He took off his hat, though with a severe air, to Juliet, who, abashed, passed on to her chamber; but stopping and bluffly accosting Ambroise, ‘Harkee!’ he cried, ‘my lad! a word with you!—Pray, what business have you with that girl? I have, I know, as good as promised to help you off; but let all be fair and above board. I don’t pretend to have much taste for any person who would go out of old England when once he has got footing into it; thoff if I had had the misfortune to be born in France, there’s no being sure that I might not have liked it myself; from knowing no better: for which reason I think nothing narrower than holding a man cheap for loving his country, be it ever so bad a one. Therefore, if you have a mind, my lad, as far as yourself goes, to sheer off; as you are neither a sailor nor a soldier, nor, moreover, a prisoner, I will lend you a hand and welcome. But no foul play! If there’s any person of your acquaintance, that, after being born in old England, wants to go flaunting and jiggetting to outlandish countries, you’ll do well to give her a hint to keep astern of me; for I shall never uphold a person who behaves o’ that sort.’
Ambroise, in broken English, earnestly entreated him not to withdraw his promised protection; and Juliet, desirous to obtain his counsel for the execution of her perilous enterprize, ventured back, and joined to petition for instructions where she might embark most expeditiously; endeavouring to make her peace with him, by solemnly avowing, that necessity, not inclination, urged her to undertake this voyage; and claiming assistance, a second time, from his tried benevolence.
The words tried benevolence, and a second time, which inadvertently escaped her, from eagerness to interest his attention, struck him forcibly with ire. ‘Avast!’ he cried, ‘none of your flummery! You think, belike, because you’ve got a pretty face, to make a fool of me? but that’s sooner thought than done! You’ll excuse me for speaking my mind a little plainly; for how the devil, asking your pardon for such a word, should I do any thing for you a second time, when I have never seen or thought of you, up to this moment, a first? Please to tell me that!’
Juliet, looking round, and seeing that no witnesses were by, gently enquired whether he had no remembrance of a poor voyager, whom he had had the charity to save, the preceding winter, from immediate destruction, by admitting into a boat?
‘What! a swarthy minx? with a sooty sort of skin, and all over rags and jags? Yes, yes, I remember her well enough: I thank her! but I don’t much advise her to come in my way! She turned out a mere impostor. She was probably French. I gave her a guinea, and paid for her place to town, and her entertainment. She took my guinea, and eat and drank; and then made off by some other way! and has never been heard of since. I described her at all the Dover stages and diligences; for I intended to give her a trifle more, to help her to find her friends, for fear of her falling into bad hands. But I could never get any tidings of her; she was a mere cheat. How did you come to know the jade?’
Juliet blushed violently, and, with some difficulty stammered out, ‘Kind as you are, Sir, good and charitable,—you have not well judged that young person!’—
‘By all that’s sacred,’ cried he, striking his cane upon the ground, ‘if it were possible for a girl to be painted to such a pitch of nicety, I should swear you were that very mamselle yourself!—though, if you are, I should take it as a favour if you would tell me, how the devil it came into your head to let me pay for your stage-coach, when you never made use of your place? Where the fun of that was I can’t make out!’
‘I am but too sensible, Sir, that every thing seems against me!’ said Juliet, in a melancholy tone; ‘yet the time, probably, is not very far off, when I may be able sufficiently to explain myself, to cause you much regret,—so generous seems your nature;—should you refuse me your services in my very great distress!’
The Admiral now looked deeply perplexed, yet evidently touched. ‘I should be loath, Madam,’ he said, ‘very loath, indeed, for the matter of that, there’s something so agreeable in you,—to think you no better than you should be. Not that one ought to expect perfection; for a woman is but a woman; which a man, as her native superiour, ought always to keep in mind; however, don’t take it amiss that I throw out that remark; for I don’t mean it to dash you.’
Juliet, too much shocked to reply, cast up her eyes in silent appeal to heaven, and, entering her room, resolved to fold two guineas in a small packet, and to send them to the Admiral by Ambroise, for an immediate acquittal of her double pecuniary debt.
But the Admiral, struck by her manner, looked thoughtful, and dissatisfied with himself; and, again calling to Ambroise, said, ‘Harkee, my lad! I should not be sorry to know who that young gentlewoman is?—I am afraid she thinks me rather unmannerly. And the truth is, I don’t know that I have been over and above polite: which I take shame to myself for, I give you my word; for I am always devilish bad company with myself when I have misbehaved to a female; because why? She has no means to right herself. So I beg you to make my excuse to the gentlewoman. And please to tell her that, though I am no great friend to ceremony, I am very sorry if I have affronted her.’
Ambroise said, that he was sure the young lady would think no more of it, if his honour would but be kind enough to give the recommendatory letter.
‘Why, with regard to that,’ said the Admiral, after some deliberation, ‘I would do her any service, whereby I might shew my good will; after having been rather over-rough, be her class what it may, considering she’s a female; and, moreover, seems somewhat in jeopardy; if I were not so cursedly afraid of being put upon! You, that are but an outlandish man,—though I can’t say but you’ve as good a look as another man;—a very honest look, if one might judge by the face;—which made me take to you, without much thinking what I was about, I can tell you!—’
Ambroise, bowing low, hoped that he would not repent his goodness.
‘You, I say, being more in the use of being juggled, begging your pardon, from its being more the custom of foreign parts; can have no great notion, naturally, how little a British tar,—a person you don’t know over-much about, I believe!’ smiling, ‘there not being a great many such, as I am told, off our own shores!—You, as I was remarking, can’t be expected to have much notion how little a British tar relishes being over-reached. But the truth, Sir, is, we are set afloat upon the wide ocean, before we have well done with our slabbering bibs; which makes us the men we are! But, then, all we know of the world is only by bits and scraps; except, mayhap, what we can pick out of books. And that’s no great matter; for the chief of a seaman’s library is most commonly the history of cheats and rogues; so that we are always upon the look out, d’ye see, for fear of false colours.’
Ambroise began a warm protestation of his honesty.
‘Not but that, let me tell you, Sir!’ the Admiral went on, ‘we have as many good scholars upon quarter-deck, counting such as could pay for their learning when they were younkers, as in any other calling. But this was not the case with myself, who owe nothing to birth nor favour; whereof I am proud to be thankful; for, from ten years old, when I was turned adrift by my family, I have had little or no schooling,—except by the buffets of the world.’
Then, after ruminating for some minutes, he told Ambroise that he should not be sorry to make his apologies to the gentlewoman himself; adding, ‘For I could have sworn, when I first met her in the gallery, I had seen her some where before; though I could not make out how nor when. But if she’s only that black madmysell washed white, I should like to have a little parley with her. She may possibly do me the service of helping me to find a friend; and if she does, I sha’n’t be backward, God willing, to requite her. And harkee, my lad! I should be glad to know the gentlewoman’s name. What’s she called?’
‘She’s called Mademoiselle Juliette, Monsieur.’
‘Juliet?—Are you sure of that?’ cried the Admiral, starting. ‘Juliet?—Are you very sure, Sir?’
‘Oui, oui, Monsieur.’
‘Harkee, sirrah! if you impose upon me, I’ll trounce you within an inch of your life! Juliet, do you say? Are you sure it’s Juliet?’
‘Oui, Monsieur; Mademoiselle Juliette.’
‘Why then, as I am a living man, and on this side t’other world, I must speak to her directly! Tell her so this instant.’
Ambroise tapped, and Juliet opened the door; but, when he would have spoken, the Admiral, taking him by the shoulders, and turning him round, bid him go about his business; and, entering the room, shut the door, and flung himself upon a chair.
Rising, however, almost at the same instant, though much agitated, he made sundry bows, but tried vainly to speak; while the astonished Juliet waited gravely for some explanation of so strange an intrusion.
‘Madam,’ he at length said, ‘that Frenchman there,—who, it’s like enough, don’t know what he says,—pretends your name is Juliet?’
‘Sir!’—
‘If it be so, Ma’am,—you’ll do me a remarkable piece of service, if you will be so complaisant as to let me know how you came by that name?’
Juliet now felt alarmed.
‘It’s rather making free, Ma’am, I confess, but I shall take it as a special favour, if you’ll be pleased to tell me what part of the world you come from?’
‘Sir, I—I—’
‘If you think my inquisitiveness impertinent, Ma’am; which it’s like enough you may, I shall beg leave to give you an item of my reason for it; and then it’s odds but you’ll make less scruple to give me the reply. Not that I mean to make conditions; for binding people down only hampers good will. But when you have heard me, you may be glad, perchance, to speak of your own accord; for I don’t know, I give you my solemn word, but that at this very moment you are talking to one of your own kin!’
He fixed his eyes upon her, then, with great earnestness.
‘My own kin?—What, Sir, do you mean?’
‘I’ll tell you out of hand, Ma’am,—if I may be so bold as to sit down; for whether we happen to be relations or no’, there can be no law against our being friends.’
Juliet hastily presented him a chair, and scarcely breathed from eagerness to reciprocate the enquiry. She had never heard the Admiral mentioned but by his military title.
Seated now by her side, he looked at her for some instants, smilingly, though with glistening eyes; ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘I had a sister whose name was Juliet!—and the name is dear to my soul for her sake! And it’s no common name; so that I never hear it without being moved. She left a child, Ma’am, who for some unnatural reasons, that I sha’n’t enter upon just now, was brought up in foreign parts. This child had her own sweet name; and her own sweet character, too, I make small doubt; as well as her own sweet face.’—
He stopt, and again more earnestly looked at Juliet; but, seeing her strongly affected, begged her pardon, and, brushing a tear from his eye, went on.
‘When I came home from my last station in the East Indies, I crossed over the channel to see after her; a great proof of my good will, I can tell you! for no little thing would have carried me to that lawless place; and from the best land upon God’s earth! but I got nothing for my pains, except a cursed bad piece of news, which turned me upside down; for I was told that she was married to a French monsieur! Upon which I swore, God willing, never to see her face to the longest day I had to live! And I came away with that resolution. However, a Christian is never so perfect himself, as not to look over a flaw in his neighbour. Wherefore, if I could get any item of the poor girl’s repentance, I don’t think, for my dear sister’s sake, but I could still take her to my bosom,—yea, to my very heart of hearts!’
‘Tell me, Sir,’ cried Juliet, rising, with clasped hands, and eyes fast filling with tears; ‘tell me,—for I have never heard it,—your name?’
‘By all that’s holy!’ cried he, rising too, and trembling, ‘you make my heart beat all over my body!—My name is Powel! In the name, then, of the Most High,—are you not my niece yourself?’
Juliet dropt at his feet; ‘Oh heavenly Providence!’ she ejaculated, ‘you are then my poor mother’s brother!’ Speech now, for a considerable time, was denied to both; strong emotions, though of joy, nearly suffocated Juliet, while the Admiral sobbed over her as he pressed her in his arms.
‘My girl!’ he cried, when a little recovered, ‘my sister’s daughter!—daughter of the dearest of sisters!—I have found, then, at last, something appertaining to my poor sister! You shall be dear to my soul for her sake, whatever you may be for your own. And, moreover, as to what you may have done up to this time, whereof I don’t mean to judge uncharitably, every one of us being but frail, I shall let it all pass by. So hold up your head, and take comfort, my girl, and don’t be shy of your old uncle; for whatever may have slipt from him in a moment of choler, he’ll protect you, God willing, to his last hour; and never come out with another unkind word upon what is past and gone.’
The heart of Juliet was too full to let her offer any immediate vindication: she could but pronounce, ‘My uncle, when I can be explicit,—you will not—I hope, and trust,—have cause to blush for me!’—
‘Why then you are a very good girl!’ cried he, well pleased, ‘an excellent girl, in the main, I make small doubt.’ He then demanded, though not, he protested, to find fault with what was past; what had brought her over to her native land in such a ragged, mauled, and black condition; which had prevented the least guess of who she was; ‘for if, when I saw you off the coast,’ he continued, ‘you had shewn yourself such as you are now, you have so strong a look of my dear sister, that I should have hailed you out of hand. Though when I saw you Here it never came into my head; because why? I believed you to be There. And yet, instinct is main powerful, whereof I am a proof; for I took a fancy to you, even when I thought you an old woman; and, which is worse, a French woman. Coming away from those shores gave me a good opinion of you at once.’
He then made many tender enquiries concerning the last illness, and the death of Mrs Powel, his mother; whom it was now, he said, one-and-twenty years since he had seen; as, upon his poor father’s insolvency, he had been taken from the royal navy, and sent out, in the company’s service, to the East Indies.
Juliet, after satisfying his filial solicitude, ventured to express her own, upon every circumstance of her mother’s life, which had fallen to his knowledge.
The insolvency, the Admiral replied, had soon been succeeded by the death of his father; and then his poor mother and sister had been driven to a cheap country residence, in the neighbourhood of Melbury-Hall. There, before he set out for the East Indies, he had passed a few days to take leave; in which time Lord Granville, the Earl of Melbury’s only son, who had met them, it seems, in their rural strolls, had got such a footing in their house, that he called in both morning and evening; and stayed sometimes for hours, without knowing how time went. Uneasy upon remarking this, he counselled his sister to keep out of the young nobleman’s way; and advised his mother to change her house. They both promised so to do; but, for all that, before he set sail, he determined to wait upon his lordship himself; which he did accordingly; and made free to tell him, that he should take it but kind of his lordship, if he would not be quite so sweet upon his sister. His lordship made fair promises, with such a genteelness, that there was no help but to give him credit; and, this being done, he went off with an easy heart. He remained in the Company’s service some time; during which, the letters of his mother brought him the sorrowful tidings of his sister’s death; followed up, afterwards, by an account that, for her own health’s sake, she was gone over to reside in France.
‘This was a bit of news,’ he continued, ‘which I did not take quite so kindly as I ought, mayhap, to have done, it not appertaining to a son to have the upper hand of his mother. But, having been, from the first, somewhat of a spoilt child, whereby my poor mother made herself plenty of trouble; I was always rather over choleric when I was contradicted. Taking it, therefore, rather amiss her going out of old England, no great matter of letter-writing passed between us from that time, to my return to my native land.
‘It was then I was told the worst tiding that ever I wish to hear! one came, and t’other came, and all had some fuel to make the fire burn fiercer, to give me an item that Lord Granville had over-persuaded my sister to elope with him; and that she died of a broken heart; leaving a child, that my mother, for my sister’s reputation’s sake, had gone to bring up in foreign parts. My blood boiled so, then, in my veins, that how it ever got cool enough not to burn me to a cinder is a main wonder. But I vowed revenge, and that, I take it, sustained me; revenge being, to my seeming, a noble passion, when it is not to spite those who have done an ill turn to ourselves, but to punish those who have oppressed the helpless. What aggravated me the more, was hearing that he was married; and had two fine children, who were dawdled about every day in his coach; while the child of my poor sister was shut up, immured, no body knew where, in an outlandish country. I called him, therefore, to account, and bid him meet me, at five o’clock in the morning, at a coffee-house. We went into a private room. I used no great matter of ceremony in coming to the point. You have betrayed, I cried, the unprotected! You have seduced the forlorn! You have sold yourself to the devil!—and as you have given him, of your own accord, your soul, I am come to lend a hand to your giving him your body.’—
‘Shocking!—Shocking!’ interrupted Juliet. ‘O my uncle!’—
‘Why it was not over mannerly, I own; but I was too much aggrieved to stand upon complimenting. I loved her, said I, with all my heart and soul; but I bore patiently with her death, because I am a Christian; and I know that life and death come from God; but I scorn to bear with her dishonour, for that comes from a man. For the sake of your wife and children, as they are not in fault, I would conceal your unmanly baseness; but for the sake of my much injured sister, who was dearer to me than all your kin and kind, I intend, by the grace, and with the help of the Most High, to take a proper vengeance for her wrongs, by blowing out your brains; unless, by the law of chance, you should blow out mine; which, however, I should hold myself the most pitiful of cowards to expect in so just a cause.
‘I then presented him my pistols, and gave him his choice which he would have.’
‘Oh my poor father!’ cried Juliet. ‘Go on, my uncle, go on!’
‘He heard me to the finish without a word; and with a countenance so sad, yet so firm, and which had so little the hue of guilt, that I have thought since, many a time and often, that, if choler had not blinded me, I should have stopt half way, and said, This is purely an innocent man!’
‘Oh blessed be that word!’ cried Juliet, clasping her hands, ‘and blessed, blessed be my uncle for so kindly pronouncing it!’
‘With what temper he answered me! If I insisted, he said, upon satisfaction, he would not deny it me; “And I ought, indeed,” he said, “after an attack so insulting, to demand it for myself. But you are in an errour; and your cause seems so completely the cause of justice and virtue, that I cannot defend, till I have cleared myself. The sister whom you would avenge was the beloved of my soul! Never will you mourn for her as I have mourned! I neither betrayed nor seduced her. The love that I bore her was as untainted as her own honour. The immoveable views of my father to another alliance, kept our connexion secret; but your sister, your unspotted sister, was my wedded wife!”—The joy of my heart, at that moment, my dear girl, made me forget all my mishaps. I jumped,—for I was but a boy, then, to what I am now; and I flung my arms about his neck, and kissed him; which his lordship did not seem to take at all unkindly. Since she is not dishonoured, I cried, I can bear all else like a man. She is gone, indeed, my poor sister!—but ’tis to heaven she is gone! and I can but pray that we may both, in our due time, go there after her!—And upon that,—if I were to tell you the honest truth,—we both fell a blubbering.—But she was no common person, my dear sister!’
Juliet wept with varying emotions.
‘His lordship,’ the Admiral continued, ‘then recorded the whole history of his marriage, the birth of his child, and the loss of his poor wife. That the child, accompanied by her grandmother, who scarcely breathed out of its sight, was gone to be brought up in a convent, under the care of a family of quality, that had a grand castle in its neighbourhood; and under the immediate guidance of a worthy old parson; that, as soon as she was educated, he should go over to fetch her, and write a letter to his father to own his first marriage. But he begged me, for family-reasons, to agree to the concealment, till I returned home for good; and had a house of my own in which I could receive the child, in the case his second lady and his father should behave unhandsomely. I had no great taste for a hiding scheme; but I was so overcome with joy to think my sister had been always a woman of honour, that I was in no cue for squabbling: and, moreover, I gave way with the greater complaisance, from the fear of seeing the child fall into the hands of people who would be ashamed of her, whereby her spirit might be broken; and, moreover, I can’t say but I took it kind of his lordship the thought of letting her come to a house of mine; for I had already returned to his majesty’s service; which, God willing, the devil himself shall never draw me from again; and I was a post-captain, and in pretty good circumstances. So I thought I had as well not meddle, nor do mischief. And the more, as his lordship was so honourable as to entrust to me a copy of a codicil to his will; written all in his own hand, and duly signed and sealed; wherein he owns his lawful marriage with my poor sister; and leaves her child the same fortune that he leaves to his daughters by his wife of quality.’
‘Is it possible!—How fortunate! And have you, still, my dear uncle, this codicil?’
‘Have I? Aye, my girl! I would sooner part with my right hand! It’s the proof and declaration of my sister’s honour! and I would not change it against all the diamonds, and all the pearls, and all the shawls of all the nabobs of all Asia! It has been my whole comfort in all my difficult voyages and hard services.’
Ah! thought Juliet, were my revered Bishop safe, I might now be every way happy!
‘What passed in my mind at that time, was to cross over the Channel, to get my dear mother’s blessing, and to give my own to my little niece. But it’s of no great consequence what we plan, if it is not upheld by the Most High. I was all prepared, but I wrote never a word over, for the sake of giving my mother a surprize; when, all at once, I had a sudden promotion, with orders to return to the East Indies. And there I was stationed, on and off, in and out, till t’other day, as one may say. And when, at last, I got home again; meaning to marry Jenny Barker,—as pretty a girl as ever came into the world; and to set her at the head of my house, and equip her handsomely,—I found every thing turned upside down! Lord Granville had been dead five months, and his father about as many weeks. I had already heard, in the Indies, that my poor mother was dead; and when I went to get a little comfort with Jenny Barker, and to give her the baubles I had got together for her in the Indies,—always priding myself in thinking how smart she’d look in this! and how pretty her face would peep out of that!—I found her so mortally changed, that I took her for her own mother! who I had left to the full as well looking twenty years before; for, after my first voyage, by ill luck, I had not seen Jenny, who was down in the country.’
‘But if she is amiable, uncle, and worthy—’
‘You have a right way of thinking, my dear; and I honour you for it: but the disappointment came upon me so slap-dash, as one may say, for want of a little forethought, that I let out what passed in my mind with too little ceremony for making up again. However, I gave her the baubles; which she accepted out of hand; and made free to ask me to add something more, to make her amends for waiting for nothing; which was but fair; though it showed me that when she had lost her pretty face, she had no great matter to boast of in point of a noble way of thinking. I hope, else, I should have been above playing her false; without which I should be little to chose from a scoundrel. But she was in such a main hurry to secure herself the rhino, that it’s my brief that her inside, if I could have got a look at it, was but little short, in point of ugliness, to her outside. Howbeit, I used her handsomely, and we parted friends.’
The Admiral here walked about the room, a little disturbed, and then continued his narrative.
He crossed the Straits, having always preserved the direction of the lady of the castle near the convent; but the Revolution was then flaming; the castle had been burnt; all the family was dispersed; and he was warned not to make any enquiry even after the parson. But he grew sick of the whole business, and not sorry to cut it short, upon hearing that his niece, who was known by the appellation of Mademoiselle Juliette, was married to a French monsieur. He was coming away, in deep disgust, and burning wrath, when he was seized himself, and put into prison by order of Mr Robespierre. But this durance did not last long; for he joined a party that was just getting off, and returned to Great Britain; and moreover, though little enough to his knowledge, in the very same vessel that brought over his niece. ‘And here, my dear girl, is the finish of all I have to recount. But what I observe, with no great pleasure, if I should tell you my remark, is, that, while, for so many years, I have given up my head to nothing but thinking of my niece,—to the exception of poor Jenny Barker,—she does not seem so much as ever to have heard, or thought about her uncle?’
Juliet assured him, on the contrary, that her grandmother Powel had talked unceasingly of her son; but that, tender-hearted, timid, and devoted to Lord Granville, she had never ventured to trust to a letter a secret that demanded so much discretion; and had therefore postponed all communication to their meeting; of which she had lived in the constant hope. And Juliet herself, since the afflicting loss of that excellent lady, always believing him to be in the East Indies, had never dared claim his parentage, nor solicit his favour; her peculiar and unhappy situation making all written accounts, not only of her affairs, but of her name and her residence, dangerous.
This brought the conversation back to herself. ”Tis remarkable enough,’ said the Admiral, ‘that, in all this long parley, we have not yet said an item about the worst part of the job,—your marriage! How came you here without your husband? For all I have no great goust to your marrying in that sort, God forbid I should uphold a wife in running away from her lawful spouse, even though he be a Frenchman! We should always do right, for the sake of shaming wrong. A man, being the higher vessel, may marry all over the globe, and take his wife to his home; but a woman, as she is only given him for his help-mate, must tack about after him, and come to the same anchorage.’
Sadness now clouded the skin, and dimmed the eyes of Juliet. The story which she had to reveal, the hard necessity of separating herself from so near a relation, and so kind a protector, at the very moment of an apparent union; joined to the obstacles which his prejudices and feelings might put in the way of her decided sacrifice; made the avowal of her intention seem almost as difficult as its execution.
‘Don’t be cast down, however, my girl,’ continued the Admiral; ‘for when things are come to the worst, as I have taken frequent note, they often veer about, nobody knows how, and turn out for the best. I should as lieve you had not tied such an ugly knot, I won’t say to the contrary; howbeit, as the thing is done, we may as well make the best of it. The man may be a tolerable good Christian, mayhap, for a Papist. And indeed, to tell you the truth, though it is a thing I am not over fond of speaking about, I have seen some Frenchmen I could have liked mightily myself, if I had not known where they came from. I had some prisoners once aboard, that were as likely men, and as much of gentlemen, and as agreeable behaved, and had as good sense, too, of their own, as if they had been Englishmen. Perhaps your husband may be one of them? If so, let him come over here, and he shall want for nothing. I am always proud to shew old England; so invite him, my dear, to come.’
‘Alas!—alas!—‘cried Juliet, weeping.
‘What! he is but a sorry dog, then? Well, I can’t pretend to be surprized at that. However, I’ll tie up your fortune, and won’t let him touch a penny of it, but upon condition that you come over for it yourself once a year. And now I have you safe and sure, I shall carry my codicil to Lord Denmeath,—a fellow of steel, they say!—and get you your thirty thousand pounds; for that, I am told, is the portion of the lady of quality’s daughter. But all I shall give you myself shall only be bit by bit, till I know how that sorry fellow uses you. It’s a main pity you threw yourself away in such a hurry! But I suppose he’s a fine likely young dog?
‘Hideous! hideous!’ off all guard, exclaimed the shuddering Juliet.
‘Why, then, most like, you only married him for the sake of a little palaver? Poor girl! However, it’s done, and a husband’s a husband; so I’ll ask no more questions.’
Kissing her then very kindly, he said he would go and suck in a little fresh breeze upon the beech, to calm his spirits; for he felt as if he had been steering his vessel in a hurricane.
He asked her to accompany him; but she desired a little stillness and rest. He shook hands with her, and, with a look of concern, said, ‘My sister did but a foolish thing, after all, in marrying that young lord, however the world may judge it to have been an ambitious one. You would never have been smuggled out of your native land, in that fashion, if she had taken up with a man in her own rank of life: some honest tar, for example! for, to my seeming, there is not an honester person in the whole world, nor a person of more honour, than a British tar! And yet,—see the difference of those topsy-turvy marriages!—a worthy tar would have been proud of my sister for his wife; while your lord was only ashamed of her! for that’s the bottom of the story, put what dust you will in your eyes for the top!’
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