“‘Your child is safe, and,’ continued General Carleton, speaking slowly, and watching the effect his words produced, ‘she is under my care—she is here—here in my carriage—at your door.’ Sir Charles’s first impulse was to rush from the room, his second to return, and lay his hand on General Carleton’s shoulder; ‘I cannot thank you now, but may God reward you for all we must have owed you. I will not even see my child till I have imparted the strange, joyful tidings to her broken-hearted mother;—but you, our best friend, you will bring her here, and when her mother is in a state to bear the meeting, I will lead her to our child.’
“There are some scenes which cannot be described in words, because in them words have no share. I will pass over, then, the mute swelling of the heart which followed Lady Aubrey’s first hearing of the safety of her long-lost child, the burst of passionate tears which relieved that suffocating feeling, the perpetual claspings to the heart, the long kisses that seemed as if they could not end, which marked the first meeting between the parents and their child; the questionings, the explanations between them, the fervent thanks that were poured on the kind-hearted General Carleton; and hasten to relate an event which was alone wanting to the completion of Julia’s newly-restored happiness.
“Mrs. Aubrey and her daughter were hastening home one evening in September from sauntering in the shrubberies which surrounded the Abbey. The birds were busily preparing to roost, and darting into their accustomed haunts in every direction. ‘What is that small-speckled bird, mama, with a long bent bill, that has just forced itself into the ivy round the sycamore-tree?’ exclaimed Julia.
“‘I remarked it also,’ replied her mama, ‘but I have no idea of what species it could be.’
“‘O, if Keziah was here, she could tell me in a moment,’ said Julia sadly! ‘she knew every bird that flies.’
“‘I really believe,’ said Lady Aubrey, half reproachfully, ‘that my little girl sometimes almost pines after her woodland life with that young gipsy.’
“‘Not after my life, mama!—O don’t say that!—but I do want sadly to see poor, poor Keziah once more.—O if you did but know how kind and good she was, how she used to carry me on her back when she was ready to drop herself, and how she used to rob herself of all her own poor covering at night for my sake, and how she used to let me talk to her of you and my papa, and pray that God would bless you for having taught me such wonderful things of Him and of his goodness, you would not wonder that I love her, and that it grieves me to think she is still obliged to lead a life that she hates with those wicked, wicked gipsies.—O mama! I believe that but for her, I should never, never have lived to come back to you again!’—and Julia burst into tears.
“‘I do not wonder at your feelings, my child,’ said Lady Aubrey soothingly, ‘and I love your poor Keziah too; and would to God that I could repay her for all she has done for you!’
“They now reached the house, and were met by a servant, who told Lady Aubrey that ‘a young girl was waiting, and earnestly begged to be allowed to speak to her, or to Miss Julia.’
“‘To me!’ cried Julia; ‘O it must, it must be Keziah!’