Chapter FIFTY NINE (2)

But I would not be so repelled. I became impassioned and loud; nor would I depart until he assured me, on his honour, that he knew almost as little of the secret as myself, and that he was only the agent of an agent, never having yet had any communication with the principal, whose name, even, he assured me, he did not know.

I had now nearly exhausted the day. The intermingling mists of the season and the heavy smoke of the town were now shrouding the streets in a dense obscurity. There were no gas lights then. Profoundly ignorant of the intricacy of the streets of the metropolis, I was completely at the mercy of the hackney-coachmen, and they made me buy it extremely dear. Merely from habit, I again repaired to the White Horse, and concluded my nineteenth natal day in incertitude, solitude, and misery.

To Stickenham--yes, I would go there immediately. But the resolve gave no exulting throb to my bosom.

I went to that spot so consecrated to my memory by bright skies and brighter faces; the spot where I had so often urged the flying ball and marshalled the mimic army--it was there that I stood; and I asked of a miserable half-starved woman, "where was the play-ground of my youth?" and she showed me a "brick-field."

I walked a few steps further, and asked for the school-house of my happiest days--and one pointed out to me a brawling ale-house. It was a bitter change. I asked of another where was now my old light-hearted, deep-learned, French schoolmaster, Monsieur Cherfeuil. He had gone back to France. The _emigres_ had been recalled by Napoleon.

There was one other question that I dreaded, yet burned to ask--I need not state how fearful it was to me, since it was to learn the fate of her whom I had honoured, and loved, and hailed, as my mother--the beautiful and the kind Mrs Cherfeuil. I conjectured that she, too, had gone to France with her husband, and the idea was painful to me.

"There have been great alterations here, my good girl," said I to a young person whom I afterwards met.

"Very great, indeed, sir,--they have ruined father and mother."

"Your name, my dear, is Susan Archer."

"Bless me, so it is, sir!"

"And you seem a very intelligent little girl, indeed."

"Yes, I have had a good deal of book-learning, but all that is past and gone now. When Mrs Cherfeuil lived in that house, she took care that we should always have a home of our own, fire in the grate, and a loaf in the cupboard--she had me sent to school--but now she is gone!"

"Gone!--where?--with her husband?"

"Don't you know, sir," said she, with a quiet solemnity, that made me shudder with dreadful anticipations. "If you will come with me, I will show you."

I dared not ask the awful question, "Is she dead?" I took my gentle guide by the hand, and suffered her to lead me slowly through the village. Neither of us spoke. We had almost attained to the end of the hamlet, when my sad guide gently plucked me by the arm to turn down to the right.

"No," said I, tremulously, "that is not the way; we must go forward. That lane leads to the churchyard."

"And to Mrs Cherfeuil."

"Go on, and regard me not."

In another minute we were both sitting on a newly-made grave, the little girl weeping in the innocent excess of that sorrow that brings its own sweet relief.

My at first low and almost inaudible murmurs gradually grew more loud and more impassioned. At last they aroused the attention of my weeping companion, and she said to me, artlessly, "It is of no use taking on in this way, sir; she can never speak up from the grave. She is in heaven now; and God does not permit any of His blessed saints to speak to us sinners below."

"You are quite right, my good girl," said I, ashamed of this betrayal of my emotion. "It is very foolish indeed to be talking to the dead over their damp graves, and not at all proper. But I have a great fancy to stay here a little while by myself. Pray go and wait for me at the end of the lane. I will not keep you long, and I have something to say to you."

"I will do as you tell me, sir, most certainly. I will tell you all about her death, for I was a sort of help to the nurse. I know you now, sir, and thought I knew you from the first."

I shall not repeat the extravagances that I uttered when alone. I was angry with myself and with all the world; and I fear that I exasperated myself with the thought that I did not sufficiently feel the grief with which I strove to consecrate my loss. I remember, I concluded my rhapsody thus:

"Again I call upon you by the sacred name of mother--for such you were-- and no other will my heart ever acknowledge. I adjure you to hear me swear that I will have all the justice done to your memory that man can do! and may we never meet in those realms where only the injured find redress, if I fail to scatter this sacred earth in token of dishonour upon the head of him who has dishonoured you--were he even my own father! It is an oath. May it be recorded, should that record be used as my sentence of death!"

Having made this harsh and impious vow, the effect of over-excitement, I tore a considerable portion of the earth from the grave, and, folding it in my handkerchief I knotted it securely, and placed it round my heart next to my skin, like those belts that are worn by Roman Catholics as instruments of penance.

With a wish for something very like the shedding of blood in my heart, and with a fervent prayer in my imagination and on my lips, I left Mrs Cherfeuil's humble grave, and joined my companion.

In one little half-hour, I found my belt of vengeance so cold and so inconvenient, that I heartily wished I was well rid of it: it is a miserable confession, a sad falling off in my heroics; but the oath that I had voluntarily and so solemnly taken prevented me from ridding myself of the disgusting incumbrance.

According to the account of my companion, all was smiles, and happiness, and sunshine, around Mrs Cherfeuil; when a person made his appearance, by the description of whom I at once recognised that fiend, Daunton. Domestic happiness then ceased for the poor lady; rumours of the worst nature got abroad; her little French husband, instead of being as for twelve years before he had been, her shadow, her slave, and her admirer, became outrageous and cruel, and after the horrid word bigamy had been launched against her, she never after held up her head.

She sickened and died. Nor did Daunton succeed in his plans of extorting money--but his scheme was infinitely more deep and more hellish. He had, _but not till after her death_, declared himself to be her son. This, instead of having any effect upon the outraged widower, only made him more eager to drive the impostor from his presence; and, the opportunity offering itself to leave the spot now so hateful to him, and the country that had sheltered him and in which he had grown so rich, he availed himself of it eagerly. This account did not aggravate my implacable feelings against this Daunton, for my hate was beyond the capability of increase.

After hearing all that the little wench had to discover, and rewarding her, I proceeded alone to wander over the spots that were once so dear to me. In this melancholy occupation, when the cold mists of the early evening fell, I continued heaping regret upon regret, until a more miserable being, short of being impelled to suicide, could not have trod the earth. About five, it began to grow dark; and, weary both in mind and body, I commenced climbing the long hill that was the boundary of the common, on my return to London.

On the Surrey side of the hill, for its apex separated it from another county, the descent was more precipitous--so much so, that it is now wholly disused as a road for carriages; and not only was it precipitous, but excessively contorted, the bends sometimes running at right angles with each other. High banks, clothed with impervious hedges, and shadowed by tall trees, made the road both dank and dark; and, at the time that I was passing, or, rather, turning round one of the elbows of this descent, a sturdy fellow, with a heavy cudgel, followed at some distance by a much smaller man, accosted me in a rude tone of voice, by bawling out:

"I say, you sir, what's o'clock?"

"Go about your business, and let me pass."

"Take that for your civility!" and, with a severe blow with his stick, he laid me prostrate. I was not stunned, but I felt very sick, and altogether incapable of rising. In this state I determined to feign stupefaction, so I nearly closed my eyes, and lay perfectly still. The huge vagabond then placed his knee upon my chest, and called out to his companion:

"I say, Mister, come and see if this here chap's the right un."

The person called to, came up; and, immediately after, through my eyelashes, I beheld the diabolical white face of Daunton. It was so dark, that, to recognise me, he was obliged to place his countenance so close to mine that his hot breath burned against my cheek. He was in a passion of terror, and trembled as if in an access of ague.

"It is," said he, whilst his teeth chattered. "Is he stunned?"

"Mister, now I take that as an insult. D'ye think that John Gowles need strike such a strip of a thing as that ere twice?"

"Hush!--How very, very cold it is! Where is your knife? Will you do it?"

"Most sartainly not. There--he's at your mercy--I never committed murder yet--no, no, must think of my precious soul. A bargain's a bargain--my part on't is done."

"Gowles, don't talk so loud. I can't bear the sight of blood--and, oh God!--of this blood--it would spurt upon my hand. Strike him again over the head--he breathes heavily--strike him!"

"No," said the confederate, sullenly. "Tell ye--u'll have neither 'art nor part in this 'ere murder."

During this very interesting conference, I was rallying all my energies for one desperate effort, intending, however, to wait for the uplifted knife, to grasp it, in order that I might turn the weapon against the breast of one assassin, and then use it as a defence against the other.

"Would to God," said the villain, adding blasphemy to concerted murder--"would to God that my hand was spared this task! Give me the knife now. Where shall I strike him?--I have no strength to drive it into him far."

"Tell ye, Mister, u'll have nought to do with the murder--but u'd advise thee to bare his neck, and thrust in the point just under his right ear."

"Hush! Will it bleed much?"

"Damnably!"

"Horrible!--horrible! Do you think the story about Cain and Abel is true?"

"As God is in heaven!"

"Can't it be done without blood?"

"I'll have nothing to do with the murder. But, Mister, if so be as you are so craven-hearted, take your small popper, and send a ball right into his heart. It is a gentleman's death, and will make the prettiest small hole imaginable, and bleed none to signify. But, mind ye, this 'ere murder's all your own."

At this critical moment, as I was inhaling a strong breath, in order to invigorate my frame for instant exertion, I heard two or three voices in the distance carolling out, in a sort of disjointed chorus--

"Many droll sights I've seen,
But I wish the wars were over."

"Now or never," said Joshua, producing and cocking his pistol. I leaped upon my legs in an instant, and, seizing the weapon, which was a small tool, manufactured for a gentleman's pocket, by the barrel with my left hand, and this amiable specimen of fraternity by the right, the struggle of an instant ensued. The muzzle of the pistol was close upon my breast when my adversary discharged it. I felt the sharp, hard knock of the ball upon my chest, and the percussion for the moment took away my breath, but my hold upon the villain's throat was unrelaxed. The gurgling of suffocation became audible to his brutal companion.

"Ods sneckens!" said the brute, "but this 'ere murdered man is throttling my Mister in his death-throe."

Down at once came his tremendous cudgel upon my arm. I released my grip, and again fell to the earth.

"He's a dead man," said Gowles; "run for your life! Mind, Mister, I had neither 'art nor part in this 'ere--"

And they were almost immediately out of sight and out of hearing.

At the report of the pistol, the jolly choristers struck up prestissimo with their feet. They were standing round me just as the retreating feet of my assassins had ceased to resound in the stillness of the darkness.

A voice, which I immediately knew to be that of my old adversary, the master's mate, Pigtop, accosted me.

"Holloa, shipmate!--fallen foul of a pirate, mayhap--haven't slipped your wind, ha' ye, messmate?"

"No; but I believe my arm's broken, and I have a pistol ball between my ribs."

"Which way did the lubbers sheer off? Shall we clap on sail, and give chase?"

"It is of no use. I know one of them well. They shall not escape me."

"Why, I know that voice. Yes--no--damn me--it must be Ralph Rattlin--it bean't, sure--and here on his beam ends, a shot in his hull, and one of his spars shattered. I'd sooner have had my grog watered all my life than this should have fallen out."

"You have not had your grog watered this evening, Pigtop," said I, rising, assisted by himself and his comrades. "I don't feel much hurt, after all."

"True, true, shipmate. But we must clap a stopper over all. Small-shot in the chest are bad messmates. We must make a tourniquet of my skysail here."

So, without heeding my cries of pain, he passed his handkerchief round my breast; and by the means of twisting his walking-stick in the knot, he hove it so tight, that he not only stopped all effusion of blood, but almost all my efforts at breathing. My left hand still held the discharged pistol, which I gave into the custody of Pigtop. Upon further examination, I found that there was no fracture of the bone of my arm; and that, all things considered, I could walk tolerably well. However, I still felt a violent pain in my chest, attended with difficulty of breathing, at the least accelerated pace.

CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR.

RALPH APPEARS BEFORE A MAGISTRATE, AND PROVES TO BE MORE FRIGHTENED THAN HURT, THOUGH FRIGHTENED AS LITTLE AS A VERITABLE HERO SHOULD BE--A GREAT DEAL OF FUSS ABOUT A LITTLE DUST, NOT KICKED UP, BUT FINALLY LAID DOWN.

We got on, nevertheless, Pigtop shaking his head very dolefully, whenever I paused to recover breath.

We entered the first house that we came to; that of an agricultural labourer. We told our adventure, and the good man immediately proceeded to acquaint the patrol and the constable. I was anxious to examine the nature of my wound, to which my old messmate would not listen for a moment. He was particularly sorry that he saw no blood, from which symptom he argued the worst-looking upon me as a dead man, being certain that I was bleeding inwardly.

I decided for a post-chaise, that I might hasten to town and make my depositions; for I was determined to let loose the hounds of the law after my dastardly enemies, without the loss of a moment. The chaise was soon procured; and, much to the satisfaction of Pigtop, we drove directly to Bow Street--the good fellow having a firm persuasion that the moment his make-shift tourniquet was withdrawn, I should breathe my last. I had no such direful apprehensions.

When we arrived at the office, the worthy magistrate was on the point of retiring. The clatter of the chaise driving rapidly up to the door, and the exaggerated report of the post-boy, heralded us in with some _eclat_. The magistrate, when he had heard it was a case of murder, very well disguised his regret at the postponement of his dinner.

Mr Pigtop insisted upon supporting me, although I could walk very well--quite as well as himself, considering his potations: and insisted also upon speaking. He was one of the old school of seamen, and could not speak out of his profession. Accordingly he was first sworn. We will give the commencement of his deposition verbatim, as he is one of a class that is fast disappearing from the face of the waters.

"If you please, your worship, I and my two concerts that are lying-to in my wake, after having taken in our wood and water at Woolwich, we braced up sharp, bound for London."

"What do you mean by your wood and water?" said the magistrate.

"Our bub and grub--Here's a magistrate for you! (aside to me)--your worship, down to our bearings. So, as Bill here said, as how we were working Tom Cox's traverse--your worship knows what that means, well enough."

"Indeed, sir, I don't."

"It's the course the lawyers will take when they make sail for heaven. I can see, in the twinkling of a purser's dip, that your worship is no lawyer."

"This, sir, is the first time anyone has had the impertinence to tell me so."

"Well, well, no offence, I hope, your worship?--there is no accounting for taste, as the monkey said when he saw the cat pitch into the tar barrel;" and then the worthy witness embarked into a very irrelevant digression about land-sharks. The magistrate, however, was patient and sensible, and at length overcame the great difficulty arising from his never having been to sea, and Pigtop never having been to law.

His deposition having been translated into the vulgar tongue, out of nautical mysticisms, was duly sworn to; yet not without an interruption when the magistrate heard that it was supposed that I had the pistol-ball still somewhere in my body--he wishing me to be examined by a surgeon immediately. Mr Pigtop was opposed to this, lest I should die upon the spot; but I gave the magistrate more satisfaction by telling him I had good reason to suppose that the ball had not penetrated deeply.

I was the last examined; and I almost electrified Pigtop when I deposed that I knew well the person of my murderous assaulter, and that it was Joshua Daunton.

At this announcement, my quondam messmate slapped his hand upon his knee with a violence that echoed through the court, grinned, then looked profoundly serious; but made me very thankful by holding his peace, and shaking his head most awfully. When I proceeded to give a very accurate description of this wretch's person, looks of understanding passed between three or four of the principal runners, who were attentively listening to the proceedings. When this business was concluded, the magistrate said to me, "The young man who has committed this outrage upon your person, we have strong reason to believe, is amenable to the laws for other crimes. He has eluded our most active officers; and it was supposed that he had left the kingdom. It appears now that he has returned. You have had a most providential escape. The pistol will give us a good clue. There is no doubt but that shortly we shall be able to give a good account of him. Let me now advise you, Mr Rattlin, to have your hurt examined. Come into my private room; a surgeon will be here in an instant."

Pigtop and I were then ushered into a room on one side of the office. I looked extremely foolish--almost, in fact, as confused as if I had been charged with an offence. The surgeon soon made his appearance; but, in the short interval, the magistrate had begun to thrust home with his questions as to who I was, what were my intentions, and the probable motives of Daunton's attempt on my life. All these I parried as well as I could, without letting him know anything of the supposed consanguinity between myself and the culprit: his motive I accounted for as revenge for some real or imaginary insult inflicted by me when we were on board the _Eos_.

Upon my persisting to refuse, for some time, to strip, that the wound might be examined, the magistrate began to look grave, and the surgeon hinted that it was, perhaps, as well not to seek for what was not to be found. The dread of being looked upon as an impostor overcame my shame at the _expose_ of my romantic weakness. Poor Pigtop had alarms upon totally other grounds. He watched with painful anxiety the unwinding of his tourniquet, ready to receive me dying into his arms. His surprise was greater, I fear me, than his joy, when he discovered no signs of bleeding when his handkerchief was removed.

"What, in the name of pharmacy, is this?" said the surgeon, detaching my belt of earth; "but here is the ball, however,--it has more than broken the skin; and there has been a good deal of blood extravasated, but it has been absorbed by the mould in this handkerchief. By whatever means this singular bandage was placed where I found it, you may depend upon it, young gentleman, that it has saved your life."

"I presume, Mr Rattlin, that you are a Catholic?" said the magistrate, "and that you have been a very naughty boy: if so, the penance that your confessor has enjoined you has been miraculously providential, and I shall think better of penances for the rest of my life."

The lie so temptingly offered for my adoption, I was about to make use of. But when I reflected from whence I had collected that sacred earth, I dared not profane it by falsehood. So, with a faltering voice, and my eyes filling with tears, I told the magistrate the truth.

"My young friend," said he, "these superstitious fancies and acts are best omitted. I am sure that you do not need this earth to remember your mother. Besides, it must be prejudicial to your health to carry it about your person, to say nothing of the singularity of the deed. Take my advice, and convey it carefully to the nearest consecrated ground, and there reverently deposit it. We will preserve this ball, with the pistol; and now let Mr Ankins dress your slight wound. We must see you well through this affair, and the Admiralty must prolong your leave of absence, if it be necessary. I should wish to know more of you as a private individual--there is my card. You are a very good lad for honouring your mother. Fare ye well."

With many compliments from the surgeon also, and a roller or two of cotton round my chest, we mutually took leave of each other; the gentleman very considerately refusing the guinea that I tendered him.

Having discharged the post-chaise, Mr Pigtop, his two companions, and myself, left the office,--I bearing in my hand the handkerchief nearly filled with mould. What did I do with it--saturated as it was with my blood, and owing as I did my life to it? Perhaps, sweet and gentle lady, you think that I preserved it in a costly vase, over which I might weep, or had it made up by some fair hands systematically into a silken belt, and still wore it next my heart, or, at least, that I placed it in a china flower-vase, and planted a rose-tree therein, which I watered daily by my tears. Alas! for the lovers of the romantic, I did none of these. I told you before all my incidents turn out to be mere matter-of-fact affairs. Like a good boy, I did as the magistrate bade me. As I passed by Saint Paul's, Covent Garden, I turned into the churchyard; and with a silent prayer for the departed, and asking pardon of God for the profanation of which I had been guilty, I poured out the whole of the dust, with reverence, on a secluded spot, and then returned and joined my companions.

Taking leave of them shortly after, I repaired to the White Horse, in Fetter Lane, and, eating a light supper, retired to bed early, and thus finished this very memorable day.

On the day succeeding, I found my arm so much swollen, and myself altogether so ill, that I kept my bed. I need not mention that the same surgeon attended me. I took this opportunity of furnishing myself with a few necessaries and a carpet-bag; so I was no longer the gentleman without any luggage.

On the third day of my confinement to the house, sitting alone in the deserted coffee-room, chewing the cud of my bitter fancies, Mr Pigtop made his appearance. Though I knew the man to be thoroughly selfish, I believed him to have that dogged sort of honesty not uncommon to very vulgar minds. As, just then, any society was welcome, I received his condolements very graciously, and requested his company to dinner. My invitation was gladly accepted; and he occupied the time previous to that repast in giving me a history of his life. It was a very common one. He was the son of a warrant-officer. He was all but born on board a man-of-war. At the age of fifteen he got his rating as a midshipman, and then rose to be a master's mate. There his promotion ceased, and, to all appearances, for ever. He had been already twenty-five years in the service, and was turned forty.

Never having had anything beyond his pay, his life had been one of ceaseless privation and discontent. He had now nearly spent all his money, and had omitted to make those reparations to his wardrobe, rendered so necessary by the malignity of Joshua Daunton. He wished to leave the service, and be anything rather than what he had been. He had no relations living, and positively no friends. His prospects were most disconsolate, and his wretchedness seemed very great. However, he found considerable relief in unburthening himself to me.

After our frugal dinner of rump steaks, and our one bottle of port, he returned to the subject of the morning by asking my advice as to his future conduct.

"Nay, Pigtop," I replied, "you should not ask me. You are much more capable of judging for yourself--you, who have been so much longer in the world than I."

"There you are out of your reckoning. I have lived more than twice your years, and have never been in the world at all. On shore, I'm like a pig afloat in a washing-tub. What would you advise me to do?"

"You have no relations or friends to assist you?"

The mournful shake of the head was eloquently negative.

"And yet you will not resume that life for which alone you were educated?"

"I will not, and I cannot."

"Well, you must either go on the highway or marry a fortune."

"Look at this figure-head--look at this scar. No--no one will ever splice with such an old ravelled-out rope-yarn as Andrew Pigtop. The road is no longer a gentlemanly profession. I intend to be a servant."

"You, Pigtop!--begging your pardon, who the devil would be encumbered with you?"

"You, I hope--no, don't laugh; I know you to be a gentleman born, and that you have a hundred a year. By hints that I have picked up, I believe when you come of age, and all is done right by you, that you'll have thousands. We have one view in common--to hang that rogue, Daunton. I certainly do not wish to put on your livery, without you insist upon it. Call me your secretary, or anything you like--only let me be near you--your servant and your friend."

I saw the poor fellow's eye glisten, and his weather-worn features quiver. I looked upon his worn and shabby uniform, and reflected upon his long and unrequited services. Venerate him I knew that I never could; but I already pitied him exceedingly. I resolved, at least, to assist him and to keep him near me for a time.

"Well, Pigtop," I at length said, "if you would be faithful--"

"To the backbone--to the shedding of my blood. Stand by me now in my distress: and while I have either soul or body, I will peril them for your safety."

"Pigtop, I believe you. Say no more about it. I engage you as my travelling tutor; and I will pay you your salary when I come of age-- that is, if I am able. Now, what money have you?"

"Three pounds, fifteen shillings, and sevenpence-halfpenny. Not enough to take me down to the guard-ship, when I have paid my bill at the tavern."

"Then, my good fellow, go and pay it immediately, and come back with all possible speed." The prompt obedience that he gave to my first order augured well for his attention.

On his return, I addressed him seriously to this effect: "My friend, you shall share with me to the last shilling; but, believe me, my position is as dangerous as it is unnatural. It is full of difficulty, and requires not only conduct, but courage. I have a parent that either dares not, or from some sinister motive will not, own me; and I fear me much that I have a half-brother that I know is pursuing me with the assassin's knife, whilst I am pursuing him with the vengeance of the law. It is either the death of the hunted dog for me, or of the felon's scaffold for him. The event is in the hand of God. We must be vigilant, for my peril is great. My implacable enemy is leagued with some of the worst miscreants of this vast resort of villainy; he knows all the labyrinths of this Babel of iniquity; and the fraternal steel may be in my bosom even amidst the hum of multitudes. That man has a strong motive for my death, and to personify me afterwards. Already has he stolen my vouchers and my certificates. The mystery to me appears almost inscrutable; but his inducements to destroy me are obvious enough. I think that I am tolerably safe here, though I am equally sure that I am watched. Here is money. Go now, and purchase two brace of serviceable pistols and a couple of stout sword-canes. We will be prepared for the worst. Of course you will sleep here, and hereafter always take up your abode in whatever place I may be. As you return, you must find, in some quiet street, an unobtrusive tailor--he must not have a shop--bring him with you. I must put you in livery, after all."

"Why, if so be you must, I suppose you must--I'm off."

Pigtop did his commissions well. He returned with the arms and the tailor. "I hope," said he, "you won't want me to wear this livery long?"

"Not long, I hope. My friend," said I, addressing the man of measures, "this gentleman, lately in the navy, has had recently a very serious turn. He is profoundly repentant of the wickedness of his past life--he has had a call--he has listened to it. It is not unlikely that he may shortly take out a licence to preach. Make him a suit of sad-coloured clothes, not cut out after the vanities of the world. Your own would not serve for a bad model. You go to meeting, I presume?"

"I have received grace--I eschew the steeple-house--I receive the blessed crumbs of the Word that fall from the lips of that light of salvation, the Reverend Mr Obadiah Longspinner."

"A holy and a good man, doubtless; would that we were all like him! But our time will come--yes, our time will come. As is the outward man of the Reverend Mr Obadiah Longspinner, so would my friend have his outward man--verily, and his inward also--improved unto sanctity."

The devout tailor snuffled out "Amen," and did his office. Whilst Pigtop's clothes were preparing, he was not idle. He procured all the requisites for travelling, and I sent him on a fruitless mission to discover the residence of the Brandons. He was told by the neighbours that, a year back, they had all emigrated to Canada. Everything seemed to favour the machinations of my enemy, and to prevent my gaining any clue by which to trace him out, or the object of my search. However, I had one chance left--an interview with the superb Mrs Causand, that lady that Joshua had so kindly bestowed upon me for a mother.

In three days behold us in private lodgings, the Reverend Mr Pigtop looking as sour as any canting Methodist in Barebones' parliament, and quite reconciled to the singularly starch figure that he presented. There was certainly a sad discrepancy between his dress and his discourse. However, it was a good travelling disguise, and very serviceable to a petty officer breaking his leave of absence.

With my health perfectly recovered, dressed with the greatest precision, and with a beating heart, I went to call upon Mrs Causand. On her all my hopes rested. I knew that, as a schoolboy, she was extremely fond of me, and I really loved her as much as I admired her.

I had never before visited her, and was consequently totally ignorant of the style in which she lived. I found the house which she inhabited, for I always carefully preserved her address, to be one of those which faced Hyde Park. I was rather chilled as I observed its quiet, aristocratic appearance. The porter told me that if I would walk into the adjoining parlour, and favour him with my name, he would go up immediately she was alone and announce me.

CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE.

RALPH, FINDING HIMSELF IN PLEASANT PLACES, PREPARETH A LOVE-SPEECH WHICH IS NOT UTTERED IN THIS CHAPTER--RALPH DESCRIBETH ONLY.

In about five minutes the servant returned, bowed, and led the way. He stepped up quietly and slowly. There was an awe in his deportment that chilled me. He opened the door of the drawing-room with extreme caution and gentleness, bowed, and closed it upon me. As I stood near the threshold, the last low tones of some plaintive and soothing melody, sung in a tone much more subdued than that of common conversation, died faintly away to the vibrating of a chord of the harp; and a youthful figure, bathed in a misty light from the window recess, rose, and moving silently across the room, without once casting her eyes upon myself, disappeared through a door parallel to the one by which I had entered.

Whilst I remain in the darker portion of this saloon, it is necessary for me to describe it. I could not have imagined such a combination of taste and luxury. At first, I was almost overpowered by the too genial warmth of the apartment, and the aromatic and rose-imbued odours that filled it. I trod on, and my step sank into, a yielding carpet, which seemed to be elastic under my feet, and which glowed with a thousand never fading, though mimic flowers. The apartment was not crowded, though I saw candelabra, vases, and side-tables of the purest marble, supported upon massive gilt pedestals. In all this there was nothing singular--it was the work of the upholsterer; but the beautiful arrangement was the work of a presiding taste.

At the further end of this superb room, stood two fluted and gilded pilasters, and two pillars of the Corinthian order, the capitals of which reached the ceiling: but they were not equidistant from each other, the space from the pilaster to the pillar on either side being much less than that between the two pillars. Between the two former there were placed statues of the purest marble; what fabled god or goddess they were sculptured to represent, I know not; I only felt that they personified male and female beauty. I was too agitated to permit myself to notice them accurately. Between this screen of pillars and statues, hung two distinct sets of drapery, the one of massive and crimson silk curtains, entirely opaque by their richness and their weight of texture, that drew up and aside with golden cords; the other of a muslin almost transparent, how managed I had no time to examine.

When the draperies fell in their gorgeous and graceful folds to the ground, they made of the saloon two parts, and the division that embraced the windows had then all the privacy of a secluded apartment. When the curtains were let fall, thus intercepting the light from the bayed windows, there was still sufficient from the three sash-windows on the left of this large apartment to give splendour to what would then become the inner room.

The heavy draperies that hung between the pillars were drawn up, but the light muslin was dropped even with the rich Turkey carpet, through which I caught but a dim and glowing view of the recess. It was, as nearly as I can recollect, about three o'clock in the afternoon; and the sun, just dallying with the top of the trees in the distant Kensington Gardens, sent his level beams directly through the large windows, and the orange-trees and exotics that were placed about them.

I advanced to the screen; and when close upon it, I perceived the figure, though but faintly, of Mrs Causand, reclining upon a couch. I paused--I do not think, on account of the distribution of the light, that she could have seen me through the veil that intervened between us. I dared not break through it without a summons; and there I stood, for two unpleasant minutes, endeavouring to imagine of what nature my reception would be; and whether a lady surrounded by so much magnificence would listen to the appeal of her former pet-playfellow.

At this time, it was the fashion, in full dress, to show the whole of the arm bare to the shoulder. At length, from out of the mass of rich shawls, there was lifted the white, rounded, exquisitively shaped, though somewhat large, arm of the lady, beckoning me to enter; but sound there was none. "She is delighted to play the empress," said I, as I pushed aside the curtain, and stood before her in her odoriferous sanctum.

Verily, in the pride of her beauty, she never looked more beautiful. She was in full dress--and, as I surveyed her in mute admiration, and my mind was busy at once with the past and the present, I pronounced her improved since I had last seen her; for I could perceive no difference in her countenance, except that her rounded and classic cheek glowed with a ruddier hue, and her eyes sparkled with a more restless fire.

I stood before her at the foot of the couch, and my heart confessed that the perfection of womanly beauty lay beneath my wondering eyes, but a beauty which, if in smiles, would rather madden with voluptuousness, than subdue with tenderness, and, if in repose, seemed to command worship, more than solicit affection.

As I stood mutely there, I looked into her regal countenance for some encouragement to speak--I saw none. I then strove to read there the sentiment then passing in her mind, and to my confusion, to my dismay, it seemed to me that she was endeavouring to conquer in her countenance the expression of pain. I watched intently--I was not deceived--a sudden convulsion passed over her features, succeeded by the paleness of an instant, and then a gush of tears--I was moved, almost to weeping, yet dared not advance. Her tears were hurried off instantly; and then again her dear smile of former days sunned up her countenance into something heavenly.

CHAPTER SIXTY SIX.

RALPH BEGINNETH A CONVERSATION TOTALLY BEYOND HIS COMPREHENSION, AND YET COMPREHENDETH MORE THAN THE CONVERSATION IS MEANT TO CONVEY--HE FEELETH SOME INCLINATION TOWARDS LOVE-MAKING, BUT CHECKETH HIMSELF VALIANTLY.

"My own brave Ralph," said she, extending to me both her hands.

"Your schoolboy lover," said I: an immense weight of anxiety removed from my mind, as I kissed her jewelled fingers.

"Hush, Ralph! such words are vanities--but ask me not why? Oh, my dear boy, make the most of this visit--"

"I will, I will--how beautiful you are! how very, very beautiful!"

"Am I?--I rejoice to hear you say so! Ralph, speak to me as my own devoted, my more than loved friend--by all the affection that I have lavished on you, speak to me truly; do you, dearest Ralph, see no alteration in me?"

"A little," said I, smiling triumphantly, "a very little, for there was never room for much--you are a little more beautiful than when I last beheld you."

"Thank you--you have given me more happiness by the fervent honesty of that speech than I have experienced for days and weeks, nay, months before. Stand from me, and let me look at you--you, Ralph, are also much, very much improved--perhaps there is a little too much cast of thought upon your brow--that thought is a sad wrinkle maker--but, Ralph, you are not well dressed. But come and sit by me now, there, on that low footstool. I always loved to play thus with your pretty curls--I wish that they were a shade darker; as you have grown so manly, it would have been as well. Truly, as I look into the ingenuous brightness of your countenance, the joys of past happy hours seem to wing themselves back, and whisper to me that word so little understood--Happiness. But, Ralph, we will be alone together for this day at least--you shall dine with me here--we will have no interruption--you shall tell me all your deeds of arms--and, you naughty boy, of love also. Reach that bell, and ring it--but gently."

I obeyed, and the same handsome young lady, whom I had before seen, answered the silver summons. She glided in, and stooped over to Mrs Causand, as she lay on the couch, and their short conference was in whispers. As she retired, I was rather puzzled by the deep sorrow on her countenance, and the unfeigned look of pity with which she regarded her mistress or her friend. When we were again alone, I resumed my low seat, and was growing rather passionate over one of her beautiful hands, when, looking down, apparently much pleased with these silly endearments, she said, "Yes, Ralph, make the most of it; hand and heart, all, all are yours, for the little space that they will be mine."

Strange and disloyal thoughts began their turmoil in my bosom; and speculation was busy, and prospects of vanity began to dance before my eyes. Old enough to be my mother! What then? Mother! the thought brought with it the black train of ideas of which Daunton was the demoniac leader. He had asserted that the superb woman before me might claim from me the affection of a son. I then felt most strongly that I was not there to play any ridiculous part.

The protestations that I was about to utter died on my lips--I spake not, but pressed the hand that I held to my heart.

"Now, Ralph," said Mrs Causand, "relate to me all the wonders that you have encountered--speak lowly"--and she threw a white and very thin handkerchief over her face.

"But, my dear madam, why may I not gaze upon the countenance that you know is very dear to me? And this setting sun--how glorious! Do you know that, at his rising and his setting, I have often thought of you? Pray come to the window, and look upon it before it is quite hid among the trees."

"Ralph, by all the love that I bore your mother, by the affection that I bear to you, do not talk to me of setting suns! I dread to look upon them. You ask me to rise--oh, son of my best friend--know, that I cannot--without assistance--without danger--I am on my sick-couch--on my dying bed--they tell me--me--me, whom you just now so praised for improved beauty, that my days are numbered--but, I believe them not-- no--no--no--but hush, softly!--I may not agitate myself--you, my sweet boy, have surely come to me the blessed messenger of health--your finger shall turn back the hand upon the dial, and years, whole years of happiness, shall be yours and mine."

"Inscrutable Ruler of heaven!" I exclaimed, "it is impossible! You are but trying my affection--you do but wish to witness the depth of my agony--you would prove me--but this is with a torture too cruel. Say-- oh, say--my dear Mrs Causand, that you are trifling with me--you--you are now the only friend that I have upon earth!"

"These emotions, my dear boy, will slay me outright--the monster is now, even now, grappling with me--give me your hand." She took it, and placed it over the region of her heart. The shock it gave me was electric--that heart trembled beneath her bosom rapidly as flutter the wings of the dying bird--then paused--then went on. I looked into her face, and saw again the instant and momentary pallor, that had surprised me so much on my first entrance. The paroxysm was as short as it was violent, and her features again returned to their usual placidity of majestic beauty.

"You know it all now, Ralph--the least motion sets my heart in this unaccountable fury--and--alas, alas! every attack is more acute than the last. They tell me that I am dying--I cannot believe it. I cannot even comprehend it. I have none of the symptoms of death upon me. Everything around me breathes of health and happiness--you alone were wanting to complete the scene--you are here--no--no, I will not die. Had my hair whitened, my form bowed, my complexion withered--why, then-- I might have been reconciled--but, no--it is impossible--no--no--Ralph, I am _not_ dying."

"Fervently do I pray God that you are not. It also seems to me impossible--but still, the youngest of us cannot always escape--hoping, trusting, relying on the best, we should be prepared for the worst."

"But I am not prepared," she exclaimed, with a fierce energy that breathed defiance; and then, relapsing into a profound melancholy, she mournfully continued--"and I cannot prepare myself."

"Have you spoken to a clergyman?" said I, not knowing exactly what else to say. "Is not this some book of divine consolation?"

I took it up; it was the popular novel of the day, entitled, "The Rising Sun." What a profound mockery for a deathbed!

"I tell you, my dear Ralph, that you must not agitate me. Talk of anything but my approaching death--for know, that I am resolved _not_ to die. To-morrow there will be a consultation over my case of the very first of the medical faculty in the world. Ralph, do not you league together with the rest of the world, and condemn me to an untimely death."

"Untimely, indeed."

She had now evidently talked too much; she closed her eyes, and seemed to enjoy a peaceful and refreshing slumber. I sat by and watched her. Was I then in a sick-chamber?--was that personification of beauty doomed? I looked round, and pronounced it incredible. I gazed upon the recumbent figure before me, so still, so living, and yet so death-like-- and moralised upon the utter deception of appearances.

At length she awoke, apparently much reanimated.

"My dear Ralph," said she, "why are you not in mourning?"

"I understand you--and I perceive that you are now in black. But I must not disturb you--yet, if I dared, I would ask you one question--oh, in pity answer it--was she my mother?"

"Does death absolve us from our oaths?"

"I am not, dear lady, casuist enough to answer you that question. But do you know that I have become a desperate character lately? I write myself man, and will prove the authenticity of the signature with my life. I have renounced my profession--every pursuit, every calling, every thought--that may stand between me and the development of the mystery of my birth. It is the sole purpose of my life--the whole devotion of my existence."

"Ralph--a foolish one--just now. Bide the course of events."

"I will not--if I can control them. Through this detestable mystery, I have been insulted, reviled--a wretch has had the hardihood, the turpitude, to brand both you and me--me as the base-born child, and you as the ignominious parent."

"Who, who, who?"

"A pale-faced, handsome, short, smooth-worded villain, with a voice that I now recognise, for the first time--a coward--a swindler, that calls himself, undoubtedly among other aliases--"

"Stop, Ralph, in misery!" and, for the first time, she sat upright on her couch. "The crisis of a whole life is at hand--I must go through it, if I die on the spot--ring again for Miss Tremayne."

The gentle and quiet lady was soon at Mrs Causand's side. There was a little whispering passed between them, some medicines put on the small work-table near the head of the couch, and, finally, a tolerably large packet of papers. She then cautioned Mrs Causand most emphatically to keep herself tranquil, and, bowing to me slightly, glided out of the room.

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN.

THE VEIL IS FAST DROPPING FROM BEFORE RALPH'S MYSTERIOUS PARENTAGE-- STRANGE DISCLOSURES, AND MUCH GOOD EVIDENCE THAT THIS IS A VERY BAD WORLD--RALPH'S LOVE-SYMPTOMS ARE FAST SUBSIDING.

"Ralph," said the lady, when we were again alone, "I have, through the whole of my life, always detested scenes, and, to the utmost of my power, ever repelled all violent emotions. I am not now going to give you a history of my life--to make my confessions, and ask pardon of you and God, and then die--nonsense; but I must say that your fate has been somewhat strangely connected with my own. I acknowledge to you, at once, that I am a fallen woman--but, as I never had the beauty, so I never had the repentance, of a Magdalen. I fell to one of the greatest upon the earth. I still think that it was a glorious fate. I know that you are going to wound me deeply. I will take it meekly; may it be, in some measure, looked upon as a small expiation for my one great error! But, spare me, as long as you are able, the name of this person you have described with such bitterness--it may not, after all, be he who has been almost the only bitterness that has yet poisoned my cup of a too pleasurable existence--'tis pleasurable, alas! until, even in this, my eleventh hour. Tell me all, and then I shall be able to judge how much it may be my duty to reveal to you."

It was a fine study, that of observing the gradual emotion of this worldly and magnificent woman, as I proceeded with my eventful tale. I took it up only at that period when Joshua Daunton first made his application to me to be allowed to enter the _Eos_. The beginning of my narrative fell coldly upon her, and her features were strung up to that tension which I had often before observed in persons who were bracing up their nerves to undergo a dangerous surgical operation. They were certainly not impassive, for, in the fixed eyes that glared upon me, there was a strange restlessness, though not of motion.

The first symptoms of emotion that I could perceive took place when I described the lash descending upon the shrinking shoulders of Daunton. She clasped her hands firmly together, and upturned her eyes, as if imploring Heaven for mercy, or entreating it for vengeance. I perceived, as I proceeded, that I was gradually losing ground in her affections--that she was, in spite of herself, espousing the cause of my pledged enemy; and when I told her of the defiance that I had received in the sick-bay, she murmured forth, "Well done! well done!" followed by a name that was not mine.

When I related to her the documents that he had shown me to convince me that he was no impostor, she said, "Ralph, it is enough--it is of little consequence now what name you may give him. _He is my son_!"

"And my half-brother?"

"Oh no, no, young sir! Disgraced as he has been, a nobler blood than that of Rattlin flows in his veins. Degraded, disgraced as he is, neither on the side of the father nor of the mother need he blush for his parentage. But you are his sworn enemy--I can now listen more calmly to what you have to say. But, graceless as he is, he should not have denied his own mother."