VOLUME IV
[CHAPTER I]
The Chateau de St. Alpin was a gloomy and antique building, but in habitable repair. The only constant resident in it for some years had been the Demoiselle de St. Alpin, now about five and forty; whose whole attention had been given to keeping it in order, and collecting, in the garden, variety of plants, in which she took singular pleasure. Detached from the world, and with no other relations than her brother and her nephews, whom she was seldom likely to see, she found in this innocent and amusing pursuit a resource against the tedium of life. Her manners, tho' simple, were mild and engaging; and her heart perfectly good and benevolent. With her, therefore, Emmeline was extremely pleased; and the country in which her residence was situated, was so beautiful, that accustomed to form her ideas of magnificent scenery from the first impressions that her mind had received in Wales, Emmeline acknowledged that her eye was here perfectly satisfied.
With her heart it was far otherwise. On her arrival at St. Alpin, she found letters from Lady Adelina enclosed in others from Mrs. Stafford. Lady Adelina gave such an account of her own health as convinced Emmeline it was not improved since she left England. Of Mr. Godolphin she only said, that he was returned from Ireland, but had staid with her only a few hours, and was then obliged to go on business to London, where his continuance was uncertain.
Mrs. Stafford gave of herself and her family a more pleasing account. She said she had hopes that the readjustment of Mr. Stafford's affairs would soon allow of their return to England; and as it might possibly happen on very short notice, and before Emmeline could rejoin them, she had sent, by a family who were travelling to Geneva, and who readily undertook the care of it, a large box which contained some of her cloaths and the caskets which belonged to her, which had been long left at Mrs. Ashwood's after Emmeline's precipitate departure from her house with Delamere, and which, on Mrs. Ashwood's marriage and removal, she had sent with a cold note (addressed to Miss Mowbray) to the person who negociated Mr. Stafford's business in London.
Their lengthened journey had so much broken in on the time allotted to their tour, that Lord and Lady Westhaven purposed staying only a month at St. Alpin. The Baron, who had equal pride and pleasure in the company of his nephew, endeavoured by every means in his power to make that time pass agreeably; and felt great satisfaction in shewing to the few neighbours who were within fifteen miles of his chateau, that he had, in an English nobleman of such rank and merit, so near a relation.
He had observed very early the growing passion of his son for Miss Mowbray. He was assured that she returned it; for he never supposed it possible that any woman could behold the Chevalier with indifference.
He had heard from Lord Westhaven that Emmeline was the daughter of a man of fashion, but was by the circumstances of her birth excluded from any share of his fortune, and entirely dependant on the favour of the Marquis of Montreville. The old Baron, charmed himself with her person and her manners, rather approved than opposed the wishes of his son; and however convenient it might have been to have seen him married to a woman of fortune, he was disposed to rejoice at his inclining to marry at all; and convinced that with Emmeline he must be happy, thought he might dispense with being rich. The Chevalier, confident of success, and believing that Emmeline had meant by her timid refusals only encouragement, grew so extremely importunate, that she was sometimes on the point of declaring to him her real situation.
But from this she was deterred by the apprehension that he would apply to Lord Delamere for the relinquishment of her promise; and should he obtain it, consider himself as having a claim to the hand his Lordship resigned.
This was an hope, which whatever his vanity might have suggested, she never meant to give him; yet she had the mortification to find that all her rejections, however repeated, were considered by the Chevalier as words of course. It was in vain she assured him that besides her disinclination to change her situation by marriage at all, she had other forcible objections; that she should never think of passing her life out of England; that not only their country, but their manners, their ideas on a thousand subjects, so materially differed, as to make every other reason of her refusal unnecessary.
When she seriously urged thus much, he usually answered that he would then reside in England; that he would accommodate his manner of living to her pleasure; and that as to the ideas which had displeased her, he would never again offend her with their repetition.
Emmeline had indeed been extremely hurt and disgusted at that levity of principle on the most serious subjects which the Chevalier avowed without reserve, and for which he appeared to value himself. Tho' brought up a Calvinist, he had as he owned always conformed to the mode of worship and ceremonies of the Catholics while he was among them; and usually added, that had he served amid the Turks or the Jews, he should have done the same, as a matter of great indifference.
The Baron, whose life had been more active than contemplative, was unaccustomed to consider these matters deeply. And as every thing Bellozane advanced had with him great authority, he was struck with his lively arguments; and whatever might be their solidity, could not help admiring the wit of the Chevalier, whom he sometimes encouraged to dispute with Lord Westhaven. The religion of Lord Westhaven was as steady and unaffected as his morals were excellent; and he entered willingly into these dialogues with Bellozane, in hopes of convincing him that infidelity was by no means necessary to the character of a soldier; and that he was unlikely to serve well the country to which he belonged, or for which he fought, who began by insulting his God.
He found however that the young man had imbibed these lessons so early, and fancied them so much the marks of a superior and penetrating mind, that he could make no impression by rational argument. Bellozane usually answered by a sprightly quotation from some French author, and his Lordship soon declined the conversation, believing that if sickness and sorrow did not supercede so slow a cure, time at least would convince him of his folly.
But such was the effect of this sort of discourse on Emmeline, that had Bellozane been in other respects unexceptionable, and had her heart been free from any other impression, she would never have listened to him as a lover.
From his own account of himself in other respects, Emmeline had gathered enough to believe that he was profligate and immoral. But as she could not appear to detect these errors without allowing him to suppose her interested in his forsaking them, she generally heard him in silence; and only when pressed to name her objections stated his loose opinions as one in her mind very material.
To this he again repeated, that his opinions he would correct; his residence should be settled by herself.—'Had she any objection to his person?' enquired he, as he proudly surveyed it in the long old fashioned glass which ornamented the sal a manger.[26]
Emmeline, blushing from the conscious recollection of the resemblance it bore in height and air to that of Godolphin, answered faulteringly—'That to his person there could be no objection.'
'To his fortune?'
'It was undoubtedly more than situated as she was she could expect.'
'To his family?'
'It was a family whose alliance must confer honour.'
'What then?' vehemently continued the Chevalier—'what then, charming Emmeline, occasions this long reserve, this barbarous coldness? Since you can form no decided objection; since you have undoubtedly allowed me to hope; why do you thus cruelly prolong my sufferings? Surely you do not, you cannot mean finally to refuse and desert me, after having permitted me so long to speak to you of my passion?'
'It is with some justice,' gravely and coldly answered Emmeline—'I own it is with some justice that you impute to me the appearance of coquetry; because I have listened with too much patience, (tho' certainly never with approbation,) to your discourse on this subject. But be assured that whatever I have said, tho' perhaps with insufficient firmness, I now repeat, in the hope that you will understand it as my unalterable resolution—The honour you are so obliging as to offer me, I never can accept; and I beg you will forbear to urge me farther on a subject to which I never can give any other answer.'
This dialogue, which happened on the second day of her residence at St. Alpin, and the first moment he could find her alone, did not seem to discourage the Chevalier. He observed her narrowly: the country round St. Alpin, which, as well as the place itself, he thought 'triste et insupportable,' seemed to delight and attract her. He saw her not only enduring but even fond of his aunt and her plants, which were to him, 'les sujets du monde les plus facheux.'[25]—His excessive vanity made him persist in believing that she could not admire such a place but thro' some latent partiality to it's master; nor seek the company and esteem of his aunt, but for the sake of her nephew.
These remarks, and a conviction formed on his own self-love and on the experience of his Parisian conquests, made him disregard her refusal and persecute her incessantly with his love. Lord Westhaven saw her uneasiness; but knew not how to relieve her without offending the Baron and the Chevalier, or divulging circumstances of which he did not think himself at liberty without her permission to speak.
Lady Westhaven, to whom Emmeline was obliged to complain of the importunity of Bellozane, repeatedly but very fruitlessly remonstrated with him. What she had at first ridiculed, now gave her pain; and anxious as she was to reconcile her brother to her friend, from whom she thought only his warmth of temper and a misunderstanding had divided him, she wished to shorten as much as possible their stay at St. Alpin.
Her own situation too made her very anxious to return to England; and she was impatient to see Lord Delamere, to explain to him all the mystery of Emmeline's conduct; a detail which she could not venture by the post, tho' she had written to him from Lyons, intreating him to suspend all opinion in regard to Miss Mowbray's conduct 'till she should see him.
This letter never reached the hands of Lord Delamere, and therefore was not answered to St. Alpin; whither his sister had desired him to direct, and where she now grew very uneasy at not hearing from him.
Le Limosin and his Madelon had arrived at St. Alpin some time before their noble patrons, with whose goodness they were elated to excess. Le Limosin himself, assiduous to do every thing for every body, flew about as if he was but twenty. His particular province was to attend with Lady Westhaven's English servant on her Ladyship and Miss Mowbray; and Madelon was directed to wait on the latter as her fille de chambre.
Emmeline, with painful solicitude for which she could hardly account, wished to hear from Le Limosin those particulars of her father of which he was so well able to inform her. He had served, too, her mother; whose name she had hardly ever heard repeated, and of whom, before witnesses, she dared not enquire.
Lord Westhaven had not yet explained to him to what he principally owed the extraordinary kindness he had met with. He knew not that the lady on whom he had the honour to wait was the daughter of that master to whom he had been so much obliged.
The first days that Lord and Lady Westhaven and Emmeline had passed with the Baron, had been engaged by company or in parties which he made to shew the views of the surrounding country to his English guests. The Chevalier never suffered Emmeline to be absent from these excursions, nor when at home allowed her to be a moment out of his company. If she sought refuge in the chamber of Mrs. St. Alpin, he followed her; if she went with her to her plants, thither also came Bellozane; and having acquired from his aunt's books a few physical and botanical terms, affected to desire information, which the old Lady, highly pleased with his desire of improvement in her favourite studies, gave him with great simplicity.
Lord Westhaven grew apprehensive that the jaunts of pleasure which the Baron continued to propose would be too fatigueing for his wife. And as they were now to go on a visit to one of St. Alpin's old military friends, who resided at the distance of fifteen miles, and where they were to remain all night, he prevailed on her to stay at home, where Emmeline also desired to be left.
Bellozane, detesting a party which the ladies were not to enliven, made some efforts to be excused also; but he found his declining to go would so much chagrin and disappoint his father, that, with whatever reluctance, he was obliged to set out with him.
Lady Westhaven, who was a good deal indisposed, went to lie down in her own room; whither Emmeline attended her, and finding she was disposed to sleep, left her. Mrs. St. Alpin was busied in her garden; and Emmeline, delighted with an opportunity of being alone, retired to her room to write to Mrs. Stafford. She had not proceeded far in her letter, when a servant informed her that the messenger who had been sent to Geneva for her box was returned with it. She desired that it might be brought up. Madelon came to assist her in opening it, and then left her.
She took out the cloaths and linen, and then the two embroidered caskets, which she put on the table before her, and gazed at with melancholy pleasure, as silent memorials of her parents. They brought also to her mind the recollection of Mrs. Carey, and many of her infantine pains and pleasures at Mowbray Castle, where she remembered first to have remarked them in a drawer belonging to that good woman; to which, tho' it was generally locked, she had occasionally sent her little charge when she was herself confined to her chair.
One of them she had began to inspect at Clapham, and perused some of the letters it contained. They were from her grandmother, Mrs. Mowbray, to her father; and were filled with reproaches so warm and severe, and such pointed censures of his conduct in regard to Miss Stavordale, her mother, to whom one letter yet more bitter was addressed, that after reading three of them, Emmeline believed that the further inspection of the casket was likely to produce for her only unavailing regret.
Still however she would then have continued it, painful as it was, but was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Lord Montreville, who came to enquire after his son. The sight of Mr. Mowbray's picture, which she had taken out, created in the breast of his Lordship a momentary tenderness for his niece. She had since always worn that picture about her; but the papers, by which she had been too much affected after that interview farther to peruse, she had again secured in the caskets; and being almost immediately afterwards taken by Delamere on her involuntary journey to Stevenage, from whence she returned no more to Clapham, she had not since had them in her possession.
Her mind in this interval had acquired greater strength; and she at length wished to know those particulars of her mother's fate, into which she had hitherto forborne thro' timidity to enquire. Being now therefore alone, and having these repositories once more in her hands, she resolutely inspected them.
The first contained about twenty letters. Some were those she had before seen, and others followed them equally severe. They seemed in sullen resentment to have been preserved; and Emmeline could not but reflect with pain on the anger and asperity in which they were written; on the remorse and uneasiness with which they must have been read.
The second casket seemed also to hold letters. On opening it, Emmeline found they were part of the correspondence between her father and mother during the early part of their acquaintance, when, tho' they sometimes resided in the same house, the vigilant observation of Mrs. Mowbray very seldom allowed them to converse.
Among these, were several pieces of poetry, elegant and affecting. After having read which, Emmeline imagined she had seen all the box contained, a few loosely folded papers only remaining; but on opening one of these, what was her astonishment to find in it two certificates of her mother's marriage; one under the hand of a Catholic priest, by whom she had been married immediately on their arrival at Dunkirk; the other signed a few days before the birth of Emmeline by an English clergyman, who had again performed the ceremony in the chapel of the English Ambassador at Paris.
That the memory of her mother should thus be free from reproach; that the conduct of her father, which had hitherto appeared cruel and unjust, should be vindicated from every aspersion; and that she should herself be restored to that place in society from which she seemed to be excluded for ever; was altogether such unexpected, such incredible happiness, as made her almost doubtful of the evidence of her senses. Ignorant as she was of the usual form of such papers, yet the care with which these seemed to be executed left her little doubt of their regularity. One other folded paper yet remained unread. Trembling she opened it. It was written in her father's hand and endorsed
MEMORANDUM
'The harshness with which my mother and her family have treated Miss Stavordale, for a supposed crime, has forced her to put herself under my protection. Miss Stavordale is now my wife; but of this I shall not inform my family, conceiving myself accountable no longer to persons capable of so much rashness and injustice. Least any thing however should happen before I can make a will in due form, I hereby acknowledge Emmeline Stavordale (now Mowbray) as my wife; and her child, whether a son or a daughter, heir to my estate. My brother being possessed of a very large fortune, both by his late marriage and the gifts of his mother's family, will hardly dispute the claim of such child to my paternal estate.
'(This is a duplicate of a paper sent to Francis Williamson, my steward at Mowbray Castle.) Signed by me at Paris in presence of two witnesses, this fifteenth of March 17—.
Henry Charles Mowbray.
Witnessed by
Robert Wallace,
Baptiste La Fere,, (dit Le Limosin.)'
This, which was of the same date as the last certificate, confirmed every claim which they both gave Emmeline to her name and fortune. A change of circumstances so sudden; her apprehensions that the Marquis of Montreville, who she thought must have long known, should dispute her legitimacy, and her wonder at the concealment which Mr. Williamson and Mrs. Carey seemed passively to have suffered; which together with a thousand other sensations crouded at once into her mind, so greatly affected her, that feeling herself grow sick, she was obliged to call Madelon, who being at work in an adjoining room, ran in, and seeing her lady look extremely pale, and hearing her speak with difficulty, she threw open the window, fetched her some water, and then without waiting to see their effects she flew away to call Mrs. St. Alpin; who presently appeared, followed by her maid carrying a large case which was filled with bottles of various distillations from every aromatic and pungent herb her garden or the adjacent mountains afforded.
Emmeline, hardly knowing what she did, was compelled to swallow a glass full of one of these cordials; which Mrs. St. Alpin assured her was 'excellente pour les vapeurs.'[27] It almost deprived her of breath, but recalled her astonished spirits; and having with great difficulty prevailed on her kindly-busy hostess to leave her, she locked up her papers, and threw herself on the bed; where, having directed Madelon to draw the curtains and retire, she tried to compose her mind, and to consider what steps she ought to take in consequence of this extraordinary discovery. [28]
[CHAPTER II]
Convinced of the noble and disinterested nature of Lord Westhaven, Emmeline thought she ought immediately on his return to shew him the papers she had found, and entreat him to examine, for farther particulars, Le Limosin, who seemed providentially to have been thrown in her way on purpose to elucidate her history.
After having formed this resolution, her mind was at liberty for other reflections. Delamere returned to it: his unjust suspicions; his haughty reproaches; his long, indignant anger, which vouchsafed not even to solicit an explanation; she involuntarily compared with the gentleness, the generosity of Godolphin; with his candid temper, his warm affections, his tender heart. And with pain she remembered, that unless Delamere would relinquish the fatal promise she had given him, she could not shew the preference which she feared she must ever feel for him. Sometimes she thought of asking Lord Westhaven to apply to Delamere for her release. But how could she venture on a measure which might involve, in such difficulties, Lady Adelina, and engage Lord Westhaven in an enquiry fatal to his repose and that of his whole family? How could she, by this application, counteract the wishes of Lady Westhaven, who anxiously hoped to re-unite her brother and her friend; and who desired ardently to be in England, that she might explain herself, to Delamere, all the circumstances that had injured Emmeline in his opinion; which she thought she could easily do without hazarding any of the evils that might follow from an inconsiderate disclosure of the occurrences he had misunderstood.
Uneasily ruminating on the painful uncertainty of her situation and the difficulties which every way surrounded her, she continued alone; till Lady Westhaven, alarmed at hearing she had been ill, sent her woman to enquire after and know if she might herself come to her? Emmeline, to relieve at once her friendly solicitude, arose and went to her apartment; where she made light of her sickness, and endeavoured to assume as much chearfulness as possible.—'Till she had seen Lord Westhaven, she determined not to mention to her Ladyship the discovery of the morning; feeling that there would be great indelicacy in eagerly divulging to her a secret by which she must tacitly accuse the Marquis of Montreville of having thus long detained from its legal owner the Mowbray estate; and of having brought up in indigence and obscurity, the daughter of his brother, while conscious of her claim to education and affluence.
Struggling therefore to subdue the remaining tumult of her spirits, she rejoined her friend. They passed the afternoon tranquilly with Mrs. St. Alpin; and about eleven o'clock the following morning, Lord Westhaven, the Baron, and the Chevalier, returned.
Emmeline took the earliest opportunity of telling Lord Westhaven that she wished to speak to him alone. There was no way of escaping from the Chevalier but by his Lordship's openly declaring that he wanted a private conference with his fair cousin, whom he led into the garden. Bellozane, who hoped that his earnest solicitations had prevailed on Lord Westhaven to befriend his love, was glad to see them walk out together, while he watched them from a window.
Emmeline put into her pocket the two certificates and the memorandum written by her father. Without explanation or comment, she gave them, as soon as they were at a little distance from the house, to Lord Westhaven.
He read them twice over in silence; then looking with astonishment at Emmeline, he asked her from whence she had these papers?
'They were enclosed, my Lord,' answered she 'in two little boxes or caskets which were left to me among other things by my father's nurse; who becoming the housekeeper at Mowbray Castle, brought me up. They afterwards long remained at the house of Mrs. James Crofts, with whom you know I resided; on her removal after her marriage, they were sent, together with some of my cloaths, to Mrs. Stafford's agent in London; from whence she lately received them; and having an opportunity of sending them to Geneva by a family travelling thither, she forwarded them to me, and I found them yesterday in the trunk brought by the messenger which you know the Baron sent thither on purpose.'
Again Lord Westhaven read the papers; and after pausing a moment said—
'There is no doubt, there can be none, of the authenticity of these papers, nor of your consequent claim to the Mowbray estate. Surely,' added he, again pausing—'surely it is most extraordinary that Lord Montreville should have suffered the true circumstances of your birth to remain thus long unexplained. Most cruel! most ungenerous! to possess himself of a property to which he must know he had no right! Your father's memorandum says that he had forwarded a duplicate of it to Francis Williamson; do you know whether that person is yet living?'
'He is dead, my Lord. He died in consequence of an accident at Mowbray Castle, where he was many years steward.'
'He must however have had sufficient time to give Lord Montreville every information as to his master's marriage, even if his Lordship knew it not, as he probably did, by other means. Yet from a man of honour—from Lord Montreville—such conduct is most unworthy. I can hardly conceive it possible that he should be guilty of such concealment.'
'Surely, my Lord, it is possible,' said the candid and ingenuous Emmeline—'surely it is possible that my uncle might, by some accident, (for which without knowing more we cannot account) have been kept in ignorance of my mother's real situation. For your satisfaction and mine, before we say more on this subject, would it not be well to hear what Le Limosin, who was I suppose present both at my mother's marriage and at my father's death, has to relate?'
To this proposal Lord Westhaven agreed. The sal a compagnie[29] was usually vacant at this time of the day. Thither they went together, and sent for Le Limosin; who loved talking so much that nothing was more easy than to make him tell all he remembered, and even minutely describe every scene at which he had been present.
'Le Limosin,' said Lord Westhaven, as soon as he came into the room, 'I was much pleased and interested with the account you gave me when I first met you, of the English master whom you call Milor Mowbray. I know his family well. Tell me, does this picture resemble him?'
His Lordship shewed him a portrait of Mr. Mowbray which had been drawn at Paris.
Le Limosin looked a moment at it—the tears came into his eyes.
'O oui—oui, mi Lor!—je me rappelle bien ce portrait!—Ah! quel resemblance! Quelques mois avant sa mort tel etoit mon pauvre maitre! Ah!' added he, giving back, with a sigh, the picture to Lord Westhaven—'cela me fend le cœur!'[30]
'Now then,' reassumed Lord Westhaven, 'look, Le Limosin, at that.' He put before him the resemblance of Emmeline's mother, which had been painted at the same time.
'Eh! pardi oui—voila—voila Madame! la charmante femme, dont la perte couta la vie a mon maitre. Helas!—je m'en souviens bien du jôur que je vis pour la premiere fois cette aimable dame. Elle n'avoit qu'environ quatorze a quinze ans. Ah! qu'elle etoit pour lors, gaï, espiegle, folatre, et si belle!—si belle!'[34]
'Tell me,' said Lord Westhaven, 'all you remember of her.'
'I remember her, my Lord,' said Le Limosin, speaking still in French, 'I remember her from the first of my going to England with Milor Mowbray. She lived then with Madame Mowbray; and the servants told me, that being a distant relation and an orphan, Madame had taken her and intended to give her a fortune. Milor Mowbray, when he first returned from his travels, used to live for two or three months together with Madame his mother; but she was strict and severe, and used frequently to reproach him with his gaieties—il etoit un peu libertin Milor, comme sont a l'ordinaire les jeunes seigneurs de sa nation.[35] He admired Mademoiselle Stavordale as a beautiful child, and used to romp with her; but as she grew older, Madame Mowbray was dissatisfied with him for taking so much notice of her, and would oblige her to live always up in Madame's dressing room, so that my master could hardly ever see her. Madame, however, told my master one day, that tho' Mademoiselle Stavordale had no fortune, she would not object to his marrying her in a year or two if he was then in the same mind. But my master was in his turn offended. He said he would not be dictated to, nor told whether he should marry or remain single. Madame etoit forte brusque—elle piquoit Monsieur par un reponse un peu vive[33]—and they had a violent disagreement; in consequence of which he quitted her house, and only went now and then afterwards to see her quite in form. Some months afterwards he called me to him; and as I was dressing him he asked me if I had no female friend among his mother's servants. 'Baptiste,' said he, 'I cannot get the Demoiselle Stavordale out of my head.—J'aime a la folie cette fille mais pour le mariage,je ne suis pas trop sur, que je m'acquitterai bien, en promissant de l'aimer pour la vie.—Je veux aussi qu'elle m'aime sans que l'interet y'entre pour quelque chose.—Puisque Madame ma mere s'amuse a me guetter, je voudrois bien la tromper; je scais que tu est habile—ne pourra tu pas nous menager une petite tete a tete?[31] 'Milor, je faisois mon possible—et enfin—par la bonté et l'honeteté—d'une fille qui servoit Madame—je vins heureusement about—Quelque jours apres—Monsieur enleva la belle Stavordale tant en depit—qu'en amour.'[32]
At this recital, Emmeline found herself cruelly hurt; but Lord Westhaven besought her to command herself, and Le Limosin went on.
'To avoid the rage and reproaches of Madame Mowbray, which it was likely would be very loud, my master took Mademoiselle Stavordale immediately abroad. We landed at Dunkirk; but the young lady was so unhappy at the step she had taken, elle pleuroit, elle se desoloit, elle s'abandonna a le desespoir—enfin, tant elle faisoit,[36] that Monsieur sent for a priest, and they were married. Soon afterwards my lady was likely to bring Monsieur an heir. Ah! qu'ils etoient pour lors heureux. But their happiness was interrupted by the death of my master's mother, Madame Mowbray, who had never forgiven him, and who disposed of all her money that was in her own power to his brother. My poor lady took this sadly to heart. She reproached herself with being the cause of my master's losing such a fortune. He said he had yet enough; and tried to console my lady. Still, still it hung on her spirits; and she could not bear to think that Madame Mowbray, who had brought her up, and had been kind to her when she had no other friend, should have died in anger with her. I believe my master was sorry then that he had not reconciled himself with his mother, as my lady often begged and entreated that he would; but it was now too late; and he said his brother had used him unkindly, and had certainly helped to irritate his mother against him; and he would not write to him tho' my lady often desired and prayed that he would. As she grew near her time, she was more and more out of spirits, and my master finding her uneasy because they had not been married by an English priest, had the ceremony performed again in the chapel of the English Ambassador. My master could not however make her forget her concern for the death of his mother; and she was always melancholy, as if she had foreseen how little a time she had herself to live. Alas! she brought my master a daughter, and died in three hours!'
'If I were to live a thousand years,' continued Le Limosin, 'I should never forget my poor master's distraction when he heard she was dead. It was with great difficulty that even with the assistance of his English servants I could prevent his destroying himself in the phrenzy of his grief. I dared not leave him a moment. He heard nothing we said to him; he heeded not the questions I asked him about the child; and at last I was forced to send an express to Mr. Oxenden, his friend, who was at some distance from Paris. He came; and by the help of another English gentleman they forced him out of the house while the body of my mistress was removed to be carried to England. He was so near madness, that his friends were afraid of his relapsing, even after he grew better, if they asked him many questions about it. So they gave me orders as to her funeral; and after about a fortnight he came back to the house where the child was, attended by his two friends.
'It was an heart-piercing sight, Milor, to see him weep over the little baby as it lay in the arms of it's nurse. After some time he called me, and told me that he should not be easy, unless he was sure his poor little girl would be taken proper care of; that he had no friend in France to whom he chose to entrust her; and therefore ordered me to go with the nurse to England, and directed Therése, my mistress's fille de chambre, to go also, that the child might be well attended. He told me that he should perhaps quit Paris before I could get back; in which case he would leave directions where I should follow him. Then he kissed his little girl, and his two friends tore him away. I immediately proceeded to England as he directed, with the nurse, and Therése, and we carried the infant to the Chateau de Mowbray. The French nurse could speak no English, and could not be prevailed upon to stay above two days. Therése too longed to get back to France; and we immediately returned to Paris, where I found a letter from my master, ordering me to follow him into Italy.
'At Milan, Milor, I rejoined him. He looked very ill; and complained of feeling himself indisposed. But still he went out; and I believe drank too much with his English friends. The third or fourth day after I got there he came home from a party which he had made out of town with them about ten o'clock in the morning, and told me he had a violent pain in his head. He went up into his room. "I am strangely disordered, Baptiste," said he, as he put his hand to his temples—"perhaps it may go off; but if it should grow worse, as I am afraid it will, remember that you take those two little boxes in which I keep my papers, to England, and deliver them to my steward at Mowbray Castle. I have already written to him about my daughter." Then almost shrieking with the acute pain which darted into his head, he cried—"I cannot talk, nor can I now write to my brother as I think I ought to do about my child. But send, send for a notary, and when I am a little easier I will dictate a will."
'Milor, I sent for the notary, But he waited all day in the anti-room to no purpose. My poor master was never again easy enough to see him—never again able to dictate a will. He grew more and more delirious, and continued to complain of his head, his head! Alas! he did not even know me, till about an hour before his death.'
Emmeline, whose tears had almost choaked her during the greatest part of this narration, now said to Lord Westhaven—
'My Lord, do not let him repeat the scene of my father's death; I am not now able to bear it.'
'Well, Le Limosin,' said his Lordship, 'this young lady, who is the daughter of your master; the same whom you helped to carry, an infant, to Mowbray Castle, will soon have it in her power to reward your fidelity and attachment to her father.'
Le Limosin now threw himself on his knees in a transport of joy and acknowledgment. Lord Westhaven, fearing that his raptures might quite overcome the disturbed spirits of his fair mistress, desired her to give him her hand to kiss; which she did, and trying, but ineffectually, to smile thro' her tears, was led by his Lordship into her own room. He told her that at present he wished to conceal from Lady Westhaven the discovery they had made. 'For tho' I am convinced,' added he, 'that for your sake she will rejoice in it, she will be hurt at the extraordinary conduct of her father, and harrass herself with conjectures about it and apologies for it, which I wish to spare her in her present state.'
Emmeline assured him she would observe a strict silence; and he left her to give to Le Limosin a charge of secresy. He then retired to his room, and wrote to Lord Montreville, stating the simple fact, and enclosing copies of the certificates; and after shewing his letter to Emmeline, sent it off to England.
Emmeline now went out to walk, in hopes of recovering her composure and being able to appear at dinner without betraying by her countenance that any thing extraordinary had been the subject of her conversation with Lord Westhaven. The Chevalier, however, was soon at her side. And still flattering himself that his Lordship had undertaken to plead his cause, he addressed her with all the confidence of a man sure of success.
Emmeline was very little disposed to listen to him; and with a greater appearance of chagrin and impatience than she had yet shewn, repeated to him her determination not to marry. He still declared himself sure of her relenting; and added, that unless she had designed finally to hear him favourably she would never have allowed him so repeatedly to press his attachment. This speech, which indirectly accused her of coquetry, encreased her vexation. But the persevering Chevalier was not to be repressed. He told her that he had projected a party of pleasure on the lake the next day, in which he intended to include a visit to the Rocks of Meillerie.
'It is classic ground, Mademoiselle,' said he, 'and is fitted to love and despair. Ah! will you not there hear me? Will you still inhumanly smile; will you still look so gentle, while your heart is harder than the rocks we shall see—colder than the snow that crowns them!—an heart on which even the pen of fire which Rousseau held would make no impression!'
He held her hands during this rhapsody. She could not therefore immediately escape. But on the appearance of a servant, who announced the dinner's being ready, she coldly disengaged herself and went into the house