We arose and set out in search of our party, who were, it appeared, in quest of papa: nor was it for two hours that we found him. He had ascended the tower with us all, but instead of coming down when we did, he took a short turn on the leads, and, finding the door closed on his return, remained a prisoner there during all the time we were in search of him. There is no saying how much longer he might have passed in this captivity—for all his cries and shouts were unheard—had he not hit upon an expedient, not entirely devoid of danger, for his rescue. This was to tear off any loose tiles he could find, and hurl them over into the street beneath. Why and how nobody was killed by it we cannot guess, for it is a most crowded thoroughfare, and actually crammed with stalls of fruit and vegetables. The buttresses and projections of the cathedral probably arrested many of the missiles in their flight; but one, thrown I conjecture with extraordinary force, came bang on the roof of the archbishop's carriage, just as his Grace had got in, the noise and the shock almost depriving him of consciousness! Papa, however, knew nothing of all this, and was actually hard at work detaching a lead gutter when they rushed up and apprehended him.
It was almost an hour before we could come to anything like a reasonable explanation of the incident, for papa insisted that he was the aggrieved person throughout, and raved about his action for false imprisonment. The dean of the cathedral demanded a handsome sum for reparation, and threw in a sly word about "sacrilege" if we demurred. Mamma, still weak and delicate, took to hysterics, while a considerable mob outside gave token of preparation to maltreat us on our exit. Under all these adverse conjunctures we thought it wiser to remain where we were till night; so we sent for something to the hotel, and made ourselves comfortable in the sacristan's room, where, the first shock over, we grew both merry and happy, Lord G., as usual, being the life of our party, by that buoyant exhilaration that really, Kitty, is the first of all nature's gifts.
I already guess whither your thoughts are carrying you, Kitty! Have I not divined aright? You are calling to mind the night we passed at the old windmill at Gariff, when the bridge was earned away by the flood I I vow to you it was uppermost in my own thoughts too! It was there Peter first told me of his love! Never till that moment had I the slightest suspicion of his feeling towards me. I was young, artless, and confiding,—a mere child of nature! Indeed, I must say that he was not blameless in taking the advantage he did of my fresh and unsuspecting heart! What knew I of the world? How could I anticipate the position I was yet to hold in society, or how measure the degree of presumption by which he aspired to my hand?
He has many excellent qualities of head and heart. I do not deny it; but the deceit he thus practised on me I can never forget I do not desire that you should tell him so. No, Kitty. The likelihood is that we may never meet again; and I do not wish that one harsh thought should mar the memory of the past! It may be that at some future time I can befriend and serve him; and he may rest assured that no station of life, however exalted and brilliant, will separate me from the ties of early friendship. Even now, I am certain, Lord George would oblige me on his behalf. Do you think, or could you ascertain, whether he would like to go out as surgeon to a convict ship? They tell me that these are excellent appointments, and admirably suited to young men of enterprising habits and no friends; and that, if they settle in the colony, they get several thousand acres of land, and as many natives as they can catch. From what I can learn, it would suit P. B., for he was always of a romantic turn, and fond of mutton.
How my wandering fancies have led me away! Where was I? Oh, in the little vaulted chamber of the sacristan, with its quaint old wainscot and its one narrow window, dim and many-paned! It was midnight before we left it to return to our hotel, and then the streets were quite deserted, and we walked along in silent thoughtfulness, I leaning on Lord G.'s arm, and wishing—I know not well why—that we had two miles to go!
We are stopping at the "Emperor," a very fine hotel that looks out upon the Rhine, and, as my window overhangs the river, I sat and gazed upon the rushing waters till nigh daybreak, occasionally adding a line to this scrawl to my dearest Kitty, and then wafting a sigh to the night-breeze as it stole along.
And now, at length, and after all these windings and digressions, X come to what I promised to speak of in the early pail of this rambling epistle. We were at breakfast on the morning after what Lord G. calls our "cathedral service,"—for he persists in quizzing about it, and says that pa was practising to become a "minor canon," when a very handsome travelling-carriage drove up to the hotel door, attracting us all to the windows by the noise and clatter. It was one of those handsome britschkas, Kitty, that at once bespeak the style of their owner; scrupulously plain and quiet,—almost Quaker-like in simplicity, but elegant in form, and surrounded with all that luxury of cases and imperials that show the traveller carries every indulgence and comfort along with him.
There was no courier, but a very smartly dressed maid, evidently French, occupied the rumble. While we stood speculating as to the new arrival, Lord George broke out with a sudden exclamation of astonishment and delight, and rushed downstairs. The next moment he was at the side of the carriage, from which a very fair, white hand was extended to him. It was very easy to see, by his air and manner, that he was on the most intimate terms with the fair traveller; nor was it difficult to detect, by the gestures of the landlord, that he was deploring the crowded state of the hotel, and the impossibility of affording accommodation. As is usual on such occasions, a considerable crowd had gathered,—beggars, loungers, luggage-porters, waiters, and stablemen, who all eagerly poked their heads into the carriage, and seemed to take a lively interest in what was going forward, to escape from whose impertinent curiosity Lord G. entreated the lady to alight.