Volume Three—Chapter Thirty.
In Search of Lenore.
From having resided so long in Captain Hyland’s family, I was familiar, as already stated, with the names of many of their acquaintances. Amongst others, I remembered a Mrs Lanson, who had been on very intimate terms with Mrs Hyland and Lenore.
I knew her address; and from her, would be sure to obtain the information I desired. After arriving in Liverpool, I proceeded almost direct to her residence. At Captain Hylands house, I had often met Mrs Lanson; and on presenting myself, had no trouble in getting recognised. I was received with courtesy—even cordiality.
“I am very anxious,” said I, “too see my old friends—Mrs Hyland and her daughter. Having been so long abroad, I have lost all knowledge of them. I knew that you could inform me, where they are to be found; and it is for that purpose I have taken the liberty of calling upon you.”
“No liberty at all, Mr Stone,” said the lady; “on the contrary, I’m very glad to see you. Of course, you’ve heard of the change that has taken place in Mrs Hyland’s family; and that they are now living in London?” I answered in the affirmative. “The address is Number —, Denbigh Street, Pimlico. That is Captain Nowell’s residence. Please remember me to them!”
Not many more words passed between Mrs Lanson, and myself. I know not whether she noticed my confusion, as I stammered out some common-place, leave-taking speech. I was too much excited to know what I did; or whether my behaviour was remarked upon.
It was not necessary for me to make a memorandum of the address thus given me. I had one already in my possession—which I had been carrying in my pocket for weeks. More than that, I had called at the house itself—on that occasion, when Captain Nowell accompanied me to the Bank.
I know not why this discovery should have given my mind such a painful shock. Why should the thought, that Lenore had married a man with whom I was acquainted, cause me a more bitter pain than any I had yet experienced?
Captain Nowell was a person, for whom I felt a sincere respect—amounting almost to regard. Why then was I so disagreeably surprised, to discover that he was the man who had found the happiness, I had myself lost? I knew not; and I only sought an answer to this mental interrogatory—in the hope, that, by finding it, I might be able to correct some fault that existed in my own mind. I had accomplished the object of my journey; and yet I returned to London with a heart aching from disappointment. I had learnt where Lenore could be seen; and had gone all the way to Liverpool to obtain that information, which might have been mine at an earlier period—had I but hearkened to the request of Captain Nowell to visit him at his house.
My reasons for keeping away from Denbigh Street were now ten times stronger than ever. I no longer felt a desire to see Lenore; and never wished to see Captain Nowell again.
My desire to depart from London was greatly strengthened by the discovery I had made; and, much as I disliked Liverpool, I resolved to return to it—for the purpose of taking passage thence to Melbourne: as I had learnt that there were several Melbourne ships soon to sail from that port.
On conferring with my brother William, he expressed his determination to remain in London. He had bought shares in a brewery; and had every prospect of doing well. He endeavoured to persuade me against returning to the colonies—urging me to go into some business in London, get anchored to a wife, and live happily like himself! Little did William suspect how impossible it would have been for me to follow his counsels.
The arguments he used, only increased my desire to be gone; and I determined to start next day for Liverpool.
Common politeness would not allow me to leave, without writing Captain Nowell a note. It was necessary I should let him know, that I had changed my mind about returning to the colonies in his ship.
On the morning after this last duty had been fulfilled—before I had taken my departure for the train—Captain Nowell was announced; and I could not well avoid seeing him.
“I have come after you,” said he, as soon as he entered the room. “I’m sent to take you prisoner; and bring you before two ladies, whom you should have called upon long ago. You cannot escape—so come along immediately!”
“It is impossible for me to go with you, Captain Nowell,” protested I, “I start for Liverpool by the next train; and I shall have scant time to get to the station.”
“I tell you,” said the Captain, “that I can take no refusal. Why—do you know what I have just learnt? My wife, and her daughter, are old acquaintances of yours. Don’t you remember Mrs Hyland, and little Lenore? I happened to mention the name of Rowland Stone this morning—on reading your note of last night—and there was a row in the house instantly. My wife sent me off to bring you, as fast as a cab can carry us. Unless you go with me, we shall have a fight. I daren’t go back, without you.”
“Stop a minute!” I cried, or rather stammered out the words. “Let me ask you one question! What did you say about your wife?”
“I said that my wife, and her daughter, were old acquaintances of yours. I married the widow of Captain Hyland.”
“Great heaven!” I exclaimed, “did you not marry his daughter?”
“No. What the devil makes you ask that? Marry Lenore Hyland! Why, Stone, I’m old enough to be the young lady’s father; and I am that: since I married her mother.”
“Come on!” I exclaimed, rushing towards the door. “Come on! I must see her immediately.”
I hurried bare-headed into the street—followed by Captain Nowell, who brought my hat in his hand, and placed it on my head.
We hailed a cab; and ordered the driver to take us to Number —, Denbigh Street, Pimlico.
I thought that a horse had never moved so slow. I said everything I could, to induce cabby to drive faster. I did more than talk to him: I bribed him. I threatened, and cursed him—though the man seemed to make every endeavour to satisfy my impatience. The horse appeared to crawl. I thought of jumping out of the cab—in the belief that I could go faster afoot; but my companion prevented me.
We did reach Denbigh Street at last; but after a drive that seemed to me as long as any voyage I had ever made across the Atlantic Ocean.
I could not wait for the Captain to ring his own bell; but rang it myself.
On the instant that a servant girl answered the summons, I put the question:
“Where is Lenore?”
The girl’s face assumed an expression of surprise; but, seeing me in the company of her master, she opened the door of a drawing-room; and I walked in.
Lenore Hyland was before me—more beautiful, if possible, than ever!
I was, no doubt, taking a great liberty, in the ardent demonstrations I at that moment made towards her; but my consciousness of this could not restrain me from doing as I did—though I may have acted like a madman.
“Lenore,” I exclaimed, clasping her in my arms, “are you free? Is it true, that I have not lived and toiled in vain?”
The young lady made no answer—at least not in words; but there was something in her silence, that led me to think, she was not offended at my rudeness.
Gradually I recovered composure, sufficient to conduct myself in a more becoming manner, when the Captain called my attention to Mrs Nowell—in whom I recognised Mrs Hyland, the mother of Lenore.
My long continued misapprehension—so near leading to a life-long misery—was soon fully explained. Mason, whom I had met in Sydney—and with whom the error originated—had been himself the victim of a mistake.
He had called to see Captain Nowell on business; and the latter, not being at home, the old steward had asked to see his wife. Mrs Nowell being engaged at the time, her daughter had come out to receive him; and, as Mason had been formerly acquainted with Captain Hyland and his family, of course he recognised Lenore. This circumstance—along with something that had occurred in the short conversation between her and the steward—had led to the misapprehension; and Mason had left the house under the belief that Lenore Hyland was Captain Nowell’s wife!
I never passed a more happy evening, than that upon which I again met Lenore—though my happiness did not spring, from the “disenchantment” promised by Cannon. I did not think of poor Jessie; and also forgot all about my intention of returning to the colonies, until reminded of it by Captain Nowell—as I was about to take leave of him and his family for the night.
“Stone,” he said, “now that you have found your old friends, you must give them as much of your time as possible: for you know, in a few days, we are to sail for Australia.”
This speech was accompanied by a glance, that told me the Captain did not expect my company upon his next voyage.
I proudly fancied that Lenore interpreted it, in the same sense as I had done: for the blush that broke over her beautiful cheeks, while adding bloom, at the same time led me to believe that my remaining in London would be consonant with her wishes.