“Of course,—certainly; my carriage is, however, all ready, and at the door. Take it as it is, you 'll travel faster and safer.”
“But you yourself,” said Darcy, laughing,—“you were about to move forward when we met.”
“It's no matter; I was merely travelling for the sake of change,” said Forester, confusedly.
“I could not think of such a thing,” said Darcy. “If our way led together, and you would accept of me as a travelling companion, I should be but too happy; but to take the long-boat, and leave you on the desolate rock, is not to be thought of.” The Knight stopped; and although he made an effort to continue, the words faltered on his lips, and he was silent. At last, and with an exertion that brought a deep blush to his cheek, he said: “I am really ashamed, Captain Forester, to acknowledge a weakness which is as new to me as it is unmanly. The best amends I can make for feeling is to confess it. Since we met that same night, circumstances of fortune have considerably changed with me. I am not, as you then knew me, the owner of a good house and a good estate. Now, I really would wish to have been able to ask you to come and see me; but, in good truth, I cannot tell where or how I should lodge you if you said 'yes.' I believe my wife has a cabin on this northern shore, but, however it may accommodate us, I need not say I could not ask a friend to put up with it. There is my confession; and now that it is told, I am only ashamed that I should hesitate about it.”
Forester once more endeavored, in broken, disjointed phrases, to express his acknowledgment, and was in the very midst of a mass of contradictory explanations, hopes, and wishes, when Linwood entered with, “The carriage is ready, my Lord.”
The Knight heard the words with surprise, and as quickly remarked that the young man was dressed in deep mourning. “I have been unwittingly addressing you as Captain Forester,” said he, gravely; “I believe I should have said—”
“Lord Wallincourt,” answered Forester, with a slight tremor in his voice; “the death of my brother—” Here he hesitated, and at length was silent.
The Knight, who read in his nervous manner and sickly appearance the signs of broken health and spirits, resolved at once to sacrifice mere personal feeling in a cause of kindness, and said: “I see, my Lord, you are scarcely as strong as when I had the pleasure to meet you first, and I doubt not that you require a little repose and quietness. Come along with me then; and if even this cabin of ours be inhospitable enough not to afford you a room, we 'll find something near us on the coast, and I have no doubt we 'll set you on your legs again.”
“It is a favor I would have asked, if I dared,” said Forester, feebly. He then added: “Indeed, sir, I will confess it, my journey had no other object than to present myself to Lady Eleanor Darcy. Through the kindness of my relative, Lord Castlereagh, I was enabled to send her some tidings of yourself, of which my illness prevented my being the bearer, and I was desirous of adding my own testimony, so far as it could go.” Here again he faltered.
“Pray continue,” said the Knight, warmly; “I am never happier than when grateful, and I see that I have reason for the feeling here.”