlong folly urged me to insult and forsake you!'

'Alas! my Lord, that is not in my power! You have cancelled the engagements that subsisted between us; and, as I understand, have actually formed others more indissoluble, with a lady of high rank and of immense fortune—one whose alliance is as anxiously courted by your family, as mine is despised. Can your Lordship again fly from your promises? Can you quit at pleasure the affluent and high-born heiress as you quitted the deserted and solitary orphan?'

'Cursed, cursed cruelty!' exclaimed Delamere, speaking thro' his shut teeth—But go on, Madam! I deserve your severity, and must bear your reproaches! Yet surely you know that but for the machinations of those execrable Crofts', I should never have acted as I did—you know, that however destitute of fortune chance had made you, I preferred you to all those who might have brought me wealth!'

'I acknowledge your generosity, Sir, and on that head meant not to reproach. I merely intended to represent to you what you seem to have forgotten—that were I disposed to restore you the hand you so lately renounced, you could not take it; since Miss Otley will certainly not relinquish the claim you have given her to your regard.'

'You are misinformed.—I am under no engagement to Miss Otley.—I am not by heaven! by all that is sacred!'

'Were not all preparations for your marriage in great forwardness, Sir, when you left England? and must not your consent have been previously obtained before Lord Montreville would have made them? However, to put an end to all uncertainty, I must tell you, my Lord, with a sincerity which will probably be displeasing to you, that my affections—'

'Are no longer in your own power!' cried he, hastily interrupting her—'Speak, Madam—is it not so?'

'I did not say that, Sir. I was going to assure you that I now find it impossible to command them—impossible to feel for you that preference, without which I should think myself extremely culpable were I to give you my hand.'

'I understand you, Madam! You give that preference to another. The Chevalier de Bellozane has succeeded to your affections. He has doubtless made good use of the opportunities he has had to conciliate your favour; but before he carries his good fortune farther, he must discuss with me the right by which he pretends to it.'

'Whether he has or has not a right to pretend to my regard, Sir,' said Emmeline, with great spirit, 'this causeless jealousy, so immediately after you have been convinced of the fallacy of your supposition in regard to another person, convinces me, that had I unfortunately given you an exclusive claim to my friendship and affection, my whole life would have been embittered by suspicion, jealousy, and caprice. Recollect, my Lord, that I have said nothing of the Chevalier de Bellozane, nor have you the least reason to believe I have for him those sentiments you are pleased to impute to me.'

'But can I doubt it!' exclaimed Delamere, rising, and walking about in an agony—'Can I doubt it, when I have heard you disclaim me for ever!—when you have told me your affections are no longer in your power!'

'No, Sir; my meaning was, what I now repeat—that as my near relation, as my friend, as the brother of Lady Westhaven, I shall ever esteem and regard you; but that I cannot command now in your favour those sentiments which should induce me to accept of you as my husband. What is past cannot be recalled; and tho' I am most truly concerned to see you unhappy, my determination is fixed and I must abide by it.'

'Death and hell!' cried the agonized Delamere—'It is all over then! You utterly disclaim me, and hardly think it worth while to conceal from me for whose sake I am disclaimed!'

Emmeline was terrified to find that he still persisted in imputing her estrangement from him to her partiality for Bellozane; foreseeing that he would immediately fly to him, and that all she apprehended must follow.

'I beg, I entreat, Lord Delamere, that you will understand that I give no preference to Mr. de Bellozane. I will not only assure you of that, but I disclaim all intention of marriage whatever! Suffer me, my Lord, to entreat that you will endeavour to calm your mind and regain your health. Reflect on the cruel uncertainty in which you have left the Marquis and the Marchioness; reflect on the uneasy situation in which you keep Lord and Lady Westhaven, and on the great injury you do yourself; and resolutely attempt, in the certainty of succeeding, to divest yourself of a fatal partiality, which has hitherto produced only misery to you and to your family.'

'Oh! most certainly, most certainly!' cried Delamere, almost choaked with passion—'I shall undoubtedly make all these wise reflections; and after having gone thro' a proper course of them, shall, possibly, with great composure, see you in the arms of that presumptuous coxcomb—that vain, supercilious Frenchman!—that detested Bellozane! No, Madam! no! you may certainly give yourself to him, but assure yourself I live not to see it!'

He flew out of the room at these words, tho' she attempted to stop and to appease him. Her heart bled at the wounds she had yet thought it necessary to inflict; and she was at once grieved and terrified at his menacing and abrupt departure. She immediately went herself after Lord Westhaven, to intreat him to keep Bellozane and Delamere apart. His Lordship was much disturbed at what had passed, which Emmeline faithfully related to him: Bellozane was still out of town; and Lord Westhaven, who now apprehended that on Delamere's meeting him he would immediately insult him, said he would consider what could be done to prevent their seeing each other 'till Delamere became more reasonable. On enquiry, he found that the Chevalier was certainly engaged with his companions 'till the next day. He therefore came back to Emmeline about an hour after he had left her, and told her that he thought it best for her to set out that afternoon on her way to St. Germains.

'You will by this means make it difficult for Bellozane to overtake you, if he should attempt it; and when he sees you have actually fled from Delamere, he will be little disposed to quarrel with him, and will perhaps go home. As to Delamere, his sister and I must manage him as well as we can; which will be the easier, as he is, within this half hour, gone to bed in a violent access of fever. Indeed, in the perturbation of mind he now suffers, there is no probability of his speedy amendment; for as fast as he regains strength, his violent passions throw his frame again into disorder.—But perhaps when he knows you are actually in England, he may try to acquire, by keeping himself quiet, that share of health which alone can enable him to follow you.'

Emmeline, eagerly embracing this advice, which she found had the concurrence of Lady Westhaven, prepared instantly for her departure; and embracing tenderly her two excellent friends, who hoped soon to follow her, and who had desired her to come to them to reside as soon as they were settled in London, where they had no house at present, she got into a chaise, with Madelon, and attended by Le Limosin, who was proudly elated at being thus 'l'homme de confience'[39] to Mademoiselle Mowbray, she left BesanÇon; her heart deeply impressed with a sense of Delamere's sufferings, and with an earnest wish for the restoration of his peace.

Tho' Godolphin had been gone four days, and went post, so that she knew he must be at Paris long before her, she could not, as she proceeded on her journey, help fancying that some accident might have stopped him, and that she might overtake him. She knew not whether she hoped or feared such an encounter. But the disappointed air with which she left every post house where she had occasion to stop for horses, plainly evinced that she rather desired than dreaded it. She felt all the absurdity and ridicule of expecting to see him; yet still she looked out after him; and he was the object she sought when she cast her eyes round her at the several stages.

Without overtaking him, or being herself overtaken by Bellozane, she arrived in safety and in the usual time at Paris, and immediately went on to St. Germains; Le Limosin being so well acquainted with travelling, that she had no trouble nor alarm during her journey.

When she got to St. Germains, she was received with transport by Mrs. Stafford and her family. She found her about to depart, in two days, for England, where there was a prospect of settling her husband's affairs; and she had undertaken to go alone over, in hopes of adjusting them for his speedy return; while he had agreed to remain with the children 'till he heard the success of her endeavours. Great was the satisfaction of Mrs. Stafford to find that Emmeline would accompany her to England; with yet more pleasure did she peruse those documents which convinced her that her fair friend went to claim, with an absolute certainty of success, her large paternal fortune.

Lord Westhaven had given her a long letter to the Marquis of Montreville, to whom he desired she would immediately address herself; and he had also written to an eminent lawyer, his friend, into whose hands he directed her immediately to put the papers that related to her birth, and by no means to trust them with any other person.

With money, also, Lord Westhaven had amply furnished her; and she proposed taking lodgings in London, 'till she could settle her affairs with Lord Montreville; and then to go to Mowbray Castle.

On the second day after her reaching St. Germains, she began her journey to Calais with Mrs. Stafford, attended by Le Limosin and Madelon. When they arrived there, they heard that a passage boat would sail about nine o'clock in the evening; but on sending Le Limosin to speak to the master, they learned that there were already more cabin passengers than there was room to accommodate, and that therefore two ladies might find it inconvenient.

As the evening, however, was calm, and the wind favourable, and as the two fair travellers were impatient to be in England, they determined to go on board. It was near ten o'clock before the vessel got under way; and before two they were assured they should be at Dover. They therefore hesitated not to pass that time in chairs on the deck, wrapped in their cloaks; and would have preferred doing so, to the heat and closeness of the cabin, had there been room for them in it.

By eleven o'clock, every thing insensibly grew quiet on board. The passengers were gone to their beds, the vessel moved calmly, and with very little wind, over a gently swelling sea; and the silence was only broken by the waves rising against it's side, or by the steersman, who now and then spoke to another sailor, that slowly traversed the deck with measured pace.

The night was dark; a declining moon only broke thro' the heavy clouds of the horizon with a feeble and distant light. There was a solemnity in the scene at once melancholy and pleasing. Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline both felt it. They were silent; and each lost in her own reflections; nor did they attend to a slight interruption of the stillness that reigned on board, made by a passenger who came from below, muffled in a great coat. He spoke in a low voice to the man at the helm, and then sat down on the gunwale, with his back towards the ladies; after which all was again quiet.

In a few minutes a deep sigh was uttered by this passenger; and then, after a short pause, the two friends were astonished to hear, in a voice, low, but extremely expressive, these lines, addressed to Night.

'Surely,' said Mrs. Stafford in a whisper, 'it is a voice I know.'

'Surely,' repeated the heart of Emmeline, for she could not speak, 'it is the voice of Godolphin!'

'Do you,' reassumed Mrs. Stafford—'do you not recollect the voice?'

'Yes,' replied Emmeline. 'I think—I believe—I rather fancy it is—Mr. Godolphin.'

'Shall I speak to him?' asked Mrs. Stafford, 'or are you disposed to hear more poetry? He has no notion who are his auditors.'

'As you please,' said Emmeline.

Again the person sighed, and repeated with more warmth—

'Yes—if she is happy, they will indeed be heard! Ah! that cruel if—if she is happy! and can I bear to doubt it, yet leave her to the experiment!'

There now remained no doubt but that the stranger was Godolphin; and Emmeline as little hesitated to believe herself the subject of his thoughts and of his Muse.

'Why do you not speak to him, Emmeline?' said Mrs. Stafford archly.

'I cannot, indeed.'

'I must speak then, myself;' and raising her voice, she said—'Mr. Godolphin, is it not?'

'Who is so good as to recollect me?' cried he, rising and looking round him. It was very dark; but he could just distinguish that two ladies were there.

Mrs. Stafford gave him her hand, saying—'Have you then forgotten your friends?'

He snatched her hand, and carried it to his lips.

'There is another hand for you,' said she, pointing to Emmeline—'but you must be at the trouble of taking it.'

'That I shall be most delighted to do. But who is it? Surely it cannot be Miss Mowbray, that allows me such happiness?'

'Have you, in one little week,' said the faultering Emmeline, 'occasion to ask that question?'

'Not now I hear that voice,' answered Godolphin in the most animated tone—'Not when I hold this lovely hand. But whence comes it that I find you, Madam, here? or how does it happen that you have left my brother and sister, and the happy Delamere?' He seemed to have recollected, after his first transport at meeting her, that he was thus warmly addressing her who was probably only going to England to prepare for her union with his rival.

'Do not be so unreasonable,' said Mrs. Stafford, 'as to expect Miss Mowbray should answer all these questions. But find a seat; and let us hear some account of yourself. You have also to make your peace with me for not seeing me in your way.'

Godolphin threw himself on the deck at their feet.

'I find a seat here,' said he, 'which I should prefer to a throne. As to an account of myself, it is soon given. I met a friend, whose company induced me to come to Calais rather than travel thro' Normandy; and the haste he was in made it impossible for me to stop him. Miss Mowbray had refused to give me any commission for you; and I had nothing to say to you that would have given you any pleasure. I was, therefore, unwilling to trouble you merely with a passing enquiry.'

'But whence comes it that you sail only to-night, if your friend was so much hurried?'

'He went four days ago; but I—I was kept—I was detained at Calais.'

Emmeline felt a strange curiosity to know what could have detained him; but dared not ask such a question.

They then talked of Lord and Lady Westhaven.

'Lord Delamere is, I conclude, much better?' said Godolphin.

'When I took leave of Lord and Lady Westhaven,' coldly answered Emmeline, 'I did not think him much better than when we first saw him. His servant said he was almost as ill as when you, Sir, with friendship so uncommon, attended him.'

'Call it not uncommon, Madam!—It was an office I would have performed, not only for any Englishman in another country, but I hope for any human being in any country, who had needed it. Should I then allow you to suppose there was any great merit in my rendering a slight service to the brother of Lady Westhaven; and who is besides dear to one to whom I owe obligations so infinite.'

The stress he laid on these words left Emmeline no doubt of his meaning. She was, however, vexed and half angry that he persisted in believing her so entirely attached to Delamere; and, for the first time she had ventured to think steadily on the subject, meditated how to undeceive him. Yet when she reflected on the character of Delamere; and remembered that his father would now claim an authority to controul her actions—that one would think himself at liberty to call any man to an account who addressed her, and the other to refuse his consent to any other marriage than that which would be now so advantageous to the family—she saw only inquietude to herself, and hazard to the life so dear to her, should she suffer the passion of Godolphin openly to be avowed.

'Is it not remarkable,' said Mrs. Stafford, 'that you should voluntarily have conducted us to France, and by chance escort us home?'

'Yes,' answered Godolphin.—'And a chance so fortunate for me I should think portended some good, was I sanguine, and had I any faith in omens.'

'Are you going immediately to London?'

'Immediately.'

'And from thence to East Cliff?'

'I believe I shall be obliged to stay in town a week or ten days.—But my continuance there shall be longer, if you or Miss Mowbray will employ me.'

The night now grew cold; and the dew fell so heavily, that Mrs. Stafford expressed her apprehensions that Emmeline would find some ill effects from it, and advised her to go down.

'Oh! no,' said Godolphin, with uncommon anxiety in his manner—'do not go down. There are so many passengers in the cabin, and it is so close, that you will find it extremely disagreeable. It will not now be half an hour before we see the lights of Dover; and we shall presently be on shore.'

Emmeline, who really apprehended little from cold, acquiesced; and they continued to converse on general topics 'till they landed.

Godolphin saw them on shore immediately, and attended them to the inn. He then told them he must go back to see after the baggage, and left them hastily. They ordered a slight refreshment; and when it was brought in, Emmeline said—'Shall we not wait for Mr. Godolphin?'

'The Gentleman is come in, Madam,' said the waiter, 'with another lady, and is assisting her up stairs. Would you please I should call him?'

Emmeline felt, without knowing the nature of the sensation, involuntary curiosity and involuntary uneasiness.

'No, do not call him,' said Mrs. Stafford—'I suppose he will be here immediately. But send the French servant to us.'

Le Limosin attending, she gave him some requisite orders, and then again enquired for Captain Godolphin.

Le Limosin answered, that he was gone to assist a lady to her room, who had been very ill during the passage.

'Of which nation is she, Le Limosin?'

'I am ignorant of that, Madam, as I have not heard her speak. Monsieur Le Capitaine is very sorry for her, and has attended her the whole way, only the little time he was upon deck.'

'Is she a young lady?' enquired Mrs. Stafford.

'Yes, very young and pretty.'

The curiosity of Mrs. Stafford was now, in spite of herself, awakened. And the long stay Godolphin made, gave to Emmeline such acute uneasiness, as she had never felt before. It is extraordinary surely, said she to herself, that he should be thus anxious about an acquaintance made in a pacquet boat.

She grew more and more disturbed at his absence; and was hardly able to conceal her vexation from Mrs. Stafford, while she was ashamed of discovering it even to herself. In about ten minutes, which had appeared to her above an hour, Godolphin came in; apologised, without accounting, for his stay, and while they made all together a slight repast, enquired how they intended to proceed to London and at what time.

On hearing that they thought of setting out about noon, in a chaise, he proposed their taking a post coach; 'and then,' added he, 'you may suffer me to occupy the fourth place.' To this Mrs. Stafford willingly agreed; and Emmeline, glad to find that at least he did not intend waiting on his pacquet boat acquaintance to London, retired with somewhat less uneasiness than she had felt on her first hearing that he had brought such an acquaintance on shore.

After a few hours sleep, the fair travellers arose to continue their journey. They heard that Mr. Godolphin had long left his room, and was at breakfast with the lady whom he had been so careful of the preceding morning. At this intelligence Emmeline felt all her anxiety revive; and when he came into the room where they were to speak to them, hardly could she command herself to answer him without betraying her emotion.

'Miss Mowbray is fatigued with her voyage,' said he, tenderly approaching her—'The night air I am afraid has affected her health?'

'No, Sir;' coldly and faintly answered Emmeline.

'How is the young lady you was so good as to assist on shore, Sir?' said Mrs. Stafford. 'I understand she was ill.'

Godolphin blushed; and replied, with some little embarrassment, 'she is better, Madam, I thank you.'

'So,' thought Emmeline, 'he makes then no mystery of having an interest in this lady.'

'Are you acquainted with her?' enquired Mrs. Stafford.

'Yes.'

Politeness would not admit of another question: yet it was impossible to help wishing to ask it. Godolphin, however, turned the discourse, and soon afterwards went out. Emmeline felt ready to cry, yet knew not for what, and dreaded to ask herself whether she had not admitted into her heart the tormenting passion of jealousy.

'Why should I be displeased,' said she. 'Why should I be unhappy? Mr. Godolphin believes me attached to Delamere, and has ceased to think of me; wherefore should I lament that he thinks of another; or what right have I to enquire into his actions—what right have I to blame them?'

The post coach was now ready. Emmeline, attended by Madelon, Mrs. Stafford, and Godolphin, got into it, and a lively and animated conversation was carried on between the two latter. Emmeline, in the approaching interview with her uncle, and in the wretchedness of Delamere, which she never ceased to lament, had employment enough for her thoughts; but in spite of herself they flew perpetually from those subjects to the acquaintance which Captain Godolphin had brought with him from Calais.

CHAPTER VIII

When they arrived at Canterbury, the ladies were shewn into a parlour, where Godolphin did not join them for near half an hour. Emmeline had accounted for her lowness of spirits by her dread of meeting her uncle on such terms as they were likely to meet; but Mrs. Stafford knew the human heart too well to be ignorant that there was another and a concealed source of that melancholy which overwhelmed her. It was in vain she had attempted to dissemble. It was, to her friend, evident, that her compassion, her good wishes, were Delamere's, but that her heart was wholly Godolphin's, and was now pierced with the poignant thorns of new-born jealousy and anxious mistrust.

While they waited together the return of Godolphin, Mrs. Stafford said—'I fancy that post chaise that passed us about half an hour ago, contained Mr. Godolphin's acquaintance.'

'Did it? Why do you think so?'

'Because he looked after it so earnestly; and there seemed to be only a young woman in it.'

'I did not observe it indeed,' replied Emmeline, with the appearance of carelessness.

'I should like to see her nearer,' continued Mrs. Stafford, with some archness—'By the glympse I had of her she appeared to be very handsome.'

'Do you think she is a French woman?' enquired Emmeline, still affecting great indifference.

'No, she appeared to be English. But if you please I will enquire of him?'

'I beg you will not,' in an half angry tone, answered Emmeline—'I am sure it is very immaterial.'

At this moment Godolphin entered; and with looks of uneasiness apologized for his long stay. 'I have an awkward embarrassment,' said he, 'on my hands: a poor young woman, who is wholly a stranger in this country, and whom I have undertaken to conduct to London; but she is so ill that I am afraid she is unfit to go on.—Yet how to leave her here I know not.'

'Pray, Sir,' said Emmeline, 'do not let us be any restraint to you. If your presence is necessary to the lady, you had surely better continue with her, than put her to any inconvenience to go on.'

Godolphin, who was at once pleased and pained by the quickness with which she spoke, said—'I will tell you, my dear Miss Mowbray, very ingenuously, that if I were quite sure the character of this unhappy young woman is such as may entitle her to your's and Mrs. Stafford's protection, I should without scruple have asked it. I know,' continued he, looking distressed, 'how compassionate and good you both are; but I ought not therefore to hazard improperly taxing such generosity and sensibility.'

'Who is this young person, Sir?' asked Mrs. Stafford.

'If it will not tire you I will tell you. On my arrival at Calais this day se'nnight, I found all the pacquet boats on the other side, and was obliged to wait with my friend Cleveland a whole day. As I was sauntering about the streets after dinner, I passed by an Englishman whose face I thought I recollected. The man looked confused, and took off his hat; and I then perfectly remembered him to have been one of the best sailors I had on board in the West Indies, where he received a dangerous wound in the arm.

'I stopped, and asked him by what accident he came to Calais, and why his appearance was no better; for his honest hard features seemed pinched with want, his dress was shabby, his person meagre, and his look dejected.

'"I am ashamed to tell you, Captain," said he, "how I came hither; but in short because I could not live at home. You know I got prize money when I served under your honour. Mayhap I might have managed it better; but howsomdever 'tis gone, and there's an end on't. So as we are all turned a drift in the world, some of my ship mates advised me to try a little matter of smuggling with them, and come over here. I have lived among these Frenchmen now these two months, and can, to be sure, just live; but rot 'em, if I could get any thing to do at home, I wouldn't stay another hour, for I hates 'em all, as your honour very well knows. A lucky voyage or two will put some money mayhap in my way, with this smuggling trade; and then I reckons to cross over home once for all, and so go down to Liverpool to my friends, if any on um be alive yet."

'I reproved my acquaintance severely for his proceeding, and told him, that to enable him to go to his friends, I would supply him with money to buy him cloaths, which I found he principally wanted; being ashamed to appear among his relations so ill equipped, after having received a considerable sum in prize money.

'The poor fellow appeared to be very grateful, and assured me that to prove his sincerity he would embark in the same pacquet boat. "But Lord, Captain," added he, "I be'nt the only Englishman who stays in this rascally country agin their will—your honour remembers Lieutenant Stornaway, on board your honour's ship?"

'Aye, to be sure I do.'

'"Well; he, poor lad, is got into prison here for debt, and there I reckon he'll die; for nobody that ever gets into one of their confounded jails in this country, ever gets out again."

'As I perfectly remembered Stornaway, a gallant and spirited young Scotsman, I was much hurt at this account, and asked if I could be admitted to see him. I found it attended with infinite difficulty, and that I must apply to so many different persons before I could be allowed to see my unfortunate countryman, that the pacquet boat of the next day must sail without me. Cleveland therefore departed; and I, with long attendance on the Commandant and other officers, was at length introduced into the prison. I will not shock you with a description of it, nor with the condition in which I found the poor young man; who seemed to me likely to escape, by death, from the damp and miserable dungeon where he lay, without necessary food, without air, and without hope of relief. He related to me his sorrowful and simple tale. He was brought up to the sea; had no friends able to assist him; and on being discharged, after the peace, had gone, with what money he received, and on half pay, to France, in hopes of being able to live at less expence than in England, and to learn, at the same time, a language so necessary in his profession.

'"And for some time," said he, "I did pretty well; till going with one of my countrymen to see a relation of his, who was (tho' born of Scots parents) brought up as a pensioner in a convent, and a Catholic, I was no longer my own master, and tho' I knew that it was almost impossible for me to support a wife, I yet rashly married, and have made one of the loveliest young creatures in the world a beggar.

'"She was totally destitute of fortune; and was afraid her friends, who were but distant relations, and people of rank in Scotland, would insist on her taking the veil, as the most certain and easiest means of providing for her. She had a decided aversion to a monastic life; and poor as I was, (for I did not attempt to deceive her,) hesitated not to quit her convent with me, which it was easy enough to do by the management of her relation, with whom she was allowed to go out. We set out, therefore, together for England. I had about twenty Louis in my pocket, which would have carried us thither comfortably: but calamity overtook us by the way. We travelled in stages and diligences, as we found cheapest; in one of which I imagine my poor girl caught the infection of the small pox, with which she fell ill at Amiens. I attended her with all the agonizing fear of a wretch who sees his only earthly good on the point of being torn from him for ever; and very, very ill she was for many days and nights. Yet her lovely face was spared; and in a month I saw her quite out of danger, but still too weak to travel. As I spared nothing that could contribute to her ease or her recovery, my money was dreadfully diminished, and I had barely enough left to carry me alone to England. But as our credit was yet good, I purposed our living on it till her strength was somewhat re-established, and that I would then go to England, get a supply of money, and return to pay my debts and fetch my wife.

'"This was the only expedient," said poor Stornaway, "that I could think of, and perhaps was the very worst I could have adopted; since by this means we insensibly got into debt, and to creditors the most inexorable.

'"At the end of three weeks, my wife was tolerably well. I divided with her the money I had left, and went off in the night to Calais, flattering myself I should return to her within a fortnight. But so vigilant were those to whom I owed money, and so active the marÉchaussÉs, that I was pursued, and thrown, without hesitation and without appeal, into this prison; where my little remaining money, being all exhausted in fees, to save me from even worse treatment, I have now lain near six weeks in the situation in which you see me. As to myself," continued the poor young man, "my life has been a life of hardship, and I have learned to hold it as nothing; but when I reflect on what must have been the condition of my Isabel, I own to you, dear Sir, that my fortitude forsakes me, and the blackest despair takes possession of my soul."

'I had but little occasion to deliberate,' said Godolphin, continuing his narrative—'I had but little occasion to deliberate. I enquired into the debt. It was a trifle. I blushed to think, that while Englishmen were daily passing thro' the place in pursuit of pleasure, a gentleman, an officer of their nation, languished for such a sum in the horrors of a confinement so dreadful. The debt was easily discharged; and I took the unhappy Stornaway to my lodgings, from whence he was eagerly flying to Amiens, when I was called aside by one of the marÉchaussÉ, who desired to speak to me.

'"Sir," said the man, "you have been generous to me, and I will hazard telling you a secret. Orders are coming to stop your friend, whom you have released from prison, for stealing a pensioner out of a convent. Get him off to England immediately, or he will be taken, and perhaps confined for life."

'I hastened Stornaway instantly into a boat, and sent him after a pacquet which had just sailed, and which I saw him overtake. He conjured me, in an agony of despair, to enquire for his wife, without whom he said he could not live, and that rather than attempt it, he would return and perish in prison. I promised all he desired; and as soon as I was sure he was safe, I set out post for Amiens, where I found the poor young woman in a situation to which no words can do justice. She had parted with almost every thing for her support; and was overwhelmed by the weight of misfortunes, which, young and inexperienced as she was, she had neither the means to soften or the fortitude to bear. I brought her away to Calais, and embarked with her yesterday, having only staid long enough to furnish her with cloaths, and to recruit her enfeebled frame after her journey. But sea sickness, added to her former ill state of health, has reduced her to a condition of deplorable weakness. She speaks so little English that she is unable to travel alone; and I was in hopes that by her chaise keeping up with the coach, I might have assisted her on the road; but she is now so extremely ill that I am afraid she must remain here.'

During the first part of this short account, Emmeline, charmed more than ever with Godolphin, and ashamed of having for a moment entertained a suspicion to the disadvantage of such a man, sat silent; but at the conclusion of it, her eyes overflowed with tears; she felt something that told her she ought to apologize to him for the error she had been guilty of—tho' of that error he knew nothing; and impelled by an involuntary impulse, she held out her hand to him.—Dear, generous, noble-minded Godolphin! was uttered by her heart, but her lips only echoed, the last word.

'Godolphin!' said she, 'let us go to this poor young creature—let us see her ourselves.'

'Certainly we will,' cried Mrs. Stafford; 'and indeed, Sir, you ought to have told us before, that we might sooner have offered all the assistance in our power.'

'I was afraid,' answered he. 'I knew not whether I might not be deceived in the character of Mrs. Stornaway; and dared not intrude upon you, lest it should be found that the object merited not your good offices.'

'But she is in distress!' said Emmeline—'she is a stranger!—and shall we hesitate?—'

Godolphin, who found in the tenderness of her address to him, and in the approbation her eyes expressed, a reward as sweet as that which the consciousness of doing good afforded from his own heart; kissed the hand she had given him, in silence, and then went to enquire if the poor young woman could see the ladies. She expressed her joy at being so favoured, and Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline were introduced.

The compassion they expressed, and the assurances they gave her that she would meet her husband in London, and that she should stay with them 'till she did, calmed and composed her; and as her illness was merely owing to fatigue and anxiety, they believed a few hours rest, now her mind was easier, would restore her. Tho' they were impatient to get on to London, they yet hesitated not to remain at Canterbury all night, on the account of this poor stranger. Godolphin, on hearing their determination, warmly thanked them: the heart of Emmeline was at once eased of its inquietude, and impressed with a deeper sense than ever of Godolphin's worth: she gave way, almost for the first time, to her tenderness and esteem, without attempting to check or conceal her sentiments; while Mrs. Stafford, who ardently wished to see her in possession of her estate and married to Godolphin, rejoiced in observing her to be less reserved; and Godolphin himself, hardly believing the happiness he possessed real, forgot all his fears of her attachment to Lord Delamere, and dared again entertain the hopes he had discarded at BesanÇon—as he thought, for ever.

The next day Mrs. Stornaway was so much recovered that they proceeded in their journey, taking her into the coach with them and directing Madelon to travel in the chaise, accompanied by her father. They arrived early in town; and Godolphin, leaving them at an hotel, went in search of lodgings. He soon found apartments to accommodate them in Bond street; and thither they immediately went; Mrs. Stafford taking upon herself the protection of the poor forlorn stranger 'till Godolphin could find her husband, on whose behalf he immediately intended to apply for a berth on board some ship in commission. He had given him a direction to his banker, and bid him there leave an address where he might be found in London. The next day he brought the transported Stornaway to his wife; and the gratitude these poor young people expressed to their benefactor, convinced the fair friends that they had deserved his kindness, and that there was no deception in the story the Lieutenant had told them about his wife. Godolphin took a lodging for them in Oxford street; and gave them money for their support till he could get the young man employed, which his interest and indefatigable friendship soon accomplished.

In the mean time he saw Emmeline every day, and every day he rose in her esteem. Yet still she hesitated to discover to him all she thought of him; and at times was so reserved and so guarded, that Godolphin knew not what to believe. He knew she was above the paltry artifice of coquetry; yet she fearfully avoided being alone with him, and never allowed him an opportunity of asking whether he had any thing to hope from time and assiduity.

'Is he not one of the best creatures in the world?' said Mrs. Stafford, after he left the room, on the second day of their arrival, to go out in the service of the Stornaways.

'Yes.'

'Yes! and is that all the praise you allow to such a man? Is he not a perfect character?'

'As perfect, I suppose, as any of them are.'

'Ah! Emmeline, you are a little hypocrite. It is impossible you can be insensible of the merit of Godolphin; and I wonder you are not in more haste to convince him that you think of him as he deserves.'

'What would you have me do?'

'Marry him.'

'Before I am sure he desires it?' smilingly asked Emmeline.

'You cannot doubt that, tho' you so anxiously repress every attempt he makes to explain himself. Shall I tell you what he has said to me? Shall I tell you what motive carried him to St. Alpin?'

'No—I had rather not hear any thing about it.'

'And why not?'

'Because it is better, for some time, if not for ever, that Godolphin should be ignorant of those favourable thoughts I may have had of him—better that I should cease to entertain them.'

'Why so, pray?'

'Because I dread the mortified pride and furious jealousy of Lord Delamere on one hand; and on the other the authority of my uncle, who, 'till I am of age, will probably neither restore my fortune nor consent to my carrying it out of his family.'

'For those very reasons you should immediately marry Godolphin. When you are actually married, Delamere will reconcile himself to the loss of you. To an inevitable evil, even his haughty and self-willed spirit must submit. And should Lord Montreville give you any trouble about your fortune, who can so easily, so properly oblige him to do you justice, as a man of spirit, of honour, of understanding, who will have a right to insist upon it.'

It was impossible to deny so evident a truth. Yet still Emmeline apprehended the consequence of Delamere's rage and disappointment; and thought that there would be an indelicacy and an impropriety in withdrawing herself from the protection of her own family almost as soon as she could claim it, and that her uncle might make such a step a pretence for new contention and longer wrath. The result, therefore, of all her deliberations ended in a determination neither to engage herself or to marry 'till she was of age; and, 'till then, not even to encourage any lover whatever. By that time, she hoped that Lord Delamere, wearied by an hopeless passion, and convinced of her fixed indifference, would engage in some more successful pursuit. She knew that by that time all affairs between her and Lord Montreville must be adjusted. If the affection of Godolphin was, as she hoped, fixed, and founded on his esteem for her character, he would not love her less at the end of that period, when she should have the power of giving him her estate unincumbered with difficulties and unembarrassed by law suits; and should, she hoped, escape the misery of seeing Delamere's anguish and despair, on which she could not bear to reflect.

She ingenuously explained to Mrs. Stafford her reasons for refusing to receive Godolphin's proposals; in which her friend, tho' she allowed them to be plausible, by no means acquiesced; still insisting upon it, that the kindest thing she could do towards Lord Delamere, as well as the properest in regard to the settlement of her estate, was immediately to accept Godolphin. But Emmeline was not to be convinced; and all she could obtain from Mrs. Stafford was an extorted promise, reluctantly given, that she would not give any advice or encouragement to Godolphin immediately to press his suit. Emmeline, tho' convinced she was right, yet doubted whether she had fortitude enough to persist in the conduct she wished to adopt; if exposed at once to the solicitations of a woman of whose understanding she had an high opinion, and to the ardent supplications of the man she loved.

The day after her arrival in London, she had sent to Berkley-Square, and was informed that Lord Montreville and his family were in Norfolk.

Thither therefore she wrote, and enclosed the letter she had brought from Lord Westhaven. Her own was couched in the most modest and dutiful terms, and that of Lord Westhaven was equally mild and reasonable. But they gave only disquiet and concern to the ambitious and avaricious bosom of Lord Montreville. Tho' already tortured by Delamere's absence and illness, and uncertain whether the object of his long solicitude would live to reap the advantage of his accumulated fortunes, he could not think but with pain and reluctance of giving up so large a portion of his annual income: still more unwilling did he feel to refund the produce of the estates for so long a period; and in the immediate emotion of his vexation at receiving Lord Westhaven's first letter, he had sent for Sir Richard Crofts, who, having at the time of Mr. Mowbray's death been entrusted with all the papers and deeds which belonged to him, was the most likely to know whether any were among them that bore testimony to the marriage of Mr. Mowbray and Miss Stavordale.

The fact was, that a very little time before he died, his steward, Williamson, had received the memorandum of which Emmeline had found a copy; and, on the death of his master, had carried it to Sir Richard Crofts; Lord Montreville being then in the North of England. Sir Richard eagerly enquired whether there were any other papers to the like purport. Williamson replied, he believed not; and very thoughtlessly left it in his hands. When, a few days afterwards, he called to know in whose name the business of the Mowbray estate was to be carried on, Sir Richard (then acting as an attorney, and only entering into life) told him that every thing was to be considered as the property of Lord Montreville; because there were many doubts about the marriage of Mr. Mowbray, and great reason to think that the paper in question was written merely with a view to pique and perplex his brother, with whom he was then at variance; but that Lord Montreville would enquire into the business, and certainly do justice to any claims the infant might have on the estate.

Soon after, Williamson applied again to have the paper restored; but Crofts answered, that he should keep it, by order of Lord Montreville, tho' it was of no use; his Lordship having obtained undoubted information that his brother was never married.

Sir Richard had reflected on the great advantage that would accrue to his patron from the possession of this estate; to which, besides it's annual income, several boroughs belonged. He thought it was very probable that the little girl, then only a few weeks old, and without a mother or any other than mercenary attendants, might die in her infancy: if she did not, that Lord Montreville might easily provide for her, and that it would be doing his friend a great service, and be highly advantageous to himself, should he conceal the legal claim of the child, even unknown to her uncle, and put him in immediate possession of his paternal estate.

Having again strictly questioned Williamson; repressed his curiosity by law jargon; and frightened him by threats of his Lord's displeasure if he made any effort to prove the legitimacy of Emmeline; he very tranquilly destroyed the paper, and Lord Montreville never knew that such a paper had existed.

Williamson, timid and ignorant of every thing beyond his immediate business, returned in great doubt and uneasiness to Mowbray Castle. When he received the child and the two caskets, he had questioned the Frenchman who brought her and heard an absolute confirmation of the marriage of his master. He then examined the caskets, and found the certificates. But without money or friends, he knew not how to prosecute the claim of the orphan against the power and affluence of Lord Montreville; and after frequent consultations with Mrs. Carey, they agreed that the safest way would be carefully to secure those papers till Emmeline was old enough to find friends; for should they attempt previously to procure justice for her, they might probably lose the papers which proved her birth, as they had already done that which Williamson had delivered to Crofts. As long as Williamson lived, he carefully locked up these caskets. His sudden death prevented him from taking any steps to establish the claim of his orphan mistress; and that of Mrs. Carey two years afterwards, involved the whole affair in obscurity, which made Sir Richard quite easy as to any future discovery.

But as the aggressor never forgives, Sir Richard had conceived against Emmeline the most unmanly and malignant hatred, and had invariably opposed every tendency which he had observed in Lord Montreville to befriend and assist her, for no other reason but that he had already irreparably injured her.

He hoped, that as he had at length divided her from Lord Delamere, and driven her abroad, she would there marry a foreigner, and be farther removed than ever from the family, and from any chance of recovering the property of which he had deprived her: instead of which, she had, in consequence of going thither, met the very man in whose power it was to prove the marriage of her mother; and, in Lord Westhaven, had found a protector too intelligent and too steady to be discouraged by evasion or chicanery—too powerful and too affluent to be thrown out of the pursuit, either by the enmity it might raise or the expence it might demand.

Nothing could exceed the chagrin of Sir Richard when Lord Montreville put into his hands the first letter he had on this subject from Lord Westhaven. Accustomed, however, to command his countenance, he said, without any apparent emotion, that as no papers in confirmation of the fact alledged had ever existed among those delivered to him on the death of Mr. Mowbray, it was probably some forgery that had imposed on Lord Westhaven.

'I see not how that can be,' answered Lord Montreville. 'It is not likely that Emmeline Mowbray could forge such papers, or should even conceive such an idea.'

'True, my Lord. But your Lordship forgets and overlooks and passes by the long abode and continuance and residence she has made with the Staffords. Mrs. Stafford is, to my certain knowledge and conviction, artful and designing and intrigueing; a woman, my Lord, who affects and pretends and presumes to understand and be competent and equal to business and affairs and concerns with which women should never interfere or meddle or interest themselves. It is clearly and evidently and certainly to the interest and advantage and benefit of this woman, that Miss Mowbray, over whom she has great influence and power and authority, should be established and fixed and settled in affluence, rather than remain and abide and continue where nature and justice and reason have placed her.'

'I own, Sir Richard, I cannot see the thing in this light. However, to do nothing rashly, let us consider how to proceed.'

Sir Richard then advised him by no means to answer Lord Westhaven's letter, but to wait till he saw his Lordship; as in cases so momentous, it was, he said, always wrong to give any thing in black and white. In a few days afterwards he heard out of Norfolk, (for he had come up from thence to consult with Sir Richard Crofts) that Lord Delamere was ill at BesanÇon. His precipitate departure had before given him the most poignant concern; and now his fears for his life completed the distress of this unfortunate father. On receiving, however, the second letter from Lord Westhaven, together with that of Emmeline, his apprehensions for the life of his son were removed, and left his mind at liberty to recur again to the impending loss of four thousand five hundred a year, with the unpleasant accompanyment of being obliged to refund above sixty thousand pounds. Again Sir Richard Crofts was sent for, and again he tried to quiet the apprehensions of Lord Montreville. But his attempt to persuade him that the whole might be a deception originating with the Staffords, obtained not a moment's attention. He knew Stafford himself was weak, ignorant, and indolent, and would neither have had sagacity to think of or courage to execute such a design; and that Mrs. Stafford should imagine and perform it seemed equally improbable. He was perfectly aware that Lord Westhaven had a thorough acquaintance with business, and was of all men on earth the most unlikely to enter warmly into such an affair, (against the interest too of the family into which he had married) unless he was very sure of having very good grounds for his interference.

But tho' Sir Richard could not prevail on him to disbelieve the whole of the story, he saw that his Lordship thought with great reluctance of the necessity he should be under of relinquishing the whole of the fortune. He now therefore recommended it to him to remain quiet, at least 'till Lord Westhaven came to England; to send an answer to Miss Mowbray that meant nothing; and to gain time for farther enquiries. These enquiries he himself undertook; and leaving Lord Montreville in a political fit of the gout, he returned from Audley Hall to London, and bent all his thoughts to the accomplishment of his design; which was, to get the original papers out of the hands of Emmeline, and to bribe Le Limosin to go back to France.

While these things were passing in England, Lord Delamere (whose rage and indignation at Emmeline's departure the authority of Lord Westhaven could hardly restrain) had learned from his brother-in-law the real circumstances of the birth of his cousin, and he heard them with the greatest satisfaction. He now thought it certain that his father would press his marriage as eagerly as he had before opposed it; and that so great an obstacle being removed, and Emmeline wholly in the power of his family, she would be easily brought to forgive him and to comply with the united wishes of all her relations.

In this hope, and being assured by Lord Westhaven that Bellozane was actually returned into Switzerland without any design of following Emmeline, (who had been induced, he said, to leave BesanÇon purely to avoid him) he consented to attempt attaining a greater command over his temper, on which the re-establishment of his health depended; and after about ten days, was able to travel. Lord and Lady Westhaven, therefore, at the end of that time, slowly began with him their journey to England.

CHAPTER IX

Emmeline had now been almost a week in London; and Mrs. Stafford, with the assistance of Godolphin, had succeeded so much better than she expected, in the arrangement of some of those affairs in which she apprehended the most difficulty, that very little remained for her to do before she should be enabled to return to France (where her husband was to sign some papers to secure his safety); and that little depended on James Crofts, who seemed to be making artificial delay, and trying to give her all the trouble and perplexity in his power.

He had, however, another motive than merely to harrass and distress her. His father had employed him to deal with Le Limosin; well knowing that there was nothing so base and degrading that he would not undertake where his interest was in question; and Sir Richard had promised him a considerable addition to his fortune if he had address enough to prevent so capital a sum as Emmeline claimed from being deducted from that of the family to whom his brother was allied; and from whence he had expectations, which could not but suffer from such a diminution of it's wealth and interest.

The tediousness therefore that the Crofts' created promised still to detain Emmeline in London; and her uncle's letter, which coldly and hardly with civility deferred any conference on her affairs till the arrival of Lord Westhaven, convinced her that from his tenderness she had nothing, from his justice, little to hope.

Godolphin was very anxious to be allowed personally to apply to him on the claim of his niece. But this Emmeline positively refused. She would not even allow Mr. Newton, the lawyer to whom Lord Westhaven had recommended her, and in whose hands her papers were safely deposited, to write officially to Lord Montreville; but determined to wait quietly the return of Lord Westhaven himself, on whom she knew neither the anger of her uncle, or the artifices of Sir Richard, would make any impression; while his Lordship's interference could not be imputed to such motives as might possibly be thought to influence Godolphin, or would it give her the appearance of proceeding undutifully and harshly against Lord Montreville, which appearances she might be liable to, should she hastily institute a suit against him.

She grew, however, very uneasy at the determined attendance of Godolphin, whose presence she knew was so necessary to poor Lady Adelina. She saw that he was anxious about his sister, yet could not determine to tear himself from her; and to insist upon his returning to Lady Adelina, would be to assume a right, to which, on the footing they were, she declined pretending. She failed not, however, every day to represent to him the long solitude in which Lady Adelina had been left, and to read to him parts of her letters which breathed only sorrow and depression. Whenever this happened, Godolphin heard her with concern, and promised to set out the next day; but still something was to be done for the service of Emmeline, and still he could not bear to resign the delight he had now so long enjoyed of seeing her every day, and of indulging those hopes she had tacitly allowed him to entertain.

Mrs. Stafford, notwithstanding her promise to Emmeline, had not been able to forbear discovering to him part of the truth. Yet when he reflected on the advantages Delamere had over him in fortune, in rank, in the influence his family connection and his former engagement might give him, he trembled least, if he should be himself absent when Lord Delamere arrived, her tender and timid spirit would yield to the sorrow of her lover and the authority of her family; and that almost in despite of herself, he might lose her for ever. While he yet lingered, and continued to promise that he would go to the Isle of Wight, the eight first days of their stay in town glided away. Early in the morning of the ninth, Godolphin entered the room where Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline were at breakfast.

'I must now indeed,' said he, 'lose no time in going to Adelina. I am to day informed that Mr. Trelawny is dead.'

'Shall we then see Lady Adelina in town?' eagerly asked Emmeline, who could not affect any concern at the death of such a man.

'I apprehend not,' replied Godolphin. 'Whatever business there may be to settle with the Bancrafts, I am sure will be more proper for me than for her. To them I must now go, at Putney; and only came to inform you, Madam,' addressing himself to Mrs. Stafford, 'of the reason of my sudden absence.'

'Shall you return again to London, Sir, before you proceed into Hampshire?'

'Not unless you or Miss Mowbray will allow me to suppose that to either of you my return may be in any way serviceable.'

Mrs. Stafford assured him she had nothing to trouble him upon which required such immediate attention. Emmeline then attempted to make an answer of the same kind. But tho' she had for some days wished him to go, she could not see him on the point of departing without being sensible of the anguish his absence would occasion her; and instead of speaking distinctly her thanks, she only murmured something, and was so near bursting into tears, that fearing to expose herself, she was hurrying out of the room.

'No message—no letter—not one kind word,' said he, gently detaining her, 'to poor Adelina? Nothing to your little protegÉ?'

'My—love to them both, Sir?'

'And will you not write to my sister?'

'By the post,' said Emmeline, struggling to get from him to conceal her emotion.

He then kissed her hand, and suffered her to go. While the explanation Mrs. Stafford gave of her real feelings, elated him to rapture, in which he departed, protesting that nothing should prevent his return, to follow the good fortune which he now believed might be his, as soon as he could adjust his sister's business with her husband's relations.

Mrs. Stafford recommended it to him to bring Lady Adelina to London with him, as the affection Emmeline had for her would inevitably give her great influence. Godolphin, in answer to this advice, only shook his head; and Mrs. Stafford remained uncertain of his intentions to follow it.

A few days now elapsed without any extraordinary occurrence. Emmeline thought less of the impending restoration of her fortune (for of it's restoration Mr. Newton assured her he had no doubt), than of him with whom she hoped to share it. She impatiently longed to hear from Lady Adelina that he was with her: and sometimes her mind dwelt with painful solicitude on Lady Westhaven and Delamere, for whose health and safety she was truly anxious, and of whom she had received no account since her arrival in London.

As she was performing the promise she had made to Godolphin of writing to Lady Adelina by an early post, Le Limosin announced Mr. James Crofts; who immediately entered the room with his usual jerking and familiar walk. Emmeline, who incapable as she was of hating any body, yet felt towards him a disgust almost amounting to hatred, received him with the coldest reserve, and Mrs. Stafford with no more civility than was requisite to prevent his alledging her rudeness and impatience as reasons for not settling the business on which she concluded he came.

He began with general conversation; and when Mrs. Stafford, impatient to have done with him, introduced that which went more immediately to the adjustment of the affair she wished to settle, he told her, that being extremely unwilling to discuss a matter of business with a lady, and apprehensive of giving offence to one for whom he and his dear Mrs. Crofts had so sincere a regard, he had determined to leave all the concerns yet between them to his attorney; a man of strict honour and probity, to whom he would give her a direction, and to whom it would be better for her attorney to apply, than that they should themselves enter on a topic whereon it was probable they might differ.

Mrs. Stafford, vexed at his dissimulation and finesse, again pressed him to come to a conclusion without the interference of lawyers. But he again repeated the set speech he had formed on the occasion; and then addressing himself to Emmeline, asked smilingly, and affecting an interest in her welfare, 'whether the information he had received was true?'

'What information, Sir?'

'That Miss Mowbray has the most authentic claim to the estate of her late father.'

'It is by no means an established claim, Sir; and such as you must excuse me if I decline talking of.'

'I am told you have papers that put it out of dispute. If you would favour me with a sight of them, perhaps I could give you some insight into the proceedings you should commence; and I am sure my friendship and regard would make any service I could do you a real satisfaction to myself.'

'I thank you, Sir, for your professions. The papers in question are in the hands of Mr. Newton of Lincolns Inn. If he will allow you to see them I have no objection.'

'You intend then,' said James Crofts, unable entirely to conceal his chagrin—'you intend to begin a suit with my Lord Montreville?'

'By no means, Sir. I am persuaded there will be no necessity for it. But as you have just referred Mrs. Stafford to a lawyer, I must beg leave to say, that if you have any questions to ask you must apply to mine.'

James Crofts, quite disconcerted notwithstanding his presumptuous assurance, was not ready with an answer; and Emmeline, who doubted not that he was sent by his father to gain what intelligence he could, was so provoked, that not conceiving herself obliged to preserve the appearance of civility to a man she despised, she left him in possession of the room, from whence Mrs. Stafford had a few moments before departed. He therefore was obliged to withdraw; having found his attempt to shake the integrity of Le Limosin as fruitless as that he had made to get sight of the papers.

He had not long been gone, when a servant brought to Emmeline the following note.—

'I have heard you are in town with Mrs. Stafford, and beg leave to wait on you. Do not, ma douce amie, refuse to grant me this favour. Besides the happiness of seeing you and your friend, I have another very particular reason for soliciting you to grant such an indulgence to

George Fitz-Edward.

'I write this from a neighbouring coffee-house, where I expect your answer.'

Emmeline immediately carried this billet to Mrs. Stafford; who told her there was no reason why she should refuse the request it contained. She therefore wrote a card of compliment to Colonel Fitz-Edward, signifying that she should be glad to see him.

In a few moments Fitz-Edward appeared; and Emmeline, tho' aware of his arrival, could not receive him without confusion and emotion. Nor could she without pity behold his altered countenance and manner, so different from what they were when she first saw the gay and gallant Fitz-Edward at Mowbray Castle. He began by expressing, with great appearance of sincerity, his joy at seeing her; enquired after Lord Delamere, and mentioned his astonishment at what he had heard—that Delamere had so repeatedly enquired after him, and signified such a wish to see him, yet had never written to him to explain his business.

Emmeline, who knew well on what he had so earnestly desired to meet him, blushed, but did not think it necessary to clear up a subject which Godolphin's explanation to Delamere had rendered no longer alarming.

'You know, perhaps,' said Fitz-Edward, 'that Mr. Trelawny is dead.'

'I do.'

'And your fair unhappy friend?—May I now—(or is it still a crime,) enquire after her.'

'She is, I believe, well,' answered Emmeline, 'and remains at the house of her brother.'

'Tell me, Miss Mowbray—will she after a proper time refuse, do you think, her consent to see me? will you, my lovely friend, undertake to plead for me? will you and Mrs. Stafford, who know with what solicitude I sought her, with what anguish I deplored her loss, intercede on my behalf?—you, who know how fondly my heart has been devoted to her from the moment of our fatal parting?'

'I can undertake nothing of this kind, Sir. The fate of Lady Adelina depends, I apprehend, on her brothers. To them I think you should apply.'

'And why not to herself? Is she not now at liberty? And when destiny has at length broken the cruel chains with which she was loaded, will she voluntarily bind herself with others hardly more supportable? If she refers me to her brothers, I must despair:—the cold-hearted Lord Westhaven, the inflexible and rigid Godolphin, will make it a mistaken point of honour to divide us for ever!'

'You cannot suppose, Sir, that I shall undertake to influence Lady Adelina to measures disapproved by her family. I know not that Lord Westhaven is cold and unfeeling as you describe him: on the contrary, I believe he unites one of the best heads and warmest hearts. If your request is proper, you certainly risk nothing by referring it to him.'

Of Godolphin she spoke not; fearful of betraying to the penetrating and observing Fitz-Edward how little he answered in her idea the character of unfeeling and severe.

'I know not what to do,' said Fitz-Edward. 'Should I address myself to her brothers without success, I am undone; since I well know that from their decision there will be no appeal. I cannot live without her, Emmeline—indeed I cannot; and in the hope only of what has lately happened, have I dragged on till now a reluctant existence. Once, and but once, I dared write to her. But her brother returned the letter. She suffered him cruelly to return it, in a cover in which he informed me, "that the peace and honour of Lady Adelina Trelawny made it necessary for her to forget that such a man existed as Colonel Fitz-Edward." Godolphin,' continued he—'Godolphin may carry this too far; he may oblige me to remind him that there is more than one way in which his inexorable punctilio may be satisfied.'

'Certainly,' cried Emmeline, in great agitation, which she vainly struggled to conceal, 'there is no method more likely to convince Lady Adelina of your tenderness for her, than that you hint at; and if you should be fortunate enough to destroy a brother to whom she owes every thing, your triumph will be complete.'

'Prevent then the necessity of my applying to Godolphin by speaking to Lady Adelina in my favour. Ask her whether she can divest herself of all regard for me? ask her whether she can condemn me to eternal regret and despair?'

'I cannot indeed. I am not likely to see her; and if I were, this is a subject on which nothing shall induce me to influence her.'

Mrs. Stafford, who had been detained in another room by a person who came to her upon business, now joined them; and Fitz-Edward without hesitation repeated to her what he had been saying to Emmeline.

'I do not think indeed, Colonel, that Miss Mowbray can interfere; and I am of her opinion, that as soon as such proposals as you intend to make are proper, you should address them to her brothers.'

'Mr. Godolphin, Madam, treats me in a way which only my tenderness, my love for his sister, induces me to bear. I have met him accidentally, and he passes rudely by me. I sent a gentleman to him to desire an amicable interview. He answered, that as we could not meet as friends, he must be excused from seeing me at all. Had I been as rash, as cruel as he seems to be, I should then have noticed, in the way it demanded, such a message: but conscious that I had already injured him, I bore with his petulance and his asperity. I love Godolphin,' continued he—'from our boyish days I have loved and respected him. I know the nobleness of his nature, and I can make great allowances for the impatience of injured honour. But will he not carry it too far, if now that his sister is released from her detested marriage he still persists in dividing us?'

'You are not sure,' said Mrs. Stafford, 'that he will do so. Have patience at least till the time is elapsed when you may try the experiment. In the interim I will consider what ought to be done.'

'My ever excellent, ever amiable friend!' exclaimed Fitz-Edward warmly—'how much do I owe you already! Ah! add yet to those obligations the restoration of Adelina, and I shall be indebted to you for more than life. As to you, my sweet marble-hearted Emmeline, I heartily pray that all your coldness both towards me and poor Delamere may be revenged by your feeling, on behalf of him, all the pain you have inflicted.'

Alas! thought Emmeline, your wicked wish is already accomplished, tho' not in favour of poor Delamere.

Fitz-Edward then obtained permission to wait on them again; tho' Mrs. Stafford very candidly told him, that after Captain Godolphin came to town, she begged he would forbear coming in when he heard of his being there.

'We will try,' said she, 'to conciliate matters between you, so that ye may meet in peace; and till then pray forbear to meet at all.'

Fitz-Edward, flattering himself that Mrs. Stafford would interest herself for him, and that Emmeline, however reserved, would be rather his friend than his enemy, departed in rather better spirits; and left the fair friends to debate on the means of preventing what was very likely to happen—a difference of the most alarming kind between him and Godolphin, should the latter persist in refusing him permission to address, at a proper season, Lady Adelina.

The long delays that seemed likely to arise before her own business would be adjusted with Lord Montreville; the fiery and impatient spirits with which it appeared to be her lot to contend; the vexation to which she saw Mrs. Stafford subjected by the sordid and cruel conduct of the Crofts' towards her; and lastly, her encreasing disquietude about Godolphin, whom she feared to encourage, yet was equally unwilling and unable to repulse; oppressed her spirits, and made her stay in London very disagreeable to her. She had never before been in it for more than a night or two; and at this time of the year (it was the beginning of October) the melancholy, deserted houses in the fashionable streets, and the languor that appeared in the countenances of those who were obliged to be in town, offered no amusement or variety to compensate for the loss of the pure air she had been accustomed to breathe, or for the beautiful and interesting landscapes which she remembered to have enjoyed in Autumn at Mowbray Castle; where she so much languished to be, that she sometimes thought, if her uncle would resign it and the estate immediately around, to her, she could be content to leave him in possession of the rest of that fortune he coveted with so much avidity.

CHAPTER X

A few days longer passed, and Emmeline yet heard nothing of the return of Lord and Lady Westhaven; a circumstance at which she grew extremely uneasy. Not only as it gave her reason to fear for the health of Lord Delamere, for whom she was very anxious; but for that of Lady Westhaven, whom she so tenderly loved.

She observed too, with concern, that under pretence of waiting the arrival of his son and his son in law, Lord Montreville delayed all advances towards a settlement; and that Mrs. Stafford, wearied by the duplicity and chicanery of the Crofts', and miserable in being detained so long from her children, grew quite disheartened, and was prevented only by her affection for Emmeline from returning to France and abandoning all hopes of an accommodation which every day seemed more difficult and more distant.

The arrival of Lord Westhaven was on her account particularly desirable, as he had promised Emmeline to make a point of assisting her; and on his assurances she knew it was safe to rely, since they were neither made to give himself an air of importance, nor meant to quiet the trouble of present importunity, by holding out the prospect of future advantage never thought of more.

Nothing, however, could be done to hasten this important arrival; and the fair friends, tho' uneasy and impatient, were obliged to submit. But from the restlessness of daily suspence, they were roused by two letters; which brought in it's place only poignant concern. That to Mrs. Stafford was from her husband; who, tho' he had neither relish for her conversation nor respect for her virtues, was yet dissatisfied without her; and even while she was wholly occupied in serving him, tormented her with murmurs and suspicions. He scrupled not to hint, 'that as she was with her beloved Miss Mowbray, she forgot her duty to her family; and that as she had been now gone near a month, he thought it quite long enough, not only to have done the business she undertook, but to have enjoyed as much pleasure as was in her situation reasonable. He therefore expected her to return to France, and supposed that she had settled every thing to facilitate his coming back to England.' The unreasonable expectations, and ungrateful suspicions, which this letter contained, overwhelmed her with mortification. To return without having finished the business on which she came, would be to expose herself to insult and reproach; yet to stay longer, without a probability of succeeding by her stay, would only occasion an aggravation of his ill humour, and probably a worse reception when she rejoined him.

The letter to Emmeline was from Lady Adelina, and ran thus.—

East Cliff, Oct. 16.

'Godolphin, my Emmeline, is at length returned to your unhappy friend, who has passed many, many melancholy days since he left her. My dear brother appears not only in better health, but in better spirits than when he went from hence. Ought I then to repine? when I see him, and when he tells me that you are well; and that affluence, and with it, I hope, happiness will be your's? The very name of happiness and of Adelina should not come in the same page! Ah! never must they any where meet again. Pardon me for thus recurring to myself: but the mournful topic will intrude! Unhappy Trelawny! he had not quite compleated his twenty-fifth year. Tho' I never either loved or esteemed him, and tho' to my early and hasty marriage I owe all the misery of my life, his death has something shocking in it. My weak spirits, which have of late been unusually deranged, are sadly affected by it. Yet surely in regard to him I have little to reproach myself. Did he not abandon me to my destiny? did he not plunge headlong into follies from which he resented even an effort to save him? Alas! unless I could have given him that understanding which nature had denied him, my solicitude must ever have been vain! It is some alleviation, too, to my concern, to reflect, that as much of his honour as depended on me, has not, by the breath of public fame, been sullied. And I try to persuade myself, that since his life was useful to nobody, and had long been, from intemperance, burthensome to himself, I should not suffer his death to dwell so heavily upon me. Yet in spite of every effort to shake off the melancholy which devours me, it encreases upon me; and to you I may say, for you will hear and pity me, that there exists not at this moment so complete a wretch as your Adelina!

'To my brother William, all gentle and generous as he is, I cannot complain. It were ingratitude to let him see how little all his tenderness avails towards reconciling me to myself; towards healing the wounds of my depressed spirit, and quieting the murmurs of this feeble heart. Yet methinks to have a friend, in whose compassionate bosom I might pour out it's weakness and it's sorrows, would mitigate the extreme severity of those sufferings which are now more than I can bear.

'Where have I on earth such a friend but in my Emmeline? And will she refuse to come to me? Ah! wherefore should she refuse it? I shall be alone; for Godolphin is obliged to go immediately to London to settle all the business I shall now ever have with the family of Trelawny, and put it on such a footing as may preclude the necessity of my ever meeting any of them hereafter. He tells me that your affairs advance nothing till Lord Westhaven's return; and that our dear Mrs. Stafford talks of being obliged to go back to her family. If she must do so, you will not stay in London alone; and where is your company so fondly desired, where can you have such an opportunity of exercising your generous goodness, as in coming hither? Our little boy—do you not long to embrace him? Ah! lovely as he is, why dare I not indulge all the pleasure and all the pride I might feel in seeing him; and wherefore must anguish so keen mingle with tenderness so delicious!

'Ah! my friend, come to me, I entreat, I implore you! The reasons why I cannot see London, are of late multiplied rather than removed, and I can only have the happiness of embracing you here. Hesitate not to oblige me then; for I every hour wish more and more ardently to see you. When I awake from my imperfect slumbers, your presence is the first desire of my heart: I figure you to myself as I wander forth on my solitary walks.

And when I do sleep, the image of my angelic friend, consolatory and gentle, makes me some amends for visions less pleasant, that disturb it.

'Ah! let me not see you in dreams alone; for above all I want you—"when I am alone with poor Adelina." Come, O come; and if it be possible—save me—from myself!

A.T.'

The melancholy tenor of this letter greatly affected Emmeline. She wished almost as eagerly as her friend to be with her. But how could she determine to become an inmate at the house of Godolphin, even tho' he was himself to be absent from it? She communicated, however, Lady Adelina's request to Mrs. Stafford, who could see no objection to any plan which might promote the interest of Godolphin. She represented therefore to Emmeline how very disagreeable it would be to her to be left alone in town, when she should herself be obliged to leave her, as must now soon happen. That there was, in fact, no very proper asylum for her but the house of her uncle, which he seemed not at all disposed to offer her. But that to Lady Adelina's proposal there could be no reasonable objection, especially as Godolphin was not to be there.

Emmeline yet hesitated; till another letter from Stafford, more harsh and unreasonable than the first, obliged her friend to fix on the following Thursday for her departure; the absurd impatience of her husband thus defeating it's own purpose; and Emmeline, partly influenced by her persuasions, and yet more by her own wishes, determined at length to fix the same time for beginning her journey to the Isle of Wight.

There was yet two days to intervene; and Mrs. Stafford was obliged to employ the first of them in the city, among lawyers and creditors of her husband. From scenes so irksome she readily allowed Miss Mowbray to excuse herself; who therefore remained at home, and was engaged in looking over some poems she had purchased, when she heard a rap at the door, and the voice of Godolphin on the stairs enquiring of Le Limosin for Mrs. Stafford. Le Limosin told him that she was from home, but that Mademoiselle Mowbray was in the dining room. He sent up to know if he might be admitted. Emmeline had no pretence for refusing him, and received him with a mixture of confusion and pleasure, which she ineffectually attempted to hide under the ordinary forms of civility.

The eyes of Godolphin were animated by the delight of beholding her. But when she enquired after Lady Adelina, as she almost immediately did, they assumed a more melancholy expression.

'Adelina is far from being well,' said he. 'Has she not written to you?'

'She has.'

'And has she not preferred a request to you?'

'Yes.'

'What answer do you mean to give it? Will you refuse once more to bless and relieve, by your presence, my unhappy sister?'

'I do not know,' said Emmeline, deeply blushing, 'that I ought, (especially without the concurrence of my uncle,) to consent; yet to contribute to the satisfaction of Lady Adelina—to give her any degree of happiness—what is there I can refuse?'

'Adorable, angelic goodness!' eagerly cried Godolphin. 'Best, as well as loveliest of human creatures! You go then?'

'I intend beginning my journey on Thursday.'

'And you will allow me to see you safe thither?'

'There can surely be no occasion to give you that trouble, Sir,' said Emmeline apprehensively; 'nor ought you to think of it, since Lady Adelina's affairs certainly require your attendance in London.'

'They do; but not so immediately as to prevent my attending you to East Cliff. If you will suffer me to do that, I promise instantly to return.'

'No. I go only attended by my servants or go not at all.'

Godolphin was mortified to find her so determined. And easily discouraged from those hopes which he had indulged rather from the flattering prospects offered to him by Mrs. Stafford than presumption founded on his own remarks, he now again felt all his apprehensions renewed of her latent affection for Delamere. The acute anguish to which those ideas exposed him, and their frequent return, determined him now to attempt knowing at once, whether he had or had not that place in Emmeline's heart which Mrs. Stafford had assured him he had long possessed.

Sitting down near her, therefore, he said, gravely—'As I may not, Miss Mowbray, soon have again the happiness I now enjoy, will you allow me to address you on a subject which you must long have known to be nearest my heart; but on which you have so anxiously avoided every explanation I have attempted, that I fear intruding too much on your complaisance if I enter upon it.'

Emmeline found she could not avoid hearing him; and sat silent, her heart violently beating. Godolphin went on.—

'From the first moment I beheld you, my heart was your's. I attempted, indeed, at the beginning of our acquaintance—ah! how vainly attempted!—to conquer a passion which I believed was rendered hopeless by your prior engagement. While I supposed you the promised wife of Lord Delamere, I concealed, as well as I was able, my sufferings, and never offended you with an hint of their severity. Had you married him, I think I could have carried them in silence to the grave. Those ties, however, Lord Delamere himself broke; and I then thought myself at liberty to solicit your favour. It was for that purpose I took the road to St. Alpin, when the unhappy Delamere stopped me at BesanÇon.

'When I afterwards related to you his illness; the sorrow, the lively and generous sorrow, you expressed for him, and the cold and reserved manner in which you received me, made me still believe, that tho' he had relinquished your hand he yet possessed your heart. I saw it with anguish, and continued silent. All that passed at BesanÇon confirmed me in this opinion. I determined to tear myself away, and again conceal in solitude a passion, which, while I felt it to be incurable, I feared was hopeless. Accident, however, detaining me at Calais, again threw me in your way; and I heard, that far from having renewed your engagement with Lord Delamere, you had left him to avoid his eager importunity. Dare I add—that then, my pity for him was lost in the hopes I presumed to form for myself; and studiously as you have avoided giving me an opportunity of speaking to you, I have yet ventured to flatter myself that you beheld not with anger or scorn, my ardent, my fond attachment.'

From the beginning of this speech to it's conclusion, the encreasing confusion of Emmeline deprived her of all power of answering it. With deepened blushes, and averted eyes, she at first sought for refuge in affecting to be intent on the netting she drew from her work box; but having spoiled a whole row, her trembling hands could no longer go on with it; and as totally her tongue refused to utter the answer, which, by the pause he made, she concluded Godolphin expected. After a moment, however, he went on.

'I have by no means encouraged visions so delightful, without a severe alloy of fear and mistrust. Frequently, your coldness, your unkindness, gives me again to despondence; and every lovely prospect I had suffered my imagination to draw, is lost in clouds and darkness. Yet I am convinced you do not intend to torture me; and that from Miss Mowbray I may expect that candour, that explicit conduct, of which common minds are incapable. Tell me then, dearest and loveliest Emmeline, may I venture to hope that tender bosom is not wholly insensible? Will you hear me with patience, and even with pity?'

'What, Sir, can I say?' faulteringly asked Emmeline. 'I am in a great measure dependant, at least for some time, on Lord Montreville; and till I am of age, have determined to hear nothing on the subject on which you are pleased to address me.'

'Admitting it to be so,' answered Godolphin, 'give me but an hope to live upon till then!'

'I will not deny, Sir,' said Emmeline still more faintly, 'I will not deny that my esteem for your character—my—my'

'Oh! speak!' exclaimed Godolphin eagerly—'speak, and tell me that——'

At this moment Le Limosin hastily came into the room, and said—'Mademoiselle, le Chevalier de Bellozane demande permission de vous parler.'[40]

Godolphin, vexed at the interruption, and embarrassed at the arrival of the Chevalier, said hastily—'You will not see him?'

'How can I refuse him?' answered she; 'perhaps he comes with some intelligence of your brother—of my dear Lady Westhaven.'

By this time the Chevalier was in the room. Emmeline received him with anxious and confused looks, arising entirely from her apprehensions about Lady Westhaven and Lord Delamere; but the vanity of Bellozane saw in it only a struggle between her real sentiments and her affectation of concealment. She almost instantly, however, enquired after her friends.

'I left them,' said Bellozane, 'almost as soon as you did, and went (because I wanted money and my father wanted to see me,) back to St. Alpin, where I staid almost a fortnight; and having obtained a necessary recruit of cash, I set off for Paris; where (my leave of absence being to expire in another month) I was forced to make interest to obtain a longer permission, in order to throw myself, lovely Miss Mowbray, at your feet, and to pass the winter in the delights of London, which they tell me I shall like better than Paris.'

Emmeline, disgusted at his presumption and volatility, enquired if he knew nothing since of Lord and Lady Westhaven.

'Oh, yes,' said he, 'I saw them all at Paris, and asked them if they had any commands to you? But I could get nothing from my good cousin but sage advice, and from Lady Westhaven only cold looks and half sentences; and as to poor Delamere, I knew he was too much afraid of my success to be in a better temper with me than the other two; so we had but little conversation.'

'But they are well, Sir?'

'No; Delamere has been detained all this time by illness, at different places. He was better when I saw him; but Lady Westhaven was herself ill, and my cousin was, in looks, the most rueful of the three.'

'But, Sir, when may they be expected in England?'

'That I cannot tell. The last time I saw Lord Westhaven was above a week before I left Paris; and then he said he knew not when his wife would be well enough to begin their journey, but he hoped within a fortnight.'

'Good God!' thought Emmeline, 'what can have prevented his writing to me all this time?'

Godolphin, after the first compliments passed with the Chevalier, had been quite silent. He now, however, asked some questions about his brother; by which he found, that in consequence of endeavouring to discourage Bellozane's voyage to England, Lord Westhaven had offended him, and that a coldness had taken place between them. Bellozane had ceased to consider Godolphin as a rival, when he beheld Lord Delamere in that light; and was now rather pleased to meet him, knowing that his introduction into good company would greatly be promoted by means of such a relation.

'Do you know,' said the Chevalier, addressing himself to Emmeline, 'that I have had some trouble, my fair friend, to find you?'

'And how,' enquired Godolphin, 'did you accomplish it?'

'Why my Lord Westhaven, to whom I applied at Paris, protested that he did not know; so remembering the name of le Marquis de Montreville, I wrote to him to know where I might wait on Mademoiselle Mowbray. Monseigneur le Marquis being at his country house, did not immediately answer my letter. At length I had a card from him, which he had the complaisance to send by a gentleman, un Monsieur—Monsieur Croff, who invited me to his house, and introduced me to Milady Croff, his wife, who is daughter to Milor Montreville. Mon Dieu! que cette femme la, est vive, aimable; qu'elle a l'air du monde, et de la bonne compagnie.'[43]

'You think Lady Frances Crofts, then, handsomer than her sister?' asked Godolphin.

'Mais non—elle n'est pas peut-etre si belle—mais elle a cependant un certain air. Enfin—je la trouve charmante.'[42]

Godolphin then continuing to question him, found that the Crofts' had invited Bellozane with an intention of getting from him the purpose of his journey, and what his business was with Emmeline; and finding that it was his gallantry only brought him over, and that he knew nothing of the late Mr. Mowbray's affairs, had no longer made any attempt to oppose his seeing her.

Godolphin, tho' he believed Emmeline not only indifferent but averse to him, was yet much disquieted at finding she was likely again to be exposed to his importunities. He trembled least if he discovered her intentions of going to East Cliff, he should follow her thither; for which his relationship to Lady Adelina would furnish him with a pretence; and desirous of getting him away as soon as possible, he asked if he would dine with him at his lodgings.

Bellozane answered that he was already engaged to Mr. Crofts'; and then turning to Emmeline, offered to take her hand; and enquired whether she had a softer heart than when she left BesanÇon?

Emmeline drew away her hand; and very gravely entreated him to say no more on a subject already so frequently discussed, and on which her sentiments must ever be the same. Bellozane gaily protested that he had been too long a soldier to be easily repulsed. That he would wait on her the next day, and doubted not but he should find her more favourably disposed. 'Je reviendrai demain vous offrir encore mon hommage. Adieu! nymphe belle et cruelle. La chaine que je porte fera toute ma gloire.'[41] He then snatched her hand, which in spite of her efforts he kissed, and with his usual gaiety went away, accompanied by Godolphin.

Hardly had Emmeline time to recollect her dissipated spirits after the warm and serious address of Godolphin, and to feel vexation and disgust at the presumptuous forwardness of Bellozane, from which she apprehended much future trouble, before a note was brought from Mrs. Stafford, to inform her, that after waiting some hours at the house of the attorney she employed, the people who were to meet her had disappointed her, and that there was no prospect of her getting her business done till a late hour in the evening; she therefore desired Emmeline to dine without her, and not to expect her till ten or eleven at night.

As it was now between four and five, she ordered up her dinner, and was sitting down to it alone, when Godolphin again entered the room. Vexation was marked in his countenance: he seemed hurried; and having apologized for again interrupting her, tho' he did not account for his return, he sat down.

'Surely,' cried Emmeline, alarmed, 'you have heard nothing unpleasant from France?'

'Nothing, upon my honour,' answered he. 'The account the Chevalier gives is indeed far from satisfactory, yet I am persuaded there is nothing particularly amiss, or we should have heard.'

'It is that consideration only which has made me tolerably easy. Yet it is strange I have no letter from Lady Westhaven. Will you dine with me?' added Emmeline. It was indeed hardly possible to avoid asking him, as Le Limosin at that moment brought up the dinner.

'Where is Mrs. Stafford?' said he.

'Detained in the city.'

'And you dine alone, and will allow me the happiness of dining with you?'

'Certainly,' replied Emmeline, blushing, 'if you will favour me with your company.'

Godolphin then placed himself at the end of the table; and in the pleasure of being with her, thus unmarked by others, and considering her invitation as an assurance that his declaration of the morning was favourably received, he forgot the chagrin which hung upon him at his first entrance, and thought only of the means by which he might perpetuate the happiness he now possessed.

Emmeline tried to shake off, in common conversation, her extreme embarrassment. But when dinner was over, and Le Limosin left the room, in whose presence she felt a sort of protection, she foresaw that she must again hear Godolphin, and that it would be almost impossible to evade answering him.

She now repented of having asked him to dine with her; then blamed herself for the reserve and coldness with which she had almost always treated a man, who, deserving all her affections, had so long possessed them.

But the idea of poor Delamere—of his sadness, his despair, arose before her, and was succeeded by yet more frightful images of the consequences that might follow his frantic passions. And impressed at once with pity and terror, she again resolved to keep, if it were possible, the true state of her heart from the knowledge of Godolphin.

'I have seldom seen one of my relations with so little pleasure,' said he, after the servant had withdrawn, 'as I to day met my volatile cousin de Bellozane. I hoped he would have persecuted you no farther with a passion to which I think you are not disposed to listen.'

'I certainly never intend it.'

'Pardon me then, dearest Miss Mowbray, if I solicit leave to renew the conversation his abrupt entrance broke off. You had the goodness to say you had some esteem for my character—Ah! tell me, if on that esteem I may presume to build those hopes which alone can give value to the rest of my life?'

Emmeline, who saw he expected an answer, attempted to speak; but the half-formed words died away on her lips. It was not thus she was used to receive the addresses of Delamere: her heart then left her reason and her resolution at liberty, but now the violence of it's sensations deprived her of all power of uttering sentiments foreign to it, or concealing those it really felt.

Godolphin drew from this charming confusion a favourable omen.—'You hear me not with anger, lovely Emmeline!' cried he—'You allow me, then, to hope?'

'I can only repeat, Sir,' said Emmeline, in a voice hardly audible, 'that until I am of age, I have resolved to hear nothing on this subject.'

'And why not? Are you not now nearly as independant as you will be then?'

'Alas!' said Emmeline, 'I am indeed!—for my uncle concerns not himself about me, and it is doubtful whether he will do me even the justice to acknowledge me.'

'He must, he shall!' replied Godolphin warmly—'Ah! entrust me with your interest; let me, in the character of the fortunate man whom you allow to hope for your favour—let me apply to him for justice.'

'That any one should make such an application, except Lord Westhaven, is what I greatly wish to avoid. I shall most reluctantly appeal to the interference of friends; and still more to that of law. The last is, you know, very uncertain. And instead of the heiress to the estate of my father, as I have lately been taught to believe myself, I may be found still to be the poor destitute orphan, so long dependant on the bounty of my uncle.'

'And as such,' cried Godolphin, greatly animated, 'you will be dearer to me than my existence! Yes! Emmeline; whether you are mistress of thousands, or friendless, portionless and deserted, your power over this heart is equally absolute—equally fixed! Ah! suffer not any consideration that relates to the uncertainty of your situation, to delay a moment the permission you must, you will give me, to avow my long and ardent passion.'

'It must not be, Mr. Godolphin!' (and tears filled her eyes as she spoke) 'Indeed it must not be! It is not now possible, at least it is very improper, for me to listen to you. Ah! do not then press it. I have indeed already suffered you to say too much on such a topic.'

Godolphin then renewed his warm entreaties that he might be permitted openly to profess himself her lover: but she still evaded giving way to them, by declaring that 'till she was of age she would not marry. 'Had I no other objections,' continued she, 'the singularity of my circumstances is alone sufficient to determine me. I cannot think of accepting the honour you offer me, while my very name is in some degree doubtful; it would, I own, mortify me to take any advantage of your generosity; and should I fail of obtaining from Lord Montreville that to which I am now believed to have a claim, his Lordship, irritated at the attempt, will probably withdraw what he has hitherto allowed me—scanty support, and occasional protection.'

'Find protection with your lover, with your husband!' exclaimed he—'And may that happy husband, that adoring lover, be Godolphin! May Adelina forget her own calamities in contemplating the felicity of her brother; and may her beauteous, her benevolent friend, become her sister indeed, as she has long been the sister of her heart.'

'You will oblige me, Sir,' said Emmeline, feeling that notwithstanding all her attempts to conceal it the truth trembled in her eyes and faultered in her accents—'you will oblige me if you say no more of this.'

'I will obey you, if you will only tell me I may hope.'

'How can I say so, Sir, when so long a time must intervene before I shall think of fixing myself for life.'

'Yet surely you know, the generous, the candid Miss Mowbray knows, whether her devoted Godolphin is agreeable to her, or whether, if every obstacle which exists in her timid imagination were removed, he would be judged wholly unworthy of pretending to the honour of her hand?'

'Certainly not unworthy,' tremblingly said Emmeline.

'Let me then, thus encouraged, go farther—and ask if I have a place in your esteem?'

'Do not ask me—indeed I cannot tell—Nay I beg, I entreat,' added she, trying to disengage her hands from him, 'that you will desist—do not force me to leave you.'

'Ah! talk not, think not of leaving me; think rather of confirming those fortunate presages I draw from this lovely timidity. I cannot go till I know your thoughts of me—till I know what place I hold in that soft bosom.'

'I think of you as an excellent brother; as a generous and disinterested friend; for such I have found you; as a man of great good sense, of noble principles, of exalted honour!'

'As one then,' said Godolphin, vehemently interrupting her, 'not unworthy of being entrusted with your happiness; who may hope to be honoured with a deposit so inestimable, as the confidence and tenderness of that gentle and generous heart?'

'I do indeed think very highly of you.—I cannot, if I would, deny it.'

'And you allow me, then, to go instantly to Lord Montreville?'

'Oh! no! no!—surely nothing I have said implied such a consent.'

Godolphin, however, was still pressing; and at length brought her to confess, with blushes, and even with tears, her early and long partiality for him, and her resolution either to be his, or die unmarried. She found, indeed, all attempts to dissimulate, vain: the reserve she had forced herself to assume, gave way to her natural frankness; and having once been induced to make such an acknowledgment of the state of her heart, she determined to have no longer any secrets concealed from him who was it's master.

She therefore candidly told him how great was her compassion for Lord Delamere, and how severe her apprehensions of his rage, resentment and despair.

He allowed the force of the first; but as to the other, he would not suppose it a reason for her delaying her marriage.

'Poor Delamere,' said he, 'is of a temper which opposition and difficulty renders more eager and more obstinate. Yet when you are for ever out of his reach; as the obstacle will become invincible, he must yield to necessity. While you remain single, he will still hope. The greatest kindness, therefore, that you can do him, will be to convince him that he has nothing to expect from you; and put an end at once to the uncertainty which tortures him.'

'To drive him to despair? Ah! I know so well the dreadful force of his passions, and the excesses he is capable of committing when under their influence, that I dare not, I positively will not, risk it. I love Delamere as my brother; I love him for the resemblance he is said to bear to my father. I pity him for the errors which the natural impetuosity of his temper, inflamed by the unbounded indulgence of his mother, continually leads him into; and the misfortunes these causes are so frequently inflicting on him; and should his fatal inclination for me, be the means of bringing on himself and on his family yet other miseries, I should never forgive myself; or him by whose means they were incurred.'

'From me, at least, you have nothing of that sort to apprehend: I truly pity Delamere; I feel what it must be to have relinquished the woman he loves; and to find her lost to his hopes, while his passion is unabated:—be assured my compassion for him will induce me rather to soothe his unhappiness than to insult him with an ostentatious display of my enviable fortune. Yet if you suffer me to believe my attachment not disagreeable to you, how shall I wholly conceal it? how appear as not daring to avow that, which is the glory and happiness of my life? and by your being supposed disengaged and indifferent, see you exposed to the importunities of an infinite number of suitors, who, however inconsequential they may be to you, will torment me. I do not know that I have much of jealousy in my nature; yet I cannot tell how I shall bear to see Delamere presuming again on your former friendship for him.—Even the volatile and thoughtless Bellozane has the power to make me uneasy, when I see him so persuaded of his own merit, and so confident of success.'

'While you assert that you are but little disposed to jealousy, you are persuading me that you are extremely prone to it. You know Bellozane can never have the smallest interest in my heart. But as to Delamere, I am decided against inflaming his irritable passions, by encouraging an avowed rival, tho' I will do all I can by other means, to discourage him. The only condition on which I will continue to see you is, that you appear no otherwise interested about me, than as the favoured friend of your sister, your brother, and Lady Westhaven. Press me, therefore, no farther on the subject, and let us now part.'

'Tell me, first, whether your journey remains fixed for Thursday?—whether you still hold your generous resolution of going to Adelina?'

'I do. But I must insist on going alone.'

'And if Bellozane should enquire whither you are going? You see nothing prevents his following you; and to follow you to East Cliff, he will, you know, have sufficient excuse. Emmeline, I cannot bear it!—there is a presumption in his manner, which offends and shocks me; and which, however you may dislike it, it may not always be in your power to repress!'

'Surely he need not know that I am going thither.'

It was now, therefore, agreed between them that if Bellozane called upon her the next day, as he said he intended, she should be denied to him; and that early on the following morning, which was Thursday, she should set out for East Cliff, attended by Madelon and Le Limosin.

This arrangement was hardly made when Mrs. Stafford returned, weary and exhausted from the unpleasant party with which she had passed the day.

With Emmeline's permission (who left the room that she might not hear it) Godolphin related to Mrs. Stafford the conversation they had held. It was the only information which had any power to raise her depressed spirits; and as soon as Emmeline rejoined them, she added her entreaties to those of Godolphin. They urged her to conquer immediately all those scruples which divided her from him to whom she had given her heart; and to put herself into such protection as must at once obviate all the difficulties she apprehended. But Emmeline still adhered to her resolution of remaining single, if not 'till she was of age, at least till her affairs with her uncle were adjusted, and 'till she saw the unhappy Delamere restored to health and tranquillity. But notwithstanding this delay, Godolphin, assured of possessing her affection, left her with an heart which was even oppressed with the excess of it's own happiness.

CHAPTER XI

Emmeline seemed to be happier since she had confessed to Godolphin his influence over her mind, and since she had made him in some measure the director of her actions. She hoped that she might conceal her partiality 'till she had nothing to fear from Delamere; at present she was sure he had no suspicion that Godolphin was his rival; and she flattered herself, that on his return to England, the conviction of her coldness would by degrees wean him from his attachment, and that he would learn to consider her only as his sister.

These pleasing hopes, however, were insufficient to balance the concern she felt for Mrs. Stafford; who having long struggled against her calamities, now seemed on the point of sinking under their pressure, and of determining to attend, in despondent resignation, the end of her unmerited sufferings.

Emmeline attempted to re-animate her, by repeating all the promises of Lord Westhaven, on whose word she had the most perfect reliance. She assured her, that the moment her own affairs were settled, her first care should be the re-establishment of those of her beloved friend. For some time the oppressed spirits of Mrs. Stafford would only allow her to answer with her tears these generous assurances. At length she said—

'It is to you, my Emmeline, I could perhaps learn to be indebted without being humbled; for you have an heart which receives while it confers an obligation. But think what it is for one, born with a right to affluence and educated in its expectation, with feelings keen from nature, and made yet keener by refinement, to be compelled, as I have been, to solicit favours, pecuniary favours, from persons who have no feeling at all—from the shifting, paltry-spirited James Crofts, forbearance from the claim of debts; from the callous-hearted and selfish politician, his father, pity and assistance; from Rochely, who has no ideas but of getting or saving money, to ask the loan of it! and to bear with humility a rude refusal. I have endured the brutal unkindness of hardened avarice, the dirty chicane of law, exercised by the most contemptible of beings; I have been forced to attempt softening the tradesman and the mechanic, and to suffer every degree of humiliation which the insolence of sudden prosperity or the insensible coolness of the determined money dealer, could inflict. Actual poverty, I think, I could have better borne;

But ineffectual attempts to ward it off by such degradation I can no longer submit to. While Mr. Stafford, for whom I have encountered it all, is not only unaffected by the poignant mortifications which torture me; but receives my efforts to serve him, if successful, only as a duty—if unsuccessful, he considers my failure as a fault; and loads me with reproach, with invective, with contempt!—others have, in their husbands, protectors and friends; mine, not only throws on me the burthen of affairs which he has himself embroiled, but adds to their weight by cruelty and oppression. Such complicated and incurable misery must overwhelm me, and then—what will become of my children?'

Penetrated with pity and sorrow, Emmeline listened, in tears, to this strong but too faithful picture of the situation of her unfortunate friend; and with difficulty said, in a voice of the tenderest pity—

'Yet a little patience and surely things will mend. It cannot be very long, before I shall either be in high affluence or reduced to my former dependance; perhaps to actual indigence. Of these events, I hope the former is the most probable: but be it as it may, you and your children will be equally dear to me.—If I am rich, my house, my fortune shall be your's—if I am poor, I will live with you, and we will work together. But for such resources as the pencil or the needle may afford us, we shall, I think, have no occasion. You, my dear friend, will continue to exert yourself for your children; Lord Westhaven is greatly interested for you; and all will yet be well.'

'I am afraid not,' replied Mrs. Stafford. 'Among the various misfortunes of life, there are some that admit of no cure; some, which even the tender and generous friendship of my Emmeline can but palliate. Of that nature, I fear, are many of mine. My past life has been almost all bitterness; God only knows what the remainder of it may be, but

'Ah! give not up your mind to these gloomy thoughts,' said Emmeline. 'Setting aside all hopes I have of being able, without the assistance of any one, to clear those prospects, I have a firm dependance on Lord Westhaven, and am sure I shall yet see you happy.'

'Never, I believe, in this world!' dejectedly answered Mrs. Stafford. 'But why should I distress you, my best Emmeline, with a repetition of my hopeless sorrows; why cannot I now refrain, as I have hitherto done, from taxing with my complaints your lively sensibility?' She then began to talk of their journey for the next day, for which every thing was now ready. It would have been very agreeable to Emmeline could Mrs. Stafford have gone by Southampton, and have accompanied her for a few days to East Cliff; but she said, that besides her suffering so much at sea, which made the long passage to France very dreadful to her, she had already, in a letter to her husband, fixed to go by Calais; and as he might either send or come to meet her on that road, he might be offended if she took the other: besides these reasons, she had yet another in the chance the Calais road afforded of meeting Lord and Lady Westhaven. The two last arguments were unanswerable: Emmeline relinquished the project of their going together; and they passed the rest of the day in the last preparations for their separate journeys. In the course of it, Bellozane called twice, but was not admitted. Godolphin was allowed to sup with them; and early the next morning came again to see them set out. They parted on all sides with tears and reluctance—Emmeline, with Madelon in the chaise with her, and Le Limosin on horseback, took the road to Southampton, and Mrs. Stafford pursued her melancholy journey to Dover.

Emmeline arrived at Southampton late the same evening, where she slept; and the next morning landed on the Isle of Wight.

It was a clear and mild day, towards the end of October; and she walked, attended by her servants, to East Cliff. As she approached the door of Godolphin's house, her heart beat quick; a thousand tender recollections arose that related to it's beloved master, and some mournful apprehensions for the fate of it's present lovely and unhappy inhabitant.

The maid who had so long waited on Lady Adelina opened the door, and expressed the utmost delight at seeing Emmeline. 'Ah! dearest Madam!' said she, 'how good it is in you to come to my lady! Now, I hope, both her health and her spirits will be better. But the joy of knowing you are here, will overcome her, unless I inform her of it with caution; for tho' she rather expected you, I know it will be extreme.'

Barret then ran to execute this welcome commission, and in a few moments Lady Adelina, supported by her, walked into the room, holding in her hand little William, and fell, almost insensible, into the arms of her friend.

The expression of her countenance, faded as it was, where a gleam of exquisite pleasure seemed to lighten up the soft features which had long sunk under the blighting hand of sorrow; her weeds, forming so striking a contrast to the fairness of her transparent skin; and the lovely child, now about fourteen months old, which hung on her arm; made her altogether appear to Emmeline the most interesting, the most affecting figure, she had ever seen. Neither of them could speak. Lady Adelina murmured something, as she fondly pressed Emmeline to her heart; but it was not till it's oppression was relieved by tears, that she could distinctly thank her for coming. Emmeline, with equal marks of tenderness, embraced the mother and caressed the son, whose infantine beauty would have charmed her had he been the child of a stranger. After a little, they grew more composed; and Emmeline, while Lady Adelina in the most melting accents spoke of her brother William, and enquired tenderly after her elder brother and his wife, had time to contemplate her lovely but palid face; from which the faint glow of transient pleasure, the animated vivacity of momentary rapture, was gone; and a languor so great seemed to hang over her, such pensive and settled melancholy had taken possession of her features, that Emmeline could hardly divest herself of the idea of immediate danger; and fancied that she was come thither only to see the beauteous mourner sink into the grave. She trembled to think on the consequence which, in such a state of health, might arise from the conflict she would probably have to undergo in regard to Fitz-Edward. Emmeline herself dared not name him to Godolphin in their long conference. It was a subject, on which (however slightly touched) he had always expressed such painful sensibility, that she could not resolve to enter upon it with him. Yet she foresaw, that on Lord Westhaven's arrival either a general explanation must take place, or that his Lordship would accept, for his sister, the offer of Fitz-Edward, to which there would be in his eyes, (while he yet remained ignorant of their former unfortunate acquaintance,) no possible objection. She supposed that Lord and Lady Clancarryl, equally ignorant of that error (which had been partly owing to their own confidence in Fitz-Edward) would press Lady Adelina to accept him; and that Godolphin must either consent to forgive, and receive him as his brother, or give such reasons for opposing his alliance with Lady Adelina, as would probably destroy the peace of his family and the fragile existence of his sister. Sometimes, she thought that his inflexible honour would yield, and induce him to bury the past in oblivion. But then she recollected all the indignation he had but lately expressed against Fitz-Edward, and doubted, with fearful apprehension, the event.

The first day passed without that mutual and unreserved confidence being absolutely established, which the lovely friends longed to repose in each other. Lady Adelina languished to enquire after, to talk of Fitz-Edward, yet dared not trust herself with his name; and Emmeline, tho' well assured that the knowledge of those terms which she was now on with Godolphin would give infinite pleasure to his sister, yet had not courage to reveal that truth which her conscious heart secretly enjoyed. Affected with her friend's depression, and unwilling to keep her up late, she complained of fatigue soon in the evening, and retired to her own room. She there dismissed Madelon, and bade her, as soon as Mrs. Barret came from her lady's apartment, let her know that she desired to speak to her.

She wished to enquire of this faithful servant her opinion of her lady's health. And as soon as she came to her, expressed her fears about it in terms equally anxious and tender.

'Ah! Madam,' said Barret, 'all you observe as to my lady is but too just; and what I go thro' about her, (especially when the Captain is not here) I am sure no tongue can tell. Sometimes, Ma'am, when I have left her of a night, and she tells me she is going to bed, I hear her walk about the room talking; then she goes to the bed (for I have looked thro' the key hole) where Master Godolphin sleeps, and looks at him, and bursts into tears and laments herself over him, and again begins to walk about the room, and speaks as it were to herself; and at other times, she will open the window, and leaning her head on her two hands, sit and look at the clouds and the stars; and sighs so deeply, and so often, that it makes my heart quite ache to hear her. The child was very ill once with a tooth fever, while the Captain was gone to France; and then indeed I thought my poor lady would have been quite, quite gone in her head again; for she talked so wildly of what she would do if he died, and said such things, as almost frightened me to death. We sent to Winchester for a physician; and before he could come, for you know, Ma'am, what a long way 'tis to send, she grew so impatient, and had terrified herself into such agonies, that when the doctor did come, he said she was in a great deal the most danger of the two. Thank God, Master Godolphin soon got well; but it was a long time before my lady was quite herself again; and since that, Ma'am, she will hardly suffer Master out of her sight at all; but makes either his own maid or me sit in the room to attend upon him while she reads or writes. When she walks out, she generally orders one of us to take him with her; and only goes out alone after he is in bed of a night. Then, indeed, she stays out long enough; and tho' you see, Ma'am, how sadly she looks, she never seems to care at all about her own health, but does things that really would kill a strong person.'

'What then does she do?' enquired Emmeline.

'Why, Ma'am, quite late sometimes of a night, when every body else is asleep, she will go away by herself perhaps to that wood you see there, or down to the sea shore; and she orders me to let nobody follow her. Quite of cold nights this Autumn, when the wind blew, and the sea made a noise so loud and dismal, she has staid there whole hours by herself; only I ventured to disobey her so far as to see that no harm came to her. But three or four times, Ma'am, she remained so long that I concluded she must catch her death. At last, I bethought me of getting one of the maids to go and tell her Master was awake; and I have got her to come in by that means out of the wind and the cold. Then, Ma'am, she seems to take pleasure in nothing but sorrow and melancholy. The books she reads are so sad, that sometimes, when her own eyes are tired and she makes me read them to her, I get quite horrible thoughts in my head. But my lady, instead of trying, as I do, to shake them off, will go directly to her music, and play such mournful tunes, that it really quite overcomes me, as I am at work in another room. At other times she goes and writes verses about her own unhappiness. How is it possible, Ma'am, that with such ways of passing her time, my lady, always so delicate as she was in health, should be well: for my part I only wonder she is not quite dead.'

'But how do you know, Barret, that your lady employs herself in writing verses about her own unhappiness?'

'Dear, Ma'am, I have found them about every where. When the Captain is absent, my lady is indifferent where she leaves them. Sometimes four or five sheets lay open on the table in her little dressing room, and sometimes upon her music.'

Emmeline was too certain that such were the occupations of her poor friend. During the short time they had been together, Lady Adelina had shewn her some work; and as she took it out of her drawer, she drew out some papers with it.

'I do but little work,' said she. 'I find even embroidery does not serve to call off my thoughts sufficiently from myself. I read a good deal in books of mere amusement, for of serious application I am incapable; and here is another specimen of my method of employing myself, which perhaps you will not think a remedy for melancholy thoughts.'

She put a written paper into Emmeline's hand, who was about to open it; but Lady Adelina added, with a pensive smile, 'do not read it now; rather keep it till you are alone.'

This paper Emmeline took out to peruse as soon as she had dismissed Barret. Her heart bled as she ran over this testimony of the anguish and despondence which preyed on the heart of Lady Adelina. It was an

The feelings of a mind which could dictate such an address, appeared to Emmeline so greatly to be lamented, and so unlikely to be relieved, that the tender and painful compassion she had ever been sensible of for her unhappy friend, was if possible augmented. Full of ideas almost as mournful as those by which they had been inspired, she went to bed, but not to tranquil sleep. Her spirits, worn by her journey, and oppressed by her concern for Lady Adelina, were yet busy; and instead of the uneasy images which had pursued her while she waked, they represented to her others yet more terrifying. She beheld, in her dreams, Godolphin wildly seeking vengeance of Fitz-Edward for the death of his sister. Then, instead of Fitz-Edward, Lord Delamere appeared to be the object of his wrath, and mutual fury seemed to animate them against the lives of each other. To them, her uncle, in all the phrenzy of grief and despair, succeeded; overwhelmed her with reproaches for the loss of his only son, and tore her violently away from Godolphin, who in vain pursued her.

These horrid visions returned so often, drest in new forms of terror, that Emmeline, having long resisted the impression they made upon her, could at length bear them no longer; but shaking off all disposition to indulge sleep on such terms, she arose from her bed, and wrapping herself up in her night gown, went to the window. The dawn did not yet appear; but she sat down by the window, of which she had opened the shutter to watch it's welcome approach.

The morning, for it was between three and four, was mild; the declining stars were obscured by no cloud, and served to shew dimly the objects in the garden beneath her. She softly opened the sash; listened to the low, hollow murmur of the sea; and surveyed the lawn and the hill behind it, which, by the faint and uncertain light, she could just discern. All breathed a certain solemn and melancholy stillness calculated to inspire horror. Emmeline's blood ran cold; yet innocence like her's really fears nothing if free from the prejudices of superstition. She endeavoured to conquer the disagreeable sensations she felt, and to shake off the effects of her dreams; but the silence, and the gloominess of the scene, assisted but little her efforts, and she cast an eye of solicitude towards the Eastern horizon, and wished for the return of the sun.

In this disposition of mind, she was at once amazed and alarmed, by seeing the figure of a man, tall and thin, wrapped in a long horseman's coat, as if on purpose to disguise him, force himself out from between the shrubs which bounded one part of the lawn. He looked not towards the windows; but with folded arms, and his hat over his eyes, was poring on the ground, while with slow steps he crossed the lawn and came immediately under the windows of the house.

When she first perceived him, she had started back from that where she sat; but tho' greatly surprized, she could not forbear watching him: on longer observing his figure, she fancied it was that of a gentleman; and by his slow walk and manner he did not appear to have any design to attack the house. Her presence of mind never forsook her unless where her heart was greatly affected; and she had now courage enough to determine that she would still continue for some moments to observe him, and would not alarm the servants till she saw reason to believe he had ill intentions. She sat therefore quite still; and saw, that instead of making any attempt to enter the house, he traversed the whole side of it next the lawn, with a measured and solemn pace, several times; then stopped a moment, again went to the end, and slowly returned; and having continued to do so near an hour, he crossed the grass, and disappeared among the shrubs from whence he had issued.

Had not Emmeline been very sure that she not only heard his footsteps distinctly as he passed over a gravel walk in his way, but even heard him breathe hard and short, as if agitated or fatigued, she would almost have persuaded herself that it was a phantom raised by her disordered spirits. The longer she reflected on it, the more incomprehensible it seemed, that a man should, at such an hour, make such an excursion, apparently to so little purpose. That it was with a dishonest design there seemed no likelihood, as he made no effort to force his way into the house, which he might easily have done; and had he come on a clandestine visit to any of the servants, he would probably have had some signal by which his confederates would have been informed of his approach. But he seemed rather fearful of disturbing the sleeping inhabitants; his step was slow and light; and on perceiving the first rays of the morning, he 'started like a guilty thing,' and swiftly stepped away to his concealment.

Emmeline continued some time at the window after his disappearance, believing he might return. But it soon grew quite light: the gardener appeared at his work; and she was then convinced that he would for that time come no more.

So extraordinary a circumstance, however, dwelt on her mind; nor could she entirely divest herself of alarm. A strange and confused idea that this visitor might be some one not unknown to her, crossed her mind. His height answered almost equally to that of Bellozane, Godolphin, and Fitz-Edward. The latter, indeed, was rather the tallest, and to him she thought the figure bore the greatest resemblance. Yet he had taken leave of her ten days before she left London, and told her he was going down to Mr. Percival's, in Berkshire; where, as he was very anxious to hear of Lady Adelina, he had desired Mrs. Stafford to write to him; (who had done so, and had received an answer of thanks dated from thence before the departure of Emmeline from London). That Fitz-Edward, therefore, should be the person, seemed improbable; yet it was hardly less so that a night ruffian should be on foot so long, without any attempt to execute mischief, or even the appearance of examining how it might be perpetrated. After long consideration, she determined, that lest the first conjecture should be true, she would speak to nobody of the stranger she had seen; but would watch another night, before she either terrified Lady Adelina with the apprehension of robbers, or gave rise to conjectures in her and the servants of yet more disquieting tendency. Having taken this resolution, and argued herself out of all those fears for her personal safety which might have enfeebled a less rational mind, she met Lady Adelina at breakfast with her usual ease, and almost with her usual chearfulness: but she was pale, and her eyes were heavy: Lady Adelina remarked it with concern; but Emmeline, making light of it, imputed it intirely to the fatigue of her journey; and when their breakfast was finished, proposed a walk. To this her friend assented; and while she went to give some orders, and to fetch the crape veil in which she usually wrapped herself, (for even her dress partook something of the mournful cast of her mind), Emmeline, already equipped, went into the lawn, and saw plainly where the stranger had made his way thro' the thick shrubs, and where the flexible branches of a young larch were twisted away, a laurel broken, and that some deciduous trees behind them had lost all their lower leaves; which, having sustained the first frosts, fell on the slightest violence. She marked the place with her eye; and determined to observe whether, if he came again, it was from thence.

Emmeline now desired that Madelon might come with them to wait on little William, rather than his own maid; as she understood English so ill, that she would be no interruption to their discourse. They then walked arm in arm together towards the sea; and there Lady Adelina, who now enjoyed the opportunity she had so long languished for, opened to her sympathizing friend the sorrows of an heart struggling vainly with a passion she condemned, and sinking under ineffectual efforts to vindicate her honour and eradicate her love.

She knew not that Fitz-Edward had ever written to her. Godolphin, well acquainted with his hand, had kept the letter from her. She knew not that he had applied to Emmeline: and tho' she had torn herself from him, and had vowed never again to write to him, to name him, to hear from him, she involuntarily felt disposed to accuse him of neglect, of ingratitude, of cruelty, for having never attempted to write to her or see her; and added the poignant anguish of jealousy to the dreary horrors of despair. That Fitz-Edward was for ever lost to her, she seemed to be convinced; yet that he should forget her, or attach himself to another, seemed a torment so entirely insupportable, that when her mind dwelt upon it, as it perpetually did, her reason was inadequate to the pain it inflicted; and when she touched on that subject, Emmeline too evidently saw symptoms of that derangement of intellect to which she had once before been a melancholy witness.

With a mind thus unsettled, and a heart thus oppressed, the consequences of touching on the application of Fitz-Edward to herself, might, as Emmeline believed, have the most alarming effect on Lady Adelina. And she dared not therefore name it unless she had the concurrence of Godolphin. She only attempted to soothe and tranquillize her mind, without giving her those assurances of his undiminished attachment, which, she thought, might in the event only encrease her anguish, if her brother remained inflexible. On the other hand, she forbore to remonstrate with her on the necessity there might be to forget him; being too well convinced that the arguments which were to enforce that doctrine, would be useless, and perhaps appear cruel, to a heart so deeply wounded as was that of the luckless, lovely Adelina.

But in pouring her sorrows into the bosom of her friend she appeared to find consolation. The tender pity of Emmeline was a balm to her wounded mind; and growing more composed, she began to discourse on the singular discovery Emmeline had made, and to enter with some interest into the affairs depending between her and the Marquis of Montreville; and by questions, aided by the natural frankness of Emmeline, at length became acquainted with the happy prospects, which, tho' distant, opened to Godolphin.

This was the only information that seemed to have the power of suspending for a moment the weight of those afflictions which Lady Adelina suffered. 'My brother then,' cried she—'my dear Godolphin, will be happy! And you, my most amiable friend, will constitute, while you share his felicity. Ah! fortunate, thrice fortunate for ye both, was the hour of your meeting; for heaven and nature surely designed ye for each other! Fortunate, too, were those circumstances which divided my Emmeline from Delamere, before indissoluble bonds enchained you for ever. Had it been otherwise; had your guardian angel slumbered as mine did; you too, all lovely and deserving as you are, would have been condemned to the bitterest of all lots, and might have discovered all the excellence and worth of Godolphin, when your duty and your honour allowed you no eyes but for Delamere. Your destiny is more happy—yet not happier than you deserve. Oh! may it quickly be fixed unalterably; and long, very long, may it endure! So shall your Adelina, for the little while she drags on a reluctant existence, have something on which to lean for the alleviation of her sorrows; and when she shall interrupt your felicity no longer by the sight of cureless calamity, she will, in full confidence, entrust the sole tie she has on earth, the dear and innocent victim of her fatal weakness, to the compassionate bosoms of Godolphin and his Emmeline!'

The tremulous voice and singular manner in which Lady Adelina uttered these words, made Emmeline tremble. She now tried to divert the attention of her poor friend, from dwelling too earnestly either on her own wretchedness or the promised felicity of her brother: but, as if exhausted by the mingled emotions of pain and pleasure, she soon afterwards fell into a deep silence; scarce attending to what was said; and after a long pause, she suddenly called to Madelon, in whose arms her little boy had fallen asleep, and looking at him earnestly a moment, took him from the maid, and carried him towards the house. Emmeline, more and more convinced of her partial intellectual derangement, followed her, dreading lest she should see it encrease, without the power of applying any remedy. Before Lady Adelina reached the gate, which opened from the cliffs to the lawn, she was fatigued by her lovely burthen and forced to stop. Emmeline would then have taken him; but she said 'No!' and sitting down on the ground, held him in her lap, till Barret, who had seen her from a window, came out and took him from her; to which, as to a thing usual, she consented, and then walked calmly home with Emmeline, who, extremely discomposed by the wildness of her manner, was fearful of again introducing any interesting topic, lest she should again touch those fine chords which were untuned in the mind of her unhappy friend; and which seemed occasionally to vibrate with an acuteness that threatened the ruin of the whole fabric. Barret, who afterwards came to assist her in dressing, told her, that within the last six weeks her lady had often been subject to long fits of absence, sometimes of tears; which generally ended in her snatching the child eagerly to her, kissing him with the wildest fondness, and that after having kept him with her some time, and wept extremely, she usually became rational and composed for the rest of the day.

CHAPTER XII

When Emmeline met Lady Adelina at dinner, she had the satisfaction to find her quite tranquil and easy. As the afternoon proved uncommonly fine, and Emmeline was never weary of contemplating the scenery which surrounded them, she willingly consented to Lady Adelina's proposal of another ramble; that she might see some beautiful cliffs, a little farther from the house than she had yet been. There, she was pleased to find, that her fair friend seemed to call off her mind from it's usual painful occupations to admire the charms, which on one side a very lovely country, and on the other an extensive sea view, offered to their sight.

'You cannot imagine, my Emmeline,' said she, 'how exquisitely beautiful the prospect is from the point of these rocks where we stand, in the midst of summer; now the sun, more distant, gives it a less glowing and rich lustre, and reflects not his warm rays on the sea, and on the white cliffs that hang over it. Here it was, that indulging that melancholy for which I have too much reason, I made, while my brother was absent last summer, some lines, which, if it was pleasant to repeat one's own poetry, I would read to you, as descriptive at once of the scene, and the state of mind in which I surveyed it.'

Emmeline now earnestly pressing her to gratify the curiosity she had thus raised, at length prevailed upon her to repeat the following

SONNET