Chapter XXXIII
"Look
Upon this child—I saved her, must not leave
Her life to chance; but point me out some nook
Of safety, where she less may shrink and grieve.
This child, who parentless, is therefore mine."
BYRON.
A few minutes after Newton had quitted the chambers of his uncle, the clerk made his appearance, announcing to Mr John Forster that a gentleman requested to speak to him.
"I asked the gentleman's name, sir," observed the clerk, shutting to the door, "but he did not choose to give it. He has a little girl with him."
"Very well, Scratton, the little girl cannot concern me," replied the old lawyer; "ask him to walk in;"—and he again conned over the brief, not choosing to lose the minute which might elapse before he was again to be interrupted. The door was reopened, and Edward Forster, with Amber holding him by the hand, entered the room.
"Your servant, sir. Scratton, a chair—two chairs, Scratton. I beg your pardon, young lady."
When the clerk had retired, Mr John Forster commenced as usual.—"Now, sir, may I request the favour of asking your business with me?"
"You do not recollect me; nor am I surprised at it, as it is fifteen years since we last met. Time and suffering, which have worn me to a skeleton, have also worn out the remembrance of a brother. I am Edward Forster."
"Edward Forster!—humph! Well, I did not recollect you; but I'm very glad to see you, brother. Very strange—never have heard of one of my family for years, and now they all turn up at once! No sooner get rid of one, than up starts another. Nicholas came from the Lord knows where, the other day."
Edward Forster, who was better acquainted with his brother's character than
Newton, took no notice of the abruptness of his remarks, but replied:
"Nicholas! Is he, then, alive? I shall be delighted to see him."
"Humph!" replied John, "I was delighted to get rid of him. Take care of your watch or spectacles when you meet him."
"Indeed, brother! I trust he is not such a character."
"But he is a character, I can tell you; not what you suppose—he's honest enough. Let me see—if my memory serves me, brother Edward, we last met when you were passing through London on your way to ——, having been invalided, and having obtained a pension of forty pounds per annum for a severe wound received in action. And pray, brother, where have you been ever since?"
"At the same spot, from which I probably never should have been induced to remove, had it not been for the sake of this little girl who is now with me."
"And pray who may be that little girl? Is she your daughter?"
"Only by adoption."
"Humph, brother! for a half-pay lieutenant, that appears rather an expensive whim!—bad enough to maintain children of our own begetting."
"You say true," replied Edward; "but if in this instance I have incurred an expense and responsibility, it must be considered to be more my misfortune than my fault." Edward Forster then entered into the particulars connected with Amber's rescue. "You must acknowledge, brother John," observed Edward, as he closed his narrative, "that I could not well have acted otherwise; you would not yourself."
"Humph! I don't know that; but this I do know, that you had better have stayed at home!"
"Perhaps so, considering the forlorn prospects of the child; but we must not judge. The same Providence which willed that she should be so miraculously saved also willed that I should be her protector;—why otherwise did the dog lay her at my feet?"
"Because it had been taught to 'fetch and carry,' I suppose: but however, brother Edward, I have no right to question your conduct. If the girl is as good as she is pretty, why all the better for her; but, as I am rather busy, let me ask if you have any more to say to me?"
"I have, John; and the discourse we have had is preliminary. I am here with a child, forced upon me I may say, but still as dear to me as if she were mine own. You must be aware that I have nothing but my pension and half-pay to subsist upon. I can save nothing. My health is undermined and my life precarious. Last winter I never expected to quit my bed again; and, as I lay in it, the thought naturally occurred of the forlorn and helpless state in which this poor little girl would be in case of my decease. In a lonely cottage, without money—without family or friends to apply to—without anyone near her being made acquainted with her unfortunate history, what would have become of her? It was this reflection which determined me, if my life was spared, as soon as my health would permit, to come to you, the only relative I was certain of still having in the world, that I might acquaint you with her existence, and, with her history, confide to you the few articles of dress which she wore when rescued, and which may eventually lead to her recognition—a case of extreme doubt and difficulty, I grant; but the ways of Providence are mysterious, and her return to the arms of her friends will not be more wonderful than her preservation on that dreadful night. Brother! I never have applied to you in my own behalf, although conscious how ample are your means—and I never will; but I do now plead in favour of this dear child. Worn out as I am, my pilgrimage on earth can be but short; and if you would smooth the pillow of a dying brother, promise him now that you will extend your bounty to this poor orphan, when I'm no more!"
Edward Forster's voice was tremulous at the close of his appeal, and his brother appeared to be affected. There was a silence of a minute, when the customary "humph!" was ejaculated, and John Forster then continued: "A very foolish business, brother—very foolish, indeed. When Nicholas and his son came here the other day and applied to me—why it was all very well—there was relationship; but really, to put another man's child upon me!"
"Not while it pleases heaven to spare my life, brother."
"'May you live a thousand years!' then, as the Spanish say; but, however, brother Edward, as you say, the poor thing must not starve; so, if I am to take care of a child of another man's begetting, as soon as you are dead, I can only say, it will very much increase my sorrow at your loss. Come here, little one: What's your name?"
"Amber, sir."
"Amber! who the devil gave you that fool's name?"
"I did, brother," replied Edward; "I thought it appropriate."
"Humph! really can't see why. Why did you not call her Sukey, or some name fit for a Christian? Amber! Amber's a gum, is it not? Stop, let's see what Johnson says."
The lawyer went to a case of books which were in the next room, and returned with a quarto.
"Now," said he, seating himself; "AG—AL—AM—Ambassador—Ambassadress— Amber!—humph! here it is, 'A yellow, transparent substance of a gummous or bituminous consistence, but of a resinous taste, and a smell like oil of turpentine; chiefly found in the Baltic sea or the coast of Prussia.' Humph! 'Some have imagined it to consist of the tears of birds; others the'—humph!—'of a beast; others the scum of the Lake Cephesis, near the Atlantic; others a congelation in some fountains, where it is found swimming like pitch.' Really, brother," continued the lawyer, fixing his eyes on the little girl, and shutting the book, "I can't see the analogy."
"Be her godfather, my dear brother, and call her any name you please."
"Humph!"
"Pray, papa," said Amber, turning to Edward Forster, "What's the meaning of 'humph'?"
"Humph!" repeated the lawyer, looking hard at Amber.
"It implies yes or no, as it may be," replied Edward Forster, smiling.
"I never heard anyone say it before, papa. You're not angry with me, sir?" continued Amber, turning round to John Forster.
"No, not angry, little girl; but I'm too busy to talk to you—or indeed with you, brother Edward. Have you anything more to say?"
"Nothing, my dear brother, if I have your promise."
"Well, you have it; but what am I to do with her, God only knows! I wish you had kept better hours. You mentioned some clothes which might identify her to her relations; pray let me have them; for I shall have the greatest pleasure in restoring her to them, as soon as possible, after she is once in my hands."
"Here they are, brother," replied Edward, taking a small packet from his coat-pocket; "you had better take charge of them now; and may God bless you for having relieved my mind from so heavy a load!"
"Humph! by taking it on my own shoulders," muttered John, as he walked to the iron safe, to deposit the packet of linen; then returning to the table, "Have you anything more to say, brother?"
"Only to ask you where I may find my brother Nicholas?"
"That I can't tell; my nephew told me somewhere down the river; but it's a long way from here to the Nore. Nephew's a fine lad; I sent him off to the East Indies."
"I am sorry then that I have no chance of seeing him:—but you are busy, brother?"
"I have told you so three times, as plain as I could speak!"
"I will no longer trespass on your time. We return home to-morrow morning; and, as I cannot expect ever to see you again, God bless you, my dear John! and farewell, I am afraid I may say, in this world at least, farewell for ever!"
Edward held out his hand to his brother. It was taken with considerable emotion. "Farewell, brother, farewell!—I'll not forget."
"Good-bye, sir," said Amber, going close up to John Forster.
"Good-bye, my little girl," replied he, looking earnestly in her face; and then, as if thawing towards her, as he scanned her beautiful and expressive features, removing his spectacles and kissing her, "Good-bye."
"Oh! papa," cried Amber, as she went out of the room, "he kissed me!"
"Humph!" said John Forster, as the door closed upon them.
The spectacles were put on, and the reading of the brief immediately continued.