"Miss Martha?... Is it possible?... I beg your pardon, Mrs. Donagough ... I certainly did not recollect you. I hope that I have the pleasure of seeing you well?"
"My dearest Willoughby!... You have no idea how exceedingly delighted I am to see you.... What has become of you all this time?... I always supposed that you had been sold for a slave on the coast of Barbary ... and I thank God, and my excellent husband ... where is he?... I am sure the Reverend Mr. O'Donagough will thank God for your escape.... And who is that pretty young lady?... Dear me, she looks very much as if she was the daughter of your cruel master, and had fallen in love with you, and set you at liberty.... Poor Sophy!... one could not expect you should remember her for ever ... even I, you see, have forced myself to forget my poor dear Mr. Barnaby.... But now I think of it, you can't know anything about Mr. Barnaby.... Do, my dear Willoughby, sit down with me on this sofa, and let us have a talk."
It was impossible for Mr. Willoughby to refuse, even had he wished it, which he really did not; and the perfect security of being welcome, which Mrs. O'Donagough displayed in her manner of establishing herself, in some sort obliged Mrs. Peters to act as if she were so.... The different groups which had been deranged by her entrance, resumed their conversation; coffee and tea included the intruders in its round, and everybody excepting Miss Compton seemed once more tolerably at their ease. She could not affect to recover her equanimity like the rest, but placing a low chair immediately behind the sofa on which Lady Elizabeth's tall figure was placed, she sat down so as to be completely concealed by her, saying, "Will your ladyship have the great kindness to let me hide myself here?... That horrible woman is, I confess it, my own brother's daughter, but she is ... no matter what she is.... I am much to blame, no doubt, ... but I hate to look upon her."
"Put yourself quite at your ease, Miss Compton," replied Lady Elizabeth, laughing; "I have not the least difficulty in the world in comprehending your feelings. In you she has conquered the feeling of relationship; in me, an instinct stronger still perhaps, namely, that of finding amusement in absurdity. But I almost think she has cured me of my menagerie caprice for ever. Yet it is difficult, too, not to enjoy the spectacle she offers with her young husband in her hand. But I don't mean to lose my music for her.... Miss Peters, my dear—pray set your pianoforte going."
This hint was immediately obeyed, and proved extremely conducive to the general ease. Good-natured Mr. Peters entered into conversation with the reverend missionary, and soon learnt both his destination, and the interesting fact that he and his bride were to sail from the port of Bristol the day but one following. This he judiciously took an opportunity of speedily communicating to his lady, who took care that it should not long remain a secret to any individual present, excepting Mr. Willoughby, who continued in too close conversation with his sister-in-law to permit his being made a sharer in the general feeling of satisfaction which this information produced. Even Miss Compton, on hearing it, declared, that if the bride were really going to set off immediately for Botany Bay, there to remain for the term of her natural life, she thought she should be able to look at her for the rest of the evening with great philosophy. And, in proof of her sincerity, she moved her place, and seated herself beside her friend Lady Elizabeth, more than half inclined to share in the amusement, which, notwithstanding her good resolutions, that facetious lady seemed inclined to take in contemplating the newly-married pair.
The conversation, meanwhile, between the two old acquaintances, went on with considerable interest on both sides. Mr. Willoughby again related his adventures, and introduced his pretty daughter, and then, recurring once more to Silverton, Mrs. O'Donagough said, in an accent that betokened considerable interest in the question—"Willoughby!—can you tell me anything about your old friend Tate?"
"I have heard nothing of him of late years; but of course you know that he married his cousin, Miss Temple, very soon after we left Silverton."
"Very soon?" said Mrs. O'Donagough, with a sigh.
"Yes, my dear sister," replied Willoughby, with a melancholy smile; "it is not often that hearts, lost in country quarters, fail to return to the losers as they march out of the town. Happily both for the boys and girls concerned, but few such adventures end as mine did."
"Happily, indeed, for me!" replied the bride, with a toss of her head: "for aught I know, Tate may be alive now ... and the happy wife of O'Donagough may well rejoice that no such thraldom was the consequence of Captain Tate's presumptuous attachment!"