Ralph thinks seriously about changing his name—Gets a little unwilling justice done to himself, and gains much information—The whole wound up suddenly and sorrowfully.
It was nearly dark. As I sat for more than half an hour by the side of the impenitent beauty, I could not conceive that she was in any danger. Whilst she discoursed with me so fully, her voice was firm, though not loud, and, were it not for a short and sudden check, sometimes in the middle of a word, I should say that I never before heard her converse more fluently or more musically.
Whilst she yet reclined, the servants brought in lights, and made preparations for our little dinner, a small table being laid close to Mrs Causand’s couch. When this exquisite repast was ready, and Miss Tremayne made her appearance, Mrs Causand rose, apparently much renovated. She looked almost happy: without assistance, she walked from her sofa, and took her place at the table.
“There, Fanny,” said she, quite triumphantly—“and not a single attack! This dear Ralph has surely brought health with him. Yesterday, this exertion would have killed me.”
“Do not, however,” said the lady, “try yourself too much.”
We dined cheerfully: she seemed to have forgotten her son, and I my much-injured mother. After the dinner was concluded, and Miss Tremayne had retired, and my hostess had returned to her sofa, she sent for her writing-desk, and then proceeded with her narrative.
“Your mother, my dear Ralph, yearned for your society. She had saved a considerable sum of money—she wished for a home, to procure which, she married that little ugly, learned Frenchman, Cherfeuil—but even that she did not do until it was currently reported, and generally believed, that your father was dead.”
“I admire the delicacy of the scruple—I honour her for it.”
“Sip your wine, Ralph—you’ll find it excellent—I will indulge in one glass, let Dr Hewings say what he will—to your health, my little lover, and may I soon hail you as Sir Ralph Rathelin!”
“How is it possible?”