"We meet to part no more." —Amatory Sentiment.

AFTER proceeding about a mile, at a pace which consorted ill with the fever of impatience that tormented me, we came once again upon the high road; and having got clear of ruts and mud-holes, were enabled to resume ~455~~ our speed. Half-an-hour's gallop advanced us above six miles on our route, and brought us to the little town of M—. Here we were compelled to stop to change our smoking horses, and had the satisfaction of learning that a carriage, answering to old Peter's description of the one we were in pursuit of, had changed horses there about twenty minutes before our arrival, and that a gentleman and his groom had since been observed to ride at speed through the town, and to follow the course taken by the carriage without drawing bridle. Whilst making these inquiries, four stout posters had been attached to our vehicle, and we again dashed forward. Another half-hour of maddening suspense followed, although the postboys, stimulated by the promise of reward, exerted themselves to the utmost, till the carriage swung from side to side with a degree of violence which rendered an overturn by no means an improbable contingency. No signs of the fugitives were to be discerned, and I was beginning to speculate on the possibility of their having again attempted to deceive us by turning off from the high road, when an exclamation from Peter Barnett (who, from his exalted station, was able to command a more extended view than ourselves) attracted my attention. We were at the moment descending a hill, which from its steepness obliged the postilions to proceed at a more moderate pace. Thrusting my head and shoulders out of one of the front windows, and raising myself by my hands, I contrived to obtain a view of the scene which had called forth Peter's ejaculation. Rather beyond the foot of the hill, where the ground again began to ascend, a group of persons, apparently farming labourers, were gathered round some object by the wayside, while almost in the centre of the road lay a large dark mass, which, as I came nearer, I perceived to be the dead carcase of a horse; another horse, snorting with terror at the sight of its fallen companion, was with difficulty prevented from breaking away by a groom, who, from his dark and well-appointed livery, I immediately recognised as a servant of Wilford's.

With a sensation of horror, such as I do not remember ever before to have experienced, I shouted to the postboys to stop, and, springing out, hastened to join the crowd collected by the roadside. They made way for me as I approached, thereby enabling me to perceive the object of their solicitude. Stretched at full length upon the grass, and perfectly motionless, lay the form of Wilford; his usually pale features wore the livid hue of death, and his ~456~~ long black hair was soaked and matted with blood, which trickled slowly from a fearful contused wound towards the back of the head. His right shoulder, which was crushed out of all shape, appeared a confused mass of mud and gore, while his right—his pistol arm—lay bent in an unnatural direction, which showed that it was broken in more places than one. He was perfectly insensible, but that he was still alive was proved, as well by his hard and painful breathing, as by a low moan of agony to which he occasionally gave utterance. "How has this happened?" inquired I, turning away with a thrill of horror.

"Well, as I make out, the mare crushed him when she fell upon him; but he knows best, for he saw it all," replied one of the countrymen, pointing to the groom, who now came forward.

On questioning the servant, I learned that Wilford, before he went out shooting that morning, had ordered his saddle-horses to be ready for him at a certain hour, adding, that the black mare, of which mention has been so often before made in this history, was to be saddled for his own riding. Immediately after Peter Barnett had returned with the news of Miss Saville's abduction, Wilford had called for his horses in great haste, told the servant to follow him, and ridden off at speed, through fields and along by-lanes, till he arrived at Hardman's mill. There he was made acquainted (as I knew from the miller's confession) with the deception which had been practised upon him, and, muttering imprecations against Cumberland, he started in pursuit, riding at such a pace that the groom, although well mounted, had the greatest difficulty in keeping up with him. At length they caught sight of a carriage with four horses descending the steep hill already mentioned, and proceeding at a rate which proved that time was a more important consideration than safety to those it contained. Regardless of the dangerous nature of the ground, Wilford continued his headlong course, and overtook the fugitives just at the bottom of the hill. Riding furiously up to the side of the vehicle, he shouted to the drivers to stop, in a voice hoarse with passion. Intimidated by his furious gestures, and uncertain whether to obey or not, the postboys, in their irresolution, slackened their speed, when Cumberland, urged apparently to desperation, leaned out of the window with a cocked pistol in his hand, ordered the drivers to proceed, and turning to Wilford, desired him to give up the pursuit, or (levelling the pistol at him as he spoke) he would blow his brains ~457~~ out. Wilford, taking no notice of the threat, again shouted to the postilions to stop, and was about to ride forward to compel their obedience, when Cumberland, after hesitating for a moment, suddenly changed the direction of the pistol, and aiming at the horse instead of the rider, fired.



Simultaneously with the report, the mare plunged madly forward, reared up till she stood almost erect, pawed the air wildly with her fore-feet, and then dropped heavily backwards, bearing her rider with her, and crushing him as she fell. The ball had entered behind the ear, and passing in an oblique direction through the brain, had produced instant death. Without waiting to ascertain the effect of his shot, Cumberland again compelled the postboys to proceed, and by the time the groom reached the scene of action the carriage was rapidly getting out of sight. The servant being unable to extricate his master from the fallen horse, was about to ride off for assistance, when some labourers, attracted by the report of the pistol, had come up, and by their united efforts had succeeded in freeing the sufferer, but only, as it seemed, to die from the serious nature of the injuries he had sustained.

"Umph! eh!—the man's a dead man, or next door to it," exclaimed Mr. Frampton, who had joined me while the groom was giving the above recital. "Nevertheless, we must do what we can for him, scoundrel as he is. How's a doctor to be obtained. Umph?"

"Where does the nearest surgeon live?" asked I.

"There ain't none nearer than M——" was the reply, naming the town through which we had passed.

"I must leave you to settle this matter," continued I; "too much time has already been lost for me to attempt to overtake Cumberland with the carriage; I must follow them on horseback. Take off the leaders and shift the saddle on to the led horse; he seems the freshest."

"Umph! go and get shot, like the wretched man here," put in Mr. Frampton. "You shan't do it, Frank."

"With his fate before me, I will be careful, sir," replied I; "but think of Clara in the power of that villain! Your niece must be rescued at all hazards; still, even for her sake, I will be cautious.—Is that horse ready?"

"If you please, sir," said one of the postilions, a quick, intelligent lad, who, while we were speaking, had removed the saddle from the dead mare to the back of the off leader, "if you will take me with you, I can show you how to stop them." He then explained, that about five miles farther on there was a turnpike at the top of a long hill, which a heavy carriage must ascend slowly, and that ~458~~ he knew a short cut across some fields, by means of which, if we made the best of our way, we might reach the turnpike in time to close the gate before those of whom we were in pursuit should arrive. This plan appeared so sensible and comparatively easy of execution, that even Mr. Frampton could offer no objection to it, and, mounting our horses, we again resumed the chase.

And now, for the first time since I had heard of Clara's abduction, did I at all recover my self-command, or venture to hope the affair would be brought to a favourable issue. But the change from inaction to vigorous exertion, and the refreshing sensation of the cool air as it whistled round my throbbing temples, tended to restore the elasticity of my spirits, and I felt equal to any emergency that might arise. After following the high road for about a mile, we turned down a lane on the right, and leaving this when we had proceeded about half a mile farther, we entered a large grass field, which we dashed over in gallant style, and making our way across sundry other fields, and over, through, and into (for the post-horses, though not by any means despicable cattle in their degree, were scarcely calculated for such a sudden burst across country as that to which we were treating them) the respective hedges and ditches by which they were divided, we regained the high road, after a rattling twenty minutes' gallop. The point at which we emerged was just at the top of a very steep hill, up which the road wound in a serpentine direction.

"Are we before them, do you think?" inquired I of my companion, as we reined in our panting steeds.

"I'm sure as we must be, sir, by the pace we've come. I didn't think the old 'osses had it in 'em; but you does ride slap hup, sir, and no mistake—pity as you ain't on the road, your honour."

"If I pass behind those larch trees," asked I, smiling at the postboy's compliment, "I can see down the hill without being seen, can I not?"

His reply being in the affirmative, I advanced to the spot I had indicated, and, to my delight, perceived a carriage and four making its way up the hill with as great rapidity as the nature of the ground rendered possible. Turning my horse's head, I rejoined my companion, and we rode on to the turnpike.

Half a dozen words served to convey my wishes to the turnpike-man, as many shillings rendered him my firm friend, and half the number of minutes sufficed to close and effectually bolt and bar the gate.

~459~~ The postboy having by my orders tied up the horses to a rail on the other side of the gate, we all three entered the turnpike-house, where, with breathless impatience, I awaited the arrival of the carriage. In less time than even I had imagined possible, the sound of horses' feet, combined with the rattle of wheels, and the shouting of the drivers, when they perceived the gate was shut, gave notice of their approach.

"Wait," exclaimed I, laying my hand on the boy's arm to restrain his impetuosity, "wait till they pull up, and then follow me, both of you; but do not interfere unless you see me attacked, and likely to be overpowered."

As I spoke, the horses were cheeked so suddenly as to throw them on their haunches, and, amidst a volley of oaths at the supposed inattention of the turnpike-man, one of the party (in whose coarse bloated features and corpulent figure I at once recognised my ci-devant acquaintance of the billiard-room, Captain Spicer) jumped down to open the gate. This was the moment I had waited for, and bounding forward, followed by my satellites, I sprang to the side of the carriage. A cry of joy from Clara announced that I was recognised, and with an eager hand she endeavoured to let down the glass, but was prevented by Cumberland, who was seated on the side nearest the spot where-! was standing. In an instant my resolution was taken: wrenching open the carriage door, and flinging down the steps, I sprang upon him, and seizing him by the coat-collar before he had time to draw a pistol, I dragged him out head foremost, an I, giving way to an ungovernable impulse of rage, shook him till I could hear all the teeth rattle in his head, and threw him from me with such violence that he staggered and fell. In another moment Clara was in my arms.



"Clara, dearest! my own love!" whispered I, as, shedding tears of joy, she rested her head upon my shoulder, "what happiness to have saved you!"

There are moments when feeling renders us eloquent, when the full heart pours forth its riches in eager and impassioned words; but there are other times, and this was one of them, when language is powerless to express the deep emotion of the soul, and our only refuge is in silence. Clara was the first to speak.

"Frank—tell me—what has become of Mr. Fleming—the pistol-shot—that maddened plunging horse—I am sure something dreadful has happened."

"He is indeed severely injured by the fall," replied I, wishing the truth to break upon her by degrees; "but 460 I was unable to remain to learn a surgeon's opinion—and this reminds me that I have still a duty to perform; Cumberland must be detained to answer for his share in this transaction;" and leading Clara to a bench outside the turnpike-house, I proceeded to put my intentions into practice.

But whilst I had been thus engrossed, affairs had assumed a somewhat different aspect. The turnpike-man was actively engaged in a pugilistic contest with Captain Spicer, who, on his attempting to lay hands on him, had shown fight, and was punishing his adversary pretty severely. Cumberland's quick eye had perceived the horses the moment he had regained his feet, and when he saw that I was fully occupied, he had determined to seize the opportunity for effecting his escape. Springing over the gate, he untied one of the horses, and striking down the boy who attempted to prevent him, rode away at a gallop, at the moment I reappeared upon the scene; while the second horse, after struggling violently to free itself, had snapped the bridle and dashed off in pursuit of its retreating companion. This being the case, it was useless to attempt to follow him; and not altogether sorry that circumstances had rendered it impossible for me to be his captor, I turned to assist my ally, the turnpike-man, who, to use the language of the "Chicken," immortalised by Dickens, appeared in the act of being "gone into and finished" by the redoubtable Captain Spicer. Not wishing to have my facial development disfigured by the addition of a black eye, however, I watched my opportunity, and springing aside to avoid the blow with which he greeted me, succeeded in inserting my fingers within the folds of his neckcloth, after which I had little difficulty in choking him into a state of incapacity, when he submitted to the indignity of having his hands tied behind him, and was induced to resume his seat in the rumble as a prisoner, till such time as I should learn Mr. Framp-ton's opinion as to the fittest manner of disposing of him. I then replaced Clara in the carriage, which by my orders had turned round, rewarded the turnpike-man, as well as the boy to whose forethought and able guidance I was mainly indebted for my success, and taking my seat beside my prisoner, we started on our return.

One naturally feels a certain degree of awkwardness in attempting to make conversation to a man, whom only five minutes before one has nearly succeeded in strangling, however thoroughly the discipline may have been deserved—and yet silence is worse; at least I found it so; and ~461~~ after clearing my throat once or twice, as if I had been the person half-throttled rather than the throttler, I began:—

"It is some years since we have met, Captain Spicer".

The individual thus addressed turned round quickly as I spoke, and favoured me with a scrutinising glance—it was evident he did not recognise me.

"Have you forgotten the billiard-room in F—— Street, and the way in which your pupil and associate, Mr. Cumberland, cheated my friend Oaklands?"

The captain, on having this somewhat unpleasant reminiscence of bygone hours forced upon him, turned—I was going to say pale, but that was an impossibility—rather less red than usual ere he replied:—

"I beg pardon, Mr. Fairlegh, but I'd quite forgotten you, sir; 'pon my conscience I had. Ah, that was a foolish piece of business, sir; but Mr. Cumberland, he always was a bad un."

"The man who encouraged and assisted him, not to mention working on his fears and godding him to desperation, is scarcely the person to blame him," replied I sternly.

"Ah! you don't know all, sir; he was a precious sight worse than you're awake to yet, Mr. Fairlegh. I could tell you things that would surprise you; and if I thought that you would save yourself the trouble of taking me any farther than M——, which is, I believe, the nearest place where I can pick up a coach to London, I don't know that I should mind explaining matters a bit. What do you say, sir? you are lawyer enough to know that you can't do anything to me for this morning's work, I dare say."

"I am not so certain of that," replied I; "abduction and manslaughter are legal offences, I believe."

"I had nothing to do with the last job," was the reply; "I could not have prevented Cumberland shooting the mare if my own brother had been riding her."

This I believed to be true, and I was far from certain that, although morally guilty, Captain Spicer had committed any offence for which he could be punished by law; moreover, as he had been a good deal knocked about in his conflict with the turnpike-man, and I had more than half-strangled him with my own hands, I felt leniently disposed towards him. I therefore replied:—

"Tell me, truly and honestly, supposing you can for once contrive to do so, all you know about this business; and if, as I imagine, you have only been the tool of others ~462~~ in the affair, it is possible my friend, Mr. Frampton, may be induced to let you off ".

Upon this hint, the captain having prevailed upon me to remove his extempore handcuffs, and passed his word not to attempt escape, proceeded to give me the following particulars:—

About a year or so before he had acted in some mysterious capacity at a gambling-house, of which Cumberland was part proprietor, and which was one of Wilford's favourite resorts. The debts which, as a boy, Cumberland had begun to contract, had increased till he became deeply involved; and after availing himself of every kind of subterfuge to postpone the evil day, was on the point of being arrested by his principal creditor, a money-lender, to whom he owed seven hundred and fifty pounds. Shortly before the day on which he had promised to meet the demand, Spicer, getting a cheque cashed at a banker's in the city, was present when an agent of Wilford's paid in to his account two thousand pounds, which circumstance he mentioned to Cumberland. That evening Cumberland induced Wilford to play picquet; they played high, but fortune varied, and at the end of the game Cumberland rose a winner of eighty pounds, for which Wilford wrote him a cheque. On examining his banker's book shortly afterwards, Wilford discovered that a cheque for eight hundred pounds had been presented and duly honoured, which proved, on minute inspection, to be the cheque written for Cumberland, and of course a forgery. For reasons of his own, one of which no doubt was to obtain absolute power over Cumberland, Wilford refused to prosecute. When, some months after this transaction, Spicer was summoned to assist in carrying off Clara, Cumberland sought him out, told him that he had a scheme to frustrate Wilford and gain possession of Clara, and proved to him that he had by some means obtained five thousand pounds in specie, of which he offered him one thousand pounds if he would assist him, his object being to escape to America, and live there upon Clara's fortune. Captain Spicer, tempted by the magnitude of the sum mentioned, aware that his character was too well known in London to render that city a desirable place of residence, and having a strong idea that he could turn his talents to account among the Yankees, stipulated that, in addition to the sum proposed, Cumberland should pay his passage out, and agreed to the plan. The further details of the plot have been already partially explained. Aware of Wilford's predilection for keeping up appearances, and ~463~~ conducting his intrigues with so much cunning as in many instances to divert suspicion into some other channel, Cumberland sought him out, and telling him that he had observed his passion for Clara, professed that her money was his only object, spoke of his desire to reside in America, and wound up by offering, if Wilford would give up the forged paper, and agree to allow him a certain sum quarterly out of Clara's fortune, to run off with her, and hand her over to him. To this Wilford, relying on Spicer, and determining to retain the forged cheque as a guarantee for Cumberland's fidelity until Clara was placed in the hands of Hardman, agreed. With the results of this arrangement the reader is already acquainted.

As my disreputable companion came to the end of his recital we drove up to the door of the principal inn of the little town of M——.



CHAPTER THE LAST — WOO'D AND MARRIED AND A'

"''Tis a strange compact, still I see no better, So by your leave we'll sit and write this letter." Ye Merrie Bacheloure.

"The ancient saying is no heresy, Hanging and wiving goes by destiny." Merchant of Venice.

THE heart of the wandering Swiss bounds within him at the sound of the "Ranz des Vaches,"—dear to the German exile are the soul-stirring melodies of his fatherland; but never did the ear of German or of Swiss drink in with greater delight the music that his spirit loved than did mine the transport of grunting by which Mr. Frampton welcomed his niece, the daughter of his childhood's friend, his fondly remembered sister.

"Umph! eh! so you've let that rascal Cumberland slip through your fingers, Master Frank? Umph! stupid boy, stupid. I wanted to have him hanged."

"I am afraid, sir, the law would scarcely have sanctioned such a proceeding."

"Umph! why not, why not? He richly deserved it, the scoundrel—daring to run off with my niece. Dear child! she's as like her poor-umph—umph! the Elliots were always reckoned a handsome race. What are you laughing at, you conceited puppy? It's my belief that ~464~~ when I was your age I was a great deal better looking fellow than you are. Some people admire a snub nose; there was the Begum of Cuddleakee, splendid woman—Well, what do you want, sir, eh?"

The last words were addressed to Captain Spicer, to whom (as since our late truce he had become all amiability) I had entrusted the commission of ascertaining Wilford's state, and who now appeared at the door, and beckoned me out of the room.

"I shall be with you again immediately," said I, rising; and, replying to Clara's anxious glance by a smile and a pressure of the hand, I hastened to obey the summons.

"Wilford is in a sad state, Mr. Fairlegh," he began, as I closed the door behind me; "dreadful, 'pon my life, sir; but here's the surgeon, you'd better speak to him yourself."

In a little ante-room adjoining the chamber to which Wilford had been conveyed, I found the surgeon, who seemed an intelligent and gentlemanly person. He informed me that his patient had not many hours to live; the wound in the head was not mortal, but the spine had received severe injuries, and his lower extremities were already paralysed; he inquired whether I was acquainted with any of his relations; adding, that they ought to be sent for without a minute's delay.

"Really I am not," replied I; "I never was at all intimate with him; but I have heard, that even with those whom he admitted to his friendship, he was strangely reserved on such subjects."

"Better question the servant," suggested the surgeon; "the patient himself is quite incapable of giving us any information; the concussion has affected the brain, and he is now delirious."

The only information to be gained by this means was, that the servant believed his master had no relations in England; he had heard that he had been brought up in Italy, and therefore imagined that his family resided there; he was able, however, to tell the name of his man of business in London, and a messenger was immediately despatched to summon him. Having done this, at the surgeon's request I accompanied him to the chamber of the sufferer.

As we entered, Wilford was lying in bed supported by pillows, with his eyes half shut, apparently in a state of stupor; but the sound of our footsteps aroused him, and opening his eyes, he raised his head and stared wildly ~465~~ about him. His appearance, as he did so, was ghastly in the extreme. His beautiful black hair had been shorn away at the temples to permit his wound to be dressed, and his head was enveloped in bandages, stained in many places with blood; his face was pale as death, save a bright hectic spot in the centre of each cheek, fatal evidence of the inward fever which was consuming him. His classical features, already pinched and shrunken, their paleness enhanced by contrast with his black whiskers, were fixed and rigid as those of a corpse; while his eyes, which burned with an unnatural brilliancy, glared on us with an expression of mingled hate and terror. He seemed partially to recognise me, for, after watching me for a moment, his lips working convulsively, as if striving to form articulate sounds, he exclaimed in a low hoarse voice:—

"Ha! on the scent already! The staid sober lover—let him take care the pretty Clara does not jilt him. I know where she is?—not I—that's a question you must demand of Mr. Cumberland, sir. I beg your pardon, did you say you doubted my word?—I have the honour to wish you good-morning—my friend will call upon you. What! Lizzy Maurice! who dares to say I wronged her?—'tis false. Take that old man away, with his grey hair—why does he torment me?—I tell you the girl's safe, thanks to—to—my head's confused—the 'long man,' as Curtis calls him, Harry Oaklands, handsome Harry Oak-lands. What did I hear you mutter? that he horsewhipped me?—and if he did, there was a day of retribution—ha! ha!—Sir, I shot him for it; shot him like a dog—I hated him, and he perished—the strong man died—died! and what then?—what becomes of dead men? A long-faced fool said I was dying, just now—he thought I didn't hear him—I not hear an insult! and I consider that one—I'll have him out for it—I'll"—and he endeavoured to raise himself, but was scarcely able to lift his head from the pillow, and sank back with a groan of anguish. After a moment he spoke again, in a low, plaintive voice, "I am very ill, very weak—send for her—she will come—oh yes, she will come, for she loves me; she knows my fiery nature—knows my vices, as men call them, and yet she loves me—the only one who ever did—send for her—she will come, it is her son who wishes for her". Then, in a tone of the fondest endearment he continued, "Lucia, bella madre, il tuo figlio tia chiama".

"He has been speaking Italian for some time," observed the surgeon in a whisper.

~466~~ "That man Spicer told me he thought he was of Italian extraction," replied I.

Low as were our voices, the quick ear of the sufferer caught the name I had mentioned.

"Spicer," he exclaimed eagerly; "has he returned? Well, man, speak! is she safely lodged? Cumberland has done his part admirably then. Oh! it was a grand scheme!—Ha! played me false—I'll not believe it—he dares not—he knows me—knows I should dog him like his shadow till we met face to face, and I had torn his false heart out of his dastardly breast. I say he dares not do it!" and yelling out a fearful oath, he fell back in a fainting fit.

Let us draw a veil over the remainder of the scene. The death-bed of the wicked is a horrible lesson, stamped indelibly on the memory of all who have witnessed it. Happy are they whose pure hearts need not such fearful training; and far be it from me to dim the brightness of their guileless spirits by acquainting them with its harrowing details.

Shortly after the scene I have described, internal hemorrhage commenced; ere another hour had elapsed the struggle was over, and a crushed and lifeless corpse, watched by hirelings, wept over by none, was all that remained on earth of the man whom society courted while it feared, and bowed to while it despised—the successful libertine, the dreaded duellist, Wilford! I learned some time afterwards that his father had been an English nobleman, his mother an Italian lady of good family. Their marriage had been private, and performed only according to the rites of the Romish Church, although the earl was a Protestant. Availing himself of this omission, on his return to England he pretended to doubt the validity of the contract, and having the proofs in his own possession, contrived to set the marriage aside, and wedded a lady of rank in this country. Lucia Savelli, the victim of his perfidy, remained in Italy, devoting herself to the education of her son, whom she destined for the Romish priesthood. Her plans were, however, frustrated by the information that the earl had died suddenly, leaving a large fortune to the boy, on condition that he never attempted to urge his claim to the title, and finished his education in England. With his subsequent career the reader is sufficiently acquainted. On hearing of her son's melancholy fate, Lucia Savelli, to whom the whole of his fortune was bequeathed, retired to a convent, which she endowed with her wealth.

~467~~ As Barstone was out of our way from M——to Heath-field, and as Clara was too much overcome by all she had gone through to bear any further agitation, we determined to proceed at once to my mother's cottage, and despatched Peter Barnett to inform Mr. Vernor of the events of the day, and communicate to him Mr. Frampton's resolution to leave him in undisturbed possession of Barstone, for a period sufficiently long to enable him to wind up all his affairs and seek another residence.

The return to Heathfield Cottage I shall not attempt to describe. Clara's tears, smiles and blushes—Fanny's tender and affectionate solicitude—my mother's delighted, but somewhat fussy, hospitality—and my own sensations, which were an agreeable compound of those of every one else—each and all were perfect in their respective ways. But the creme de la creme, the essence of the whole affair, that on which the tongue of the poet and the pen of the romance-writer must alike rejoice to expatiate, was the conduct of Mr. Frampton; how he was seized, at one and the same moment, with two separate, irresistible, and apparently incompatible manias, one for kissing everybody, and the other for lifting and transporting (under the idea that he was thereby facilitating the family arrangements) bulky and inappropriate articles which no one required, all of which he deposited, with an air composed of equal parts of cheerful alacrity and indomitable perseverance, in the drawing-room, grunting the whole time as man never grunted before; a wild and unlooked-for course of proceeding which reduced my mother to the borders of insanity. Finding that argument was not of the least avail in checking his rash career, I seized him by the arm, just as he was about to establish on my sister's work-table a large carpet-bag and an umbrella, which had accompanied him through the adventures of the day, and, dragging him off to his own room, forced him to begin to prepare for dinner, while I turned a deaf ear to his remonstrance, that "It was quite absurd to—umph! umph!—prevent him from making himself useful, when there was so much to be done in the house. Umph!" Having promulgated this opinion, he shook me by the hand till my arm ached, and, declaring that he was the happiest old man in the world, sat down and cried like a child.

Worn out by the fatigues and anxieties of the day, we gladly followed my mother's suggestion of going to bed in good time, although I did not retire for the night till I had seen Harry Oaklands, and given him an account of ~468~~ our adventures. Wilford's fate affected him strongly, and, shading his brow with his hand, he sat for some moments wrapped in meditation. At length he said, in a deep low tone, "These things force thought upon one, Frank. How nearly was this man's fate my own! How nearly was I being hurried into eternity with a weight of passions unrestrained, of sins unrepented of, clinging to my guilty soul! God has been very merciful to me." He paused; then, pressing my hand warmly, he added, "And now, good-night, Frank; to-morrow I shall be more fit to rejoice with you in your prospects of coming happiness; to-night I would fain be alone—you understand me". My only reply was by wringing his hand in return, and we parted.

Reader, such thoughts as these working in a mind like that of Harry Oaklands, could not be without their effect; and when in after years, having by constant and unceasing watchfulness conquered his constitutional indolence, his voice has been raised in the senate of his country to defend the rights and privileges of our pure and holy faith—when men's hearts, spell-bound by his eloquence, have been turned from evil to follow after the thing that is good, memory has brought before me that conversation in the library at Heathfield; and, as I reflected on the effect produced on the character of Oaklands by the fearful death of the homicide Wilford, I have acknowledged that the ways of Providence are indeed inscrutable.

I was roused from a deep sleep at an uncomfortably early hour on the following morning, by a sound much resembling a "view halloo," coupled with my own name, shouted in the hearty tones of Lawless; and, flinging open the window, I perceived that indefatigable young gentleman employed in performing some incomprehensible manouvres with two sticks and a large flint stone, occasionally varying his diversion by renewing the rough music which had broken my slumbers.

"Why, Lawless, what do you mean by rousing me at this unreasonable hour? it's not six o'clock yet. And what in the world are you doing with those sticks?"

"Unreasonable, eh? well, that's rather good, now! Just tell me which is the most unreasonable, to lie snoring in bed like a fat pig or a fatter alderman, such a beautiful morning as this is, or to be out and enjoying it—eh?"

"You have reason on your side, so far, I must confess."

"Eh? yes, and so I always have, to be sure. What am I doing with the sticks, did you say? can't you see?"

~469~~ "I can see you are fixing one in the ground, taking extreme pains to balance the stone on the top of it, and instantly endeavouring to knock it off again with the other; in which endeavour you appear generally to fail."

"Fail, eh? It strikes me that you are not half awake yet, or else your eyesight is getting out of condition. Six times running, except twice, when the wind or something got in the way, did I knock that blessed stone off, while I was trying to wake you. Epsom's coming round soon, don't you see, so I'm just getting my hand in for a slap at the snuff-boxes. But jump into your togs as fast as you can, and come out, for I've got such a lark to tell you."

A few minutes sufficed to enable me to follow Lawless's recommendation, and long before he had attained the proficiency he desired in his "snuff-box practice," I had joined him.

"There!" he exclaimed, as he made a most spiteful shot at the stone, "that's safe to do the business. By Jove, it has done it too, and no mistake," he continued, as the stick, glancing against the branch of a tree, turned aside, and ruining a very promising bed of hyacinths, finally alighted on a bell-glass placed over some pet flower of Fanny's, both of which it utterly destroyed.

"Pleasant that, eh?—ah, well, we must lay it to the cats—though if the cats in this part of the country are not unusually robust and vicious, there's not a chance of our being believed."

"Never mind," remarked I, "better luck next time. But now that you have succeeded in dragging me out of bed, what is it that you want with me?"

"Want with you, eh?" returned Lawless, mimicking the half-drowsy, half-cross tone in which I had spoken; "you're a nice young man to talk to, I don't think. Never be grumpy, man, when I've got the most glorious bit of fun in the world to tell you, too. I had my adventures yesterday as well as you. Who do you think called upon me after you set out? You'll never guess, so I may as well tell you at once; it was—but you shall hear how it happened. I was just pulling my boots on to try a young bay thoroughbred, that Reynolds thinks might make a steeple-chaser—he's got some rare bones about him, I must say. Well, I was just in the very act of pulling on my boots, when Shrimp makes his appearance, and squeaking out, 'Here's a gent, as vonts to see you, sir, partic'lar,' ushers in no less a personage than Lucy Markham's devoted admirer, the drysalter."

~470~~ "What! the gentleman whose business we settled so nicely the day before yesterday? Freddy Coleman's dreaded rival?"

"Eh? yes, the very identical, and an uncommon good little follow he is too, as men go, I can tell you. Well, you may suppose I was puzzled enough to find out what he could want with me, and was casting about for something to say to him, when he makes a sort of a bow, and begins:—

"'The Honourable George Lawless, I believe?'

"'The same, sir, at your service,' replies I, giving a stamp with my foot to get my boot on.

"'May I beg the favour of five minutes' private conversation with you?'

"'Eh? oh yes, certainly,' says I. 'Get out of this, you inquisitive little imp of darkness, and tell Reynolds to tie the colt up to the pillar-reins, and let him champ the bit till I come down; that's the way to bring him to a mouth;' and, hastening Shrimp's departure by throwing the slippers at his head, I continued, 'Now, sir, I'm your man; what's the row, eh?'

"'A-hem! yes, sir, really it is somewhat a peculiar—that is a disagreeable business. I had thought of getting a friend to call upon you.'

"'A friend, eh? oh! I see the move now—pistols for two, and coffee for four; invite a couple of friends to make arrangements for getting a bullet put into you in the most gentlemanly way possible, and call it receiving satisfaction,—very satisfactory, certainly. Well, sir, you shall soon have my answer: no man can call George Lawless a coward; if he did, he'd soon find his eyesight obscured, and a marked alteration in the general outline of his features; but I never have fought a duel, and I never mean to fight one. If I've smashed your panels, or done you any injury, I am willing to pay for repairs, and make as much apology as one man has any right to expect from another; or, if it will be a greater ease to your mind, we'll off coats, ring for Shrimp and Harry Oaklands' boy to see fair play, and have it out on the spot, all snug and comfortable; but no pistoling work, thank ye.'

"Well, the little chap didn't seem to take at all kindly to the notion, though, as I fancied he wasn't much of a bruiser, I offered to tie my right hand behind me, and fight him with my left, but it was clearly no go; so I thought I'd better hold my tongue, and leave him to explain himself. After dodging about the bush for some time, he began to get the steam up a little, and when he ~471~~ did break cover, went away at a rattling pace,—let out at me in style, I can tell you. His affections had been set on Lucy Markham ever since he had had any, and I had been and destroyed the happiness of his whole life, and rendered him a miserable individual—a mark for the finger of scorn to poke fun at. Shocking bad names he did call himself, to be sure, poor little beggar! till 'pon my word, I began to get quite sorry for him. At last it came out, that the thing which chiefly aggravated him was, that Lucy should have given him up for the sake of marrying a man of rank. If it had been any one she was deeply attached to, he would not have so much minded; but it was nothing but a paltry ambition to be a peeress; she was mercenary, he knew it, and it was that which stung him to the quick.

"Well, as he said this, a bright idea flashed across me, that I could satisfy the little 'victim,' as he called himself, and get my own neck out of the collar, at one and the same time; so I went up to him, and giving him a slap on the back that set him coughing like a broken-winded hunter after a sharp burst, I said, 'Mr. Brown, I what the females call sympathise with you;—your thing-em-bobs—sentiments, eh? are perfectly correct, and do you credit. Now listen to me, young feller;—I'm willing to do my best to accommodate you in this matter, and, if you're agreeable, this is the way we'll settle it. You don't choose Lucy should marry me, and I don't choose she should marry you;—now if you'll promise to give her up, I'll do the same. That's fair, ain't it?' 'Do you mean it really?' says he. 'Really and truly,' says I. 'Will you swear?' says he. 'Like a trooper, if that will please you,' says I. 'Sir, you're a gentleman—a generous soul,' says he, quite overcome; and, grasping my hand, sobs out, 'I'll promise'. 'Done, along with you, drysalter,' says I, 'you're a trump;' and we shook hands till he got so red in the face, I began to be afraid of spontaneous combustion. 'There's nothing like striking when the iron's hot,' thinks I; so I made him sit down there and then, and we wrote a letter together to old Coleman, telling him the resolution we had come to, and saying, if he chose to bring an action for breach of promise of marriage against us, we would defend it conjointly, and pay the costs between us. What do you think of that, Master Frank? Eh?"

"That you certainly have a more wonderful knack of getting into scrapes, and out of them again, than any man I ever met with," replied I, laughing.

~472~~ Before we had finished breakfast Peter Barnett made his appearance. On his return to Barstone, he was informed that Mr. Vernor had been seized with an apoplectic fit, probably the result of the agitation of the morning. He was still in a state of stupor when Peter started to acquaint us with the fact, and the medical man who had been sent for considered him in a very precarious condition. Under these circumstances, Mr. Frampton immediately set out for Barstone, where he remained till the following morning, when he rejoined us. A slight improvement had taken place in the patient's health; he had recovered his consciousness, and requested to see Mr. Frampton. During the interview which ensued, he acknowledged Mr. Frampton's rights, and withdrew all further opposition to his wishes.

After the lapse of a few days, Mr. Vernor recovered sufficiently to remove from Barstone to a small farm which he possessed in the north, where he lingered for some months, shattered alike in health and spirits. He steadily refused to see either Clara or myself, or to accept the slightest kindness at our hands; but we have since had reason to believe, that in this he was actuated by a feeling of compunction, rather than of animosity. Nothing is so galling to a proud spirit, as to receive favours from those it has injured. In less than a year from the time he quitted Barstone Priory, a second attack terminated his existence. On examining his papers after his decease, Peter Barnett's suspicions that Richard Cumberland was Mr. Vernor's natural son were verified, and this discovery tended to account for a considerable deficiency in Clara's fortune, the unhappy father having been tempted to appropriate large sums of money to relieve his spendthrift son's embarrassments. This also served to explain his inflexible determination that Clara should marry Cumberland, such being the only arrangement by which he could hope to prevent the detection of his dishonesty.

Reader, the interest of my story, always supposing it to have possessed any in your eyes, is now over.

Since the occurrence of the events I have just related the course of my life has been a smooth, and, though not exempt from some share in the "ills that flesh is heir to," an unusually happy one.

In an address, whether from the pulpit or the rostrum, half the battle is to know when you have said enough—the same rule applies with equal force to the tale-writer. There are two errors into which he may fall—he may say too little, or he may say too much. The first is a venial ~473~~ sin, and easily forgiven—the second nearly unpardonable. Such, at all events, being my ideas on the subject, I shall merely proceed to give a brief outline of the fate of the principal personages who have figured in these pages ere I bring this veritable history to a close. Cumberland, after his flight from the scene at the turnpike-house, made his way to Liverpool, and, his money being secreted about his person, hastened to put his original plan into execution. A vessel was about to start for America, by which he obtained a passage to New York. In the United States he continued the same vicious course of life which had exiled him from England, and, as a natural consequence, sank lower and lower in the scale of humanity. The last account heard of him stated that, having added drinking to the catalogue of his vices, his constitution, unable to bear up against the inroads made by dissipation, was rapidly failing, while he was described to be in the most abject poverty. The captain of an American vessel with whom I am slightly acquainted, promised me that he would gain more particulars concerning him, and, if he were in actual want, leave money with some responsible person for his use, so as to ensure him against starvation. The result of his inquiries I have yet to learn.

Old Mr. Coleman was, as may be imagined, dreadfully irate on the receipt of the singular epistle bearing the joint signatures of Lawless and Mr. Lowe Brown, and was only restrained from bringing an action for breach of promise by having it strongly represented to him that the effect of so doing would be to make himself and his niece ridiculous. Freddy and Lucy Markham had the good sense to wait till Mr. Coleman had taken the former into partnership, which he fortunately inclined to do almost immediately; being then, with the aid of Lawless's receivership, in possession of a very comfortable income, the only serious objection to the marriage was removed; and the father, partly to escape Mrs. Coleman's very singular and not over-perspicuous arguments, partly because he loved his son better than he was himself aware, gave his consent.

George Lawless is still a bachelor. If questioned on the subject, his invariable reply is, "Eh, married? Not I! Women are a kind of cattle, don't you see, that I never did understand. If it was anything about a horse now—" There are some, however, who attribute his celibacy to another cause, and deem that he has never yet seen any one calculated to efface the memory of his sincere though eccentric attachment to my sister Fanny.

~474~~ It was on a bright summer morning that the bells of the little church of Heathfield pealed merrily to celebrate a triple wedding; and fairer brides than Fanny, Clara and Lucy Markham, or happier bridegrooms than Harry Oaklands, Freddy Coleman and myself, never pronounced the irrevocable "I will". There were smiles on all faces; and if there were a few tears also, they were such as angels might not grudge to weep—tears of pure, unalloyed happiness.

Years have passed away since that day—years of mingled light and shade; but never, as I believe, have either of the couples then linked together shown, by thought, word or deed, that they have failed in gratitude to the Giver of all good things, who in His mercy had granted them the rare and inestimable blessing of sharing the joys and sorrows of this world of trial with a loving and beloved companion.

Clara and I reside at Barstone Priory, which is also Mr. Frampton's home, when he is at home; but his wandering habits lead him to spend much of his time in a round of visits to his friends; and Heathfield Hall and Cottage, Leatherly and Elm Grove, are in turn gladdened by the sound of his kindly laugh and sonorous grunts.

THE ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS LIMITED

THE END