CXLII. THE DRESS-MAKER: A LOVE STORY…

CXLII. THE DRESS-MAKER: A LOVE STORY

“It was between nine and ten o’clock on a dark and rainy night, in the month of November, 1834, that a young female, plainly but decently attired, was wending her way along Oxford Street. She had a large parcel beneath her cloak;--and this parcel she protected against the rain with the most jealous care,--thinking more, in fact, of the object of her solicitude than of picking her path with sufficient nicety to enable her to avoid the puddles of water that were ankle-deep in some parts of the pavement--but more especially at the crossings. For, in sooth, it was a bitter--bitter night:--the windows of heaven appeared to be indeed opened, and the rain fell in torrents. The streets seemed to be positively covered in with an arcade of umbrellas, on which the quick drops rattled down with the violence of hail. The young female whom I have mentioned, had an umbrella;--but she found it rather a difficult task to hold it comfortably with one hand, while her left arm encircled as it were the precious parcel beneath her cloak. For the passengers in the streets of London are never over remarkable for their civility to each other--still less so on such a night as the one I am describing. The consequence was that there was an incessant struggle amongst the strong to push their umbrellas safely through the mass, and amongst the weak to prevent their own umbrellas from being dragged out of their hands;--but it naturally happened that the latter fared the worst.

“The young female was meek, timid, and unobtrusive. She only sought to be permitted to pursue her way in peace, without being molested;--for, heaven knows! she had not the least desire on her part to inconvenience a soul. But first some rude, hulking fellow would thrust her against the houses--almost through the shop windows; then, if she moved over to the kerb-stone of the pavement, she found herself speedily pushed into the mud. To pursue a middle course was impossible; because the two streams of persons carrying umbrellas were the monopolists there;--and so the young female began to lament the necessity which had sent her forth into the streets on such a night as this. At length she reached the iron gates leading into Hanover Square; and she rejoiced--for she thought within herself that she had now got clear of the crowd, and need entertain no farther apprehension of having the precious parcel knocked out of her hands. But just as she entered the Square, a rude, coarse fellow rushed against her as he was running hastily round the corner; and such was the violence of the concussion, that the parcel was knocked from beneath her arm. The ruffian who had caused the accident, burst into a ferocious laugh, as if he had just performed a most humorous or clever feat, and darted away. But the young female was disconsolate at what had occurred; and tears started into her eyes. Though bruised and hurt by the man’s violence, she thought not of herself--she felt no pain:--it was on account of the parcel that she was so deeply grieved. Hastily picking it up, she hurried to the nearest lamp; and the moment she examined the packet beneath the gas-light, she found her worst apprehensions confirmed. For the parcel contained a costly silk dress, well wrapped up in brown paper;--but the side on which it had fallen was dripping wet and covered with mud!

“‘O heavens! no food again to-night!’ exclaimed the young female aloud--for in her despair she paused not to notice whether she were noticed or overheard. And she was both noticed and overheard,--and by a tall, handsome individual, of gentlemanly appearance, and muffled in a capacious cloak. He had issued from the nearest house at the moment the accident occurred; and, perceiving the brutality of the encounter, though too late to prevent it or to chastise the perpetrator, he stood still to observe the young female, whose countenance, as the rays of the lamp fell upon it, struck him as being remarkably beautiful. In that rapid survey, partial as it was by the flickering light, which was moreover dimmed by the mist of the falling rain, the stranger fancied that he perceived--independently of the despair which that countenance now wore--a certain settled melancholy expression, that at once rivetted his interest and excited his sympathies. But when those words--so terrible in their meaning,--‘O heavens! no food again to-night!’ fell upon his ears, he accosted the young female, and said, in a tone of respectful though somewhat condescending pity, ‘My poor girl, it appears that a sad accident has befallen you.’--The young woman, or rather girl--for she was not more than eighteen years of age--looked up into the face of the individual who thus addressed her; and, perceiving that it was no insolent coxcomb who spoke, she replied in a tone of deep melancholy, ‘Yes, sir: it is to me a great misfortune!’--The stranger read, or fancied he read, an entire history in those few and plaintively uttered words,--how, perhaps, a young dress-maker had toiled to finish a particular piece of work in the hope of receiving instantaneous payment on taking it home,--how the article had been thrown down, soiled, and rendered at least unfit to be delivered that night to its owner, even if it were not spoilt altogether,--and how the poor girl had lost her only chance of obtaining the wherewith to procure a meal. Upon more closely, though still with great delicacy, questioning the young female, the stranger found all his surmises to be correct; but she could not tell whether the silk dress were injured beyond redemption or not. ‘In any case,’ she added, still weeping bitterly, ‘I shall tell the lady the truth when I take home the dress to-morrow.’--These words, uttered with the most unquestionable sincerity, made a deep impression upon the gentleman who was addressing her; for they denoted an unsophisticated uprightness of character which augmented the interest he already felt in the poor young creature.--‘And who is the lady you speak of?’ he enquired.--‘The Dowager Marchioness of Wilmington,’ was the reply.--‘Ah!’ ejaculated the stranger: then, after a moment’s pause, he said, ‘Pardon me, young woman, for having asked you so many questions: but it has not been through motives of idle curiosity. Here is a small sum that will procure you immediate necessaries;’--and thrusting a coin into her hand, he hurried away. The deed took the poor girl completely by surprise;--for although it has occupied me some time to relate all that passed between her and the generous stranger, yet in reality their dialogue was of scarcely more than two minutes’ duration; and the dress-maker had not yet recovered from the grief into which the accident to her parcel had plunged her. When, therefore, the light of the lamp flashed upon a bright yellow coin, she could scarcely believe her eyes:--she fancied that her benefactor had made a mistake, and intended to give her a shilling,--and then, in spite of the cold night, the warm blood rushed to her cheeks, at the idea of any one treating her as a mendicant--for she had her little feelings of pride, poor though she were! But her next thought was that the stranger might really have intended to present her with a sovereign; and--so strange a sentiment is human pride, even in the most virtuous bosoms--her soul revolted not from receiving that amount. And now, lest this circumstance should induce you to form an evil opinion of my heroine, I must inform you that it was no selfish nor avaricious feeling that made her draw a distinction between the gift of a shilling and that of a sovereign:--but she had been tenderly and genteelly brought up--and the comparison which her mind drew, was simply as between the alms that one would toss to a mendicant, and the pecuniary aid which a delicate benevolence would administer to a person in temporary embarrassment.

“Of all these things she thought as she retraced her way along Oxford Street,--holding her umbrella with her right hand, and with her left arm encircling the parcel more carefully than before. She came to the conclusion that the sovereign was not given by mistake; and she resolved to avail herself of the bounty which Providence itself had appeared to bestow upon her in the hour of her bitterest need. She thought of the little brother who was anxiously expecting her return, and who had fared so scantily for the last few days,--that little brother of only eight years old, whom the sudden, premature, and almost simultaneous death of their parents, about two years previously, had left so completely dependant upon her! As she drew near the street in which she lived, she stopped at the baker’s where she was accustomed to deal, and purchased some nice buns;--and then she hurried on until she reached the house wherein she rented a small back room on the third floor. On entering the little chamber, which, though poorly furnished, was very clean and neat, a beautiful boy, with light brown curly hair and fine blue eyes, but with cheeks somewhat pale, sprang towards her, exclaiming ‘Oh! dear sister Julia, I am so glad you have come back: for I cannot bear to be left alone so long!’--‘I have brought you something nice, Harry,’ said the kind girl, smiling sweetly upon him; and, she placed the bag containing the buns in his hand. Joy sparkled in his eyes;--but in another moment he observed that his sister had brought back the parcel, which she had opened, and was carefully examining the silk-dress to ascertain the amount of injury done to it. Throwing the cakes upon the table, the boy hastened to question her; but poor Julia could not answer him--scalding tears were trickling down her cheeks--a suffocating grief filled her bosom,--for she found, to her dismay, that the dress was completely spoilt!

“She sate down, and gave full vent to her anguish;--and then little Harry threw his arms round her neck, and endeavoured to console her. The flood of tears which she shed, and the affectionate conduct of her little brother at length considerably soothed her;--and the poor girl made up her mind to meet her misfortune with resignation. ‘You are dripping wet, dear Julia,’ said Harry: ‘and there is not a morsel of coal left,’ he added, looking at the miserable remnant of a fire which was fast extinguishing in the grate.--‘Poor boy! you have been cold,’ exclaimed the dress-maker, not thinking of herself.--‘No, dear Julia,’ he answered; ‘for I have been walking up and down the room, to keep myself awake till you came back. I was only afraid that the candle would not last.’--‘Nor will it many minutes longer, Harry!’ cried Julia, starting from her seat. ‘But do not be afraid, my dear little fellow; for I have plenty of money to buy all we want for the moment. A good kind gentleman took compassion upon me, and--and----’; she did not choose to say, ‘and gave me some money;’--for, somehow or another, her pure soul revolted from the idea that she had been the object of eleemosynary benevolence on the part of a stranger:--so, cutting the matter short, she kissed her little brother tenderly, bade him eat his cakes, and, promising to return in a few minutes, hurried away. She ordered up coals and wood from the nearest shed,--thence she repaired to the grocer’s, where she purchased a few articles,--and lastly, she sped to the baker’s, to buy bread. But the moment she entered this shop, the master rushed from behind the counter, seized her rudely, called her by many opprobrious names, and, raising an alarm, attracted the attention of a policeman who was passing by. The constable entered the shop, and enquired the cause of the disturbance; but poor Julia had fainted;--and she, therefore, heard not the charge that was made against her. When she came to her senses, she gazed wildly around, thinking that she had just awoke from a horrid dream;--but, alas! it was all too true! She was seated in a chair in the middle of the shop--a policeman standing near her--and a gaping, curious crowd collected at the door. ‘Now, young woman,’ said the officer, ‘come along with me!’--Julia cast upon him a look so full of horror and amazement, that the man’s heart was for an instant touched;--but, being accustomed to endless varieties of imposture on the part of offenders, he speedily recovered the cold indifference so characteristic of his class, and said sternly, if not brutally, ‘None of this nonsense: you must tramp off to the station-house!’--‘But what have I done? what offence have I committed?’ asked Julia, in a tone of the most pathetic entreaty. ‘Oh! there must be some dreadful mistake in all this!’--‘No mistake at all,’ said the officer; ‘and you’ll know all about it in the morning, when you go before the magistrate!’--‘The magistrate!’ repeated the girl, with the emphasis of despair. ‘But my poor little brother, what will become of him?’--‘That’s no business of mine,’ returned the constable: ’come along!’--and he dragged the half-fainting Julia from the shop.

“Away to the nearest station-house was the unhappy young woman rather borne than conducted;--and so stunned--so stupefied was she by this sudden, unaccountable, and overwhelming misfortune, that her tongue refused to give utterance to the questions which her suspense prompted her lips to frame. The station was close by; and thus was it that before she had leisure to recover from her bewilderment and terror, she found herself thrust into a dark cell--all dripping wet from head to foot as she was. When full consciousness returned, and she was enabled to look her misfortune in the face, she found that all the articles she had purchased at the grocer’s and all the remainder of her money were gone. Yet she could not possibly conceive on what charge she had been thus rudely treated;--and her conscience inspired her with the hope that her complete innocence must become apparent in the morning. But the thought of her little brother excited the most painful sensations in her bosom:--her heart was rent with pangs that seemed to threaten her very existence! The poor little fellow!--she fancied she saw him sitting in the cold, lonely chamber, crying bitterly at his sister’s prolonged absence:--and then a thousand fears haunted her--all distracting in the extreme. Might he not take it into his head to go out to look after her?--he, who was so ignorant of London!--and then might he not be lost in the mazes of the mighty metropolis, and on a night when it would be almost death to him to wander about the flooded streets? Oh! all these fears--these thoughts were terrible;--for she dearly loved her little brother--loved him, perhaps, the more affectionately, the more tenderly, because their orphan condition rendered him so completely dependant upon her,--and because he was so much attached to her, and his ways were so winning--his disposition so cheerful!

“In the midst of these harrowing meditations a policeman opened the trap in the door of the cell, and called her by name--‘Julia Murray!’ She answered in a faint and feeble tone; and the officer was about to close the trap, satisfied that his prisoner was not ill nor had attempted suicide,--when the young woman suddenly exclaimed, ‘Stop one moment!’--‘Well, what is it?’ demanded the constable.--In a few hurried words Julia explained to him how she had a little brother expecting her return, how he would be overwhelmed with grief at her unaccountable absence, and how grateful she should feel if any one could be sent to inform the child that his sister would be certain to return in the morning. The constable, who was a kind-hearted man, promised that her request should be complied with; and he was about to depart when, a thought striking him, he said, ‘But are you so sure, young woman, of getting off so easy as you imagine. The charge is a serious one, mind!’--‘The charge!’ she repeated: ‘I do not even yet know what it is!’--‘Oh! that’s all gammon,’ cried the constable, closing the trap abruptly; and now, his opinion of the prisoner being that she was a hardened impostor, and had some sinister motive in view in sending a message to her lodgings, determined to trouble himself no more concerning the matter. It was, however, some consolation to the poor girl to believe that her commission would be duly executed;--for, though she had heard the officer’s unfeeling, cutting observation relative to her ignorance of the accusation against her, she could not for an instant suppose that he would neglect to fulfil his promise regarding her little brother. But wearily--wearily passed away that night--not once did the poor dress-maker close her eyes--and she counted every hour that was proclaimed from the neighbouring church-clock--often saying to herself that never, never had time travelled with such leaden pace before! She had not tasted food for many hours--and yet she was not hungry; but she experienced a terrible faintness at the chest, and an oppressiveness on the brain, that at intervals made her mind wander. Her cloak was dripping wet when she had been locked up, and her shoes, stockings, and the lower part of her dress were saturated;--but she had thrown her cloak aside, and her garments had dried upon her;--and now she felt not positively cold--only a numbness in her limbs, which gave her however no pain.

“At length the dull, misty, wintry morning dawned upon the metropolis--though all was still dark in her gloomy cell. Presently an officer entered, and gave her a cup of hot coffee and a piece of bread. She asked him if the message had been sent to her brother;--but he was not the same constable who had made the round of the cells at midnight, and therefore knew nothing about the matter. Moreover, he was a stern, sulky man; and she dared not speak farther to him--much as she longed to ascertain the real nature of the charge against her. She drank the coffee, which seemed to do her good;--but she could not force a single mouthful of the bread down her throat--though the cravings of hunger now began to oppress her cruelly. But, to use a common phrase, her heart heaved against food. A couple of hours more passed away, and then the same policeman who had arrested her on the preceding evening came to conduct her to the police-office. While they were proceeding thither, Julia enquired the nature of the charge against her; and she now learnt for the first time that the coin which she had changed at the bakers, and which she had believed to be a sovereign, was only a gilt counter, of the kind used at card tables in genteel society. She was cruelly shocked at this information, and frankly and candidly explained to the officer the manner in which she had become possessed of it; but he only shook his head, and seemed to put but little faith in her story. Julia was, however, too much absorbed in the vexation and ignominy she had thus been subjected to, and was still enduring, to notice the man’s incredulity;--but she clung to the hope that her tale would be believed by the magistrate before whom she was about to appear. It happened that the usual charges of drunkenness were just disposed of, at the moment when the young female entered the court; and she was accordingly at once placed at the bar--the baker being already in attendance to prefer his charge against her. This he did in a plain and straight-forward manner,--showing no ill-feeling against the prisoner--but, on the contrary, alleging that he had always believed her to be a highly respectable, industrious, and praise-worthy young woman until the present transaction took place. He added that he had given her into custody in a moment of irritation, believing himself to have been duped; and that he should be truly delighted if she could make her innocence apparent. Julia’s courage was somewhat restored by the forbearing conduct of the baker--for her own good sense told her that the case was really one involving much unpleasant suspicion;--and she now told her tale with an artlessness and sincerity that produced no inconsiderable effect upon the bench. Nevertheless, as the magistrate observed, it certainly appeared strange that a gentleman should have given her a gilt counter in mistake for a sovereign,--strange also that a mere stranger should have intended to bestow upon her a sovereign at all. The magistrate proceeded to state that the prisoner must be remanded, in order that the gentleman of whom she spoke--if her story were true--might come forward, upon seeing the report of the case in the newspapers, and tender his evidence. Julia burst out into an agony of weeping, when she heard that she must go to prison for a week; and the baker requested the magistrate to re-consider his decision. This appeal was, however, made in vain; but it was intimated that bail would be received for the prisoner’s re-appearance. The baker gave a whispered assurance to the unhappy girl that he would get two of his friends to become security for her; and this promise consoled her. When she was removed from the office, on her way to a cell in the rear of the establishment, the baker told her that his wife had taken care of her brother, who had passed the night at their house: and he expressed his deep regret that he should have proceeded against her, as he had learnt from her landlady that she was a young woman of most exemplary character. To be brief, the baker performed his promise of procuring bail for the prisoner; and at about two o’clock in the afternoon she was enabled to return home.

“Little Harry was speedily brought back to her by the baker’s wife, who, it appeared, had bitterly reproached her husband on the preceding evening for his conduct towards Miss Murray, and, with considerate kindness, had at once sent for her brother, whom the good woman consoled with some plausible tale accounting for his sister’s absence. Julia was not however happy, even though restored to liberty; for the charge still hung over her--and so much depended on the chance of the appearance of her unknown benefactor, who, she still firmly believed, had accidentally and most unintentionally given her the gilt counter which had led to so much wretchedness and serious embarrassment. Her first care was now, however, to proceed to the house of the old Marchioness of Wilmington, with the silk-dress, which was completely spoiled; and Julia’s heart was heavy as she hurried along Oxford Street. The weather was dull and gloomy; but the rain had ceased, and the two streams of people flowed on, in different directions, without the hurry, bustle, and struggling that had prevailed on the preceding evening. Julia’s bosom palpitated nervously when she reached the spot where the accident had occurred--that accident to which her present sorrows might be traced. On reaching the house of that marchioness in Hanover Square, the poor girl was conducted into the presence of the dowager--a proud, stately dame whose age exceeded fifty, but who endeavoured by means of rouge, false hair, false teeth, and the appliances of the toilette, to appear at least twenty years younger. Her ladyship was seated in a small, but elegantly furnished parlour, and was occupied in reading--no, in skimming--the last new novel, which, according to the usual fashion, had been carefully spun out into three volumes, though all the incidents it contained might with advantage have been condensed into one. At a beautiful little work-table, sate a lovely creature of two-and-twenty, with hair as dark as jet, fine large black eyes, and a tall symmetrical, but rather robust figure. On this fair young lady’s countenance there was a slight shade of melancholy; and her cheeks were somewhat pale--but apparently through a secret care, and not ill-health. This was Lady Caroline Jerningham, the only daughter of the marchioness, and consequently sister to the Marquis of Wilmington, her ladyship’s only son.

“On entering the presence of these ladies, Julia, who had previously arranged in her own imagination the precise terms in which she proposed to tell her tale,--with a strict adherence to truth,--forgot all her studied task, and became overwhelmed with confusion. The marchioness looked so stately--so prim--so queen-like in her deportment, not to say positively austere, that the poor girl was seized with vague apprehensions and unknown terrors, as if she had committed a great and grievous fault. Lady Caroline, however, cast upon her a look of such kind encouragement, and also of such significance, that it almost struck Julia at the moment that the young patrician lady had a fore-knowledge of the disaster which had occurred to the dress. Yet how was that possible?--and as the absurdity of such an idea forced itself upon the girl’s mind the instant after the idea itself was entertained, her confusion and embarrassment were increased, and she burst into tears. The dowager uttered an ejaculation of surprise; and Julia, hastily wiping her eyes, cast an appealing glance on Lady Caroline, who, to her relief and amazement, she beheld gazing upon her with an expression of reassurance and deep--almost tender interest. Encouraged by the evident graciousness of the young lady, Julia proceeded to open the parcel; and, while so doing, she began an explanation of the accident which had occurred to the dress. The countenance of the marchioness, to whom she glanced timidly, lowered and contracted;--but Lady Caroline hastened to observe, in a kind and condescending manner, ‘Whatever has happened to the dress, Miss Murray, I am confident my mother will attribute to a misfortune, and to no blameable neglect on your part.’--‘Permit me to answer for myself, Lady Caroline,’ said the dowager, in a tone of haughty remonstrance to her daughter, and with an austere look at the trembling Julia. ‘Young woman,’ she continued, now addressing herself direct to the poor girl, ‘you were recommended to me by Lady Lumley, as an efficient, honest, careful, and deserving person,--one, who, having been brought up tenderly and by parents moving in a genteel sphere until the time of their decease, was suddenly compelled to have recourse to the needle to earn a subsistence. Under such circumstances, and with this recommendation, I sent for you--I agreed to give you a trial--and, as I perceive, you have spoilt for me a dress that will cost me ten guineas to replace it.’--‘I admit, my lady,’ said Julia, ‘that you have great cause to be dissatisfied. But heaven is my witness that it was an accident; and if your ladyship will permit me, I will toil day and night until I shall have obtained the wherewith to make good the loss.’--‘No, young woman,’ observed the marchioness, somewhat mollified by the artlessness and respectful demeanour of Julia Murray; ‘I cannot, being rich, oppress you, who are poor. All that I can do in the case is to decline giving you any farther employment. You may retire:’ and, having thus spoken with a sententious pomposity that would have become a statesman, the noble lady waved her hand authoritatively.

“Julia’s eyes filled with tears, which nearly blinded her--so that she observed not how peculiar was the interest with which Lady Caroline Jerningham was surveying her:--but, having vainly endeavoured to stammer forth a few words imploring a continuance of the patronage of the marchioness, she hurried from the room. On the landing outside she paused for a few moments to wipe away the traces of tears from her countenance and somewhat compose herself; for she shrank from the idea of attracting unpleasant notice on the part of the lacqueys lounging in the hall through which she must pass to reach the street-door. Suddenly she felt a gentle touch upon the shoulder; for she had seated herself in a chair on the landing, being overcome with grief and physical exhaustion;--and starting up, she beheld Lady Caroline standing by her side. ‘Hush!’ said the fair patrician, placing her finger upon her lip, and glancing towards the parlour-door, as much as to imply that she had stolen away from her mother’s presence and would not have her motive suspected: ‘here, my poor girl, take this--and, when you require a friend, fear not to apply to me--but by letter, remember, in the first instance!’--Thus speaking, Lady Caroline thrust five sovereigns into Julia’s hand, and instantly returned to the parlour, not waiting a moment to receive the thanks of the astonished and delighted girl.

“Julia Murray now hurried home, and found little Harry anxiously expecting her return;--for, although he was too young to comprehend the nature of the alarms which she had experienced, when sallying forth, on account of the spoilt dress, yet he was fearful lest she might remain away from him for several hours again. He had no cares--that poor little fellow--when his sister was with him; and he now asked her, in so sweet yet earnest a manner, not to leave him any more during a whole night, that she felt as if she would go through fire and water for that darling boy. But she had no work in hand; and though she possessed five sovereigns,--real sovereigns, and no gilt counters this time,--yet she could not bear the idea of being idle. She however promised to remain at home all that day; and she prepared a nice little dinner, which made Harry so happy that she wished--Oh! how sincerely she wished--she could always provide for him in the same manner. She endeavoured to appear as cheerful as she could;--but there was a weight upon her spirits--for the accusation still hung over her head, and she was in suspense whether the unknown would see her case in the papers, and appear to justify her. Besides, would not the publicity given to the affair injure her with those kind patronesses who had hitherto taken such an interest in the orphan girl? and, should the stranger-gentleman not be forthcoming, would not a stigma be affixed upon her character, even though the magistrate (as the baker assured her must be the alternative) should dismiss the case? Of all these things she thought;--and when Harry noticed her not, a pearly tear would trickle down her pale but beauteous face. For Julia was very beautiful. Her hair was of a rich dark brown--her eyes of melting blue--her teeth of pearly whiteness--and her shape elegant, graceful, and sylph-like.

“On the ensuing morning, after breakfast, Julia had just put on her bonnet and shawl to go out for the purpose of calling upon her various patronesses and enquiring whether they needed her services, when the landlady of the house in which she lodged, entered the room and said, ‘Miss Murray, a gentleman wishes to speak to you: he will not walk up to your apartment, as he does not know whether you may choose to receive him here; and he is accordingly waiting in my parlour.’--A ray of hope flashed to the mind of the young woman: what if it were the unknown who had given her the gilt counter? The suspicion was strengthened by the delicacy of his behaviour in not ascending to her chamber; for, during the brief discourse which she had with him on the night so fatal to her, he had manifested a disposition quite in accordance with the propriety of conduct and considerate proceeding adopted by the individual who now waited to see her. Telling Harry that she should not be long, Julia hurried down stairs; and in a few moments she found herself in the presence of the individual who was uppermost in her thoughts. Yes:--it was indeed he--the unknown,--the same tall, handsome man,--and enveloped, too, in a cloak richly lined with sables. He was about eight-and-twenty years of age; and there was something noble and commanding, though gracious and encouraging, in his air and demeanour. The moment Julia made her appearance, he rose from the chair in which he had been seated, and taking her hand, said in a tone of the most earnest sincerity, ‘Miss Murray, I know not in what terms to express the shame and grief which I experience at the misfortune that has overtaken you. It was not until I saw this mornings newspaper, that I even dreamt of the mistake--the dreadful mistake I had made: and the instant the case met my eyes, I hurried hither. The explanation which I have to give, you can of course anticipate:--I had purchased some gilt counters only half-an-hour before I met you in Hanover Square, and I put them loose into the same pocket which contained my money.’--‘I never for an instant imagined, sir,’ said Julia, ‘that you had purposely trifled with my feelings.’--‘Generous young woman, to put such a construction upon a matter which has caused you so much suffering!’ exclaimed the unknown. ‘But it is now my duty to accompany you at once to the police-court, and place your character in the same honourable light in which it originally stood.’--Julia was overjoyed at this announcement; and the gentleman, giving her his arm, escorted her to the police-court, calling however on the baker in their way to desire him to attend immediately before the magistrate. During the walk, the stranger asked the young woman a great many questions--not of an impertinent nature, nor denoting an idle curiosity,--but rather evincing an interest in the orphan girl. It however struck Julia as somewhat singular that he did not put a single query to her relative to the spoilt dress: it seemed as if he had quite forgotten that incident!

“On their arrival at the police-office, the gentleman immediately handed his card to the magistrate, to whom he whispered a few words at the same time; and his worship became all civility and politeness. The case was called on without a moment’s delay: the gentleman concisely but effectually explained the affair of the gilt counter; and the magistrate, on declaring Julia to be discharged, assured her that she would leave the court without the slightest stain on her character. The stranger placed ten pounds in the magistrate’s hands for the use of the poor-box, and then departed in company with Julia, whom he escorted back to the house in which she dwelt. On reaching the door, he paused, and taking her hand, said, ‘Miss Murray, I shall not insult you by offering a pecuniary recompense for the mortification, annoyance, and distress you have undergone through that gilt counter. But I shall endeavour to serve you in another way. Farewell for the present: you will shortly see me again; for, be assured,’ he added, gazing earnestly upon her for a moment, ‘I shall never forget you.’--Thus speaking, he pressed her hand and hurried away;--and it was not until he had disappeared from her view that she remembered she was still in profound ignorance of who or what he was. It, however, struck her that the case would be again reported in the newspapers; and she therefore hoped that the morrow would clear up the mystery. But it was with some degree of anxiety and painful suspense that she thus awaited the publication of the journals of the ensuing day;--and she could not account to herself for the feelings that thus agitated her. Although her character had been completely cleared from the imputation thrown upon it, and her innocence was made unquestionably apparent,--although she had ample funds, through the generosity of Lady Caroline Jerningham, to provide for all present wants,--and although a secret voice seemed to whisper in her soul that she possessed a good friend in the stranger-gentleman,--yet, somehow or another, poor Julia was not entirely contented. Was it that the handsome countenance of her unknown benefactor had made any impression on her heart?--was it that his kind and sympathising conduct had touched a tender chord in her pure and innocent bosom? It is impossible to answer these questions at present: but it is very certain that Julia experienced a disappointment almost amounting to a positive shock, when she found that the morning papers seemed to be in as much ignorance as herself relative to her unknown benefactor. The report merely alluded to him as ‘a gentleman whose name did not transpire;’--and this mystery in which her friend evidently wrapped himself, became a source of secret trouble to the young dress-maker. Wherefore had he not revealed his name to her? Disreputable that name could not be; else how could it have produced so magical an effect upon the magistrate? Was it, then, a great--a famous--or a noble name? Julia sighed--and dared not hazard any conjectures: but in her heart there suddenly appeared to arise a hope--a secret wish, that the stranger was not so very highly exalted above her own social sphere!

“Again was Julia preparing to sally forth and visit the various ladies for whom she was accustomed to work, when her landlady brought her up a note. It was from Lady Caroline Jerningham, requesting Miss Murray to call upon her in the evening at a stated hour, as her ladyship had a quantity of work to place in her hands. The young maiden was overjoyed at the receipt of this missive, which not only promised her employment, but likewise seemed to be an assurance of the tender interest which the charming Lady Caroline had taken in her. She did not therefore stir out until the evening;--and little Harry was delighted that his sister remained at home with him. But when the appointed hour drew near, she tranquillised her brother with a promise of a speedy return; and away she sped, with a heart full of hope, towards Hanover Square. On reaching the splendid mansion occupied by the Dowager-Marchioness, Julia was received by Lady Caroline’s own maid, and was forthwith conducted to the chamber of her fair patroness, who treated her in the most kind and condescending manner. ‘I regret, Miss Murray,’ she said, ‘that I am forced to admit you thus stealthily into the house; but my mother is of a peculiar temper, although in reality possessed of a good heart.’--‘I understand your ladyship,’ returned Julia: ‘the Marchioness cannot forgive me for what she considers neglect. I am however deeply grateful to your ladyship for thinking otherwise, and for giving me such substantial proofs that you entertain so favourable an opinion.’--‘My dear Miss Murray,’ observed Lady Caroline, ‘I will do any thing I can to serve you; for I can well imagine how grateful must be the sympathy of a friend to one who is acquainted with sorrow!’--These words were uttered with almost a mournful emphasis, as if the fair speaker craved that sympathy and friendship for herself which she proffered to another;--and Julia could not help regarding her with mingled surprise, gratitude, and tender interest. They were alone together--that elegant patrician lady and that beautiful milliner,--the maid having retired; and it appeared as if a species of sisterly feeling suddenly sprang up between them, inspiring them with mutual confidence, and for the time annihilating the barrier that social distinctions had raised up between them in the eyes of the world. Thus was it that when Lady Caroline saw Julia’s looks fixed upon her in so earnest and plaintive a manner, she felt herself irresistibly urged to respond to that tacit yet eloquent proffer of sympathy and affection. ‘Ah! my dear Miss Murray,’ she said, ‘you must not imagine that unhappiness exists only with those who have to toil for their daily bread. Perhaps, indeed, their lot is preferable to that of the rich who have causes of grief;--for you have a constant occupation which allows little leisure for disagreeable reflection; whereas I have so much time----’.--Lady Caroline checked herself, turned away, and hastily passed a handkerchief across her face. She had perhaps said more than she intended: for, from speaking of the richer and poorer classes in general terms, she had been carried into personal illustration of the truth of her remarks by pointedly placing herself and Julia in juxta-position. Miss Murray, though totally devoid of artfulness, was yet endowed with an intellect keen enough to perceive this fact: and she now learnt, then--as indeed she had previously suspected--that Lady Caroline was unhappy. But it was not for her to invite a revelation of the fair patrician’s cause of sorrow: she therefore remained silent.

“‘Julia,’ said her ladyship, suddenly turning towards her again, and taking her hand as she thus spoke,--‘Julia,’ she repeated, in an earnest, appealing tone, ‘I will be a friend to you; but it may happen that I also shall require the aid and sympathy of a friend----’; and, once more checking herself, she sighed profoundly.--‘I would serve you night and day, dear lady!’ exclaimed the young milliner, pressing to her lips the hand which still grasped her own.--‘I have not read your disposition inaccurately, dearest girl,’ responded Lady Caroline: then, assuming a more cheerful tone, she said, ‘Be it understood, we are friends! And now you must leave me, as my mother will be enquiring after me.’--Julia received a parcel containing a variety of costly stuffs, which she was to make up into dresses for her fair patroness, and which would furnish her with work for at least a month; and, as she was leaving the room, Lady Caroline said, ‘My own maid will call upon you every Saturday evening and bring away whatever you may have finished, until the whole be complete.’--They then separated, Lady Caroline pressing Julia’s hand warmly at parting; and the young dressmaker hurried homeward, her heart beating with joy at the kindness which she had experienced and the friendship she had formed. ‘After all,’ she murmured to herself, as she ascended the stair-case to her chamber, where little Harry was sitting up to await her return.--‘after all, the adventure of the spoilt dress has proved a service, rather than an injury, to me: and perhaps,’ she added,--but it was her heart, and not her lips, that now spoke,--‘the affair of the gilt counter may likewise bring me good luck!’

“Julia now addressed herself to the work of which she had such profusion; and while she sate plying her needle, with little Harry playing about the room, she often thought of the handsome unknown. Every day, after the frugal dinner, she took her brother out to walk for an hour, that a little exercise and fresh air might benefit them both; and, of an evening, when she laid aside her work, she gave him instruction in many useful branches of education. During the day, too, he learnt his lessons; and never did she suffer him to go out alone into the streets--no, not even on the slightest errand. In fact, this excellent young woman took as much care of her little orphan brother as if she had been his parent, instead of his sister; and it was a charming as well as touching sight to behold them repairing to the parish church on a Sabbath-morning,--each attired with so much neatness, and yet in a plain and unobtrusive manner. Well, three weeks had passed since the interview between Julia and Lady Caroline; and on each Saturday evening her ladyship’s maid called to receive and pay for the work that was finished. The domestic was sure to have some pretty present from her mistress for Julia, and a handsome toy--such as a transparent slate, or puzzle, or a miniature carpenter’s tool-box--for Harry; and the grateful milliner sent back her kindest but most respectful regards to her good patroness. But during those three weeks she had neither seen nor heard any thing of the handsome stranger;--and yet, had he not promised that he would shortly call again? Wherefore should he call? Julia never paused to ask herself that question;--but she did sometimes admit, within the secret recesses of her own heart, that she thought it somewhat unkind he did not fulfil his promise, after the distress she had endured in consequence of the mistake he had made respecting the gilt counter. One day the landlady tapped at Julia’s door; and, on being desired to enter, the good woman informed her that ‘the gentleman in the cloak,’ was waiting in the parlour below. A blush instantly spread itself over Julia’s cheeks; whereupon the landlady said in a low but impressive tone, ‘you need not be ashamed of an honest attachment, Miss; and I know you are too good a girl to form any other. In fact, I told the gentleman what an excellent creature you were, and how well you behaved to your little brother.’--‘You told him all that?’ exclaimed Julia, looking up in a surprise mingled with secret pleasure, while the blush upon her beauteous countenance deepened.--‘Certainly I did, Miss,’ replied the landlady: ‘but not to-day. It was when he called on account of that unpleasant little affair, you know; and before he sent me up to fetch you down, he asked no end of questions about you; and he seemed so pleased when I told him that you were such a good, industrious young person, and so kind to your orphan brother; and how you kept yourself so quiet and respectable, having no acquaintances scarcely, and certainly no visitors except your lady-customers or their maids.’--‘But the gentleman did not ask all those questions?’ said Julia, in a hesitating manner and with a tremulous voice, while her heart palpitated with emotions of unknown pleasure.--‘Indeed he did, Miss,’ returned the landlady. ‘But, dear me! now I think of it, he charged me not to tell you that he had asked any thing at all concerning you: and by the same token, he gave me a sovereign to hold my tongue in this respect; and therefore, Miss, you must not even look as if you knew a syllable of what occurred on that occasion. I am sure he is some great person in disguise; and I am also certain that he has fallen in love with you.’--Julia’s countenance now became scarlet; and she was about to make a remonstrative reply, when little Harry, who began to grow impatient of so much mysterious whispering between his sister and the landlady, approached them, saying, ‘Is any thing the matter, dear Julia?’--‘Nothing, my darling boy,’ was the cheerful reply: ‘I shall return in a few minutes;’--and Julia hastened down stairs, the landlady remaining with Harry.

“Though the young maiden endeavoured to compose herself as much as possible, yet all that the landlady had told her rushed to her mind with renewed force and stronger significancy just as she crossed the threshold of the parlour and appeared in the presence of the gentleman in the cloak. He observed her confusion--noticed the blush that mantled on her cheeks--and, mistaking the cause said, as he took her hand, ‘I am afraid, Miss Murray, that you consider it indiscreet for me thus to pay my respects to you; and indeed, that fear has prevented me from calling sooner.’--Julia started, cast down her eyes, and made no reply; for in her artless innocence, it had never before struck her that, an evil construction might be placed upon the visits of the gentleman: but now the conviction that such was indeed the result to be apprehended, was forced--yes, painfully forced--upon her sensitive mind. The stranger read what was passing in her imagination; and if he were delighted to observe that the danger which he had specified was previously unsuspected by her ingenuous soul, he was not the less gratified to acquire the certainty that her pure thoughts were shocked by the idea of compromising her reputation.--‘Fear not, Miss Murray,’ he continued, again taking her hand; ‘I should be the last person on the face of the earth to do you a wilful injury in any way. I have merely called, as in duty bound, to assure myself that you have perfectly recovered from the effects of the distressing ordeal through which you were compelled to pass in consequence of my carelessness. But innocence, Miss Murray,’ he added, emphatically, ‘will invariably triumph in the long run; and virtue will not ever languish unrewarded. Your exemplary conduct, Miss Murray, must sooner or later be adequately recompensed: your tenderness towards your orphan brother must ensure for you the esteem and respect of all liberal and honest persons. May I request, as a particular favour, that you will presently call on Mr. Richardson, the solicitor, in Berners Street, close by; as I know that he has some tidings, of rather an agreeable character, to impart to you.’--With these words, the stranger pressed the young maiden’s hand, and respectfully took his leave of her.

“Julia hastened back to her own chamber, and related to the worthy, well-meaning, but garrulous landlady, every thing that the gentleman in the cloak had said to her. ‘Ah! Miss,’ cried the woman, ‘I seemed to have a fore-knowledge that something good was to happen to you; and now I am sure of it. But pray make haste and see what the lawyer wants with you.’--Julia did not require to be pressed upon this point: she herself was too anxious to solve this new mystery to permit any unnecessary delay to take place; and, having dressed little Harry in his Sunday apparel, she put on her best bonnet and shawl, and away the sister went with her little brother to the lawyer’s. They entered an office in which there were a great many clerks, who all left off writing to turn round and have a look at the pretty young lady--for a lady did Julia really seem, as she actually was by birth, education, and manners;--but when she timidly mentioned her name, she found herself the object of the most respectful attention. The head clerk ushered her and her brother into a handsome apartment, where an elderly gentleman, with a benevolent countenance, was seated at a desk covered with papers; and the reception which he gave Julia Murray was more than courteous--it was cordial and, as it were, paternally kind. ‘Sit down, young lady,’ he said, handing her to a chair: ‘and you, my little fellow, place yourself near your sister. And now, Miss Murray,’ he continued, raising his large silver spectacles from his eyes to his forehead, ‘I have some good news to communicate to you; and I am sure, after all I have heard of you, I am proud and happy to be the medium of conveying any thing agreeable to your ears.’--‘You are very kind, sir,’ murmured the young maiden, still in the deepest suspense.--‘Did you ever hear your late father speak of any one who owed him a sum of money?’ enquired the lawyer.--Julia reflected for a few moments, and then replied in the negative.--‘Well, perhaps he did not mention his private affairs before you,’ observed the lawyer; ‘it is nevertheless a fact, that many years ago he advanced a certain sum to a friend who was in difficulties; but these embarrassments continued, ending in bankruptcy or something of the sort; and so your poor father lost the whole amount thus advanced. The friend went abroad; and he has latterly returned to England, a rich man--having retrieved his fortunes in a foreign clime. He made enquiries after your parents, and to his sorrow learnt that they were no more; but he could not succeed in tracing you out. At length he saw a report of a certain case in the newspaper, and ascertained that you were the young lady therein mentioned. His sorrow at the first appearance of the affair was only equalled by his joy when he beheld the result; for he has your interest deeply at heart. He has, however, been compelled to leave London in a great hurry;--but before he went away, he gave me certain instructions, which I have fulfilled with all possible despatch. The sum which he borrowed of your father, with compound interest, amounts to six hundred pounds; and this money I have laid out for you in the purchase of a neat little house, with good, serviceable furniture, in Camden Town. There is an excellent young gentlemen’s school close by; and my client has paid a year in advance for Master Harry’s tuition. He also intends that you shall be at no expense for the boy’s education. Over and above all this, I am instructed to place these fifty pounds in your hands; and if my client has thus done more than his actual liability to your father required, it is simply as a recompense for the long delay which has occurred in refunding a loan so generously advanced and so vitally necessary to him at the time. Now, my dear young lady, I have no more to say, farther than that this card furnishes the address of your house, of which I likewise present you the key; and may this little gleam of good fortune encourage you to pursue the course which has hitherto won for you so much esteem, and which may yet lead you to the highest pinnacle of happiness and prosperity.’--With these words, the kind-hearted man shook Julia warmly by the hand; the young maiden endeavoured to express her heart-felt gratitude for the unexpected benefits thus showered upon her: but tears--tears of happiness flowed down her cheeks--and her bosom was so full of strange and conflicting emotions, that her powers of utterance were suspended. Even as she took up the bank notes, the key, and the card, and thrust them all together into her little silk bag, her hands trembled so that she could scarcely perform those simple acts; and when in a few minutes she found herself walking along the street, with little Harry by her side, she could not remember leaving the lawyer’s office. She fancied that she had been giving way to some wild hallucination--some absurd delusion of the brain: but when she felt in her bag, there were the proofs of the reality!

“It was no easy task to make little Harry comprehend the altered nature of their circumstances. He could not conceive how his sister had possibly obtained a house of her own, and fancied that she was joking with him; for he had not been able to understand very much of what the lawyer had said to Julia. However, all doubts on the boy’s part vanished, when he heard his sister explain to their landlady every thing that had taken place at Mr. Richardson’s, and conclude by requesting that good woman to accompany her forthwith to Camden Town. This desire was complied with; and away they all three went in a cab to the address designated upon the card. In due time the vehicle drew up opposite a neat house forming one of a terrace recently built; and the little party entered the dwelling with the least possible delay. It was all new from top to bottom,--the furniture, which was substantial and good, was new likewise;--the hangings to the windows and the carpets had been selected with admirable taste in reference to the colour and pattern of the paper on the walls:--in fact, the abode was fitted up in the most comfortable manner! ‘I congratulate you, my dear Miss Murray,’ exclaimed her companion; ‘and I am sure I am as delighted as yourself, although I shall lose you as a lodger. But you do not, then, think that it was the gentleman in the cloak who has done all this?’--‘No,’ answered Julia; ‘that cannot be, because I am sure the gentleman you speak of never knew my father; and moreover the kind friend who has thus handsomely repaid the money my father lent him, has gone out of town.’--‘Then how came the gentleman in the cloak to call and tell you, Miss, that the lawyer wished to see you?’--‘Ah! I never thought of that!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘And yet,’ she added, after a few moments’ serious reflection, ‘Mr. Richardson said that my father’s debtor had found me out through the medium of the newspaper report; and this circumstance may have brought him and the gentleman in the cloak together.’--‘True!’ ejaculated the garrulous woman. ‘Oh! what a sweet place this is, to be sure!’--‘It is too good for me,’ said Julia, in a mournful tone, the first feelings of delight now yielding to sober reflection: ‘the occupant of such a house as this requires a servant, and should possess a certain income; whereas I cannot afford the former, not possessing the latter.’--‘Oh! Miss, are you blind to all the advantages now spread before your eyes?’ demanded the woman. ‘Here you are in your own house, rent free, and with fifty pounds in your pocket--Harry’s schooling to be paid into the bargain! All your kind patronesses will give you as much work as you can possibly manage, now that they will see how you are getting on in the world; and the number of your customers must increase. Then you can have the assistance of one or two respectable young girls; and you will not only obtain a good living, but be able to save money.’--Julia saw the truth of these observations; and her heart was relieved from a heavy load.--‘Besides,’ said the talkative but well-meaning woman, ’it would seem like flying in the face of Providence not to be thankful for such bounties.’--‘Yes,’ ejaculated Julia, touched more profoundly by this remark than by the worldly reasoning previously advanced by her companion: ‘I do sincerely and firmly believe that HE, who watches all our ways and knows all our steps, has taken compassion upon me and my darling brother; and I receive in thankfulness the blessings thus showered upon me!’--Thus speaking, the young maiden turned aside for a few moments; and heart-felt though short was the prayer which she breathed in silence to the Almighty Ruler of the Universe!

“On the following day Julia and her little brother removed to their new house. It would be vain to attempt to describe the joy and delight experienced by little Harry at this change, the more so inasmuch as there was a large piece of ground attached to the back part of the dwelling, where he could play when the weather was fine. Through the agency of her late landlady, a poor widow-woman, of middle age, steady habits, and great respectability, was recommended to Julia as servant or housekeeper; and thus commenced the economy of the little household. Julia’s first care was to address a note to all her kind patronesses to acquaint them with her removal; and Lady Caroline Jerningham was not forgotten. Harry commenced his attendance at the neighbouring school, the master of which called upon Miss Murray and informed her that he had received from Mr. Richardson a year’s payment in advance for the boy’s tuition; and the preceptor being a kind, worthy man, Harry soon became a great favourite with him. Several weeks passed away; and it was astonishing how Julia’s business increased. Carriages were constantly stopping at her door, the number of her patronesses rapidly augmenting; and, on enquiry, she usually found that the new recommendations emanated from Lady Caroline, who appeared, by these results, to be constantly thinking of her friend, the young milliner. In fact, Julia had so much work upon her hands that she was compelled to give a great portion out to respectable needle-women in the neighbourhood; for she preferred this mode of fulfilling her engagements, rather than by taking assistants into the house.

“Four months had thus passed away; and during this interval Julia had never once seen the gentleman in the cloak; nor had she received a visit from her father’s debtor, to whose honesty and generosity she owed so much. She called once upon Mr. Richardson to express a hope that the individual thus alluded to would give her an opportunity of thanking him personally; but the lawyer assured her, and, as she thought, somewhat abruptly, that he had left the country on a long voyage; and she returned home, much vexed at the tidings she had received. One evening--it was a Saturday evening, and at about nine o’clock--a cab stopped at the door, and a double-knock immediately announced some visitor. It happened that the housekeeper was absent on a visit of two or three days to some relations in the country--the girl who had been temporarily hired to do her work, and who did not sleep in the house, had gone for the night--and Harry was in bed in his own little room adjoining his sister’s bed-chamber up-stairs. Julia was accordingly compelled to answer the door herself; and her surprise was only equalled by her delight, when she found that her visitress was Lady Caroline Jerningham, who had arrived thus mysteriously in a common street-cab, which she had dismissed on alighting at her young friend’s house. Miss Murray received her with the most sincere manifestations of joy, and conducted her into the parlour, where a cheerful fire was burning in the grate; for though it was now the month of April, yet the evenings had not entirely lost the chill of winter. You must remember that Julia had not seen Lady Caroline since that evening when the latter sent for her to the mansion in Hanover Square, and on which occasion they had exchanged vows of friendship. Nearly five months had passed since that date; and it struck Julia, as the light of the candles flashed upon the fair patrician’s countenance, that she was much altered. Her face was pale and care-worn; and her eyes beamed not with their wonted fires. ‘My dear Julia,’ she said, seating her self near the fire, ‘I had intended to call upon you long ago; but I have been ill and suffering, in mind and body. However,’ she added, hastily, ‘I have never once forgotten you; and I am delighted to find that your business has prospered so well.’--‘I am under obligations to your ladyship which I can never repay,’ exclaimed Julia, taking the patrician’s hand, and conveying it to her lips.--‘Do not address me in that formal style, Julia,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘My God!’ she cried, bitterly, ‘would that I were not of noble birth: would that I were a daughter of toil; for then I should not have the thousand Argus-eyes of the world upon me!’--and she clasped her hands in a manner indicative of deep mental anguish.--‘Dearest Lady Caroline,’ exclaimed Julia, ‘what ails you? Oh! tell me, and show me how I may minister to you in your sufferings!’--‘You once assured me, Julia, that you would serve me by day and by night,’ said Lady Caroline, speaking in a low and almost hollow tone, and casting anxious glances around as if she were afraid of being overheard.--‘Yes, dearest lady,’ returned Julia, emphatically; ‘and I renew that pledge! By day and by night can you command me.’--‘Are we in danger of intrusion?’ demanded Lady Caroline anxiously.--‘Not in the least, dear lady: excepting my little brother, who is asleep in his own chamber, we are alone in the house.’--‘Heaven be thanked!’ ejaculated Caroline Jerningham, speaking as if at least some portion of the heavy weight that lay upon her heart, were removed by this assurance.--‘My generous friend,’ said Julia, ‘I see that you have a terrible but secret cause of grief; make me your confidant, I implore you! If I can aid you, I shall rejoice indeed to have the opportunity of proving my gratitude for all the kindness I have received at your hands; and if I cannot assist, I may at least be able to console you!’--‘Dearest Julia, I do indeed require a friend at this moment; for surely never was wretched woman in such dreadful embarrassment as myself! For the last few weeks I have lived only like one distracted--keeping my chamber, and affecting an illness, though steadily refusing to receive the advice of the family physician! And now, fortunately my mother has gone on a visit for a few days to some friends in the country; and my own maid is in my confidence and is trustworthy. Thus my absence from home will not be suspected; and in this is now my only hope! O Julia, Julia--can you not understand my meaning?’--then, casting herself at the feet of the young milliner, the almost heart-broken Lady Caroline exclaimed, in the wildest paroxysm of bitter, bitter grief, as she joined her hands imploringly, ‘Save my honour, Julia--save my reputation,--and by so doing you save my life: for I would perish by my own hand rather than endure exposure!’--‘My God! dearest lady, what do you mean?’ demanded Julia, fearful lest her friend’s senses were leaving her, and that she was uttering meaningless phrases in the incipient aberration of the intellect: ‘tell me, how can I save you in any way? for you know that you may depend upon me to the utmost!’--‘How can you save me!’ repeated the agonising young lady, in a voice of the most plaintive appeal: ‘Oh! do you not comprehend my condition, Julia? And yet I am about to become a mother!’

“These words fell with stupefying, astounding effect upon the ears of Julia Murray: indeed, she could scarcely believe that she had rightly interpreted their meaning. The unhappy Caroline mistook the cause of the young milliner’s silence and amazement; and, rising from her suppliant posture, she exclaimed, while the proud patrician blood rushed to her cheeks, ‘I understand you, Miss: you are shocked at the announcement I have made, and you are indignant that I should apply to you to screen me. I will drag myself away from your house, therefore; imploring you only to keep the secret which I have been so foolish, so inconsiderate to reveal to you.’--‘Just heaven! what do I hear? reproaches from your lips!’ cried Julia; and embracing the unhappy lady with sisterly warmth, she said, ‘No, no: you have misunderstood me! Grief and surprise for a moment sealed my lips: but you find me ready to succour you, dearest benefactress, to the utmost of my power!’--‘Thank you, kind friend,’ murmured Lady Caroline, falling back exhausted into her seat; for the agitated state of her feelings, and the harrowing emotions which the dread of Julia’s coldness had just caused her to experience, produced effects of a most perilous nature. The young milliner knew not how to act: she was bewildered; and, wringing her hands, exclaimed, ‘Oh! what shall I do? how can I aid her?’--Lady Caroline partially recovered her presence of mind as these words fell upon her ears; and giving a few hasty instructions, these were instantly obeyed. Julia conducted, or rather supported her to her own bed-chamber; and then, throwing on her bonnet and shawl, hurried away to fetch the nearest surgeon. The medical man whom she sought was at home; and he accompanied the milliner to the house, where he arrived just at the moment that his services were required. In a word, Lady Caroline Jerningham that night became the mother of a fine boy, although the birth was premature by nearly a month, and she had risked much by the necessity of adopting the indispensable means in regard to dress to conceal her situation for many weeks past.

“The surgeon, who had every reason to be satisfied with the liberality of Julia on behalf of her unhappy friend, and who was moreover a discreet man, perceived that his patient was a young lady of superior grade in society, and therefore volunteered his aid in ensuring the concealment of the affair. In fact, he stated that he was acquainted with a poor woman in the neighbourhood, who, having just lost her own infant, would be delighted to take charge of the newly-born babe. Lady Caroline was so far recovered as to be able to take part in this conference; and, without suffering the slightest hint to transpire as to who she was, she nevertheless intimated her readiness and ability to remunerate in the most liberal manner those who might be instrumental in completing the arrangement suggested. The surgeon accordingly undertook the settlement of the business; and, after an hour’s absence, he returned, accompanied by a young, good-looking, healthy woman, who was willing to embrace the proposal that had been made to her. She was married to a labouring man; her name was Porter; and she lived at the distance of about half a mile from Julia’s house. Lady Caroline had a well-filled purse; but even if the contrary had been the case, her friend the milliner could have supplied the funds required. As it was, the young mother gave Mrs. Porter twenty pounds in advance; and having mentioned a feigned name and address, when questioned on that point, Lady Caroline parted with her babe--though not without many a bitter pang and a torrent of heart-wrung tears!

“That was a wretched night for poor Julia Murray. In the warmth of her gratitude and friendship, she had become an accomplice in what she fancied, when she had leisure for sober reflection, to be something bordering upon the nature of a crime. Her pure soul shrank from the idea of the unnatural abandonment by a mother of her child to the mercy of a stranger, rendered necessary even though the proceeding were by the peculiar circumstances in which that mother was placed. Moreover, the readiness with which Lady Caroline had given a false name and address had somewhat shocked the truth-loving Julia;--and then she feared lest the whole matter should by any possibility become known, and compromise her own reputation. All these thoughts and apprehensions swept across her mind, after the surgeon and Mrs. Porter had taken their departure, and while Lady Caroline slept. But the generous girl strove to banish from her mind reflections which tended to diminish her respect for the patrician lady who had manifested so much kindness towards her: moreover, the natural feelings of a woman towards one of her own sex placed in such interesting though embarrassing, not to say alarming circumstances,--the sentiments of commiseration, deep sympathy, and tender friendship, soon triumphed over all other considerations;--and when Caroline awoke, just as the grey dawn of morning was breaking into the chamber, she found the young milliner watching by her bedside. The suffering lady was considerably refreshed and strengthened by the long sleep she had enjoyed: her mind was moreover relieved from the most excruciating anxieties:--and she poured forth her gratitude to Julia Murray in the most sincere and heartfelt manner. Then, in the fulness of the tender confidence which had arisen between them, Caroline told her friend how she had loved her cousin, a young lieutenant in the Navy,--how their union was forbidden by her proud mother though assented to by her generous brother, the Marquis of Wilmington,--how her mother had used her interest privately to get the young man appointed to a ship and sent to sea with only a few days’ warning,--and how, in the anguish of parting, she--Lady Caroline--had fallen a victim to her fatal passion! This narrative moved Julia to tears;--for the young milliner now comprehended what love was--and she felt that she also loved,--and that when she sorrowed in secret at the protracted absence of the stranger who had given her the gilt counter, it was in consequence of the impression which he had made upon her heart! Thus did Julia Murray at length obtain the reading of the mysterious sensations that stirred within her own soul.

“Fortunately there was a means of egress from little Harry’s room, without the necessity of the boy’s passing through his sister’s chamber; and thus was the presence of Lady Caroline retained a profound secret from him. You must also recollect that the incidents just related occurred on the Saturday night; and Harry had by chance received an invitation to pass the Sunday with his schoolmaster’s family. Every circumstance thus appeared to favour the complete concealment of Lady Caroline’s confinement. But it was now necessary that Julia should repair to the mansion in Hanover Square, and acquaint the young lady’s confidential maid with the event which had taken place, as well as to arrange for Caroline’s unobserved return home on the Monday evening;--for though at the risk of her life, she was resolved to remain away no longer than the time specified. This commission Julia faithfully performed; and after an absence of upwards of two hours, she reached her own abode once more. The patient was improving rapidly; and when the surgeon called a second time on that Sunday, he was astonished to find her so strong and in the possession of so much physical and moral energy. To be brief, on the Monday evening, according to agreement, Lady Caroline, well wrapped up, disguised in the attire of a daughter of the middle class, and with a dark green veil drawn carefully over her countenance, accompanied Julia in a hackney-coach to Hanover Square; and the two were admitted into the mansion, the hall-porter believing his young mistress to be a friend and equal of the milliner. In this manner they reached Caroline’s own chamber without the truth being for an instant suspected; and the confidential maid was in readiness to receive her lady. Julia remained there until the maid had ascertained that the hall-porter had been relieved by another domestic during the supper-hour; and then the milliner took her departure, accompanied by the fervent gratitude and blessings of the fair patrician whom she had thus extricated from a maze of the most frightful difficulties.

“The very next morning, while Julia was seated at work in her parlour, reflecting upon the incidents of the three preceding days, she heard the iron gate in front of the house groan upon its hinges; and, looking up, she beheld from the window the tall, handsome gentleman approaching the door. The day was fine; and he no longer wore his cloak;--and his garb was plain, unpretending, and perfectly genteel. The housekeeper having returned home that same morning, Julia awaited with a beating heart in the parlour the presence of her visitor; and when he entered, she felt so confused--for a variety of reasons--that she could not utter a word. In the first place she knew that she loved him;--secondly she remembered all the enquiries he had put to her late landlady concerning her;--and thirdly, she recalled to mind the gentle, good, and almost paternal way in which he had addressed her when last they met; and she fancied that in her conduct respecting Lady Caroline she had deviated somewhat from the strict line of integrity, truth, and virtue for pursuing which he had so emphatically commended her, and in which he had with equal earnestness enjoined her to persevere. Taking her hand, he said, ‘Miss Murray, have you completely forgotten me?’--‘Oh! no, sir,’ she cried, with a start as if at an imputation of ingratitude: ‘that were impossible!’--‘And yet why should you remember me?’ he asked, gazing intently upon her: ’have I ever done you any service that deserves a thought? The only incident which is likely to dwell in your mind respecting me, is the wretchedness and embarrassment to which my thoughtless conduct exposed you. But for all that you then endured, have I ever made you the slightest recompense?’--‘Oh! sir,’ cried Julia, the blood rushing to her cheeks, ‘do you think for a moment that I ever sought or looked for a pecuniary indemnification? Heavens, how have you mistaken my character!’--and she burst into tears. The stranger gazed upon her, and even smiled as if in satisfaction: but he said nothing.--‘No, sir,’ resumed the young milliner, hastily passing her handkerchief across her countenance and wiping away the traces of her grief; ‘I am not a mercenary person, such as you appear to suppose me. I did remember you with gratitude,’ she continued, her voice becoming mournful and plaintive in spite of herself; ‘because you spoke kindly to me on that evening when the accident occurred to the silk dress--because you proffered me assistance at a moment when I and my little brother really needed it--because I always believed and still believe that it was on your part entirely an error which led me into such a serious difficulty--because you then told me that you would not insult me by offering me any pecuniary recompense--and because, when you called again, you spoke kindly to me as before, gave me good advice, and also brought me intelligence from Mr. Richardson, which has led to my present prosperity. For all these reasons, sir,’ she added emphatically, ‘I have thought of you often and often; and I considered myself to be deeply your debtor.’--‘Excellent girl!’ exclaimed the gentleman, surveying her with mingled admiration and interest: ‘not for worlds would I insult your feelings, nor wound your generous heart! And it was precisely through delicacy in those respects, that I never did openly proffer you any pecuniary assistance, since that one unfortunate occasion in Hanover Square. Again, let me observe, that if I have not visited you for four long months, I have not been unmindful of your welfare. I have, as it were, watched over you from a distance; and I have learnt with supreme satisfaction, that your conduct has continued most exemplary. Miss Murray, I am perhaps singular and eccentric in my notions; and, though highly placed in the social sphere, yet I have determined to consult only my own happiness, at least for the future, in the most important step which a man can adopt in life. I allude to marriage.’--Julia started, blushed, and cast down her eyes; and this confusion on her part seemed to encourage her visitor to proceed.--‘I must candidly inform you,’ he resumed, ’that I have been a husband already, and that the alliance which I formed almost in my boyhood, and in obedience to the dictates of an imperious mother, was an unhappy one. My wife was a heartless coquette--vain--frivolous--and possessing no mind. I sought by gentleness and kindness to render her attached to her home, although I never really loved her; but all was useless. At last she caught a severe cold when returning from a rout, early on a winter’s morning; and a rapid decline soon carried her to the tomb. This occurred two years ago. I then vowed that if I should ever contract a second union, it must be where the heart alone was interested. This resolve I declared to my mother; and it has in a measure, I regret to say it, incensed her against me. The very first time I ever saw you, I felt myself suddenly and mysteriously attracted towards you. All that I have since heard or seen of you has tended to confirm that favourable impression; and I am come this morning to offer you my hand, as you already possess my heart.’

“A faintness--an indescribable sensation of mingled joy and apprehension came over Julia, as these last words met her ears,--joy in the hope that she had heard aright, apprehension lest she were the prey of a delightful vision which was too soon to be dissipated. But when she felt her hand pressed to the lips of that handsome suitor who now knelt at her feet, and listened to the tender assurances of an honourable and lasting affection which he breathed with manly sincerity in her ears, she exclaimed, under the sudden impulse of her heart’s emotions, ‘Is it possible that so much happiness can be in store for me?’--Her suitor received those words as an assent to his proposal; and, pressing the young maiden to his bosom, he said, ‘Then without knowing my name you have loved me, dearest Julia?’--She murmured an affirmative; and a rapid interchange of questions and replies convinced him that the young maiden had all along remembered him not with gratitude, but with affection! Thereupon, seating himself by her side, and retaining her pretty hand in his, he said, ‘Then henceforth, Julia, there need exist no mystery on my part. I am the pretended debtor to your deceased father; and Mr. Richardson, my own attorney, followed my secret instructions in providing for yourself and your brother. My object was to place you in comfort, yet still leave you in a condition that rendered you to a certain degree dependant on your own honest industry; and I have been overjoyed to find that prosperity has not induced you to relax your energies, nor led you into extravagances, nor in any way proved injurious to your fair fame, your amiable disposition, and your steady perseverance. With delight, then, shall I accompany so worthy a woman to the altar; and with pride shall I present you to the world as the Marchioness of Wilmington!’--‘Oh! my lord,’ murmured Julia, a greater faintness than before now coming over her, as the lofty rank of her suitor was thus announced to her, ‘is it possible that you can be the brother of that young lady to whom I owe so much?’--and then she blushed deeply, and a cold shudder passed over her frame as she remembered what a tremendous secret she had retained in her bosom, and must retain inviolably concerning the sister of him who offered to make her the partner of his rank and fortune.--‘Yes,’ said the marquis, attributing her emotions to the happiness as well as the maidenly confusion which it was natural for her to experience under existing circumstances; ‘that Lady Caroline whom you know, is my sister. You may judge my surprise when, on the night that I first encountered you in Hanover Square, you informed me that the spoilt dress was my mother’s. The very next morning I called at her residence and privately acquainted Caroline with the little adventure, casually saying that I had been a witness of the accident which was occasioned through no neglect nor carelessness on your part, and desiring her when you presented yourself to mitigate as much as possible my mother’s certain resentment against you. Since that period my sister has frequently spoken to me concerning you, and has recommended you extensively to her numerous fashionable acquaintances. But, much as I love and would trust Lady Caroline, I have never informed her of the attachment I experienced for you, nor of the fact that I was your father’s pretended debtor. This reserve originated merely in the determination to watch your conduct,--I may tell you all this now, dear girl,--from a distance; so that time might decide whether I should lay my coronet at your feet, or renounce all farther idea of an alliance with you. Thank, heaven! the former is the happy destiny; and now I have explained all that may have seemed strange or mysterious in your estimation.’

“Julia could scarcely find words to express her gratitude for all the delicate attentions and generous acts of which the nobleman had thus been the hitherto unknown author: but he sealed her lips with a fond kiss, and then proceeded to address her in the following manner:--‘I propose, dearest girl, that our union shall take place in six months from the present time. The reason that I suggest so long a delay is that I may visit you occasionally, in company with my sister, be it understood, so that you may learn to know me better than you now do; and as I shall at once make a confidant of Caroline, and am well acquainted with the generosity of her disposition, you need not apprehend any coolness or hostility on her part. Quite the contrary: she will love you as a sister. Ah! I observe that you sigh and experience an agitation of feeling, my Julia; but you have no cause to dread any exhibition of foolish pride with Caroline. Relative to my mother, I say nothing--promise nothing: at the same time I cannot permit her will to rule my happiness. And now I shall take my leave of you for the present, Julia; and I shall at once hasten to Hanover Square, to confide all that has occurred between us to my sister, who, I regret to state, has been confined for some days past to her own chamber. Alas! she, poor girl, has suffered in her best and holiest affections through her mother’s pride; but I rejoice to say that happiness awaits her yet. By the sudden death of a young cousin, Lieutenant Quentin has become Lord Hartley, and his ship will return in a few months to England. This most unexpected succession to title and wealth, will smooth down all the difficulties which my mother has hitherto interposed in the way of her daughter’s happiness; and who knows, Julia,’ added the marquis, smiling, ‘but that the two marriages may be celebrated at the same time?’--‘God grant that they may!’ exclaimed the young milliner, with a strange emphasis; then, immediately afterwards she observed, ‘For, believe me, I have your sister’s happiness most sincerely at heart.’--‘I shall not fail to tell Caroline all you say,’ returned the marquis; ‘and she will be prepared to love you the more tenderly. And now, dear Julia,’ he added, rising to depart, ‘I must bid you farewell for the present. The next time I call I shall give you due notice beforehand, so that you may have little Harry here to see me. But permit me, before I depart, to request you to divest yourself by degrees of the business and occupations which have accumulated upon you. To speak plainly, you need receive no more work from any person; and you will permit my solicitor, Mr. Richardson, to supply you monthly with such sums as you may require for your expenditure.’--All this was said by Lord Wilmington in so delicate yet tender a manner, that it increased Julia’s attachment to him, as well as her high esteem of his character; and they parted, more than ever pleased with each other.

“In the afternoon, Julia was sitting at her work, pondering upon all that had occurred, and scarcely able yet to convince herself that she was not a prey to some delusive vision, when Lady Caroline’s maid called with a note from her mistress. In this billet the fair patrician said, ‘My brother has told me all, dearest Julia; and believe me when I assure you, that it will afford me unfeigned delight to hail you as a sister. Never, never can I forget all your goodness towards me in the hour of my bitter extremity. But, for heaven’s sake! guard well my secret! This injunction, however, I need scarcely give you. And yet, there is one thing which now affects me; this is----shall you not blush to acknowledge ME as your sister-in-law, since you are acquainted with my disgrace? My heart tells me that you commiserate and sympathise: but my fears--Oh! until I receive from you an assurance that may calm them--those fears are truly painful!’--The generous Julia hastened to pen a reply, conveying in the tenderest terms the assurance solicited; and, having ascertained that the young lady was progressing rapidly towards complete convalescence, she dismissed the maid with the letter entrusted to her. Three weeks, however, elapsed before Lady Caroline was sufficiently recovered to call upon her friend Julia; and then she came alone--for her mother’s heart yearned to visit her child. Under the influence of this feeling, she was moved to tears when she learnt that every alternate day Miss Murray had made it a point to call at Mrs. Porter’s residence and assure herself that the poor babe was duly cared for. ‘This is another proof of your goodness, Julia!’ exclaimed Lady Caroline, falling upon her friend’s neck and weeping with mingled gratitude and joy. They presently proceeded together to the good woman’s abode; and the young mother was charmed to find her child thriving to her heart’s best satisfaction. On the following day Lady Caroline revisited Julia; but this time it was in company with her brother the Marquis;--and little Harry was at home to see them. You may suppose that the party was a happy one; and it gave the nobleman ineffable delight to observe that his sister and his intended wife were on the best possible terms with each other. But he little suspected the tremendous secret that had thus cemented their friendship;--and it cost poor Julia many a pang when she reflected that she was compelled to retain any secret at all from the knowledge of the generous man who reposed such confidence in her! There was however no help for it;--and yet Julia felt as if she were acting with blameable duplicity in veiling a circumstance which for her friend’s sake, she would nevertheless rather die than reveal: and after her noble visitors had taken their departure, she did not experience that amount of happiness which, with her present brilliant prospects, she knew she ought to enjoy.

“I must not dwell upon this portion of my narrative. Let us suppose five months to have passed away; during which period the marquis had been constant in his visits to Julia, but always in the company of his sister. So delicate was his behaviour in respect to the reputation of his intended bride, that he avoided every chance of compromising her; and although the neighbours saw a gentleman, whose name they did not know, call three times a-week upon the beautiful milliner, they never beheld him repair thither alone. Thus there was no scope for scandal; and Julia’s conduct was always so circumspect as to prove a complete antidote to calumny. I should observe that during the five months mentioned, the attachment subsisting between the pair increased, and warmed into the most ardent love; and I must not forget to state that Lady Caroline visited her child at Mrs. Porter’s house as frequently as she was able. But Julia seldom failed to call there every alternate day; and thus the rearing of the poor infant was strictly watched by its mother, and that mother’s bosom friend. Sometimes Harry accompanied his sister in her walk to Mrs. Porter’s cottage; but the little fellow was always made to wait in one room while Julia was shown the baby in another--and thus the real motive of her visits there was unsuspected by him. Not that she feared he would reveal any thing which he was enjoined to keep secret; but Julia believed--and rightly believed--that it was alike more prudent and delicate to leave him in total ignorance of the object which took her to the cottage. Thus time wore on, as I have already mentioned; and now I must remark that in compliance with the wishes of Lord Wilmington, Julia had by this time altogether ceased to receive work; but instead of drawing on the funds placed at her disposal in the hands of Mr. Richardson, she subsisted upon the savings which she had been enabled to accumulate. I mention all these little circumstances, to afford you as good an idea as I can convey of the excellence of her disposition, and the total absence of selfishness from her character. In fact, the more the marquis saw of her, the more enamoured of her did he become, and the greater grew his admiration of her amiable qualities. It was therefore with joy the most unfeigned that he at length considered himself justified in fixing the day for the bridal; and this ceremony was settled to take place precisely on the completion of the six months from the hour in which he had offered her his hand.

“While Julia was occupied in preparing her own wedding-dress, the Marquis busied himself in rendering his splendid mansion in Belgrave Square as suitable as possible for the reception of his bride. In the meantime he had communicated to the Dowager-Marchioness his intended marriage; but, as he had feared, his design experienced the most decided disapproval on her part. Vainly did he reason with her on the subject--uselessly did he represent that his happiness was seriously involved: his mother refused to listen to him;--and he had the mortification to incur her most serious displeasure. The bitterness of her hostility to the match he however concealed from Julia; and, much as he deplored the breach which now existed between himself and his only surviving parent, not for a moment did he entertain the thought of yielding to her tyranny. Thus the time passed on; and it was now within three days of the one fixed for the bridal ceremony, when an incident occurred which produced a terrible change in the aspect of affairs.

“It was a fine summer morning, and the clock was striking eight just as Julia and little Harry were sitting down to breakfast, when the old housekeeper entered to inform her mistress that a woman by the name of Porter desired to speak to her without delay;--for you most remember that the housekeeper was entirely ignorant of the transaction which so nearly concerned Lady Caroline Jerningham, and to some extent involved Miss Murray, at least as an accessory, in the mysterious business. Mrs. Porter was instantly admitted into the parlour; and when she appeared, and the housekeeper had retired, Julia approached her in an agitated manner and with an enquiring look,--for it struck her that this visit--the first which the woman had ever paid to the house since that night when the infant was entrusted to her--augured something unpleasant. In her excitement she forgot the presence of her brother Harry--whom the woman herself likewise overlooked; and, to the anxious glance darted upon her, Mrs. Porter verbally replied by exclaiming, ‘Oh! Miss, the dear child has been suddenly taken dangerously ill!’--‘The child dangerously ill!’ repeated Julia, who had learnt to love the infant almost as much as if it were her own: ‘I will accompany you directly;’ and, hurrying from the room, she presently reappeared with her bonnet and shawl. Then, noticing Harry, it flashed to her mind that he had overheard what had been said: but a second thought told her that more harm would be done by attempting to explain away any impression that might have been made upon his mind, than by leaving the matter as it then stood;--and, having merely observed to him that she should return shortly, Julia hastened away in company with Mrs. Porter. Harry finished his breakfast, not thinking much of the few words which had caught his ears, but which he could not rightly understand; and, as it was holiday-time, he was about to repair to play in the garden at the back of the house, when a double knock at the front door made him hasten to the window. Perceiving that the visitor was the Marquis, he ran to give him admittance; and the nobleman entered the parlour. ‘Where is your sister, Harry?’ he asked, caressing the boy in a kind manner.--‘She is gone out, my lord,’ was the reply.--‘This early!’ exclaimed the Marquis; ‘and I had promised myself the pleasure of breakfasting with you both. The morning was so fine, and as I am a very early riser, I rode out as far as the turnpike, and have sent my horse back with the groom.’--The nobleman spoke this rather in a musing tone, than actually addressing himself to the boy; and, after a pause, he observed, ‘I suppose your sister will not be long?’--‘I do not know, my lord,’ answered Harry. ‘A woman came just as we were sitting down to breakfast, and Julia seemed much vexed at what she told her.’--‘I hope that nothing disagreeable has occurred?’ cried the Marquis, in a tone of alarm.--‘The woman, whose name is Porter, informed Julia that the child was dangerously ill,’ responded Harry; ‘and then they went away together.’--‘Oh! I understand,’ said the Marquis: ‘the child of some poor woman named Porter is unwell, and your sister has gone to see it.’--‘No, my lord, I don’t think the child is Mrs. Porter’s,’ returned Harry, ingenuously, and with boyish communicativeness; ’for I have often called at her cottage with Julia, and I have heard Mr. Porter say that his wife’s own baby died last winter.’--‘And Julia has often called there?’ exclaimed the Marquis, a horrible suspicion suddenly arising in his mind.--‘Very often indeed,’ answered Harry, totally unconscious of the tremendous amount of mischief he was occasioning. ‘When we have been out walking together, we have come round that way, and stopped at the cottage; and then I have waited in the kitchen with Mr. Porter, who used to give me cakes or marbles, while Julia went up stairs with Mrs. Porter.’--‘And did you ever see the child?’ asked the nobleman, assuming as much composure as he could possibly call to his aid.--‘No; Julia never told me a word about it.’--‘And how did you first hear of it?’--‘Just now, when Mrs. Porter rushed in and said that the child was ill’--‘And was Julia very, very sorry?’ demanded the Marquis.--‘Oh! yes, indeed!’ cried the boy, who saw nothing strange nor unusual in the nobleman’s tone or manner, and regarded this dialogue as mere chit-chat.--‘And whereabout is Mrs. Porter’s cottage?’ asked Wilmington, in whose bosom a perfect hell was now raging.--‘Shall I show your lordship the way?’ said Harry. The nobleman nodded his head affirmatively; and the little fellow hastened to fetch his cap. They then proceeded in silence until they came within sight of the cottage, which Harry pointed out.--‘You may now go home again,’ said the Marquis; and Harry obeyed the hint, still totally unsuspicious of the harm which his candid garrulity had accomplished.

“The nobleman, when thus left alone, could no longer restrain the emotions which agitated within him. Turning aside from the path leading towards the cottage, he rushed into the fields, exclaiming aloud, ‘Just heavens! on what an abyss was I hovering! But can such diabolical perfidy exist on the part of one so young? Oh! yes--it is too apparent; and my mother was right when she counselled me never to bestow my hand on a woman moving in a sphere beneath my own!’--Having thus given vent to his excited feelings, Wilmington grew more composed; and he now approached the cottage. The door stood open; and, entering without any ceremony, he saw a woman at the same instant descend from a staircase. ‘Is your name Porter?’ he enquired, speaking in as mild a tone as possible.--‘Yes, sir,’ she answered.--‘And it is here that a child who has been, as it were, abandoned by its unnatural mother, is lying dangerously ill?’ he said, fixing his eyes keenly upon the woman’s countenance.--‘Thank God, the dear innocent is better!’ exclaimed Mrs. Porter, taken completely off her guard, and even entertaining a suspicion that the gentleman himself might be the father of her nursling.--‘Now, confess every thing,’ cried the Marquis, ’or it will be the worse for you! Was it not Miss Murray who engaged your services----’.--‘No, sir: it was the surgeon who attended the lady in her confinement,’ interrupted Mrs. Porter, terrified by the stern tone which her querist had suddenly adopted; ’but it was at Miss Murray’s house----’.--‘Enough! enough!’ ejaculated. Wilmington; and he hurried away from the cottage.

“In the meantime Julia had returned home, having assured herself that the child was out of danger; and as she retraced her way by means of a bye-path, it happened that she did not encounter her brother and the marquis. But little Harry was light of foot; and he, having been dismissed by the nobleman in the way above stated, reached the front door at the same instant as his sister. She was surprised to find that he had been out--still more so when she learnt that Lord Wilmington had called so early. But a frightful sensation seized upon her, when Harry ingenuously observed that the nobleman had taken him to lead the way to the cottage. Subduing her emotions, however, as well as she could, she proceeded to question her brother; and in a short time she ascertained all that had passed between him and the Marquis. Each answer that he gave--each detail that he mentioned, increased the horrible fears which now oppressed her; and, at last--comprehending the full extent of her misfortune,--perceiving the nature of the suspicions which were sure to have seized upon her intended husband,--she uttered a piercing cry, pressed her hands in anguish to her throbbing brow, and exclaimed in a piercing tone, ‘Oh! Harry, Harry, you know not what you have done!’--The boy was frightened; and, darting towards his sister, he threw his arms around her neck, imploring her to forgive him if he had acted improperly. Even in the midst of her bitter, bitter anguish, she could not find it in her heart to continue angry with her little brother, who had not wantonly nor wickedly inflicted this appalling injury upon her; and, assuming an appearance of calmness, she became the consoler. In the depth of misery there is a crisis that makes even despair the immediate precursor of hope; and Julia began to reason to herself that all might not be so dark as she had feared. But while she was thus endeavouring to persuade her inmost soul to render itself accessible to consolation, a note was put into her hand by the housekeeper. She glanced at the address which was hurriedly--almost illegibly written, and the ink of which was scarcely dry,--so that she knew it had been penned somewhere in the neighbourhood. With trembling hands she tore it open; and her strength and mental energy sustained her sufficiently to permit the entire perusal of the letter. Its contents ran thus:--‘I have discovered your frailty, your guilt, your hypocrisy, just in time to save myself from an alliance which would have brought dishonour on my name, and heaped endless miseries on my head. I shall not attempt to reproach you at any length for your conduct towards me: my generous confidence has been met by the blackest duplicity--the most diabolical ingratitude; and your conscience will punish you more--oh! far more severely than any words that I may address to you. Neither shall I adopt the mean and petty revenge of exposing you: but if you ever dare to boast that you were once engaged to be married to the Marquis of Wilmington, then shall I consider that it would be a sin to spare you.’

“The letter dropped from Julia’s hand; and, with a wild shriek, she fell senseless on the floor. The housekeeper administered restoratives, while little Harry, who was himself a prey to the liveliest grief he had ever yet known, hurried to fetch the surgeon. It was the same medical man who had attended upon Lady Caroline Jerningham; and he was prompt in repairing to a house where his former services had been so liberally rewarded. Julia had somewhat recovered in the meantime; but he pronounced her to be in a dangerous state--and, indeed, she seemed quite unconscious of every thing that was passing around her. She was conveyed to her chamber,--medicine was prescribed,--and the surgeon recommended the housekeeper not to leave her mistress alone more than was absolutely necessary, inasmuch as he feared that her brain was affected. Little Harry was inconsolable at his sister’s illness--the more especially that he reproached himself with having been the cause of it all; though how he had done the harm he could not by any means understand. Seated by Julia’s bed-side, he fixed his tearful eyes on her pale countenance, as she slumbered uneasily; and when hours had passed, and evening came, and still she awoke not, he was afraid that she was dead. The housekeeper, however, assured him to the contrary; and then he bent softly over his sister, to whom the surgeon had administered an opiate, and gently kissed her lips. She murmured a name--it was his own name--and opened her eyes. Complete consciousness returned in a few minutes; and as she rapidly surveyed her misfortune and calculated its extent, she shuddered at the idea of even attempting to meet it with resignation. But for that little brother’s sake--the sake of him whom she had found bending over her, and whose name was the first that her lips breathed on her waking,--for his sake she nerved herself to wage war with the world once more. Though a word of explanation--the mere revelation of Lady Caroline’s secret would at once restore her to that position so full of hope which she had occupied in the morning,--still her generous heart would not allow her to betray her friend. No: she would sooner pine away and go down to an early grave, heart-broken and spirit-crushed, than proclaim to the Marquis the secret of his noble sister’s dishonour!

“It was about seven o’clock in the evening of this dreadful day that a hasty and impatient double-knock at the front door was heard; and a few moments afterwards Lady Caroline Jerningham was ushered into the chamber where Julia was lying. The moment she entered, the patient made a signal for the housekeeper and little Harry to withdraw; and when the two friends were alone together, a most affecting scene took place. It appeared that the marquis had that afternoon written a letter to his sister, of which the following were the enigmatical contents:--‘I am almost heart-broken, my dearest Caroline, and cannot see you at present. I shall retire into the country for a few weeks--perhaps months--to hide my grief from every eye, and endeavour to regain somewhat of that mental composure which has been almost completely wrecked this day. Julia is unworthy of my love and of your friendship: what the proof of this may be, ask not--seek not to learn;--but I charge you to visit her no more. Your afflicted brother,’ &c.--On the receipt of this note, Lady Caroline, who could not help suspecting that this suddenly wrought change in the sentiments of the Marquis arose from some fearful misunderstanding or some partial discovery respecting the child, had hastened, almost distracted and a prey to intolerable suspense, to Julia’s abode; and there she was shocked to find her generous-hearted friend stretched upon a bed of sickness. Embracing each other affectionately, they gave mutual explanations; and Lady Caroline perceived that her worst fears were confirmed. The Marquis had indeed made a discovery relative to the infant; but he was deceived with regard to its maternity. And now who can describe the admiration which Lady Caroline experienced for the character of her friend, when she learnt that the poor girl would rather lie under the dread suspicion of the Marquis--rather resign all her brilliant prospects, and see her heart’s fondest affections blighted,--rather, in fact, resign herself to immolation than betray her whose secret she deemed so sacred!

“‘No--no!’ exclaimed the fair patrician, throwing herself upon Julia’s bosom, and weeping plenteously; ’this may not be! Never can I permit you, noble-hearted girl, to endure infamy, reproach, and wretchedness for my sake! I will at once follow my brother into the country, throw myself at his feet, confess all, and bring him back to you!’--‘And then what will become of you, Caroline?’ asked Julia, mingling her tears with those of her friend.’--‘Oh! I shall retire from the world, and bury myself, with my innocent babe, in some solitude--in some far-off village, perhaps, where, under a feigned name, I may escape the world’s scorn for this fatal weakness which has caused so much misery!’--and, as she spoke, Lady Caroline’s voice indicated the most acute anguish of heart. ‘Unless,’ she added, her tone suddenly becoming hoarse and hollow, and her manner unnaturally subdued,--‘unless, indeed, my brother, in the first ebullition of his rage should stretch me dead at his feet; and that is the most probable result!’--‘Then, dearest Caroline,’ exclaimed Julia, speaking in a tone of mingled alarm and earnest entreaty, ‘for heaven’s sake renounce this mad project! Do not think of seeking your brother and thus exposing yourself to his rage. I owe you a deep, deep debt of gratitude; and now let me pay it by enduring that weight of suspicion against which I may haply bear up, but which would crush and overwhelm you. For never, never can I forget that when I appeared, full of terror and trembling, with the spoilt dress in your mother’s presence, your looks gave me encouragement, and your kind words reassured me. Then, when I was leaving your dwelling without the means of even procuring a loaf for my dear little brother and myself, you put gold into my hand. Oh! dear lady, these are manifestations of generosity which never can be forgotten; and, noble as you are by name, you are nobler in heart. It will be my joy--my pride to screen you, who have proved so kind a friend to me; and there is no sacrifice that I am unprepared to make in order to save you from unhappiness and shame!’--‘It is an angel that speaks!’ murmured Lady Caroline, overpowered by this generosity on the part of Julia Murray. ‘But nothing, nothing,’ she continued, with reviving energy, and after a few moments’ pause, ‘shall induce me to yield to your desire. I recognise all that is great and noble in your conduct; and so long as I remain possessed of intellect and memory, I shall pray night and morning for the Almighty to bless you, my dearest Julia. I have been frail, and I must bear the consequences. Seek not to wean me from this intention: I should never know a happy moment, were I to permit you to become the victim of my shame!’[9]--‘One word!’ exclaimed Miss Murray, after a minute’s profound reflection: ‘I will no longer urge you to act contrary to your heart’s dictates; but promise me that you will not take a single step towards revealing every thing to your brother and exculpating me, until four-and-twenty hours shall have elapsed. During that interval we shall both have time for serious and calm meditation; and no advantage will result from precipitate haste.’--‘Yes; I make you this promise, Julia,’ returned Lady Caroline; ‘on the condition that when we meet again to-morrow evening, it shall not be to argue whether I am to confess or not, but in what manner the confession can be most suitably and safely made.’--‘Agreed!’ cried Miss Murray: ‘and to-morrow evening, at seven o’clock, you will visit me again?’--‘I will,’ answered Lady Caroline Jerningham; and she then took her leave of her friend, whom she embraced with the warmth of the most sincere affection.

“On the following day, at about three o’clock in the afternoon, a letter, addressed to Lady Caroline Jerningham, was delivered at the mansion in Hanover Square by a porter, who hurried away the moment he had placed it in the servant’s hands. The contents of this note ran as follow:--‘Dearest Caroline, it is useless for you to call this evening at the house which I have occupied for so many months, and which was purchased by your excellent brother’s money. I shall no longer be the occupant of that house, when this note reaches you. My mind is made up to endure every thing for your sake; and I therefore this day withdraw myself, in company with Harry, into a retirement and an obscurity whither you cannot follow me. It will therefore be unnecessary and ridiculous--I may almost say wicked--for you to make any revelations to your brother. By sacrificing yourself, you would confer no benefit upon me; as nothing shall induce me to alter the plans I have formed respecting the future. Retain profoundly secret all those circumstances the confession of which can have no useful result; and think sometimes of me--for I shall often, often think of you, my well-beloved friend,--although we may never, never meet again!’--This letter, on which were the traces of weeping, produced a stupefying sensation on the part of Lady Caroline. Was it possible that Julia, in the zeal of her ardent friendship, had outwitted the fair patrician, and had won the generous game at which they were playing? No wonder that Miss Murray had requested Caroline to suspend all proceedings for twenty-four hours: in that time, the noble-hearted girl had consummated the sacrifice of herself! And now nothing could exceed the sincerity and the depth of that grief which seized upon the lady: for an hour after she received the note, she was as one demented; and her confidential maid experienced the utmost difficulty in restraining her from manifestations of feeling which would have excited the strangest suspicions in the household. At length, when she had grown comparatively calm, Lady Caroline, attended by her maid, repaired to Camden Town; but there they only beheld those appearances which corroborated the statements contained in Julia’s letter. For the house was shut up; and, on enquiry being made of a neighbour, it was ascertained that Miss Murray, her servant, and her little brother had taken their departure soon after mid-day, although, according to the same authority, the young milliner was evidently suffering from indisposition. The fair patrician’s last hope of seeing her friend and weaning her from her intention, was thus destroyed; and the poignancy of her grief was renewed. She proceeded to Mrs. Porter’s cottage, where she learnt that Julia had called in the morning to assure herself of the child’s convalescence and imprint upon its little countenance a farewell kiss. This touching instance of Julia’s goodness of heart moved Lady Caroline to tears; and she reproached herself bitterly for having been the cause of all her friend’s present sorrows.

“There, however, appeared to be a remedy which might yet be adopted; and to this measure did the lady make up her mind. She resolved, in fact, to write to her brother without delay, inform him of every thing, and urge him to lose no time in discovering the retreat of Julia, that justice--full and ample justice--might be done to her. Accordingly, on the following morning she penned a long letter to the Marquis of Wilmington, imploring him to forgive her for the dishonour she had brought upon the family, and drawing such a picture of Julia’s generosity in sacrificing herself for a friend, that she wept long and plentifully over the pages as she perused them. When this epistle had been despatched to the post, Caroline’s heart felt easier; and she said to herself, ‘Even if my brother should wreak the bitterest vengeance upon me, I can endure his resentment with resignation; for I now have the consciousness of performing a sacred and solemn duty.’--The Dowager-Marchioness, in the meantime, had been suffering through indisposition which confined her much to her chamber; and she did not therefore perceive any particular variations in the manner and aspect of her daughter.

CXLIII. CONCLUSION OF THE HISTORY OF THE DRESS-MAKER: A LOVE STORY

“Two days after Lady Caroline Jerningham’s letter had been sent, the Marquis of Wilmington arrived in London; and, hastening to Hanover Square, he obtained an immediate interview with his sister. Pale, trembling, and unable to endure his glance, she awaited in torturing suspense the first words that should issue from his lips; and never was relief from agonising feelings more welcome or more complete, than when the Marquis, taking his sister’s hand, said in a gentle though mournful voice, ‘Caroline, I am not come to reproach you--much less to add to your afflictions by the heartless cruelty and absurd inutility of an exposure. No: I give you all my sympathy; and I thank you most sincerely for having confessed every thing, that you might restore your friend to my favour.’--Lady Caroline threw herself into her brother’s arms, and wept upon his breast; but when the emotions attendant upon this meeting had somewhat subsided, the Marquis said, ‘Heaven be thanked that Julia is innocent! Deeply, deeply as I deplore the sad circumstances involved in your revelation, Caroline, yet it is a relief to know that she--that poor, suffering, wrongly suspected girl--is worthy of all my love! And if I before loved her--if I before esteemed and admired her as the pattern of every thing great and noble, generous and amiable in Woman,--Oh! now what strength have those sentiments acquired! No time must be lost in finding her out; and this moment shall I enter upon the search.’--The Marquis then took a hasty leave of his sister, and in the first instance repaired to Mr. Richardson to consult him upon the subject. Without in any way compromising his sister, the Marquis related enough to let the worthy lawyer know that Julia had been unjustly suspected--that her innocence was completely established, and that he now longed to find out her retreat, with the view to make her the fullest possible reparation. Mr. Richardson then stated that three days previously a porter had called on him, bringing the key of the house at Camden Town, with an intimation that Miss Murray surrendered up the tenement to its proprietor, with all the furniture it contained,--in fact, in the same condition as when the property was made over to her. A tear stole into the eye of the Marquis, as he received this proof of Julia’s strict integrity; and Mr. Richardson advised that an advertisement, drawn up in a manner calculated to strike Miss Murray’s comprehension, but ambiguous to the public generally, should be kept standing in the Times and other widely circulated newspapers until her retreat should have been discovered. The Marquis approved of this plan; and, leaving his solicitor to execute it, he departed from the office to pursue his search elsewhere. He now proceeded to Camden Town, and (having the key with him) entered the house; but delicacy forbade him to penetrate into any other rooms save the parlours; and there he found not a letter nor a scrap of paper that might afford any clue to the place whither Julia had retired. His heart was heavy--his grief was profound; and frequent sighs rent his manly breast as he repaired to the cottage where the child--his sister’s child--dwelt under the care of Mrs. Porter. His strange manner on his previous visit did not obtain for him a very welcome reception at the hands of that female; but when she found that he spoke kindly and inquired anxiously concerning the infant, her reserve began to dissipate, and she at last thought him a very agreeable gentleman. The child was brought to him, and he kissed it affectionately. An allusion which Mrs. Porter happened to make to Miss Murray, enabled the Marquis to turn the conversation upon that loved being who seemed lost to him; and now he heard the warmest and sincerest praises uttered in regard to her; but not a syllable affording a trace of her present abode. In fact, it was very evident that Mrs. Porter was as ignorant as himself in that respect; and still was it with a heavy heart that the nobleman turned away to prosecute his search elsewhere.

“He had learnt from his sister that Julia, her little brother, and the old housekeeper had taken their departure together in a hackney-coach; and he concluded that the vehicle was hired from some stand in the neighbourhood. Behold, then, this rich and well-born peer visiting all the stations of cabs and coaches in the vicinity, and pursuing his enquiries amongst a class of men whom his liberality alone succeeded in divesting of their habitual insolence. But still all his endeavours to solve the painful mystery were fruitless; and, after a weary day’s researches, he returned home, exhausted in physical energy and worn down by mental depression, to his magnificent house in Belgrave Square. His reliance was now in the advertisements which were to be inserted in the newspapers; but even this hope was almost stifled within him by the reminiscence that Julia seldom read the public journals. Day after day passed--weeks glided by--these had swollen into months in the lapse of time--and winter returned;--but still no trace of Julia! In the interval, matters of importance had occurred in respect to Lady Caroline Jerningham. The child had died in a fit of convulsions, to which it was subject, and in spite of the tender care of Mrs. Porter and the attentions of the medical man: the remains of the infant were interred in the churchyard of Old Saint Pancras; and the Porters, who were well rewarded for their kindness to the child from the moment of its birth until that of its death, still remain in ignorance of the real name and the rank of its mother. Not many weeks after the removal from this earthly sphere of the evidence of Lady Caroline’s frailty, Lord Hartley returned home from abroad; and his first act, on arriving in London, was to hasten to Hanover Square. His heart had remained constant to Lady Caroline; and he now boldly claimed her hand of the Marchioness, who received him most graciously, there being, in the Dowager’s eyes, a vast deal of difference between the noble and wealthy Baron Hartley of Hartley, and the poor Lieutenant Quentin of His Majesty’s Ship The Tremendous. The Morning Post accordingly announced the ‘approaching marriage in high life;’ and the ceremony took place in November, 1835,--precisely one year after the date of the commencement of our tale.

“Thus Lady Caroline Jerningham became Lady Hartley: she was united to the object of her affection;--but her happiness was not complete. Every day--every hour did she think of poor Julia Murray; and her husband, to whom she had confided every thing, shared in her deep anxiety to obtain a clue to that excellent young woman. The Marquis of Wilmington had put into execution every means which human ingenuity could devise to procure that clue: but all to no effect; and he now gave himself up to despair. His health began to fail him; and his appearance speedily grew much altered. Vainly did his sister endeavour to console him: she also required solace, and almost in respect to the same cause,--for if the one mourned the loss of an intended bride, the other deplored that of a dear friend!

“I said that the incident of my tale had brought me down to the month of November, 1835; and it now becomes necessary to make some mention of Julia Murray. It was a night of pouring rain and gushing wind, as on that when she first encountered the Marquis of Wilmington; and the unhappy young woman was seated in a miserable garret in some street near Covent Garden Market. The cheerless chamber was almost completely denuded of furniture; and the little that was in it, belonged not to her. Not a spark of fire appeared in the hearth;--the cupboard door was opened, but no food was seen on the shelves;--and the candle that shed a fitful light around the bare, damp walls, was every moment in danger of being extinguished by the cold draught from the ill-closed window. Leaning her head upon her hand, and her elbow on the table, Julia sate, gazing down on the upturned countenance of her brother who occupied a stool at her feet. Pale and wan were their faces: gone was the bloom of health from the cheeks of the once happy, beauteous boy,--gone, too, was the delicate tinge of carnation that had been wont to enhance the loveliness of his sister. Misery was in that garret--misery for two--misery for that almost heart-broken young woman and that affectionate, grateful boy. The want of needle-work and illness had plunged Julia into the direst poverty: she could have borne it all had she been by herself--borne it almost without repining;--but when she looked on the pale face of her little brother, saw that he was famishing for want, and knew also that he endeavoured to conceal his hunger from her for fear of increasing her grief,--oh! it was this--it was this that crushed and overwhelmed her! She glanced around: there was not an article of clothing that could be now spared to pledge, save her scanty shawl--and then how could she go abroad to ask for needlework without it? Heavens! twelve hours had the boy already fasted--twenty-four hours had elapsed since Julia had tasted a morsel of food;--for she had almost forced the last crust into his mouth! And now how many hours more must elapse ere a chance might present itself to afford them a meal? And if no work could be obtained, what were they to do? What, indeed!

“In the midst of all these bitter--harrowing reflections, a thought--or rather a reminiscence flashed to Julia’s mind;--but it was only to plunge her more deeply into the abyss of woe, and not to solace her. Just one year had elapsed since she had first met the Marquis of Wilmington,--just one year, day for day: and through how many vicissitudes had she and her darling brother passed in that period! They had known prosperity and happiness: they had also experienced the bitterest misery, and yet they had not deserved the vengeance of heaven: but, then, those whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth! Still pure and guileless--still innocent and artless, Julia Murray’s principles had remained unshaken by the rude contest which she had been compelled to endure with the world’s ills; and her brother was still the same affectionate, good, endearing boy as when I first introduced you to him. Oh! it was cruel--it was cruel that they should suffer thus--those poor orphans who had never injured a living soul, who clung to each other so tenderly, and who night and morning put up their prayers to the Almighty that He would be pleased to change their wretched, wretched lot. But, alas! those supplications--so sincere, so earnest, so respectful and adoring towards the Majesty of Heaven--remained apparently unheard; and on the particular night to which allusion has been made, do we find that sister and brother on the verge of perishing through sheer destitution!

“‘Harry,’ said Julia, after a long pause, ‘are you not very hungry?’--‘Not very, dear sister,’ he returned, while tears started into his eyes.--‘Oh! my darling boy, you are starving!’ she cried frantically, as she strained him to her breast: then, growing more composed, she said, ‘But this must not be! Here, Harry, take this shawl over to that shop which you see opposite, give it to any one whom you may see behind the counter, and you will receive some money and a small card in exchange. Then go to the baker’s and buy a loaf; and return as quickly as you can.’--The boy hesitated; and at length said, ‘But, Julia dear, what will you do without your shawl? You cannot go out.’--‘And you cannot starve,’ she returned hastily; as she almost thrust him, but not harshly, out of the room. Then, when the door closed behind him, she reseated herself, and burst into an agony of tears. It was the first time she had ever sent Harry to the pawnbroker--the first time she had ever allowed him to go out into the streets alone after dusk. And this was not all that pained her: Oh! she was oppressed with the most direful apprehensions--for now she was indeed a prisoner in that wretched garret--she could not go out to seek for work, and work would not be brought to her. And again, and again, and again--for the thousandth time that day--did she ask herself what was to be done, and what was to become of them? While she was wrapt up in these harrowing reflections, she heard certain well-known--too well-known steps ascending the stairs; and now she felt that even the crushing amount of misery which already weighed upon her, was not complete. The door was thrown open; and a stout, elderly, red-faced woman, who had evidently been drinking, walked unceremoniously into the chamber. ‘Now, Miss,’ she cried, almost ferociously, ‘are you going to pay me the three weeks’ rent that’s due? If not, be so kind as to tramp, and make room for them as will pay; ‘cos I’ve a respectable married couple which is ready to take the place this very night.’--‘If you will wait a few minutes,’ answered Julia, in a faint tone, ‘I will pay you as much as I can.’--‘Come, that won’t do for me,’ vociferated the woman: ‘I see your brother go out with your shawl, and I know what’s what. But if you’re obliged to spout your things to pay a trifle this week, how will you be able to pay any at all next Saturday, much less cash up altogether?’--‘Heavens! have patience, my dear madam, and I will endeavour to pay you all, as soon as possible!’ said the poor young woman, reduced to despair.--‘Patience, indeed!’ repeated the landlady, contemptuously: ‘and who will have patience with me? There is the Taxes will call on Monday morning; and the Water Rate has been put off till he’s tired of coming near the place. So I can’t and won’t wait no longer for such a beggar as you.’--At this goading insolence Julia’s grief redoubled.--‘Oh! crying won’t pay no bills,’ ejaculated the inhuman landlady. ‘And now I think on it, I’ll just look at the bed-clothes and see that you haven’t pawned none of the blankets!’--‘I would sooner starve--aye, and see my brother perish through want also, than commit such an act!’ cried Julia, starting to her feet, while her indignation actually tended to mitigate the acuteness of her grief. ‘Well, I ’spose you’re honest,’ said the woman, somewhat ashamed of herself: ‘but I must have my money to-night all the same; if not, you and your brother had better turn out at once.’--‘I repeat that it is impossible for me to pay you all I owe this evening,’ exclaimed poor Julia, now condescending to the adoption of a tone of appeal; ‘and I implore you not to drive me and that dear boy homeless into the streets.’--‘A pretty gal like you need never want money,’ said the woman, fixing a meaning look upon the unhappy dress-maker; ‘and if you would only take my advice----.’--‘Begone,’ cried Julia in a voice so penetrating that it seemed to thrill through the brain of the vile wretch who was about to develope the most infamous resources to the view of that pure-minded girl--‘Begone, indeed!’ repeated the woman, recovering her insolence: ‘that’s a pretty thing to say to me, that you owe money to. However, once more I tell you that I will be paid to-night; or else, when my husband comes home from the public-house, off you’ll bundle!’--Thus speaking, the wretch bounced out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind her.

“Julia wrung her hands in despair; and again she asked herself those unanswerable questions--What would become of them? and what was to be done? At this moment, when her brain appeared to reel and reason was rocking on its throne, the sounds of hasty steps ascending the stairs met her ear, and she heard Harry’s voice exclaim, ‘Up higher still--to the very top!’ And up those hasty footsteps came:--good heavens! were fresh miseries in store for her? But scarcely had this thought traversed poor Julia’s imagination, when some one darted into the room--and as she was sinking on the floor, through terror, want, and exhaustion, she was received in the arms of the Marquis of Wilmington!--‘Julia, dearest Julia!’ he cried, in an impassioned tone, as he strained the insensible form of his beloved one to his breast: and that voice, sounding on her ear as if heard in the midst of a dream, recalled her to herself;--and opening her eyes slowly, she encountered the tender looks that were bent upon her.--‘Is it possible!’ she exclaimed, tearing herself from the nobleman’s embrace: ‘your lordship here?’--‘Yes: here to implore your pardon for the past; to declare to you how profound is the regret and how bitter the remorse I have experienced for the unfeeling haste with which I judged you on the barest suspicion; and to offer you my hand, Julia,’ added the Marquis, ‘if you will now condescend to accept it!’--But I need not pause to describe in detail the discourse which now ensued: suffice it to say that the nobleman gave the fullest explanation of all that had occurred since he had last seen Julia--how his sister had confessed her frailty, and thus cleared up the suspicion which had so unfortunately fallen upon Julia--how the child had died--how Lady Caroline had married Lord Hartley--and how every possible search had been made for so many long, weary months, after Miss Murray. It must be added that the Marquis, in his almost ceaseless wanderings about the metropolis in the prosecution of that search, happened on this memorable evening to pass through the very neighbourhood where Julia resided; and as Harry emerged from the pawnbroker’s shop, the light flashed full upon the little fellow’s countenance, which, in spite of its altered appearance, was immediately recognised by the Marquis.

“But little more remains to be told. A messenger was instantly despatched to Hartley House with a note from Lord Wilmington; and in less than an hour his sister Caroline, accompanied by her faithful lady’s maid, who had charge of a box full of clothes, arrived in her carriage at the door of the house where Julia occupied the miserable garret! Affecting indeed was the meeting between the two friends; and while the Marquis took Harry away with him to the nearest ready-made clothes’ shop to equip the boy from head to foot in new apparel, Lady Hartley hastily made such a change in Julia’s appearance, by means of the contents of the box before alluded to, that when his lordship returned he was charmed to see that, though pale, she was still eminently beautiful. In the meantime the rumour had spread throughout the house how a great nobleman and a great lady had come to take the poor dress-maker away in their carriage; and now the vile woman who only an hour before had menaced Julia with ejectment--who had insulted her by offering to search the few miserable things in the room to see if any had been made away with--and who had hinted at an infamous proposal from which the young creature’s soul recoiled in horror and loathing,--that same detestable wretch was now most assiduous in offering the use of her parlour and rendering herself so officiously busy, that Lady Hartley was forced to order her in a peremptory manner to retire. In fine, all necessary preparations being made so that Julia and her brother might appear in a becoming way at the splendid mansion whither they were now about to repair, the happy party entered the carriage, which drove straight to Hartley House, where Caroline’s husband received Julia and Harry in the kindest possible manner.

“Thus was the aspect of affairs signally changed; and from the cold, cheerless garret, where want stared them in the face, were the sister and brother suddenly wafted into the very bosom of luxury, comfort, and happiness. Virtue met with its reward, after the many trials to which it had been subjected, and the numerous temptations it had triumphantly passed through. Mr. Richardson, the lawyer, was overjoyed when the Marquis called upon him next morning and related all that had happened; and the instant his lordship had taken his departure, the worthy solicitor hastened to Hanover Square, resolved, if possible, to accomplish a certain project which he had in view. Presenting himself to the Dowager-Marchioness, he argued with her upon the inutility and injustice, the folly and the cruelty of her opposition to an alliance which so nearly regarded her son’s happiness; and he dilated so warmly upon the good qualities of Julia Murray, that her ladyship, who had at first heard him with impatience, began to listen attentively. In a word, Mr. Richardson succeeded in persuading the Marchioness to have the credit of assenting to an union which she had not the power to prevent; and the policy of this step at last triumphed over her other repugnances. She accordingly rang the bell, ordered the carriage, and proceeded with the lawyer to Hartley House, where her presence augmented the happiness already experienced beneath that roof. Thus nothing was now wanting to complete the felicity of all those in whom, I hope, you are interested; and it was astonishing how speedily the bloom came back to the countenance of Julia, and the ruddy hues of health to the cheeks of little Harry.

“Six weeks after the discovery of the orphans in their wretched garret, Julia became the Marchioness of Wilmington. Happy--happy was that bridal, and beautiful was the blushing bride--so beautiful that a stranger would not have suspected the privations and miseries which she had undergone. And, as if heaven, in its justice, were determined to afford a signal proof that though it can chasten, it can also reward as fully--from the day that this union took place, Julia and her brother have not known a care. Possessing the power to do good, the Marchioness of Wilmington has been enabled to soothe many an afflicted heart; and her experience of the past has taught her that the severest misery is that which pines unseen and hides itself in garrets--not that which obtrudes itself, in the shape of mendicity, upon the public eye. Her secret charities are therefore boundless; and the elevation of such a woman to rank and the possession of immense wealth, has proved beneficial to thousands. I must not forget to observe that the housekeeper who had accompanied her on her departure from Camden Town, and who had subsequently returned home, at Julia’s request, to her friends, once more became an attendant in the household of the mistress whom she loved; and every one who had in any way shown kindness to my heroine when she was but the humble dress-maker, was sought out and liberally rewarded, by her whose heart had undergone no change although she had become the Marchioness of Wilmington.”

CXLIV. DOVER

It must not be supposed that this long tale was related without an interval of rest. When it broke off at the end of the hundred and forty-second chapter, the travellers were just on the point of entering Rochester, where they lunched; and, after this brief halt, they pursued their journey, Charles resuming the thread of his narrative, to which Perdita listened with deep interest.

The young woman experienced an ineffable pleasure in drinking in with her ears the rich tones of her lover’s voice; and the pathetic nature of his story increased the tenderness which she felt for him. She, who had defied the influence of the blind deity, was wounded by his shaft; and the more she saw of Charles Hatfield, the less selfish became her passion--the more sincere her attachment.

Mrs. Fitzhardinge read, with a keen eye, all that was passing in her daughter’s mind; and there were moments when she could scarcely restrain her rage at the idea that Perdita had succeeded so skilfully in throwing her into the back-ground. But the old woman resolved to abide her time--in the hope that circumstances might yet enable her to resume her sway, and compel the enamoured couple to bend to the dictates of her will.

The journey was pursued in safety, and in freedom from any unpleasant interruption, until the post-chaise entered the town of Dover. Then the travellers were to pass the night; and thence they were to embark on the ensuing morning for Calais.

They took up their quarters at an hotel, where an excellent dinner was provided; and in the evening Charles Hatfield and Perdita rambled together upon the beach, Mrs. Fitzhardinge remaining at the inn on the plea of fatigue, but in reality because her daughter made her a private sign to intimate that her company was not needed.

It was a summer evening of surpassing loveliness: the sea was calm and tranquil in its mighty bed, agitated only at its margin when wavelets, so small that they might almost be denominated ripples, murmured on the beach;--and the western horizon was gorgeous with purple, and orange, and gold--the swathing robes of the setting sun.

There were many ladies and gentlemen walking on the Marine Parade, and enjoying the freshness of the air after the oppressive heat of the sultry day. Amongst the loungers, several officers belonging to the garrison were conspicuous by their scarlet coats; and giddy, silly young ladies of sixteen or seventeen felt themselves supremely happy if they could only secure the attentions of these military beaux.

Here and there were long seats, painted green, and occupied by ladies, their male companions standing in lounging attitudes; and the conversation that occupied these groups was for the most part of a frivolous nature,--for people at watering places only seek to kill time, and not to use it for intellectual purposes.

On one of the benches just alluded to, was placed a middle-aged mamma with her three marriageable daughters, who were pretty, chatty, agreeable girls, according to the general meaning of the epithets: at all events, whenever Mrs. Matson appeared on the Parade with the three Misses Matson, the officers were sure to steal away from other groups or parties in order to join the new-comers--to the immense gratification of the objects of this preference, and to the huge mortification of the Jones’s, the Smiths, the Jenkins, the Greens, and the Browns.

“Were you at Lady Noakes’s last evening, Captain Phinnikin?” enquired the eldest Miss Matson of a gallant officer of some four or five and twenty, who was lounging near her.

“No--not I, faith!” was the reply given in a drawling tone, as if the gallant officer aforesaid were a martyr to that dreadful malady termed ennui. “Lady Noakes’s parties are such slow affairs--I have quite abjured them. Besides,” he added, suddenly recollecting that this was an excellent opportunity to throw in a compliment, “I knew you weren’t to be there.”

“Oh! dear, no!” exclaimed Miss Julia Matson--the second of the marriageable sisters: “one does meet such strange people at her ladyship’s, that we really could not think of accepting the invitation.”

“Well, but you must recollect, my dear,” observed Mrs. Matson, in a tone which seemed to be of mild reproof, “that poor dear Lady Noakes is only the widow of a brewer who was mayor of Deal or Sandwich, I forget which, and was knighted by William the Fourth for taking up some address to his Majesty.”

“That’s all!” said Miss Anna-Maria Matson, the third sister: “and therefore I am sure no one need be surprised that Lady Noakes is glad to fill her rooms with any body she can get.”

“Well, I was there last night,” observed another young officer--a lieutenant in the same regiment with Captain Phinnikin, and who formed one of the group at present occupying our attention: “and I must say that the supper was excellent.”

“Oh! but, Mr. Pink,” exclaimed the eldest Miss Matson, reproachfully, “it is so very easy to give a good supper--but not so easy to make the evening agreeable.”

“Granted!” rejoined the lieutenant: “and I must candidly admit that no parties are so agreeable as those at your house.”

“Flatterer!” cried Miss Matson, with a sweet smile. “I suppose the Browns were at her ladyship’s last night.”

“Oh! certainly. You meet them every where.”

“And, faith! Miss Amelia Brown is a deuced pleasant girl--deuced pleasant,” observed Captain Phinnikin.

“Well, I really never could see any thing particular in her,” said the eldest Miss Matson. “Besides--you know what her grandfather is?” she added, sinking her voice to a confidential tone, and hastily glancing around to assure herself that the object of her remark was not nigh enough to overhear her.

“’Pon my honour, I never heard!” responded Captain Phinnikin.

“They do say--but mind, I will not assert it on my own authority,” continued Miss Matson,--“at the same time, I believe it is pretty well ascertained----”

“Oh! certainly--beyond all doubt,” exclaimed Miss Julia, tossing her head contemptuously.

“I never heard it contradicted!” added Miss Anna-Maria.

“What do they say the grandfather is?” demanded Captain Phinnikin.

Again did Miss Matson look anxiously around: then, lowering her voice to a whisper, and assuming as mysterious an air as possible, she said, “A hatter!”

“Oh! you naughty, gossiping girls!” cried Mrs. Matson, shaking her head with an affected deprecation of her daughters’ scandal-loving propensities, but in reality enjoying the tittle-tattle.

“Well, ma,” said Miss Julia, “I am sure there is no harm in telling the truth; and I thought that every one knew what Miss Brown’s grandfather was--just the same as it’s no secret about the Greens being related to a soap-boiler.”

“Hush! my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Matson, putting her finger to her lip: “we really must not pull people to pieces in this way. At the same time I candidly confess that it is annoying to find so many low persons at the very watering-place which we chose for the summer. I don’t wish to be severe upon any body; but if Mr. Thompson, who is known to be a retired draper, will allow people to address their letters to him as Thomas Thompson, Esquire, he must expect to be talked about.”

“And then those Miss Thompsons who give themselves such airs!” cried the eldest Miss Matson, with an indignant gesture.

“I am sure they made quite frights of themselves last Sunday at church,” added Miss Julia, “with their dresses after the latest Parisian fashion!”

“Besides, pink bonnets don’t at all become their dark complexions,” observed Miss Anna-Maria.

“Ladies must have very good complexions indeed, for pink bonnets to suit them,” drawled forth Captain Phinnikin, smiling languidly at the same time;--for the three Misses Matson all wore bonnets of a roseate hue--a fact which they appeared to have entirely forgotten while speaking of the Misses Thompson.

At this moment, Lieutenant Pink uttered an ejaculation of surprise; and the rest of the group, turning their eyes in the same direction in which his were bent, beheld a very handsome young gentleman to whose arm hung a young lady of marvellous beauty.

“They are strangers here,” observed Miss Matson the elder.

“New-comers,” continued Miss Julia.

“But nothing very particular, I dare say,” added Miss Anna-Maria.

And having thus expressed themselves, the three sisters turned towards the officers; but they were much piqued and annoyed to find that those two gallant gentlemen were still surveying the attractive couple with the deepest interest.

“That face is familiar to me, Pink,” cried Captain Phinnikin.

“And to me also. But where I have seen it before, I cannot recollect,” observed the lieutenant. “Upon my soul, she is a magnificent woman!”

“A splendid creature!” ejaculated the captain, forgetting his habitual drawl for a moment. “Faith! I remember----and yet--no--it is impossible!”

“Yes--it is impossible--it cannot be!” cried Mr. Pink, as if divining and echoing the other’s thoughts. “But I am sure I have seen her before! And will you believe me, Phinnikin, when I assure you that, at the first glance, I thought----”

“Egad! it is her profile--her figure!” cried the captain, pursuing the train of his own thoughts, as his eyes followed the young couple who were passing leisurely along at a little distance, and quite unconscious of the interest that one of them at least was creating.

“Well--it strikes me that it is the same!” observed the lieutenant, his amazement every moment becoming greater, and his uncertainty less.

“Who do you take her to be?” demanded Phinnikin, turning abruptly towards his brother-officer.

“Perdita,” responded the lieutenant, without hesitation.

“And yet--in England--so changed too, in circumstances--and in company with that genteel young fellow----”

“All those things occurred to me likewise,” interrupted Mr. Pink.

“Let us convince ourselves!” cried the captain; and the military gentlemen, with a somewhat abrupt and unceremonious bow to the Matson family, walked away together, arm-in-arm.

“Well, I never!” exclaimed the eldest Miss Matson, now tossing her head more indignantly than on any previous occasion, yet looking wistfully after the two really handsome and elegant, though conceited and coxcombical young officers, whose fine figures were rapidly receding along the parade.

“I could not have supposed that Captain Phinnikin would have been guilty of such rudeness!” said Miss Julia.

“Oh! as for the captain--I was prepared for any thing with him,” observed Miss Anna-Maria: “but it’s Mr. Pink that I’m astonished at!”

“I am sure the captain is the best behaved of the two,” exclaimed Julia.

“That shows your ignorance, Miss,” said Anna-Maria, tartly.

“I know what’s genteel as well as you, I should hope,” retorted Julia.

“Don’t be cross, my love,” said Anna-Maria, affecting a soothing tone.

“And don’t you pretend to know better than one two years older than yourself,” cried Julia. “As for you,” she continued, addressing herself to her eldest sister, “I was quite surprised to hear how you went on about the Browns and the Thompsons. How foolish we should all look if it were found out that Uncle Ben was a pawnbroker in Lambeth Marsh----”

“Hush! girls--hush! Drat your tongues--how they are going!” interrupted Mrs. Matson, in a hoarse and hasty whisper.

“I am sure, ma, Julia talked as much about the Browns and the Thompsons as I did,” said the eldest daughter; “and now she is trying to quarrel with me about it. But here come the Thompsons,” she added abruptly, as her eyes wandered along the parade.

Mrs. Matson and the three young ladies all smoothed their countenances in a moment; and nothing could be more amiable, affable, or charming than the manner in which they rose simultaneously to greet the Misses Thompson--two tall, handsome, well-dressed, and really most genteel girls, let their father have been what he might.

“Oh! my dear Miss Thompson,” cried the eldest Miss Matson, “I am so delighted to see you! How well you are looking, to be sure!”

“We were talking about you only a few minutes ago, to Captain Phinnikin and Mr. Pink,” said Julia; “and we were admiring those dears of bonnets that you wore last Sunday at church.”

“I am glad you liked them,” responded the elder Miss Thompson. “But how happened it that you were not at Lady Noakes’s last night?”

“Well--we don’t mind telling you, dear,” said Miss Matson the elder: “the truth is that we were not invited; and I suppose it must have been an oversight of her ladyship.”

“Her ladyship was quite surprised that you were not present,” returned Miss Thompson: “she assured me that a card had been duly forwarded to you.”

“Oh! how provoking!” cried all three Misses Matson at the same moment, and as it were in the same breath. “The invitation must have miscarried somehow or another. We would not have been absent for the world if we had received the card.”

“But, my dear Miss Thompson,” continued the eldest Miss Matson, “as you and your dear sister are so intimate with Lady Noakes, perhaps you would just hint that the invitation did miscarry----”

“Oh! certainly,” replied the good-natured young lady thus appealed to. “But we must say good bye now--for we promised papa not to stay out late, and it is already near eight o’clock.”

“How is that dear good soul, Mr. Thompson?” asked Mrs. Matson. “I was speaking of him to Captain Phinnikin and Mr. Pink just now, and saying what great respect we all entertained for him.”

“Thank you, my dear madam--papa is quite well,” returned Miss Thompson. “But we must really say good bye, for we expect the Greens to drop into supper presently----”

“Delightful girls, the Miss Greens!” exclaimed Mrs. Matson; “and very well connected, I have heard.”

“Oh! certainly--their uncle is a Member of Parliament,” responded Miss Thompson. “But good bye.”

“Good bye,” repeated her sister; and away they went--happy, joyous, kind-hearted, and good girls, who would not have suffered their tongues to utter a word of scandal,--thus proving a striking contrast with the Matson family.

“What a vulgar buoyancy of spirits the eldest Miss Thompson always has!” exclaimed the senior of the three sisters, after a pause. “I really can scarcely seem commonly polite to her.”

“And the youngest is just like her in that respect,” observed Julia.

“They are the rudest and worst-behaved girls in Dover, except the Miss Greens,” added Mrs. Matson.

“Well,” said Anna-Maria, “since I have heard that the Greens are related to a Member of Parliament, I don’t fancy them to be so vulgar as I used to do. Oh! what a thing it would be to get acquainted with a Member, and have him at our parties next winter! Wouldn’t the Snipsons be in a way?”

“And the Styles’s!” added Julia.

“Yes--and the Tubleys, who are so proud of their Irish Member!” exclaimed the eldest Miss Matson. “Oh! ma, let us make up to the Greens and get as friendly with them as possible; so that we may be on visiting terms with them when we go back to London--and then we shall be introduced to their uncle, the Member.”

“By all means,” said Mrs. Matson, charmed with the suggestion. “I will persuade your papa to allow us to give a party next week, on purpose for the Greens.”

In the meantime Captain Phinnikin and Mr. Pink had proceeded somewhat rapidly along the Marine Parade, until they had reached the extremity, when they turned, and walked more slowly, so as to meet Charles Hatfield and Perdita.

“To-morrow, at this time,” said the infatuated young man, as the syren leant confidingly upon his arm, “we shall be far on our road to Paris: and within three days from this moment, my beloved one, you will be mine! Oh! I believe firmly that we were intended for each other--and therefore happiness awaits us!”

“To be with you, Charles, is happiness indeed,” returned Perdita, with that melting softness of tone which gave her words so exquisite a charm, and made every chord in her lover’s heart thrill with rapture: then, casting upon him a sweet glance which drank in his own, she said, “I am rejoiced that we have taken this decided step--for in London, I was so fearful that your relatives might adopt means to separate you from me!”

“No--that could not be, dearest Perdita,” he observed: “for I am of an age at which no parental despotism could be legally enforced; and I have acquainted you with every thing that has already passed between my father and myself. Were I a weak-minded boy, I should perhaps have yielded to his threats or to my mother’s entreaties: but I have chosen to act for myself and on my own responsibility--and I do not repent the decision.”

“And never--never shall you repent, my beloved Charles,” murmured Perdita, with no affectation of feeling, but under the influence of that passionate tenderness which she in reality experienced towards the young man. “And, oh! how delightful is it to be your companion in such a delicious evening walk as this--by the scarcely rippling sea--and at the hour when the sun is sinking to its ocean-bed!”

“Yes;--and while with you, my Perdita,” responded Charles, “I seem to feel as if we two were alone together--sole witnesses of the scene! I observe not the other loungers: I see only my Perdita--hear only her voice!”

At this moment his fair companion, to whom he was addressing those words of heart-felt tenderness, appeared to start violently; for his arm to which she clung was suddenly jerked by her hand with some degree of force. Charles instinctively raised his head, which had been bent partially towards her ear; and glancing straight before him, he beheld two officers staring most rudely, as he thought, at his well-beloved and beauteous Perdita.

“What means this insolence?” he exclaimed, in a tone of irritation.

“Let us turn back, Charles--dearest Charles” murmured Perdita, in a faint and tremulous tone; and she wheeled him round, as it were, with extraordinary alacrity.

A load burst of laughter on the part of the officers met their ears; and Charles, uttering an ejaculation of rage, was about to relinquish his fair companion’s arm and rush back to demand an explanation, when Perdita said, “In the name of heaven, molest them not--I implore you!”

And she hurried him away.

“My God! Perdita,” he said, when they were at some distance from the spot where the officers had stopped short to gaze upon Perdita, and where their complete recognition of her had betrayed them into an act of rudeness which they almost immediately afterwards regretted--for they felt that they had no right to insult the young woman by laughing at her altered circumstances: “my God! Perdita,” said Charles, labouring under a painful state of excitement; “what means this conduct of those unmannerly fellows? and wherefore will you not permit me to chastise them?”

“Would you expose me to the ridicule of all the persons assembled on the Parade?” demanded Perdita, who had now recovered her presence of mind--at least sufficiently to feel the necessity of immediately allaying her lover’s excitement.

“But those officers insulted you--insulted you grossly, Perdita!” cried Charles, who did not, however, entertain the remotest suspicion prejudicial to the young woman, but merely felt deeply indignant at an insolence which he could not understand, and which was so completely unprovoked.

“They insulted us--they insulted you as well as myself, Charles,” answered Perdita, hastily: “it was because you were bending, as it were, over me while you spoke--because your head was approached so close to my ear--and because I was listening with such unconcealed delight to your tender words! They saw that we were lovers--that we felt as if we were alone even amidst the crowd of loungers----”

“Yes: it must have been as you say!” cried Charles, receiving Perdita’s ingenious explanation as natural and conclusive, and now absolutely wondering at his own stupidity in not penetrating the matter before.

“You may conceive,” resumed the artful girl, “how ashamed and bewildered I suddenly felt, when, on raising my eyes, I saw the two officers standing still only a dozen yards in advance, and gazing upon us in the rudest possible manner. I instantly understood the truth: women, dear Charles, are sometimes more sharp-sighted than your sex. It flashed to my mind that our manner had betrayed that we were lovers; and hence my emotions! And can you wonder, my beloved Charles, if I hurried you away from a scene where you incurred the chance of becoming involved in a quarrel with those fire-eaters?”

“In good truth, my Perdita,” said Hatfield, now smiling, “they seemed to me--if I might judge by the short glimpse I had of them--to be rather fitted for the drawing-room than to smell gunpowder.”

“Oh! that may be,” exclaimed the young woman, her voice still continuing tremulous and her manner imploring: “nevertheless, I would not for the world that you should fall into danger! Consider, Charles, how dreadful would be my feelings, were I to know that you were about to fight a duel! Oh! my blood runs cold in my veins when I think of it! But were you to fall in such hostile meeting----Ah! my God, what would become of your unhappy, wretched Perdita?”

“Dearest--sweetest girl!” cried the enraptured young man: “how blest am I in the possession of such a love as thine!”

And he gazed tenderly upon her as he spoke, pressing her arm at the same time with his own: for now her countenance was flushed with the emotions that agitated in her bosom; and, as the rays of the setting sun played upon her face, she seemed lovely beyond all possibility of description.

They returned to the hotel; and, having partaken of supper, sought their respective chambers at a somewhat early hour--for Mrs. Fitzhardinge and Perdita complained of fatigue, and Charles knew that the ensuing day’s travelling would prove even more wearisome still.

The reader has seen how artfully the young woman contrived to find an explanation for the untoward and menacing event which had occurred upon the Marine Parade. The real truth was that while Charles was pouring words of tenderness and love into the ears of Perdita, she suddenly raised her eyes, and was horror-struck at beholding the countenances--too well-known countenances--of Captain Phinnikin and Lieutenant Pink. For their regiment had been stationed at Sydney; and those two officers had enjoyed the favours of the beautiful and voluptuous Perdita. She saw that she was recognised; and for a moment the chances were equal whether she should sink beneath the blow, as if struck by a thunder-bolt--or whether she should recover her presence of mind. The latter alternative favoured her on this occasion; and her sophistry, her demonstrations of tenderness, and the horror which she expressed at the idea of a duel, succeeded in completely pacifying her lover.

CXLV. A MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE.--THE JOURNEY CONTINUED

Our travellers rose early in the morning; for the French mail steamer, Le Courier, was to start for Calais at nine o’clock.

Breakfast over, Charles Hatfield and Perdita walked down to the pier at twenty minutes to nine--Mrs. Fitzhardinge, who was determined to make herself as busy and also as necessary as possible, remaining behind to see that the baggage was safely consigned to the porter in readiness to convey it.

The weather was delightful; and the fresh sea breeze, with its saline flavour, seemed to waft invigorating influences upon its wing. Charles and his beloved were in high spirits; although Perdita threw ever and anon an anxious glance around, to assure herself that the dreaded officers, who had caused her so much alarm on the preceding evening, were not near to renew that terror. Every thing was satisfactory in this respect; and never had the heart of the young woman been more elate, than when she stepped upon the deck of the gallant steamer, which was already puffing off its fleecy vapour with a snorting noise, as if it were a steed impatient of delay.

Seating themselves upon a bench, Charles and Perdita were soon absorbed in a conversation of a tender nature; and, forgetful of every thing save the topic of their discourse, they noticed not the lapse of time until they happened to perceive the captain standing on one of the paddle-boxes, and heard the orders which he gave to the busy French sailors.

These symptoms of immediate departure instantaneously aroused the attention of Charles and Perdita to the fact that Mrs. Fitzhardinge had not joined them.

“Where is my mother?” demanded the latter, embracing with a rapid glance the entire range of the deck, and unable to discover the object of her search amongst the passengers scattered about the vessel.

“Wait here one moment, dearest--and I will see,” said Charles; and he hastened forward, thinking that perhaps the funnel might conceal the old woman from their view.

But she was not to be found; although a glance at the piles of baggage in the immediate vicinity of the chimney showed him his companions’ boxes, together with a portmanteau of necessaries which he had purchased for himself on the preceding evening.

Yes: there was the baggage--but where was Mrs. Fitzhardinge?

What could have become of her?

Perhaps she had descended to the cabin.

This idea seemed probable; and Charles was about to hurry back to the bench where he had left Perdita, when she joined him, saying, “I have been into the cabin; and my mother is not there.”

Before Charles had time to make any reply, a porter in his white frock approached him, and, touching his hat, said, “Please, sir, are these your things?”--pointing to the boxes.

“Yes,” answered Hatfield: “but where is the lady who was giving you instructions about them when we left the hotel?”

“Please, sir, she came after me as far as the beginning of the pier,” returned the porter; “and there, as I happened to look round, I saw her speaking to two men. I went on--looked round again, and could see nothing more of her.”

“This is most extraordinary!” exclaimed Hatfield.

“I cannot comprehend it,” observed Perdita: then, suddenly struck by the idea that Charles might propose to land and search after the old woman, she added hastily, “But we need not alarm ourselves: if any thing has happened to detain my mother a short time, she will doubtless follow us by the next boat.”

At this moment the huge paddle-wheels began to turn--Charles hastily tossed the porter half-a-crown--and the man leapt on the pier in company with several others of his own calling,--while the steamer moved away with stately steadiness of pace.

Perdita and Charles Hatfield paced the deck, arm in arm, and conversing on the unaccountable disappearance of Mrs. Fitzhardinge. The latter could conjecture no possible key to the mystery: nor did Perdita offer any suggestive clue--although she thought it probable that her mother, having lost her despotic authority, had withdrawn, in a moment of ill-temper, from the company of those whom she could not hope to reduce to the condition of slaves. But the young woman said to herself, “She will soon repent of her folly and rejoin us;”--while to Charles she expressed an uneasiness and an apprehension lest any accident should have befallen her mother.

On sped the steamer: the harbour is cleared--and now she enters upon the expanse of green water, over which she walks “like a thing of life,”--the huge paddles raising a swell, which, covered with foam, marks the pathway of the gallant vessel.

On--on she went;--and now the white cliffs of Albion diminish and grow dim in the distance,--while, still far ahead, the coast of France, like a long brown streak in the horizon, appears in view!

And, oh! may that green sea never waft a hostile navy from one shore to the other;--may the peace which now subsists between the two greatest nations in the universe, remain undisturbed! Let France and England continue rivals,--not in the art of war,--but in the means of developing every element of civilisation and progress. Such a striving--such a race between the two, will be glorious indeed; and the whole world will experience the benefit.

Shame, then, to those alarmists who are now endeavouring to spread terror and dismay throughout the British Islands, by their calculations of the facility with which the French may invade us, and by their predictions of the consequences of such an invasion.

Well aware are we that were France to entertain the project, its realization would be easy;--for with our navy dispersed over the world, our coast-defences so few and far-between, and our totally insufficient army, we have no means of resisting an invading force of eighty or a hundred thousand men so admirably disciplined as the soldiers of France.

But neither Louis-Philippe nor his Government entertains the remotest idea of disturbing the peace of the world;--and it is madness--it in wickedness on the part of the public journals and of pamphleteers to write for the very purpose of creating an impression that an invasion by the French is imminent.

A terrible panic has been raised throughout the length and breadth of the land;--and with sorrow do we record the fact that the DUKE OF WELLINGTON has placed himself at the head of the alarmists!

To consummate the folly, all that is now required is--what?

To give Prince Albert the command of the Army!

----Or rather, O Englishmen! does not the apprehension of danger from an invasion by a foreign power lay bare, in all its nakedness, the monstrous folly--the astounding absurdity of suddenly elevating that young and inexperienced man to the rank of a Field-Marshal?

A Field-Marshal, who has never smelt powder save in the heartless, inhuman cruelty of a battue of game,--and who has never in his life seen a shot fired in anger!

England does not require such a Drawing-Room Field-Marshal: she wants a Captain-General who, if need be, can compete with such a man as Bugeaud.

But where will Royal Folly stop?--and when will any statesman have the courage to resist the childish caprices of the Queen?

In the same newspapers which are constantly telling us that the French meditate an invasion--that if the Cuirassiers enter London on the east, the best thing the Horse-Guards can do, will be to march out on the west--that the conquerors will be sure to levy contributions upon us, demand the settlement of old scores, strip us of our colonies, and humiliate us in every way,--in the very same journals which tell us all this, we read that the Queen it anxious for Prince Albert to become Commander-in-Chief, the Duke of Wellington retiring to make room for him!

Merciful heavens! is such a monstrous absurdity to be consummated? Is that grey-headed veteran, who won the field of Waterloo, to be superseded by a mere boy? Much as we have disliked the Duke of Wellington as a politician, yet we have felt proud of him as our national hero;--and no words can convey an idea of the disgust with which we perused the paragraph intimating that this mighty warrior was to be put upon the shelf, to make way for a Prince who knows no more of military matters than he does of the hieroglyphics on the Pyramids of Egypt.

If the Duke be desirous of withdrawing into private life, let him be succeeded by some great Captain who knows what hard blows in the field are--let his place be supplied by one of his own companions-in-arms.

Have we none of the heroes of the Peninsular battles still alive?--have we no names rendered glorious by victories achieved on the banks of the Sutlej?

It would be an insult the most glaring--the most flagrant, to all the illustrious chieftains alluded to, were a young man who never saw an angry shot fired, to be placed in authority over their heads! Already have the great warriors of England been sufficiently humiliated by the elevation of that young man to the rank of Field-Marshal:--but really if the English Court be allowed to “play at soldiers” in this disgraceful manner, it is no wonder that such men as the Duke of Wellington should look with apprehension at the consequences of a French invasion.

Prince Albert may be very resolute and very determined in worrying a poor otter with his dogs,--or he may be desperately brave in firing vollies of small shot upon harmless birds: but as for his capacity or his courage to lead an army----the idea is ridiculous!

The English people have not gone stark, staring mad--even if some few of their rulers have: and most sincerely do we hope that, if the attempt to raise Prince Albert to the post of Commander-in-Chief be persisted in, the country will oppose it by all moral and legal means,--by memorial, petition, and remonstrance,--by public meetings and the omnipotent voice of the public press,--in fine, by an universal agitation such as that which knocked down the Corn-Laws!

For the consummation of so astounding an absurdity will prove the ruin of the British Army!

Surely it is not in civilised England, and in the middle of the nineteenth century, that Royalty is to play its fantastic tricks, and use all our grandest institutions as playthings? If so, we shall have the Prince of Wales created on Admiral very shortly, and Dr. Howley may resign the Archbishopric of Canterbury to little Prince Ernest Alfred. And why not? Such appointments would be quite as rational as that of Prince Albert to the post of Commander-in-Chief.

Let not our readers suppose that we seek to bring Princes into ridicule: they have a right to be Princes, if the people are foolish enough to let them; but when they make themselves ridiculous by grasping at offices for which they are totally unfitted, it is time for us to speak out.

We are inspired by no awe and entertain no solemn terror in dealing with Royalty: for, after all, royal persons are only human creatures, as well as we--and they seldom possess the good feelings and sterling qualities which are to be found in honest, hard-working, enlightened mechanics.

* * * * *

After a most agreeable voyage of two hours and a half, the French steam-packet entered Calais harbour.

Charles and Perdita proceeded to Dessin’s Hotel; and there they determined to wait at least a few hours until the arrival of an English steamer which was to leave Dover about a couple of hours later than Le Courier.

During this interval Charles bethought himself that, should Mrs. Fitzhardinge not join them in the course of the day, Perdita and himself would be compelled to continue their journey to Paris; and, with a due sense of delicacy towards her who was to become his wife, he saw the impropriety of their travelling alone together. He accordingly intimated to Perdita the necessity of procuring for her a lady’s-maid without delay; and though she would have much preferred that herself and lover should be the sole occupants of the interior of the post-chaise, she nevertheless comprehended that the expression of such a wish on her part would give him but a poor idea of her modesty. She therefore assented to his proposal with apparent cheerfulness, and thanked him for his kind consideration.

By the agency of Madame Dessin, the landlady of the hotel, a French lady’s-maid, who understood English, was speedily obtained and engaged; and Perdita was now by no means displeased to find herself elevated to the position of a woman of some consequence. She, who but a short time before had entered London in a butcher’s cart and clad in the meanest apparel, was now provided with a special attendant and could choose dresses of the latest fashion and the costliest material.

The lady’s-maid was a pretty young woman of about three and twenty, with fine hair and eyes, good teeth, and a beautiful figure; and her attire was of the most tasteful, though quiet and unassuming, description. Her manners were very agreeable, and would be termed lady-like in this country: but, beneath a modest and innocent-looking exterior, she concealed a disposition for intrigue and no small amount of subtlety. At the same time, Rosalie--for that was her name--would not for the world seek to lead a virtuous mistress astray; and to such virtuous mistress she would doubtless prove an excellent, faithful, and trust-worthy servant. But should she have to deal with a mistress given to gallantry, then Rosalie would cheerfully exercise all her arts of duplicity--all her little cunning machinations--and all her aptitude for the management of an intrigue, and would take delight in enabling her lady to deceive a husband or a lover.

Such was the young person who now became Perdita’s attendant: but it must be observed that the character of Rosalie, as far as it was known to the landlady of the hotel, was unimpeachable:--that is to say, she bore the reputation of honesty, cleanliness, a perfect knowledge of her duties--in fine, all those qualifications which are sought and required in an upper servant of her description.

Having waited until the arrival of the English packet, and finding that Mrs. Fitzhardinge did not make her appearance, Charles, to whom her absence was unaccountable and bewildering to a degree, ordered the post-chaise to be got ready; and, while this was being done, he proceeded with Perdita to the British Consul’s to obtain passports. Finally, at about five o’clock in the afternoon, our travellers took their departure from Dessin’s Hotel in a chaise and four--Rosalie occupying a seat inside, for the sake of appearances.

Oh! had Charles Hatfield known that the young woman--his intended bride--for whose reputation he manifested so much delicate care,--had he known that she was so thoroughly polluted in body and mind,--could he have heard the history which the two officers at Dover might have told of her, had they chosen--he would have been shocked and horrified,--he would have spurned her from him--and all his ardent, enthusiastic love, amounting to an adoration and a worship, would have changed into feelings of abhorrence, loathing, and hate.

But he believed her to be pure and virtuous,--possessing some strange, wayward, and eccentric notions, it is true,--and yet endowed with a spirit so plastic and ductile as to yield willingly to good counsel and to be ready to sacrifice any peculiarity of opinion to the man whom she loved.

It is likewise true that he remembered how she had permitted him, in moments of impassioned tenderness, to toy with her--to press her glowing bosom--to glue his lips to hers, as if she herself would on those occasions accord even more: but he likewise recollected how invariably she started from his arms--withdrew herself from his embrace--and manifested a suddenly resuscitated presence of mind, when he had grown too bold and, maddened with desire, had sought the last favour which a woman, in amorous dalliance, can bestow. He therefore reasoned that, although her naturally warm temperament had led her to bestow upon him such unequivocal proofs of her love, yet that a virgin pride and a maiden’s prudence had enabled her in every instance to triumph over temptation;--and this belief enhanced his profound admiration of her character.

But from the moment that Charles had first beheld Perdita, his brain had been in an incessant state of excitement,--an intoxication, an elysian delirium which made Perdita on angel of beauty and almost of excellence in his eyes:--and those fervent caresses which he had been permitted to bestow upon her, and those slight foretastes of the most voluptuous enjoyments which he had been allowed to snatch, had only tended to sustain that excitement--increase the dreamy delights of that intoxication--and enhance the bliss of that continuous delirium.

Then, in addition to the fascinating influence of the syren--in addition to the enthralling witchery which her charms, her arts, her conversation, and the silver sounds of her dulcet voice exercised over him,--were his ambitious hopes, his soaring aspirations!

All these circumstances had combined to unsettle, if not altogether change, in an incredibly short space, a disposition naturally good--a mind naturally energetic and powerful: and then those unhappy scenes with his father, when neither fully understood the meaning and drift of the other’s observations, had aided to produce an excitement which was thus hurrying the young man along apparently to his utter ruin!

Unless, indeed, some good angel should yet intervene, ere it be too late----

But we must not anticipate.

On the contrary, let us return, from this partial though not unnecessary digression, to the thread of our narrative,--so that we may all the sooner be enabled to bring our readers back to that metropolis--that mighty London, of which we have still so many Mysteries to unfold!

The travellers pursued their journey all night, Charles being anxious to reach the French capital with the least possible delay, and Perdita seconding him fully in the wish.

Let us therefore succinctly state that in the morning they breakfasted at Amiens--in the afternoon they dined at Beauvais--and at ten o’clock in the evening they entered the splendid city of Paris.

Did our limits and the nature of the tale permit us, we would here gladly pause for a few minutes to describe that peerless capital which we know and love so well: but this may not be;--and we therefore hasten to state that Charles and Perdita, attended by Rosalie, proceeded to a respectable family hotel, where they hired a handsome suite of apartments.

And now for an important event in this section of our narrative,--an event which nevertheless may be related in a few words!

For, at eleven o’clock on the morning following their arrival in Paris, Charles Hatfield, claiming to be Viscount Marston, and Perdita Fitzhardinge were united in the bonds of matrimony, at the British Ambassador’s Chapel in the Rue Saint Honoré, and by the Chaplain to the Embassy.

CXLVI. TWO UNPLEASANT LODGERS

In the meantime certain little incidents had occurred in London, which we must faithfully chronicle before we proceed with the adventures of the newly married couple,--adventures, which, could Charles have possibly foreseen----

But we were for a moment oblivious of the scenes that require our attention in London, and which took place while Charles Hatfield and Perdita were as yet on their way to Paris.

Charterhouse Square--situate between Aldersgate Street and St. John Street (Smithfield)--has a mournful, gloomy, and sombre appearance, which even the green foliage in the circular enclosure cannot materially relieve. The houses are for the most part of antiquated structure and dingy hue--the windows and front-doors are small--and, pass by them when you will, you never behold a human countenance at any one of the casements. The curtains and the blinds,--and, in the winter time, glimpses of the fires burning in the parlours,--these are, to a certain extent, symptoms that the houses are tenanted: but no farther signs of the fact can be discovered. Often and often as we have passed through that Square, we never beheld a soul coming out of, nor going into, any one of the gloomy abodes: we have observed a baker’s boy and a butcher’s ditto hurrying rapidly round--but never could satisfy ourselves that either of them had any particular business there, for they did not knock at a single door;--and on one--and only one occasion--when we met a two-penny post-man in the Square, he seemed to be as much astonished at finding himself in that quarter as we were to encounter him there. As for the beadle--his occupation seems to consist of lounging about, switching a cane, strolling into the Fox and Anchor public-house, and chatting for half-an-hour at a time with the very sober-looking porter of the Charter House.

There is a something really solemn and awful in the silence of that Square,--not a silence and a repose which seem to afford relief to the mind and rest to the ear after escaping from the tremendous din of the crowded streets,--but a silence that strikes like a chill to the heart. Whence arises this sensation?--is it because, while traversing the Square, we are reminded that in the vast cloistral building to the north are pent up eighty old men--the Poor Brothers of the Charter House,--eighty denizens of a Protestant Monastery in the very heart of civilised London,--eighty worn-out and decrepid persons who drag out the wretched remnant of their lives beneath the iron sway of a crushing ecclesiastical discipline! Does the silence of the Square borrow its solemnity from that far more awful silence which reigns within the Charter House itself,--a silence so awe-inspiring--so dead--so tomb-like, that even in the noon of a hot summer-day, the visitor shudders with a cold feeling creeping over him as he crosses the cloistral enclosure!

The reader will probably remember that, when Mr. Bubbleton Styles had propounded his grand Railway scheme to Captain O’Blunderbuss and Mr. Frank Curtis, he gave each of those gentlemen a ten-pound note, desiring them to take respectable lodgings, and refer, if necessary, to him. We know not precisely how it happened that the gallant officer and his friend should have selected Charterhouse Square as the place most likely to suit them with regard to apartments; but thither they assuredly did repair--and in that gloomy quarter did they hire three rooms: namely, a parlour on the first floor, and two bed-chambers on the second. The landlady of the house was a widow; and, having some small pittance in the shape of regular income, eked out by letting a portion of her abode. She was an elderly woman--tall, starch, and prim--and very particular in obtaining good references--or, at least, what she considered to be good ones--respecting any applicants for her apartments; and therefore, previously to admitting Captain O’Blunderbuss and Mr. Frank Curtis into her house, she had sought all possible information concerning them at the hands of Mr. Styles. His account was satisfactory, and the two gentlemen were thereupon duly installed in their lodgings at Mrs. Rudd’s, Charterhouse Square.

The first two or three days passed comfortably enough, because the captain and Frank, having ready money in their pockets, took their dinner and supper--aye, and their grog too--at some convenient tavern,--troubling Mrs. Rudd only in reference to their breakfast, which she cheerfully prepared for them, because she thereby obtained whole and sole controul over their groceries. She was a very pious woman, and attended a Methodist Chapel regularly every Sunday; but being, as she often expressed herself, “a lone widow,” she thought there was no harm in using her lodgers’ tea, sugar, and butter for her own repasts. “Heaven was very good to her,” she would often tell her neighbours, “and enabled her to make the most of her little means:” she might have added--“and of her lodgers’ also.”

The captain and Frank, however, soon began to find that their evening entertainments at the tavern were very expensive; and, as they could not again draw upon Mr. Styles for some time--all his resources being required for the promotion of the railway--they resolved to economise. The best method of carrying this object into effect, was to take their dinner, supper, and poteen at home; and Mrs. Rudd, on being sounded in respect to the plan, willingly assented--for the excellent woman felt assured that her lodgers would not miss a slice or two off a cold joint any more than they noticed the marvellous disappearance of their groceries. So the captain and his friend became more domestic; and as Frank did not get particularly drunk on the two first evenings, Mrs. Rudd had no complaints to make.

But at last she began to suspect that she had some ground for doubting the steadiness of her lodgers. It was on a Sunday evening, and the worthy woman had just returned from chapel, where she had heard a most refreshing and savoury discourse by the Reverend Mr. Flummery,--when, on crossing the threshold of the house door, and while still ruminating on the truly Christian manner in which the eloquent minister had promised hell-flames to all heathens,--she was suddenly startled by hearing a terrific noise proceeding from up-stairs.

She paused--and listened!

Yes: the sound did emanate from above; and most strange sounds they were, too. Deeply disgusted--nay, profoundly shocked at this desecration of the Sabbath, Mrs. Rudd crept up stairs; and the nearer she drew to the parlour-door, the more convinced did she become that Captain O’Blunderbuss and Mr. Curtis were fighting a single combat with the shovel and poker. The conflict was, however, only in fun: for the clash of the fire-irons was accompanied by tremendous shouts of laughter, and such ejaculations as these:--“There, be Jasus! I have ye again, Frank! Blood and thunther, keep up your guar-r-d, man! Now, would ye be afther a feint? Be the powers! and ye can’t touch me at all, at all! Hit hard, me friend--niver mind the damned ould poker-r-r--the ould woman is at chapel!”

Mrs. Rudd was astounded--stupefied. Was it possible that these were the lodgers whom Mr. Styles--a respectable “City man”--had recommended as the very patterns of quietness and steadiness? Why, if she had let her rooms to two Bedlamites, things could not have been worse! She was positively afraid to go in to remonstrate; and, having recovered the use of those limbs which wonder had for several minutes paralysed, she hurried down stairs to consider what was best to be done, while supping off her racketty lodgers’ cold joint.

That same night Frank Curtis got so gloriously inebriated, that he threw up his bed-room window and treated the whole Square to a specimen of his vocal powers--singing some favourite Bacchanalian song, and introducing the most terrific yells by way of variations. The captain, who had also imbibed a little too much, soon after threw up his window, and exerted all the powers of his lungs in chorus with his friend; so that the deep, solemn, and awe-inspiring silence of Charterhouse Square was broken in a fashion that seemed to surprise the very echoes themselves. Without any figure of speech, it is certain that the inhabitants were surprised; for their night, usually passed in such death-like tranquillity, was unexpectedly and suddenly “made hideous;” and several nervous old ladies, dwelling in the neighbourhood, fancied that the frightful yells were warnings of fire, and went off into strong hysterics.

Vainly did Mrs. Rudd knock first at the captain’s door--then at Frank’s: they heard her not--or, if they did, took no heed of her remonstrances;--and when the beadle, who had been aroused from his bed, came and thundered at the front-door, the two lodgers simultaneously emptied their water-pitchers on his head. Then, satisfied with this exploit, they closed their windows and retired to rest.

When they descended to their parlour to breakfast in the morning, Mrs. Rudd acquainted them, in a tone evincing the most violent concentration of rage, that she could not possibly think of harbouring Captain O’Blunderbuss and Mr. Curtis any longer. But, to her amazement, they both swore that they were perfectly innocent of the disturbance of the previous night,--alleging that they themselves were as much annoyed by the row as the landlady herself. Mrs. Rudd could scarcely believe her ears: had she been dreaming? No: the noise had really taken place--for her lodgers admitted that they had heard it--though, to use a common phrase, they swore “eyes and limbs” that they had not made it. However, she gave them a week’s warning, and then calmly reminded them that a week’s rent was already due; whereupon Captain O’Blunderbuss flew into a terrific rage at the idea of “the maneness of the woman in spaking of such a thrifle!” Mrs. Rudd was frightened, and turned in an appealing manner to Mr. Frank Curtis, who declared point blank that the captain was cashier, and that she must draw upon him: but, finding that the gallant officer was a cashier without cash, Mrs. Rudd was compelled to retire--muttering something about her being “a lone widow,” and intimating a hope that the two weeks’ rent would be paid “all in a lump” on the following Monday morning.

The captain and Mr. Curtis now completely threw off the mask. They no longer affected even to be “steady, quiet men of regular habits,” as Mr. Styles had represented them; but they drank poteen “till all was blue,” as Frank Curtis said--or, in the language of the gallant officer, “till they couldn’t see a hole through a lath-er.” The disturbances they created at night were hideous; and poor Mrs. Rudd received from all her neighbours the most positive threats that they would indict her house as a nuisance. At last, in the depth of her despair, she had recourse to that excellent man, the Reverend Mr. Flummery; and the Reverend Mr. Flummery, having heard her sad tale, undertook to go in person and remonstrate with “these men of Belial.”

Accordingly, one afternoon, just as the captain and Frank had finished a couple of bottles of stout by way of giving themselves an appetite for dinner, they were somewhat surprised when the parlour-door was thrown open, and in walked a short, podgy, red-faced man, dressed in deep black. Still more amazed were they when he announced himself as the Reverend Emanuel Flummery, and stated that he had come to remonstrate with them on their behaviour towards “a lone widow.” The captain, winking at Curtis, desired the minister to be seated, and proposed to discuss the business over another bottle of stout. His reverence thought there was something so affable in the offer, that it would be churlish to refuse it; and he accordingly gave his assent. The stout was produced; and Mr. Flummery, being thirsty and hot, enjoyed it excessively.

He then began a long remonstrance with the two gentlemen--the gist of which was that Mrs. Rudd would be very much obliged to them if they would pay their rent and remove to other lodgings. The captain and Frank pretended to listen with attention; and the reverend minister, finding them in such a tractable humour, as he supposed, did not choose to mar the harmony of the interview by declining a second bottle of stout. Talking had renewed his thirst--and, moreover, if there were one special beverage which the Reverend Emanuel Flummery loved more than another, it was Guinness’s stout. Accordingly, he emptied his tumbler, and then continued his remonstrance and his representations, in which, however he was cut short by a sudden pain in the stomach--doubtless produced by the effervescent malt liquor. The captain was prompt with a remedy; and Mr. Flummery had swallowed a good dram of whiskey before an eye could twinkle thrice. Thus cheered, and finding the two gentlemen most docile and respectful, his reverence consented to partake of a hot glass of toddy with them, just to convince them that he was inclined to be friendly;--and this one glass led to a second--and then Frank Curtis cunningly brewed him a third, while the reverend minister was expatiating upon the good qualities of Mrs. Rudd. In fine, Mr. Emanuel Flummery became so much disguised in liquor, that, when he took his leave, he swore the captain and Frank Curtis were two excellent gentlemen--begged them not to put themselves to any inconvenience in moving--and assured them that he would make it all right with the landlady.

Mrs. Rudd, however, was mightily shocked when she beheld the condition in which the reverend gentleman presented himself at her own parlour-door; and she could indeed scarcely believe her eyes. But when, after hiccupping out some unintelligible words, that self-same reverend gentleman--the pastor of an admiring flock, and whose sermons were so refreshing and so savoury,--when he,--the individual whom she had looked upon as the essence of human perfection,--when he, we say, cast his arms around her neck and administered to her somewhat wrinkled cheeks a hearty smack,--then, what did she do? Why--she put up with the affront--doubtless to save the reputation of the minister;--and, perhaps with the same charitable desire to avoid the scandal of an exposure, she permitted him to repeat his caresses as often as he chose during the half-hour that he remained in her company. She even made him some tea, which materially tended to sober him; and, when he had at length taken his departure, she muttered several times to herself, “Well--after all, this saint of a man is mere flesh and blood like any other!”

But when Mrs. Rudd’s more pleasurable reflections had ceased,--for pleasurable they certainly were, both during the reverend gentleman’s presence and for a short time after the door had closed behind him,--she remembered that her disagreeable lodgers were, still in the house, notwithstanding the remonstrances which, according to his statement to the widow, the pious minister had most eloquently addressed to them. And that they were still in the dwelling, she was very soon made to understand;--for the obstreperous behaviour of those “dreadful men,” to use Mrs. Rudd’s own words, recommenced in the form of the most hearty peals of laughter--and the clashing of the fire-irons--and the stamping of feet, as if the two gentlemen were mad.

“They have begun their booze,” said Mrs. Rudd to herself, looking up in despair at the ceiling, as if she thought the captain and his friend must inevitably come through upon her devoted head. “But never mind!” she suddenly exclaimed aloud, as a thought--a very bright thought struck her: “I will put up with it for this once--and to-morrow--to-morrow----”

Here Mrs. Rudd stopped short; for she would not even trust the empty air with the lucid idea which had struck her.

We may however inform our readers that this said idea was nothing more nor less than to lock out the two gentlemen when they went for their usual walk on the morrow.

Tranquillized by the excellence of the scheme, Mrs. Rudd refreshed herself with a small drop of brandy, and then spread her huge Bible open on the table before her--not to read it, but merely because “it looked pious-like,” as she thought, if any of her neighbours should happen to drop in. For Mrs. Rudd delighted in the reputation for sanctity which she enjoyed amongst her acquaintances in general, and the frequenters of the reverend gentleman’s chapel in particular.

Let us now return to Mr. Frank Curtis and Captain O’Blunderbuss, who, as the landlady rightly concluded, were enjoying themselves in their own peculiar fashion up-stairs.

Having partaken of a cold joint, and the slip-shod girl of the house having provided them with a jug of hot water, the two gentlemen commenced the evening’s orgie. The whiskey-punch which they brewed was of that kind which is libellously alleged to be peculiarly affected by ladies--namely, “hot, strong, and plenty of it;”--and, under its influence, they soon manifested their wonted exuberance of spirits. First, Captain O’Blunderbuss would insist upon giving Frank a lesson with the broad-sword--the one using the poker, and the other the shovel;--and every time the gallant officer thrust his friend in the ribs, a hearty shout of laughter burst from their lips--for they considered it prime fun.

When they were tired of this amusement, they resumed their seats--replenished their glasses--and chatted on divers matters interesting to themselves. Presently Frank started up, and leapt over a chair in order to show his agility, although he had grown somewhat stout of late years;--and as he acquitted himself in a clumsy manner, the captain volunteered to teach him how to do it. But the gallant officer only tumbled over the chair, causing a tremendous split in his trousers--an accident at which they nevertheless both laughed more heartily than ever.

“Be Jasus!” cried the captain, “and it’s the only pair of unmintionables that I possess! But niver mind: I’ll be afther telling the gal to take them round to the tailor’s the first thing in the morning; and so I’ll take my breakfast in bed, Frank. They’ll soon be sent home again.”

“Let’s see? we’ve got to meet Styles to-morrow at three in the afternoon,” said Curtis; “and, by Jove! we must make him come down with the dust.”

“Be the power-rs! and you’re right, my frind!” exclaimed the captain. “It’s eighteen-pince that’s left in my pocket at this prisint spaking----”

“And nothing at all in mine,” interrupted Frank, both his hands diving at the same time down into the depths of the empty conveniences alluded to. “Deuce take this railway affair! It gets on precious slow. I remember when I was in Paris two or three-and-twenty years ago, they were making a new path-way through my friend the Archbishop’s estate at Fontainbleau; and if his Grace didn’t go and swear at the men all day long, they never would have got on with it.”

“Be the power-rs! if it’s a thrifle of swearing that would make Misther Styles push a-head,” said the gallant officer, “I’m the boy to help him on with that same.”

“You see there’s been what they call a tightness in the Money-Market lately,” observed Frank: “at least, that’s what Styles told me the other day----”

“And it’s an infer-r-rnal tightness that’s got hould of our Money-Market, my frind,” interrupted the captain. “Be Jasus! there’s the potheen bottle empty--and no tick at the public!”

“You’ve got eighteen-pence in your pocket, captain,” suggested Curtis.

“Right, me boy!”--and he rang the bell furiously.

The slip-shod girl answered the summons, and was forthwith despatched for a supply of whiskey at the wine-vaults which the lodgers honoured with their custom.

“Now we’re altogether aground,” said Curtis, after a pause which had followed the departure of the servant. “But we’ve every thing necessary in the house for to-morrow morning’s breakfast, except the milk----”

“And bar-r-ring my breeches, ye spalpeen!” cried the captain. “They must be immediately menthed, any how.”

“Oh! the tailor won’t think of asking for the money when he brings them home,” said Curtis: then, beholding the comical expression of his friend’s countenance, which was elongated with sore misgivings respecting the amount of confidence the snip might choose to put in his honour, Frank burst out into a tremendous fit of laughter.

“Arrah! and be Jasus! and it’s all mighty fine for you, Misther Curtis, to make a damned fool of yourself in that fashion,” exclaimed Captain O’Blunderbuss, becoming as red as a turkey-cock: “but I can assure ye that it’s no joking matther for me to contimplate the prospict of lying in bed for a week or two till I get my breeches back again. And now, if you’re not afther houlding your tongue, Frank, I’ll tip ye a small rap on the head with the poker--by the howly poker-r, I will!”

“Don’t get into a rage, captain,” said Curtis, putting a bridle upon his mirth in consequence of the threat just held out--a threat which he knew his amiable friend was perfectly capable of putting into force. “I will go out the first thing in the morning and see Styles--and I have no doubt he will give me some money. I shall be back again by the time the tailor comes home with--with----”

“The unmintionables!” vociferated the captain, his wrath reviving as he saw that his friend was once more on the point of giving vent to a hearty cachinnation. “But here’s the gal coming up stairs with the potheen; and so we’ll be afther enjoying ourselves for the prisint, and think of the tightness of the Money-Mar-r-rket in the morning.”

“Well, what the deuce has made you so long?” demanded Frank Curtis, as the slip-shod domestic entered the room.

“Long, sir!” echoed the girl, as if in surprise. “Lor, sir--I ain’t been a minit!”

“Not a minute!” cried Frank, who always bullied servants--when they weren’t footmen who could knock him down for his impudence: “I tell you, you’ve been more than a quarter of an hour.”

“Well, sir--and if so be I have,” said the girl, suddenly recollecting something which had occurred to hinder her on her errand, “it was because as I went out of the street-door a man come up and asked me if so be as Mr. Smith lived here. ‘No,’ says I: ‘he don’t.’--‘Well, then,’ says the man, ‘Mr. Brown does.’--‘No, he don’t, though,’ I says, says I; ‘nor yet Mr. Jones, nor Mr. Noakes neether.’--‘Well, who does live here, then?’ says the man; and as I thought it would teach him not to be so precious knowing another time, I out and told him slap as how two gentlemen lived here as was named Blunderbuss--leastways, O’Blunderbuss, and Curtis.”

“The devil you did!” ejaculated the two lodgers as it were in the same breath, and exchanging significant glances which expressed the same apprehension.

“To be sure I did, sir,” responded the girl, not perceiving the alarm which she had created in the minds of the gentlemen, but rather attributing their excited ejaculations to an approval of her conduct: “for I thinks to myself, thinks I, ‘Now, my fine feller, you’ll believe that there’s no Smiths or Browns here; and you won’t be quite so positive another time.’”

“Well--and what did the man say?” demanded Frank Curtis, darting another uneasy glance at his friend.

“He only said ‘Oh!’ and went away,” returned the girl; “and that’s what kept me a little in going----”

“What sort of a looking fellow was he?” asked Curtis.

“He warn’t a gentleman, sir--and he smelt horrible of drink,” said the domestic.

“But what should you take him for?” demanded Frank, impatiently.

“A thief, sir,” was the ingenuous response.

“Be Jasus! and thin it’s a shiriff’s----” ejaculated Captain O’Blunderbuss, starting in his chair: but, instantly stopping short ere he completed the sentence, he added in a few moments and in a less excited tone, “You may go down stairs, my dear; and if any one comes and asks for Misther Frank Cur-r-tis or Captain O’Bluntherbuss, ye must deny us, mind--or I’ll be afther skinning ye alive!”

“Lor, sir!” cried the girl; and, horrified by the dreadful threat, she hastened from the room as if the individual who had uttered the menace were preparing to carry it into execution.

For some few minutes after she had taken her departure, Captain O’Blunderbuss and Mr. Curtis sate eyeing each other in silence,--the same idea evidently occupying both--and both fearful to express it; as if to give utterance to the thought were positively to meet the dreaded misfortune half-way.

“Well,” exclaimed Curtis, at length, “and what do you think of that?”

“Be Jasus! and it’s what do you think of it?” cried the captain.

“For my part I think it’s Rumrigg and Kaysay the lawyers, who’ve found out where we are, and mean to take us on that cursed cognovit we gave them last Christmas for the discounter’s affair,” said Mr. Curtis, who, having now fully expressed his fears, no longer hesitated to look particularly blank upon the matter.

“Faith! and that same’s my opinion also,” exclaimed the gallant officer; then, grasping the poker very tight in his hand, he said, “But if the thunthering villains of shiriff’s-officers crape into this house, it’s myself that’ll sind ’em out again with a flay in their ear. So don’t make yourself unhappy at all, at all, my frind; but let’s dhrink bad luck to the bastes of the airth!”

“With all my heart,” cried Frank, brewing for himself a strong glass of toddy. “The only thing is----”

“Is what?” demanded the captain, suddenly desisting from his occupation of mixing a tumbler of grog for himself, and fixing his eyes sternly upon his friend.

“The breeches,” was the laconic answer.

“Ah! now--and can’t ye be asy about those same unmintionables?” cried the gallant officer. “I suspicted it was afther them ye was harping again and again. It’ll become a sore subject in time, Frank. So dhrink--and bad luck to the inexprissibles.”

And the two gentlemen did drink, until the bottle was empty, when they retired to rest--the captain having previously informed the servant-girl that he should leave his trousers outside his chamber door, and that she must take them round to the tailor the very first thing in the morning, with instructions for him to mend and return them as speedily as possible.