For the latter, his approvance was declared; for the former, even his consent might be withdrawn: to spare, therefore, to his kind heart the unavailing knowledge of her misery; and to herself the useless conflicts that might ensue from the discovery; she ultimately decided to set out upon her voyage, with her story and misfortunes unrevealed.
This plan determined upon, she struggled to fortify her mind for its execution, by endeavouring to consider as her husband the man to whom, in any manner, she had given her hand; since so, only, she could seek to check the disgust with which she shrunk from him as her deadliest foe. She remembered, and even sought to call back, the terrific scruples with which she had been seized, when, while striving to escape, she heard him assert that she was his wife, and felt powerless to disvow his claim. Triumphant, menacing, and ferocious, she had fled him without hesitation, though not completely without doubt; but when she beheld him seized, in custody,—and heard him call her husband! and saw herself considered as his wife! duty, for that horrible instant, seemed in his favour; and, had not Sir Jaspar summoned her by her maiden name, to attend her own nearest relations, all her resistance had been subdued, by an overwhelming dread that to resist might possibly be wrong.
Recollection, also, told her that, at the epoch when, with whatever misery, she had suffered him to take her hand, no mental reservation had prepared for future flight and disavowal: she laboured therefore, now, to plead to herself the vows which she had listened to, though she had not pronounced; and to animate her sacrifice by the terrour of perjury.
Nevertheless, all these virtuous arguments against her own freedom, were insufficient to convince her that her marriage was valid. The violent constraint, the forced rites, the interrupted ceremony, the omission of every religious form;—no priest, no church to sanctify even appearances;—No! she cried, no! I am not his wife! even were it my wish, even were he all I prize upon earth, still I should fly him till we were joined by holier bands! Nevertheless, for the Bishop I meant the sacrifice, and, since so, only, he can be preserved;—for the Bishop I must myself invite its more solemn ratification!
Satisfied that this line of conduct, while dictated by tender gratitude, was confirmed by severer justice; she would not trust herself again with the sight of Lady Aurora, till measures were irreversibly taken for her departure; and, upon the return of the Admiral from his walk, she communicated to him, though without any explanation, her urgent desire to make the voyage with all possible expedition.
The Admiral, persuaded that her haste was to soften the harsh treatment of a husband who had inveigled her into marriage by flattery and falsehood, forbore either questions or comments; though he looked at her with commiseration; often shaking his head, with an expression that implied: What pity to have thrown yourself thus away! His high notions, nevertheless, of conjugal prerogative, made him approve and second her design; and, saying that he saw nothing gained by delay, but breeding more bad blood, he told her that he would conduct her to —— himself, the next morning; and stay with her till he could procure her a proper passage; engaging to present her wherewithal to ascertain for her a good and hearty reception; with an assurance to her husband, that she should, at any time, have the same sum, only for fetching it in person.
This promising opening to occasional re-unions, gave her, now, more fortitude for announcing to her gentle sister the fixed approaching separation. But, though these were softening circumstances to their parting, Lady Aurora heard the decision with despair; and though the discovery of an uncle, a protector, in so excellent a man as the Admiral, offered a prospect of solid comfort; still she could dwell only upon the forced ties, the unnatural connexion, and the brutal character to which her unhappy sister must be the victim.
Each seeking, nevertheless, to console the other, though each, herself, was inconsolable, they passed together the rest of the melancholy, yet precious day; uninterrupted by the Admiral; who was engaged to dine out in the neighbourhood; or even by Mrs Howel; who acquiesced, perforce, to the pleadings of Lady Aurora; in suffering her ladyship to remain in her own room with Juliet.
They engaged to meet again by daybreak, the next morning, though to meet but to part. The next morning, however, when summoned to a post-chaise by the Admiral, the courage of Juliet, for so dreadful a leave-taking, failed; and, committing to paper a few piercingly tender words, she determined to write, more at length, all the consolation that she could suggest from the first stage.
But when, in speechless grief, she would have felt her little billet in the anti-room, she found Lady Aurora’s woman already in attendance; and heard that Lady Aurora, also, was risen and dressed. She feared, therefore, now, that an evasion might rather aggravate than spare affliction to her beloved sister; and, repressing her own feelings, entered the chamber.
Lady Aurora, who had scarcely closed her eyes all night, had now, in the fancied security of a meeting, from having placed her maid as a sentinel, just dropt asleep. Her pale cheeks, and the movement of sorrow still quivering upon her lips, shewed that she had been weeping, when overpowering fatigue had induced a short slumber. Juliet, in looking at her, thought she contemplated an angel. The touching innocence of her countenance; the sweetness which no sadness could destroy; the grief exempt from impatience; and the air of purity that overspread her whole face, and seemed breathing round her whole form, inspired Juliet, for a few moments, with ideas too sublime for mere sublunary sorrow. She knelt, with tender reverence, by her side, inwardly ejaculating, Sleep on, my angel sister! Recruit your harassed spirits, and wake not yet to the woes of your hapless Juliet! Then, placing gently upon her bosom the written farewell, she softly kissed the hem of her garments, and glided from the room.
She made a sign to the maid, for she had no power of utterance, not to awaken her lady; and hurried down stairs to join the Admiral, attended by the faithful Ambroise.
She was spared offering any apologies for detaining her uncle, by finding him preparing to step down to the beach, with a spying glass, without which he never stirred a step; to take a view, before they set off, of a sail, which his servant, an old seaman, had just brought him word was in sight. He helped her, therefore, into the chaise, begging her patience for a few minutes.
Juliet was not sorry to seize this interval for returning to the anti-room, to learn whether Lady Aurora were awake; and, by her resignation or emotion, to judge whether a parting embrace would prove baneful or soothing.
As she was re-entering the house, a vociferous cry of ‘Stop! stop!’ issued from a carriage that was driving past. She went on, desiring Ambroise to give her notice when the Admiral came back; but had not yet reached the gallery, when the stairs were rapidly ascended by two, or more persons, one of which encircled her in his arms.
She shrieked with sudden horrour and despair, strenuously striving to disengage herself; though persuaded that the only person who would dare thus to assail her, was him to whom she was intentionally resigning her destiny; but her instinctive resistance was short; a voice that spoke love and sweetness exclaimed. ‘Miss Ellis! sweet, lovely Miss Ellis! you are, then, my sister!’
‘Ah heavens! kind heaven!’ cried the delighted Juliet, ‘is it you, Lord Melbury? and do you,—will you,—and thus kindly, own me?’
‘Own? I am proud of you! My other sister alone can be as dear to me! what two incomparable creatures has heaven bestowed upon me for my sisters! How hard I must work not to disgrace them! And I will work hard, too! I will not see two such treasures, so near to me, and so dear to me, hold down their sweet heads with shame for their brother. Come with me, then, my new sister!—you need not fear to trust yourself with me now! Come, for I have something to say that we must talk over together alone.’
Putting, then, her willing arm within his, he eagerly conducted her down stairs; made her pass by the astonished Ambroise, at whom she nodded and smiled in the fulness of her contentment, and led her towards the beach; her heart exulting, and her eyes glistening with tender joy; even while every nerve was affected, and all her feelings were tortured, by a dread of quick approaching separation and misery.
‘I am come,’ cried he, when they were at a little distance from the houses, ‘to take the most prompt advantage of my brotherly character. I have travelled all night, not to lose a moment in laying my scheme before you.’
‘What kindness!—Oh my lord!—and where did you hear,—where did Sir Jaspar’s letter reach you?’
‘Sir Jaspar?—I have received no letter from Sir Jaspar. I have seen no Sir Jaspar!’
‘How, then, is it possible you can know—’
‘Oh ho! you think you have no friend, then, but Sir Jaspar? And you suppose, perhaps, that you have no admirer but Sir Jaspar?’
‘I am sure, at least, there is no other person to whom I have revealed my name.’
‘Then he must have betrayed it to some other himself, my sweet sister! for ’tis not from him I have had my intelligence. Be less sure, therefore, for the future, of an old man, and trust a younger one more willingly! However, there is no time now for raillery; a messenger is waiting the result of our conference. I am fully informed, my precious sister, of your terrible situation; I will not stop now to execrate your infernal pursuer, though he will not lose my execrations by the delay! I know, too, your sublime resolution to save our dear guardian,—for yours is ours!—that good and reverend Bishop; and to look upon yourself to be tied up, as a bond-woman, till you are formally released form those foul shackles. Do I state the case right?’
‘Oh far, far too acurately! And even now, at a moment so blest! I must tear myself away,—by my own will, with whatever horrour!—from the sweetest of sisters,—from you, my kindest brother!—and from the most benevolent of uncles, by a separation a thousand times more dreadful than any death!’
‘Take comfort, sweet sister! take comfort, loveliest Miss Ellis!—for I can’t help calling you Miss Ellis, now and then, a little while longer:—I have a plan to make you free! to set you completely at liberty, and yet save that excellent Bishop!—’
‘Oh my lord! how heavenly an idea!—but how impossible!’
‘Not at all! ’tis the easiest thing in the world! only hear me. That wretch who claims you, shall have the portion he demands; the six thousand pounds; immediately upon signing your release, sending over the promissory-note of Lord Denmeath, and delivering your noble Bishop into the hands of the person who shall carry over the money; which, however, shall only be paid at some frontier town, whence the Bishop may come instantly hither.’
Struck with rapturous surprize, Juliet scarcely restrained herself form falling at his feet. She pressed his arm, she kissed the edge of his coat, and, while striving, inarticulately, to call for blessings upon his head, burst into a passion of tears,—though tears of ecstatic joy,—that nearly deprived her of respiration.
‘My sister! my dear sister!’ tenderly cried Lord Melbury, ‘how ashamed you make me! Could you, then, expect less? What a poor opinion you have entertained of your poor brother! I give you nothing! I merely agree that you shall possess what is your due. Know you not that you are entitled to thirty thousand pounds from our estate? To the same fortune that has been settled upon Aurora? ’Tis from your own portion, only, my poor sister, that this six thousand will be sunk.’
‘Can you, then, generous, generous Lord Melbury!—can you see thus, without regret, without murmur, so capital a sum suddenly and unexpectedly torn from you?’
‘I have not yet enjoyed it, my dear sister; I shall not, therefore, miss it. But if I had possessed it always, should I not be paid, ten million of times paid, by finding such a new sister? I shall be proud to shew the whole world I know how to prize such a relation. And I will not have them think me such a mere boy, because I am still rather young, as to be at a loss how to act by myself. I shall not, therefore, consult my uncle, for I am determined not to be ruled by him. I will solemnly bind myself to pay your whole fortune the moment I am of age. It is my duty, and my pride, and, at the same time, my delight, to spare your delicacy, as well as my own character, and our dear father’s memory, any process, or any dispute.’
Then, opening his arms, with design to embrace her, but checking himself upon recollecting that he might be observed, he animatedly added, ‘Yes, my dear father! I will shew how I cherish your memory, by my care of your eldest born! by my care of her interests, her safety, and her happiness!—As to her honour,’ he added, with a conscious smile, ‘she has shewn me that she knows how to be its guardian herself!’
The grateful Juliet frankly acknowledged, that both the thought and the wish had frequently occurred to her, of rescuing the Bishop, through her portion, without herself: but she had been utterly powerless to raise it. She was under age, and uncertain whether her rights might ever be proved: and the six thousand pounds proffered by Lord Denmeath, she was well aware, would never be accorded but to establish her as an alien. Her generous brother, by anticipating, as well as confirming her claims, alone could realize such a project. With sensations, then, of unmixed felicity, that seemed lifting her, while yet on earth, into heaven, she was flying to call for the participation of Lady Aurora, and of her uncle, in her joy; when Lord Melbury, stopping her, said, that all was not yet prepared for communication.
‘You clearly,’ he continued, ‘agree to the scheme?’
‘With transport!’ she cried; ‘and with eternal thankfulness!’
Without delay, then, he said, they must appoint a person of trust, who knew the French language well, and to whom the whole history might be confided; to carry over the offer, and the money, and to bring back the Bishop.
‘And I have a friend,’ he continued, ‘now ready for the enterprize. One equally able and willing to claim the Bishop, and to give undoubted security for the six thousand pounds. Can you form any notion who such a man may be?’
He looked at her gaily, yet with a scrutiny that made her blush. One person only could occur to her; but occurred with an alarming sense of impropriety in allowing him such an employment, that instantly damped her high delight. She dropt her eyes; an unrepressed sigh broke from her heart; but secret consciousness hushed all enquiry into the truth of her conjecture.
In silence, too, for a moment, Lord Melbury contemplated her; struck with her sudden sadness, and uncertain to what it might be attributed. Affectionately, then, taking her hand, ‘I must come,’ he cried, ‘to the point, or my messenger will lose his patience. Proposals of marriage the most honourable have been made to me; such, my dear sister, as merit my best interest with you. The person is unexceptionable, high in mind, manners, and family, and has long been attached to you—’
Juliet here, with dignity, interrupted him, ‘My lord, I will not ask who this may be; I even beg not to be told. I can listen to no one! Till the Bishop is released and safe, I hold myself merely to be his hostage; and, till my freedom, atrociously as it has been violated, shall be legally restored to me, I cannot but feel hurt,—for I will not say offended where the intention is so kind, and so pure,—that any proposals of any sort, and from any person, should be addressed to me!’
Lord Melbury, prepared for expostulation, was beginning to reply; but she solemnly besought him not to involve her in any new conflicts.
She then asked his permission to introduce him to her uncle, Admiral Powel; whom she desired to join upon the beach.
No, no; he answered; other business, still more urgent, must have precedence. And, holding both her hands, he insisted upon acquainting, her, that it was Mr Harleigh who had been his informant of her history and situation; and that she was the undoubted and legitimate daughter of Lord Granville; all which he had learnt from Sir Jaspar Herrington. ‘And Mr Harleigh has begged my leave,’ continued his lordship, smiling, ‘though I am not, you may think, perhaps, very old for judging of such matters; to make his addresses to you.—Now don’t put yourself into that flutter till you hear how he arranged it; for he knows all your scruples, and reveres them,—or, rather, and reveres you, my sweet sister! for your scruples we both think a little chimerical: don’t be angry at that; we honour you all the same for having them: and Mr Harleigh seems to adore you only the more. So, I make no doubt does Aurora. And I, too, my dear sister! only I can’t see you sacrificed to them. But Mr Harleigh has found a way to reconcile all perplexities. He will save you, he says, in honour as well as in person; for the wretch shall still have the wife whom he married, if he will restore the Bishop!’
‘What can you mean?’—
‘His six thousand pounds, my dear sister! That sum, in full, he shall have; for that, as Harleigh says, is the wife that he married!’
Smiles now again, irresistibly, forced their way back to the face of Juliet, as she bowed her full concurrence to this observation.
‘Harleigh, therefore,’ continued Lord Melbury, ‘for this very reason, will go himself to make the arrangement; to the end that, if the wretch refuses to take the six thousand without you, he may offer a thousand, or two, over: for, enraged as he is to enrich such a scoundrel, he would rather endow him with your whole thirty thousand, and, for aught I know, with as much more of his own, than let you fall into his clutches.’
The eyes of Juliet again swam in tears. ‘Noble, incomparable Harleigh!’ she irresistibly ejaculated; but, checking herself, ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘my thanks are still all that I can return to Mr Harleigh,—yet I will not deny how much I am touched by his generosity. But I have insurmountable objections to this proposition; now, indeed, ought I to cast upon any other, the risks of an engagement which honour and conscience make sacred to myself.’
‘Poor Harleigh!’ said Lord Melbury, ‘I have been but a bad advocate, he will think! You will at least see him?’
‘See him?’
‘Yes; he came with me hither. ’Twas he descried you first, as you got out of the post-chaise. He was accompanying me up the stairs: but he retreated. You will surely see him?’
‘No, my Lord, no!—certainly not!’
‘What! not for a moment? Oh, that would be too barbarous!’
With these words, he ran back to the town.
Juliet called after him; but in vain.
Her heart now beat high; it seemed throbbing through her bosom; but she bent her way towards the beach, to secure her safety by joining her uncle.
She perceived him at some distance, in the midst of a small group; conspicuous from his height, his naval air and equipment, and his long spying glass; which he occasionally brandished, as he seemed questioning, or haranguing the people around him.
In a minute, she was accosted by the old sailor, who was sent by his master to the chaise, in which he supposed his niece to be still waiting; to beg that she would not be impatient, because a boat being just come in, with a small handful of the enemy, his honour was giving a look at the vessel, to see to its being wind and weather proof, to the end that her ladyship might take a sail in it.
Juliet, though she answered, ‘Certainly; tell my uncle certainly;’ knew not what she heard, nor what she said; confused by fast approaching footsteps, which told her that she could not, now, either by going on or by turning back, escape meeting Harleigh.
Lord Melbury advanced first; and, willing to give Harleigh a moment to press his suit, good humouredly addressed the sailor, with enquiries of what was going forward upon the beach. Harleigh, having made a bow, which her averted eyes had not seen, drew back, distressed and irresolute, waiting to catch a look that might be his guide. But when, from the discourse of the sailor with Lord Melbury, he learnt the arrival of a small vessel form the Continent, which was destined immediately to return thither; he precipitately took his lordship by the arm, spoke to him a few words apart, and then flew forward to the strand.
Juliet, disturbed by new fears, permitted her countenance to make enquiries which her tongue durst not pronounce; and Lord Melbury, who understood her, frankly said, ‘He is a man, sister, of ten thousand! He will sail a race with you, and strive which shall get in first to save the Bishop!’
Juliet felt thunderstruck; Harleigh seeking a passage in the very vessel which seemed pitched upon by her uncle for her own voyage! That they should go together was not to be thought of; but to suffer him to risk becoming the victim to her promise and her duties, was grief and shame and terrour united! Her eyes affrightedly pursued him, till he entered into the group upon the strand; and her perturbation then was so extreme, that she felt inclined to forfeit, by one dauntless stroke, the delicacy which, as yet, had through life, been the prominent feature of her character, by darting on, openly to conjure him to return. But habits which have been formed upon principle, and embellished by self-approbation, withstand, upon the smallest reflection, every wish, and every feeling that would excite their violation. The idea, therefore, died in its birth; and she sought to compose her disordered spirits, by silent prayers for courage and resignation.
With the most fraternal participation in her palpable distress, Lord Melbury endeavoured to offer her consolation; till the sailor, who had returned to the Admiral, came from him, a second time, to desire that she would hasten upon the beach, ‘to help his honour, please your ladyship,’ said the merry tar, with a significant nod, ‘to a little French lingo; these mounseers and their wives,—if, behaps, they be’n’t only their sweethearts; not over and above understanding his honour.’
Juliet moved slowly on: the Admiral, used to more prompt obedience, came forward to hasten her, calling out, as soon as she was within hearing, ‘Please to wag a little nimbler, niece; for here are some outlandish gentry come over, that speak so fast, one after t’other; or else all at a time; each telling his own story; or, for aught I can make out, each telling the same thing one as t’other; that, though I try my best to understand them, not being willing to dash them, I can’t make out above one word in a dozen, if you take it upon an average, of what they say. However, though it is our duty to hold them all as our native enemies; and I shall never, God willing, see them in any other light; yet it would be but unchristian not to lend them an hand, when they are chopfallen and sorrowful; and, moreover, consumedly out of cash. So if I can help them, I see no reason to the contrary; for my enemy in distress is my friend: because why? I was only his enemy to get the upper hand of him.’
Then, turning to Lord Melbury and Harleigh, ‘I hope,’ he added, ‘you won’t think me wanting to my country, if, for the honour of old England, I give these poor half-starved souls a hearty meal of good roast beef, with a bumper of Dorchester ale, and Devonshire cyder? things which I conclude they have never yet tasted from their births to this hour; their own washy diet of soup meagre and sallad, with which I would not fatten a sparrow, being what they are more naturally born to. And I sha’n’t be sorry, I confess, to shew the French we have a little politeness of our own; which, by what I have often taken note, I rather surmize they hold to be a merchandize of their own monopoly. And so, if you all think well of it, we’ll tack about, and give them an handsome invitation out of hand; for when a person stops to ponder before he does a good office, ’tis a sign he had full as lieve let it alone.’
Juliet readily complied, though she could not readily speak; but what was her perturbation, the next moment, to see Harleigh vehemently break from the group by which he had been surrounded, rush precipitately forward to meet them, and, singling out Lord Melbury encircle his lordship in his arms, exclaiming, ‘My lord! my dear lord! your sister is free!—I claim, now, your suffrage!—Her brutal persecutor, convicted of heading a treasonable conspiracy in his own country, has paid the forfeit of his crimes! These passengers bring the tidings! My lord! my dear lord! your sister is free!’—
Juliet, who heard, as it was meant that she should hear, this passionate address, felt suspended in all her faculties. Joy, in the first instant, sought precedence; but it was supplanted, in another moment, by tearful incredulity; and she stood motionless, speechless, scarcely conscious whether she were alive.
An exclamation of ‘What’s all this?’ from the astonished Admiral; and a juvenile jump of unrestrained rapture from the transported Lord Melbury, brought Harleigh to himself. He felt confounded at the publicity and the abruptness of an address into which his ecstacy had surprized him; yet his satisfaction was too high for repentance, though he forced it to submit to some controul.
Suspension of sensibility could not, while there was life, be long allowed to Juliet; and the violence of her emotions, at its return, almost burst her bosom. What a change! her feet tottered; she sustained her shaking frame against the Admiral; she believed herself in some new existence! yet it was not unmixed joy that she experienced; there was something in the nature of her deliverance repulsive to joy; and the perturbed and tumultuous sensations which rushed into her breast, seemed overpowering her strength, and almost shattering even her comprehension; till she was brought back painfully to herself, by an abrupt recollection of the uncertainty of the fate of the Bishop; and, shudderingly, she exclaimed, ‘Oh if my revered guardian be not safe!’—
The wondering Admiral now, addressing Harleigh, gravely begged to be made acquainted, in plainer words, with the news that he reported.
Not sorry to repeat what he wished should be fully comprehended, Harleigh, more composedly, recounted his intelligence; dwelling upon details which brought conviction of the seizure, the trial, and the execution of the execrable commissary.
Juliet listened with rapt attention; but in proportion as her security in her own safety became confirmed, her poignant solicitude for that of the Bishop increased; and again she exclaimed, ‘Oh! if my guardian has not escaped!’
The Admiral, turning towards her rather austerely, said, ‘You must have had but a sad dog of a husband, Niece Granville, to think only of an old priest, when you hear of his demise! However, to my seeming, though he might be but a rogue, a husband’s a husband; and I don’t much uphold a wife’s not thinking of that; for, if a woman may mutiny against her husband, there’s an end of all discipline.’
Overwhelmed with shame, Juliet could attempt no self defence; but Lord Melbury warmly assured the Admiral, that his niece, Miss Granville, had never really been married; that a forced, interrupted, and unfinished lay-ceremony, had mockingly been celebrated; accompanied by circumstances atrocious, infamous, and cruel: and that the marriage could never have been valid, either in sight of the church, or of her own conscience.
The Admiral, with avidity and rising delight, sucked in this vindication; and then whispered to Juliet, ‘Pray, if I may make so free, who is this pretty boy, that’s got so much more insight into your affairs than I have? He’s a very pretty boy; but I have no great taste to being put in the rear by him!’
Juliet was beginning to reply, when the Admiral called out, in a tone of some chagrin, ‘Now we are put off from doing the handsome thing! for here’s the outlandish gentry coming among us before we have invited them! And now, you’ll see, they’ll always stand to it that they have the upper hand of us English in politeness! And I had rather have seen them all at the devil!’
Juliet, looking forward, perceived that they were approached by some strangers of a foreign appearance; but they detained not her attention; at one side, and somewhat aloof from them, a form caught her eye, reverend, aged, infirm. She started, and with almost agonized earnestness, advanced rapidly a few steps; then stopt abruptly to renew her examination; but presently, advancing again, called out, ‘Merciful Heaven!’ and, rushing on, with extended arms, and uncontrolled rapture, threw herself at the feet of the ancient traveller; and, embracing his knees, sobbed rather than articulated, in French, ‘My guardian! my preserver! my more than father!—I have not then lost you!’
Deeply affected, the man of years bent over, and blessed her; mildly, yet fondly, uttering, in the same language, ‘My child! my Juliet!—Do I then behold you again, my excellent child!’
Then, helping her to rise, he added, ‘Your willing martyrdom is spared, my dear, my adopted daughter! and I, most mercifully! am spared its bitter infliction. Thanksgiving are all we have to offer, thanksgiving and humble prayers for UNIVERSAL PEACE!’
With anxious tenderness Juliet enquired for her benefactress, the Marchioness; and the Bishop for his niece Gabriella. The Marchioness was safe and well, awaiting a general re-union with her family; Gabriella, therefore, Juliet assured the Bishop, was now, probably in her revered mother’s arms.
All further detail, whether of her own difficulties and sufferings, or of the perils and escapes of the Bishop, during their long separation, they mutually set apart for future communication; every evil, for the present, being sunk in gratitude at their meeting.
Harleigh, who witnessed this scene with looks of love and joy, though not wholly unmixed with suffering impatience, forced himself to stand aloof. Lord Melbury, who had no feeling to hide, nor result to fear, gaily capered with unrestrained delight; and the Admiral, impressed with wonder, yet reverence, his hat in his hand, and his head high up in the air, waited patiently for a pause; and then, bowing to the ground, solemnly said, ‘Mr Bishop, you are welcome to old England! heartily welcome, Mr Bishop! I ought to beg your pardon, perhaps, for speaking to you in English; but I have partly forgot my French; which, not to mince the matter, I never thought it much worth while to study; little enough devizing I should ever meet with a native-born Frenchman who was so honest a man! For it’s pretty much our creed, aboard, though I don’t over and above uphold it myself, except as far as may belong to the sea-service,—to look upon your nation as little better than a cluster of rogues. However, we of the upper class, knowing that we are all alike, in the main, of God’s workmanship, don’t account it our duty to hold you so cheap. Therefore, Mr Bishop, you are heartily welcome to old England.’
The Bishop smiled; too wise to be offended, where he saw that no offence was meant.
‘But, for all that,’ the Admiral continued, ‘I can’t deny but I had as lieve, to the full, if I had had my choice, that my niece should not have been brought up by the enemy; yet I have always had a proper respect for a parson, whether he be of the true religion, or only a Papist. I hold nothing narrower than despising a man for his ignorance; especially when it’s only of the apparatus, and not of the solid part. My niece, Mr Bishop, will tell you the heads of what I say in your own proper dialect.’
The Bishop answered, that he perfectly understood English.
‘I am cordially glad to hear it!’ cried the Admiral, holding out his hand to him; ‘for that’s an item that gives; me at once a good opinion of you! A man can be no common person who has a taste for our sterling sense, after being brought up to frothy compliments; and therefore, Mr Bishop, I beg you to favour me with your company to eat a bit of roast beef with us at our lodging-house; after our plain old English fashion: which, if I should make free to tell you what passes in my mind, I hold to be far wholesomer than your ragouts and fricandos, made up of oil and grease. But I only drop that as a matter of opinion; every nation having a right to like best what it can get cheapest. And if the rest of the passengers are people of a right way of thinking, I beg you to tell them I shall be glad of the favour of their company too.’
The Bishop bowed, with an air of mild satisfaction.
‘And I heartily wish you would give me an item, Monsieur the Bishop, how I might behave more handsomely; for, by what I can make out, you have been as kind to my niece, as if you had been born on this side the Channel; which is no small compliment to make to one born on t’other side; and if ever I forget it, I wish I may go to the bottom! a thing we seamen, who understand something of those matters, (smiling,) had full as lief leave alone.’
He then recommended to them all to stroll upon the sands for a further whet to their appetite; while he went himself to the lodging-house, to see what could be had for a repast.
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